The Overland Monthly
Vol. L Second Series
July-December, 1907
The OVERLAND MONTHLY CO., Publishers
Offices 773 Market Street, Sah Francisco
F
. o
INDEX
.ALDIS DUNBAR
FREMONT OLDER
ALOYSIUS COLL
.ERNESTINE WINCHELL
CLYDE EDWIN TUCK
MARY E. SNYDER
STELLA F. WYNNE
INA COOLBRITH
PIERRE N. BERINGER
ADMONITION.. Verse.
A GLIMPSE OF THE BATTLE
Illustrated with photographs.
A WARNING.. Verse
AN EPISODE OF THE FLOAT LANDS. Story
AUGUST. Verse
A TRIP TO CUERNAVACA ....
Illustrated with photographs.
AN IDYLL OF THE CIRCLE L. Story
Illustrated by W. R. Borough.
ALCATRAZ (A New Poem) ....
A NEW ERA IN THE PHILIPPINES
Illustrated with photographs.
A MEDIEVAL ROMANCE ....
Illustrated with sketch by Alice Resor.
AT THE GOLDEN HORN AND THE GOLDEN GATE CLINTON SCOLLARD
Verse
"BARBIZON" OF CALIFORNIA, THE (III.) .
BUCKAROO JIM.. Story
Illustrated by W. R. DeLappe
CALL OF THE WHISTLE, THE. Story
CANDLE-STARS OF CHRISTMAS TIME, THE Verse
CONFESSIONS OF A STENOGRAPHER
Illustrated with photographs.
CLIMBING FUJI
Illustrated with photographs.
CAMPING OUT IN CALIFORNIA ....
CHRISTENING, THE. Verse
CHRISTMAS STORY, THE. Verse ....
COLLEGE AND THE WORLD ....
Illustrated with photographs.
A BUSINESS MAN'S VIEW OF COLLEGE .
JUST OUT OF COLLEGE ....
WHY I AM GOING TO COLLEGE
COWBOYS ASTRAY. *Story
Illustrated by W. R. Davenport
CALIFORNIA. Verse
DAISY FIELD, THE (Poem)
DEATH VALLEY
DECORATING DEL MONTE HEIGHTS .
Illustrated with photographs.
DEFENDING THE PACIFIC COAST
Illustrated with photographs.
DEATH ON THE MARSHES.. Verse
DIGNITY OF DOLLARS, THE. Essay .
DUMFRIES: THE HAMLET OF ROBERT BURNS
Illustrated with photographs.
DR. TAYLOR SEVENTY YEARS YOUNG
DRAMATICS. The New World of the Play
Illustrated with photographs.
DREAMS OF ARCADY. Verse .....
DOWN AT THE WOMAN'S CLUB.. Verse . .
EUROPEAN HOTELS
Illustrated with photographs.
EL CAMINO REAL. Verse
FORESTER AND HIS WORK, THE (III)
FREED FROM THE DESPOT OF DAGH (III.)
FAME TURNED FLIRT
FIGHTING A FORTY-POUND WEAKFISH (III.).
24
546
118
145
156
182
361
537
463
483
504
JOSEPHINE MILDRED BLANCH 63
HERBERT COOLIDGE 317
JOHN KENNETH TURNER 603
MARY OGDEN VAUGHAN 602
101
ANNIE LAURA MILLER 221
ROCKWELL D. HUNT 236
FLORENCE RICHMOND 610
MARY OGDEN VAUGHAN 586
270
HARRIS WEINSTOCK 270
DENISON HALLEY CLIFT 274
BERTRAM WELLS 278
HERBERT COOLIDGE 285
ALMA MARTIN 509
EMMA PLAYTER SEABURY 80
ALFRED DAVIS 81
WASHINGTON DAVIS 119
ARTHUR H. DUTTON 199
RAYMOND SUMNER BARTLETT 292
JACK LONDON 592
KATHERINE ELWES THOMAS 596
L. B. JEROME 542
JULIAN JOHNSON 379
BEN FIELD 417
"JAC ' LOWELL 482
FRED GILBERT BLAKESLEE 123
M. TINGLE 384
ALLEN H. HODGSON 20
FELIX J. KOCH 41
F. G. MARTIN 49
F. L. HARDING 53
471 U
ffencroh Libntfjr
X D E X.
FRONTISPIECE
FROM TOKIO TO KOBE
Illustrated with photographs.
FRONTISPIECE. Statue of Father Junipero Serra
GIPSIES OF THE SEA. Verse ....
"GRANDMA" VARNER and "TOMMY"
Photograph by F. P. Stevens.
HYPOCRISY. Poem
HIGH PpLITICS IN OHIO
Drawing by R. W. Borough.
HON. EDWARD ROBESON TAYLOR A PERSONAL
APPRECIATION
HOUSE OF SANTA CLAUS, THE. Story
HOW THE RECLAMATION SERVICE IS ROBBING
THE SETTLER . . .
IN SANCTUARY. Poem
IN THE LAIR OF THE BEAR
IN THE CANYON'S DEPTHS. V erse
IN DEL GADDO PLACE. Story ....
Illustrated by Clyde Cooke.
IN NEW SUMMER LANDS ;
Photographs by the author.
IN THE CALCIUM LIGHT.
Delmas Always a Gentleman ....
The New Governor of New Mexico
IN THE CALCIUM LIGHT.
Mr. Hearst as an Employer
Illustrated with Portrait.
IN THE REALM OF BOOKLAND ....
KELLEY OF THE TRANS-MOJAVE
Illustrated with photographs.
LETTERS. Poem
LITTLE MUSKY'S STORY. Story ....
Illustrated by Eloise J. Roorbach.
LOVE'S AWAKING. Verse . . .
MY PLACE. Verse
MONTEREY WAKES UP
MY MYSTERIOUS PATIENT
NEGLECT. Verse
NEW OIL WELLS AT MONTEREY
Illustrated with photographs.
ON SAN GABRIEL'S BANKS . . ...
ON THE HOME TRAIL. Story ....
OVER THE HILLS. Verse . . . . .
OBSCURITY. Verse
OUR SURFMEN
Photographs furnished by S. I. Kimball.
OCTOBER. Verse
ON THE OREGON TRAIL. Story ....
PEDDLERS AND PACK HORSES IN MEXICO (III.)
PATIENCE OF JOB, THE ......
PRESENTING JULY'S ACTRESSES AND ACTORS
PORTRAIT OF FRANCIS J. HENEY
Drawn by R. W. Borough.
PETER PAN. Verse . . . .
"PERSONALLY CONDUCTED" ....
Illustrated by R. E. Snodgrass.
PROTECTED CRUISER MILWAUKEE .
PERILS OF BIG GAME HUNTING . .
Illustrated with photographs.
REBUILDING OF THE BURNED DISTRICT OF SAN
FRANCISCO (III.) ....
REMINISCENCES OF SAN FRANCISCO
REFLECTIONS. Editorial Comment
RESTITUTION. Verse
RUDOLPH SPRECKELS THE GENIUS OF THE
SAN FRANCISCO GRAFT PROSECUTION
Illustrated with Portrait.
RUEF, A JEW UNDER TORTURE ....
Illustrated with Portrait.
SIEGFRIED OF THE CHICORICA RANGE Story
TACOMA FOR AMBITIOUS MEN . .
Illustrated with photographs.
"Railways for Tacoma," by R. F. Radebaugh. "A
roofe, A. R. I. B. A. "What Made Tacoma," by C.
City," by Arnott Woodroofe.
E RAWING BY L. B. HASTE 294
CHARLES LORRIMER 309
396
RAYMOND BARTLETT 168
ELIZABETH A. KELLY 255
SAMUEL G. HOFFENSTEIN 40
WASHINGTON DAVIS 209
PETER ROBERTSON 539
MAY C. RINGWALT 581
L. M. HOLT 510
CHARLES FRANCIS SAUNDERS 76
M. GRIER KIDDER 91
AD. H. GIBSON 144
EDITH KESSLER 170
FELIX J. KOCH
BY ONE OF HIS EMPLOYEES
FELIX J. KOCH
DONALD V. TOBEY
CLARENCE HAWKES
DONALD A. ERASER
MABEL PORTER PITTS
WASHINGTON DAVIS
BETTY PARKER SMITH
W. G. TINCKOM-FERNANDEZ
BURTON WALLACE
H. FELIX CROSS
MAUDE DE COU
HELEN FITZGERALD SANDERS
DONALD B. TOBEY
JOANNA NICHOLLS KYLE
MARION COOK
FRANK H. SWEET
G. F. PAUL
JAMES WILLIAM JACKSON
238
471
473
557
520
139
57
247
328
207
391
513
210
522
19
123
186
259
260
293
367
25
69
85
FRONTISPIECE
W. G. T1NCKOM FERNANDEZ
W. GILMORE EEYMER
188
190
COL. W. S. LANIER
FRONTISPIECE
455
CHARLTON LAWRENCE EDHOLM 56
THE EDITOR 194
337
ARNO DOSCH
"Q.-
ETHEL SHACKELFORD
HENRY PEARSON
City of Homes," by Arnott Wood-
E. Ferguson. "Tacoma A Garden
477
I
514
587
561
F
,0-4$
v, TO
INDEX
.ALDIS DUNBAR
FREMONT OLDER
ALOYSIUS COLL
.ERNESTINE WINCHELL
CLYDE EDWIN TUCK
MARY E. SNYDER
STELLA F. WYNNE
INA COOLBRITH
PIERRE N. BERINGER
MARK TWAIN
ADMONITION.. Verse.
A GLIMPSE OF THE BATTLE
Illustrated with photographs.
A WARNING.. Verse
AN EPISODE OF THE FLOAT LANDS. Story
AUGUST. Verse
A TRIP TO CUERNAVACA ....
Illustrated with photographs.
AN IDYLL OF THE CIRCLE L. Story
Illustrated by W. R. Borough.
ALCATRAZ (A New Poem) ....
A NEW ERA IN THE PHILIPPINES
Illustrated with photographs.
A MEDIEVAL ROMANCE ....
Illustrated with sketch by Alice Resor.
AT THE GOLDEN HORN AND THE GOLDEN GATE CLINTON SCOLLARD
Verse
"BARBIZON" OF CALIFORNIA, THE (III.) .
BUCKAROO JIM.. Story
Illustrated by W. R. DeLappe
CALL OF THE WHISTLE, THE. Story
CANDLE-STARS OF CHRISTMAS TIME, THE Verse
CONFESSIONS OF A STENOGRAPHER
Illustrated with photographs.
CLIMBING FUJI '
Illustrated with photographs.
CAMPING OUT IN CALIFORNIA ....
CHRISTENING, THE. Verse
CHRISTMAS STORY, THE. Verse ....
COLLEGE AND THE WORLD ....
Illustrated with photographs.
A BUSINESS MAN'S VIEW OF COLLEGE .
JUST OUT OF COLLEGE ....
WHY I AM GOING TO COLLEGE
COWBOYS ASTRAY, "story
Illustrated by W. R. Davenport
CALIFORNIA. Verse
DAISY FIELD, THE (Poem)
DEATH VALLEY
DECORATING DEL MONTE HEIGHTS .
Illustrated with photographs.
DEFENDING THE PACIFIC COAST
Illustrated with photographs.
DEATH ON THE MARSHES.. Verse
DIGNITY OF DOLLARS, THE. Essay .
DUMFRIES: THE HAMLET OF ROBERT BURNS
Illustrated with photographs.
DR. TAYLOR SEVENTY YEARS YOUNG
DRAMATICS. The New World of the Play
Illustrated with photographs.
DREAMS OF ARCADY. Verse .
DOWN AT THE WOMAN'S CLUB.. Verse
EUROPEAN HOTELS
Illustrated with photographs.
EL CAMINO REAL. Verse
FORESTER AND HIS WORK, THE (III)
FREED FROM THE DESPOT OF DAGH (III.)
FAME TURNED FLIRT
FIGHTING A FORTY-POUND WEAKFISH (III.).
21
546
118
145
156
182
361
537
463
483
504
JOSEPHINE MILDRED BLANCH 63
HERBERT COOLIDGE 317
JOHN KENNETH TURNER 603
MARY OGDEN VAUGHAN 602
101
ANNIE LAURA MILLER 221
ROCKM r ELL D. HUNT 236
FLORENCE RICHMOND 610
MARY OGDEN VAUGHAN 586
270
HARRIS WEINSTOCK 270
DENISON HALLEY CLIFT 274
BERTRAM WELLS 278
HERBERT COOLIDGE 285
ALMA MARTIN 509
EMMA PLAYTER SEABURY 80
ALFRED DAVIS 81
WASHINGTON DAVIS 119
ARTHUR H. DUTTON 199
RAYMOND SUMNER BARTLETT 292
JACK LONDON 592
KATHERINE ELWES THOMAS 596
L. B. JEROME 542
JULIAN JOHNSON 379
BEN FIELD 417
"JAG' LOWELL 482
FRED GILBERT BLAKESLEE 123
M. TINGLE 384
ALLEN H. HODGSON 20
FELIX J. KOCH 41
F. G. MARTIN 49
F. L. HARDING 53
471 12
JBftncruti Libraqr
X D E X.
FRONTISPIECE
FROM TOKIO TO KOBE
illustrated with photographs.
FRONTISPIECE. Statue of Father Junipero Serra
GIPSIES OF THE SEA. Verse ....
"GRANDMA" VARNER and "TOMMY"
Photograph by F. P. Stevens.
HYPOCRISY. Poem
HIGH PpLITICS IN OHIO
Drawing by R. W. Borough.
HON. EDWARD ROBESON TAYLOR A PERSONAL
APPRECIATION
HOUSE OF SANTA CLAUS, THE. Story
HOW THE RECLAMATION SERVICE IS ROBBING
THE SETTLER . . .
IN SANCTUARY. Poem
IN THE LAIR OF THE BEAR
IN THE CANYON'S DEPTHS. V erse
IN DEL GADDO PLACE. Story ....
Illustrated by Clyde Cooke.
IN NEW SUMMER LANDS ;
Photographs by the author.
IN THE CALCIUM LIGHT.
Delmas Always a Gentleman . . . .
The New Governor of New Mexico
IN THE CALCIUM LIGHT.
Mr. Hearst as an Employer
Illustrated with Portrait.
IN THE REALM OF BOOKLAND ....
KELLEY OF THE TRANS-MOJAVE
Illustrated with photographs.
LETTERS. Poem
LITTLE MUSKY'S STORY. Story ....
Illustrated by Eloise J. Roorbach.
LOVE'S AWAKING. Verse ...
MY PLACE. Verse
MONTEREY WAKES UP
MY MYSTERIOUS PATIENT
NEGLECT. Verse .
NEW OIL WELLS AT MONTEREY
Illustrated with photographs.
ON SAN GABRIEL'S BANKS . . .
ON THE HOME TRAIL. Story ....
OVER THE HILLS. Verse . . . . .
OBSCURITY. Verse
OUR SURFMEN
Photographs furnished by S. I. Kimball.
OCTOBER. Verse
ON THE OREGON TRAIL. Story ....
PEDDLERS AND PACK HORSES IN MEXICO (III.)
PATIENCE OF JOB, THE
PRESENTING JULY'S ACTRESSES AND ACTORS
PORTRAIT OF FRANCIS J. HENEY
Drawn by R. W. Borough.
PETER PAN. Verse . . . .
"PERSONALLY CONDUCTED" ....
Illustrated by R. E. Snodgrass.
PROTECTED CRUISER MILWAUKEE .
PERILS OF BIG GAME HUNTING ....
Illustrated with photographs.
REBUILDING OF THE BURNED DISTRICT OF SAN
FRANCISCO (III.) ....
REMINISCENCES OF SAN FRANCISCO
REFLECTIONS. Editorial Comment
RESTITUTION. Verse
RUDOLPH SPRECKELS THE GENIUS OF THE
SAN FRANCISCO GRAFT PROSECUTION
Illustrated with Portrait.
RUEF, A JEW UNDER TORTURE ....
Illustrated with Portrait.
SIEGFRIED OF THE CHICORICA RANGE Story
TACOMA FOR AMBITIOUS MEN . .
Illustrated with photographs.
"Railways for Tacoma," by R. F. Radebaujh. "A
roofe, A. R. I. B. A. "What Made Tacoma," by C.
City," by Arnott Woodroofe.
E RAWING BY L. B. HASTE
CHARLES LORRIMER
RAYMOND BARTLETT
ELIZABETH A. KELLY
SAMUEL G. HOFFENSTEIN
WASHINGTON DAVIS
PETER ROBERTSON
MAY C. RINGWALT
L. M. HOLT
CHARLES FRANCIS SAUNDERS
M. GRIER KIDDER
AD. H. GIBSON
EDITH KESSLER
. FELIX J. KOCH
BY ONE OF HIS EMPLOYEES
FELIX J. KOCH
DONALD V. TOBEY
CLARENCE HAWKES
DONALD A. FRASER
MABEL PORTER PITTS
WASHINGTON DAVIS
BETTY PARKER SMITH
W. G. TINCKOM-FERNANDEZ
BURTON WALLACE
H. FELIX CROSS
MAUDE DE COLT
HELEN FITZGERALD SANDERS
DONALD B. TOBEY
JOANNA NICHOLLS KYLE
MARION COOK
FRANK H. SWEET
G. F. PAUL
JAMES WILLIAM JACKSON
294
309
396
168
255
40
209
539
581
510
76
91
144
170
238
471
473
557
293
367
25
69
85
FRONTISPIECE
W. G. T1NCKOM FERNANDEZ
W. GILMORE BFJYMER
188
190
COL. W. S. LANIER
FRONTISPIECE
455
CHARLTON LAWRENCE EDHOLM 56
THE EDITOR 194
337
ARNO DOSCH
"Q.-
ETHEL SHACKELFORD
HENRY PEARSON
City of Homes," by Arnott Wood-
E. Ferguson. "Tacoma A Garden
477
I
514
587
561
r x D E x.
THEATRE OF OSCAR WILDE, THE
TANGENT OF A TiFF, THE
THE FIRST ASCENT OF MT. SHUKSAN
Illustrated with photographs.
THE PRINCESS. Verse
THE SKY AND THE SEA AND THE EARTH. Verse S. M. SALYER
ARCHIBALD HKXDERSON
LIZZIE GAINES WILCOXSON
ASAHEL CURTIS
ALPHONSO BENJAMIN BOWERS
THE EXILE. Verse
THE MRS. AND I VISIT PISA
Illustrated with photographs.
TO MT. TAMALPAIS. Verse
THE LOVE OF CHANCE. Story
THE WESTERN CALL. Verse .
THE SUCKERS' SATURDAY NIGHT. Story
THE ROMANCE OF TANKY GULCH. Story
THE PASSING pF THE BUFFALO .
Illustrated with photographs.
THE RED HEADED TWINS OF DOS PALOS.
Illustrated by W. R. Davenport.
THE LAND OF ART, SPORT AND PLEASURE
THE REVENGE OF THE BLUE HORDE. Story
Illustrated by W. R. Davenport
THE ENDING. Story
THE MAN WHp INSPIRED "RAMONA"
Illustrated with photographs.
THE GOLD OF SUN DANCE CANYON
Illustrated by Clyde Cooke
THE SALT OF EARTH
Illustrated by L. B. Haste.
THE BIG BASIN . .
Illustrated by the author.
THE DES MOINES PLAN OF CITY GOVERNMENT
THE NEMESIS. Story
THE ICEBERG'S BIRTH. Verse ....
EDWIN MARKHAM AND HIS ART ....
Illustrated with portraits.
TEN CENTS TO THE FERRY
Illustrated by W. R. Davenport.
THE SANTA BARBARA MISSION ....
Illustrated With drawings and photographs.
THANK GOD FER "CALIFORNY" ....
TO A WILD ROSE. Verse
THE ANGELUS. Verse
Heard at. the Mission Dolores, 1868.
THE PACIFIC COAST AND THE PANAMA CANAL
Illustrated with photographs.
THE POET. Verse
THE VENGEANCE OF THE WILD ....
TO PERCY BYSSHE 'SHELLEY. Verse
THE SHELL MAN
Illustrated with line drawings.
UNLIMITED ELECTRIC POWER ....
UNCLE ABE'S DAY DREAM. Verse
I 'ra wings by R. E. Snodgrass.
UMEKO SAN. Story
Illustrated by R. E. Schad.
"UNTO THE LEAST OF THESE" ....
Illustrated with photographs.
VILLA LIFE ON CAPRI
Illustrated with photographs.
WILD APPLE BLOSSOMS. Poem ....
WITH OVERLAND'S POETS.
"The Muezzin," by James Berry Bensel. "Our Teddy." "To a Pioneer," by Helen
Fitzgerald Sanders. "How Vain is Life," translation by Blanche M. Burbank. "This is
Wisdom," by John Thorpe. "St. Christopher," by Raymond Sumner Bartlett. "I Had
a Dream of Mary" (III.) by Ruth Sterry. "A Melody," by Myrtle Conger.
WEST, THE. Poem C. S. COLEMAN
WORLD'S GREATEST TELESCOPE, THE (III.) FLORENCE CROSBY PARSONS
WIND ON THE SEA. Verse
WAR AND THE COMMODORE ....
Drawings by R. E. Snodgrass.
WHERE THE ORIENT MEETS THE OCCIDENT
Illustrated with photographs.
WHAT THE CATHOLIC CHURCH HAS DONE FOR
SAN FRANCISCO HAMILTON \VKICHT AND
Illustrated with photographs. F. MARION GALLEGHER
WASTED SWEETS. Verse HENRY WALDORF FRANCIS
WHAT THE BOY KNOWS. Verse
"YO NO QUIERO CASAR." Verse . . AGNES M. MANNING
F. W. K.
WALT INGERSOLL
RUTH PRICE
A. E. LONG
MADELINE HUGHES PELTON
CHARLTON L. EDHOLM
ELIZABETH LAMBERT WOOD
JASON J. JONES
Story FRANCES LA PLACE
ARTHUR H. BUTTON
CLARENCE HAWKES
JENNET JOHNSON
LOUIS J. STELLMAXX
C. JUSTIN KENNEDY
ROBERT W. HARTWELL
ELOISE J. ROORBACK
SIDNEY J. DILLON
DON MARK LEMON
CHARLOTTE W. THURSTON
HENRY MEADE BLAND
LEO LEVY
SAMUEL NEWSOM
ALICE D. O. GREENWOOD
FLORENCE SLACK CRAWFORD
JOSEPH R. KNOWLAND
DONALD A. FRAZER
HERBERT ARTHUR STOUT
LANNIE HAYNES MARTIN
AMANDA MATHEWS
Bl'KTOX WALLACE
JAY C. POWERS'
OLIVE DIBERT
KATHERIXK M. NESFIELD
MARGARET ASHMUN
ARTHUR POWELL
HORATIO LANKFORD KING
HAL. JACKSON
77
110
544
122
127
131
133
134
138
149
153
157
163
176
178
233
252
301
324
329
331
333
350
360
377
395
119
454
186
482
505
289
322
343
549
493
32
68
73
246
371
385
397
461
470
475
Rebuilding Views of New San Francisco
The Theatre of Oscar Wilde
BY ARCHIBALD HENDERSON
The "Barbizon" of California
BI JOSEPHINE MILDRED BLANCH
15 CENTS
SAN FRANCISCO
Teresa
Carreno
During her 1907-08 American Tour
will exploit the merits of the lEfcerrtt Piano,
which in its rich tonal quality its plenitude
of artistic and poetic beauty appeals to the
world's great artists.
The lEfamtt is the piano of CARRENO,
Neitzel, Reisenauer, Burmeister, Nordlca,
Bispham, Cabrilowitsch, Gampanari and a
host of others whose places are secure in
Music's Hall of Fame.
The tiftittttt has but one standard the highest in both Upright and ,Grand formp.
The (jb0ttt warranty, given with each piano, covers not a few years but the entire lifetime
of the piano.
Style 3 Upright
t Factory, Boston
$450 00
500 00
Style 9 Upright .
500 00
Style 8 Upright
530 00
Style 7 Upright
575 00
Style 25 Grand
650 00
Style 31 Grand
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1000 00
Style 41 Grand
. . 1200 00
Special Art Cat
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A Word About Terms
Our arrangement with dealers is such that purchase
may be made on reasonable terms to suit the circum-
.stances or convenience of the customer.
Style 32
THE JOHN CHURCH COMPANY
CINCINNATI CHICAGO
Owners of The Everett Piano Co., Boston, Mass.
NEW YORK
Please Mention Overland Monthly in Writing Advertisers.
TIFFANY & Co.
Fifth Avenue and 37th Street, New York
Loving Cups
A large assortment of sterling silver loving cups in Tiffany & Co.'s
exclusive designs, not sold by the trade or through other dealers
English Sterling Quality, 925/1000 fine
4^ inches high, 3 handles - $18
5 " 2 " 24
6 "3 " 38
Others $45, $70, $85 upward
Special drawings, upon short notice, of prizes suitable for coaching
parades, motor boat races, tennis, golf, etc.
Bowls
for fruit, salads, berries, etc. Sterling silver with rich relief work
in substantial weights
9 inches diameter $20
" " 28
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Photographs sent upon request
Comparison of Prices
Tiffany & Co. always welcome a comparison of prices. This ap-
plies to their entire stock of rich as well as inexpensive jewelry,
silverware, watches, clocks, bronzes, and other objects, on all of
which their prices are as reasonable as is consistent with the
standard of quality maintained by the house
Tiffany & Co. 1907 Blue Book
A compact catalogue without illustrations 621 pages of concise
descriptions with an alphabetical side index affording quick access
to the wide range of Tiffany & Co.'s stock, with the minimum and
maximum prices at which articles may be purchased. Blue Book
sent upon request
Fifth Avenue New^brk
15 Cents Per Copy. $1.50 Per Year.
Overland Monthly
An Illustrated Magazine of the West.
July, 1907
Rebuilding of the Burned District of San Francisco (111.) 1
Theatre of Oscar Wilde, The Archibald Henderson 9
On San Gabriel's Banks //. Felix Cross 19
Forester and his Work, The (111.) Allen H. Hodgson 20
Admonition (Poem) Aldis Dnnbar 24
Peddlers and Pack Horses in Mexico (111.) . . 0-. F. Paul 25
Wild Apple Blossoms (Poem) Margaret Ashmun 32
Stuff that was in Him, The Ara Shane Curtis 33
Hypocrisy (Poem) Samuel G. Hoffenstein 40
Freed from the Despot of Dagh (111.) . . .Felix J. Koch 41
Fame Turned Flirt F. G. Martin 49
Fighting a Forty-Pound Weakfish (111.) .F. L. Harding 53
Eeminiscences of San Francisco Charlton Lawretue Edholtn 56
Letters (Poem) Donald V. Tobey 57
Sea Foam (111.) E.J.R 58
Sheepherder's Nemesis, The Colin V. Dyment 60
"Barbizon" of California, The (111.) . . .Josephine Mildred Blanch 63
West, The (Poem) C. 8. Coleman 6S
Patience of Job, The James William Jackson 69
World's Greatest Telescope, The (111.) . .Florence Crosby Parsons . . . . 73
In Sanctuary (Poem) Charles Francis Sounders 76
Tangent of a Tiff, The Lizzie Gaines Wttco.rson 77
Daisy Field, The (Poem) Emma Playter Seabury 80
Death Valley Alfred Davis ' 81
Ships, The (Poem) Aloysius Coll 84
Presenting July's Actresses and Actors 85
In the Lair of the Bear . . .M. Grier Kidder 91
All communications in relation to manuscripts intended for publication, and business con-
nected with the magazine, should be addressed to the OVERLAND MONTHLY CO and not
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Contributors are requested to write name and address on first page of MMS., and on the
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Overland Monthly
NO. 1
July, 1907
VOL. L
BY ARCHIBALD HENDERSON
IF this age of topsy-turvydom the
age of Nietzsche, Shaw, Carroll,
Wilde, Chesterton criticism mas-
querades in the garb of iconoclasm; and
fancy, fantasy, caprice and paradox usurp
the roles of scholarship, realistic valua-
tion, and the historic sense. The ancient
and honorable authority of the critic is
undermined by the complacent scepticism
of the period. And the gentle art of ap-
preciation is only the individual filtration
of art through a temperament. The mania
for certitude died with Renan, confidence
had its lost leader in Carlyle, and author-
ity relinquishes its last and' greatest ad-
herent in the recent death of Brunetiere.
The ease of blasphemy and the commer-
cialization of audacity are accepted facts;
we have lost the courage and simplicity
for the expression of truth, unvarnished
and unadorned. "We know we are bril-
liant and distinguished, but we do not
know that we are right. We swagger in
fantastic artistic costumes; we praise
ourselves; we fling epigrams right and
left; we have the courage to play the ego-
tist, and the courage to play the fool, but
we have not the courage to preach." The
symbol of art is no longer a noble muse,
but only a tricksy jade. Criticism, once
the art of imaginative interpretation, is
now mere self-expression the adventures
of a soul among masterpieces. We are ex-
pected to believe that the greatest pictures
are those in which there is more of the ar-
tist than the sitter. The stigmata of cur-
rent criticism are well expressed by a bril-
liant Frenchman Charles Nodier, was
it not? in the opinion that if one stops
to inquire into the probabilities, he will
never arrive at the truth !
The world has never seen an age in
which there was more excuse for question-
ing the validity of contemporary judg-
ment. It would be the height of folly to
expect posterity to authenticate the vapor-
ings of an appreciation which, in shifting
its stress from the universal to the person-
nel, has changed from criticism into col-
loquy, from clinic into causerie. Indeed,
it is nothing less than a truism that the
experience of the artist in all ages, ac-
cording to the verdict of history, is iden-
tical with itself. In the words of Sidney
Lanier :
" * * * the artist shall put forth,
humbly and lovingly, the very best and
highest that is within him, utterly regard-
less of contemporary criticism. Wihat pos-
sible claim can contemporary criticism
set up to respect that criticism which
crucified Jesus Christ, stoned Stephen,
hooted Pa-ul for a madman, tried Luther
for a criminal, tortured Galileo, bound
Columbus in chains, drove Dante into ex-
ile, made Shakespeare write the sonnet,
'When in disgrace with fortune and men's
eyes/ gave Milton five pounds for 'Para-
dise Lost/ kept Samuel Johnson cooling
his heels on Lord Chesterfield's doorstep,
reviled Shelley as an unclean dog, killed
Keats, cracked jokes on Gluck, Schubert,
Beethoven, Berlioz and Wagner, and com-
mitted so many other impious follies and
stupidities that a thousand letters like
this could not suffice even to catalogue
them?"
It was Mr. Bliss Perry who charmingly
10
OVEELAND MONTHLY.
revealed to us the shades and nuances of
literary fashion. And yet the dicta of
literary cliques, the voice of literary predi-
lection often ring false to the ears. The
verdict of the intellectuels is a veritable
stumbling block in the path of genius. "It
is from men of established literary repu-
tation/' asserts Bernard Shaw, "that we
learn that William Blake was mad; that
Shelley was spoiled by living in a low set;
that Eobert Owen was a man who did not
know the world ; that Ruskin is incapable
of comprehending political economy; that
Zola is a mere blackguard, and Ibsen .is
Zola with a wooden leg. The great musi-
cian accepted by his unskilled listener, is
vilified by his fellow musician. It was the
musical culture of Europe which pro-
nounced Wagner the inferior of Mendels-
sohn and Meyerbeer."
It is not enough to say, with the bril-
liant author of "Contemporains," that
contemporary criticism is mere conversa-
tion; it is often little more than mere
gossip. One is often inclined to question,
with Lowell, whether the powers that be,
in criticism, are really the powers that
ought to be. Especially is this true of a
time uniquely characterized by its ten-
dency to relentless rehabilitation. No dia-
bolic sinner in literary history is now
safe in his grave. He is in perpetual dan-
ger of being the innocent victim of our
pernicious habit of sainting the unsainted,
of saving the damned. The immoral
iconoclast of a former age becomes the
saintly anarch of this. The jar of lamp-
black is exchanged for a bucket of white-
wash; and in this era of renovation the
soiled linen of literary sinners emerges
translucent and immaculate from the
presses of the critical laundry. The True
William Blake, the True Jean Jacques
Eousseau, the True Byron, the True
Shelley, the True Nietzsche, are risen
from the dead. And we are darkly and
irretrievably given over to the pernicious
palaverings of those whom Mr. Eobert
W. Chambers has aptly termed "repairers
of reputations."
I.
In view of the premises, it may appear
at once paradoxical and perverse to at-
tempt any criticism at all, especially of
the works of a decadent like Oscar Wilde,
whose mere name is a synonym for the ap-
palling degeneracy of an age lashed by
the polemics of Ibsen, the abjurgations of
Tolstoy, the satire of Shaw, and the in-
vective of Nordau. All that pertains to
Wilde has for long been res tacenda in
polite society; and he himself, to use his
own phrase, has passed from a sort of
eternity of fame to a sort of eternity of
infamy. The current revival of interest
in Wilde finds its source in many recent
brochures and biographies. In general,
these have been fatally marred by wrong-
headed, unhealthy defense and attempted
justification of certain indefensible epi-
sodes in his life. Only in Germany, in
the hands of Carl Hagemann, Max Meyer-
feld and Hedwig Lachmann, and in
France through the balanced appreciation
of Henri de Eegnier and Jean Joseph -
Eenaud, has Wilde met with critical and
discriminating judgment, not of his life
and progressive degeneration, but of his
mentality, his mind, and art. The fatal
flow of current criticism, as Brunetiere
says, is that we do not see our contempor-
aries from a sufficient height and distance.
That we are unable to profit by what
Xietzsche terms the "pathos of distance,'''
is a deficiency that can't be remedied. But
at least it is the prerogative of art, pe-
culiarly of the art of criticism, to make
the attempt, if not to fix the position, cer-
tainly to express judgment upon the work
of our contemporaries. The grievous error
of Wilde's latest biographer is found in
the fact that, in his effort to reveal to us
Wilde the man, he was forced into count-
less recitals and admissions which, despite
any plea however speciously worded,
could only prove damaging and disastrous
to the already infamous reputation of
his subject ("The Life of Oscar Wilde,"
by E. H, Sherard; Mitchell Kennedy,
N. Y.) If there is any spectacle more
disquieting than what Macaulay called
"the British public in one of its periodical
fits of morality," it is the spectacle of an
Englishman speciously attempting an eva-
sion of the fundamental precepts of just
conduct and right living. Indeed, the
only raison d'etre of any treatment of
Wilde is the conscientious proposition of
the question whether the work, and not
the life, of Wilde, is worthy of genuine
critical study. If we are to accept the
judgment of the art centers of Europe,
there is no mistaking the fact that their.
THE THEATRE OF OSCAR WILDE.
11
verdict is unhesitatingly in the affirma-
tive. Many of Wilde's works have been
translated into a number of foreign ton-
gues ; and certain of his plays have taken
the European capitals by storm. In
France, Germany, Austria and Spain, his
essays have won a laudation little short of
panegyric. "De Profundis" has already
taken its place as a marvelous evocation of
an etat d'ame ; and "The Ballad of Head-
ing Gaol" is generally recognized as a
great achievement, conspicuous alike for
sombre realism and tragic horror. Wilde's
fairy tales are unusually accepted as
dainty mirrors of the imaginative, poetic
artist at his highest and best.
The tendency of humanity, after a
sufficient lapse "of time, is to overlook
many faults in the man who possesses the
virtue proper to his own profession to
overlook dissipation in the brave soldier,
intolerance in the compassionate priest,
harshness in the successful ruler. One
might even recall that frail woman in the
Bible who was forgiven because she
loved much. In art, as in life, much vir-
tue inheres in the professional conscience ;
and the peccable artist in all ages has
been granted a hearing on account of his
unfaltering love of art. "If one loves art
at all," Wilde once wrote, "one must love
it beyond all other things in the world,
and against such love the reason, if lis-
tened to it, would cry out. There is noth-
ing sane about the worship of beauty.
It is something entirely too splendid
to be sane. Those of whose lives it forms
the dominant note will always seem to the
world to be pure visionaries." And with
all his affection of singularity, his as-
sumption of the "dangerous and delight-
ful distinction of being different from
others," his joyous treading of "the
primrose path of self-exploitation," his
esthetic posturing, charlatanry and
blague Wilde was assuredly a personality
of whose life art formed the dominant
note.
II.
In any study of the works of Wdlde es-
pecially of his plays, which have not re-
ceived any save casual and desultory treat-
ment in English it is desirable, in so far
as may be possible, to isolate the man
from his works. Thus one may be enabled
to view them, not at all in relation to
Wilde's life, but solely from the stand-
point of their validity and authenticity
as works of art. Bernard Shaw has
naively confessed that the chief obstacle
to the success of his plays has been him-
self ! For totally different reasons, the
chief obstacle to the study of Wilde's
plays has been himself. The "insincer-
itv" of this artist in attitudes was, in his
own words, simply a method by which he
could multiply his personality. "Man is
least himself when he talks in his own
person. Give him a mask and he will tell
you Ihe truth." There is no means of es-
caping the everlasting return of life upon
art art, the mirror which the Narcissus
of artists holds up to himself. Let us,
however, remember with Novelis that he
who is of power higher than the first is
probably a genius, and with Nietzsche,
that "all that is profound loves a mask."
And even if, occasionally and unwittingly,
we traverse the circuit from art to life, nt
least we may have the satisfaction of
making the attempt to dissociate the
merits of the dramatist from the de-
merits of the man.
In 1882, Wilde wrote to Mr. R. D'Oyly
Carte, manager of the Savoy Theatre,
London, that his play, "Vera; or The
Nihilists," was meant not to be read, but
to be acted. This opinion has never re-
ceived any support from either critic or
public. Written when Wilde was only
twenty-two years old ("The New York
World, August 12, 1883). this play early
enrolled him under that drapeau ro-
mantigue des jeunes guerriers, of which
Theophile Gautier speaks, yet the time
doubtless came when Wilde regarded
"Vera," as he certainly regarded his first
volume of poems, merely in the light of a
perche de jeunesse. Unlike Ibsen, Pinero
or Phillips, Wilde was fortified by expe-
rience neither as actor nor manager ; there
is no record that he ever, like Shaw, acted
even in amateur theatricals! A cousin in
near degree to W. G. Wills, the dramatist,
painter and poet, Wilde may have derived
his dramaturgic gifts in some measure
from this source. In youth he learned the
graceful arts of conversation in the bril-
liant salon of his mother, Lady Wilde;
and his predilection for the dialogue form
was early revealed in certain of his criti-
cal essays. The play "Vera" ushers us
into the milieu of Henry Seton Merri-
OVEELAND MONTHLY.
man's "The Sowers.," but it bears all the
fantastic ear-marks of the yellow-backed
fustian of the melodramatic fictionist,
Marchmont. One might easily imagine
it to be the boyish effusion of a romantic-
youth in this present day of Von Plehve,
Gorki and the Douma. "As regards the
play itself," wrote Wilde to the American
actress, Marie Prescott, in July, 1883, "I
have tried in it to express within the lim-
its of art that Titan cry of the peoples for
liberty which in the Europe of our day, is
threatening thrones and making Govern-
ments unstable from Spain -to Eussia, and
from north to southern seas. But it is a
play not of politics, but of passion. It
deals with no theories of Government,
but with men and women simply; and
modern Nihilistic Eussia, with all the ter-
ror of its tyranny, and the marvel of its
martyrdoms, is merely the fiery and fer-
vent background in front of which the
persons of my dream live and love. With
this feeling was the play written, and
with this aim should the play be acted."
Despite these lofty and promising words,
the play warrants no serious consideration
even though it won the admiration of
Lawrence Barrett himself. A pseudo-
Volksdrama, "Vera" images the conflict
between despotism and socialism, between
a vacillating, terror-obsessed Czar and a
Eussian Charlotte Corday. The "love in-
terest" inheres in the struggle of the
Czarevitch, in sympathy with the people,
between his duty to the Empire and his
love for the Nihiliste Vera. But instead
of creatures of flesh and blood, looming
solid in a large humanity, we see only thin
cardboard profiles bloodless puppets
shifted hither and thither, as with Sar-
dou, at the bidding of the mechanical
showman. One-sided in the possession of
only one feminine role, the play is largely
taken up with interminable, longeurs of
pointless persiflage between superfluous
characters ; and this is destructive for a
Wilde who has not yet mastered the arts
of epigram, paradox and repartee. The
denouement, in which Vera, chosen by lot
to assassinate the young Czarevitch now
become Czar, whom she passionately loves,
turns upon her own breast the dagger
meant for him, and then tosses it ove^
the balcony to the ravening conspirators
below with the cry "I have saved Eussia"
this is the very acme of the theatric in
its worst sense, the very quintessence of
Adelphi melodrama. Xot inapposite,
perhaps, was the characteristic paragraph
in "Punch" (December 10, 1881), under
"Impressions du Theatre :"
"The production of Mr. Oscar Wilde's
play 'Vera' is deferred. Naturally, no
one would expect a Veerer to be at all
certain; it must be, like a pretendedly in-
fallible forecast, so very weathercocky.
'Vera' is about Nihilism; this looks as if
there was nothing in it. But why did
Mr. 0. Wilde select the Adelphi for his
first appearance as a dramatic author, in
which career we wish him cordially all the
success he may deserve? Why did he not
select the Savoy? Surely where there's a
donkey cart we should say D'Oyly
Carte there ought to be an opportunity
for an 'Os-car?" (On the point of be-
ing produced in London in December,
1881, under the management of Dion
Boucicault, with Mrs. Bernard-Beere in
the title role, "Vera" was suddenlv with-
drawn, possibly for political reasons.
Shortly afterwards, Wilde made his lec-
ture tour in America and endeavored to
place his play on the boards during his
sta ir in this country, but without success.
Produced in New York on August 20,
1883, with Marie Prescott, G. C. Boni-
face, Lewis Morrison and Edward Lamb
in the leading roles, the play proved a
complete failure, and was never after-
wards revived. Compare Decorative Art
in America (Brentanos) pp. 195-6, and
E. H. Sherard's "Life of Oscar Wilde"
(Kennerly), p. 221.)
In the Wilde of the "third period," as
he described himself in 1883, is revealed
a strangely different man from the apos-
tle of aestheticism. If he has not learned
to scorn delights, at least he has learned
to live laborious days. He takes up his
quarters at the Hotel Voltaire in Paris,
and though still guilty of "affectation in
his assumption of the cane and cowl of
Balzac, yet he takes the great French mas-
ter for his model and disciplines himself
to that unremitting labor which, in Bal-
zac's view, is the law of art. Eecall the
precious anecdote of Wilde over his manu-
script deleting a comma in the fore-
noon and re-inserting it in the afternoon.
In these days of the comet, the theatrical
star, for whom parts are especially writ-
ten "Cyrano" for Coquelin; "Vanna"
THE THE ATE E OF OSCAR WILDE.
13
for Mme. Maeterlinck; "The Sorceress"
for Bernhardt, and "Cicely" for Terry
Wilde thought to play his part in writing
"The Duchess of Padua" for Mary An-
derson. (This statement is made on the
authority of Mr. R. H. Sherard, but Wilde
himself once wrote (Letter to The Times,
London, March 3, 1893) : "I have never
written a play for any actor or actress, nor
shall I ever do so. Such work is for the
artisan in literature, not for the artist.")
This was a play laid in the 16th century
century of Paolo and Francesca, of
Dante and Malatesta century of tears
and terror, of poetry and passion, of mad-
ness and blood. It is a tale, in five acts,
of the love of the gentle Beatrice, Duchess
of Padua, and of the young Guido Fer-
ranti, sworn to avenge the inhuman mur-
der of his noble father at the hands of the
old and heartless duke, the husband of
Beatrice. In milieu and accessories, the
play is laid out along the lines of Eliza-
bethan drama of "Romeo and Juliet,"
for example or more properly of Brown-
ing's "Luria," of Maeterlinck's "Monna
Vanna," of D'Annunzio's "Francesca da
Rimini." Its interest and charm consist
far less in its subject than in its spiritual
and emotional content the violently
transitional moods of romantic passion.
Ferranti and Beatrice have just confessed
their love for each other, when the pre-
arranged message comes to Ferranti that
the hour to strike down the Duke is come.
He tears himself away from Beatrice in
definitive farewell, with poignant agony,
crying out that a certain insurmountable
obstacle stands in the way of their love.
That night, as he pauses outside the door
of the Duke's chamber, meditating upon
assassination, there comes to Ferranti the
belated recognition not only that he can
never approach Beatrice again with the
blood of the murdered Duke upon his
hands, but that such a revenge is deeply
unworthy of the memory of his noble
father. But as Anael comes forth from
the murder of the Prefect to her Djabal,
comes forth Beatrice to her Guido. Under
the tyranny of her love for Guido, she
herself has slain the Duke, to whom she
was ever but a worthless chattel the
Duke, the sole obstacle to the fulfillment
of her passion. Guido recoils from her
upon whose hands is the blood which he
himself had solemnly refused to shed.
And although Beatrice is transformed,
like Juliet into a very "Von Moltke of
love," she cannot, with all the mustered
array of her forces, storm the bastion of
Guido's soul. So sudden and so supreme
is her own revulsion of feeling that she
denounces Ferranti to the passers-by as
the murderer of her husband. Follows
the trial of Ferranti for his life a scene
memorable for its undulation of emotional
process, the conflicting fears and hopes of
the heart-wrung Duchess, and the crisis,
Ferranti's confession, against which the
Duchess has fought with every available
weapon in fear of the truth Ferranti's
false confession that the murderer is none
other than himself. Visiting the con-
demned Ferranti in his cell, the heart-
broken Duchess, in the excess of her spirit-
ual agony, takes poison, and Guido, real-
izing at last the inner, essential nobility
of her character, avows for her his undy-
ing love, and dies upon the point of his
dagger.
"The Duchess of Padua" is remarkabla
for instrumentation of feeling, its glow
of youthful fire, the delicate and rare
beauty of its imagery. It links itself ^o
Hardy and to Whitman rather than to
Shakespeare in its intimation of "purity
of purpose as the sole criterion of deed;"
for here Wilde, concerned less with the
primitive bases of individuality than with
the fundamental impulses of human
nature, reveals life as fluid and self-con-
tradictory. "In every creature," writes
Hedwig Lachmann, "lurks the readiness
for desperate deeds. But when all is over,
man remains unchanged. His nature does
not change, because for a moment he has
been torn from his moorings. The river
glides back into its bed after the stormy
waters, which forced its overflow, have
run their course." Like Maeterlinck's
Joyzelle, Beatrice is forgiven, not because
"Who sins for love sins not," but because
she has loved much. In Wilde's own dan-
gerous words in "The Soul of Man un-
der Socialism," written some eight years
later : "A man cannot always be estimated
by what he does. He may keep the law
and yet be worthless. He may break the
law, and yet be fine. He may be bad
without ever doing anything bad. He
may commit a sin against society, and vet
realize through that sin his true perfec-
tion." As Maeterlinck has told us, jus-
14
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
tice is a very mysterious thing, residing
not in nature nor in anything external,
but, like truth, within ourselves.
In "Vera," Wdlde, with 'prentice hand,
unsuccessfully attempted to picture the
dramatic conjuctures and crises arising
whea
" * * the giant wave Democracy
Breaks on the shores where kings lay
couched at ease."
"The Duchess of Padua," his next play,
is endowed with poetic qualities of rare
opulence, imbued with resonant emotional
instrumentation. It is in this play, as
Mr. William Archer has justly said, that
Wilde reveals himself a poet of very high
rank. Nothing is easier, and therefore
possibly more misleading, than to say
ce n'est pas du theatre, for the tests of its
suitability for the stage have been incon-
clusive. It is true that, to Wilde's intense
disappointment, this play was refused by
Mary Anderson, but it was afterwards
produced in the United States by Law-
rence Barrett with moderate success. (Al-
though announced as in preparation in the
Publishers' List of 1894, "The Duchess of
Padua" was actually not published until
ten years later in the fine German trans-
lation of Dr. Max Meyerfeld of Berlin. In
addition to its production in America with
Lawrence Barrett and Mina Gale in the
leading roles, there have been two produc-
tions on the Continent. At Hamburg,
Germany, in December, 1904, where it
was produced under the most adverse
circumstances, the play proved a failure,
being withdrawn after three nights. And
when it was produced in Berlin early in
1906 it was killed by the critics, resulting
in a heavy loss for its champion, Dr.
Meyerfeld. The play is now to be pro-
cured in the original English version (The
Plays of Oscar Wilde, 3 vols., John W.
Luce & Co., Boston.)
The play which, by reason of its imagi-
native coloring, naturally falls into the
category of "Vera" and "The Duchess of
Padua," rather than into that of the
society comedies, is Wilde's meretricious
one-act drama, "Salome," which fur-
nished the libretto for the gruesome and
perverted music-drama of the great com-
poser, Richard Strauss, recently with-
drawn from the stage of the Metropolitan
Onera House in New York. One may re-
call that it was Wilde's pleasure, during
his frequent visits to Paris, to delight the
French world of art and letters with bril-
liant causeries. The masterly ease and
exquisite purity of his French were a mar-
vel to all who heard him. Wilde once
explained the idea he had in mind in
writing the play of "Salome" in French:
"I have one instrument that I know I
can command, and that is the English
language. There was another instrument
to which I had listened all my life, and I
wanted once to touch this new instrument
to see whether I could make any beautiful
thing out of it. * * Of course, there are
modes of expression that a Frenchman of
letters would not have used, but they give
a certain relief or color to the play. A
great deal of the curious effect that
Maeterlinck produces comes from the fact
that he, a Flamand by grace, writes in an
alien language. The same thing is true
of Rossetti, who, though he wrote in Eng-
lish, was essentially Latin in tempera-
ment." (The Pall Mall Gazette, June 29,
1892.)
Wilde was strongly influenced by Hero-
dias, one of Gustave Flaubert's "Trois
Gouts," in which the death of Jokanaan
is the result of the insatiable hatred of
Herodias; it is at her instigation that
Salome dances for the head of the nrophet.
At the time he was writing this play,
Wilde said to the Spanish critic, Gomez
Carillo : "If for no other reason, I have
always longed to go to iSpain that I
might see in the Prado Titian's Salome,
of which Tintoretto once exclaimed : 'Here
at last is a man who paints the very
quivering flesh !' v And Carrillo men-
tions that only Gustave Moreau's portrait
unveiled for Wilde the "soul of the
dancing princess of his dreams." But
whatever alien influences may have been
at work upon him, certain it is that he
has given the story an interpretation in-
dividual in its abnormality. Like Poe,
like Bandelaine, like Maeterlinck, he has
sought to reveal to us, with masterful,
if meretricious artistry, le beau dans I'Tior-
rible.
Salome is a fevered dream, a poignant
picture it is like one of those excursions
into the macabre with which Wilde suc-
ceeded in fascinating the Parisians. In it
one discerns, as in a sheet of pale, quiver-
THE THEATRE OF OSCAR WILDE.
15
ing lightning, the revolting decadence of
an age when vice was no prejudice and
sensuality no shame. As in a piece of
music, we hear the resonance of passion,
and the reverberations of obscure, half-
divined emotions; as in a picture, we feel
rather than see the decadent genius of its
tone and atmosphere; as in a lyric poem,
jangled and out of tune, we shudder ingly
shrink from the spell of its mood what
Hagemann calls "eine bezwingende, satte
Stimmung." The characters stand forth
in chiseled completeness from the rich
Galilean background like the embossed
figure of the malady of that age; and
insatiable, sensual Herodias, symbolic
figure of the maladv of that age; and
Herod, the Tetrarch, obsessed with pro-
foundly disquieting inclinations to unlaw-
ful passion, ; who ultimately cuts at a
single blow the Gordian knot of his prob-
lem, for the untying of which he lacks
for the time being both courage and moral
power. Like Hebbel's Daniel, Jokanaan
is a wonderfully realized figure 'the in- .
carnation of a primitive, intolerant pro-
phet commanding rapt attention far less
by what he says or does than by what he
is. And then there is Salome young,
fair, impressionable, upon the very thresh-
old of womanhood. Recall the young
Syrian's description of her, hauntingly
reminiscent of the Maeterlinck of "Pel
leas and Melisande": "She is like a dove
ihat has strayed * * she is like a narcissus
trembling in the wind * * she is like a
silver flower * * her little white hands
are fluttering like doves that fly to their
dove-cotes. They are like white butter-
flies.' 5 At first, she is unmoved by any
strangely perverse, nameless passion for
the forbidden. But as in a dream, a mem-
ory of forgotten, yet half-divined reality,
love wakens under the mystic spell of
Jokanaan's presence, and his scorn, his
anathemas, his obiurgations, rouse to
life and to revolt within her the dormant
instincts of an Herodias. She will sing
the swan song of her soul in the paean of
the dance, and for the sake of revenge will
so ensnare the weak, unnatural Herod in
the meshes of her perilous beauty that he
can refuse her nothing even though it
were the half of his kingdom. But when
her revenge is sated and the head of Jo-
kanaan in her hands, the world swims in
a scarlet haze before her eyes ; and though
lust, scorn, revenge and death meet in that
terrible kiss, the hour of her own fate has
struck. Impressive, awful, imperial,
Herod speaks the words: "Kill that
woman!" Salome, daughter of Herodias,
Princess of Judea, is crushed beneath the
shields of the soldiers, and her death
sounds the death knell of a decadent and
degenerate age. A new epoch of culture
is at hand.
In Salome, Wilde depicts a crystallized
embodiment of the age, rather than the
age itself. The influence of Maeterlinck is
inescapable in the simplicity of the dia-
logue, in the iterations and reverberations
of the hit motifs. As Wilde himself said,
Salome is a piece of music (with its pro-
gressive crescendo, emotional paean and
tragic finale. To the naturalism of sen-
sation is super-added stylistic symmetry,
and, in places, what Baudelaire called la
grace supreme litteraire. But the effect of
the play, even in the reading, is to focus
attention upon abnormal states of feeling,
indicative of decadence and degeneracy,
and this impression is doubtless multiplied
a thousand-fold by the "argument of the
flesh," and the potent instrumentalities of
music and the stage. (There seems to be
no foundation for the statement of E. Go-
mez Carrillo, in his "El Origen de la
Salome de Wilde," the preface to the
Spanish translation of Salome, that this
play was written for Sarah Bernhardt.
The play was written in Paris at the turn
of the year 1891-2 ; and Wilde himself said
to an interviewer (June, 1892) : "A few
weeks ago I met Madame Sarah Bern-
hardt at Sir Henry Irving's. She had
heard of my play, and asked me to read it
to her. I did so, and she at once expressed
a wish to play the title-roll." For infor-
mation concerning the marvelous success
of this play upon the Continent, compare
"Decorative Art in America" (Brentanos,
N. Y.) ; "Oscar Wilde," by Carl Hage-
mann (J. C. C. Bruns' Verlag, Minden
in Westf ) ; "Oscar Wilde, by Hedwig
Lachmann (Schuster and Loeffler, Ber-
lin and Leipzig) ; "Oskar Wilde," by
Halpdan Langgaard (Axel Juncker Ver-
lag, Stuttgart), and "The Life of Oscar
Wilde," by R. H. Sherard (Mitchell Ken-
neriy, N. Y.) See also Wilde's letter to
Robert Ross (De Profundis, German
translation by Max Meyerfeld, S. Fis-
cher, Berlin, pp. 101-2) of date March
16
OVEBLATO MONTHLY.
10, 1896, in which he expresses his pro-
found appreciation for. the production of
''Salome" by Lugne Poe at the Theatre
de 1'Oeuvre, Paris. "Salome" was trans-
lated into English by Lord Alfred Doug-
las, and quite fittingly illustrated by the
exotic artist, Aubrey Beardsley.)
III.
The four society comedies which Wilde
wrote in rapid succession, which immedi-
ately gained huge success in England, and
have since been played to vastly apprecia-
tive audiences in America and in Europe,
are so similar in style, treatment and ap-
peal as to warrant discussion as an unique
genre. (These four comedies are "Lady
Windermere's Fan," produced for the first
time at the St. James's Theatre, London,
on February 22, 1892, by Mr. George
Alexander and his company; "A Woman
of No Importance," produced for the first
time at the Haymarket Theatre, London,
by Mr. H. Beerbohm Tree, on April 19,
1893 ; "An Ideal Husband," produced for
the first time at the Theatre Eoyal, Hay-
market, London, on January 3, 1895;
"The Importance of Being Earnest," pro-
duced for the first time at the St. James's
Theatre, London, on February 14, 1895,
by Mr. George Alexander and his com-
pany.)
In the category of the great drama of
the day qua drama Ibsen, Hauptmann,
Sudermann, Hervieu, Schnitzler they
have no place, in that they are in no sense
conditioned by the fundamental laws of
the drama. They are utterly deficient in
masterly portraiture of character, the
plav and interplay of vital emotions, and
that indispensable conflict of wills and
passions without which drama is mere
sound and fury, signifying nothing. By
reason of his esthetic idleness and luxury
as a faineant, Wilde was incapable of sus-
tained and laborious p re-occupation with
his art work; it was true, though sound-
ing like the vainest of poses, that even
when his life was freest from business
cafes he never had, as he put it, either
the time or the leisure for his art. In
the deepest sense, he lacked what Walter
Pater called the responsibility of the artist
to his material ; although this is not to
say that he failed to recognize, from the
standpoint of style, the beauty of the
material he employed, and to use that
beautv as a factor in producing the es-
thetic effect. Like Thomas Griffiths
Wainewright, he sought to put into prac-
tice the theory that "life itself is an art,
and has its modes of styles no less than the
arts that seek to express it." And the
great drama of his life, as he confessed to
Andre Gide, was that he had given his
genius to his life, to his work only his
talent.
Indeed, there is no term which so per-
fectly expresses the tone of Wilde's come-
dies as nonchalance. The astounding
thing is, that in his sincere effort to amuse
the public, he best succeeded with that
public by holding it up to scorn and ridi-
cule with the lightest satire. One of the
most self-revelative of his paradoxes is
the opinion that life is far too serious ever
to be discussed seriously. "If we are to
deliver a philosophy," says Mr. Chester-
ton, in speaking of contemporary life, "it
must be in the manner of the late Mr.
Whistler and the ridentem dicere verum.
If our heart is to be aimed at, it must be
with the rapier of Stevenson, which runs
through without either pain or puncture."
If our brain is to be aroused, he might
have added, it must be with the scintillat-
ing paradox and enlivening epigram of
Oscar Wilde. Horace Walpole once said
that the world is a comedy for the man
of thought, a tragedy for the man of
feeling. He forgot to sav that it is a farce
for the man of wit. It was Wilde's creed'
that ironic imitation of the contrasts,
absurdities and inconsistencies of life, its
fads and fancies, its quips and cranks, its
follies and foibles, give far more pleasure
and amusement than faithful portraiture
of the dignifr of life, its seriousness and
profundity, its tragedy, pitv and terror.
His comedies are marked, not by consis-
tency in the characters, continuity of pur-
pose, or unity of action, but only by per-
sistence of the satire vein and prevalence
of the comic mood. Like Flaubert, WRlde
gloried in demoralizing the public, and
he denied with his every breath Sidney
Lanier's dictum that art has no enemy so
unrelenting as cleverness. His whole lit-
erary career was one long, defiant chal-
lenge to Zola's pronunciamento :
"L'Homme de genee n'a jamais d' esprit"
While the dialogue of Wilde's comedies,
as the brilliant Viennese critic, Hermann
Bahr, has said, contains more verve and
THE THEATRE OF OSCAR WILDE.
17
than all the French, German and
Italian comedies put together, nevertheless
our taste is outraged because Wilde makes
no effort -to paint character and employs
a conventional and time-worn technique.
Wilde's figures are lacking in vitality and
humanity; it is impossible to believe in
their existence.
They are mere mouthpieces for the
diverting ratiocinations of their au-
thor, often appearing less as personalities
than as personified customs, embodied
prejudices and Conventions of 'English
life. By means of these pallid figures,
Wilde has at least admirably succeeded in
interpreting certain sides of the English
national character. The form of his
comedies approximates to that of the best
French farces, but his humor sounds a
genuine British note. There is no es-
caping the impression, however, that his
characters are automatons and puppets
masks which barely suffice to conceal the
lineaments of Wilde. Here we see the
raisonneur as we find him in Dumas fils,
or in Sudermann. It is in this way thai
Wilde identifies his characters, not with
their prototypes in actual life, but with
himself.
As Bernard Shaw may be said to have
invented the drama of dialectic, so Oscar
Wilde may be said to have invented the
drama of conversation.
Jean Joseph Renaud and Henri de Reg-
nier have paid eloquent tributes to Wilde
as a master of the causerie. A great lady
once said of him : "When he is speaking, I
see round his head a luminous aureole."
The mere exaggeration of the phrase is
testimony to Wilde's maestria in utterance
of golden words. He was a slave to the
Scheherazade of his fancy, and was un-
sparingly lavish in the largess of his wit.
He realized that he was a past-master in
the gentle art of making conversation, and
he nonchalantly ignored Goethe's pre-
cept: "Bilde, Kunstler, rede nicht!" Phe
result is, that he does not construct, but
only sets off a mine. His art is the ex-
pression of his enjoyment of verbal pyro-
technics. To use Baudelaire's phrase, he
wrote comedies pour etonner les sots, and
the height of his pleasure was epater les
bourgeois. The result in his comedies,
while vastly diverting, is deplorable from
the standpoint of dramatic art. For the
conversations are disjointed, and, in the
dramatic sense, incoherent, in that they
live only for the moment, and not at all
for the sake of elucidation and propul-
sion of the dramatic process. The com-
parison with Shaw in this particular im-
mediately suggests itself, but the fun-
damental distinction consists in the fact
that whereas in Shaw's comedies the con-
versation, witty and epigrammatic to a
degree, is strictly germane to the action,
with Wilde the conversation, with all its
sparkling brilliancy, is in fact subsidiary
and beside the mark. As Hagemann has
justly said, in Wilde's comedies the accent
and stress is thrown wholly upon the epi-
grammatic content of the dialogue.
What, after all, is the secret of Wilde's
success? What is the quintessence of his
art as a dramatist? For, say what one
will, Wilde's comedies were and are
immensely successful; and his plays,
whether comedy or tragedy, are art even
if they are not always drama. Hermann
Bahr refused to consider Wilde as frivol-
ous, maintaining that his paradoxes rest
upon a profound insight into humanity.
"Wilde says serious and often sad things
that convulse us with merriment, not be-
cause he is not 'deep,' but precisely be-
cause he is deeper than seriousness and
sadness, and has recognized their nullity.-''
Perhaps the name with which Wilde's is
most frequently coupled is that of his fel-
low countryman and fellow townsman,
Bernard Shaw. And it is interesting to
read Shaw's characterization of Wilde,
with whose unique artistic views and liter-
ary methods he has many points of con-
tact :
"Ireland is, of all countries, the most
foreign to England, and to the Irishman
(and Mr. Wilde is almost as acutely Irish
as the Iron Duke of Wellington), there
is nothing in the world ouite so exquisite-
ly comic as an Englishman's seriousness.
It becomes tragic, perhaps, when the Eng-
lishman acts on it; but that occurs too
seldom to be taken into account, a fact
which intensifies the humor of the situa-
tion, the total result being the English-
man utterly unconscious of his real self,
Mr. Wilde keenly observant of it, and
playing on the self-unconsciousness with
irresistible humor, and finallv. of course,
the Englishman annoyed with himself for
being amused at his own expense, an-I
for being unable to convict Mr. Wilde
18
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
of what seems an obvious misunderstand-
ing of human nature. He is shocked, too,
at the danger to the foundations of society
when seriousness is publicly laughed at.
And to complete the oddity of the situa-
tion, Mr. Wilde, touching what he him-
self reverences, is absolutely the most
sentimental dramatist of the day. The
Saturday Review, January 12, 1895.)
At bottom and in essence, Wilde is a
master of the art of selection. He is
eminently successful in giving the most
diverting character to our moments as
thev pass. His art is the apotheosis of the
moment; and what mav not be said, he
once asked, for the moment and the "mo-
ment's monument ?" Art itself, he averred,
is "really a form of exaggeration, and
selection, which is the very spirit of art,
is nothing more than an intensified mode
of over-emphasis." Wilde was a painter,
Neo-Tmpressionist. From the palette of
his observation, which bore all the radiant
shades and colors of his temperament, he
selected and then laid upon the canvas
manv brilliant yet distinct points of
color. When seen in the proper light and
from the just distance, the canvas takes
on the appearance of a complete picture
quaint, unique, marvelous. It is only by
taking precisely Wilde's point of view that
the spectator is enabled to synthesize the
isolated brilliant points into an harmoni-
ous whole. Oscar Wilde is a Paintilliste.
Wilde called one of his plays "The Im-
portance of Being Earnest." In his in-
verted way, he aimed at teaching the world
the importance of being frivolous. Only
from this standpoint is it possible to ap-
preciate, in any real sense, Wilde the
comic dramatist. Wilde is the arch enemy
of boredom and ennui; we can always
enjoy him in his beau role as a purveyor
of amusement and a killer of time. "I
took the drama the most objective form
which art recognizes/' he said in De
Profundis, "and made of it an individual
genre, like the lyric poem or the sonnet;
thereby I widened its scope and enriched
it with new characteristics." This is true
of "Salome," the exotic, decadent flower
of that art which Maeterlinck tentatively
initiated in 'La Princesse Maleine," but
subsequently resigned in "Monna Vanna."
It is also true that his comedies approxi-
mate to a new genre, peculiarly Wilde's
own invention. But we are warned by his
own confession not to take Wilde, as
dramatist, too seriously. "The plays are
not great," he once said to Andre Gide.
"I think nothing of them but if you only
knew how amusing they are!" And the
author of "The Decay of Lying" added:
"Most of them are the results of bets !"
BY H. FELIX CROSS
Where the river rushes swift
Thro' the canyon's rocky rift,
Go I angling 'neath the tangling alder trees that skyward lift,
And with rod and willow reel,
Soft to some deep pool I steal,
Cast, and lo ! the crystal waters yield a leaping, finny gift.
the wild joy of it all
By the splashing waterfall,
While from out his piney cradle sharp the tree squir'l sounds
his call;
Wihile the sunshine thro' a rent
In the alder's dark, green tent,
Flashes, glancing on the dancing, swirling pool below the fall.
While the eagle, soaring wide,
Swift the roaring blast does ride,
Circling round sky-piercing peaks green-clad with pines on every
side;
And the mocking-bird his song
Blithely warbles clear and strong;
And the locust sends his echoes ringing from the mountain side !
In the waning light of day,
Back to camp I wend my way,
And the shining sun reclining sends a slanting golden ray.
Stealing o'er the peaks it glides;
Pink and purple color tides
Softly fading, darker shading, and in the dying of the day.
Eound the camp-fire's flick'ring gleam,
Smiling, happy faces beam,
In the glancing light the dancing shadows dusky spectres seem;
And old songs and stories old
Are remembered, sung and told.
While the fairies hold their revels in the moonlight on the
stream.
Now the moon does vigil keep,
Twinkling eyes of heaven peep
Thro' the leaf-bow'r of the camp, around the peaks the night
mists creep,
Song and laughter now are still,
Silence echoes from the hill,
And sweet dreams flit softly round us, for the camp is locked in
sleep.
Monrovia, Cal.
BY ALLEN H. HODGSON
A view of Mt. Lassen.
THE early forests of America were
the result of nature's unaided
forces working for countless ages.
Their grandeur and magnitude were un-
surpassed by any other country. This
condition did not last, however, for with
the coming of the early pioneers, whose
only thought about trees was to cut them
down, there began a gradual destruction
of the forests. The indifference of tha
past Americans toward the preservation
of the forests for the benefit of future
generations is being realized. The greit
business and forest interests of the nation
have been joined together. The American
people have at last begun to value their
timbered regions, and desire their protec-
tion. Forest reserves have been estab-
lished, and the necessity of preserving the
public forests permanently is leading to
a national policy concerning them.
The needs of the nation demand that
the forests should thrive and flourish, for
the manv national industries are directly
and indirectly dependent upon them. The
rain fall is increased, floods are held back,
soil is kept in place and the flow of rivers
equalized because of the forests, and were
they destroyed the wild game could not
live. These uses, in addition to many
others, show the value of the forests to
a country and its advancement. Since
more wood is used in our own land at the
present time than ever before, a timber
famine is inevitable unless the present
rate of forest destruction in America is
checked. The cuttir- of timber, for what-
ever purpose, should be under the most
careful supervision. Not only should the
older forests be protected, but new ones
started and cared for. The accomplish-
ment of all this great work of saving the
forests lies in the hands of the forester,
and it is he who is and will continue io
be one of the great influences ensuring the
prosperitv of this and of the future ages.
The forester of to-day is highly edu-
cated, not only along one line, but along
several. He understands botany, geol-
ogy, physical .q-eography, chemistry, hydo-
graphy, as well &s 'technical civil en-
gineering, and is able to handle all busi-
ness dealings with lumber. It is for him
to heln the fore3t render its best service
to man, in such a way as to increase rather
than to diminish, its usefulness in the
future. The demands which mankind
have made unon the forest must be met
steadilv and permanentlv : therefore, it is
the prime object of the forester to make
the forest produce wood of the best kind
continually. The essential condition for
the best health and productiveness of tim-
bered sections is the timely removal >f
matuje trees, and it is the forester who
THE FORESTER AND HIS WORK.
knows just when certain trees are ready ', )
be cut down, and how to cut them. Al-
though the forester works from an eco-
nomic point of view in fact, he wishes
to secure the greatest amount of the most
useful material in the shortest time, he
accomplishes his purpose by a wise use
of the forest, and in no other way.
All life in the forest is under the for-
ester's care the game, insects, fungi and
trees. As a bontanist, in order to rear
and protect trees, he knows all about their
life and habits; he understands the re-
quirements of each particular variety from
the time that the seed falls to the ground
and germinates, through its various stages
as it is applied to the composition of wood
and the transpiration of plants and trees.
The forester looks after the reproduction
of his crops systematically. He knows
what trees are undesirable and removes
them in order to make room for the use-
ful ones. Artificial replanting of a for-
est is sometimes necessarv, but natural
regeneration is nearly alwavs possible. J.D
the reproduction of a forest, it is very
important that the forester should know
all about the various means of seed dis-
tribution, and how to transplant young
trees. The tasks involved in the refores-
tation of sand-dunes and barren moun-
tain sides are hard ones, and the forester
A forest ranger.
until in old age it dies, decays and falls
to the ground. He is familiar not only
with their lives individually but collec-
tively, as most of his problems are con-
nected not with single trees, but with
great forests. For this reason the for-
ester must be conversant with many .f
the laws of nature. The great struggle
for existence, and the survival of the fit-
test, are among the most important of
these laws. To combine these and learn to
make them brin~ forth the best possible
results, is the art of science. It is also
the art of the forester. Directly associated
with his knowledge of botany, is the for-
ester's knowledge of chemistry; especially
who is able to successfully accomplish
them possesses a marked degree of skill
in his work.
Possessing a good working knowledge
of physical geography, geologv and hydro-
graphy, the forester is able to meet and
conquer many difficulties. He knows the
relation the mountains and streams have
to the forest, and is able to note the in-
fluence the forest has upon the atmos-
phere and climate of a locality. He dis-
covers in what wav it affects the rainfall
and evaporation, and can determine how
the various earth and rock formations and
constituents of the soil may increase or
retard the growth of forests. The forester
2'2
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
understands and is able to use all of the
instruments for measuring the tempera-
ture and evaporation of water, and can
describe or form maps of streams and
lakes, showing, not only their geographical
position, but their position with reference
to the climatic conditions and forest
growth, from which many valuable and
interesting problems can be drawn.
As an engineer, the forester has much
to do. If thoroughly competent, he is able
to make line surveys, as well as topo-
graphical maps of forest property. Engi-
neering ability is required in building
roads, railroads, flumes and other perma-
nent means of transportation. To get the
forest products transported as cheaply,
ting it in skidways, and he also takes care
that the trees are not cut too high. After
the timber is cut, the forester knows how
much per thousand feet it will cost to get
it converted into lumber.
The work required of the forester of
private, State or national property calls
for practically the same amount of edu-
cation and experience along the lines men-
tioned. Having sufficient knowledge of
all the necessary subjects that come in his
work, the forester is ready for business.
After making a preliminary cruise of the
land he is to take charge of, the first thing
to be done is to make an estimate of the
actual amount of useful timber upon it.
The forester accomplishes this by con-
in the logging camp.
but as efficiently, as possible, is the for-
ester's aim as an engineer.
The forester, as a practical man of busi-
ness and executive ability, knows his for-
est thoroughly, and is capable of man-
aging all work done by his subordinates
in the field. He knows the lumbering
business from beginning to end, and is
fully competent to take charge of the saw
mills and lumbering camps in the forests
under his control. It is his duty to select
sites for camps and to make working
plans for the proper cutting of the tim-
ber. He does not allow valuable timber
to be used in wasteful ways, such as put-
ducting valuation surveys, which perhaps
is the most important part of all his
work.
The next important thing in the man-
agement of a forest is the analyzing of the
stems or trunks of various kinds and sizes
of useful trees. This work is done by
parties of from five to ten men, and id
exceedingly interesting, as well as in-
structive work for beginners in forestry.
The condition of each tree, whether sound
or not, the soundness of its trunk, and
the length of the logs into which it could
be best sawed, is recorded. It is the for-
ester's object to find the average rate of
THE FORESTER AND HIS WORK,
growth and then compute how long it will
take a tree, under certain conditions, to
realize a desired diameter. The age of a
tree is learned by counting the number
of annual rings of growth at its stump.
All points in the history of a tree are
definitely found out and their character-
istics learned.
The final success of a forester is large-
ly dependent upon his knowledge of silvi-
culture, which is nearly as important as
the data gathered from the surveys and
stem analyses. As a part of that know-
ledge, he knows under just what conditions
the seeds of trees will best germinate and
grow. Unless all of the forester's specifi-
cations concerning timber are upheld by
a thorough knowledge of silvics, they are
not likely to prove of value.
After 'the field season is over, the for-
ester still has much office work, and from
the conclusion he draws, a working plan
is made for the lumbering of the forest.
He also writes recommendations concern-
ing the prevention of soil erosion, the
best means of preventing and overcoming
forest fires, which, by the way, is his great-
est obstacle, and ways of fighting the
many other enemies of the forest, such as
insects and certain kinds of fungi. In
addition, he also determines the methods
for the grazing of stock, of various kinds,
and at what seasons it will be most profit-
in the logging camp.
The virgin forest.
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
able and cause the least amount of dam-
age. With all the data he has collected,
he makes maps representing the rise in
height of trees with their increase in di-
amiter, and also their rise in height with
the increase in age. All this work is done
before the real facts of the field survey
can be determined. When this has been
accomplished, the true results of the man-
agement of the particular tract or forest
claim under his care is known.
The development of such practical for-
estry is universally a national question,
and few governments are without a per-
manent forest commission. The benefits
derived from the application of proper
forestry principles, under the manage-
ment of trained foresters in the Govern-
ment service, is constantly leading private
timber owners to seek the help of effi-
cient men to take charge of their forests.
Forest management, therefore, has opened
a wide field for the employment of men
of strong character and ability men who
are not afraid to meet difficulties and en-
dure hardships.
Although the life of a forester is not an
easy one, and requires constant mental ac-
tivity, there is something about it that
appeals to the nobler, finer self of every
man. Not every one has the privilege of
that enjoyment of the wild, which is so
great a part of the routine of the forest-
er's daily life.
There is always something new in his
profession something about the trees to
discover untrodden regions to explore.
By continual association with nature and
the spiritual influence and inspiration of
the forest, he is made a better man one
whose life counts for something in the ad-
vancement of all humanity.
To this end his whole life is given, and
there lives no one more worthy of our
honor and respect or more deserving of a
nation's pride and homage than" the for-
ester the man of this and of all ages to
come.
BY ALOIS DUNBAR
"Take heart o' grace." The counsel wise
Glowed on her lips and in her eyes.
"Never be downcast. Hear my creed :
'Who keeps on trying must succeed!'
Honest endeavor dignifies !
"Persist ! I think you sure to rise,
When once your foes who criticise
Are proven wrong no more I'll plead-
'Take heart !'"' : Oh, Grace!
Take heart I will ! That word applies.
Just what My Lady doth advise
Will T achieve ! In truth and deed,
What man could fail to win the lead
If she but let him as the prize
Take heart o' Grace ? .
BY G. F. PAUL
A mountain Indian.
THE traveler speeding southward
through Mexico is roused at Ira-
puato by the cry of "Fresas, fre-
sas !" and on opening the window, a dozen
fragrant baskets of tempting strawberries
are held up to tickle his eye and to tap his
pocket-book. This is a daily occurrence
the year round, and of course with the
passing of the months, the venders learn
that the largest berries should be placed
on top, so as not to be crushed by the
smaller ones. Twenty-five cents in silver
will, however, buy enough berries to feed
a family, while the unique basket that
holds the fruit will answer a dozen pur-
poses. As Irapuato is famous for its
strawberries, so Aguas Calientes is the
place for drawn work, Leon for leather
work, and Apizaco for carved coffee canes.
Queretaro, the place of Maximilian's exe-
cution, is the great opal town. Before
the passenger alights, he is beset by a
swarm of opal merchants, who carry their
stores with them in little black papers,
and cannot be held in check, even by the
high iron railing.
Every toothless woman on the streets
will try to rival Tiffany, the street car
conductor will proffer a few opals as he
politely collects the fares; the waiter will
try to say a word about a few choice opals
that a friend has just left with him, while
the straight-haired "mozo" will let the
light fall on his little assortment, as he
leads the way to a longed-for resting-
room.
But if Queretaro has more opals than
fine-toothed combs, Cela^a is the greai
candy town, where gallons of milk and
tons of sugar are daily made up into
dulces, and very toothsome are these
sweets. They are reputed to be the best
in Mexico, which is saying a good deal,
when it is considered that most delicious
candies are made at the extensive French
dulcerias in Mexico City. In Puebla,
SAveet potatoes are turned into candies; at
San Luis Potosi, the same thing is done
to the cactus, while at Vera Cruz the
squash is used to satisfy many a sweet
tooth. A woman declares that dirt and
dulces make a combination altogether -too
overpowering for an American stomach.
"Dulces!" she exclaimed to a persistent
vender of the dainties. "Dulces in all this
filth !"
A fringe of beggars usually adorns
the candy vendor. From these lugubri-
ous creatures come continuous cries for
centavos. The wonder is where they can
put a penny in their ragged clothes after
their eager fingers have clutched it. The
term pordioseros is applied to these whin-
ing mendicants. In plain English, they
would be known as "for-God's-sakers."
And when Iheir penny has been cast them
for their song or grimace or mute appeal,
they usually add with unintentional
irony, "May God give you more."
26
OVEKLAiNTD MONTHLY.
Candy vendor.
If peddlers abound at the railway sta-
tion, their number is legion at the market,
the one institution,, with the church, that
furnishes the average Mexican town a
reason for existing. In planning for mar-
ket days, a pack of scrawny vegetables Is
culled with the greatest care. With this
upon her back, the Zapotec woman starts
for the market rlace, be it twenty, thirty
or even forty miles distant. The trip is
so planned that she may sleep after reel-
ing off a score -of miles at a fox trot; then
on again shortly after midnight, that she
may arrive on the scene of action with the
peep of day. At these markets chile and
charcoal vie with tortillas and tamales.
Little pyramids of peaches and pome-
granates rise haughtily up from populous
blankets, sandals mingle on friendly
terms with sweets while the brooms and
the beans fill the gap between a peprjer
and a ". In manv cities, vegetables,
fruits and nuts are counted out in little
heaps, and only by buying each pile sepa-
rately can large quantities of a desired ar-
ticle be obtained. Wholesale dealings are
stoutlv over-ruled.
In Mexico, the burro is surmosed to ">e
At the market place.
The national wheelbarrow.
the beast of burden, and on its back are
fastened packs of everv description. The
Mexican is a ^ast-master at doing up a
load for his burro. Such things as bricks
have a decided tendency to resist all efforts
to tie them together into hundred-pound
bundles by means of ropes, yet burros, or
even boys, may often be seen plodding
Cargadores with piano.
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
along under such a burden. How the
bricks ever hold together is a mystery-
The burro's great rival as a pack-animal
is the Mexican peon himself. That this
omnipresent burden-bearing has been go-
ing on in Mexico tor at least a century is
shown by the statement of Baron Hum-
boldt, who says of the tenateros in the
mine he visited, that they were "carrying
for six hours a weight ranging from 225
to 350 pounds on their backs, in a very
high temperature, ascendino- eight or ten
times, without rest, ladders of 1,800
rounds." The famous savant adds that
this might well confute the belief that the
tropics are enervating. History is dotted
with instances where the equipment anj
many of the timbers of inland churches
and other structures, were practically car-
ried hundreds of miles overland.
The most notable feat, perhaps, was
that performed by eiarht thousand Tlasca-
lans. These trusty allies of Cortes car-
ried on their shoulders timbers for thir-
teen brigantines manv leagues across the
mountains, that he might recapture the
City of Mexico, then held by the prince,
Guauhtemoctzin. No doubt, many de-
scendants of these very Tlascalans work
in the Pachuca and Guanajuato mines.
What with a string of rickety ladders,
where every foothold is slippery with
Meat cargadore. City of Mexico.
water, and what with the frontera, or
brow-band, pulled tight with the dead
weight at his back, no wonder the peon's
poor brains are molded into a pear-shaped
peak that will not hold a hat.
Tn answer to the query as to why some
enterprising firm did not start up in the
draying business in Mexico City, an
American resident said : "It wouldn't pay
them. These greasers would put them out
of business in a few days. These men are
old hands at the work, and can get around
in out-of-the-way places where a big dray
couldn't budge. Just the other day a man
told me of one of these cargodores carry-
ing a safe for half a mile that weighed
nearly half a ton, and after he'd made the
trip he lit a cigarette and tramped off,
looking for another mountain to move.
There's a story going the rounds about an
American contractor at Zacatecas who
tried to introduce the use of the wheelbar-
row. The Mexican laborer loaded it and
then managed to put it on his knotty head
and carried it into the building. The
contractor tried to show him how it should
be run, and the greaser soon caught on;
but after he'd dumped his load, he insist-
ed on putting the wheelbarrow on his head
and carrying it back to the brick-pile.
For personal appearance the charcoal
vendors must be awarded the palm. These
carboneros have a lucrative profession,
for charcoal is in great demand through-
out Mexico. Their bodies are usually so
begrimed as to make perfect blackamoors
of them. Some of them have a curious
custom of wearing one trouser leg rolled
high, revealing a slender, shining limb.
If asked why he wears his trousers so, the
carbonero will probably reply, "Es cos-
tumbre del pais." (It is the custom of
the country.)
It is not to be expected that the hun-
dreds of vendors will pass along the
streets without crying their wares. Each
call, or grito, is distinct from the other,
and is an ancestral inheritance. Their
common characteristic is the prolongation
of the various notes, which are sung,
rather than shouted. Whether it be the
vendor of cut-straw or the milkman, the
seller of she'ep's heads or the more plain-
tive tamalera, each cry will have about it
a charming originality. No more pleas-
ing matin can be found than the melodi-
ous words of the gardener, "Com pro, usted
Pack train returning from market.
A light load.
Water carriers at -Querataro.
PEDDLERS AND PACK HORSES IN MEXICO.
31
Water carrier of Guanajuato.
jitomate, chicharos, ejote, caldbacitaf
(Won't you buy tomatoes, peas, beans,
pumpkins.)
Guanajuato has in its aguador or water
man, the most picturesque provider in the
Republic. Wliile his usefulness is being
narrowed by the laying of prosaic water-
pipes, yet he will always play an import-
ant part in many Mexican households.
The Guanajuato aguador tramps along,
bearing on his back a four-foot jar, not
made of earthenware, but of leather.
"The hills are so steep and the streets are
so narrow,
He can't carry earthen jars on a wheel-
barrow."
The water carrier in Mexico City wears
such an elaborate armor of helmet,
breastplate and thigh-pieces that nothing
can work him injury except the sudden
breaking of one of the two nicely balanced
jars that he carries fore and aft. Some-
times he has a pouch of red beans with
which to keep tally of his trips.
If there is a senorita in one of the
houses he supplies with water, a coin and
a smile may transform him into one of
Cupid's postmen. It must be remembered
that a strict censorship over such corre-
spondence is maintained in many Mexi-
can homes. It may be, however, that iihe
aguador is made an unknowing helper in
the love-match. The artful young don
may fasten the missive to the bottom of
the chochocol, or water-jar, by means of a
little wax. Consuelo, previously warned,
is in waiting at the gateway when the
aguador appears, and is, of course, de-
lighted to see him. She pays the postage
with a thousand kisses, but the letter
gets them, not the aguador. And then in
secret she will read a hundred times the
words of the ardent lover.
After several appearances of the lovev
a blissful telegraphy of signs and smiles
In a side street in Mexico City.
32
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
and countless sighs will be established.
From then on, the aguador and the car-
bonero may play important parts in the
courtship, being subsidized by the novio
to carry to his mistress bouquets within
whose depth a tinted missive lies con-
cealed.
The evening hours are delightful in
Mexico throughout most of the year, tak-
ing compassion upon such young men as
have engagements during this period out-
side a grated window or just below a pro-
jecting balcony. Gradually traffic ceases
aloDg the narrow thoroughfares, the stars
come out, and the moon smiles down se-
renely. Little is heard, save the rattle oi
a stray cab or the barking of a watchful
dog. These sounds, too, die away anl
give place to the whistle of the slim
policeman at the street corner, and the
clicking tread of the night watchman go-
ing his rounds. And through it all, Con
suelo listens to sweet nothings from
Emilio, who stands dallying with his
broad sombrero and inwardly execrating
the immovable gratings or the dozen feet
of space that separate him from his
novia.
BY MARGARET ASHMUN
Among the rocks that bound the river's brawl,
The wild crab's straggling branches freshly teem;
Far o'er the bank its ragged shadows fall
Its glad pink blooms rough-mirrored in the stream.
Not meet are they for this late age of ours ;
Their strange, sweet fragrance speaks an earlier date;
The primal world is theirs ; they seem <the flowers
Wherewith some nymph might crown her satyr mate.
BY ARA SHANE CURTIS
NO telegraph operator employed on
the Eantoul district in the spring
of '92 has forgotten Dispatcher
John W. Rafferty, who handled the "sec-
ond trick" at Eantoul from four o'clock
p. m. until midnight, during that season.
I say this with more certainty because
of the fact that he was exceedingly un-
popular. He had been brought to Ran-
toul by Superintendent Thurston to suc-
c*eed Dispatcher Brooks, who was dis-
charged upon a quibble at the instance
of the superintendent to make room for
Rafferty or so we choose to believe, and
we were prejudiced accordingly. Then he
was not favorably regarded by either
Trainmaster Bement, or Chief Despatch-
er Lorton, who looked upon him in much
the same light as did we.
But he had not been long at Rantoul
before we discovered that he was a par-
ticular pet of Thurston's, or we thought
so when the latter pushed him to the po-
sition of second-trick man after barely
two months' service.
"Got better stuff in him than any
other man in the office !" growled the sup-
erintendent, when Bement remonstrated
against this mark of open favoritism.
Thurston's argument was unanswer-
able. Rafferty's ability to get trains
over the road was exceedingly manifest,
and Bement said no more then. It was
later, wben talking the matter over with
Lorton, that he waxed profane concerning
the stuff that was in the second-trick des-
pateher, damning it roundly.
Rafferty's unpopularity seemed to
trouble him little. He might have dis-
sipated the prejudice against him had he
niade any effort in that direction; but he
was silent and unsocial by nature; rarely
speaking during the eight hours which
he daily spent in the office. His compe-
tency only aggravated the situation. For,
in spite of our dislike, we were forced
to recognize that a better dispatcher than
Rafferty never handled a key.
He had need of all his skill, for there
were heavy rains in that section for
weeks before the final catastrophe, and
landslides were of almost daily occurrence,
while, owing to the sodden condition of
the road-bed, other accidents were fre-
quent. In addition the wires were almost
habitually "in trouble", because of the
dampness, and the stormy winds.
But Rafferty was a fair electrician, as
well as a train runner; and directly the
first trick man's transfer was complete,
he would go to work and patch up a de-
cent wire circuit. In this respect, the
wire-chief declared he could accomplish
wonders. And, no matter how serious
the condition of affairs, provided the
track itself was intact, he managed to
keep trains moving, and bring them
through with no undue delays.
Though I was a mere lad of seven-
teen. I had been night-operator in the
despatcher's office for some time; and,
as I was ambitious to make an efficient
train handler of myself, I began to study
Rafferty's methods closely;
This did not long escape him, and he
manifested a disposition to aid me, after
a surly fashion of his own. He dressed
me down savagely for any mistakes I was
so unfortunate as to commit; but I soon
learned that his reproofs covered valuable
hints, by which I was not slow to profit,
and grew to rather welcome them than
otherwise.
Thus an odd sort of friendship was fin-
ally established between us; and, as I
grew to understand him better, my liking
for him increased proportionately. But it
was not until the 6th day of May, when
the curtain fell upon the last stormy
scene of the tragedy of Rantoul, that I,
in common with the rest, learned what
Rafferty really was.
Rantoul was not a large town. It was
a strange stage for a tragedy that little
division station, clustering in a flat just
below the junction of the Ohampaign
and Obion Rivers. Ordinarily, these were
insignificant streams enough ; but, on the
34
OVEELAND MONTHLY.
date mentioned, they were swollen by
heavy rains, and looked formidable and
sullen. A rough levee held them in
bounds, and protected the valley, which
would otherwise have been overflowed.
Back of the town rose a tall, ragged slope,
bristling with trees and undergrowth
the last of the wavering chain of hills
through which Champaign made its way
to its junction with the Obion east of
Eantoul. Ways Bluff, the last station on
the Champaign division, was situated on
this river at the point where it buried
itself among the hills, some ten miles
north of Eantoul. The railroad, entering
Eantoul from the northeast, skirted the
Champaign for some distance, partially
rounded the foot of the slope, ran parallel
with the switch-yard to its limit, fifty
yards east of the despatchers' office, and
bent sharply away over the Obion upon
an iron bridge. Across the river it curved
boldly away from the long bridge ap-
proach down a steep grade to a level plain
over which swarmed Eocky Ford, the first
station south of Eantoul; and then shot
away south toward Forbes, the terminal
of the Eantoul division.
The building in which the general of-
fices were located, including the despatch-
ers', was situated in the southwest quar-
ter of the town, within a stone's throw of
the Obion. Midway down the switchyard,
stood the yard office a tiny box car af-
fair, but important, as it marked the
junction of the Champaign and Eantoul
divisions.
The work was heavy, as the operator
was required to handle the telegraphing
for both divisions a rough enough place
for an experienced man.
Consequently I was surprised when,
.early in March, I learned that a lady a
Miss Burke had been ordered by Lorton
to relieve Teague, the night operator at
the yard, who was .discharged for drunk-
enness.
Miss Burke was a newcomer on our di-
vision. She was young not more than
nineteen exceedingly pretty, and we
were all exercised by Lorton's locating
her at such a point. She was a fairly
good operator, but was unaccustomed to
heavy work, and her inexperience be-
trayed her into many blunders.
Incompetency was an unpardonable
sin in Eafferty's eyes, and she had trouble
with him the first night after her in-
stallment. She reported No. 53 ready,
giving the signature of the conductor to
several orders.
Eafferty completed the orders, telling
her at the same time to hold the train for
another. She misunderstood him, and
some minutes later, when he called the
yard office to put out the order, 53 was
already puffing over the Obion. Eafferty
was furious.
"You've fixed it now damn you !" he
snapped, the instrument clicking angrily
as he handled the key. "You've played
"Hold up, Eafferty !" I cried. "That's
a girl you're talking to."
All the blood in Eafferty's body seemed
to rush to his face. For a moment he
glared at me speechless; then he bent
low over his desk.
"Its d d dirty of Lorton to put a
girl down there !" he said, emphatically.
But I noticed that he used no more
rough language in working with the yard
office; and the next day, to my astonish-
ment, I learned that he had called at the
office on his way home that night, and
apologized personally to Miss Burke.
Then it soon became apparent that,
from the moment he first laid eyes upon
Nora Burke's pretty face, it was all up
with Eafferty. -Though ihe remained
crusty as ever with other operators along
the line, he was never cross with her.
Even did his best to shield her from the
consequences of her manifold mistakes;
and on one occasion when she failed to de-
liver a train order thereby entailing a
long delay at a "blind" siding upon a
banana train he went so far as to de-
stroy the record of the order, thus tacitly
taking the blame to himself; and was
later severely censured. I alone was privy
to this unheard of proceeding, and when I
ventured to remonstrate, I was gruffly
told to keep quiet.
The girl seemed strangely indifferent to
his kindness. She was probably unaware
of its extent. She certainly treated him
with the utmost coolness; and a rumor
soon crept through the office that she
favored Jerry Mathis, a stalwart young
engineer, in no small degree.
Matters stood thus on the 5th day of
May. There had been a steady down-
pour of rain all day, and a black squally
night had set in. Third-trick Despatcher
THE STUFF THAT WAS IN HIM.
a 5
McGuire had been taken ill suddenly that
day; and, as there was no extra man to
relieve him, the chief despatcher had no-
tified Rafferty that his watch would com-
mence at seven o'clock that evening, and
terminate at seven the following morn-
ing, when he would be relieved by Walker,
the day man.
Seven o'clock was the hour at which I
reported for duty, and Rafferty and I re-
paired to the office together. He was in
a savage mood, and we walked the whole
way in silence. All Eantoul was indoors,
save those who, like ourselves, were com-
pelled to exposure.
For some time a growing fear had been
seeping through the town that the levee
might break, and the gorged rivers flood
the town. Within a few days, this fear
had merged into a dread so positive that
it had occasioned the exodus of nearly
half the population; and we passed sev-
eral lighted windows at which anxious
faces were whitened against the panes.
We pressed forward with difficulty
against the strong wind, and when we
reached the office, paused a minute with-
in the outer door to recover our breath.
It was not yet dark, but night was
closing down in visibly deepening shades,
and only those objects near at hand could
be distinguished. The sky was heavily
overcast, and the lights flickering down
the gloomy length of the switch yard,
showed like pale red smears through the
dashing mist of the rain.
A ribbon of fierce lightning tore sud-
denly across the sky, and disclosed two
figures making their way down the main
track, the fitful gusts threatening to
sweep them away with every step.
I recognized Miss Burke, and Mathis,
the engineer, and I saw that Rafferty did
too. The next flash threw his grim pro-
file in strong relief against the dark back-
ground of the door.
"Callahan, they're engaged; I heard it
today." His voice was a husky growl.
"that so?"
I looked after the pair with a feeling
of indignation which it would have been
hard for me to explain. There was a
brief silence. It was broken by Rafferty.
"Look there!" he said, abruptly, point-
ing to the Obion, which stretched away on
our right like a pallid mist, blending con-
fusedly with the twilight. "If these rains
don't hold up, we'll have trouble, kid.
I walked down by the levee today, and
the water was washing over it in places.
If it should give way now, this town
would be wiped off the map."
"You don't think there's any imme-
diate danger, do you?" I asked anxiously.
"If this continues it'll have hard work
to hold to-night," replied Rafferty.
He turned and went up stairs, I fol-
lowed him, a chill creeping over me.
Hitherto I had scouted the possibility of
danger, and had met the fears of others
with open ridicule. But I knew that it
was almost impossible to excite Rafferty,
and his opinion of the staying powers of
the levee troubled me not a little.
It was half past six when we entered
the office, though it seemed much later,
owing to the gloom without.
Walker looked up from his train-sheet,
and greeted Rafferty with a tired smile.
"You'll find things in a mess to-night,"
he said. "I was just getting 'em shaped
up, when Sixty-two's engine died at
Creelman, and I had to undo every
blanked thing I'd done, and do it over."
"Things are always in a mess," growled
Rafferty; "but I don't mind work the
more, the better. How are the wires?"
"We have had this wire patched with
the No. 16 wire at Kosciusko. Its all
right for moving trains," replied Walker.
"You'll have all kinds of work, if that's
what you're hunting for. They're going
to Forbes to bring out a race-horse train;
and there are all kinds of trains out on
the pike all of 'em late and getting
later."
He turned over to Rafferty instructions
from the trainmaster to run one of the
engines the huge 890 in charge of en-
gineer Mathis and conductor Ryan, to
Forbes as the first section of No. 53. The
race-horses were due to reach Forbes at
ten-thirty, and they wished to head them
north without delay.
Within a few minutes after Rafferty sat
down before his desk, he had "fixed" first
53 at Rantoul. At seven-thirty the pow-
erful 890 glided majestically down the
main line^ and swept out over the Obion,
on her way to Forbes.
Soon afterward, the operator at Rocky
Ford, the first station south of the river,
reported a very rough place in the track
at the end of the bridge approach. Raf-
36
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
ferty shrugged his shoulders, and put out
a bulletin warning all trains to run care-
fully over the track in question.
He battled against fearful odds that
night bad track, swinging wires, and
late trains; but he soon held his stupen-
dous game well in hand, and, at nine
o'clock, he closed his key, and leaned back
in his chair.
"Got 'em straightened out sooner than
I expected, kid," said he. "See if you
can raise Champaign. I want some fig-
ures on Number 1. They are sure to be
late."
No. 1 was the south-bound fast mail.
They were due at ten-twenty, but for two
weeks past had been arriving from one to
five hours late, owing to washouts on the
Champai-gn division. I began calling
"CH", the despatcher's office at Cham-
paign.
Rafferty arose and went to the window
a large, black square, save when illumi-
nated by occasional flashes from the dark-
ness without. The wind was swooping
down into the valley from the southwest,
and the panes were slurred by long, slant-
ing spits of rain.
He gazed anxiously toward the Obion.
A flare of lightning disclosed the railroad
bridge and the levee, still intact. After
another lingering look, this time in the
direction of the yard office, he returned to
his seat.
"Can't you raise Champaign?" he in-
quired.
I shook my head. No. 16, the regular
train wire was spliced with No. 8, which
was a "through' wire, at Kosciusko Junc-
tion ; and we were using No. 8 wire north.
All other long-distance wires were
grounded north of Rantoul; and No. 8
was evidently in difficulties somewhere
south of Champaign; for, though Raf-
ferty and myself continued calling Cham-
paign at intervals until No. 1 was over-
due, we received no response.
At ten-thirty, the race-horse train,
with its cargo of living freight, was de-
livered to the Rantoul division at Forbes,
and, almost immediately, the operator at
Forbes reported them ready to leave.
"Tell him to sign up and hike," di-
rected Rafferty. "No.l not here yet, and
I can't get any figures on 'em the darn
wires all down! I'll "
There was a sharp flash of lightning.
The giant switch-board cracked like a
pistol, and the wire "went down."
Rafferty went to work on his instru-
ments. The current was heavy, and he
adjusted with difficulty. Some one was
working the sounder was ticking indis-
tinctly, and under the despatcher's skil-
ful fingers the confused clicking gradu-
ally resolved itself into his office call.
"RN RN RN CH " It was the
despatchers' office at Champaign.
"I RN", responded Rafferty, quickly.
"Unable to get you sooner account wire
trouble," explained Champaign, unneces-
sarily. "No. 1 behind a landslide on this
division, and will reach Rantoul four
hours late CH."
"OK RN", replied Rafferty. He call-
ed Forbes and issued an order that No. 1
would run four hours late from Rantoul
to Forbes. Scarcely twenty minutes later
Martin, the first station north of Forbes,
reported the race-horse special by.
A season of comparative quiet ensued.
Now and then the wires would fail, and
we had considerable difficulty in keeping
our instruments adjusted, because of the
fluctuating current. There had been no
cessation of the wind. An uneasy fear
possessed me, deepening with each tem-
pestuous gust.
My apprehensions were not unshared.
A spirit of general disquiet prevailed
throughout the building. The operators
in the adjoining telegraph office, grouped
themselves anxiously near the windows
during leisure intervals. The clerk at the
trainmaster's desk moved restlessly, and
now and then a pale-faced employee from
the superintendent's office would come in,
exchange a few words with the clerk, and
gaze with perturbed face toward the Ob-
ion. All looked forward to the issue of
the stormy night with evident uneasiness.
All but Raiferty. Save that he called
the yard office once, and asked Miss Burke
if she was frightened, to which she re-
plied in the negative, he sat silent, ap-
parently unmoved; occasionally taking up
his pen when some station reported a
passing train, and noting the time on the
train-sheet before him.
Shortly after midnight, the operator at
Rocky Ford reported water running over
the dangerous section of the track south
of the river. I looked at Rafferty. He
was frowning.
THE STUFF THAT WAS IN HIM.
37
"Isn't it rather risky to run trains over
that track now?" I ventured
"Its .criminal," he replied, emphati-
cally. "But if I tied 'em up on account
of the track, Bement "
He did not finish the sentence, but I
understood. A silence ensued which was
broken only at long intervals, until two
o'clock, when the little sounder on the
train-wire abruptly raised its voice, and
addressed Eafferty.
"Special 890 wants to know if you
can't give him more time on No. 1. He
can't reach Eantoul on what he's got
KO".
It was Kosciusko Junction. Eafferty
looked up at the clock. The special had
pulled into Kosciusko only a few minutes
behind their schedule time. Mathis was
a good engineer, and they were making an
excellent run, considering the weather,
and the condition of the track.
"Wait, I'll see," said Eafferty. "CH
CH CH EN CH "
"I CH," answered Champaign. "No.
1 running five hours late CH".
"OK EN"" returned Eafferty, "to K
Copy 3. Order No. 180 to Spl. 890,
north, KO.
"No. One (1) Eng. 1120 will wait at
Eantoul until three-thirty (3:30) a. m.,
for Special Eace-horse train, Eng. 890
north. Sig).
F. G. B."
Kosciusko Junction repeated the order
and Eafferty made it complete.
"Tell him I want him here by three-
twenty-five, sharp," said Eafferty. "No.
1 may be right on the figures, and I don't
want him to fall down and block the
game. Hurry's the word !"
fie commenced calling Eocky Ford, but
before the latter could answer, the opera-
tor at Champaign took the wire ab-
ruptly, as follows:
" To EN Just got new figures on No.
1. They will reach Eantoul about 2.45
CH."'
Eafferty frowned savagely.
"That's only 4 hours and 25 minutes
late," snapped he. "This is not good biz !
I can't run trains if you don't give me
good figures!"
<f We," began Champaign, but Eaf-
ferty seized the circuit. He called Kosci-
usko Junction, and ascertained that the
special had already gone. He began call-
ing Grand Pass, the only night office be-
tween Kosciusko and Eocky Ford, using
"9," the train order signal.
But the operator at Grand Pass was
not prompt. Eafferty continued calling
impatiently for ten minutes or more, be-
fore he finally broke in with
"I GS Spl. 890 by 2:22 GS"
"FD FD^EN 9 FD FD EN"
called Eafferty. "FD FD EN 9 "
"EN EN EN WB "
It was Ways Bluff, the first station
north of Eantoul on the Champaign di-
vision.
"Get out!" flashed Eafferty furiously.
99_FD FD "
But the operator at Ways Bluff broke
in again:
"To EN WiB I'm holding No.l here
cloudburst just below, and water coming
down river. Eun for your liv "
That was all the wire circuit remain-
ed open.
Eafferty bounded to the switch board,
and applied the ground wire north. It
closed the circuit, but, before he could
reach his key, Eocky Ford took the wire
with:
"To EN track washed away south of
river to bridge-approach, and one span of
approach gone. Section men trying to "
Eafferty flung open his key and started
to his feet.
"Everybody get out!" he shouted. "A
cloudburst at Ways Bluff, and water com-
ing down the Champaign!"
But the operators in the telegraph of-
fices had heard Ways Bluff, and the news
was already spreading like wild fire. The
wildest confusion reigned. The clerks
and other employes, rushed into the hall
pell-mell. They poured down stairs and
out of tihe building. The sound of
hoarse shouts and warning cries floated
up in distinctly from below .
I had started up to follow the others,
when I saw that Eafferty had reseated
himself and was calling Eocky Ford
frantically.
"Go on, Callahan !" he cried, seeing me
pause. "I must tell that fellow at Eocky
Ford to hold the 890 am afraid to take
any chances."
I grasped the situation at once. The
track and part of the bridge-approach
south of the river had been swept away.
Eantoul itself would soon be under water.
38
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
The operator at Rocky Ford was inex-
perienced Raft'erty could not trust him
to hold the race-horse train without in-
structions. And unless she was held at
Rocky Ford she was doomed.
I sat down, a feeling of shame partly
banishing my terror. Something was
wrong Rocky Ford did not answer.
"For heaven's sake, see if you can't get
him on some other wire!" exclaimed Raf-
ferty, without pausing.
Before the words were out of his
mouth, I. was in the telegraph office. But
it was useless. I could get no induction
on any wire except No. 16, and Rafferty
was using that. I returned to the des"-
patchers' room.
"FD FD RN 9" continued Raf-
ferty. "FD FD RN 9! My God!
JFD FD "
At last:
"I FD," replied Rocky Ford.
"Hold "
A stream of lightning poured into the
'office. The switch-board was transformed
into a huge, twisting sheet of flame. There
was a terrific report, and long, crashing
roll of thunder. It was as if a cannon
had suddenly exploded in our midst.
I staggered back, blinded and deafened,
mechanically raising one arm to ward off
the white, intolerable glare. There was
little need. It had vanished, leaving to-
tal darkness. That terrible flash had cut
off the electric light and grounded every
wire in the office.
A moment later, while I clung to my
chair, dazed, a hundred vivid spots danc-
iner against the blackness before my eyes,
a hand grasped my shoulder.
"Come, kid quick!"
It was the voice of Rafferty. But I
could only cling to him stupidly, as I had
clung to the chair, and he dragged me
from the room.
The storm had at length reached its
climax. The darkness was intense, and
we could hear the rain without striking
the building in driving, horizontal sheets.
We paused in the hall, and Rafferty
lighted a white signal lantern two or
three were kept on hand in case of emer-
gei ,/. We hurried down to the outer door
the cold wind struck upon me sharply,
and my stupidity vanished.
We made our way with extreme diffi-
culty toward the crossing, east of the
office. It was almost impossible to main-
tain our footing in the teeth of the gale,
and we were half-suffocated by the flood-
ing rain. Fortunately, it slackened
abruptly. A glimpse of lightning gave
me a fleeting revelation of the streets,
filled with a drenched, frightened throng.
At the crossing, Rafferty broke from my
clasp.
"Make for the hill, and you'll be safe !"
he shouted.
He fled down the tracks, through the
yard. I followed.
"'Where are you going?" I cried.
"Go back!" he answered savagely. "I
am going to the
The remainder was carried away, but I
understood. He was going to the yard-
office to Nora Burke.
"For one moment I hesitated. Then,
in obedience to an impulse stronger even
than the love of life, I set my teeth and
tore after him blindly.
The switch-yard was transformed into
a shallow pond. All of the tracks were
partially submerged, and those nearest
the river were totally obliterated. The yard
skirted the Obion, and the lightning '
showed a thin sheet of water curling over
the levee, as the waves were driven against
it by the wind. All the lights were ex-
tinguished except one, which still glim-
mered a mere bright blur through the
rain.
We dashed forward, clambering now,
and then over broken freight cars and
other debris which blockaded the way
hurled down by the storm. I ran my best,
but I could not keep up with Rafferty. He
ran as I had never seen a man run before
as I did not know a man could run.
We were both hatless and coatless, and
a few large, scattering hailstones dealt
us stinging blows. Luckily, the hail
passed in a few seconds.
There was not a sign of life anywhere.
The yard men had fled. We passed one
of the deserted yard engines, steaming
faintly. A moment later the little yard
office was revealed by the lightning, near
at hand.
In a second Rafferty was at the door.
He tried it, but it was locked. He flung
himself against it desperately. With a
loud crackling, it gave way, and we en-
tered.
At first we could see nothing. Then
THE STUFF THAT WAS IN HIM.
39
Rafferty raised the lantern and we saw
the girl forgotten by all but himself
crouching by the desk, her white, fear-
stricken face turned toward the door.
As he darted forward, calling her by
name, she sprung to meet him, with a
wild cry, and clung about him sobbing
convulsively.
Flinging down the lantern, he gathered
her up, and ran from the office. I caught
up the lantern fortunately it was not
extinguished and followed. Together we
half-led, half-carried the girl around some
refrigerator cars piled like crushed egg
shells across the storage tracks, stumbled
through a wide waste of wreckage, splash-
ed through a ditch full of racing water,
and paused at the foot of the hill for a
moment's rest.
"We'll soon be safe now/' panted Raf-
ferty.
I could hear his heavy breathing. I my-
self was open mouthed, unable to reply.
The wind had died down, except for an
occasional huffle; but the black clouds
overhead were again closing down, and it
lightened with merely momentary inter-
missions. Miss Burke clung to Rafferty,
and he bent over her, trying vainly to
shield her from the ceaseless spray of rain.
Suddenly a long, deep, sad cry, faint
and far distant, but unmistakable, was
borne to us from the South.
Rafferty straightened suddenly.
. "Good God! The special!" he ex-
claimed.
His words smote upon the senses of the
girl, dulled by fear and exposure, like an
electric shock. She started forward with
a wail of agony, and then stood wringing
her hands in helpless despair.
Wiith the swiftness of the lightning it-
self, the awful peril of the special race-
horse train flashed back upon my mind.
They were trying to reach Rantoul by
three twenty-five Mathis had the mighty
890 on her mettle. If they were not
stopped by the operator at Rocky Ford
I was aroused by Rafferty. He had
seized my arm and was pointing to Miss
Burke.
"Take care of her, Callahan!" His
tone was a command. "I am going back."
''Going back! What for?" I cried,
staring stupidly.
"That was the 890 at Ford Crossing-
she must be held at Rocky Ford !"
He caught the lantern from my grasp
and turned. I laid hold of him in des-
peration.
"My Lord, Rafferty it's too late!
Even if you got there in time the wires
are burned out! You shan't do it it's
death !"
He shook me off and turned toward the
draggled, shuddering figure of the girl.
The incessant lightning revealed his face.
It was white and worn and beaten, but
the iron look upon it was not the look of
one who fails.
"I'll manage it," he said grimly.
Mathias is pulling the 890. Good-bye,
kid !"
He was gone.
I tried to call out words of further
remonstrance, but something arose in my
throat and choked me. The knowledge
of his purpose overwhelmed me. He was
staking his life on the mere change that
Rocky Ford might not hold the special.
He was measuring his strength against
that of the destroyer, which, hemmed by
the hills, was rushing down the Cham-
paign. And, whether the unequal race
was won or lost, I knew that death waited
surely for Despatcher Rafferty at the end.
I strained my eyes after him until the
spark of the lantern disappeared. Pres-
ently it flashed out again like a star, only
to pass out of sight, and I saw it no more.
The sobs of the girl recalled me to my-
self, and I remembered that I was ex-
posing her to useless danger.
"Come ! We must hurry !" I cried. She
turned obediently, and passing my arm
around her, I hurried her up the steep
incline.
The ground was a mere sponge^-the
yellow mud inches deep. Our feet slid
in the slippery mire, and our ascent soon
degenerated into a desperate scramble.
But we struggled on until we reached a
small hollow more than half way up the
long slope, partially sheltered by a clump
of tossing, beaten trees.
We stopped here. Miss Burke sank
upon the ground, panting from the -ardu-
ous climb, and weeping convulsively.
As for me, I forgot everything but the
queer, silent man, for whom until /^at
night I did not dream that I cherished any
particular affection. I groaned aloud,
and flung myself down beside the girl,
sobbing outright like the boy I was.
40
OVERLAND MON
It seemed an age that we two sat there,
sobbing in company; but not many ^min-
utes covered the time from the/arfoment
when Rafferty left us until th^<nrial catas-
A deep, swelling roar/ike the uprising
of a}tfstrong wind, struCK upon my ears.
I wps 1 on my feet my heart leaped to
my/ throat with one great, suffocating
bound. I gazed down the murky length
of the Champaign, rendered plainly visi-
ble by the ceaseless glare from overhead.
The sound grew momentarily louder,
more appalling in volume. There was a
confuted, shrieking noise, in,termingled
like the onrush of resistless waters. Then
1 distinguished what seemed to be a black,
wavering line, far down the river. A
minute later, a wall of water, widening
as it came, shot down the Champaign,
and swept into Obion river, carrying
everything before it.
Some black blotches that were wreckage
appeared upon the surface of the swiftly
ebbing lake below. Well, Rantoul was
deserted, with the exception of one grim,
white-faced man, who ran a race with
death that night and was victorious ; who,
to shield the life of his rival, flung away
his own like a handful of waste.
For that night, Despatcher Rafferty
achieved the impossible. How he effected
a wire circuit, we did not know we shall
never know.
What we do know is, that at three-four,
the operator at Rocky Ford heard the
dumb-sounder on the No. 16 wire tick
faintly.
He adjusted hastily. It was Rantoul
calling his office, and he responded quick-
ly: "Special by you?" clicked the
sounder.
"Coming," replied Rocky Ford.
"Take this quick make 7 copies,"
came the swift command. "Order No.
181 to Operator FD, & Special 890, north.
Order No. 180 is annulled. Hold all
north-bound trains.
(Sig.) F. G. B.
The operator repeated the order rapidly,
gave his signature and waited for it to be
made complete.
"Complete 3 :08 a. m. J. W."
The sounder stopped abruptly. Them
there came a few unintelligible clicks,
made by no earthly hand, and then
silence. Death had written an eternal
"complete" to the life of Despatcher Raf-
ferty. The Great Superintendent had
called him in.
BY SAMUEL G. HOFFENSTEIN
How many a fane with Orient splendor crown'd
Its proud, marmorean beauty rears on high !
Sweet, sculptur'd shell of incense and sweet sound,
And sensuous ease, and gorgeous luxury
What carven pride and flaunted pageantry!
As't were the magic triumph of a dream,
Or charmed haunt of enfin revelry
Ensconced in the midnight moon's pale gleam !
Aye, these are glorious to the ravish'd sight,
These lairs of vice, and their gold-garnished brood-
And Pomp can blind the eye of Virtue well;
But let them revel in their transient might
They cannot stay Death's ruthless, rushing flood,
Or cheat the quenchless, fiery thirst of hell.
In Dagh.
BY FELIX J. KOCH
THINGS did look bad now certainly.
Wihen we had come into the capital,
with the cordon of Turkish soldiery
sent out to do honor to one who bore let-
ters from that beloved of the Padi-shah,
the Turkish ambassador to Washington,
and the infantry had lined up either side
of the way 'that leads to the door of the
Pashalik walls, we felt we had entered
some bit of Arabian Nights country,
where genii might come on touching some
talisman, and houris danced to castanets,
and the fig and the pomegranate would
drop at our feet. Out there in the ba-
zaars the pomegranates were to be had,
and figs likewise, and the houris did dance
for the populace in the little theatre they
had established up near the gilded
Mosque but as for talismans, it did
seem as though we needed one badly.
The Despot of Dagh was feeling his
oats, to quote an Americanism.
One of the most powerful vassals of
the Sultan, practically absolute in his ex-
tensive domains, he had conceived the
brilliant idea that some day Dagh should
stand out alone on the map, without the
color being blended with that of Tur-
key. To do this, however, meant just a
few more troops and money than the Des-
pot had.
So when Miss Stone was captured in
his neighbor prince's estate of Bulgaria,
and he saw how easily Uncle Sam paid
hush-money and ransom and how com-
pletely the Macedonian Committee suc-
ceeded in convincing the world that the
Sultan was not a fit ruler for that region,
since .the lives of foreigners were not
safe, he was resolved that let any Ameri-
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
can come to Dagh and he would soon be
an absolute monarch.
The only flaw in the plan was that
Americans and Englishmen do not make
a point of coniing to Dagh. The people are
yeoman peasants, who raise wheat and
hemp, and some Turkish maize, a few
sheep, and some of them horses.
These, after the tax-gatherers have
taken a tenth for the Despot, and a third
more, from the Christians, because
they cannot serve in the army, and a
goodly squeeze for themselves, are then
taken by said peasants, in the one case,
on the sides of their burrows, in long car-
avans, (as safeguards against the high-
way-men,) and, in the other, in hugh
combined flocks, to the same end, and
driven to the nearest town.
There some wealthy pasha corners the
market, buys them up and, after seeing
to it that the Despot gets liberal gifts,
and that his spies too, are quite well ap-
peased, sells where and when he will.
So you see, there is no cause for vis-
itors.
You are altogether in too great dan-
ger to make tourist travel pleasant. The
mountains are beautiful but you
see the same in the Alleghanies. The vil-
lages are picturesque, but if you want
Oriental pictures, you get them in Bos-
nia in safety. And, as for an American
commercial invasion, goodness knows,
fashions haven't changed since the battle
of Anslem, and the peasant wouldn't buy
if he could, which he can't.
As to missionaries, they, too, didn : t
stir so far into the back country, and
it would be only some correspondent who
ever dipped into Dagh.
When he did come, the orders had long
stood on file, his coming should not be
interrupted.
Then when he was safely within the
pashalik, the soldiers which the neighbor-
ing Vali, or province governor, had sent
as his escort, should be ordered home with
excuse that the Despot wished to do trte
honors himself and would provide an es-
cort of his own on the return.
The very earliest night thereafter would
find a letter thrown into the office of the
American minister at Belgrad, (this is
the nearest point where we hold diplo-
matic relations), that an American had
trespassed on some religious ground and
was held prisoner by the Despot of TJagh.
Nothing would be accepted short of ab-
solute freedom from Turkey and immun-
ity from arrest.
Didn't it sound easy and nice, though ?
En route.
Courtiers.
Dagh, the capital of Dagh, lies in a
secluded valley, densely forested and
reached by a single trail. That trail was
commanded by heavy cannon, and could
hold huge armies at bay.
When the Sultan sent his forces to or-
der his vassal to obey, the vassal would
simply say: "One foot further and the
American will be put to death."
That would bring on what he wished.
So, when, the next morning we wished
to leave our bed chamber, not having
rested particularly well on the divan that
night, the sentry outside the leather por-
tiere blocked our way.
"You cannot pass," he said in Turk-
ish, "these are my orders."
Thinking it some local etiquette, that
one might not leave the room until called
for, I sat down at. the window to fill out
my journal..
By and by a liveried servant entered
with the usual trays of Turkish coffee, in
a beaker, sugar and hot water to dilute.
This, and the soft, grey unleavened bread
of which one becomes so fond, and the
candied figs. That was my breakfast.
The sun was rising higher and higher,
it must be ten by our time. Turkish
time is different, there are twelve hours
from sun-up to sun-set, varying accord-
ing to season.
I had come to Dagh to go through their
ceremonials, but I did not like this delay.
More than that, the window looked down
into an enwalled court where there was
only a scullion, lazily washing the dishes
from some previous banquet, careless
whether the coating of lamb-fat, in which
all things are cooked, adhered or not.
Then, by and by, there were foot-steps.
The sentinel put hand to mouth, eyes
and brow and came to salute.
A higher officer in navy blue uniform,
contrasting strangely with the thread-
bare brown of the private, entered.
He greeted in French, the official lan-
guage of south Europe.
"His Excellency, the Despot, bids you
good day, and desires to state that he
wishes you personally, no harm."
The way the man said it showed he
was of good breeding, probably some
wealthy aga's son, who had gone through
A bridge.
the mens' schools at Salonica, and later
Constantinople.
"Certain circumstances, however, have
arisen, of which I am nat permitted to
tell you, which causes him to be forced
to take you a prisoner.
"So long as you comply with his will,
and your friends do your bidding, he bids
me assure you you will suffer no ill. If,
however, that is not done, you will surely
be put to death for to release you
would then set a precedent, and, there-
after any attempt of the sort would be
scoffed at."
Familiar with the Stone episode, I
knew too well what he meant.
The only question in my mind was,
what the ransom would be.
We calculated on that chance when we
arranged with the newspapers sending us,
it was simply a business proposition.
If we were captured, held, say a week,
released, it might come dear, but it would
put such a premium on our letters, that
people would buy papers who never did
before, and later, when it came to book
publication, wejl, they saw their way
clear to reap a fortune.
Only, of course, it wouldn't do to let
him know this. Furthermore, we re-
called how Miss Stone had been dragged
throiigh the very mountains which we had
crossed by burro, and the prospect was not
overly delightful for us to contem-
plate.
So we put on an air of consternation,
simulated innocence, and asked what he
meant.
"The Despot, my master, is badly treat-
ed by the Sultan, he will have his revenge.
Were he well treated he would not need
to do this.
"You are a college man?"
I nodded assent.
"You took la logique?" (logic).
Again I answered affirmatively.
"Then you see the argument. Were
Turkey well goverened, the local govern-
ors would not need to make foreigners
suffer, to avenge their own wrongs. But
Turkey is not well governed, and so they
do this. What happens to you may hap-
pen to any American citizen, any foreigner
coming here.
"You see the reasoning?"
"Perfectly."
He was quiet, sauve, unimpassioned,
as are all Turkish officials, courteous
throughout.
"Now then you, personally, have no in-
terest in Turkey except as a traveler.
What matters it to you if we are a number
of small states, instead of this unwieldly
one?"
FREED PROM THE DESPOT OF DAGH.
45
I had to admit none, as he awaited my
answer.
"Europe, however, will not help us to
this. Not because she does not see how
badly we suffer, but because each state
of Europe is waiting to swallow us up.
And all are so jealous of the others and
so sure they will each get the whole, they
will do nothing.
"Your country, however, would not
care. We would get fair treatment.
What is more, we know how powerful
your navy is, and could be made. So,
just a threat from you would do us as
well as would actual war. And threats
cost a government nothing, but the price
of cabling, which the grateful Despot
would certainly repay."
I followed him closely.
I was dealing with one of those subtle
Oriental diplomats, of whom I had read
and heard.
"Very well"
He tendered me a cigarette, adding he
didn't suppose that I cared for a hook-
ah.
"Now then; here you are, absolutely in
our clutches. Escape is impossible. The
only way into the capital is that pass lead-
ing off and in through the canyon, and
through it an army must come single file.
Those mountains are well defended, look,
and you will see the cannon here and
there.'"
He pointed some out from the window.
"You haven't but one life to lose. Why
lose it, to gain nothing ? Write your gov-
ernment what we demand. That it force
Turkey to give up Dagh, since its mis-
government is such that an American
cannot travel without molestation. This,
and to insure the Despot immunity.
"Or, if you prefer, write it to force
Turkey to give up Dagh and pay your
ransom, which we set at the original one
of Miss Stone two hundred of your dol-
lars, payable in gold.
"Otherwise " and he drew his finger
across his throat, indicating the bow-
string.
And from his tone I knew he meant it.
"Supposing, however, the United States
government does not do what you ask.
Am I to die for no fault of my own?"
The Moslem in him sprang to his Ko-
ran.
"If Allah wills you to die, you may die
this instant, though every physician in
the world be about you. If Allah wills
you to live, not the Sultan of Sultan?
can cause your death."
It was uncontrovertible, and besides.
The Despot's band.
46
OVEELAND MONTHLY.
arguments of theology are useless and
dangerous.
I asked an hour to think it over.
"There is nothing to be thought over.
You write your government, and tell
them what we demand. Add that if they
refuse, the penalty is your death."
"Come; here is paper and ink."
A soldier stood, noiselessly, just out-
side the portiere.
He entered and handed the little ink-
horn with the purple inks, the salt cel-
lar filled with sand to strew over, by way
of blotter, and then filter back in the cup,
and the thin Turkish paper.
There was nothing to do but write
and 1 did.
It would take two days by fleet courier
to carry that letter out of Dagh, up
through Eila and then Dupnitza, where
Sandansky, who had planned the Stone
capture lives, to Eadomir which was the
point of railway connection. Then it
would take another day to get to Sofia,
and on to the heart of Balkans railway
transportation, and still another to Bel-
grade. In other words between five and
six days each way was the fastest pos-
sible travel.
The answer would come a bit faster,
since from Belgrade they could wire that
to Sofia, thence to Dupnitza, where the
telegraph ended, and couriers, riding day
and night, could come in two days later.
But short of twelve days or two weeks,
there was no hope of action.
Meantime, like an ox fattened for the
slaughter, I lived on the best of the land.
And evenings the Turkish official came
to keep me company.
Time and again he begged me to know
that he was simply carrying out the will
of his master, and trusted I bore him no
hatred. He must be sure of spies at
the walls himself.
We grew fast friends, and he told of
Turkish rites and customs, while I filled
him with the wonders of America.
Then on the eighth day there seemed
pandemonium let loose at Dagh.
Contrary to all expectations, the Turk-
ish army not the vassafl troops from
here, were pouring down the mountain
sides, hundreds and hundreds strong.
The Despot's sentries, on the routes had
been murdered in the night, the guns on
the mountain sides had been suddenly
spiked, and made useless.
The Despot of Dagh feared for his life,
for the Sultan shows little mercy.
The passes were closed to him, there
was no hope of escape.
Still, he would be revenged.
He suspected that some one had played
spy, and sent the news to his arch enemy,
the Governor of the next Turkish satrapy,
who had sent it on to the Grand Vizier.
I must die !
Natives.
Despot of Dagh.
Breathless my friend, the officer rushed
into my room.
"Come ! Come ! For your life, and
be brave. They will kill you otherwise.'"'
We passed through endless passage-
ways, that led ever toward the earth.
Suddenly we began to ascend and
reached a flight of winding stairs.
"Kun, fast, fast as you can," he called.
, "Hurry, hurry !"
And we ran.
Upward ! Upward ! Upward !
At last we were on a narrow platform
over-looking all Dagh.
Just beneath were the city walls, with
the sentinels.
They saw us on these battlements, but
by the blue they knew a superior officer,
came to rest and saluted.
Then he pushed me in a chair.
"I am your friend he hurriedly
whispered. "If worst comes to woist, do
not forget me. It was I who summoned
the Sultan's troops, for I do not love the
Despot. He stole the throne from my
cousin.
"You will be in safety in another mo-
ment."
He put me back in the chair, bade me
hold for my life and turned a lever.
As from a catapult I was shot into air.
Off, off, off, >by some wonderful spring
the chair was released. High into air,
on parabolic curve, never once turning
over, however. Then suddenly, there rose
from the back of the chair, a bag, as of
some huge balloon, that inflated itself
from the suction of our passage. It had
been calculated with nicety, and its power
to hold up in air was just a bit less than
the pull of gravity. So the descent grew
easy and I reached the earth with just
the slightest bounce.
Of course the soldiers on the ramparts
saw us, and at first they might have shot.
But they had had orders, years before,
under penalty of death to themselves and
their families, to f artherest extremes,
and this a death by the noose, where the
Moslem believes the soul cannot escape
from the body, and so must perish with
it, no one was ever to interfere with
The homes.
what was flung from that tower.
I landed far outside the walls of Dagh,
and in a nest of badly scared Turkish sol-
diers.
I was their prisoner instantly.
They led me to the colonel and I told
my story.
They might have given up the siege,
then and there, so far as the Sultan
cared.
But the Sultan had promised the post
of the Despot of Dagh to whoever
brought him the head of its present in-
cumbent. So the siege went merrily on.
I, however, did not stay to witness it.
The soldiers were but too eager to claim
the reward for my release, to permit me to
tarry.
Months later I heard from my friend,
the officer in Dagh. Through the pres-
sure brought to bear by the American
embassy he had been promoted. He was
the satrap of a province in Asia Minor,
and extended an invitation to visit his
court.
Some day, perhaps I will go. But I
shall take good care of chairs that prove
catapults, while there.
The guard.
BY F. G. MARTIN
{{TVTEVEK heard how old Sim New-
|\l comb just missed breaking in-
* ^ to the Hall of Fame, did you ?"
The speaker was Captain Winslow, for
forty years master of a steamboat on the
Tennessee Eiver.
Despite his seventy years and frosted
hair the Captain was no abandoned hulk.
The fire of youth was still in his eye and
the snap of virility in his genial voice.
He knew., like a schoolboy his geography,
every bend and depth and shallow of his
river, from Chattanooga to Ohio. Be-
sides he was a capital story-teller. The
Captain re-filled his pipe as he put the
question, a premonitory symptom of a
good story coming.
"No, I never heard about it," I re-
plied. "Let's have the story."
Captain Winslow sat back at his ease
and the narrative flowed as smoothly as
the current of a meadow brook.
"It was back in '63, just when the civil
war was hottest in these parts. I reckon
those were not halcyon days for the peo-
ple in the little burg of Chattanooga.
Eebs and Yanks were playing battledore
and shuttlecock with the town. There's
many an old house standing there yet ven-
tilated by cannon balls in those days.
Well, I was in my prime then and was
captain of the Hiwassee, making two trips
a week between Chattanooga and Bridge-
port, Alabama.
"But to get down to Sim Newcomb.
Sim was a young man then, a strapping,
well-built, athletic piece of flesh. No-
body about Chattanooga ever knew his
pedigree. Mrs. Grundy had it that he
was a professor in some college down in
Georgia and, becoming crossed in love,
he soured on life and decided to turn
his back on the world and go it alone
in the woods and mountains.
So he came up to Sand Mountain,
built himself a rude hut and made com-
panions of the birds and squirrels.
"Well, along in the fall of '63 things
were getting pretty lively at Chattanooga.
A band of 'Fighting Joe' Hooker's men,
sweeping up the Wauhatchie Valley one
afternoon, passed close to Sim Newcomb's
retreat. Sim got scared up. He feared
Hooker's men would take him for a sharp-
shooter or guerilla. Without bag or
baggage, he put out as fast as his legs
would carry him. Rushing down the
Tennessee river, out of breath, quicker
than you could say Jack Eobinson he
jumped into a small skiff which lay under
some willows. Without stopping to con-
sider that he knew nothing about rowing,
he shot out into the river.
"Now, the Tennessee is wild and
ungovernable at that place as one of these
untamed East Tennessee mountain gals.
The water falls seventeen feet to the mile
and is so swift it makes the hair of every
river man who plies this stream, stand
on end.
"A mile below where Sim Newcomb
started across, the river breaks through
the mountains. The water has cut a way
through solid rock, and the south side
shoots down like a mill-race and, strik-
ing the wall of rock, veers off in a sharp
bend. It is worth a man's life to go in
there in a light boat.
"Before he had calmed down from his
scare Sim had drifted into this swift
descent. He got his bearings too late to
save himself. He was whirled along like
a straw on a flood, helpless even to
steer the skiff away from jagged rocks.
Ninety-nine chances in a hundred he
would hit the mountain side and go to
Davy Jones' locker in a jiffy.
"Sure enough, the skiff, like a scared
bird, fairly flew into the mountain side
where the water turns. Sim was knocked
unconscious and fell sprawling into the
bottom of the skiff.
"How long it was before he came to
his senses Sim never could figure out.
He's told me about it many a time. When
reason came back to him it was gloomy
and dark about him, and the air was
damp and stifling. He tried to remem-
50
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
her where he was and how he got there.
I reckon he felt something like Eip Van
Winkle when he woke from his twenty
years' sleep.
"Sim sat up and peered about.
Through the midnight blackness shot a
little gleam of light. It seemed to him
a long way off. Groping about he found
he was on solid earth on the edge of a
pool or lake of water. He then recalled
his perilous experience in the skiff. At
the thought of his situation he shook with
fright, like a darkey with the ague. He
was in a great cave. The country about
Chattanooga is honey-combed with them.
But how he got in the cavern is what puz-
zled Sim.
"Feeling his way along, he went toward
the little stream of light. He found that
it trickled through a narrow aperture in
the rocky wall. And there lay the skiff
on the subterranean lake.
A little exploring cleared up the whole
situation to Sim. After the skiff struck
the rocky river bank and he had conscious-
ness beat out of him, the skiff evidently
had drifted swiftly on, hugging the moun-
tain wall until coming to this opening.
The water poured into this hole in a small
stream, and the skiff was catapulted by the
swift river current right into this cave,
and, lighting on the lake in the cave, it
sped across to the opposite side and
dumped the unconscious Sim on the bank.
Here is where he found himself when rea-
son returned.
"Well, Sim thanked the Lord for sav-
ing his life, and started to find his way
out. Robinson Crusoe had his troubles,
but Sim soon found he could give point-
ers to that worthy adventurer.
"That cave simply had no beginning
and no end. It proved to be a circular
basin with no outlet except the small open-
ing through which Sim had so unceremo-
niously entered.
"This underground Crusoe explored the
cavern, groping through the slime, keep-
ing close to the wall and picking every step
of the way. He could see nothing, and
the solitude was maddening.
"After walking, he judged, two miles,
Sim came back again to the aperture. This
narrow hole, then, was his only hope of
escape. That hope hung by a hair, for
the opening was ten feet above the floor
of the cave, and the rushing current out-
side made him a helpless prisoner.
"But Sim was game. He would give
Death a merry race. The big lake was
swarming with fish, and the dank walls
and bottom of the cave were covered with
some kind of edible fungus. On raw fish
and this fungus, Sim kept soul and body
together, but it was no Delmonico fare,
you will agree.
"Sim was of an inventive turn, and
how to get into communication with the
outside world now tested his talent in that
line. The only hope, he decided, would
be some means of hailing a passing steam-
boat. There was not one chance in ten
thousand for him to do that. To succeed
would spell rescue. To fail meant death
in its most doleful form, far beyond
knowledge of any human being. Sim had
elected to be a hermit, but he was not quite
ready to shuffle off this mortal coil.
"How long he could live in this damp
and vitiated air on raw food was another
problem. Sim knew a deal about science,
and the discoveries relating to the proper-
ties of minerals. He began to experiment
in the hope of finding some substance that
would strike a light and throw his distress
signal to the outer world.
"While striking stones together this
way, suddenly there came a flash and a
brilliant glare of light shot past him.
Startled, Sim turned his face to the wall,
and there, against the slime, stood a liv-
ing image of himself, as if the very air
had been fused by volcanic heat. Every
feature was perfect, and it stood out in
such relief, it looked so like a live man,
it struck terror to Sim, and, turning, he
fled from it, quivering like an aspen leaf.
Not until he was on the opposite side of
the lake did he dare look back. There stood
that model of Sim silhouetted apparently
in living flame against the cavernous wall.
"Sim was sick with fright. He became
as nauseous as a land-lubber at sea, his
knees smote together and he sank to the
ground. That figure fascinated him. He
began to doubt his senses. Wjas his mind
off tack, he wondered? Or was he killed
in the skiff accident on the river, and was
this an ante-chamber of Inferno, and was
his Satanic Majesty ushering him into tor-
ment by easy stages ?
"Gradually the figure faded away, and
with it Sim's fright. Then his thoughts
turned to the cause of this hair-raising
FAME TUEXED FLIRT.
apparition. Plainly it was in the pulpy
substance which he still held in his hand
for he had struck a flinty rock against
this substance.
"Was it possible, he mused, that he had
discovered some new mineral or element
with strange, almost supernatural proper-
-. A-hich would not only be the means
of his rescue, but make him famous as its
discoverer as well ?
Again and again Sim struck that pre-
cious substance, and each time flashed
forth a counterfeit of himself so strikingly
life-like that he recoiled lest the phantom
figure move toward him and speak.
"Sim now worked out a plan to escape
from this living tomb. Ths plan hung on
scanty support, you must admit. But,
treasuring that bit in his hand like a
precious gem, he stationed himself at a
point near the opening into the cave and
began throwing these spooky pictures of
himself into the outer air.
"His eye could command a small stretch
out over the river, and he kept it riveted
on that stretch, day after day, hoping
against hope that a boat would pass with-
in the range of his vision, and by flashing
out a living likeness of himself to the boat
he could pave the way for his discovery
and rescue.
"Late one afternoon, several months af-
ter Sim Xewcomb had disappeared from
his mountain hut, I was coming up
through the mountains with the Hiwassee.
The water was low, and the pilot kept in
closer than usual to the south wall. I was
on the hurricane deck, looking at some
ferns growing on the steep, rocky bank.
Quick as a wink, out of the solid rock a
long, luminous stream of light, like a
comet's tail, gleamed.
"I looked down to the water's edge, and
there for the first time noticed a narrow
opening into the rock. I thought strange
of the mysterious light, but as we were
nearing our landing place, it passed from
my mind.
"AVe were at the Market-street wharf,
Chattanooga, and the darkies were carry-
ing barrels and boxes across the gang
plank, when all at once I was startled by a
negro deck-hand rushing into the cabin,
his whole body a-tremble the worst-
scared darkey I ever saw.
" 'For heaven's sake, what is the mat-
ter. Jim?' I asked.
" 'Cap'n,' came from between his chat-
tering teeth, 'dere's han'ts on dis boat I
wants my pay. I done tired of dis work
anyway.'
" 'Xow, what bad whisky have you been
guzzling?' I exclaimed in impatience.
" 'Cap'n, I done tole you dere's hair ts
on dis boat. Jes' you come and see.'
"1 followed the negro to the gang-
plank and he pointed to the side of the
boat. Just above the water line, in the
gathering darkness, was the perfect outline
of a man, looking as if it had been burned
right into the wood, and as if the fire was
still burning. Every feature was there as
plain as day. The hair was disheveled,
the cheeks sunken, the eyes wild and ap-
pealing, and the whole ghostly figure had
the appearance of a living man in the
most abject distress. It looked weird and
uncanny, and yet so life-like that I invol-
untarily expected the 'han't' to walk across
the water and ooen conversation with me.
1 tell you I was as scared as any darkey
about me they had all run like stampeded
cattle from the boat.
"I reckon old Belshazzer and his lords
were not more worked up over that spectre
handwriting on the wall than was I, and
mv darkies, at that ghostly picture.
" '1 reckon dis is no place for me !'
yelled one of the negroes, and away went
the whole pack of them, pell-mell up the
bank.
"I, too. shuffled up to the office on dou-
ble-quick. There was nobody there. I
went on home. Try as I would, I could
not shake off that phantom picture. Its
clammy hands, beckoning in pitiful ap-
peal, haunted me all night. The next
morning I was nervous and could not eat.
I hurried to the office. I found Mr. An-
drew?, the manager, in a great rage.
" 'Winslow. why in thunder ain't you
unloading that boat?'
"I had to invent an excuse.
" 'Came in too late last night, and I
overslept this morning. I reckon the dar-
kies are at work down there now."
" '"Well, I reckon they ain't,' grumbled
Mr. Andrews, 'and that's what makes me
sore. There's not a living darkey down
there.'
"I pretended surprise and anger and
started out to find my crew. Xot a
mother's son could I find. Coming across
some negroes on the street, I tried to hire
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
them to unload the boat, but they would
not go for love or money. I found my dar-
kies had filled the town with the story of
the 'han't/
"The situation was very vexatious to
Mr. Andrews. Merchants were clamoring
for their goods, but nobody could be found
to unload the boat.
"I told Mr. Andrews the ghost story,
and made light of it, not owning up that I
had seen it, and was as badly scared as the
negroes. Then I told him about the flash
I had seen coming from the rocky shore in
the mountains.
" 'There's the place to solve the mystery
if there is a mystery,' I ventured to sug-
gest.
"Mr. Andrews scoffed and fumed, but
as we could not hope to get a negro to
work on that boat again until it was given
a clean bill that there were no Tian'ts'
aboard, he finally consented to take a
party to the spot where I had seen the
mysterious flashing and investigate.
"I went to pilot the party. In a small
tug we picked our way close up to the
opening. As we passed alongside it, out
came another flash, just as I had seen it
from the Hiwassee, and there, on the
side of the tug was another picture of the
same distressed, appealing figure, but
dim in the daylight. The party all saw it
and even skeptical Mr. Andrews bit hia
lip in perplexity.
" 'I reckon we'll have to hunt down this
spook and put out his searchlight, if we
ever get a darkey to nass here again,' he
said. 'Let's trv to get in there.'
"Easier said than done. Material had
to be brought, piles driven and the water
diverted, then with dynamite we blasted
out a larger opening and entered the
cave.
"The sight that met our eyes gives me
the creeps to this day. There stood a fig-
ure human, apparition or goblin we
could not make out emaciated, with its
profile to us, and mechanically striking
its hands together, at each stroke throw-
ing out that luminous trail of light which
made such unearthly snap-shots.
"We shouted to him or it. Turning,
the figure faced us, glanced at the open-
ing we had enlarged, and fell in a
swoon.
"That settled it; this was a man. Nei-
ther ghosts nor goblins faint.
"We gathered up this creature, his face
pallid and pasty, his hair damp and mat-
ted and white as a snowball, and his body
so thin and gaunt he seemed a model for
a statue of Hunger. His left hand
clutched a small particle of earth or stone,
which, I noted, fell to the ground as we
carried him to daylight and the tug.
* * * *
"I met Sim Newcomb, bent and feeble
with age, in the streets of Chattanooga a
few days ago.
" 'Winslow,' he said, 'do you know the
keenest disappointment of my life has
been the fact that I lost that little parti-
cle I had clutched in my left hand when
you found me in that cave. I would have
ranked with Edison and Mkrconi to-day
if I had not fainted then from weakness
and excitement.
"Do you know what it was that threw
out that life-line for me that saved my
life by throwing those ghostly pictures?
I am sure it was radium, in more perfect
form than yet discovered. I know that I
just missed fame and fortune by fainting
at the wrong time. Fame turned flirt, led
me to the point of embracing then jilted
me.'
"This," said Captain Winslow, knock-
ing the ashes from his pipe, "is how old
Sim Newcomb came within an ace of
breaking into the Hall of Fame/'
BY F. L. HARDING
FOR any other purpose than fishing,
it was disgustingly early to be out
and afield. As red dawn began to
tint the grey horizon, I was telling my
grievance to a sordidly sympathetic boat-
man. How two years before my line had
been wet daily for four unbroken months
in pursuit of a rare species of fish known
to Southern California only and was
granted never a nibble. How, too, I had
planned, explored, experimented, prayed
and finally cursed my luck when depart-
ing in defeat.
The elusive quarry was a sort of weak-
fish, much like we Eastern chaps round
up in Jersey waters. But this odd fellow
had forgotten to stop growing when he
properly should have, according to Jersey
standards. He often scaled a half-hun-
dred-weight all grit, muscle and devilish
temper.
I wanted one as a child wants the moon
and my chances of success seemed about
equally promising.
The fish were erratic, capricious, with
a chronic reserve of manner that froze
the warmest overtures of well-disposed an-
glers. They spurned a juicy bait on prin-
ciple, except at dawn or early twilight,
when a wayward member of the tribe
would at times fall from grace. 'Twas a
halcyon day when the good rod felt the
steel on their onslaught and the tussle
was invariably heroic.
My launch captain had somehow drifted
West with the proverbial "course of em-
pire," from Yorkshire, bringing his un-
der-done speech with him. On hearing
ray tribulations, he shook his grizled head
resignedly, impaling a fresh, still-living
sardine upon mv hook. He glanced
around at the Catalina hills as though
seeking consolation within their tawny
heights. He threw the bait over and fast-
ened his keen eyes upon me. They were
the kind of eyes that go right through you
and button up the back.
"Aye, lad, thee has fared ill, thee has.
This bein' early April, like as not a bonny
stretch o' weather will bring 'em around.
Thee'll be fair amongst 'em an' I canna
bethink as thee'll miss the bleedin' beg-
gars again."
I exhorted him to do his utmost. "Make
good, Jerry, old man: cut out the pre-
liminaries get busy."
"Aye, lad, that's so. Mayhap a few
stragglers is in already. Yon sends a
sprinklin' of scouts afore the crowd
shoves aroun' the island." That sounded
good to me, and that shadowy attribute
that "springs eternal in the human breast"
began to look up a little.
The spring at Catalina is the "spring-
iest" weather one ever lived in it makes
the sober citizen feel like standing on tip-
toes, shouting. The air felt like wine to
the lungs, the water, sky, mountains, were
fresh and clean as though the creation of
the world had just been finished. In the
exquisite half-moon bay we were alone,
the other anglers were bustling about the
beach in the grey haze of daybreak, pre-
paring for the day's sport.
Leaning over the boat-side, I could,
from my seat in the stern, see a lively
army of sardines darting and shooting
about in pale green water, transparent as
plate-glass to a depth of thirty feet. Now
a seal or a diving shag would suddenly
cut a wide path through the panic-stricken
ranks. At once, they re-assembled, to
continue their frantic, futile game.
While thus idling, my reel gave tongue.
Instant as this had been, a premonitary
tremor of the sensitive rod had antici-
pated it. Bracing myself involuntarily, I
struck back while recovering my position,
and then braked down upon the whirling
core of line in the reel with the leather
thumb-pad. The Cuttyhunk streamed ir-
resistibly out upon the arched rod, a gray
live-wire whipping viciously through the
guides. It dipped down like an arrow
yards and yards of it into that innocent
face of the bay beneath which a mighty
animal had been electrified to desperation
by a stinging fire in its cheek.
54
OVEELANP MONTHLY.
The battle was on ! Expecting the cus-
tomary tactics of a Yellowtail, I settled
back for a royal tugging match, a long
contest of give and take, with little fancy
work or trimmings.
But this clever fish for his wit showed
early to extraordinary veered off at an
acute angle and struck out across the sur-
face under forced draught.. With an
abandon bordering upon hysteria, he
raved all over the place, plunging like a
rocket. For three hundred feet he gal-
loped away, towing our heavy launch at
a perceptible pace.
The strain was cruel, but the tackle
out for him. the doublings were wonder-
fully sudden, and the old fellow was soon
puffing and profane.
I sat facing the stern, the rod butt
thrust into a leather cup between my legs.
When the first dazzling spurt had been
somewhat controlled, the old trick of
pumping the fish was tried. Eeeling in a
few turns until the rod tip neared the
water the fingers of the right hand left
the reel-handle and grasped the rod below
the reel-seat with the thumb tight upon
the leather brake-pad. Throughout the
whole maneuvre, the left hand remained
at its position about six inches above the
The launches are well adapted for the sport in every detail of construction.
did better than it knew how! Galled to
a frenzy by this new check upon his free-
dom, the marine free-lance grew deliri-
ous with pain and fright.
The angler must now act like a flash,
guessing at every move, anticipating each
violent burst of flight. So speedy were
the dashes at times that he won a space
of slack line, it must be confessed. But
the hook was in the gristly jaw, and his
advantage proved fruitless.
Old Jerry got out his oars, endeavoring
to keep our launch stern on to the con-
testant in the water. His work was cut
reel. It raised the rod until the tip point-
ed skyward, the motion being as even as
the fish would allow.
This has quietly dragged the puzzled
quarry some four feet nearer the boat
without greatly exciting him. Still at
hazard, vibrating in air between agate-tip
and water, was this precious span of line.
Now to stow it safely away upon the reel
bobbin. Gradually lowering the rod with
left hand, the right took in the line inch
by inch on the descent, and I was again
ready to "work the pump handle."
Patient repetition of this is a death
FIGHTING A FORTY-POUND WEAK-FISH.
Forty-one poun'd Catalina weakflsh caught on
rod and reel.
warrant to any fish, if the rig holds out.
This analysis of a few simple movements
looks like child's play but the practice is
terrifically complicated by the pitching of
the boat, the snapping nerves of the fish-
erman, the bewildered terror of the
fish.
Gad, what a fight that old fellow put
up ! He was in a sprinting mood and a
pack of fox-hounds would have found a
maze in his trail. Circling entirely
around the boat, he forced me to scram-
ble to the bow, pass my sorely straining
rod about the mast and battle with his
fury on the other side. Our launch was
now at sea; he was seeking deeper water.
"Thee'll snub 'im now, lad," councilled
Jerry, the acute, "Thee's had a quarter
hour, 'tis time enow. Have done, 'es
failin' fast." His failing symptoms were
not apparent to me as yet. In fact, the
puffing at my end augured well for his
escape. But Jerry was wise in his day
and generation.
The next run melted away to a dead
halt under steady pressure. Now to force
the fighting!
Five attempts at rushes in confusing
rapidity of succession were each nipped
in early youth. A half circle was then
tried but "it lacked the early brilliant vig-
or. Now indeed the fish began to weaken
but the outcome was no certainty. I
was far from as fresh as twenty minutes
before, before the whirlwind had begun.
Pump. Pump. ZEEEEEE! Pump,
now a brief respite, then at it again.
A huge pink, white and brown form of
graceful strength rose slowly through the
clear water. The .huge jaws closed vic-
iously upon the hook shank. He bore off
in a curve, his body pulsating with ex-
citement and distress. Up, up under the
merciless rod work, up to the side of
the boat. The sun threw off brightly
from five feet of rare magnificence, a
bar of opal.
Ah, steady, Jerry, boy! Such a beauty!
With a last dash of despair, the great fel-
low strove to flash downward. But in a
splash of spray, the gaff shot out, and the
steel hook sank home.
BY CHARLTON LAWRENCE EDHOLM
IT was ten o'clock, a foggy, lowering
night, as I strolled up California
street from Dupont, arm in arm with
the ghost of the late Sherlock Holmes of
blessed memory.
In the midst of our animated conversa-
tion, shop-talk of royalties, copyright
laws and the profits and losses of author-
ship, we paused suddenly, for out of the
lighted upper windows of a shabby man-
sion, but a few doors ahead, proceeded
that most blood-curdling of sounds, the
voice of a woman wailing in the night.
The voice was very piercing and feline
in quality, the pitch ranging from a shrill
scream to a low, hollow moan. Its flow
of lamentation was seemingly intermin-
able, nor was there any slight pause for
catching of breath ; just one continued
plaint of countless variations.
Immediately before the dilapidated
portal, two carriages waited at the curb.
In the days of gold, when the mansion
had occupied the center of San Fran-
cisco's fashionable neighborhood, scene of
lavish entertainment and new-found opu-
lence flung to the winds, many a smart
equipage must have stood before those
doors of a night, but surely never so
strange a coach as the two we saw that
night waiting before the house of lamen-
tation.
They were mere hacks, of the shabby
variety that stand all night at the plaza
corner, waiting for any disreputable ad-
venturer or tipsy prodigal who may stum-
ble into them, and the drivers were taci-
turn, seedy fellows, with frayed ulsters
and slouch hats; but the scarlet bunting
that draped their vehicles was of the
brightest new silk, caught into rosettes
and adorned with bouquets of gilt paper
flowers.
The coach lanterns were huge paper
spheres, through whose oiled and vermil-
ion-inscribed surface glimmered the
flames of red candles. A little cypress
tree, growing in a pot, stood on the seat
by the driver of the first hack.
All these details were hastily scanned
by my ghostly companion, whose fond-
ness for the lucrative profession of deduc-
ing saleable plots was not dimmed by
death. These piteous wails, the coaches
adorned as for a sacrifice, the grim and
silent coachmen, all appealed to him as
first-class "copy."
"Watson," he began "I beg pa'don,
me deah fellah, Edholm, I meant, of
course, I would be alone. Come to me
chambers at 'ahlf after seven to-morrow
morning, and I will hand you a typewrit-
ten solution of this mystery ready for
publication, at current rates of payment,
of course."
"Mr. Sherlock Holmes," I answered,
"go to the devil. I'm not your faithful
Watson, and I'll not be patronized by a
dead one; furthermore, I'll stay here and
see the plot thicken."
"Spoken like a man!" exclaimed the
ghost of Sherlock Holmes, as he sought
to grasp my hand with his foggy fingers,
and his misty outline became luminous as
a searchlight in a cloudbank, so excessive-
ly did he beam upon me. "Watson was
really getting to be a deuced bore, don-
cherknow; I daresay you've guessed that
I died to be rid of the fellaJi. Beastly
thing to say, but it's a fact."
A wail of unusual poignancy interrupt-
ed our little love-feast, and we craned our
necks and listened. We were not the only
interested ones : from every be-grimed
window and doorway in the neighborhood
peered clusters of oval faces toward the
lighted upper room. Dark-eyed, saffron-
hued women and girls were these, moved
by the curiosity which is shared by all
the daughters of Eve, whatever their
color.
Maidens in rainbow garments, striped
and silken-pieced tunic, and trousers
adorned with bands of various delicate
LETTERS.
57
hues, lingered and eagerly chatted along
the curb, anon inserting their elaborately
i-oift'ured and garlanded heads into the
dark passage-way, whence the uncanny
sound of distress was now proceeding.
Suddenly the heart-rending cry in-
creased in volume; a rapid crescendo of
grief that was drowned by a fusillade in
the hall, accompanied by a whiff of burn-
ing powder. Then in a cloud of sulphur-
ous smoke, a little fat woman clad in a
dark blouse, and with white socks peep-
ing from beneath her shiny black trow-
sers, rushed out of the doorway and sta-
tioning herself just outside, opened a gay
paper parasol with an upright bunch of
peacock feathers, projecting from the
ferule, and held it above the threshold.
More explosions followed in the pas-
sageway ; we could see the red flashes back
in the gloom, and just as the hubbub of
shots and screams reached its climax, a
second fat little woman, counterpart of
the first, dashed through the volley, bear-
ing on her back a bundle of shrieks and
groans.
Whatever else she carried under the
scarlet silk that hid her burden could only
be conjectured by the two human feet
that projected below the veil. Cramped
in a strange shape and stuffed into em-
broidered baby-shoes with pointed toes,
they were several sizes too small for the
scarlet figure humped over the back of
the panting beldam, but they were un-
doubtedly living, kicking, human feet.
With all haste, the girl for she sobbed
like a girl was dumped into the hack,
the door slammed upon her groans, and
the churlish driver whipped up his nags.
The second hack followed, but not be-
fore the ghostly eyes of my companion
had noted that two elegantly-clad gentle-
men (or villains), had taken places there-
in.
As the door of the mansion banged to,
and the neighboring windows were emp-
tied of curious faces, I said to my familiar
spirit :
"Is it an abduction we have wit-
nessed, kidnapping, New Arabian Nights
adventure, or just a fancy nightmare we
are sharing in common? And further-
more, is this the Western metropolis of
our great and glorious United States or
mayhap the city of Haroun-al-Raschid ?
Sherly, my boy, it's up to you!"
"Nothing like this has occurred before
in all my experience," answered the ghost
of Sherlock Holmes, "although my ex-
client, the Baroness Sapphira of Mun-
chausen, often related adventures almost
as strange. I have no clew, no conjecture.
But let us approach the two vagabonds
chatting at the corner opium users I
judge by their emaciated figures and sal-
low visages their remarks may throw a
light on the horrid mystery."
They did.
"Say, Joe, wuzn't the gal's brothers
togged up regardless?"
"'Sure ! Them Chinks know how to
blow in the coin fer a funeral or a wed-
ding, same ez anybody."
"But say, Joe, on the square now, don't
it make you think of a white gal, hangin'
back an' lettin' on she don't want to tie
up, the way them Chinese brides squall
an' take on when they leave home ? You'd
think they wuz bound fer the slaughter
house !"
"That's straight, Bill. As Shakesbeer
sez, 'Wimmen is the riddle of the uni-
verse.' "
When I turned, the ghost of Sherlock-
Holmes had vanished.
BY DONALD B. TOBEY
The world awaits with wistful, wond'ring eyes
The tidings of their constant carrying;
For one is bringing thrills of glad surprise
And one at Sorrow's door is tarrying.
I often think that we are much as they
Brief messages that neighbor-lives affect.
How are we missives written, grave or gay?
And those that read what shall their eyes reflect?
Vigorous,
restless ,
forceful,
\jo\ce
the
, peaceful,
meditative,
Is tl)e sootVfl voce
of
me. -E.J. R_
f-ir ^
TKi
BY COLIN V. DYMENT
A BLACK figure from the night
loomed suddenly down the track;
my feet stopped instantly their
listless swinging over the platform edge.
My own apparition must have been quite
as startling to the figure, for it shied like
a scared cougar.
"Good evening," I said, to reassure us
both, and the figure halted, seemed to
gather confidence, then advanced into the
light of the station doorway.
A man in the sheepherder's uncouth
garb stood there. He had the look that
comes so often to his class, when months
of loneliness in remote range districts
have unbalanced them. But this one was
not even a respectable looking herder. His
semblance of felt hat let a narrow fore-
head line show a streak of white above
bushy brows. Two months' growth of
black beard roamed from his bare throat
almost into his eyes. A ragged shirt, gap-
ing trousers and shoes of which the worn-
out toes let sand and cactus in, completed
an equipment unusual even in the deso-
late Nevada lava beds.
A full minute I gazed at this strange
individual. The station agent had gone
to a belated supper. There were no pas-
sengers beside myself waiting the late
Overland, unless the bearded native, sit-
ting just out of sight around the corner
of the station, might be one. Except to
pass a gruff "evening, stranger," when he
first appeared, the Nevadan had said noth-
ing for an hour, and I promptly forgot his
silent presence as the new desert product
stood blinking beneath the station lamp.
Three times the herder tried to speak;
each time he seemed scared at his own-
voice. He tried to peer into the dim out-
lines of sage and sand that blur away by
dav toward the Sierras, on the west, and
Great Salt Lake Basin to the east, appar-
entlv saw nothing to alarm him further,
then turned appealingly toward me.
Broken, trembling words came first,
more to himself than me : "Romany ah !
It is far,"
" 'Tis a long way to be walking," 1 as-
sented finally. He shuddered ; I wondered
why. Perhaps because the night air had
blown up chill from the Sierra. "Going
that way?" I added.
"Oui, anywhere," and down he went in
a half-faint, beside my drummer's cases.
* * * *
In trips tli rough my desert territory
of Idaho, Nevada and Utah, I had listened
to many strange experiences, but none so
weird as the one this herder told me when
whisky had revived him. Neither thirst
nor hunger had brought him to this con-
dition. That was apparent, for his her-
der's wallet looked half full, and I could
hear the swish of water in his can. "Some-
thing funny here," I thought, as he slow-
ly opened his eyes and seemed to want to
tell his troubles.
"Boss's band of sheep back in the
desert." He straightened to a sitting
posture and at first spoke haltingly. "Yah-
ah ! Their throats all tore now."
"Who is your boss ? What's your name ?"
I stooped to catch the answer.
"I I Pierre, Pierre Gaston. My
boss Winnemucca man, he tell me go out
Black Rock way with the band, an' it is,
ah! you not know, so lonely back there.
The only two times I see a man them
whole four months was the campbov, when
he bring me one bag of grub. When he
throw it down an' ride away, I feel like
my head she whirl, whirl, like this."
""What's the matter with the Black
Rock country, Pierre?" I asked listlessly,
for want of something better. "He's only
a crazy herder, after all," I thought.
"'Ah, Monsieur ! she go so fast, so still,"
he cried, half getting up in excited
strength. Sweat drops ran through the
thick dust on his face; his arms began to
gesticulate.
"I see her first last summer, Monsieur.
I bed the band for night, then I say:
'Jacques, Garcon, good dogs, watch the
nannies,' an' I climb a little butte an' lay
down an' look up at one star. I think
THE SHEEPHERDER'S NEMESIS.
61
about Romany, 'way off there, an' I say:
'Jear Pierre, I mean maybe you
never see Romany any more.' Then I
cry up there on my blanket an' go to
sleep.
"Mon Dieu, Monsieur! Something
make me jump straight up. I look, three
wavs, like this, an' I see one great big
eye, 'way in the desert. It come for me,
an' I not know what. No one live in fifty
mile, an' no one ever go this way. I say :
'Maybe some homesteader man, he lose the.
trail. Where he get that big lantern, I
guess.' Then she get bigger an' bigger,
that eye does, an' throw light in the cou-
lee, this way and that way. Ha ! I run
fast down to the band.
"I am not scared yet, Monsieur, no, no,
I think of them sheep; just how I sa^e
them, an' I say: 'What for you not run,
you sheep? What for you not bark, you
Jacques an' Garcon?' All time she keep
come so fast, so still, an' I stand by the
nannies an' start shake, like this. What
you think ? Not one lif ' her ear, just that
little bit.
''Then I not see the nannies, nor the
two dog, nor rock nor anything, only that
eye ; she look big as tub, and she not seem
more as three stone throws. I try turn me
to run. Sacriste! Something hold me
fast, an' I scream : 'Go 'way ; go 'way'
my gracious. I make them nannies jump.
Ha ! I scare that eje, too. She stop, no,
she turn she miss me, she go past, but
Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!"
"What was it, Pierre ?" I asked incredu-
lously.
"Face at them windows."
"WHiat windows? Red-eye windows?"
"Ah, Monsieur ! No laugh at me. She
was one train, an' those face
"Well, you fool, you must have bedded
down by the railroad track, and didn't
know it," I said, and burst out laughing
in reality.
"Ah, I do wish, Monsieur ! but there is
only one track, two days' drive down that
way from Black Rock country. She is one
spirit train, an' those face
"Well, Pierre." I laughed, "all trains
have people, haven't they, and people must
have faces."
"Oui, but these wear pity me, Mon-
sieur 'they wear white grave-clothes. Mon
Dieu! I shall neve'- forget me! One sit
at every window. Their face is verv
white and their hands very skinny, an'
they rest the face on the hand. They
look like they feel awful. My heart, he
jump so loud ! I make my knee take me
up the little butte again, clean to the top.
I look all round, like this, and I not see
that train any more. I go back to my
sheep, an' they are all settle down, so I
say: 'Sacre, Jean, you like one drunk
man.'
"Next night I bed that band down
quick an' roll up tight. I sleep in half
a jiffy. All to once, quick, my eye stare
up straight again, this way, an' something
seem like it lif me right up. 'Sacriste!
them wolves again,' I say, an' I start for
the nannies.
"Ah, Mon Dieu ! She come again.
"I shake an' shake, Monsieur, for she
come over the desert like last night, out
Devil Coulee way. I put my hands in
front so I not see, like this. I think, may-
be, she not come near to-night. Then I
peep just a leetle through my fingers, an'
Mon Dieu ! she close up by the band. 'Oh,
Virgin, save me !' I think the boss maybe
he not believe I speak true by those sheep
when I tell him how they get kill. He
not know how the great big eye scare a
man. 'way in the lava beds he only think
why you not bring in the band safe, Jean.
"Ah, good Virgin; she turn an' we are
all save. I put my hand behind my ear.
Listen! Ha! I not hear even the wind
blow. What? Then face again! I see
maybe fifty, maybe hundred, one in each
window. I feel so happy they not look at
me. Ah ! the last of them no, he not
gone, he take his skinny hand an' he point
it, Mon Dieu! straight for me. Then I
speak. Ha ! I scream an' scare the nan-
nies again, an' all at once, just like that,
Monsieur, I forget. The sun high up
again when I wake. My face like in the
sand, an' the nannies are 'way off, eating.
"I not feel like breakfast, Monsieur, an'
I say: 'Jean, you better go down Red
Butte country. Sweeter grass. You sheep
need moving anyway.' I say to myself
like that, an' I start ten, twenty mile.
Sometimes I look back, an' ha ! them coy-
otes come too. They sneak by rocks when
I look, but all day they keep come, come.
"That night I find homesteader man
shack an' stop. When it get dark, I keep
my two dogs close an' go in an' hide. Up
run them coyotes after a while an' I hear
62
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
the nannies bleat, bleat, an' the throats
tear, tear, like this. I not let Jacques an'
Garcon get out to drive them 'way. No !
No ! I say : 'Lie down there, Jacques ; lie
down there, Garcon: be still, I tell you,'
an' when them dog scratch one door an'
howl 'cause the wolves tear sheep, I strike.
I not shoot my gun at them wolf, either.
One noise tell that spirit train man, may-
be, where I hide.
"Next morning, sacriste! half boss's
sheep dead. I get fresh meat, what them
wolf lef, an' we all hurry. The nannies
are scare like as me now. The sun he melt
me, an' the dust choke me, an' the nannies'
tongues hang 'way down, but I keep say
'Shoo, there ! shoo, there ! Jacques, Gar-
con, why for you not make them sheep
go quicker ?' I go on like that, Monsieur,
till it get dark again, an' I hide in a pot-
hole. I say: 'You dog, you two, mind them
sheep to-night, an' when them wolf come
up, Jacques he run him off; Garcon, he
run him off, too. An' I roll my head right
up in my blanket so I not see something,
if it come. 'Ah !' I say next morning, 'you
safe now, Jean. It is good you lef back
there!'"
My late train, the bill of goods I had
not sold, my tired condition, all had been
forgotten as I listened, almost breathlessly,
to the herder's story. While he was tell-
ing me, with many a gesticulation and
much pantomime, of the midnight spirit
train, sweeping noiselessly across the des-
ert with its load of ghostly beings, his
face was at times convulsed, as if by some
great pain. Even I felt spooky chills at
portions of his tale, and caught myself
glancing involuntarily out toward the
measureless arid area, to see if the creation
of his disordered imagination were not
just showing its "great big eye" out of
some coulee mouth. I did not notice that
the third man, whom the herder could not
see, and of whose existence I had long
been oblivious, had come close to the sta-
tion corner and was standing where he,
too, could hear all that was said :
"Did it come again?" I asked.
"Ah, pity me, Monsieur. She come
again that night, an' the next night, an'
the next night. She come a leetle closer
every night, an' I never hear one sound
like the wind. One night all them faces
begin to look at me, an' I bury my head
in the sand, like this.
"Last time, Mon Dieu! they all point
finger at me. Ha ! how I run. I put my
hand over my ear an' close my eyes, this
way, and never feel when I fall in them
cactus beds. I run till my head she near
bust. Oh, Virgin! I fall over one rock
an' them cactus spines stick in all over,
an' when I wake up, my gracious ! that
sun he high up again an' my sheep and
mv dog Jacques an' my dog Garcon, they
all gone."
The herder stopped short and began to
look doubtfully at me, like a man who
has told too much. His wildness had gone.
His eyes gleamed bright; the unburden-
ing of his ghostly story seemed to have
relieved him. A look of craft began to
take the place long occupied by a hunted
look of fear.
I did not want him to stop now. "Then
what? You came here, Pierre Jean!
Sav ! You told me your name was Pierre
and you call yourself Jean !"
He looked a trifle defiant and said noth-
ing.
"Is your name Jean ?"
He sprang up .without a word and
would have passed into the night.
"Just a minute." It was the bearded
native behind the corner speaking, and
I rose in bewildered astonishment as his
big frame emerged from beside the shadow
of the station wall and his handcuffs went
around the herder's wrists.
"I'm the sheriff of Elko County, Jean
Brantigne," he said. "I was just going
up Black Rock way myself to look for you.
I heard you'd gone in there."
"What's he done?" I asked the giant
sheriff, when his prisoner was safely hand-
cuffed to the station bench inside, and he
had stepped out to see if the headlight of
the Overland was visible.
"Oh, last spring he unspiked a rail
and threw a train into a gully over in
Humboldt County. Ten poor devils were
killed right out, you remember, and hali
a dozen more were burned up. This ghoul
was robbing bodies when they chased him
off, but he got away. Thafs what lie
dumped the train for, damn him. Funny
how them passengers all come back to
haunt him, ain't it?"
Charles Dickman at work in his Monterey studio.
BY JOSEPHINE MILDRED BLANCH
JUST as the French artists, at a cer-
tain season of each year, leave their
studios in the crowded Quartier
Latin, and, with easel and paint box, find
their way to quaint Barbizon or some
other picturesque environment of Paris,
so the California artist feels that he must
spend a few weeks at least of the year in
the historic old town of Monterey seek-
ing subjects offered by the inexhaustible
wealth of beauty existing all around for
truly an inspiration to every beauty-loving
soul is this crumbling old adobe town.
Like an old and priceless jewel in a mod-
ern setting, it lies by the crescent bay. The
grayness of age overspreading its ruins
greatly enhances its beauty, in such per-
fect harmony do they blend with earth,
sky and sea, while around them, too, is
wrapped a mystery of romance and tra-
dition that gives wings to the imagina-
tion. As the after-glow of a sunset or
the aroma of (fading flowers do these
crumbling adobes appeal to one.
Both in and around Monterey the ar-
tist sees on every hand subjects that fas-
cinate him for Nature here is prodigal
of her allurements. The time-seasoned
rocks, the wind-tossed cypresses, their
gnarled trunks bleached into ghost-like
whiteness by the strong, salt winds; the
sturdy live-oaks breathing vigor and
warmth, the restful grain fields with their
back-ground of dark pines, the glistening
whiteness of the sand-dunes, vivid with
light and color all as subjects attract the
artist to the place.
About thirty years ago, such men as
Tavernier, Julian Rix and Joe Strong
came with brush and palette to reproduce
64
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
on canvas its beauties, mixing with the
pigments of their paint their rare appre-
ciation. About this time came also those
of literary ability; here Gertrude Ather-
ton spent some time, and it was here that
Robert Louis Stevenson, storm-tossed on
the ocean of life as he was, ill, "a stran-
ger in a strange land," and awaiting a
literary fame yet to be won, found com-
fort and inspiration. His notes of the
life in this early Spanish town are among
he has painted some of the pictures that
have found an admiring public not only
in California, but in New York and Eu-
rope, and given him a world-wide reputa-
tion as a water colorist. Farther over the
hills, we come to the most beautifully lo-
cated studio Hn all Monterey, that of
Charles Rollo Peters. It is a spacious
studio, built "far from the madding
crowd." From its windows one sees the
sapphire bay stretching miles below, and
A very recent picture of Eugene Neuhaus "A Gray Day in Chinatown."
3iis choicest 'bits of description. Wftien
such rare, natures have sought Monterey,
we cannot wonder that so many noted
California artists have pitched their stu-
dios here.
In a picturesque adobe over which a
rose-bush of enormous size reaches, and
which is called "The Adobe of the Rose-
bush," made historic by a romance of the
long ago, Francis McComas had his stu-
dio for many years. In this quaint place
the sleepy old town nestling in the valley.
Here, surrounded by nature, undisturbed
by sound, save song of bird or whispering
of pines, Charles Rollo Peters is king in
his "castle of dreams." It is here that he
dreams, on canvas, those beautiful moon-
light effects of sleeping adobes upon
which the moonlight falls as gently as the
blessing of a nun. Charles Dickman hats
one of the most charming studios in the
old town. He seems to revel in sunlight
The gate-way of William Adams' studio.
66
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
effects found here. It can be said of
Dickman that he is the painter of Cali-
fornia sunlight. His canvases teem with
light and color, yet so true are his values
and such harmony of tone prevails, that
one i? convinced of the exquisite refine-
ment that may exist with color. If he
paints an adobe wall, the sunlight gleams
against it, making it a mosaic of rare
beauty. If he paints the sea, under his
brush it becomes a tremulous rainbow full
of prismatic changes; if a field of grain,
over the yellow slope you see long, pulsing
waves of heat and color. The subject of
one of the most beautiful canvases he has
After her return from Paris some years
ago, Miss McCormick sought Monterey as
a field for work, and so conscientiously
has she applied herself to nature here that
her work is full of the character of this
locality. It is full of feeling and vibrant
with life and color. Evelyn McCormick
ranks with those California artists who
paint with intelligence and seriousness.
Among the studios recently added to
the list are those of William Adam and
Eugene Neuhaus. Eugene Neuhaus
comes from Berlin, and though having
been in California but a short time, has
found a place among the prominent paint-
The historic "Old Pacific House," in which Evelyn McCormick now has her studio.
painted is a country road scene near
Monterey. Long evening shadows tone
the canvas to the low key of the late af-
ternoon, the lowering sun sending
through passing clouds one glorious shaft
of lighW- the day's good-bye.
Up a creaking flight of steps and
around a seemingly never-ending veranda
of the old historic hotel, "The Pacific
House," in a quaint room made most ar-
tistic by hangings of rare old shawls and
furnished with many interesting antiques,
we find the studio of Evelyn McCormick.
ers. His work is strong and virile, pos-
sessing that most essential quality, spon-
taneity. He has done much strong work
in and around Monterey, and has chosen
the "gray days" as the key-note to most
of his pictures. One of his most character-
istic sketches is "A Gray Day in China-
town." William Adam, formerly of Scot-
land, and a member of the Glasgow Art
Club, has a charming studio filled with
interesting work. Mr. Adam chose Cali-
fornia as his home about six years ago,
though during that time having revisited
The "Adobe of the Rose-bush," owned by Signorita Bonifascio, in which Francis McComas
paints his charming water colors.
68
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
EngLind, Scotland and France. He has
brought with him excellent work. You
can wander with him in his sketches over
Scottish Moorlands, purple with heather,
through quaint English rural scenes and
charming bits of France.
These are but a few of the many inter-
esting studios dotted here and there on
the hill slopes around the old town.
In a few years, "the old Monterey"
will have passed forever: it will live only
in art, immortalized by those who
have told her story by word or pic-
ture.
C. S. COLEMAN
Beside the mountains and the sea she stands,
While o'er her watch the kindly, happy skies,
A queen of mighty peoples, noble lands,
The glories of the future in her eyes.
For her no gods of dim, forgotten days,
No kings a-slumber where the long years smile
The past knows naught of her or of her ways
She dwelleth not in lang'rous lotus isle.
The East may keep the mysteries of the dead,
For her the secrets of the years to be,
She does not stand 'mid ruins with bowed head,
But gazes far into futurity.
The stars look kindly on her, and the sun,
While wide before her waits the joyous sea,
For well they know her way and Fate's are one
The Queen shall be the bride of Destiny.
And we, we children of the regal West,
Our toils are hers, our dreams are all of her,
For in our souls (thus we are trebly blest)
We feel the spirit of an empire stir.
'Tis true we dream, but we are workers, too,
And this the lesson through the years we learn-
We build an empire such as no man knew,
We gem a crown a Caesar would not spurn.
BY JAMES WILLIAM JACKSON
^T T NT1L Wednesday, at two
-. o'clock, then; and I think my
^"^ promotion to the superintend-
ency, with fifteen hundred a year, will be
one of the wedding presents. Good-bye!"
Wednesday morning had come, and the
young engineer looked up for a moment
from the drawings on his desk and gazed
out of the shack window toward the curl-
ing smokes of the far-away city chimneys.
There, in the distant valley, was the dear-
est girl, and within a few hours he would
marry her.
Houghton was a fledgling engineer.
Away up here in the hill-tops his firm was
building a reservoir for the city. It had
been a long summer, miles away from the
girl ; but the reward was coming now, and
on this crisp autumn morning Houghton
felt the jubilation of maturing happy
plans.
He resumed his work with as much in-
dustry as his truant thoughts would per-
mit. Just now his mind persisted in
dwelling on the coveted promotion. He
had found favor with his chief, nis work
had been eminently satisfactory, and he
knew somebody was going to get that
promotion very soon. He had no grounds
on which to prophesy 'his own elevation,
but the conditions were very favorable.
Hi? meditations and work were inter-
rupted by the opening of the door. Look-
ing up he found his chief standing there.
"Houghton," Mr. Smalley began, and
Houghton afterward remembered that the
chief seemed a little embarrassed, "Thorn-
ton is not in this morning. I must ask
you to finish his drawings. I want you to
hurry them through before night."
For a moment, Houghton was speech-
less. Then, with a sudden sense of relief,
it occurred to him that Mr. Smalley must
have forgotten the day. Houghton al-
most laughed to think how funny that
was.
"Why, Mr. Smalley," he expostulated,
with a genial air, "you know I go off at
noon. This is my wedding day."
Mr. Smalley's brow contracted in a
large, unsympathetic frown. "I realize
that perfectly," he said, with a trace of
testiness. "But, my dear fellow, you
know the wisdom of work before play. I
can't lay off half a hundred men just be-
cause the drawings are not ready."
"'But," and Houghton's voice rose to a
high pitch of protest, as he stood up and
faced his employer, "think of my situa-
tion, sir. I can't finish those papers be-
fore six o'clock to-night, and I am due
for the most important engagement of a
man's life at two. I simply can't stay
here all day. It it would be ."
He couldn't think of any better term at
the moment than "highway robbery," so
the sentence broke in the middle.
"Very well," Mr. Smalley commented,
easily. "If you think it is out of the
question, I have nothing further to say.
I can command you only so long as you
stay in my employ. You understand."
Mr. Smalley turned to the door, leav-
ing Houghton in a figurative heap be-
side his desk, his mind troubled with a
drowning man's lightning-like review of
the situation. Only Sunday he had said
that he hoped one of the wedding presents
would be a promotion to the superinten-
dency at fifteen hundred a year. Now he
was on the verge of throwing over a situa-
tion at ten hundred. True, he felt justi-
fied in such a course after the preposter-
ous demand ; but could he think of mar-
rying without a situation. Love in a
cottage was all very well; but a thousand
dollars or fifteen hundred was much bet-
ter. He was just about to plead for a lit-
tle time to think when his employer fore-
stalled him.
"Better take a little time to make up
your mind, Houghton," Mr. Smalley sug-
gested from the doorway. "Then if you
feel that you can't stay, say so."
Houghton went savagely to work for an
hour before he allowed himself definite
thought on the subject. He knew, how-
ever, that it was useless to think of finish-
70
OVEELAND MONTHLY.
ing his task at two o'clock, and at the
end of an hour he threw down his pencil
and considered the situation.
"Great Scott," he moaned, "where did
I ever get the notion that Smalley had any
milk of human kindness in his heart?
And as for giving me a raise, he is as
likely to cut down my salary in pure con-
trariness. But I can't help myself. Net-
tie will have to wait until I can get there,
after the work is done."
He drew a sheet of paper over on top of
his drawings and wrote enough of the
story to indicate an unavoidable change
of the wedding hour from two to eight
o'clock. "Believe me," he concluded, "I
can't help myself."
He took the letter into the office of Mr.
Smalley, and found that ogre busy at
Iris desk.
"I've decided to finish the drawings,"
Houghton coldly explained.
Mr. Smalley merely nodded, without
turning his head.
"May I ask you to have this note sent
over to the town, sir?"
Houghton laid this note as he spoke at
Mr. Smalley's elbow. There was no ac-
knowledgment, no word. Apparently it
was too trivial a matter for the attention
of such a great man. Houghton stood
by irresolutely an instant. He was half-
minded to take the note back, put on his
hat and coat, and then leave the office. If
he could have telephoned, there would
have been no need of a note, but the only
means of communication with the city
was by carrier.
Houghton ended in leaving the note on
the desk. Then he went back to work.
For several hours he lost himself in the
intricacies of lines and plotting; but af-
ter a while a dispirited mood took posses-
sion of him.
"To think of a man's wedding being
spoiled in this fashion," he told himself,
"and Smallev supposed to be a close
friend of Nettie's father. Ugh! He
makes me sick."
The hour of two struck as he came to
a point in the drawings where some blun-
der had been made with the figures. There
was a short-line telephone in the office,
connecting with the work on the reser-
voir; and he crossed the room to call up
the field for the necessary figures.
He was just about to explain his dif-
ficulty, after receiving an answer to his
call. Instead his lips closed with a snap,
as if he had been struck suddenly dumb.
He was unable to speak until the voice at
the far end again demanded his attention.
"Thornton, what the dickens are you
doing over there? I thought you were
home, sick. Who sent you there?" and
there was both vehemence and undis-
guised irritation in Houghton's tones.
"Say," came back a good-natured
drawling voice, "how long you been boss
on this ranch? You don't mean to say
that old Smalley has died since this
morning and willed you his job? Other-
wise you better change the tone of your
commands, or I'll lick you the first chance
T get."
"I beg your pardon, Thornton," Hough-
ton murmured over the wire, too ruffled
to be gracious. "But I was so surprised
by your voice. Smalley won't let me off!
said you were not in and that I would
have to do your work; and here you are
down in the Superintendent's berth.
What does it mean?"
Thornton's voice was heard chuckling
in unfeeling amusement. Houghton
clenched his disengaged hand as he list-
ened.
"Sorry, Houghton," Thornton drawled
back, complacently ; "I really thought you
were going to get this. Imagine my as-
tonishment when the old man sent me
here and told me to say nothing about it.
I haven't said anything, either, mind
you." But Houghton waited to hear no
more. With manifest irritation he pre-
ferred his request for the needed figures.
The long afternoon dragged out. It
was not until half past six that Hough-
ton breathed a sigh of relief and mut-
tered another malediction on the head
of Mr. Smallvjy.
Gathering up the drawings (he took
them into the inner office and laid them
on the chiefs desk in front of the empty
chair. They were well done, he knew;
at least there was that satisfaction to re-
deem the spoiled day.
"When I get a chance to work for a
more reasonable master," he muttered,
"I'll take advantage of it and spoil your
miserable career. Your conscience will
smite you for losing such a talented sub-
ordinate, see if it doesn't."
Smiling grimly at his own vanity and
THE PATIENCE OF JOB.
71
somewhat refreshed by his apostrophe to
the empty chair he was about to leave the
office when his eye lighted upon a famil-
iar object. It was the note he had -writ-
ten at nine o'clock that morning!
"By all the furies/' Houghton ejacu-
lated; "this is the limit of endurance.
Not another stroke of work will I do for
this man."
He snatched u 1 " 1 the note with a half-
formed determination to seek out his
chief and wreak out a satisfying ven-
geance.
"Before I take . my tools away from
this place," he promised himself, "Smal-
ley shall hear from my lips what a low
down, miserable creature he is. The de-
mons take him, if such a small soul ; s
worth the trouble."
He had torn the note into a hundred
pieces and thrust them into his pocket.
He threw on his coat with an angry ges-
ture that nearly ripped it up the back.
Jamming his hat on he passed out and
sprang into the waiting carriage.
"Drive!" he commanded; "drive as if
the No !" he mentally thun-
dered to himself; "I won't swear on my
wedding day. I haven't lost my temper
yet, either; though I will when I meet
that conglomerated caricature of a Oh !
what a poverty stricken language this is !"
He gave himself up to speculation.
What must the peoplle think of him ;
what must the poor girl be enduring all
this time? "Due for a wedding at two
o'clock. Here it is nearly seven and
and neither of us married yet," he con-
cluded, lamely.
All his personal preparations for the
wedding had been made before he left the
office. When the carriage drew up at the
house he jumped out and ran up ths
steps without loss of time.
There were no acclamations. He was
admitted, without any tearful demands
for an explanation, shown to his room
and left alone.
After a little while he was ushered into
the presence of the waiting guests. The
unruffled minister was there; so was the
fiendish Smalley. Unconscious of the
damning denunciation that was to come
when there should be time, the wretch
posed as an honored, happy guest.
Then came the bride on her father's
arm; and the radiant picture drove from
Hough ton's mind all uncouth and un-
timely thoughts.
It was long after the ceremony before
leisure and quiet came to the young peo-
ple; and meanwhile Houghton, the hypo-
crite, had smilingly acknowledged the
congratulations of the hard Smalley.
But now they were alone and Hough-
ton allowed himself to look into the bles-
sedest eyes. They met his with the ful-
lest reciprocation.
"Dearest," she said, "wasn't it too bad
the Bishop should be delayed, and have
to telegraph us that he couldn't be here
until evening? You must have been
dreadfully disturbed when Mr. Smalley
gave you my message."
She stopped for a moment to compen-
sate him.
"See," she added, then, holding up an
envelope; "a wedding present that we
haven't opened. Let's look."
It was a business letter he had, dated
and so forth. But the gist was:
" . . . . It gives me pleasure to enclose
a check and a two months' leave of ab-
sence for your husband. I have taken
the liberty to test him; and I know he
will make me a good and patient superin-
tendent. I am keeping the place for
him."
And it was signed by that contempti-
ble caricature of a Smalley.
Houghton sought an adequate ejacu-
lation, but the poverty-stricken language
proved as ineffective as he had found it
earlier in the day. Like the brave, pa-
tient man he was, he took refuge in action.
"You'll make a sterner-looking super-
intendent with your mustache shaved off"
was her irrelevant observation.
BY FLORENCE CROSBY PARSONS
WITHIN recent years, many hon-
ors have come to the great com-
monwealth of California, none
of which outrank in splendor or in pro-
phecy the crown she has won as Queen of
climatic conditions, furnishing a superior
vantage ground for the sweep of the
"magic mirror" when it shall swing to
the motion of the universe the largest
telescope the world has ever seen.
To the far south, the ramparts of the
Sierra Madre lift their serrated heights
forever to north and east above the famed
San Gabriel Valley, where, upon its loft-
iest peak, Mount Wilson, at an altitude of
6,000 feet, has been erected a fine solar
observatory 230 feet long, with steel frame
and canvas cover, giving it the appear-
ance of a splendid ship about to sail out
over the crags and steeps and voiceless
canyons, above the vast pine forests that
clothe the mountain-sides, away over the
fair valley with its vineyards and orange
groves; away, away, into the limitless
blue of the vaulted sky.
This white-winged ship contains not
only a horizontal telescope, but is equip-
ped with a variety of other instruments
clocks, short and tall, photographic ma-
chinery and an array of scientific para-
phernalia that seems, indeed, the work of
a magician to the ordirary poor mortal
who follows the professor about in a dazed
and confounded condition, secretly hop-
ing he looks wise, and can manage to
stammer : "Oh, certainly !' "Ah, yes !" in
the right places.
The situation is relieved by the fact
that the courteous conductor, Professor
George E. Hale, never by word or look as-
sumes that you cannot understand his ex-
planations, or are not perfectly familiar
with astronomy throughout its heights
and depths.
The observatory is in charge of this
genial professor, a man still young in
years, possessing rare charm of manner,
so modest, in fact, that he seems unaware
of his rank as one of the foremost astron-
omers in the country; that his fame has
gone abroad as inventor of the spectro
heliograph, an instrument for photo-
graphing solar phenomena, and for his
recent discoveries upon the sun.
When Mr. Carnegie gave ten millions
to establish the Carnegie Institution of
Washington, the largest grant accorded
to any one department, amounting thus
far to over $300,000, was allotted to as-
tronomy.
The observatory shops, built and main-
tained from this fund, and wherein are
made all the instruments for use upon the
mountain, are located in Pasadena, that
beautiful city whose name means "the
Valley's Crown."
Astronomers, especially, seem so filled
with a sense of the immensity of the uni-
verse, and of their own comparative in-
significance, that they are very modest
men, and oft-times retiring, keeping much
within the realm of their own thought.
All this wonderful work in the shops is
under the superintendence of Professor
George W. Ritchey, who possesses both of
the above-named attributes. Apparently
unconscious of the boast he might make
as standing among the leaders both here
and in Europe, in his chosen field of as-
tronomical photography, and the con-
struction for this work of reflecting tele-
scopes.
The great center of attraction just now
is the huge glass that was cast in St. Go-
bain, France, remaining in the Yerkes
Observatory optical shop for five years
awaiting funds for its completion, when
it was brought to Pasadena, where for
two years it has been under the eye of
Professor Ritchey during the long and
careful process of "grinding and figur-
ing."
Do not suppose that the public are ad-
mitted, even on visiting days, into the
very presence chamber wherein this splen-
did mirror rests upon its iron throne.
They must pay their court through the
medium of a glass panel.
Mt. Wilson Observatory.
THE WORLD'S GREATEST TELESCOPE.
75
The impression is of looking into an
operating room, rather than into a shop.
The walls and floor are carefully washed
above the mirror is stretched a canvas;
directions are given through a speaking
tube, the workmen don surgeon's caps and
aprons, performing their labor behind
closed doors all these precautions lest
dust from the Everywhere, the very motes
in the sunbeam, should gather upon the
delicate surface.
Notwithstanding constant vigilance,
particles will float upon the forbidden
ground.
This mirror is 60 inches in diameter, 8
inches thick, and weighs one ton. As it
rests upon the turntable it resembles a
huge wheel of ice into whose green depths
you can look as if it were a frozen block.
This lovely coloring in green is a sur-
prise to the beholder, who thinks to see the
mirror clear or about as white 'as a win-
dow pane.
In the work of grinding, fine emery and
water are placed between the grinding
tools and the surface of the mirror.
When the surfaces are properly
smoothed, they are coated with pure sil-
ver, that metal furnishing highest reflec-
tive power. The concave front is the op-
tical surface, the other side being polished
approximately flat, and silvered because
the changes effected by the temperature
would otherwise be unsymmetrical.
Before it was decided where to place
this great telescope, various points were
visited and their merits considered. The
severe winters at Yerkes make the as-
tronomer's work difficult, and as the San
Gabriel Valley has a large percentage of
cloudless days, it is hoped to find much
advantage in the clear atmosphere and
altitude of Mt. Wilson, a peak destined to
be no longer unknown to fame.
And now the 60-inch mirror is to be
outmatched upon its own grounds. A
citizen of Los Angeles, Mr. John D.
Hooker, has placed at the disposal of the
Carnegie Institute fifty thousand dollars
wherewith to purchase and prepare a disc
of glass that shall be one hundred inches
in diameter the largest reflector lens in
the world. This mammoth wheel will be
eighteen inches thick, and weigh four and
one-half tons.
Professor Ritchey explains that "this
thickness is necessary that the glass shall
be sufficiently rigid to retain its perfect
form, and even then it is necessary to
support the back and edges by an elabo-
rate system of plates, levers and weights
to prevent the flexure of the mirror when
the telescope is in use."
The great French manufacturers of St.
Gobain have agreed to undertake the cast-
ing. Prof. Hale says : "It will be an ex-
tremely long and difficult operation to cast
and anneal such an immense mass, but
in view of their experience, we confident-
ly count on a successful outcome."
Meanwhile, larger shops must foe built,
machinery for grinding and polishing
be designed and constructed, together with
apparatus for lifting the glass.
Prof. Hale asserts that this 100-inch
telescope will give seven and a half times
as much light as the most powerful pho-
tographic telescope in use, and two and
a half times as much as the 60 inch reflec-
tor now being made.
He further declares. "We cannot tell
whether atmospheric conditions even on
Mt. Wilson will be perfect enough to meet
the demands which will be imposed by the
great size of the telescope."
Although the 60 inch lens will be ready
within this year for its mounting, it will
require about four years to complete its
marvelous successor.
The work is by no means done when
the glass receives its coat of shining sil-
ver.
Think of taking 250 tons of metal,
huge iron castings, up a narrow mountain
trail, at its widest only twelve feet, pre-
vious means of transportation having been
the backs of sturdy little burros.
Even the stoutest of these strangely
wise and sure-footed creatures could hard-
ly be expected to climb eight miles up
those perilous steeps with the precious
mirror, weighing a ton, strapped upon his
back!
For months the famous trail has been
in process of widening and smoothing, at
a cost of $25,000, under the skillful hands
of Japanese laborers, who deserve unlim-
ited praise for the marvel they have
wrought. But at its best it is a dangerous
road, subject to disaster from mountain
rains and from boulders falling from
above. To carry such heavy materials to
that altitude, a special truck has been
constructed by the Couple-Gear Freight
76
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
Wheel Company of Detroit.
Much interest and enthusiasm was
shown when the long, red-painted auto-
mobile car appeared for its trial trip up-
on the streets of Pasadena. A storage
battery could not furnish power for four
motors, so a gasoline engine of forty
horse-power is connected with a dynamo
which generates the electric current.
The direct transmission of power to
each wheel is effected by a series of elec-
tric motors, one in each wheel, which is
operated on its own axle so that shortest
possible turns may be made.
There is a separate gear for each set of
wheels, or the four may be steered to-
gether. The weight of the truck is eleven
thousand pounds. A trap door in its cen-
ter allows portions of the castings to sink
within its depths to bring the center of
weight as low as possible.
The 60 inch glass is not to be mounted
in the observatory now in use upon "the
peak/' but will be placed in a metal
building having a steel dome 60 feet in
diameter, to be erected the coming sum-
mer by men sent from the Union Iron
Works of San Francisco, where all the
heavy castings were made. The fine at-
tachments and delicate machinery for ad-
justing the telescope, together with the
driving clock, have been fashioned in the
Pasadena shops. Next April the auto
truck will begin carrying up materials for
this dome, and last of all, some time in the
autumn the famous glass will make the
ascent. If the four years' work upon the
100-inch lens proves successful, another
and larger building will be prepared upon
the mountain top to receive it.
Since that day when "the morning stars
sang together," men have striven to in-
terpret the symbols blazoned upon the
vaulted sky by Him who sitteth "above
the circle of the earth."
Throughout the ages they have groped
amid the splendors of astronomical science
now and then discovering a marvelous
law, ?. rolling planet, a burning sun.
The work of the astronomer is but dim-
ly comprehended, to a very large extent
unappreciated. Who stops to think of him
up there in his lonely watch tower fairly
wrestling with the spheres for science's
sake ''
He knows much of severe midnight,
yes, all-night toil, of solitude, oft-times
of bitter cold, of terrible stress upon
nervo and brain and muscle, as with the
world asleep, he sits motionless, yet with
every sense alert, his keen eye upon the
great glass which shall perchance reveal
ere the sun comes again from out his
chamber in the east, the path of some new
star, the orbit of some whirling planet.
Powerless to "loose the bands of Orion,
or to bind the sweet influence of the Plei-
ades," nevertheless, he can do his heroic
part toward swinging this old world up
into clearer light, into fuller knowledge.
"There is no speech nor language where
their voice is not heard." The faint, far
sound, mystic as the music of the spheres,
felJ upon the ear of astrologer, magician,
divinator, among the ancients, gathering
volume when heard by astronomers in
Egypt, in Greece, in Chaldea, vibrating
yet louder as Copernicus. Galileo, Her-
schel, bent their heads to listen.
Yet none of these ever dared to drear
or prophesy or picture to the imaginatioi
the wonders that may be within the grasj
of modern research, when away up amon
the solitudes of the hoary mount, the
mighty lens turns its shining eye of silver
upon the starry heavens declaring the
glory of God, the firmament showing HU
handiwork.
BY CHARLES FRANCIS SAUNDERS
The wind broke open a rose's heart
And scattered her petals far apart.
Driven before the churlish blast
Some in the meadow brook were cast,
Or fell in the tangle of the sedge;
Some were impaled on the thorn of the hedge
But one was caught on my dear love's breast
Where long ago my heart found rest.
IHlrana <smdl
BY LIZZIE GA1NES WILCOXSON
WHEN it became a settled fact
that Mrs. Dutcher Lombard-
Hill's sister was coming to visit
her, Mrs. Hill began to look for a house.
During her two years' residence in San
Francisco she and her husband had occu-
pied apartments in a semi-private hotel.
Now, to find a house to suit her, and be
within her means, became the haunting oc-
cupation of her life. After three weeks
of search she gave up the idea of being
suited, and the question narrowed down
to something that would possibly do. Eent
agencies were her daily haunts. The clerks
thereof came to know her and wanted to
run and hide when she came in.
At last, in sheer desperation and weari-
ness of body, she chose a house on a
"twenty minutes' walk" recommendation,
and an assurance from the agent that he
would be most obliging in the matter of
repairs and sundry coats of calcimine.
The morning following her decision,
Mrs. Hill visited the place again. This
time she was unpleasantly impressed with
the nearness of a dilapidated little house
on the west side, and a double flat on the
east side. She had been so weary the day
before that these details escaped her, in
view of the fact that the house itself pre-
sented as few objectionable features as
any she had examined.
"Dear me/' she sighed, "I hope the
people in the flats will not have more than
half a dozen children to each family."
"They are very nice people," assured
the agent soothingly.
"Possiblv," rejoined Mrs. Hill, wearily,
"but that is no guarantee against large
families of small children."
As they made a tour of the west rooms,
Mrs. Hill again noticed the dilapidated
cottage on that side.
"That place is vacant," she observed.
"I do hope when it is let only quiet people
will live there."
"I am sure you will find this a very de-
sirable neighborhood," rejoined the agent,
with a slightly aggrieved air.
"I hope so," sighed Mrs. Hill.
At any rate, to hope for the best
was all she could do now, and the work of
preparing the house and furnishing it be-
gan and went briskly forward for a week
or ten days.
In the matter of cheap pianos and child-
ren the double flats proved less of a nui-
sance than Mrs. Hill's fears had antici-
pated, and it was with a feeling of real
satisfaction that she began to settle in
her new home.
"I like it much better than the hotel,"
she confided to Mr. Hill one morning at
breakfast.
"I always told you that you would, if
you would only try it," was the husbandly
rejoinder.
"I don't remember your saying anything
of the kind," answered Mrs. Hill.
Then Mr. Hill cast some reflections up-
on the unreliability of a woman's memory,
which, in turn, brought forth an acrimo-
nious retort from Mrs. Hill, and the re-
sult was a smart tiff. When Mr. Hill left
the house, he shut the front door with
a bang that demonstrated that, after all,
a home is never really a home unless it
connects directly with a front door.
Mrs. Hill was too self-centered to be
more than temporarily unsettled by a
domestic difference, but nevertheless, the
disagreement ihad its aftermath. This
came, first, paradoxically enough, in the
form and likeness of a beauty-doctor.
Mr. Hill was a man of decided preju-
dices, but "prejudice" is far too mild a
word to apply to his utter detestation of
this feminine humbug. Mrs. Hill was
78
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
abundantly aware of his attitude, and up
to then had respected it, not so much, it
must be admitted, from a sense of wifely
duty as from the circumstance of having
an exceptionally fine complexion, bright
eyes and beautiful hair.
But the past strenuous month had told
on her. Miles of hard pavement, more
miles of noisy, wearisome street-car rid-
ing, had combined to haggard her. As
she raised the window shades, letting in
a harsh glare of sun, she caught a view
of herself in the sideboard mirror and
noted the pallor of her complexion and
dullness of eye. Peering in, she discovered
with a shock two tiny wrinkles under her
eyes, and another threatening her neck.
To look old Mrs. Hill considered the most
terrible affliction that life could possibly
hold for any woman. Owing to a good
constitution and a life of comparative ease
she had so far preserved herself from
alarming symptoms of age; therefore, she
was all the more overcome by these signs
of advancing age.
It was at this psychological moment
that the doorbell rang, and the maid
brought Mrs. Hill a card bearing the le-
gend: "Mme. Loraine, representing Mme.
Lippette, dermatologist; facial blemishes
successfully removed; traces of age ob-
literated ; consultation free."
What took place at the interview be-
tween Mrs. Hill and the representative of
Mme. Lippette would not have been hard
to guess the next day as Mrs. Hill stood
before a small cabinet and carefully
placed therein one large bottle containing
a whitish liquid; one medium-size bottle
of pink buttermilk appearance; one fat
tin box of grease; one squatty white jar
of pomade; a package of medicated cha-
moise, and last, a flat, small box, con-
taining a limp, crawly little square, to
which was attached four little tapes. It
was a Face Beauty Mask. Mrs. Hill took
it out and gingerly unfolded it. As she
spread it lightly over her face and looked
at the effect in the glass, she did have a
vision of Mr. Hill when he should come
to kiss her good-night.
"Gracious me ! I wouldn't blame Dutch
a bit for getting a divorce if he
should see me with this thing on. I will
have to take my treatments and wear it
some time during the day while he is
down town. It would be a crime for any
woman to let her husband see her lookin*
like this."
This was the day after the tiff, and
Mr. Hill had brought home theatre tick-
ets and a new fan for his wife the evening
before as a peace-offering, and harmony
was once more restored. So Mirs. Hill
locked the cabinet door, and instead of
boldly presenting the bill for the beauty
paraphernalia, as she had intended doing,
she took the more pacific course of charg-
ing it up to housekeeping sundries, and
keeping her transactions with the blonde
dermatologist a secret from her husband
* * * *
It was perhaps a week later as she lay
in bed late one morning that she gradu-
ally became aware of an odd bustle and
a wordy vibration without her west win-
dow. The sounds were singularly choppy
and unintelligible. They were accompan-
ied by slamming of doors and banging
of heavy articles. She arose and looked
out. What she saw filled her with amaze-
ment and anger. The dilapidated little
house so near her west window was inhab-
ited. Its tenants were scurrying here and
there in night-shirt-looking garb and san-
daled feet. Pigtails of varying length
and glossiness switched and undulated as
they moved and chattered. They ap-
peared like a colony of insects, each intent
on some individual task, and yet all work-
ing together. Before the steps stood a
black-covered wagon and a bony, rat-
tailed horse. Over the door was already
inscribed : "Yip Hung, Hand Laundry."
At the window directly opposite Mrs.
Hill, and into which she bent her aston-
ished and wrathful gaze, stood a gaunt
Chinaman in a white, scant garment, bare
legs and sandaled feet, busy at an ironing
board. Verily, a full-fledged laundry had
sprung up in the night and was now in
operation.
"This is an outrage !" exclaimed Mrs.
Hill. "I shall speak to the agent about it
at once!"
The agent was attentive and full of
sympathy, and promised to do what he
could. But the next day when she called
again, he expressed his sorrow that ha
was unable to influence the unworthy citi-
zen who owned and rented that particular
little house.
"Everybody ought to move off the
block!" angrily opined Mrs. Hill.
THE TANGENT OF A TIFF.
79
The agent gave a shrug indicative of
the futility of such a course.
"Such a thing is possible to occur any-
where in San Francisco/' he commented.
Thereafter Mrs. Hill's life became one
great protest directed against things in
general, and one fat, placid, sphynx-like
Yip Hung in particular. She felt anew
a sense of outrage every time she looked
out of the west windows. Now and then
strong whiffs of opium smoke and gushes
of steam rose up to her angry nostrils.
At such times, it but added fuel to the
flame to see Yip Hung sitting on a box
in the middle of the room, drawing deep,
contented puffs from a long-stemmed pipe,
serene, prosperous, giving one an impres-
sion of an immense, sleepy, fat, motionless
spider.
On Sundays another exasperating fea-
ture obtruded itself on the west view. It
was the shady side of Yip's laundry, and
a long line of Celestials would come out
and sit there the live-long afternoon and
comb and queue their hair.
In spite of Mrs. Hill's baneful looks
and ill wishes, Yip Hung's laundry throve
and prospered, and ever and anon a new
ironing board was added. In time, it re-
quired two black covered wagons to con-
vey the laundry, and Yip Hung, full of
peace and plenty, daily grew fatter and
richer.
After a period of this tranquil prosper-
ity, the tide turned. It may have been
that Yip was forgetting his gods; it may
have been an ill luck in that in his greed
for American dollars, Yip ground his poor
workers down to a point that forbade bod-
ily nourishment, and for this cause Li Wo
quite suddenly fell down beside his iron-
ing board one hot day and quite as sud-
denly died.
This untoward incident necessitated a
total suspension of operation in the
laundry for at least twenty-four hours, for
though callous indeed had prosperity
made him, Yip would not defy the tradi-
tional superstition that one must allow a
spirit time to take a leisurely departure
from the scene of its labors, from whence
it is unable to go as long as its customary
work is being performed by others. So
the fire died down, and most of the work-
ers went off to Chinatown and others went
to bury the dead. Yip waddled about the
deserted ironing room, feeling ill-used
and cursing his luck. He paused in front
of the mantel, and stood observing him-
self sulkily in the stationary mirror built
above the shelf.
So stood Yip; and his thoughts were
upon his tribulation. Suddenly, like a
flash a wink there lept into the clear
surface of the mirror a terrible face. A
most terrifying face. A ghastly, dead face
from which rolled two eyes like balls of
fire ! A horrible dead face without a
body.
Yip gave a strangled scream, and as the
face did not vanish, he screamed again,
and sank down from sheer weakness of
terror, and hid his face in his flapping
sleeves.
From that day disaster pursued Yip
Hung. Evil days fell upon him. Valuable
pieces of wash became variously miscar-
ried. Several aggrieved customers took
away their patronage. Others threatened
arrest if the missing articles were not
produced. Some refused to pay for large
washes from which alleged articles were
missing, but gave him additional large
washes for which he sadly suspected he
would likewise get no pay. Families
moved out of his ken, leaving from two
to five weeks' bills unpaid. His helpers
struck for higher pay.
It was a chastened Yip who sat draw-
ing long puffs from his long stem pipe one
afternoon some three weeks after that
terrible day. Since the incident of the
awful dead face, Yip had kept a cloth
pinned across the mirror. Now as his
dull gaze rested unseeingly on the cloth,
quickly, as if an unseen hand had snatched
it loose, the cloth dropped from a dis-
lodged pin at one end. Yip uttered a
hoarse cry and half arose, pointing a pal-
sied finger at the undraped glass. A dozen
pairs of startled, beady eyes followed the
movement. They saw nothing save the re-
flection of the ugly wall, the door space,
the stove pipe, and their own yellow vis-
ages. Nothing unnatural in that. Noth-
ing to so agitate their placid boss. In
obedience to a hoarse command to replace
the cloth, half a dozen of them sprang
toward the mantel. Lo ! In that second
flashed out and faced them the dead
face!
Every Chinaman in the room had a
glimpse of the horrible thing as it hung
a moment and then vanished.
80
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
Twice more, even before the terrified
workers could make a move, it flashed
back and re-vanished. Then like possessed
creatures, the Chinese clung together and
chattered like monkeys.
Oh, that ghastly face! Its living eyes!
Its awful dead flesh.
Some of them fled without ceremony.
Others fell to the floor calling upon the
gods among them Yip.
An hour later, Mrs. Hill heard an un-
common activity among her detested
neighbors, and went to the west window
to look out. What was her astonishment
to see half a dozen Chinamen tumbling
things out of the house in a conglomera-
tion, while another lot of Chinese gath-
ered them up and pitched them promis-
cuously and frantically into -the two laun-
dry wagons. In less than an hour more,
the last queue, the last ironing board, had
vanished.
"It looked like some forcible eject-
ment," commented Mrs. Hill to Mr. Hill
that night at dinner. "But thank Heaven,
they are out! I wonder what the next
will be. It can't be worse, that's one con-
solation."
The next day now no longer having
a prejudice against sitting by the west
windows Mrs. Hill re-arranged her west
chamber furniture, and in doing so, she de-
stroyed the angles the other position had
created with the mirrors in her room,
that, by the aid of a hand mirror occa-
sionally held in a certain position had
thrown her reflection across the way into
Yip Hung's mirror when she sat at her
dressing table taking her treatment and
wearing her beauty-mask.
BY EMMA PLAYTER SEABURY
Morning a daisy field, ripples of laughter,
Children asport like the fairies, with flowers.
Bobolinks bubbling their melodies after,
Childhood and beauty engarland the hours.
Gold and white daisies, tinted with clover,
Sky of azure, an afternoon ;
Clouds like foam flakes nickering over,
Balm and breath of the fragrant June;
Merry groups in the ambient glory,
'Scattering leaves of the daisy, in glee,
Telling each other, the sweet old story,
"He loves, she loves, or he loves not me."
Daisy field in the dusky gloaming,
Evening star and the late birds' trill,
Groups of twos in the daisies roaming,
Telling the sweet old story still.
Hush and the moon, and the soft June weather,
Daisies and clover, and summer and dream,
Souls drifting out to the future together,
With sails of gossamer-love supreme.
BY ALFRED DAVIS
DEATH Valley is ugly, ugly and ut-
terly desolate. Cactus and sand,
sand and cactus as far as the eye
can reach, to the north, to the south, to
the east and to the west. Not a single
tree or green bush is there in all that
dreary waste to vary the great monotony.
The sun above, usually riding in a clear
sky, pours down its fiercest rays upon the
sun-baked plain with unrelenting force.
Here and there a rattlesnake lies stretched
out in the torrid sand, while now and then
a skinny prairie dog will pop up from the
yellow dirt and then dart down again
with the rapidity of lightning. Once in a
while a buzzard wheels its dizzy flight
along the misty horizon. Save for these
no signs of life are found in all that vast
solitude.
Far to the north a great cloud of dust
might have been seen on a certain day in
mid-summer, hurrying along before a
breath of wind, lost probably in that deso-
late land. Out of the cloud as it swept
.over the brow of a hill, the form of a
man appeared outlined against the deep
blue sky. He paused on the crest and
seated himself. A tall fellow he was,
dressed in a manner typical of the place,
calculated to render the heat bearable,
while his searching eyes that looked out
from two narrow slits bespoke the fron-
tiersman, through and through. He sur-
veyed the barren stretch before him with
the easy manner of one familiar with the
scene, and as his eye roved over the plain
it rested upon a dark spot which seemed
to be emanating from the haze of the west-
ern horizon.
The figure moved irregularly, frequent-
ly pausing as if bewildered, then again
moving on, on, until coming to another
abrupt pause.
"A man," thought the plainsman, "a
man as sure as hell, and coming from the
Funeral hills." And as he started down
the hill in the direction of the traveler,
he cursed the creature for a fool thus to
tempt the Almighty.
The wanderer, his head bent toward the
ground and his eyes red and blistered from
the intense heat, stumbled on, now in one
direction, then in another, as if uncertain
of his way. Then of a sudden, he threw
his head back and laughed long and loud,
but the laugh ceased when he beheld the
plainsman. He started towards him,
mumbling incoherently, then paused and
gazed unsteadily upon him. Again he
laughed, wild and hoarsely, and broke in-
to a tottering run, away from the ap-
proaching figure. Finally he stopped,
turned again, and again started on, but
his strength seemed suddenly to leave him
and he fell face downwards in the sand.
The plainsman rolled the wanderer up-
on his back and pillowed his coat beneath
the head of long unkempt hair. Then,
taking a flask from his pocket, he poured
the contents into the mouth of the suf-
ferer. The eyes opened slowly, as if in
pain, and when they fell upon the other's
face they seemed to start slightly, then
closed again.
"Which way was you head in', friend,
before you got mixed?" and the plains-
man repeated his question twice before the
feeble answer came.
"Never mind me, never mind. Let me
alone. I'm about ready to pass in and
there ain't no use of you staying here. You
know where there is water ; get there your-
self ; you can't take me."
"Sure, I know where there is water,''
and he gazed closely into the other's face.
"Water enough for both of us."
"But ain't you Jack Young?" The
eyes of the other opened half in joy and
half in pain. "There, I knowed you was.
find didn't you save my hide a dozen times
from the Vigilantes, and wasn't it you
that I done on that mine deal?"
"Never mind, Lou; that's ancient his-
tory, and it wasn't all your fault. Lou, we
will call it square," and as he tried to
offer his hand, he sank back again into
a swoon.
Lou Tobin stood for a moment looking
82
OVEKLAND MONTHLY.
upon the man. "I reckon that will be
quite a bit of a pull/' he muttered, glanc-
ing at the sun. "But, Jack, I played you
dirt once when you did the square thing,"
and he was silent again, the scenes and
days of other years crowding fast upon
him.
The sun's rays beat down with all the
intensity of their force when Tobin gath-
ered the mere shadow of a man in his
arms and started at a brisk pace across
the desert in the direction of the sunset.
Hardened as he was to the toil and the
heat, yet the burden caused the sweat to
fall in great drops from his face and hair.
Now he would fix his eye upon some dis-
tant knoll, and then with unceasing effort,
he made the summit and again his eye
caught upon a sand hill, but he never
allowed it to survey the valley between.
His feet became hot and swollen and he
tried to spit, but it was a failure and he
smiled. "I reckon this would make a
pretty decent grave yard for Jack and
me,' the man remarked aloud. "We lost
our grub stakes here and I ain't been do-
ing much more since then, but losing
grub stakes." A snake rattled ominously
at his feet, but he passed over it, not
thinking. On, on he traveled until his
arms became cramped and he had to pause
in his way. Depositing the body care-
fully upon the ground, he took off his
hat and mopped the flowing sweat from
his brow.
The sun was still to live some minutes
but it was the great pile of black clouds
in the east upon which Tobin riveted his
gaze, and he yelled in sheer delight, but
the cry was strangely muffled and weak.
"Bain, damn you, Jack, it's rain; do
you hear?" but the man heard nothing,
and Tobin looked down again. "I'm a
fool, Jack; maybe it's rain and maybe it
ain't," and he raised the body from the
earth, but the burden seemed twice its
former weight. A mysterious haze cov-
ered the landscape, while the eastern heav-
ens were a mass of dark and rolling clouds.
Two coyotes followed at a safe distance
behind the wanderers, and like shadows
stopped when they paused and went on
again when they continued.
"You ain't got no soft feet to deal with
here, you cyoteroes. Git out, both of
you," and Tobin hurled a handful of
gravel toward them, and laughed to him-
self when it fell only a few feet from
him.
"I reckon we better wait right here for
that rain, Jack. I might make it alone,
but I don't believe I would find you here
on- the way back. I reckon we better wait
for the rain," and taking a piece of bread
from his pocket, he ground it into pow-
der and poured it into the mouth of the
mat).
The haze had grown thicker, and the
sun had dipped out of sight behind the
hills. A small pack of coyotes squatted
on their haunches back under the heavy
clouds. The heat was most oppressive,
and the plainsman's arms were strangely
stiff and sore while his tongue was grow-
ing parched and dry.
Suddenly the black pall was rent
asunder by a great blaze of light, and a
deep peal of thunder rolled over the soli-
tude.
"It's coming, Jack, old pard, it's coin-
ing," and he turned the man over that his
face might receive the first drops. Then,
rising to his feet, he lifted his hands in
silent supplication to the great storm.
He could see the rain falling in torrents
above him, and there just out of reach it
wasted away in vapor. .His brain was
muddled and confused. He rushed to a
little rise in the land, and there, too, the
rain seemed only a few feet away, but
never reached the earth.
"'Damn it all, can't you see that we're
dying," cried the man, again raising his
hands toward the tantalizing clouds that
rolled on and on until at last they passed
down beyond the western horizon, and
the calm twilight, horrible in its very
serenity, rested upon the earth. Without
a word, Tobin turned back to his friend,
and with difficulty raising him in his
arms, he struggled on. He shook his head
violently when an unnatural darkness fell
before his eyes, and once he paused and
gazed intently upon the sand at his feet.
He sank to his knees. Yes, there rain had
fallen, a scanty bit indeed, but rain had
fallen there.
A new life thrilled him as he struggled
on, and the sand began to show signs more
and more of having been moist. His head
was bent to the ground, his arms were
shaking violently, when of a sudden and
without realizing it, he came to a hill-
top. There in a basin in the valley below,
DEATH VALLEY.
83
a pool of water lay, brightly sparkling un-
der the light of the moon that had now
risen. The heavy earth clung tenaciously
to his feet. Twice he fell and lay for a
moment, pressing his lips to the damp
earth. He pointed to the water hole ahead.
"Water, Jack, water. The old frog-hole;
you remember the old frog-hole, Jack,
where you held 'em off for me. Kemem-
ber the time, Jack?" and he patted the
breast of the man as it rose and fell like
a child's in sleep. "But never mind ; T
almost fergot what we come after," and
he tried to rise to his feet, but the burden
was too heavy. Again he tried and the
struggle was continued. Once he stum-
bled on a cactus bush, and fell, the need-
les piercing his flesh.
The night was bright and sultry, even
for the valley. The pack of coyotes fol-
lowed noiselessly a few yards in the rear,
but Tobin saw nothing save the water,
which sometimes seemed only a few feet
away, then fully a mile. He realized how
precious each moment was to him, but
try as he would, his stiffened joints re-
fused to obey him, and his arms seemed
to have been pulled from their sockets.
Suddenly, a dense darkness came over
him, and he fell to the earth. A huge
rattler passed over the prostrate bodies,
and Tobin watched it with a grin of ha-
tred. <r We ain't good enough fer you, eh ?"
the man whispered huskily, "but we're too
good fer you, you sneakin' devils," and
he shook his fist at the pack of coyotes,
the silent spectators of many a tragedy in
Western life.
Again and again he tried to raise his
companion, and again and again he failed.
All at once his senses became most clear.
The moonlight bathing the landscape was
real, all that vast waste was to him as it
had been for years past, and there ahead
and swimming before his gaze, lay the
frog-hole.
He tried hard to get to his feet
but sank to the ground with each effort.
At last he lifted the body to his back, and
started on all-fours ; a painfully slow jour-
ney to the hole. Unseen castus pierced
his iiands, and one was so badly torn
that he wrapped his hat about it.
Foot by foot, yard by yard, he lessened
the distance to the water hole.
Again the deadly black was coming be-
fore his eyes, and his breath came hard.
He tried to raise a hand to his face. The
stars seemed shooting in fitful showers
about him, his brain became confused.
Then, with a shudder, he pitched forward,
forcing the body down upon the sand. The
coyotes cautiously approached, and there
about them set up a lonely howl that
shivered back and forth across that
mighty solitude.
BY ALOYSIUS COLL
Look on my studded bulk of steel,
The dent and painted scar !
Is this the drab intent of wrath,
The shadowy lust of war?
Nay, I am built for noble peace,
And kings have given me
A hoty charge to guard and keep
The covenant of the sea !
Look to my tiers of mated guns
That gleam from deck and port!
Is this the challenge of the strong
To battle's deadly sport?
Nay, this is freedom's ponderous task
To train the bold and brave,
That love may bloom in every land,
And peace on every wave !
My voice a driven thunderbolt,
That tyranny may hear;
My glance the flash of lighted clouds.
That every foe may fear;
And every shell that blurs the targe,
A rainbow on the sea
That winds of blood shall break no more
Over the world, and me !
A threat in every port, a mute
Volcano in my keel,
A thousand leagues of surging foam
I fling my risk of steel:
Yet never a cannon lifts a toast
Of water from the barm
But drains a silent pledge of peace
To every gathering storm !
Latin and Hun, and Turk and Don,
Shall crowd the far-off strand,
And hear my thunders preach the price
Of war in every land
The blood of sons, the mothers' tears,
The woes that never cease
And, taught the awful scourge of war,
Will keep the gift of peace!
\
Presenting
July's
Actresses
and
Actors
Miss Marlowe and Mr. Sothern in "Jeanne d'Arc" at the Lyric Theatre, Kew York.
go!
Louis James as "Falstaff" in "The Merry Wives of Windsor."
Hall, N. Y., Photo.
Aphie James, with Louis James.
Aphie James, with Louis James.
Geo. Parsons, in "Daughters of Men," at Astor Theatre, N. Y.
Photo by KIrkland Studio, Denver, Colo.
Charlotte Tittell.
BY M. GRIER KIDDER
MAKEIAGE, without divorce, is
condition without the possibility
of change. I may want no change,
but if I do, I want to know just where to
lay my hands on it. As the Texan said of
the pistol : "I mout never want it, but ef
I do, I'll want it wus'n h 11." Tell-
ing my wife and me that we shall live to-
gether unhappily, is giving us hell to
guarantee us heaven. Marriage is a con-
tract, and until mortality puts on infalli-
bility, contract without reservation is
risky. I burn no bridge spanning a river
I can't swim.
I believe in the "sanctity of marriage''
until it conflicts with the sanctity of com-
mon sense; and if my wife and I cannot
insure sanctification without a series of
mutual bickerings, we shall drop sanctifi-
cation for separation. Forbidding divorce
to the married who do not want to live
together is as absurd as forbidding mar-
riage to the unmarried who do. As to
the right of divorce impairing the respec-
tability of marriage, it is the only right
that marriage wants to perfect its respect-
ability. The old marriage was all rite
and no right.. A proclamation of eman-
cipation never hurt anybody.
The male sex is the oldest trust on earth
and woman has ever been its prey; but,
after all, slavery is more to blame for
tyranny than tyranny for slaverv. Arro-
gance rarely comes uninvited by humil-
ity; meekness is an eternal invitation to
insolence. Let the wife keep her individ-
uality, for as long as she knows that the
twain that became one can become twain
again, she will understand that "peace-
able secession" can do more to abolish
slavery than '"war for the union."
Woman's body has been wrestling with
everything; her brain with nothing. She
proves her "domesticity" by the size of
her family; her "amiability" by her meek-
ness; her "masculinity" by talking sense;
her "unwomanliness" by "talking back";
the rudimentary state of her brain by her
inconsistency. Philosophy may be "ad-
versity's sweet milk," but the solace of
famininity is tongue. And after ten
thousand generations of tongue have sung
the lullaby of the female brain, who won-
ders that it sleeps? And, mark me,
woman will be a "grown child" until she
asserts her equality with him to whom she
has given life. Man's most difficult task
is bearing with her who has born him and
giving her a chance in the world into
which she has ushered him "with the
sweat of no vulgar agony and with groans
that cannot be uttered." He who stands
by her in that holy and fearful hour with-
out honoring the sex, good and bad, is
one "whom it would be base flattery to
call man."
Of course, woman's freedom will come
and be followed by a social reconstruction,
compared to which our political recon-
struction was a pleasant surprise. But we
shall have the destructive cause before the
reconstruction effect. In the dark days of
my childhood, "woman's rights" were
man's wrongs; no respectable woman
dared to seek refuge in divorce. Until
lately, I abhorred the thought of divorce
and woman suffrage, but I have changed
my mind. I may rechange it; there is no
telling anything about my mind except
knowing I mean what I say when I say
96
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
it. An opinion formed on impression
may justify a change, but when anchored
to conviction, nothing but mental weak-
ness condones variety.
Loveless marriage is a contract to peo-
ple penitentiaries ; an incubator for hatch-
ing idiots. There may be no marriage in
heaven, but there is heaven or hell in mar-
riage. I object to any union that counter-
feits that second place and raises the devil
and children together. A large number
of marriages are mistakes making more
mistakes. If you have been foolish enough
to make a mistake, don't be too foolish 10
remedy it. We hear that "divorce dis-
graces the children." Does parental squab-
bling confer especial honor on the off-
spring? anything particularly elevating in
one of these matrimonial duets whose re-
frain embraces everything from flattery to
flat iron? What do you expect when tyr-
anny beerets and hate conceives? As to
knowing each other before marriage, you
cannot do it; you must marry and pray
that the introduction be not too abrupt.
Experience is the only thing that
starves simpering sentiment and nourishes
common sense, courtship is intoxicated
theory: marriage, sober practice. And
though the first introduces to the second,
only association breeds familiarity. Until
you serve an apprenticeship to the thing
itself, you are just so much theoretical
cross trying to usurp a practical crown. I
should rather be chained to the devil's
grand-mother with a cold chisel in sight
than be united to an angel with no possi-
bility of release. Tying me is tiring me
unless I can shift my anchorage when the
spirit moves me. Better hell with a re-
turn ticket than heaven without a neces-
sary furlough. Whether this arises from
my contrariness or my love of variety, I
have not determined.
I do not want marriage to die out, but
I want several to die out before marriage.
Too manv marriages mean too many child-
ren; too many children, too many pau-
pers; too many naupers, everything bad.
Divorce has its evils, but the evils of lib-
erty are evils trying to be blessings.
License is counterfeit liberty, overgrown
freedom, runaway rights, and breeds won-
drous wickedness. But when license
springs from liberty, that very liberty
has been wrung from slavery. To prevent
immoderate liberty, we must moderate re-
strictions; expansion is born of contrac-
tion; revolution is only evolution making
up lost time. If I have to halter my wife
to guarantee her domesticity, I shall 1
her go. Now, along comes a cer
prominent man and charges the socia
evil to divorce.
As long as a demand for anything ex-
ists, it will exist. We cannot cure this
thing, but we may, in a measure, prevent
it. But sentiment is no preventive; there
is no more romance in this curse than in
the poverty that causes it. The soc
evil is one of the many children of des
tution; its mother, poverty; its father,
man. The "poverty, not .the will, con-
sents."
If I were a woman, I should prefer om
divorced husband to ten children. Until
I kept house and did my own cooking, I
laughed at woman's trials. I thought
"woman's work is never done" because her
talk is not. I had a bed room and a kit-
chen, and the more I cleaned the more
they needed cleaning. "Good Lord," I
said to myself, "what a wise provision it
is- that keeps an old bachelor from having
a baby !" Yet how many women cook for
a large family and keep a house and a
half dozen children clean. The majority
seem to think that as motherhood is sacred
a woman's sanctity increases with every
baby. Now, I don't think so; I think
feminine sanctity neither increases nor
decreases with children. I have given the
matter my prayerful attention, and I be-
lieve the old maid is just as abounding in
grace as the sister who has multiplied and
replenished. An abuse is dignified by age
and custom, two almost invincible allies.
Most folks think an abuse stands b
cause it deserves to stand; when, in fa
it stands because they don't understa
it. True veneration halts short of vene
able humbug. Conservatism as natura
opposes the new as it revives the dying,
resurrects the dead and baptizes the still-
born; but there is little knee-crooking
fore the healthy recent.
Divorce is woman's new and onl
friend ; the qnly thing that arrays itself
on her side without design on her pocket
or virtue. And she is beginning to see it.
Of course, when that idea gets fairly into
her head, it will feel mighty lonesome till
it breeds others. It won't take much
abuse to make the coming wife the goi
THE LAIR OF THE BEAR.
wife. She is going to belong to herself;
she is going to see that while motherhood
is pretty good evidence of womanhood, it
is not all the evidence.
Of course, the improved woman won't
be perfect; at least, I hope she won't; I
have no fear of the future letting loose
upon us a flock of wingless angels. But
I look for a marked change domestically,
socially and politically; I believe that
when woman has the power, she will im-
nrove several things in her own precipi-
tate wav. There will be just as many
mean women, but fewer meaningless ones,
less sentiment, less nonsense, too. Of
course, for a time, she will abuse her new
liberty as much as she abuses spasmodic
liberty she now tastes so rarely. But her
arrogance will be only the temporary re-
action born of slavery. She will act like
all the newly emancipated, till familiarity
with freedom teaches her that doing every-
thing she pleases may become as irksome
as doing nothing she pleases.
As she now is, I should rather be ruled
by old Nick than by her. In the first
place, he is used to authority, and goes
only so far; then, from long association
with him, I understand him and can to
a certain extent anticipate his wishes. Be-
sides, as the negroes say of an indulgent
over-seer, "he gives me time to ketch my
breff." But when a <woman starts to
drive. God pity the driven; be he man,
dry goods clerk or horse. My greatest
pleasure is serving a woman till she con-
founds civility with servility. Woman,
has little sense of personal responsibility,
and what her mind finds to do she does
with all her tongue. This is because every-
body takes her side. Nobody blames a
woman for anything until some man ruins
her character; then she is said to "have
encouraged him/' Her every fault is the
natural and necessary result of her out-
rageous treatment; her virtue, a sweet
flower that blooms in spite of it.
As to honesty, she is, when dishonest,
negatively so; man, when dishonest, is
positively so. Her dishonesty lies in keep-
ing; his in taking. Where one woman
cashier purloins money, fifty men cashiers
do. But a contract signed by a woman is
prone to sink to the dignity of waste
paper. As she is in business, so she is in
love. I have tried her in both. She never
approaches a conclusion gradually; in-
variably jumps at it, and he who would
argue her out of an "impression" has
more time than judgment. Her convic-
tion does not depend on the logic offered,
but on the receptivity of her mind, in
love she must be carried by assault, "flags
flying and drums beating." Think of ar-
guing an indifferent woman into matri-
mony; reason has no more place in love
than mathematics have in romance. Do
I know that to be a fact? I should
smile ! I have always attributed my sin-
gle state to the profundity of my logic.
Her mind is all anchor; her imagination
all sail, and the mental pap that nourishes
the infant sustains its mother. Her brain
has been digesting trifles so Ion"- that a
sound idea gives its owner intellectual
dyspepsia. Her mental gastric juice is
like man's moral gastric juice somewhat
diluted.
No breathing thing lacks the tendency
to tyrannize. Strength abuses weakness
as naturally as rascality bunkoes foolish-
ness, and the temptation to sit down, on
something soft is one of the cardinal char-
acteristics of human nature. Wioman will
as certainly equal man mentally as she
now surpasses him morally. "Keep her
from liberty till she learns to govern her-
self" has ever been the slogan of tyrants,
the motto of masters.
Slavery as a preparation for liberty sug-
gests lying as a kindergarten for truth;
pocket-picking as a <niarantee of future
honesty. We Southerners claimed that
God started negro slavery, as a necessary
step toward the conversion of the negro.
And the result? Nine hundred and ninety
negroes in a thousand will steal and all
the black women have the morals of white
men.
M:m is divided into the caught, uii-
caught and afraid-of -being-caught, and
when vou hear one of these bepanted ves-
tals hurrahing for his moral reputation,
attribute it to "good luck rather than to
good company." I do not claim that a
man may not be morally pure and alive
at the same time, but what is the use of be-
ing anything good if you can't make folks
believe you are it? Woman's safeguards
are her natural purity, her training, and
the merciless penalty following her trans-
gression. That divorce imperils these
safeguards, I most emphatically deny.
Simple separation, on the contrary, with
98
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
no marriage in view, I hold to be different.
The isolated wife occupies a position pe-
culiarly conducive to temptation. Driven
from one home and forbidden another,
she is a social exile, a domestic queen
without a kingdom.
'Tis to such as this that desperation,
that fierce consoler of the friendless, ap-
peals. I may be short on grace and some-
what deficient in reverence, but I hold that
a divorced person, by marrying again,
evinces a desire to profit by experience.
That good children may come from dis-
cordant parents I admit; heredity is not
infallible ; the son of a cat may not catch
a mouse. I presume a prize puppy may be
bred from two mad dogs. But when such
takes place, I charge it to reversion,
rather than to immediate descent.
As to divorce tending toward free love,
you might as well charge infanticide to
marriage. The anti-divorce advocate
looks upon a fractured marriage as just
so much negative adultery ready to as-
sume the positive phase. I remember when
divorce was considered by everybody, but
the divorced as a disgrace. In those
days, the married quarreled until death
did them part; whom God joined together
the devil himself couldn't separate. Yet
I don't believe that the old folks were bet-
ter than we. Coerced love is half siste
to hate, and if perfect freedom is not the
essence of affection,.! am greatly in error
Two people living together because thej
have to are hardly an improvement 01
two who won't live together because the
don't want to.
Divorce laws can't warrant moralit
any more than religious persecution cai
guarantee religious unity.
Thousands would to-day be good hus
bands and wives if they had remedied ui
happy marriage with divorce and re
marriage. Is marriage so sacred that tt
correction of its blunders is a sacrilege:
Should any contract be aught but a roj
of sand whose stipulations are adverse
the happiness of the contractors? In
judgment, happiness is the only aim, anc
only what conduces to it is sacred. Whereii
lies the reason in legislating two people
endowed with cat and dog proclivities int
lasting matrimonial "bliss?" Marrias
should collapse with the love that su
gested it. It may have its trials, but it
should not be a trial. Think of a coupl
priding themselves on their fortitude h
enduring forty years of married hell witl
the divorce heaven in sight, with its offer :
"Come unto me, ye who do labor, and ai
heavy laden, and I will give you rest !"
Please Mention Overland Monthly in Writing Advertisers
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Pears' Soap is good for boys and everyone It
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Ask your Brightest neighbor what Washing Powder
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HAVE unrivalled camping grounds, in
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HAVE lots for residence purposes, in,
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HAVE a large residence in, the city
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rooms, suitable for residence, hos-
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6 Coat Hangers, No. 21, adjustable
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xl
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Hashes
See that Lea &, Perrins' sig-
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are given just
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which makes
a dish perfect, by using
Lea & Perrins' Sauce
THE ORIGINAL WORCESTERSHIRE
It is a perfect seasoning for all kinds of Fish, Meats, Game, Salads,
Cheese, and Chafing-Dish Cooking. It gives appetiz-
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John Duncan's Sons, Agents, New York.
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LA DAMASK.
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Ask Your Druggist.
Price, 25 cents.
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IRVING INSTITUTE
2126-2128 California Street, San Francisco
Boarding and Day School for Girls
CONSERVATORY OF MUSIC, LANGUAGES,
ART. ELOCUTION. ACCREDITED.
Telephone West 844
ENAMELS
Oak, Cherry, Mahogany, Walnut,
Rosewood or Transparent
THE HAMLIN SCHOOL AND VAN NESS SEMINARY
2230 Pacific Ave.
For particulars address
cTWISS SARAH D. HAMLIN
2230 Pacific Avenue,
San Francisco Telephone West 546
The Fall term will open August 12. 1907.
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Wears like Cement Dries over night with Brilliant Gloss. Contains no
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kind of school, address:
American School and College Agency
384, 41 Park Row, New York, or 384, 3I5 Dearborn St., Chicago
I HAVE been reading the "Reminis-
cences of a Sportsman/' by J. Par-
ker Whitney, and I have enjoyed the
book, for it is more entertaining than its
title would indicate. It is a large volume,
printed in clear type, and written in ex-
cellent English. Mr. Whitney is more
than a sportsman. He becomes at times
a philosopher and an historian of no mean
merit. The book possesses the additional
advantage over books by sportsmen and
others who write "nature" studies because
it is written in the language of a man
who does not write of any period or of
.any event of which he personally has no
knowledge. You cannot help feeling that
everything that Mr. Parker has written is
truth,, and because of this, some of the
episodes that are detailed in this volume,
and which might be garnished with much
sensationalism by a less careful or con-
scientious writer, possess a remarkable
charm in the reading.
Mr. Whitney's experience has ranged
through far territories, and beginning at
a time when little or nothing was known
of the county and up to the present of
which we know so much, he has been a
leader of men and an observer of events.
Tales of these men and these events he
has reduced into a sort of autobiography
and this is the volume he has called
"Reminiscences of a Sportsman." I
should say that the book would form one
of an anthology of the West, and its de-
velopment, and while much that is there
written is of the sport of the wide our-
doors that much is merely a piquante
sauce to make the rest appetizing to tin
reader. I have read many books of travel
and have rarely, indeed, found a book
by any one afflicted with the "wander-
lust" that has held my attention through-
out as did this volume.
Forest and Stream Publishing Co., N.
Y. 1906.
* * *
The Overland Monthly is in receipt of
the Annual Report of the Smithsonian In-
stitution for the year 1906. This volume
is simply an index to the work done by
the Institution during the year, and a
recapitulation of the additions made to
the U. S. National Museum. It is is-
sued bv the Government Printing Office.
The Treasury Department has just is-
sued the report of the Life Saving Ser-
vice for 1906. We find an extended re-
port of the work of the life saving crews,
located near San Francisco, during the
strenuous days of the great fire. There
were 485 days' succor afforded to an av-
erage of sixty-six persons a day at the
stations at Point Bonita, Fort Point,
Golden Gate and South-side. During the
nights of April 18th to 21st, there were
one hundred and fifty people sheltered
by Keeper Varney. From April 19th to
May 31st the station at the beach issued
some 30,000 rations for applicants for
food. The life saving crews mentioned
were of great service to the city during the
fire.
* * *
"The Great American Pie Company"
is one of those little skits, the product -f
a brilliant mind, dashed off in an idle
moment, and brimful of cutting sar-
casm, trenchant, quiet wit. Ellis Parker
Butle^ will be accused of having written
the story for the purpose of belittling
the methods of some of the very top-
heavy industrial concerns in the country,
in their attempt to "hog" everything that
there is around that is not nailed down.
It is true, the comical ending of the great
trust does not carry out this idea, but
it is full of fun and logic. It is a little
bit of a book, printed in large type, and
containing only fourty-four pages, but :t
is worthy of thoughtful consideration by
young and old. It is illustrated by pen
sketches, by Will Crawford, and is pub-
lished by McChire, Philips & Co., N"ew
York.
Please Mention Overland Monthly in Writing Advertisers.
xl
MODEL M
The
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Always Ready"
Kind
A Summer's Pleasure
Almost any Family Can Afford
This applies to keeping the car without extrava-
gance, as well as buying it. With a Cadillac
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traveling than you could afford to do on a train,
more evenly distributed and with far greater
enjoyment. Always ready, stanch and reliable,
with the style and finish of the higher
priced cars.
The Cost of
Keeping a
Shown
by 1 47 Affidavits
on file in our office, runs from practically
nothing to as high as ten or twelve dollars a month,
but averages less than $2.50 monthly, exclusive of tires.
The average gasoline consumption runs from 16 to 23 miles
per gallon or less than Ji of a cent per mile for each passenger.
These 147 are owners of single cylinder Cadillacs in
almost every state in the Union.
These cars either touring or runabout are the greatest
combination of economy and efficiency in the world. They
truly afford ail there is in motoring except the troubles.
Dealers are always glad to demonstrate. Fully described
and illustrated in Catalogue "MX," mailed on receipt of
-equ.-st.
CADILLAC MOTOR CAR CO., Detroit, Mich.
MODEL K
Mrs. Helen Freese
For many years with the S. & G. Gump Co..
has opened at 947-949 Van Ness avenue, an
establishment which will be known as the
finest Art Galleries in this section. The same
attention given to her patrons and the public
in general in the past will be a feature of the
New Art Establishment, which is now open
for exhibition and public view.
The new firm are direct importers of Original
Oil Paintings, Water Colors, Old Prints, Mar-
ble and Bronze Statuary, Objects of Art, odd,
quaint and beautiful things not to be found in
any other establishment.
A cordial invitation is extended to the public
to call. A feature of this business will be the
taking of import orders for any Works of Art,
Rugs, Furniture, Draperies or appointments.
Resident representatives in New York, London,
Paris, Vienna, Berlin, Florence, Naples, Con-
stantinople.
Our buyer sails for Europe early in July, and
with a spirit of progressiveness which we pro-
pose to establish in this city, any of our clien-
tele who desire us to execute any special com-
missions in the foreign markets, we will give
such orders our prompt and careful atten-
tion for holiday delivery.
Volz > F r e e s e
947-949 Van Ness Avenue
READY FOR THE PRESS
CHICAGO GAVE DWELLERS
Not for Preachers
320 Pages, Cloth, C 1.00
POSTPAID VI =
A Story of the Underworld
and the Overworld
By Parker H. Sercombe,
Editor To-Morrow
Magazine \ Chicago.
Only a limited edition of
this remarkable book will be
printed. Each copy will be
signed by Sercombe Him-
self and automatically num-
bered from 1 up. First
orders in will get the low
numbers in rotation except
No. 1, which goes to Mrs.
Sercombe.
Address
TO-MORROW MAGAZINE,
For the Superman and Superwoman and The New Civilization,
2238 Calumet Ave., Chicago, III.
10 CENTS THE COPY. $1 A YEAR. 4
In "Shakespeare, England's Ulysses,"
"The Masque of Love's Labor Won, or
The Enacted Will," Latham Davis has
given the world a wonderful book of the
works of William Shakespeare, Henry
Willobie, Eobert Chester, and Ignoto, all
of these being aliases for the second Earl
of Essex, Robert Devereux. The author
wastes no time in useless argument, but
presents his case by the introduction of a
vast amount of documentary evidence. A
careful reading of the works presented
disturbs all faith Hn the authorship of
the poems and plays by the player, Will
Shakespeare or of any of the other au-
thors advanced by the cryptogramic evi-
dence of Donneley, or of any of those
others who believe that Bacon was the
author of the immortal hard's works.
This book offers more food for thought to
the investigator than any of the many
other volumes published on the "mys-
teries of William Shakespeare," and comes
nearer to convincing the sceptic that, at
last, an author capable of upholding the
dignity of his own reputation has been
found for Shakespeare's plays.
Throughout the book the minor chord,
the clandestine loves of Elizabeth, runs
alluringly, elusively along, and spurs the
reader to a quest after a storv that is lit-
tle more than hinted at by the compiler.
No Shakespearean library is complete
without this remarkable book, and no
student of English literature may count
his education complete without having a
full knowledge of the contents.
G. E. Stechert & Co., N. Y.
* * *
"The Shameless Diary of an Explorer''
is an unusual book, dealing mainly with
an account of the recent ascent of Mount
McKinley, and it may be called a fairly
spirited account and an absolutely frank
record of the happenings of the journey.
Nature books and books of travel are, FS
a rule, written from the vantage ground of
a cozy seat in some comfortable library.
The spirit of the "trail" may be found m
Mr. Robert Dunn's new book. It is pro-
fusely illustrated with splendid photo-
graphs taken by the author. There is a
good map of the Mtount McKinley country
as well as a sketch map showing the route
traveled from the coast.
Outing Publishing Company, N. Y.
* * *
George Alexander Fisher, who is a stu-
dent of the^ question of the eradication of
tuberculosis, lias written a very interest-
ing book on the subject. He has called it
"The Labyrinthine Life." He says truly
that "the white plague, tuberculosis, has
invaded everv family of this country," and
his theme is the exposition of the life
of the camp in the desert. He advocates
a Government camp for the cure of the
dread disease. He says in his preface
that he wants the co-operation of the
newspapers in the work, and adds:
"'Considered solelv from the economic
standpoint, such a project as above out-
lined would pay handsomely. Under
favoring conditions, such as could .e
brought about in a Government camp, a
patient in the earlier stages could be cured
at a cost of, say, $400. If left to himself,
that patient would require at least $300
from some quarter before he died, losing
at least $2 per day because of loss of
work besides. A lar"-e proportion of the
cases are voung men under thirty. Such
a man if restored to health should be able
to make at least $1,000 a year for twenty
years; not a bad return for an investment
of $400. It is safe to say that he would
pay back in taxes far more than this dur-
ir- his subsequent life."
B. W. Dodge & Co., New York.
Paul Elder & Company have just pub-
lished a volume by Stanton Davis Kirk-
ham, author of "Where Dwells the Soul
Serene," and "As Nature Whispers." Mr.
Kirkham is a felicitous writer, and does
his work well as an apostle of optimism.
The author flings defiance to the super-
stitious by dividing the work into thir-
teen chapters. These are devoted to the
subjects of Beauty, Life, Religion, Phil-
osophy, The World-Message, The Heart of
It, The Tendency to Good, Work, Health,
Happiness, The Preacher, The Teacher,
The Poet. '
Mr. Kirkham's is a sweet philosophy,
and will appeal to young people who are
just stepping out into an untried world,
and to the old, who would desire to return
to the illusions of the age of adolescence.
It will come, this book, as a message to
all of the unattainable, the known, but
not the seen, the wished-for but the un-
experienced, and the world will certainly
be better for the uplifting courageous
prose-songs of this master optimist.
Paul Elder & Company, San Francisco
and New York.
Please Mention Overland Monthly In Writing Advertisers.
Etched extremely deep and guaranteed to print
clean We operate the most complete engraving
and printing plant in America twenty four hours a
day every work day in the year. Weare amoney
back proposition if you are not satisfied We can
deliver an order of any size of engraving within
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canning day. Sells at sight. Agents
make $1 .00 an hour. Sample post-
paid 60 cents. Money refunded,
Big Commission. Information and
circulars free.
The Selwell Company,
120 West Jackson Blvd., Chicago, HI.
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and is so harm-
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For sale by all Druggists and Fancy Goods
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Gouraud's Oriental Toilet Powder
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Price, 25 cents per box by mail.
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FERD T. HOPKINS, Prop'r, 37 Great Jones St.
New York.
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968 Broadway, Oakland
Household goods shipped to and
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reduced rates.
SAN FRANCISCO
LOS ANGELES CHICAGO
Continental Building and Loan Association
Subscribed Capital
Paid-in Capitol
Profit and Reserve Fund
Monthly Income, over
of California
ESTABLISHED ; 1 889
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ITS PURPOSE IS
To help its members to build homes, also to make loans on improved property, the members giv-
ing first liens on real estate as security. To help its stockholders to earn from 8 to 12 per cent per
annum on their stock, and to allow them to open deposit accounts bearing interest at the rate of
5 per cent per annum.
Church near Market St. San Francisco.
George Sylvester Viereck, author of
Nineveh and Other Poems,, was born in
Munich, December 31, 1884. His father,
Louis Viereck, for years a prominent
member of the German Keichstag, came
to America about ten years ago as the
New York correspondent of a Berlin
newspaper, and is now the publisher of a
New York German monthly, "Der
Deutsche Vorkampfer." His mother,
Laura Viereck, is a native of California,
and her husband's first cousin.
Coming to America at the age of twelve
A^iereck attended the New York public
schools and graduated in 1906 from the
College of the City of New York. In
July following 'he joined the staff of
"Current Literature," under Edward
Jewitt Wheeler, and is now associate edi-
tor, conducting the dramatic department.
He began to write for newspapers in
German at the age of thirteen, and has
contributed a great deal of prose, verse
and fiction to the New York Staats Zei-
tung," as well as to the Berlin papers. He
continued writing in German until three
years ago, when he definitely adopted the
English language. He collected his
German poems in 1904 and published
them under the title of "Gedichte." The
edition was a very small one, and had
little sale, but it instantly made him cele-
brated. His genius was recognized at
once .throughout Germany, and to a less
extent America, and he became the sub-
ject of many articles in reviews and criti-
cal journals on both sides of the sea. He
began to receive personal letters from men
of celebrity, finding himself within a few
months after the book's publication, in
correspondence with a growing circle of
rare minds.
Wtithin a few months after the book's
publication, the celebrated house of Gotta
at Stuttgart, the publishers of Goethe
and Schiller, expressed an interest in the
young poet, and Ludwig Fulda took the
manuserint to Germanv to show it to
them, the result being their publication
of a larger work, made up of the original
book, with many newer ^oems. This ap-
peared at the end of 1906, under the title
of "Nineveh und Andere Gedichte," Mof-
fat, Yard & Company, of New York, at
the same time having in preparation the
English edition, with the further addition
of poems written originallv in English for
American magazines. The first American
magazine, by 11 u> way, to publish a poem
by Mr. Viereck was the Century.
In the autumn of 1906, Mr. Viereck
published a small volume of plays entitb;
"A Game at Love," and there will appe,
in the late autumn a psychological rci
mance of a very unusual kind and qu;
ity. All his books will be published sini-
ultaijeouslv in English and German.
Nineveh and Other Poems bears the im-
print of Moffat, Yard & Co., New York.
* * *
One of the most useful of the Govern-
ment books issued this year is the Officis
Congressional Directory. This book cor
tains an infinitely large amount of de
tailed information of value to the general
public. There is no branch of our Gov-
ernment upon which it has no knowledge
to impart. In its pages may be found a
biographical sketch of every Congressman
of the 59th Congress, 2d Session, as well
as a similar list of the Senators. There is
a complete directory of the Federal Judi-
ciary, and a list of every foreign represen-
tative and attache.
* * *
Another very valuable volume has
reached the reviewer's desk in the shape
of the special reports of the Census Bu-
reau, issued by the Department of Com-
merce and Labor. These treat of "Wealth,
Debt and Taxation." It is hereby sug-
gested that no student of sociology and
practical science of politics has his li-
brary complete without a copy of this ex-
haustive statistical treatise on, or com-
pendium of, our laws. This is a large
volume of 1234 pages.
* * *
"Prisoners of the Temple" is a path-
etic story of the children of the unfortun-
ate Louis XVI and Marie' Antoinette of
France. It is to be translated into French
by the student in that tongue, and notes
and a vocabulary are given to facilitate
such translating work. It will be an ex-
ceedingly interesting effort to the pupil,
and valuable.
Arranged by H. A. Guerber, Boston;
Published by D. C. Heath & Co.
DIVIDEND NOTICE.
The Cor.tinental Building and Loan Association.
The Continental Building and Loan Association,
Market and Church streets, San Francisco, Cal.,
has declared for the six months ending June 30,
1907, a dividend of four per cent per annum on or-
dinary deposits and six per cent on term deposits.
Interest on deposits payable on and after July 1st.
Interest on ordinar> deposits not called for will be
Hdded to the principal and thereafter bear interest
at the same rate.
WASHINGTON DODGE, President.
WILLIAM CORBIN, Secretary.
Please Mention Overland Monthly In Writing Advertisers.
xvii
Alaska San Francisco Route
TO
NOME AND ST. MICHAEL
DIRECT
S. S. INDIANA
3335 Tons - - Graham, Master
FIRST SAILING FROM SAN FRANCISCO, MAY 28, 1907
ing four round trips direct during the
season
For further information apply to
BARNESON & HIBBERD GO.
172 East St. San Francisco
Telephone Temporary 2970
Ask your drngpist for
If lie cannot supply VA*
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other, bntsend stamp for
Illustrated book 6-aled. It gives
full particulars and directions in- ,
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The Garden Book of California is one
of those indispensable books to the dweller
in the country or the city who is a lover
of the beautiful, of flowers, and, in fact,
of nature in any guise. Belle Sumner
Angler tells us many things that we know
already, but she puts them in such a for;-i
as to make them attractive to the most
calloused individual. The illustrations of
this book are well selected to fit the text,
and are most exquisitely printed on li^lit
buff paper. The text is clear and large,
and the language is simple and to the
point. This book is an ornament to any
librarv. and a most useful household ne-
cessity.
Faul Elder & Company, San Francisco
and New York.
* * *
Robert Luce's "Writing for the Press,'"'
the eleventh thousandth of the fifth edi-
tion, is a handy book for the beginner or
for the writer who has not gained his
knowledge through the hard experience >f
actual work. It is just what its name
implies, and is an invaluable aid to the
newspaper man, the would-be author or
the advertiser. It was originally written
many years ago when Robert Luce was
on the editorial staff of the Boston Globe.
It was meant to get better work from re-
porters or correspondents, and to save
time all along the line. The book has
grown with the varied experiences of the
author as newspaperman, editor, pub-
lisher, business man and legislator. It
is now seven times as large as at the
start.
Clipping Bureau Press, Boston, 1907.
* * *
Tho=e that love the great outdoors, with
a healthy, every-day practical love, cann -t
help but appreciate the book that Ernest
McGaffey has just given to the reading
world. It is appropriatelv called "Out-
doors," with a sub-title of "A Book of the
Woods, Fields and Marshlands." There
are several chapters on fishing, and some
few on hunting, one or two of simple de-
scription, and all of them redolent .>r
woods, marshland, fields and lakes. Mr.
McGKffey is unusually happy in his
phraseology, sometimes reminding one f
Thoreau. No follower of Isaak Waltoi
no disciple of Nimrod, can afford to pas
by this book of real experiences without
stopping to investigate its fine claim
recognition as an authority.
Charles Scribner's Sons. New York.
* * *
"The Wonders of the Colorado Desert,"'
by George Wharton James, easily over-
shadows all other volumes published on
this entrancing subject in point of va.-t
research and as regards illustrations and
text. Mr. James has given us a text book
on the great American desert that is *
interesting as a great story, an epic de-
scription of an extraordinary age or as of
some poem of the sagas of the Northland.
He takes you along step by step, and be-
fore you have gone far, you, too, are
chasing the mirage of the Southwest, or
studying at close hand the sensations and
emotions of the desert chuckawalla. M,*.
James, in these two volumes, has not only
given us a truthful description of the
desert and its people, but has told of all
the natural phenomena, its flowers, its
cactus growths and the story of every lit-
tle living thing that grows or crawls in
the arid immensities of God's forgotten
land. Fakers like Lummis will strive to
tell you of the desert, but these men are
not students. James towers head and
shoulders above the crowd of the dilet-
tanti that have attempted to paint the
glorious colors of the Colorado, or the
grandeurs of the Grand Canyon. Mon-
sen knows the desert, but he is no such
historian as George Wharton James.
There is a woman prose-poet in Los An-
gele-5, named Strobridge, who knows the
unfathomable mysteries of the land of al-
kali stretches, but she, too, is no student.
She is a mere writer, recording in fitting-
ly weird language the sensations she and
others have felt, when confronted by the
"I forbid" of Death Valley. George
Wharton James has stopped at no such
denial, and his knowledge of the de.id
land where so much there is that lives is
as sentient as life itself. He ha i fathomed
the unknowable of the illimitable hori-
zons of sand and sage brush.
Little, Brown & Co., Boston.
Please Mention Overland Monthly In Writing Advertisers.
xlx
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Little Wolf Mills, Manawa, Wis.
NUTS WITH KERNELS.
WARWICK JAMES PRICE.
A bargain is often the euphemistic
spelling adopted by a careless spender to
name a silly purchase.
It would be a witty world if every one
could sav at the right moment the smart
things he thinks of later.
You don't mind the barking of your
neighbor's dog so much when you have a
well -loved puppy of your own.
A guest may carry away an umbrella
from your hall, not because he is a thief,
but because he recognizes it.
It is graceful, even chivalrous, to kiss
a lady's hand, but may not. such a kiss
properly be snoken of as out of place?
Many a will contest ends in the success-
ful litigant building a cottage while his
lawver builds a marble villa.
True consideration is that self-restraint
which enables a man to ignore the presence
of a pretty bride and her bridegroom.
If it be true that the average of honesty
among fat men is higher than among lean,
may it not be because the stout fellows
find it harder to stoop to low things?
Few men can be cheered from depres-
sion by a new tie or waistcoat, but there is
seldom a time when a woman cannot be
distinctly revived by some new and pretty
thing.
Words are misleading. An autoist may
be arrested for scorching, and yet be far
from warm, while it is no proof that a fel-
low is a business man merely because he
happens to be in business.
* * *
Matter of Funds.
Salesman Let me sell you this coat,
sir. Yery becoming to one of your figure,
I assure you. Just sold one like it to a
short man. Only fifteen dollars!
Fuinches Well, it's evident that he
wasn't as short as I am. Show me a
cheaper one.
Overlooked the Greater Criminal.
D. w. F.
"I see that thev sentenced the fellow
who robbed the guests at that summer
hotel to five years in the pen."
"Yes and let the proprietor go Scott
free !"
* * *
What Pleased Her Best.
Fair Parishioner That was a lovely
sermon you gave us this morning, Mr.
Lengthly. The Kev. Lengthly (flattered)
Ah, I am glad to hear it, Mrs. C. And
what part of my discourse did you par-
ticularly enjoy?
Fair Parishioner Oh, the closing sen-
tence. I never was so glad to hear any-
thing in my life.
The Reason.
"So," growled the newly-married man,
"You call this angel-food;
I s'nose because who eats of it
Is changed to one for good !"
* * ..
Going Carnegie One Better.
Why give such credit to a man
Because he should elect to
Express a wish that he die poor ?
The rest of us expect to !
* * *
Natural Result.
""When I described the case to him, and
asked him for ten dollars for the suffering
poor, he gave it to me, and showed great
feeling."
"No wonder; most any man would show
feeling when touched for that amount!"
* * *
The Meanest Man.
"They tell me he 'has buried five wives,
and hasn't mit up a single tombstone yet."
"I hear that he's waiting for the present
incumbent to die, because he can get
monuments cheaper in lots of six!"
Please Mention Overland Monthly In Writing Advertisers.
xxi
Four Lots in
CAMP MEEKER
Picturesque Surroundings
For Sale at> a Sacrifice
$150.OO for t,he Four
Address D. P. Box 39, Over-
land Monthly Office
HALL'S
VEGETABLE
HAI R
RENEWER
"THE NEW KIND"
It is now positively known that falling hair is caused
ty a germ, hence is a regular germ disease. Hall's Hair
Renewer, as now made from the "revised formula,"
promptly stops falling hair because it destroys the
germs which produce this trouble. It also destroys
the dandruff germs, and restores the scalp to a healthy
condition.
Formula: Glycerin, Capsicum, Bay Rum, Sulphur, Tea,
Rosemary Leaves, Boroglycerin, Alcohol, Perfume.
Ask your druggist for " the new kind." The kind that does
not change the color of the hair.
B. P. HALL & CO., Nashua, N. H.
The Overland Monti
Ws Bi,
iFour
SUl
4
ASCRIPTION OFFER (See Page xxvi.}
Overland Monthly
San Francisco News Letter, weekly,
Any two magazines In Class A.
THE
4
FOR
$4.95
Special
Overland Monthly
San Francisco News Letter
Any magazine in Class A
in Class B.
, weekly,
and any magazine
THE
4
FOR
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Offers
THE OVERLA
Overland Monthly
San Francisco News Letter
Any magazine in Class A
in Class C.
Overland Monthly
San Francisco News Letter
Any magazine in Class B
in Class C.
, weekly,
and any magazine
, weekly,
and any magazine
COMPANY,
THE
4
FOR
$5.95
THE
4
FOR
$6.45
Publishers
ND MONTHLY
Offices 775 Market St., San Francisco.
xxli Please Mention Overland Monthly In Writing Advertisers.
Th
The ideal
instrument
for the home
The Autopiano
Is the ideal instrument for the home where all the
members do not play for themselves. It can be played
by anyone, with the aid of music rolls and, best of all,
it can be played with feeling and with the most accur-
ate expression. People of the finest musical tastes
are realizing the boon that the Autopiano is in the
home or in the club.
The Autopiano
has been the means of stimulating a liking for the bet-
ter classes of music. It has appealed to grown people
who never expected to be able to play for themselves
just as it has been warmly accepted by young people
because it has been the means of producing every
class of composition without the labor of constant
study and practice.
The Autopiano
is not a combination of a piano and a player mechan-
ism. It is a single instrument built in one factory of
the finest materials and by the most expert workman-
ship. There is bat one genuine Autopiano.
A postal addressed to "Advertising Department" secures a beautiful Art Catalogue
EILERS MUSIC COMPANY
1130 Van Ness Ave. SAN FRANCISCO 1220 Fillmore St.
i Other' Stores: OAKLAND - - - STOCKTON - - - SAN JOSE - - - RENO, NEVADA
Please Mention Overland Monthly in Writing Advertisers.
N
I
Why and Because
There is only one player piano in
the country to buy and that is the
Melville Clark Apollo Player Piano
Why? You Will Ask
There are several unanswerable reasons why, if you intend to have a player piano
in your home, you should have the MELVILLE CLARK APOLLO and no other.
Here are the Becauses
1. Because the Apollo has an 88-note range,which includes every key on the piano
key board. No other player piano in the world has more than 65-notes or 5 octaves.
2. Because it has the effective transposing mouthpiece, which prevents the
annoyance caused by the shrinking and swelling of the music rolls due to climatic
alterations, and that changes the key of any music to suit the voice or accompanying
instrument. No other player piano in the world possesses this feature, which repre-
sents fully 95 per cent, of player piano value.
3. Because it is operated by either air or spring motor, and is extremely sensitive
in its action. No other player equals it in this respect. The Apollo spring motor is
so strongly constructed that atmospheric conditions, no matter how severe, cannot
affect it in the slightest degree. This motor also obtains a perfectly even
distribution of force, which enables the performer to achieve the most artistic
effects. No other player piano in the world has a spring motor.
4. Because every one of the 88 pneumatic fingers of the Apollo player
piano strikes a key on the piano. No couplers are used. The orchestral tone
thus attained permits the performer to interpret, in an impressive manner,
the larger musical compositions, and to gain a mass of sensuous tone color
that adds greatly to their beauty.
5. Because the Apollo player piano with its remarkable range of 88 notes plays
the greatest musical compositions exactly as they were originally written, interpreting
them in their full beauty, and as they are played by the greatest pianists. These
noble masterpieces of musical art are rearranged or transposed for every other player
piano on the market, and the pristine beauty of the work is marred.
6. Because the Apollo player piano is practically five instruments in one. There
Is a scale with a range of 58 notes, one of 65 notes, one of 70 notes, one of 82 notes and
one of 88 notes. The music rolls cut for these different scales can all be played on
the Apollo. These six superior features give the APOLLO PLAYER PIANO a
commanding place in public esteem and make it by far the most desirable instrument
on the market for the musical home.
OP ^^^ ^ ou cer ^ a i n 'y would not buy a five-octave or 65-note piano. You
"* UU will want an instrument with the full range of 88 notes. Then
would you buy a 65-note player when you can GETQONE WITH 88 NOTES?
There is rto doubt that you will have none other than an Apollo player piano
when you fully understand its great superiority over all other players.
ITS TONE IS BEALTIFUt. and it is one of the handsomest and most durable player pianos
made in the United States.
Send for illustrated catalogue to the manufacturers
Melville Clark Piano Co.
xxiv Please Mention Overland Monthly in Writing Advertisers.
For
Summer Reading
What could be better than a 3-months' trial sub-
scription to
The Living Age?
One dollar will bring you this magazine every week
for three months: containing
THE BEST FICTION
THE BEST ESSAYS
THE BEST LITERARY CRITICISM
THE BEST TRAVEL ARTICLES
THE ABLEST DISCUSSIONS OF PUBLIC AFFAIRS
With the whole range of contemporary English periodicals from the
quarterlies to Punch, to select from, the Living Age is able to give
its readers every week a larger variety of material written by the
most brilliant writers than any other single magazine.
The LIVING AGE has been published every Saturday without
missing an issue for more than 63 years and was never more indis-
pensable than now to intelligent readers.
Terms: Six Dollars a Year:
3 Months' Trial Subscription, &1.00
The Living Age Company
6 BEACON STREET, BOSTON
Please Mention Overland Monthly in Writing Advertisers
Hartshorn Shade Rollers
Wood Rollers
Bear the script name of Stewart
Hartshorn on label.
Get "Improved," no tackg. required.
Tin Rollers
Interior Decoration
IS AN ILLUSTRATED MONTHLY
MAGAZINE FULL OF IDEAS
Decorating and Furnishing the
Home correctly and tastefully is as
necessary as dressing fashionably
and becomingly
1 cents, postpaid $ 1 .00 a year
Catalog of Books on Decoration Free
Clifford & Lawton, 19 Union Sq., New York
. Y FLOUR COMPANY
SAMf RANCISCQ OFFICE !34 CALIFORNIA SI.
133 Spear Street, San Francisco.
Are you going to St. Louis
The HOTEL HAMILTON is a delightful place in the Best Resi-
dent Section and away from the noise and smoke; yet within easy
access. Transient Rate: $1 to $3 per day. European Plan. Specie
Rates by the week. Write for Booklet. Address: W. F. WILLIAM-
SON, Manager:
DO YOU WANT
INFORMATION regarding Nevada mines, mining stocks or mining
companies? WRITE USinformation cheerfully furnished. Also send
for Todd's Chronicle, an illustrated pamphlet giving the latest and most
interesting news from the mining camps in the State, especially Goldfield.
Free maps of Goldfield and Nevada sent upon request.
ROBT. B. TODD, Mines and Mining and Financial Agent, Box 227,
Goldfield, Nevada.
For Sale, 7000 acre ranch in Idaho. Box 1 6, Somerville, Mass.
TURCR3
of HVTO1/ID
Railing Chairs
- fW ACL PURPOSES
WhofesalecVRetail ar\d For Rgf
Illustrated catalogue on application. Office and Factory 1808
Market St., San Francisco. Branch, 837 S Spring St., Los Angeles
For Breakfast
The Pacific Coast Cereal
THE JOHNSON-LOCKE MERCANTILE CO., Agents
SAN FRANCISCO
xxvi
Please Mention Overland Monthly In Writing Advertisers.
The Overland Monthly
SAN FRANCISCO, CAL.
An Illustrated Magazine of the West
Magazine Offers for 1907:
The prices are for a year's subscription. The prices cover postage anywhere in United
States or American possessions, and in Canada, Mexico and Cuba. The magazines in com-
binations may be for one or more persons. Be careful to give names and addresses clearly
a nd fully.
OUR MAGAZINE LIST
THE OVERLAND MONTHLY, Regular Price $1.5O
Regular Price. CLASS C
CLASS A
American Boy $1.00
Automobile Magazine 2.00
Bohemian 1.00
Cosmopolitan 1.00
Four Track News 1.00
Harpers' Bazar 1.00
Madame 1.00
National 1.00
Pearson's 1.00
Pictorial Review 1.00
Suburban Life 1,.00
Success 1.00
Sunset 1.60
Woman's Home Companion 1.00
World To-Day 1.00
CLASS B Regular Price.
American Magazine with Suburban Life.. $2.00
Country Gentleman 1.60
Etude 1.50
Musician 1.60
Review of Reviews 3.00
Searchlight 2.00
Regular Price
Ainslie's $1.80
Appleton's Booklovers' 3.00
Automobile (weekly) 2.00
Burr Mclntosh 3.00
Current Literature 3.00
Forum 2.00
Independent 2.00
Lippincott's 2.50
Metropolitan (two years) 3.60
Outing 3.00
Smart Set 2.50
CLASS D.
Regular Price
San Francisco News Letter $4.00
Argonaut 4.00
Harper's Weekly 4.00
Leslie's Weekly 5.00
Harpers' Monthly 4.00
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The Overland Monthly with any of Class D
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The Overland Monthly with any of Class D,
1 of Class A, and 1 of Class B, $6.26.
The Overland Monthly with any of Class D,
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one of 'Class B and one of Class C, $7.25.
TheOVERLAND MONTHLY CO., Publishers
Offices 773 Market St., San Francisco.
Please Mention Overland Monthly in Writing Advertisers.
xxv 1 1
La Pintoresca
The most comfortable and homelike hotel in Pasadena, California.
Situated on elevated ground in a grove of oranges and palms, surrounded by the Sierra
Madre mountains. Elegant, rooms; table unsurpassed; pure water; perfect, appointments; ten-
nis, billiards. No winter, no pneumonia, no tropical malaria.
Write for booklet, to M. D. PA1 NTER, Proprietor, Pasadena, Cal.
The Cleverest Weekly
on the Pacific Coast
.
Published for the people who think. An up- to-date lively journal.
Send for sample copy.
S. F. News Letter,
773 Market Street, San Francisco, Cal.
xxviii Please Mention Overland Monthly In Writing Advertisers.
making nf Una Angela
Photographs of the Rise and Growth of California's Southern City
Oil?? 5fcadjera f plgrtmage
The story of the convention of the
National Educational Association
to be held in Los Angeles during July
nf
cTVlanufactories along the Bay Shore
Recent discoveries of Footprints in
the Carson, Nevada, Stone Quarries
SEND SUNSET TO YOUR EASTERN FRIENDS AND
KEEP THEM POSTED ON SAN FRANCISCO'S
WONDERFUL PROGRESS IN
RECONSTRUCTION
n
Please Mention Overland Monthly in Writing Advertisers.
HOME TELEPHONE ATTORNEY GIVES ITS INSIDE HISTORY
Lighting Plant Burns; Loss $2,500,000; City Dark
THE LOSS WttiB GEORGE F - HATTON TELLS GRAND
JURY WHY HE WAS EMPLOYED
~Z=-=.ji~ IMPORTANT TESTIMONY
GIVEN TO GRAND JURY
Please Mention Overland Monthly in Writing Advertisers.
Freight prepaid to San Francisco or
Los Angeles buys this massive Napo
eon bed No. 03165 (worth $55.) Made
in beautifully figured Mahogany in
Quartered Oak, Piano Polish or Dull
finish Dresser and commode to
match and 28 other desirable Suites
in our FREE catalogue.
&9.90
04081
Freight prepaid to Sa
cisco or Los Angeles b
artistic Iron Bed No
(worth $15.) Finished a
enamel desired. Vernis Martin
$2.00 extra. 46 other styles of
Iron and Brass Beds from $2 40
to $66.00 in our FREE Catalogue
Bishop Furniture Go.
Grand Rapids, Mich
Ship anywhere "on approval," allowing furniture in your
home five days to be returned at our expense and money re-
funded if not perfectly satisfactory and all you expected.
WE SHIP to San Francisco and Los Angeles in Car Load
lots and reship frem there to other western towns, thus se-
curing lowest carload rates for our customers. Write for owr
FREE catalogue, state articles wanted and we will quote pre-
paid prices
&24.50
Freight prepaid to San Fran-
cisco or Los Angeles. Buys
this large, luxurica- Colonial
Rocker. No. 04762 (worth $40) Freight prepaid to San Fran
covered with best genuine cisco or Los Angeles buys thi
leather. Has Quartered Oak or handsome Buffet No. 0500
Mahogany finish rockers, full (worth $55.00). Made of Select
Turkish spring seat and hack. Quartered Oak, piano polish or
An ornament and Gem of lux- dull finish. Length 46 in.,
ury and comfort in any home. French bevel mirror 40x14 in.
93 other styles of rockers 50 other styles of Buffets and
from $2.75 to $70 in our FREE Side Boards from $10.65 to $150
catalog. in our FREE catalogue'
Our FRKE i
good to the
talog
best n
e sho
if over 1000 pieces of fashionable
It posts you on styles and pric
ure fr
ite foi
>m the cheapest that
it today.
Bishop Furniture Go. 78-90 lorta St., Grand Rapids, Mich.
We furnish homes, hotels,
hospitals, clubs and public
buildings complete.
&28.50
Freight prepaid to
Angeles buys this
Pedestal Dining Exte
(worth $42.00.) Mad
Oak, piano polish
San Francisco or Los
eautiful High grade
tion Table No. OS14
of select Quartered
dull finish. Top 48
diameter, has perfect locking de-
vice. Seats 10 when extended, 4 when
closed, 37 other styles of Dining Tables
from $7.75 to $103.00 in our FREE cata-
logue.
Freight prepaid to San Francisco or Los
Angeles buys this large high-grade Lib-
rary Table No. 04314 [worth $15.00], Made
of select figured Quartered Oak w h piano
polish. Length 42 inches: width 27 inches.
Has large drawer. For Mahogany add $2 25.
39 other styles of Library and Parlor tables
from $2.40 to $65 in our FREE catalogue.
Goodyear's
"Gold Seal" Rubber Good
Belting, Packing and Hose. Clothing, Boots and
Shoes. Druggists' Rubber Sundries. Tennis and
Yachting Shoes, Fishing and Hunting Rubber
Boots, Water Bottles, Rubber Gloves, etc.
Headquarters for Everything Made of Rubber.
Goodyear Rubber Co.
San Francisco
Portland, Ore.
R. H. PEASE J. A. SHEPARD F. M. SHEPARD, Jr. C. F. RUNYAN
President Vice President Treasurer Secretary
HOTEL CUMBERLAND, NEW YORK
S. W. Cor. Broadway at. 54th Street,
Ideal Location. Near Theatres, Shops, and Central Park
Fine Cuisine. Excellent Food and reasonable Prices.
New, Modern and Absolutely Fireproof
Within one minute's walk of 6th Ave. 'L" and Subway and
accessible to all surface car lines Transient rates $2,50 with
bath and up, Send for Booklet.
HARRY P. ST1MSON GEO. L. SANBORN
THE GERMAN SAVINGS
AND LOAN SOCIETY
526 CALIFORNIA STREET.
San Francisco
Guaranteed capital and surplus. .$2,578,695.41
Capital actually paid-up in cash 1,000,000.00
Deposits, Dec. 31, 1906 38,531,917.28
P. Tillmann, Jr., President; Daniel Meyer,
First Vice- President; Emil Rohte, Second
Vice- President; A. H. R. Schmidt, Cashier;
Wm. Herrmann, Asst Cashier; George
Tourny, Secretary; A. H. Muller, Asst. Sec-
retary; Goodfellow & Eells, General Attor-
neys.
DIRECTORS F. Tillmann, Jr., Daniel
Meyer, Emil Rohte, Ign. Steinhart, I. N.
Walter, N. Ohlandt, J. W. Van Bergen, E.
T. Kruse, W. S. Goodfellow.
iiiiiiiiiiuniiiiii iniiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiii!iiimiiiiiiiiiiiii!ii!iimiiiiiimii|i||!
Pabst Extract
V fefrtf' T&nio
For
Dyspepsia
Loss of appetite is nature's first
warning of indigestion, the forerunner
of dyspepsia. This disease, like ner-
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ing, improper food and inattention to
diet. The digestiveorgans are inert, the
weakened membranes of the overtaxed
stomach are unable to perform their func-
tions, and the food you force yourself to eat
distresses instead of nourishes. Nothing
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aid digestion than
pabst Extract
1fifJ)esTTonlc
Combining the rich food elements of pure
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creates an appetite, aids in the digestion of
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For Sale at a11 Leading Druggists
Insist ufaon the Original
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Send us your name on a postal for our interesting booklet
and "Baby' 6 First Adventure" a beautiful picture of baby
life. Both FREE. Address
Pabst Extract Dept. 36 Milwaukee, Wis
3 COLD MEDALS
LEWIS 8 CLARK
EXPOSITION.
_
"A Pure Cocoa of Undoubted
Quality and Excellence of
Manufacture"
Walter Baker's
A distinguished London physician, in giving
some hints concerning the proper
preparation of cocoa, says:
"Sturt with a pure cocoa of un-
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of manufacture, and which hears
the name of a respectable firm.
This point is important, for
there are many cocoas on the
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HIGHEST AWARDS In
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WALTER BAKER & CO. Ltd.
DORCHESTER, MASS.
Established 1780
MENNEN5
BORATED TALCUM
TOILET POWDER
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in the hands of the little
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whose results are certain,
whose fees are small.
MENNEN'S
Borated Talcum
TOILET POWDER
protects and soothes, a sure
relief from Sunburn,
Prickly Heat, Chitting,
etc. Put up in non-refill-
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that lox" for your protec-
tion. If Mennen's face is on
the cover it's genuine and
a guarantee of purity.
Delightful after shaving.
Guaranteed under Food <K Druga
Act, June 30, 1900. Sen al No. 1542.
Bold everywhere, or by mail, 25c.
SAMPLE FREE
G. Mennen Co., Newark, N.J.
Try Mennen'H
Violet Iterated
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It bat toe scent of
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GENTLEMEN
WHO DRESS FOR STYLE
NEATNESS, AND COMFORT
WEAR THE IMPROVED
BOSTON
GARTER
THE RECOGNIZED STANDARD
The Name is
stamped on every
loop
The _ _ _
CUSHION
BUTTON
CLASP
LIES FLAT TO THE LEG NEVER
SLIPS, TEARS NOR UNFASTENS
Sample pair, Silk 50c., Cotton 25c.
Mailed on receipt of price.
6EO. FROST CO., Makers
Boston, Miss., U.S.A.
ALWAYS EASY
vose
PIANOS
have been established over 55 years. By our ayste
of payments every family of moderate circun
stances can own a VOSE Piano. We take old li
struments In exchange and deliver the new piar
in your home free of expense. Write for Catalog
D and explanation.
Please Mention Overland Monthly In Writing Advertisers.
ROYALDRCESTEB
CORSETS
4M.OO to $3.5O
AND
BON TON
CORSETS
C5.OO to7.5O
Combine features of Style
and Fit which rnakeihem the
choice ot Modistes wherever
fine dressmaking is done.^-o
SOLD BY AIL LEADING DEALERS ON THE PACIFIC COAST
' '
A FAIR OFFER.!
to convince
DYSPEPTICS
and those suffering from
Stomach Troubles
of the efficiency of
flycozone
I will send a
$1.00 BOTTLE FREE
Only one to a family
to any one NAMING THIS MAGAZINE, and
enclosing 25c. to pay forwarding charges. This
offer is made t,o demonstrate t>he efficiency
of tAis remedy.
Glycozone is absolutely harmless.
It cleanses the lining membrane of the stom-
ach and thus subdues inflammation, thus helping
nature to accomplish a cure.
GLYCOZONE cannot fail to help you, and
will not harm you in the least.
Indorsed and successfully used by leading
physicians for over 15 years.
Sold by leading druggists. None genuine
without my signature.
Chemirt and Graduate of the "Ecole Centrale des Arts et Manu-
facture! de Paris," (France).
57 Prince Street, New York City,
FREEl-Valuable booklet on how to treat diseases.
Iv Please Mention Overland Monthly In Writing Advertisers.
a NEXT OVERLAND
SEPTEMBER NUMBER
The September issue of the OVERLAND MONTHLY will
approach a more perfect ideal of what the greatest Western
magazine should be than has any other previous number. The
stories and articles will be distinctly Western savoring of the
healthy, rugged atmosphere of the Pacific Coast.
" COLLEGE AND THE WORLD " presents the
value of our Western college training in its relation to the out-
side world in an entirely novel manner. The article is a sym-
posium of opinion by a Freshman, a Senior, a Graduate and a
man of the business world.
"OUR SURFMEN" is an intensely interesting and
thrilling narrative of the life-saving station of the Atlantic and
Pacific Coasts, illustrated profusely with some remarkable pho-
tographs of the surfmen at work.
The second story on climbing the world's peaks is presented
in a striking article, entitled " CLIMBING FUJI," by
Annie Laura Miller. The dangers and the exciting experiences
of the author in scaling Japan's famed white mountain are
vividly set forth, accompanied by some splendid illustrations.
STRONG WESTERN FICTION
The fiction of the number will savor strongly of the Western
plains and mountains. Herbert Coolidge, a writer of impell-
ing tales of the new Wtest, will contribute a humorous adventure
story called " COWBOYS ASTRAY " which is sure to
appeal to all readers of stories that are stories.
"THE GOLD OF SUN-DANCE CANYON" tells of
the conflict of a man between a woman and a mania for gold,
and what came of it. " LITTLE MUSKY'S STORY "
is a very interesting study of a musk-rat, by Clarence Hawkes,
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Overland Monthly
No. 2
AUGUST, 1907
Vol. L.
CONFESSIONS OF A STENOGRAPHER
BEIXG AX ANALYSIS OF THE GRAFT IN SAX
FRAXCISCO AXD THE UXDEKLYIXG
CAUSES THAT LED TO IT
PHOTOGRAPHS BY GEORGE HALEY OF THE SAN FRANCISCO "CALL."
DURING the days when Abe Ruef and Mayor Schmitz were carrying out their
systematic plan of extortion and bribe-taking, there was one man in San
Francisco who was intimately associated with the leading figures in the graft
scandal. This former confidante of Abe Ruef was able to perceive from the in-
side the real motives which actuated the Curly Boss and the Mayor as he climbed
to fame and opulence. The following story is the story of that man, told from a
close personal knowledge of the inner workings of the graft, and it is published
here because it best analyzes the downfall of once-respected American citizens,
and treats of their ruin from its most vital standpoint that of intense, absorbing
human interest. EDITOR.
THE story of the graft scandal in San
Francisco, so far as I have observed
it from the inside and intend to re-
late here, is different from that of
similar tales of graft in other cities of
the United States. The graft was not
the result of an organization which has
existed for practically no other purpose
for years, as is the case of Tammany Hall
in New York. It has not come from the
preponderance of one party in power for
many terms of office; nor even from the
indifference of the people to the dishonesty
of their rulers, as in Philadelphia.
The men who, representing the city ad-
ministration, are under indictment for
Langdon
Cobb
Ileney
Oliver
THE PROSECUTION.
grafting in San Francisco, did not intend
to be dishonest when they assumed office,
and strange as it may seem from first to
last 'from their advent to power to their
ruin, the results have been just the oppo-
site of what might be expected from the
underlying causes which produced and de-
termined them.
Before the first election of Schmitz, the
city had been, as is usual with municipali-
ties, under the control of the politicians,
the citizens taking but little interest in
politics which is also unfortunately
usual and the choice of Mayor had been
much a matter of which party proved the
more energetic and adroit at the polls in
its manipulation of the voters. Phelan
had been several times Mayor, and at one
time had been extremely popular, but
during his last administration a strike of
teamsters had broken out, and in the
handling of the difficulty, he had managed
to displease both sides, the Labor Union-
ists by protecting the "scab" drivers with
policemen, and the business men by not
suppressing the trouble with more force
and energy. As his administration drew
to an end, and the nominations for his
successor were in order, the Democrats
felt that there was no use in making a
fight, so they hunted up a young man,
who was willing to contribute handsome-
ly to the campaign funds for the honor of
the nomination, and allowed the Bepubli-
cans to name a man who not only had no
personal popularity, but who it was gener-
ally believed would be a pliant tool in the
hands of those who controlled his nomina-
tion. Dissatisfaction was general and
widespread, and several of the Kepubli-
can papers openly supported the Demo-
cratic candidate.
The Labor Union, party had been or-
ganized as a result of the teamsters' strike,
but it was without leaders or influence or
political sagacity, and it may be added
that from the ranks of labor unionism
has never yet been evolved a leader. The
party was looking for a candidate for
Mayor, and had discussed a number of
possibilities, many of most radical char-
acter, including one Casey, who was the
CONFESSIONS OF A STENOGEAPHEE.
103
.-MI lor of the Teamsters' Union. At this
bsychological moment, Abraham Euef
Appeared upon the scene.
1 Abraham, or, as he is better known,
j'Abe" Euef, is a native Californian, who
IIM d(3 one of the best, if not the best, rec-
nls of any graduate of the State Univer-
sity. He speaks fluently seven languages,
Is well read, does not smoke, never drinks
to excess, and if he has had any scandals
with the other sex, they have never at-
tracted public attention. Pleasant of ad-
oresSj kind and courteous in his manner,
he was popular even among those who
might have had any race prejudice
against him, though politically he was
looked upon solely as an astute district
leader, and was not classed with the inner
political circle which lunched at the Pal-
ace Hotel, and which pretended and to
a very large extent did to regulate San
Francisco politics. Euef saw that there
was a chance for success politically in the
conditions which prevailed in his native
city. If he could find a candidate who
would at once appeal to the labor union
enthusiasts and the disgruntled voters in
the community of the Democratic and Ee-
publican party, he might win the election
and control the politics of the city. Casey,
of course, was not such a candidate; he
was too radical, too coarse, the business
element would not vote for him; but there
was a well appearing musician at one of
the local theatres, a man who could make
a fair speech, who knew how to eat with
his fork, who had some idea of how to
dress, from having seen good dressers at
the theatre, who, with a little experience,
could be made to present a very decent de-
portment when called upon on public occa-
sions, and who was, with all that, per-
fectly willing to "take orders" and be-
longed to the Musicians' Union. It must
not be supposed that Euef thought of
Schmitz when he first began to look for
a candidate for Mayor. His attention was
accidentally attracted to the availability
of the Mayor for the place he has since
filled while watching Schmitz at his fiddle
during an entreact. Euef thought the
matter over, talked it over with others,
and finally suggested it to Schmitz. No
man was more surprised than the prospec-
tive candidate himself when the proposal
was first made to him, but Schmitz has
Fairall
Schmitz
Barrett
Drew Campbell
SCHMITZ SURROUNDED BY HIS ATTORNEYS DURING HIS TRIAL.
104
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
never lacked self-confidence, and he read-
ily accepted the honor, was nominated by
Ruef and the campaign began.
The Labor Unionists were asked to sup-
port him, because he was a labor unionist,
and with all the enthusiasm of novices,
they not only pledged themselves to vote
for the ticket, but they turned in to elect
it to a man. Meantime, Schmitz went
about making speeches. They were all
revised for him by Ruef, and were intend-
ed to accomplish exactly what they suc-
ceeded in doing pleasing both sides. The
business men were told that Schmitz was
ronservaiivr. and that if there appeared
shrewdness by taking hold of the cam-
paign at exactly the right moment, and
had secured the support of the thousands
of voters who desired to down the bosses
and to give the city an administration free
from bossism and ring rule.
In view of what subsequently has hap-
pened, that, of course, may seem very re-
markable, but its peculiarity does not alter
the fact. Mayor Schmitz, recognizing
that to Ruef he owed his sudden promi-
nence, wrote him a letter which, if poor
politics, yet showed that he was able tr
appreciate the help Ruef had" given him.
and was grateful enough to publicly n<--
AWAITING THE VERDICT.
to be anything radical in what he said, it
was simply intended to catch votes, and
meant nothing. If the unionists objected
that the pledges were not radical enough,
they were told that they had purposely
been made mild, so as not to alarm the
business men, who were willing to support
the ticket. Thus Schmitz was chosen
Mayor the first time as a protest on the
part of many of his supporters against
bossism in their own parties, and as an
exponent of the new element in politics
Labor Unionism. Ruef had shown his
knowledge his obligation, a virtue which
it is doubtful if all his critics possess.
When Eugene Schmitz first took office
as Mayor of San Francisco, he had not the
slightest intention of doing anything dis-
honest, and it was his earnest desire to
give his native city the best administration
it had ever had. As for Ruef, he had been
actuated only by ambition, the ambition
his race has ever shown, to rule when
possible, and it was love of power and not
of dollars which actuated him in" his coup.
He had not rime to fullv decide upon hi?
ABE RUEF,. "THE NAPOLEON OF CRIMK
106
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
future during the progress of the cam-
paign, and his mind was entirely centered
on an effort to win. When the victory
was won, however, he. found himself at
once a very important character. His of-
fice was thronged at all hours by the most
polyglot aggregation of place hunters that
ever assembled in a politician's anti-room.
He was flattered, praised, and pointed out
as the great man of the town. While he
absolutely controlled the labor union
party, he was too shrewd to resign from
his position as a member of the Republi-
can Central Committee, realizing that the
Labor Union party was merely local, and
that it was only valuable as a political as-
set to any man who could throw its votes
for either of the great parties. But the
flattery and applause did not come solely
from his international following of wage-
earners, and would-be office holders. He
at once strange as it may seem became
a great potentiality in the ranks of the
Republicans, and no one had more influ-
ence and power in their local councils than
he. Naturally, he bethought himself
whereby he could personally profit by all
this power and importance, and his eyes
at once rested upon a seat in the Senate,
which, considering his personal ability
and the men whom this State, as a rule,
has sent to represent her in the upper
chamber at Washington, was not an ex-
travagant ambition. More than that, one
of his race had been, was, in fact, at the
time, a Senator from Oregon, and that in-
creased his ambition and hopes. He took
for his model Hanna, and his intimates
so far as any one can be called an inti-
mate of Ruef will tell you that he con-
stantly alluded to the Ohio leader and ex-
pressed intense admiration for him.
The first administration of Schmitz,
therefore, started in under the most for-
tunate circumstances. Everything was be-
fore him, absolutely nothing politically be-
hind him. He had been elected really as
a reform Mayor, and had the confidence
of both the business classes and the labor
unions. Of it little need be said. It was
neither surprisingly good or strikingly
bad.
He undoubtedly prevented or adjusted
many labor troubles and strikes, and his
appointments would compare favorably
with those of his predecessors. His fail-
ures were not conspicuous, nor his admin-
istration corrupt. But with his new pc
tion came quite a different point of vie
of the world from that which he had hac
from the orchestra box of the theatre.
People who would never have thought of
chumming or dining with a fiddler in an
orchestra, were delighted to Tse seen with
the Mayor, and of course, as the chief offi-
cial of the city, he was a guest of honor at
the banquets with which the city greeted
its distinguished visitors, from President
down. The fact, too, that he was "a labor
union" Mayor had attracted more than
the usual amount of attention to him all
over the country, and those who fancy that
every wage earner eats in his shirt sleeves
on all occasions, or that overalls are the
dress suits of unionism, were surprised,
and frankly said so, when they met him.
Schmitz made an excellent impression,
was popular with the notables whom he
met, and in that lies his undoing. When
a man associates with railroad Presidents,
United States Senators and prominent
foreigners, he naturally desires to do what
he sees his companions doing. Schmitz
ceased to eat at "the creameries," and was
to be seen nightly with large and more or
less distinguished parties at the most fash-
ionable restaurants. Poached eggs on
toast and a small steak disappeared before
pate-de-fois-gras and Welsh rarebits, and
when he traveled, he must needs stop at
the very best hotels, and have the very best
accommodations, such as his millionaire
friends, Harriman or Dingee, are sup-
posed to enjoy. But all these luxuries
take money, and even the six thousand
dollars of a Mayor of San Francisco were
not enough to "keep up the pace," and
therein lies the secret of the graft, of the
dishonesty, of the holding up of first this
and then that business or institution.
With Ruef the same causes produced the
same results, with the further fact that, of
course, he had a natural tendency to make
money, and had acquired several pieces of
property by more or less questionable
methods before he became the chaperon
of Schmitz, if rumor speak true. He
wanted to be a Senator, and Senators, he
knew, were generally men of means. So
far as the rabble was concerned that
yelped at his door and cheered his every
act, he despised them to a man, and looked
upon them as simply a means to an end.
Schmitz was in the same category with the
CONFESSIONS OF A STENOGRAPHER.
10;
other office seekers. He was useful, noth-
ing more. When the Mayor talked of be-
coming a candidate for Governor, Ruef
discouraged him, and secretly made an al-
liance with a San Jose millionaire to
boom the latter for the executive chair.
Ruef did not care so much for the display,
the intimate friendships with millionaires,
the social elevation as Schmitz. He
wanted money, and he wanted power, but
he did not care whether he dined with Mc-
Carthy or Herrin, with a labor leader or
a Southern Pacific official. His family
had no desire to lead the fashions, and
he would never have made the mistake of
occupying the bridal apartments at the
Waldorf Hotel, or of going to Europe as
though he were a newly created Nevada
millionaire. He saw the folly of the pace
that Schmitz was setting; he urged him
not to build his elaborate home, which
every one knew could not have been erect-
ed out of the proceeds of the Mayor's sal-
ary; he begged him not to make the ill-
advised trip to Europe, where Schmitz
went to receive the applause and lauda
tion of crown hea;ds, and with an insane
fancy that he would even dine with the
Kaiser before he returned home. Bt t
Ruef's wise advice was disregarded, and
the Mayor even accelerated his pace.
He had been twice re-elected Mayor
again, owing to other combinations of cir-
cumstances, the first re-election being due
to the unpopularity of his Republican op-
ponent on the one hand, and to the
treacherousness of the politicians who se-
cretly formed an alliance with him and
threw down their own candidate in his
favor. As for the Democrats, the} nomi-
nated a strong candidate Franklin K.
Lane, the present Interstate Commerce
Commissioner but his party proved even
more treacherous to him than the Repub-
licans were to tbeir candidate, and hav-
ing refused to bear the yoke of the would-
be dictator of his party, he was "knifed"
so badly that he only carried one precinct
in the city. Two years later the opposi-
tion endeavored to unite, but jealousies
were allowed to prevail, and every leader
had his hand raised against his neighbor,
until finally an inconspicuous young man
was suggested as a candidate for Mayor,
and was, of course, defeated.
Thus, events and circumstances which
had absolutely nothing to do with Schmitz,
which were in no wise controlled by him,
and to which he contributed nothing, have ]
twice re-elected him Mayor. Foolishly he;
arrogated oo himself the success which had
attended his candidacy, and with pride
coming before a fall, he has continued up-
on his course, until it has accomplished)
his ruin.
The exposure of the graft in San Fran- 1
cisco politics is due to causes as far-re-
moved from those that led to the expo-
ures in St. Louis, Minneapolis and Phila-
delphia as the corruption there differed in
its characteristics from the graft in San
Francisco. In those cities, the exposures
came either on the initiative of some hon-
est official who was elected to office, as in
the case of Folk, who became the prose-
cuting attorney of St. Louis, or else
through the indignation and uprising of)
the people as in the case of Philadelphia.
But in San Francisco neither motive pro-
duced the results that to-day attract the
attention of the world. No public 'official
undertook of his own initiative to begin
and carry on the investigation; neither
was there any public demand for anything
of the kind. If the people were being
robbed, they certainly did not complain,
and it is worthy of note that in San Fran-
cisco the usual means of graft, such as
street contracts, or public buildings, have
not figured in the illegal gains of Schmitz
and his fellow boodlers at all.
The initiative of the San Francisco in-
vestigation belongs to Rudolph Spreckels,
son of the Sugar King, and one of the
numerous millionaires of the city, who
was influenced by business reasons, and
who associated with himself several other
wealthy citizens in the subscription to a
large fund, which they raised for the pur-
pose of carrying on the exposure. It has
been the policy of the Spreckels family for
many years in fact, they have made most
of their money by the method to take
up some public enterprise, associate them-
selves with it, under the plea that they
were helping the public, and then at the
proper time to drop out, always with a
handsome profit to the good side of their
bank account. In that way, they years
ago built a sugar refinery in Philadelphia,
which they subsequently sold to the sugar
trust, with an agreement that the trust
would not interfere with their trade on
this coast.
MAYOR SCHMITZ, FOUND GUILT f OF EXTORTION.
CONFESSIONS OP A STENOGRAPHER.
Later they took advantage of public in-
dignation against demands and extortions
of the Southern Pacific, and started a com-
pany to build a railroad down the San
Joaquin Valley, which it was pledged
would be a competing line for the farmers
of that valley, though, as usual, it was sold
years ago at a profit to the Spreckels, to
the Santa Fe. Again a competing electric
light company was formed, and in due
time sold out, and still later, even to-day,
there is much gossip about their manipu-
lation of the Oceanic Steamship Company
which has gone almost into bankruptcy,
its shares falling from a handsome figure
to almost nothing.
Just before the earthquake of a year
ago, the Spreckels Rudolph in particular
had organized a street car company,
which was to have put an underground
trolley system on several of the streets of
the city, and which would have been quite
a rival to the present United Eailroads,
until it followed the usual route of the
Spreckel's companies, as outlined above.
But the earthquake came, and the com-
pany never completed its organization.
The United Eailroads had been busy fight-
ing for a franchise to turn most of their
cable lines into trolley systems at the time
of the great disaster, and the Spreckelses
were among the most active opponents of
the measure. After the fire, however, the
United Railroads secured their franchise,
and of course that very seriously impaired
the value of the proposed Spreckels road.
Just at this point Mr. Spreckels suddenly
announced that he would guarantee a
fund of $100,000 to prosecute the city
boodlers. The money was raised, and the
brilliant Francis J. Heney (who had dis-
tinguished himself in the prosecution of
Senator Mitchell and other prominent
persons in Oregon for land frauds) was
engaged to take hold of the investigation,
and it was begun. Among the charges was
one that the franchise, to substitute the
trolley for the cable by the United Rail-
roads had been obtained by fraud and
bribery, and of course, if that can be
proven, it may be possible to successfully
attack the franchise and to have it re-
scinded. This would certainly be of im-
mense advantage to any rival road, espec-
ially as in many cases the cable road has
been torn up, and it would mean the sus-
pension of all traffic over many lines if the
United Railroads were forced to return
to the inadequate cable system of the past
decades.
The reader is as capable of deciding as
the writer, whether under the facts as
here set forth Rudolph Spreckels is a
patriot or no. No one will dispute that
the statements here made are absolutely
true. It is only fair to say that besides
Mr. Spreckels's interest in the street car
franchise there were several other inter-
ests, including the water supply, for the
city, which would profit by a conviction of
the city administration in the granting of
franchises, and the action it has taken
in granting privileges to companies which
proposed to supply different public utili-
ties ; and it is worthy of note that the ac-
tual bribe receivers, with the exception of
the Mayor, have all been granted immu-
nity from their confessed dishonesty, while
the gentlemen who, in the interests of the
public, have been exposing them have
even held them in office, while at the same
time every effort has been made to convict
and injure the business rivals of Spreckels
and hifl friends. Thus it can be seen that
the nature of graft in San Francisco is
entirely different from the graft situation
in the other big cities of the United
States.
THE FIRST ASCENT OF
MOUNT SHUKSAN
BY ASAHEL CURTIS
ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS.
NO CLEANER, fairer sport can be found under the heavens than the ascent
of some unclimbed peak, and he who plays the game must needs be patient,
sound of wind, and strong of limb. After days and nights of tram,ping,
when the last grim obstacle has been overcome, and some pinnacle of rock or ice,
untrodden since the dawn of creation, htis been reached, no enjoym,ent can be
keener. This is the first of a series of articles on scaling the world's peaks, told
by those who have succeeded. Mr. Asahel Curtis tells in the following vigorous
article how he reached the summit of Mt. Shuksan. In September w<i will pub-
lish the second, a strong and keenly descriptive account of the ascent of Mt. Fuji,
the famed peak of Japan. That article will be followed by vivid stories of moun-
tain climbers of Sunset Mountain, an extinct volcano of Northern Arizona, and
of the Matterhorn. EDITOR.
THE lure and challenge of the un-
climbed, unconquered mountain,
with its wastes of rock and ice,
leads one into untrodden countries, by
strange trails, where deep blue valleys
wind away to the ends of the earth.
No finer or better sport can be found
than this contest with nature. It lead?
one into the wilderness where nature is
seen at her grandest. Where rock and
snow pile highest, swept by the winds of
heaven, where every obstacle of nature
has to be overcome, there the keenest
sport will be found. The challenge is
always there, but the season is short, for
with the first approach of winter these
THE FIKST ASCENT OF MOUNT SHUKSAN.
Ill
;owering crags of earth withdraw into a
solitude. It is a sport that all can enjoy,
md from which all can gain strength,
learning the ways of falling rock and
sliding snow, and how to avoid one diffi-
culty and overcome the next, until suc-
cess greets one at last.
It was such a challenge that led Mr.
W. M. Price and I to attempt the ascent
of Mount Shuksan, which we made during
the Mazama outing to Mount Baker, in
August, 1906. We had planned to make
the ascent even at the cost of the official
climb of Baker, for Baker had -been
climbed many times. Shuksan is a rem-
nant of the great plateau from which the
Cascade range has been carved, and is the
all, as the mountain was a mass of greaD
pinnacles sheeted in hanging glaciers.
Curious to see the mountain, and assure
ourselves that its very presence was no
myth, we started soon after breakfast to
climb the western slope of Table Moun-
tain, which lay between our camp and
Shuksan. In an hour we were on top,
watching the strange pigmies that were
moving in the little patch of green with
the white spots which we knew was camp,
but which, through the clear mountain
air, appeared but a few hundred feet away.
After many wild hallos we made the
sound carry to those pigmies, and were
greeted with cheers and wild waving of
handkerchiefs.
MT SHUKSAN, 10,600 FEET HIGH.
highest point left of the original upheaval.
It is situated in the northern part of
Washington, some fifteen miles east of
Mount Baker.
We could find no record of an ascent,
and were warned of the danger of an at-
tempt. Major Ingraham, who climbed
Baker some years ago, cautioned us par-
ticularly of the danger of avalanches
which their party heard, across the fifteen
miles that separates the two mountains.
Glasscock, who climbed Baker alone in
the spring of 1906, reported that the as-
cent would be very difficult, if possible at
To the eastward a wall of snow still
shut us in, but above its crest there rose,
into the blue sky, the point of a distant
finger of rock. Hurriedly we climbed the
snowfield, to see what lay below that fin-
ger, and, once on top of the crest, saw
the mountain in all its forbidding gran-
deur. Stretching away to the southeast,
almost from our feet, lay a long rocky
ridge, cut through by deep gorges, filled
with snow. Each succeeding peak of the
ridge rose higher and wilder, until a
great black mass of rock barred the way.
Down the sides of this, streams of ice
112
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
were flowing, falling from ledge to ledge
in their descent from the summit
snowfields. Between the two upper snow-
fields rose the rock finger we had seen
from below, a thousand feet above the
rest of the mountain, black and forbid-
ding, too steep for snow to cling to. Eest-
ing on the very top of this finger we
could clearly see a rock weighing tons, so
balanced that it appeared to overhang by
thirty feet. This rock at once became our
goal, and the challenge to make the ascent
was accepted as our own.
The first attempt to ascend the moun-
tain was made along this ridge, with a
hope that a way could be found from shelf
to shelf of the hanging glaciers and thus
To the south, loosened rocks rolled
sight in a cloud of dust, but the roar sent
up from the void was ominous.
At many places we found tracks
mountain goats, and had been keeping a
sharp lookout for a sight of one, but had
not been successful. Coming up the slope,
over soft snow, we made little noise, and
came out on the shoulder of a crag, when
suddenly a goat sprang from his bed not
fifteen feet away, and in curiosity, stood
for a full minute, broadside, with head
turned to see what curious animal had in-
vaded his home. Before a camera could
be unslung from the pack, he had van-
ished un the mountain side with a speed
and ease that seemed marvelous. Later or
SNOW FIELDS NEAR THE SUMMIT.
onj;o the snowfields, at the base of the
pinnacle. These snowfields must be
reached some time in the ascent; it was
only a choice of routes. Hour after hour
we toiled up the peaks of the ridge and
into the gorges between. Each peak rose
higher than the last, timber growth dwin-
dled to sprawling shrubs, and we were
still not on the main mountain. WJhere
the ridge ended and the real bulk of the
mountain began, a deeper gorge scarred
the rock, like a great gash, and we were
able to get into it only because of the
snow that lay deep on the northern side.
his tracks were seen on a snow slope at an
angle of 60 degrees, where we had to chop
steps in the frozen snow, but he had gone
apparently with ease.
After fourteen hours of ceaseless effo:t
a crag was reached, between two of the gla-
ciers, almost directly beneath the main
summit, but separated from it by gre^t
glaciers, seamed with deep crevasses. A
way might be found through this maze,
but it would require days of work. No
camp could be made on the sheer crag-?,
and it was then five o'clock, with the sum-
mit hidden in rolling clouds, so reluctant-
THE SOUTHEAST SIDE OF SHUK8AN, WHERE THE ASCENT WAS MADE, SHOW-
I Ml Till: PRECIPITOUS CHARACTER OF THE PEAK.
114
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
ly the attempt had to be abandoned.
Our work was not useless, however, as
we found what we thought would prove
an easier but longer route of reaching the
snowfields at the base of the pinnacle.
After a day in camp to rest, we started
once more for the mountain, planning r,o
try the southwest slope between two <f
the lesser glaciers. We could not hope to
reach the summit in a single day, so made
a leisurely trip across the beautiful val-
leys that lie at the base of Shuksan ridge.
Blue-berries, just ripening, led us many
times from the trail; the sweet incense of
mountain grass and flowers charmed us,
and we were loath to leave, but over the
top of the ridge, faint in the afternoon
stunted Towth of mountain trees grew
up to the 6,000 foot level.
Here every possible route was traced,
everv glacier and snowfield searched for a
route up the mountain. We finally de-
termined to try a crevice that seemed to
cut across the whole face of one of the
rocky spurs.
Going then to the southward along the
base of Shuksan, steadily climbing, over
talus and the moraine of a glacier, under
a water-fall that plunged down from its
icy birthplace, we rose above the valley.
The route we had chosen appeared to
the favorite one of goats, for many h
traveled it. It may have been their main
thoroughfare, but they are surely not fit-
AMONG THE CRAGS OF MT. SHUKSAN.
haze, hung the same grim mountain mass,
its challenge still unanswered.
Turning to the eastward, up a tribu-
tarv, we climbed a spur of the main ridge,
and from the pass saw the whole mass of
the mountain, which here rose 8,000 feet
above the valley. Directly in front of us
a cascade glacier crawled down the moun-
tain side. From its front, blocks of clear
blue ice broke away and fell until they
were ground to dust. Beautiful threads
of water fell over the cliffs, becoming
wreaths of spray in their descent, while
on the protected points of the ridges a
ting engineers to run lines for humans.
Sunset found us on a spur at timber
line, the lower world lost in the haze of
forest fires. The ridges of the mountair
disappeared in the smoke, and we felt
that our camp was suspended above the
world. Across the valley, the rounded
shoulder of a foothill broke through, while
dimly outlined in the west the mighty
dome of Baker appeared like some fairy
creation in the heavens, rather than a
mountain of earth. Its foothills were gone
and the soft haze magnified the icy slopes
behind which the sun was setting.
THE FIEST ASCENT OF MOUNT SHUKSAN.
115
In the last light of day a brush shelter
was built and wood gathered for an all-
night fire. We had no blankets, the
weight of camera and food being all we
carerl to take on such a trip, and the
nights were cold. The stars were out be-
fore our shelter was finished and supper
cooked, so with shoes for a pillow we feil
asleep. Countless times we were awakened
by the cold as the fire died down, or by
sliding into the fire. There was no diffi-
culty in telling when morning came, and
no reluctance about leaving our impro-
vised beds.
Thus far everything had proven favor-
able, and refreshed by a fair night's sleep,
we started up the snow slopes between the
glaciers. Ridges of rock divided the snow,
nacle that we had been seeking so long,
with nothing between to prevent our ap-
proach. The rock itself looked formidable
enough: only one small patch of snow
found a resting place on its side, but it
did not appear impossible.
In spite of the smoke the view was mag-
nificent. To the eastward a group of les-
ser pinnacles, unnamed, unknown, broke
through the ice capping. Beyond, seen
faintly through the haze, a thousand snow-
capped peaks or ragged rocky pinnacles
too steep to hold snow, rose into view. This
mass of mountains, the Cascades rising ^o
meet the Selkirks, is the highest point left
of the primary upheaval in Washington,
and probably the most beautiful in the
State.
PRICE BUILDING THE CAIRN.
each succeeding one steeper than the last,
but the rock cleavage afforded fair hand
and foot holds. The snow slopes were
soon too steep to be trusted without cut-
ting steps, and there was no time to do
this, so we were forced to follow the rocks
wherever possible. The slope ended
finally, just below the crest, in a clear
field of snow, and steps had to be cut to
the top. Once up this, and we knew that
the ascent could be made, for before us
stretched the great snowfields that cover
the main plateau, and which feeds a sys-
tem of glaciers flowing out on all sides ex-
cept the north. Across two miles of ice
and snow appeared the same black pin-
Our way now lay along the crest of the
ridge, near the northwest side, and we
could see, far down below, the crags we
had reached in our first attempt. Once at
the base of the pinnacle, the real rock
work of the ascent began. There was a
Irandred yards of easy going, then straight
up the rock face, clutching a hand-hold
here, a foot hold there, we worked our
way. We were following the crest of the
ridge, little more than a knife edge, which
fell away in a dizzying descent on either
side. Crevices in the rock were scarce
and insecure, and in many cases pieces of
rock had to be chipped away with the back
of a hand axe to give any hold at all.
116
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
These gave a very uncertain hold, but
enough to take one up. We were next
barred by a smooth face of rock, and I
lifted Price up until he could get a grip
on a shelf above and slowly drag himself
up onto it and drop a line to me. Our
greatest danger lay in some piece of rock
giving away when our whole weight was
on it. This happened in spite of the
greatest caution, and in one case both a
hand and a foot-hold broke at the same
time, giving a quick, hair-raising fall to
the shelf below. A few moments' rest
was necessary to quiet the nerves, and
greater caution was exercised to prevent
a second occurrence. Price told me after-
ward that he spent the time thinking how
such a great mass could have been left
balanced on such a small summit.
We searched the entire summit for some
trace of a previous ascent, but found none.
There was no record of any kind, no
cairn had been built, as is the custom, and
we could find no rocks disturbed. Along
the entire summit the rocks lay so loosely,
so nearly balanced, that the slightest
touch would send them down the moun-
tain, and it seemed impossible that any
one had ever trodden on that summit. In
many places the rocks were fused and
burned, apparently by lightning.
Both felt that the return by the route
we had come would prove unsafe, and we
determined to try some other way. Cau-
PRICE AND CURTIS ON THE SUMMIT.
he could have taken me back to camp had
I missed the shelf.
Fr was here that we first saw the beauti-
ful moss campion, unknown on the lower
levels, which splashed the dark rocks a
beautiful pink with its flowers. Masses of
the moss clung in the slightest crevice,'
with so little to nourish them that they
were already wilting in the sun.
A thousand feet of such climbing, and
we turned a corner of rock beneath the
last crag of the summit. On its very top
rested the overhanging rock we had seen
from below. For thirty feet its huge bulk
overhung, and it seemed marvelous that
tiousiy dropping from rock to rock, we
worked our way to the head of a chimney,
west of the crest by which we had climbed,
then down it, clinging to the sides as we
dropped from crevice to crevice. It was
necessary to keep very close together to
avoid the danger of falling rocks. With
only two this danger was not as great as
with a larger party, but the shower of
rocks never ceased. The descent was made
very rapidly, and in fifty minutes we were
once more on the snowfield.
A day's tramp still lay before us, and it
was then after twelve, so not a moment
could be wasted. Snow slopes that had
BEAUTIFUL HANGING GLACIERS OF MT. SHUKSAN.
118 OVERLAND MONTHLY.
taken a half hour to climb were coasted in gathering twilight. Just as the sta:
less than a minute, and no matter how came out, we stood on a ridge above tl
steep the slope, we felt that we had to go valley taking a moment's farewell look i
down. Long shadows lay across the val- the mountain we felt in some way to I
leys, but their charm was not for us ; it our own, its dim bulk showing faintly. A
seemed impossible for our exhausted mus- we stood thus watching, there came to i
cles to drag us up the steep slopes, but we the distant roar of an avalanche th<
had nothing to eat, and felt that we must seemed to us like a farewell gun from it
make camp that night, so kept on in the conquered mountain.
BY ALOYSIUS COLL
THINK you, when the russet luster
Of the autumn in your hair,
Fades away, and winters cluster
In the ashen embers there,
Then that love, to you returning,
Shall revive the springtime glow,
And, her sweet young blossoms spurning,
Dig your dead wish from the snow?
Think you, when the merry laughter
From your lips has died away,
And the echoes that come after
Fade to silence all the day,
Then that love shall set the blunder
Of your aching heart at rest,
And, in tones of mellow thunder,
Rouse the dead wish from your breast?
Think you, when the days have banished,
On the mists of doubt that rise,
Every smile, and mirth has vanished
From the mirrors of your eyes,
Then that Love, all unbeholden,
Shall return to kiss your mouth,
And to give your lips the olden
Sunshine of the smiling South?
Think you, maid when now the summer
Paints your cheek with fragrant bloom-
All too soon the bold newcomer,
Winter and his touch of doom !
Watch for Love; when first you meet him,
Bid him welcome at your door
For if once you scorn to greet him,
He may come again no more!
LAGUNA DEL KEY AT DEL MONTE.
BY WASHI:N T GTOX DAVIS
ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS.
LL who seek enchanted
spots where they can
make the most of
happy days at reason-
able prices, or who
may be driven from
the troublous cares of
business or office toil
to find relief where seabirds spread their
lazy wings in the fragrant ocean breeze;
where nature keeps a tryst with flowers,
fields, orchards and forests overlooking the
sea to soothe and revive the weary heart
and hand all men and women who long
for such a spot will rejoice to know that
this place has been found for them, and
is now being prepared by experienced men
who are real builders of California's
greatness.
Charming, indeed, through winter,
spring, summer and autumn is Monterey
Bay and its beautiful surrounding cres-
cent of mountains, hills and fields, stretch-
ing so gently down to its miles of glisten-
ing, velvety, white sand beach. Here the
rhythm of the waves has a peculiar fasci-
nation, for there is never a storm. It is
all gentle, yet invigorating, bracing, bring-
ing a cheerfulness that has no aftermath.
The evening wind brings ozone from the
rising, falling bosom of the Western sea,
where float the ships in plain view at their
moorings, while the morning land breeze
returns the delicate mountain air. So
attractive are the scenes, beauties and ad-
vantages of living at Del Monte Heights
that my pen is tempted to run to almost
endless lengths and breadths of poetic
coloring, yet a few brief touches must suf-
fice.
Whether gathering up the mosses, shells
and things put out by the sea upon its
bordering sands; whether seeking historic
relics, sketching and painting from nature,
trailing through real sweet-smelling old
pine forests, following a lover's bridle-
path to shady nook or enchanting solitude,
drinking at the many invigorating min-
eral springs, viewing the Government
military parades as they face the morning
sun from the presidio, dining with a rav-
enous appetite and a splendid menu set
before you ; whether you are grave or gay,
young or old, Del Monte Heights, one
mile east of the famous Del Monte Park
and Hotel, as a seaside resort, winter or
summer home, offers a splendid welcome
and- a perennial charm to all who love and
120
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
appreciate nature's bounties embellished
by the arts of man.
Within a few minutes' walk of the up-
ward slope at Del Monte Heights you may
reach the beach and see a great fleet of
small sail busy dragging salmon into their
boats. You may do this yourself before
breakfast if you like, for there are 652
kinds of fish more or less in Monterey
Bay, and nearly all of them are eatable.
It costs you nothing to try it, and if you
put in your hook or net you are almost
sure to get some kind of a bite. Of course,
boating, bathing and all the seashore ac-
cessories are there in nature's perfection.
Then to the west, south and east are the
mountains, hills, valleys, ravines, canyons,
caves and trickling streams. One of these
famous canyons is called the "King's Or-
chard," just south of Del Monte Heights,
where one hundred years ago the Spanish
priests settled and planted fruit trees. An
old pear tree is still growing there. Other
vegetation from palm tree to live oak
adorns the landscape and makes the homes
for big and small game, which in these
days are represented by species of quail,
squirrel, rabbit, coyote, wolf, mountain
lion, deer and bear. You may hunt these
in the canyons, foothills and mountains,
If you are too restless to fish. All that is
necessary is the most ordinary hunting
equipment and observance of the game
laws. Then go up through the odorous
pines, where stayrs sang in the long ago,
after you pass the groups and hedges of
the celebrated Monterey cypress, which is
abundant, grows anywhere, is formed into
any shape, and has a fragrance all its
own.
Particularly beautiful is Laguna Del
Eey (the lake of the king), lying midway
between the Del Monte Hotel and Del
Monte Heights. This lake is being put in-
to enjoyable shape for the pleasure of
those who are fortunate enough to live in
this neighborhood. Popular field sports,
such as golf, polo, tennis, baseball and
other outdoor amusements have many
devotees here. The Del Monte race track
is only a mile south of this.
Eiding, driving and automobiling are
in vogue nearly the year round. The fam-
ous seventeen-mile drive around the point
of the peninsula has a different interest-
ing feature for every mile. The Carmel
Mission church is one of these features.
It was the home of the founder of Califor-
nia missions, Father Junipero Serra.
Around to the west of it, on the fine drive,
is the town of Pacific Grove, thence to the
east is Monterey, Del Monte, and last and
best of all, Del Monte Heights.
Best, of all is Del Monte Heights, for
the very good geographical, topographies
and historical reasons that the people whc
laid out and built up the other place
along the north side of the peninsula kne\
practically nothing about city buildin
They pitched their tents in fine localities
but so limited in area that the available
ground for building has long since beer
taken up, and it is next to impossible foi
these towns to expand.
But modern methods of building a towr
are now being applied to Del Mont
Heights, which is to be decorated by al
the latest methods of building homes anr
houses for public and private occupatioi
Smart are the gentlemen who are doing
this wise are they who are decoratii
Del Monte Heights with a fine moderi
town. Among them are George W. Phelpa
-who was one of the pioneer builders of
the University town of Berkeley, and per-
haps had more to do with its upbuilding
than any other man.
J. Hall Lewis, who organized and
founded the bank of Half Moon Bay,
was the mainspring of the activities
at that place.
A. D. Bowen has already completed
two systems of railways, and is now en-
gaged in completing the Monterey, Fresno
and Eastern. He is one of the most suc-
cessful railway builders on the Pacific
Coast ,i not on the continent.
H. W. Postlethwaite, a prominent capi-
talist of San Francisco, is interested in a
several important local enterprises.
These gentlemen chose for their location
a tract of five hundred acres of land, part
of which was formerly called Vista Del
Rey (view of the king.) Around Del
Monte Heights is the king's country. The
Spanish fathers knew it when they named
it Mont-el-rey (Monterey), mountain of
the king; Laguna Del Eey, lake of the
king; Vista Del Eey, view of the king;
Huerta Del Eey, orchard of the king. But
as every man in a free country can be king
for himself, he can go to this former king's
country, and put up a castle, mansion,
plain home, or bungalow, and his home
122
OVEKLAXD MONTHLY.
life and surroundings will be good enough
for any king.
Why is this ? Well, if the reader of this
will pardon me, which he ought to, I will
answer this question with one sentence,
which may sound exactly as though I were
running a real estate boom, but I am not,
though this is the concrete truth :
Del Monte Heights is next door to Ho-
tel Del Monte ; it overlooks Monterey Bay,
Monterey City and Pacific Grove, facing
the United States Presidio; it is within
five minutes' walk of the finest fishing on
earth or in the sea; the climate is cool in
summer and warm in winter, with no fog
and no wind, only breeze; it is alongside
the Southern Pacific, and on the other
side is a new railroad being built on an
old survey. This is the fine location which
these gentlemen_ have chosen on which to
build a city with oiled streets, modern
schools, churches, water supply, light sup-
ply, transportation, including a complete
electric railway system throughout the
tract, and other facilities of latest civiliza-
tion; and these men have the ability and
experience to properly decorate Del Monte
Heights.
POLO AT DEL MONTE.
THE SKY AND THE SEA
AND THE EARTH
BY S. M. SALYER
I LOVE you, city of the thousand clouds,
With your proud-sailed ships in shifting crowds.
And your floods of sun that ever pour
Their currents strong to some unknown shore.
I love you, sky, for the mystery,
That calls my spirit up to thee !
I love you, sea of the thousand smiles,
Whose laughter sounds o'er changing miles,
With your low-sung songs of tenderness
Which only the wide heart can express.
I love you, sea, for your sympathy,
That rests the weary heart of me !
I love you, earth of the winding ways,
That lead me on thro' the endless days,
For your plan of hope and struggle and strife,
And your zest in a toil-begotten life !
I love you, earth, as you beckon me,
On your paths of opportunity !
GRAND BALCONY, HEIDELBERG CASTLE.
EUROPEAN HOTELS
BY FRED GILBERT BLAKESLEE
ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS.
of the most import-
ant questions which
presents itself to tour-
ists in Europe is that of
the art of living, for
no matter what cities or
towns the tour may in-
clude, what galleries or
cathedrals visited, or gaieties indulged in,
it is primarily necessary to have a place in
which to sleep and to be able to procure
food as often as required. Upon arrival
at a strange city, therefore, the first ef-
forts of a tourist are directed towards se-
curing accommodation in some hotel suit-
ed to his purse.
The American and the European hotel
differ in many respects. In the latter the
spacious office with . its massive counter,
open book, and key rack, is missing. The
oilice in even the best Continental hotels
is usually a small place, known as the
bureau, where one simply engages rooms
and pays bills. It is not, as in this coun-
try, a place where men smoke, chat and
read their papers. In it, telephone and
telegraph booths, newspaper and cigar
stands are conspicuous for their absence,
and the ice water tank is an unknown lux-
ury.
In many . hotels the living rooms are
lighted by candles instead of gas or elec-
tricity, and guests are often required to
furnish their own soap. Elevators, known
as lifts, have in recent years been in-
stalled in most of the larger hotels, but
Europeans seem to regard them as a some-
what unsafe means of conveyance, and
make but scant use of them. The elevator
is arjt to be working upon the arrival of
a guest, but stran^elv out of order at other
times. At one hotel at which the author
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
stopped, the guests were required to oper-
ate the car themselves, and send it back
empty when they were through with it.
All European hotels that have elevators
proudly proclaim the fact upon their bill-
heads.
Strange as it may seem, many of tho
smaller hotels, even in the larger cities,
do not keep open all night, and the guest
who is out later than midnight has to ring
up the porter in order to oe admitted. In
some of the hotels of Paris, the porters
have an ingenious method of saving them-
selves the trouble of arising in order to
admit late guests. W'hen the hotel is closed
for the night the porter makes up a cot
bed for himself in some handy place, con-
nects a string with the latch and turns
in with the other end of the string tied to
his wrist. Whenever the bell rings, he
simply pulls the string, thus lifting the
latch, and leaves the guest to open and
close the door, get his own key, and find
his way to his room as best he can. Imag-
ine a visitor to New York going through
an experience like this.
Manv foreign hotels possess great inter-
est for the traveler on account of the as-
sociations connected with them, while
others are famous for the beauty of
their surroundings. To the former class
belong the Grand in Venice, once a noble-
man's mlace; the Chapman in Florence,
a former residence of Pauline Bonaparte;
the Mitre, at Oxford, which has had a
continuous existence as a hotel since 1400;
and the Pare at Lugano, which was an old
monastery. In the latter class are the
Grand at Bellagio, on the shore of lovely
Lake Como ; the Alps at Chamonix, lying
under the shadow of Mount Blanc; the
Eigi Kulm, perched on the summit of the
Rigi, and the Schloss at Heidelberg, over-
looking one of Europe's most beautiful
ruins.
As regards moderation in prices charged
for accommodation, the foreign hotel far
surpasses our own. Good rooms can be
procured in high-class hotels in France,
Switzerland or Italy for sixty cents a day,
and in Germany for seventy-five. In Eng-
land the rates are slightly higher, but even
there accommodation in the finest hotels
can be secured for from four to six shill-
ings per ni^ht, and in the smaller ones for
two shillinp-s sixpence.
The apartments furnished at these
prices are not, of course, the most expen-
sive, but correspond to those costing from
one to two dollars in an American house.
GRAND HOTEL, VENICE.
RIGI KULM HOTEL, RIGI.
If one arranges for a pension rate (one
that includes meals and lodgings) it is
possible to live well in almost any part
of Europe for $2 a day.
London has a number of what are
known as Temperance Hotels. They aro
usually neat, quiet places, largely patron-
ized by the clergy and ladies traveling un-
attended, and at most of them good board
and lodging can be had for a dollar and a
half a day.
Paris possesses man ir Hotel Meublees
places where apartments can be hired by
the day or week, but where meals are not
served, except, perhaps, coffee and rolls in
the morning, and for the tourist of limited
means, no better arrangement can be made
than for him to stop at one of these lit-
tle hotels and. dine in the various restau-
rants, and cafes that are scattered broad-
cast all over the city.
In many of the smaller hotels through-
out Eurone, candles only are furnished for
lights in the sleeping rooms. One candle
is allowed to each room ; if more are or-
dered an extra charge is made. Some
economically minded guests adopt the plan
of carrvino- awav the partiallv consumed
candle of one hotel for use in the next,
thus securing increased illumination with-
out extra expense.
The European ideas in regard to heat
are in a primitive state. Steam heaters
are practically unknown on the other side
of the Atlantic, and (rooms are warmed by
means of fire places or grates. Germany
uses stoves almost exclusively ; great tall
white porcelain affairs that look like
monuments in a grave-yard, and as Mark
Twain aptly puts it, "keep you thinking
of death when you ought to be enjoying
your travels." Europeans seem to require
less heat than do Americans, a temperature
of from 50 to 60 degrees beinp- considered
quite comfortable for a living room.
In Germany they have a curious concep-
tion of what constitutes a bed. Unlike
other mortals, the German sleeps by lying
on a mattress and putting a feather bed
over him, and either feathers are expensive
in that country or else the bed makers are
laboring under the delusion that the Ger-
mans are a race of dwarfs, for the bed is
never by any accident long enough, and if
one 'happens to have the misfortune to be
very much over five feet in height, he has
to be doubled up like a contortionist in
order to be covered at all points at once.
The service in most of the hotels of
Euronp is excellent, and in some respects
superior to that in our own hotels. Cer-
tainly a person unacquainted with any lan-
guage but his own fares far better abroad
than he would at home. The waiters, por-
ters and maids all speak from three to
five languages, and are as courteous a lot
HEIDELBERG CASTLE SEEN FROM THE SCHLOSS HOTEL.
HOTEL DU PARC BUILDING, WITH TOWER LUGANO.
EUROPEAN HOTELS.
12?
of people as it would be possible to find
anywhere.
When leaving a hotel a guest is pre-
sented with a written statement of his
account, in which each item (such as lodg-
ing, breakfast, dinner, etc.) is charged sep-
arately, and it is well to scan this bill
closely before paying it. Hotel keepers
are, as a rule, honest, but "errors in book-
keeping," which are rarely in favor of the
guest, are by no means uncommon.
Persons who stop at a hotel upon what
we call the American plan, should beware
of ordering extras that are not included
in the menu, for such extras are often
charged for at excessive rates. Coffee, for
instance, is only served at breakfast at
some hotels ; if ordered at any other time,
it is an extra and almost invariably costs
twenty cents a cup.
It is no longer believed that all Ameri-
cans are rich, and the tourist from the
"States" who asks for what he wants will
receive fair treatment and be regarded
with respect; but the man who lets the
landlord do as he pleases with him will
naturally be looked upon as an easy mark,
and be very apt to be bled accordingly.
THE EXILE
BY F. W. K.
YOUR heart had held me all the years,
Until it seemed my home.
The web you wove to bind the spell
Is tangled and I roam;
And you must, grieving, hide that grief,
The mother-love and pain,
Until the knowledge of your loss
Shall lead me home again.
Is life so full without you now
Is there no loneliness,
No sudden sting of memory
When other hands caress?
Is life so free from other ties
Than ihose the hour brings,
That Time may not turn back a leaf
To sweet, familiar things?
I miss you so I do not dare
Retrace to count the cost!
Nor scan the future, swept so bare
Of all beloved, and lost:
Yet deeper than this anguish lies
The fear that I, some day,
Shall then regain love's heritage,
When you have passed away.
ON THE HOME TRAIL
BY MAUDE DE COU
[HE LITTLE party had
been on the road for
three weeks. The herd
of Indian cattle, in-
tractable from the start,
had lost little of its
skittishness. A series
of night stampedes,
each followed by a laborious round-up,
had left the men benumbed with weari-
ness. Ten miles to the north lay the
Canadian river, its current swollen with
spring rains, its banks lined with miles
of impenetrable underbrush.
"Well, boys," said Hartley, "it just
can't be helped. We've got to hire some
Indians to get us across that river or we
will lose half the herd in the timber."
Jenkins demurred. "Where'll you git
help, I'd like to know ? You can't pick it
up jist anywheres. These Creek Injuns air
worse than nothin',. .They've got too much
nigger in 'em. I kin stand one alone;
but nigger an' Injun mixed is too much
f er me."
"Yes, I know," assented Hartley. "It's
a bad business at best; but we can't cross
that river without help. It will likely
swim the herd for a hundred yards, and if
they should get to milling we'll lose every
hoof of them. Then there's the timber. A
stampede in that brush would cost us a
weeks' work in a roundup."
No one contradicted him. Every man in
the crowd knew that he was right.
After a short consultation, Hartley
went back to a house where they had seen
a white woman, and where, with her as-
sistance as interpreter, he hired two young
Indians who were supposed to know the
country. The guides could not speak-
more than half a dozen words of English.
They were able, however, to follow Hart-
ley's directions, evidently understanding
many words which they could not use. Jim
Doty and Harris declared that "them In-
juns could talk if they would." The others
eyed the red men suspiciously, but to the
surprise of all, Jenkins defended them. In
fact, he rather cultivated their acquaint-
ance. He had found their one vulnerable
point. They were fond of tobacco. After
learning this, Jenkins invariably divided
with them. Occasionally other Indians
would appear and ride along silently for
an hour at a time, but they would at last
yield to the seduction of a "chaw." They
never spoke, but their expressive "ugh" as
they returned the plug, evinced the liveli-
est satisfaction. One of them was even
seen to smile.
About four o'clock Hartley began to
grow uneasy. He knew that they should
have been at the river by this time, and
that it would be awkward for them to
reach the ford too late. To cross after dark
was impossible, and to camp in the timber
was a riskv business. They traveled on
Slowly, hoping against hope 'that they
might find a break in the continuous
stretch of timber. Just at sunset they
reached the river, a torrent of swirlii.
muddv water with almost perpendicular
banks. Hartley was desperate. He furi-
ously demanded of the Indians why they
had brought him to such a ford. They
shook their heads in vague deprecation.
To cross the ford was out of the ques-
tion, and as it was a half day's journey
back to the edge of the woods, the only
thing to do was to go into camp. The
guides signified their willingness to do a
double share of watch. The white men,
however, did not know whether it was to
atone for the blunder or to find a chance
for more mischief. There were no jokes
at the evening meal. Even Jenkins, tha
jovial, was silent, as the black coffee, corn
bread and bacon went the rounds. After
supper, he divided the last of his tobacco
with the guides, picketed his pony, and
started out to herd until midnight. Hart-
ley, Harris and Tobe retired to the wagon
to get a little sleep, preparatory to watch-
ing through the hardest part of the night,
from one o'clock until morning.
All went well during the first watch. At
one o'clock, Jenkins and his companions
returned to the wagon and roused the
others.
"Evervthing quiet so far," said Jim,
"but the cattle are uneasy. Don't let that
ON THE HOME TRAIL.
129
dog follow you, and keep an eye on them
-guides."
The herd, -which had been driven into
a spot somewhat clear from underbrush,
was nearly all lying down. The animals
seemed quiet, but now and then you could
hear a long snoring breath, .which meant
mischief. The two guides were awake,
seemingly intent on their duty. The
white men were almost asleep. Suddenly
the old bell-cow started pell-mell across
the clearing, half a dozen others after her.
The Indian guide was on hand to stop
the incipient stampede. For a moment
it seemed that the danger was over; then
there was a startled movement in another
part of the herd. Hartley and Harris
started toward the disturbance, but it was
too late. A roar as of thunder resounded
through the timber. Above the sound of
trampling hoofs rose the hoarse bawling
of the calves and their mothers. The herd-
ers, dodging behind trees, watched the
confused mass of crowding bodies and
toeing horns. The oround rocked as in
an earthquake. The forest trees seemed
moving as fast as the terrified cattle. It
was over in a moment; the herd disap-
peared in the timber, leaving the men
staring at each other in helpless anger.
There was not a hoof left except the
mooly cow, which had been tied up to
milk.
"Well, boys," said Hartley, "let's go to
bed. No use staying here to herd old
mooly."
The advice was sensible. For the first
time in weeks, every member of the party
went to bed; but their slumbers were un-
sound. Before daybreak the camp was
astir. When the sun rose, breakfast was
already over, the horses were saddled and
the men were ready to round up the cattle.
Jim stayed in camp to look after things
and to care for the herd as it should be
brought in. He was not much afraid, for
he knew that the Indians were cowards
in daylight; but he loaded his shot-gun
and stood it conspicuously by the wagon.
All morning the men brought in bunch
after bunch of cattle, until by noon they
had rounded up at least five hundred head.
They then concluded to cross the river and
push out on the onen prairie beyond.
At three o'clock, the herd was on the
prairie, where a count showed that thirty
head were still missing. Jenkins favored
abandoning the lost cattle and getting out
with what they had. It was fifteen miles
to Muskogee, and he was out of tobacco.
Hartley laughed. "No, Jenkins, you'll
have to suffer for a f while longer. Tobe
and I will make one more effort. We'll go
back to where we hired the Indians, while
the rest of you stay here and herd."
Jenkins groaned, but succumbed.
"Come on, Tobe !" said Hartley, "we'll
get those cattle or we'll bring back a dead
Injun or two."
Eeluctantly, Tobe climbed into the sad-
dle. Both men were already wearied be-
yond measure. Fifteen miles lay between
them and the cabin where they had hired
the guides. When they reached there, the
sun was already low in the west. As Hart^
ley dismounted, he noticed on the back
porch a tub of fresh beef.
"Look ihere, Tobe," he laughed, "we've
found one of the thirty."
In response to Hartley's rap, the white
woman came to -the door.
"Where are the boys ?" he enquired con-
fidently. "I've come after the rest of the
cattle."
The woman turned pale under her sun-
burn.
"They're out huntin' fer 'em," she ans-
wered. "They h'aint bin here sence morn-
ing."
Hartley knew that she lied. Feeling
that not only the Indians, but the cattle,
were not far away, he turned away irreso-
lutely.
"Say, Hartley," said Tobe in a low
voice, "there's a house over east a ways
where a Kentuckian lives. I found it the
other day huntin' fer a spring. Let's
make him keep us over night."
Hartley assented. He felt tired enough
to go into camp for a week. They found
the Kentuckian to be a hospitable fellow,
ready enough to entertain strangers for
the mere pleasure of their company.
"Yes, siree," he declared with emphasis,
"if you'd a lived among these Injuns as
long as I have, you'd be glad enough to
see anybody ez would talk. Kain't they
talk English ? Of course they kin. Talk
ez good ez anybody when they want to.
But the pesky varmints 'ud rather set
aroun' an' grunt than to say anything like
white folks."
Tobe and Hartley found that Mrs. Jep-
son was as hospitable as her husband. She
130
OVERLAND MONTH LY.
was gaunt and unlovely. They knew that
she smoked a clav pipe and more than sus-
pected that she used snuff, but the supper
which she provided for them gained for
her the reverence that the ancient Greeks
might have paid to Vesta.
Jepson listened with interest to the
story of the Indian guides. There was no
doubt in his mind that the lost cattle wert
hidden somewhere near.
"We'll find 'em ia the mornin '," he as-
sured Hartley. "Them Injuns has hid 'em
in the bresh."
Jepson proved to be a prophet. The
cattle were found in a corral not a mile
away. Three Indian ponies were tied near
the corral, but not an Indian was in sight.
Hartley decided to take the cattle into
camp at once. They traversed without
further adventure the weary miles back
to the river, where Jepson joined them. He
had not thought it best to accompany
them on their drive lest he p~et into trou-
ble with his Indian neighbors.
The little bunch of cattle did not want
to cross the river. The ravs of the after-
noon sun turned the ford into a path of
dazzling light before which the timid
brutes, unable to see the further shore,
huddled together obstinately. At length
the three men, by dint of much shouting
and an unmerciful use of their heavy
poads, forced the poor creatures into the
water. Just as Hartley had feared, the
cattle began milling in the middle of the
stream. Frightened and dazed, the lead-
ers turned with the current; then the en-
tire bunch began swimming in a gradual-
ly narrowing circle, which drifted rapidly
down the stream. All that could be seen
above the turbid water was a revolving
group of horned heads that might have
been covered by a good-sized blanket. Oc-
casionally one of the terrified brutes would
climb almost out of the water on the
backs of the others. Then a head would
go under. The men rode fearlessly among
the cattle with yells and blows, trying to
break up the mill. If only one of the lead-
ers could be made to start for the opposite
bank, the others would follow. Jepson
rode clear of the struggling cattle, slipped
off his pony and struck it a smart blow
with his whip, starting it for the shore.
Then he swam around the herd until he
was directly below it. The poor brutes
looked at him piteously. The big Ken-
tuckian seized one powerful steer by tho
horns, at the same time striking him a
vicious blow on the jaw. The creature
made a lunge which Jepson narrowly es-
caped. That lunge broke the mill. The
steer, turned from his course, struck out
for the bank. JeDSon, still swimming
among the struggling cattle, turned one
after another toward the shore. Losing his
whip in the melee, he still fought on with
his wet sombrero. Tobe and Hartley
stuck valiantly on the flank. At last they
gained the shore. Two cows, weakened
by the long struggle until they were un-
able to make a landing, were swept on
down the stream. The rest soon stood
dripping on the bank one hundred yards
below the ford.
Hartley wrung Jepson's water-soaked
hand.
''Well, old fellow," he said, "we certain-
ly owe you the whole bunch. If it hadn't
been for you, thev would all be at the
bottom of the Canadian, and we might be
with them."
When thev finally reached the herd, a
careful count showed that one animal wi3
still missing. It was a fine red cow be-
longing to Jenkins. Then Hartley remem-
bered the beef.
"I thought we had them all," he said;
"but that must have been Jenkins's cow. '
Jenkins swore.
"Sich ongratitude," said he. "I was
the only man in camp that treated them
Injuns white, an' now here I am without
my red cow and fifteen miles from any ter-
baccer."
THE MRS. AND I VISIT PISA
BY WALT
ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGEAPHS.
"THE MRS."
E WEEE doing one of
the most eventful things
of our lives gazing
out of the car windows
upon the Mediterra-
nean. It was evening,
and the sun was dip-
ping behind the watery
horizon. The sea was a blaze of light a-
dream of colored crystal.
Our companions spoke Italian, which
was natural, but we heard them say Elba.
I said to the Mrs. : "We must be in sight
of the Island of Elba, where Napoleon
was exiled and from which he cleverly
escaped/'
The island is five miles from the coast
of Italy, and rising to our feet the view
obtained abroad the undulating sea was
that of a gradually sinking piece of land.
There was a young man in our com-
partment who was not an Italian we
settled that point !
"But fwhat is he !' 'expostulated the
Mrs. with a frown.
"Well, he's not a German, 'cause he's
no beard. He looks and behaves like an
Englishman watch' him !"
And Cockney-bred he was, for just then
he introduced himself. He had heard us
babbling in English. He said that he
was employed in Italy and was on his
way home to spend the Christmas holi-
days, and was extremely glad of our
company.
He turned toward the window.
"This is where the Cararra marble
quarries are located," he began. "It is,
as you know, the finest marble in the
world, and for centuries sculptors have
preferred it to all others. Most of the
great statues in Europe have been chisel-
ed cut of marble extracted from these
vast quarries. Do you see the men up
there !"
He was the first Englishman I had met
who could tell me something I did not
know.
Our guide-book had alluded to Cararra
marble whenever it expatiated on a statue
but I didn't know where they got it
now I knew!
The workmen take their time in ex-
tracting Cararra from the loins of the
earth. They use no machinery of any
kind. Everything is done by hand. They
have never heard or read of Carnegie and
his wonderful steel accomplishments. Nor
do they understand that huge machines
can do a week's work in a day, at much
less cost. It is not plain to these Roman
heirs that anything can be gained by liv-
ing a week in a day.
But a sculptor never telegraphs for
132
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
Cararra marble and says : "Kush one block
Cararra. Quick oh !"
"There she is look!" exclaimed Mrs.
excitedly. I turned and saw a brown-
eyed maid of Italy washing waists, petti-
coats and handkerchiefs in the winding
brook by the embankment. In a moment
the train had carried us beyond the sight
qf her.
Oh oo, choo, choo went the little toy-
like engine along the moonlit banks of the
Mediterranean, and as tfcihe town clock
was tolling the bed-time hour of ten, we
choo-chooed into Pisa, the seat of the
famous leaning tower. As we tumbled
through the door into the waiting room,
an Italian shouted, "The Washington
Hotel ! Two doors from the station.
Hotel for Americans."
Says I to the Mrs. : "Hear that ! Wash-
ington Hotel two doors away! It sounds
like home. Let's investigate, but don't
look at him. Pretend you don't see him.
Then he won't want to collect a fee for
the information."
Down the street we ambled, and soon
saw the sign dangling out over the pave-
ment. We entered the door, and I tried
to tell the proprietor that we were from
America, and that I had once picked a
souvenir pebble from George Washing-
ton's grave at Mt. Vernon; that we had
a State and a city named after him, and
that 1 was pleased to learn he had christ-
ened his hotel in George's honor, but he
seemed never to have heard of George
Washington. My design was to impress
him with my importance, and have him
startle me, when We were ready to leave,
bv saying, "Great man! You doos owe
me no-ting."
In this, however, I was sorely disap-
pointed but disappointments are rather
common with me.
It was at the Washington Hotel that
the waiter confided to me this very im-
portant fact as we were about to depart.
"You won't forget that I am the head
waiter !"
"No, indeed, I won't as long as I live
I congratulate you on the promotion !"
Which all the more strained our relations.
The head waiter speaks the Queen's
English. He attends to the wants of Eng-
lish guests and he expects a tip a great
big one.
This waiter had no doubt been forgot-
ten before, and he was not going to be
overlooked again by so amiable looking a
gentleman as I am, but through his im-
portunity such was his fate. He hadn't
done a thing for us, anyway, except pour
out the madam's tea on his own initiative,
which became cold before she was ready
to drink it.
I had demonstrated to my own satisfac-
tion that tipping wa= bad for my purse,
so I usually had the Mrs. settle for all
bills or I dropped the ready change on the
table and ran as if tardy for my train.
The Mrs. was by nature not a tipper.
I had read about the leaning tower of
Pisa, and copied a picture of it in my
Physical Geography. I was now within
half a mile of the original.
We ate breakfast, and set out to see the
wonder.
My geography teacher did not exagger-
TO MT. TAMALPAIS.
133
ate the tower really leaned as much as
the old elm on our farm, under which I
took shelter so often during the summer
showers, and at which spot Miss Vernou
found me when she called to see papa
concerning my grades.
We scanned the tower, walked all
around it several times, and then felt an
ambition to climb it.
After climbing a long, dark and wind-
ing stairway, we got to the top the Mrs.
was brea thins: heavily. There was a rail-
ing round the landin^ and we didn't get
giddy nor afraid. The wind was blow-
ing at the rate the Empire State Express
travels, and the Mrs. let on she could
feel the tower wiggle and shake. I asked
her to prove it, whereupon she got mad
the first time in a month.
I stretched over the marble balustrade
on the leaning side, as I had a craving
to see the base of the tower.
Wihereupon the Mrs. gave an "Oh !" and
screamed so that the Italian workmen be-
low came rushing up to see what was
wrong.
I didn't succeed in spying the base. Af-
ter we descended I found that I could
stand on Mother Earth thirteen feet from
the base and still be protected from the
rain b ir the leaning body.
As I was busily making the ground
experiments, the Mrs., standing at a dis-
tance, took occasion to remark that if
the tower should topple over while 1 was
in the shadow of its brow, why, she'd have
to go home alone.
But I answered: "No, you wouldn't
only I'd be with the baggage."
The tickets admitting to the tower w ?rc
on sale a quarter of a mile away. In this
manner they control the traffic. To pre-
vent the tower's losing its equilibrium,
they allow only a certain number of
pounds to ascend to the . top at one time.
It's a sane precaution, although occasion-
ally inconvenient. As I weigh five pounds
less than Shakespeare and the Mrs. about
as much as Elizabeth Barrett Browning,
our combined weight being less than that
of James J. Hill, they did not bother to
weigh us before handing over the tickets.
The tower is comely and built of colored
marble, but other towers of Italy are come-
ly and composed of the same material.
The tower of Pisa owes its fame to the
fact that it leans. No one knows why it
leans. Some think the builders designed
the tower to lean, while others contend
that the foundation settled on the lean-
ing side. I have not yet made up my
mind how the tower came to lean, but I
have made up my mind that the leaning
tower of Pisa is worth going to see with-
out delay who knows but that the next
earthquake may crumble it!
TO MT. TAMALPAIS
BY RUTH PRICE
THE sunset lights and deepening shadows fall.
A sky of burnished gold around is hung,
Gilding the veil of rainbow mist, wind-flung.
To thee the Western breezes softly call,
Singing their way through thy Sequoias tall ;
To thee the song of ocean deep is sung
By whispering voices in an unknown tongue ;
And every heart thy beauty doth enthrall.
Alone thou art above the rolling hill,
And mystery in every shadow lies.
Ah, silent goddess of this Western land,
Each swiftly passing day some heart grows still,
Some question asked of thee returns and dies,
But thou through changing years unchanged doth stand.
THE LOVE OF CHANCE
BY A. E. LONG
HEEE WERE various
reasons why Jerry Lull
was not popular in the
Cummins County settle-
ments. The primary
reason was that he was
not a sociable man, and
desired no large ac-
quaintance. He carried his tall, sinewy
form about the streets of Littleton with
his measured and tiger-like tread, and
deigned to speak to few who passed. His
heavy jaw was set like a vice. When he
spoke at all, he spoke through his clenched
teeth. He never laughed ; he never grinned
he never even smiled, and from under
his heavy, dark brows his hard, gray eyes
sent only a stony stare. The single spur
with one broken point which was always
worn on his left heel, designated him as a
man who spent much of his time in the
saddle.
And this was one of the factors that
rendered him a suspicious character in
the eyes of the settlers. That a man
should be spending so much of his time
on horseback and vet have no definitely
known occupation was a matter to attract
attention. 'But the most noteworthy ob-
jection to Mr. Lull was that he made his
home with old Stub Jones, who was be-
lieved to have been formerly in league
with the Curly Grimes band of horse-
thieves of the Upper Sand Hill country.
And so it was that, whenever Lull came
to town, he was critically eyed by men on
tliu streets. Little groups scattered as he
approached, then closing in as he passed,
they watched his slowly receding figure,
while they commented on his slender form,
his raised shoulders, his slow, determined
gait, and his perpetually clenched teeth.
From the time of his first mysterious
arrival at Littleton, when he had uncere-
moniously kicked .three local bullies out
of the Prairie Star saloon, he was re-
garded as a man to be prated about at a
wholesome distance rather than openly dis-
puted. It was about this time, also, that
two of Littleton's professionals had in-
vited him to a poker game, the result oJ
which game was that the gamblers packed
their belongings next day and walked out
of town, leaving their board and laundry
bills unpaid.
Some there were who appreciated the
expurgation the town had undergone in
the losing of the gamblers and the silenc-
ing of the bullies; but others, more cyni-
cal in their calculations, declared that
the village had a substitute for these evili
in the mysterious personality of Jerrj
Lull.
Thus, with a shadowv suspicion lurk-
in or about him, did this young man of iron
reticence spend two months in the settle-
ments about Littleton.
It was Saturday afternoon in Decem-
ber. All day a silent snow had been fall-
ing in great flakes, and the ground was
uniformly covered to a depth of ten inches
In the Prairie Star saloon Mr. Lull w?
engaged in a quiet poker game with SOL
of Littleton's amateurs. A half-dozen pi
trons and loungers stood around the bar-
room stove, smoking and discussing tht
condition of the weather, when a sudde
swish of wind threw open the door of
building, and sent a white spray of snoi
over the bar. The proprietor stepped
the door to close it, and as he did so
announced a change of wind and a bli;
zard.
Some of the loungers stepped to the
window to observe the storm. Already
the street was in a gray whirl of snow so
that the blacksmith-shon across the way
could not be distinguished.
"'Spect it's goino- to be one of Ne-
braska's old-timers," carelessly remarked
the bar-keeper. The men spat on the
floor and passively agreed with him. There
were a few casual remarks about the pos-
sibility of any exposed person surviving
the storm, when one of the men suddenly
remembered that Eddie Starling had rid-
den cut of town not a half hour before.
"Eddie Starling of the Starling
Ranch?" excitedly asked one.
"Eleven miles against this storm!" ex-
THE L(WE OF CHANCE.
135
claimed another. "A twelve-year-old boy
on a pinto in this weather !"
Other excited remarks came in confu-
sion from the crowd. Some wondered
whether the boy could get back to town.
Others thought he might reach Patter-
son's ford in safety, where he would gain
the hospitable shelter of Richard Patter-
son's house. Some talked in an indecisive
way of a rescuing party, while still others
could do nothing more effective than to
rehearse accounts of similar storms and
accompanying fatalities.
It was at this moment that Lull, who
with his accustomed equanimity had been
quietly playing his hand, arose from his
chair. Without a word of apology for
thus abruptly nuitting the game, without
even a significant look from his cool coun-
tenance, he slowly shoved his roll of bills
and a handful of ivorv chips into his
pocket and turned away from the fable.
As he approached the door with his de-
cisive step, his raised shoulders and the
steady, clock-like swaying of his arms, the
little group of men stepped aside to let
him pass. They watched him as he left
the room, for this man's every movement
was of interest to Littleton.
A few minutes later he passed before
the window with a tight roll of woolen
blankets. As the men from the window
watched him leaning into the battling
blast, they conld only wonder and guess.
From the livery barn, a short time after,
he led his tall bay. The roll of blankets
was securelv strapped behind the saddle.
The horse pranced restlessly in the storm
as Lull's foot sought the stirrup. Then
with a bound and a plunge, the horse and
rider disappeared in the gray fury that
raged through the street.
The group of men in the saloon had all
but forgotten the predicament of Eddie
Starling in the intensity of their interest
in Lull's actions. What could have
prompted the man to ride away into this
storm, they wondered? Had he been the
loser in the game he was playing? Or
had he over-heard the conversation about
Eddie Starling's danger, and was he ^os-
sibly undertaking a rescue?
"Oh, bosh !" exclaimed one of the men,
"reckon that man would care if the whole
State of Nebraska froze to death to-night ?
Not much. Sentiment don't trouble him
as much as other people's horses do."
The laugh that followed this remark
produced such general optimism that all
were willing to believe that Eddie Star-
ling was safe under shelter at Patterson's
Ranch, and the matter was dismissed from
their minds.
At the Starling Ranch that evening
Jack Starling was pacing restlesslv back
and forth in the house and trying to con-
vince his wife that their son had not
started from Littleton before the coming
of the storm. But Mrs. Starling only
shuddered as the storm continued to wail
and to tear at the rattling shingles. With
a sudden thump the door opened, and
Jerry Lull, his left cheek frozen into a
white disc, walked in with a great bundle
wrapped in new blankets. He laid his
burden on the iloor.
"He'll be all right soon, I hope," ne
said as he unwrapped the blankets and re-
vealed the unconscious form of Eddie
Starling.
How the mother expressed her joy and
the father his gratitude is here of no con-
sequence. Let is suffice to say that the
boy was duly resuscitated with the hfc.i.p
of Mr. Lull, and that Lull would give
no account of the rescue, save that he
found the boy asleep and half buried in
a snow-drift some six or seven miles down
the trail.
Nothing could induce Mr. Lull to ac-
cept the hospitality offered by the Star-
lings; but when he was assured of the
boy's safety, he led his horse from the
barn, mounted, and turning in the direc-
tion of Stub Jones's ranch, gave the ani-
mal a loose rein, and rode away into tha
awful night.
The storv of this rescue soon spread
abroad and furnished the topic for much
conversation and gossin throughout the
settlement. Much wonder was expressed
at this unexpected conduct of Mr, Lull,
but more wonder still was expressed a
month later when it was found that the
Starling boy had actually succeeded in
making friends with this stoical man. For
when Eddie had again been able to be out
he had frequently ridden over to the Jones
ranch in the hope of becoming better ac-
quainted with his rescuer. It had been a
slow process, but gradually the two had
become friends. Often they spent the day
in a joint antelope hunt. As' Mr. Lull
was a clever hunter and a matchless
136
OVEKLAND MONTHLY.
marksman, both with rifle and pistol, the
boy readily became his disciple.
Once or twice a week, through the win-
ter, they met and hunted together. But
often Lull was gone from the settlement
for a week at a time, and when he returned
he invariably came from the direction of
the Upper Sand Hill country.
Eddie soon learned not to question the
man about these trips, or in fact about
anything relating to his personal affairs.
Indeed, their friendship was a silent one.
Few words were spoken. Only now and
then, when they sat about a camp-fire did
this man of few words express fragments
of his stoical philosophy.
"There's only one thing in this world
to be feared, Eddie," he would say, "and
only one thing that's worth living for. The
thing to be feared is whisky. It won't
fight you fair, son; don't meddle with it.
It won't give you a fair chance. And that
brings me to the thins I was goin~ to say
it's chance that's worth living for. Take
chances, boy. The life was never worth
living that never got into a pinch. If
you can't find chances, make some. But
take chances, boy, take big chances."
And Eddie would watch the light in the
grav e} r es and wonder what big chance this
quiet man was taking, but he dared not
ask.
In January the snow had disappeared.
The Grimes band of horse-thieves began
to make occasional midnight expeditions
into the country. Without snow it was
impossible to track these men into the
wilderness of sand hills that lay to the
north, so the ranchmen merely mutterad
helplessly at an occasional loss of a small
bunch of horses.
Then the old suspicion of Mr. Lull's
secret alliance with the thieves was re-
vived, and his actions were watched more
closely than ever before. Jack Starling
was especially zealous in his efforts to find
convicting evidence against him, for al-
though he felt a debt of gratitude toward
the rescuer of his son, he could not ignore
the mysterious visits Mr. Lull was mak-
insr to the Sand Hill country.
"Tell you, Ann," said Starling one
evening at supper, "I'm convinced there's
something secret about that fellow Lull,
and I'll bet a horse he's in with that Sand
Hill gang."
"Why, Jack Starling!" exclaimed his
wife, "how can you talk that way when
you know how much Mr. Lull has done
for us ?" Jack stirred his coffee excitedly
and continued :
"His kind is apt to do anything for a
fellow, but that don't clear 'em of horse-
stealing. You remember the time
hung Handy Charley down at Patterson
Ford. Well, we never would have got th
rascal if he hadn't stopped like a fool
give back a ring to that Patterson girl b
fore crossing the river and the who!
blamed country a-chasing him, too. Why,
if he had ever got across the river there,
we would never have seen him again. But
he did that (little fool thing, and we
swung him. And you mark my word, if
that Lull don't be the next to swing fro
Patterson's oak."
It was in the latter part of March whe:
a great raid was made on the Collins pas-
tures, and thirteen of the best horses we
run off. It was this that stirred the se
tiers to action. The pasture was closel;
searched for any sign that would furnis
a clue to the identity of the thieves. And
then it was that in the pasture, near the
spot where the horses had been rounded
up, the men found the broken spur of
Jerrv Lull.
When Jack Starling came home that
night he told his wife about the spur, and
about the plans of the Vigilantes for the
next day, but he carefully avoided letting
Eddie into the secret.
The next morning Mr. Starling had
ridden away somewhere before Eddie
arose. Tears came to Mrs. Starling's eves
as she refused to tell her son where his
father had gone. Eddie decided to ques-
tion her no more, but the mystery re-
mained unsolved.
In the afternoon the boy was sitting
in the barn door, just finishing the mend-
ing of his saddle, when Jim Wilson came
galloping by, his horse blowing with the
warmth of spiing.
"Hi there!" called Eddie, "what's up?"
Wilson halted and breathlessly ex-
plained : "We've got him cooped up in
Patterson's barn. I'm out rounding up
more men. Going to burn the barn to-
night."
"Who's cooped up ?" demanded the boy,
as he rose to his feet.
"The horse-thief, Jerry Lull wt>
chased him as far as Patterson's crossing,
THE LOVE OF CHANCE.
137
shoot in' at him all the time got him one
in the hip, I guess; anyhow, he rode into
Patterson's barn instead of tryin <v to ford
the river. River's up, you know ice
a-floating down. Oh, he's a bad one. He's
found all the knot holes in the old barn
and he's taking a shot at every man as
shows a finger out of shelter. They're go-
ing to wait till night to sneak on him and
burn him out. Good-bve !"
Eddie would 'have staggered at this
news, but he thought of what Mr. Lull
had told him about a life of chance.
"Is my father there?" the boy gasped,
as Wilson was riding away.
"Jack Starling?" the rider called back.
"Sure; he's the man that shot him in the
hip."
The boy's head grew heavy and seemed
to swim in a warm, throbbing haze. But
again there flashed upon him the words
that had made such an impression on his
youthful mind : "The life was never worth
living that never got into a pinch !" He
straightened up, and assumed the steady,
decisive walk of Mr. Lull as he strode into
the barn. He would ride to Patterson's
crossing. If he could then cross the river
with Mr. Lull, he could hold the Vigi-
lantes back while the man he admired es-
caped.
Without a word to his mother, he led his
pinto from the barn. The wiry bronco
wheeled on his haunches as the lad leaped
to the saddle. A moment later a long
gray screw of dust was whirling down the
road after clattering hoofs. A little rise
of ground, a small vale, and the rider
swept out of sight of the Starling Ranch.
Nine miles away, at Patterson's Eanch,
the dull, heavy feeling that comes with a
critical situation weighed upon thirty
souls. The few shots that had come from
the cracks and knot-holes of the old barn
had spoken the determination of the be-
sieged, and little groups of armed men
were concealed behind a haystack and sev-
eral outbuildings. Within the barn was a
wounded and desperate man, and a man
whose life had been spent in tantalizing
every device of death.
The scene was one that might have
caused a Napoleon to pause and muse on
the significance of a human life. It was
one of those soundless spring days when
the very air seems awed into silence. Here
and there the grass was just peeping
green in response to the mighty pulse of
spring. The rolling prairie spread away
to the north, and the outline of the dis-
tant hills quivered in the warm sunshine.
From the river a hundred yards to the
south came the rasping sound of floating
ice, mingled with the gurgling of turbu-
lent water. Just where the trail dipped
down over the river bank to the ford stood
the ominous Patterson's oak, which had
been the scene of Handy Charley's chas-
tisement. Gray and old, with two crows
awkwardly flapping about its bare
branches, it stood awaiting its new victim.
The besiegers about the barn had grown,
dogged in their determination, and
were sullenly waiting for night, when they
would accomplish their incendiary pur-
pose. While they were waiting, some one
called attention to a rider on a spotted
pinto coming down the trail from the
north. Ordinarily such a sight would
have attracted little attention, but the
frantic speed with which the horse ap-
proached, caused all to stare.
The rider disappeared in a hollow, then
re-appeared over the summit of a hill,
dipped out of sight in a small ravine, and
descended to the level stretch of road in
the river valley. Now the rolling sputter
of hoofs could be heard as the pinto sent
a stream of dust behind him.
"Eddie Starling!" some one exclaimed.
"And bare-headed," joined others.
"Wonder what's up."
As the rider thundered past the hay-
stack, Jack Starling called out in the au-
thoritative tone of a parent: "Stop, son!
The barn the barn ! There's danger !"
But twenty feet from the barn the boy
had halted the pinto in a whirl of dust,
had leaped to the ground and disappeared
within the barn.
Men stared stupidly at one another.
Some who were of the more explosive na-
ture announced their hopes to be seen in
the infernal regions if they had ever
known the like. Others who saw the new
situation in its complicated light, cursed
at their blighted hones of burning out
their victim. And others grouped about
Jack Starling for an explanation of his
son's conduct.
A few moments lifted the suspense. The
barn-door that faced the river swung open
with a bang, and Lull's big bay plunged
forth toward the ford.
138
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
Thirty rifles flew to thirty shoulders,
but not a shot was fired. In the saddle
were two riders, and the one in front
was the son of Jack Starling. Behind
him, the lover of chance was half-turn-
ing in the saddle, while his threatening
pistol held the crowd in check. The dan-
ger of his situation and the pain of his
wounded hip found no expression in the
changeless composure of his face. He was
taking one of the great chances that had
made all his life worth living. He did not
curse humanity, as is the custom of des-
peradoes at bay: he did not waste vain
pistol shots in empty space; and when the
horse bore him over the steep bank and
into the unruly stream, he did not split
the air with a shout of defiance.
The Vigilantes hastened to the river.
A shout of mingled fear and hatred went
up as they saw the gallant horse striving
to evade the crashing ice chunks, and
vainly battling against the resistless flood.
A heavy cake of ice struck the horse's
hip and half turned him round in the
swirling torrent, but still he toiled on
under his double load.
Jack Starling's face was pale with fear
as he thought of his son's danger. Then
a new thought brought determination to
his eye. If the horse were relieved of its
greater burden it might yet bear his son
to shore. Jack had great confidence in his
own marksmanship. He brought his rifle
to his shoulder 'but as he did so, another
cake of ice struck the horse, and the boy
was thrown from the saddle and whirled
into the main current. A murmur of dis-
may mingled with curses on the shore;
then of a sudden, .ollowed the silence that
comes with amazement. The man whose
life was being sought, the man with tha
unwritten death warrant of border law
staring at him from the shore, had turned
his horse about in the stream, and faced
his enemies. With a blow from his pistol
he forced the unwilling brute back into
the "main current, and pursued the helpless
bov. In three frantic lunges the rider
had swung in front of the vast raft of
ice that was floatin- 1 - toward the drown-
ing youth. The men on the shore were
breathless when Lull's big hand clutched
the boy's shoulder. Then the silence gave
place to another murmur of distress as
the great sheet of ice struck the horso
and turned him on his side.
There was a sudden sinking of hor>o
and riders, followed bv a violent slanuin /
of waves against the ices' edge, and the
innocent boy, side by side with the iron-
clad character, who loved chance dear-. 1 !'
than life, was tided away into. the -"i-
kriowable sea of silence.
THE WESTERN CALL
BY MADELINE HUHES PEI.TON
'T
,IS the Western air,
'Tis the Western "dare"
Of the Western sons of men
With their songs of cheer
And their scorn of fear,
That will call me back again.
'Tis the Western style
Of the Western smile,
And the wholesome hearts of -men;
'Tis the mountain ways
And the "golden days,"
That will win me back asah 1 .
EVEN "MY NAVAJOS" WERE PARTIES TO THE SCHEME.
KELLEY OF THE TRANS-MOJAVE
BY FELIX J. KOCH
ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS.
T WAS down in San
Diego that we heard fhe
story. Friend/ with
whom we'd crossed the
seas four years before,
when Friend considered
himself almost a Yan-
kee, had invited us in
to tea, and realizing that there is nothing
so refreshing to a gHobe-ftrotter as to
drop in beside a real human fireside, we
spent the evening telling stories which
smacked of the West, obviously.
The moonlight streamed in through the
open windows, and the balmy March
winds, off San Diego bay, brought with
them the odor of the climbing roses there
on the veranda.
There was something in the perfume
of those jack-roses that started the sug-
gestion, probably.
"'Ever run across the story of Phil Kel-
lev of the Trans-Mojave ?" our host asked,
for we were out in the golden West in
pursuit of what the newspaper man calls
"stories/'
We admitted we hadn't.
Friend's wife brought his old meer-
schaum, which always helped the mental
process, and we settled ourselves down to
listen.
"Kelley's just dead and gone, so you've
timeliness for vour storv. He was a char-
acter down here in the Southwest, for
many and many a day. Latterlv he was
a queer old fellow always wore a soft,
slouch hat of grey, and loose-fitting suit
of dark color. Wherever he went, he car-
ried a staff, to what end no one evor
knew.
What added to his picturesqueness was
a long, swarthy beard, glasses with gold
THE STREET IN TUCSON WHERE THE INSTRUMENTS WERE BOUGHT.
rims of the olden style, and best of all, a
grin of the sort that makes the world run
smoothly.
"Where he'd come from, of course none
of us knew. You know the spirit of the
West. to take a fellow at hundred cents
on the dollar and never inquire where the
metal now in him was coined!
"Well, it happened that one dav Kelley
took sick, and they sent him over the hills
to the county hospital.
"There in his delirium he told a most
remarkable tale.
"It seems that a few years before, he
had driven a stage on the Trans-Moiave
route out here into the West."
Every time Friend spoke of the West,
his eyes kindled and sought the jack-rose
trellis out there through the window.
/'One day, crossing the desert plains
without a passeng-er, and so taking his
ease, he stopped to chat with a prospector
who had pitched his tent on the mesas
and set up a claim monument ri^ht on
the edge of the trail.
"The man, too, had come out of the
nowhere, and with next to nothing. He
was, however, more buoyant than the rest
PHIL, KEL.LEY.
"TARNAL STRANGER, GIT OUT O' HERE! THIS YERE CLAIM WAS MINE, AND
PHIL KELLEY MURDERED ME!"
of the claim-hunters seemed most confi-
dent of success.
"Somewheres over-seas he had obtained
Sa magnet that possessed peculiar powers.
Applied to any plant growing on the des-
ert, he could tell from what substance
that plant derived its nourishment, and
also what other rock was present down
below, by the degree of attraction made
on the magnet.
"We've all heard of the roots of trees
making their way through iron and the
like, and that seems to have been the prin-
ciple involved. The roots of the plants
took up minute particles of every metal
beneath them, whether this was soluble
ordinarily or no, and these this queer
touchstone revealed.
"Given an indication, therefore, that
there was gold in a given plot of soil, the
man had only to dig down to that layer
or strata, and if there were metal enough
to pay, to 'stake it out.'
"To cut a long story short, Kelley sold
out his share in the stage line and put the
money into the venture of finding the gold
with the touch-stone.
"From the trail, they came down into
the heart of ifche Mojave country and
staked it on the real desert. There, by and
bye, they were amassing a fortune.
KELLEY PEDDLING GLUE.
"THE YOUNG INDIANS WERE DRAWN UP INTO LINE.'
"What it took other prospectors hours
or even days of good, solid digging to de-
termine, these men could find out in a
minute or two.
"The Southwest, you know, is willing
enough to let every man attend to his own
business, but by and bye, Kelley went a
step beyond this State ; got uppish and
took to deriding, good-naturedly, those
not quite so successful as he.
"Then the other prospectors arranged
their revenge and reprisal. It would be
expensive, of course, but the v didn't care.
When you're at the work of finding go id
in the desert sands, and getting it for the
picking, you're not quite as particular
with money as some qf the rest of us are.
"There was a fellow in Tucson who had
just put in his store window a new inven-
tion of which some of them knew.
"They sent him an order for about
three dozen of these implements, and then
bided their time to wait. Meanwhile,
nowever, thev paid a visit to Uncle Sam's
neighboring Indian school, and having
laid their plan before the director, anl
used the soothing oil of graft, against
which scarce any of our officials are proof,
they had young Indies drawn up in-
to line and given certain directions.
"Then it was fixed that for a day Kelley
and his partner should be lured into Tuc-
son ;ind kept busy, until all arrangements
were completed. Arrived at the city, Kel-
ley and his friend soon found themselves
in the midst of the convi vials among whom
a prospector usually takes his place on
his visit to town a crowd which is ever
ready to welcome him, since he stands for
all of the drinks.
"They fell to telling stories desert
stories, always. By and bye the stories
began to take a ^eculiar turn. They were
dealing with the "Haunt" or the "Spirit"
of the desert.
"There is an old, old tradition on the
Moiave of a tenderfoot who started 1o
prospect, struck gold, and was murdered
bv jealous rivals, whose spirit is supposed
to ride the desert and to wail and cry in
no uncertain tones betimes.
"This story, in a dozen different ver-
sions, from a dozen different sources, was
repeated in the saloons.
"Then Kelley and his partner went
back to their camp.
"Meantime, however, the desert had
been over-run with young Indians, taken
PHIL. KELLEY OP THE TKANS-MOJAVE.
113
out in a wagon to Kelley's camp, and di-
verging from this afoot to his innumer-
able claim monuments.
"A day or two later a stranger came ouc
io Kelley's camp to look over what he hu,l
to sell.
"They went to one claim, believed to
be particularly rich.
''Idlv, as thev stood surveying it, the
newcomer raised a boulder off the cor-
ner monument.
''As he did so, a voice floated out on
the clear desert air, a gruff voice, pitchc-i
in no uncertain tones :
" ' Tarnal stranger, git out o' here !
This yere claim was mine, and Kel-
ley murdered me!'
''If you can imagine yourself out on
the lonesome, without another soul ex-
cepting Keiiey within sight or hearing,
and nothing but the sand and the stinga-
ree and the yuccas, and heard a voice like
that come from the very earth, you can
perhaps imagine the consternation of the
two lone men there on the desert.
''The one dropped the boulder, but the
voice had ceased.
"The stranger, however, had had
enough. So, too, had Kelley. They took
to their heels and fled into the desert.
"When once they stopped for want >f
breath they looked at each other for ,i-
planations.
"Neither could offer any attempt of
these. The newcomer, however, was bound
to admit he'd have nothing to do with
that claim.
"They went, then, to another.
" 'Sure, this ain't haunted too ?' the
prospective buyer asked, and without
awaiting the reply he moved a boulder "f
the monument.
"'Again the voice, the same gruff one:
" 'Get off of stolen ground, d n
you! I was murdered for this land, and
no one else '11 have it, I say!'
"That finished him. The tenderfoot
wouldn't buy any claims of the sort. Kel-
ley, too, wouldn't have anything more
to do with them himself.
"'Say, let's get back to Tucson quick
as we can,' was his only comment, as the
startled pair fled again from they knew
not what into the sand wastes.
"TAKE A FELLOW AT A HUNDRED CENTS ON THE DOLLAR AND NEVER
INQUIRE WHERE THE METAL NOW IN HIM WAS COINED!"
144
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
" Tm more'n willing,' his customs
answered, 'but we'd both best shut up
and not say why we're coming, or we'd
never be anything but laughed at.'
"Kelley saw the logic in the suggestion,
and acquiesced immediately.
''Pretty soon it was learned in Tucson
that Kellev had pulled stakes and wag
going back East. He'd got tired of the
desert and was homesick, it was said.
"The train had hardly pulled out of
Tucson before a dozen squatters had de-
camped on his property.
"Then they upset the claim monu-
ments and took out of each a little instru-
ment an instrument with a cylinder and
a black funnel at one end.
"This they destroyed or else buried
deep in the sands.
"What was it? Whv, a graphophoue,
of course. Thev had had the Indian k'ds
hide these, one in each monument, all
wound up and the spring set, so's the
minute you'd move the boulder, you'd set
it off.
"The buyer of claims, of course, was
only <i dupe of their's, standing in with
the bunch."
"Wjhat became of Kelley?" we asked,
interested.
The meerschaum had gone out, and
Friend's little ones were 'rubbing their
eyes, bespeaking bedtime.
"Last I heard of him he was up in a
Northern city. Had one of those stands
for a glue that holds everything under the
sun. You've seen 'em with the plates,
once-cracked, jointed together by chains.
Said he'd stick to this through thick and
thin, even if he couldn't stick to his first
love, the desert. Now comes the word
that he's gone."
IN THE CANYON'S DEPTHS
BY AD H. GIBSON
W
HEEE shadows linger, and the rays
Of sunlight fall in lace-like showers,
How pleasant in the canyon's depths
To loiter through the summer hours !
The dew still gems the ferns and flowers,
The limpid brooks, 'twixt mossy braes,
Along the depth of canyon sings
A symphony of lyric lays.
The mountains wild, in purple haze,
Frame in a rift of cloudless blue,
And walls, steep rising, interpose
A screen between us and the view.
We gather flowers damp with dew,
And weave them into bloomy sprays,
And perfect rest and soothing find
Within the canyon's sheltered ways.
AN EPISODE OF THE FLOAT LANDS
BY ERNESTINE WTN'CHE.LL
ESTEKDAY morning,
when Edith trudged
along the narrow levee-
path in the wake of her
younger sister and
small brother, her mind
had had no more sen-
iors occupation than
speculation as to the probable number of
yellow-jacket stings awaiting her defense-
less little legs.
The pathway to the school house was
worn deep in the fibrous peat sods of
which the levee was built. On the river
side the bank was soaked and compact to
the tide level ; on the land side the drying
of the sods left crevices and cavities in
which scores of mouse families and of
yellow-jacket colonies were happily es-
tablished.
Of the former the children saw little;
and the latter had given them no concern
till, one unfortunate day, a certain settle-
ment had been accidentally disturbed.
Since then those particular colonists had
fiercely resented every footfall in their
domain, and the last of the little proces-
sion of three never escaped punishment
no matter how fast the pace set by the
leader.
This morning, by the system of turn
about which they observed, Edith's pink
sunbonnet bobbed serenely in the van,
while six-year-old Lester trailed along in
the rear, a disconsolate prospective sac-
rifice. His long overalls gave his chubby
legs complete protection and relieved his
sisters' minds of excessive sympathy with
his wordy distress, but to him there ap-
peared no consolation.
A summer morning is nowhere lovelier
than along the San Joaquin river, where
the regular tides ebb and flow, silent and
unfailing as the hours themselves; where,
between the high green walls of brown-
tasseled tules, the blue, rippled water
takes its quiet, devious way to the Pacific
to be forever beaten back by salty
waves; where the treacherous float-land,
protected from the tides by earth embank-
ments lies level and fair, bearing upon
its false bosom the emerald glory of the
native grasses, and the wealth of the tilled
crops of men.
Again the child wondered why all the
books told only of the beauty of grass
or rock-bordered streams ; of hills and val-
leys and mountains; of lofty trees. She
looked to the left across regular ranks
of dark potato vines breaking into white
and purple bloom, to the snowy field of
buckwheat where the bees were humming;
and to the right, beyond the tule tassels,
where white sails, filled with the fresh
west wind, carried the river schooners
gayly up the stream.
As she looked, charmed by the riot of'
exquisite color and form, Edith's mind
began to drift from one thought to an-
other. For a space it touched upon the
lessons awaiting her at the weather-gray
little school house. Scraps of Lester's
plaintive prophecies regarding yellow-
jackets held faint attention for an instant.
Then, in a flash, everything was forgotten
but a bit of conversation that she had
overheard that morning. After the in-
definite rumble of her father's voice had
come her mother's sympathetic answer:
"Yes, I know it's almost a vain hope. The
snow water is coming down so fast, and
this west wind keeps the tides in. Still
if the Chinamen make their appearance
in time
Why hadn't she paid attention? A
sense of gravity impressed her now as it
had not then. And she remembered the
pale, anxious face of a neighbor as he said
to her father: "Four more tides before
the highest."
Into her troubled speculations broke a
frantic cry from Alice: "Edith! oh, run,
now rim!"
Instantly she grasped the details of
the familiar situation. At the other side
of that tall weed lay the stronghold of
the little yellow enemy. Scouts were out,
and the only hope lay in the swift run-
ning of the gauntlet. Tule wall on the
right and water-filled ditch on the left
made flank movement impossible. So
a rushing of pink-topped brown pinafore !
146
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
Another followed by active blue overalls,
skipping mightily to the tune of anticipa-
tory wails. Safely passed ! But no ! A
forte note signaled the discomfiture of the
rear guard!
Well out of range, the forces were re-
assembled, first aid to the injured admin-
istered in the form of kisses and condo-
lences, and then the single file march to
school resumed.
Looking from the riverside window soon
after the bell rang, Edith saw three boats
in mid-stream, all filled with Chinamen
and piled high with baggage and tools.
In each, four men at the oars forced the
craft rapidly up the river with the pe-
culiar, short, jerky stroke of the coolie.
Later, a gang of the coolies following
the levee path filed past the open door-
way each immobile, yellow face crowned
by a bread splint hat like 'the lid of a
basket; each wiry form clothed in clean
blue cotton garments of varying shades.
Some bore across their shoulders thick
poles of bamboo weighted by covered bas-
ket or corded bale at either end; many
carried queer but familiar implements,
and all jogged rhythmically in a patient
trot. These, too, were bound up river,
and all were levee-builders.
The air was full of indefinite dis-
turbance and a vague sense of expect-
ancy.
Another file of blue-clad Chinamen
trotted by, and the teacher closed the
door.
Going home after school in the faint,
shimmering haze that veils all this moist
land under the afternoon sun, Edith tried
to sum up the impressions of the day.
Alice pranced lightly along in the lead.
Suddenly she stopped with a startled ex-
clamation, and Edith, following her in-
dication, saw where dry and cork-like sods
on the river side of the levee, and above
the usual high-tide level, had been shifted
from their places. She saw, too, where
Alice excitedly pointed it out, a stretch
of path that was wet.
Further on, they reconnoitered the am-
bush of the yellow- jackets. To their sur-
prise there wag no angry buzzing of fran-
tic little fighters, A few of the guards
fiew aimlessly about in the unwonted
silen'.'p. Cautiously the girls drew up,
while Lester, at a safe distance, waited
for dramatic developments.
At length, side by side, the pink sun-
bonnets peered over the edge of the levc
into the entrance of the nest. Not an in-
sect was stirring. Then they saw what
they had been too absorbed to notice be
fore, that here, for several feet, the levee
was wet nearly its whole width.
One of the high tides had come anc
gone! At its flood point it had tricklec
unresisted, into that stronghold so vali-
antly defended so fatally pregnable !
Half-exultant, half-pitiful, the girl
walked on, and Lester, valorously kicking
at the spongy sods, followed with hands
in pockets his small bein^ intent upon the
control of a very young whistle, which
was now beautifullv piercing for a note or
two now faintly sibilant, now but a
breath, in exasperating inconsequence.
"Here's more sods been moved!" Alice
exclaimed, her voice quivering. And a
bit further on: "See! the water almost
went over there!"
Tingling with apprehension, Edith
looked, half-fearfullv, over the rank po-
tato rows and on to the distant snow of
the buckwheat. Yes, they were still the
same. But beyond the buckwheat, active
pale blue figures, scattered in squads
four or five along the course of the rivei
were cutting peaty rectangles from tin
soil, draggin^ each from the oozy em-
brace of its neighbor, flinging it to the
levee top, fixing it in close contact with
others every yellow-faced automaton d'j-
ing his anDointed part with the estab-
lished rhythm of Chinese concerted move-
ment.
At the early supper table, the conversa-
tion of the older members turned to the
impending flood. Would the levees hold?
Which sections might be too weak?
Which were too low?
"I think I can hold my fields," re-
marked the father. "By to-morrow nignt
all my levees will be made high enough
and strong enough."
"But there will be three high tides be-
fore then," Frank sufq-ested, his eyes on
his father's face.
"I'm remembering," a little grimly.
"And the night tide is the highest. Well,
I will watch that weakest place myself,
with one gang. One of you bovs take
the north bend, and the other watch the
headgate. I'll tell Ah Tong to give each
of you four Chinamen."
AN EPISODE OF THE FLOAT LANDS.
147
"Everybody else is sending cut patrols,
too," said Percy, with a tremor of excite-
ment in his young voice. "Johnson thinks .
his land is all safe and he's right, I
guess, but he's putting out three men.
And Wallace will have five."
"Wallace will need five/' decided Frank.
"His levees haven't been proved like
Johnson's. Those old levees have stood
for years and years haven't thev, father ?
They are high and solid, too ; no loose sods
about them. Say, Percy, did you see that
new horse he brought back from the city
his last trip ?"
And so the conversation drifted from
floods and levees. But Edith's dreams
were haunted that night by visions of
green fields where leopard lilies bloomed,
changing to desolate tangles of dead tules
through which she struggled endlessly.
When the family met at breakfast the
older faces were weary and anxious. The
father's words were confident as ever, but
his eyes belied them. As he rose from
the table, he said, briefly, to Edith: "Go
to school in your boat to-day."-
They started early before the turning
tide should have gained too much oppos-
ing force, and Alice noted, with a little
shriek of surprise, the new high- water
mark so far above the old one, a silty ring-
on every shininp- tule.
At the school house an excited group of
children exchanged news.
"Mr. Price's levee broke in two places
last night!"
"Oh, say! Lucy Jones says the water
comes clear up to their porch floor, and
they just stepped off the porch into the
boat, and then rowed right over the
levee when they went to look after things
in the night. Wasn't that funny?"
"'Johnny ! The water in on you yet ?"
"No." reluctantlv. Then, hopefully:
"But papa says he don't think he can keep
it out another tide."
In the irresponsible childish minds the
unformed terror of the day before had
reacted into keen appreciation of a novel
situation, delighted anticipation of new
sensations, and delicious apprehension of
impersonal dangers. There was little
study in the grrav school house that day,
for i.-ven the teacher was not calm. Often
she looked out on the placid, mercile-'S
river, and then over her father's carefully
tended fields. Sometimes the children
saw tears in the gentle eyes, now so sad
and heavv from the weary vigil of th3
night.
Out in the sunshine, all along the river'.s
tor r nous course, groups of imperturbable
Chinamen labored unceasingly, some
knee-deep in mud-thickened water; some
trampling in their work the lush gra^s
or the cultivated crons. Did they remem-
ber did they ever know? or, knowing
did they care, that fearfully near, be-
neath all that beautiful, smiling, glori-
ously prolific land lay awful depths of
dark, tideless water? Had they heard the
weird, true tales of futile efforts to fathom
those mysterious deeps?
Closely watched bv many apprehensive
eyes, the day tide rose to the fullest swell,
pulsed there for a seeminsr hour, then
gently, softly, slowly sank away.
There came no word of new breaks from
above nor from below. Most of the men
went home and to bed, to prepare for tha
strain of the coming night. And many
Chinamen, at word of thr foreman,
crawled into tiny tents for a few hours
of sleep.
With the ebbing tide full against thc;n
after school was out, Edith and Alica
had the ^ospect of hard work to reach
home. The current, brown now with the
drpina^e of inundated acres far up strea- i,
carried them many boat lengths below the
school house wharf before they could
unshin their oars, and all the impetus of
their four sturdv arms could give the light
skiff seemed lost in its force. Edith,
who was "stroke" ' and therefore captain
and pilot), bent all her strength to the
port oar a^ain and again, till, at length,
the little craft swung free of the current.
But even close to the bank the resistance
was disheartening, ana it took minutes
to pass each separate ~>oint.
Lester, lolling indolently in the stern
seat, o-ave himself up to renewed struggle
with his refractory whistle.
Fin all v. weary stroke b" wear- stroke,
the distance was measured off. Moist,
warm and rumpled, with burning palms
and aching shoulders, this tired boat-crew
welcomed the haven of the Cabled white
house, and the sympathetic ministrations
of mother. Never did water -feel so sooth-
ing! Never did simple supper taste so
good !
Alice went out to see her brooding ban-
148
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
tarn hen. Edith rested quietly on the flooi
at her mother's knees, and the shrilling
of Lester's cheerfully erratic whistle
floated in through the open window on the
soft, persistent west wind. The peaceful
quiet deepened as the day faded. The
sun grew greater and redder as it neared
the blue, undulating line of the Coast
Range. As the blue turned to black, the
flaming sun dropped suddenly, splashing
the whole western sk ir with a glorv of
scarlet and srold. The ^old slowlv changed
to canary to o-reen to palest amber;
the scarlet faded to pink to pearl. Am-
ber and pearl blent and deepened to pur-
ple, and then the splendid summer con-
stellation sprang into place, blazing in vio-
let and red and gold like reincarnations
of the sunset.
Reluctantly Edith yielded herself to
sleep; drowsily she heard the voices of
her father and brothers answering the
mother's call to the hard night watch.
It seemed but a moment till, startled
into wakefulness by a ray of warm light
falling on her face, she sat up in bed and
stared out of the window. The morning
sunshine bathed the pasture lands, t^o
tule wall, the glimmering bits of river, and
all her sight could reach. Alice slept
tranquilly beside her. It was late very-
late, and no one had called them. What
strange thing had changed even the home
routine?
Shivering with apprehension in the soft,
warmth of the sunshine, she dragged or
her clothes. With hurrying heart and
reluctant feet she went down the stairs
and along the hall to the open dining room
door. At the threshold she stopped, look-
ing wildlv from one white face to an-
other.
Words were held at sight of her, but her
mother put out a welcoming hand; with
a sob of nameless fear the child sprang
to the refuge that never fails.
"You may as well go on, Nathan," the
mother said, quietly. "They will hear
about it anyway."
Sadly and haltingly her father contin-
ued the storv of the night. During the
hours of the high tide, when a wave from
a passing steamboat might undo all the
work of vears, every mile of levee had been
patroled in sections bv souads of Chinese
under vigilant white men.
The tide the highest and the last to
fear had begun to fall. Men were lift-
ing glad faces in the moonlight, thankful
for the reprieve that was theirs wheM
the night was cleft by a hoarse, strangle.'!
cry in the near distance which hushed
every voice.
Into the stillness rang a thin clamor in
Chinese, sweliino- to a Babel of sound as
the Chinamen gathered. Upon the up-
roar crashed Fred Johnson's stern word
of command and inquiry. For a moment
he contended for explanation; then impa-
tient with the unintelligible, frightened
jargon, he turned and ran as the franti,
gestures indicated ran along the top of
his firm, dry levee, racing to meet yet
dreading to see the unknown horror that
lay before him. Scarcely had he gaina-1
strong headway than hie stopped with a
backward leap. One hundred yards of
tnrbid water rolled and tumbled where
the levee had stood !
He chilled in sudden comnrehension of
the coolies' tangled phrases. A patrolm
and a Chinaman had one down with t:
levee. He shouted and shouted again, b
there came no answering cry from tl
flood.
Rapidly the men gathered on either si
of the fatal gap. Question and ans
were flung across the torrent. Boa
were brought, and desperate search a:
watch held every man till the tide we:
out at dawn.
With the day came confirmation of the
fear of the night. The treacherous float-
land, for the protection of whidh had been
lavished all this nerve-racking care and
body-breaking labor, had mysteriously
parted, plunging the heavy embankment
with the unsuspecting guard into the aw-
ful, iideless, unmeasured depths beneatL!
All day the faithful watchman lingered,
hoping against dread certainty. Clear-
cut against the blue and the green loomed
the black lagged ends of the broken levej,
and between, the silver crinkled tide flowed
in over Johnson's fertile fields.
All dav the terrified Chinese scattered
red naper invocations and petitions upoii
the waters. And at night the air was per-
fumed with propitiatory incense; while
upon the river's bosom countless sacred
tapers glowed and shimmered and twinkled
weirdly star r in? the darkness.
THE SUCKERS' SATURDAY NIGHT
BY CHAKLTON LAWRENCE EDHOLM
ILL THE streets of new
San Francisco, the
stately City Beautiful
of our dreams, ever
know the piquancy
and the picturesque-
ness of Dear Old San
Francisco, the metropo-
lis of joyous memories ? I wonder ! Will it
know again the same eager current of
humanity swirling down the gaily-lighted
thoroughfares of a Saturday night? A
living river whose tributaries flowed from
teeming Europe, the two Americas, Af-
rica, mysterious Asia and the islands of
the seas.
Now that it is a thing of the past, this
brilliant street pageant, it seems as
though we had not actually seen it and
formed a part of it, but merely had read
in some fantastic Arabian tale and
dreamed of what we had read.
There was Market street, with its night-
Iv illuminations, fit welcome for visiting
prince or rajah; Kearny street, with its
pleasure-seeking crowd, gay spendthrift
youths, women gorgeously attired, of a
full-blown exuberant beauty like the
women of Titian or Veronese; Dupont
street, with its stalls and bazars, crammed
full of the wonders of the Orient, its ex-
quisite aestheticism, its unutterable
squalor, and finally that unique feature of
our tolerant, easy-going city, Grant ave-
nue, packed from curb to curb with the
auditors of yelling fakers and phrenolo-
gists, medicine-men and ministers of the
two-and-seventy jarring sects, reformers
and rascals, each more blatant than the
other.
Grant avenue was the Pisgah frorw
which one overlooked promised lands flow-
ing with milk and honev, to say nothing
of more invigorating fluids. You might
begin with the telescope man on the cor-
ner, who would show you for only five
cents the mountains of the moon, over
which, as is well known, runs the road to
El Dorado.
The ever-present white j bearded kidney-
'11 iv vender might claim your attention
next, and sell vou the Fountain of Youth
(with an alcoholic tang), done up in six-
bit bottles.
Next in line were the social reformers
of all shades, from the pale pink of the be-
liever in revolution by evolution, to the
blood-red advocate of confiscation and
extermination and Utopia day after to-
morrow.
Further along was a little gray man
brandishing a greasy, tamch-bethumbed
Bible. He had the whine and drone and
twang of a backwoods preacher, and an
occasional outburst aerainst "damnable
doctrines" and "accursed licentious teach-
ings" sounded like a good old-fashioned
invective against Ingersoll or Tom Payne.
Not a bit of it! T. P. was his God and
Ingersoll his prophet, and the book against
which he hurled his fervid rhetoric in
shockingly bad verse sometimes was the
well-worn pocket Bible in his hands. The
morals of the Old Testament heroes horri-
fied him, and he dwelt lovingly on the
lapses of David and Solomon.
Although the Salvationists, the Volun-
teers, the Flying Scroll Evangelists, the
Holy Jumpers and an assortment of inde-
pendent seers and sages put the atheist
clearly in the minority, yet so perverse is
human nature, his tirade drew the biggest
crowd.
Even that spectacular prophet who
donned sack-cloth, let his forked blonde
beard grow to his chest, and his tawny
hair to his shoulders, like a wandering
fragment of Oberammergau, could not
compete with the iconoclast here, for was
not Grant avenue the hammer-swingers'
heaven !
Yes, indeed, here one could learn more
of the abuses that stoop the workers'
shoulders, slant back his brow and loosen
his jaw especially the latter than from
a whole year's subscription to any of the
popular ten cent muckazines.
My good friend, the doctor, a man who
had seen humanity from many angles in
his long life, strolled down the line with
me one Saturday night. He was im-
mensely pleased at the hundred voiced
oration, and claimed that there was no
other city in the country that kept a mid-
150
OVEKLAND MONTHLY.
way in full blast all the year round. "Let's
hear what Mary's little lamb has to say."
A short, swarthy man, with a huge mus-
tache like that of a traditional Texas gun-
fighter, was roarinp- with the 7oice of a
bull. He clenched his big, hairy fists; he
swung his over-long arms; he paced back
and forth in the close circle of his audi-
tors; he hunched his back and fixed his
glittering eyes unon some by-stander &s
he hissed: "Who do you drudge for? Who
fattens on your sweat? Who sucks your
blood ? Who is your master ?" Then
suddenly jerking himself erect, he bel-
lowed his own answer : "THE CAPITAL-
IST."
"The Capitalist sprawls in a palatial of-
fice with a bottle of champagne at his el-
bow and a blondined stenographer on his
knee. He dictates a notice that you have
to go to work three hours longer because
he is going to lay off some of the hands.
"And you wage slaves stand for it!
"Next time the notice reads: 'Pay will
be cut ten per cent.' That gives him an-
other hundred thousand for his salary as
president of the company.
"And you wage-slaves stand for that,
too!
"Or mebbe you get sick of the job and
say you'll quit. What does your master
do ? He gits an injunction from his friend
the judge, making it a crime to strike. He
gits a raft of special police from his
friend the Chief of Police; he gits the
militia from his friend the Governor.
What else did he elect him for ?
"Oh. you wage slaves, when will you
git together, a class-conscious army, and
demand the full product of your toil?
Bullets and ballots, that's what you need
to exterminate the drones and seize what
belongs to you.
"'Bullets 'and ballots! That's it, bul-
lets and ballots! Exterminate them!
Exterminate I"
He was frothing at the mouth in the
frenzy of a zealot preaching a new re-
ligion.
"That fellow would make a fine sur-
geon," smiled the doctor, "the kind who
would decapitate a patient to cure a
toothache."
"Tt's a wonder they don't lock him
up."
"So they would in Germany, doubtless
in Prance, too, but in this country the
people can be trusted to judge for them-
selves. The phrase, 'Hot air,' was gold-
coined to put just such flimsy paper
money out of circulation, and it does the
trick, too."
The next circle was very small, anc
constantly disintegrating and forming
anew. It surrounded a tall, gaunt man,
with smooth-shaven face and. a monu-
mental forehead, from which the long
hair was brushed up and back. That
forehead was evidently his main asset,
and oh, the wonder of it, that from sucl
a lofty dome such a thin trickle oi
thought 'Should proceed, beaten into
froth of sweetish rhetoric. His lecture
was a mixture of sociology, vegetarian-
ism, new thought, physical culture, and
platitudes on the conduct of life, all de-
livered in academic phrases and leading
up to the inevitable collection and hawk-
ing of ten-cent booklets.
The honk-honk of an auto car further
down the line scattered his small audi-
ence before he had secured his full quota
of nickels. With bitter resignation he
watched his auditors flocking around the
big red machine that halted at the cor-
ner with a flurry of fluttering ensigns.
These banners were inscribed with letters
of gold, "Professor Tom Manley," while
a big sign on the sheet of plate glass
front bore the painted torso of a Hercule
bunched with muscles like a sack full
cobble-stones, and advertising "Viri-
cult."
Professor Tom stood erect on the bad
seat and allowed the mob to gaze upon his
vigorous beauty, a combination of the
ideals of Michelangelo, Buonarruoti anc
Charles Dana Gibson.
To the former he owed the chunks of
beefy muscle that stretched his clothes
in places ; to the latter his dress suit, new
and well -fitting, his half -acre of shirt-
front adorned with tiny pearl studs, hid
silk hat, this season's shape, and all the
little details of dress which mark the
man who assiduously strives to resemble
a gentleman.
The depression on the bridge of his
nose he owed to an artist in another line,
so he informed the crowd, his boiled-red
face glowing with pride. No other fist
than that of the redoubtable John L.
could have reached him in his young
days, he affirmed.
THE SUCKERS' SATURDAY NIGHT.
151
But now he had retired from the ring,
and it was his pleasant duty to give to
the world his precious secret of how to
get strong in eleven days, without too
much sacrifice of the pleasures of life,
without too much exertion, with absolute-
ly no detention from business; in fact,
the pallid youth who would only read
the dollar-fifty book of Prof. Tone's au-
thorship would be prepared to cope with
the masters in the arts of self-defense,
from Queensbury rules to Jiu Jitsu.
And then if any one should speak
rudely to the lady friend of the enlight-
ened one, what joy to annihilate him on
the spot! And so easy!
And the professor, waxing anecdotal,
described with great gusto an encounter
he had had with three sidewalk loafers in
Seattle, who had rasped the tender feel-
ings of his lady friends. Of course, he
defeated them single-handed in one
round, after which he treated them roy-
ally to drinks sufficient to drown all ill-
feeling. Great was his surprise, so he
averred, to read in the next morning'?'
paper in huge scare heads: "Professor
Tom Manley Puts Out Champion Spidei
Mike Grogan and His Two Trainers."
"I got the clippings right here in my
pocket at least I think so. No, I left
'em in the office. You can see 'em any
time you wanta call number one-steeri
Grant avenue."
"His book ought to be worth one-fifty
ao a literary curio," I said, "and I pre-
sume that a man like that is more com-
petent to write a get-strong-quick book
than a fiat-chested student in rubbers
and flannels."
"Yes, and by the same token, a prize
ox from the country fair is just the best
sort of an authority to write a text book
on stock raising," commented the doctor.
The next group was perfectly quiet, ex-
cept for two youths in the center who
were arguing in earnest tone. The crowd
hung on their words. This was the prob-
lem : If a mathematical point has no
dimensions, will an infinite number of
such points acquire dimensions? We left
before the question was argued to a
/ 1 " O
finish.
"When a man has learned to fence with
such weapons," said the doctor, "there is
no problem he cannot solve by sheer
wo;-d-and-wind power."
"Yes; I have heard the immortality of
the sou'l, the theory of socialism, the
Panama Canal, the personality of our
President, and a score of other weighty
questions settled here in several ways
every night."
"And still the sun rises in the same
place," replied the doctor. "Listen to
my colleague."
"... And this, gentlemen, is the
celebrated Asiatic turtle, called in China
tung-ki-see, which produces seventeen
thousand fertile eggs in a single season.
It is caught by the natives, killed in the
light of the moon by the Chinese physi-
cians, sun-dried, powdered and mixed in-
to a paste with the grease from the bones
of the Royal Bengal tiger. Hence we
call it tung-ti-kang, or turtle-tiger-
strength, for its use gives you the mar-
velous vigor of the one and the muscular
strength of the other."
The speaker held up to the light of the
gasoline torch a dried mud-turtle, and
turned it around and around for the gap-
ing crowd to admire. He was arrayed in
a fantastic combination of Oriental and
Occidental costumes, tricked out with
the emblems of Christianity and Bud-
dhism. He had a bold, handsome face,
keen eyes and the transparent complex-
ion of a boy, and the tones of his voice
were exceedingly magnetic and persua-
sive.
"Oh, men," he continued, "friends and
brothers (for the One God of many names
is father of us all), why will you continue
to surfer? Why forego the joys of life?
Why waste your money on quacks who
have neither the power nor desire to heal
you, when one box of Turtle-tiger-
strength will make you feel like new men
and six boxes will effect a permanent
cure?
"Thousands, yes, tens of thousands, of
afflicted ones have used my remedy, on
which we promise to refund the price if
it fails to relieve, and not one, I raise my
hand to heaven and swear by all I hold
sacred and holy, not one has got his money
back."
"I can believe that," chuckled the doc-
tor.
"Turtle-tiger-strength, dollar a box,
dollar a box while they last," barked his
companion, moving in pink kimona
among the crowd. "Tung-ti-kang, only
OvEliLAND MONTHLY.
one dollar, or six for five, and your
money back it' it fails to cure.''
"And this is the twentieth century !"
exclaimed the doctor. "Human nature
changes little! I had a call some time
ago from a class-mate who struck town
dead-broke. He had his diploma, for the
fellow was brainy, if he was a trifle un-
steady. Well for some reason he couldn't
work up a practice; people didn't trust
him, but he had a glib tongue, and when
he told me his hard luck story I could
not refuse him five dollars.
"Well, sir, he took that money, went
around to a paper-box factory and ordered
a thousand green boxes, one ounce size,
and shaped like a star. A small deposit
set them working on the order and se-
cured him three or foiir dozen boxes.
Then he went to a credit grocer and se-
cured a hundred pound sack of well, I'Jl
tell you later.
"With the balance of my money he got
a shave, a hair-cut, a shine and a supper.
"After supper he went out on the cor-
ner, mounted a soap-box, proclaimed him-
self as Professor So-and-So, M. D., told
of a marvelous spring he had discovered
(Spring Valley, I guess), and when he
had his crowd, produced his little green
boxes.
"They contained a preparation of his
own (so he claimed), a whitish, translu-
cent, saline mineral, used in every part
of the world ; good for man and beast ; a
positive relief for diseases of many kinds.
When diluted with one quart of water and
snuffed up - the nostrils, it relieved ca-
tarrh and cleared and cleansed the mu-
cous membranes. As a gargle it curec
sore throat and prevented that drea
scourge, diphtheria, As a lotion it
lieved sore eyes. It was sure death
germs and prevented decay.
"None guaranteed unless done up
green starshaped boxes under the name
Astral Saline Crystals. One dollar
box, six for $5.
"Well, the public had often bought lit
tie red boxes and little white boxes, litt
round boxes and little square ones, bi
a green, star-shaped box was somethu
new. They kept him busy handing 01
Astral Saline Crystals for two or thre
evenings, after which time he suddenly
left town.
"The following week I received a stat
ment for a bill of goods from my grocer
He said the goods had been ordered fc
my use by my colleague, Professor Sc
and So, M. I). It read : 'To one sack roc
salt, $2.00.' "
BY ELIZABETH LAMBERT WOOD
HE FOUND the water
hole down in the gulch
where the sand was
loose and coarse. The
water was less than six
inches deep, and was
scarcely two feet across.
But she could see
that there was an undeniable seepage
here a rare thing in this land of little
water which the unclaimed bands of
burros of the surrounding mountains as
well as the wandering range cattle had
not been slow to appropriate for the cool-
ing of their thirsty throats.
Marian, the girl of nerves, shuddered
at sight of the alkaline, hoof-riled water,
and dismounting, smiled to herself to see
with what avidity her pony dipped in his
nose and drank with long, satisfying
quaffs.
Marian sat down on the clean sand
beside the pool, with the merciless sun of
mid-day beating down on her head, and
wondered whether she ought to wait till
the water settled again, or if the mere
sight of the pool, shared by man and
beast alike, was sufficient to quench her
thirst until she had 'covered the long
ride back to the settlement.
Over her head swung a hawk in wide
circles, and Marian raised her head
quickly at sight of his sweeping reflection
in the pool. Something in t le sight
seemed to stir her blood to action. Leap-
ing up, she threw the dragging reins back
over Spruce's head, trying to remember
as she did so each separate injunction
that the foreman of Double Box had
given her about mounting. First she
carefully took into her left hand a goodly
tuft of staid Spruce's mane, and a short-
ened left rein; then lifting her left foot
to the big wooden stirrup and taking a
firm hold of the horn, she managed to
hoist herself up, but it was not without
an effort of considerable pains. The fore-
man, in teaching her, had told her to
swing up, carefully illustrating his words
as he spoke. But Marian did not exactly
swing up; in fact, she almost plun^.d
head foremost over the horse, but luckil}
managed to check herself in time.
And then with a deep sigh she settled
into the saddle, while Spruce, who had
been knowingly braced for the encounter,
quietly recovered himself and ambled off.
He shook his wise head protestingly when
Marian headed him toward the path lead-
ing diagonally up the hill. To her inex-
perienced eyes this cattle trail seemed to
promise the .shortest way home, but
Spruce knew better.
The figure the horseman who had
disturbed the hawk into flight, had been
watching the girl's unwonted exertion
with keenest interest and amusement from
the tor> of the ridge above the water hole.
"The new teacher, by gum boots and
all!" he soliloquized.
Marian, all unconscious of any one's
proximitv, was riding up the sloping trail
all intent on her own thoughts. She was
a new arrival from Iowa her old-fash-
ioned mother still called it I-o-way
where, throughout Marian's life-time, she
had been pinched by the many petty
primpings and savings of her environ-
ment, until a single reading of Wister's
"Virginian" had sent her awakened blood
reeling through her veins with the sud-
den srjlendor of her vividly imagined pic-
ture of freedom on the Western ranges.
She had horrified her family into firm-
lipped silence by her sudden departure
alone and unacquainted into the wilds of
Arizona. On her arrival she had taken
the school examinations in Florence, and
having successfully passed them, was
lucky enough to receive a situation in
the sparsely settled cattle country in
the foot-hills of the Catalina Mountains.
The cowboys there fine chivalrous
fellows all could not help taking her
coming as a huge joke, especially her top
boots, short skirts and brand new revolver
end cartridge belt, in which she had in-
vested much of her scanty horde of pocket
money. How she would have blushed and
how her eyes would have blazed had she
overheard the round of chuckles at her
first attempts to mount sentle old Spruce,
154
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
all booted and spurred and armed as she
was !
To-day, Curl Ealey was a bit amazed
to see how lightly she sat the leather once
she was up. Touching his horse with the
spur, he struck across a sharp ravine to
cut off her direct path. "I wonder if she
thinks she's going home ?" he said to him-
self. "She's headed straight for Arai-
vapai, sixty miles away. We fellows will
have to rope her to keep her from stray-
ing."
Marian kept straight on, all uncon-
scious of the disturbance of her solitary
ride. She was wrapped in a reverie of de-
light. Before her, in the distance, moun-
tain range succeeded mountain range un-
til the last slipped awav into the dim and
hazy blue of the horizon. The yellow
grass beneath her pony's feet lay over the
multitude of surrounding slopes like a
sheet of mellow sunshine. Here and
there about her grew scattered live oak
trees giant fellows who scorned the
paltry growth of a short century or two,
they who had already felt the weight of
a half thousand years. Marian's heart
began to beat lightly once again in spite
of the heavv burden of her thirty-one
years. "After all," she thought to herself
with a sudden thrill, "I am young; I
don't care what the folks at home think.
Even the oaks feel young on a day like
this. I am young, young," and her
thought grew into a silent song, singing
in hti heart to the tune of the outpour-
ing ecstacy of a thrush who had appropri-
ated the topmost bough of the hackberry
near at hand, and was heralding to the
world that he also was young voung. !
Life pulsed up and over Marian in a
rush of delight. The glorious air was
drawn down into her quivering nostrils
with wonderin^ exhilaration.
Back in Iowa nothing was wasted,
thought Marian now with contempt. Thia
lesson had been thumped into Marian's
revolting brain again and aerain through-
out her uninteresting life. Even every
scrap of potato paring must be cooked in-
to an evil-smelling mess for the chickens
and pigs, which they, the people, in the
natural course of .economy, would con-
sume again. The verv flesh of the ever-
present pork was flavored with table
scraps. Ugh !
Out here in this glorious, mountain-
scented country everything was waste
waste of land, waste of rocks, and waste
of skv. Whole seas of acreage lay in
unused waste all about her, the very sight
of which sent dizzy sparkles of delight
dancing through Marian's rejuvenated
brain. She loved it all she, the old maid
of the Iowa hamlet, was young again here
and could ride and dance and sing to
her heart's content, and as if in echo to
the thrush, she burst out into melody-
just a scrap of a Kevin's lullaby but ro
Curl Raley, below her in the oak-lin
ravine, it had all the charm of an angel
song.
Suddenb r the voice ceased, and Rale;
glanced warily up the slope to where sh
sat, quite still,, on her horse. She
caught the stroke of his horse's hoof o
the granite strewn ground, and ha
checked her horse, fear for the insta
rampant in her heart. She might
awaiting a Mexican or Indian ruffian';
advent into her world she knew n
what!
Raley could see her quite plainly no
with eves dilated, her hand on the pisto
which she had half-slipped from its ho
ster. She was not to be caught nappin
Then as Curl Raley swung into view o:
his horse, the defiant fire burned out
her eyes, leaving only the soft glow
their warm, brown depths. Her voi
was still trembling as she said choki
Iv: "For a minute 1 didn't know it w
you, Mr. Raley. I am just going home.
He said not a word to her about t
strange direction of her trail homewar
but fell in beside her, and after they hi
crossed a ravine or two, she was faci
the settlement again, and had not a s
picion that her horse's head had be
turned short about.
At last she said, giving a funny little
squint at the sun as if she were already
enough of a Westerner to tell the time
b- its elevation :
"Do you know what time it is?"
"Two o'clock!"
"Two o'clock ! Not really ! No wonder
I'm so hungry. I've got bacon, crackers,
cheese and tea for lunch. Won't you help
me eat it?" Her invitation was cordial; it
was reallv very nice to have the escort if
a resourceful man in this untried wilder-
ness.
Now, in a cattle country, a man seldoi
ie
THE EOMANCE OF TANKY GULCH.
155
or never takes a snack of lunch to eat at
noon, not even on a rodeo, when he may
be out from sun-up to long past dark. To-
day, Curl Kaley had only been out for
four hours, and had expected to have
nothing to eat for many hours more, but
suddenly he found himself seized with an
unconscionable appetite.
Before she expected his answer he was
off his horse and had come to her side
to lift her down.
But. she motioned him back with grave
earnestness. "I want to learn to do it
myself/' she said, very seriously, "be-
cause most of the time I will be riding
alone, and I want to learn how."
Eaiey privately doubted the truth of
this statement, but she was so honest in
her thirst for knowledge that he answered
her with all the seriousness he could com-
mand, and a minute later she was on the
ground without the help of a hand.
"Good !" he said spontaneously.
She was so thoroughly pleased with
herself that she smiled gaily up into his
face as she thanked him, and- on the in-
stant, he threw off his mask of dignity,
assumed in her presence, and laughed with
her with all the pleasure of a boy again.
He hurriedly gathered together bits of
dried cactus and oak twigs for a tiny
fire, while she arranged the tiny slices of
bacon on the wee broiler she produced
from the pocket of her saddle bag. The
little tea-pot was filled from his canteen,
and was soon sing-ing a merry little tune
of its own over the blaze, while the two,
the girl and the man, made the discovery
that they would both have to drink their
tea out of the only CUD in camp Marian's
pretty silver folding one.
"I never thought of having company/'
Marian said rueiully, taking her sip,
which was by common consent to be tha
first, with her pretty red lips daintily
touching the cup's rim. "I'll have to send
to Tucson for another one."
"Not much!" protested Curl with em-
phasis. "I like this heaps better."
Fo 7 - an instant Marian made no answer.
Her mind had been carefully trained to
have a serious turn. She looked at him
doubtfully; then, with a frank, open
smile, she said:
"Well, do you know, I believe I do, too."
At the half-serious simplicity of her
words, Curl threw back his handsome
head and . laughed with genuine relish.
"I believe we'll agree all right," he said,
still laughing.
N'ever was there such bacon as these two
broiled that day over that little fire.
Marian was quite sure by the time the
meal was readv that there was not an-
other man who could coax a fir into such
a steady, glowing blaze. And the crack-
ers! Who had ever before tasted such de-
licious crackers, flecked with tiny mites
of strawberry jam from a wee pot that
Marian fished out of her saddle bag. The
tea, sipped sociably together out of the
one cup, was nectar itself.
And then, all too soon, the tiny fire
died out, the crumbs lav scattered about
their feet, and the tea-pot stood empty
and cold.
Long after this the two sat silent. At
last, with a pang of surprise, Marian real-
ized that the sun was going down. To-
morrow there would be school again, and
all of its manifold duties. To-day held
youth and life and laughter; to-morrow
sober age and arduous tasks. In spite
of herself a shaded sadness fell over her,
veiling the beautiful deep softness of her
brown eyes.
Curl Ealey, watching her from the shel-
ter of his big hat, saw the weary lines
begin to settle over her face, where lie
saw with pity that they had long before
this traced a nath of patient protest
against this life of unmated ' loneliness
with all its pinching economy, which only
a woman can know. Sitting there, *ie
no longer thought of lathing at her com-
ing into this unsettled part of the coun-
try he understood.
Hadn't he himself known much of this
same feeling that he saw she was now
suffering, in those days when as a boy he
lived in Chicago? When he was fourteen,
not half her age, perhaps, he had struck
out into the world for himself. As he sat
there his only wonder was that she had
been so patient, that vears ago she had
not taken up the shears and snipped the
lines holding her to the old prosaic life
she instinctively loathed. He knew what
she must have endured the lines of her
face told that stifling her natural long-
ing for big things, for freedom. And
he also saw that, having suffered so long,
now that the fragrance of freedom was
fairly in her nostrils, she still had mo-
156
OVERLAID MONTHLY.
ments when she doubted the truth, the
beautiful truth of it all.
As he lay there, relaxed full length on
the sand, he saw a vision forminer a vis-
ion of liberty for both. It was so near
that he could almost touch it. He felt
an unaccountable intuition that all the
forlorn loneliness of his hard life was
nearing its end. It was for this that he
had been laboring and hoarding for
years. He saw now that never before had
he been fully ready to appreciate life and
the mystery of its wonders. He wished
he might tell her, might lift the sad, pa-
tient lines from her face ; but not yet, not
yet! That glorious moment in all its
fullness would cuuie.
He stirred restlessly, sat up, and then
suddenly got on his feet. She started
violently as if roused from absorbing
thoughts.
"Come," he said, erently, reaching down
a helning hand to her. It was a strong,
well-formed hand, deeply tanned with
wind and sun.
Laying her slim hand confidinglv in his
warm clasp, she allowed him to lift her
to her feet where she stood silent, her
eyes still abstracted, while he brought
the horses. There was no word of pro-
test now when he lifted her to her saddle.
She was learning a lesson of a different
kind now a lesson of widely different
import. A gentle flushing of pink stole
up into her cheeks as her eyes fell on his
face-; the strong, noble face of the kind
of men she had dreamed about and was
now to know in her dailv life.
AUGUST
BY
CLYDE EDWIN TUCK
THE dust-drooped bushes stand beside the road
That winds along the meadows brown and dry;
While in the brook's bed where but lately flowed
A wildly gushing stream, the butterfly,
With gorgeous wings half-ope'd, rests there serene
Upon the moist, dark ground in nook 5 ; of shade,
Near where some sunbeam frescoes mosses green,
And rainbows formed where once leaped the cascade.
The weary hours plod by with leaden feet
While nature slumbers 'neath a wizard's spell;
The golden panniered bees seek their retreat:
The birds are mute, far in the stilly dell
Where sylvan sounds and scents are strangely faint;
The silk-soft hollyhocks, moon-tinted, bloom.
And 'neath the trees where crows make their complaint,
The asters stand with tender eyes of gloom.
Yon field of golden tasseled corn, where strays
No fresh'ning breeze among their withering blades,
Stretch out beneath the sun's fierce, torrid rays :
Now comes a sweet, cool breath from out the glades
Just when each gasping plant seems death to woo;
A shadow spreads its wings and o'er the plain
And hill all nature hastens to renew
Her green robes in the life-restoring rain.
A PART OP THE BAND THAT WAS SOLD TO THE "WILD WEST SHOW" IN 1903.
THE PASSING OF THE BUFFALO
BY JASO^ J. JO^ES
1 LLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS.
HE HISTORY of the
American bison or buf-
falo has been written
and re-written many
times over by able writ-
ers, until to-day the
reading public is thor-
oughly familiar with
each and every trait and characteristic of
that lordly animal.
At the same time, the singularity of
its habits, its massive frame and the pio-
turesqueness of its physical appearance
ever tend to increase our admiration and
to arouse an eagerness within us to know
more, still more, regarding the noblest
beast that is indigenous to American soil.
Had our fore-fathers taken some pre-
cautions to protect the buffalo, instead of
lending their aid to the ruthless slaugh-
ter, even to the very verge of complete
extermination, we would not of necessity
to-day be compelled to provide recruiting
stations in the wav of parks and reserves
to insure the preservation of at least a
remnant.
The accounts of the earlier explorers of
North America, especially those of the
Spaniards, tend to prove that the buffalo
formerly ranged over the greater part of
the country lying between the Atlantic
seaboard and the Mississippi Eiver. But
civilization gradually pushed them west-
ward, encroaching more and still more
upon their domain, until at the beginning
of the nineteenth century no buffalo were
to be found east of the Mississippi. They
then took to the great plains, ranging
westward to the Rocky Mountains and
from Texas northward into central Can-
158
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
A PORTION OP THE PARK HERD CALMLY
BROWSING UPON SHORT SAGE-BRUSH
AND THE SCANT GRASS UPON ONE OF
THE BARREN HEIGHTS OVERLOOKING
THE SILVERY YELLOWSTONE.
ada. Over this vast pasture, as late as the
seventies, they roamed in such numbers
that the enumeration of them seems in-
credible.
The Indians, also, were crowded west-
ward by their white enemies, and owing
to their nomadic mode of living, they
naturally followed the big game, realiz-
ing that it afforded them the easier means
of gaining a livelihood. But the Indian
rarely, if ever, maliciously destroyed the
game until he was taught by the white
man. When he wanted meat, he killed
a buffalo, his squaw dressed it and pre-
pared the robe for future use. The red
man in the early days never troubled him-
self about where the winter's provisions
for his tribe were to be secured. Though
it often harmened that the lazy, ever-neg-
ligent bucks would let the opportune time
slip bv. when they would be compelled
to make long journeys in severe wintry
weather to procure a supply of food for
their lialf-famished people. The meat
appeased their hunger, the great, shaggy
robes shielded their persons from the most
intense cold; therefore, the buffalo was
doubly dear and valuable to them. Tn
aftei vears, when the whites began to en-
croach upon the Indian's most precioi
hunting grounds and to wantonly destrc
his most precious game, the latter look-
upon it with awe and suspicion and ange
was at once kindled in his heart. We mu-
agree with the red man to-day when
says: "The ' white man has 'taken 01
hunting grounds and destroyed
game."
When we realize what enormous her
of buffalo roamed the plains even as lat
as 1875. it is a mystery to us to know hoi
they could have been so completely e
terminated in less than one short decad
In 1868 began the wholesale slaughter
of this animal, and from the above date
until 1881, or a period of thirteen
a ceaseless war was waged against thes
helpless brute?. And to what purpose!
When the Kansas Pacific Railroad hac
been extended far enough west to read
the buffalo count ry, the carbon works oi
St. Louis and other places began payii
$8 per ton for all the bones that migl
be shipped to them. The natural cons
quence was that the hide, horn and bone
seekers formed brigades in partnershij
against these vast herds. The hide anr
horn seekers were naturally very welcome
fore-runners of the bone seekers. In su-:h
numbers did they slaughter the buffalo
that in particular localities, it is said, on?
might have walked all day upon the car-
casses without stepping upon the ground.
Kansas alone, in the thirteen years of
extermination, received $2,500,000 for
bones. It required eight, carcasses to make
a ton of bones, so it would have required
32,000,000 buffalo skeletons to bring the
above sum of money.
Win. F. Cody (Buffalo Bill) was the
expert buffalo hunter. But he never care-
lessly massacred them, except in rare
cases, and then to have a little fun only,
or to show his skill as an expert. He was
employed as hunter by the construction'
company of the Kansas Pacific in 1868,
and in eighteen months' time killed 5,000
buffalo, which were consumed by th<3
1,200 track layers.
The great herds often delayed trains
for several hours at a time. Colonel Henry
Inman, author of "The Old Santa Fe
Trail," gives an account of the West-
bound passenger on the Kansas Pacific
being delayed from 9 a. m. till 5 o'clock in
the evening by the passage of one continu-
THE PASSING OF THE BUFFALO.
151)
cms herd. To the north, west and south,
as far as the vision could scan, surged a
solid black mass of affrighted buffalo in
their irresistible course.
A party of horsemen rode for three
consecutive days through one continuous
herd, Avhich must have numbered millions.
At first appearance, these vast herds
grazing on the plains seemed to be oria
intermingled mass, but on a closer in-
spection the whole was found to be com-
posed of hundreds of lesser herds. Each
of these miniature groups were guarded
b TT sentinels, which were composed of the
chainpion bulls, while the cows and calves '
grazed toward the center. The little
yellow calves looked very awkward, yet
thev were agile as lambs and almost as
playful. Nothing was more dangerous
than a buffalo cow with a young calf. She
would fight with the energy of despair
when her young were endangered.
These immense herds were often the
best objects of sport for the tourists, who
were out most generally for the mere nov-
elty of the trip. In many places on either
side of the railway track, the ground was
lined with the carcasses of buffalo which
had served as mere targets for the folly
of the pleasure seekers.
The buffalo were animals of migratory
habits. Very seldom were .they to be
found on the barren plains in winter,
yet in some favored places in the moun-
tain meadows, where food and shelter
coujd be had, small herds were often
found in the winter season. But the
regular winter rendezvous of this animal
was far to the south, on the sunny pas-
tures of Texas and Indian Territory.
On the appearance of the first verdure
of spring thev would begin their annual
journey nortliward, where, on the wids-
extencled plains, they would spend the
loner, bright summer days in perfect peace
and contentment until the cold blasts
from the north drove them south again.
Some Indians believed that all the
buffalo that went north each summer per-
ished there, and that just as many more
came from the south the next year. Sd-
tanta, chief of the Comanches, claimed
that all of the buffalo came out of a big
cave in Texas, and that none of the vast
multitudes which went north in the
spring returned in the fall, but all per-
ished that year, and that year after ye-ir
the magic cave would hatch out just as
many more to meet the same fate as they
journeyed northward.
But just how the old chief accounted
for the scarcity of the buffalo in after
years we are not prepared to say. But he
must have surmised that the ever-increas-
ing whites had molested his never-failing
incubator in the south-land.
Stampeded buffalo were very danger-
ous. They ran with a mad fury that w is
simply irresistible. If hunting parties
or emigrants were caught within the
course of one of these wild onsets on the
open prairie it meant certain death to
them., except that something could be done
immediately to divert the terrible mo-
mentum of the affrighted mass. When no
other means of escape were possible, hunt-
ers would seek the weakest point in the
front rank and shoot down the oncoming
buffalo, which were quickly used as the
only means of protection. Often-times
these great stampedes lasted two or three
days, and many thousands of buffalo
were killed in the awful jams in their
panic careering over the broken country.
Wihen the Kansas Pacific was completed
THE MONARCH OF THE YELLOWSTONE
PARK HERD EATING HAY. PHOTOGRAPH
WAS TAKEN BY CREEPING UP TO THE
HIGH FENCE WHILE THE BIG BULL WAS
BUSILY ENGAGED.
THE PASSING OF THE BUFFALO.
161
it cut the buffalo country in twain and
divided the many millions into two enor-
mous herds the northern and the south-
ern. The southern herd shrunk the
faster under the blood-thirsty array of
pelt, horn and bone seekers, because of
the more openness of the country over
which it ranged, and by the close of the
year 1878 scarcely a land-mark remained
to show that its countless numbers ever
existed. Yet the northern herd survived
the southern but five years, being com-
pletely destroyed in 1883. An occasional
small band was encountered some years
after this in the wild, broken country,
whither they had taken refuge, of neces-
sity adapting themselves to the habits of
their more wary cousins. But before the
close of the eighties, some of these were
slaughtered and the remainder taken into
custody.
But, alas, the buffalo are gone from
the great plains of the West. No more
will their huge frames dot the unbroken
horizon. No more will they beat the
deep-trodden paths to a welcome nu-
cleus, the clear running mountain stream.
Could the old trappers and hunters
again wander over the once rich lands of
the buffalo as they traversed them thirty
years ago, they would sigh to find that
welcome beast of the plains no more. Their
hearts would ache when they realized the
desolation that has been brought about
in that short period of time.
No more could they defy the wintry
blasts with the great, shaggv robes as jf
old. No more would their tents be stocked
with jerked buffalo to feed them and their
companions until the long-looked-for
spring appeared.
And again,' let us glance briefly at the
red man's position to-day. He stands
alone. Though he has donned to some
extent the garb of the white man, yet be
is, properly speaking, the same savage
to-day as when our ancestors first knj>v
him. He has been driven from place 10
place, or wherever the white man has
seen fit to send him. He is to-day
scourged to a narrow strip of country and
compelled to live there by a power which
he knows he dares not resist. Within his
own limited borders the game of every
description has become almost extinct.
By necessity he is compelled to make long
journeys in pursuit of provisions. He
remembers, too, the many pints of whis-
key obtained with buffalo robes in days
gone by. Beautiful robes ! dressed and
nicely ornamented, which had cost the
squaws many hours of labor, were bar-
tered for one pint of whisky each, four-
fifths of which was water, but no matter,
just so it had the taste of "fire-water."
Whisky being such a powerful incentive,
each robe the Indian possessed generally
received the very significant name of "a
pint of whisky/'
There are at the present time about
1,800 buffalo in the United States. They
of course, are to be found only in re-
serves, parks and private herds. The
largest of these, perhaps, is the Pablo-
Allard herd on the Flathead "Reservation
in Northwestern Montana. It numbers
over 400 head and they are as nearly in
their native state as any in our country
to-day. In 1892 this herd numbered only
75. They would perhaps exceed a thou-
sand at this time had not several been
sold from time to time. Four years ago
some fifteen or twenty head were sold to
the "Wild West Show," and two vears ago
fifty were shipped to the "101" Ean;;h
in Indian Territory. This herd ranges .in
the foothills within the reservation. The
owners value them at thousands of dol-
lars. They are closely guarded to pre-
vent their straying too far away. It is
a pretty sight in summer to watch them
from a distance, calmly grazing upon the
verdant slopes. Yet one does not da -e
venture close to them, except he be well
protected, for they will make an attack
without giving him warning. A number
of them were exhibited at the Missoula
County fair five years ago, but they were
very hard to manage. One of the big
bulls broke through every enclosure and
ran back to the reservation, a distance of
twenty-five miles, against all resistance
or obstacles.
There are also between thirty and forty
head of "cataloes" or half-breed buffab
in the herd. The cross is between the
native bull and the buffalo cow. "Buffalo"
Jones (Col. C. J. Jones), recommends
this hybrid form, claiming that the
"catalo" is harder, more able to stand the
blizzards, and digs and roots in the deep
snows for sustenance where ordinary cat-
tle would perish. Besides, its robe rep-
resents more value than a common steer,
162
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
being far superior in quality even to the
genuine buffalo robe. The hair is not
so long, much finer, and the hide not so
thick and stiff. They are large in frame
if well bred, the horns being perceptibly
longer, but of about the same curvature
and color jet black very sharp at the
point, and thick at the base.
The herd in the Yellowstone National
Park numbered 107 old ones and five
calves last summer. They graze over a
five thousand acre pasture which is en-
closed by an eight-foot fence of extra-
heavy wire netting. This pasture is in
the northwest portion of the park, near
Mammoth Hot Springs. A new pasture
is being constructed near Soda Buttes,
some miles east of the present one, and
the herd will be divided. The land with-
in these pastures is broken and barren,
and therefore does not produce much
grass. "Buffalo" Jones is the tender of
the Park herd, it being his duty to feed
them when necessary, and it is necessary
even in summer, for the pasture becomes
very dry and destitute of feed at times.
Another duty which devolves upon him
is to protect the young buffalo from the
gray wolves and mountain lions, which
have become quite numerous, owing to the
protection of game in general around the
Park.
The United States Government has
heretofore offered to buy all the buffalo
extant, but without success.
For the sake of preserving at least a
remnant of the once familiar object of
the plains, and for the object lesson ij
would teach posterity, we believe tha
our Government should own and protec
all the buffalo now living.
Those now owned by private individual
which Constitute possibly five-sixths o
all in exigence, are most likely, in year,
to come, t<_ fall into the possession of care
less hands, "hose who would let the las
vestige of th/m be annihilated.
Our public domain is extensive enougl
and will be for years to come for th<
buffalo to run at large without molesta-
tion. The grazing lands of our Westen
States, which our stock-raising public
have so completely appropriated to them-
selves, might, in part at least, be used bj
the Government, and protected by each
and all of us, as a place of both refuge
and recruit for the noblest animal that
is native to our country.
Nothing could be more beautiful than
to have the numerous herds once airain
grace the verdant slopes of our lofty
mountain ranges in spring time. To pro-
tect the buffalo against all encroachments
is a duty that should pervade the mind of
every American citizen. They could
never be so numerous as they once were,
yet the increase in one short decade would
be almost incredible, if properly fos-
tered.
"Preserve inviolate the scenes of days
agone, our nation prays;
Yet nothing is sadder than past joys re-
membered in unhappy days"
THE RED-HEADED
TWINS OF DOS
PALOS
ILLUSTRATED BY W. R. DAVENPORT.
HIS HERE thing of
bein' a twin ain't all
it's cracked up to be,
specul if each durned
twin is as like t'other
as a lookin' glass re-
flectun of himself.
My brother Jim's as
like me as I'm like myself, freckles, green
eyes an' all, an' his head ain't none lighter
an' none darker. They is no other twins
in Dos Palos scept me an' Jim. When
we was kids, my mother used to say to
the one what was handiest, "If you're
Jim, tell Bill I want him, but if you're
Bill, come here -I want you." Sure pop,
it was alwus me she wanted, 'cause Jim
sorter petted himself round the ole lady.
Well, anyway, atween us the ole lady
didn't have no tapioca, for when we savied
why we was alwus the other feller.
If you never yet met Jim you'll know
him soon as you meet him; that's pro-
vidin' you don't give him the glad liand
thinkin' he's me. The only thing what's
diffrunt about us is our ways an' habits,
an' so forth. Jim's as quick to spend
money as I'm willin' to save it, an' Jim's
as fall of raisin' the devil as I'm fond of
peace an' the mountains, an' Jim's as fond
of borrowin' as he is of spendin', an' him
havin' a lot of family pride an' affecshun,
whv, it's just natural like as he'd come
furst to me for a loan. "Just a tenner;
if you can't spare it, a five spot '11 do," he
begins easy like, an' then winds up willin'
to take any ole durned thing I kin give
him, even if it ain't no better 'n fifty
cents or a quarter.
Once down to Firebaugh he got playin'
sorter heavy at faro bank, an' bein' short
of funds an' me far away, he borrers of
a man down there by the name of Peters,
an' then tells Peters, durn his soul, to
ride out to the Double X ranch and get it
back. Jim goes range ridin' the day that
there Peters was to visit, an' me, innu-
cunt as a year] in', meets this here Peters
kinder welcum like at the gate, never a-
seen him afore, an' says, "Howdy do,
stranger, what kin I do for you ?"
"Stranger !" he growls, sorter down in
his throttle an' squintin' up his eyes like
he didn't like my looks. "Stranger, hey?
It wasn't stranger down to Firebaugh
when you borrered that ten spot of me,
was it, you freckled-faced, green-eyed, red-
headed lobster?" He keeps his big mouth
open like he's goin' to say a heap more,
but just friendly like I puts my hand
back where I alwus finds my six-shooter,
an' strange-like, he shuts his big mouth
an' starts for the road, hasty like, an'
keeps a-goin' that way.
Jim comes in that night lookin' some
timid like, an' 'quires 'bout my health an'
so forth, an' then he says, off-hand like,
"All 'lone to-day?"
"Ain't I alwus alone, when you ain't
here?" I says back, innucent.
"Sorter thought you might a had corn-
puny," gurgles Jim, lookin' round the
camp some interested.
"Maybe 1 did," says I, "and maybe you
'11 help to bury him this evenin'. Some
plaguey fool comes ridin' round here mis-
takin' me for some durned fool what looks
like me, an "
Poor Jim was that scared that I
plugged Peters for sure that he begs me
to hide him 'cause the boys what seen the
deal'll think he done the shootin' 'stead
of me. I let the truth out easy like after
he got good and scared, an' then he makes
164
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
me a sohim promus never to borrer from
anybody 'ceptin' me a promus none to
my likin', you bet.
You see what's libul to come to a man
what's got a twin what looks more like
himself than he does himself; but if 1
begins to tell you all what come to me
through Jim, why I keep a talkin' till the
end of the week, an' wouldn't be none
through then.
The worst ever was the time Jim got
stuck on a littl' half-breed Mexicun-Por-
tugee gal what he meets at a dance down
to Los Banos. This littl' gal was a sky
farmer's gal. Guess you know what's a
sky farmer. No? Well, a sky farmer's a
feller, usual like he's a Portugee, or a"
Dago or a Mex, or all three mixed inter
one, what has a ranch 'long the San
Joaquin Eiver where it's good for farmin'
about six months a year. He watches the
sky a plenty, an' when things don't look
his way, he tips and takes his furnootur
an' his horse, durned old plugs, you bet,
an' his pig, ain't never got more'n one, an'
BILL.
his cows an' with his famulle folleriiv
ahind, he moves, leavin' the old shacks
there. Sure pop, when it's rained all over
the place, an' the Joaquin's flowed over
his land some, back he comes an' plants
hay, an' off he goes agin, an' then time for
hay cuttin' an' balin' back he comes agin.
The sky farmer reasons like it's time for
nothin' to lay down an' bake awaitin' for
the rain, so he's makin' money in other
parts. But you bet when it's rainin' lots]
an' his land's lot rich for hay, he's alwus
back on time.
No sky farmin* in mine. I don't han-
ker, somehow, to kill six months with thisj
here neck of mine twisted up like lookiri'
at a sky what don't alwus look to suit.
This littl' gal what Jim gets stuck on
was a sky farmer's gal, an' 'cordin' to
Jim, was purty as a colt's what curried.
I'm no judge, so I says nothin' 'bout her.
looks an' so forth, but when Jim took toj
ridin' down to the valley to see her every
day or so, I gets some anxus an' sorter
hint around makin' 'quires. I didn't han-
ker to help feed a gal as well as Jim
that's what it means for me if Jim takes
to double harness, 'cause Jim can't feed
himself, let alone a gal, even if she ain't
no more'n a sky farmer's gal an' used to
nothin'.
"Jim," says I one day, "what's that
gal's name an' where's her ole man's
shack?"
Jim's freckles turns sorter red, an' he
gets interested in his boots, lookin' at 'em
like he's never seen them afore. "Who?"
he says, some foolish.
I tells him what I thinks of him then,
an' him bein' some rattled, he tells all
about her, what her name was, an' where
she lived, an' how they loved each other.
"Rot !" says I, but sorter to myself, not
so's to hurt Jim's feelin's, 'cause Jim's
sensitive like, an' can't stand much hard
talk, specul 'bout his love affairs. Jim
had a lot of them afore this sky farmer's
gal come along, but none never took o
bad what he couldn't eat his three square
meals a day.
"Bill," he says after a while, an' sorter
snuffles, "could you let me wear your best
close to-morrer, an' might you put a
twenty in the pockut ? I'm broke, honu.st,
I am, an ? kin 1 take your horse an' saddle
an' bridle? There's a friend I know
what's hankei-in' for a ride on a good cay-
THE KED-HEADED TWINS OF DOS PALOS.
165
use for a spell back, an' this here friend
won't harm nothin' 'cause this here friend
rides like a full-fledged bronco buster
what served time at the busnus."
Jim kept a-goin' righ.t on but I couldn't
stand for any more just then, an' says
"yes v to everything. I never could go
them snuffles o' Jim's.
"What time'll you be wantin' them?"
F asks, after sayin' "yep."
"'Bout two, an' if " He snuffles
agin.
I stampeded, an' didn't hear, not to
this day, what else he was thinkin' I
wouldn't be needin' an' he would be want-
ing pretty bad.
Sun up the next day, Jim gives me a
hand breakin', a two-year-old what I
means to keep handy while Jim was a
borrerin' of my best outfit. About one
erclock Jim, bein' down by the crick tak-
in' a wash up, I jogs off down the road
sorter intendin' givin' the colt some ex-
ercise like, an' off-hand to visut the sky-
farmer's gal an' tell her how Jim stood
'cordin' to finances. I alwus hates to
see people cheated, cards or matreemony
specul like.
If Jim had a tole me how that there
gal of his couldn't talk no lingo but Por-
tugee-Mex, atween us we'd a saved a pile
of trouble, but Jim didn't, an' me never
mixin' much with forreners, can't talk
nothin' but good Unitud States.
I lopes up to the shack pretty fine, an'
out she comes, jabberin' away an' smilin'
an' blowin' me kisses, like I could savey.
She was tickled to death to see me, but
didn't listun to nothin' I was tellin' her
Tsout Jim just kept a talkin' an' smilin'
an' blowin' kisses. By-un-bye she runs
in, an' then backs out agin with a big
bundle under her arm M r hat she takes sud-
like an' throws at me, an' me like a ninny,
thinkin' 'it was for Jim, ties it on front
my saddle, mighty secure.
I tells her a lot more 'bout Jim, just
to sorter relieve my mind, but she don't
lisun to nothin', but climbs right up aback
on me on that colt an' there she sits grip-
pin' me by the ribs with her hooks an'
grippin' the colt by the ' ribs with her
hoofs, never asayin' a word agin that colt
what's buckin' like blazes an' tearin'
round that yard like a bee stung him.
"Slide !" 1 yells, me only ridin' with a
hackamore an' her there ahind me hoo-
dooin' things an' givin' that colt, what
thinks a lot of himself, a mighty big
chance to think a lot more. Well, that
gal stuck to me like a fly sticks to fly
paper, an' I just natshul like stuck to
that fool colt, what gets so durned stuck-
up that he quit the yard. He took us
down the road for home, goin' like he
owed somebody money back there at the
shack. We dusted moren't a mile of that
road, when I sees comin' along at a nice
friendly trot, leadin' my horse an' best
saddle an' bridle ahind him, my brother
Jim, all slick an' shiny in my new close.
The gal, bein' pretty snug aback of me,
sees nothin'.
Mv intentung bein' good to middlin', I
means to say "Hullo !" when we gets
close to Jim, but that durned colt, takin'
one sad, disgusted look at Jim in my
close, turns offer the road an' after jump-
in' mighty high over a crick an' a barbod
wire fence, takes a short cut for home,
leavin' the ffal in the crick an' me atop of
the barbed wire fence.
^^ _-J -^~r^?^Ziz^
JIM/
166
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
"You grass-eyed, lobster-jawed, turkey-
egg-faced, green-eyed jealus thief," yells
Jim, comin' close as he could, furst look-
in' at me an' then at the gal, what was in
the crick up-side down. "You stole my
gal, you did ! You forced me to take your
close an' your other things to throw me
off the track, you did. You wanted to
alope, you did just to cheat me out of
matreemony to-day." Jim -snuffles when
self from that there fence. The gal by
this time gets right side up, but can't see
nothin' cause her eyes is full of mud, just
chuck full, an' she can't say nothin' 'cause
her mouth is chuck full of mud, too.
^ By-an'-bye, Jim gets wind agin .an' be-
gins to say some more 'bout my looks an'
ways, an' so forth, an' by then that gal
has her eyes some clear of mud, an' looks
at Jim sittin' there all slick an' shiny on
YOU GRASS-EYED
he thinks of what I done, an' snuffles agin
when he looks at his gal in the crick.
"You be a nice brother, cheatin' my gal.
You told her you was a millunare, you
did." Jim stops for want of wind, an' ,
me still bein' a-straddle that barbed wire
fence what ain't none too pleasunt, I says
nothin', but keeps right on undoin' my-
JEALDS THIEF; YELLS JIM.
his horse. "Jeem," she says, in a voice
sad like an' some muddy, an' then round
she turns an' spots me, who don't look
none slick or shiny, my hat bein' some
half mile back an' my "chaps" bein' some
friendly with that barbed wire fence
"Jeem," she yells, spittin' out more mud.
"Jeem, Jeem, J-e-e-m!" An' then she
THE EED-HEADED TWINS OF DOS PALOS.
167
gits outer that crick an' takin' one good-
day peep at Jim an' anuther at me, she
starts down that there road, runnin' like
she seen spooks an' yellin' like the spooks
was after her.
Jim was some surprised when he sees
her lunnin' oft' like that, but me atop of
that fence was none inturested.
"Now Marietta's mad," snuffles Jim,
lookin' at me like I done him dirt on pur-
pus.
"Mad, is she?" I says, some angry.
"She ain't got no reesun for to be mad.
If there's anybudy round here what's got
a right to be that, why, that persun's me.
Ain't it bad enuff to be taken for a fool,
like you without bein' left a straddle of
this here fence, tied up wit hit like a
yearlin' what never seen it afore? You
shut your mouth till I'm off this here
fence, 'cause if you don't I'll shut it for
you when I get off."
That there speel shuts Jim's mouth
pretty quick, an' then leavin' my horse
there in the road for 'me, he rides off home
snufflin' like he was sorry he lost that
little gal.
It took more'n two days to catch that
colt, what was runnin' round pretty fresh,
a-carryin' that bundle with him, what be-
longs to the sky farmer's gal, not countin'
my saddle an' hackamore.
Jim an' me decided we hankered none
to give that gal her bundle, seem' as that
fool gal thinks Jim a double spook, so
Jim an' me not able .none to use what's
in that there bundle, makes a furst-rate
scarecrow outer it. We ain't seen a crow
round the place sence; asides it scared a
coyote most to death one night. Mr. Coy-
ote comes round soft-like in the moon-
light an' sees that there scarecrow blowin'
in the breeze. That Mr. Coyote's seen
scare-crows a-plenty afore, but not with
women's frilly trappin's a-wavin' in the
breeze. The old feller gives one mighty
scared yell, an' runs home an' we ain't
seen much of him sence, you bet.
. Jim snuffles some for a week, but cheers
up sudden-like when I sends him for a
time to Firebaugh, lettin' him wear my
new close an' doublin' that twenty in the
pockut. It alwus costs money to make
Jim quit that there snufflin', but it's lota
worth it to me, what hates snufflin' worse
'n rattlers, an' 'sides that, Jim forgets
'bout matreemony for a spell, an' that's
worth a heap to me, too.
By Raymond Bartlett.
DRAWINGS BY CLYDE COOKE.
The white foam gathers 'round the prow,
And the salt winds flying free;
Yet what care we for the depth below,
And the turmoil of the sea.
Men's lives on land grow double,
Eeplete with care and trouble,
Ho, then, for the swing of the sea.
We scorn the shore and the breakers' roar,
And we fear the harbor mouth;
With sloping masts o'er the ocean's floor,
We tack and veer to the south.
With the brisk salt breeze before us,
And the sea-bird sweeping o'er us,
We're the gipsies of the sea.
In the teeth of the gale, we laugh at the hail,
And the whitecaps seething under ;
When the lashing swells beat o'er the rail,
And the smoking seas asunder.
With dipping prow we labor,
We beat round cape and harbor,
We're the children of the storm.
We hear the bells o'er the rising swells,
And we see the lighthouse gleam;
We skirt the caves where the foam maids dwell,
And the idle mermen dream.
For wealth and names we care not,
A monarch's crown we'd wear not,
We count ourselves as free.
O'er reef and woe, with never a blow,
In howling wind and weather,
'Neath tropic vine, through frigid snow,
Our hearts beat one together.
On land they count to-morrow,
Its pleasure and its sorrow,
We count and live to-day.
H**. M>
^ .'.* ^
^^iSfi^jfo^
. . ^> ^E^5&O^"l^^i^_ J ^' TiT~* .*-
IN DEL GADDO PLACE
BY EDITH KESSLER
ILLUSTRATED BY CLYDE COOKE
WAS a narrow, ir-
regular, cobble-paved
street. No, it did not
attain the dignity of a
street, for "no thor-
oughfare" was pro-
claimed by a squalid
rookery set squarely
across its width. It was steep with the
grass-grown steepness of some San Fran-
cisco streets, and obscure in that it was
not exactly down town, and still not out
of its reaching clutches. Jutting flags
and treacherous cobbles marked its for-
bidding way; a shrinking, tortuous way,
that yet had no shame in the flaunting
dinginess and squalor of its unpainted,
weather-beaten houses; climbing, scram-
bling one above another rudely shoving
those below, leaning upon those above.
Del Gaddo Place is a habitat of Italians,
not of the very poorest variety. These
dwellers rather scorn the common day-
laborer. They are artisans of various
sorts, skilled workers or helpers; makers
of images, proprietors of small shops;
flower-vendors, and all are musicians by
right of birth. For more than a few it is
a profession, and among these was Carlo.
Carlo was a boy of sixteen, sullen and
stooped with weary years of enforced prac-
tice. The hours upon hours he had stood,
dully, endlessly reiterating difficult pas-
sages, while without his comrades shouted
and played, these were things he remem-
bered, and would not think of. For his
father was a musician, a composer, and it
was his vow his son should be a great
man a maestro of the violin. Ther
were rankling memories of a former time
in another land that bit into his present
poverty as a corroding acid. His son
to be his salvation, the magic hand which
was to make bright a distant, long-intend-
ed future. This little unctuous oily max
cared nothing for his daughters. "Let
them go/' he said. And they were gc
ing.
Lotta, handsome and twenty, was mak-
ing the parental roof one of her transient
visits. She and Carlo were alone in the
room. The old man had gone out on hei
entrance. He was always uncomfortable
when with her, and she frankly loath oc
him.
"Carlo, why don't you cut the whole
thing and get out?" She was American-
born, and her accent was scarcely notice
able. The morning was warm and bright,
with the hazy, heavy brightness of a Sai
Francisco clear day. She sat by the opei
window,- and leaned her chin moodily upoi
her upturned palm. Her clear olive fac
was hard, the eyes veiled in a smoldering
resentment. Lines were already about
them, and unnecessary traces of paint
showed garishly in the morning light. Ths
two were very plainly brother and sister,
but in the boy's big black eyes were added
an acute sensitiveness that had utterly
disappeared from his sister's.
"If I left him, I'd smash the violin into
a thousand pieces. It's fierce it's a night-
mare. You do not know."
She laughed derisively.
"Don't know ! Smash it ; smash it over
DEL GAD DO PLACE.
171
his head. Come to me. I've got some
good friends. They'll get you something
to do, for me."
"How do yon like the place where you.
are working now?" He looked up with
a fond affection.
"On, all right," she answered hastily.
"And, Pippa, could you take her till I
got started? 1 can't leave her here. She
is the plague of the block now when I am
practicing." A worried frown gathered
over his eyes.
"Oh, no !" she ejaculated hurriedly.
"Pippa'd have to stay here. There
wouldn't be any place for her."
He sighed.
"Well, I can't go yet, then. Besides,
this is the only thing I can earn money
with now, and he gets all he can squeeze
out of me. Beppo don't tell him all he
gives me. If he should "
She shrugged her shoulders.
''You're a big boy now. You can take
care of yourself."
"Yes." He glanced over his shoulder.
"But Pippa
"Does he do that, then?" She scowled,
and an ugly temper showed in her eyes.
"Well, if he does again, you let me know.
I'll Poor Pippa !" Her wrath went
out in a sudden dejection. She shook her
shoulders as if to shake off all unpleasant-
ness. "Well, you'll come to it. I'll see
what I can do." She rose and bent over
him. kissing his forehead. The eyes of
both were wet. She readjusted the fur
about her neck, straightened her white
chiffon hat, and crossed the room with a
rustle of silken skirts whose frayed edges
were soiled with much contact with tke
street.
On her way out she passed Pippa swing-
ing on the sagging gate. The slender, elf-
like child looked up with awe and stretched
one thin hand timidly toward the rustling
finery. The older girl stopped.
"Want to smooth the kitty, honey? See
the pretty, long fur." The little hand
buried itself in the soft mass.
"It'.? nice," she ventured, gravely. Lotta
laid i hand caressingly on either cheek,
and turned the little face up to hers. She
said earnestly:
"You must be good, very good, Pippa,
and do exactly as Carlo tells you, always;
and some day I'll bring you a kitty like
t'hi>. all for you 11 own."
"Yes, 1 will," she answered solemnly.
"I won't tear Carlo's music, or scare old
Rossi's monkey, or make his parrot squawk
or push little Pietro into the gutter when
it rains, 'cause he's a cry-baby or anything
again ever !"
Lotta laughed and sighed again, pick-
ing her way down the precipitous street,
and the child's eyes followed her with a
look of holy ecstasy. A vision, a dream
transcending the possible, had stooped to
her.
That same afternoon, old Garcia entered
the room where his son was practicing.
There was a peculiar narrowed look about
his eyes, and he smiled softly as he rubbed
his hands tentatively together. He was
quite a little man, and he moved noiseless-
ly, his heavy fat chin thrust rather up-
ward, his gray brows always slightly lifted
as though to clear his eyesight. An un-
pleasant person at best, this afternoon
even accustomed Carlo shrank inwardly
at the almost caressing tone of his smooth,
purring Italian. He sat down quite close
to the rickety music stand before which
Carlo stood, and for a moment drew
thoughtful marks in the dust of the win-
dow sill with his finger. Suddenly he
looked up.
"Your sister, the little Pippa where .'s
she?"
This, although both could hear her
crooning over house-wifely mud pies in
the little yard outside. Carlo shrugged
his shoiilders and said nothing. The voice
flowed on, smooth, hideously pleasant.
"She is becoming a torment to all Del
Gaddo Place, is it not so? Certain com-
plaint? from Signora Mata have grieved
me."
A picture of fat, dull Signora Mata
came before Carlo. She was a great friend
of his father's, and none of his. He grew
perplexed and apprehensive.
"Ah, yes, my Carlo, another little
thing. I had almost forgotten. The
wages the good Beppo gives you, far be-
yond your deserts, but a help to our pres-
ent needs. So you bring them all home
always my Carlo?"
Now Carlo knew. His face grew sul-
len and stolid. His quick fingers ran in-
terminably up and down liquidly flowing
scales. His shoulder was toward his
father.
"Silent one," the voice grew plaintive,
172
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
"is it not unjust to me who loves you, to
deceive so one who is to make you great
and happy, as I shall.'' He paused and
smiled softly again. "Carlo, Beppo is a
good friend, but over the red wine many
things come forth. It is many dollars,
you foolish and spendthrift boy, you have
with-held. And Pippa eats so much
Pippa who is also so ungrateful; and
whom it grieves me so to punish."
Monotonous arpeggios accompanied this
monologue, nor ceased at its ending. The
nervous fingers flew, for it was this oc-
cupation kept them from things more to
be regretted.
"It was much money for so young a
boy, my son. Some is perhaps spent.
If but twenty-five dollars remain, we will
forget the mistake. It was wrong to me,
but I am a good father, not brutal as some
are, and 1 will forgive. Also, I will col-
lect the wage from Beppo now."
Carlo half turned.
"Beppo lied. I have no money."
"Yes ? Ah, Carlo, believe me, it is wise
to have the money. Pippa is such a bad
child! I cannot have so much trouble."
He had risen, and laid one hand on Carlo's
arm.
"It was a lie. Of course you don't be-
lieve. I cannot help it." The boy
shrugged his shoulders again, turning
away and bending his drooping head over
the notes, that his father might not see
his eyes.
"It is a pity not to remember you have
the money. And Pippa also such a bad
child, who grieves me so that I must pun-
ish her."
He crossed the room with a shuffling
tread, pausing at the door.
"You perhaps may remember now?"
A stubborn silence filled the room. He
sighed as he turned away. "And Pippa
such a bad child, too !"
Carlo heard, with set teeth, the slam of
the outside door, the sudden ceasing of
Pinna's crooning song, the bewildered pro-
test, the angry, frightened cries as th-i
two came down the empty ringing hall,
a steady shuffling tread, and scrambling,
dragging footfalls.
He ground his teeth, and played high,
fierce airs to drown the dismal wails. Ami
long after these had sobbed themselves to
a final silence, he played, white faced and
tense, for he knew his father, and he was
facing a new future. He did not hear the
sounds he brought forth. It was a me-
chanical performance, the visible sign to
his father that he did not care. An iota
of relenting, one quailing move, would re-
double his malignance, and put both him-
self and Pippa in much worse case. For
both of them it was to be gone through
with, and he emerged, old, bitter, pur-
poseful. Something had been killed in
him, and something born. The last of the
boy had gone; the boy with a sense of
duty, with a latent desire for affection.
The germ of the man who hunts and ">B
hunted, the man in the thick of the strug-
gle for existence, had been implanted. His
father was no longer a father, one of
the family clan ; he was one of the enemy ;
one of the hounding, harassing, threaten-
ing powers, to be thwarted, circumvented,
taken by the throat.
Pippa was very happy. With the buoy-
ancv of childhood, she was living in the
jov of the present moment. The prospect
of a rare treat was before her. She was
going down town with Carlo.
She skipped by his side down the steep
streets, her long black eyes dancing, her
two little braids bobbing up and down
with her ecstasy. It was difficult for her
to keep with Carlo's sober trudge, and her
continuous conversation bristled with ex-
clamation points.
The slow grey twilight was fading into
the many-lighted dark. Electric signs,
red, yellow and white, flared across the
sidewalk below them; scattering windows
hung brilliant squares in the dimness
above. Dark figures hurried or slouched
in and out, back and forth through the
halos of shop windows. Pippa clutched
her brother's hand ecstatically, as they
passed open shops, from which issued the
much-tried voice of a phonograph min-
gling with the stentorian tones of an at-
tendant hawker. Her eyes opened wide
at the fragrant florists' windows, and grew
round as they passed gorgeous bare-headed
Chinawomen.
They turned down many streets, they
skirted Chinatown; in a district where
the men were mostly dark and foreign-
looking, they paused. In this quarter the
streets were illy-lit and furtive, and their
dinginess is hidden by obscuring shadows.
Their population was scattering, and
THE MAN FELL WITHOUT A GROAN.
174
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
empty vistas yawned between blank frown-
ing walls, whose dull spaces were lit by
occasional gleaming slits, which only ac-
centuate the forbidding aspect. It was all
in striking contrast to the busy thorough-
fares and teeming Chinese quarter from
which they had just emerged, and Pippa
was glad when they Caused before the
streaming lights of the low, red-curtained
windows, and descended the shallow flight
of stone steps that marked the entrance.
Here was life in plenty; a garrulous
cigarette smoking, gesticulating life. The
upper air under the low brown rafters was
hazy with floating blue vapor, the saw-
dust sprinkled floor bore imprint of many
passing feet. About the oil-cloth covered
tables it was trampled and shoved into
billowy heaps, and stained with the lees
of wine. Deft, white-aproned waiters
passed about, and from group to group
sauntered a taciturn man, slender in build,
and rather taller than his fellows. On
occasions, as he paused, a slow smile
would lift his pointed mustaches. As he
caught sight of Carlo making his way
across the room this smile faded, and a
conscious, almost shame-faced expression
took its place. He started vaguely toward
the boy, then leaning back against a pil-
lar, he folded his arms and waited.
He had not to wait long. Carlo deposit-
ed his violin box upon the floor of the
raised stand, which was his nightly post.
Then he lifted the half-timid, half-smiling
Pippa to the wooden chair upon it, and
turning, came straight down to the man.
"Beppo, after to-night I quit."
The man started.
"Quit ! Oh, come now "
"I quit !"
He turned on his heel, and the man
watched him as he carefully tuned his in-
strument, rubbed a lump of resin the
length of his bow, and swung abruptly into
a popular waltz. The man whistled softly
between his teeth, and his eyes grew
speculative.
Pippa pulled at Carlo's coat, and as he
turned, pointed to the door with a bright-
eyed anticipation. Two girls and a man
were just coming in. One girl was a little
in advance of her companions, standing
straight and handsome, as she swept the
room with a brilliant roving glance. The
magnetism of her full-blooded personality
drew the eyes of the occupants to her,
and among them the man leaning: again*
the pillar. She evidently saw what si
sought, and more, for a half-startled loc
came into her eyes, as they dropped froi
Carlo's to the bright, eager little orbs
side him. She turned to the other gii
an admirable foil of over-dressed insignifi-
cance, and after a whispered word and a
nod they made their way to a table near
the musician. Before seating herself, the
girl walked over to Carlo, saying in a low
voice :
"So you've done it?"
He nodded, and in his eyes was an odd
reflection of the timid eagerness in Pip-
pa's by his side.
"Well, I'm going to do the best I can.
I don't know, though." Her tone was
dubious, and her worried face a contrast
to the gay, ultra-mode of her attire aud
artificially radiant cheeks. It changed
quickly, and its hardened vivacity came
back like a mask.
"We'll pull it otf together, though. It's
up to me now."
She went slowly back to the table, and
as she was seating herself her heavy eyes
met the interested ones of the man by
the pillar. A smoldering flash lit them
for a moment before they were lowered.
Her friends were having a gay time over
the menu, and she joined them with zest.
She ignored the man who was watching
her. The feast was set before them,
strange concoctions redolent of garlic,
spaghetti, ravioli, anchovies, and a couple
of bottles of vin ordinaire "Dago Red."
The man left the pillar and sat down at
a vacant table near by. Two, three times
the girl glanced sidewise at him, a slow,
lingering oiance over the red-brimming
edge of her glass. The man's mustaches
lifted ever so slightly, and then the party
became four. Waiters were obsequious,
the "Dago Red" was changed to Chianti,
laughter flowed with the wine, and eyes
sparkled with both.
But a good time alwavs comes to an
end. Finally, two of the party rose, and
with many adieus the party became two
parties. Lotta and the man called Beppo,
the thrifty proprietor of the restaurant,
'became very quiet. They talked in low
tones and without gestures. His eye-
brows rose as she talked, and he was seri-
ous.
"Yes, I can do it," he said, "but-
IN DEL GADDO PLACE.
176
He smiled, a slow smile that lifted his
mustache, and he looked at her across the
table.
She leaned back and said nothing.
"Yes, 1 can do it," he repeated, delib-
erately, "but " This time he did not
smile as he looked steadily at her.
Then she awoke in a torrent of low
Italian. Scorn lighted her eyes. He
shrugged his shoulders. Then he an-
swered with a few slow words. She
broke into English.
"Friend there's no such thing as
friend in this world!" She threw back
her head, and the hardness in her eyes
was painful. "So this was your friend-
ship, after all."
She fell silent, and her eyes rested upon
the waiting, dependent, trusting brother
and sister. The gloom in her face inten-
sified.' The man also was silent. She
rose slowly from the table, her eyes still
upon the patient, huddled little form of
lier half-asleep sister.
"Well?" said the man, as he held out
Iris hand. Her eyes did not leave the
child, but with a twisted smile she laid
her hand in his. Then she went to the
little group, and he did not follow her.
"Come, Pippa, sister will take care of
you now."
The little girl scrambled off the chair
in haste, broad awake and apprehensive
on the instant.
"Carlo, it's all right now I guess."
She nodded to him, and led Pippa
away, abruptly.
As the two disappeared through the
open doorway, the voice of the violin
rose in a joyous burst of melody.
Beppo beamed on his customers, wan-
dering from one table to another, and
as the hour grew late, finally settled with
some cronies at a side table. Wines of
yellow and red flowed freely, and as Carlo
at peace with the world approached
to settle with his employer, he smiled in
sympathy with their revelry. He stood
just behind Beppo, as with unsteady hand
the man lifted his glass. The thick words
of his toast brought a quick, checked
hilariH to the, lips of his fellows. In
the sudden silence the blue-white arc
light above their heads sizzed with a spas-
modic splutter. A gleam of steel flashed
in its glare, and a boy's unsteady voice
broke shrilly:
"Devil of "a liar!"
The man fell without a groan. The
boy stood back, looking down at him. On
the floor, a red widening blot that was
not wine, spread into the sawdust.
BY ARTHUR H. BUTTON
IGHT at our doors, it
may be said, is a re-
gion, not difficult of
access, which is a
paradise to artist and
athlete, to fisherman,
sportsman, tourist, to
every lover of the
beautiful and the grand, to every one in-
terested in man and nature. A part,
but only a small part, of this region is
known, and this small part is fast losing
its noveltv, the greater and more attrac-
tive part being as yet nearly virgin to the
sightseer and traveler of the white race.
The region is in Southeastern Alaska.
This general region has been much writ-
ten about, but principally from the stand-
point of those who have skimmed over the
beaten paths of the Southeastern Alaska
travelers; those who go over the usual
route, which, while undoubtedly one o*
the most attractive anywhere, is surpassed
by neighboring districts.
It was my good fortune to spend a
summer recently as an officer on the little
steamer Gedney, belonging to the United
States Coast and Geodetic Survey, which
had been detailed to explore and survey
Chatham and Sumner straits, Christian
sound and neighboring waters about
Kuiu, Baranoff and adjacent islands.
Here I saw sights and had experiences and
pleasures that I little anticipated. We
had enioved the trip up, over the route
ordinarily followed by the steamers which
make the so-called inside passage to Alas-
kan ports, but we did not meet with the
gems until after leaving the beaten pat
It is a land of primeval forest and me-
dieval man. Here the degenerate Siwash
is not so far civilized as to be the hope-
less individual he is in such tourist-ridden
places as Ketchikan, Killisnoo, Sitka, Ju-
neau and other towns. On Kuiu island
he still has some relics of the ancients of
his race. He is certainly not content to
while away his life in idleness, varied only
with drunken potlatches. On the contrary,
he still resents the coming of the white
man, whom he will slay if he can catch
him unawares and without fear of ap-
prehension. He still lives on fish and
game, and still wears many garments of
ancient design and manufacture. The
forests are as grand as the snow-capped,
rugged mountains that over-tower them.
One may walk, or rather climb, over them
for hours, their silent majesty impressing
one with the grandeur of nature when
left alone by man.
The most striking feature of this beau-
tiful region is the closeness with which
varieties of scenery are assembled. First
there is the deep strait, on either side of
which are islands, most of them spined
with tall, white-tipped mountains. The
shores are indented with beautiful bays
and coves, whose mere existence is not
suspected until their entrances are
reached. It is these that the average tour-
ist misses. It was our duty to find them
and tc explore and survey them. We en-
tered many. Some are wide, dotted with
islets. Others a.'e little lagoons, innocent
of ail life except fish and game, even the
THE LAND OF AKT, SPORT AND PLEASURE.
[ndians seldom visiting them. In the
larger ones there are occasional camps of
Indian fishermen and hunters during an
entire summer we found not half a dozen
traces of the rare white prospectors who
have visited the region.
Streams pour into these bays and la-
goons, deer and bear wander along their
shores, the latter sweeping up fish by
the handful. We entered a harbor once
it i<= now called Patterson bay where
we saw two families of bear, one a pair
of big brown bear, the other two parent
black bear, with three cubs. The two
groups were some distance apart, and
failed to discover our approach until we
rounded a bend and saw them, the sound
of our boat being drowned by the roar
of a magnificent cataract. These cata-
racts are among the most beautiful fea-
tures of the place. They are to be found
everv few miles, coming from mountain
streams of more or less size, which are
but the overflows, in most cases, of beau-
tiful fresh-water lakes, which are plentiful
in the higher plateaus and valleys farther
inland.
The landscape artist can find ample
field for his art in this wild and inspir-
ing country. Its aspect, both general and
detailed, impresses even the prosaic lay-
man. The poet may be carried away in
rapid flights in its contemplation. As a
health .resort, the islands on both sides
of Chatham and Sumner straits and
Christian sound are magnificent. A sum-
mer lodge or shooting box, built of the
heavy, enduring timber that abounds, it*
masonry of the varied rocks or the fine
marble which may be found in profusion
and easily quarried, could be located in
few places so beautiful. Sheltered from
bad weather, surrounded by the fairest
prospect in good, they would be even at-
tractive winter houses, for the climate of
South-eastern Alaska is no more rigorous
than that of Massachusetts or England.
It is cooler than either in summer, and
no colder in winter.
The harbors, coves and bays are simply
alive with fish of great variety. Cod, sal-
mon, halibut and many other food fishes
are present in vast numbers. When the
Gedney would anchor in one of these
lovely harbors, the fish-lines would go
overboard as soon as her "mud-hook" wa?
down. The fish would fall over themselves
getting caught and hauled aboard, to be
eaten at our next meal. In the streams
and the interior lakes there is an abund-
ance of gamey trout.
Bear, deer, plover, grouse, ptarmagar,
ducks, geese and swans are but some of
the game animals and birds to be fovnd
with little difficulty., although the black
bear are timid, and the deer, partly owing
to the Indians, are rather warv. and pa-
tience and skill must be practiced to get
near enough for a shot, except in some
of the little outside islands, such as Coro-
nation Island, where they have not been
much disturbed by any one and may be
driven and cornered, owing to the steep
hills and crags characteristic of the
island.
I can imagine no better way for heal-
thy men and women, lovers of the grand
and of the beautiful, fond of sport and
an out-of-door life, to sr>end a few months
years, I should personally say than
to make headouarters in a sturdily-built
lodge in some of the coves and bays
which line the islands named, and thence
to sally forth on trips into the surround-
ing neighborhood after game and sport
and exercise. The parties should go
armed at all times, tor there are not only
wild animals that might, in a pinch, be
uglv, but there are still Indians in some
places who do not look kindly upon the
white man's invasion. But they are ...10
more dangerous than the perils of the
mountains and the plains of. other more
familiar parts of the country, and add
the spice of danger which makes the whole
experience more enjoyable. The timid may
stay nearer their base, with ready refuge
in the house, for the animals and the
Indians never approach too near to the
white man's settlement.
I may suggest a few of many spots
where such a lodge might be built easily
and favorable. Such are Tebenkof bay,
Patterson bay, Port Malmesbury, Port
Conclusion, Egg Harbor, Port Armstrong.
Gedney Harbor and Port MJcArthur. Were
more known about these wonderful re-
sorts, I am sure that they would not long
be left to Indians, a few surveyors and an
occasional nrospector.
THE REVENGE
OF THE I
BLUE HORDE
BY CLARENCE HAWKES
ILLUSTRATED BY W. R. DAVEN T PORT.
HE WARM SOUTH
wind is dancr g a ""
down the aisles oi '
forest. He has b ..
so long exiled from
his 'beloved fields and
woods of New. Eng-
land that he is mak-
ing up for all he has lost in the winter
months that have passed. His 'boisterous
cousin, the North wind, has had it all
his own way too long. It is time he was
taught his place, so the South wind is
pushing him rapidly back towards the
poles, and he is so glad that his hour has
come again that he whistles a merry tune
upon his pipe as he goes.
How sweet the woods are now he has
passed. He was fresh from a race
through the orchard and had filled his
wings with crab-apple scent and scattered
it lavishly through the woods. The wild
azalia, too, he has gentlv swayed in pass-
ing 1 . He has brought a whiff of arbutus
and wild cherry., and the pugent, whole-
some smell of balsam and pine needles
quickened into fragrance by the warm
May sunlight.
What an important air the South wind
has to-dav. as he dances through the for-
est, blowing lustily upon his flageolet.
You would really think he owned the
whole universe.
What a thrill of life is stirring to-day
in the half-grown leaves and the bursting
buds, in the groping fronds and the ger-
minating seeds.
Now the South wind has passed, the
forest is as still as though enchanted.
Not a leaf rustles, not a breath is stirring.
Hark, what is that? A song in the top of
a spruce, low-keyed and liquid. A won-
derful love dittv, now it is repeated softer
jre exquisitely than before. What
oird in all the forest sings like that? It
is not an oriole or thrush, but quite as
sweet as either. Then a bough bends, and
a wonderful blue coat flashes in the sun-
light, and the most strident, querulous,
rasping voice in the forest cries: "Jay,
Jay, Say, Say. Didn't know I could sing
like that, did you? Well, I can when I
am a mind to, but I won't for you. Jay,
Jay, Jay!"
He flashes out of the ' tree and across
the fields, and is gone. A veritable blue-
coat, but altogether a noisy, quarrelsome
fellow, the spy of the woods, always
squawking and calling when you want
listen, and many times drowning t
sweet son^s of other birds with his hide-
ous squawking. A gay Barmen"' " ico^
all show and bright feathers, but at
heart a saucy, shallow fellow.
The song we heard this morning was
the jay's spring love song. His one musi-
cal attempt, that only his mate on the
nest with the warm eggs under her can
inspire. You did not suspect him of such
sentiment. Neither did I until J heard
him with my own ears.
But when you stop to think of it, that
miracle going on in the top of the spruce
is enough to make a crow or any living
thing that has warm blood in its veins
sing.
But there was one menace that May
morning to the feathered folks of the
woods. It was a silent, stealthy, gliding
danger that was always with them. No
matter how fresh and green or inviting a
grassy plot or a bunch of brakes might
THE REVENGE OF THE BLUE HORDE.
179
look, this stealthy, creeping danger might
oe coiled in the sweet green depths.
There was a peculiar enmity between
this subtle something and the jay family,
for the jays were the spies of the woods.
Many a bird's plumage had been saved
b ir the strident squawl of the jay. When-
ever any of these gay-liveried, saucy spies
saw the black snake creeping upon its
prey, or lying in ambush along some
favorite path, or coiled in the trees, the
jay would at once set up a great squawk-
ing, and alarm the whole forest for a
quarter of a mile about. Then birds and
squirrels would be upon their guard, and
perhaps the black evil would go hungry,
thanks to the jay's vigilance. So there
was a particular hatred between the jay
family and the black snake, who made the
i swamp above the old mill pond an
meant a snake. Then a slim head, blacker
even than his own, was lifted high above
the grass, and two eyes glittering and ter-
rible, burnino- with hatred and glowing
with malice, were riveted upon the water
snake.
But what cared he was he not the ter-
ror of the mill pond? Who was this
stranger that dared to invade his king-
dom, defy 'him and even appear con-
temptuous of his sway? So he made one
or two extra coils in his long, powerful
form, and glared back at his enemy, dart-
ing out his tongue with lightning rapidity
and returning hate for hate with stead v.
glowing eyes.
The black snake lifted his head still
higher above the grass and came on, cir-
ol ; "? alout his rival and seeking to taice
off his guard, but the water snaka
.
The same morning that the black snake
left his headquarters in the swamp and
went on a journey, a huge, dark water
snake crawled out on the bank and took
a nap in the warm May sunshine. He
was larger even than the black snake of
the swamp, and this morning he felt
quite contented with the world in general
and his own lot in particular, for he had
dined the morning before upon a half-
grown musk-rat.
Up, up, from the swale the black snake
came creeping, and the young grass wrig-
gled at his coming, while the terror of
the mill pond slept upon the muddy bank.
Finally the sleeping water snake awoke,
raised his head and looked cautiously
about. Something was coming his wav.
There was a tremor in the grass, and this
ward his tail. Then with a lightning
motion, the black snake wound his own
tail about a small elm that stood upon
the bank. With a convulsive contortion
he raised his own uglv form in the air.
and with it that of the water snake. Like
a long, 'black rope the double length of
snake rose and fell, beating the earth,
but the third time the black rope made
a srraceful half-circle, then shot forward
with a lightning motion. With a report
like the crack of a whip, the head of the
water snake rolled into the pond, while
his body writhed and twisted in the grass.
Then the black snake unwound his coil
from the water elm and hatched the
dying contortions of his enemy.
When the wriggling of the water snake
had ceased and it was apparent that Le
180
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
was quite dead, his enemy gloated above
him and swelled with pride over his greit
victory. Then he swam the pond and
went into the woods beyond in search of
more foes to conquer.
It happened this same morning that a
partly fledged jay had fallen from the
nest. He was r.ot ready to fly, and his
parents were in a great dilemma. The
old snake heard their cries afar off, and
knew quite well that some one was in
trouble. Trouble for the birds at nesting
time usually meant plunder for him, so
he hastened in the direction from which
the squawking and cries of distress came.
~
and still another and another. The call
was answered from across the mill pond,
and from far and near the blue-coated
rogues came flying, calling as they came,
"Jay, jay, pay, pay, flay, flay!"
Tho outraged father led them hurried-
ly back to the spot where the deed hadj
been committed, and where the grievinj
mother still watched the greedy snake*
swallowing her fledgling. One would noji
have imagined there was as many jav.s
within ten miles as soon flocked above the
snake, all squawking with rage and
Each moment the cries grew louder, aJofl
soon the birds began darting viciously at
The poor victim squawked once or
twice, fluttered feebly, and was still; the
life had been crushed out of it by the
destroyer.
Both of the jay parents darted viciously
at the snake, but he paid little attention
to them, and began leisurely swallowing
his prize.
Then the male jay rose in the air high
above the tree tops, and flew rapidly away,
calling at the top of his strident voice
as he flew :
"Jay, jay, pay, pay, flay, flay !"
Another jay in a distant tree-top took
UD the cry and flung it far on into the
woods. Soon another was heard calling
""^5 ' *"* J *
over him and he slunk into the grass,
feeling actually afraid for the first time
in his life.
As long as he faced them and struck at
them, whenever they came too near, he
had been comparatively safe, but now
he had turned tail and was fleeing, it was
different.
At the moment he showed the white
feather, the whole angry horde fell upon
him like furies. A half dozen darted
down at once, picking at as many places
in his wriggling black coils. He turned
and struck, and his motions were so
quick that the eye could hardly follow
him. Two wounded jays fluttered down
STAGE OF THE WOODS.
181
into the underbrush, but what cared the
rest. The horde was aroused and noth-
ing but blood would atone for the mur-
der that the snake had done.
The black fury could not strike in a
dozen places at once, and some of them
were sure to wound him. Soon his skin
had been broken in many places, and he
was covered with blood, but none of his
great strength was gone. A half dozen
beaks tore at his tail, and he turned,
writhino- with pain, to strike at these tor-
mentors. At the same instant, a jay
struck him fairly in the right eye, and
that organ lay out on his cheek and was
useless. This was the beginning of the
end, but his end was terrible, as was his
desert. Never punishment fell from
heaven upon the guilty more swiftly or
surely. In a few seconds more his other
eye was gone, and he could only strike
blindly and thrash and writhe in convul-
sions of pain. Slowly and relentlessly
tlhey picked and tore at the writhing
mass. In five minutes after the battle be-
gan, the snake's skin was stripped to rib-
bons, his entrails dragged upon the
ground, and he was so torn and pecked
that his own mate would not have known
him. Thus was justice meted out, and
the black destroyer went the way that he
had sent so many helpless fledglings.
STAGE OF THE WOODS
LOUISE AYKES GAKN T ETT
I SIT unnoticed in a woodland spot
And touch my golden lyre.
Its notes are plaintive with a world of sighs,
Or bright with rhythmic fire;
I sing a song, a happy winged song,
That echoes my desire.
Ah, what a perfect stage ! no ears to hear
My voice lament, or troll,
Save those most friendly critics of the woods
The blossoms on the knoll,
The trees, the purling stream, the flying birds,
And my attentive soul.
A TRIP TO CUERNAVACA
BY MARY E. S^YDEB
ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS.
Mexico City, March, 1907.
Y DEAE FLO: In
this I am going to
tell you of my trip to
Cnernavaca, consid-
ered here one of the
most intere sting
places in this part of
the Eepublic.
We rise early and are away before the
business of the day begins. Half circling
Mexico City, we view historical Chapul-
tepec Castle, the summer home of Presi-
dent Diaz, from three sides, pass several
of the quaint suburban towns, then tra-
verse miles of maguey plantations. Let
me explain here that the maguey, a mem-
ber of the agava family, closely resembles
the century plant, and the juice extracted
from it is the pulque, an intoxicant drunk
by men, women and children of the lower
classes, much to their detriment.
The morning, like nearly all here, is
perfect, and soon spread before us in the
.bright sunshine is a panorama of the
whole Mexican basin, near the center of
which the spires of the metropolis glisten,
and forming a background for the spark-
ling waters of Lake Texcoco, are the snow
crested "Popo" and "The White Woman,"
as the qrand old peaks of Popocatepetl
and Ixtaccihautl are commonly called,
standing guard, as it were, over the coun-
try for miles in every direction. A little
later only a great bank of fleecy clouds
marks the location of these mountains.
ITp. up we toil until Cima (summit),
10,000 feet above sea level, is reached. As
our starting point is considerably more
than a mile up in the air (a little less
than 7,500 feet above sea level) slightly
more difficult respiration is the only effect
we feel from our elevated position.
We make short stops at Julia, Olivar,
Toro (bull), Tres Maria (three Marys),
and other places bearing such euphonious
appellations, which usually consist of a
box car for a depot and a few straw 01
adobe huts, as residences. The whole
population is at the train, one or more
heavily armed Rurales (country police)
pacing up and down, the Indian women
with offerings of fruit, ensalades (a mix-
ture of chopped vegetables, chile always
being one of the important ingredients,
wrapped in tortillas, turn-over style) and
other edibles, with "pulque," served in
little brown pottery pitchers, to drink.
These venders are well patronized by the
"Segunda Clase" passengers, as the Mexi-
can seems always hungry, at least he
never loses an opportunity ~ to eat. Many
of these articles of food have an appetiz-
ing appearance, but the women offering
them are so disgustingly dirty that for-
eigners have little inclination to buy any-
thing except fruit. At one station we se-
cure some of the most delicious strawber-
ries I have ever eaten.
Leaving Cima, we begin the descent,
and drop down something like five thou-
sand feet in twenty-five miles. We look
down upon the clouds, then pass through
them, and the view for most of the dis-
tance is very pretty. Away below us in
the valley we see Cuernavaca, first on one
side of the train, then on the other, as we
gradually approach over our tortuous
route.
At the station there is a scramble to se-
cure one of the antiquated looking "o
ches," which convey those who do not
care to patronize the mule trams to the
town.
I have heard much of the beauties of
this old Mexican town, but this is one
rare instance where reality surpasses an-
ticipation. All is so quiet, peaceful,
primitive and quaint, as we pass through
narrow, crooked streets, with low, tilod
roofed, adobe buildings on either side, the
colorings, which were no doubt harsh
when new, having been reduced by time to
such delicate blues, greens, creams and
terra-cottas, all blending to produce a
THE TRIP TO CUERNAVACA.
183
Lost mellow, harmonious effect. The set-
jiiiu seems so appropriate for the moving
Igurcs the men with the usual white cot-
lo'n suit, sandaled or bare feet, and im-
laense sombrero, eniding' a train of cli-
ininutive burros, which are nearly hidden
leneath great panniers, bales of hay, sacks
If charcoal, etc., or themselves balancing
|eavy loads on their heads; the women,
jometimes in the cheap cotton skirt, some-
jlimes in the more picturesque hand-made
}rool ones, consisting of one long strip
If cloth drawn straight across the back,
lath deep plaits laid in the front, and the
Iver present rebosa, which serves not only
Is a head and shoulder wrap, but also for
tarrying the baby or great bundles of
Merchandise, often both together. The
|eon women may not be the bread winners,
lut they certainly contribute their share
loward the family supply of tortillas.
I After much jolting over the cobble-
i|>aved streets, wielding of whip and utter-
Ing of the peculiar whistle employed by
native drivers, my sombreroed "cochero v
fleposits me at the hotel, where new sur-
prises await me. Following a broad cor-
ridor, I find myself in one of the most
ipeautiful patios I have ever seen, and that
s saying much there are so many beau-
ftiful ones in Mexico. Properly speaking.
Ihe corridor separates two patios, a foun-
lain almost hidden by flowers and foliage
relaying in each, diffusing myriads of dia-
monds in the sunshine. A part of the
Building was commenced in the time of
Cortes (about 1535), and happily the an-
itique feature? have been preserved. The
treat hand-hewn timbers and massive
masonry show few evidences of the spoils
Ipf time. Flowers are everywhere, set in
inuaint Mexican pots (jardiniers sounds
altogether too modern), and an old stone
image, a relic of pre-historic times, occu-
pies a position near the entrance. From
jthe roof garden, where are also plants in
.
Hi. A PORTION OF THE OLD BUILDINGS ON
THE CORTES HACIENDA.
>B. MAGUEY PLANT, FROM WHICH PUL-
QUE IS OBTAINED.
3. FRANCISCAN CHURCH,, SEVERAL CEN-
TURIES OLD, IN THE SAME ENCLOSURE
WITH CORTES CATHEDRAL. A NUM-
BER OF TOMBS EITHER SIDE OF EN-
TRANCE.
184
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
great profusion, a fine view of the citj
and surrounding country may be had.
But, attractive as this hotel is, I mus
not neglect other places of interest.
After lunch we ordered horses, and ac
companied by an ex-member of the Lon
don Guards (I only quote his word fo
this, for his riding gave no evidence of th
fact), we set forth. The Falls of
Anton hardly seem worth the climbing
necessary to get a view of them, so wi
ride on, between rows of fruit laden trees
with here and there the red coffee berrie
showing among the green to the potteries
The pottery made here is among the pret
tiest in Mexico, but unfortunately for m
little of the \vork is done during the raiD]
season, and we did not see its manufac-
ture. However, we see evidences of i:
about the little nuebla, composed of adotx
huts set picturesquely among the trees
and we find many pretty pieces for sale
in the town.
The next visit is to the "Victory Stone/'
a huge boulder with a flag design carved
on one of its faces. I have been unable
to learn anything definite about this, bul
it is supposed to be commemorative of
some long passed battle.
In the evening, resting in the great easy
chairs, with the electric stars gleaming out
from among the foliage, we are regaled
with good instrumental and vocal music
by a native orchestra, and I feel tha
am in a happy dream, my only care be:
the fear of waking.
In the morning we mount again
start out through the narrow, serpenti
streets toward Atlaltemulco, a sugar ha
enda founded by Cortes, and still owned
by his descendents. Sugar was ^
manufactured here about a hundred years
before the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth,
and the same crude methods are employed
to-day. The old buildings, forming a
hollow square about a patio, look as though
they might serve their present purpose
for a thousand vears to come.
4. A PART OP THE WALL SURROUNDING
THE CORTES CATHEDRAL, SHOWING
SEVERAL TOMBS.
5. A STREET IN CUEBNAVACA, SHOWING
THE CORTES PALACE ACROSS THE
END.
(5. A MEXICAN PATIO.
THE TEIP TO CUEKNAVACA.
185
To reach this hacienda, we pass over
the remains of one of the old stone paved
roads,, hundreds of miles of which were
built during the Cortes regime, now prac-
tically impassable for any style of vehi-
[le. It is to be hoped they were kept in
Letter repair in those early days, other-
vise El Sr. Don Cortes must have suf-
fered some severe joltings.
"Returning, we make a detour through
pore of the beautiful fruit-lined lanes to
kcapacingo, the country home of Maxi-
milian. A most picturesque little chapel
itands near the entrance to the grounds,
where fruit trees of various kinds, coffee,
etc., grow in wild profusion, and what
pnce served as the home of an Emperor
s now devoted to the practical occupa-
tion of chicken raising. "Thus are the
nighty fallen."
Cuernavaca boasts a number of old
puildings, the most important of which
are the Cortes Palace, now the State Capi-
tol, and the Cortes Cathedral, which is
the most imposing of the many churches
pf the place. I was shown through thi
Former building by a genial old native,
\vho pointed out with apparent pride por-
traits of many of Mexico's great men, and
explained the use of each room, my know-
edge of Spanish being sufficient to enable
tne to understand most of what he said.
Vluch to my surprise, he refused a "pro
sina," which is about as un-Mexican as
my thing I can imagine, but I have since
earned that onides in the public build-
nsrs here are not allowed to accept gratui-
ties.
A chapter should be devoted to the
churches of Mexico, and I will leave them
for a future letter. Many are several cen-
turies old, quaint in architecture, outlines
iind colorings softened by age, and. to me
|verv beautiful. No Indian puebla is too
diminutive to have its chapel, and many
small towns possess church buildings that
koulo grace a large city. Cuernavaca has
per full quota of these interesting old
Structures.
A well kept plaza is found in every vil-
lage, the larger places usually designat-
TITE SIMPLE LIFE.
P. PORTION OP PATIO OF MORELOS HOTEL.
:) . <;':\KI;AL VIEW OF CUERNAVACA CORTES
CATHEDRAL AT THE LEFT.
-i v
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OVERLAND MONTHLY
An Illustrated Magazine of the West
CONTENTS FOR SEPTEMBER, 1907
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Vol. L
BATTLESHIP OHIO.
DEFENDING THE PACIFIC COAST
AN EXPLANATION FOR THE GREAT MILITARY
AND NATAL MANEUVRES IN THE WEST
BY
ARTHUR H. BUTTON
Late Lieutenant U. S. Navy.
ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS.
TRANGELY enough,
the misnamed Pacific
Ocean is now the
scene of the greatest
military activities in
the world. Far from
being pacific, this
ocean promises to be-
come the scene of the world's greatest
struggles of the future, just as the Medit-
erranean sea was their scene in the past.
The immediate cause for this is the
long-predicted awakening of the Orient
from its lethargv of centuries. This awak-
ening has already commenced with Japan
which, within two generations, has taken
her. place among the great powers. China
will follow next, and when that leviathan
reaches the stage of progress reached by
Japan, events passing the power of the
imagination to conceive will take place.
That the Pacific Ocean is destined to
play the leading part in the coming great
wars is fully appreciated by the United
States, which will naturally be the first
to feel the awakening. The Navy De-
partment at Washington has long foreseen
the imperative need for strengthening our
MONITOR MONTEREY.
Pacific fleet, and exactly a year ago it
was well known that a "force of battle-
ships was about to be sent to this coast.
Then came the Japanese school incident,
and it was deemed impolitic to reinforce
the Pacific fleet until that incident was
closed. Now, a sufficient time after the
settling of the school incident, it is offi-
cially announced that the main battleship
fleet of the Atlantic, together with an
armored cruiser division, with numerous
smaller auxiliary vessels, will reach the
Pacific Ocean this winter. This will at
once give the United States the vitally im-
portant military command of the Pacific
Ocean, for no nation in the world save
Great Britain can muster a fleet suffi-
ciently powerful to defeat this Atlantic
fleet, which is composed of the flower of
our navy, as regards both material and
personnel.
The Atlantic battleship fleet which will
come to the Pacific is composed of the
modern, up-to-date battleships Connecti-
cut, Louisiana, Maine, Missouri, Georgia,
New Jersey, Rhode Island, Virginia, Ala-
bama, Illinois, Kearsarge, Kentucky,
Ohio, Minnesota, Kansas and Vermont,
to which will be added the Nebraska and
the Wisconsin, already in Puget Sound,
making a fleet of eighteen first-class, mod-
ern battleships, in excellent condition.
Already in the Pacific, in Oriental
waters, are the fine armored cruisers West
Virginia, Colorado, Maryland and Penn-
sylvania. Their two sister ships, the
California and the South Dakota, are
now on this coast, and the still more pow-
erful Washington and Tennessee are on
their way f rom the Atlantic to join them,
making eight powerful armored cruisers
to add to the eighteen battleships. Of
course, there are already in the Pacific
several protected cruisers, gunboats and
other lesser craft, but still more will ac-
company the battleship fleet hither.
This concourse of warships will of it-
self be more powerful than the entire
Japanese navy, which is the navy in the
Pacific which has a fleet of any strength.
In a word, with the arrival of 'the Atlan-
tic battleship fleet in the Pacific Ocean,
that great body of water will be domi-
nated by the United States, for as every
tyro knows, command of the sea is the
key to success in war between maritime
nations.
Even with this great movement of war
DEFENDING THE PACIFIC COAST.
201
vessels from the Atlantic to the Pacific,
the former will not be left unguarded.
There will still remain the new Missis-
sippi and Idaho, the old Iowa, Massa-
chusetts and Indiana, on the Atlantic sta-
tion. But what is of greater importance,
new battleships of greater and greater
power, are being steadily turned out from
Eastern shipyards, to be added as com-
pleted to the Atlantic fleet, which, in ad-
dition to the five relatively weak battle-
ships already named, will have, within a
year, the great Michigan, South Caro-
lina and New Hampshire, and within
three years, the three monster 20,000 ton
vessels of the new Constitution class,
which will be even more powerful than
the much-vaunted British Dreadnaught
and the Japanese Satsuma and Aki. More
armored cruisers are also being con-
structed in the East.
The Atlantic fleet, which, will soon be-
come the Pacific fleet, has been undergo-
ing severe and unremitting drills,
manoeuvres and target practice for many
months, until it is now in the highest
state of efficiency. The marksmanship of
the American navy is better than that of
any other nation of the world, some of
the record shooting being little less than
marvelous.
Taken altogether, the new disposition
of the ships of the American Xavy means
security for the Pacific Coast from attack
by any nation. An important point,
which seems to have been missed by most
writers on the subject is that the pres-
ence of a powerful fleet in the Pacific will
insure the retention of our outlying coal-
ing and repair stations, such as those in
Hawaii and the Philippines. If any of
these were threatened, the fleet could be
despatched to them to drive off the at-
tacking ships. Even if they should fait
before a sudden onslaught, they would
not remain long in the enemy's hands, for
we could retake them in a short time.
However, these depots are now being for-
tified so that they would probably be able
to stand off an attacking fleet until the
arrival of our own.
It must be admitted that in torpedo
vessels, the United States is inferior to
Japan. In the Japanese Navy there are
54 destroyers, 79 torpedo boats and five
submarines, while the American navy pos-
sesses but sixteen destroyers, 33 torpedo
boats and 12 submarines. All of the
MONITOR WYOMING
202
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
Japanese torpedo fleet are in the Pacific
Ocean, where the United States navy has
but eight destroyers, four torpedo boats
and two submarines.
Still, it must be borne in mind that the
experiences of the Spanish-American war
and of the Eusso-Japanese war prove
conclusively that the torpedo boat is a
much over-rated weapon. They are of
great value for certain things, such as
reconnoitering, making sudden dashes un-
der cover of fog or darkness, and for giv-
ing the coup-de-grace to large vessels al-
ready disabled by gun fire. They are but
auxiliary to the larger ships, just as light
destined for the Pacific fleet; a few small
cruisers and gunboats and the torpedo
fleet mentioned.
The United States Pacific fleet alone,
when the vessels ordered here arrive, will
consist of the following:
Battleships (18) Connecticut, Kan-
sas, Louisiana, Vermont, Virginia, Geor-
gia, New Jersey, Rhode Island, Alabama,
Illinois, Kentucky, Kearsarge, Ohio,
Maine, Missouri, Minnesota, Wisconsin,
Nebraska.
Armored cruisers (8) West Virginia,
Maryland, Pennsylvania, Colorado, Cali-
fornia, South Dakota^ Washington, Ten-
GUARD MOUNT AND INSPECTION AT THE PRESIDIO.
cruisers, gunboats, colliers and repair
ships are auxiliary to them. The battle-
ships and big cruisers are the mainstays
and backbone of a navy. Our inferiority
in torpedo craft is far more than compen-
sated for by our superiority in all other
classes of vessels. Japan's whole navy,
now afloat, comprises but 17 battleships,
many of which are old, such as some of
those captured from Russia and refitted;
34 large armored or protected cruisers,
not one of which is the equal of any of
the eight American armored cruisers now
nessee.
First class protected cruisers (3)
Charleston, Milwaukee, St. Louis.
Second class protected cruisers (9)
Chattanooga, Cincinnati, Galveston, Ra-
leigh, Denver, Cleveland, Chicago, Al-
bany, New Orleans.
Gunboats, sea-going (3) 'Princeton,
Helena, Wilmington.
Armored coast defense vessels (3)
Monterey, Monadnock, Wyoming.
The battleship Oregon is now undergo-
ing an extensive overhauling, and within
PRACTICE WITH MOUNTAIN HOWITZERS
a year will be added to the Pacific fleet,
making nineteen first class battleships in
all. Excluding the Oregon, however, it
will be seen at once that before the end of
this year, the Pacific fleet will consist of
29 armored vessels, most of them heavy,
modern, powerful battleships and armored
cruisers, the entire fleet, exclusive of tor-
pedo and other auxiliary craft, number-
ing 44 sea-going fighting ships.
That the total battery power of this
great fleet is enormous may be realized
when it is considered that the fleet carries
74 12-inch guns, 12 10-inch, 118 8-inch,
and several hundred guns of lesser cali-
bre. The weight of metal that the com-
bined fleet can throw is a matter for the
imagination to attack.
So much for the naval factor of the de-
fense of the Pacific Coast.
As for the army factor, it is comforting
to know that San Francisco is, with the
exception of New York, the most strongly
fortified city in the country. Its batteries
are ample, well placed and heavily armed.
and its harbor is divided into fields, which
can be strewn with submarine mines at
two days' notice. At the Presidio, Fort
Miley. Fort Baker and Point Bonita, guns
of the heaviest calibre 12-inch are
mounted on disappearing carriages; 12-
inch mortars are placed at several places
in pits, where they cannot be reached by
an enemy's shot, however powerful ; 8 inch
and 5-inch rapid-fire guns are mounted
in advantageous places for engaging at
close range, and an admirable system of
lange finding and fire control has been
installed. Puget Sound is also thorough-
ly fortified, its narrow waters being
fringed with batteries carrying guns of
high power. Forts Flagler, Worden, Co-
lumbia and Casey are strong strategic po-
sitions, well armed. At the entrance to
the Columbia river is Fort Stevens, up-
to-date and well armed, but it is thought
that other batteries might with advantage
be placed at this important entrance. San
Diego is defended by Fort Eosecrans, and
with this the list of Pacific Coast ports
which are provided with fortifications
ends. Puget Sound, Portland, San Fran-
cisco and San Diego are the only ports
on the coast which can stand an enemy
off until the arrival of a relieving fleet.
An enemy, in the absence of a fleet, can
land anywhere on the Pacific Coast he
likes, except at the places named, pro-
vided, of course, that our navy permits
him to reach our shores.
At the principal ports along the coast
plans have been perfected for the speedy
laying of submarine mines, the great effi-
cacy of which was so well demonstrated
204
OVERLAID MONTHLY.
during the Russo-Japanese war. Hundreds
of mines are stored away in secure places,
and there are torpedo companies included
in the coast artillery, composed of men
specially trained in the handling of mines.
One manifest weakness of our coast de-
fense, particularly on the Pacific Coast, is
the scarcity of trained artillerymen. Mod-
ern ordnance is complicated, and requires
expert artisans and mechanicians not only
for its use but for its preservation in a
high state of efficiency. Although the ar-
tillery corps was increased by Congress
at its last session, the increase was still
far below the needs of the service. Even
with the increase, the coast fortifications
are barely manned when every company
is called out. In time of war, when re-
liefs must be furnished for the guns, there
would be no reserve upon which to call.
It was due to an appreciation of this
fact that the War Department has called
upon the National Guard to act as a re-
serve for the coast defenses. For several
years, in the East, the experiment has
been found successful, and within the last
two months the National Guardsmen of
California have been mobilized at the for-
tifications of San Francisco and at San
Diego, where they have received instruc-
tion in the handling of the artillery, large
and small, at the various batteries.
The Second, Fifth and Seventh regi-
ments of infantry of the California Na-
tional Guard, were called out and for
over two weeks had practical exercise?
with modern ordnance. The zeal and pro-
ficiency they displayed won for them the
highest praise from the regular officers
and men, who were pleased to find that
such good material existed for them to
call upon should hostilities occur. Day
after day, the militiamen participated ic
all the acts that would be performed
should an attack be made upon San Fran-
cisco. There were simulations of attacks
from seaward, both by day and by night,
during which the heavy guns were brought
into play, and the mortar batteries dis-
charged at proper times.
These mortar batteries are among the
most interesting details of the coast de-
MACHINE OUNS IN ACTION".
DEFENDING THE PACIFIC COAST.
205
fenses. They are in pits, and are used
for high angle fire. No shot can strike
them, for they are far below the surface
of the hillocks in which they are placed.
So remarkable is their accuracy and so
refined the delicate instruments used in
aiming them, that the great 12-inch shells
they discharge can be dropped with pre-
cision in any chosen spot. There are
usually four mortars in each battery, all
of which may be discharged simultane-
ously, and it means disaster for any ves-
sel to receive one of these deadly projec-
so as to fall upon that spot, which they
may be depended upon to do.
Throughout the coast defense, there is
an elaborate system of inter-communica-
tion between the various batteries, range-
finders and other important points. By
means of telephones and visual signaling,
the commanding officer is in constant
touch with all of his subordinates, and
with every gun in the defenses. Fire-
control, which does not mean suppression
of conflagration, but control of the firing
from the guns, has been elaborated until
OFFICER DIRECTING MOVEMENTS THROUGH FIELD TELEPHONE.
tiles, falling from skyward, upon unar-
mored deck and plunging down into the
vitals below.
The harbor and its approaches are di-
vided into a large number of rectangles,
each of which is numbered and its exact
distance and bearing known to the offi-
cers in charge of the mortar batteries.
When a ship is seen entering, say, rec-
tangle 365, that number is telephoned to
the mortar batteries commanding the rec-
tangle, and the mortars are quickly aimed
now the entire method of fire is actually
under the thumb of the commanding offi-
cer. There is no firing at will unless he
so desires H.
Recently it has been decided to enlarge
the Benicia arsenal, with a view of carry-
ing on there the manufacture of ammuni-
tion and other military supplies on a
larger scale than ever before. This ar-
senal, on account of its central and con-
venient location, will then be the main
ammunition depot of the Pacific Coast.
VISUAL SIGNALING "WIG-WAG"" SYSTEM.
FIELD ARTILLERY ON THE MARCH.
MY PLACE.
207
At the present time, there are stationed
in the States of Washington, Oregon and
California, twenty-seven companies of
coast artillery, of which one is a torpedo
company; three batteries of light artil-
lery; two batteries of mountain artillery;
one company of the hospital corps; one
company of the signal corps; ten troops
of cavalry, and four regiments of ,infan-
try. There are also two battalions of
infantry in Alaska and one in Hawaii.
This represents a total of about 11,000
regular troops now stationed on the
Pacific Coast. In time of war, this num-
ber would have to be increased to 100,000
at once, for defensive purposes alone; to
man the permanent fortifications and to
have an army to repel an invasion until
the navy could arrive to defeat it.
It is almost impossible, however, to im-
agine any serious attempt being made to
attack any Pacific Coast town, unless by
a sudden raid, which might do damage,
but would not last long enough to work
any permanent injury to the coast. The
arrival of the great Atlantic fleet of bat-
tleships insures that no formidable ex-
pedition can reach our shores in a short
time, if at all.
There is, too, that great factor of war-
fare, wealth, on our side of the Pacific
Ocean. Money is needed in vast quantities
in war, and no nation has quite as much
wealth, actual and potential, as the United
States. The only hope that another na-
tion could have in the way of recouping
its treasury would be by securing a great
indemnity from the United States, but
that would mean defeat for this country.
Defeat can only come if we neglect our
navy and permit it to fall into ineffi-
ciency. As long as we have a strong, alert,
efficient navy, we can retain the command
of the Pacific Ocean, and having this com-
mand, we can regard any warlike demon-
strations in the Pacific with composure.
It is another important and fortunate
fact for the United States that we are
self-reliant in every military sense. We
do not have to go abroad for ships, guns,
food or money. Every kind of arm and
munition of war is found right in this
country. We have our own shipyards,
our own armor factories, our own gun
foundries, our own ammunition depots.
We can build the largest ships and guns
and do not have to go abroad to float our
public loans. Our own people quickly
snap up our war bonds.
Doubtless there will be great wars
waged on the waters of the Pacific Ocean
in the future, with the great changes
brought by the awakening of the Orient
and the competition between Occidental
nations for the Orient's trade. Doubtless,
the United States will take a hand in some
of these great conflicts but by maintaining
our naval supremacy the conflicts will be
fewer and shorter, and above all, it is
not probable that the severe fighting will
be on our own coast. It will take place
farther West.
MY PLACE
BY MABEL PORTER PITTS
I watch the sunshine on the distant fields,
I feel the glory of a moonlit sky,
And know by vague desire which through me steals
That not a cause, but pensioner am I.
>.
r /
mft;:.. -ffflftM'/, i'' I
^/i : ;:MmW." ' li-v-iiA.-/
HON. JOS. B. FORAKER, UNITED STATES SENATOR OF OHIO.
Drawn by R. W. Borough.
HIGH POLITICS IN OHIO
BY
WASHINGTON DAVIS
Author of "Camp-Fire Chats of the Civil War," "The Syndic,"
Literary Associate of Huhert Howe Bancroft.
DRAWING BY R. W. BOROUGH.
and
T'S GETTING warm
in Ohio politics.
California's view of
the Foraker-Taf t fight
there may be ex-
pressed in a few blunt
words, based on the
positive facts of the
personal political history of the United
States Senator as compared with that of
the Secretary of War. One short para-
graph will do for each. Both are natives
of Ohio.
"William Howard Taft, born in Hamil-
ton County, Ohio, 1857, was appointed as-
sistant prosecuting attorney in 1881 ; ap-
pointed collector of internal revenue by
President Arthur, 1882; appointed by
Governor (now United States Senator)
Foraker, Judge of the Superior Court "of
Cincinnati, 1887; appointed Solicitor-
General by President Harrison in 1890;
appointed president of the United States
Philippine Commission by President Mc-
Kinley in 1900; appointed civil governor
of Philippine Islands by President Mc-
Kinley in 1901; appointed Secretary of
War by President Eoosevelt, 1904."
Congressional Directory.
Now, with due respect to the Secretary
of War, let us look at the record of the
United States Senator:
"Joseph Benson Foraker was born July
5, 1846, on a farm near Eainsboro, High-
land County, Ohio; enlisted July 14, 1862,
as a private in Co. A. 89th Ohio Vol. In-
fantry, with which he served until close
of war, at which time he held rank of 1st
Lieutenant and brevet Captain; was
graduated from Cornell University,
Ithaca, N. Y., July 1, 1869; admitted to
the bar and entered on practice of law
in Cincinnati, Ohio, Oct. 14, 1869: was
elected Judge of the Superior Court of
Cincinnati April, 1879; resigned on ac-
count of ill health May 1, 1882; was the
Eepublican candidate for Governor of
Ohio in 1883, but was defeated; was elect-
ed to that office in 1885, and re-elected in
1887; again nominated and defeated in
1889; was chairman of the Eepublican
State Conventions of Ohio for 1886, 1890,
1896, and 1900, and a delegate at large
from Ohio to the National Eepublican
Conventions in 1884, 1888, 1892, 1896,
1900 and 1904; was chairman of the Ohio
delegation in the conventions of 1884 and
1888, and presented to both of these con-
ventions the name of the Hon. John Sher-
man for nomination to the Presidency;
in the conventions of 1892 and 1896 served
as chairman of the Committee on Eesolu-
tions, and as such reported the platform
each time to the conventions; presented
the name of Wm. McKinley to the conven-
tions of 1896 and 1900 for nomination to
the Presidency ; was elected United States
Senator January 15, 1896, to succeed Cal-
vin S. Brice, and took his seat Ma-rch 4,
1897; was re-elected January 15, 1902, to
succeed himself. His term of service will
expire March 3, 1909." Congressional
Directory.
Thus, while the Honorable Secretary of
War has always been appointed to every-
thing, never elected to anything, the Hon-
orable United States Senator has been
Governor of his own State twice; is now
210
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
his own state's senior senator, serving
his second term; nominated McKinley
both times, and appointed the present
Secretary of War to a Judgeship.
These ase the facts. From this side of
the Great Divide, it appears like a case of
Foraker vs. No. 2. Taft has always played
second fiddle, even when President Roose-
velt did all he could to take him from the
Philippines and put him upon the Su-
preme Bench of the United States.
High politics in Ohio and some other
places are now being cut and dried for the
next national Eepublican nomination, and
whoever gets it is to be supported by all
good Republicans; but California often
skips a lot of details when wishing a de-
sired end. We were made a State without
going through any territorial process, and
we like Ohio all right, but we prefer to
deal with men who are and have been
elected rather than those who have been
appointed.
It's Foraker vs. No. 2. Though Taft
might make a good president, he would
still be No. 2, for we've had one Fat
President already.
Senator Foraker, as the facts of history
prove, has always been No. 1 or nothing,
generally No. 1. I think he ought to be
President of the United States.
California wants no No. 2's either in
National, State or Municipal administra-
tions.
NEGLECT
BY
W. G. TINCKOM-FERKA^DEZ
IF Time the reaper brushed his sleeves of gray
Through this old garden, bidding me request
Some trifle of the weeds that all unguessed
Long flourished here, I know what I would say.
Into this garden on an autumn day
There came a man bound for the weary West,
Who spake me fair, and paused to be my guest,
Grew warm beside my fire, and went his way.
But never more I saw him : Dark years fled,
And often I recalled the pleasant hour
We lonely souls had spent; and soon there grew
Eegret upon regret, for then I knew
We might have been good friends But now that flower
In my garden blooms, and he is dead.
NEW HOME FOR AGED AND INFIRM ON THE ALMSHOUSE TRACT.
SPENDING $9,181,403.23
THE FIRST ACCURATE ACCOUNT OF THE SAN
FRANCISCO RELIEF FUND AND ITS
ACTUAL DISBURSEMENT
BY
WINNIFRED MEARS
ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS.
There have been many published articles on the distribution of the funds
which flowed so generously into San Francisco immediately after the disaster of
April, 1906. But the actual account of how every dollar was spent has been until
now withheld from the people of this city. We are glad, therefore, to publish the
following account of what was really done with the nine million dollars sub-
scribed by the world for the relief of the city's sufferers. EDITOR.
UGH HAS been written
and read of San
Francisco and its dis-
aster of April 18,
1906. The calamity,
unparalleled in his-
tory, the indescrib-
able mass of fugitives
made homeless by the fire, the excep-
tional bravery of these 200,000 men and
women, confronting an uncertain future
with smiling and determined faces all
have had their share of wonderment and
commendation.
The resumption of commercial and
business activities of the city has been
of equal interest and importance, but of
the actual work done by the Kehabilita-
tion Committee, and what was accom-
plished by the disbursement of the Re-
lief Funds, the public at large has had
little, if any, account of.
Never in history have greater demands
been made upon the sympathy and gen-
erosity of this nation, and the methods
to be used in disbursing the millions do-
nated in such a manner as to accomplish
the most good and least injury to Ihe self-
respect of families hitherto independent,
needed wise and grave consideration, and
called for a committee endowed not alone
with necessary finances, but with a keen
knowledge of human nature and much
experience in dealing with men.
212
OVEKLAND MONTHLY.
This ".Relief" comprised the relief sup-
plies, the Congressional appropriation,
and the direct and local subscriptions,
with those of the Amercan National Bed
Cross and its branches in all, $9,181,-
403.23 (of which $312,035.82 was for-
eign.)
The first important problems of food
and clothing solved by the distribution of
the relief supplies to the long lines of
patient and hungry refugees, the next es-
sential feature presented was the provid-
ing of adequate shelter in the relief camps
for these homeless thousands. The $2-
500,000 Congressional appropriation was
disbursed by the United States army, un-
der the direction of the Headquarters of
the Pacific Division, during the emergency
period of April and May, 1906, and also
in the following months of June and July,
1906, during which time it was possible
to administer relief in a more systematic
way. This money provided food and
porated, with a board of twenty-one direc-
tors and an executive committee of five,
with James D. Phelan president, F. W.
Dohrmann vice-president, and J. Downey
Harvey secretary, which has carried on
the work to the present time, through its
fire departments.
Commencing in the month of Septem-
ber, 1906, the thirteen camps which had
been "under canvas" were changed from
the "tent" to "cottage" camps. These
cottages, size fourteen by sixteen feet,
contain two rooms, others three rooms, and
were erected by the Lands and Buildings
Department. The maximum population
of these permanent camps has been about
seventeen thousand.
In all the camps, the cottages are oc-
cupied by self-supporting families or
widows with children. The small sum of
$2 per room per month has been paid by
the occupants, not as rent, but held by the
corporation, and now being refunded to
SOME REFUGEE SHACKS NOT UNDER THE CORPORATION.
clothing, bedding, tenting and medicinal
supplies for the relief camps and for the
transportation of them, and for the mov-
ing of troops.
On July 20, 1906, the "San Francisco
Relief and "Red Cross Funds" was incor-
the occupants at such time as they move
their cottage to a lot, either leased or
owned by them. These camps were es-
tablished mostly in the public parks and
on leased land.
In some of the camps the element is
JOHN E. EMERY.
RABBI VOORSAJSTGER.
FATHER CROVVLEY.
largely Italian, in others Oriental. No
single men were granted cottages, as the
existing high wages were considered suffi-
cient to afford room rent and have ample
funds for living expenses.
The occupants of the camps could be
called "certified refugees" those who
were burned out, those shaken out, and
those raised out by excessive rents; base-
ments which formerly could be had for
$10 to $12 now demanding $40 to $50.
Each camp was supplied with sterilized
water, wash-houses with hot and cold run-
ning water, and bath-houses with shower
baths of both hot and cold running water.
In a few camps, bath-tubs were also
placed. The sanitation of the camps was
excellent, the sewer, water system and
drainage being carefully arranged. Am-
ple numbers of fire extinguishers, ladders,
axes and hose wagons are visible as a
precaution for frequent small blazes. In
fact, they are model camps.
An amusing incident is related of an
Italian family who, although they insisted
that they had been "burned out," when
they appeared to take possession of a
camp cottage, had eight express-wagon
loads of household goods. The comfort
and cleanliness of the cottages had ap-
pealed too strongly to them !
The thirteen camps of self-supporting
families are of especial interest and exem-
plify a harmony of organization and disci-
pline. Probably never before had some of
this class lived in cleanliness and com-
fort, nor were able to earn such high
wages. In place of ill-ventilated tene-
ment houses, each family had its own
tiny cottage, with the ultimate hope of
owning not only a roof over their heads,
but the lot on which it will eventually
stand, for among the poorer classes the
problem of rent (whether for house or
room), sometimes takes precedence over
the amount to be used for food and cloth-
ing. Truly, a great calamity is not with-
out its compensation at least to some.
The Park Commissioners have re-
quested that the Relief Corporation assist
in moving the refuge cottages from the
public squares to permanent sites between
August 1st and 17th, 1907, or as soon
after as possible. This notice, printed in
seferal languages has been distributed
through the camps. About fifty per cent
of the refugees already own lots, upon
which to move their homes, and about
seven hundred have already done so. The
total number of cottages has been reduced
to about five thousand five hundred at
present. What arrangements will be
214
OVEKLAND MONTHLY.
FIRST REFUGEE COTTAGE BUILT IN SAN
FEANOISCO BY FATHER CROWLEY
AND JAMES RALPH, JR.
made for those who cannot move is one of
the problems left for the corporation to
unravel; however, the issue of meal tick-
ets was reduced in six weeks' time from
twenty thousand eight hundred and sixty-
seven a day to one thousand four hundred
and ninety-seven a day, and thus will all
the relief camps be closed and the parks
be cleared.
The Ingleside Home for Aged and In-
firm, of all the camps, is the most unique,
with its twenty-four adjacent buildings to
be used gratuitously by the corporation for
the purpose of housing refugees, so old or
infirm that they could not work, or those
who were temporarily unable to work as a
result of illness or accident. There were
about one thousand inmates, but less than
six hundred now, some of whom will
eventually become public charges. These
buildings, formerly the shelter for the
finest of race horses, were changed into
very comfortable abodes. Each stall was
floored, and the dividing walls covered
with unbleached muslin, and in each
building hot and cold water was installed,
also one or more large stoves for heating
purposes. Several buildings were devoted
solely to the poor old ladies, some to the
aged men and others to married couples.
Still other buildings were converted into
a chapel, an assembly hall, a store-house,
a butcher shop, blacksmith shop, cobbler's,
dining hall, dispensary, hospital and laun-
dry, each and all well heated and supplied
with electricity. The chapel has its or-
gan, the assembly hall its stage and piano,
books and tables. Several times a week
the different charitable organizations hold
various entertainments for the refugees.
The sewing cottage has five or six ma-
chines for the use of those able to make
their own garments. There is even a cob-
bler to mend their old shoes, who receives
SI a day and material.
The food furnished is good and well
cooked. Each building is perfect in its
order and cleanliness, and regular inspec-
tions are held every week. New inmates
were furnished with changes of under-
wear, as well as the outside clothing, and
on Wednesdays the old men receive a
given portion of tobacco. While some re-
pented the idea of going to Ingleside at
first, as synonymous with the Almshouse,
yet ivh&n there, are quite content, and
spend much time roaming over the fields
of beautiful golden poppies and basking
in the glorious California sunshine. The
Ingleside improvements cost $26,737.95.
The maintenance of Ingleside camp
has been a little less than 50 cents a head
per day. By October 15th or November
1st, the refugees will be moved to the new
Home for the Aged and Infirm, now in
process of completion on the Almshouse
tract. To many this move will be the last
fall of pride, and some few who are able
to work even a little are saving their pen-
nies, so that when the dreaded day arrives
they can again face the world as self-re-
liant citizens.
This new Home for the Aged and In-
firm will cost about $200,000, and is built
in the form of an exact "E," on the crest
of a hill flanked by the Sutro forests, with
the Twin Peaks in the distance, and fac-
ing a magnificent view of the Pacific to
the west. The building will be 502 feet
long by about 350 feet wide, contains ten
wards, arranged in five buildings to a
side, each accessible to the other. There
will be two hundred and forty rooms, and
the building can house about two thou-
sand people.
The expense of water and plumbing has,
perhaps, been sacrificed to "view" a fact
which the inmates of the future will en-
joy, because of the chosen site on a hill.
There will be two dining rooms, one
40x150, and the other 36x96, and a
SPENDING $9,181,403.23.
215
kitchen 76 feet square. Besides this, there
will be one thousand feet of covered porch,
seven hundred feet of it enclosed with
glass. This building will contain, prob-
ably, the most complicated plumbing con-
struction of any building in the city.
The operative expenses of the camps
and warehouse was $566,370.14, including
Ingleside and South Park. Mr. Eudolph
Spreckels was chairman of the Camps and
Warehouses department.
From a rough census, taken in April,
1907, approximately twelve thousand peo-
ple (of which 20 per cent were single
men) were found housed in shacks and
tents, outside of the permanent camps.
The greatest number were found in the
Mission district. The sanitary conditions
were shocking, and in striking contrast
with the camps under the supervision of
the Eelief Corporation. Some of these
houses are fairly comfortable, and have
been built on leased land, signifying
the occupants' intention to remain in-
definitely. The Eelief Corporation
ceased on April 1, 1907, to grant money
monthly to the city for the payment of
sanitary inspectors under the city depart-
ment of public health, only continuing
contributions for the permanent camps.
The money spent by the Lands and
Buildings Department, Thomas Magee,
chairman, was $1,690,604.60, of which
about $490,000 was used for the '"bonus
plan."
(A bonus was offered to any one
building in the burned district, the bonus
to be a third of the cost of a house, but no
bonus to exceed $500. No stipulation
was placed on the cost of the house.)
The eight hundred applicants for the
last one hundred thousand proved the
success of the plan.
The improvements on the Ingleside
buildings, the erection of the new Home
for the Aged and Infirm, the building of
the cottages on the public squares and the
nineteen apartment houses at South Park,
reflect great credit on the "Lands and
Buildings" Departments. The cost of the
nineteen apartment houses at the South
Park camp was $38,627.24, averaging
$2,000 each.
The six thousand cottages were built at
an average cost of $100 for two rooms and
$150 for three rooms, including plumb-
ing.
The buying and transporting of the
lumber to the city for the cottages was ac-
complished with great difficulty under the
conditions existing at that time. Ground
was broken in September, 1906, and there
were enough cottages to house the refugees
in camp before the winter rains com-
menced.
The Department of Eelief and Ee-
habilitation, F. W. Dohrmann, chairman,
disbursed $3,020,000 for rehabilitation of
individuals and families.
The work of this bureau was divided
among seven sections, one member of the
Eelief Committee acting as chairman of
each section. The expenses were $331,
430.73.*
A large number of men and women who
had been connected with charity work be-
fore the fire volunteered their time and
services to this committee for the admin-
istering and apportionment of the special
relief funds. Their assistance was given
untiringly and unselfishly, for one long
year, totally ivithout compensation of any
sort whatsoever, except the gratitude and
appreciation of the citizens, and their own
vital interest in relieving suffering and
want; or civic pride in work well done.
These sections handled twenty-eight
thousand five hundred and four applica-
tions for aid, which were passed upon by
at least one member of the Committee of
Seven. The grants ranged from $20 to
$300. The average was $100.
To some of the applicants, "investiga-
tion" was looked upon as an injustice;
nevertheless it remains a necessary evil,
for this system prevented possible dupli-
cation and imposition, and secured to the
needy necessary aid
Pleas varied, from the old woman who
wanted "a piano to rest her soul at night '
after a hard day's washing, to the woman
who appeared with a soup tureen, having
heard that something was to be given
away; she did not know whether it would
be wet or dry, so came prepared.
To some it was a temptation to de-
ceive, and the investigators were necessar-
ily careful in eliminating frauds. Few
"This $331,430.73 includes the $165,144.88 for
the Bureau of Hospitals; the $58,330.30 for the
Bureau of Special Relief; and the $35,902.52 for
the Industrial Centers.
216
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
grants were made to those able to find
suitable employment, unless death or ill-
ness had proved an additional burden.
The arduous duties of the Transporta-
tion Committee, 0. K. Gushing, chair-
man, can be realized in the days when the
line of applicants extended more than
half way down the block. In one instance
a man appeared who had the day before
been granted transportation to Seattle,
and when asked why he returned, replied
that he wished to return it to purchase a
half-fare ticket, money having been re-
ceived by him in the morning's mail. He
had stood patiently, the additional four
Gallwey, chairman, disbursed $253,833.
About two thousand applications were re-
ceived, and the average grant made was
$127. Most of these were from people
over sixty years of age, about sixty per
cent of whom enjoyed good health, and
could be rehabilitated in a small way in
order to become self-supporting. (Less
than three per cent were sent to Ingleside
to be cared for.)
Homes for the homeless or unsupported
children were found with families some-
times relatives, on payment of a small
sum per month for support the grant
usually placed in trust with the Asso-
LOBOS SQUARE CAMP.
or five hours, in line waiting a second
time for conscience sake.
This section supplied aid in case of ill-
ness or emergency, when the relief re-
quired a grant of money instead of cloth-
ing or groceries.
During the "emergency period" $166,-
831.02 was disbursed, including freight,
under "Transportation," and but
$4,639.51 under the regular administra-
tion.
The section on aged and infirm, unsup-
ported children and friendless girls, Dr.
ciated Charities. Friendless girls re-
ceived assistance by providing them with
grants for clothing to equip themselves
suitably for positions. Some were aided
with money to complete their education as
bookkeepers, stenographers and training
for nurses. Many elderly people were
made comfortable by granting furniture
and necessities during the winter months,
until their condition improved such as
those who owned their homes, and previ-
ous to the disaster had small incomes from
rentals, most of which was lost in the fire.
SPENDING $9,181,403.23.
21'
Under the section on "unsupported and
partially supported families," many were
the pathetic tales poured into the ears of
Mrs. Merrill and Mrs. Scott, and not once
did these women of character cease to
listen to the cry of "make me glad again."
Tales of a woman's hands tied by care
of large families, with sick, dissipated or
deserting husbands cases of patient wait-
ing and of suffering, calling not only on
the committee's sympathy, but executive
ability to plan a practical solution of
pressing needs. Each and every one was
met with listening ears and helping hands
irrespective of color, race or religion. The
sad case of a handsome young woman (of
the half-world) who was given a grant
for medical treatment at a hospital, where
after the operation she died of heart fail-
ure. The funeral expenses and hospital
hills were paid and her personal effects
sent to her mother.
The amusing and pathetic case of a
Swedish widow, whose song had built a
neat three room cottage, only to find that
they had placed it upon the lot next their
own. The small wages earned by the
sons was scarcely sufficient for the in-
stallments on their lot and their frugal
meals. A grant for furniture, clothing
and the moving of their house was given
them.
A refined old colored woman and daugh-
ter were found living in a shack made
from waste lumber and boxes: the roof
tipped to one side so they could not stand
erect. They were sleeping on wooden
bunks with insufficient covering, and with
a broken camp stove to cook upon. The
mother suffered from cataract in both
eyes. The grant supplied the necessary
needs of clothing and furniture and
patched up their house.
The Confidential Section, Archdeacon
Emery, chairman, expended about $150,-
000. This work reached cases only to be
discovered through a parish priest, minis-
ter or a family physician. The tuition for
the six remaining months of a senior year
was paid -for a young Calif ornian taking
an M. D. in an Eastern college; also for
an expert librarian.
Another case provided special treatment
until cured to a young lady afflicted with
melancholia and confined in a public
ward of an asylum in a foreign country,
to which city the mother and daughter
had sought refuge with relatives after the
fire. Money was sent to a private charity
which cared for poor children, convales-
cent from typhoid fever, and insure for
them rest, fresh air and proper nourish-
ment through the summer. Relief was
given an aged scientist whose collection
was burned, and his only means of a live-
lihood taken from him.' Professors, den-
tists, lawyers and physicians were assisted
to purchase libraries and instruments.
The section on Housing and Shelter,
.Reverend Father D. 0. Crowley, chair-
man, have nearly completed 1400 houses
at an expense to the corporation of $600,-
000, the other half of the expense being
paid by the owners.
Never before in the history of San
Francisco have so many of the working
classes owned their homes. They are
scattered all over the city limits, from
Telegraph Hill to Ocean View, and from
the Richmond District to the Potrero.
The committee did not limit the cottages
to the burned district, and this wide scat-
tering will for generations to come pre-
vent the former congested districts where
the families of the "great unwashed"
lacked living space and "soul space."
Many of the hard-working laborers with
families of five to eight children are liv-
ing at .present in comfortable homes of
three, five and six rooms with bath. For-
merly they occupied one or possibly two
rooms, either in basements or at the rear
of their small shops. Their children now
play among the sand hills or grass and
flowers, in the pure, clean air, where pre-
viously these poor little wharf-rats played
in the dark alleys or cold cellars. Some
of these modest homes have already pretty
gardens of vegetables and flowers started
by the children, while the bread-winners
are at work, for there will be no lack of
employment of unskilled labor for many
years.
Mark Twain has wisely said, "No man
shoiilders a gun to fight for a boarding
house."
About one thousand six hundred appli-
cations were adjusted for business re-
habilitation, the appropriation $500,000.
Charles F. Leege, chairman. Grants were
made for the purpose of rehabilitating
numerous boarding and lodging houses.
JEFFERSON SQUARE CAMP.
metal and marble works, restaurants, deli-
catessen stores, wicker works, a tamale
restaurant, patent medicines, laundries, a
church supply store, a phonograph store,
horses and wagons for junk peddlers, gro-
ceries, butcher shops, a sausage and pickle
factory, florist, an artificial flower shop,
one application for a washing machine
was granted, Christmas tree venders, an-
tique furniture stores, fish-nets and vats
supplied; one woman started in the real
estate business; bake shops, one years' in-
stallment on pianos for music teachers
paid; a dog and bird store, instruments
for physicians and dentists and a cosmetic
shop. Among the applications came one
to establish a "hair-restorer business," the
applicant even offering "to try it on" the
bald-headed investigator. History does
not record the result.
One street sweeper wanted to become
a scavenger, and his ambition was grati-
fied. Do not let me forget the Chinaman
who was re-established as a cigar manu-
facturer, to the amount of $250; nor the
reteran of the civil war, who was given
tools for a small carpenter shop as he
was too old to compete with younger car-
penters.
About three thousand applications for
furniture were received, and the average
grant made was $100.
The committee, believing that general
relief was no longer needed, the taking of
applications was ended on February 15,
1907, except in cases of dire want, and on
March 15th, the Application Bureau was
closed, and the Bureau of Special Relief
attended to all emergency claims. By
July 1st, all cases were adjusted, and ac-
tive work stopped, the committee leaving
any further relief to the regular chari-
table societies, and for whom there will be
work for many months. Even the Hous-
ing Committee is winding up its affairs.
The Bureau of Hospitals supplied care
to three thousand five hundred and sev-
enty-one patients, for the total expense of
$167,229.10, from April 18, 1906, to July
1, 1907, which includes the cost of sup-
plies given during the emergency period
to hospitals as part payment for medical
service rendered.
The payment of $2 a day per patient
to the seven accredited hospitals was of
great assistance to these institutions, and
helped them to meet expenses. At pres-
ent there are about 200 patients in the
hospitals, at the expense of the relief
fund. The care of patients in hospitals
SPENDING $9,181,403.23.
219
at the expense of the fund must of neces-
sity be continued as long as the permanent
camps are maintained, to avoid the spread
of contagious diseases and because the
camp cottages do not afford sufficient room
for the sick ones. The general health of
the laboring classes has been greatly im-
proved by the outdoor life.
The Bureau of Special Belief opened
August 15, 1906, and have disbursed since
then $58,330.30 to eight hundred families
in distress, for clothing, fuel, food, medi-
cine and repairing shelters: also the ap-
plications for sewing machines were in-
vestigated, and one thousand six hundred
machines, at an expense of $36,000, were
quickly distributed.
The Bureau of Industrial Centers
comprised many sewing centers,
where over seventy-five thousand gar-
ments were made, mostly by volunteer
workers. Several cutters were in paid em-
ploy. This bureau had charge of all the
social halls in the camps, and superin-
tended the kindergartens in the camps in
the mornings, the sewing classes in the
afternoons, and arranged for lectures, con-
certs and various entertainments given for
the camp refugees in the evenings.
The social halls served alike for club
and reading room, and were used im-
partially for divine service by all de-
nominations. The kindergartens and sew-
ing classes for the camp children were a
great factor for discipline during the ab-
sence of the parents at work, keeping the
little ones busy and out of mischief.
Amount, $35,902.52.
The Department of Finance, James D.
Phelan, chairman, and William Dolge,
auditor, was the machinery and backbone
of the corporation. The receipt and col-
lection of all the relief moneys, and the
filing of numerous letters demanded ex-
pediency and accuracy.
Among the letters is one filed from a
sympathetic citizen of the South, enclos-
ing seven cents and stating that this spe-
cial donation would have been larger but
for the fact that two weeks previous to the
disaster he had taken unto himself a wife,
(an expensive proposition.)
While this subscription was small, it
was not without its "strings" also, to
quote "for a poor widow with three child-
ren, the oldest three years of age/' Messrs.
Lester Herrick & Herrick, Certified Pub-
lic Accountants, maintained a continuous
audit. The expense of this department
was $63,421.43.
It is not without interest .to notice that
the entire cost of administration has been
less than four per cent a fact that
speaks for itself.
The Department of Bills and Demands,
M. H. de Young chairman, adjusted
nearly eleven thousand claims, amounting
to $2,717,170.33 for the sum of $1,501,-
781.52 for relief supplies confiscated by
the authorities during the emergency per-
iod, and for the expense of feeding, shel-
tering and transporting the refugees, as
well as the expense for sanitation and re-
storation of the water supply.
A few more figures are of interest by
contrast: The relief of the hungry during
the emergencv period following the dis-
aster for three weeks, cost $729,752.39,
while under the regular regime the maxi-
mum cost for four weeks (July) was $75,-
756.30. Again, under the emergency, tha
relief of the sick and wounded, and for
transporting them to hospitals, cost $46,-
088.43, but during the typhoid epidemic
in September only $17,335 was used for
this purpose. Clothing (emergency) and
boots and shoes, cost $29,272.55; while
only $2,500 a month for clothes for the
Ingleside refugees was spent under the
corporation's rule. The amount of $23,-
033.36 was used for the reorganization of
the city, a small sum after so great a dis-
aster.
The relief and Rehabilitation of Hospi-
tals and Charitable Institutions cost
$355,798.05.
The merging of the relief funds with
those of the National Eed Cross was a
most wise decision, in light of the recent
municipal graft exposures, for it is cer-
tain that the money was used to the best
advantage, absolutely irrespective of re-
ligious denominations. Of the members
of the San Francisco Committee from Mr.
Phelan down, it must be said that the
selection could not have been improved
upon, for they are men of ability and in-
tegrity. This committee came together,
forgetting their own individuality and
personality, in a humane interest for the
relief of the needy and civic pride in the
betterment of their city and the relief
220
OVEBLAND MONTHLY.
policies adopted, proved a test of these
men. The committee and employees went
right into the homes of the poor people as
well as those of better circumstances, and
worked, and accomplished a great amount
of good without the hlare of trumpets.
"The good men do lives after them.*'
Let this be the monument to the Eelief
Fund Committee.
Their motive was protection of the poor,
not patronage, for relief is indemnity, not
charity. The plans to devise, methods to
employ and difficulties to overcome, often
seemed as difficult problems as the "squar-
were, of course, some mal-contents, who
wanted to get something for nothing
whether they were in need or not. It was
mainly on this account that the committee
made every effort to close their work as
soon as possible.
Of the four thousand nine hundred and
seventeen subscriptions recorded, there is
still about one million dollars outstanding,
of which $700,000 is held by the American
National Eed Cross, all of which money is
needed for the closing of relief affair^ On
account of the removing of all the refugee
camps, there is some chance that ma$y
A COTTAGE BEING MOVED.
ing of a circle," and have shown a blend-
ing of love and law. Mr. Phelan and the
committee proved that a wise and careful
administration of relief should be a part
of good government.
The amount of red tape in some in-
stances was slow, but was probably un-
avoidable. One claimant remarked that
"she earned her grant through time lost
before getting it."
One great difficulty was discriminating
among applicants who were not actually
destitute, and where investigation and re-
fusal caused much complaint. There
individuals will remain in need for some
months yet to come, and in case the camps
are not successfully moved within a few
months the committee feels that the $700,-
000 will be needed to relieve those still
in distress.
For generations to come, the blessings
of the people of San Francisco will rest
upon the heads of the donors of the re-
lief fund, whose generosity has helped
them toward faith in their city, hope for
their prosperity, and charity for their
losses and mistakes. "But the greatest of
these is charity."
CLIMI
.
ANOTE
PHOTOGRAr
HE MOUNTAIN
stands alone, majes-
tic and beautiful,
dominating land and
sea. In summer it is
veiled in a thin blue
haze, and in winter it
rises snow-covered and
clear-cut against the sky. The Japanese
love Fuji; the common coolie has its out-
line stamped on the towel that he wears
twisted about his head; it is painted on
tea cups to sell to foreigners ; it is painted
on the walls of the Kyoto palaces; it was
the favorite subject of Hokusai, the mas-
ter, and about it have grown myths, fairy
tales and poems until the mountain is
sacred to the people of Japan. We for-
eigners share in some degree the feeling
of the Japanese, and, here on the Bluff,
we climb to our attic window, sure of an
inspiring view when a chill wind blows
on a winter's morning, or when the sky is
-^^ -3.U-L.tlUK.
red at sunset. A favorite way from the
Bluff to the Settlement takes us past the
historic tea house of 0-kin-san, down the
101 steps. Here a carpenter's apprentice
may be coming up and a house coolie go-
ing down, but we all pause and stand to-
gether at the half-way place to gaze at
the "Honorable Mountain." When we
meet our friends, it is often "Good morn-
ing! Isn't it a fine day? Fuji is glori-
ous." Only during the nyubai that in-
cessant warm June rain which makes the
rice grow do we feel certain that all
looking is useless, that Fuji is hid behind
a curtain of gray mist.
So the mountain on the horizon made a
part of our lives each bright day until a
friend said : "Would you like to climb
Fuji?" Then we remembered a man who
had refused to make the ascent, saying
he feared to lose his respect for the moun-
tain; we remembered tales of exhausted
people being pulled to the summit by
coolies, tales of people, snow-bound in the
huts, who never reached the. top, and tales
of pilgrims blown off the slope by the
wind and dashed to pieces; nevertheless,
we made the ascent in August of last year
and all this winter, when we have seen
Fuji from the attic windows or from the
101 steps, we have recognized, in spite of
the chill wintry aloofness, a much loved
friend whom we would like to visit again.
In the middle of July, when the snow
is quite gone, the huts are opened on the
mountain side, and they remain open un-
til the middle of September. We planned
to go on the 25th of August, and forthwith
began taking long country tramps, that
our flesh might be willing, and began
reading what we could find about Fuji
that our spirits, too, might be prepared
for the climb.
First, there were facts to learn. Fuji
is 12,365 feet high, a volcano, not active,
yet not extinct, for steam still comes out of
holes near the crater, although the last
eruption was in 1707-8. A hump was
formed then on the south side, the one
break in the otherwise perfect symmetrv
of the mountain, and showers of ashes
covered the country for miles around.
MONTHLY.
There are several paths for ascending, each
divided into ten stations where one may
stop for food or to spend the night. In
the old days, women were not allowed to
climb beyond the eighth station of a sa-
cred mountain, and the first woman to
reach the summit of Fuji was Lady
Parkes, the wife of the British Minister
to Japan. She made the ascent in the au-
tumn of 1867.
Having learned these few facts, there
were myths that delighted our legend-
loving souls. Near Kyoto, where Lake
Biwa is in these days of 1907, there used
to be many hills grouped together. One
night there was a fearful rumbling and
the morning light showed a lovely lake
where the hills had stood. News came
in a few days it traveled slowly on foot
along the Tokaido then that a beautiful
mountain had sprung up that same night
I miles and miles away from Kyoto, near
. the shores of Sufuga Bay. All the little
hills had hurried by subterranean ways
and bursting forth had formed Fuji. The
mountain remains symmetrical because
the stones and scoriae that are brought
down by the pilgrims' feet as they descend
all creep upwards of themselves by night,
On the summit, to this day, lives a Shinto
NEAR ONE OF THE LOWER STATIONS.
CLJ
goddess, whom the Japanese call: '
Princess who makes the Blossoms oJ
Trees to Flower." I think myself
she is the very same goddess whom
poets love and our artists paint, onlj
call her spring.
On the 24th of August such a typl
raged that we sat looking at our s
skirts, our big hats and leggins and s
American boots with dismay. I
seemed absolutely unattainable. But
25th was clear and bright, and we 1
the train for Gotemba, picking up m
bers of our party at Oiso and Kodzu. '
had made the ascent the year before,
their pilgrims' staffs bearing the stamp
the different stations drew murmurs
admiration from Japanese passengers,
was late in the afternoon when we reac
Gotemba. The first sight to greet
eyes as we left the station for the tea he
near by was a throng of pilgrims, com
down the street, real religious pilgri
in white, with rosaries about their nei
straw mats hanging from their should
great round hats on their heads and st
in their hands. After tea a little tram
drawn by one poor mountain horse A
hired, and we started for Subashiri,
town some miles away at the foot of the
mountain. We went with a clatter
through the long street of the village,
catching glimpses now and then of rooms
heaped with cocoons before we got out
into the country among the mulberry
trees and paddies where the early rice was
headed, and finally out on a grassy moor
dotted with lavender scabious and white
clematis and other late summer flowers.
Back of us stood the Hakone mountains;
on our right were the mountains of the
Oyama Kange, and to our left was Fuji,
cut by a long line of white cloud, a some-
what ghost-like Fuji in a hazy atmos-
phere all its own. The surrounding haze
seemed to separate the mountain from the
rest of the world ; we felt that we were get-
ting no nearer and that Fuji was shrink-
ing from us. Occasionally our conductor
wound a pewter horn, an answer came
from across the moor and we waited on a
side track while another little tram-car,
filled with returning pilgrims, went rat-
tling by.
It was dark when we reached Subashiri
and found our rooms at the Yoneyama
carrying our wraps and bags to an upper
room. We dined in state on cold roast
chicken and other home foods, for while
a Japanese meal can carry a Japanese sol-
dier for many hours on a campaign, it
cannot carry a foreigner up Fuji. Japan-
ese food has a way of filling a foreigner's
stomach, while it leaves his mouth still
hungry for more. Then to a wing of the
house we three women folk went, climb-
ing up a steep, winding .stair by the light
of a quaint old lamp, held by a giggling
neisan. Then when the neisan had bowed
herself away, wishing us good-night, we
saw our three little beds in a row on the
floor, while all about the room the shoji
and amado were shot tight, in true Jap-
anese fashion, lest a breath of air should
reach the honorable foreigners. We slipped
the amado back and stood looking out into
the night; the moon and stars were shin-
ing down on Fuji, and Fuji, wrapped in
a silver veil, was beautiful, majestic be-
yond words, but unsubstantial as a dream,
a veritable ghost mountain.
At three we arose, and at 4.30 left the
"Hoteru Yoneyama." Lamps were burn-
MONTHLY.
green slopes with the dark green of the
forest below. We could see flags -flying
and three stations on the slope. Then
sunlight struck the summit, and turning
in our saddles we saw that the sun was up,
a red ball, above the Eastern hills.
So we came to Umagaeshi "horse send
back" where we were supposed to dis-
mount and send away our ponies. Every
way up, Fuji has its Umagaeshi. This
one was a big open shed, with benches,
tables, and, wonder of wonders, table
cloths of thin muslin. Fluttering from
the roof were hundreds of bright colored
FROM A PHI NT BY HOKUSAI. ONE OF THE THIRTY-SIX VIEWS OF 1 I .1'.
traiuv to a temple in the outskirts. Low
bushes and trees by the roadside grew more
distinct as the light grew brighter and
the mountain as we approached seemed to
grow always flatter and smaller until it
looked a mere hill tr be overcome in per-
haps an hour. Back of us, between Su-
bashiri and the Oyama Range white clouds
lay like the waves of the sea, and the sun-
rise glow was red above the hills. Ahead
of us Fuji changed from red to purple,
then red with purple shadows and bright
pieces of cotton towels printed especially
for the Fuji pilgrims and left by them as
business cards are left. Or these towels
are often the cards of some association.
Many villages have pilgrims' societies, to
whirl) each member contributes a sen a
month. Then lots are cast, and the fortu-
nate go on the pilgrimage, led by some
one who lias l>een before, who tells the
stories of sacred spots and escorts his fol-
lowers to the inn most favored by his as-
sociation. A short distance back of the
226
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
tea shed stood a torii, marking the be-
ginning of the ascent and framing a view
of the sacred mountain peak beyond. Then
we plunged into a forest of evergreens and
larches, with other trees growing from a
carpet of fern and grass and strange flow-
ers. At a small tea shed we left our horses
and the walk up the mountain began.
Presently we came to a little temple
place with a font where pilgrims washed
their hands and left cash and prayed for
fair weather. Here, too, were towels for
sale, neatly folded to tie about one's fore-
head, and the keeper of the shrine pressed
them upon us, predicting headaches when
we reached the summit.
Next we came to another shrine, a sort
of shrine and shop combined, for here we
bought our staffs of white wood and had
them stamped with a hot iron by a priest
who sat enthroned before a shrine where
the sacred Shinto mirror and paper strips
were hanging.
Each tea shed, we thought (and there
were several at convenient intervals
through the forest) must be the first sta-
tion, for the way was steep, and we had
climbed long. At last as we left the wood
and came out on a slope of bare black
lava. "Here is the first station," our guide
said. There it had been, and there to the
Japanese mind it still was, though to our
foreign eyes not a stick nor stone of it re-
mained. Then the toil began; slow climb-
ing on a path of cinders and scoriae for
an hour until we saw far above us the
rounding shoulder of the mountain and
came to the second station. Such a
primitive hut it was, with a low lava wall
before it, the hut's walls of lava, too, with
a shingle roof held down by lava. Japan-
ese tea, bovril with pea soup and crackers,
cheered us on to the third station, and so
we climbed ever steadily and slowly up-
ward through scant shrubs and hardy
flowers. At station 4% we lingered only
a few minutes, for the white flags of the
sixth station seemed just above us hurry-
ing us on. We were an hour climbing up
the steep slopes of grey and red scoriae and
ashes before we reached that station. The
sixth is one of the largest and best built
of lava, as are the others, with a high lava
wall in front; but the room is bigger. In
the corner on the floor were piles of quilts
and round pillows, and up in the rafters
were a few of the high wooden rests that
Japanese ladies use for the backs of their
heads, that their hair, dressed for several
days, may not become untidy while they
sleep. There are no chimneys in the huts,
and the smoke of the charcoal fires is al-
lowed to wander about choosing its own
outlet. They brought us cushions and a
low Japanese table, and we dined from
the box of provisions that one of our
coolies carried. Some students were hav-
ing dinner, and so were two young girls.
The girls interested us ; they seemed about
twelve and fourteen, very young to be
alone climbing Fuji, and they were very
pretty, with their rosy, smiling faces and
picturesque dress. Their blue and white
cotton kimonos were tucked up in their
obis, showing bright red petticoats; they
had towels bound about their heads with
straw hats tied over them, framing the
fresh, young faces; they wore leggins and
waraji (straw sandals), carried staffs,
and had bundles tied to their shoulders all
in orthodox pilgrim style. Dinner finished,
we saw a peasant pilgrim buy some brown
roots to rub on his blisters, then stood
gazing in amazement at the great heap of
worn-out waraji outside the door. Our
coolies bound waraji over our boots, and
we started on again.
Here there was no path; one coolie led
and we followed wherever we could gain
a foothold on the surface of a grey lava
stream. To our right was a slope of red
scoriae ; to our left pilgrims went running
and leaping down a zigzag path of loose
cinders; far above us were other pilgrims,
mere white specks in the distance; below
us we could see little, for the day was
cool, and clouds and mist advanced with
us up the mountain side. It was hard
climbing then for two hours without a
stop, for there was no seventh station, only
an abandoned hut at 7^, and it was a
weary stretch to the eighth. Here was a
post-office, a tiny little place built in the
mountain side, where a thriving business
was done. Another path comes in here,
and as we started on again chanting the
pilgrims' song, "I am not tired; all is
well," a party of people coming up from
Yoshida, some young men, a woman of
middle age and an old man, joined in the
song and passed us. Before we reached
the ninth station every one of us saw that
PILGRIMS RESTING.
228
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
the other members of the party had lost
their natural color and looked pale and
yellow. It was a trick of the altitude, our
leader told us. So leaning on our staffs
and going always slowly, we reached the
summit at 3.30 in the afternoon. Few
go so slowly, but few perhaps arrive at
the top so fresh. 1 have walked a mile and
felt more tired than I felt then. We were
wisely led, and there was none of the wind
that often forces travelers to give up the
ascent and put back.
At the summit, we chose one of a row
of primitive huts to spend the night in,
put on our heavy coats for the ther-
to tumble them over; then the children
cry and begin again. In the world below
only Jizo helps them, and on this earth
only the pious who heap stones here to
save the baby hands some labor in Pur-
gatory. "We came to holes where hot
streams come out. The mountain is not
dead: perhaps it is only sleeping. Not
far away on the edge of the crater was a
torii, with a Shinto mirror and a cash
box dedicated to the goddess of the moun-
tain. There was a good view into the
crater, which sloped down steeply some
400 feet with rock walls and one long
drift of snow. At the "Silver Well" were
THE TEMPLE AND INN AT THE TOP OF THE GOTEMBA ASCENT.
BACK OF THEM IS THE CRATER EDGE.
mometer was near freezing and set out to
walk around the crater. Through the
clouds far below us we caught glimpses of
the outlying slopes of the mountain, the
chain of lakes about its base, and the far-
distant Tokio Bay. We came to a spot
sacred to Jizo, the compassionate, the god
of travelers and little children, and we
added some to the heaps of stones that
marked the place. The Japanese believe
that the poor dead children are condemned
to pile stones in the dry bed of a river,
and as the stones are piled, a hag comes
bottles of water which the pious buy and
take home as a cure-all for their ills. A
group of peasants stood about the well, and
some distance away climbing the steep,
red incline of Kengamine, the highest
point, were other pilgrims dressed in
white, all the color and their toil making a
picture like a Hokusai print come to life.
A temple and inn, the most pretentious on
Fuji, stand at the top of the Gotemba as-
cent. Quartered here were some foreign-
ers who had climbed to the summit before
sunrise, and got the glorious view of the
ci"*
A HUT NEAR THE SUMMIT.
230
OVEKLAND MONTHLY.
country about that was denied us.
Yet I wonder if the panorama of coun-
far glimpses of the real sea, and through
the cloud sea, sometimes we saw bits of
try could have been more wonderful than country and lakes and distant mountain
what we saw from Kengamine. The peaks. But for the most part we felt
mountain rose straight like a volcanic that we had dropped many centuries from
SUNRISE FROM THE SUMMIT.
island above a restless sea of clouds, and
such clouds, luminous, shining with a lus-
tre like pearls, rising and falling, chang-
ing incessantly. Over the edges we caught
us, and were back in those remote geologi-
cal periods before life was on the globe,
before we human beings began to be. The
sun did not set; it slipped away without
CLIMBING FUJI.
231
splendor. The air grew colder, and we
hurried back around the crater to our
primitive rock hut.
That hut! Perhaps our ancestors back
in the dim ages would have found it their
ideal of comfort, but for us, though we
went to bed at seven, there was sleep from
only one till four. It grew so cold that
the amado could be opened a crack; smoke
from the fine charcoal filled the room ; at a
late hour our coolies had a meal of fish
and rice and tea and their mothers had
trained them well, for they ate with noisy
politeness while we wrapt in rugs and
quilts, lying on the board floor, remem-
bered that our friends had warned us
against fleas. At four unspeakable hour
for arising from a spring bed '"we got
up joyfully.
Lines of pale green and blue showed
above the sea of cloud which was broken
by other darker clouds that looked like
mountain peaks till the light grew
stronger. The morning star faded away,
and a flush of red came in the sky. Pil-
grims hastened past our hut to reach a
higher point to watch the sunrise. Pil-
grims were coming up, led by a man who
had his head draped in a cloth and wore a
bell that rang as he climbed. He was the
headman of a village, leading the lucky
ones of some association. They were
chanting. The sun rose, and all the pil-
grims on the mountain faced the East,
clapping their hands and praying to be
purified by the first rays of the rising
sun.
Down at the sixth station, where we had
breakfast, there were students, two sailors,
a coolie with a load of charcoal, the two
little girls whom we had seen the day be-
fore, and two aristocratic girls with their
father, who wore foreign clothes. Break-
fast finished, we went running down the
slope of loose scoriae as we had seen others
running when we went up. Down in the
forest we rested while the two. girls of the
red petticoats, there before us, ate a meal
of rice and beans and pickles. Again at
a tea shed we rested, and here we found
the little pilgrims again; one had taken
off her hat and leggins, let down her
kimono, and presented herself as a demure
little neisan bringing us tea. The shed
was her home, while her friend came from
a village not far away.
Did you ever feel that your knees had
turned to blocks of wood and that they
were about to split, that your feet below
the wooden joints were going of them-
selves, quite regardless of your will, while
you, somewhere aloft, looked down at them
wondering helplessly if they were going to
stop, go on at a funeral pace, or dance an
Irish jig in the pathway, the fact that you
did not know an Irish jig making no dif-
ference; if your feet wanted to dance one
they would? That is the feeling two of
us had : but much to our surprise, our feet,
like trusty servants, carried us on to Uma-
gaeshi. The horses met us there, and it
was a joy to climb into the queer old high
saddles and let the horses walk.
One picture at Umagaeshi remains in
my mind; an old white-haired man with
two younger ones, kneeling in the torii
facing Fujisan. Bowing reverently and
praying, they did not heed us as we passed.
All their thought was of the sacred moun-
tain.
So we came, weary in body but exalted
in spirit, to Subashiri and back to Yoko-
hama. While we who went hope that old
age will bring no such pains and aches to
our muscles as we felt the next few days,
yet we want to climb again for the view
that eluded us. As for us, give us not
the artist's snow-clad Fuji, Fuji of the
winter, cold and unapproachable, far away
on the horizon, but give us the summer
time Fuji, known to the peasant pilgrims
and the keepers of the rock huts, and to
those foreigners who find a pleasure in
the life on the "Honorable Mountain."
THE ENDING
BY
JENNET JOHNSON
WAS very glad that the
invitation to spend
the week-end on
Scott's yacht came
when it did very
glad indeed. For be-
sides the usual pleas-
ure of a cruise
through the summer waters of the Sound
in the "Lurline," I had a special reason
just then for wishing to get among a lot
of gay people, and I am sure Helen had
too. You see, when a man has given up
a rather cherished plan for his wife's sake,
and she has declined the sacrifice (I don't
like to use that word, I'm no martyr or
model husband, Heaven knows ! ) when, I
say, he has decided the matter in the best
way for her, it is not the pleasantest thing
in the world to have his wife refuse to
accept his reasons, and finding him of .
decided mind also, to go about with set
lips and miserable eyes.
You will grant that under a week of
such circumstances a solitude a deux is
to be fled from at the earliest opportunity.
From the night, a week before, when
Helen had congratulated me upon being
invited to be attorney for the Denver and
Rio Grande, and I had briefly told her
that I had no intention of accepting it
and asking her to begin a new menage
and make new friends in the sage-brush
wastes of Arizona from that very argu-
ment which ended in my request that the
subject should not be alluded to again,
life at home was a nerve-racking series of
attempts to be natural.
The idea of Helen's continued protest-
ing! As if I hadn't grown up with her
from youngster-hood and seen the things
which her nature requires just as the rest
of us need air. It would kill Helen to
have to live more than a hundred miles
from her mother she would lose all in-
terest in life away from these girls and
men she had grown up with and the
babies to whom she is godmother and sil-
ver spoon giver. To say nothing of leav-
ing properly built and heated houses, and
the opera and ocean. Wlhy, it was out of
the question. Of course she would object,
trust Helen not to consider herself first
but her insistence and blindness to reason,
to say nothing of her final injured cool-
ness well, as I said, I was glad enough
to get away to the gayety of Scott's yacht
for a breathing space.
Helen didn't bubble over when I hand-
ed her Scott's note, but she seemed willing
enough to go, so on Friday afternoon I
left the office early, met her at the Grand
Central at four, and by dinner time we
were at Bridgeport on the white deck of
the yacht lying at anchor off Black Rock.
We were the last arrivals, and a jolly
lot we were who sipped our coffee under
the stars and watched the great eye of the
channel light-house blink and disappear
and blink again. Scott always knew the
right kinds of people to put together ; that
is, if there were to be any gunpowders on
board, there were no matches invited. On
this occasion I decided that we were large-
ly of the soda water variety. The remarks
were all surface wit you know the kind
a pop and froth of laughter that is all
over in a minute. Only worth a nickel,
too, but it was pleasing and refreshing
somehow, after those intense days at
home. Besides it gave me time, when it
wasn't my turn to pop, to think I had a
lot of thinking about Helen to do. She
sat over by the rail facing me. I could
only see her hands in her lap and the
white outline of her coat against the black
sky. She didn't laugh very much I won-
dered if she was thinking, too.
Heaven keep all my friends from a diet
of soda-pop especially if they are afloat
on the deep, cut off from fresh supplies!
By the third morning we had all tacitly
admitted our weariness of that form of
intellectual nourishment and each one
of us had retired to his or her deck chair,
THE ENDING.
233
to try for a while "the gentle art of enjoy-
ing oneself."
I smiled as I noticed the various forms
the art was taking. Mrs. Armand, the
plump, vivacious matron in black and dia-
monds (not more of the latter than are
good taste on a yacht, of course), was
yawning over a green-covered volume with
purple trees and gold letters on the front
and more purple trees on the back. (I
wish I had the designing of book covers,
but that is in passing.)
Carlton Brier was napping in the
shadow of Miss Greville's deck-chair. He
is forty-five, and as handsome a man as
ever was made on the big dark lines, a
rousing good fellow and as poor as a
mouse. And if Carlton napped in the
morning, you can depend upon it there
was "nothing doing."
Harricott, the blonde English lad whose
life is gold-lined and automobile-trimmed,
was walking up and down, smiling at the
sallies of black-eyed little Miss Van Dyne.
Weedon, the cynic and dyspeptic, was
reading a fat book probably statistics on
proper and improper mastication Helen
and Kitty Scott weren't in sight 'Scott
was aft, talking to the captain.
Well, this quiet state of things lasted
about half an hour, then presto ! Some-
body produced a brand new, shiny, uncut
magazine from somewhere, and we all be-
gan to quarrel. We were matching for it
when Scott sauntered up and suggested
like a tactful host that some one pick out
a good tale and read it aloud to the crowd.
So we matched for that, and it fell to Miss
Greville. She picked out a story, and we
all drew up our deck chairs in a circle.
I haven't the faintest idea what the
name of the tale was, but after all, that
doesn't matter. It was a good piece of
work at least it began so.
The hero was a young lawyer of the
promising, hopeful kind that I guess
Helen thought I was when she married
me. I looked at her once or twice when
the story began, but she didnt' turn in my
direction, and her mouth hadn't gone up
much at the corners.
\\C11, as I said, the hero was an ambi-
tious young idiot, and was especially anx-
ious to make a start at law, so that he
could hurry up and ask a certain girl to
preside over his coffee pot. They were en-
gaged, but the coffee pot picture seemed a
long way off. But one day, just as the
man was getting discouraged, a case was
offered him that looked mighty fine to a
beginner. A certain old gentleman had
left an interesting will which his niece
was trying to break, and if the hero could
win for the other side and defeat the girl's
lawyer (who was one of the biggest men
in the State) his fame would be pretty
well clinched. All his friends congratu-
lated him on getting the chance, and the
best (or rather the worst of it, as he
found out later) was that he felt perfectly
sure he had the right side. So he threw
his hat up in the air, treated his friends
all round and accepted the case.
Then he found out that the niece, the
girl he would be fighting, was his fiancee I
Naturally, his first impulse was to with-
draw his acceptance, but just as he was
hunting round for a pen or stamp 01
something, a note came from the girl, a
nice, ambiguous note, telling him that it
was a business matter and that he mustn't
be influenced by any unbusiness-like feel-
ings he might have in regard to her.
So the hero's professional ambition
sprang up again for a minute, and then
his feeling for the girl began to fight with
that, and he began to pace the floor and
ask himself what he should do.
I tell you we were all pretty interested
Helen was leaning forward and Weedon'a
mastication book had fallen under his
chair. Miss Greville's voice went on, fol-
lowing the conflicting thoughts of the poor
chap.
"Suddenly there was a loud cry in the
stern, and we saw the sailors all rush to
one side. "Man overboard!" some one
shouted; a life-preserver was thrown out,
and orders began to be shouted "to put
her about into the wind !" We all sprang
up and rushed to the rail. I tell you, noth-
ing less than a man overboard would have
stopped that story. We hung over as far
as we could, and watched the life pre-
server go out into the white wake, and we
saw the sailor strike out for it. Of course
he got hold in time, and was hauled in,
mad and shivering. Then we turned back
to our deck chairs for the rest of the
tale that is, all except Miss Greville.
But Miss Greville evidently hadn't seen
many rescues, and she got pretty well ex-
234
OVEKLAND MONTHLY.
cited. Just before the man grabbed the
rope, I had heard her breath coining fast,
and I noticed that her hands which still
held the forgotten magazine were clasped
so tightly that the nails marked her
flesh.
After the rest of us had turned away she
still stood there, watching the thing to
the very end. Then when the last drip-
ping foot was safely deposited on the deck,
she gave a little cry of relief and clapped
her hands.
Imagine our horror ! Out into the wind
and down into the sound it went our
magazine rustling away like a yellow-
winged bird and with it went our poor
hero still pacing the floor and wringing
his hands !
Well, it wasn't any use. Some one
rushed madly for a boat hook, but at the
rate we were clipping along, we had lost
sight of the thing in the swirls of foam
before I had a chance to shout "Another
man overboard !"
After we had lamented and scolded
all around, we turned to the culprit. "Miss
Greville will have to finish the story," we
said.
Just then Scott stepped in with his
hostful suggestions. "Let everybody fin-
ish it as he or she likes," he said, "and
we'll compare endings."
Weedon flung out both hands. "Why
didn't we lose that magazine yesterday?"
he groaned. Weedon always did shirk re-
sponsibilities. But, as Mededith says,
"One is not altogether fit for the battle of
life who is engaged in a perpetual con-
tention with his dinner."
"Shut up, Weedon," Brier commanded.
"We're going to do it alphabetically," and
it won't be up to you for a long time. Now
then, begin, Mrs. Armand."
Mrs. Armand clasped her plump, be-
diamoned hands and gazed out over the
water.
"Wtell, the hero decided to keep the
case," she began. "So he tried to forget
about the girl and win his side. And he
was terribly eloquent, and all the papers
talked about him. But just as he was
about to make a last thrilling oration
(Mrs. Armand's husband was in the shoe
business) he happened to glance across
the hushed court-room, and there he saw
the girl, her face white and trembling,
and he forgot everything else in the
wor ld "
"And shouting, 'All for love,' rushed
across the room, clasped the girl in his
arms and lost his case," Weedon inter-
rupted.
"Hi, there, Weedon, it isn't your turn,"
Scott called. "Brier comes next."
Carlton Brier straightened his long
frame and took the cigarette from his
mouth.
"Mine's brief," he said. "The man had
a good friend who came to him in the mid-
dle of his pacing and told him to go ahead
with the case; so, being a sensible chap,
he went in and won, and cinched his career
for the rest of his life."
"But what about the girl?" Miss Gre-
ville asked. She was looking intently at
Brier.
He laughed and took another puff.
"Why, of course, she wouldn't speak to
him after he had made her lose all her
money, so he went on a cruise in the Med-
iterranean and she married a gilt-edged
pork-packer in Chicago."
Brier sat back comfortably in his chair.
"Next!" he said.
Miss Greville clasped and unclasped her
hands.
"Mine is something like Mr. Brier's,"
she said. "The man went ahead and won
the case, and made the girl lose the
money.
"The girl wasn't angry at all; he only
thought she was, and on the night before
he started for the Mediterranean she sent
for him and told him that it didn't mat-
ter whether she was rich and he was poor
or, or anything."
Miss Greville finished breathlessly, and
her face flushed as she sank back in her
chair. Brier was smiling lazily. I saw
Miss Greville glance at him quickly, but
he shook his head. He had evidently de-
cided upon the Mediterranean cruise for
his hero.
"Harricott! where's Harricott?" Wee-
don asked. We all looked around, but
Harricott had slipped away. He realizes
his duty in society, Harricott does, as the
Appreciative Audience and the Motor-
Trip Furnishing Branch.
"Now, it's up to you, Trent," Scott
turned to me. "Or rather Mrs. Trent
and you. Place dux dames."
THE ENDING.
235
Helen was tearing a bit of paper into
tine shreds in her lap.
"No, you first/' she said, without look-
ing up. "Arthur comes before Helen."
"Oh, well," I said easily, "I think you
have made entirely too much out of the
situation. The man did the natural thing,
of course, the only thing .he 'cbuld do,
which was to put aside the girl's note (of
course an expected protest) and refuse-
to accept the case."
Dora Van "Ryne began to protest. "Oh,
make more of a story than that," but Scott
pacified her.
"Wait till we have Mrs. Trent's version
'then we'll have a recess and everybody
can talk at once."
Helen began to arrange the pieces of
paper in her lap into a pattern. There
was a bright pink spot in each cheek, and
she talked very fast.
"The man was a fine fellow," she said,
looking out over the wator, "but ne wasn't
used ' to seeing the two sides of things.
So he believed that there was only one
sacrifice to be made, and that was the sac-
rifice of his career for the sake of the girl.
It never occurred to him that he was sel-
fish in wishing to monopolize all the sac-
rifice. He cared more for the girl than
for his career, but he never considered
that the girl might care more for his ca-
reer than for her money, or herself.
"So, when the man insisted upon refus-
ing to accept the case, she wrote another
note he had so evidently not understood
the first one and this time she spoke
very plainly. She wrote sometning like
this: 'If you won't (supposing you win)
accept the sacrifice of my money, whj
should you expect me to accept the sacri-
fice of your career?'
"And then she ended by telling him
what she believed about a man's work
that when he had "touched the c.ore of
his capacities," when he was putting his
best into his work, there was little place
for woman in his thoughts. She might
inspire in victory or compensate in loss,
but she would come before and after the
completion of his life, perhaps, but not
the whole." ...
Helen stopped abruptly, and looked
down at the bits of paper in her lap. We
were silent for an instant.
"Well, did he still refuse; did he miss
her point?" Brier asked, after a long
silence.
For a fraction of a second Helen's eyes
were on me. Then, "He accepted, didn't
he?" I said.
Helen nodded.
"Gee! you ought to be a novelist, Mrs.
Trent!" Weedon looked at her with ad-
miration. "Wasn't that realistic, though.
You've got the 'touch,' all right."
"But you didn't finish," Dora Van
Dyne pouted. "He accepted, but did he
win the case ?"
Helen was looking at the water again.
The corners of her lips curved upward
just enough to bring out two dimples.
(Jove, I'd almost forgotten she had them.)
"Did he win?" Helen repeated over to
herself.
I leaned forward and pulled the rug up
over her knees.
"She won," I said, absently.
BY ROCKWELL D.
ATUHE has done her
part with lavish hand.
Our Yosemite, Tahoe,
Santa Cruz and Men-
d o c i n o redwoods,
Mariposa and Tuol-
umne Big Trees; our
snow-crowned moun-
tains of Siskiyou and Inyo, our Lake
County, with its myriads of wonder-work-
ing springs, our seaside attractions from
north to sunny south these are sample
dishes from the menu infinitely rich in
quality, in variety inexhaustible.
Americans are slow at becoming inti-
mately acquainted with California's best,
except at long range, and in the externals
of conventionality. Even our own home
people, jaded dwellers in teeming cities
and faithful farmers after harvest in our
opulent valleys, are slow to come to their
own. Multitudes have never yet known
the joy of the camp. And it is an abound-
ing joy that multiplies with the sharing.
To insure a successful camping trip,
three conditions must be present. First,
congenial company; second, wholesome
provision in ample supply; third, ade-
quate means of getting from place to
place in your own time, and not at the
signal of a conductor or the crack of the
stage driver's whip. The third is best
secured for most occasions by a stoutly-
built covered spring wagon, drawn by a
span of sound, true-and-tried horses; for
rare occasions, the tough, sure-footed
pack-horse is the sine qua nan.
Under the second head great depend-
ence may be placed in gun and rod; but
experience has fully demonstrated that it
is not the part of wisdom to subject the
enormous appetites of California camp
life to the monotony induced by an ex-
clusive diet of wild game and fish. The
commissary department is simplified by
the infinite variety of prepared foods of
wholesome quality now everywhere avail-
able, and by the camp devises of an inven-
tive generation. Yet nothing quite takes
the place of the "flap jacks" of our fathers
and the "Dutch Ovens" of our mothers.
A bewilderment of foods and of dishes in
camp is a delusion and a snare.
I lay chief stress on the first condition,
good camp company. Boon companions
will suffer dire hardship, hard luck, and
even low provisions, and yet report a
splendid time on returning from a trip,
but no amount of material success will
compensate for the absence of a congenial
camp mate.
I have been specially favored. In Yo-
semite it was my joy to make camp at the
base of Three Brothers peaks with two
brothers of my own as companions. We
called it Camp Tres Fratres. The snail-
pace of the burros creeping along from
splendot to splendor was not to our lik-
ing, but in bounding health and vigor we
were free to make record time from Senti-
nel Dome to Glacier Point and on down
the zig-zagging trail to the picturesque
little chapel on the floor of the valley op-
posite grand El Capitan. The conven-
tional life of the* so-called rich, lounging
around the lobby of the hotels we would
CAMPING OUT IN" CALIFORNIA.
237
have none of that: give us the freedom
of the camp and the more intimate wealth
of sublime nature. With face to ground
we were lulled reluctantly to sleep by the
grateful thunderings of the ponderous,
magical, miracle of God, to be awakened
in early morn by a warbling robin who
had builded her a nest in a near-by pine
sapling, fearing no evil.
Very different, though not a whit less
charming, was the prospect at Tahoe, with
camp cosily set under those balsamic pines
the wind soughing through the upper
branches. What possibilities of delight
north, east, south, west, with camp head-
quarters here on the border of that most
beautiful of all lakes. Here the true
lover of nature forgets his gun, and for a
time even his rod, as he in grateful hu-
mility drinks in the myriad marvels of
creation at its finest. How entrancing
was the moon's shimmer upon the dancing
waves as we sat at the base of majestic
Tallac, our gaze losing itself in the pale
distance on the lake's bosom. No dream
of record-breaking time here, whether en-
joying a boating excursion to the enchant-
ed haunts of Emerald Bay or looking
down from the heights of Tallac upon a
panorama of snowy areas with jutting
peaks, mountain lakes, and meadows of
brilliant green all fit for the eyes of
gods. No haste, I say, amid these sur-
roundings ; for she who was my chief com-
panion then has since assumed charge of
my household affairs. Wihat is so rare as
a moonlit night on the lake !
John Bidwell, prince of California pio-
neers, was my chief in a memorable camp-
ing trip in the northern Sierras. What a
magnificent camper was Bidwell ! What
a world of experience, what a wealth of
reminiscence! What a knowledge; what
unbounded hospitality! Not while life
lasts can I forget the gentle yet command-
ing greatness of this man whose friend-
ships and benefactions were as broad as
his spreading acres of Rancho Chico.
"Annie," he remarked to his charming
wife the first morning, "we must see how
many plants we can name to-day," and
before nightfall some four score, from
tiniest lichen to the stately pinus ponder-
osa, had been accorded their proper names
at sight. It is said that the general could
at the age of eighty give the scientific
names of all the plants of every descrip-
tion, indigenous and introduced, that
grew on his vast estate of 25,000 acres.
He had a passion for science, whether as-
tronomy or geology, and delighted to en-
tertain in camp as well as mansion visit-
ing scientists from far and near. He
loved poetry as well as science, and how
pleasant it was to hear the becoming
verses from Wordsworth or Longfellow, or
a psalm of David from the lips of this
venerable man.
Withal he was a benefactor to his
neighbors. The real objective point of
this and many another of his camping
trips was the survey and improvement of
mountain roads. Scores of miles of the
public highway, resurveyed and greatly
improved, will long continue as evidences
of the devotion of the Father of Chico.
I shall forget many of the sights of that
short trip in the region of Lassen's Peak
it was in itself far from sensational
but the wholesomeness and uplift of its
companionship shall never pass. Nature
has indeed dealt lavishly with California,
but she has nurtured too few noble men
like John Bidwell.
IN NEW SUMMER LANDS
BY
FELIX J. KOCH
PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR.
E WAS of that sort of
men to whom if you
say they shouldn't,
they answer "they
will," and if you tell
them they should,
they won't.
He was going
away from staid old vacation lands, and he
wanted to try something just a bit differ-
ent from his friend, who was summering
in the Eiviera, and his other friend, in
Algiers, and the college chum of years
standing who had gone to Australia. In
short, he wanted to dispell the illusions
his friends might all have of some little-
known land.
He had heard that in Turkey there
were new worlds to conquer, and that, if
one wanted to run the risk, he could go
by horse through the most delightful re-
gion in Europe, the Ivan Planina (or
ridge) of the Balkans. So he started for
that little district the Sandchak of Novi-
pazar.
In the first place how should he get
there? By rail from Buda-Pest to Sara-
jevo, that was easy. But all the way
down people told him not to go beyond
that point.
"You will never come out alive; you
will certainly regret it!"
Then when he got to Sarajevo, the
capital of Bosnia, he heard another story.
"The Austro-Hungarians are occupy-
ing all that section of Turkey as far north
IN NEW SUMMER LANDS.
as Plevlje, and if you go in the post stage
you go in perfect safety. Even now they
are building the railway to that point,
down the plague spot of Europe."
Where was the post stage? He inquired
at the post-office.
There was an affable Austrian on duty,
and he enlightened him, pleasantly.
"It leaves three times a week, and it is
an experience. Yah, you really should
take it !"
So he wanted to do, but there was no
room in the diligence until three days af-
terward, liesult, he took "place."
The eventful day arrived, as it must,
when he should venture into new vacation
lands, the famous sandchak or district of
Novi-pazar. Incidentally, the post dili-
gence left at four in the morning, and all
four passengers were warned that if not
on time, it would bowl along to the end
of the Austrian occupation, and into Tur-
kish domains without them. The fare
was a mere trifle, five dollars and four
cents, and you could take ten kilograms
of free baggage along, providing that this
was not in wooden or iron trunks. In
other words, it must be in parcels, for
out there leather wallets were totally un-
known.
The ticket further went on to say that
you couldn't smoke if any one else ob-
jected. Then you could take no dogs.
Furthermore, you had to declare the value
of your baggage, otherwise you couldn't
recover.
The only possible loss seemed to be
from highwaymen, so that the American
didn't particularly relish this last state-
ment. But it was there, both in Croat
and in German, on the large white ticket,
and there was no way out of it.
He studied the map of the route. It
really meant very little. He was to go due
southeast of Sarajevo to Plevlje, but as
matters of fact, he would first travel south
to Croljavac, then southeast along the
Malj.acka and the mountains to Goro-
vic, and after that paralleling the river to
Praca and Cemernica, and to the boun-
THE BAGGAGE.
240
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
dary of Bosnia and Turkey. If, then, he
went on, remained to be seen.
He had them wake him at three at
the Hotel Bosnia. Then, while the porter
took his valise to the post-office, he in-
vested in sausage at a neighboring gro-
cer's, as he had been advised to do.
The 'bus, of course, was not ready when
he got to the post. That was all part of
the programme, enabling the cheery
young barmaid at the stand where the
]i(|imrs arc dispensed to the waiters to in-
dulge in flirtations with guests.
He, too, had his coffee, then stepped
into the diligence.
It seemed quite the limit of transpor-
whole, was quite friendly, and a peasant
woman who spoke the Serb language only,
were the only others aboard. The fourth
passenger, evidently, was late, so they set
out without him.
Out of the city, out through the dark,
empty streets, in the night, and with the
military 'bugles blowing, as they rounded
the corners, the start was made. Despite
the cravenette and the heavy underwear,
it was cold, withal that it was well to-
ward the end of August.
Here and there, out of the dark, an
electric-light flickered at the corners;
otherwise this outset of the ride was much
as Dickens described coaching on similar
AN INN EN ROUTE.
tation, this canvas-covered affair. One
could enter from either side, and there
were two seats for two persons each, fac-
ing one another within. In front was the
seat for driver and guard. To see the lat-
ter take his place, gun in hand, sent a
sudden thrill to the heart.
Meantime, down in the bottom, and in
the rear of the seats, they were stacking
parcels that would go by mail far into the
interior.
A pock-marked, non-talkative Serb,
who spoke German, and who, on the
stilly nights in England. The driver and
the guard were discussing the mail >
thirty-four parcels in all wood boxes,
card board and bundles.
The others aboard were silent so he
sank back into his seat, on the right, in
the rear, to doze.
Ahead, in fact all day to the end (for,
by law, the two must keep in sight of each
other), there rumbled the box-like post
wagon, also a two-horse equipage, with
driver and armed guard on top.
His own guard had his gun in instant
242
OVEKLAND MONTHLY.
readiness now, and it and the uniform,
added their powerful part in giving haz-
ard to the prospect.
It seemed as though everywhere was
silence silence only save when the
church bells chimed the hour or the elec-
tric light globes, swayed by the breeze,
creaked above the stage's rumble, and of
the night one heard some distant cocks,
and their cries seemed warnings that this
trip might be in the end fatal. Nearer,
geese, too, cackled angrily at the driver.
in the red jacket lined with blue, red
trousers, tall boots and red cap with a
button as he lashed at them with his
whip.
Again and again the bugle sounded oui;
on the silent night, ordering teams to give
right of way to his Majesty's mail.
Then they were in the country, on a
rustic's pike. In place of the bugle now
the driver substituted a shrill whistle
when some wagon blocked the way. The
colder it grew the more the passengers
huddled far in the wagon's depths, and
maintained a half-conscious doze. There
were no covers in the stage, and with the
growing altitude it became actually icy.
Then a second post wagon joined the
cavalcade, and the three rolled out, pro-
cession-wise, as in England in coaching
days. The whistle, the horn, the night,
and the guard with the gun; then the
mountains, and the increasing cold, one
would have slept away with the monotony
of them, but that the hands and the feet
were freezing.
Dim, high forms of mountains on right
and left became gradually more visible/
and now and then a pack-train of mules
was signaled ahead from the vanguard
of the post train.
Just at the time when sleep had come,
the stage came to a halt.
Of course it must be robbers !
Instead, it was a young signal corps
officer, who had overslept himself, and
hurried by puzzling bridle-paths to over-
take the stage. He greeted one and all in
German as he took his, the fourth, place
in the stage; spoke of the white frost on
the fields, and how nice it would be if
AUSTRIAN PATROLS.
A LAND OF MOSQUES.
they could stop in at the kavana, all lit
up, just beyond, for some coffee. Then he
looked at the moon and the clear, spark-
ling stars, and likewise fell asleep.
So, too, did the American. When he
di(J wake once or twice they were pass-
ing a church, or an occasional wagon,
with the driver walking beside his horses,
or some more of the innumerable pack-
trains, while the ever-rising, towering
mountains were always just perceptible
in the dusk.
When daybreak came, they were fol-
lowing the line of a new spur of railway,
then just under construction. Instinct-
ively, while they breathed on their hands
and shuffled their feet in an attempt to
fight that stinging cold, they compared
this ride to American travel, even in olden
times, and then to what it would be here,
perhaps, three years hence, when the
railway got this far into Bosnia. And
meantime he was congratulating himself
that he had made the trip now, and se-
cured this taste of old-fashioned staging.
Everything, too, served for distraction.
A great herd of pack-horses, tied to-
gether with clothes-line, and a peasant
walking at their head or their sides, served
for a moment to ward off sleep. Then the
mutual expressing of the wish for sun-up
or for 'covers, kept the four in some sort
of life.
It was quarter past five when the sun
made its first appearance over the moun-
tains, and one could begin to see things
distinctly. The mountain peaks -grew
yellow against a ground-work of brown,
and great valleys of pines iseemed .to
open.
A passenger suggested that they tie the
covers to the side entry to the stage, and
they found it a little warmer, now that
the draft was shut off, only that obstructed
the view !
Time seemed to pass very slowly. At
5.25 they were stopping in the twilight
at two little homes, and while the sweat
rose in steams off the horses' backs, and
their breath, too, floated skyward, they
worked fingers and legs that were stiff
with cold, and tried to break the frozen
244
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
silence by suggesting they imitate the
peasants they saw outside, with the queer,
be-turbaned fezes of red, twisted cloth
and walk side by side with the horses.
Those peasants interested the Ameri-
can deeply. There were some who wore
European attire throughout, excepting for
conventional fezes. Ihere were others
who had the Bosnic fez 'that of the red,
twisted cloth. There were others with a
handkerchief about the head. Most of
them carried bags of alternate gray and
brown stripes on their backs.
They were all prone to argument, and
notably so one with whom the stage-
driver picked a quarrel, because the peas-
ant refused to return an article he had
found on the road.
Other men in ordinary attire, but with
great alpen-stocks, to whose tops bouquets
of fresh flowers were tied, and with a
"ruck sack" on the back and typical Swiss
caps (even to the green felt and one
feather), were likewise clambering on to
the deep blue mountains, where the sun-
light had not yet fallen.
Rapidly, now, however, the light of day
was spreading over the endless peaks, and
at a kavana where the cavalcade stopped
that the three drivers and guards might go
in to their coffee, the cocks were pro-
claiming the fact, Mean-time, for fifteen
minutes or so of the halt, the four inside
the 'bus were freezing.
Some pack-horses, with great loads of
hay wrapped entirely round their bodies,
made themselves objects of envy, for their
covers. Likewise, some peasants, in the
thread-crossed brown slippers, the black
stockings rising to heavy red garters, the
white trousers and the long white vests,
beneath queer coats of black, who seemed
not to heed the temperature a trifle.
With full dawn the mists on the Balkan
peaks ahead were dispelled rapidly, and
the fogs fell away into a vale of blue
clouds, one of the prettiest sights in the
world.
If only it had been warmer, that one
could rightly enjoy overlooking then
peaks some with slopes well-tilled and
patched by crops, the others wooded and
their slopes irregular, though well-covered
by vegetation.
And the music of the road, too it was
so pretty but for one's shivering! Where
the black-gowned peasants walked at the
leading animal's head a bell swung, tink-
ling merrily the live-long day. Every
train had its different burden, too. Here
were thirteen burros, laden all with hides,
coming out of the mountains as the pack-
trains do far away in India. Yonder,
others had a keg at each side of the horse
with olives, perhaps, for the valley.
Down in one vale was a goat-pen, and
the alpenstock bearers made for it on a
run, perhaps for the goat's milk or cheese,
while the other trains wound on in the
forest.
Wagons hauling supplies for the new
railway, or great kegs of material under
tarpaulin, so as to resemble American
beer wagons, became numerous by six,
when, frozen to the bone, the first creek
was reached, and with each yard of ascent
the mercury seemed to fall lower.
Then they took to the forest of pines
very erect and laden with balsam. Pines
seemed to cover even the crags, and where
there were windows were farm houses
with great white-washed ovens in their
gardens, beneath a protective roof. There
was the summer villa of a consul here also,
in a great ever-green preserve, and across
the way was an inn.
That was the first morning's stop it
was only six-ten now. The wagons drove
off to a military reservation (which no
stranger may enter), that the guards
might breakfast. The travelers remained
behind.
They went to the inn, but it was closed.
Luckily, over the road was another, the
lian, or tavern of Bale. Out of the cold,
through the guest room of the inn, into
the kitchen, where cooking was in progress
on a most modern range, the travelers
flocked. Two or three women, wearing
very cheap gowns, were engaged in pre-
paring breakfast.
There were scrambled eggs and black
bread that was all, excepting, of course,
coffee. Would it do? Most certainly, yes.
So, while the eggs were cooking, they
thawed out, and discussed the cold, the
worse after yesterday's rain. Then they
looked out the window at the great pano-
rama of beautiful, forested mountains,
rolling beyond the barnyards.
Their hands finally warm, and the chat
at an end, they withdrew to the guest
WOMEN OF THE REGION.
246
OVERLAID MONTHLY.
room, where the floor was of planks, and
the walls had a green plaster, and the
ceiling was of heavy, raised boards. In
one corner was a bed, and beside it a
sofa. Then there was a little iron stove
and a sewing machine, some tables and
chairs. Ever since 1885, when the sol-
diers were quartered here, the Magyars
had run the place. Now, however, the
soldiers were useless for protection, as
there were no longer any robbers about.
They gave other interesting gossip, too,
of the hunting club of Turkind beys, close
by, that was kept so exclusive because of
the price of membership, and which had
wiped out practically all the big game,
notably bear and wild boar, leaving only a
few deer and chamois.
Then they called attention to the sun,
rising on the pine-cla'd mountains. After
that they let them go on with the coffee.
There was time to spare still before the
wagons returned. Nearby at the roadside
was a kavana, all of white plaster, and
with over-hanging roof. The door was
open, and inside on a divan or bench,
against the wall, sat the Turk, cross-
legged, at his tray, with the cafe can and
the little, handleless cup, the sugar and
spoon, swilling the live-long day.
The American photoed him and his
home and inn. Then he took a "snap"
of a passing Serb by his horse, and the
man shook his hands in exceedingly grate-
ful thanks.
Wagons with supplies went by in as-
tounding numbers, showing the import-
ance of the trade route that the new rail-
way will take to connect with the Oriental
Express in the future.
After that, it was time to go on.
Did he want to go? He had had only
a taste of the Balkans! The Turkish
coffee, the han, the out-door oven, appealed
to him greatly. It was getting warmer
now, too that the \sun wag up! Of
course he did ! So he went.
On to the heart of the sandchak, and
the trip was as unique as any he had heard
of before.
WIND ON THE SEA
BY
ARTHUR POWELL
THE wind is high, though clear the sky;
The great seas rise and fall
Like the heaving breasts of a monstrous shape
Spawned in some under hall,
Where the ceiling is light as the green of the grape,
And the floor dark,- dark as a pall.
The big ship swings ; the rigging sings ;
The deck is a swivelled plane;
We painfully cling and climb, till now,
One beat, we are level again;
Then down we slide with the dipping bow
To a clank-and-creak refrain.
Before the gale, with swelling sail,
We reel in drunken glee ;
The brute we ride is the wind- whipped tide
That heavily rolls a-lee;
There, where the lash has cut the hide,
The crystal spray flies free.
LITTLE MUSKY'S ,STORY
BY
CLARENCE HAWKES
ILLUSTRATED BY ELOISE J. ROOEBACH.
ITTLE MUSKY had
been born about the
first of February, in
one of the conical-
shaped m u s k r a t
houses upon the
island in the great
river. He had been
one of a family of nine rats, for the musk-
rat always has a good, large family. His
parents lived in a three-story house, about
six feet high, and six or seven feet in di-
ameter. The muskrat houses had been
built higher than usual the autumn be-
fore, for by some wild instinct, the wary
rats expected unusual freshets in the
spring; and their prophecies usually came
true. By observing these sagacious little
creatures, man can often get valuable hints
as to the weather, for many months ahead.
When the winter is to be long and cold,
they build the rush and reed walls of their
houses thicker, both to keep out the cold
and to serve them as provender. When
there is to be high water in the spring,
they build their houses high, so that they
will not be drowned out when the freshet
comes.
The family of muskrats to which
Musky belonged, had been very cozy in
their nicely constructed house, where
they nestled close to their mother's warm
fur and were content. It was several
weeks before they were large enough to
crawl about, but they grew much faster
than other small creatures, so in two
months they were exploring the house for
themselves.
Before the spring freshet came they
were large enough to go outside, and run
about in the tunnels that the old musk-
rats had made in the snow. These tun-
nels were very winding and led from point
to point, where provender had been stored.
About the middle of April there were
several days of hard rain, and the tee in
the river broke up, and the spring flood
began.
At first the three conical houses on the
island had seemed very secure, for they
were on a high point, and several feet
above water. But an ice-jam was formed
248
OVEBLAND MONTHLY.
in the river below, and the water rose
rapidly. This was something that the
rats had not expected; so, like the wisest
of us, they were taken unawares. Soon
the water came into the lower story of
their house, and they went to the second
floor. Then that, too, became flooded, and
they went to the third and last. But the
water still rose, and the fate of the poor
muskrats looked dubious. The water was
so deep about their house that they could
not escape by the water passage, and reach
a place of refuge before their breath and
strength would be gone. Finally, the
floor of their last refuge became wet, and
they huddled up in one corner, frightened
and miserable.
Then a lucky accident delivered them
from the trap in which they had been
caught, for a log came rushing and tum-
bling about in the current, and stove in
the top of their house, and their escape
was made more easy.
But where should they flee, for on every
side was water, water, water, and nothing
but water. It was not placid and inviting,
as they were used to see it, but turbulent
and angry, and they feared it with an un-
known fear.
Soon a long, queer object began slowly
moving across the meadows, towards the
island. Occasionally a bright flame would
leap from this strange thing, and a thun-
derous noise would reverberate across the
water. The muskrats did not know what
it all meant, but it doubled their fears,
which were already great.
Soon the monster drew near the island
and its three conical houses, and the old
rats became alarmed. They were all out
on the top of the house now, and could
see the moving object quite plainly. Then
the thunder stick spoke again, louder and
more terribly than it had before, and one
of the old rats and three of the children
rolled, kicking and splashing, into the
river, and the water about them was red
with blood. Then a friendly plank came
floating by, and the remaining old musk-
rat, and three of the youngsters swam and
climbed upon it. Bang, bang, bang, went
the thunder stick again, and the old musk-
rat and two of the children on the plank
tumbled off, as the others had done from
the top of their house; and little Musky
was left alone upon the plank, in a hostile
and terrible world. But the water was
more merciful than man, for the current
bore him swiftly away, out of reach of the
thunder-stick.
On, on, the current swept the friendly
plank, and this queer little mariner was
borne far away from all familiar things,
and never again in his adventurous life
did he see any of his own family. Some-
times the plank rushed through narrows
with a speed that fairly took his breath
away, and then it glided gently along,
where the river was broad and not so tur-
bulent. Once it rushed into a whirlpool
and was sent spinning round and round.
The poor rat became quite dizzy, and near-
ly lost his hold, but he knew intuitively
that his only hope was in clinging tight,
so he clung.
Several times the plank shot under long
bridges, where the swollen waters nearly
washed the floor. At another point it shot
over a great dam, with the speed of an
arrow.
Finally, after several hours, it was car-
ried into back water, and lodged in some
bushes, and Musky's travels ceased for a
while, for which he was very glad, for it
tired him and made him so dizzy he could
hardly tell water from land.
Soon another plank came floating by
and lodged still nearer the shore, so he
left the plank that had served him so well,
and swam to the second one, and from that
to an old log, until at last he was on
land. Here his first care was to eat some
last year's dead water grass, and stop
the gnawing at his vitals. Then he crawled
into a hole in the bank and went to sleep.
When he awoke he was sore and stiff,
but a run in the sand soon restored his
good feelings. There was plenty of good
food, both in the wash along the shore, and
in the reeds and water grasses, so he fared
very well as far as food was concerned, but
he was very lonely. He had always had a
dozen or more young muskrats for play-
mates and companions, and it seemed
strange to be left all alone. He had no
idea where the island in the great river
could be found again, and soon gave up
looking for it.
The second day he made the acquaint-
ance of a drowned-out skunk, which made
it a little less lonesome. The skunk did
not have very much to do with him, but
ON, ON, THE OTJRRENT SWEPT THE FRIENDLY PLANK.
250
0\ 7 EELAND MONTHLY.
it was nice just to have some one to look
at, and to know that there were other liv-
ing things, besides himself, that the flood
had pushed from their homes.
After about a week, the flood subsided,
and the river went back to its old channel.
The sun then came out warm for the time
of year and dried up the sand. The young
muskrat found the sand a great delight,
and was never tired of playing in it, but
he soon learned that his element was the
water. On land he was awkward, and did
not know just how to make his legs go, but
in the water they went all right. So he
concluded that he was made for swimming
and kept much to the water.
Two very serious mishaps befell him
this first summer, which he might have
avoided if he had been in the company of
wiser heads, but he was alone in the world,
and had to buy all his wisdom.
One morning in midsummer he was
playing on the shore, after having made a
fine breakfast on lily bulbs, when he no-
ticed a shadow upon the ground beside
him. It had not been there a second be-
fore, and he wondered what made it. The
next second he found out in a way that
astonished him, for there was a great flap-
ping above him, and before he knew what
was about to happen, a large fish-hawk
had wrapped steely talons about him, and
strong wings were bearing him away.
With that instinct of self-preservation
that is strong in all wild creatures, and
which tells them to do the right thing at
the right time, the young rat drew him-
self up, and buried his teeth in the hawk's
leg.
The old osprey had caught many young
muskrats before; none of them had ever
bitten him, but he had taken this one up
in the wrong manner. It was so sudden
and unexpected that for a second the hawk
loosed his grip, and the poor rat dropped
back into the river, with a suddenness
that knocked the breath out of his body,
and left him kicking and gasping on the
surface of the water. The hawk could
easily have taken him again, but the musk-
rat's teeth had sunk deep into his leg, and
he concluded to go after a fish instead.
Fish did not act in that uncivil manner.
So little Musky escaped this time, but
he never forgot the lesson. After that,
whenever he saw the fish-hawk hovering
above the river, he sought a safe shelter,
and was very careful not to show himself
until the osprey had gone. Musky's sec-
ond adventure, and one from which he
learned a valuable lesson, was with his
worst enemy, the mink.
One evening, when he was playing in
the shallows of a little brook, which ran
into the river, he saw a slim, sleek-looking
animal, not much larger than himself,
come gliding noiselessly down the brook.
His movements were all stealthy, and his
head was turned this way and that, inquir-
ingly ; his eyes were sharp and beady, and
Musky did not like his looks, although he
seemed small and harmless.
Presently the stranger caught sight of
the muskrat and fixed his glittering eyes
upon him. This made Musky feel un-
comfortable, and, deciding to give the
fierce little stranger all the room he
wanted, he moved to the other side of the
brook, but the mink followed, his eyes
getting brighter and brighter. Then
Musky concluded the stranger was not to
his liking, and fled towards the river,
where there was plenty of water, the mink
following fast. Out and in among the lily
pads they raced, the mink gaining on the
rat, and Musky getting more and more
frightened. What could this little fury
want of him?
Wihen they reached the river, the mink
was but a few feet behind, and he glided
after the muskrat like a snake. In his
great fright, the muskrat did the only
thing that he could have done to save hia
life. He knew of no burrow in which to
take refuge, so he swam for deep water,
and dove to the bottom. His lungs were
much stronger than those of the mink, so
by a series of dives he soon winded his
pursuer, and escaped, hiding in the lily
pads until he was gone.
After this thrilling chase, the muskrat's
life went on quite uneventfully, until the
fall freeze. When the rivers and streams
began to skim over with ice each morning,
and the grass along the bank was covered
with hoar-frost, something told the musk-
rat that snow and cold were coming. He
knew by some rare instinct that he would
not always be able to make his breakfast
at the brook-side, as he now did.
So with prudent forethought he began
building a great mound of reeds, rushes,
A FINE BREAKFAST ON LILY BULBS.
lily pads, moss and other plants that grew
in swampy places.
Higher and higher he piled this heap
of plant life, until it was five or six feet
high, and nearly as far across at the base.
The inside of this queer haycock he left
hollow, and when it was finished, he made
two channels underground, from the in-
side of his house, to the brook.
He made these channels quite long, so
that his enemy, the mink, would have a
hard time holding his breath if he should
undertake to enter at his front door.
This queer house that the muskrat had
built was to serve two purposes. First,
it was his place of refuge and shelter, and
secondly it was his food. Who ever heard
of any one eating his house? But this
was. what the muskrat did, while the
winter days went by.
THE MAN WHO INSPIRED
"RAMONA"
BY LOUIS J.
ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS.
F THE many millions
who have read Helen
Hunt Jackson's fam-
ous novel of Southern
California, very few
realize that the story
is true, and a still
smaller number know
that the man who inspired a young and
then unknown writer to produce her mas-
terpiece has just been laid to rest in
San Diego.
Father A. D. Ubach, for forty years
priest of St. Joseph's Church in San
Diego, is the original of one of the strong-
est characters in the story of Ramona :
"Father Gaspard, the bearded priest;
more of a soldier than the man of God."
Thus he is described by the author of
"Ramona," to whom he told the dramatic
story of the beautiful half-caste girl and
her red-skinned lover many years ago.
Miss Helen Hunt, as was then her
name, met Fathej Ubach while visiting
San Diego, and was deeply impressed by
the latter's striking personality. Father
Ubach, also, was attracted by the young
writer, and, learning of her literary ambi-
tions, told her the story of Ramona and
Allesandro, whose dramatic fortunes and
ill-starred union were always among the
most vivid memories of his stirring and
eventful life.
Graphically, and with the realism of
combined eloquence and intimate personal
knowledge, Father Ubach poured into the
eager ears of his fair listener the sub-
stance of the story so well elaborated in
the resultant book. He described the mis-
givings, perplexities and battlings with
Self which shook Ramona's heart and
mind when she found herself in love with
the young Indian chief employed on her
foster parents' estate; how the call of the
free, wild blood in her veins clashed with
the Castillian heritage of restraint, dig-
nity and pride which were also there, and
of her final abandonment of home, social
position and all her former world held
dear, to follow Allesandro into the moun-
tains a penniless outcast, yet radiant
with happiness and hope.
No other could have told the young
writer of these things, for Father Ubach
was the confessor, comforter and truest
friend of both Allesandro and Ramona.
It was he who counselled the girl before
her fateful marriage. He performed the
marriage ceremony in the ancient adobe
mission church at Old San Diego, fol-
lowed their subsequent career of continued
misfortune with words of cheer, wise coun-
sel and even more material assistance, and
performed the last rites over Allesandro's
remains, when he fell a victim to the
rapacity of a murderous land-grabber. Nor
did Father Ubach's beneficent influence
end here, for through all the subsequent
years of Ramona's widowhood and the de-
cline of her grief-shortened life, he re-
mained the friend, counselor and advisor.
All this Miss Hunt learned from the
lips of Father Ubach, and that she might
have further opportunity to clothe the ro-
mance with dramatic realism, he guided
her, personally, to many of the scenes
where its principal events had been en-
acted.
The result was a novel which took im-
mediate rank among the world's master-
pieces, and has sometimes been called the
"Uncle Tom's Cabin" of the red man,
even as Ramona and Allesandro were the
Romeo and Juliet of the Indian race. The
pen picture of "Father Gaspard," in
which Father Ubach and his noble, active
FATHER UBACH S ORIGINAL CHAPEL NEAR SAN DIEGO, WHERE HE HELD
SERVICES IN 1868.
OLD ADOBE MISSION NEAR SAN DIEGO, WHERE RAMONA WAS MARRIED.
FATHER UBACH, FROM HIS LATEST PHOTOGRAPH.
life have been so vividly portrayed, is con-
ceded to be the best description of the
venerable priest extant, and the friend-
ship between him and Mrs. Jackson was
never broken during his life.
Aside from his connection with Ea-
mona, Father TJbach's career has been
such as to win him renown of the first
order. He came to San Diego forty years
ago from Missouri, where he had emi-
grated from his home in Barcelona, Spain.
Until his twenty-first year, the church
was not his aim, for, despite his youth, he
ranked as one of Spain's best swordsmen
and a poet of no mean ability. An affair
of the heart is said to have turned his
purpose to a consecrated life, and soon af-
ter he left his native land, never to re-
turn.
Wihen he first arrived in San Diego, the
business center was at a point consider-
ably removed from the present one, and
the population mostly Spanish and In-
dian. His popularity was immediate, and
his policy of firm, unwavering justice won
the esteem and confidence of all alike.
"GRANDMA" VARNER AND "TOMMY."
255
During some of the most momentous
events of Southern California's history,
Father Ubach was a leader, unfalteringly
advocating the right, and usually winning
his point, though he never made use of
Church influence on such, occasions or
took any advantage of his cloth.
Father Ubach was looked upon as a
demi-God by the Indians, whose friend he
always remained, and during the trou-
blous days of disputed land rights, when
many contended that the red man was be-
ing outrageously treated by a thoughtless
Government and unscrupulous land grab-
bers, Father Ubach righted many a glar-
ing wrong and averted many an uprising
which might have cost countless human
lives.
Perhaps the one marked idiosyncrasy
of Father Ubach's well balanced mind
was his antipathy to photographers seek-
ing for his picture. To one and all of
these he kindly but firmly refused permis-
sion to "Kodak" him, and although thou-
sands have tried, surreptitiously, to snap-
shot him, his curious watchfulness,
amounting almost to second sight, pre-
vented one and all from achieving any
measure of success. He would simply
turn as the photographer was about to
press the button, and without any attempt
to turn away or cover his face from view,
would hold up his hand in a majestic ges-
ture of protest which no one ever dared or
cared to disregard.
As a result, no picture of Father Ubaeh
was printed until after his death, when a
San Diego photographer finished two
negatives he had exposed of a group con-
taining Father Ubach at the funeral of
the Bennington victims. On this occa-
sion, Father Ubach could not well object,
but kept his eyes on his book. He never
explained this whim, but many consider
it a regard for the sanctity of the vest-
ments he wore.
'GRANDMA" VARNER AND
"TOMMY"
BY ELIZABETH A. KELLY
WITH A PHOTOGRAPH BY P. P. STEVENS.
RANDMA VARNER,
the last of the "types"
selected by Helen
Hunt Jackson for her
stories of the rugged
Rockies, is dead.
In a little hut on
the outskirts of
Denver, she closed her eyes while the
June sun was sinking and her pain-racked
body found relief. It had been a long,
long time since she had feasted on the
beauties of the everlasting hills, and it
had been weary months and years since
she has been able to reach the door of her
hut without assistance to drink in the
warm, invigorating air.
Years ago Helen Hunt Jackson trudged
the Colorado plains and journeyed through
the mountain fastnesses, looking for ma-
terial upon which to build the fascinat-
ing stories which have since made her
famous.
She was a busy woman in search of
"types." She had grown to know the men
and the women who peopled the villages
which nestled in the foothills, and while
there was a charm about their very rug-
gedness of character, in those strenuous
days, intuitively the woman felt that the
mountains sheltered a still sturdier army.
And so it came about that Helen Hunt
Jackson discovered "Grandma" Varner,
and heard from the thin, worn lips the
stories of hardship and suffering, the
stories of love and devotion, which she
256
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
wove into "Bits of Travel at Home," a
book which holds a place in the library of
every Coloradoan.
if was more than thirty years ago when
the clear Colorado skies smiled on a
smaller band of men and women and the
canyons echoed less frequently the shrill
whistle of the engine, that Mrs. Jackson
made her way out of Colorado Springs
into the mountains which were even then
being blasted to meet the demands of the
march of progress.
On a lonely mountain road she came
upon an old woman, stooped and gray,
with her arms well filled with kindling.
The type fascinated her. She stopped
and interrogated the wrinkled creature.
Her heart was touched; she wanted to
offer help, but almost the first words that
fell from the pale and drawn lips were
these :
"Oh, no; I ain't never suffered. I've
always had a plenty. I've always been
took care of. God always takes care of
me."
It was the key to the character of the
woman, and with it Helen Hunt Jackson
opened up a treasure house which fur-
nished the most delightful pages of her
"Bits of Travel at Home."
Until a few weeks ago, this same old
woman, with hair whiter if whiter it
could be with lips more purple and more
drawn, but with her tired old brain still
alive to the happenings of the strenuous
days of which she told Helen Hunt Jack-
eon, still lived, "waiting for the call to go
home."
In a little frame house of a single room
on the borders of Denver she lived with
her son Thomas, the "Tommy" of the
book, and every day the little children of
the district which lies 'below the railroad
tracks would gather about her to hear
again the stories of the long ago, when
Colorado was new, when its wealth was
unexplored, and when sturdy men and
women, and heroic little children, endured
privation and hardship that they might
grow with the new country, and one day
taste of its treasures.
It isn't so very many years since Helen
Hunt Jackson was buried in the hills out-
side Colorado Springs on the brink of a
precipice where she used to sit and weave
her stories, but it is many years since her
"characters" passed into the Great Be-
yond, with the sole exception of Mrs. Mary
Varner, whom every one knew always as
just "Grandma."
Although blind, as if her eyes had never
opened on a beautiful world, and crip-
pled so that she could only with difficulty
move from her bed to her chair, "Grand-
ma" Varner clung tenaciously to life, and
the memories, sweet and bitter, which her
tired old brain sheltered. She loved to
talks of the days of long ago, and best of
all, she loved to tell the story of her first
meeting with Helen Hunt Jackson. It is
this meeting which Mrs. Jackson uses in
her story called the "New Anvil Chorus,"
which appears toward the end of "Bits of
Travel at Home."
This is the way Mrs. Jackson tells of
the meeting:
"The boards of a wagon top were set
up close by the doorway, and on these
were hanging beds, bedding and a variety
of nondescript garments. A fire was burn-
ing on the ground a few steps off, and on
this was a big iron kettle full of clothes
boiling; there were two or three old pans
and iron utensils standing near the fire;
an old flag-bottomed chair, its wood worn
smooth and shining by long use, and a
wooden bench on which was a wash-tub
. full of clothes soaking in water. I paused
to look at the picture, and a woman pass-
ing said :
" 'That's Grandma's house.'
" 'Your grandmother ?' I asked.
"'Oh, no,' she replied. 'She ain't no-
body's grandmother; but we all call her
grandma. She's here with her son; he
was weakly, and she brought him here.
There ain't many like her. I wonder
where she's gone, leavin' her washin' this
way.'
"Then we fell into talk about the new
city, and what the woman's husband was
doing, and how hard it was for them to
get along, and presently we heard foot-
steps.
" 'Oh, there's grandma now,' she said.
"I looked up and saw a tall, thin wo-
man in a short, scant calico gown, with an
old woolen shawl crossed at her neck and
pinned tight at the belt after the fashion
of the Quaker women. Her sleeves were
rolled up above her elbows, and her arms
were brown and muscular as an Indian's
GRANDMA VARNER.
Copyrighted by F. P. Stevens
Her thin, gray hair blew about her tem-
ples under an old limp, brown sunbonnet,
which hid the outline of her face, but did
not hide the brightness of her keen, light-
gray eyes. Her face was actually seamed
with wrinkles; her mouth had fallen in
from want of teeth, and yet she did not
look wholly like an old woman.
" 'Grandma, this lady's from Colorado
Springs,' said my companion, by way of
introduction.
"Grandma was carrying an armful of
cedar boughs. She threw them on the
ground, and turning to me, said with a
smile that lighted up her whole face :
" 'How d'ye do, marm ? That's a place
I've always wanted to see. I've alwa}^
thought I'd like to live to the springs ever
since I've been in this country.'
" 'Yes/ I said, 'it's a pleasant town ; but
do you not like it here ?'
"She glanced at her shanty and its sur-
roundings, and I felt guilty at having
asked my question ; but she replied :
" 'Oh, yes, I like it very well here. When
we get our house built we'll be comfort-
able. It's only for Tommy I'm here. If
it wan't for him I wouldn't stay in this
country. He's all I've got. Wfe're all
alone here; that is, so far as connections
goes; but we've got plenty of friends, and
Gods' here just the same as everywhere.'
"She spoke this last sentence in as natu-
ral and easy a tone as all the rest; there
was no more trace of cant or affectation
in her mention of the name, of God than
her mention of Tommy's. They seemed
equal]y familiar and equally dear. Then
she went to the fire and turned the clothes
over with a long stick, and prepared to
resume her work.
" 'How long have you been here ?' I
asked.
" 'Only about a week,' she said. 'Tommy
he's working's hard's ever he can to get
me a house built. It worries him to see
me living this way. He's got it three logs
high already,' proudly pointing to it only
a few rods further up the hill. 'But
Tommy's only a boy yet. He ain't six-
258
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
teen ; he's learning ; he's learning to do for
hisself ; he's a real good boy, and he's get-
ting stronger every day; he's getting his
health real firm, 'n that's all I want.
'Tain't any matter what becomes of me,
if I can only get Tommy started all
right/ "
And this is the story of "Grandma"
Varner told to the last. She did not
know until sixteen years ago that her
stories had been incorporated in one of
Mrs. Jackson's books, but the knowledge
filled her with pride, and as long as her
sight lasted, she read and re-read the little
tale of the hills.
To the end of her days, as when Mrs.
Jackson first met her, "Grandma" Var-
ner wore a scarf about her neck, crossed at
the waist in Quaker style, and her hair
was combed with faultless precision just
as it was three decades ago. Although
she could not see, her fingers were still
nimble, and she had learned by long prac-
tice the little touches that would lend
charm to her personal appearance.
Hardly a day went by that the little old
woman did not breathe her story in the
hut on the outskirts of a flourishing city.
She was away from the noise and the din.
of busy life, but the mountains lay off
to the west of her window, and their com-
panionship, though she could no longer
feast her. eyes on their snow-capped peaks
shut out the loneliness from her heart.
Eighty-nine years had rolled over her
head, and eighty-nine years filled with-
out trouble stood out in her memory. No
flowers grew near the dusty spot which
"Grandma" Varner called home, and no
sound of music penetrated the frame
walls.
But the memory of other years cheated
her into utter forgetfulness of the presen*
and the hope of "home" at last buoyed her
up.
"I remember Mrs. Jackson just as plain
as I do my mother," the old woman would
generally say by way of preface to her
story.
"Oh, yes, it was years ago when they
undertook to build the new railroad out
from Colorado Springs. I had only a
little while before taken Tommy out with
me to Colorado, for he was kind of delicate
like, and I lived in fear of losing him. He
was a slip of a boy about sixteen, and he
was all the help he could be to me, but
times were hard. We took our wagon and
tried to follow the men along the road,
Tommy earning money hauling for them
and I doing their washing and mending.
The day I met Mrs. Jackson stands out in
my memory as bringing into my life a
character altogether new. She was the
first person who was ever really kind to
me.
"One day while I had the clothes a boil-
ing over the fire beside the wagon-box
where we lived, I noticed that I was out
of wood, and I had to go and gather some
so that my clothes might be dried that
night.
"I was walking down the road with my
arms filled with twigs and wood when I
saw the strange woman. She seemed kind
of interested in me, but I was just a little
bit annoyed, for I had my work to do, and
did not want to be disturbed.
"A woman I knew pretty well intro-
duced her as Mrs. Jackson, and I stood
and talked a minute and then told her ifi
she wanted to visit with me she'd have to
sit down and let me go ahead with my
work. I was out of money and had to
get the washing done as quick as I coulc
to get a dollar or two. While I worked
she talked to me and asked me many
questions. I did not think I was ver)
agreeable to her, but as she left she gave
me $2 and asked me to come and see her
when I went to Colorado Springs.
"I never had any intention of going to
see her, for I knew she was a grand lady
but when the work gave out in the moun-
tains, Tommy and I went to the springs
There I took in washing for some people
in Consumption Row, and Tommy he ran
chores for others. One day Mrs. Jackson
was down in that part of town doing some
charity work, when she heard of Tommy.
"She wondered right away if it was my
boy, and looked us up. She called, and
was mortified to death because there wa
no fire. I told the visitor that Tommy
must have forgotten to order coal, and she
said she didn't mind the cold, but a littte
later that day a ton of coal came to us,,
a present from her. She wanted us to
come over to her house that night, ani
she had her cook give us a basket full of- :
good things to take home. We took to.
going over there often, but I had no idea
OBSCUKITY.
259
the stories I told her would ever see print.'"'
"Grandma" Varner approached the
ninetieth milestone with the recollection
of having experienced fewer comforts, per-
haps, than any living person. From her
childhood days the fates treated her un-
kindly. Wihen she married, back in Mis-
souri, years ago, her first home was a
cabin, the logs of which were so far apart
that the cats walked through the aper-
tures with ease.
A ladder ran up the side of the house so
that water could be carried to the chimney
after each meal had been prepared to ex-
tinguish the flames.
She had six children, of whom only one
lives. There is also a great-grandchild
playing in the familiar streets of Colo-
rado Springs. Two sons were shot down
before her eyes in the Civil War. Of her
husband she never spoke.
Her story of how she happened to come
to Colorado is one which she told Mrs.
Jackson.
"Tommy and I were living alone," she
said, in telling this phase of her story a
day or two before she died. "And he was
sort of delicate. I took in washing to sup-
port us, and one day the clothes came to
me wrapped in a newspaper. The paper
told all about Colorado, and I remember
reading, 'They don't die in Colorado ; they
have to kill them to fill the graveyards.'
"I immediately thought of Tommy and
of the chances of saving him, and so I
sold the little place and started West
with a horse and wagon. My box con-
taining my household goods and my
feather bed became too heavy for the old
horse to pull, and a man we met on the
way freighted it through for me with his
things. When I reached Pueblo I could
not find it, and it was a year later that it
was sent me from some place in Kansas.
I was in Las Animas then, and every one
in the town knew when 'Grandma's box'
arrived, and they all gathered to see me
open it.
"Yes, it was a hard life for an old wo-
man with a sick boy, but I am all right
now; Tommy's well and strong, and as
soon as God is ready I am going home to
rest."
And she has gone.
OBSCURITY
BY
DONALD B. TOBEY
kAME glanced a moment on my eager face,
And placed the crown upon another's head;
Bereft and barren seemed the petty place
Where long my fretting, fettered footsteps led.
Until one day in Nature's solitudes,
I found companionship and learned content.
For there where seldom human foot intrudes
Were hidden gems proclaiming His intent.
In forest fastnesses the orchids hide,
The seas hold richer pearls than any mart,
And all by one perfected plan abide
T am content with my appointed part.
OUR SURFMEN
BY
JOANNA NICHOLLS KYLE
PHOTOGRAPHS FURNISHED BY S. I. KIMBALL.
OFF ! Here he
comes !" A simulta-
neous burst of ap
plause went up from
a handsomely dressed
group of men and
women, members of
the Clover Club, as-
sembled in one of Philadelphia's largest
hotels, as their guest of the evening en-
tered bluff, weather-beaten Captain
Mark Casto, who has risked his life in
volunteer service, taking his fishing vessel
out to the stranded steamer "Cherokee/
to assist the life saving crew of Atlantic
City then struggling against fearful odds
to rescue her passengers.
We catch up the cry and echo it: Hats
off to our noble life savers ! Honor to the
valiant surfmen who guard our coasts !
Theirs is a life of daily hardship, peril, ex-
posure and exhausting toil, independent
of those occasions in the event of a ship-
wreck which call forth acts of .super-
human strength and heroism. Our little
army of life-savers, now more than two
thousand strong, are enlisted annually for
the service after a rigid physical exami-
nation. They reside at their respective
stations, at lonely, desolate localities, iso-
lated from human association on the At-
lantic and Gulf Coasts, from the first of
August to the last of May (the open sea-
son), on the lake shores from the opening
of navigation early in the spring till its
close, some time in December, on the
Pacific Coast throughout the entire year,
because the accidents occurring here are
due to independent local causes, not to
changes of season. Only one day's absence
from duty is allowed to each man during
his year of enlistment. Every hour of
every day has its appointed task care of
the station, drill with the beach appara-
tus, watch from the tower, and drill with
the life boats, the last always a hazard-
ous performance, not infrequently attend-
ed with drowning. By night, patrol of the
beach is maintained in spite of wintry
storms. Fighting against wind and rain,
snow and darkness, the surfman trudges
on his beat, ever f^ert to warn some ves-
sel from running into danger or render
aid to those involved already in disaster.
No words can measure the depth of un-
speakable comfort conveyed by that crim-
son flash from the life saver's torch. To
the ship-wrecked it announces that their
OUR SURFMEN.
261
distress is known and help is coming!
The first rude contrivances for saving
life and property on the seaboard of the
United States were established by the
Massachusetts Humane Society, in 1791,
but it was not till many years later that
our Government took any practical inter-
est in this work, when revenue cutters
were ordered to cruise along the shore in
winter to assist merchant vessels in pos-
sible distress, and a few poorly equipped
stations were erected at points of special
danger. Thirty-six years ago, Hon. Sum-
ner I. Kimball was appointed Chief of
the Revenue Marine; when the benevolent
little adjunct to his bureau found an en-
thusiastic friend and patron. Under the
direction of Mr. Kimball, life saving be-
came an important feature; its area was
widely extended, and finally, through the
championship of Hon. S. S. Cox, in the
House of Representatives, a separate bu-
and which commanded success at every
move. In a recent interview he said : "I've
got a fight on my hands at present. I am
always fighting for the service, I believe.
It cost me a twenty-year battle to rid it of
politics, and now I'm struggling to get
a bill through Congress giving us a re-
tired list like the army and navy. The
revenue cutter service has recently been
granted a retired list, and I think our
men are entitled to the same."
At the present time there are 278 life
saving stations in the United States, on
some portions of the coast placed at such
short intervals that they form chains of
continuous posts within communicating
distance of each other, while in contrast
with this large number the whole Pacific
Coast has but seventeen. True to its
name, this coast is a peaceful one. From
the port of San Francisco extending south
the climate is so bland that wrecks are of
reau was created, in 1878, and Mr. Kim-
ball in recognition of his exceptional fit-
ness for the post, was appointed General
Superintendent of the Life Saving Ser-
vice, a position which he still occupies. He
is an indefatigable worker and continues
to feel the same warm affection for his
duties that characterized his early efforts
rare occurrence, while the northern part
of the seaboard is irregular, bold and un-
broken, and contains but few harbors. The
prevailing winds are veritable monsoons,
and blow, not towards the shore, but along
its line. The weather, therefore, is easily
forecast, and navigation is practically
safe, but there are, however, a few ex-
THE ORLEANS CHEW.
tremely dangerous points, mostly situ-
ated at the entrance to important har-
bors. A striking illustration of these facts
is the bar at Humboldt harbor, California.
Accidents here are so startlingly sudden
that upon one occasion a schooner cap-
sized and her entire crew of eight men
were lost before any attempt could be
made to save them. The masts of the ves-
sel were snapped by contact with the bar,
and she was turned keel uppermost the
whole sad affair from the instant she was
overtaken by the destroying waves till
she was drifting a helpless wreck having
occupied only a few moments. The wind
was blowing fresh off land at the time, but
the sea was rough on the bar, and the
captain had under-estimated the difficulty
of entering the harbor.
One of the finest rescues ever enacted
in the history of the Life Saving Service
took place at this locality. Its object was
the steamer "Weeott," having on board a
crew of seventeen men and seven passen-
gers, December 1, 1899, which, attempt-
ing to cross the bar at Humboldt Harbor,
met with instant and appalling catastro-
phe. It is a curious coincidence that the
steamer "Chilkat" stranded at the same
port in a precisely similar manner eight
months earlier in the year. The captain
of the "Weecott" had waited nearly an
hour for a flood tide, and the water ap-
peared to be smooth, but so treacherous is
the spot that just as the vessel reached
the outer edge of the bar a huge comber
of green water burst on board with tre-
mendous force, smashing in the after end
of the house, staving to pieces two life
boats, floating the cabin and engine room,
and carrying away part of the rigging.
In another minute the vessel broached
broadside to and began to roll with fright-
ful violence, the waves breaking over her
constantly, while a powerful current be-
gan to carry her around the south jetty.
There she tossed for half an hour before
she struck the rocks, with so heavy and
sudden a shock that the main mast went
by the board and one seaman was hurled
from the rigging to the deck and killed
instantly. It was now pitch dark, and
great seas were rushing over the deck,
breaking at times mast-head high.
Meanwhile the disaster had been wit-
nessed by two surfmen in the watch tower
of the adjacent life-saving station, who
ran to give the alarm, and within two
minutes a boat was launched and being
propelled "with all the energy and
DUE SUKFMEN.
263
strength of willing men bent on sav-
ing human life." They made marvelous
speed, but attempting to pull around the
end of the jetty, they were met by an ugly
sea indeed. Again and again, with dia-
bolic opposition, a big comber would pick
up the resolute little bark and throw it
fifty yards astern, but the men tugged
desperately at the oars for half an hour,
when surfman Nelson, who was in com-
mand, observing that the wreck had
worked in near the shore, determined to
land in hopes of being able to reach her
with the lines carried in the boat. Pulling
back to smooth water, the surfmen landed
and made their way over the trestle
abreast of the wreck, but they soon dis-
covered that the vessel was too far off to
be assisted without the beach apparatus.
Hailing her captain, Nelson told him to
try to hold on for half an hour, while he
returned to the station for the necessary
appliances, at the same time warning him
against the risk of quitting the ship.
A scylla and charybdis of surf and rocks
lay between the ship and the mainland.
Back to the station sped the surfmen,
loaded the beach ^apparatus into their
boat, and brought it to the nearest land-
ing. But now they were confronted by
the necessity of hauling it up from the
rocks to the trestle. Determination and
main strength overcame this obstacle, and
the various parts were then parceled out
to the men, keeper Hennig and one man
carrying the heavy whip line, the inde-
fatigable Nelson shouldering the Lyle
gun, a weight of fully 175 pounds, and
leading the way. The surf was breaking
over the trembling frame work, darkness
inky black enveloped the scene, and it
was almost a miracle that the heavily bur-
dened men ever reached their destination.
With dogged patience they tramped on,
for every moment was precious. The cap-
tain of the doomed vessel had answered
that he could probably hold on half an
hour longer, but had implored them to
make haste. The life savers were short
one man, too, for hardly had they landed
when they came across a disabled man
crying out for help. He was lying in a
pool of water, in imminent danger of
drowning, and surfman Ericksen had been
A WRECK OFF CAPE COD.
CAPSIZING TEST WITH THIRTY-FOUR FOOT LIFE BOAT.
detailed to take charge of him. After ad-
ministering a stimulant, Ericksen took off
his own dry woolen shirt and put it on the
poor fellow, then lifted him on his back
and carried him to the nearest dwelling,
an arduous task in the darkness, for the
path was long and cijcuitous, around
fences and rocks, over eand hills and
through pools of water waist deep. The
task accomplished, Ericksen, though half
naked, rejoined his mates on the jetty,
where the keeper gave him another woolen
shirt, as he was himself wearing two.
When about half way to the wreck, the
party met the ship's engineer crawling
shoreward over the slippery timbers, but
he seemed able to help himself, so they
only hailed him with a word of encourage-
ment and passed on to their more urgent
work. The wreck had by now worked in
to about eighty feet from the trestle, and
five sailors had taken the risk of jumping
overboard and had effected a landing. A
heaving line had been thrown to them
from the ship by means of which they had
hauled out a two and a half inch rope. In
this rope they had rigged a sling, and
with the rude contrivance had proceeded
to bring their fellow sufferers ashore. One
of the ship's crew and a lady passenger
had made the perilous trip in safety, but
the life of the second lady who attempted
to cross the maelstrom had been sacrificed.
After she had been dashed out of the sling
by a breaker the line had fouled among
the rocks and could not be cleared. The
unfortunate seamen were thoroughly dis-
'heartened by their failure ; the trestle was
swaying under the repeated blows of the
surf, and they could scarcely keep their
footing, when the arrival of the life sav-
ing crew inspired new hope and spirit.
Communication had to be re-established
with the wreck, but an end of the heavy
whip-line was caught up by one of the
sailors, a powerful fellow, and hurled
successfully on board. Eagerly it was
seized by the anxious sufferers, then with
an impatience bred of fear they hauled
out the hawser so fast and persistently
against all protestations that there was
no time to adjust the breeches buoy block.
Surfman Nelsen deftly bent a bight of
the whip line to the buoy, and let it go.
His after testimony in the case says:
"They hauled it right out of my hands.
We were not men enough to stop them."
There was no delay in the operations from
OUR SUEFMEN.
265
that time onward. Fourteen persons were
taken from the wreck, the captain, as is
usual, being the last to quit his ship. He
had hardly set foot upon the trestle before
"the wreck made a sudden lurch forward,
a heavy sea broke over her, she leaned over
to one side, and shot away out of sight."
And now began the precarious journey to
the mainland, nearly a mile over the open
frame work of timbers three feet apart,
with two stringers on them, where any one
of the forlorn company might fall through
and be lost. Fireman Quinn had a broken
leg and a lady passenger was suffering
agonies from a fractured spine, injuries
The currents at this locality are capricious
and utterly unreliable. Even in calm
weather and without warning, great comb-
ers arise unexpectedly and pile up on the
river bar, extending their baleful influ-
ence within the estuary and threatening to
capsize the little fleet of boats engaged
in taking salmon. There are at least thir-
teen hundred of these tiny craft pursuing
their venturesome vocation daily, each
requiring two men to manage it, a boat
puller and a net tender. As the remunera-
tion of these poor fishermen depends up-
on their diligence during a short period,
are supposed to be more plentiful and
WRECK OP SCHOONEB ELWOOD BTTBTON, CAPE COD.
incurred when the vessel first struck. Both
disabled persons had to be carried, but
the wharf was finally reached without fur-
ther mishap, and they passed on board a
steamer which was generously offered for
their use by its owner and were thence
transferred to the life saving station.
Other casualties besides those which
may happen to large vessels are provided
against by the life saving service. At the
mouth of the Columbia river, a spot
peculiarly treacherous, it has placed two
stations to guard the fishermen who come
here annually for their catch of salmon.
continuing their labors far into the night.
Familiarity with the dangers of their call-
ing also renders them careless, and many
a life would be lost were they not watched
over from the tower on the bluff at Cap<
Disappointment Station. In case of need
an alarm gun is fired, and the surf men's
boat, which also patrols the fishing
grounds, is directed to the spot of the
casualty by signals. At a meeting of the
Council of Federated Trades of Astoria,
Oregon in 1893, a vote of thanks was
they naturally incur extraordinary risks,
sein close to the breakers where salmon
OIJK SUKFMEtf.
267
rendered to the Cape Disappointment
crew for their "heroic, noble and grand
work in rescuing the lives of fishermen at
the risk of their own."
An incident of which the life saving
service may well be proud, while it mourns
the loss of a gallant leader, was the "ven-
ture in which Keeper Henry lost his life.
It was made in behalf of the ship Eliza-
beth, which stranded, February 21, 1891,
on Four Fathom Bank, northwest of the
entrance to San Francisco Bay, ten miles
from the Fort Point life saving station, a
locality clearly beyond the reasonable
scope of the surfmen's duties. There had
been some dispute between the captain of
the Elizabeth and the master of the tug
Alert over the price to be charged for tow-
ing her in, and an agreement was not
reached until the vessel was in imminent
peril. When she struck, signals of dis-
tress were set, and another tug steamed
to the assistance of the "Alert." The cap-
tain's wife and child were transferred to
the latter craft in safety, but when the
record of that dreadful day was written,
Captain Colcord and sixteen of his crew
were numbered with the dead. A third
tug arriving, passed her hawser to the
doomed ship, which had pounded over the
shoal and was afloat again with the loss
of her keel and leaking badly. The tes-
timony of Mate Barclay, one of her sur-
vivors, states that subsequently the ship,
with two tugs pulling on her, was driven
rapidly across the North Channel which
is very narrow directly on to the rocks,
and within forty-five minutes she was
splintered into fragments. Meanwhile, her
signals had been seen by a surfman of the
Golden Gate Park life saving station. A
tremendous surf was breaking on the
beach, making it impossible to launch a
boat, so the keeper telephoned the situa-
tion to the Fort Point crew, advising them
to go to the rescue. Keeper Henry bore
the reputation of a cool, courageous and
careful man, so when he ordered out the
life boat his men obeyed with absolute
faith in their leader, although the dark-
ness was intense, the sea sharp and choppy
and the wind blowing in gusts, which
mounted to hurricane speed. The tug Be-
lief, on being hailed, took the little craft
in tow and proceeded slowly, shipping
heavy seas until Point Bonita was
reached. Here the master of the tug
stopped and strongly urged Keeper Henry
not to go any further, declaring that it
was "blowing a living gale out on the
Xorth Channel, and no boat could live
outside the point." Their colloquy was
interrupted by a powerful sea which threw
the life boat partly under and athwart the
bow of the tug, and to save her from be-
ing stove the crew were ordered to cut the
tow line. The surfmen gave way at the
oars and were rapidly swallowed up in the
darkness. With a supreme effort, they
kept the life boat off the rocks toward
which the fierce gale, the strong eddy and
the heave of the sea were driving her, and
when the westerly arm of Point Diablo
was reached, it was found to be impossi-
ble to weather it. Fortunately at this
moment they were met by the tug Alert
returning in a crippled condition from her
struggle to save the Elizabeth. She
stopped and took the life boat's hawser, al-
though in the operation of making it fast,
both craft were momentarily in danger of
being hurled on the rocky shore. But the
two boats had scarcely gathered headway
when the life boat took a broad sheer and
filled with water. Her rudder was broken
SUMNER I. KIMBALL, GENERAL SUPER-
INTENDENT LIFE SAVING SERVICE.
268
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
and Keeper Henry, wh/> was steering, was
washed off into the blackness of the tem-
pest. In vain the surfmen shouted that
they had lost a man overboard; the roar
of the sea and the howling of the wind
drowned their voices until they had been
towed some distance beyond the spot of
the accident. The captain of the tug then
answered that it was too hazardous to turn
back with his vessel in such a disabled
condition; so the devoted surfmen cut
loose once more, got out their oars, and
went back alone in search of their chief.
But the enraged elements were more than
a match for even such indomitable cour-
age, and the men were finally forced to
return home thoroughly disheartened,
leaving the fiends of Point Diablo to re-
land on a raft, but about a dozen individ-
uals still remained on the sinking vessel.
Two nights had passed, and her hull had
broken in two. The men had taken refuge
in her foretop, and all through the third
day they watched the persistent struggles
of the indomitable Bergman to reach them
undaunted by squalls of snow and the
fury of the waves. Once his boat was
capsized, once she was swamped, but the
faithful volunteers, emulating their chief's
example, renewed the battle till night-fall.
When morning dawned, however, all need
for their tireless vigil was ended the
mast, with its living burden, had fallen
during the night.
In telling the acts of heroism performed
by our surfmen, it must not be forgotten
A WRECK ON THE LAKES.
joice above the watery grave of their vic-
tim.
Volunteer acts of heroism and self-de-
votion irr the rescue of human lives are
recognized by the life saving service the
same as if performed by surfmen under its
jurisdiction. A gold medal was awarded
to John Bergman for rescuing eighteen
persons from the wreck of the steamer
Takoma, which went aground four miles
from Umpquah river, January 29, 1883.
In spite of dissuading advice from seafar-
ing men, Bergman went out twice to the
wreck with five companies, volunteers like
himself, and at each trip brought in a
boat load of human beings. A number of
the ship's company managed to reach the
that women have helped to embellish the
records of the life saving service. Mrs.
Martha White, a resident of Chehalis
County, near Gray's Harbor, Washington,
had made it her noble mission in life to
frequent the beach in quest of such errands
of mercy as the cruel ocean might cast at
her feet. At six o'clock on the morning of
January 29, 1892, the neighbors of this
charitable woman roused her with the aw-
ful news, "A ship in the breakers." Mrs.
White and her husband made all haste
to go down to the beach, carrying with
them a field glass, a musket and a piece of
cloth for a signal. But the gale was too
strong to permit the shots fired being
heard out at sea, so Mr. White went slow-
ALL READY.
ly up the beach looking for any unfortu-
nate waifs that might be washed ashore.
While her husband was absent, Martha
White stood still, gazing intently upon
the tumbling mass of surf. Suddenly she
descried a man struggling in the breakers,
and boldly dashing into the water, she
dragged him out and aided him to walk
to her dwelling. Kunning back to the
shore, she perceived another sailor, the
unconscious toy of the surf, and fearlessly
plunging in again, she floated the helpless
body to land, and after a short time had
restored him to consciousness and placed
him under shelter. Once more she re-
turned to the scene of the tragedy, and
discovered a third sailor, a long way out
in the breakers. To reach him was a des-
perate undertaking, but the courage of
the noble woman did not quail before a
task of which she fully realized the dan-
ger. Divesting herself of some of her
cumbersome clothing, she threw herself
into the foaming sea. Once her life was
seriously imperiled, as she was overthrown
by a huge comber, but regaining her foot-
ing, she came alongside of the man and
floated him to shore. She managed to
drag him beyond the danger line, then
fell fainting from exhaustion on the sand,
where she lay till found by her husband.
The rescued men who were the sole sur-
vivors of the British bark Ferndale, with
the frankness of English sailors, made
oath that but for her timely and self-sac-
rificing assistance they must have died
within sight of land, and a gold medal
was awarded to the heroic woman.
COLLEGE AND THE WORLD
A SYMPOSIUM OF COMMENT OK THE PROBLEM
OF HIGHER EDUCATION
AT THIS time of year there are many young men and women who are debat-
ing whether or no to go to college. Will it pay? they ask. The following
three articles seek to answer this question in an entirely novel way. The three
divisions completely cover the field of opinion, and shoiv the different view-points
of the college freshman, the graduate and the successful business man of the world.
We are glad to publish this article with a view of helping some possible college stu-
dents settle the question for themselves. 'EDITOR.
A BUSINESS MAN'S VIEW OF COLLEGE TRAINING
BY HARRIS WEINSTOCK
HAVE BEEX asked to
tell the value of a col-
lege training on the
young men that, in
my business career
have come under my
notice.
An observer of mod-
em coimiu'ivial and industrial systems
cannot but note the exacting methods now
in vogue. He cannot but observe that in
all great commercial and industrial en-
terprises costs and profits are now figured
out in percentages running to the fourth
figure. The observation is forced upon
him that the keener the growth of com-
petition the smaller the margin of profit
for the producer and distributor ; and that
the smaller the margin of profit, the more
careful and exact must be every movement
and every calculation that enters into com-
mercial and financial transactions.
The day of the careless operator, the
loose calculator and the indifferent worker
is gone for good in every walk of life and
in every occupation that is not in the
nature of a monopoly.
This means that the business world of
to-day demands men who are exact and
thorough, who are reliable and depend-
able. The business world demands this
and more besides. It demands for execu-
tive and managerial positions men who are
not only exact and thorough, but who can
at one and the same time specialize and
generalize, who can reason backward and
COLLEGE AND THE WORLD.
271
forward, that is, from cause to effect and
from effect to cause.
The all-around business man is the one
who can theorize as well as practice, who
cannot only do things, but who can ex-
plain the theory or the philosophy upon
which things are done, who can take an
idea, develop and exploit it, and who can
also take a proposition, dissect and
analyze it.
A man who has entered business from
the grammar or high school may learn to
do all this in the course of a great many
years of experience. Here is where the
work of the college comes in. The young
man who has put his four years in college
to good account has trained his mind so
that, first of all, he should be able to con-
centrate it upon any given task. He should
have cultivated an intellectual machine
that can dissect and analyze any proposi-
tion that may come before him. He should
have taught himself to reason backward
and forward, to trace out the causes from
effects and to forecast the effect of cer-
tain causes.
With the sharpened faculties at his com-
mand, he should learn in active business
life in five years what it is likely to take
the man with the untrained mind twenty
years to learn.
If he started with fair mentality and
made the most of his collegiate opportuni-
ties, his years of study have therefore sim-
ply been a matter of putting out his time
where it is likely to bring him compound
interest. So that after all, a university
training should, despite long years of pre-
paration, prove in the end a short cut to
reach the best practical results.
Business alone can give and does give
admirable training. This has been made
evident by the splendid specimens of men
to be found everywhere in the business
world, who had little or no early educa-
tional advantages, but business alone, as
a rule, does not give the best training.
That comes from college experience,
broadened by actual business experience.
The blending of the two should, as a rule,
give the highest type of men of affairs.
Were I asked whether, in my opinion,
all college men are likely to prove to be of
this type, I should answer that I have in
my time met college men whose university
training seemed to have proven to them of
great value, and I have met others who
could not have been less fit, if their col-
lege years had been spent merely in count-
ing beads. So much, after all, depends
on the man. A young man with the right
sort of stuff in him is likely to land in the
front rank of like's activities, even though
he be a graduate of a third-rate college, or
of no other college than the college of
"hard knocks," and the chap without the
stuff in him will fail, despite his diploma,
signed by the president of the greatest col-
lege in the land.
Given a blade, for example, made out of
good steel, and the grind-stone will bring
out the'best in it, and perfect an edge that
will do things to surprise the beholder.
But given a blade made out of base metal
and the world's finest grind-stone practi-
cally fails. So it is with the student. If
he has wits, and brings them to college,
they will be sharpened and his powers
will be increased. If he is barren, the
college can do little for him.
I cannot recall one instance of a young
man entering college with bad habits, low
tendencies and poor mentalities, coming
out of college reformed morally or sharp-
ened intellectually. Instances, however,
have come to my notice where young men
of previous good habits, have been unable
to stand up against college temptations,
and have become dissipated in college and
acquired bad habits, and despite a good
mentality, have proven a keen disap-
pointment. The things most to be feared
from a college course is the undesirable
habits likely to be acquired while there.
By a careful analysis, however, of the
biographies in America's "Who's Who," it
has been found that although but one per
cent of the men of the country are col-
lege bred, they represent fifty per cent of
the distinguished men in the various walks
of political, commercial and financial life.
This is a wonderful showing for the col-
lege.
The point of failure noticeable in some
college men who have taken social science,
commercial or culture courses, is theit
lack of exactness, the want of thoroughness
in what they do. The problem with them
seems to be how to get through, rather
than how to perfect their work. They do
not seem to realize that it is better to eat
little food and have that well digested.
272
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
than to gobble up much that simply clogs
the human system. They seem to have
cultivated the habit in college of getting
through the task in hand as speedily aa
possible, with little thought of master-
ing it in detail. These habits of super-
ficiality must in active life retard their
growth and impede their progress. Next
to character and health, the most valuable
asset that any man, the college man not
excepted, can" have, is the habit of doing
things thoroughly.
One of the great marvels of the pres-
ent age is the wonderful strides made in
the direction of the utilization of waste
materials. The statement is made that in
the great pork packing houses of the coun-
try everything about the hog is utilized,
except the squeal and the curl in the tail,
and it is said there are hopes somehow,
somewhere of utilizing even these. The
great achievement of the coming age will
be the utilization of waste labor, so that,
despite the shortening of the hours of toil
more will be accomplished by each indi-
vidual giving forth his highest and best,
thus tending to perfect the human species,
and thus also increasing its earning power.
Herbert Spencer asked the question:
"What knowledge is most worth know-
ing?" And after a careful analysis of dif-
ferent kinds of knowledge reached the
conclusion that science is the knowledge
most worth knowing. Spencer's conclusion
is as true to-day as when he uttered it.
The most effective man, as a rule, is the
man who has knowledge that has been
gained and verified by exact observation
and exact thinking." It is for this rea-
son that . the scientific training afforded
by an engineering course is of inestima-
ble value in many walks of life. It does
not follow that a college man who has
taken his degree as an engineer will there-
after be exact in his observations or in
his thinking.
He is more likely to be so, however,
than if he has followed any other colle-
giate career. The mathematical train-
ing, which an engineering course enforces,
the exactness and correctness imposed by
his studies, are likely to tend toward hab-
its of thoroughness and rigid mental dis-
cipline, which must prove to him of great
value in any walk of life.
History is important. Philosophy is
important. Languages are important.
General culture is important. Yet were
I to advise a young man about to enter
college, with a business career in mind,
I should urge him by all means to take
an engineering course, even though he
should not intend in active life to put his
scientific training to professional use. I
should advise him to take an engineering
course, not only for its mental training
and discipline, but for the power it gives
in analysis, the love that it cultivates in
him for being exact in his work and in
his statements.
The man whose mind has been trained
in the sciences is more likely to be the
one to devise ways for the utilization of
waste labor, whose keen powers of obser-
vation should enable him to see weak spots
and how to strengthen them.
What the world is more and more de-
manding is efficiency, and all other things
equal, the man with the scientific train-
ing is likely to be the most efficient.
The weak spot in most men, the weak
spot as a rule, in college men, is taking
things for granted. Science strives to
prove its case. As a rule it must see the
bricks before it will believe that the house
will be built. It demands proof before it
reaches conclusions. The men to-day
who command the world's highest rewards
and who are of greatest service to their
fellows are those who have exact know-
ledge and use it for creative purposes.
What is called unerring judgment is not
generally intuitive. It is the result, as
a rule, of the most exact observation and
the most correct thinking. The man
whose mind has not been disciplined,
whose thoughts wander hither and thither,
who cannot analyze a problem, who acts
from impulse and not from reflection, is
not in a mental condition to observe close-
ly or to think correctly. At best, he is
likely to become a mere putterer, vacillat-
ing in thought and in action. To be a
successful doer of things, one must first
be a seer of things. Euskin says, "Hun-
dreds of men can talk for one who can
think; thousands of men can think for
one who can see. To see clearly is poetry,
philosophy and religion all in one."
In the decades of the past the college
man seeking commercial employment was
discounted. He was looked upon bv prac-
PRESIDENT DAVID STARR JORDAN OF STANFORD UNIVERSITY.
274
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
tical men as a mere book-worm, unwilling
to begin with the drudgery at the bottom
in order to learn business from the ground
up. No doubt the. air of scholasticism
that the college of the past imparted to
its graduates justified this feeling of pre-
judice against the holders of its diplo-
mas. There are some countries where this
feeling may be justified even to-day. It is
said to be a significant fact that "a large
portion of Paris cabmen are unsuccessful
students in theology and other professions
and unfrocked priests, and they are very
bad cabmen." But the American college
bred man of to-day, especially the college
man whose mind has been trained in the
sciences, as a rule, is of a different breed.
The modern college earnestly strives to
teach men how to think and how to do
things. Captains of trade and industry
are discovering more and more that a
young man, who has made the most of
his time during his college years is so
equipped that he can learn in five years
what it may take the man with an un-
trained mind about twenty years to ac-
quire.
The college of yesterday trained men
almost exclusively for purposes of cul-
ture. The colleges of to-day, especially
the scientific branches, strive to give an
education for efficiency. It has been
pointed out that "the man with brains
needs a corresponding degree of educa-
tion. The greater the natural fitness, the
greater the need for thorough training
and the more worthy the result/'
The business world of to-day more than
ever before is seeking efficient men, men
who know the correct principles of inves-
tigation, who have the power to reason
from cause to effect, and from effect to
cause ; who can concentrate attention upon
a given subject, whose powers have been
quickened and developed. All other things
equal, the man with the trained mind is
more likely to possess these qualifications,
hence is also likely to prove the more effi-
cient man.
The successful men of the next genera-
tion will have to be thoroughly scientific
in their methods. Their efficiency will
have to be of the highest and they will
have to possess the faculty of bringing out
the highest efficiency 'in their subordi-
nates.
The college trained man, because of his
adaptability, his quickness and alertness
of mind, and because of his largely in-
creased numbers, is going to revolutionize
conditions in the coming industrial and
commercial world. The college will
strengthen his powers, ripen and mature
his judgment, raise his standards and
shorten his apprenticeship in the field of
practical affairs. This will be the advan-
tage he will gain by virtue of his college
training; on the other hand, his higher
efficiency and his shorter apprenticeship
in the world of practical affairs, will be
the advantage gained by the business
world and by society for its generous sup-
port of its numerous schools of higher
learning.
JUST OUT OF COLLEGE
BY DENISON HALLEY CLIFT
F WHAT good has a
college education
been to me? Has it
been worth the money
spent, the valuable
four years devoted to
it, and, what is more
pertinent, has it in-
fluenced me during the four most impres-
sionable years of my life in such a way as
to develop in me the best powers that I
have to offer the world and society?
These are questions that are asked by
hundreds of thousands of vigorous, prom-
ising young men all over the country every
spring. They involve a degree of serious-
ness which becomes obvious when we re-
member that thousands of young men are
being added to the number of graduates
of our American universities every year.
Is a college course worth while? Is it
a good investment for $2,000? Will such
COLLEGE AND THE WORLD.
275
a training enable the man and woman of
to-day to do their work better than the un-
trained brother and sister who may work
beside them in the factory, in the engi-
neer's office, in the newspaper world?
To those young men who go to college
to better themselves, I would answer most
decidedly, yes. But to the man who at-
tends a university for the sport that is in
it, for the dances and social good times
that college brings to him there will be
nothing in it for that fellow but the im-
mediate pleasure of college society.
A college community is a world in itself,
wherein all the learning and culture of
the past is brought to the door of him who
will enter. But the memorizing of this
learning is not what a college stands for.
The subjects of study is only the vehicle
by which the aim of the college is wrought.
It is in the methods of study, in the train-
ing of the human mind, that the real
worth of our universities finds its ex-
pression. The American college does not
aim to fill its students with final know-
ledge on all subjects ; it tries primarily to
arouse and develop the dormant powers
of the individual, to awaken their minds
to the real worth and value of the achieve-
ments of their fellow-men, to so train the
intellect that it will know in just what
manner a piece of work can be done the
best and the quickest.
Four years ago a freshman class entered
Stanford University with all the ambi-
tions and enthusiasms of first year stu-
dents. In his welcoming address to that
class, Dr. David Starr Jordan, the beloved
head of the University, told them what
the university would offer them, and said
he hoped they would take advantage of
their opportunities. "And after you have
been here for four years," he concluded,
"you will come to realize that a straight
line is the shortest distance between two
points."
The expression was a striking one, but
it made little impression then on those
' who listened to it. But the years passed
on, we became more mature, we began to
reap some of the benefits that were given
free to us, and when at last we stood on
the threshold of the world, the expression
was given to us again. And then we un-
derstood for the first time.
"The shortest line between two points."
That is the key note of our modern educa-
tion. The trouble with most of the men
of this world who are occupying menial
positions is that they do not realize that
a straight line is the shortest distance
between any two points. The line that
they draw when they strive to connect two
points is a very crooked one, roundabout
and very out of place.
What is meant by drawing this straight
line is simple enough. It means that there
is just one effective way in which to ac-
complish a given task, and that the man
who understands what the best way is, is
the man who will succeed best in this day
of keen and bitter competition.
The aim of the college is to teach the
man how to draw the straight line, and
there is no other institution in the world
that is better prepared to do this than
our universities.
To arouse and develop a man's talents
is to give him an opportunity to find out
just what thing he can do better than any-
one else, and then to train him until he
has reached the maximum o f per-
fection. That is the quality of a man that
the world is demanding to-day. This is
the age of the specialist, and the man who
can do one thing better than every one
else is the one whose success will never be
retarded.
The best estimate of a college training
that has ever come to my attention is a
little golden book by President Jordan,
called "College and the Man." No man
who intends going to college should neg-
lect reading it. There, in the soundest
and sanest manner is set forth the emolu^
ments of education.
"The whole of your life must be spent
in your own company, and only the edu-
cated man is good company to himself,"
is one of the many basic truths of the vol-
ume. I wonder how many readers ever
thought of that before? There is no bet-
ter method of making yourself agreeable
company for yourself than through the
medium of higher education. Through
the portals of the college the ages are laid
before you in one grand panorama; the
record of the progress of civilization is told
to you in the evolution of a nation's lan-
guage; all the history of the world is un-
folded, from the dawn of civilization to
the Renaissance, with its gigantic awaken-
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
ings, to the present age, with discovery and
advancement marked in every forward
step of the nations of the world.
From the standpoint of mere culture
that is reward enough. Your education
will give you a certain understanding of
what men have done since the world be-
gan. You will know just how the nations
have stepped forth as powers, and what
elements in society have seeked to form the
degrading characteristics that have
brought about their ruin. All this, you
say, will not bring you a larger salary
each week or month. Not immediately
but we are coming to that.
The individual makes the nation, makes
society, makes up the character of the
race. If the race is to be one of rugged-
ness and supremacy, the individual must
be rugged and healthy-minded. The blood
that flows through the veins of the aver-
age man will be the blood of the nation.
So, as has so painfully often been pointed
out, in the education of the individual lies
the salvation of the country.
Nothing can better bring about the
amelioration of present social conditions
than higher education. Our college
softens the animal man, and strengthens
the mental and moral make-up of the in-
dividual. And a man is far better com-
pany for himself after he has spent four
years at college.
The college will do only what the man
allows it to. A book will yield only so
much entertainment and profit as the
reader is able and willing to get from it.
But all the entertainment and profit is
there for the reader to take freely.
Still, this will not sufficiently answer
the demands of the layman as to the direct
benefits of a college training. How will it
enable us to make more money? they ask
of us. What will we get back from our
$3,000 investment ?
It is easy enough to answer this if the
reader will only be willing to see for him-
self. The American college has one aim
above all others in educating its youths.
That aim is to so train and drill the mind
that the man with the college education
will know how to go about a given task,
and how best to accomplish it in a given
time. Life is made up of a million tasks.
The man who best does these things is the
better man. No one will doubt this.
Only the other day I heard a business
man ask a college graduate a question in
equity. The college man was at a loss for
a moment. "Why, you ought to know;
you're a college man," jeered the business
man. But that was no particular reason
why the educated fellow should have
known. He isn't supposed to know every-
thing. His university didn't try to make
a walking encyclopedia out of him. What
it did try to do was to teach him just how
to find the answer to the question. And
I'd wager ten to one that the college man
would know instantly where to turn to
find the answer, where the business man
might flounder around hopelessly.
The mind of the college man is trained
to know how to do things. .He knows that
a straight line is the shortest distance be-
tween two points and he draws the straight
line. That is, he does if he has gotten out'
of college what he should have gotten.
Every college man is not better than the
uneducated man. The college only fur-
nishes the opportunity. The man must
have the brains and the faculties for learn-
ing and acquiring how to do things.
In most of the professions of San Fran-
cisco the university men are the more
prominent. In all the newspaper offices,
men from Stanford and the University of
California are at the head. Among doc-
tors, lawyers and leading business men
the college man occupies a prominent
position. They are able to do in five years
what it takes the uneducated man fifteen
or twenty years to dig out for himself.
The university man knows how to draw
the straight line between two points. He
has been trained to think. The routine
of his college days if he has gotten the
most out of it should enable him to see.
His minds and wits are sharpened. His
brain is a regular, clock-like machine. He
can look ahead and see the result of his
efforts. His mind has been made accu-
rate. He does not vacillate weakly. He
is able to grasp facts, to reason, to ob-
serve, better than the brother who has
worked the thing out alone.
In addition to this the college-bred man
is able to put a value on the work of
others. He can tell the worth of a man,
because he has the criterion of the ages to
judge by. He does not worship false
gods in his ignorance. He knows a thing
COLLEGE AND THE WORLD.
277
is good because his college work has given
him the best that the world can offer to
judge by; he can tell what is bad for the
reason that he knows what such a thing
should be. His mind is thoroughly awak-
ened. He knows the quickest way to solve
a mathematical problem because he knows
would shun, and much that I would do
that I neglected to do. The four years
spent at Stanford or the University of
California, or any other college, are the
best years of a man's life. Nothing is
asked of him but soundness of character
and an attitude of willingness to learn.
PRESIDENT BENJAMIN IDE WHEELER OF THE UNIVERSITY OF
CALIFORNIA. *
a great deal about mathematics, more
than he really needs to know to solve this
particular problem.
A man never appreciates his alma mater
until he has graduated. Were I to go
to college again there is much that I
Everything is offered to him; the gates
are freely opened to him who will enter.
And having once entered, he will be
thrown among men of all classes. There
will be rich young fellows whose only am-
bitions are to sport and enjoy a high old
278
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
time. These butterflies and namby-
pamby youths are the blood-suckers of a
university. They are parasites who usu-
ally lack real ambition, and after their
two or three flighty years are over, you
will never hear of them again, unless it
be in an automobile scandal at midnight.
On the other hand, the back-bone of the
nation will be found at the American
universities to-day. These men are the
men who go to a college because they
realize that a college training will allow
them to get higher up in this world of
ours. These fellows are not sent, as Dr.
Jordan points out in his valuable book.
And after ail is said, the fellow who sac-
rifices something and struggles to get his
college training is the fellow whom you
and I will hear from five or ten years
from now.
THE QUADRANGLE, STANFORD UNIVERSITY.
WHY I AM GOIl^G TO COLLEGE
BY BERTRAM WELLS
AM almost too ashamed
to write this, and
were it not for the
fact that hundreds of
others are in the same
position that I now
find myself, I would
not. The editor has
asked me why I am* going to college, and
I must answer, I don't know. I enter
in August, when the class of 1911 makes
its bow to the academic world, but that
is because my parents have chosen so, not
for any very definite reason of my
own.
There is a certain joy in being able to
call oneself a college man, and that may
account for my docility in being led to
slaughter. An infinite amount of respect
seems to be commanded by the fellow who
wears a numerald watch-fob, talks of
"rushes," "booze-fights," and "queens,"
and strides along in baggy trowsers, with
a bull-dog pipe between his teeth. The
rest of the world looks up to him; the
newspapers talk about him; his position
excuses a multitude of sins. The college
man lives in a world of his own, and as
long as he stays there, may do things
nobody else would dare to do. When he
emerges he may talk of these doings and
the tone of his voice as he does so has a
COLLEGE AND THE WOELD.
279
subtle charm to the outsider, and creates
an envy.
Or curiosity? Perhaps it's that. The
college man home on a vacation .speaks of
"ax rallies/' "plug-uglies/' "night-shirt
parades/' until you want to know more.
But his .explanations are futile; you must
see these things, live with them, partici-
pate in them, before you can understand
the spirit infused. All the explaining that
the enthusiastic university fellow may give
does no more than heighten curiosity.
Therefore, I say, perhaps it is this curi-
osity that brought no protest from me
when college was broached. I am curious
to know why dignified, almost-men can
lower their pride to take part in child-like
rushes and plug-uglies; curious to know
the spirit that rouses them to the point
of foolishness; curious to know how it
feels to be an insider.
The life itself is an unconscious draw-
ing card. The college student lives as no
other part of humanity lives; and he
lives, in the slang sense of the word. He
has no regular hours, which is an attrac-
tion far beyond many others. He may
have classes all morning, and be free in
the afternoon; or he may have three
classes on Monday, Wednesday and Fri-
day, and two on Tuesday and Thursday,
with his afternoons off. Some of the un-
lucky ones work from morning till night.
But whatever the hours, they are irregu-
lar, which means the student may rise
when he wishes, dine as he will, and do
what he wants at almost any time of day.
In the afternoons he may be a spectator
on the grand-stand and watch the teams
practice, or he may go to town and spend
his time and his money in various ways.
His evenings are given over to pleasures
beyond mention. If he is a fraternity man
he sits around huge fireplaces, swapping
stories and talking of his plans; or he
queens, which is college slang for asso-
ciating with co-eds. The man outside the
fraternities has his societies and his
clubs. Dancing and dramatics are a big
help in passing time. To sum it all up,
college life is a thing of beauty and a
joy forever, and it may be that which at-
tracts me.
But all those things the joy of being
able to call oneself a college man; the
curiosity of the thing, the life are, after
all, only incidental to what has just come
into my mind. I think I have found my
great reason for going to college have
found it in the fact that I am big and
strong and healthy have found it in
sport.
Athletics are paramount at college. No
matter the institution, or the situation,
sports hold first place in every student's
mind be he laggard or "grind." A uni-
versity is known by the athletics it keeps.
Deep in the heart of every high-school
youth is instilled a burning desire to one
day be the idol of a hero-worshipping col-
lege student body, and he knows that the
successful athlete is the only man who
can obtain such pre-eminence. Long ago
I was fired with that ambition through
seeing bleacherites go mad over a great
play, and through newspaper accounts.
The desire has grown with my age, until
this minute I find that it is almost for the
sake of athletics alone that I am going to
college, without first asking myself why.
As for study, I can say little. College
talk, I have heard, dealt with athletics
and the life. The papers contain nothing
in the way of university news outside of
scandal, small talk and sport; and the col-
lege man never speaks of his books when
away from them. And so I cannot say
that I go to college to learn, though I sup-
pose I shall.
The other day I was talking to an un-
successful college man one of the many
"graduates by request," who manage to
stay in college a year or so, and then
"flunk." He sneered when I told him of
my plans. "A freshman," said he, "is a
fool; and fools rush in where angels fear
to tread." Throw out the athletics, and
perhaps that is why I take up my parents'
choice, and ask no questions. I say per-
haps, for I don't know.
THE GOLD OF SUN-DANCE
CANYON
BY C. JUSTIN KENNEDY
ILLUSTRATED BY CLYDE COOKE.
ARVEY STEWART
shifted sullenly be-
side the camp fire.
Why was it she could
not let him alone? It
was gold, gold he
wanted. For years
he had wandered
through the Rockies, and the Selkirks,
and the Gold Range, seeking at eternal
sacrifice of self the yellow lodes ; starving,
sweating, freezing, with never a gleam of
comfort or of color, suffering, yet faithful
always to the quest. And then for her to
write to him, chidingly, reproachfully, as
though the life he led were happiness, and
not despair. She talked of the full, far
freedom of the mountains, that was his !
Little he cared for the mountains or their
freedom, save only for the gold they held :
his was no soul of mystery, that craved
the sweetness of the wilderness.
"And yet," he muttered, "she writes
and writes and writes, 'enjoying your life,
while I am left here, all alone, with no
friends, nothing.' Nothing, indeed! As
if she hadn't every comfort and conven-
ience, and me exposed to every kind of
hardship."
He snatched the letter from his pocket
and crumpling it angrily, threw it in the
flames.
"What in hell did she marry me for,
if she couldn't stand it?"
But a sudden sense of heartlessness
struggled in his breast, and he snatched
up a stick to pull the letter from the fire ;
it was too late, the paper was in ashes.
"Poor little girl," he thought, relenting,
"if she knew that!"
"Please, please, Garvey," she had writ-
ten, "come back to me I cannot stand it.
I am so tired, so tired. I have waited
all alone for six months. A woman can-
not stand those things, especially when she
loves a man. Oh, Garvey, can't you un-
derstand? I am so tired. I know I told
you it would be all right, when you took
me from home, but a woman will tell a
man anything to get the object of her love,
and it is so much harder than I thought."
So she went on; she wanted him to
come back and take her away from the
city ; she was not used to that ; she wanted
to go over in the Yakima, where men had
come upon the desert, and building in
their flumes, drawn water from the moun-
tains, until to-day the sands were fragrant
with the bloom of orchards and the dust
had turned to sward. Aye, she craved the
sunshine and the sweetness of it all. But
he would not come ; the gold, the gold was
what he sought, and the momentary love
of woman was as ashes in his heart, a
faded thing. The very cruelty of that
trifling act, the burning of the letter, had
worked its own reaction. All that night
he lay upon the blankets, restless; the
starlight sifted lightly through the
spruces, and the great white peaks loomed
strangely through the Northern night,
but these things had no mystery for Stew-
art; they did not clutch, as the gold-thirst
did.
But at least, unconsciously, he softened
in their presence, and humanity had its
way. He would go back for a little while.
At dawn he started through the woods,
going light. He could not give much
time, and had cached such things as might
have hindered him, together with his pros-
pecting outfit.
All day long he tramped, stopping sev-
eral times to examine rocks that seemed
to indicate a vein, but turned out barren.
At night he built a fire of duff and pine-
THE GOLD OF SUN-DANCE CANYON.
281
wood, made a meal of bacon, beans and
coffee, and then sat back to smoke. At
times he was tempted to return, but the
incident of the letter seemed always to
bring back the censure of his heartless-
ness: but even then a straw's weight might
have turned the balance. He shut the
girl from his thoughts, and as forcibly re-
fused to notice further what signs there
were of metal in the rocks.
Some few hundred yards away, a moun-
tain ridge rose steeply, and at the base he
spied a Stoney Indian camp of half a
dozen wigwams, nestled in the shelter of
the valley.
At that very moment, as he was figur-
ing out the purpose of their presence,
there came a low, deep, smothered rumble,
and then the rattle of a multitude of
stones, and glancing quickly upward, he
discovered that a snow-slide had begun
upon the mountain; it was not as large
as the slides that frequently occur, but
even so, the great white sheeted mass,
starting at the summit of the mountain,
tore out great rocks and logs and boulders,
and sweeping down terrifically, snapped
off the pines that blocked it, and hurled
itself in awful chaos and confusion upon
the Indian lodges.
Stewart leaped up and rushed across
the little stream that wound between the
lodges and his camp. There seemed to be
no further danger, as the slide was but a
short one, and already over, but he found
the lodges wrecked, and several Indians
killed and buried in the debris; only one
of them was left alive, a squaw, but even
she had had her right arm broken, and
suffered serious bruises.
Stewart carried her across the stream,
out of possible danger, as another snow-
slide might occur at any moment.
AS well as he knew how, in that un-
skilled way which answers for the peril
of the mountains, he set the fractured
member and bound up the wounds, the
squaw being scarcely conscious of what he
was doing. Then he returned to the
lodges, but everything was ruined or bur-
ied, and there was nothing of the Indians'
simple possessions that he could save.
When he went back to his own camp,
Garvey Stewart was puzzled what to do.
He had started home only out of sullen,
grudging pity for the girl who begged
and pleaded so unhappily; but now he
found himself perplexed anew. Surely
he could not leave this Indian woman
alone and helpless? He had but scant
respect for Indians as a general thing,
yet still it was a life, and human, and
somehow asked for succor. But much as
Margaret yearned for his return, deeply
as she needed him, Stewart felt instinct-
ively that she would not grudge him this
delay, and eventually he decided to re-
main.
With easy, practiced skill, he fashioned
tepees for the woman and himself, and
having but a scant supply of food, de-
pended on the forest and the rivers for
provisions. Faithfully he attended to his
patient's wants, and washed and bound
the bruises. The Stoney squaw had ap-
pealed more easily to pity than the white
girl, although perhaps the latter was
equally in need of it.
Thus the days wore on, until the squaw
was less dependent, and one night, as they
sat before the wigwams, partaking of a
forest supper, Stewart addressed her, as
he always did, in broken English.
"Takaho, to-morrow me go way, home
you go back to Injun people." The
woman started. "No, no go way, you. Me
want you stay."
"What for me stay? No use. You all
right now. I go to-morrow, sure."
The Indian woman hesitated; for a
long time she gazed into the flames ab-
stractedly, and at length raised her eyes
to Stewart pleadingly.
"No leave Injun woman. No go way
off. Injun woman want you stay."
Stewart felt a little sorry for her, and
asked her unsuspectingly : "How long you
want me stay?"
The squaw's eyes seemed to burn across
'the shadow to his own, as she bent for-
ward, whispering passionately:
"All time, stay all time. Wfhite man too
good Injun woman. Stay all time me
got have him. No go way off."
Stewart stared in mute surprise. What
would he say to her? He found it difficult
to rouse affection for a white girl, attrac-
tive as she was; but as for ever feeling
warmly towards squaws Some men
seemed to find them quite attractive, but
for his part, they were, well^just Injuns.
That was the only way he could express
HE HAD FORGOTTEN THE LETTEE AND ITS ASHES."
it. He answered carelessly, to show his
lack of interest.
"~So, no, me got wife, home; she sick,
too; me go way to-morrow. You go back
your people."'
But the squaw was obdurate, and
pleaded that she had no people ; they were
killed, and she could not leave the white
man; he had been too good to her, and
she loved him: Stewart did not heed her,
but insisted he must go to-morrow, and
finding her too persevering for his com-
fort at last he turned into his wigwam,
and to all appearances, at least, was soon
asleep.
But the Indian woman would not yield;
^he^ had never known a man so kind be-
fore, and she could not give him up. All
night she sat by the sputtering driftwood
fire, swaying to and fro, clutching at some
fragile means to hold the white man for
herself. Was not she, too, a woman, that
would not be rejected? Suddenly at
early dawn, when the forest rustles ceased,
THE GOLD OP SUN-DANCE CANYON.
283
and an eagle screamed uproariously from
a fire-scarred pine, she rose, and going
across to where Stewart lay, waked him
gently.
"White man stay," she said, tenta-
tively.
Stewart rolled over sleepily. "Me go
to-day," he answered bluntly.
The Indian woman bent down and whis-
pered : "White man like gold, huh ?"
Stewart turned upon her questioningly.
"Look for gold long, long time; never
find him, huh?"
Stewart grunted acquiescence; he had
told her that in their camp-fire talks, and
could not contradict it.
"Takaho know big gold plenty gold,
plenty big oh many people."
The prospector sat up uneasily. Was
she lying; was this a trap?
"White man marry Takaho she take
him big gold." She waved her hand sig-
nificantly. "Way off mountain what you
call him, Sun-Dance Canyon."
Garvey Stewart leaped to his feet and
caught the Indian woman by the shoul-
ders. (He had forgotten Margaret, for-
gotten the letter, and its ashes, forgotten
her unhappiness. Here was gold!)
"Takaho," he said, fiercely, "if you lie
to me I will shoot you, you hear? Cum
tux?"
She smiled meaningly. "Me tell truth,
sure."
"How big, how big is this mine, this
gold?" he continued.
The woman stretched her arms far
apart, and then pointed from the wigwam
to the mountain. Little she recked of that
other love, the precious passion of the
white girl's breast; little she thought of
the pity and the pain, the hopeless, hate-
less dragging out of life, lonely and alone,
down in the brick-locked city where, from
the quarters of the globe, had huddled
profligates and fools.
And Stewart? Aye, neither with him
was reckoning or compassion. "Come
on." he called thickly.
The woman fell upon him, passionately,
kissing the bearded face over and over
again with still unsated lips.
".I/;?/ man, my man?" she mumbled, and
looked up at him in yet fearful question-
ing.
"Yes," he muttered. "How far how
far?"
"Way off mountain," she replied. "Sun
Dance Canyon."
Together they dashed along the river
bank hand in hand, for she would have
it so, despite the heritage of race; they
journeyed through the dark, unglimmered
forest.
Stewart refused to stop for meals, re-
fused to stop for sleep at night, and the
woman struggled on obediently; what if
she were tired, exhausted? What if she
died for she was weak after days and
nights of suffering; was he not her man,
he to lead and she to follow to the
death?
In the morning they struck the creek,
and followed downward to the canyon.
Here for many moons the Stonies held the
sun dance, with its orgies and its sacri-
fice, with its triumphs and disaster of des-
pair.
Takaho stopped at the gorge and waited
where the gurgle-lacking river, with a
roar, dashed through the canyon. Then,
as if she had caught the inspiration from
the stream, she slowly turned about, and
crossing over, led the white man to the
mountain on the other side.
"Hurry, hurry!" he called impatiently,
his fingers working as though to clutch
the treasure.
"Ai" she answered proudly and tri-
umphantly, and stooping down beyond the
chasm, scooped away the earth. Stewart's
face was drawn; somehow he was in pain
the face, the cry, the letter; aye, but
the ashes, and the waiting arms, and the
white breasts heaving with the pain. He
set the thin, hard lips, and clenched his
fists, and knelt beside the squaw; aye, he
hated her, but the gold, the gold ! She
lifted up a rock, and chipped the vein,
and the yellow glinted in the sunlight.
"All way," she said, "way long river," and
she pointed far below the canyon. Stewart
watched it, exultingly. He was in pain;
he had bartered off his birthright, bartered
off a woman and a soul, but, oh, God,
there was the gold, piles of it, piles of it.
He grabbed a yellow-mottled piece of rock
she handed him and almost kissed il.
Again the woman fell upon him her
man. Suddenly the man's brows dark-
ened : he held the yellow to the light
again ; he weighed it in his hand ; he
tossed it to and fro; he scratched it with
"FOOL'S GOLD!" HK GNASHED.
a knife-point, and then with one long, picture that was almost gone, the birth-
deep-drawn curse, he hurled it to the right he had bartered, and the woman and
chasm-bed in scorn. the soul. "Oh, Margaret, Margaret," he
/'s gold!" he gnashed. "Pyntfes moaned, clutching blindly at the vision.
you!" He caught wildly at the "Oh, God, you have saved me."
COWBOYS ASTRAY
BY
HERBERT COOLIDGE
DRAWING BY W. R. DAVENPORT.
NTONE GAECIA and
Tom Dunlap sat on
their blanket rolls be-
side a lonely country
lane, a lunch spread
out on the grass be-
fore them. They were
in Illinois, strangers
in a foreign land.
"Son-of-agohns," growled Antone,
reaching out a swarthy, unwashed hand
for another piece of bread, "eef I bahk
in Arizona I keel thaht fallar. He think
we trampas; thay all think we trampas;
blahnkets or no blahnkets, no de-efronce,
we trampas, ju-ust the same."
"Yes, if I'd been back in Arizona, I'd
have had a shot at you for raising such a
fool roar because the man wouldn't let
you come in with your dirt and grime, and
eat with his family. You ain't got the
sense of a rabbit, Antone; when you were
back in Arizona you never got to put your
feet under the same table with the white
folks, and you know it."
Antone turned out both hands and
raised his shoulders to make the "no dif-
ference" gesture of the Mexicans.
"Ah, que carramba, the feet no-o-ole-
hace, table or ju-ust ground, no-le-hace
to me. But I want sometheeng to eat; I
want heem hot. I no lahk these hand-
outs. I travel from El Paso to Phoenix
and todos tiempos el ranchero say, 'Turn
your caballo in the field an' go eat with the
boys. Seguro qui si, they never geef me
hand-out in Arizona."
"But you're not in Arizona, get that in-
to your head. These people haven't got
any bunk houses. You kick about the
hand-out. What do you take it for? I
did my prettiest to head the senorita off,
. and if you hadn't come in with your 'muy
hambre' talk and begun shruggin' your
shoulders and rabbin' your belt, I would
have got out of there without being put on
the soup-house list. 1 don't care what
these old punkin rollers think; they can
put me down as a trampa or a horse-thief,
but when it comes to having their pretty
daughters think I'm a dirt-eatin' beggar,
excuse me. Antone, you'd queer a good
man; try to fight the old gent and then
five minutes later take a hand-out from
his daughter."
Antone did not speak for a few mo-
ments ; he was forgetting the rancor of life
in an onslaught upon a generous piece of
pumpkin pie.
"She's buena cuke," he said, compla-
cently, as he stowed away the last bit of
flaky crust. "I theenk thaht senorita
lahk me, all right, eef she see me with no
wheeskers and with good horse, saddle and
bridle. Seguro qui si, I theenk she lahk
me, all right."
"Ya-a-as," said Tom, slowly, and with
scorn, "I think she would like you if she
could see you in your Arizona hang-out
playing monte with that Digger Indian
squaw of yourn. It's my plain duty to
get you back there or you'll marry into
some of these good families and leave your
muchachos to starve in the brush."
Antone, who had finished eating, and
was turning all his pockets wrong side out,
made no reply to this sally ; apparently he
did not hear.
"Sohn-of-a-ghons," he said at last, with
grave concern, "no mas tobacco."
"Certainly, no mas tobacco. I'm dying
for a smoke myself. If you'd kept your
face shut when we were at that last ranch-
house we'd be in a fair way of earning
some tobacco. Now I tell you, Antone,
I ain't a-goin' to put up with any more
of your monkey business on this trip ; I'm
goin' to take charge of this expedition,
savvy ?"
Antone, with a deprecating shrug of
286
OVEKLAND MONTHLY.
resignation, signified that he understood
very well indeed.
"All right, then," continued his part-
ner, "turn over that knife of yours first;
I ain't a-going to have you make any more
knife plays on prospective bosses. Now,
then, we're to go back to that last ranch
and take that job. The boss said that he
had work that needed doing, and I refuse
to die for want of the price of a smoke
just because he got into a row with you.
Get under that bed now and come on."
The American shut his jaws down with
a snap as he closed the sentence and eyed
the Mexican fiercely as he obediently
shouldered his blanket roll and stood in
readiness to travel. Then both men re-
traced their steps to the Johnson farm
house.
The family were sitting out on the
porch enjoying the summer gloaming, but
began to talk together nervously, as the
strangers entered the yard.
"Dora," said the father, rising from
his chair, "go out to the barn and tell
John and Hiram to come to the house.
Mother, you'd better go inside."
Tom Dunlap left the Mexican at the
gate with the strict injunction to stay
with the blankets, and went up the path
alone. He noted the consternation of the
family with scorn, and smiled grimly be-
hind his tawny mustache.
"Well, pardner," he said, as he reached
the porch where the farmer stood waiting
to meet him, "I suppose you think we're
hobos for a cinch since we took the hand-
out, but if you'd heard me cuss the
Greaser for beginning to rub his belt
when I had just about lied out of taking
anything, you wouldn't think so. No,
we're not 'bos, and we've come back to
take that job."
Deacon Johnson, with ill-concealed dis-
approval at the frank admission of two
such cardinal sins as lying and swearing,
pulled at his whiskers hesitatingly, and
replied :
"Your friend seems to be a man of
violent temper. I don't "
"Oh, that's all right," said Tom cheer-
fully; "I cussed him for that, too, and
took his knife away and told him that if
he registered any more kicks on grub or
anything else I'd take a shot at him. The
Mexican is all right; he's a cross between
a Digger Indian squaw and a cattle-thief,
but he knows better than to monkey with
me when I'm hostile."
As Tom ceased speaking, the two stal-
wart young farm hands came out on the
porch: the girl, whom the farmer had
called Dora, followed timidly and stood
just behind the group, near her father.
Conscious of the reinforcements, Dea-
con Johnson became severe.
"Does your friend smoke?"
"Not when he ain't got the makin's of
a smoke, he don't. No, I'll tell you, pard-
ner, you won't need to lose any more fat
worrying about the Mexican. Just give
me a couple of lard buckets, a frying pan
and a little grub; I'll make a camp back
in the brush some place, and see that he
don't bother nobody."
"Young man," replied the deacon with
slow dignity, "I am afraid that I cannot
employ you or your friend. I've been
farming for myself for twenty years and
more now, and have never had any but
Christian young men on my premises.
John and Hiram are both members of my
church."
For a moment the Arizonan seemed
totally at a loss as to how to take this
statement; the three Christian farmers
exchanged glances of firm self-approval.
Finally Tom hitched up his overalls ag-
gressively. ""Well, I'll tell you, Mister, if
I can't pitch twice as much hay as any
Christian young man you ever had on
the ranch, you needn't pay me a cent. I
have never worked with any of your
Christian young men, but I've got a
hunch that they can't qualify with me for
a holy second. And the Greaser "
The Arizonan was interrupted by the
Greaser himself.
"Que dice, Tom? What you say?" he
asked.
Tom, in his anger, forgot for the mo-
ment that the Mexican was supposed to
be with the blankets, and replied:
"The old gent was sayin' that he didn't
want nothin' but church men."
"Que carramba!" raising his shoulders,
and twisting his face with sympathetic
consternation, "thaht make eet bad for
you, no, Tom?" Then his swarthy face
lighted with a bright idea.
"But eet no le hace, Tom. I work and
you keep camp till we have bastante
"YOUNG MAN . . i CANNOT EMPLOY YOU OR YOUR FRIEND/''
288
OVEKLAND MONTHLY.
money to go back to Arizona. I church
man," he went on, turning to the farmer.
"I gude Catholique."
The two hired men snickered a little at
this; Deacon Johnson's face hardened,
and he essayed to speak, when Antone, in
anticipation, went on earnestly:
"Oh, no, no! Tom bueno fallar; he
no lahk church, but he gude boy ju-ust
the same. Eef you no lahk heem for that,
he keep camp por me and I work. Se-
guro que si, Tom he cuss church todos
tiempos, but he bueno pahtnah; I chase
cattle on same ranch for cincos anos.
Seguro que si, Tom gude fallar."
The Mexican, who had been feeling
nervously in all his pockets as he spoke,
now pulled out a bit of brown paper, and
drowning out both Tom and the Deacon
as they attempted to speak in unison,
said, with his politest shrug, "Sohn-of-
a-gohns, I haff matches and papel but yo
no tengo tobahcco. Senor haff
Antone, seeing that something was
wrong, stopped abruptly, and stood, un-
consciously bellying the bit of cigarette
paper into readiness to receive its charge
of fine-cut, and wondering what there was
about this most natural of requests that
ould not be well taken.
Tom, whose principal weakness lay in
his pride of being a Bob Ingersoll man,
had been very black and restless during
Iris swarthy partner's apologies for his
attitude toward the Christian religion,
but now he left off biting at the corners
of his mustache and began to grin sheep-
ishly. Deacon Johnson, apparently be-
wildered by the naive request of the un-
tamed advocate of churches, seemed at a
loss for something to say. For a moment,
the group stood in embarrassment, then
suddenly there was a stifled giggle that
burst unexpectedly into clear, girlish
laughter. That broke the spell; even the
hard-featured deacon laughed heartily.
"Father," said the daughter, taking ad-
vantage of the lull that followed, "why
do you not let the men stay? They are
away from home and want to get money
enough to get back to Arizona. It must
be awful to be away from home so far."
"That north field has been down a
week too long now," suggested the elder
of the farm hands.
"Si, senorita, in my casa yo tengo tree
Ml muchachos who last night say 'papa'
to me when I sleep. And my pahtner
haff una senorita."
"Aw, cut that out, Antone," interrupt-
ed Tom, shifting on his feet very uneas-
ily. "You needn't eat any dirt for me.
This is a business proposition; let's hit
the road if he don't want us."
"No," said the deacon, "we can use
you both in the hayfield to-morrow. I'd
like to have you stay."
"And eef you 'fraid for fire," put in
Antone, "I no smoke; I get some to-
bahcco and chew heem. I no lahk heem
thaht way, but eef you 'fraid for fire, I
chew heem ju-ust the same."
UNLIMITED ELECTRIC POWER
BY
BURTOK WALLACE
ONDEEFUL as are the
wireless telegraph, the
Bell telephone and the
Mergenthaler typeset-
ting machine, which
set civilization for-
ward nearly a century
within the past de-
cade, there comes now a remarkable in-
vention, made practical and put into op-
eration for c6mmercial use at Los Angeles.
It is called the Starr Wave Motor.
Niagara Falls, between the great Lake
Erie and the great Lake Ontario, two of
the five great lakes, has been harnessed
for man's use by special permission of the
Governments of the United States and
Canada, but it remained for California to
take a mechanical appliance and run it
steadily night and day, through storm and
calm, simply by the up and down motion
of the waves of the Pacific Ocean.
White caps and gentle swells, ebbing
and flowing tides, are no longer move-
ments of the ocean to keep fishes alive,
carry ships and excite the wonderment of
man, for one man has pursued the enter-
prise of harnessing the ocean waves until
success now meets him, after thirty years
of hard struggles and privations.
Mighty power houses are being erected
to -transmit this eeaseless and unlimited
force, the first practical commercial plant
being put in at Eedondo Beach, near Los
Angeles by the Los Angeles Wave Power
and Electric Co. They have leased a part
of the beach from the Eedondo Improve-
ment Company, one of E. E. Hunting-
ton's companies, and are erecting a pier
and a motor plant for the Starr Wave
Motor, which will supply six southern
counties Los Angeles, Orange, San
Bernardino, Eiverside, Santa Bar-
bara and Ventura with all the power
needed for factory or transportation pur-
poses. The plant will necessarily be en-
larged after a short time, but its success
and present commercial value can not be
disputed.
But first, let us look at this remarkable
inventor and his more remarkable inven-
tion. Briefly, it is a part of our education
in twentieth century progress.
Mr. Frederick Starr, a first class me-
chanic, spent about twenty years in the
Pullman car shops near Chicago putting
the fine interior hardwood finish in the
Pullman sleeping cars. All this time he
had a notion that the up-and-down motion
of the ocean waves could be made to run
a force in one direction just the same as
the piston of a steam engine pushes the
drivers forward or backward at the will
of the engineer, the only difference being
that one force is horizontal and the other
perpendicular; one worked by steam pres-
sure, the other by water power. Both are
practical.
Mr. Starr, in his studies and experi-
ments, while at the Pullman shop, saw
that a wave motor to be a success, had to
be so constructed that it would not only
stand the worst storms of the ocean, but
also that it must be so sensitive that it
would receive the power from the smallest
ocean swell; consequently, he developed
and patented a machine, simple in con-
struction, that will turn every ripple and
surging billow into commercial value.
Very small was the first wooden model
of a wave motor built by Mr. Starr. The
appliance was worked by hand with play-
ing marbles used as rollers, which simply
revolved the power shaft enough to show
that the "clutch" would work.
Larger was the second model, also made
of wood, while the third model worked so
perfectly in the shop that it was moved to
Pier 2, Mission street wharf, San Fran-
cisco, and there installed, and a barge put
under the pier and connected to the ma-
chinery on the pier with longer and heav-
ier uprights, and with five-eighths inch
cables.
290
OVEELAND MONTHLY.
That plant was operated by the waves
in the bay. It worked grandly, producing
electricity from August, 1905, until Feb-
ruary, 1907, when it was dismantled, be-
cause it had served its purpose and they
were done with it. But it had operated
successfully through all the storms for
eighteen months. One storm went over the
bay in February, 1906, that the San Fran-
cisco papers said was the worst storm for
over twenty years, and that little model
of the Starr Wave Motor, with its barge
submerged, worked through the storm in
perfect condition.
What this wonderful wave motor is can
be told in a few words. It consists of a
pier built from the shore into the ocean
until water is reached about twenty feet
deep at low tide. Under the pier a barge
(a hollow, flat boat) is anchored by an-
chors placed in the bottom of the ocean
that hold the barge so it cannot at any
time touch any part of the pier. That
barge is permitted to travel with the ocean
waves ten to sixteen feet in and out (sea-
ward and shoreward), and two to six feet
sideways. These movements permit the
barge to "play with the waves" and make
it easy to hold. The barge is so construct-
ed that when a storm is coming on, valves
in the bottom of the barge are opened, and
the barge is filled with water, which, with
the pressure of the machinery, sinks the
barge enough to make the storm waves and
breakers pass over the barge during the
storm. While the barge is thus submerged
the wave motor continues to take tin
power from the ocean swells, all that is de-
sired, because the movement of the ocean
at such times is so much greater that with
the barge submerged there is yet all the
power in the waves that is wanted. With
the barge thus submerged, it is covered
all over with the water that acts as a cush-
ion, so that in the worst storm the power
is in reality more regular and even than
in ordinary seas. When the storm is over,
the water will be blown out of the barge
by compressed air, and then the barge
floats upon the surface again.
The great importance of this invention
can scarcely be foretold. Comparing it to
other inventions, we may get a notion
of its value ; as, for instance, the West-
inghouse air break. Westinghouse went to
Commodore Vanderbilt, of the New York
UNLIMITED ELECTRIC POWER.
291
Central Railroad, to interest him, but the
Commodore said he had "no time to
bother with damn fools who proposed to
stop a train of cars with wind." To-day
the air-break is in use all over the world.
The same skepticism formerly attached
to the wave motor, but has been proven
baseless.
The Starr Wave Motor has even a larger
field than the air brake, because electric
power, heat and light can be produced at
one-third the present cost.
It is estimated that the power used in
Los Angeles, Orange, Riverside, San Ber-
nardino. Santa Barbara and Ventura
Counties is about 100,000 horse-power.
That power costs consumers in those six
counties an average of about $100 a year
per horse power, while by the wave motors
the same power can be produced and sold
at one-third the present prices, and still
make enormous profits.
A plant equipped with these wave
motors of 50,000 horsepower capacity
when completed and in successful opera-
tion with to-day's high prices for material
and labor, will cost not to exceed $2,500,-
000. The earnings of a 50,000 horse-
power plant near Los Angeles, selling elec-
tricity at $30 per horse-power per year
(less than one-third the present average
price), will be $1,500,000 per year, which
is over 50 per cent per annum on the en-
tire cost of the plant.
The Los Angeles Wave Power and Elec-
tric Company is incorporated, the follow-
ing gentlemen being among the stock-
holders, the main office being in the H. W.
Hellman building, Los Angeles: W. E. B.
Partridge, President of the American En-
gineering and Foundry Co., Founders and
Machinists, Los Angeles; 0. H. Mason,
proprietor of the Up-to-Date Pattern Co.,
Pattern Manufacturers, Los Angeles;
Fred Pilgrim, President of the Pilgrim
Iron Works, Founders and Machinists,
Los Angeles; J . C. Beach, Contractor
and Builder, Los Angeles; Fred Starr, a
Mechanic and Inventor of this Ware Mo-
tor, San Francisco; J. H. Bacon, Invest-
ment Banker, San Francisco.
Since the force of the ocean waves is
practically limitless, it is easy to see what
a tremendous thing the Starr Wave Motor
is. That it will follow the paths of other
great inventions cannot now be disputed.
It's capital stock is selling at fifty cents a
share, and that colossal fortunes will be
made, as well as reducing the cost of
power to consumers, is evident.
DEATH ON THE MARSHES
BY
RAYMOND STJMNEB BARTLETT
The freshness of a summer's day
Had filled the heavens with sound,
And even the homely marsh flower smiled
From her rest in the cold, wet ground ;
The tall reeds nodded and beck'ed and bowed
To the clumps of soughing willows
And the woven dusks of the lily blew
From her couch on the watery pillows.
Salt laden from the wide bayou
The glad breeze bent the rushes,
Then marched along from tree to tree
And kissed the trembling brushes;
The wild shades blushed and quivered anew,
'Neath the glance of the warm red sun,
For the tent of heaven's pavilion lay bare
And winter's last race was run.
A-near the marge of the watery plain,
Where the clamoring, shambling sea,
Breath-laden from a sunnier south,
Had filled the willow wide lea ;
One of God's creatures, a feathery form,
Lay fast asleep, for its breast
Wlas torn apart and its sea-free heart
Had sunk to its sylvan rest.
The rising tide was at its full
Along the sallow-ridged shore,
It gathered and fell with a soughing swell
And a dull, retreating roar:
Far out on the channel a siren shrieked,
And over the dipping swells,
Like a voice in the dark, like a flickering spark,
Came the melody of the bells.
Dear bird, athwart the marginal moor
Thy fellows are flying free,
As glad as the breeze among the trees
In their sea- wide liberty;
The warm life throbs in their earth-born hearts
Like the pulse of the tide that swings,
For it quickens the beats in climes and heats
With the fluttering of their wings.
When the wan West shivers above the hills
And the purple of. night sweeps down,
Even then God knows each flower that blows
And every soul that is flown ;
For the meanest flower in wood and in bower
In meadows and fields and leas,
When withered and blown, when scattered and strown
O'er the crests of the waving trees,
Can hear his word, and thou, dear bird,
Are even more than these
"Ail rights secured.
Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers.
LISTEN!/
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valuable to ladies. MARVEL CO.
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M E L S
Oak, Cherry, Mahogany, Walnut,
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Cool washing for hot weather
FOR OLD OR NKW FLOORS. FURNITURE AND WOODWORK
Wears like Cement Dries over night with Brilliant Gloss. Contains no
Japan or Shellac. Write at once for Free Booklet, Color Card and List of
Dealers. TRIAL CAN FREE [send lOc to pay postage] Enough for a Chair,
Table or Kitchen Cabinet. ADDRESS: "FLOOR-SHINE" CO., 1ST LOUIS. MO.
Sold by Hale Bros., Agents, San Francisco
and A. Hamburger Sons, Los Angeles
If you are a dealer write for the Agency
A Paper For Englishmen Abroad
" 'Public Opinion' was much prized by Thomas Carlyle, and was one of the last journals he
read," said Dr. W. R. Nicoll, in British Weekly.May 2, 1907.
PUBLIC OPINION
TWOPENCE WEEKLY
Edited by PERCY L. PARKER
The purpose of "Public Opinion" is to provide a weekly review of current thought and ac-
tivity as they are expressed in the world's newspapers, magazines and books, and to put on
record the ideas and activities which make for religious, Intellectual, Political and Social Pro-
gress.
It seeks to provide the busy man with a lucid summary of what is happening in the dif-
ferent fields of human activity, and to focus within readable compass something of that teem-
ing interest which comes from being in touch with many phases of life.
This object has been achieved with considerable success ever since "PUBLIC OPINION"
was started in 1860. In the 47 years since then it has consistently carried out its policy.
The need for a paper like "PUBLIC OPINION" increases with the years, for life becomes
more complex, and the busy man, though anxious to keep in touch with new developments of
thought and activity, has not the time to read the many papers which would give him the
needed facts. "PUBLIC OPINION" seeks to do this for him, and to present just that precis
of life and thought which will enable him to quickly understand what is going on in the world.
"Public Opinion" (published every Friday, price twopence, 32 pages) can be obtained from
any newsagent or bookstall or will be sent post free for one year to any address in the
United Kingdom for 10s. 10d., and to any place abroad for 13s. per annum. Orders should be
addressed to
"PUBLIC OPINION" 30 and 31 Temple House, Tallis Street, London, E. C.
"I know of two Prime Ministers who have read regularly PUBLIC OPINION," said the
Daily News, May 15, 1907.
"We know of at least one who has misreadit," added "Punch," May 29, 1907.
Specimens sent free on application.
Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers.
xl
ROAST MEATS
Hot or cold, Soups, Steaks, Chops, Gravies, Cheese and all
kinds of Salads are given a rare relish by the judicious use of
Lea & Perrins' Sauce
THE ORIGINAL WORCESTERSHIRE
Leading Chefs say it is the Secret of their Success
Beware Of Imitations. John Duncan's Sons, Agents, New York.
Irving Institute and California Conservatory of Music
2126-2128 California Street, San Francisco
Boarding and Day School for Girls
Mus'c, Languages, Art, and Elocution. Accredited by Univer-
sities. The new term begins Monday, August 5.
MISS ELLA M. PINKHAM, Principal.
California Conservatory of Music. Send for
Catalogue.
HERMANN GENSS. Director.
What School?
WE CAN HELP YOU DECIDE
Catalogues and reliable information concerning al
schools and colleges furnished without charge. State
kind of school, address:
American School and College Agency
384, 41 Park Row, New Yerk, er 384, 3I5 Dearbirn St., Chica 68
THE HAMLIN SCHOOL AND VAN NESS SEMINARY
2230 Pacific Ave.
For particulars address
cTWISS SARAH D. HAMLIN
2230 Pacific c/4venue,
San Francisco Telephone West 546
The Fall term will open August 12, 1907.
FEMININE LOVELINESS
Set of six most inspiring art pictures of woman beau-
tiful, 25c. THEY ARE GEMS--real pretty faces and
forms the kind you DREAM about and the colors are
blended together in such artistic style that it is impos-
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are interested in art pictures and 25c FOR THE SET
Elaborate catalog of den pictures fre*. ONTARIO ART
CO. 2046 N. Ashland Avenue. Chicago.
Are you going to St. Louis
The HOTEL HAMILTON is a delightful place in the Best Resi-
dent Section and away from the noise and smoke; yet within easy
access. Transient Rate: $1 to $3 per day. European Plan. Specie
Rates by the week. Write for Booklet. Address: W. F. WILLIAM-
SON, Manager:
WHEN IN BOSTON STAY AT THE
COPLEY SQUARE HOTEL
HUNTINGTON AVE., EXETER AND BLAGDEN STS.
A high-class, modern house, intelligent service, moderate prices, pleasant rooms, superior
cuisine. Long distance telephone in every room.
Ladies traveling alone are assured of courteous attention.
rooms 200 with private baths. AMOS H. WHIPPLE, Proprietor.
EDITORIAL
C M M E N T.
A PLEA FOR GOOD ROADS
OSTE OF the leading features of Eu-
rope that impresses the tourist from
America is the general excellence of
the roads. All over the continent, lead-
ing from city to city, from village to vil-
lage, is a labyrinth of smooth road-bed,
which enables the automobilist and the
bicyclist to reach with ease every little
town upon the entire continent.
This desirable condition of the roads
has been accomplished through the public
spirit of the citizens of the leading Euro-
pean countries, and through the efforts
of the respective Governments. As a con-
sequence, thousands of auto fiends pour
into Europe every summer to take advan-
tage of the alluring opportunities for
motoring, and it is reported: that they
spend from six to eight million dollars at
the leading resorts in France alone.
Why should not the United States have
a system of road beds just as good as our
sister continent? Why should we not
keep these millions of dollars wumn the
limits of our own country?
Why not begin in California ? At regu-
lar periods a campaign is started for good
roads in various sections of the State, but
after a short time the matter is dropped
and the roads are neglected. What more
wonderful trip could be made than to
skim through our fair State, starting at
the beautiful southern partion among the
orange groves and working up to Los An-
geles, thence through the valley of the
San Joaquin to San Francisco, along the
Calle Eeal, and beyond into the recesses
of the Sacramento Valley, skirting the
mountain streams of the Sierra Nevadas
and winding in and out among the big
trees and the parks of the northern por-
tion of the State? Such a road would be
unrivaled in all the world. If the roads
were made better, there could be a con-
tinuous chain running to every town of
consequence in the State, and nothing
would attract tourists nor advertise Cali-
fornia more than this feature of the
West.
To promote a sentiment for better roads
in California, the Overland Monthly
would be glad to receive photographs and
accounts of road improvements. Photo-
graphs taken of particularly poor roads,
of bad roads undergoing improvement and
of roads before and after improvement,
will be welcomed. A short account of the
location of the roads should be enclosed
with all photographs. These will be paid
for at our regular rates, and should ba
addressed to the "Good Roads Editor,"
Overland Monthly, San Francisco.
Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers.
xiil
Important Change in Life Insurance!!
HEREAFTER
The Prudential
will be on a Non-Participating Basis Exclusively.
The New Non=Participatingf Policy
Unparalleled in Its Attractive Features.
Lowest Premium Rates.
Contract Clear and Definite.
Liberal Cash Loans.
Nonforfeitable After One Year's Premium is Paid.
Automatic Extended Insurance or Automatic
Premium Loans.
Cash Surrender Values, both on Premium Paying
Policies and on Paid=up Policies.
Amounts $1,000 to $100,000.
Every Rate, Value and Feature
in the Policy Absolutely Guaranteed
See a Prudential Agent or WRITE NOW
to the Home Office for Pull Particulars of this
New Policy and Rates at Yn- Age.
Address Dep'V 21
The Prudential
Insurance Co. of America
Incorporated as a Stock Company by the
State of New Jersey.
JOHN F. DRYDEN,
President.
Home Office:
NEWARK, N. J.
xiv
Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers.
Die in
open air
seeking
water.
Rat
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infested
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boxes, expre prepaid. Also ask your druggist for Yankee
or send us 25c; we'll mail direct to you, "Never fail
THE RAT BISCUIT CO., Dept. 0. M. Springfield, O.
FRED'K B. VOLZ MRS. HELEN FREESE
Volz & Freese
Importers of works of art,
Present some odd, quaint and
beautiful things from the art
centers of the world: Original
Oil Paintings, Ivory, Miniature
Carved Ivory, Art Furniture,
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prices that are attractive.
An exceptional opportunity for wedding presents
947-949 Van Ness Avenue
Telephone 291 7 FRANKLIN
BY DE^ISO^ HALLEY CLIFT
BY far the most interesting book that
I have read of late is Alfred L.
Hutchinson's " The Limit of
Wealth." This book deals with the ques-
tion of Capital vs. Labor in a very novel
manner. That the people of the United
States realize that an impending crisis
between the workingmen and the mil-
lionaires is annually nearing a culmina-
tion, is now no longer doubted. Many
have been the remedies suggested to avoid
this so-called "revolution," which include
that of the socialists, the single taxers and
those who demand Government ownership
of public utilities. "The Limit of Wealth"
is one more suggested solution. The
uniqueness of this volume is in the pre-
sentation of the subject. tEhe author
dates his book 1944, and makes it seem
that he is presenting the investigations
of the monarchs of the world into the
causes of the great industrial suprem-
acy of this country. Like "Gillette's
Social Kedemption," this is a book for
men who think. It attacks our great
social problem in a new way. The sug-
gested remedy is, as the title indicates,
the limit of wealth. The remedy is here
given in a nutshell: "A man cannot take
his wealth with him when he dies; allow
him to provide a suitable sum for the
proper maintainance of his surviving fam-
ily, and let the surplus go to the Govern-
ment, to be distributed among the people
Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers.
Continental Building and Loan
of California
ESTABLISHED 1889
Subscribed Capital . .
Paid-in Capital . . . .
Profit and Reserve Fund
Monthly Income, over .
$15,OOO,OOO
3,OOO,OOO
. . 450,000
20O.OOO
ITS PURPOSE IS
To help its members to build homes, also to
make loans on improved property, the mem-
bers giving first liens on real estate as
security. To help its stock holders to earn
from 8 to 12 per cent per annum on their
stock, and to allow them to open deposit
accounts bearing interest at the rate of
5 per cent per annum.
Church near Market Street,
San Francisco.
A Skin of Beauty Is a Joy Forever.
DR. T. FELIX GOURAUD'S
ORIENTAL CREAM, or Magical Beautifier
PURIFIES
as well as
Beautifies
the Skin.
No other
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'I
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has stood the
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and is so harm-
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to be sure it is
properly made.
Accept no coun-
terfeit of similar
name. Dr. 'L. A.
Sayre said to a
lady of the haut-
ton (a patient):
"As you ladies will use them, I recommend
'Gouraud's Cream ' as the least harmful of all
the skin preparations."
For sale by all Druggists and Fancy Goods
Dealers in the United States, Canada and Eu-
rope.
Gouraud's Oriental Toilet Powder
An ideal antiseptic toilet powder for infants
and adults. Exquisitely perfumed. Relieves
skin irritation, cures sunburn and renders an
excellent complexion.
Price, 25 cents per box by mail.
GOURAUD'S POUDRE SUBTILE removes
superfluous hair without Injury to the skin.
Price, $1.00 per bottle by mail.
FERD T. HOPKINS, Prop'r, 37 Great Jones 8t.
New York.
along the lines I have indicated. Estab-
lish a Government that will do this, and
you will no longer ask, 'What can be done
for the common people.' ' :
The volume pictures the establishment
of an omnipotent new party called "The
Distributers/' who, in the election of 1912
carry everything before them. The book
is a valuable addition to the already-pub-
lished solutions of our industrial prob-
lems, and the Overland Monthly recom-
- mends it to every workingman of America.
The Macmillan Co., New York.
* * *
"Bait Angling for Common Fishes,"
by Louis Ehead, is a book that will be
eagerly read by all lovers of the gentle art
of angling. The volume deals with the
gamut of baiting, from bass and trout
to pearch and eels. The book is what it
aims to be, "a handy guide of practical
information on how to angle for common
and familiar bottom fishes." Yet after
all has been said in regard to angling,
there remains one book of long standing
that has never been displaced as the best
book on fishing ever written. That is
Walton's "Complete Angler," written
more than a century ago, as inspiring a
book as was ever published.
Outing Publishing Co., New York.
Three small volumes have come to our
desk, and each one is a defense of the
principles of socialism. "Capitalist and
Laborer," by John Spargo, is a reply to
Professor Goldwin Smith, who recently
attacked the doctrine so dear to Spargo's
heart. "Socialism: Positive and Nega-
tive," by Eobert Eises La Monte, is a col-
lection of papers that have appeared in
the various socialistic periodicals. This
book is full of much good food for thought
and contains many maxims, such as "No
man can be or do the best he is capable of
unless he is ever reaching out toward an
ideal that lies beyond his grasp." The
third book, "The Eight to be Lazy," is
a translation from the French of Paul
Lafargue, by Charles H. Kerr.
Charles H. Kerr & Co., Chicago.
* * *
"The New Apocalypse," by Henry Graf-
ton Chapman, is a poetical work of 38
pages, done in blank verse, and being the
record of a dream.
THE LADY AND POLITICS
BY
,ALLIS ROSS BURNETT
I'VE COME over to talk to you, Anne,
about women voting! I am quite
sure that you are wrong in taking
the stand you do against it, and I am
going to convince you of the error of your
ways.
Have I ever voted? No, but I am go-
ing to at this very next election. It is
my duty and the duty of every good
woman to do so, and after I have told you
all I know about it, you will agree with
me.
Don't you think this hat is pretty and
becoming? Such a time as I had getting
the plumes put on right! Wftiy, I almost
had nervous prostration. The milliner
was a great strong creature without a
nerve in her body. She just would not
put the plumes on to suit me, and did
not seem to care or even notice that I was
positively ill with all the worry. I had
to take a rest cure for a whole week af-
terward.
What about the milliner? I don't sup-
pose that she was sick, though of course
she deserved to be for not putting the
plumes on to please me in the first place.
\Yhat are you laughing at? Oh, you
think I'm off the track! Well, I am not
no, indeed!
I will sit here in front of you and look
into your eyes while I talk. Whenever I
want to convince my husband, that is the
way I do, and he gives up right away.
Try it sometime, Anne; it saves so much
trouble.
Will I have a glass of lemonade? I
shall enjoy it very much, for it is so warm
to-day. Do you use distilled water? You
don't? Why, you are really tempting
Providence by using city water. We use
Purity distilled water. Mr. Hargrave
thinks it the best. We put it in the re-
frigerator to keep it cool. The icemau
forgot to bring us ice the other day, but
I put the bottles in the refrigerator just
the same, although the ice was all gone
and the strangest thing happened. When
dinner-time came, the water was as warm
as when I put it in the ice-box. I don't
see what an ice box is for if it won't
keep things cool. There must be some
scientific principle involved, and I am go-
ing to study it out as soon as I have the
time, but just now I must give my whole
attention to the subject of voting.
ISTow, Anne, here you are in delicious
Colorado, where the sun shines three hun-
dred and seventy-five days out of no,
of course not. How silly of me ! Well, it
shines three hundred and sixty-four days
out of the year. You are just like Mr.
Hargrave so particular about dates and
things. Please don't interrupt me I
can't bear to be interrupted.
As I was saying, here you are in de-
lightful Colorado (when I say Colorado,
of course I mean Denver), where the sun
shines all the year round, where you can
sleep under a blanket all summer; where
the air is absolutely pure; where you can
look up at the grand old Rockies and see
the snow in the hottest day. WJiat has all
this to do with voting? Everything in
the world, as you will see a little later on.
Don't hurry me I never could bear to
be hurried. You have broken the thread
of my discourse, but I will do the best I
can to go on with it.
Here you are with all these blessings.
Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers.
xvii
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OVERLAND MONTHLY.
and let me see yes, now I remember
and added to these you have the privilege
of voting for and putting into office good
men to govern this beautiful State. (Yes,
I am quite sure that was the argument
they used to persuade me to vote.)
Why. my dear, politics were was I
can't remember which it is. Dear me!
which can it be were or was? Never
mind, were sounds better anyway. Poli-
tics were in a frightful condition until
women took them in hand. It is the duty
of every good woman to go to the polls,
and do her best to help purify politics,
even if she must do it at great personal
inconvenience. She should let nothing
stand in her way.
You say that the men managed politics
before the franchise was given to the wo-
men. To be sure, but just see what a
failure they made of it. They meant
well, but how could a man cast a pure
vote when he had just been having a
lunch of beer and onions? Think of it,
Anne ! It makes me shudder. I don't eat
beer and onions I mean, drink beer and
onions for my lunch, so at least my vote
won't smell of anything so awful. One
vote will be purified anyway.
You say that you don't know the good
candidates from the bad ones, nor the
ward-heelers from I don't know
what a ward-heeler is either, but I should
not wonder if that was one of them who
stopped at the back gate the other morn-
ing and asked me if I had any bottles to
sell. I said that we had ever so many
dozen beer bottles down in the cellar,
and that if he would wait I would go and
get them.
When he spoke to me I was just going
around to the grocery to get something
for the cook, and I laid my purse down on
the back step. When I got back from
the cellar, that man was gone, and had
taken my purse with him. Wasn't that
mean? No, he was not a rag-man, for
he said that he did not want any rags
when I asked him. I am perfectly sure
now that he was a ward-heeler. Well,
everything has its good side. They can't
fool me now. I simply won't vote for
any man who looks as he did.
Now you see, Anne, this is a case in
point, as my husband says. Now that I
know a ward-heeler when I see him, I
need not vote for any one resembling him,
so there will be one less ward-heeler get
into office. Now don't you think it is a
fine thing to have the privilege of keep-
ing such men out of office? It is simply
grand, glorious, to do one's duty! I never
realized it before.
Now that you are convinced, as I aiL.
sure you must be after all that I have
said, I want you to tell me just how I
must go about it to get registered. You
registered once didn't you? Please tell
me how it is so embarrassing not to
know how to do such things.
Just wait a moment I can never re-
member all that. I'll have to write it
down. Now I am ready.
Get up early so as to be down to the
registration place by eight o'clock! Gra-
cious, I never can do that, for I never
get up until ten. Well, go on.
Take your position in line. Wait a mo-
ment, Anne. Will I have to wait long?
Dear me! What next?
After you are in line, there is not
much more you can do for three or four
hours but to move forward a step at a
time, or to stand perfectly still when you
can't move. If you grow too tired, you
will, no doubt, for the sake of your coun-
try, be willing to rest comfortably by
leaning on the butchery looking man in
front of you, and you must not mind the
odor that emanates from the crowd
around you some people look at a bath
as an enemy. You won't mind it at all
when you pause and reflect that you are
doing your duty, though at the cost of a
little personal inconvenience.
After some hours have passed, you may
find that you have crept slowly up the
length of the corridor, and are at last in
the room itself. You may be a little
weary by this time, but as you are doing
your duty, you will not mind having a
woman with a baby in her arms passed up
in front of you. She, too, has been stand-
ing for hours, and the baby is tired, and is
crying. The men who have been standing
in line as long as you have, will smile and.
look cheerful, so you may as 'well do the
same.
Wait a minute. Anne. I think I have
contracted writer's cramp. Is there no
other way I can be registered? Can't
my husband pay some money to somebody
and let me get registered quietly ?
HE NEW POLICY OF THE PRUDENTIAL.
The greatest insurance company to emerge
torn the recent thorough and searching in-
jfestigation of the insurance business of Amer-
Ia with a reputation and a policy that could
lot be impeached was the Prudential Company
i Nt '\vark, N. J.
f During the past few months this company has
Jeen preparing a new policy for its future busi-
Ess, which will have a wide appeal for all
jjrospective policy-holders of the country.
(So keen is the competitions between insur-
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the best business is the one offering its policies
Bit the lowest possible cost, and anticipating its
Jfividends. This is just what the Prudential
[i doing, according to its new line of business,
which went into operation August 1st.
A This policy has been best outlined by the
resident of the Prudential, Former U. S. Sena-
Ebr John F. Dryden. While recently discussing
pe subject, he said:
'( "The new Ordinary non-participating policy
fjf The Prudential eliminates all questions as to
Hividends; nothing is estimated.. The policy
lontract is one of absolute certainty and its
rjayment is guaranteed by the great resources
ijf the company.
^ "An entirely new feature, which we believe
fill commend itself, is that the loan value of the
jolicy may be used automatically to keep the
insurance in force should the policyholder be
inable to meet the payment of premiums, the
fength of time, of course, depending upon the
[umber of years during which the premiums
ave been paid by the insured. When the policy-
older is ready to take up the policy again he
rill not have to pay up back premiums, but
hay, if he wishes, have them charged as a loan
gainst the policy. This is one of the most
narked advancements in life insurance.
I "The company will be pleased to send a
;taecimen of this new policy to persons who will
frite to the Home Office, Newark, N. J., stating
ge and the amount of money they would like to
hvest in life insurance each year.
I "We look upon this new policy of The Pru-
jential as one that will become popular because
If its unusual and attractive features."
1367
1907
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OVERLAND MONTHLY.
There is no other way? Then let us
hurry and get this done. I am getting so
tired.
You must not mind having the fat man
in front of you emphasize a joke by jab-
bing you in the ribs with his thumb. He
will not mean any disrespect 'he only
looks upon you as his equal now, instead
of his superior, as heretofore.
That is the way they treated you? I
can't understand it, Anne. I shall dress
myself in a way to command respect. I
have not planned quite all the details of
my costume, but I know that I shall carry
a chiffon parasol and wear patent leather
Oxfords.
Will' you soon be through? To please
you, Anne, I will bear it to the end, but
I am so tired. The back of my neck feels
broken in two so please hurry.
When you finally reach the clerk, you
must give your name, your address, the
color of your eyes and your exact height
in feet and inches.
But I don't know it. What a lot of
bother about nothing at all. Well, go on.
There is a post in the center of the
room, you say, and that I must take my
hat off and stand up to be measured?
You may as well stop where you are,
Anne Kaeburn. Do you think for one in-
stant that I am going to take my hat off
when it takes about twenty-seven hat-pins
and three-quarters of an hour to adjust it
properly? Never, as long as I live, will
I do it for any old country, and you need
not think that you can persuade me to
vote if that is the way I have to do !
HAD A KICK COMING.
"This opposition to race suicide may be
all right," sighed Atlas, as he shifted the
world over to the left; "but it certainly
weighs heavy on my shoulders."
* * *
"An honest man is the noblest work of
God !" exclaimed the reverend gentleman
. sonorously.
"Yes, and I honestly believe," observed
Miss Synick, "that God rested six days out
of the week and worked on Sunday."
MEAN THING.
"My dear," began the young husband,
"this pie is just like mother used to
make.'
"Oh, you darling man!" and the wife
threw her arms around him.
"Yes," he continued, "the only thing
mother couldn't do was make good pie."
* * *
"Tell me what you eat, and I'll tell you
what you are."
"And because I eat breakfast food, I
suppose you'd call me a saw mill."
* * *
A QUESTION.
"Pa, just one more."
"Well?"
"If Adam hadn't eaten that apple, do
you think that Cain would have come
along later on and hooked it?"
* * *
"Isn't it a misfortune that Spout, the
great lecturer, stutters ?"
"Decidedly not for Spout. He gets
paid by the word." L. S. LEVY.
* * *
THE SHORT STORY CLUB.
The Overland Monthly is the official
magazine of the Pacific Short Story Club,
an organization devoted to the literary in-
terests of the West.
Henry Meade Bland, San 'Jose, Coast
President.
Clyde Keynolds, Lodi, Secretary.
Jannette Wtilliams Potter, San Jose,
Assistant Secretary.
Executive Committee Mrs. Mary B.
Williams, Sevastopol, Cal. ; Mrs. Grace
Hoover-Potter, Hanford, Cal.; Charlotte
Ayer, Forestville, Cal.; Emma Schray,
Laton, Cal.
All wishing to become club members
should address Henry Meade Bland,
President of the club, San Jose. The club
is not only for those who read and appre-
ciate good literature, but serves as a
school to those who would develop them-
selves in literary art. Announcements
further as to the scope of the club will be
made from time to time.
Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers.
xxi
SIGNS
THAT
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xxii
Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers.
TSeOVERLAND
Fiction Number
Those who are fond of the Western story, with all its thrill of adventure and
romance, will find the October number of the Overland Monthly the most attrac-
tive issue of a Western magazine ever issued. This fiction number will contain a
collection of strong, virile tales of the young West, telling the romance of the
rugged, free-born Westerner.
"SALT OF THE EABTH," by Robert W. Hartwell, is a story of life on the
Western desert lands, and it has a bigness about it which will make it one of the
notable stories that have appeared in the OVEBLAND MONTHLY. When you
read this story, you will find in it all the elements of a great short story ; it grips
you with its power, its compelling human interest, and its tense dramatic setting.
Another tale that will command interest is "BUCKA-
BOO JIM," by Herbert Coolidge. Mr. Coolidge is one
of the younger generation of California writers who are
winning fame as vigorous portrayers of distinctly Western
fiction. "BUCK ABO JIM" is the story of a plainsman
who fought a losing battle for life with a roving band of
Mexicans in the Colorado country. The illustrations,
which so well depict the tragedy of the story, are by W.
B. DeLappe.
HERBERT COOLIDGE
A story that savors of the romance of the California
vaquero is a tale by a promising CCalifornia writer,
Stella P. Wynne. "AN IDYLL OF THE CIBCLE L"
is one of the best stories ever published of California ranch
life, catching, as it does, the spirit of the happy, care-free
existence of the typical cow-puncher. The illustrations
are by B. W. Borough.
STELLA F. WYNNE
These are not all. There will be other stories by well known writers of the best
fiction. Our aim in presenting the fiction number is to gather together the best
stories by the best writers of the West. The OVEBLAND MONTHLY is the
magazine of the entire West, and its pages are filled with the work of writers who
are best able to depict the life and environment of this land of the Pacific.
Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers.
xxiii
for OCTOBER
Special Articles
The special articles in the October number will have an interest as strong as the
fiction, and will reveal many wonderful things about a very wonderful country.
Sidney J. Dillon contributes a complete and elaborate article on the "DES
MOINES PLAN" of city Government. This article will attract widespread atten-
tion. It gives an account of the recent successful government of Des Moines by
five citizens. Eeaders in every city of the United States will feel a peculiar inter-
est in this article because of the generalpolitical unrest of the nation.
Charles Lorrimer, whose travel articles on Japan have in the past met with favor
with all readers of the OVERLAND MONTHLY, will begin a new series of ac-
counts of the conditions existing in Japan to-day. These articles will be extensive-
ly perused because of an awakened interest throughout the United States in all
things that pertain to the Japanese. The story, which is entitled "FROM
TOKIO TO KOBE," is illustrated with beautiful photographs taken en route by
the author.
Those who are interested in the writings and work of Edwin Markham, will find
in an article by Henry Meade Bland an absorbing study of the labors and literary
masterpieces of the famous author of "The Man with the Hoe," in whom every
Californian has a native interest.
The various departments of BOOK REVIEWS, DILETTANTE and EDI-
TORIALS will be carefully arranged and edited. Under the department of dra-
matics, Julian Johnson will contribute an account of the rise of the drama in the
West and its great future here in California.
ILLUSTRATION ACCOMPANYING "FROM TOKIO TO KOBE."
Ion cannot afford to miss this issue of the greatest Western magazine. On sale at all News-stands
September 30th. Subscriptions may begin at any time.
XX | V Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers.
SEPTEMBER
SUNSET
CONTAINS
Invasion of Oxford
A critical study of work done at Oxford University,
England, by the first Cecil Rhodes scholars. It is writ-
ten by W. C. Chittenden, the first Californian to win
one of the coveted scholarships. A large part of the
article is devoted to describing the prominence of Amer-
jcan men in scholarship and ^athletics. The article is
well illustrated.
The New San Francisco
Architects' designs ot buildings for which contracts
have been let and construction is under way; A SIXTEEN
PAGE, TWO-COLORED TINT BLOCK FORM, show-
ing buildings as designed, including the new White
House, Thomas H. Williams building, Metropolis Trust
Company building, Alaska Commercial building, First
National Bank building, Emporium, Princess Theater,
Phelan building, and others.
The Spread of San Francisco
A third article by Rufus Steele, beautifully illustra-
ted, showing how San Francisco is rapidly extending
down the peninsula. This article will be devoted espec-
ially to suburban 'towns, pointing out that owing to the
new Bay Shore Railway Cut-off the charms of country
life are no longer only for the millionaire but are easily
reached by the person of moderate means.
ON SALE AUGUST 30th PRICE 15 CENTS
Send iL to Your Eastern Friends
Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers.
HARTSHORN
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Bear the script name of Stewart
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Get " Improved," no tacks required.
Wood Rollers Tin Rollers
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Interior Decoration
IS AN ILLUSTRATED MONTHLY
MAGAZINE FULL OF IDEAS
Decorating and Furnishing the
Home correctly and tastefully is as
necessary as dressing fashionably
and becomingly
1O cents, postpaid $ 1 .00 a year
Catalog of Books on Decoration Free
Clifford & Lawton, 19 Union Sq,, New York
RPY FLOUR COMPANY
SAN FRANCISCO OFFICE B4C*LIRWA ST.
133 Spear Street, San Francisco.
For More than a Century
various disorders of the stomach and bowels,
such as indigestion, sour stomach, heartburn,
biliousness, both in adults and children, have
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a mild and pleasant remedy. Corrects acidity, assists diges-
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Illustrated catalogue on application. Office and Factory 1808
Market St., San Francisco. Branch, 837 S Spring St., Los Angeles
For Breakfast
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THE JOHNSON-LOCKE MERCANTILE CO., Agents
SAN FRANCISCO
xxvi
Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers.
THE AUTOPIANO
ANYONE CAN PLAY IT
You have but to see this remarkable piano with the
"SOLOIST" attachment to decide that you must own
one. ANYBODY CAN PLAY IT with the aid of music-
roll and treadles. It can also be PLAYED BY HAND
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You may never have played be-
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Think what this can mean for all
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Please Mention Overland Monthly in Writing Advertisers.
xxvii
SAN FRANCISCO, CAL.
An Illustrated Magazine of the West
Magazine Offers for 1907:
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Free Sample of Toxico Mailed to any Address
TOXICO, the great discovery for ASTHMA, HAY FEVER, BRONCHITIS,
and CATARRH, has cured thousands of the most stubborn cases. It makes no
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Read these letters from CURED PATIENTS
A CASE OF CATARRH OF LONG
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Dec. 31st, 1906.
Toxico Laboratory:
Gentlemen:
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jntirely ceased. I am well satis-
tied. Yours respectfully,
W. R. BYNUM,
713 N. 19th St., Birmingham, Ala.
HAD HAY FEVER FOR 26
YEARS.
Sept. 13th, 1906.
Toxico Laboratory: Sirs:
I have had hay fever for 26 years,
and no one knows what I have
suffered. My head and eyes have
bothered me so much that I have
had to stay in a dark room. Noth-
ing gave me any relief until I tried
Toxico, and since I have taken
your wonderful medicine I have
not been bothered once. Excuse
me for not answering sooner, but
I have been very busy since my
hay fever has been cured.
Yours respectfully,
MRS. CLARAH KELLER,
Elyria, Ohio. Route 3.
Proof beyond
a doubt that
TOXICO
is a positive
cure for these
diseases.
These extracts
are from
original letters
on file in our
offices
and have been
selected from
thousands
of similar ones
which we
receive daily.
HAD ASTHMA ATTACKS ONCE
A WEEK.
Dec. 3d, 1906.
Toxico Laboratory:
Gentlemen:
I get asthma once a week regu-
larly and I have to vomit and
cough; my eyes get blood red and
swell up. Your free sample did
not help me much, as I have
asthma a long time. You may
send me a month's treatment, and
I hope it will cure me.
I remain respectfully,
FORREST G. GLASSER,
Kutztown, Pa.
Read this letter, received more
than three months later:
March 20th, 1907.
Sirs:
I have not had an asthmatic at-
tack since I received your first
bottle that is, after I had taken
Toxico for two weeks. I used to
have attacks every week. My ap-
petite improved, and I am now
strong and open chested, and can
take part in athletic games. I
cheerfully recommend Toxico to all
sufferers, and will answer all ques-
tions about the effect of your rem-
edy. I hope this will direct a suf-
ferer to your wonderful remedy.
I remain yours respectfully,
FORREST GLASSER,
Kutztown, Pa.
Send right now for a free sample of TOXIGO before you forget it. Address
THETOXIGO LABORATORY, 544 Townsend B'ld'g, New York City.
Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers.
xxix
HOTEL CUMBERLAND
NEW YORK
S. W. Cor. Broadway at, 54th Street.
IDEAL LOCATION.
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SEND FOR BOOKLET
Under the management of HARRY P. STIMSON, formerly with
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THE GERMAN SAVINGS
AND LOAN SOCIETY
526 CALIFORNIA STREET.
San Francisco, Cal.
Guaranteed Capital and Surplus. $2, 603,755. 68
Capital actually paid up in cash. 1,000,000.00
Deposits, June 29, 1907 38,156,931.28
OFFICERS President, N. Ohlandt; First
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BOARD OF DIRECTORS N. Ohlandt,
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LLGINS of equal grade and reasonable
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ELGIN NATIONAL WATCH CO.,
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Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers.
Every reader of Overland Monthly should have this book.
FACTS and FORMS
BY PROFESSOR E. T. ROE, LL. B.
A HAND BOOK OF
READY REFERENCE
A neat, new, practical, reliable and up-to-date little manual of legal ana business form,
with tables, weights, measures, rules, short methods of computation and miscellaneous infor-
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Describes the Banking System of the United States, obligations of landlord and tenant,
employer and employee, and exposes the numerous swindling schemes worked on the un-
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A saver of time and money for the busy man of whatever calling, in fees for advice and
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SOME OP WHAT "FACTS AND FORMS"' CONTAINS.
Bookkeeping, single and double entry. Forms of every kind of business letter. How to
write deeds, notes, drafts, checks, receipts, contracts, leases, mortgages, acknowledgments,
bills of sale, affidavits, bills of lading, etc.
How to write all the different forms of endorsements of notes, checks and other negotiable
business papers. Forms of orders.
LAWS GOVERNING
RULES FOR
Acknowledgments, agency assignments,
building and loan association*, collection of
debts, contracts, interest rates, deeding of
property, employer and employee, landlord
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Painting and mixing paints, parliamen-
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finding the contents of carrels, tanks, cis-
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amount of brick, lime, plaster, lath re-
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ber of shingles or slats required for roofing,
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A Swindling Note-Be On Your Guard-Hundreds Have Been Caught
One year after date, I promise to pay to John Dawson or
order Five Hundred and Seventy-five Dollars ($575)
or value received, with interest at seven per cent.
payable at Newton, Kan.
GEO. W. ELLSWORTH.
bearer Fifty Dollars when I sell by
worth of hedge plants
Said Fifty Dollars when due Is
Agent for John Dawson.
SJ3E "FACTS AND FORMS" FOR FULL EXPLANATION.
EVERY READER OF THE OVERLAND MONTHLY CAN SECURE A COPY OF "FACTS
AND FOR,v,S," A BOOK WORTH $1, BY SENDING 30 CEN i S WITH HIS NAME AND
ADDRESS TO THE PUBLISHERS, 905 LINCOLN AVENUE, ALAMEDA, CAL.
iara
Srlturrn
5tlj anb Btb
Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers.
xxxi
Ohltforma
Art (Haas
Wn\. grhnicfirr. Jlrruiiirnt
, (Eal.
ffl^ala anh
at all Worlfc J^atra anil itplnmaa
ani (Eutttttg Works
JTrnuutranj 1B1T
Please Mention Overland Monthly When Wri ing Advertisers.
Absolutely Without a Peer
THE MELVILLE CLARK
APOLLO PLAYER PIANOS
They cannot be equalled in the trade for the following unanswerable reasons:
1. They have the 88 note range, or the entire piano keyboard, each
one of the 88 pneumatic fingers striking a piano key. The Apollo is the
only player piano in the world that has this range. All others have only 65 notes or 5
octaves. Would you be satisfied with a 5 octave piano when the standard range is
7^j octaves? If not, you will naturally prefer the standard player with 88 notes.
2. Another important feature in Apollo player construction is the effective
transposing mouthpiece, which represents fully 95 per cent, of player piano
value. By its use the key can be changed to accompany any voice or musical instru-
ment. This one feature gives the Apollo player a great additional value in the musical
home. The transposing mouthpiece also prevents the annoyances caused by the shrink-
ing and swelling of the music rolls, which is oftentimes a source of great annoyance, and
interferes with the proper execution of the score. No other player in the world has
this transposing mouthpiece.
These important features give the Apollo an unrivalled advantage and make it
THE PLAYER FOR THE MUSICAL HOME
None other can touch it in superior features. It is peerless.
Send for illustrated booklet to the manufacturers
Melville Clark Piano Co.
Department O
STEINWAY HALL, CHICAGO
MANY things of the past have given
away to improvements of the present.
Something had to take the place of the old-fashioned
razor, and the Gillette Safety Razor, with the first new
idea in razor blades in over 400 years, has solved the
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The man who does not use a " GILLETTE " to-day is
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"Shave Yourself" with the "GILLETTE" which will
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The Gillette Safety Razor coti-
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blades become dull throw away and buy
10 Brand New Double-Edged << GILLETTE "
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No blades exchanged or resharpened.
The price of the " GILLETTE " Set is $5.00 everywhere.
Sold by the leading Jewelry, Drug, Cutlery, and Hardware Dealers
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Ask for the ' ' GILLETTE ' ' and booklet. When substitutes are
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GILLETTE SALES CO.
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WD RfNf
:HE PRICE
THE
BUTTON
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NSURED
Because the
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There's more gold in it. Not a
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All first-class dealers keep them. "Story
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KREMENTZ & CO.
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IB
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in the hands of the little
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MENNEN'S
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protects and soothes, a sure
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Bold everywhere, or by mail, 25c.
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Try MennenV
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HIGHEST AWARDS IN
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[Established 1780]
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GENTLEMEN
WHO DRESS FOR STYLE
NEATNESS, AND COMFORT
WEAR THE IMPROVED
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THE RECOGNIZED STANDARD
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The Name is
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loop
The
CUSHION
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CLASP
LIES FLAT TO THE LEG NEVER
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Sample pair, Silk 50c., Cotton 25c.
Mailed on receipt of price.
GEO. FROST CO., Maker*
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ALWAYS EASY
have been established over 55 years. By our system
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struments in exchange and deliver the new piano
in your home free of expense. Write for Catalo&u*
Overland
STIRRING FICTION
Strong graphically told Stories, the
kind that hold the reader from
start to finish, in this
Special Story Number
Timely Articles
San Francisco is emerging from an
era of mismangement.
Read 'The Des Moines plan of City
Government," by Sidney J. Dillon
The Overland Monthly Company, SanFranciscol
Nothing Equal To It
The Melville Clark Apollo Player Piano
The only player piano in the world that can play 88 notes or the entire piano
keyboard.
The only player piano in the world with the effective transposing mouth-
piece that changes the music to any key to suit the voice or accompanying in-
strument. It also prevents the annoyance caused by the shrinking and swelling of
the music roll due to climatic conditions. This mouthpiece represents 95 per
cent, of player piano value.
These two superior features make the
APOLLO PLAYER ABSOLUTELY PEERLESS
Every sensible buyer will want a player piano that will play seven and one-third
octaves. That is the Apollo player range. Every one of the 88 piano keys is
struck by a pneumatic finger. No couplers are used.
ALL OTHER PLAYER PIANOS
have a range of only 65 notes or 5 octaves
Would you buy a 5 octave piano f Certainly not. Then why would you buy a 5 octave
player piano, when you can get the APOLLO with its seven and one-third octave range?
The Apollo is the Standard
Its tone is beautiful; its mechanism perfect; its case designs extremely attractive. It is
the highest type of the artistic player piano.
Send to the manufacturers for a handsome illustrated catalogue. Address
Melville Clark Piano Co.
Dept. O
Steinway Hall, Chicago
The Apollo plays 58, 65 and 88 note music
BENJ. CURTAZ & SONS, AGENTS, 1615 VAN NESS AVE. SAN FRANCISCO, CAL.
Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers.
TIFFANY & Co.
Fifth Avenue and 37th Street, New York
A Basis for Comparison of Prices
Tiffany & Co. always welcome a comparison of prices
While this applies to their rich as well as inexpensive
jewelry, silverware, clocks, bronzes and other objects,
it is possible for their patrons more easily to make
comparisons on certain articles of silverware than on
some of the more individual pieces from their stock
To this end the method of marking prices on
Tiffany & Co.'s copyrighted patterns of
Sterling Silver Forks and Spoons
At $1.00 per ounce
furnishes exact information as to weights and values
These patterns are not sold through the trade or other
dealers and each piece is of English sterling quality
9257 JOOO fine. Upon this basis prices per dozen
range as follows;
Tea Spoons dozen $ II upward
Dessert Spoons " J8
Soup or Table Spoons " 25
Breakfast, Entree or Dessert Forks " J 7
Dinner or Table Forks " 23
Cuts of patterns sent upon request, also estimates for
special sets to suit individual requirements
Fifth Avenue Newark
Tiffany & Co. 1907 Blue Book a compact catalogue without illustrations; 621 pages of concise
descriptions with range of prices of jewelry, silverware, clocks, bronzes, pottery, glassware and
other objects suitable for wedding presents or other gifts Blue Book sent upon request
Vol. L
No. 4
OVERLAND MONTHLY
An Illustrated Magazine of the West
CONTENTS FOR OCTOBER, 1907
MARION COOK
DRAWING BY L. B. HASTE
ROBERT W. HARTWELL
OCTOBER. . Verse
FRONTISPIECE
THE SALT OF EARTH
Illustrated by L. B. Haste.
THE BIG BASIN
Illustrated by the author.
FROM TOKIO TO KOBE . . . .
Illustrated with photographs.
BUCKAROO JIM. Story
Illustrated by TV. R. DeLappe.
UNCLE ABE'S DAY DREAM. Verse
Drawings by R. E. Snodgrass. .
THE DES MOINES PLAN OF CITY GOVERNMENT SIDNEY J. DILLON
ELOISE J. ROORBACK
CHARLES LORRIMER
HERBERT COOLIDGE
JAY C. POWERS
LOVE'S AWAKING. Verse ....
THE NEMESIS. Story
THE ICEBERG'S BIRTH. Verse
EDWIN MARKHAM AND HIS ART
Illustrated with portraits.
RESTITUTION. Verse
TEN CENTS TO THE FERRY
Illustrated by W. R. Davenport.
UMEKO SAN Story
Illustrated by R. E. Schad.
THE SANTA BARBARA MISSION .
Illustrated with drawings and photographs.
THANK GOD PER "CALIFORNY"
AN IDYLL OF THE CIRCLE L. Story
Illustrated by W. R. Borough.
SOMEWHERE. Verse
ON THE OREGON TRAIL. Story
WAR AND THE COMMODORE
Drawings by R. E. Snodgrass.
TO A WILD ROSE. Verse
DRAMATICS. The New World of the Play
Illustrated with photographs.
EL CAMINO REAL. Verse ....
WHERE THE ORIENT MEETS THE OCCIDENT
illustrated with photographs.
MONTEREY WAKES UP
STRIKING OIL IN MONTEREY
Illustrated with diagrams.
DONALD A. FRASER
DON MARK LEMON
CHARLOTTE W. THURSTON
HENRY MEADE BLAND
LEO LEVY
OLIVE DIBERT
SAMUEL NEWSOM
ALICE D. O. GREENWOOD
STELLA F. WYNNE
ISABELLE M. TENNANT
FRANK H. SWEET
HORATIO LANKFORD KING
FLORENCE SLACK CRAWFORD
JULIAN JOHNSON
M. TINGLE , ,
HAL JACKSON
WASHINGTON DAVIS
WASHINGTON DAVIS
293
294
295
301
309
317
322
324
328
329
331
333
337
338
343
350
360
361
366
367
371
377
379
384
385
391
392
Issued Monthly. $1.50 per year, in advance. Fifteen Cents per copy.
Copyrighted, 1906, by the Overland Monthly Company.
, r ! n * ry , a ~ second - c jass mail matter has been made at the San Francisco, Cal.
Rntt' i!fo f Congress of Ma rch 3, 1879. Northwestern offices at 74 Hirbour Build-
Butte, Montana, under management of Mrs. Helen Fitzgerald Sanders.
Published by the OVERLAND MONTHLY COMPANY, San Francisco, California.
773 Market Street.
please Mention Overland Monthl> When Writing Advertisers.
Ill
CORSETS
$1.00 TO $10.00
AND
BON TON
A FAIR OFFER.!
to convince
$1.00 TO $10.00
Combine features of Style
and Fit which make ihem the
choice of Modistes wherever
fine dressmaking is done.-^D
ID BY All LEADING DEALERS ON THE PACIFIC COAST
DYSPEPTICS
and those suffering from
Stomach Troubles
of the efficiency of
Slycozone
I will send a
$1.00 BOTTLE FREE
Only one to a family
to any one NAMING THIS MAGAZINE, and
enclosing 25c. to pay forwarding charges. This
offer is made to demonstrate the efficiency
of t*his remedy.
Glycozone is absolutely harmless.
It cleanses the lining membrane of the stom-
ach and thus subdues inflammation, thus helping
nature to accomplish a cure.
GLYCOZONE cannot fail to help you, and
will not harm you in the least.
Indorsed and successfully used by leading
physicians for over 15 years.
Sold by leading druggists. None genuine
without my signature.
Chemist and Graduate of the "Ecole Centiale de Arlt et Manu-
facture? de Paris," (France).
57 Prince Street, New York City,
FREEl-Valuable booklet on how to treat diseases.
Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers.
Free Sample of Toxico Mailed to any Address
TOXICO, the great discovery for ASTHMA, HAY FEVEE, BEONCHITIS,
and CATARRH, has cured thousands of the most stubborn cases. It makes no
difference how long you have been suffering from any of these diseases, or how
severe the climatic conditions are where you live, TOXICO WILL CUKE YOU.
If you have experimented with other treatments and have failed to find a cure, do
not be discouraged, but try at our expense this truly meritorious remedy.
This marvelous remedy is a scientific compound discovered by a professor of the
Vienna University, Austria. TOXICO is an internal treatment, pleasant to take,
and does not derange the stomach, as the dose is only 6 drops in a small wine-
glass of water. GUAEANTEED under the Pure Food and Drugs Act, June 30,
1906.
Read these letters from CURED PATIENTS
A CASE OF CATARRH OF LONG
STANDING.
Dec. 31st, 1906.
Toxico Laboratory:
Gentlemen:
I hajl a very severe case of ca-
tarrh of long standing. On waking
in the morning I would have to
clear my throat, and a hard lump
about the size of the end of your
thumb would come from my
throat. Now, after using your
Toxico treatment, this lump has
nearly disappeared, and the con-
tinual ringing in my right ear has
jntirely ceased. I am well satis-
tied. Yours respectfully,
W. R. BYNUM,
713 N. 19th St., Birmingham, Ala.
HAD HAY FEVER FOR 26
YEARS.
Sept. 13th, 1906.
Toxico Laboratory: Sirs:
I have had hay fever for 26 years,
and no one knows what I have
suffered. My head and eyes nave
bothered me so much that I have
had to stay in a dark room. Noth-
ing gave me any relief until I tried
Toxico, and since I have taken
your wonderful medicine I have
not been bothered once. Excuse
me for not answering sooner, but
I have been very busy since my
hay fever has been cured.
Yours respectfully,
MRS. CLARAH KELLER,
Elyria, Ohio. Route 3.
Proof beyond
a doubt that
TOXICO
is a positive
cure for these
diseases.
These extracts
are from
jriginal letters
on file in our
offices
and have been
selected from
thousands
of similar ones
which we
.receive daily.
HAD ASTHMA ATTACKS ONCE
A WEEK.
Dec. 3d, 1906.
Toxico Laboratory:
Gentlemen :
I get asthma once a week regu-
larly and I have to vomit and
cough; my eyes get blood red and
swell up. Your free sample did
not help me much, as I have
asthma a long time. You may
send me a month's treatment, and
I hope it will cure me.
I remain respectfully,
FORREST G. GLASSER,
Kutztown, Pa.
ReajJ this letter, received more
than three months later:
March 20th, 1907.
Sirs:
I have not had an asthmatic at-
tack since I received your first
bottle that is, after I had taken
Toxico for two weeks. I used to
have attacks every week. My ap-
petite improved, and I am now
strong and open chested, and can
take part in athletic games. I
cheerfully recommend Toxico to all
sufferers, and will answer all ques-
tions about the effect of your rem-
edy. I hope this will direct a suf-
ferer to your wonderful remedy.
I remain yours respectfully,
FORREST GLASSER,
Kutztown, Pa.
Send right now for a free sample of TOXIGO before you forget it. Address
THE TOXICO LABORATORY, 544 Townsend B'ld'g, New York City.
Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers.
TYPEWRITBJ^
It writes your bills with double the speed of the pen.
It writes bill and charge sheet at one writing no more need for
:|eparate charge entries.
It writes, at the same time, any additional charge or order copies that
r our system may require.
It adapts itself perfectly to your system or the needs of any business.
It improves system, insures against errors makes short cuts which
vere impossible under former methods.
It extends the field of the typewriter to form and tabular work of
:very kind and description, and always with an immense saving of time,
^bor, and expense.
tend for our illustrated booklet on the Remington Billing Typewriter
Remington Typewriter Company
(Incorporated)
New York and Everywhere
vl
Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers.
By Merit, and Integrity
B O R D E N ' S
MILK PRODUCTS
Eagle Brand
Condensed
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Pioneer Brand
Evaporated
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(UNSWEETENED)
Have continued in Popularity with the Discriminating House-
keeper for 50 years.
Borden's Condensed Milk Co.
Originators of Condensed Milk and "Leaders of Quality"
First Edition 23,OOO Copies Sold Before Publication Day
The Shepherd of the Hills
THE SHEPHERD
OFTHE HILLS
A Novel by Harold Bell Wright, Author of
cc
99
352 pages.
That Printer of Udell's'
Now selling in 65th thousand
A spell-binding story of love, mystery, heroic daring and moral courage.
It will stir the warm blood of any true-hearted man or woman who reads it.
Dr. Parker Stockdale says :
" If you can read it without the tears your heart is hard, and if you do
not laugh at times, humor plays a small part in the drama of your life."
A fascinating, realistic story of the Ozark regions of Southern Missouri.
Helpful, strengthening and uplifting.
Eight Illustrations by Weddell. 12mo. Cloth, Ornamented Cover, $1.50
For Sale Wherever Books are Sold
CATALOG FREE
A Guide for Book Buyers. |^ ^^ ^^ ^ ** of nil the Publishers.
WritetUI for It today. " 9*9\J \J fVW Bibles.PeriocUciils.etc.
Our mammoth catalog: advertises over 25,000 books of all publishers. Every book carried in stock. Orders filled
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THE BOOK SUPPLY COMPANY, E.W.Reynolds, Secy, and Treas. incorporated ISDS
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We will not honor requests for catalog from large cities like New York, Chicago, Philadelphia, Boston, etc.
Please Mention Overland Monthly In Writing Advertisers.
"TO TRAVEL IS TO POSSESS THE WORLD"
E. Burton Holmes
at One-
T ourth Actual Size
A Tour of the World for a Few Cents a Day in the
Burton Holmes
Travelogues
NOTHING approaching this work was ever attempted before. In
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over 22,000 miles of travel, through thirty of the most inter-
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rOU know, of course, who E. BURTON HOLMES is. The
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O. Monthly Oct.
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D
OCTOBER
BY
MABI<m COOK
EAR Heart, 'tis true the summer's sun hath set,
And earth no more can feel her warm pulse beat;
But sheen and glory linger with us yet,
Though touched with prints of autumn's footsteps fleet.
In place of quiet green and softening shade,
We have the flaming grandeur of the woods;
Those kindling signal-fires by nature made
To herald the approach of wintry moods.
And it is true our love was warm and red
And glowing as the rose must it, too, die?
And, fluttering, fall as trembling leaves are shed,
Unloosed by every breath that passeth by?
Ah, no, it cannot be! beneath the snow,
The tender green still lives though hid from view;
Its life is safe; and when spring breezes glow,
The perfect flower will open, love, for you!
"i CAN'T DO IT NOW, FOR T PROMISED, AND SHE GAVE ME THIS TO REMEMBER/
Pago 800: "Salt of the Earth."
Overland Monthly
No. 4
OCTOBER, 1907
Vol. L
[VILIZATIOX in the
city of Tucson has
been and is a contra-
diction. Two hundred
and fifty years ago,
upwards, the crucifix
was there planted. To-
day, after these two
hundred and fifty years of civilizing, there
still clings more of the border than per-
haps in any other city of the land; there
exists at once the oldest and the newest.
There, each day, as Phoebus' car rolls the
heavens, the shadow of the cross falls up-
on gambling houses, rendezvous to those
that pry, pitfalls to the weak.
In one such, Dave Hill found Tom But-
ler. The two were from the same State,
alike in their need of money, neither of
squeamish morals.
Butler, though a "new," had been under
fire in the Philippines, was a dead shot,
and would "stand for business;" more-
over, he had a grievance against the Gov-
ernment. Thereby hangs this tale;
though, as will subsequently appear, other
factors enter into the argument.
I.
"And what if I promise not, Anita, or,
promising, do as the good Filipino who
puts his Mauser in the cane (mud upon
his carcass), says: 'Americano amigo, yo
mucho ombre, muclio!' and with a belly-
ful from the sentry's haversack, shoots
him in the back half an hour later ? Ca !
Chito! What does the Government for me
now that I must live in the damned coun-
try or die by consumption? Six dollars
a month bah ! What is chat ? Enough
to pay your mother for washing, no more.
Do they not owe me for what they have
taken? We shall see, my girl. Cjala!
I shall present a forty-four and a bill
quickly payable. The pension needed six
months, the bill shall need six seconds.
Ca! it will be excellent."
"Aye, excellent, Tomasso, it may be, but
what will it make of vou and of the one,
chiquito, that will come to us before the
Christmas ? It is to be a boy surely, and .
you would not pay the padre with gold
that has blood-stains? Nor put upon me
a greater weight for confession ? Is it not
enough already, and not until to-night we
marry ?
"I have thought much, Tomasso, and
this is the end of it ; if you are gone with
this man, patting blood on your soul, the
small one shall have no father; we shall
not marry to-night, nor next week nor the
week after ; I shall go amongst my peo-
ple who talk not overmuch, being kind.
The Holy Virgin will protect. You wear
296
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
beneath the coat the star of the men at
Washington, and have given oath. Keep
the oath do as the star has said. Promise
to me, or I go not with you to the padra,
and he, chiquito there, naughty! kiss me
no more."
The shadows of the cane clump and of
the mesquite bush were long and dim
where they fell across the square, adobe-
walled yard. The women had left their
washing stones by the well. The odor of
chile came from the kitchen beyond the
well, where, about a fire upon the earth
floor, squatted, chattering in the soft un-
dertone of the southern lands, women and
children. Convent street, hushed from the
day's work, took on the lower, more per-
vasive hum of pleasure. Sunset lights
bathed the ancient pueblo of Tucson with
rose and golden pigments; then upward
they moved, ascending the cathedral till it
alone was touched; hastening, leaped to
the peaks of the East into the clouds
and then came twilight, ancient and
Lethean. Children played in the streets;
later the populace would stroll forth in the
balmy, ineffable night, while out from the
flat-roofed adobe buildings of the Mexi-
can quarter, sweetly, dreamily, floating, a
song of old Spain "La Paloma."
But he stood up and crossed the en-
closure to the street wall. He rested his
hands upon its top, looking over. The
sun was just gone. A bell from the cathed-
ral struck; another, and the evening call
chimed forth. He turned to the sound and
scowled; the church, always the church,
was between him and this woman whom he
had learned to love in a new, strange way
to him. She was only a Mexican, he had
used to reflect; but the hand in his with
perfect trust, the eyes looking into his
own, sometimes of late filled with tears
'yhat was it, anyway? "Bah! a fool! I'll
not go back again." Yet he always did.
And placing his tanned, scaly palms, one
on either of the girl's cheeks, turned the
lips to him and kissed them with a tender-
ness that was by himself as much marveled
at as was the love itself. It was not that
Tom Butler had known no other women
no, that was not it.
The church! It was where he should
go within the hour or should he? to
stand with Josepha before the priest. The
priest would mumble words, make signs,
and afterwards Josepha would be his wife.
What did these things matter? All that
had been in the year past was it of no
consequence? Could this priest in less
than a minute run through some stuff
that meant more than all? Bah! He
ground his teeth. Only it was her way.
She would give her life for him, that he
knew since she had nursed him in the
smallpox. Here, there, somehow, was
something to her more than life. Deeply
he wondered.
Down the street along the wall a child
and his mother approached through the
twilight. The child's mother held his
hand. Absently, he watched them, for he
loved a child, particularly a man child.
"Ah, Juan, not so fast; papa will not
yet be home. If thou art not a good boy
he'll not bring thee candy, non chiquito.
Dost love thy papa and thy mamma, my
chosen. Rogue ! Not so fast !"
But his eyes followed them to the turn
of the wall. "Thy papa and thy mamma,'''
he mused. "Thy papa and thy mamma."
What had Josepha said if he forgot his
oath and went away to rob for gold, the
child should have no papa they should
not marry to-night or ever. And he knew
that she meant it strange that one so
mild should be so firm. He turned from
the wall. And though the light was
fainter now, he distinguished, extended in
her hand, the crucifix. At his footfalls
she looked quickly up, arose, and held
forth her arms.
An hour later, Padre Juan moved along
the quiet, darkened cathedral aisle, lifted
his calotte and crossed himself before the
Christ-image. Tom Butler, and Josepha,
his wife, passed through the outer corri-
dor and down the stone steps.
II.
The atmosphere was stifling with to-
bacco smoke, through which arc lights
glowed and sizzed in a peculiar wreathing
light. Men entered and departed con-
tinually, jostling as they crowded about
the hall towards one table and another,
craning to view the games, or pushing
forward to place their coin. The empty
bottle musician clanged assiduously from
his platform ; there was the click of shuf-
fled chips, calls of crap and roulette game-
sters, cursing in undertone from particu-
THE SALT OF EARTH.
297
lar unfortunates, orders for drinks, with
the subdued, pervading drone of conver-
sation.
Even the quiet, white-haired old gentle-
man at the monte board was crowded about
by players, for the most part Mexicans.
Dapper youths in shirt waists and cigar-
ettes were playing disproportionate sums
to a man for flipping an ivory ball about
a circle track. Boisterous negroes whirled
dice upon a buffered table. Stolid Chi-
nese loaded the faro board with their
wages. Determined looking, big som-
breroed cattle-men, solemn and taciturn,
were at poker in the corner room. The
Blazing Stump had a good night.
He saw the dollar gone before he placed
it. No matter. Dave Hill was gambling
and would not pause until, having no fur-
ther money, he could do nothing else. The
circle of players noticed the money placed
upon queen high; they did not notice the
man. All bets down. Two cards were
turned queen came low, and the last of
fifty dollars was gone. Hill walked away,
relieved to be at the end of it.
"Nine o'clock/' he observed mentally,
glancing up as he passed the bar. "It is
time I was quitting this damned place.
Butler'll think I've got the cold. I would
shake him if there was any way out, for
I'm leary on that Mexican of his, but
there ain't no way. Anyhow, this job's
got to be done. If he gets queer, I'll make
a good of him easy enough."
He turned along the town's main street
toward the railway. Flotsam and jetsom
of the border passed him, miners, pros-
pectors, cowboys, Indians, and that in-
numerable company subject to no classifi-
cation bearing no mark of trade or busi-
ness, living no man knows how or why,
with here and there a gaudy pink and lace
creature, each human, each in the pursuit
of his special phantom. Hill gave no
heed. His only business was to see that
the sheriff's office remained properly ig-
norant, for although he was not aware of
being known to any one there or elsewhere
in Yuma, his photograph had an incon-
siderate way of coming into the possession
of these over-curious zealots of the law,
and he could not be certain that this par-
ticular office fell outside the class. He
told himself that he was a fool to visit the
gambling hall, but the light and the music
and the crowd had prevailed against his
fears. "Just how the boys all get pinched,"
he muttered, which was quite true. Dur-
ing the day he had purchased a ticket to
Mohawk Summit, and now, being in a
mind of caution as dangerous because of
its resultant eccentricity of action as his
former rashness had been, he hurried
down a by-street toward the freight yard
and into the shadow of a car. A voice
brought him out of his subjective con-
siderations to a startled, abrupt stand.
" Which way, Bo? Can we make the
blind here?"
But Hill's only answer was to move
further along in the shadow. And thus,
had he known it, the law drove home an-
other nail in its structure of prosecution
against the time when it should house
him in. He was relieved when the express
head-light glimmered through the cut
from the depot; and catching a platform
rail, he pulled up, entered the smoker, and
sat down in a rear corner.
From Yuma the railroad, by a heavy
curve and gradient, rises to the mesa, into
the distance interminable, mile upon mile,
stretches of gravel covered sand, dotted
with greasewood and mesquite. The man
in the smoker saw none of it. What he
did see, cursing his luck, was a big moon
getting above "the Fortuna's" saw-
toothed peaks. Incident mnltipl : ol
against him. He looked away to the
shadows at the base of the range there
lay La Fortuna, the mine where in the old
time, the miners' work was hard, but at
the end of it came rest, with no unquiet-
ness, with no spectres rising omnipresent
to give him fear of all his kind. He had
been the most joyous among them, loving
his fellows and himself, fond of his beer,
but not too well, liked by all. Then came
an evil hour wherein she, laughing, told
him that she was sorry, but that he must
see, and drove away with a wave of a small
white bit of lace to the railway station.
God ! Yes, he saw it ! He knew why
it was. He was poor. That night he had
staked to the last dollar what he had saved
in months and lost. He brooded. There
was that damned Italian with a year's
wages hoarded in his cabin. A pig what
did such a life matter? He must hare
more money to play to play for her. He
killed and played and lost.
298
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
No one knew, except he knew; which
was the beginning. Within the forest
trees are no longer seen. Hill did not
dwell upon that which had followed. Suc-
cess to-night meant twenty thousand in
gold. That must surely be enough for her.
And yet and yet; what of the San Diego
blunder ? Might not his picture have gone
as far East as Virginia even ? What then ?
Suppose he won and lost? It was impos-
sible. ' Yet he moved on his seat uneasily.
He was displeased with the appearance of
the man in the seat ahead; the conductor
looked sharply at him; he was glad when
he stumbled from the train at Blaisdell
and walked along the bridge where Butler
was to meet him Butler coming from
Tucson.
Half a mile west of the Blaisdell depot
a broad wash carries the rain-time floods
from the Fortuna Hills to the Gila river.
Three hundred and sixty-four days of the
year see here only the wide bed of dry
sand and boulders ; yet the remaining day
had by grievous lessons taught the rail-
way builders that rivers must be bridged.
Here, then, for two hundred yards, twenty
feet above the sands, a bridge carries the
rails. The plan of the robbery was sim-
ple. A fire upon the track at the bridge's
end would make it appear that the struc-
ture itself burned, stop the special and
draw a bead on the crew. Butler was to
cut free the treasure car, while Hill drove
the engine men, if they had not gone to
the fire, from the cab, and handling the
throttle: at a safe distance they were to
compel the messenger to deliver the treas-
ure or to blow the safe. Their escape lay
towards Mexico, for . had not Hill pros-
pected the mountains that way until they
were home to him? He looked upon them
now, calm, peace-giving in the white, cold
moonlight, spectral almost, their canyons,
their sharp serrations hid in shadows. Ah,
the old days ! The man was not right for
the business ahead too much of this
thing was getting into him out of the
past. What he needed was whisky. There
was Butler now he would have it.
A figure was advancing from the other
side of the bridge, and Hill extended his
hand.
"You've come, Tom hev' you a bottle ?
Ye ain't neither? That's hell I was
leary of Yuma, and ain't got a drop. Well,
an hour yet before the gold rattles. Let's
go to the other end and size her up. We
can get the brush from the mesquites for
the blaze and fix up now, so as there won't
be any danger of getting us unprepared.
That moon's bad no helpin' it, though,
now. What's wrong you're so mum?
Ain't got cold feet, have you, pard?"
Butler was following along the ties. He
had revolved the thing in his mind for
twenty-four hours ever since he had
given Josepha his promise, when he told
her that he should remember his star, that
he should bring no money that was an-
other's. Perhaps he was a fool, for he
might have said to her that Hill was on
the square, that there was nothing wrong,
when that evening, coming suddenly in,
she had heard the words that led to the
question. Yet, he never had deceived her
in anything .that is, never since the
strange love had taken hold of him, and
he could not now begin.
In any case, his honor bound him to
shield Hill. What should he say to him?
He had put the question to himself a
thousand times since the ride from
Tucson.
"No," he hesitated, "there ain ; t nothing
wrong, Dave. But I've got a little to
say. There ain't no hurry. Let's set a
bit on this stringer."
He turned to the side of the trestle
where a twelve-inch beam lay bolted to the
ends, and sat down. But he was not a
coward, shy in speech, or lacking in self-
assertion, yet here was something that for
the moment left him groping. Dave would
not understand him he did not himself
understand he knew that a new force im-
pelled him, possessed him as none ever
had before, showed the way and he fol-
lowed, though why he did not know. There
it was, masterful always, since first the
woman taught.
"You know, Dave, the woman, the
girl-
"The Mexican that keeps house, eh?"
Hill ground his teeth. Inwardly he
cursed. He had feared possible trouble,
for he had seen, and he had not been
blind. "Well, what of her? Nice, quiet
little woman enough, but what's she got to
do here ?"
He, too, sat down upon the beam.
There was anger beginning to show in his
THE SALT OF EARTH.
299
face, no need of whisky now.
"Don't say nothin' hard, Dave; don't,
because," but he winced "because, you
see, the night you and me fixed the thing
final at Tucson, we went to the Phantom
and took on some liquor, and afterwards
both goes along to my house, and settin'
in the door talk some about disposin' of
the stuff when we has it. Wtell, the booze
must have been more than we thought, as
most generally it is, limbered up our
tongues, for we waked up the girl, and she
hears the plan about buryin' the coin and
the rest."
"Go on, what's your play?"
But he had paused seemingly to wait
some question. His recountal was punc-
tuated by frequent haltings, as of one that
speaks with much effort. He placed his
hand upon the other's knee.
"Dave, we was married last night. And
I promised her first that I'd have no hand
in it and it's late, I know, but I can't
do it!"
"White! Well, by ! And for a
Greaser !"
"Don't, Dave." Butler started up, his
voice was guttural. "Don't she's my
wife. You've known me as marshal for
nigh six months. Did I ever show white ?
You see, the girl is goin' to be a mother,
Dave; I'm telling you so's you'll know I
ain't showin' white and I couldn't have
the baby goin' with no name, bein' hers;
because, well, because I couldn't that's
all. I don't know why, exactly, and I
can't explain. It's so, and there ain't no
more to it. 1 never myself understood the
meaning of such before."
He was talking now more as one that
thinks in speech, for the man at his side
was no longer addressed. He wandered in
the new country of his self, and looked
about curiously upon what he found.
"Well, by ! You, too!"
And then it came about that for a little
time the two men who had come together
to rob, to kill if it was necessary, walked
within the fane of love ; for that little time
passed out of the characters, the world
had trained them into, backward to the
instinct that God gives us all, being male
and female.
"I thought only for a damned Mexi-
can, a Greaser that's been keepin' your
house, a woman that any man "
"Dave !"
Butler's Colt ripped from its holster.
But the other was quicker and stronger;
he wrenched the pistol away, threw it into
the sand beyond, and flung the man back
with such violence that he fell head-long
between the rails. Hill drew his own re-
volver.
"Oh, no, Tom, you don't. Not this
time. Sit up, man, and listen but no
gettin' onto your feet, no damned foolish-
ness, or it's all done with you. You'd a'
shot, eh? Listen, now, to me," he pro-
ceeded, when, after a moment the strug-
gle had left him calmer. "I ain't takin'
your play hard, ain't blamin' you so much
as you may think. The woman's told you
of stealin' and all I understand until
you've got queer on it. You're looking
wrong at it. Who earned the money on
that train ? Who dug it out of the ground ?
Not them ! They's the ones that stole it,
milled it, out of such as you and me
ain't no more right to it than you 'r me
not so much it's grab and grab, and this
is our grab, that's all. There's twenty
thousand anyway in that safe more than
you could get pluggin' away for the Gov-
ernment twenty years. What do you owe
to the Government, even if you do wear
that piece of brass ? Ain't they killed you
with fever in Manila ? What did you get
for that more than a go-to-hell thank
you ? They is agin us and I'm agin
them."
The face of the man between the rails
was pale and hard. His lips moved me-
chanically, without sound. Over the pro-
truding bones of the cheek and jaw the
muscles were taut, showing in faint, par-
allel lines. He took from the lapel of his
coat a faded rosebud, fingered it, twirling,
turning and again holding it quietly with
his head bowed toward it and his eyes up-
on it. What was the process of his mind ?
Untutored, he had probably never heard
of Zeno or Epictitus; by balancing what
against what, came the choice that he
gave. Why not have lived for her? Did
he know that a carpenter's son once saw
the kingdoms of the earth, and would not
for them bow down? He was morally
weak or he would not at first have joined
the plot. Yet at last he said :
"Only she "
"She? What's she? What's anything?
300
OVEELAND MONTHLY.
D'ye s'pose I'm goin' to lose out at this
turn of the cards, when I've throwed three
years to hell? made plays as have took
from me everything but that? Your wo-
man, Tom! A damned Greaser there's
millions of them. Mine ? God ! she ? Why,
she's my queen those eyes, those lips,
those little curls a-fallin' down, them
dainty feet and hands. She? God!
pard!" Dave Hill wandered again, half
as he that dreams, looking now to him
that bent to the rose bud, now to the des-
ert, now to those stars above, so calm to
our encompassed sense. (Yet do they
not burn because of their desire, liter-
ally?)
"Tom, I'd kill my own mother for her.
Y' don't know me. Murder is behind me
now. Murder? What's the matter if
they's more ? Her lips and arms is power-
fuller than God himself to me. She's
God she's heaven. And money between
us! Money'll give her to me. Ye see
that over yonder to me Fortuna?" He
signaled with his hand. "Ye see that
trail along there? That's where she
waved back to me good-bye. I murdered
there for her three years ago. I've mur-
dered since for her. I give you the chance,
Tom. Can't you lie to your woman?
Tell her you wasn't in on't. Stay with me
now, and it's all right. If you don't, by
! you'll never go back to her, an' I'll
leave you so's they'll say you was shot in
the hold-up. You know me an' be in a
hurry she's blowing up at Gila now."
Faintly, borne on the wind, startling
the reaches of the silence, over rock, over
sand, over cactus and mesquite, came a lo-
comotive's whistle dying and rising again.
Tom Butler raised his head from the
flower.
"No, Dave," he said, "I never lied to
her since then. I'm the child's father
I can't do it now, for I promised, and she
give me this to remember." And with
both hands he carried the rosebud to his
lips.
Men stricken in battle fall from full
height upon their faces, and are quiet;
or under blind, final messages, self-con-
structed and sent out by the motor nerves,
leap marvelously into the air. The body
of Tom Butler shot from its crouched pos-
ture forward over the guard rail and fell
to the sand below; while clutched in one
hand in his death, as was afterward found
and much commented upon, lay a faded
rosebud. A wisp of smoke dissipated and
disappeared. A man cursing that he had
delayed until too late hastened away along
the Fortuna trail. A locomotive's head-
light rushed out of the darkness, dimly
lighted sleepers whirled behind it, over
the bridge, above the one that died, power
and wealth and luxury above the clay that
was the Salt of Earth, and the red tail
lights passed from sight upon the mesa.
I G (7 A? IN.
BY ELOISE J. ROOKBACH
ILLUSTRATED BY THE AUTHOR.
UK FOREST reserves
are becoming more
and more appreciated
not only because of
their invaluable use-
fulness, but for their
unsurpassed beauty.
The scientific for-
esters are pointing out to us their mani-
fold uses in other ways than merely the
yielding of a good lumber crop.
They place great value upon them as
protectors of our water sources, as modi-
fiers of our climate, as regulators of rain-
fall, as preservers of our wild animal kin.
They give them value as increasing our
love for out-door life and encourage the
establishing of parks that are sometimes
in the heart of the city, so that all may
have easy access to forest beauty. Some-
times in such distant and inaccessible
places that it takes a summer's vacation
to reach and enjoy.
There is something about a forest that
compels introspection, and I would add
this as one of their most valuable uses.
We hurry through life, hastily dipping
our cup into its various experiences, now
quaffing nectar, now gall.
The forests, serene and stately, turn us
to search our own minds with the same
zest we gave to the exploration of our out-
side world.
In their presence we experience the
ecstasy of contemplation; we drink from
the inexhaustible fountain of our own
minds, and the more we drink the richer
we become.
Our far-seeing Uncle Sam is setting
aside many thousands of acres yearly for
parks and reservations, and we cannot
now fully comprehend the great good that
will come from this protection of one of
our choicest heritages the forests. In
California we have quite a number of
these reservations. Some famous ones in
the high Sierras and some less famous
but very lovely ones along the coast and
through the south of the State.
Most of these reserves are patrolled,
partly to prevent fires and partly to pro-
tect game. One of California's State for-
ests lies within easy reach of travelers
who visit this coast. This one is called
the Big Basin, and one can easily drive
there and back from Santa Cruz in a day.
One morning in the latter part of April we
drove to this State park, starting from a
little place called Brookdale.
For a driver we had one whose life had
been lived for the most part in these
Santa Cruz Mountains. His face was full
of the wrinkles that come from much
laughing and squinting at the sun, and
battles with the wind. His voice was deep
and kindly, and he knew every man, wo-
FATHER OF THE FOREST/
man, child, bird, tree, flower, canyon, on
the whole varied drive.
We drove about one and one-half miles
to Boulder Creek, a lumber town whose
main street is full of quaint lodging
houses, that no doubt used to be lively
places, but that are now resting from past
labors. Following the main road out of
Boulder Creek, we pass pleasant little
homes; many brooks, a deep canyon with
unreachable maidenhair ferns in tanta-
lizing view; children trudging their
miles to school; a three yoke ox team
dragging lazily along. The hills were
blue with masses of wild lilac; they were
like smoke from a huge fire, only no
touch of relentless flame was in sight.
Before we come to the Big Divide, we
notice the sad effects of the fire thai
burned its way through this region three
even so cheanlv as $2 a shining head.
acres of living things, it could not de-
stroy life itself. Triumphant life had al-
ready covered the black scars with a man-
tle of living green. Even the branchless
trunks of the redwoods had put on a
short, green coat of new leaves. The road
turns and twists in the usual fashion of
mountain roads, rounding and doubling
on itself, but gaining steadily towards
the summit.
Part way up the divide, we come to a
howling, roaring, fire-belching monster
that was rapidly eating up grand old trees.
This awful mill has wrought much havoc
with the beauty of the forest. But since
so many people prefer their trees in the
form of clap-board houses, it is no more
than fair that they have their choice. But
it did seem a pity to see all these magni-
ficent trees lying piled up like kindling
wood, waiting to be thrust into the jaws
of that mill. It was the only thing that
saddened us that day, but it seems as if
sadness must needs come.
With every turn and every inch gained
in height, fresh beauties were revealed.
A vast country was unveiled, a large,
lovely world, dressed in soft blues and
violets, mauves and grays.
A hawk soared high overhead, resting
on strong wings, motionless in the heav-
ens. He seemed enjoying the pure heights,
but instead, his every sense was open in
search of the carrion below.
The road over the ridge is a master-
piece, a proof of man's ability to get
over mountains if he happens to want to.
We paused for awhile, admiring the wide
stretch of beautiful world at our feet.
An abrupt turn shut out that pano-
rama, with the ocean a blue line in the
distance, but it revealed another almost
as fine, into which we began a rapid de-
scent.
From Boulder Creek to the east line of
the Big Basin is nine miles. To the Gov-
ernor's camp is three miles more, and
these last three miles are through a grand
forest, .not awe-inspiring or solemn, but
just a superb commingling of majestic
trees and dainty flowers and shrubs.
Imagine three miles of such a forest,
with the road bending and winding
wherever there was room to go without
cutting down a tree.
I was newly grateful to those wise peo-
ple who made the victorious fight to pre-
serve this particular forest from destruc-
tion.
There are thirty-eight hundred acres
in this State park, with timber of great
money value if felled, but of still greater
value if allowed to remain as a great con-
server of moisture.
The trees are mostly redwoods (sem-
pervirens), pines, tan-oaks, alders and
madrones.
I cannot say much for the beauty of
the Governor's camp, where the Guar-
dian lives during the summer. Neither
can I say enough for the beauty of the
location of it.
It is on the banks of a lovely stream of
water called Waddell's Creek. Watery
mirrors reflect the restful green of sur-
rounding trees, and the redwoods make a
rich, red path across the surface.
Moss embossed rocks, soft, leafy cur-
tains, dainty flowers, graceful ferns, com-
bine to form one of those alluring spots
people travel far to see, and after seeing
are satisfied. The driver, who loves every
inch of the place, took us down a little
trail and led us across the creek by means
of a fallen pine. We knew he had some-
thing fine in store for us, so we were
hushed into expectant silence until we
came to a gnarled, huge redwood that has
been named the "Giant."
It did not add to my admiration of
that monarch of trees to be told it was two
hundred and fifteen feet high. But I had
to listen to the figures, so I have a fancy
THEN THE OAKS, SO CURVING.
PATCHES OF SUNLIGHT GLINT IN THE SOLITUDES OF THE FOREST.
"A LOVELY STREAM OF WATER CALLED WADDELL's CREEK/
306
OVERLAID MONTHLY.
to intrude them upon you. Perhaps they
may interest you more than they did me.
The wonder of things does not appeal to
me so much as the beauty of things; and
it was the charm of strength and endur-
ance of that grand old tree that called
forth my love. I love any kind of strength
whether of animal, tree or man;
whether physical, mental or moral.
So I love that fine, patriarchal tree,
and would have liked to stay all day and
listen to its chant. But this was to be
a one-day visit, and time flogged me re-
lentlessly on. The driver was disappear-
ing down the trail, so we followed until
he stopped and searched our faces that he
might enjoy our pleasure at sight of the
"Father of the Forest," that the next turn
of the trail would disclose.
This tree is greater in height than the
"Giant," it being two hundred and thirty-
seven feet high. It is not so .gnarled or
twisted as the "Giant," nor does it seem
so old; but it is more shapely, and the
name, "Father of the Forest," is eminently
suitable.
It seems natural to liken venerable trees
to grand old men. It is something to
have lived through storms that try one
so terribly, but only succeed in giving
greater powers. Even the scars of a tree
add dignity, and the loss here and there
of a limb only makes for more character,
makes it different from the vast gathering
of symmetrical trees all around that have
not yet been tested in individual strength.
The "Mother of the Forest," only a
short distance away, towers above all the
others, and no one can look directly into
her eyes except the near-by "Father," un-
less, perhaps, she lowers them to notice
the multitude of giant children clustered
around her.
Most motherly this beautiful tree looks,
calm and full of queenly majesty; wise
in the world's way, and full of infinite
charity for the weak who are unable to
resist the stress of life. She is wonderful
and beautiful, and hovers over the entire
forest with watchful care.
She is not so broad-shouldered as the
"Father," but is taller, being two hundred
and ninety feet in height.
There is a peculiar old tree close by that
has been topped by the storms and black-
ened and hollowed out by fires.
Standing within the base of it, one can
look up a straight, black shaft and see
the blue sky as through a telescope. It
is named the "Chimney." There are
many trees all through this tract, that
seem absolutely perfect in symmetry, but
they are not so large as these four just
mentioned.
They are worthy of admiration, but
cannot be compared in my mind to the
rude, rugged beauty of the older trees. It
is impossible to get satisfactory pictures
of these trees, for one cannot get an un-
interrupted view of them. We can get at
the stocky, swelling base, and part of the
noble shaft, or a good view of the crown
of leaves swaying above all else. They
defy camera or artist, who desire full
length portraits. Smaller trees can be
drawn into pictures more easily.
They lend themselves as parts of a
whole, or form a straight, aspiring line
that is a fine complement to the curve of
the oaks that generally keep close by them.
Natural openings occur frequently, so
that one can see almost to the top at least.
Eedwoods are like columns, beautiful in
color and symmetry, and a redwood forest
is a wonder-wood, full of resinous fra-
grance and with a thousand varied forms
of leaf and branch. The Big Basin is a
perfect example of a Coast Eange forest.
There are the sequoias of first interest;
warm, reddish-brown shafts so stately,
with delicate, feathery green plumes to
soften the branches and make the noble
crown.
Then the oaks, so curving, with mosses
to cover rude twists; fine examples of the
power of bending and yielding to life, but
not breaking.
And delicate grey alders, so feminine in
grace.
The distinguished madrono, with red,
copper-colored or burnt sienna branches,
and polished, shapely leaves.
And there are tangles of graceful haz-
els and decorative huckleberry, a wealth
of brilliant lilies, dainty myriads of flow-
ers, delicate masses of ferns, carpets of
mosses and lichens, oxalis, ginger, salal,
3'erba buena, bed-straw, violets.
Many springs, brooks and rills singing
and ringing, sparkling and shining, tum-
bling headlong or loitering leisurely.
And for every hour of the day and
'WATERY MIRRORS REFLECT THE RESTFUL GREEN OF THE SURROUNDING TREES.
308
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
every clay of the year, a wondrous change
of mood.
Soft night, with mysterious shadows, a
robe of stars and gentle wind whispers,
noonday with brilliant whistle and song
of birds, and glitter of pine needles.
And there is the grey of an incoming
fog that shuts out some groups and re-
veals others more clearly; the grey of a
rainy day and the grey of an early morn,
all making pictures too lovely and evan-
escent to catch with mere brush and pig-
ment. One day's wandering along the
trails and brooks of this Big Basin gave
me such endless subjects for pictures that
I longed to stay for an indefinite time.
So, consulting Mr. Pilkington, the fact
was revealed that arrangements were be-
ing made for a few guests who could
choose between tightly boarded cabins,
tents or an outside mossy bed, canopied
with stars.
The Sempervirens Club has a five acre
grant, and they do much towards making
it possible for people to revel in the beau-
ties of this State park. Every season a
camp is set up and members pitch their
tents around a central dining room. In
the evening all gather round a huge camp
fire and impromptu talks are often given
on forestry, dendrology, botany, arbor-
culture, mountain climbing, art, <"'ic., by
members of the club, many of whom are
prominent in the literary and
world.
They plan new trails and roads, talk
over methods of fire protection for timber
reserves, and plot for new State forests
in different parts of California. Famous
guests from many parts of the world have
admired this big forest, and encouraged
the club in its efforts to extend forest re-
serves.
* * * *
Too much cannot be said of the use-
fulness of this reserve on the side of just
beauty for beauty is useful beyond be-
lief. We need these "beauty reserves" in
our lives, our State, our country. Beauti-
ful forms and colors awaken the best that
is in us, quiets the worst that is in us.
Beauty makes us appreciate the majesty
of our national hymn, so that our song
starts from our hearts and goes singing
round the world and encircles the uni-
verse.
"I love thy rocks and rills,
Thy woods and templed hills,
Let music swell the breeze
And ring from all the trees."
FROM TOKIO TO KOBE
BY
CHARLES LOBRIMER
ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS.
whilt
IOKIO during the sec-
ond week of Septem-
ber was still hot as
the inside of a kettle.
The long corridors of
the Imperial Hotel,
where we stayed for
three stifling days
completing plans for the journey
Peking, were almost
across Korea to
empty not that even in the gayest season
they are ever full for the place, except
on those rare occasions when some func-
tion is given in the musty ball-room, is al-
ways dreary and half deserted. Built on
a magnificent scale by the Japanese, of
noble proportions more suitable for a
House of Peers than a hotel, it has proved
a perfect white elephant and quietly been
allowed to deteriorate. The oppressive
grandeur of a fine entrance hall filled with
be-uniformed managers, sub-managers,
porters and bell-boys, is considerably
diminished by the dirt on these elaborate
liveries. The effect of a grand staircase
is equally spoiled by a worn and very
grimy carpet, while the beautiful dining
hall room is filled with utterly incompe-
tent, shuffling waiters, who perform their
duties so badly that fastidious guests find
it as well to wipe the crested knives and
forks on the corner of the table cloth
before using. Such inconsistencies are
typical of our little brown neighbors who
can never be made to understand up-
keep. They will sometimes plan grandi-
osely (as they have in this building),
measure out splendid rooms and fill them
with orthodox red plush furniture, with
canopied beds and shining electroliers,
but when it comes to keeping these things
in order they fail utterly.
Just at present the hotel question is a
burning one in Japan. A large part of
the country's revenue like that of Swit-
zerland is derived from the tourists who
flock every year in greater number to its
shores and there is no place to put them.
At most of the famous resorts, hot springs
and "sights," there are only tiny adapted
semi- Western hotels with not more than
fifteen or twenty rooms in each, and those
neither capacious nor comfortable. Even
in the capital itself the two bisr hotels
could scarcely accommodate 300 people,
and Japan had recently to excuse herself
from receiving the members of a Tele-
graphic Convention because she could not
310
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
house them properly. Naturally, this en-
forced refusal meant not only a very con-
siderable loss to the country, but a very
great blow to her national pride as well.
A scheme for building another and a more
practical caravansary in Tokio was imme-
diately suggested, and during our stay, inn
keepers from all over the country were
assembled to discuss it. They proposed
at the same time to form themselves into
a trust, a federated league, or any other
combination which should allow them to
charge travelers a uniform and extor-
interesting at the time, as riots were
threatening. Popular indignation had
been violently aroused by the new four
sen tram fares so violently that we
passed little groups of cavalry patrolling
the streets, and saw by the activity near
the barracks that everything was ready
to nip any disturbance in the bud. The
little affair which took place in Hibiya
Park just after the Portsmouth Peace
Conference had 'taught the authorities
a good lesson. Luckily, just when all
prospects . of harmony were tapering
tionate rate. Both plans, however, fell
through, as those concerned could neither
agree on the site of tin- proposed building
nor the price of their board and lodging.
On the morning of the 12th of Sep-
tember, all being in readiness, we collected
our bags and baggage, scrambled for
breakfast, hunted up a very sleepy Acting
Assistant Sub-Manager to pay our bill
'which was, of course, added up incor-
rectly like every bill in Japan), and
started off to catch the six o'clock express
for Kobe. Tokio was more than usually
down to a vanishing point, heavy rain
damped popular ardor, and the rowdy
element contented themselves with noth-
ing more violent than holding a meeting
and choosing a representative deputation
of jinricksha men, coolies and loafers
who were solemnly sent to examine the
books of the Electric Railway Company
and see if that institution was justified
in charging four sen. Fancy a deputa-
tion of New York newsboys and draymen
gravely insisting upon Mr. Rockefeller's
showing them the Standard Oil Co.'s
LOTUS POND FROM THE CHAIN WINDOW
books in order that they might judge if
he was justified in putting up the price
of kerosene.
A trip across Tokio in the rain even
with an occasional cavalryman by way of
variety soon becomes wearisome. The
distances seem interminable. The wide.
bare streets, which look so much wider
and so much lonelier for the low
houses which usually line them: the won-
derful mixture of architecture here a
dainty bird cage of bamboo and paper,
there an ugly and ungainly building of
red or grey brick, are highly incongru-
ous. Telegraph wires and electric trams
look absurd beside crenellated moats
over-hung with gnarled pines and the
strange costumes as they pass by, the ki-
mono? topped by bowler hats, the bicy-
clists pedalling along in clogs, add to the
traveler's feeling of perplexity. The ques-
tion, "In what country and in what
century am I ?" naturally rises to his
lips.
Once at the station, the modern tri-
umphs over the antique with a perceptible
312
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
jar. "Red caps," as the porters are nl-
ways called, clustered about us, seized our
bags, turned each carefully upside down
and then started serenely for the plat-
form. At the ticket office window we
saw several new notices posted 1 up. These
concerned the war taxes. Taxes in Japan
now are as thick as hairs on an Angora.
In the first place, there is the new in-
come tax and the new business tax, addi-
tional taxes on sugar, tea, tobacco and
spirits, besides taxes enough on travelers
to keep every one at home for years. We
ourselves paid a transit tax as well as an
express train tax.
Unluckily, all this expenditure did not
secure us much comfort. Other more en-
terprising passengers earlier birds
had arrived before us. Their bags, car-
pet, leather, rattan, and their bundles,
cloth, paper, silk, occupied at least half
the seats. Some of the travelers even had
their blankets and rugs neatly spread out
already, their air cushions blown full,
their elastic-sided boots kicked off and
placed on the floor in front of them, and
themselves stretched full length on the
seats enjoying a newspaper. We entered
the car, coughed, stumbled over the in-
evitable spittoon to attract attention. Not
the slightest result. Nobody moved.
Those exquisite Japanese manners, fam-
ous in two hemispheres, simply "were
not." They never are we have since
been told -in trains, which, being mod-
ern Western inventions, were not pro-
vided for in the old rules of politeness.
The best-bred Japanese in the land can
therefore indulge in the absolute selfish-
ness of squatter rights to his heart's con-
tent.
We succeeded after some difficulty in
squeezing ourselves between two yielding
carpet bags just as 'the train started.
Soon pretty scenery helped us to forget
the discomforts of rocking and rolling in-
cidental to the absurdly narrow gauge
railways of Japan. Three feet six inches
is not width enough to give steadiness to
any line, but at present the Japanese can-
not afford to relay miles of track for a
little matter of comfort. Indeed, since
the war, economy is the motto for every
department of public works, and so even
the old-fashioned carriages whose seats
run sideways and have their backs and
arms at exactly the wrong angles cannot
be replaced for some years.
With considerable trouble we screwed
around in our places sufficiently to look
out of the windows behind us at Fuji, the
Incomparable, draped in tinted vapors.
From a hundred points of view we saw
the mountain, in profile and full face
and found each aspect lovelier than the
last. Towards noon the unbroken ter-
races of rice fields began to give place to
low patches of tea .shrubs. We were
close to Shidzuoka, an ancient and in-
teresting city, and the very center of a
thriving tea industry. It is a very im-
portant place, and the railway company
acknowledges this fact by stopping the
express there for one full round minute
just long enough to allow passengers
to walk unjolted into the dining car.
We took advantage of this opportunity,
installed ourselves at a table with the
cleanest cloth in sight, and waited. At
first we waited patiently. No attendant
appeared. Then we waited impatiently,
with the same result. As the car was
small, but one "boy" (a nom de guerre
applied irrespective of the incumbent's
age) attended to all the guests, and he
happened at this particular time to be
engaged in painfully working up the ac-
count of a Japanese gentleman and his
daughter. In vain we beckoned, gesticu-
lated, called; in vain we fumed and
fretted, for we had all unknowingly run
up against a simple law of Japanese
society. Where servants in public places
are concerned, the foreign guests wait
for the Japanese. It does not matter if
the tip of the latter is infinitessimal as
compared to that of the former. Civility
still comes in an inverse ratio, and while
strangers are treated in a very off-hand
manner to bows nipped in the bud,
natives always receive cringing attention.
All annoyances, however, come to an
end, and we finally saw our hated rival
leave the car and ourselves treated to the
menu. It was short and quaint, leaving
us a most limited choice. There was a
table d'hote lunch (called tiffin, of course,
according to Far Eastern custom) for 40
cents; a set meal composed of three
dishes chosen by the clemency of the cook,
and then, besides, there were separate
things a beefsteak at 10 cents, for in-
MANY WERE COME PROM FAR AWAY IN THE COUNTRY
TO CELEBRATE THIS HARVEST FESTIVAL/'
stance, cold chicken at 7 cents, sand-
wiches positively given away at 6 cents.
Apples at one cent formed the dessert. We
found the beefsteak plain and eat-
able when washed down with the Japan-
ese beer, which is so excellent and cheap,
and the cold chicken neither more nor
less tasteless than its colleagues all over
Japan.
Our scanty meal over, we returned to
our car and the pleasant surprise of seeing
our full-length neighbors astir. Thei'e
was much folding of rugs and flattening
of air cushions going on in preparation
for Nagoya, a big and important city,
with a beautiful old feudal castle, whose
golden dolphins decorated the roof we
saw quite plainly from our window.
From Nagoya the train hurried on past
Gifu, which, according to our combined
railway time table and guide, is "known
as a fisher of cormorants and also fam-
ous with earthquakes," to Otsu, a little
town on the graceful Biwa Lake. Tradi-
tion tells us that this, the most famous
piece of water in Japan, was born when
Mount Fuji rose, and it was named Biwa
because the gods had shaped it like the
old Japanese musical instrument (Biwa)
in order that the winds might play upon
it in praise of the famous mountain. The
railway guide here kindly informed us
that we were "surrounded by charming
sceneries and close to the mouth of the
famous Biwa Canal, where "innumerable
boats of the old style are plied towards
Kioto for passengers." These statements
we were obliged to take on trust, as it
was too dark to verify them.
At 7.30 p. m. the lights of Kioto be-
gan to float past the windows like dainty
fireflies singly or else in merry companies,
and five minutes later we were in a big
station bustling with directions and no-
tices, "Station Master," '"Keep to the
left," "Passengers must cross the line by
the bridge only." A great nuisance we
found this last direction. It would have
been so easy just to slip across the track
but that would be an unconventional
proceeding calculated to strike terror into
the heart of Japanese officialdom, so we
toiled laboriously up steps, across the
overhead gangway and down steps again
with a law-abiding crowd who would
never have thought of rebelling against
even the authority of a porter.
Once outside the station, jinricksha
A SINGING GIRL OF KOBE.
men immediately pounced upon us and
whirled us away to the Yaami Hotel, the
famous old hotel on the Maruyama pleas-
ure hill. Last year the splendid main
building, the most beautiful of its kind
in Japan, was burned to the ground, but
those who know the charms and intima-
cies of Kioto life still insist upon lodging
in its cheerful annex, and nowhere else.
Who can describe Kioto, who can do
justice to the queen city of Japan, seen
as we saw it on a glorious autumn morn-
ing? The city lay stretched beneath our
windows a symphony in gold and grey
and green gold in the sunshine and gold
in the ornaments of temple and castle
roofs warm greys, steel greys, - bluish
greys in the roofs themselves, green in the
gnarled pines of fairy gardens. There are
a hundred things to see in Kioto, sights
to suit all tastes. Three weeks, even
six weeks, would scarcely suffice for them
all, so we who had but one day to loiter
were forced to choose very carefully, very
wisely.
After much consultation we chose the
Hungangi, a temple built bv the people
of the city from their own savings, be-
cause a matsuri or festival was in pro-
gress there. The first impression of its
vast courtyards and high-peaked roofs set
down among bright, narrow, busv streets
of brocade and rosary shops was inde-
scribable. The plain and ponderous
FROM TOKIO TO KOBE.
315
gates looked more impressive than if thoy
had been rich with carvings. The beau-
tiful natural tones of the temple timbers,
above all the enormous width of the ve-
randas and the stupendous height of
roofs so unusual in Japan gave to the
far awa- in the countrv to celebrate this
harvest festival. Most of them were
poor, manv of them were burned black
as the earth they toiled in. But all were
clean, happy and reverent. One after an-
other they disappeared over the edge of
THE PASSIONLESS GOLDEN BEAUTY OF THE BUDDHA IN
HIS SHRINE.
place an air of sober magnificence and
grandeur. As we entered the outer court-
yard streams of gaily-dressed people were
ascending and descending the steps.
They were come, many of them, from
the highest step into the dimness of the
temple beyond. There they seated them-
selves on the mats and prayed their pray-
ers. The children, unstrapped from thtir
mother's backs, wandered about playing
316
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
hide and seek undisturbed among them.
Even the sight of strangers like our-
selves scarcely distracted the peasants
even temporarily from their devotions.
The plaintive murmur of Namu Amida
Butsu, the clanging of a little bell, the
deep humming of a priest's voice reciting
the Sutras; the sweet, heavy smell of in-
cense, the passionless golden beauty of
the Buddha in his shrine, the happy
laughter of the children at play among the
worshipers all made' for us a picture
never to be forgotten.
Next morning we were in the train
again and journeying for two hours past
Osaka, the Japanese Venice, a city of
queer canals and hump-backed bridges,
came to Kobe, the city which in all Japan
has the least to recommend it unless it be
that singing girls can be bought there
cheaper than elsewhere in the empire
even so cheaply as $2 a shining head.
A CHINESE STREET SCENE.
BUCKAROO JIM
BY
HERBERT COOLIDGE
DRAWINGS BY DE LAPPE.
LD CARTNEE was
hungry, yet he sat
like a statue before
his plate of smoking
frijoles.
"Only a steer com-
ing down to the
river," he said at last,
and resumed his eating.
But before a minute, he again became
rigid. This time he recovered himself
with a start.
"This is the lonesomest dern country
on earth," he exclaimed savagely, notic-
ing how cold his beans had become.
Gartner's cabin of cottonwood logs
seemed like a match house beside the
broad turbid river that swept ever silently
past. Ever the mighty Colorado, with
its wide-spreading, mesquite-covered bot-
tom lands, was like a lost snake track
in that unbounded waste of sand.
The old man was right. The country
was lonely. It would have seemed lonely
to a group of men. Gartner had had four-
teen days of solitary exposure.
The listening spell had become like a
curse to Gartner. He was eagerly await-
ing the next wave of sound, when a big,
well-fed cat trotted into the cabin and
began sniffing and yowling about the
room.
"Shut up, Pinto," said Gartner, impa-
tiently tossing him a -chunk of meat.
"Shut up, or I'll throw ye out."
But Pinto did not look at the meat,
nor did he shut up; he only meowed
more loudly, and rubbed against the lis-
tener's leg. Suddenly the old man's face
lighted, and he started to his feet; at
the same moment a horseman pulled up
before the door, and a laughing, hilarious
voice shouted:
"Hello, there, Gartner. What th' "
"Hullo, Smiley !" broke in the old man,
hastening out to welcome the arrival.
"Where's Buckaroo Jim?" asked Smi-
ley, returning Gartner's handshake.
"He's gone up to Yuma, but he's liable
to get back any time. Git off your horse
and come in."
"Oh, I'll do that. You couldn't keep
me away from .that grub pile with a
shot-gun," assented Smiley, airily. As
" he loosened his front cinch he stated his
errand. "We're gathering cattle, an' I
came up to see if Buckaroo couldn't come
and help us out."
Gartner's face fell.
"Well, I'll tell ye, Smiley, we ain't
wprkin' our cattle any, but well, I sup-
pose th' boy could go, all right, but I'd
a dern sight rather you'd git some Mexi-
can to do your buckarooin'. I git lone-
some when I'm here alone, an' then I git
to listenin' Gartner paused, start-
led by an ear-splitting squall.
"Dern that cat !" he exclaimed. "I
step on him a dozen times a day when
Jim's gone."
"I'd think you could stand it if he
can," laughed Smiley. "What's the mat-
ter with him anyway ?" he added, noticing
' that Pinto was again meowing about the
old man's feet.
"Why, he's kickin' because Jim's gone.
I brought that cat all the way down here
from Yuma, and gave him to Jim for a
birthday present. That was when Jim
was fourteen. Pinto was the worst-wilted
kitten you ever saw when I pulled him
out of my pocket, but the kid was tickled
to death. He piled onto my buckaroo
horse, chased out into the brush and
lassed a fresh heifer and came dragging
her back into camp proud as a lion. He
kept that little cow in the corral for a
couple of months, jest so he could have
2
PINTO WAS AGAIN MEOWING SYMPATHETICALLY/
BUCKAKOO JIM.
319
milk for his kitten. Jim fooled with him
and petted him so much that the dern cat
hadn't got his growth till he began to
ran th' camp, and he's been getting worse
ever since. He makes me so mad some-
times that I feel like taking a shot at
him. When Jim's been gone about two
days, the old devil will begin to watch
that trail; then he'll come in th' house
and smell around Jim's bunk, then he'll
rub around my legs and yell. He'll keep
that up till he wears a path two inches
deep between the cabin and the mesquite,
where he sits when he's watchin'. It's-
worth a dollar, though, to see him when
Jim does git back. Pinto smells him be-
fore he's within a mile o' th' camp, and
th' way he hits the high spots down that
trail is a caution. He '
"There he goes now," shouted Smiley.
"Yi-i-i-p-ee-la, Pinto ! Look at 'im go, will
ye?" and Smiley whooped and laughed
after the manner of the Texan hilarious.
A short time later, Buckaroo Jim came
in on the run, holding the faithful Pinto
in his arms. The father's eye lighted
as the stalwart young man came in sight,
his lithe body deftly ducking and swing-
ing to avoid the overhanging~l)rush, while
his wiry little mare scrabbled violently
around the sharp turns of the trail.
"He met me clear out to the sand-hills.
He was so near winded he could hardly
waddle," said young Jim, as he placed
his pet carefully on the ground. And
Pinto, although ruffled and still panting,
rubbed proudly against his master's
"chaps."
As the men ate dinner, Smiley turned
the conversation to the latest tragedy.
"That lop-eared greaser who cooks fer
us told me that some fellers let the wind
out of his brother the other night. Did
ye hear anything about it?"
"Yes," answered Jim. "It was the old
woodchopper who lived just above the
line, on the California side of th' river.
His woman was left with six little child-
ren, and not enough flour in the house to
make a tortilla."
"Who did the killin' ?" asked Smiley.
"Two outlawed Mexicans from Ari-
zona. They came on down Into (this
country. I cut their trail several times
yesterday. They're riding shod horses,"
answered Jim.
"I guess they've heard that old man
Gartner has got some fat cattle runnin'
in this brush," said Smiley, giving Jim a
nudge and a wink.
"You can jest bet yer darn life, young
feller, that they don't pull down more
than about one o' my cattle before I chase
'em off onto your range," retorted the old
man with a warmth that seemed to meet
Smiley's expectations.
"Send 'em along, dad," he said, grin-
ning broadly. "We'll miake good citi-
zens of 'em," and he tapped his six-
shooter suggestively.
The next day bright and early the two
young cow-men saddled their mustangs
and headed south through the mesquites
for Smiley's camp. High and hot over
the desert rose the sun; all the broad
bottom lands brooded heat and stillness.
Then, after a full hour's silent riding, the
Texan" began to laugh.
"What's the matter with you?" ques-
tioned Jim, gruffly.
"Nothin', nothin' at all," averred Smi-
ley. "I wuz thinkin' how yer old cat
rolled his tail out through th' brush yes-
terday. He wuz scratchin' sand and
gravel fifty feet into the air."
"Yes, Pinto thinks a heap of me. That's
the trouble he thinks too much of me.
He'll bore pop half to death till I git
back," said Jim.
"Why don't the old man grease him
when he rams around that a-way?" asked
Smiley.
"Aaw, give us a rest."
"No, but that's straight goods. I ain't
puttin' up any job on ye," retorted Smiley
indignantly. "When I wuz a kid, back
there in Texas, we used to have a cat that
'ud git hog wild when there wuz a storm
comin' up. When he got too onery to
live, my mother used to rub some butter
on his front legs. You'd never hear a
yupe out of him till he'd licked it off. I
used to nearly die a-la-afin' to "
"I believe that would work, Smiley,"
interrupted the buckaroo. "Wish I'd
known it before. I'll tell pop about that
when I get back, you bet."
"Sure^thing. lt'11-
"Whish-h-h !"
Jim reined in with a jerk and raised
his hand in the silence sign. There across
the trail were the fresh tracks of two
"AND PAW JIM CHARGING DOWN ON HIM."
BUCKAROO JIM.
321
ihod horses. At the same moment the
itillness was broken by the crackling of
)rush some distance to the left, followed
)y a half-choked bawling.
"They've lassed a cow," said Smiley,
ind both men spurred toward the sound,
hiding suddenly out into an open, they
:ame upon two Mexicans in the act of
>leeding a beef. Caught red-handed, the
mtlaws threw themselves behind the car-
:ass, and opened fire on the advancing
lorsemen.
"Git back to the brush," shouted Jim,
is he made his mare wheel about on her
lincl legs. As Smiley joined him behind
i clump of mesquites, he added: "Stay
)ehind your horse and keep 'em inter-
:sted. I'll go around and shoot 'em up
n the rear." Then he raced through the
)rush as only brush vaqueros can.
Smiley calmly trotted his horse back
ind forth, sending a shot at the Mexi-
cans as he passed the gaps in his brush
shelter.
The Mexicans were shooting at Smiley's
raffs and congratulating themselves on
their safe position, "when they were
startled by an exultant yell and a volley
)f shots from behind, and saw Jim charg-
.ng down on them with his bridle reins
between his teetii and a banging six-
ihooter in each hand.
With a rush the outlaws made for their
lorses. One suddenly yelled and dropped
to the ground. The other vaulted into
the saddle and cut his tying rope as if
with one motion. The next moment he
was spurring and lashing his horse off
through the brush, with Jim in hot pur-
suit, and Smiley some distance behind.
On through the brush tore the fierce
horseman. Dry branches crackled and
crashed ; thorny boughs whipped shrilly
across the rawhide "chaps" spurs,
quirts, sand and foam flew wildly. The
Mexican sent a couple of shots over his
shoulder. Smiley was gaining ground
and whooping derisively. Jim's shirt
was nearly gone ; a thorny mesquite tore
the blood from his cheek; he thought of
the murdered wood-chopper's children,
and roweled and swung and ducked like a
madman. The mesquites were getting
thinner; pursued and pursuers dashed in-
to an opening; the six-shooters banged
and the Mexican rolled from his saddle to
the ground.
"He's your meat, Jim," shouted Smiley
triumphantly.
Buckaroo Jim made no answer then.
When they reined in their dripping
'horses he sat cheerlessly watching the
limp form of the prostrate Mexican.
"If they will murder and steal, some-
body has to do it."
Silently then they dismounted. Jim
was leading the way when the treacherous
Mexican gave a flop and fired a shot with
the rapidity of lightning, then threw his
revolver into the brush and begged for
mercy.
The Texan's face hardened. He squint-
ed along the sights of his six-shooter and
the Mexican covered his face with his
hands. Smiley's aim was good, his inten-
tions unwavering; but a sudden clutch
at his "chaps" sent the bullet into the
sand.
He dropped his gun. "Your hide's
white, Smiley; don't try to out-Greaser a
Greaser," said Jim, and fell back limply.
With a bound, Smiley was at his horse's
side, and the next moment held a gur-
gling canteen over his companion's face.
At last Jim's eyes opened. "I guess he
fixed me, Smiley. Watch that he doesn't
knife you when "
A rattle finished the sentence. As Jim
closed his eyes, Smiley saw the crimson
foam started to his lips. Suddenly Jim
gave a start. An expression of anxiety
came to his face as he struggled to speak.
Finally a fierce gulp cleared his throat.
"Tell Pop to 'keep Pinto greased ;
he'll A gush of blood choked his
utterance. Buckaroo Jim was dead.
BY JAY C. POWERS
DRAWINGS BY R.E.SNODGRASS
DE times am changed in Georg'y
An' none am lef but me
Ob all de frien'ly faces
My eyes dey used to see,
A-settin' 'roun' de cabin,
Ez day begun to dim,
A-j'inin' sof an' mellow
In some ole gospel hymn ;
Or singin' S'wanee Eibbah,
So sweet an' sof an' low,
You couldn't he'p fum wishin'
Dah wahn't no sin no mo' ;
Or heah de han's a-patterin'
An' shufflin' ob de feet
Ez Ephrum stahts a-fiddlin'
An' Hannah leabes her seat
De trouble went a-kitein'
Fum ouah fam-ly big
When Ephruin played de fiddle
An' Hannah done a jig.
Ah 'membahs how de couples
Come steppin' foh de cake
(De one wif icin' trimmin's
De missus he'pd to bake)
Dah cert'ny wuz a rumpus
When Dicy's Sid appeahs
Wif Smilin' Sue, his lady,
A-grinnin' to de yeahs ;
An' Skinny-Mose b'hin' 'um,
Wif turkey-gobbler strut,
Escortin' Mancly Etta,
'WHEN EPHRUM PLAYS DE FIDDLE."
AN HANNAH DOES A JIG.
I Who ALL de shines could cut ;
kn' Shorty-Abe an' Sallie
I Wuz shore a han'some pa'r,
NJI' Snowy-Lize wif Blacky
I Bof BLACK ez blaskes' tar.
3ut dey wahn't in de runnin',
I Wif big nor little nig',
when Ephrum played de fiddle
I An' Hannah done a jig.
ID Souf, when lef fo'ebbah
I An' we wif angels stan'
jln dat Celestial City
I Ob God's deah promised Ian',
\n' j'in wif dem in anfums
An' sweet His praises sing,
An' shout de glad Hosannahs
Dat make all heaven ring;
An' fan de aer'al breezes,
Wif wings so pure an' white,
A-singin' hal-le-lul-jahs
In golden shim'rin' light;
An' all de choirs a-chantin',
An' all de harps a-tune,
Ez heaben's wing-ed chorus
In harmonies commune
won't de eyes ob Prophets
An' eyes ob saints grow big
When Ephrum plays de fiddle
An' Hannah does a jig.
THE DES MOINES PLAN OF CITY
GOVERNMENT
BY SIDNEY J. DILLON
BECAUSE of the general political unrest among the City Governments of this
country, the following article commends itself to every thoughtful Ameri-
can citizen who is interested in clean municipal administration. The two
great curses of this nation to-day are the evil of graft and the utter extravagance of
the individual. Both these elements lead a country to its ruin and bring about
misuse of public funds. Therefore we publish this article, which is an excellent
account of a system that seeks to stem the mad race of political corruption. ED.
3 HALL WARD politi-
cians, without busi-
ness ability, continue
to mismanage the
public affairs of
American c i t ies ?
Shall the epoil sys-
tem longer control in
appointing inefficient and untrustworthy
men to responsible positions of public
service? Shall city councils retain the
right to legislate in spite of the people's
protest, and the power to refuse laws
demanded by their constituents? In a
word, shall the immense business of the
city be given over to incapable men, ward
politicians, and corporation agents? The
"Des Moines Plan" of city Government
answers these questions with an emphatic
AW
This municipal charter, known as the
"Des Moines Plan," and recently adopted
by the electors of the Capitol City of
Iowa, bids fair to be the first solution
of these grave problems of modern city
Government in favor of the people. Its
adoption presents the most radical as
well as the most important experiment
of the age. It is in no sense the old
system with the undesirable sections
eliminated, others modified, and new fea-
tures added, but is, in fact, an entirely
new scheme, revolutionary in its charae-
ter, and distinct in its fundamental and
essential principles from all existing mu-
nicipal systems. Public men and stu-
dents of city Government have endeavored
many times to draft a system under
which we could secure a wise and honest
administration of our public affairs, but
they have tried to do so by revising the|
old system, burdened with politics ana
unadapted, as it is, for the government of
our cities. Their efforts have therefore
met only with discouragement and fail-
ure, and so, if by breaking away from es-
tablished ideas and framing a charter
along lines hitherto unknown in city GovJ
ernment, the framers of the ."Des 5loim>s
Plan" are successful in solving these gravJ
problems, it will be the greatest move ever
made in the direction of an improved ad-
ministration for our city affairs, and the
little city of Des Moines will have ren-
dered a great service to the world.
The object and aim of the "Des Moines-.
Plan" from first to last is to secure the;
maximum of efficiency in the administra-.,
tion of city affairs, and at the same timfl^
provide the greatest possible opportunity
for securing a government in accordance
with the popular will of the governed.
In order to accomplish this result, th
authors of the system kept clearly in mind
the two great objects and attempted to
work out some practical methods whereby
these things could be secured.
A wise physician determines the nature
of the disease before he prescribes the
remedy, and so the framers of the "Des
Moines Plan" first sought to locate the
reason for the failure of the present sys-
THE DES MOINES PLAN OF CITY GOVERNMENT.
325
[em. There is an interesting story in
Biblical history about the great strength
If Samson. His enemies were powerless
against him until they discovered that
|iis strength lay in the length of his hair,
when they easily accomplished his over-
throw. Those familiar with governmen-
tal affairs ascribe the conspicuous fail-
Eire of city government in America to the
fact that politicians of mediocre ability
nd questionable honesty have too fre-
quently managed the affairs of our cities
Ind to the further fact that the system
now in vogue was never intended for the
government of our cities and is wholly un-
kdapted to perform the functions of mu-
nicipal government. Now that these weak
features have been mentioned, it will be
nteresting to learn how the framers of
he "Des Moines Plan" have attempted
to correct the evils. In doing so they
nave departed from the beaten path at
many points, and their effort presents us
with a system unique in character, em-
bodying ideas foreign to the popular con-
keption, and representing the most ad-
jfanced thought in local self-government.
ilThe numerous committees, boards and
Departments of the old system, with their
Ronflicting and overlapping duties, have
been abolished, while the supposed ne-
tessity of keeping the executive, legisla-
tive and judicial functions of govern-
inent entirely separate was purposely for-
gotten. The complicated machinery and
[mmbersome methods of the old system
were eliminated, the number of elective
Ipfficials greatly reduced, ward lines re-
Inoved, and the people given an opportu-
jkity to elect their officials at large. All
llections have been made non-partisan,
Ind the evils of party politics in city gov-
irnment abolished. In these and in a
llcore of other ways the form of our city
Krovernment has been entirely changed.
The first aim of the framers was to
work out a simple system especially
lldapted to perform the functions of city
irovernment. Providing for the local im-
provements of a city, such as sidewalks,
Itreet pavement, and sewerage, has been
'on; id to be the greater part, and perhaps
the most important function of city gov-
rnmont. A study of these functions of
ity government disclosed the fact that
n many respects they are identical with
the management of a large business en-
terprise, and that the duties of officials in
office are quite similar to those which de-
volve upon a board of directors. Our cor-
porations, many of which do a volume of
business much greater than that of our
larger cities, are able to secure efficient
and economic management of their affairs
by use of a system thought out by prac-
tical business men, aided by the best le-
gal talent which they could secure. Af-
ter being convinced that a municipal cor-
poration was in its nature essentially a
business proposition, and only in a limited
degree governmental, and being familiar
with the phenomenal success of our mod-
ern business concerns, the framers of the
"Des Moines Plan" thought it wise to
follow in their footsteps ; and so placed the
entire management and responsibility of
the city's administration in a governing
board consisting of a mayor and four
councilmen. Taking, then, as a basis, the
system of our large business concerns,
they have attempted to incorporate into
the new charter those salient features of
business principles which have simplified
and facilitated the successful manage-
ment of private corporations. Immedi-
ately following their election, the mem-
bers of this governing board organize,
with the mayor as chairman and elect
the subordinate officials, such as clerk,
solicitor, auditor and treasurer, just as
a directory board elects its officers, se-
lects its attorney, and employs its clerks.
Thus, by placing the business of the city
in the hands of a small responsible gov-
erning board, centralization of authority
was secured, and a long step taken in the
direction of a more efficient city govern-
ment.
Civil service is made an important fea-
ture of the law, and the remainder of
the city employees, with the exception of
unskilled labor, are appointed on ac-
count of their merit, determined by an
impartial test of fitness for the work to
be done. It is intended that the quali-
fications of the applicant rather than his
political influence or party affiliation
should control in his appointment; when
this is true, partisan politics will no
longer be the important factor in city
elections that it is to-day; political bosses
will lose their control over the offices, and
326
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
with it their power for corruption; the
temptation to create needless positions
bearing fancy salaries with which to re-
ward their supporters will vanish; effi-
ciency and economy can again be secured
and public officers will attend to the peo-
ple's business instead of spending their
time seeking to carry elections. The vast
amount of public funds thus wasted is
unknown to the patriotic tax-payer, and
can be but slightly realized when told
that in various departments of our large
cities it is estimated that the public is
paying from ten to two hundred per cent
more than the services would cost if ren-
dered by a reasonable number of men well
fitted for the position, and devoting them-
selves to their work instead of in the in-
terest of personal or party politics.
In order to simplify the system and fix
a definite responsibility for all official
acts in the conduct of the city's affairs,
its business has been divided into five
departments as follows: the department
of Public Affairs, Accounts and Finances,
Streets and Public Improvements, Pub-
lic Safety, Parks and Public Property,
and to each one of these departments is
assigned that member of the governing
board best qualified by reason of experi-
ence and ability to act as manager of that
particular work. As superintendent of
the department, he is held responsible for
the performance of those duties which
fall within his division, and is made ac-
countable to the people for its proper ad-
ministration. By thus placing upon each
of these four managers, and the mayor
as general manager, certain specified
duties, prompt and vigorous action is at
once made possible a thing long desired
but impossible to secure under the old
system of ward representation, numerous
committees, boards and departments.
The wisdom of a compact and respon-
sible governing board for the management
of the affairs of a city will hardly need
to be demonstrated, because under such a
system the affairs of large private cor-
porations have long been conducted with
economy, efficiency and success. This fea-
ture of the "Des Moines Plan" has, how-
ever, been on trial in Galveston, Texas,
for almost six years, and it has proved so
wonderfully successful that Houston, see-
ing its superior advantages, discarded its
old ward system two years ago, and has
since been operating under a new char-
ter, embodying this feature of board man-
agement. This idea has provided Galves-
ton with a business-like administration of
its city's affairs, and its great success is
best shown by the financial reports of that
city. By careful business methods, the
credit of that bankrupt city has been
raised to par, the running expenses have
been decreased one-third, and the city,
during the first five years of its adminis-
tration under the board system, saved to
its tax payers over one million dollars.
The treasurer's reports from Houston for
the two years of its operation are even
more startling, and reveal the fact that
during that period a floating debt of
$400,000 has been paid, schools have been
built, and streets have been paved, out of
the general fund, though the tax rate
had been somewhat reduced. An inves-
tigation showed that its public affairs
are being wisely and economically man-
aged, and that the city government is
highly satisfactory. These demonstra-
tions of its working efficiency have at-
tracted the attention of our cities through-
out the United States, Ft. Worth, Dallas,
El Paso and Austin have recently made
use of the scheme, while other large cities
of Texas are favoring its early adoption.
The States of Iowa, South Dakota and
Kansas have enacted general laws for
similar charters, and one would not be
surprised to see most of the city govern-
ments of the future contain this feature
of a compact governing body.
Another startling feature of the "Des
Moines" plan of city government, and one
whicb will surely do much to improve the
public service, is the effort put forth to
change the personnel of our public offi-
cials from ward politicians to the strong
and representative men of the commu-
nity. A city office, under the old system,
was looked upon as a disgrace and re-
garded as a mark of suspicion, while un-
der the new plan the position has been
made one of honor, influence and oppor-
tunity. The business of the alderman,
under the old system, was largely the
performance of stipulated duties, while
one can hardly find a more fertile field
for the exercising of talent and original-
ity than in the development of the great
THE DES MOIRES PLAN OF CITY GOVERNMENT.
resources and enterprises of the city un-
der the new plan. Tinder the old system
the service of officials was a matter of
charity; under the new plan they are lib-
erally compensated with adequate sal-
aries. With the fixed responsibility of the
new plan, bad men will be discouraged
from holding office because they will no
longer be able to accomplish their evil
purposes, while desirable candidates will
be attracted to the service by reason of
the fact that under such a system they
can receive credit for their conscientious
efforts. Not only have they made the po-
sition attractive to the best men of the
community, but the manner of their
choice has been so provided that men
of this type can be elected with less diffi-
culty, and the election of undesirable poli-
ticians more certainly prevented. The
primary as well as the election has been
made non-partisan so that candidates can
no longer depend for their election upon
party affiliation, but must go before the
people upon their own merits. Ward lines
have been removed, and with the people
voting at large the evils of ward politics
are abolished, electors are freer to record
their choice of candidates, and the busi-
ness man is better able to secure his elec-
tion without stooping to the low practice
of the politician.
To some it may seem that a system of
government which prevents the election
of many officials, formerly selected by the
people, and centralizes the entire power
of administration in the hands of five in-
dividuals, a majority of whom may control
is monarchical and destructive of popu-
lar government. But, to these it should
be said that the degree of popular govern-
ment is determined, not by the number
of officials elected by the people, but by
the control which the people have over
their officials during their term of office.
This governing board is not vested with
final powers, and the people may, if they
so desire, vote directly upon all matters
of importance, and it is this feature, safe-
guarding popular rights as it does, which
provides the way for an expression of
popular will in all public matters of im-
portance, such as has never yet been
known in any other system of local self-
government. Notice some of these pro-
visions :
The, initiative places the power of
direct legislation in the hands of the peo-
ple, and any law which is desired by the
majority can be secured, whether it is
opposed or favored by the governing
board. Suppose that the board has re-
fused to enact a necessary ordinance. A
petition, bearing the signature of twenty-
five per cent of the voters could be pre-
sented, requesting the governing board to
ena<3t such a law, and in such a case it
must either pass the same without altera-
tion within the next twenty days, or sub-
mit the matter to a vote of the electors.
If, at the election, the ordinance is
favored by a majority, it thereby becomes
a valid law and cannot be repealed or
amended except by a similar vote of the
people. The wisdom of such a provision
is quickly realized when one thinks of the
many times when the will of the people
has been ignored by their representatives
in office.
The referendum has been greatly agi-
tated during the last .few years as a
necessary part of any complete system of
self-government, and so it has 'been made
a feature of the "Des Moines Plan." Un-
der this provision, an unwise expenditure
of the public funds or any other legisla-
tion which does not meet with popular
favor can be effectively blocked by a
majority vote of the people. If within a
stipulated time, twenty-five per cent of
the voters present a petition to the govern-
ing board, asking that objectionable legis-
lation be recalled the proposed ordinance
is thereby suspended, and does not become
operative until it has been approved by a
majority of the voters voting thereon at a
general or special election. The people
are permitted to vote upon all franchises
without petitioning the governing board,
because it is provided that no franchise
or other valuable right in the streets of
the city can be granted to any public ser-
vice corporation, without first submitting
the matter to the people, and receiving-
the approval of a majority of the elec-
tors.
Our laws must be made and our public
affairs administered by representatives
elected by the people, but that system
which limits the action of our governing
bodies by granting them the right to act,
subject to such direct and final action as
328
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
the people themselves think best to exer-
cise, is really the only system entitled to
the term representative. The initiative
and referendum, as provided for in the
"Pes Moines Plan," are the only means
for providing the people with this highest
form of representative government. Need-
ed public improvements can thus be voted
directly, and a club held over the admin-
'stration to stimulate progressive action
on their part. Fewer franchises would be
granted for inadequate compensation,
and fewer contracts would be let to favor-
ites if it were known that such ordinances
could be promptly vetoed by the people.
It would hardly pay the corrupter to
bribe the council if its action was not
final. Five thousand dollars might bribe
five councilmen, but it could not bribe
ten thousand electors. Corrupt legislation
would receive a death blow.
The Recall, designed for the purpose
of placing all officials within the absolute
control of the people, is perhaps the most
important and most startling provision of
the law. Although the officials, composing
the governing board, are elected for a
definite term of two years, yet under this
provision of the "Des Moines Plan," their
continuation in office is at all times sub-
ject to the will of a majority of the elec-
tors.
The history of practically every city
is disgraced with names of officers who
had proven unmindful of the trust im-
posed in them, but who could not be re-
moved before the expiration of their term
of office. With this provision of the char-
ter such an official could have been quick-
ly removed and replaced by one in whom
the people had more confidence. A peti-
tion, signed by twenty-five per cent of the
voters and charging the official, in general
terms, with incompetency or dishonesty,
would be filed with the city clerk. This
done, the guilty official would then, with-
out further delay, be required to stand for
re-election with any other candidate whom
the people might choose to nominate, and
the one receiving the highest number of
votes would be the officer for the remain-
der of the term. The constant danger of
being removed from office will certainly
tend to keep public officials in the straight
and narrow path of their duty, ever faith-
ful to the trust of their constituents. It
would seem that with the initiative, refer-
endum and recall, every public official can
be held to the strictest accountability, and
will seldom desert the cause of the people,
and the more successful we become in im-
pressing upon our officials the popular will
and compel them to execute that will, the
higher will be our form of Democratic
government.
The citizens of the Capitol City of Iowa
have drafted a simple plan for managing
the public business of their city. It in-
cludes a number of common sense pro-
visions, but it yet remains for them to
prove, by actual operation, >the working-
efficiency of the system. The experiment
is one of vital concern to every American
city, and they are anxiously watching the
venture, hoping that experience will prove
the "Des Moines Plan" a complete solu-
tion to the vexatious problem of city gov*
ernment.
LOVE'S AWAKING
BY
DOXALD A. FKASER
IN ANGEL came and touched my heart with living fire;
Delicious strains she drew from her celestial lyre;
And Love within me woke to dare Death in desire.
THE NEMESIS
BY
DON MARK LEMON
HE GAME was Mexi-
can, similar to poker,
except that a few
cards of lower de-
nominations had been
discarded. Neither of
the men had spoken
for some time, the
playing being carried on in pantomime,,
but now the lips of the younger man
parted, like one attempting to speak, but
failing, and he s-tared over the head of
the other into the obscurity beyond.
The elder man noted this act upon the
part of his antagonist, and half arising
from his chair, looked behind him over
his shoulder towards the door, expecting to
see something, he knew not what.
There was nothing to be seen, how-
ever, and again facing his antagonist, he
looked him questioningly in the face. But
the other offered no explanation, merely
gaped drowsily and looked down at the
cards in his hands.
The game would perhaps have gone on
in pantomime as before had not a suspi-
cion flashed into the brain of the elder
man, at which he leaped to his feet with
a Mexican oath upon his lips and a Mexi-
can word which, translated into English,
means "cheat."
"You lie !" retorted the younger man,
arising. "I thought I saw something
passing behind you."
"Liar yourself!" cried the other. "You
stared over my head to distract my atten-
tion while you stacked the cards."
"Fool !" the challenger was answered.
"Would I cheat at the game when I hold
four queens? Look you, is that a hand to
be changed? i call,' senor ?"
There was a sudden glint of steel and
the elder player crouched with one hand
spread over the stakes, while in his other
hand he gripped a heavy hunting knife.
"Caramba ! am I a fool !" he panted
fiercely.
The younger man took a step backwards
and as he did so, questioned: "Then you
will fight?"
The other made no verbal reply, but
drawing himself upright struck angrily on
his chest with his clenched hand. By this
act his breast was wholly exposed to his
antagonist, and sudden as the spring of a
rattle-snake, a needle-like dagger, the
handle of which was loaded with quick-
silver, flashed through the air and buried
itself almost to the hilt just above the
heart of the challenger.
For a moment the stricken man re-
mained upright, his powerful frame
scarcely jarred by the momentum of the
needle-like yet terrible blade; then, still
clutching his own weapon in his hand, he
fell or was tripped by his chair, face up-
ward at full length upon the floor, strik-
ing his head heavily in his fall.
With a smothered cry, the younger man
leaped forward, and tearing the candle
from the table, bent with it over the form
stretched at length upon the floor.
"Dead!" he whispered hoarsely, while
the white, still face of the man before him
with its glassy, up-staring eyes was
burned upon his soul, an image not soon
to be erased.
Putting down the candle now, he
clutched the two tall stacks of gold, which
he had hoped to win by less foul means
than murder, and thrust them into the
heavy buckskin bag at his belt. This
done, he again took up a light and started
for the door. But to escape that way, he
must pass the still form upon the floor,
with the dagger in its breast, so he turned
and went with the candle in his hand to
one of the windows of the room.
330
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
Unlatching this, and swinging it in-
ward on its hinges, he unbarred the heavy
wooden shutters without, and with his
head still twisted over his shoulder, and
his eyes fixed upon those other staring eyes
as if he feared that the dead would rise
up and follow him, he climbed backwards
through the window, and in another mo-
ment stood safely without, still clutching
the lighted candle in his hand.
A bright moon was up, and casting the
candle aside, he hurried swiftly and
stealthily around the tavern and unteth-
ering and mounting his horse, he rode
away, at first at a lope, afterwards at a
furious gallop, towards the north.
It was chance and not skill that con-
cealed John Fuller's flight from the tav-
ern, and pure good luck^ that set him down
across the Mexican line in American ter-
ritory, so that within two weeks he was
again able to walk the streets of San
Francisco and mingle freely with men of
his own race and persuasion.
It was not long before he fell in with a
friendly speculator, and in less than a
year his small means daringly placed by
the latter he awoke to find himself a
fairly rich man, with every dollar on the
safe side of account.
So it came that John Fuller was in a
good way to cease worrying about his das-
tard crime, and perhaps the memory of it
had been greatly dimmed and he had mar-
ried and settled down to live after the
ways of civilization, only one day it
chanced that while looking in his mirror
after removing his beard he was suddenly
stricken with the dreadful discovery that
his face had taken on the lines and con-
tour of the face of the man he had killed
in Old Mexico.
At first, he would not give in to this
discovery, persuading himself that the re-
semblance was wholly imaginary, but as
the days passed and the similarity became
more striking, a dreadful fear seized him
and his health began to suffer profoundly.
Murderers have been haunted with
visions of the murdered, or by what
seemed a ghost of the dead, but here was
something even more terrible the fact
of the murderer had taken on the sem-
blance of the face of the murdered.
As a man's thoughts sooner or later are
reflected in his features, the mind of John
Fuller again and again picturing the face
of the man he had killed, had shaped his
features to almost perfect likeness with
those of his victim.
The phenomenon could hardly be ex-
plained otherwise, and now John Fuller
must walk the streets by day and lie down
to pray for sleep by night with the face
of the dead constantly before him.
To this, he was seized with a feverish
desire to spend his easy-gotten money in
the most extravagant manner. It some-
what relieved the tension of his nerves to
be spending his wealth by the thousands
each day, as it would have eased his guilty
soul to have mounted the cab of an ex-
press and have sped a mile a minute, hour
after hour. Before many weeks, he awoke
to find that through his recklessness, his
dissipation and the rascality of others, the
only money he had in the world was a
five dollar gold piece, left from a late
debauch.
He would spend this too; get rid of it
as quickly as he could. He hurried down
to a famous cafe in the heart of the city,
and entering its corridors, paused a mo-
ment before the swinging doors.
These doors were faced with long
French mirrors, and as he caught the re-
flection of his own haggard face, bearing
its ghastly resemblance to the man he had
killed, horror unnerved him, and he was
about to turn and dash headlong into the
street, when suddenly the mirrors before
him trembled, shimmered, then flashed
with wide angles of light, and out of their
center, or so it seemed, stepped that
ghastly image of himself, and stood before
him and looked into his face.
Every pulse in the haunted man's body
stood still a moment with fear, then
stealthily, silently, he reached forth a pal-
sied hand, which now came in contact, not
with the smooth surface of the mirrors,
but with the form of a man the dead in
person !
No cry or sound escaped John Fuller's
lips, as he sank down in a heap at the feet
of that living image of himself.
They bore him into a private room of
the cafe and endeavored to restore him to
consciousness and life, but unavailing.
Like a lighted candle in a draught, John
Fuller's strength had been wasted away
by dissipation and a guilty conscience, and
THE ICEBEBG'S BIBTH.
331
the most powerful stimulants were of no
effect.
"My God, he is dead !" groaned a worn-
faced stranger, turning from the stricken
man.
The physician, the cafe proprietor, and
those others gathered about the death-bed
looked from the face of the stranger to
that of the dead.
"Yes," the stranger said, as in answer
to a question, "this must be my brother
for whom I have been searching the world
over. My parents, dying when my brother
was born, they placed me in one asylum
and my brother in another, and we grew
up without ever seeing one another
without knowing of one another's exist-
ence. When finally I learned that some-
where in the world I had a brother living,
I went in search of him, and had almost
come upon him in Old Mexico, when a
card sharp, over a game of cards in a tav-
ern, stuck a dagger into my left lung, and
I was tripped over and rendered uncon-
scious, injuring my spine. I got a touch
of blood poisoning, and gave up the search
to come here for treatment. How it was,
I do not know, unless he had heart trou-
ble, but as I swung open the mirror doors
and came face to face with him, he fell
down dead at my feet. Great God!" the
speaker broke off, turning and gazing hag-
gardly at the face of the dead man, "how
much like me he has grown to look."
* "Will you take charge of the body?"
questioned the cafe proprietor.
"Yes, since you say he hasn't a wife or
family." The stranger turned to the phy-
sician. "Do you think, doctor, that I am
mistaken.
"His resemblance to you will warrant
you to bury him for a brother," replied the
physician.
"Poor old fellow!" groaned the
stranger, taking the dead hand of John
Fuller in his own, and stroking it gently.
"What good friends we would have
been !"
THE ICEBERG'S BIRTH
MTJIR GLACIER
BY CHARLOTTE W. THTJRSTOX
Earth-born on Alaska's mountains,
Pressed from Alaskan snow,
Ground in her icy quarries
While centuries come and go ;
Slow-urged through the lagging cycles
Slow to my northern sea;
I am free ! I am plunging and rising
And rising and plunging free!
I have burst from the glacier-clutches,
Leaped from the ice-walled shore
A crash as the heaven were rended,
A long-drawn thunderous roar.
Low growls where the startled ice-bergs
Wild splendors of iris-spray
Dance a mad welcome round me
Muttering in Titan play.
Foam- waves, my birth hurls shoreward
A seething, wavering white,
Surge in wild radiance seaward
Fringed with auroral light.
EDWIN MARKHAM.
"I never built a song by night or day,
Of breaking ocean or of blowing whin,
But in some wondrous, unexpected way,
Like light upon a road, my Love comes in."
EDWIN MARKHAM AND HIS ART
BY
HENRY MEADE BLAND
.ILLUSTRATED WITH PORTRAITS.
OT MANY days ago, in
looking over a pack
of clippings referring
to Edwin Markham,
I found on the back
of some paper, to
which an article had
been posted, an origi-
nal rough draft of "Lincoln." There was
no mistake about the find. I rushed to
my poet's volumes and read.
Then comparing the finished product
with the spontaneous pencil-lines, I ran
through, line by line, the finished poem
and the following sketchy outline :
"When the
Greatening and
She left the heaven of heroes
To make man,
She took the tried clay
Clay warm yet
Dashed through it all a strain
Then mixed a laughter.
It was a stuff to hold against
A man that matched
The stars.
The color of the ground
The. tang and odor
The rectitude and patience
The loving kindness
The gladness of the wind
The tolerance and equity of light
That gives so freely to the wayside weed
As to a giant oak flung to the sun
ro the grave's low hill as to the Matterhorn
lhat shelters out the sky. And so he came
J<rom prairie cabin
One fair ideal led.
Forever more he burned to
With the fine stroke and gesture of a king.
He built the rail pile
Pouring his splendid strength through.
J he conscience of him
To make his deed.
So came the
And when the step
Tearing the rafters
He held the ridge pole
PS rafters of the He held his place
leid the long purpose
^eld on through blame.
And when he fell
s when a kingly cedar
^oes down with a shout
-And leaves a "
There are not many steps from these
rough notes to the finished "Lincoln, the
Man of the Hour." In fact, there is not
an erasure upon the penciled page; and
the poet must have taken another clean
sheet upon which to carry his rhythm to
perfection. We look in vain for the
many, many polishings of Pope; or the
careful gathering into a composite whole
from multitudinous note books, such as
was practiced by Emerson.
The vision apparently came at once,
and seemed ready immediately to be trans-
ferred to paper.
It must not be thought that Edwin
Markham arrived at this wonderful power
to body forth his conceptions in poetic
form, all in a moment, even in the face
of the fact that "The Man with the Hoe"
brought him fame in a night. The op-
posing truth rather stands out clear in
Markham's work and life; that many
minor attempts were essayed, and many,
many influences fashioned his intellectual
mold before the world sat up and listened.
It is true that in the poet's ancestry
there appears an unusual array of talent
of little signification, however. It is
Dr. Jordan, I believe, who says we may all
of us trace our lineage to kings if we run
far enough back. One thing does, how-
ever loom up : Markham's widowed mother
was a poetess, and the boy, Edwin, was
raised in an atmosphere of poesy. Not
only this : his poetic mother was given to
musing, and was strangely taciturn and
silent. And further, Markham's only
brother was dumb. So the very family en-
vironment forced him into a solitude
which left him alone with his fancies.
Coming with mother and brother at the
age of five from Oregon, he began this
life of solitude and musing. This was on
the hill-circled farm not far from Suisun,
California.
Here his career as a student and reader
began. His first models in poetry were
334
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
Homer and Byron, for the instruction he
received at his mother's knee naturally
turned him to song. Moreover, the
mother's poetic instinct divined for the
son his career as a poet. All day long on
the hills, while he tended the flocks, he
mused over his favorite volumes and
drank to the dregs every fountain of story
his meagre environments afforded him.
Joaquin Miller says, in speaking of the
poet : "It is written that only a good man
can live alone, and be happy. But here
was a mere lad who lived alone with his
horse and herds for whole summers, and
far back in the mountains. It is said
that when he would come in to get sup-
plies, he would not take back much to eat,
but would pillage the mountain camp and
mining town of every book or paper he
could buy, beg or borrow/' Thus, along
with the nature-lore he garnered, he was
filling his mind with all he could get from
books. It was in this atmosphere, at the
age of fifteen, that he wrote his first verse,
"A Dream of Chaos," an imitation of
Byron.
It was in the Suisun hills that he had
his first and only taste of adventure. Tir-
ing of the mountain farm, he one day
saddled his pony and vanished down the
foothills toward the Sacramento. Not
long after he joined a threshing-crew, and
worked as one of the men. His mother,
hoAvever, soon traced her runaway son and
brought him again to the farm. She then
as a sort of disciplinary procedure, moved
with him to the State Normal School at
San Jose, where he studied teaching,
graduating in 1872. His appetite for
learning seemed to be only the more whet-
ted by his San Jose school experiences. He
soon entered the Christian College at
Santa Rosa, where he pursued the classics.
After graduation, he read law, but did not
practice at the bar.
He now began to form his philosophy of
life, and rapidly developed a deep interest
in child life and in the poor. One of his
first desires was to master a trade, for he
felt to be vitally in touch with the life of
the laborer meant to know how to do the
laborer's work, or at least some line of it.
To this end he entered a blacksmith's shop
and mastered the work, carefully drilling
himself m the technique of the craft.
Then he taught school, becoming finally
the principal of the Tompkins Training
School for Teachers, Oakland, California.
He was interested deeply in the philo-
sophical side of education, and my first
memory of his earnest face is in connection
with a discussion of interest and duty at a
California Teachers' Association.
But his love of meditation and contem-
plation never forsook him. He drifted
rapidly towards his literary ideal. Wlhile-
principal of the Tompkins School, he se-
cured a suburban residence in the Ber-
keley Hills, back of Oakland. Here, sur-
rounded by his library, rich in poetry and
philosophy, he communed with his muse.
This country home was an old-fashioned
story and a half house, surrounded with.
a broad porch over which trailed vines,
and roses. Into this retreat he went after
the hard day's work in school, and the
days went by in which he dreamed his.
philosophies.
In the meantime he was surely winning
recognition. Edmund C. Stedman, th
famous critic, had praised his verse, and
three of his poems had been published in
"American Literature." The following
stanza on poetry:
"She comes like the husht beauty of the night*
And sees too deep for laughter,
Her touch is a vibration and a light
From worlds before and after "
won a prize of one hundred dollars from,
competitors from all over the world.
In 1889 came the experience that made
it possible for him to write the poem that
gave him international fame. This was.
not printed until ten years later, but dur-
ing all the intervening time he brooded
over his conception with an infinite fever-
ishness of soul.
The "Man with the Hoe" was printed
in January, 1899. It was first inspired
by Millet's painting of the same title.
Markham's eye had first fallen on the
picture about 1889, and at once the deep
significance of the art was upon him.
"It is more terrible to me than anything
in Dante," he says. "I sat for an hour
before the painting, and all the time the
tenor and power of the picture were grow-
ing upon me. I saw that this creation
was no mere peasant, no chance man of
the fields, but he was rather a type, a sym-
bol of the toiler brutalized through long
ages of industrial oppression." The "Man.
EDWIN MAEKHAM AND HIS ART.
335
with the Hoe" brought the poet instantly
into the flare of publicity. From paper
to paper it went, until it was known by
every fire-side in the country. He had
touched the American intellect and intel-
lect had responded true.
To Mr. Bailey Millard belongs the
redit of discovering the strength of Mr.
Markham's great poem. The poet had
originally intended to read the poem on
iome labor-day occasion, but being invited
to a gathering of literary people, at the
suggestion of Mrs. Markham he had put
the poem in his pocket to read as his con-
tribution to the evening's entertainment.
Mrs. Markham contrived to have the poet
called upon, and the reading of the har-
monious roll of the blank verse caught
the ear of the critic. Mr. Millard said
that even after the reading, the music of
the lines surged and re-surged through his
mind. The unmeasured beauty seemed to
culminate in the lines :
"What to him
Are Plato and the swing of Pleiades?
What the long reaches of the peaks of song,
The rift of dawn, the reddening of the rose?"
In "The Man with the Hoe" we catch
the first clear glimpse of Markham's
political philosophy. He stamps himself
here outright a sympathizer with the poor.
Brotherhood is his principle; absolute
democracy his ideal. Nothing short of the
full redemption of the poor can satisfy
him.
How completely he is committed to this
championship of the poor can be gleaned
from the following partial statement of
his belief:
"So, when I am dictator, every one shall
be made secure in this primary right of
man (the right to labor). I have a sug-
gestion, and I think it would go deep
enough to do some good, and yet not so
deep as to interfere, either, with our pres-
ent system of private enterprise. The
idea is a simple one. I would make dili-
gent inquiry as to the number of men idle
in the several arts and crafts; then I
would establish enough State or munici-
pal shops to absorb all of this idle labor.
Shoe-makers should be set to making and
mending ; bakers to kneading and baking.
Unskilled labor could be provided for in
State farms and factories, or on public
improvements. Good wages could be paid,
as the element of profit-making would be
rooted out, as it has already been rooted
out of the post-office business. If at any
time we were making too many good
things, the hours could be shortened so as
to keep all hands busy."
In this way, through the reaction of
self-activity upon the individual, the evo-
lution of the race could be worked out.
The poet now lives with his wife, who
was M'iss Anna E. Murphy, of California,
and his child, Kyka, on Staten Island,
New York. Both Mrs. Markham and the
boy have occupied a large place in the
poet's art ; and some of his most beautiful
lyrics have been inspired by one or the
other. The lines, "My Comrade," begin-
ning:
"I never built a song by night or day,
Of breaking ocean or of blowing whin,
But in some wondrous, unexpected way,
Like light upon a road, my Love comes in."
were written with Mrs. Markham in mind,
and the wonderful lyric, "Kyka" is a burst
inspired by the infinitely loving father of
a child. Mrs. Markham is herself a poet
and a keen judge of books; and many of
her lines have appeared in the magazines.
Her stanzas, "The Sorrowful Christ," are
among the best known.
Mr. Markham is a constant thinker on
deep questions. One of his greatest de-
lights is a round-table of friends at which
there is a delving into the mystery of
things. Charles Warren Stoddard tells of
one of these meetings on the hills near
Joaquin Miller's home on Berkeley Hills,
at which he, Ina Coolbrith, Adaline
Knapp, William Greer Harrison and the
poet were present. The subject up was,
"What is poetry?" The entire day was
passed in intellectual reverie upon the
fascinating theme.
Edwin Markham is profoundly religi-
ous. God and the immortality of the soul
are deeply woven in the fibres of his being.
These beliefs make him see the worth of
even the most insignificant human, and
give hope that he has for those who are
"dead to rapture and despair." He finds
the infinite everywhere :
"The little pool, in street or field apart,
Glosses the deep heavens and the rushing
storm ;
And into the silent depths of every heart
The eternal throws Its awful shadow-form."
Growing out of this essential religious
336
OVEELAND MONTHLY.
element is a divine humility which en-
ables him to lean unreservedly upon the
Absolute.
"I have no glory," he says, "in these
songs of mine.
"If one of them can make a brother strong,
It came down from the peaks divine,
I heard it in the Heaven of lyric song."
"The one who builds the poem into fact,
He is the rightful owner of it all:
The pale words are with God's own power
packed,
When brave souls answer to their bugle call."
and changes of time. Praise always hum-
bles me. Man is but an organ through
which the higher power acts. If a man
does good work, the joy of it is his, but
the glory is God's."
Here is the final prayer of his religious
philosophy :
"Give me the heart-touch with all that live,
And strength to speak my word;
But if that is denied me, give
The strength to live unheard."
MRS. MARKHAM AND THE SON, KYKA, WHO HAVE OCCUPIED
A LARGE PLACE IN THE POET^S ART.
When he is, therefore, talking of his
literary successes, we may know that he
will use the words in this spirit :
"In the old days, obscurity did not dis-
tress me : in these days, notoriety does not
disturb me. I have tried to build my life
upon a foundation deeper than the chances
In poetic philosophy, Markham is of
the school of Plato. The "worlds before
and after" appeal first one then the other
to his mind. Many is the time when he
turns from his more sternly human politi-
cal views to the little child, his own pro-
totype in the long ago:
BESTITUTIOX.
337
"Once. I remember, world was young;
The rills rejoiced with a silver tongue;
The field-lark sat in the wheat and sang;
The thrush's shout in the woodland rang;
The cliffs and the perilous sands afar
Were softened to mist by the morning star;
For Youth was with me (I know it now!)
And a light shown out from his wreathed brow.
He turned the fields to enchanted ground,
He touched the rains with a dreamy sound."
This is the full-voiced echo of Words-
worth's :
"There was a time when meadow, grove and
stream,
The earth and every common sight,
To me did seem
Appareled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream."
Again in "Shepherd Boy and Nereid" is
embodied the same beauty:
"Ah, once of old in some forgotten tongue,
Forgotten land, I was a shepherd boy,
And you a Nereid, a winged joy:
On through the dawn-light peaks our bodies
swung, '
And flower-soft lyrics by immortals sung
Fell from their unseen pinnacles in the air:
God looked from Heaven that hour, for you
were fair,
And I a poet, and the world was young."
This may symbolize Markham's child-
hood, or he may be reveling in that at-
mosphere of re-incarnation into which he
has recently drifted, as may well be seen
in "Virgilia" and "The Homing Heart."
Once more, in "Lost Lands," gleams the
light from other days the days of his elf
child:
"I mind me once in boyhood when the mist
Swirled round me, ash of pearl and amethyst,
How, in an unknown, difficult, high place,
I pushed the green boughs backward from my
face,
And with a fire along the blood, a cry,
Rode out upon a headland in the sky.
*****
"I looked down on a sea of fog below;
Saw strange lands rise, strange waters furl and
flow,
Breaking on newly-lifted reefs and shores.
*****
"Where willows climbed and burst without a
sound,
While further still, on dim, untrayeled seas,
Gleamed lost Atlantis, lost Hesperides."
As he never tires ringing sweet changes
on the beautiful Wordsworthian idea of
happy, inspired childhood, so, too, he
wears with becoming grace that other
flower of the poetic intellect reincarna-
tion :
"It was ages ago in life's first wonder
I found you, Virgilia, wild sea heart,
'Twas ages ago we went asunder
Ages and worlds apart.
*****
"I will find you there where our low life
heightens^-
Where the door of the Wonder again unbars,
Where the old love lures and the old fire whitens
In the stars behind the stars."
Woven and interwoven with the "Elf-
Child" life and the reincarnation dream
is the web of his belief in the immortality
of the human spirit. And after all, is not
immortality the harp of a thousand strings
upon which the poet is to play until the
end of time?
RESTITUTION "
Across the buried years I come to you,
From out the level path by ages worn,
Be this the shrine whereat a day, new born,
Brings offerings of olive leaves and dew.
Where naught save silence all the cool air through
Creeps, healing, I forgotten ride and mourn;
The standard at my stirrup soiled and torn.
A Pilgrim from afar, I come to you.
NOT empty handed for, beloved, I bring
A pinion from a broken, healing wing:
And come as you have prayed and dreamed I would
In all the fervor of true Motherhood
With treasures from the Desert's fatal sands,
And, wistful, lay them in your trusting hands.
TEN CENTS TO THE FERR1 7
BY
LEO LEVY
ILLUSTRATED BY W. R. DAVENPORT.
"IT IS an ill wind
that blows nobody
good," the San Fran-
cisco street-car strike
has an awful name. It
is responsible for the
wild cry of "ten cents
to the ferry," that
reverberates hideously from early morning
to early morning, rouging people out of
deep sleep and sweet dreams to remind
them of our return to the days of stage-
coaches and "shank's mare."
For the calling of the strike demanded
a new means of conveyance for the thou-
sands of 'laborers who lived, sometimes,
miles from their work, and who dared
not patronize the cars, and walking being
out of the question, only one way was clear
use of the horse ; and the equine remedy
was applied with the avidity that will
ever characterize the jehu.
From the depths of deserted barns
were drawn ancient vehicles, of kinds be-
yond number and description, in every
stage of must, rust and decay Louis
Quinze barouches and antiquated deliv-
ery wagons bumped up against prairie
schooners and '49 \stage coaches; beer
wagons hob-nobbed with police patrols,
and doctors' rigs with hearses. It was
an array to tickle the palate of the relic
hunter.
Knowing well that the S. P. C. A. was
in its usual state of somnolence, pasture
lands were searched, and pounds broken
into. From these were driven what were
once called horses a long, long time ago
were called horses.
Animal and vehicles were matched;
there was the scuffle of mounting, the
crack of whips, the curses of drivers, the
agonized squeaking of gray-haired wagons,
the weeping of animals and the game
was on. (Oh, ye God-protector of horses,
who looked upon that scene and raised not
your hand in protest, the blood of a thou-
sand animals is on your head ! Ye ghos't
of the father of transportation, ye were
asleep at the switch ! Both ye negligents,
the groans of a suffering people will haunt
ye to the end of things, and afterwards.
"TEN CENTS TO THE FERRY."
339
And when we you iand I meet, my
friends, when we meet on the other side,
we're going to have an accounting, and
my wrath shall give me strength, and the
protectorship shall be vacant, and another
ghost shall roam the earth. For I have
ridden.)
And the result of this infamous con-
glomeration? One morning my friend,
the reformed cow-puncher he reformed
backward, from punching to poetry
staggered into the room and sank upon
the couch.
"Look here !" I said, sternly ; "I
thought you had quit all that ! What is it
"Yes."
"Then all I can say is, they're mighty
ungrateful. Fifty-three bruises, a broken
head and a sprained arm."
T was puzzled as to his meaning, but
seeing his condition, was loath to ques-
tion him. That night the mystery was
cleared up, when I found the following on
the table:
"I've busted Indian ponies in Nevada;
I've ridden bucking camels on the plain,
I've strode the goat in forty-seven lodges,
In a row-boat I have sailed the briny
main.
ALWAYS ROOM FOR ONE MORE.
thi 8 time, cocktails or something sensi-
ble?"
He shook his head. "Didn't I promise
I never would again?"
"You did. But your condition
The stricken man raised himself on" his
elbow.
"Haven't I always been a good union
man?" he demanded.
"You certainly have."
"And always paid my dues and sympa-
thized with every movement?"
These things I've done, I tell ye, and
enjoyed them,
And I've surely done 'em better than
most men.
But 1 ne'er before rode on a union wag-
gin,
And by gum, old man, I never will
again."
Two days later I encountered an ac-
quaintance. "How's your wife?" I asked
him.
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
"Not very well. She's in a hospital."
"What! Too bad, surely. And the
children?"
"Same place."
"That's hard luck. .But as long as you
are well "
"I'm. bound for the hospital now."
"Great heavens, man! What is it
something catching ?"
"Regular pestilence. The union fines
us fifty for riding, and it's too far to
walk.""
I understood.
But to look at the thing in a serious
manner, genuine physical danger lurks in
every bolt and splinter of these strike
conveyances. Half of them are made of
old, springless delivery wagons, with
planks for seats. The constant jolt and
bang, as they rambled over cobble stones
and ruts, is bound to wear the strongest
constitution. A delicate woman can ride
but once, and her stronger sister cannot
keep it up for long. As for hard-working
men, a ride is equal to a day's labor, and
constant use of the wagons results in a
condition which is not conducive to good
work.
To increase the discomfort, the drivers,
who once must have worked in a sardine
cannery, have an unhappy faculty of find-
ing room for passengers where none exists.
In their own language and they think it
is a tremendous joke to sing it out
"there is always room for one more." If
there isn't, they make it. The capacity
of the smaller vehicles is far greater than
that of the larger. A laundry wagon al-
ways carries twice as much human freight
within its canvassed depths, as does a
great made-over furniture van. That
may sound like exaggeration, but prove
it for yourself by watching the stream of
conveyances. Or, better still, ride.
And the horses well, there is some-
thing else San Francisco has to blush for.
The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty
to Animals has a stain on its name that
will take years to efface, and there are
people who will never forget. That
society, composed of people who are sup-
posed to be the friends of animals, has
allowed the fearful use of unfit horses,
and abuse of good ones, to go on without
scarcely a protest. Now and then there is
an arrest, but only now and then. In the
meantime, the real friends of the animals
must stand by and wonder why broken-
down horses, scarcely able to crawl, are
allowed to singly drag heavily loaded
wagons; why weak and worn-out horses
are allowed to stumble along in an almost
vain attempt to get their loads over the
poorest streets in the world; why diseased
horses are allowed to work at all. San
Francisco already has a long list of moral
and physical delinquents, but there is al-
ways room for one more.
Not long ago I stood in front of the
Ferry building, deliberating as to the
agent I would employ to inflict torture
on my ride to the Mission. There was
wide room for choice all sizes of ice-
wagons, deliveries and 'busses; a covered
express and a dead wagon. One convey-
ance, especially, deserves special mention.
It had an arrangement for strap-hangers,
operated thus : when the entire lengths of
the seats were filled, the knees of the pas-
sengers meet in the middle, making a
sort of carpeted floor. On this stood the
strap-hangers, clinging to an iron bar
overhead.
After long thought, I selected a small
and decidedly frail express, figuring that
on account of its size and strength, care
would be taken not to put too great a
crowd on board. I was sadly mistaken
but of that anon.
I mounted. I did it carefully. Mount-
ing a strike wagon is a serious matter, and
may involve physical complications unless
much care is taken in the operation. You
mount by means of either a suspicious-
looking set of .steps, a cracker-box or a
chair. Sometimes you vault in. On this
occasion I used what resembled a young
step-ladder, and I accomplished my end
without mishap.
There was a young lady on board. I
took my place at her side, a respectful dis-
tance away, and but, what's the use of
dwelling on the loading of that wagon?
Suffice it to say that I was mistaken as to
the driver's regard for the strength and
size of his vehicle. He had no more re-
spect for those than he did for his horse
and his passengers. Also suffice it to re-
mark that my respectful distance from
the young lady soon grew to be highly im-
proper. Before five minutes had been
reeled off by Time, I was squeezing her
N CENTS TO THE FERRY."
341
hard, and so great was the crush that the
sides of my wind-pipe touched, and I
couldn't ask her pardon.
So there I sat, squeezed into the small-
est compass possible, my hands awkward-
ly on my knees, an agonized expression
covering im^ identity, and a pressing en-
gagement at both ends of the ride, await-
ing the driver's inclination as to starting.
The driver did not incline. He was in no
hurry because his passengers were. That's
part of the law of supply and demand,
in which law a union man always seems
to have a finger. As I said, there I sat.
Finally, when the driver had finished
his cigarette, and the conductor his chat
with a neighbor, they inclined. But, alas,
somebody else didn't. The horse looked
Have you ever ridden a heavily-loaded
wagon over block after block of cobble-
stones? There is no other sensation that
compares with it unless it is a train-wreck,
an electric massage, or a series of infant
earthquakes. Your in'ards reel, and your
teeth do a castanet solo :
"They chatter, chatter, chatter so
("Again," you murmur, "Never!")
For streets may come and streets may go,
But cobble-stones forever!"
At the end of the third block the horse
stopped to get up steam, and the conduc-
tor grasped the opportunity to take on
three more passengers at least, I suppose
AX ARRAY TO TICKLE THE PALATE OF THE RELIC HUNTER.
around at what he was expected to pull,
gazed at the driver with a "what-d'ye-
take-me-for" expression on his face, and
yawned. JSTo amount of corporal persua-
sion could convince him that he was in
the wrong. He absolutely refused to sup-
ply the motive power demanded the law
again.
I'm not going to tell you how they fin-
ally got ihe poor beast headed Mission-
ward. I'm too much of a gentleman to
repeat the language, and anyway, the edi-
tor wouldn't allow it. When we turned
into Mission street we were going at a
fair rate very fair for one horse and
thirty-one people.
he did ; not being able to turn one way or
the other I couldn't see, but judging by
the increased pressure he must have.
And thus it continued, cobble-stones
and ruts alternating with the taking on
of "just one more," reducing corpulence,
making short people tall, and tall people
taller.
Just one word or so more about that
ride: In the future I'll take an ambulance
in the first place, and not wait until I
get to my destination.
I am no longer a union sympathizer,
though it wasn't the above turned me.
Far from it. I have a still deeper grudge,
one that I will never be able to forget. It
342
OVEELAND MONTHLY.
has turned me sour against all unions.
Another ride that I took, one midnight,
on an owl 'bus was responsible. I had
three inches on the end of the seat, but
thought that by bracing my foot on the
steps I would be able to hold on. When
I found out I couldn't, I gently but firmly
put an idle arm around a girl who sat
next me it was the last resort.
Did she object? Not a whit. Then
where is my kick, you ask?
You should have seen the girl.
DRAWINGS BY SCHAD.
MBKO-SAN sat watch-
ing her husband, Ki-
yowara Taro, mend-
ing a boy's shoe. Her
child-like face gave
forth no sign of the
discontent in her
mind certain at the
lightest suggestion to break forth into
petulant speech.
"Why you sitting like a bloke of wood ?"
she asked tauntingly. "I hate staying all
times with a Jap-an-ese cload !"
After a sigh of extreme weariness, Ki-
yowara looked up.
"You making too maeny complaints,"
he answered. "I don' cahn please you. I
speak English language for your sake! I
taell maeny times thaht som' day mebbe
five year, mebbe ten we go bahk aht
Hamamatsu ! Ah !" A tumult of emo-
tional remembrance sent a dark red glow
into his melancholy face. He lumbered
to his feet ; he crossed and re-crossed the
dingy shop, warming to enthusiasm.
"Then we see grand temples and Fujisan
with her beau-ti-ful snow-cahp and
aeverywhere cherry-flower and wild lillee !
Ah!"
"Mebbe I sleeping in my grave by thaht
time," she answered coolly. Then, with
alacrity, her voice and manner became im-
bued with a business-like purpose. "I
naever going bahk aht Jap-an. I stay aht
United States foraever and aever !"
Kiyowara again took his place on the
bench. The woman followed him with
short, waddling steps, pulling at her plum
colored kimona with disgust.
"I don' want wear Jap-an-ese clo'se.
Jap-an-ese woman's dress or-na-men-tal,
but no-boad-y cahn work ac-tive-ly in it."
There was a faint smile on the shoe-
maker's face.
Umeko-San's eyes snapped angrily;
they were as black as shoe-buttons. "You
think I going slave aht your house all
day? Taro-San, I naever cook for you
aeny more Jap-an-ese style. When you
say you like United States cooking, I do
aeverything very fine." Here she shook
her head with a comically wise air.
Kiyowara stitched in silence. He found
himself in the ridiculous predicament of
attempting to put a thread through a solid
piece of leather.
Umeko-San shifted her position that she
might look through the window. The
seven o'clock local train was passing. She
saw in the lighted car a Japanese girl
dressed after the style of the fashionable
American girl. The sight of a red hat
flaring away from a large moon-like face
smote the soul of Umeko-San cruelly. It
brought home to her with telling force
the poverty of her own equipment for per-
sonal fascination.
"How thaht girl mus' be happy dress
like Ah-merican peoples ! How thaht is
bahd to 'be diffren' from other peoples!"
she muttered. Then she looked daggers
at Kiyowara, whose introspective counte-
nance wore a look of patient endurance.
"Las' night I ask you," she said, crossly,
"if you take me aht Mr. Buck-ing-ham's
Jap-an-ese tea garden. You say you don'
cahn know I say yo mus' taell me will
you take me aht thaht Jap-an-ese tea gar-
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
UMEKO-SAN.
den? Will you?" She seated herself on
a packing case in front of Kiyowara, the
embodiment of infantile, thwarted desire.
He looked at her helplessly. "Aevery
time you go with beeg Ah-merican crowd
you hov no more lov' for home you not
wanting learn be skillful an' exper'enced.
By-and-bye we go aht thaht poor-house/'
The shoe-maker frowned so ominously
that TJmeko-San set the packing case a
few feet back, then crawled upon it again.
A smile began to play about her lips.
"But to-night only Jap-an-ese invited aht
thaht tea garden. No Ah-merican peo-
ples come." She held her small, shapely
hands up, moving them forward as though
pushing back an objectionable crowd.
Then she leaned towards him, smiling co-
quettishly. "You take me aht thaht lovely
place?"
"You know what I taell all times." He
spoke in a sad tone of voice. "Most all
United States Jap-an-ese they are no
more Jap-an-ese.' ' He half rose from his
seat to brandish with fierce disapproval
the shoe he was mending.
Umeko-San's eyes were alive with ad-
miration and defiance when she answered:
"They have good sense. They all times
adoapting Ah-merican costoms they all
times wearing Ah-merican clo'es they all
times cotching Ah-merican ideas !"
If Kiyowara's prolonged groan signified
the measure of his contempt for Ameri-
can customs and dress and ideas, then it is
not surprising that Umeko-San should
have made such amazing haste to say with
impressive emphasis:
"Ah-merican peoples have the most
beautifullest costoms, an' clo'es and ideas
in the world ! Say ! Will you take me aht
thaht tea-garden 'mong all those, our
co'ntrymen from Jap-an ?"
"You cahn go with Hana-San," he
said, holding his head up stiffly. "I don'
care I will work hard aht Mr. Adam
shoes."
TJmeko-San laughed gaily as she scram-
bled to the floor. "You not so very bahd,"
she was pulling the door of the shop to af-
ter her, "not so very bahd for a per-
son that will naever lov' the co'ntry of his
adoaption."
The tea-garden in the handsome private
grounds sloped down to the lake. It was
lighted by hundreds of gaudily-colored
electric lights. Here was scenic entrance-
ment never to be forgotten by Umeko-San.
How delightful to watch her transplanted
countrymen ! They were pacing back and
"UMEKO SAN."
34;
forth along the exceedingly narrow paths;
crossing doll-like bridges, and climbing
miniature steps cut in tiny mountains of
rock. But what pleased her most was to
note how aggressively Americanized they
had become. Ah ! These were the new
kind of people Japanese still but a
hundred years in advance of the old-fash-
ioned type. The very walk of these little
men and women was a reproach to the old
slow-going order of things.
After she and her friend and her
friend's two small children had strolled
into every nook and cranny, large enough
for a foothold, they took seats on a bench
which circled a warped, crooked old cy-
press tree. A half dozen paper lanterns
dangled above their heads set in motion by
a gentle breeze from the lake.
Umeko-San made a picture which fitted
into her surroundings as perfectly as the
dwarf pine tree growing in the blue vase
at the other side of the path. She was as
dainty in her peach-colored costume with
its salmon obi as some bit of art work
on a painted fan. Her face was lit up
with childish pleasure; and a soft blur of
red paint on her cheeks and lips made her
eyes blacker and brighter even than nature
had made them.
"There is my hosban's friend, Satsu-
moto-San," Hana-San said, "that one so
extra neat. How you do to-night?"
A young Japanese as trig as a brand-
new yacht stepped aside and lifted his hat
in a brisk manner. He wore a short sack
coat of light tweed; trousers wide at the
hip*, and an infinitessimal tie. From his
In-cast pocket the ends of three enormous
cigars protruded.
Hana-San motioned to a seat between
her and TJmeko-San. The young man
bustled into it with a self-centered and im-
portant air. Then for a few seconds he
gn/cd with open admiration through his
glasses at Umeko-San.
"Have you ladies been aht thaht tea-
house ?" he inquired. "Permeet me escort
you there."
He rose .to lead the way. The party
filed across a bamboo bridge which curved
upward like a section of a wheel. The
sharp sound of trickling water could be
hoard through the confused patter and
thud of feet on the gravel paths beyond.
"How thaht tea-house is pretty !" Ume-
"nOW THAHT GIRL MUS' BE HAPPY,
DRESS LIKE AH-MERICAN PEOPLES."
ko-San exclaimed with enthusiasm. En-
tering the bamboo pavilion, the man and
women seated themselves on bamboo
benches. The children ran towards a
346
OVERLAID MONTHLY.
large circular opening in the earth wall
forming one side of the tea-house. This
opening was the mouth of a metallic-lined
shaft. Suddenly the air of "The Star-
Spangled Banner" was heard, evidently
coming from some distant music-box. The
children laughed with delight.
" 'Tis the star-spangled banner ; oh, long
may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of
the brave!"
b
Satsumoto quoted solemnly. He waved
his right arm aloft as he had often seen
street orators do in the City Hall square.
Hana-San laughed softly. The words
lagged so far behind the music !
"I lov' the co'ntry of my adoption for
maeny reasons," he said, addressing him-
self to the attentive and eloquent eyes of
Umeko-San, "for very maeny reasons, but
chiefly because aevery-boady has so moch
freedom. The gov-er'-ment an' the laws
are moadern an' full of the spirit of jos-
tice."
The light, tinkling musical notes had
died away; and with their cessation the
children ran, one pursuing the other, out
of the tea-house. Hana-San followed them
with awkward haste. The sound of foot-
steps was lost after the mother and child-
ren had crossed the bamboo bridge.
"Have you lived -aht United States
loang time ?" ITineko-San asked bashfully.
"For several years. I lov' the spirit of
the peoples. They naever get in the rut
like con-serv-a-tive peoples must, an' do.
They deal fairly an' squarely with aevery
wan man an' woman alike. The test of
civi'zation aevery wan knows is the status
of woman."
Umeko-San pitied herself almost to the
point of tears as a mental vision of her
daily life rose to float before her bewil-
dered eyes. What had she to expect from
the colorless level of days that lay
stretched out before her? They were
certain to be as empty of interest as a
field of sand.
Satsumoto pursued his subject with a
grandiloquent air :
"Take the in-fer'-ority of our Jap-an-
ese eostoms. Whata sahd fate awaits the
widow no sweet con-so-la-tion for her
aevery thing is for the mon he may even
di-vorce an' morry with another at h
wheem an' fancy. Thaht is a most on-
jos' state of affairs most onjost." E
shook his head so severely that his glasses
fell dangling against his polka-dotted tan
waist-coat. He took them up delicately
and set them close .to his brightly gleam-
ing eyes.
"But in this co'ntry," he resumed with
dignity and a slightly embarrassed air,
"woman's con-di-tion is the 'best in all
the world. She has the same rights she
cahn di-vorce him he cahn di-vorce her
mon an' woman, if you please excuse
my liddle joke, cahn change pardners!"
He was delighted with the soft gurgle
of her laughter; quite charmed at her
quick appreciation of wit. She, for her
part, had seized upon a truth in the jest
which harmonized with the drift of her
desires, and she laughed because of an
impulse which brought color and warmth
to her face. To her childish imagination
there appeared a rift of golden hope in
the sombre gray cloud of her life.
Down through the shaft came the
music, faint and metallic, of "Under the
Bamboo Tree." To Umeko-San it com-
municated a joyous gayety, which made
her spring up to welcome Hana-San and
the children with an excess of cordiality
that Hana-San noted with a cold reserve.
She received it with a laugh that was
more than half sarcasm. Umeko-San, all
unconscious, took the droll baby girl by
both hands and swung her round and
round until the child fell to the ground,
laughing hysterically.
Hana-San dragged her to her feet.
"Why I should stay here? I going
home now."
Satsumoto rose with much -show of
ceremonious politeness. He led the way
back into the garden. The little group
crept along, each picking his steps care-
fully by the edge of a bank of wet plants,
which wound about a pond. The pleas-
ure seekers halted a moment by a bronze
stork with a sapphire light in his long
beak. Two of the party gazed with de-
light at the fairyland about them. The
air had grown chilly. Umeko-San felt
the pin-pricks on her face, which she
knew was the fog rolling in from the
Pacific. She followed admiringly in the
wake of Satsumoto, noting that he walked
"UMEKO SAN."
347
r ith the air and carriage of an Ameri-
an.
She whispered to herself, "He is a per-
ect gen-tle-man."
And this thought occurred to her again
hen several blocks beyond the tea-gar-
en, he assisted the others onto the elec-
ric car, standing for a moment on the
;ep to pay their fares. There he raised
is hat to them with a gesture of defer-
ntial respect more than Oriental. In
is parting look was a tenderness too par-
ially directed to arouse any enthusiasm
n the 'breast of Hana-San.
A few weeks later, Kiyowara was clean-
ng a lamp chimney. His thoughts were
gloomy and disconcerting. Did not
jUmeko-San waste all her days with her
t'riend, Hana-San? Was she not always
ill at ease in his presence now; and al-
Iways inventing some absurd subterfuge
|to escape it? She was in the habit of
leaving the shop with a merry smile, and
coming back to it with strangely dis-
tracted eyes. It was embittering to reflect
that every minute spent with him was ob-
viously so much time thrown away.
His fingers shook when he replaced the
lamp chimney. And they were still trem-
bling as he walked to the door and looked
miserably into the street. Through the
glass he saw, with a gasp, Umeko-San
little 4-foot-8 Umeko-San coming to-
wards him. Her dress and walk were an
imitation of those of the American girl.
A large white hat at the side of which
curved a long white plume, was set back
on her enormous head. The swaying of
her body as she walked staggered him
with its audacity. Could it be some
necessary adjunct to her bewildering cos-
tume?
The little Japanese came into the shop
and quickly settled herself in a chair.
She looked about her with discontented
eyes ; very much as a stranger, out of con-
genial environment, might have done.
Her husband shambled before her,
mystified and sad.
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