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Overland Monthly 







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Accomplished Gentlemen 206 

Alvarado, Juan Bautista, Governor of California. . Theodore H. Hitte.ll 338, 459 

Anti-Chinese Riot, The Wyoming A. A. Sargent 507 

" Anti-Chinese Riot, The Wyoming." Another 

View J. 573 

August in the Sierras Paul Meredith 170 

Battles of Lookout Mountain and Missionary 

Ridge, The J. W. A. Wright 138 

Bent of International Intercourse, The J. D. Phelan 162 

Bonaparte, Napoleon, Youth and Education of Warren Olney 402 

Book Reviews : 

Adams's (Oscar Fay) Brief Handbook of American Authors; Brief Handbook of English Au- 
thors, 666. Adams, Samuel (James K. Hosmer, "American Statesmen "), 221. Afghanis- 
tan and the Anglo-Russian Dispute, 209. Aldrich's (Thomas Bailey) Poems, 439. American 
Commonwealths: Cooley's Michigan; Shaler's Kentucky. 664; Spring's Kansas, 665. Amer- 
ican Statesmen: John Marshall (Magruder), 112; Samuel Adams (Hosmer), 221. Androme- 
da (George Fleming), 55~'. Anecdotes Nouvelles, 224. Annual Index to Periodicals (Q. P. 
Index), 112. Anstey's (F.) The Tinted Venus, 328. Art and the Formation of Taste, 560. 
As It Was Written (Sidney Luska), 551. Aulnay Tower (Miss Howard), 323. 

Balzac's Pere Goriot, 554. Bar Sinister, The, 553. Beers's (Professor Henry A.) Prose Writ- 
ings of N. P. Willis, 224. Besaut's (Walter) Uncle Jack and Other Stories, 328. Biglow 
Papers, The (Lowell), 560. Birds in the Bush (Torrey). 336. Brief Handbook of American 
Authors; Brief Handbook of English Authors (Oscar Fay Adams), 666. Bureau of Educa- 
tion, Reports of, 101, 215. Burrouglis's (John) Wake-Robin, 11^. By Shore and Sedge 
(Bret Harte), 327. By- Ways of Nature and Life (Clarence Deming), 560. 

Camp-Fire, Memorial Day, and Other Poems (Kate Brownlee Sherwood), 438. Cattle-rais- 
ing on the Plains of North America, 665. Children's Books, 662. Chinese Gordon, the Un- 
crowned King, 112. Cleveland's (Miss Rose E.) George Eliot's Poetry and Other Studies, 
334. Color Studies (Thomas A. Janvier), 551. Coming Struggle for India, The (Vambery), 
558. Cooke's (J. Esten) The Maurice Mystei-y, 549. Cooley's (Professor) Michigan, 664. 
Cooperative Commonwealth, The (Lawrence Groulund), 430. Cooperative Index to Period- 
icals, 112. Coues's (Professor Elliott) Key to American Birds, 110. Craddock's (Charles 
Egbert) Down the Ravine, 327; The Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains, 553. Craw- 
ford's (F.Marion) Zoroaster, 323. Criss-Cross (Grace Denio Litchfield), 552. 

Defective and Corrupt Legislation, 546. Directory of Writers for the Literary Press in the 
United States, 112. Discriminate, 222. Down the Ravine, (Charles Egbert Craddock), 327. 
Due South, 559. 

Educational Reports, 101, 215. Elegy for Grant, An, 436. Ely's (Professor Richard T. ) Recent 
American Socialism, 429. Endura, 549. 

Fall of the Great Republic, The, 432. Fiction, Recent, 323, 547. Fish and Men in the Maine 
Islands (W. H. Bishop), 447. Fleming's (George) Andromeda, 552. For a Woman (Nora 
Perry), 551. Forbes's( Archibald) Souvenirs of Some Continents, 447. Frolicsome Girls, 560. 

George Eliot's Poetry and Other Studies (Miss Cleveland), 334. German Simplified (Knoflach), 
223, 666. Glenaveril (Earl of Lytton, " Owen Meredith"), 439. 

Halevy's Un Mariage d'Amour, 112. Harte's By Shore and Sedge, 327; Maruja, 550. Haw- 
thorne's (Julian) Love or a Name, 551. Hawthorne's (Nathaniel) The* Scarlet Letter, 554. 
Historic Boys (E. S. Brooks), 663. Holiday Books, 661. Holmes's The Last Leaf, 661. 
Hosmer's (James K.) Samuel Adams, 221. Houp La (John Strange Winter), 549. Howard's 
(Blanche Willis) Aulney Tower, 323. Howells's (W. D.) Venetian Life, 112; Rise of Silas 
Lapham, 553. How Should I Pronounce ? (Phyfe), 222. Hunter's Handbook, The, 666. 

Idylles (Henry Greville), 666. Ingelow's (Jean) Poems of the Old Days and the New, 440. 
Italy, 1815-1878 ^Probyn), 110. 

John Marshall (Allan Magruder), 112. Journals of General Gordon at Kartoum, 335. Joyous 
Story of Toto, The, 663. 

Kamehameha (C. M. Newell), 323. Kansas (L.W. Spring, American Commonwealths), 665. 
Kentucky (N. S. Shaler, American Commonwealths), 664. Key to North American Birds, 
(Professor Coues), 110. Kindergarten Chimes (Kate Douglas Wiggin), 224. 

Last Leaf, The (O. W. Holmes), 661. Le Monde ou Ton s'Enniue (Pailleron), 666. Lenape 
Stone, The, 111. Lilith (Ada Langworthy Collier), 438. Litchneld's (Grace Denio) Criss- 
Cross, 552. Little Country Girl, A (Susan Coolidge), 663. Lone Star Bopeep, A, and Other 
Stories (Howard Seely). 551. Love or a Name (Julian Hawthorne), 550. Lowell's Biglow 
Papers, 560. Luck of the Darrells, The (James Payn), 549. Lytton's Glenaveril, 439. -Lus- 
ka's As It Was Written, 551. 

Mahdi, The. 560. Man's Birthright, 434. Magruder's (Allan) John Marshall, 112. Maruja 
(Bret Harte), 550. Marvels of Animal Life, The, 663. Marvin's The Russians at the Gates 
of Herat, 209. Maurice Mystery, The (J. Esten Cooke), 549. Michel Angelo Buonarotti, 
560. Michigan (T. M.) Cooley, American Commonwealths, 664 Morals of Christ, The, 666. 

National Academy Notes and Catalogue, 112. Nature and Re dity of Religion, The (Spencer 
and Harrison), 448. Nemesis, A, 329. New England Conscience, A, 329. Newton's (R. 
Heber) Philistinism, 559. Nimrod in the North (Frederick Schwatka), 661. 



Old Factory, The (William Westall), 548. Old Maid's Paradise, An (Miss Phelps), 327. Our 
Penal Machinery and Its Victims, 545. 

Parson o'Dumford, The, 547. Patroclus and Penelope (Theodore Ayrault Dodge), 111. Pep- 
pino, 223 Pere Goriot (Honor6 de Balzac), 554. Perry's (Nora) For a Woman, 551. Phelps - s 
(Elizabeth Stuart) An Old Maid's Paradise, 327. Philistinism (R. Heber Newton), 559. Phi- 
losophy of Art in America, The, 560. Philosophy of Disenchantment, The, 336. Philoso- 
phy of a Future State, The, 223. Pliny for Boys and Girls, 662. Poems of Nature ( J. G. 
Whittier), 661. Poems of the Old Days and The New (Jean Ingelow), 440. Poems of Thom- 
as Bailey Aldrich, The, 439. Poetry, Recent, 436. Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains, 
The (Charles Egbert Craddock), 553. Prose Writings of N. P. Willis, 224. Public Relief 
and Private Charity (Josephine Shaw Lowell), 543. 

Reading Club, The, 560. Readings from Macaulay, 560. Readings from Ruskin, 560. Recent 
American Socialism (Professor Ely), 429. Recent Fiction, 323, 547. Recent Poetry, 436. 
Recent Sociological Discussion, 429, 542. Reports of the Bureau of Education. 101, 215. 
Rise of Silas Lapham, The (W. D. Howells), 553. Rudder Grange (Frank Stockton), 662. 
Russians at the Gates of Herat, The (Charies Marvin), 209. Russian Revolt, The, 209. Rus- 
sia Under the Czars (Stepniak), 209. 

Samuel Adams (James K. Hosmer), 221. Satinwood Box, The (J. T. Trowbridge), 663. Saxe 
Holm Stories, The, 554. Scarlet Letter, The, 554. Schwatka's Nimrod in the North, 661. 
She's All the World to Me, 329. Social Experiment, A (A. E. P. Searing), 550. Social Sil- 
houettes (Edgar Fawcett), 666. Sociological Discussions, Recent, 429, 542 Souvenirs of 
Some Continents (Archibald Forbes), 447. Spencer's (Herbert) and Harrison's Nature and 
Reality of Religion, 448. Spring's (Professor Leverett) Kansas, 665. Stepniak's Russia Un- 
der the Czars, 209. St. Nicholas Songs, 664. Stockton's (Frank) Rudder Grange, 662. 
Stowe's (Mrs.) Uncle Tom's Cabin, 554. Struck Down, 548. Sweet Mace, 547. 

Talks Afield (L. H. Bailey, Jr.), 447. Tinted Venus, The (F. Anstey), 328. Torrey's (Brad- 
ford) Birds in the Bush, 336 Travels of Marco Polo (Thomas W. Knox), 663. 

TJncle Jack and Other Stories (Walter Besant), 328. Uncle Tom's Cabin, 554. Un Mariage 
d' Amour (LudovicHale'vy), 112. 

Vagrant Wife, A (Florence Warden), 548. Vain Forebodings, 328. Venetian Life (W. D. 
Howells), 112. 

Waters of Hercules, The, 328. Whittier's Poems of Nature, 661. Willis, N. P., Prose Writ- 
ings of, 224. Wit of Women, The (Kate Sanborn), 662. World of London, The (Vasili), 447. 
Zoroaster (F. Marion Crawford), 323. 

Brave Life, A M.H.F 360 

Brindle and Others D. S. Richardson 378 

Building of a State, The 

VII. The College of California S. H. Willey 26 

VIII. Early Days of the Protestant Episcopal 

Church in California Edgar J. Lion 203 

Bureau of Education, Reports of . . 101, 215 

Byways and Bygones Sarah D. Halsted 285 

Celestial Tragedy, A C. E. B 577 

College of California, The S. H. Willey 26 

Cruise of the Panda, The J. S. Bacon 527 

Debris from Latin Mines Adley H. Cummins 48 

Doctor of Leidesdorff Street, The C. E. B 258 

Early Days of the Protestant Episcopal Church in 

California Edgar J. Lion 203 

Early Horticulture in California Charles Howard Shinn 117 

Egypt, Modern Franklina Gray Bartlelt 276 


Editorial : 

Desirable Data as to High School Graduates. The Case of One Class. Statistics of Univer- 
sity Graduates. Death of Henry B. Norton 104 

The Eminence of General Grant in Public Esteem. Military Glory. The Relation of Gen- 
eral Grant to the People. The Good and Evil of Travel 219 

The Endowment of Newspapers." The College of the American People." The Difficulty of 

Regulating It. The Endowment Plan. Mrs. Jackson's Literary Remains 329 

The Chinese Massacres. Probable Character of the Aggressors. Lines of Class, as against 

Lines of Race 442 

The Appointment of a President to the State University. The Presbyterian Plan for a De- 
nominational College 555 

Recent Events of Interest. First Thoughts on the Stanford Gift. Expulsion of Chinese in 

Washington Territory and California. Comment on a Contributor's View 659 

Contributed : 

Bibliography of John Muir E. A. Avery 445 

Gold and Silver F. 0. Layman , . . . .331 

Good Advice '. 323 

Grave Subjects g ..108 

Literary Training G .'.'.'. ... .107 

New Goethe Papers Albin Putzker .... '. !'.443 

Contents. v 

Poetry : 

After an Old Master Francis E. Sheldon 331 

After Many Years H. C. G 106 

August H. C 221 

Forget Me Not Albert S.Cook 660 

Golden Thread, The Amelia Woodward Truesdell 558 

Idleness 109 

In the Moonlight Wilbur Larremore 444 

That Little Baby that's Dead Flora De Wolfe 220 

Tecumseh not Killed by Colonel Johnson. . .L. P. McCarthy 557 

Type of Philistinism, A C. S. G , 444 

W ith Gloves G. A . M 557 

Women and Politics in Paris L.H.T 556 

Federal Constitution, Thoughts towards Revising 

the C. T. Hopkins 388 

Fiction, Kecent 323, 547 

Fine Art in Romantic Literature Albert S. Cook 52 

Four Bohemians in Saddle Stoner Brooke 91 

Free Public Libraries 424 

From the Nass to the Skeena George Chismore 450 

General Grant, Reminiscences of: 

Grant and the Pacific Coast A.M. Loryea 19? 

Grant and the War Warren Olney 199 

Great Lama Temple, Peking, The C. F. Gordon-Gumming 383 

Hawaiian Volcanism Edward P. Baker '.602 

Helen Hunt Jackson, Mrs., Last Days of Flora Haines Apponyi 310 

Hermit of Sawmill Mountain, The Sol Sheridan 152 

"H. H.," The Verse and Prose of M. W. Shinn 315 

Hilo Plantation, A E. C. S 186 

How the Blockade was Run J. W. A. Wright 247 

Impossible Coincidence, An 66 

"I'm Tom's Sister." William S. Hutchinson 512 

Indian Question, A Suggestion on the E. L. Hnggins 569 

In the Summer House Harriet D. Palmer 129 

Is Modern Science Pantheistic George H. Howison 646 

John McCullough 566 

Juan Bautista Alvarado, Governor of California. . Theodore H. Hittell 338, 459 

La Santa Indita Louise Palmer Heaven 114 

Last Days of Mrs. Helen Hunt Jackson Flora Haines Apponyi 310 

Legend of the Two Roses, The Fannie Williams McLean 516 

Libraries, Free Public 424 

Lick Observatory, The Edward S. Holden 561 

Metric System, The John Le Conte 174 

Midsummer Night's Waking, A H. Shewin 96 

Mills College, The New Katharine B. Fisher 537 

Modern Egypt Franklina Gray Bartlett 276 

Musical Taste Richard J. Wilmot 281 

My First Wedding G. M. Upton 353 

Napoleon Bonaparte, Youth and Education of. ... Warren Olney , 402 

Nass, From the, to the Skeena George Chismore 449 

New Mills College, The Katharine B. Fisher 537 

Plea before Judge Lynch, A W. S. H , 252 

Poetry, Recenjb 436 

Problem of Love, A Charles A. Murdock 612 

Protestant Episcopal Church in California, Early 
Days of Edgar J. Lion 203 

Rancheria Affair, The 398 

Recent Fiction 323 > 547 

Recent Poetry ^ 

vi Contents. 

Recent Sociological Discussions -429, 542 

Reminiscences of General Grant: 

Grant and the Pacific Coast A. M. Loryea 197 

Grant and the War Warren Olney 199 

Reports of the Bureau of Education 101, 215 

Revising the Federal Constitution, Thoughts 

towards. C. T. Hopkins 388 

Riparian Rights from Another Standpoint John H. Durst 10 

Rough Notes of a Yosemite Camping Trip Joseph Le Conte 414, 493, 624 

Roses in California I- C. Winton 191 

Russians at Home and Abroad, The S. B. W 209 

San Francisco Iron Strike, The Iron Worker 39 

Shttsta Lilies Charles Howard Shinn 638 

Skeena From the Nass to the. George Chismore 449 

Sociological Discussions, Recent 429, 542 

Squatter Riot of '50 in Sacramento, The Josiah Rnyce 225 

Suggestion on the Indian Question, A E. L. Hue/gins 5(59 

Terrible Experience, A Bun Le Roy 16 

Thirty-Fifth and Thirty-Sixth Congresses, The S. S. Cox 290 

Thoughts towards Revising the Federal Constitu- 
tion C. T. Hopkins 388 

Transportation Aristocrat, A Emelie Tracy Y. Swett 368 

Travels in South America Louis Deyener 588 

Verse and Prose of " H. H.," The M. W. Shinn 315 

Victor Hugo . F. V. Paget 81 

Volcanism, Hawaiian Edward P. Baker 602 

Was it a Forgery ? Andrew McFarland Davis 1 

Wedding among the Communistic Jews in Ore- 
gon, A 606 

Wyoming Anti-Chinese Riot, The A. A. Sargent 507 

"Wyoming Anti-Chinese Riot, The" Another 

View J 573 

Yosemite Camping Trip, Rough Notes of a Joseph Le Conte 414, 493, 624 

You Bet Henry DeGroot 305 

Youth and Education of Napoleon Bonaparte, The. Warren Olney 402 

Zegarra: A Tale of the Scotch Occupation of Da- 
rien George Dudley Lawson 485 


Ashes of Roses Charles S. Greene 536 

Blue Eyes and Black Eyes E. L. Hug gins 412 

El Mahdi Thomas S. Collier 246 

For a Preface Francis E. Sheldon 169 

Force E. R. Sill 113 

Faliillment E. R. Sill 484 

Helen Hunt Jackson (" H. H.") Ina D. Coolbrith 309 

Life and Death I. H. 15 

O, Eager Heart Marcia D. Crane 185 

On the Desert Sylvia Lawson Corey 623 

Picture of Bacchus and Ariadne, The Laura M. Marquand 202 

Ruskiu Charles S. Greene 257 

Sehnsucht M. F. Rowntree 359 

Song E: C. Sanford 601 

Successful Rival, The M. W. Shinn 458 

That Second Mate George Chismore 303 

Their Days of Waiting are So Long Wilbur Larrtmore 95 

Two Sonnets: Summer Night; Warning 48 

Violets and Daffodils Charles S. Greene 576 

Willow Tree, The Wilbur Larremore. . . 506 





VOL. VI. (SECOND SERIES.) JULY, 1885. No. 31. 


To reproduce in fiction, in such vivid form 
as to deceive the reading public, scenes pur- 
porting to be from actual life, requires a fac- 
ulty for accurate description accompanied by 
an acute memory for details. When we con- 
sider the enormous volume to which the lit- 
erature of fiction has grown, the great talents 
which have been devoted to writing novels 
and stories, and the careful study which 
many writers have applied to their work, we 
must regard it to their credit, that so few 
have been tempted to test the credulity of 
their readers by passing off the coinage of 
their brains as truth. There are, however, 
occasional instances where men have written 
stories whose object was to deceive. This has 
been done by them for the amusement of 
hoaxing the public or for the purpose of gain. 
One notable case there is of a writer, who, 
to his astonishment, found that what he had 
intended to pass for a story with a moral, 
had been so well told that it was accepted 
by many as the truth. 

De Foe's " Apparition of Mrs. Veal at 
Canterbury," is said to have been written 
with intent to aid the flagging sale of the 
work on " Death," then recently published 
by his friend Drelincourt. It is a conspicu- 
ous instance of success on the part of a writer 

celebrated for the verisimilitude of his style. 
The allegedvoyage of Admiral Fonte was orig- 
inally published anonymously in a London 
periodical called " Memoirs for the Curious." 
The author of the story could hardly have 
expected to deceive the cartographers of 
the day, otherwise he would have spared 
his readers many of the absurdities with 
which the tale is overloaded. Nevertheless, 
for many years after its publication, no dis- 
cussion of the probable existence of the 
northwest passage would have been consid- 
ered complete, which did not allude to the 
story of Fonte's voyage, and this, too, not- 
withstanding the exposure of its preposterous 
character by many intelligent reviewers. It 
was, indeed, gravely cited by Onis, the Span- 
ish Ambassador to this country, in one of 
his arguments concerning the Louisiana 
boundary question. Crude as Locke's 
" Moon Hoax " seems to us today, it found 
a reading public ready to believe it, and 
easily shouldered out of its way the more ar- 
tistic attempt in the same line which Poe 
was then publishing elsewhere. The stren- 
uous assertions of Mr. Hale, that his "Man 
Without a Country " had no foundation in 
fact will, perhaps, never be believed by sev- 
eral people who have deluded themselves 

VOL. VI. i. 

(Copyright, 1885, by OVERLAND MONTHLY Co, All Rights Reserved.) 

Was it a Forgery ? 


with the idea that they had met the hero of 
the story. 

These examples furnish types of remarka- 
ble successes in this line of literature, which 
include the wilful, the humorous, and the 
unintentional hoax. What follows is a digest 
of a paper read before the American Anti- 
quarian Society. If its conclusions are ac- 
cepted, it will consign to the same general 
classification the remarkable story told by 
Le Page du Pratz, in his " Histoire de_la 
Louisiane," on the authority of a Yazoo In- 
dian, who claimed to have made a journey 
across our continent about 1700 A. D., and 
to have met on the Pacific Coast bearded 
white men, whose clothing and general ap- 
pearance would readily enable us to identify 
them with the Orientals. 

The simple narrative of the Indian rivals 
the best work of De Foe in its quaint air of 
truthfulness. It was republished in the " Re- 
vue d'Anthropologie," in 1 88 1, by M. de Quat- 
refages, who there demonstrated to his own 
satisfaction that the journey was actually ac- 
complished, and that the bearded white men 
must have come from Lieou-Tchou, or the 
eastern isles of Japan. Whether true or 
false, the story is interesting. On the one 
hand, ethnologists the world over are con- 
cerned in its details, which would go far to- 
wards settling the origin of the tribes of 
North America. On the other, there is add- 
ed to the curious literature of hoaxes a char- 
acteristic story, amplified and enlarged for 
purposes of deception, whose details fail to 
reveal their origin in the imagination of the 
writer, except under the closest inspection 
and with the resources of a large library at 
hand for purposes of comparison and analy- 

The story is so little known that M. de 
Quatrefages congratulates himself on being 
the first, as he supposes, to call attention to 
its ethnological value, and it is of sufficient 
intrinsic merit to rivet the attention of the 
reader, if he be endowed with but a moder- 
ate amount of interest in historical subjects. 
To determine whether we shall exalt this tale 
to the position assigned it by the French an- 
thropologist, or classify it with De Foe's 

" Mrs. Veal " and Locke's " Moon Hoax," 
we must first know something of the histo- 
rian and his surroundings, and then subject 
the story itself to a critical examination. 

In the autumn of 1718, the " Company of 
the West " forwarded to America a party of 
eight hundred emigrants, among whom was 
M. Le Page du Pratz. The future author of 
the "Histoire de la Louisiane" settled first at 
New Orleans, but very soon joined a party 
which was about to start a new village at 
Natchez. He remained on the farm which 
he then acquired eight out of the sixteen years 
that he was in this country. We gather from 
his book that he had previously served in 
the army in Germany, and that he had re- 
ceived a fair education. He tells us that he 
picked up the language of the natives, and 
he records a variety of speculations concern- 
ing their origin, the mysteries of their relig- 
ion, and the laws regulating the hereditary 
succession of their chiefs, which indicate a 
close observer and an active mind. 

The origin of the Indian tribes was to him 
a mystery of special interest. Thinking 
that some clue to their migrations might be 
discovered in the oral traditions of the tribes, 
he lost no opportunity to talk with their old 
men, whose minds were stored with stories 
handed down to them from their ancestors. 
The zeal with which he pursued his investi- 
gations is impressed upon us as we read his 
work, and we are irresistibly led to compare 
the fervor of the secluded ethnologist upon 
his farm in the wilderness with the self-sac- 
rificing spirit of Lieutenant Gushing in our 
time, who is following precisely the same 
slender thread of research in the Pueblo of 
the Zunis. In 1758 he published his history, 
and, in addition to the personal experiences 
and observations there recorded, he has 
treasured up for posterity in this work much 
that he garnered from these conversations. 
He tells us that he was particularly perplexed 
about the origin of certain of the red-men 
who were found by the Natchez living on 
both sides of the Mississippi River, " for they 
had not, like the Natchez, preserved their 
traditions, nor had they arts and sciences 
like the Mexicans, from which one can draw 


Was it a Forgery ? 


inductions." It is not difficult to imagine the 
pleasure with which this solitary enthusiast, 
pursuing his researches day by day among 
his red-skinned neighbors, learned that among 
the Yazoos, one of the tribes whose history 
was such an enigma to him, there was a kin- 
dred spirit an old man who was himself 
imbued with a love of research, and who, 
like Le Page, lost no opportunity of gather- 
ing information upon these subjects; who 
had given up seven or eight years of the 
prime of life to perilous travel in the pursuit 
of knowledge upon these points, and who, 
in his mellow old age, would be glad to sit 
and chat with his fellow scientist upon the 
subject in which they were both interested. 
The very name of the old man, " Moncacht- 
Ape," "One who destroys obstacles and 
overcomes fatigue," was a testimonial to 
the respect in which his travels caused him 
to be held by his friends ; while the name by 
which he was known among the French 
" The Interpreter," was in turn a tribute to 
his extensive knowledge of Indian tongues, 
acquired during his wanderings. 

The Yazoo district was distant from the 
residence of Le Page about forty leagues. 
It was inevitable that the sympathy of these 
two men should bring them together. If 
Moncacht-Ape had not come to Le Page, 
Le Page must have gone to Moncacht-Ape. 
Here were all the elements to render the story 
immortal a good story-teller and an in- 
terested listener; a history of personal ad- 
venture to be repeated to an auditor whose 
heart sympathized with the motive for the 
journey, whose hand cheerfully responded 
to the task of recording what he heard, and 
whose clear, lucid style preserved in transla- 
tion the truthful simplicity of the Indian's 

We can understand the delight of Le Page 
at a visit paid him by this native of the Ya- 
zoo nation, and we can appreciate his satis- 
faction at the evident pleasure afforded the 
Indian by the request for " an account of his 
travels, omitting nothing." 

Seated in the rude cabin of this pioneer of 
the Mississippi valley, the native began his 
story. Its opening sentence furnishes the 

key to the interest which has led to the pres- 
ervation of the recqrd : " I had lost," he 
said, " my wife, and the children that I had 
by her were dead before her, when I under- 
took my trip to the country where the sun 
rises. I left my village, notwithstanding all 
my relations. It was my plan to take coun- 
sel with the Chicasaws, our friends and neigh- 
bors. I remained there some days to find 
out if they knew whence we all came, or, 
at least, if they knew whence they themselves 
came they, who are our ancestors, since it 
is through them that the language of the 
people comes ; but they could tell me noth- 
ing new. For this reason I resolved to visit 
the people in the country where the sun 
rises, and to find if their old language was 
the same." 

It was thus that he announced the mission 
in pursuance of which he plunged alone into 
the depths of the mighty forest which then 
covered all that portion of the country, and 
entered upon the solitary pilgrimage in search 
of knowledge of his ancestors which led him 
first to the shores of the Atlantic, and then, 
after a brief rest, to that far-distant region, 
the northwestern coast of America, which 
was the bane of the geographer and the hope 
of the explorer of that day. 

We can easily identify the course that he 
took upon his eastern trip. His astonish- 
ment at the tides of the Bay of Fundy and 
his wonder at the Falls of Niagara betray 
themselves in expressions so delicious in 
their simplicity that they amount almost to 
arguments in favor of the story. The lone- 
liness of the western country at that time is 
brought vividly before our eyes, as we read 
that he floated down the Ohio River in his 
dug-out without meeting any man on the 

The only result of this expedition was that 
Moncacht-Ape had learned that he must 
turn his steps westward if he would pursue 
his investigations. " His failure," says Le 
Page du Pratz, "far from extinguishing the 
desire that he had to learn, only excited him 
the more. Determined to dispel the shades 
with which he perceived that he was sur- 
rounded, he persisted in the design of dis- 

Was it a Forgery ? 


covering the origin of his people ; a design 
which demanded as much spirit as courage, 
and which would never have entered the 
brain of an ordinary man. He determined 
then to go from nation to nation until he 
should find himself in the country from 
which his ancestors migrated, being persuad- 
ed that he could then learn many things 
forgotten by them in their travels. 

His preparations being made, he started 
upon his journey up the Mississippi valley. 
He crossed the Ohio on a raft of canes at a 
point high enough above its mouth to pre- 
vent his being swept by the current into the 
Mississippi, and began his journey upon the 
prairies. Crossing the lower part of what we 
now know as the State of Illinois, he pre- 
pared to cross the great river, so as to land 
to the north of the mouth of the Missouri, 
using the same means and taking the same 
precautions that he did when he crossed the 
Ohio. His graphic description of the min- 
gling of the waters of the Missouri and the 
Mississippi is another of the startling land- 
marks which we reach from time to time in 
this story, which bear witness to the fact 
that the speaker had seen what he talked 

For several days after this he ascended 
the north bank of the Missouri until he 
reached the Missouri Nation, with whom he 
remained during the winter, and thus learned 
their language. He was much impressed 
with the enormous herds of buffaloes which 
thronged the prairies, and speaks of the diet 
of the Missouris as being almost exclusively 
meat. The winter being over, he renewed 
his journey up the Missouri till he came to a 
tribe called by Le Page the Canzes, but 
which the Indian speaks of as the Nation of 
the West. From them he learned somewhat 
of the difficulties of the journey which was 
still before him, and he heard for the first 
time of the head-waters of another river 
near those of the Missouri, but flowing from 
east to west. He was advised to leave the 
Missouri after traveling up its course for 
about a month, and to strike across to the 
northward to the headwaters of this other 
river, which he could thus reach in about 

seven days' journey. He was informed that 
he wouid find upon the banks of this river a 
tribe, called the "Otters," who would re- 
ceive him kindly, and from them he could 
learn what was necessary for him to do in 
order to further pursue his explorations. So 
far as the journey in the river was concerned, 
he could descend it in a dug-out, traveling 
great distances without fatigue. 

Following the instructions of his friends, 
he ascended the Missouri for one moon, but 
he hesitated to strike across the country to 
the . northward at the proper point, for he 
was among the mountains, and feared that 
he might become footsore in crossing the 
rocky passes. The time, however, had come 
when he must make up his mind whether to 
take the course which had been advised, or 
abandon it altogether ; and he had arrived 
at the conclusion that he must act the next 
day, when by a lucky chance, he saw smoke 
ascending from a distant camp-fire. Sus- 
pecting that the party could only be hunters 
from the tribe of which he was in search, he 
took advantage of the remaining daylight to 
guide himself by this smoke to the camp. 
He was kindly received, notwithstanding the 
surprise which his appearance occasioned, 
and the fact that communication could be 
interchanged only by signs. In thus meet- 
ing these hunters at this critical moment he 
was very fortunate, for when, in the course 
of a few days, he, with a portion of the par- 
ty, proceeded towards their home, instead 
of striking at once across the country to the 
northward, as he was about to do, they as- 
cended the Missouri for nine short days' 
journey farther, and then traveled five days 
to the northward before reaching a river with 
clear, beautiful water, flowing to the west, 
which they called "la belle Riviere." 

Down the banks of this stream they trav- 
eled, until they reached the spot where the 
boats of the party had been concealed. 
Here his guide selected his own boat, and 
the party descended to their village, which 
they reached the same night. After a brief 
stay, he started from this place in company 
with a party who were bound down the river 
on a visit of ceremony, to smoke the pipe of 


Was it a Forgery ? 

peace with a tribe, who, he says, were broth- 
ers of those whom he was about to quit, and 
spoke the same language with some slight 
changes. For eighteen days this expedition 
floated down the river, putting on shore from 
time to time to hunt. The contrast between 
this easy method of traveling, and his weari- 
some ascent of the Missouri was so great 
that it fired the enthusiasm of our pilgrim, 
and he was for pushing on. from this he was 
dissuaded by his friends, who advised him to 
learn the language used by the tribes farther 
west before doing so. He had apparently 
reached a point in his journey where all the 
tribes that he might be expected to encoun- 
ter were supposed to speak different dialects 
of the same language. 

He lingered awhile, but before warm 
weather was entirely over, he was off again, 
this time alone in a dug-out. Equipped 
simply with what was essential for traveling, 
including some sort of a substitute for maize 
in his diet, he pathetically observed, " Noth- 
ing would have been wanting if I had had 
some Indian corn." He was surprised to 
find that maize was not cultivated in this re- 
gion, although the soil seemed to him to be 
good. Floating down the river at his ease, 
he came to a tribe where short hair was 
looked upon as a badge of servitude. In 
consequence of the shortness of his own 
hair, a tart colloquy ensued on the bank of 
the river between himself and the chief of 
the tribe. Finally he landed, and was cor- 
dially received by the father of the chief, a 
very old man, to whom he had been com- 
mended by an old man among his friends, 
the " Otters." " Learning," he says, " from 
what parts I had come, he received me as if 
I were his son, took me into his cabin, and 
had all that was in my dug-out brought there. 
The next day he taught me those things 
that I wished to know, and assured me that 
all the nations on the shores of the Great- 
Water would receive me well on telling them 
that I was the friend of Big Roebuck. I re- 
mained there only two days, during which 
time he caused to be made some gruel from 
certain small grains smaller than French 
peas which are very good, which pleased 

me all the more, because for so long a time 
I had eaten only meat." 

From this point to the coast he appears to 
have made the descent of the Columbia 
alone. He does not enumerate the tribes 
through which he passed, but simply says he 
did not stop more than one day with each 
of them. The last of these nations he found 
at the distance of one day's journey from the 
ocean, and also at a distance of about a 
league from the river. " They remain," he 
says, " in the woods, to conceal themselves, 
as they say, from the bearded men. I was 
received in this nation as if I had arrived in 
my family, and while there I had good cheer 
of all sorts; for they have in this country 
an abundance of the grain of which Big 
Roebuck had made me a gruel, and although 
it springs up without being sowed, it is bet- 
ter than any other grain that I have eaten. 
There are some large bluebirds which come 
to feed upon this grain, which they kill, 
because they are good. These people have 
also meat from the water. It is an animal 
which comes ashore to eat grass. It has a 
head shaped like a young buffalo, but not of 
the same color. They eat also many fish 
from the Great- Water, which are larger and 
much better than our large brills, as well as 
a large variety of shell-fish, some of which 
are very beautiful. 

"Although they live well in this country, 
it is necessary to be on the watch against 
the bearded men, who do all they can to 
carry away the young people, but have never 
captured any of the men, although they could 
have done so. They told me that these men 
were white, that they had long, black beards, 
which fell upon their breasts, that they were 
short and thick of stature, and covered their 
heads, which were large, with cloth ; that 
they always wore clothing, even in the hot- 
test weather ; that their coats fall to the mid- 
. die of their legs, which, as well as their feet, 
were covered with red or yellow cloth. For 
the rest, they did not know of what their cloth- 
ing was made, because they had never been 
able to kill one, their arms making a great 
noise and a great fire. Nevertheless, they 
retire when they see more red men than their 


Was it a Forgery? 


own number, and then go aboard their vessel, 
where they number sometimes thirty, never 

The story of these Indians was that the 
mysterious bearded men came from the west 
each year, in the spring time, in search of a 
certain wood valuable as dyewood, which 
they described as being yellow and as having 
a disagreeable smell. In order to relieve 
themselves from the fear of losing some of 
their young people by capture on the occa- 
sion of these annual visits, this tribe followed 
the advice of one of their old men, and 
killed off all the specimens of this tree near 
the river, leaving for their own use only scat- 
tered trees in the interior. This had the 
desired effect, so far as visits to the lands of 
this particular tribe was concerned; but 
some of their neighbors could not imitate 
their action, because the yellow wood was 
the only wood that they had, and the bearded 
men transferred their visits to that part of the 
coast. These others had apparently, in turn, 
endured this periodical fear for the safety of 
their young people until the burden was too 
great for their patience, and the arrival of 
Moncacht-Ape' at the time when the annual 
visit of the bearded men was impending, 
found the several tribes of this part of the 
coast prepared for a formidable rendezvous 
at the customary landing-place of the vessel. 
They hoped through their great superiority 
of numbers to destroy the expedition, so 
that others would be frightened and prevent- 
ed from coming. The presence among 
them at such a time of a man who had seen 
fire-arms and who had met white men was 
especially gratifying to them, and they urged 
him to accompany them, adding that their 
expedition lay in the same direction that he 
must go. Even while thus joining his friends 
on the war-path, this remarkable savage 
frankly admits that he was influenced by his 
thirst for knowledge. 

" I replied that my heart found that it was 
good that I should go with them. In that 
I had a desire that I wished to satisfy. I 
was anxious to see these bearded men who 
could not resemble the French, the English, 
nor the Spaniards that I had seen, all of 

whom trim their beards and wear different 
clothes. My cheerful assent created much 
pleasure among these people, who thought 
with reason that a man who had seen whites 
and many nations ought to have more in- 
telligence than those who had never left their 
homes and had only seen red men." 

The place of rendezvous was to the north- 
ward five days' journey, and here the Indians 
assembled at the appointed time. They 
waited seventeen days for the bearded men 
before there were signs of their arrival, when 
two vessels were seen to approach. A skill- 
ful ambuscade had been arranged under the 
advice of Moncacht-Ape, which in the event 
of their landing and dispersing as usual to 
cut wood, promised the annihilation of those 
who landed. But the white men, instead of 
landing at once, busied themselves for three 
days " in filling with fresh water vessels of 
wood similar to those in which the French 
place fire-water." It was not until the fourth 
day that they went ashore to cut wood. 
"Then," says Moncacht-Ape", "the Indians 
carried out the attack which I had advised. 
Nevertheless they killed only eleven; I 
do not know why it is that red men, who are 
so sure in shooting at game, aim so badly at 
their enemies. The rest gained their vessels 
and fled upon the Great- Water, where we fol- 
lowed them with our eyes and finally lost 
them. They were as much intimidated by 
our numbers as we were afraid of their fire- 

"We then went to examine the dead 
which remained with us. They were much 
smaller in stature than we were, and were 
very white. Their heads were large, and 
their bodies large enough for their height. 
Their hair was long only in the middle of 
the head. They did not wear hats, like you, 
but their heads were twisted around with 
cloth. Their clothes were neither woolen 
nor made of bark, but something similar to 
your old shirts, very soft and of different col- 
ors. That which covered their legs and their 
feet was of a single piece. I wished to try 
on one of their coverings, but my feet would 
not enter it. 

" All the natives assembled in this place 


Was it a Forgery ? 

divided up their garments, their beards, and 
their scalps. Of the eleven killed, two only 
had firearms and powder and balls. Al- 
though I did not know as much about fire- 
arms as I do now, still, inasmuch as I had 
seen some in Canada, I wished to try them. 
I found that they did not kill as far as yours. 
They were much heavier. The powder was 
mixed coarse, medium, and fine but the 
coarse was in greater quantity. See what I 
have observed concerning the bearded men, 
and the way in which the Indians relieved 
themselves of them. After this I thought 
only of continuing my journey." 

Joining a party of natives who lived 
further north, he traveled with them along 
the coast of the northwest to their homes, 
where he remained for several days. " I 
noticed," he says, " that the days were much 
longer than with us, and the nights very 
short. I wanted to know from them the 
reason, but they could not tell me." 

" The old men advised me that it would 
be useless to go farther. They said the coast 
still extended for a great distanqe to the 
northwest ; that then it turned short to the 
west, and finally it was cut through by the 
Great- Water from north to south." 

He found a tradition among this people 
that these straits were once dry land, and 
the Asiatic and American coasts were united. 
He had now reached a point so far north 
that his friends dissuaded him from proceed- 
ing on the ground of the harshness of the cli- 
mate, the sterility of the country, the scarc- 
ity of game, and the consequent lack of in- 
habitants. They all advised him to return 
home. This he did by the same route as that 
which he took in going, and the story of his 
return trip he condensed into a few words. 
When questioned as to the time which he 
should require to repeat the trip, he replied 
that he could go over the same ground again 
in thirty-two moons, although the original 
trip had occupied five years. 

This story, romantic as it is in tone, and 
interesting as its details are to the student in 
ethnology, has never attracted much public 
attention. It has not, however, been entire- 
ly overlooked. As early as 1765 it was sub- 

jected by Mr. Samuel Engel to a careful 
analysis, in a paper devoted to the discussion 
of certain geographical questions. He con- 
structed a chart which he published with his 
paper, on which he laid down the Indian's 
path, the course of the Missouri, and that of 
the Beautiful River, and he shows the point 
upon the coast where Moncacht-Ap^ turned 
back. The point reached by Moncacht-Ape" 
is also entered upon a chart in a supple- 
mental volume of plates of the French En- 
cyclopoedia, which was published in 1777. 
The story was translated by Mr. Andrew 
Stuart, and published in the proceedings 
of the Quebec Literary and Historical So- 
ciety, in 1829. Greenhow, whose " His- 
tory of Oregon" was the only creditable 
result of the " fifty-four forty or fight " cry, 
refers to it with a qualified approval. It is 
not surprising, however, that the attention of 
M. de Quatrefages was not attracted to either 
of these authorities, and it is not unlikely 
that other writers may also have discussed 
the credibility of the story. Mr. H. H. Ban- 
croft, in a volume of his history which has 
been issued since the publication of the pa- 
per referred to, devotes a chapter to the story 
of the Indian. 

In making our examination of the proba- 
ble truth of this story, we must bear in mind 
that Le Page du Pratz was manifestly a the- 
orist and an enthusiast. To him the roman- 
tic notion that this venerable red-skin had 
undertaken his journey for the purpose of 
hunting up a genealogical record would be 
conspicuously apparent, where the thought 
of such a motive might have been entirely 
overlooked by one not afflicted with the eth- 
nological craze. Filled with his peculiar no- 
tions, his natural tendency would be to ex- 
aggerate such portions of the tale as coincid- 
ed with his views, and to hold back other 
details which perhaps another person would 
have regarded as more important. But, how- 
ever this may be, was the journey itself a 
possibility ? Could this solitary traveler have 
penetrated a region the secrets of which were 
withheld from public knowledge until they 
were yielded to the bold attacks of Lewis 
and Clark in the year 1804? 


Was it a Forgery ? 


Cabea de Vaca with his three compan- 
ions, tossed about from tribe to tribe, half 
starved and terribly maltreated, was nine 
years in making his way across the continent, 
but he finally reached a place of safety un- 
der the Spanish flag on the Pacific slope. 
Colonel Dodge, in " Our Wild Indians," tells 
of an Indian who traveled " on foot, gener- 
ally alone, from the banks of the Mississippi 
to the mouth of the Columbia, and who af- 
terwards in repeated journeys crossed and 
recrossed, north, south, east, and west, the 
vast expanse of wilderness, until he seemed 
to know every stream and mountain of the 
whole great continent." Captain Marcy, in 
"The Prairie Traveler," tells of another, 
who " had set his traps and spread his blan- 
kets upon the head-waters of trie Missouri 
and Columbia, and his wanderings had led 
him south to the Colorado and Gila, and 
thence to the shores of the Pacific." 

Granting, then, the physical possibility of 
the trip, the question, What could Mon- 
cacht-Ape or Le Page have known about the 
Columbia River? must be answered, before 
we can estimate at its proper value the argu- 
ment based upon the coincidences of the 
narrative with subsequent discovery. What 
there was of rumor or statement about this 
region could at that time have come only 
from Indian sources. The interview between 
Le Page and the Indian must have taken 
place about 1725. The Indian was an old 
man, and the journey was a story drawn 
from his memory. If we allow that the trip 
took place about 1700, we shall not place it 
too early. We have no authentic account 
of the landing of any white man on the 
Pacific Coast north of 43 N. prior to that 
time. There were, however, among the In- 
dians in the Mississippi Valley, rumors con- 
cerning a great sea to the west, and a great 
river flowing into it, and stories about them 
were passed from mouth to mouth, treading 
closely upon facts and suggesting a founda- 
tion in actual knowledge. The various 
writers of that day record enough concerning 
the rivers flowing westerly and the sea into 
which they empty to convince one who ex- 
amines the subject that the Indians knew 

about the Columbia, and probably also about 
the Colorado rivers. There was no knowl- 
edge in detail of the character of the Pacific 
Coast or of its inhabitants ; but the rumor 
passed from mouth to mouth of the river, 
the ocean, and also of visits from foreigners 
whom the French fathers identified with the 
Chinese or Japanese. All such information 
would naturally be accepted by the contem- 
poraries and friends of Le Page as corrobor- 
ating his story ; but with us it simply tends 
to reduce the value of the argument of coin- 

During the time that Le Page du Pratz 
was in Louisiana, an officer named Dumont 
was stationed there. In 1753 he published 
a description of the country with an account 
of his life there, entitled " Memoires de la 
Louisiane." He also gives an account of 
the journey of Moncacht-Ab as he calls 
him -whom he says in the preface he knew. 
The account of the journey, however, he 
credits to a friend, who was, as we are told 
in a note, Le Page du Pratz. It is a curious 
fact that this version of the story, although 
purporting to come from the same source as 
the other, has an entirely different ending. 
In Dumont's account there is no fight with the 
bearded men, no gunpowder with its pecu- 
liar mixture of different sized grains, no jour- 
ney to the north along the coast, and no 
speculations as to Behring's Straits. Instead 
of all this, the Indian is prevented from 
reaching the coast by a hostile tribe. He 
joins a war party against them, secures a fe- 
male slave, whom he marries, wins her con- 
fidence by kindness, and from her mouth re- 
ceives the narrative of the arrival of the 
bearded men, the vessels with masts and 
sails, the boat that goes and comes between 
the larger vessel and the shore, and the tak- 
ing in of water and yellow dyewoods, all told 
with the same air of truthfulness and sim- 
plicity which gives so much weight to the 
Other version. " They were five days," said 
she, " taking in wood and water, after which 
they all returned into the large vessel, with- 
out our being able to understand how they 
could raise the smaller vessel into the large 
one, because we were so far off. After that, 


Was it a Forgery ? 


having caused the thing which was hung high 
up on the great vessel to inflate, they were 
borne far off, and disappeared from sight as 
if they had entered the water." 

Which of the -two men is responsible for 
the difference in the endings of the two ver- 
sions of the story? The two books were 
published about the same time Dumont's 
in 1753, Le Page'sin 1758. Prior, however, 
to this date, Le Page had published in the 
" Journal CEconomique " what he terms an 
abridgment of his history. Dumont, in his 
" Memoires," accuses Le Page of borrowing 
his manuscript and of appropriating his work; 
and while repeatedly speaking of him as his 
friend, charges him with inaccuracies, blun- 
ders, and falsehood. The credulity of the 
reader of the " Memoires " is taxed by the 
author's assertion that he saw a rattlesnake 
twenty-two feet in length, and a frog that 
weighed thirty-two pounds. On the other 
hand, Le Page's volumes are free from all 
exaggeration of statement, are void of per- 
sonalities, and except for certain speculations 
on the origin of the native races and their 
religion, which betray a fondness on his part 
for theories of his own, seem perfectly 
reliable. Were it not for the fact that Le 
Page must have been in France at the time 
of the publication of Dumont's book, where 
he could hardly have escaped seeing the ver- 
sion of the storjr there given, with himself as 
authority, we should have little hesitation in 
charging Dumont with the responsibility for 
the change. As it is, however, we must 
search further for a satisfactory explanation 
of the two endings. 

About the same time that these books 
were going through the press, a great war 
was going on among the European cartog- 
raphers on the subject of the northwest coast 
of America. Into this war our two historians 
drifted. Dumont ranged himself with his 
countrymen. For Le Page to have taken 
the same step, would have been to abandon 
Moncacht-Ape'. We may feel sure that if 
Le Page originally believed in the story of 
the Indian, the fires of his faith, now that he 
had become mixed up in this partisan con- 
troversy which questioned its truth, would- 

be fanned to a fiercer glow; while, if the 
story was a fiction of his own construction, 
he would avail himself of any opportunity to 
build it up and increase its strength. 

In the sixteen years which elapsed between 
the return of Behring's expedition and 
the publication of Le Page's History, more 
or less of the information gathered by that 
expedition had been furnished to the public. 
With his senses sharpened by participation 
in the war of the geographers, it would not 
be wonderful if Le Page had heard that the 
natives of the coast were in the habit of eat- 
ing roots, and that the seals furnished them 
with meat. There had, however, been no 
such publication of these facts as would jus- 
tify us in saying that he must have known 

The outline of our coast, as suggested by 
Moncacht-Ap^ in his travels, shows a much 
better conception of the facts than do the 
hypothetical maps of the French cartogra- 
phers, which were hampered in their con- 
struction by the fictions of Fonte and Mal- 
donado. The Russians published a chart 
about this time, based upon knowledge 
which was public and freed from the preju- 
dices of upholding geographical theories, 
which corresponds very closely with our 
coast as we now know it, and would easily 
answer to Moncacht-Ape's general descrip- 

To just the extent that we may believe Le 
Page to have come into possession of the 
knowledge upon these subjects which we 
have shown to have been possibly within his 
reach, will the argument of coincidences be- 
tween the stat ements of the Indian and the 
revelations of subsequent discoveries be 
weakened. It depends upon our views on 
this point what weight we shall give to the In- 
dian's astonishment at the absence of Indian 
corn, his yearning for it, and the inadequacy 
of the breadstuff furnished him as a substi- 
tute the natural and probable experience of 
a traveler over this route. So, too, with ref- 
erence to the use of seal's meat as food. 

And now, what about the bearded men, 
who came habitually to the coast with such 
regularity that their arrival could be predict- 


Riparian Rights from another Standpoint. 


ed within a few days ; whose purpose sim- 
ply was to get a cargo of dye wood, and who 
had no expectation of traffic in their annual 
visits ? If we admit this part of the story to 
be true, we shall have no difficulty in accept- 
ing the learned argument of M. de Quatre- 
fages to prove that the foreigners came from 
Lieou-Tchou or the eastern islands of Japan, 
but if we submit the tale to a careful scru- 
tiny, it is not an easy one to believe. 

There is not sufficient evidence to justify 
the belief that the Japanese or Chinese ever 
made such ventursome voyages. We have 
both record and tradition of the arrival of 
Japanese vessels on our coast, but they were 
plainly unwilling visitors. There is no known 
wood upon our coast of particular value as a 
dye-wood, and there is no part of the North 
Pacific coast where the extermination of a 
particular tree would leave the inhabitants 
without wood. The collection of a cargo of 
dye-wood in a country which has no wood 
valuable for that purpose is not a sufficient 
motive for the annual voyage. If, for the 
purpose of rendering the story more plausi- 
ble, we admit that the bearded men came 
for the purposes of trade, then we should 
expect to find some traces of its existence in 
the hands of the Indians. A careful exam- 
ination of the authorities does not disclose 
any evidence of such a trade ever having ex- 

Our conclusions, then, are that the journey 
of the Indian was not only a possibility, but 
that the accumulation of testimony showing 
knowledge of the river and sea of the West 
bears evidence of the existence of intercourse 
between the tribes inhabiting the valleys of 
the Mississippi and the Columbia. We can 
not accept as probable the habitual visita- 
tions of the bearded men; and since Dumont 
acknowledges that he receives the version 
that he gives from the lips of Le Page, we 
must hold Le Page responsible for their in- 
troduction in the story and for the double 
endings. That Moncacht-Ape' existed, that 
he had a reputation as a traveler, and that 
he made some such trip as is described in 
the story, may be inferred from Dumont's 
statement that he knew the Indian ; and al- 
though he does not give full credit to the 
story, still his publication of it shows that he 
felt that there might be some foundation for it. 

Should the students who may hereafter 
have access to Oriental records find mate- 
rial there which will justify the belief that the 
shores of the North Pacific Coast of Amer- 
ica were frequently visited by the Japan- 
ese or Chinese, we shall gladly withdraw 
our conclusions that a large part of the story 
of Moncacht-Ape", as told by Le Page du 
Pratz, is to be assigned to the literature of 
hoaxes, and cheerfully join in restoring it 
to the region of history. 

Andrew McFarland Davis. 


WHAT can be done in the matter of irri- 
gation by the State of California ? How far 
and in what manner can the waters of our 
streams be diverted from their natural chan- 
nels for the purpose of rendering fruitful the 
great arid valleys of the State ? These are 
destined to become shortly the most promi- 
nent questions of the day, because within a 
few years a great effort will be made to util- 
ize to their utmost the waters flowing from the 
Sierras in the work of irrigation. The Sac- 
ramento and San Joaquin valleys are now, 

for the most part, treeless plains. The late 
rains enable the growth of small grains, but 
forage plants, fruits, and vines cannot be 
grown with success. A thousand acres will 
not afford a reasonable living to more than 
one family. Were it possible by a network 
of ditches to bring into these valleys an 
abundant supply of water, a metamorphosis 
could and would be accomplished in their 
agricultural condition. The soil is rich and 
the climate warm. With the requisite mois- 
ture, forage plants, trees, and vines would 


Riparian Rights from another Standpoint. 


grow with rapidity and luxuriance. The 
broad valleys would become a vast garden 
laid out in orchards, vineyards, alfalfa and 
grain fields. One hundred acres would 
yield an increase sufficient to support a fam- 
ily in affluence. 

In the June number of the OVERLAND 
a very able article discussed the power of the 
State legislature to make the waters of our 
streams public property, and the justice and 
wisdom of the common law doctrine of ripar- 
ian rights as applied to the State of Califor- 
nia. The writer concluded in favor of the 
existence of the power mentioned, and pro- 
nounced the common law doctrine as thus 
applied unwise and unjust. 

The correctness of his conclusions may 
well be doubted. The State government 
has not the power to declare the waters of 
the streams of this State public property. 
At common law, the owner of land upon a 
stream has a right to the use of the waters 
thereof for household purposes and for water- 
ing his stock; to the natural irrigation of his 
land, worked by the percolation of the wa- 
ters through the soil ; to the use of the waters 
for artificial irrigation, so far as it is consis- 
tent with the undiminished flow of the 
stream ; and to the water power derivable 
from the natural fall of the stream while 
passing his land. He is entitled to have the 
waters flow down as they have flowed from 
time immemorial, undiminished in quantity 
and unimpaired in quality. This right is not 
an incident or appurtenance to the land. 
It is as much a part and parcel of the land 
as the soil, or as the stones and the trees 
upon it. (Angell on Water-courses, Sec. 92.) 
So far as the public lands have not passed 
from the United States to individuals, the 
title to the water-rights as a part and par- 
cel of the lands resting upon the running 
streams is in the United States. The State 
has no more property in the waters than in 
the soil of the public domain. The lands 
of this State, with every part and parcel 
thereof, the soil, the trees, and the waters 
and water-rights, passed to the United States 
by grant from the Mexican government, be- 
fore the State of California emerged above 

the political horizon as a new but brilliant 
star in the firmament of States ; and those 
lands have remained in the United States, 
except where granted to private individuals, 
or, as in the case of the sixteenth and thirty- 
sixth sections, to the State. It is hardly 
necessary to say that the State can no more 
declare the waters of the public lands of 
the United States public property, thereby 
debarring the United States from passing 
the usual water-rights to individuals, than it 
can declare the soil or trees public property, 
subject to the disposition of the State legis- 

Where public land has passed by sale and 
grant from the United States to individuals, 
the water-right, as a part and parcel of the land, 
has passed to the individual. A conveyance of 
land situated upon a stream conveys the usual 
water-right without express words to that ef- 
fect. It is no more necessary to express a 
grant of the water-right than it is necessary 
to express a grant of the trees or stones upon 
the land. (Angell on Water-courses, Sec. 
92.) The United States patents are no ex- 
ception. Their operation as conveyances are 
to be determined, not by the civil, Spanish, 
or Mexican law, but by the common law. 
Private water-rights may not have existed in 
California under the Mexican regime. But 
the national government, vested with the 
title both to the soil and the water of the pub- 
lic lands, has passed to its grantees, by its 
common law conveyances, the soil and cer- 
tain water-rights, and we are bound to re- 
sort to the common law to ascertain the na- 
ture and the extent of those rights; as in 
the case of a marriage contracted in Cali- 
fornia previous to the cession of the State to 
the United States, and property acquired to 
the married couple previous to such cession, 
we are bound to resort to the Mexican law, 
to ascertain what rights the husband and 
wife respectively possess in such property. 
It cannot be claimed that the United States' 
grants have not had this operation. Such a 
position would involve the contention that 
the United States' patents made to lands in 
Ohio, Kentucky, and all the other States 
east of the Mississippi River, passed no rights 


Riparian Rights from another Standpoint. 


in the waters whose nature and extent we have 
to ascertain from the common law. 

But if the water-rights have passed to indi- 
viduals, they cannot be arbitrarily divested 
by the State. The legislature can no more 
extinguish such rights by its arbitrary decree 
than it can thus extinguish the right held by 
one by virtue of a private grant, to flow 
water from another's reservoir. It would be 
depriving a man of his property without due 
process of law, and taking private property 
for public use without compensation there- 
for. Were the State to pass an act declar- 
ing such rights public property, the State 
courts would be bound to declare the act un- 
constitutional. If they failed to do so, the 
Supreme Court of the United States would 
adjudge the act void. An appeal would lie, 
because the act sought to take private prop- 
erty without due process of law in violation 
of the fourteenth amendment to the National 
Constitution. A strenuous effort was made, 
in the case of Lux et al. vs. Haggin et al. t to 
induce the Supreme Court of this State to 
reject the doctrine of riparian rights, but that 
court remained true to the law. Had our 
court not done so, on appeal to the Supreme 
Court of the United States the decision 
would have been reversed. The water-rights 
now existing in individuals in this State can 
only be extinguished by condemnation to 
public use in the exercise of the power of 
eminent domain. An alteration in our code 
will not, and cannot, affect the riparian rights 
of land-owners. They derive their rights 
from the national government solely, and 
now hold them as vested rights. The code 
operates only in the case of public lands. 
Where parties acquire water-rights upon such 
lands under the codes, they can enforce 
them against all persons not holding title 
from the United States. The case is identi- 
cal with the possession of our public lands. 
Under our State laws, a possessor of such 
land can hold the same until the United 
States or a grantee from the same interferes. 
In the case of lands still a part of the public 
domain, the United States can, if it sees fit, 
reserve from the operation of subsequent 
land grants the water-rights, or it can grant 

the same separate and apart from the soil. 
The latter it has heretofore done to some ex- 
tent in the case of mining and irrigating 
ditches, by the United States statute of July 
26th, 1866. (Rev. Stat. U. S. '78, p. 2,339.) 

The legislature of California cannot there- 
fore abolish the riparian doctrine or the 
riparian rights. It can only provide for the 
condemnation of water-rights for the public 
use. It can authorize the formation of water 
companies, and empower them to institute 
judicial proceedings for the condemnation 
of the waters of the streams. This con- 
demnation may involve an enormous ex- 
pense, for it will be necessary to condemn 
the water-right of every owner of land upon 
both sides of a stream from the point of 
diversion to the mouth. It must be remem- 
bered, however, that this expense is incurred 
to secure to these riparian owners an equiva- 
lent for a valuable property of which they 
are divested, and the institution of a system 
of irrigation cannot be profitable to the State 
unless the diversion of the water enhances 
the fertility of a country greater in area than 
the lands deprived of -water and rendered 
unnaturally dry and infertile. And in that 
case the owners of the lands enhanced in 
value should, in justice, compensate those 
whose lands are rendered less fruitful. But 
it is a mistake to suppose that irrigation nec- 
essarily involves the extensive condemnation 
of water-rights. The attempt to divert the 
waters of the small streams in the San Joaquin 
is in reality an attempt, not to utilize waters 
which do not serve any purpose of irrigation, 
but to divert to lands not now naturally ir- 
rigated, the waters which now naturally irri- 
gate equal if not greater areas of land. The 
true system of irrigation should aim to utilize, 
for the purpose of irrigating our arid plains, 
the surplus waters over and above the waters 
which annually serve to naturally irrigate the 
lands along the banks of the streams of our 

These surplus waters are the waters that 
come down in the spring and winter freshets. 
These should be hemmed up in huge artifi- 
cial lakes in the gorges of the Sierra Nevadas, 
and the waters thus stored should be drawn 


Riparian Rights from another Standpoint. 


off in ditches during the summer months, 
and conducted into the valleys. No con- 
demnation of water-rights would be neces- 
sary, for the storing of the surplus flow of 
the streams would not interfere with the use 
of the waters for domestic purposes, with 
the natural irrigation along the streams, and 
with the water power derivable from the nat- 
ural fall. The hydraulic mining companies 
adopted this system for mining purposes. 
They erected enormous dams in the Sierra 
Nevadas, and thereby secured for themselves, 
without diminishing the usual flow of the 
streams, a supply for their summer opera- 

The doctrine of riparian rights, as applied 
to California, has been stigmatized as unjust, 
unwise, and as conducing to monopolies. 
But it is very questionable whether that doc- 
trine is not eminently just and wise. The 
owner of lands upon a stream does not claim 
the right to divert its waters and to vend 
them to the public. He claims only the 
right to enjoy the natural advantages secured 
to his lands by their situation. He has a mo- 
nopoly of the advantages resulting from the 
stream in the sense only in which a man has 
the monopoly of a mine when he owns the 
land upon which it is discovered, or of the ad- 
vantages resulting from a fertile soil, or from a 
valuable stand of timber upon his property. 
He has not a monopoly in the sense that he 
has the control of something which is of no 
value to him except so far as he can compel 
others to pay him tribute for the use thereof. 
The irrigationists propose to deprive him of 
an intrinsic source of value to his land, in 
order that they may reap an equivalent, but 
no greater, value. The many men who pur- 
chased lands upon our streams, purchased 
the same from the government, with the view 
of enjoying their natural advantages ; and to 
deprive them of that which renders their 
property valuable is equally unjust and un- 
wise. The waters flowing down our streams 
during the months when irrigation is neces- 
sary are sufficient to irrigate but a small por- 
tion of the lands of the great valleys. They 
now serve to naturally irrigate certain strips 
of territory, in the possession of private own- 

ers. There is neither justice nor wisdom in 
the diversion of that water to other strips 
of territory, leaving the former dry and in- 
fertile. The State is not enriched thereby. 
The only result is the impoverishment of one 
class for the benefit of another. Were it com- 
petent for the State to declare the waters of 
our streams, public property, the only conse- 
quence would be a struggle to appropriate the 
same, resulting in the exclusive appropriation 
of the waters naturally running during the 
summer months to the use of a limited terri- 
tory or class. Ultimately, the method of stor- 
ing the winter floods would have to be resort- 
ed to, as the only means of supplying irriga- 
tion facilities to the entire territory within 
our valleys. 

The riparian doctrines of the common law 
are, as a matter of fact, a magnificent founda- 
tion upon which to base a State system of 
water laws and irrigation rights. They de- 
termine with accuracy the rights of all par- 
ties to the natural and ordinary flow of our 
streams. The particular objections urged to 
the doctrines on the score of justice are more 
specious than real. The case frequently cit- 
ed as an instance of their unjust operation, 
when carefully examined, is found to involve 
no element of injustice. That case is where 
an owner of lands, extending, say, ten miles 
from the side of a stream, divides the land 
into twenty-acre lots, and sells the same to 
different purchasers. It is urged that an 
injustice is done to the owners of the lots 
not bordering upon the stream ; but such is 
not the case. It is true that the owners of 
the lots adjoining the stream alone enjoy 
the use of the stream for domestic purposes, 
alone enjoy the water power and the op- 
portunity to artificially irrigate their lands, 
so far as they can do so without diminish- 
ing the volume of the natural flow. But 
they have paid for those advantages by 
paying a greater price for their lands ; 
while the owners of outlying lots have pur- 
chased their lands with full knowledge of the 
absence of such advantages. The latter are 
not debarred from the privilege of divert- 
ing the water for purposes of artificial irriga- 
tion because of the rights or for the benefit 


Riparian Rights from another Standpoint. 


of the riparian owners between them and 
the stream, but because of the rights and for 
the benefit of the hundreds of owners of 
lands below upon the stream. Were the ripa- 
rian owners between them and the stream 
to assent, the diversion could not be accom- 
plished, because it would involve injury to 
those hundreds below. Nor are the owners 
of the outlying tracts without benefit from 
the riparian doctrine. So far as their lands 
are in the river plain, and are naturally irri- 
gated by the seepage or percolation through 
the soil of water from the stream, they have 
riparian rights. Were all the owners of lands 
upon the banks of the stream to consent to 
the diversion of all the water of the stream 
at a point above, these owners of outlying 
tracts would have a remedy, in case, through 
the cessation of natural irrigation through the 
soil, their lands were rendered appreciably 
dry and less fruitful. 

The provisions of the civil code of Cali- 
fornia (pp. 1410, 1422), while they cannot 
authorize an interference with riparian rights, 
and therefore cannot authorize the appro- 
priation of waters ordinarily flowing down our 
streams during the summer months, are adapt- 
ed to enable the appropriation of the flood 
waters of our rivers and their storage in reser- 
voirs in the canons in the Sierra Nevadas. 
The riparian owner has no property in the 
water. His right is confined to the advan- 
tages he derives from the ordinary flow of 
the stream. In the absence of such provis- 
ions, no company could dam up and thus 
appropriate flood waters with any assurance 
that they might not be deprived of the same 
at any moment. If the State so desires, it 
may convert the right to reservoir these 
waters and to distribute them to the valley 
lands into a privilege subject to conditions 
imposed by the State, and subject to regula- 
tion as to water rates exacted, and as to facil- 
ities extended to the agricultural districts. 
Thereby many of the abuses which might 
otherwise spring from the private control of 
the means of artificial irrigation may be pre- 
vented. If the State sees fit, the State may 
itself proceed to build, at its own expense, 
dams and ditches, and to operate the same. 

But private enterprise would probably ac- 
complish the desired end with greater cer- 
tainty and efficiency and at less expense. In 
this connection, it is to be noticed that the 
abolition of riparian rights, if it could be ac- 
complished, would leave the waters open to 
appropriation, and the valuable property 
would inevitably fall to the strongest, that is 
into the hands of private monopolies. If the 
State should attempt to manage its waters 
through its governmental machinery, as 
public property, a paternal element would 
be introduced into the State. Such an 
element is especially dangerous, when we 
consider that in proportion as the adminis- 
tration partakes of that character can the 
State be converted to the purpose of com- 
munism with greater ease. The State 
would have appropriated property claimed 
by individuals, and would be administering 
it for the so-called good of all. What better 
precedent is needed for the progressive en- 
croachment upon the rights of individuals 
for the assumed good of all ? What greater 
aid can be given to those who seek to use 
the State to a paternal or communistic end, 
than can be given by creating a large class of 
government employees, engaged in the man- 
agement of governmental works of great mag- 
nitude, and a large attendant class seeking 
for governmental employment, and eager to 
enlarge the industrial activity of the State in 
order to increase the number of its em- 
ployees ? The unsuitableness to our coun- 
try of the laws of France, Italy and other 
states, relating to water, consists in the in- 
tensely paternal government required for 
their administration. 

The true course for the State is to protect 
vested rights by recognizing the water rights 
of riparian owners ; to provide for their con- 
demnation, if necessary, to the public use; 
and to authorize the appropriation of the 
flood waters by private companies and cor- 
porations, not in absolute property, but in 
pursuance of a privilege extended by the 
State and subject in its enjoyment to State 
regulation. Thereby rights will be protected, 
monopolies prevented, and yet all progress 
towards a paternal government be avoided. 
John H. Durst. 

1885.] Life and Death. 15 


Two Angels, clad in untouched white, 
Met, once, upon a highway near the sea. 
One wore a smile of summer light, 
The other's look was that the midnight has 
When stars crowd close the solemn sky, 
Tender, sweet, convincing. 

This, a golden goblet, shining to the brim 

With living water, pure and clear ; 

And he, that other, held a chalice 

Dim and deep and empty, 

Save for one half-clinging drop. 
" Whither goest, Angel ? " said the smiling one, 

While yet they stood, in doubt, apart. 
"To yonder palace, brother sweet, 

Unto the queen. And whither thou?" 
" Unto the prince, her son, that is to be." 

"If must be, hand in hand we go," 

Said Life, and bowed his shining head ; 
" It must be, brother, but I follow thee, 

And, lingering by the door, I wait 

Till thine own errand is fulfilled." 

So Life went in ; and Death awaited there, 

Then, closely following, stood beside the queen. 

The other pressed him back, "Too late!" he cried, 
44 It is too late ! she knew not what she did, 

And snatched my goblet, drinking half." 
"Yet would she rather, had she known, 

Have taken mine," mused Death. 
"Ay, or no, I cannot tell," said Life; 
" For may the prince be better served 

With half, than all the lotted years, 

And may the world be better served 

With half a life this mother guides " 
"Ay, or no, we cannot tell," mused Death. 

Then, hand in hand, they left the hall, 

And Sleep, soft trailing through the chamber door, 

Stooped low above the mother-queen, 

And lapped the infant prince in dreams. 



A Terrible Experience. 



THE following story was related to me by 
the leading actor in the adventure himself. I 
have written it in the way he told me, using 
his language as nearly as possible, only sub- 
stituting fictitious for the real names of the 
parties concerned. 

I was in love with my employer's daughter 
Alice the old story and was too poor to 
pay my addresses to her, although I felt sure 
in my heart she loved me. Her father, a 
large importer of fine cloth, was a proud old 
man, subject to frequent attacks of rheuma- 
tism; so it fell to my lot to perform my busi- 
ness duties in the handsome, spacious library 
of his Fifth Avenue mansion, instead of in the 

dingy down-town office in street. I am 

a short-hand expert, so Mr. Baxter would dic- 
tate to me his voluminous correspondence, 
and I would take it down in short-hand, and 
afterward, in my own room, in script. This 
room of mine, away down in the lower part 
of town, was poor and bare enough, I assure 
you, with not a superfluous article in the way 
of furniture or ornamentation indeed, hardly 
the necessities of life, I thought then. All 
that can be said in favor of it is, that it was 
neat and clean. It was on the "basin and 
pitcher floor " of a once fine house, now 
fast falling into disrepair, in a quiet street, 
where I could see from my short, square attic 
window the tall, misty masts of the great ships 
lying at the city docks. 

Somehow the constant sight of these masts 
made me restless, suggesting as they did far- 
away countries, and seas, and foreign soil; 
and not without reason altogether, for at the 
time I speak of I had been guilty of a great 
imprudence, of the enormity of which, at 
that moment, I was fortunately in ignorance. 
I imagined I was making the great strike of 
my life. But I must be more explicit : 

There was a reason for my economy and 
poverty. Although I received, comparatively 
speaking, a large salary, for fourteen long 
months I had prepared my breakfast and 

supper on a miniature oil stove, brewing my 
tea and boiling my couple of eggs, with a roll 
or two from the neighboring baker's. My 
one square meal had been in the middle of 
the day, at a place I had patronized for a 
long time an odd, poor little Italian restau- 
rant in an obscure portion of the city, where 
I could get a hearty dinner with soup for 
twenty-five cents. This resort was patron- 
ized by men as poor and Bohemian as my- 
self apparently, and as reserved, for they came 
in quietly, and although seated table cThbte 
rarely exchanged words or even common- 
place remarks. Many frequenting the res- 
taurant daily for months, never made ac- 
quaintances; and almost invariably they came 
alone, and not in companies of twos and 
threes. I had discovered this queer little 
place in my Bohemian days, when I was a 
reporter on one of the big daily papers and 
my work took me into all and any of the 
mysterious nooks in the wonderful city of 
New York. I kept going there even after 
my engagement with "Baxter & Bros.," and 
had managed to put by quite a considerable 
sum, when I came into contact with the in- 
fluence which changed my whole life. 

I had known Miss Baxter then for several 
months a beautiful, brown-eyed, brown- 
haired girl of twenty or thereabouts, with the 
most winning smile ever seen on a woman's 
face. Her father could not bear her out of 
his sight, so she would bring her work to the 
library and there sit beside him, as he dic- 
tated to me his correspondence. Mr. Baxter 
always treated me like a gentleman. The 
idea of his amanuensis falling in love with 
his daughter never seemed to enter his mind, 
and as I aimed to be a man of honor, I never 
by word or sign violated his confidence ; for 
although I could not sit day after day in the 
society of his charming daughter without fall- 
ing in love with her, I never told her of it, 
and the opportunities were many. I was 
proud and poor ; for paltry enough was the 


A Terrible Experience. 


sum in my possession with which to aspire 
to the hand of an heiress. 

It was a warm, sultry day in the early part 
of September, and while going to dinner I felt 
nearly overcome by the heat. My work had 
been almost doubled for several .days, and I 
was completely fagged out. Distracted by 
my own cares and thoughts, I entered at noon 
on this fatal September day, Taglionini's little 
restaurant. I sat languidly down at my 
place at table, and pushed from before me 
my plate of soup, for I had no appetite or 
wish for anything. As I did so, a man, who 
for some time had been my vis-avis, regarded 
me with serious and fixed attention. He 
had long been a subject of curious observa- 
tion and speculation to me, for he was to- 
tally unlike any of the other frequenters of 
Taglionini's, or, indeed, any one I had ever 
seen before. Tall, magnificently built, strik- 
ingly handsome, and of commanding appear- 
ance, he seemed wholly out of place among 
the worn-out specimens of humanity who 
were, for the time being, his companions. 

As I pushed my plate from rne, he took 
from the inner pocket of his coat (which was 
of fine, foreign-looking material ) a small 
vial; then pouring a few drops of dark liquid 
from it into a glass of water, passed it to 
me, and told me to drink. He spoke with 
a slight accent, barely noticeable; but his 
language was singularly pure. I felt ashamed 
of my momentary hesitation, as I saw the 
dark color rise to his bronzed cheeks ; for 
his eyes were frank, brown eyes, having, I 
noted at the time, a remarkable brilliancy. 
I drank the liquor and returned the glass, 
observing, as I did so, on the third finger of 
his left hand a curious gold ring of singu- 
larly reddish gold, hammered rudely into 
the form of a serpent, with sparkling ruby 

When I rose to go, my chance acquaint- 
ance rose, and joined me at the. door, and 
we walked down the street together. Though 
not by any means a small man, I felt insig- 
nificant beside him, for he was head and 
shoulders taller than I, with the physique of 
an athlete as I had cause to remember long 

VOL. VI. 2. 

For many weeks we met daily, and once, 
in a mood of confidence and anxiety for 
my affairs seemed to grow more hopelessly 
entangled as I saw more of Alice I invited 
him to my simple quarters, and in response 
to a sympathy and influence he seemed to 
exert over me, told him my history and po- 

He listened attentively, then ran his hand 
thoughtfully through his rich curly hair. 
" Is this Alice, this Miss Baxter, beautiful, 
my friend?" 

" Lovely as a dream ! " I cried enthusias- 


" As an angel ! " I cried. 

"In love with you ?" 

"Well," I hesitated, "she has many ad- 
mirers, but I think she is not indifferent to 

"Then," he continued soberly, "so far, 
so well. I think I can direct you to a way 
to fortune.'' , 

"How?" I questioned eagerly, glancing 
round my shabby little room. " Tell me, I 
beg of you." 

" Hush," he replied, significantly putting 
his finger to his lips. " The walls are thin; 
we may be heard. This is a secret between 
you and me. Draw your chair up by the 
window, closer, so there can be no eaves- 
dropping there ; it is too high. My friend, 
there is a fortune in store for you an im- 
mense fortune for you and me." His eyes 
snapped brilliantly, and he leaned back in 
his chair to see the effect of his announce- 

"Where?" I cried, striving to control my 

" In the mines," he murmured softly; "in 
the gold mines of Arizona. I had just re- 
turned here when I first met you at Taglio- 
nini's, with assays and rich specimens in my 
pocket, to see if I could raise capital to work 
my rich discovery. A very little I need 
but no; these people are too occupied to 
pay attention to me. And yet, my friend, 
there are millions in it, which would make 
the fortune of the wealthiest of them a mere 
bagatelle in comparison." 


A Terrible Experience. 


My strange friend had grown curiously ex- 
cited. So eloquent was he, that it was not 
long before I was equally enthusiastic ; and 
before many days had passed I had arranged 
to place at his disposal for investment all 
of my little hoard, so hardly saved, reserving 
only a small amount in case of actual sick- 
ness or necessity. 

In a week his plans were matured; he 
took steamer by way of Panama to a Mexi- 
can port, and from there secured passage on 
a coaster up the Colorado river to Arizona. 

I heard from him regularly. His letters 
were written in the highest spirits, for he was 
evidently of a sanguine temperament ; and 
they contained nothing but what gave me 
renewed confidence in him and his ability, 
for, as I have remarked before, it was obvi- 
ous he was no common man. 

So matters continued for a year. I had 
pinched myself to the last penny, so as to 
send more means for the mine's development. 
At its close, I found myself in very straitened 
circumstances and in delicate health, owing 
to poor living and overwork. There came 
a letter at this critical period from my 
strange partner, calling for more funds or my 
personal attention at the mines, as my ad- 
vice was needed in many ways as to the de- 
velopment of the property. 

I was totally ignorant in such matters, yet 
so eager to force and gain possession of my 
prospective wealth to lay at the feet of my 
lady-love, that I actually wrote to my part- 
ner acquiescing in his plans, and started out 
for my employer's mansion to tell him of my 
intended departure. 

I found him confined to his bed with his 
old malady. Alice met me in the library, 
and told me of his illness; for, promoted to 
the responsible position of private' secretary, 
I was a privileged member of the household. 

" Miss Alice," I said, before starting for 
Mr. Baxter's room, which was in the wing of 
the house, " I must bid you good-bye ; I am 
on the eve of departure." 

She stood dressed for walking in some ma- 
terial of a rich, mossy brown color, a jaunty 
little hat with bright colored wings crushed 
down over her lovely hair. " On the eve 

of departure, Mr. Maxwell ! " she repeated, 
changing color. " That surely cannot be. 
Is this not something very sudden? But 
where is it ? " 

" Arizona," I replied. 

" O, surely not," she ejaculated with al- 
most a cry. " This is very unthought of, 
surely. Why you cannot be in earnest ; you 
must not go to that far away place. You 
will never come back again," and she lifted 
her pretty eyes pleadingly to my face. 

How her words came back to me long 
afterwards : " You will never come back 
again ! " 

She was very much in earnest, and held 
her hands, in their beautiful little gloves, 
clasped tightly. My heart gave a great 
bound at her apparent emotion, for perhaps 
she really cared for me. 

" I must go," I continued, considerably 
moved. "It is very kind of you, Miss Alice, 
to care what becomes of such a poor dog as 
I, but my presence is imperatively needed in 
the West, to look after some property." I 
spoke this latter clause with a little thrill of 

" And how long will you be gone ?" 

" It is uncertain," I replied ; and then we 
went upstairs, and after a short interview 
with Mr. Baxter, in which all business mat- 
ters were satisfactorily settled, I descended 
the stairs for the last time. 

I bade Alice good-bye in the library. She 
had not gone, but was waiting for me ; and 
still determined not to speak, I held myself 
under control. She was very pale, and I 
fancied her hand trembled as I held it. 

" You must let us hear from you," she 
said kindly; and I assured her I should 
write, she little knowing, poor girl, what the 
parting cost me, or what was in store for us. 
On leaving the vestibule, I discovered 
I had left behind some maps of the mine, 
which were of great importance; so I re- 
traced my steps, and as I entered the library, 
found Alice sobbing wildly on the lounge, 
her face buried in her hands. She had not 
heard my step, but I could not leave her in 
that way. I called her name softly : " Alice ! 
Alice ! " 


A Terrible Experience. 


She sprang to her feet, and threw her 
handkerchief over her face to hide the tear- 

"My dear young lady," I cried, "forgive 
this unintended intrusion, but what is it that 
troubles you?" 

" My father," she cried, in a broken voice, 
"he is very ill and 

" But he will get well," I interrupted. 

"I fear not," she said. "O Mr. Max- 
well, I am so miserable why will you, must 
you, go and leave us so ? " 

" My dear girl," I cried, taking her cold 
hand in mine, " am I deceiving myself are 
these tears for me ? " 

" I do not know I cannot bear it I " 

"Alice," I said, taking her in my arms, 
" my darling, do you realjy care for me ? 
Heaven knows what it costs me to leave you ; 
it is for your sake that I go to these wilds to 
make my fortune, so as to be able honorably 
to win your love." 

" It is yours already," she said softly, be- 
tween her sobs ; "you are all the world to me. 
You will break my heart if you go away." 

I comforted her as well as I could ; the 
separation should not be for long ; I should 
hurry back to her side; there was no happi- 
.ness for me out of her society. Then, kiss : 
ing her sweet face and bidding her be a brave 
girl, I tore myself away, not daring to trust 
myself any longer. 

I shall pass over the details of my depart- 
ure and my journey the wearisome staging 
over the great sandy desert, and my arrival 
at " Roseta," the little town from which we 
bought our stores, received our mail, and 
did business generally the connecting link, 
as it were, although a slight one, between 
civilization and the desert. This was the 
stage center for the many distant mining 
districts, and although one hundred miles 
from the nearest railroad switch, was a re- 
sort for all miners and ranchers for leagues 
around. My friend met me as I alighted 
from the stage dusty, travel-stained, worn, 
from my long ride. I felt pale and insignifi- 
cant beside the stalwart, strong, sunburnt 
men who clustered noisily around and 
about the conveyance, surveying it and its 

passengers with undisguised curiosity. My 
dress seemed inappropriate in comparison 
with theirs. I was clad in a light gray tweed 
suit, with a stiff traveling hat, somewhat the 
worse for the late banging and jostling it had 
received; while they wore the careless cos- 
tume of the miner dark shirt and pants and 
high-top boots. 

I was only too glad to escape from the lit- 
tle crowd and go quietly with my friend, be- 
fore the group had dispersed and the horses 
had been unharnessed, to a lightly constructed 
frame building, where he had taken a room 
for us, so primitive in its appointments that 
my humble quarters in New York seemed 
quite luxurious in comparison. There was 
a tin basin and a pitcher of water on a rude, 
unpainted wash-stand; also a clean towel and 
a piece of coarse brown soap, which I dis- 
covered subsequently to have been quite a 
mark of attention to a stranger. The walls 
were so thin we could hear everything going 
on in the next room, also the whole of the 
conversation, which seemed to be between 
a man and his wife very noisy, indeed, and 
relative to dinner. 

It was then about noon. My friend 
seemed much the same, only more bronzed 
and handsomer, if possible, than of old; 
there was a little more gray in his hair, which 
he had allowed to grow longer ; it added to 
his picturesque appearance. He was clad in 
the same working costume as the others a 
dark blue flannel shirt, belted in at the waist, 
with a revolver securely and conspicuously 
fastened in it, a slouched hat, and immense, 
heavy boots. He grasped both my hands 
warmly when we were in the room together, 
and seemed to me a little excited ; the cor- 
diality of his welcome dispersed, however, 
any little homesickness I felt at the strange- 
ness of my surroundings. 

"I have brought you here," he said, walk- 
ing restlessly up and down, " so you should 
be free from the crowd of loungers and gos- 
sips who swarm about the Eagle Hotel and 
fall upon a stranger. Here we are alone by 
ourselves, with no one to disturb us or annoy 
us in our plans ; the woman serves our meals 
and we are free from intrusion." 


A Terrible Experience. 


I appreciated his thoughtfulness, and soon, 
arrayed in the costume he had provided for 
me, went with him to dinner. The florid 
woman of the house provided us with a sub- 
stantial meal, surveying us curiously the 
while ; her husband, on a bench in front of 
the shanty, smoking his pipe, threw his head 
over his shoulder now and again to favor us 
with the same prolonged gaze. I noted this 
at the time and felt uneasy under it, but my 
friend warned me to ignore this imperti- 
nence. "They know no better," he said, 
"and are consumed with curiosity. They 
will question you unmercifully if they have 
the opportunity, but we must hold them at a 
distance and have no intercourse with them. 
They would know the secret of our mine, 
our prospects, our bonanza, and wrench it 
from us if they could," he continued, speak- 
ing softly across the table; "but I am too 
shrewd for them, although they are a sly set. 
But you and I understand each other. For 
the present moment we are relatives cous- 
ins. We want nothing from them. You see, 
many of these adventurers have wished to 
join me in my enterprise, but I fought shy 
of them. They are at a disadvantage, for I 
am independent of them : I make all my 
own assays, and so cautious have I been 
that they have not the slightest clue to the 
whereabouts of our wonderful mine, although 
they have tracked me many times to find 

He snapped his fingers triumphantly as 
he spoke. So ignorant was I of the practi- 
cal details of any business outside of my 
own, that this strange conversation did not 
strike me at the time as in any way unnat- 
ural, although I had cause to remember it 
later in my travels, when it came to me with 
terrible meaning. 

As it was, I drank in, innocently, every 
word my companion uttered; and quite 
elated and contemptuous toward the poor 
devils who were not so richly provided for 
with mines as ourselves, crossed the road, 
and on to a small room, resembling an of- 
fice, to the right of a large frame building, 
like the one we occupied. Here I procured 
my baggage, and transacted some trifling bus- 

iness in exchanging coin for notes. It was 
express, post office, telegraph office in one ; 
and in one corner of the room stood Wells, 
Fargo's clerk, behind a tall, weather-beaten 
desk. He was a fine looking young fellow, 
nimble and light on his feet, with sharp, 
brown eyes, and lightish hair like my own, 
closely shingled. He looked at me pleas- 
antly, then curiously, when he saw my com- 
panion, looking up from the accounts he 
was apparently busy over, as I strolled about 
the room. 

As he produced my trunk and valise, and 
I passed him the check, he questioned me 
with apparent carelessness. 

" Going to be long in these parts? " 
"I do not know," I replied evasively. 
"From the East?" 
" Yes." 

"Bound for the mines? " 

"What mines?" 

I colored a little, resenting his curiosity, 
and almost at a loss for an answer. 

" I am journeying with my cousin," I re- 
plied, " quite a distance into the interior, on 
a prospecting tour. I hardly know myself 
what course we shall take, but somewhere 
toward the Spanish Peaks." 

It was the truth, as far as it went. He 
looked thoughtful a second, and would have 
added more, I think, but my friend, who had 
been detained in the further corner of the 
room, and had been watching our conversa- 
tion suspiciously, beckoned me away, under 
some pretext, and we left the room together. 
From this time on, he never was from my 
side until the moment of our departure, 
which was at the next midnight. 

. All the necessary preparations had been 
made; we left the house in the gloom of 
night, walked a few paces ahead, and then 
turned to the left, continuing our way until 
we came to a small raresal, where we found 
an Indian in waiting with three mules, two 
for our individual use, and one for the pack, 
which was quite heavy with provisions, blank- 
ets, and various necessities for our mountain 
trip. We were well armed, and when I was 
mounted, the Indian, who was a Yaqui, with 


A Terrible Experience. 


a copper-colored, stoical face, came forward, 
and fastened a pair of spurs to my stout 

" Here, poor devil," I said carelessly, and 
tossed him dos reales (twenty-five cents). He 
gave a queer grunt in acknowledgment, and 
watched us until we rode out of sight. That 
piece of silver saved my life. I little thought 
what power lay in that savage hand, or knew 
that, as we journeyed over those long miles 
apparently alone, a step noiseless as a cat's 
was tracking our trail, so silently that even 
the vigilance of the leader was deceived. 

We had little fear of the Apaches, for 
there had been no outbreak in their midst for 
some time. As we jogged along and felt the 
fresh air in our faces, my friend's spirits rose 
perceptibly. I had discovered that he was 
a brilliant talker, and he passed the hours, 
which otherwise would have been monoto- 
nous, in telling humorous stories of what 
must have been an eventful life. 

He knew every stone on the plain and 
every tree on the trail by heart, and pointed 
out to me, as we trotted along, the various 
points of interest. The night was cool, and 
our road lay along the valley ; for the little 
town of Roseta lay in an enclosure of dull, 
round mountains, which sheltered it from 
the terrible wind storms so prevalent in 
these regions. The pack jogged along in our 
rear, for the old mule was evidently used 
to the way, and as familiar with it as his 

We traveled all night, and when the sun 
rose from behind the distant hills, there were 
several leagues between us and Roseta. 
When the first warm rays flooded the earth, 
we drew up underneath a tree, on a grassy 
plain, where we dismounted, unbridled, and 
tethered out our horses to crop a bit of grass. 

We took only a light breakfast, so as to 
be able to push on our journey, and lose no 
time. A sandwich, some jerked beef, and 
crackers formed our*frugal meal, with a tin 
cup of water from the tiny stream close to 
us. We then wrapped ourselves up in se- 
rapes and lay down to rest, and to snatch a 
few minutes' sleep. 

An hour later found us crawling up into 

the Roseta Mountains, and at noon that day 
we had made considerable headway; and at 
six o'clock at night, had camped in a little 
canon and begun to prepare for supper. My 
companion had killed two cotton-tails. We 
had brisk appetites, I assure you ; but imag- 
ine my surprise when my friend built two 
heaps of twigs and brush, about twenty yards 
apart, and then lighting them, .produced two 
sets of camping and kitchen utensils, one of 
which he presented to me. 

"You must overlook a peculiarity of mine/' 
he remarked pleasantly for he was a most 
courteous gentleman in every sense of the 
word, " but I make it a rule each night, no 
matter what company I am in, to make my 
own fire, and cook my own food, and expect 
my friends to do likewise." 

I acquiesced in this proposal, although a 
chill sense struck me that it was a strange 
and desolate plan for two lone companions to 
follow in the wilds of Arizona. 

The flames of my little pile leaped up 
brightly, however, so I added more fuel, and 
then broiled my rabbit ; clumsily it is true, 
but with all the zest of novelty and a raven- 
ous appetite; then put on my coffee, fried 
some bacon and eggs, and with some biscuit 
from the stores, soon had a supper fit for a 
king. My friend quickly prepared his meal, 
and long before mine was ready had helped 
me, then eaten his own and laid him to sleep, 
wrapped snugly in his blankets with his feet 
toward the fire. 

I followed his example, and it was not 
long before I was unconscious of all my sur- 
roundings. I had looked at the stars above 
me, and thought of the curious destiny which 
had brought me thither, then consigned the 
care of the creature I loved best on earth to 
the love of a watchful Providence. If I had 
had a faint premonition of what awaited me, 
should 1 have slept 'so soundly? I think 
rather, in the depths of night, I should fran- 
tically have tried to retrace my steps. 

The next morning my companion roused 
me cheerfully from a heavy slumber, and 
after a hot breakfast prepared from the ashes 
of our now faded fires, we mounted our 
horses, fresh after their rest, and rode on. 


A Terrible Experience. 


There was little to mark the day's advance. 
We descended the mountains, and entered 
upon a great desert, grayish white in appear- 
ance, throwing up an unbearable glare to the 
unprotected eye. The only growth was sage- 
brush, hardly different in tint from the alkali 
dust, the tract extending unbrokenly for miles, 
inhabited by no living creature. 

Our provisions were ample for our jour- 
ney, but for water we depended upon a well, 
situated in a little oasis which we reached at 
the end of our second day's travel over the 

About this time my enthusiasm concern- 
ing our mining enterprise had begun to wane ; 
the strain of the ride over the desert, unac- 
customed as I was to the saddle, the terrible 
solitude of the place, its distance from civil- 
ization, all combined to destroy the rosy hue 
with which I had surveyed my prospects. A 
visible change had also come over my friend; 
his talkativeness and brilliancy had faded 
away. He was a changed man ; he appeared 
older, sterner, even a little morose. 

The fifth night out, we camped near the 
well, surrounded by a patch of greenish grass, 
and here, in the death-like stillness which 
pervaded the place, my friend, following his 
curious and persistent habit, cooked his din- 
ner fifteen yards away from mine. 

The aspect of the country had changed 
somewhat still a desert, but a curious one. 
Not far to the left of us extended a range of 
mountains so peculiar and weird in their con- 
struction, that their memory will haunt me 
to my dying day. Of the same chalky ap- 
pearance as their surroundings, they were 
twisted, wrinkled, seamed as if in some ter- 
rible convulsion of Nature. Conical in shape, 
they reared their snowy heads up into the 
clear blue cloudless sky, standing like ghastly 
monuments of one knew not what suggest- 
ing the burnt-out mountains with their extinct 
craters, so graphically represented in the 
maps of the moon. 

In the distance my companion pointed to 
a far-away bluish range, which were the 
" Spanish Peaks," our destination, the home 
of our mines. After a day and a half of 
steady traveling we reached them. 

My friend had long ceased to hold any 
conversation with rye. Handsome, courtly 
as ever in his manners, he never addressed 
me one word ; and when I spoke to him in 
sheer desperation, answered me in monosyl- 
lables. My surprise changed to wonder, 
wonder to indignation, indignation to suspic- 
ion. What was the matter with him ? I 
talked to my animal, to hear the sound of 
my own voice in those awful solitudes. To 
my consternation, my companion began talk- 
ing to himself at first, unintelligibly, then 
. in plainer accents. Mines, mines, mines, it 
was always mines prospecting them, tun- 
neling them, opening them, but always the 
same subject. Sometimes his voice rose 
loud and clear, then calmer again ; then an- 
gry, again subdued. A terrible suspicion 
was creeping into my brain ; no, it could 
not be. I would not believe it. I would 
have proposed returning to Roseta, and 
abandoning our project altogether, if we had 
not been so near our journey's end. 

As I was about to sound him on the sub- 
ject, however, his face lengthened percepti- 
bly. " The highest peak of our destination," 
he remarked, " is only half a day's jaunt on- 

Here the face of the country changed 
again ; it was more wooded. The last few 
hours of that last day's travel I shall never 
forget it. It was a terrible climb ; when we 
had apparently almost reached the summit, 
we came suddenly upon an awful precipice 
and chasm, which looked as if the mountain 
had fallen away, or caved in at this point. 
The slide was covered with a dense growth 
of underbrush, and was wholly impassable. 

My companion and I exchanged glances. 
" My friend," I said, looking at him firmly, 
let us abandon this hazardous journey, and 
return to Roseta ; believe 

" Return," exclaimed he scornfully, " on 
the very point of our destination, man ? 
What are you thinking of? I have simply 
made a mistake in the trail, and breasted the 
mountain on the wrong side. We shall re- 
trace our steps, and make the ascent just 
opposite to where we are now stopped short 
by this precipice." 


A Terrible Experience. 


We mounted our jaded animals with no 
further words, and began the descent ; far 
below us stretched the plain and the desert, 
glaring in the noon-day sun, and still farther 
away the burnt-up mountains, white still in 
the trembling heat. 

When we reached the end of our long 
travels, one might readily believe the place 
to be the " fag end" of God's earth. A 
mountain of rock ; in its jagged sides a tun- 
nel ; at its mouth a dump of what must have 
been ore in my ignorance I did not know. 
That was all. Not a human being in that 
vast wilderness but ourselves. With what 
horror I entered that dark cavern, question- 
ing if I should ever come out. That was 
my fortune ; there was my pile. What folly 
I had been guilty of ! This was the end of 
my fine plans my hopes. Some little work, 
sufficient to sink all our money, had been 
done on the place a great deal of it evi- 
dently by my friend's own hand, with the 
help, so he said, of an Indian, who had de- 
serted during his absence. Poor wretch, 
how could he have staid so long ! 

After he had showed me the vein and the 
drift, we came out into daylight again, and 
sat down on two flat rocks at the entrance 
of the tunnel. I do not think I can accu- 
rately describe my thoughts ; one idea alone 
possessed me that of escape. My guide 
sat mumbling to himself, a few words dis- 
tinct now and then. 

" It can be done, it can be done. I plan- 
ned it out long ago. The gold is there. 
Cowards ! knaves ! they would have deserted 
me at the last moment treachery leaving 
me the debts and responsibilities to shoul- 
der." He looked fierce at times, and I 
shuddered. Had I been lured to destruc- 
tion, and was there no escape! I had al- 
ready begun to revolve in my brain a plan : 
could it be made practicable? Could I find 
and keep the trail? Could I supply myself 
with provisions without my companion's 
knowledge? Was there enough food for 
both ? for our trip already, by missing the 
way, and one thing and another, had doub- 
led its length. Was I justified in leaving a 
human being alone in those solitudes, sub- 

ject to the attacks of Indians and wild ani- 
mals ? What if he never returned ; what 
construction would be put on my solitary 
reappearance ? 

This last thought influenced me more 
strongly than any other, in my morbid con- 
dition of mind. We went out together; we 
must return together. Suspicion would be 
rife if I returned alone. The die was cast; 
I had drawn my conclusions, outlined my 
plans, crude and imperfect as they were. 
Get back to Roseta we must, if not by force, 
by stratagem. 

An awful thought had taken possession of 
me. Perhaps, by this time, it has made it- 
self apparent to you. But I shall go on. 

" My dear friend," said I stoutly, striving 
to hold my companion's attention, and catch 
his brightly glittering eye. " I was a coward 
and a knave to wish to return to Roseta, 
when such an enormous discovery of wealth 
lies at our very feet. You might well scorn 
me, but I was faint from the hardship and 
fatigue of the journey. But we can do noth- 
ing alone. Let us return to New York and 
secure capital. I have a certain amount of 
influence; by your efforts and mine, we can 
raise sufficient money to float this concern 
successfully. As it is now, what we can in- 
vest is like so many drops in the sea. Be- 
hold, yourself, how little we have accom- 

" True, true," said he, mournfully glancing 
around the deserted spot, and grasping at 
the idea with childish eagerness. " Capital, 
capital that is what we need. I could have 
pulled through with it long ago if it had not 
been for that. The knaves ! they deserted 
me ! " 

I had no idea to what he referred, until 
long afterward ; but taking advantage of his 
sudden change of humor, persuaded him to 
mount, and taking a hurried survey of the 
work and the premises, we turned the heads 
of our tired animals homeward. I did not 
feel fairly started until we had descended 
the mountain, and left the ill-fated mine far 
behind us. 

Several times my companion would have 
retraced his steps and returned to the tunnel, 


A Terrible Experience. 

suspecting me, at the moment, of treachery; 
but I assured him of the genuineness of my 
feelings, and we jogged slowly along. We 
continued our trip in comparative quiet, un- 
til the second night; but then my friend 
fell to railing at some unseen persecutors, 
cursing them so wildly that I became alarmed. 
" Ruin, failure, stares me in the face," he 
cried plaintively, "let us go back." 

I dared hardly to address him in one of 
these moods, but kept myself well armed. 
At night, when we camped, he cooked his 
dinner as usual, amid low mutterings and 
expostulations, which continued long after 
he had wrapped himself in his scrape and 
lain down by the fire. 

What horrors those nights were to me, God 
only knows. I was tortured by fatigue, yet 
afraid to close my eyes, with the fear haunt- 
ing me of never opening them again. I 
formed the resolution of depriving my com- 
panion of his arms; he was a large, power- 
fully built man, as I have said, and I was in 
his power. It was impossible to steal his 
shot-gun, for he was vigilant as a cat, and I 
was never sure when he really slept ; but one 
evening, preparing for camp, I removed the 
bag of shot from the parcel. It was the 
night we camped by the well, and under 
pretense of going for water, while he was 
building his fire, I sunk the shot in the well, 
hearing its heavy splash and dull clank in an 
agony of fear. 

The next morning I published the acci- 
dent. " My friend," said I in consternation, 
" we have suffered a loss by my carelessness'. 
In removing and resetting the pack at the 
mines, I left the bag of shot in the bushes." 

" Then we must go back for it," he said 

Almost in vain, I tried to pacify and assuage 
his anger. Finally, when I represented to 
him the value of lost time, he consented to 
retract his decision and go on. Nothing, 
however, could soften his angry feelings to- 
ward me, and he conducted himself in an 
abused manner in my presence, which did 
not lessen my terrible anxiety concerning 
my safety. I fully determined, upon the con- 
tinuation of his revengeful feelings, to de- 

prive him of his revolver, and then take the 
consequences. But how ? It was a desper- 
ate expedient. 

It was necessary to rest our jaded horses; 
every hour they threatened to give out. So 
we picketed them on the grassy stretch be- 
fore mentioned. I threw myself on the 
ground and began leisurely taking my pistol 
to pieces, venturing to suggest to my com- 
panion to do likewise, for the precaution was 
becoming necessary as we entered the Indian 
reservation. He sneered at me in answer, 
but as I steadfastly continued cleaning mine, 
he thought better of it, and, seating himself 
beside me, began taking his weapon apart. 

When he was thoroughly engaged upon it, 
I sounded the alarm: "A snake, a rattle- 
snake ! " 

" Where? " he cried excitedly, springing to 
his feet, forgetting everything at the news. 

" In yonder bush," I answered. 

He sprang toward it ; as he did so, I fear- 
fully and tremblingly seized the barrel of his 
revolver, which he had thrown on the ground 
in his haste, and held it in my hand as I 
joined him in his search. A cold shudder 
ran through me as I did so. My excited 
imagination fancied him ready to pounce 
upon me every instant for my duplicity. 
How could I combat with such an athlete 
I, slight, nervous, city-bred ? I felt myself 
turn pale ; what should I do with that piece 
of metal in my hand, burning as if into my 
very soul. 

"Strange, where it has crept to," he sug- 
gested; "it must have gone into its hole." 

He procured a long stick and began beat- 
ing the bushes vigorously. 

"I did not hear the rattle," he continued; 
"are you sure you were not mistaken?" 

"Yes, sure," I replied firmly, " but I am 
not going to lose any time in the search. I 
have my pistol to finish cleaning." 

I sat down on the knoll, knowing he, too, 
must continue his work, and that it would 
be some little time before he would miss the 
barrel in putting his weapon together. 

I revolved in my mind what I should do. 
Then a sudden lucky thought struck me. 
I rose, and strolled carelessly toward the 


A Terrible Experience. 


pack, found an extra coffee-pot, packed full 
to the lid with ground coffee, thrust the bar- 
rel into it almost to the very bottom, and 
replaced the tin. It was an extra supply; 
ten to one he would never think of seeking 
in such a strange hiding-place. 

On missing the portion of his pistol, his 
anger was something frightful. He raved, 
he swore, he cursed. I had no influence 
over him ; but when he had calmed some- 
what, I suggested that he had dropped the 
barrel in the bushes when we went to look 
for the rattlesnake. I helped him in the 
search; we hunted the stones, the shrubs, 
high and low, but no tiny piece of the pis- 

After a good deal of coaxing, I persuaded 
him to continue the journey. Comparatively 
speaking, I felt safer, as I had deprived him 
of his arms, but still my danger was immi- 
nent. One night, after we had prepared our 
camp, he fell into a terrible paroxysm of 
rage, recalling and dwelling upon the affair 
of the shot-gun and pistol, uutil every mo- 
ment I expected him to pounce upon me. 
I had one hand on my revolver, prepared to 
spring and defend myself at a moment's no- 
tice. Suddenly, all was quiet. I thought 
him asleep. Then I heard stealthy creeping 
footsteps. It was the dead of night, we two 
alone, on that vast silent desert. Nearer and 
nearer they came, but I was ready still 
nearer. I sprang and confronted him, my 
evil genius. 

" Coward ! traitor ! " he hissed, springing 
toward me, seizing me in his strong, relent- 
less grasp, with a grip that fury alone can 
give. I was powerless. In those awful mo- 
ments, by the light of the camp-fire, my worst 
fears were confirmed. I gave a low cry. 
Those awful, burning eyes seemed to scar 
me with their brightness. What could I do, 
even with my weapons? The die was cast; 
my fate was sealed. My companion good 
God ! no longer could it be concealed was 
mad ! I was in the power and the hands of 
a madman. 

As this awful suspicion was realized (it had 
haunted me for days and nights), my strength 
seemed to give way. Everything grew dim. 

I struggled to recall my fading senses. It 
was too late. I swooned away. 

When I came to my senses, I found my- 
self in the long freight-room at Roseta, with 
the face of the young Wells, Fargo's agent 
bending over me. I was on a cot, and the 
countenance looking at me seemed full of 
pity and sympathy. 

" Where am I ? What is it ? " questioned 
I faintly. 

" Quite safe," he answered reassuringly ; 
"only you must keep very quiet, for you 
have been very ill." 

For days they tended and watched me 
like a child, and when I was strong enough, 
told me the remaining items of my awful ex- 
perience. The Indian who had saddled our 
horses and prepared our pack, suspected, 
with the cunning of his race, that I was ig- 
norant of my companion's condition. His 
opinion was confirmed by the freight-agent, 
who judged me a young, unsophisticated 
Easterner, especially when I equivocated 
about the relationship. The plans of my 
companion had been laid as only the tact 
and slyness of a madman could lay them. 

After we had been out some days, the In- 
dian who had dogged our steps returned to 
Roseta, confirmed in his views, to get more 
help. With three men he started out again, 
fearing they hardly dared to breathe what. 
As I fell into the arms of the maniac, they, 
guided by the smoke of the camp-fire, sprang 
to my relief and manacled my unfortunate 

My poor friend ; I shed bitter tears at his 
sad fate. He was a Count de Fontainblesse, 
an exile from his country, who had spent an 
immense fortune in the mines, a victim to 
unscrupulous speculators. Left in compar- 
ative poverty, fleeced by his enemies, he had 
gone out of his mind, yet continued to have 
comparatively sane spells, when he deceived 
even his nearest acquaintances by his appar- 
ent sanity. It was in this condition that he 
had gone to New York, at the time that I 
had fallen a victim. 

The kind miners and merchants, know- 
ing my sad story, made up a purse for me, 
and sent me back East to New York ; but 


The College of California. 


ah ! not as I had left there. I was broken in 
health, and a strange thing had happened 
to me my hair had turned white as 
snow. When I rose from my bed in the 
freight office, it was as if with the hoary 
locks of age. Would my best friend know 
me ? 

I reached the great metropolis almost in 
want. Should I seek my former employer? 
I shrank from such a course with the great- 
est abhorrence. I hardly dared meet Alice, 
my heart's love, in my present broken con- 
dition. I sought for employment, but in vain ; 
finally, wasted and worn with the pangs of 
hunger yes, if I must confess it, by starva- 
tion I crawled to the servants' door of the 
handsome mansion on Fifth avenue, and 
asked for a piece of bread. That house, the 
steps of which I had run up so lightly and 
happily so many, many times ! I knew 
they would hardly know me. I drew my tat- 
tered over-coat up about my ears, and wait- 
ed patiently, for it was snowing heavily. 

A strange house-servant opened the door, 
but when he saw me shivering in the merci- 
less storm, he bade me come in, and brought 
to me, standing in the vestibule, a sandwich 
and a cup of hot coffee. I heard the bell 
ring violently the drawing-room bell. My 
heart beat as if it would suffocate me ; my 

hand trembled so, I could scarcely hold my 
cup. The man at the basement door was to 
be shown upstairs; that was the order. 

I could barely stagger up the flight and 
into the library, full, oh! so full, with such 
happy memories. How rich, how sumptuous 
everything looked; how exquisite the statuary, 
how superb the portieres. All this flashed 
through my mind in a moment of time. Who 
was this, who swept from behind the curtains 
and the palms, in mourning robes, with her 
exquisite face pale and thin, but oh ! so beau- 
tiful in its sorrow and trial? 

"Grey, Grey," she cried in a passion of 
tears, "you couldn't deceive me, my poor 
boy. Oh ! my love, my love, how could you 
leave me so long?" 

I forgot my hunger, my poverty, every- 
thing except my love, my passionate love for 
this girl. I drew her to my heart, and laid 
my white head beside her brown braids. 

"Providence has given you back to me; 
how can I be grateful enough ! " 

She cried for joy on my breast, and I, in 
this moment of supreme happiness drew 
the veil over "my terrible experience," only 
to lift it once to reveal it to you, although 
my beautiful wife, my Alice, shudders as I 
do so, and fain would blot it forever from 
my memory. 

Bun Le Roy. 


I AM asked to give as one of the papers in 
the " Building of a State " series, the history 
of the College of California. That history 
properly begins with the preliminary work in 
the year 1849. 

Among the crowds of young men that 
were then coming to California for gold, 
there were some who came to stay and make 
homes, and help " build a State " here. They 
did not at first know each other. All were 
strangers then. But gradually they got into 
correspondence. As soon as there were 
mails and post-offices, they began to get ac- 

One of the first subjects written about 
and talked of by those who had faith in a 
State to come, was that of education. To 
be sure, there were very few English-speaking 
children here at that time, and most people 
thought it was too soon to plan for schools. 
But some thought otherwise. They thought 
that there would be children here to be 
taught, quite as soon as schools could be 
made ready to teach them. They thought 
that schools would bring children here, doing 
away with one of the greatest objections to 
the removing of families to this country. 
There were some that went so far as to in- 


The College of California. 


elude the college in the forecast of their 
educational plans. Not that the college 
would be wanted soon, but they meant to see 
it well established, if possible, in their life- 

To make this the more sure, they thought 
that it would be worth while to get land giv- 
en while it was cheap, toward the foundation 
of a college endowment. There were wealthy 
ranchmen who owned their leagues, and "city 
lots " were being rapidly surveyed, mapped, 
and offered for sale in San Francisco, San 
Jose, Benicia, Sacramento, and Stockton, to 
say nothing of Sutler, Vernon, New York, 
etc. towns then projected looking for great- 
ness, though they failed at last to reach it. 
It seemed possible to get donations of such 
property toward the foundation of a college, 
and probable that it might become so valu- 
able as to be a material help when the col- 
lege should want it. I do not know how 
extensive the correspondence about the mat- 
ter was, but I know that Sherman Day, John 
W. Douglass, S. V. Blakeslee, T. L. Andrews, 
T. D. Hunt, Frederick Billings, J. A. Ben- 
ton, Frederick Buel, and the present writer 
took part in it at that time ; and it was the 
earnest purpose of all concerned to secure 
the cooperation of all friends of higher edu- 
cation in some practical college plan. The 
result was that some wealthy men were asked 
to make donations. Among others, Dr. 
James Stokes was applied to. The Doctor 
thought the matter over, and then said : "Go 
and see Dimmick ; Kimball H. Dimmick 
and I own land together, bordering on the 
Guadaloupe River in San Jose. Tell him 
I'll give as much as he will." 

Mr. Dimmick was forthwith seen, and the 
result was a written agreement, binding the 
parties, Stokes and Dimrnick, to make a deed 
of gift, conveying the land for the purposes 
of a college, as soon as a board of trustees 
could be legally incorporated to receive it. 
Some other pledges of a similar character 
were made by other parties. 

But all further progress had to await the 
organization of the State itself, and the en- 
actment of the necessary incorporation laws 
by the Legislature. The Constitutional Con- 

vention met at Monterey, and did its work 
in September, 1849. Education found plenty 
of friends in that body, and the provision 
they made for common schools in the con- 
stituti on was ample. The college plan also 
found friends among the members and some 
substantial encouragement. The Constitu- 
tion was adopted, and the Legislature chosen 
in November, 1849. It convened for busi- 
ness in December following. 

In due time a law providing for the incor- 
poration of colleges was passed. It very 
properly required, as one of the conditions of 
a college charter, the possession by the appli- 
cants of property to the value of at least 
twenty thousand dollars, and it empowered 
the Supreme Court to grant college charters. 
Under this law our application was made. 
All the conditions were fulfilled that could 
be, but it failed, because 'titles to the lands 
proposed to be given had not then been ad- 
judicated and settled, so as to make the 
property sure, as required by law. This was 
in 1850, as seen in First Cal. Reports, p. 
330. It was years before they were so set- 
tled. Changes were swift and many in that 
length of time, and finally nothing came of 
the proposed donations. 

*But that did not hinder work looking to- 
ward the college. The friends of the move- 
ment held meetings; preliminary measures 
were discussed. All of us were busy about 
our own affairs, pushed to the last degree. 
None could at that time stop to look up a 
teacher, or do other needed things to get 
together a school preparatory to a college. 
But yet information was sought from every 
quarter bearing on the plan ; extended cor- 
respondence was had with members of the 
faculty of Yale College and the government of 
Harvard College, touching the best methods 
of procedure in circumstances like ours. 
Letters full of encouragement and counsels 
drawn from experience came back, aiding us 
greatly in our plans. 


At this juncture an unexpected light broke 
upon us. The very help we needed came to 


The College of California. 

us. One day in the early spring of 1853, 
just after the arrival of the steamship from 
Panama, a stranger came to my house in 
San Francisco. He was a man in the prime 
of life, gentlemanly in his bearing, and in ap- 
pearance the very embodiment of the ideal 
college professor. It was Henry Durant. 1 

His appearance was enough of itself to 
assure an immediate welcome, but letters 
which he brought from well known friends at 
the East made it doubly warm. Mr. Durant 
came to do the very work so much needing 
to be done. He came, as he said himself, 
" with college on the brain," and he was 
ready to begin at once at the very beginning. 
It seemed wonderful! Just the man we 
needed; a cultivated scholar, a successful 
teacher; on the ground at just the right mo- 
ment, ready to begin at once. Of course, 
Mr. Durant was quickly introduced to all the 
circle of college friends, and, of course, de- 
lighted them by his evident adaptedness to 
the work. " Let him begin right off," was 
the common voice. 

But where? Not at San Josd, now, for 
it was no longer the capital of the State, and 
access by stage or steamboat was slow and 
tiresome. Where then ? 

"Try Oakland," some said. Well, over 
to Oakland we went to see. A wheezy little 
steamer had got into the habit of crossing 
the bay two or three times a day to carry 
passengers. It was pretty regular, except 
that it was liable to get stuck on the bar now 
and then. In this case it took us safely 
over. Oakland we found to be indeed a 
land of oaks, having one street, Broadway, 
extending from the landing toward the hills, 
with a few buildings here and there on either 
side, and a few houses scattered about among 
the trees. 

Upon inquiry, one single house was found 
vacant. It was situated on Broadway, where 
now is the corner of Fifth Street, and it 
could be had at a monthly rent of $150 gold 
coin paid in advance. 

We reported progress. Upon due consid- 
eration it was determined to accept the 

i See OVERLAND MONTHLY, August, 1884, pp. 167- 

terms, and let Mr. Durant begin the school 

He did so, opening about the first of June, 
1853, with three pupils. It should be re- 
membered that boys were few, as yet, in 

This arrangement, however, was tempo- 
rary. Land was soon secured between Twelfth 
and Fourteenth Streets, and between Frank- 
lin and Harrison Streets, four blocks and 
the included streets, some six or seven acres 
in all, and a house for the school, residence 
of the Principal, and boarding the pupils 
was erected thereon. 2 From that time the 
school grew steadily, though not rapidly. 

But, through trying years, Mr. Durant 
proved himself to have not only the courage 
to begin a great enterprise, but the pluck 
and perseverance to stick to it. The outside 
friends stood by him, and never failed to 
help him over hard places. 


After two years' work, the school had come 
to number fifty pupils. The prospect of per- 
manence became tolerably sure. The num- 
ber who joined in the support of the insti- 
tution increased. Opportunities to acquire 
property seemed to be in prospect. The need 
of a board of college trustees, incorporated 
according to law, became apparent. 

The law of the State relative to chartering 
colleges had been changed, so that now the 
application had to be made, not to the Su- 
preme Court, but to the State Board of Edu- 
cation, which consisted of the Governor, the 
Surveyor General, and the Superintendent of 
Public Instruction. A petition for incorpora- 
tion was presented to this Board, and was 
signed by the following gentlemen, viz : John 
Caperton, John C. Hayes, J. A. Freaner, 
H. S. Foote, Joseph C. Palmer, F. W. Page, 
Henry Haight, Robert Simson, N. W. Chit- 
tenden, Theodore Payne, J. A. Benton, Sher- 
man Day, G. A. Swezey, Samuel B. Bell, and 
John Bigler. 

The official declaration of incorporation is 
dated Sacramento, April i3th, 1855, and is 

2 OVERLAND MONTHLY, August, 1884, pp. 168, 169. 


The College of California, 


signed by John Bigler, Governor, S. H. Mar- 
lette, Surveyor General, and Paul K. Hubbs, 
Superintendent of Public Instruction. It 
made the Board of Trustees of the College 
of California to consist of Frederick Billings, 
Sherman Day, Samuel H. Willey, T. Dwight 
Hunt, Mark Brummagim, Edward B. Wals- 
worth, Joseph A. Benton, Edward McLean, 
Henry Durant, Francis W. Page, Robert 
Simson, A. H. Wilder, and Samuel B. Bell. 

All the property of the College School 
now came into the possession of the Trustees 
of the College, and the school itself went on 
under their supervision. It gave thorough in- 
struction in the various branches of an Eng- 
lish education, and also provided a careful 
training for the few who wished to fit for 
college. From this time the College School 
increased in numbers rapidly. Soon additions 
to the first building had to be made. Then 
new buildings were erected, till the institu- 
tion seemed like a veritable hive of industry 
all by itself among the oaks. 

Meanwhile, regular classes began to form 
in the three years' course to fit for college. 
Mr. Durant's enthusiasm for college culture 
was a constant stimulus to the boys, and held 
them well to their purpose, even in those 
wild and exciting times. 


In the year 1856, attention began to be 
directed to the selection of a site for the final 
location of the College. 

It was desired to make an early choice of 
some spot ample in size, situated in a healthy 
region, with fine outlook, having a copious 
stream of running water, and, withal, access- 

To aid us in making the necessary exami- 
nations for the purpose of finding the best 
site, an unexpected and most competent 
helper appeared. It was the Rev. Dr. Horace 
Bushnell. He arrived in California early in 
the year 1856, in pursuit of health. He was 
suffering from bronchitis, and wanted to try 
the efficacy of our warm, dry climate. But 
he was otherwise strong, and wished to live 
here an out-door life. 

We at once told him of our college plans, 
showing him what we had done, and explain- 
ing to him what we now wanted to do in the 
matter of finding the very best location for 
the permanent home of the College. It in- 
terested him at once. Indeed, he became 
hardly less enthusiastic than his friend Mr. 
Durant, whom he had known years before at 
Yale College. 

As a result of many interviews and much 
consultation between him and the Trustees, 
it was determined to offer him the Presiden- 
cy of the College, that he might be in the' 
best possible position to speak and act in its 
behalf before the public. He was chosen 
President, accordingly. In response to this 
action, Dr. Bushnell promised to take the 
matter of acceptance into consideration. If 
he should find himself strengthened and re- 
stored by the climate here, so as to be able 
to return to his pulpit in Hartford, he would 
return there. If he seemed to be able to live 
and be useful only here, he might accept the 
office and undertake its duties. 

Meanwhile, the traveling to search for the 
best site was just in the line of his wish to 
live out of doors, and would furnish him an 
engaging motive for so doing. And so he 
started, traveling sometimes in stages, and 
sometimes on horseback, with many tramps 
on foot between. He began on the western 
side of the bay of San Francisco, looking 
along through San Mateo County, then 
through Santa Clara County, and around on 
the eastern side of the bay in Alameda Coun- 
ty. He made his home a good while at Mr. 
Beard's, in the Mission San Jose, examining 
with great care the possible locations in that 
vicinity, more particularly a choice one in 
Sufiol Valley. Sometimes he traveled alone, 
and sometimes some one of us Trustees went 
with him. 

He came up to what is now East Oakland, 
noticing a splendid site on high ground ly- 
. ing easterly, but the defect was, it could not 
have running water. He visited the Berke- 
ley locality, 1 and found it admirable in all 

1 I use the name " Berkeley " to designate this local- 
ity at this time, although it was not known by that name 
till May, 1866. Then, when a name had to be chosen, 
and all the Trustees were making suggestions as to 


The College of California. 


respects, except that there was not water 

In the early autumn he went to Martinez, 
Benicia, and through Napa, Sonoma, and 
Petaluma Valleys, spending week after week 
in his tours. In these journeys he met a 
great many people, and interested them in 
our college plans. At the same time he en- 
joyed the best possible advantages for his 
own recovery. And these proved to be so 
effectual, that he thought himself able to re- 
turn home and resume his pastoral work. 
Before doing so, however, in the late autumn 
of 1856, he made a written report in detail 
to the Trustees, concerning several sites, 
specifying their peculiarities and excellences. 
He also delivered some addresses setting 
forth the claims of the College, and wrote 
an appeal to the public in its behalf. To 
our great regret, he thought best to leave us, 
but he promised to do his best to interest 
people in the Eastern States in our under- 
taking, and try to get them to help us, as 
people in the older States have always been 
in the habit of helping colleges in new States. 

Possessed now of the information gathered 
during the summer with Dr. Bushnell, the 
Trustees prosecuted further inquiries at their 
leisure, inasmuch as there was no haste as to 
the final conclusion. 

Meantime the College School grew, filling 
new buildings and employing a large corps 
of select teachers. The boys in the classi- 
cal department made good progress, and the 
more advanced were approaching near to 
readiness to enter college. 

As to the permanent college site, the opin- 
ion carne to be unanimous in favor of the 
Berkeley location, if an adequate water sup- 
ply could be provided there. Thorough 
examinations were made to determine this 
point. An engineer was employed. The 

what it should be, Mr. Billings remembered the familiar 
stanza : 

" Westward the course of Empire," etc. 

"Berkeley!" said he, "Berkeley why wouldn't 
Berkeley be a good name for a college town in the far- 
thest west?" 

On the whole, it was so agreed, and by vote of the 
Trustees on the 24th of May, 1866, the name " Berke- 
ley " was given to this locality, which had been before 
known as ''The College Site." 

flow of the springs was measured. The fa- 
cilities for impounding water were ascer- 
tained. The extent of the water-shed was 
estimated; and, what was more, the possibil- 
ity of bringing in Wild Cat Creek was deter- 
mined. It was never contemplated, when 
the whole country was before us, to put a 
college where there was not an abundance 
of flowing water. We conceived that it would 
be an unpardonable blunder to plant such 
an institution in a country of long dry sea- 
sons like this where there could not be an 
unfailing and copious water-supply for all 
purposes of use and ornamentation. When 
it was found that this could be provided on 
the site in question, the only objection to 
choosing it seemed to be removed. 

And so, at a meeting of the Board of 
Trustees, held March ist, 1858, the Berkeley 
site was, by formal vote, adopted as the lo- 
cation of the College of California. 


As the work toward the full organization 
of the college went on, the question was 
raised in a certain quarter, What were its 
principles ? To make plain in words what 
had, from the beginning, been well under- 
stood in fact by all concerned, the Trustees 
adopted and published their " Organic Ba- 
sis," declaring that " The College of Califor- 
nia is an institution designed by its found- 
ers to furnish the means of a thorough and 
comprehensive education, under the pervad- 
ing influence and spirit of the Christian re- 
ligion. That Trustees shall be elected from 
time to time, such as shall fairly and equally 
represent the patrons and contributors to 
the funds of the institution, provided that a 
majority be always members of evangelical 
Christian churches, but that not more than 
one-fourth of the actual members be of one 
and the same Christian denomination." In 
the election of professors, men of Christian 
character were to be preferred, and "the 
President and a majority of the Faculty must 
be members of evangelical Christian church- 
es." The idea was this : It seemed possi- 
ble to have a college grow up in California 


The College of California. 


in our own life-time if we joined in building 
one only. In a State so remote, and likely 
to be settled so slowly, it seemed plain that 
if more than one college should be attempted, 
there could be none, in the proper sense of 
the word " college," for a long time to come. 
At the same time, there appeared to be no 
good reason why one and the same literary 
institution, such as a college is, should not 
serve all the evangelical denominations 
equally well: hence the plan, as expressed in 
the Organic Basis. 


As the first class preparing for college was 
nearly ready to be admitted, it became nec- 
essary to appoint enough professors to receive 
and instruct them in the beginning of their 
college studies. It was a matter quite of 
course that Henry Durant should be first 
chosen. His chair was designated as that 
of " the Greek Language and Literature." 
Martin Kellogg was next appointed "Pro- 
fessor of the Latin Language and Literature," 
and Isaac H. Brayton " Professor of Rhet- 
oric, Belles-Lettres, and the English Lan- 

A separate building was erected, contain- 
ing recitation rooms, etc., for the accommo- 
dation of the College. 

All things beingthus in readiness, the senior 
preparatory class in the College School, hav- 
ing passed an excellent examination, was ad- 
mitted to college, and the fall term of the year 
1860 began with a Freshman class number- 
ing eight students. Professors Durant and 
Kellogg gave their whole time to the instruc- 
tion of this class, and Professor Brayton 
only a part of his, as he became at this time 
the Principal of the College School. 

After a successful year's work the class 
was advanced to Sophomore standing, and 
a new Freshman class was admitted in June, 
1861, numbering ten members. 

When the spring term of this college year, 
i86i-'62, opened, it was remembered that 
at its end a third class would be ready for ad- 
mission. Then more room would be wanted, 

and more teachers, and more means. The 
care of the college property also required 
attention. It was evident that the College 
must soon have a President as its execu- 
tive head. And it was the opinion of all 
that more depended upon a wise selection 
for this office than any other thing. It was 
determined to proceed with carefulness and 
deliberation in this matter. 

But, meantime, something must be done 
to supply the immediate want in this depart- 
ment. Anxious consultations were had by 
the Trustees as to the best method of pro- 

While these were going on, it became 
known that I was about to resign the pastor- 
ate of the Howard Presbyterian Church, San 
Francisco (which I had held for twelve years, 
from the church's commencement), with the 
intention of going East for relief and restor- 
ation to health. Indeed, my steamer pas- 
sage was engaged. No sooner was this un- 
derstood than the request came to me from 
professors, Trustees, and friends of the Col- 
lege that I would reconsider the matter of 
going East, and seek the needed recovery of 
strength in a change of occupation here, be- 
coming the executive head of the College for 
the time being. Such was my interest in the 
institution, such was the urgency used with 
me, and so good was the prospect of the 
recovery of my health in the work, that I 
accepted the appointment, becoming Vice- 
President of the College, with the intention 
of remaining in office not over two years. 
My hope and expectation were to see the 
College in a new building by that timfe, and 
presided over by a thoroughly trained and 
qualified President. 

All went reasonably well during my first 
year, while I was getting " broken in " to my 
new service. The new building was erected 
and paid for. It was a handsome structure, 
two stories in height, surmounted by a tower 
from which there was an extended view, em- 
bracing the forest of oaks that covered the 
encinal, and the bay and the mountains be- 
yond. It contained a chapel, lecture room, 
recitation rooms, and library room. In due 
time, the third class was admitted, and the 


The College of California. 


regular routine of college life seemed to be 
well under way. 

When things seemed to be ready in April, 
1863, for the election of President, Rev. Dr. 
W. G. T. Shedd, of New York, was chosen. 
The appointment was forwarded to him, to- 
gether with such information as would give 
him as correct a view as possible of the im- 
portance of the Institution, and the opportu- 
nity for usefulness open before it on this 
coast. At the same time it was said to him 
that he might take time to become acquaint- 
ed with all the facts, as we were in no press- 
ing haste for his decision. 

At the anniversary examination in June, 
1863, the three classes were advanced, and 
a new Freshman class was admitted from the 
College School. William H. Brewer was 
elected Professor of Natural Science, and 
the college year i863-'64 opened in the new 
building with the four classes, and the Fac- 
ulty consisting of the Vice-President, and 
Professors Durant, Kellogg, Brayton, and 
Brewer, together with F. D. Hodgson, In- 
structor in Mathematics and Natural Philos- 
ophy, C. L. Des Rochers, Teacher in French, 
T. C Barker, Teacher in German, and W. 
H. Cleveland, Teacher in Spanish. The 
curriculum of study was very nearly that of 
the older Eastern colleges, including, per- 
haps, something more of modern language. 

The college bell used to ring strictly "on 
time," and all the college exercises were 
punctually attended. There was the genu- 
ine spirit of college life, both thorough and 
manly ; 


As soon as we had entered upon the 
second term of the college year, i863~'64, we 
began to prepare for Commencement and the 
graduation of our first class. We determined 
to make this occasion as distinct a way-mark 
as possible in the progress of the College. 

Of course, there would be the usual com- 
mencement exercises, but these would not be 
entirely new, because exercises similar to 
them had occurred at our anniversaries for 
years. The object was, to plan something 
that would call together educated men, and 

induce them to give a day to learning and 
the revival of college associations, and at the 
same time interest them in this college and 
give emphasis to our first Commencement. 

We remembered the alumni gatherings at 
the Eastern college commencements, and how 
much they do to add interest to those occa- 
sions. We had no alumni. But it occured 
to us to invite all college graduates to 
our first commencement, providing them 
a supper and an oration, poem, and so forth, 
for themselves. So, first we consulted the 
ladies, and they promised to provide the 
collation and serve it in the College Chapel. 
A note of invitation was then prepared in 
the name of the Faculty of the College, in- 
viting college graduates to a general alumni 
meeting with us on the afternoon and even- 
ing of May 3ist, 1864, Commencement being 
on the day following, June ist, promising at 
the same time an oration by John B. Felton, 
and a poem by C. T. H. Palmer. 

This note was sent to all known gradu- 
ates. It awakened an unexpected interest. 
The idea was new. It touched the college 
nerve. It soon became evident that there 
would be a full attendance. Preparations 
were made accordingly. When the appoint- 
ed day came, all things were ready. The 
assembly convened for the oration and poem 
in the Presbyterian church, which was then 
situated in the grove near the present corner 
of Harrison and Sixth Streets. 

The house had been made ready for all 
the exercises of this commencement occa- 
sion. Of course, it was crowded with people. 
Those who could not get in found standing 
room where they could hear, under the trees 
near by the open windows. At the close of 
these exercises the invited alumni present 
went in procession, escorted by the members 
of the college and the college school, through 
the grove to the college chapel. There the 
guests filed in and took their places at the 
tables, and, at the signal from the President 
of the occasion, Edward Tompkins, took their 
seats. There were one hundred and twenty- 
five of them, representing some thirty-five 
institutions of learning. Letters were re- 
ceived from twenty-five more, expressing re- 


The College of California. 


gret that they could not be present. First 
came the repast and a cheery time they 
had of it. Many of the guests had never 
met before. And now they were here, as- 
sembled in the interest of the higher educa- 
tion in California, and at the same time re- 
newing the associations of youth and of the 
various colleges from which they came. 

The scene was indescribable. All were 
young men, measuring lances together for the 
first time. Everything was refined and be- 
coming to cultivated people. But the air 
of that room was electric with wit and humor, 
poetry and wisdom, till eleven o'clock, when 
the assembly reluctantly broke up. The 
short-hand reporter did his best to get some- 
thing of it down on paper, but the finest 
things eluded the quickness of his pencil. 
It was the saying of all, that they had nev- 
er seen the like of it. There was no effort 
about it. Much of the sparkle of the occa- 
sion was due to its novelty, and to the Pres- 
ident, Mr. Tompkins, whose ability in guid- 
ing such a meeting was something marvel- 
ous. There were toasts and responses, and 
interjected speeches, and quick repartees, 
and all in such fine taste that every last thing 
seemed to be the best thing. The hours 
just flew, and it was an unwelcome surprise 
when the train-whistle gave the signal to break 
up. Before adjourning, however, it was de- 
termined to organize the alumni into an as- 
sociation, to meet annually in this way with 
the College of California at its commence- 

The next day was Commencement Day, 
when our first graduates were to receive their 
degrees. At eleven o'clock in the forenoon 
the church was full and overflowing again. 
First came the exercises of the graduating 
class ; after them a poem by Bret Harte, fol- 
lowed by an oration by Newton Booth. 
The degrees were then conferred in due 
form, and so the college rounded out the full 
outline of its work, thereafter to go on from 
year to year. Commencent exercises are so 
much alike that no detailed description needs 
to be given of this occasion. Its peculiar 
interest to us consisted in the fact that it 
was our first, and that it represented the full 
VOL. VI. 3. 

four years' course of study usually pursued 
in the best Eastern colleges. 

From this time, the College went on from 
term to term, and from year to year, with a 
growing spirit of true college life. Com- 
mencements succeeded each other with only 
the usual variations incident to such occa- 
sions, and the "Associated Alumni" assem- 
bled with us in still larger numbers every 

Meantime, the attendance at the College 
School went up to two hundred and fifty 
boys, taught by twelve instructors, giving the 
whole or a part of their time to the work. 

At this time we received Dr. Shedd's let- 
ter, declining to accept the presidency. Very 
soon thereafter the Board of Trustees elected 
Rev. Dr. R. D. Hitchcock, and asked Dr. 
Bushnell, Mr. Billings and others, to see him, 
explain our situation, and if possible secure 
his acceptance of the appointment. All 
these delays in getting a President seemed 
to oblige me to remain in the office of Vice- 
President much longer than I had planned 
or desired. Though much against my in- 
clination, I continued in the work, a great 
deal of which was irksome and disagreeable 
to me, in the hope of soon transferring it to 
other hands. 


In the summer of the year 1865, it was 
thought that the time had come to begin to 
make plans for the improvement of the Berk- 
eley property, with reference to the removal 
of the College to it at no very distant day. 

These plans contemplated the proper lo- 
cation of the college buildings, and the im- 
provement of the grounds between the two 
ravines, and the laying out of the lands out- 
side in a proper way, to attract the right kind 
of population to be near a college. It was 
the purpose of the Trustees to give such a 
study to this problem as to make no mistake 
for those coming after to regret, when it 
should be too late to remedy it. 

Fortunately, at that time, Fred. Law Olm- 
sted, of the firm of Olmsted, Vaugh & Co., 


The College of California. 


Landscape Architects of New York, was in 
California on professional business. We 
were sure of his superior qualifications, 
from the fact that his firm had been the 
architects of Central Park, New York. He 
was asked to go upon our grounds, and give 
his ideas as to the best way of using them 
for a college and a college town. 

He went, and made a series of careful ob- 
servations. He then outlined the method of 
improvement he would suggest, in conversa- 
tion to the Trustees. They were so con- 
vinced of its wisdom, that they voted to em- 
ploy him, at large expense, to make a topo- 
graphical survey, and lay out the entire 
grounds for the purposes contemplated. The 
thoroughness with which he studied the con- 
ditions of his problem is indicated, when he 
says in his final report : " I visited the grounds 
under a variety of circumstances, in summer 
and winter, by night and by day. I visited 
the other suburbs of San Francisco, and stud- 
ied them with some care; and, without being 
able to express a definite estimate of the de- 
gree of difference between their climate and 
that of Berkeley, I think I am warranted 
in endorsing the opinion that the climate of 
Berkeley is distinguished for a peculiar seren- 
ity, cheerfulness, and healthfulness." 

After making a complete topographical 
survey of the entire grounds, Mr. Olmsted 
returned to New York in the fall of 1865, 
taking his notes and outline maps with him, 
in order there to complete the work for us. 
In July, 1866, he sent us his plan, in detail. 
It was shown upon a very large topographical 
map of the property, together with smaller 
drawings laying down road-lines, giving 
methods of construction, etc., to be used in 
the field. This plan was accompanied by a 
printed pamphlet of twenty-six pages, going 
into a thorough discussion of the theory and 
method of town and college improvement in 
circumstances like ours. 

It contemplated expenditure no faster than 
there was means to meet it, but it proposed 
a plan of improvement comprehending the 
entire property, and consistent in all its parts, 
according to which whatever was done should 
be guided. It located the principal college 

buildings. It grouped them with reference 
to convenience of access, and to the best 
architectural effect as seen from each other. 
It appropriated the grounds, and laid down 
the avenues and paths. It described the 
method of constructing the road-bed, gutters, 
drains, bridges, and cross-walks. It sug- 
gested plantings and shrubbery on either side 
that would remain green, to shut off the 
brown and sterile aspect beyond, in the dry 
season. This whole improvement plan was 
made to conform as closely as possible to the 
natural features of the ground. The prin- 
cipal road followed the stream in its wind- 
ings, even up the ravine to the garden cot- 
tage, and turned where there is a beautiful 
view westward through the gorge and out 
upon the bay. " The extent of the sylvan 
lanes which I have described," says the re- 
port, "would be about five miles. At several 
points upon them there would be very fine 
distant views, each having some distinctive 
advantage. The local scenery would also at 
many points be not only quite interesting, 
even without any effort to produce special 
effect by planting, but the roads are laid in 
such a way as to make the most of the natural 
features, while preserving their completely 
sylvan and rustic character, being carried in 
frequent curves in such a way as to make the 
best use of the picturesque banks of the ar- 
royos and the existing trees upon them. 
These are sometimes allowed to divide into 
two parts. Notwithstanding the varied curves 
which the arrangement involves, the general 
course of the lanes will be found simple, and 
the connection between the more important 
points sufficiently direct. A tract of low flat 
ground, twenty-seven acres in extent, sur- 
rounded on three sides by moderate eleva- 
tions, two of which retire so as to form a long 
bay or dell, is proposed to be formed into a 
small park or pleasure ground. The site is 
naturally more moist, fertile, and meadow- 
like than any other in the vicinity, and a con- 
siderable number of old and somewhat quaint 
and picturesque oaks are growing in a portion 
of it. This occurrence, with a thick growth 
of underwood, and of rank herbaceous plants, 
leads me to think that if it were thoroughly 


The College of California. 


drained, cleaned, and tilled, trees would nat- 
urally grow upon it in more umbrageous and 
elegant forms than elsewhere, and that turf 
would be more easily formed and maintained 
upon its surface. The lanes are arranged 
with reference to continuations to the north- 
ward and southward, if hereafter found de- 
sirable. The area of ground contained in 
these divisions is one hundred and ninety- 
five acres, and what may belong to private 
ownership might with advantage be occupied 
by from fifty to one hundred families. If 
what is proposed to be accomplished is mod- 
estly conceived, and with requisite effort is 
carried out, it may be confidently anticipated 
that the result will be a neighborhood pecu- 
liarly home-like and grateful, in contrast to 
the ordinary aspect of the open country of 

In order to be in readiness to superintend 
the beginning of these improvements, I re- 
moved from Oakland to Berkeley in Decem- 
ber, 1865. I built my cottage on a choice 
spot, in an open field. There were only 
two or three farm-houses within a mile or 
more. The cottage is standing now, and is 
on the northeast corner of Dwight Way and 
Audubon Street. I was getting settled, while 
Mr. Olmsted was making out his maps, 
drawings, and report in New York. By 
July, 1866, when those maps, etc., reached 
us, my grounds were well laid out, and a 
good home-beginning made. 

The entire tract of land owned by the 
College was then surrounded by a good 
fence, the level part being cultivated and the 
hill land pastured. In order to begin the 
college improvement, and also to enable 
those who had bought building lots to use 
them, or to induce others to buy, a begin- 
ning must be made in introducing the water. 
A study of the best method of procedure 
led to the plan of first bringing down the 
water of Strawberry Creek and its tributary 
springs, and pouring it into a small perma- 
nent reservoir situated high up on the hill- 
side, thence to take it in iron pipe and dis- 
tribute it below, as might be wanted. This 
would supply all for a while, and would al- 
ways be sufficient for the wants of those who 

might build on the .higher levels. Then, 
when the demand should be greater below, 
the main supply might be made ready in 
what seemed to be almost a perfect natural 
reservoir lower down. This reservoir could 
be made complete by building a dam, only 
some sixty feet long, between the two solid 
banks of Strawberry Creek at a certain point, 
thus holding the water and overflowing some 
acres, making a small lake. At the same time, 
the elevation of this water would be such as 
would give it a good head for use on the 
college site, and on all the plain below. 

First came the working out of the first 
part of this plan, the construction of the small 
reservoir, and the bringing down of the water 
for immediate use. This was accomplished 
gradually, in the midst of the pressure of 
other college work, and was completed in 
the summer of 1867. 

The friends of the College were invited to 
a picnic party on the college grounds on the 
24th day of August, 1867, to celebrate the 
introduction of the water and examine the 
works. It was a beautiful day. Many peo- 
ple came. The newspapers had their re- 
porters there; speeches were made, and songs 
were sung. The fountains did their part 
well, playing their jets and throwing their 
spray high in the air, in places where there 
was nothing around at that time to lead one 
to expect to see a fountain. It was, however, 
a satisfactory demonstration of what could 
be done with water on our grounds and in 
all that vicinity. It was plain that the first 
condition of our improvement-plan, which 
was water, could be satisfactorily supplied. 

At once the surveys were begun to prepare 
the way for bringing in Wild Cat Creek at 
some future time, to the proposed great 
reservoir. Negotiations were opened, and 
the necessary legal steps were taken to ac- 
quire the full right to this water, and the 
right of way for the aqueduct in which to 
bring it. All this proceeded successfully, 
no hindrance of any kind being met with, 
till the way was fully open for the construc- 
tion of the works whenever the necessities 
of the College should require that large water 
supply. Although this might not be for a 


The College of California. 


considerable time, an engineer was employed 
to make the measurements for the building 
of the dam across Strawberry Creek, at the 
point before alluded to, in order that they 
might be in readiness when wanted. In 
view of the improvement-plan, tree seeds 
had been obtained from the East and else- 
where one and two years before, and the 
growth of young trees now filled quite a large 
nursery. Some houses were built on home- 
stead lots sold by the College, and fine im- 
provements were begun on the grounds 
around them. Other lots were planted and 
cultivated, in anticipation of use for resi- 

ThS business men of San Francisco gave the 
funds with which to start the College School 
in 1853, and the active business men of San 
Francisco and the other cities of the State 
gave nearly all the money to the College 
that it ever received by donations. The 
wealthiest men did not incline to give. They 
were applied to, many times over, not only 
by officers of the College, but by business 
friends who had special influence with them, 
but they were not men who appreciated the 
College as much as some other things. 

The College School, soon after its begin- 
ning, became self-supporting, and continued 
to be so, erecting its own buildings, and pay- 
ing its own expenses. But the College, of 
course, when it was organized, did not. Col- 
leges never do. Their tuition-income is very 
little, compared with their expenses. 

To provide the means for starting the Col- 
lege, and carrying it on for the first few years, 
a time-subscription was made by business 
men, as before stated, to come in in annual 
payments. While these subscriptions should 
continue, it was expected that we could get 
a President, the endowment for that office 
having been already subscribed. In respect 
to Professor Hitchcock, however, we were 
disappointed, for his letter declining to come 
reached us in May, 1866. 

We knew well how the older States had 
always helped the newer States in founding 
their colleges, and, although the era of large 

gifts to colleges had not then begun, we still 
felt sure that we should receive something 
that would amount to a substantial assistance. 

In order to do this, we first secured the 
adoption of the College by the "Western 
College Society," as one of the institutions 
recommended by them to the public as de- 
serving support and endowment. 

Then remembering that we were young, 
and quite unknown to the Eastern public, 
and that our College was also as yet un- 
known, and far away, a brief statement of 
its origin, history, constitution, and progress 
was submitted to a large number of the 
most prominent friends of education in the 
East presidents and professors of colleges 
and universities, and ministers of various de- 
nominations and they were requested to 
give us in writing such an endorsement of 
it to the public as they thought it deserved. 
The letters written in response to this request 
were unexpectedly full and cordial, unreserv- 
edly approving our plan, and earnestly com- 
mending our institution to the generosity of 
all friends of education. Then the state- 
ments that had been thus submitted to these 
gentlemen, together with their replies, were 
printed in a neat pamphlet, and sent widely 
through the Eastern States, to those who 
were known to be supporters of educational 
institutions. The cause seemed to us to 
be of such magnitude, and the necessity for 
help so great, that, armed with such endorse- 
ments, we felt sure of obtaining at least the 
usual help given to new colleges in the West. 

But in this, also, we were sadly disappoint- 
ed. It seems strange, even now, that it 
should have been so. The principal reason 
seems to have been indicated in the report 
of one of our professors, who made a thor- 
ough canvass at the East for subscriptions : 
"Nine out of ten to whom I applied, said : 
' You are rich enough to endow your own 
college. Why come here for money, when 
there is so much in California?" 3 

But whatever was the reason, or the com- 
bination of reasons, the fact is, that after all 
our efforts, continued through several years, 
not nearly ten thousand dollars ever came to 
our College from the East. 


The College of California. 


It was the plan that the Berkeley improve- 
ment should be carried on as means might be 
obtained from the sale of homestead-lots, and 
that the balance still due of the purchase- 
money for a portion of the land should be paid 
from the same fund. The sale of these lots was 
reasonably successful, and the income would 
have met all demands on this department of 
our enterprise, had it not been necessary to 
divert so much of it to meet deficiencies in 
the college current-expense income. For in 
1857 our time-subscriptions for that purpose 
had expired. Having received little help, 
and no endowments from the East or else- 
where, we were obliged to try to raise another 
time-subscription for current expenses. 

This effort proceeded slowly, and met with 
many difficulties. Business was depressed. 
The war had but recently closed, and war- 
taxes were yet high. The currency of the 
country was unsettled and fluctuating. Our 
business men had subscribed generously to 
the College several times, but now, in the 
uncertainties as to the future, they hesitated. 
Moreover, within a few years we had lost six 
of our earliest, most zealous, efficient, and 
generous Trustees three of them by death, 
and three by removal from the State. The 
places of such men could not be at once 
fully supplied by new elections. The situa- 
tion became perplexing. If current college 
expenses, which were all the time increasing, 
must be met by the sale of the homestead- 
lots, that sale would have to be forced, and, 
of course, at low prices, and soon all would 
be gone. 

Additional to all this was the fact that new 
pastors had come to the churches of several 
of the denominations. They saw clearly the 
need of denominational work, and, perhaps, 
as strangers, did not see so clearly that con- 
centration of effort was vital to the existence 
of the College. It may possibly have been 
thought that a college which had grown up 
through so many years would, of course, go 
on, and that other needed things could now 
be undertaken. 

It was in this juncture of affairs that we 
held our Commencement, in June, 1867. 
Governor Low was present. In view of what 
he saw, he was led to say : 

" You have here organization, scholarship, 
patronage, success, reputation, but you lack 
money ; the State has money, but has none 
of these things : what a pity they could not 
be brought together ! " 

He probably was led more particularly to 
say this because, as chairman of a Legisla- 
tive Committee, he was then in search of a 
location for a State " Agricultural, Mining, 
and Mechanical Arts College." 

About that time, Dr. John Todd visited 
us. He had been at Ann Arbor, and had 
seen the distinguished success of Michigan 
University, and described it in a very attract- 
ive way. Besides, just then the State Uni- 
versity "idea" was very popular before the 
public throughout the country, especially as 
represented by Michigan and Cornell Uni- 

All these things led naturally to the ques- 
tion whether a State University here could 
not be made to solve the problem, both of 
the proposed Agricultural Institution and 
our college, and by one endowed and well 
supported institution fill the place of both. 

This idea struck some of us with regret 
and apprehension. But as it was discussed 
confidentially among the Trustees and con- 
tributors to our college, it seemed to gain 
general assent, as possibly, under the circum- 
stances, a wise measure. If only we could 
have been sure of realizing as good a univer- 
sity as that of Michigan, it would have been 
easier than it was to surrender the College for 
the sake of it. But we were not sure. Never- 
theless the decided opinion among the Trus- 
tees and donors came to be, at last, that it 
was best to take the risk, and transfer the 
College to a University, if the State would 
undertake to establish and maintain one. 


Governor Low was consulted. The Gov- 
ernor had been a warm friend of the College 
from the beginning, and a liberal contributor 
to its funds. He decidedly approved of the 
university plan, and expressed his high ap- 
preciation of the contemplated offer on the 
part of the College. He thought it would 
unite all interests, whereas they had hereto- 


The College of California. 


fore been hopelessly divided, and every effort 
to found an institution by the State had been 
thwarted. He said that he regarded this 
proposition as likely to open the way to suc- 
cess. He still further said, that if the Col- 
lege would agree to propose this transfer, 
nothing further should be done in the matter 
of the Agricultural College; and he would 
recommend in his message to the next Legis- 
lature, which was to convene in December, 
about two months from that time, the estab- 
lishment of a State University on our college 
grounds. But, he added that the matter 
must be decided now, inasmuch as the time 
of the meeting of the Legislature was so near. 

The decision of this question was a severe 
trial, especially to the early friends of the 
college plan. But it was urged that if such 
an offer as this of the transfer of the results 
of sixteen years' work- should be accepted by 
the State to found a University, the views 
and feelings of those who made the offer 
would certainly not be disregarded, and the 
real work of the College would be perpetuat- 
ed and enlarged in the University, and at 
the same time its plans for improvement 
could proceed more rapidly, and with a more 
generous outlay. As a matter of course, no 
terms or conditions could be made with the 
State. The offer must be made out-and-out, 
if at all, and the result trusted to the people. 

After the maturest consideration that it 
was possible to give to the question in all its 
bearings, it was, with high hopes, but with 
many fears, determined to propose to donate 
to the State our college site at Berkeley, com- 
prising one hundred and sixty acres of land ; 
and that whenever a University of California 
should be established on it, the College 
would disincorporate, and pay over its re- 
maining assets to the University. 

When the Legislature met, both Governor 
Low and the incoming Governor Haight, in 
their messages, recommended the establish- 
ment of a University, in accordance with 
this proposition. 

As was anticipated, the offer of the College 
reconciled the interests that had heretofore 
been at odds, such as the agricultural, the 
mining, and some others ; and the Legisla- 

ture, with great unanimity, enacted the nec- 
essary law establishing the University, and 
the Governor approved it on March 23d, 
1868. No question of means stood in the 
way in this case. Ample funds at the dispos- 
al of the State were at once appropriated to 
the endowment and support of the new in- 

For something over a year from that time, 
the College continued its work, while the or- 
ganization of the University was going on, and 
then it was turned over to the University. 

The funds obtained by subscription for 
carrying on this entire college work had been 
received in comparatively small sums. From 
the books it appears that the whole number 
of subscriptions collected was four hundred 
and thirty-one. The largest sum received 
from any one source was that of $5,000, 
given by the Pacific Mail Steamship Compa- 
ny, through Allan Me Lane, Esq., the Presi- 

The current expenses of the College 
amounted to very much more than its sub- 
scription-income during the nine years of its 
existence, but the balance was paid from the 
land department fund. After making the 
donation of the one hundred and sixty acres 
to the State for the site of the University, and 
the organization of that institution, the re- 
mainder of the property went to it, accord- 
ing to the resolution to that effect. 

The College of California graduated six 
classes. None of them were large, as it was 
the beginning of thorough college work in.the 
State. The members of these classes have 
done, and are doing, as much credit to their 
training as the average of college graduates 
from the oldest institutions. One has al- 
ready done good service as a member of 
Congress. At the same time with him, a 
graduate of the College School served his 
term in the same office, with credit to him- 
self and his constituents. 

Those who entered the ministry are faith- 
ful and successful men, and of those who 
chose other callings and pursuits, several 
have distinguished themselves. The same 
may also be said of the graduates of the Col- 


The Kan Francisco Iron Strike. 


lege School. The number of these I do not 
know, but it must have been several hun- 

Among the gentlemen who delivered com- 
mencement orations or alumni addresses 
were Professor J. D. Whitney, Bishop Kip, 
Rev. T. Starr King, Judg e O. L. Shafter, 
Rev. Dr. A. L. Stone, Professor Benjamin 
Silliman, Professor Henry Durant, Rev. Dr. 
J. A. Benton, Rev. Dr. Horatio Stebbins, 
Rev. Dr. I. E. -Dwinell, and Rev. Dr. Eli 
Corwin. Nearly all these addresses and ora- 
tions, together with the poems that accom- 
panied them, were published from time to 
time by the College in large editions; as also 
the short-hand reports of the proceedings, 
speeches, etc., at the meetings of the alumni. 
Thes'e, together with other published reports 
and papers, constitute a not inconsiderable 
contribution to the home literature of Cal- 

The work of the Board of Trustees was 
no small tax on the time and attention of 
the members. This work grew with the 
growth of the institution. Meetings had 
to be held always as often as once a month, 
and much of the time oftener. The mem- 
bers were gentlemen of the very busiest class, 
but yet they were generally prompt in their 

attendance, and were cheerful and patient in 
the midst of the details of a business needing 
large means, but having only a small income. 
There was a general concurrence of judg- 
ment, and seldom a divided vote. 

It is sixteen years since the College of 
California transferred its work to the Univer- 
sity of California, but until now there has 
been no sketch of its history written. But its 
books, records, and original papers, together 
with most of its correspondence, are pre- 
served. So, also, are its annual catalogues 
and its numerous publications, consisting of 
reports; appeals, circulars, programmes, ad- 
dresses, orations, and poems. A full and 
detailed history of the College has been writ- 
ten, narrating its progress from year to year. 
In this volume is incorporated a selection of 
its choicest addresses, orations, and poems. 
It will be preserved for reference or for pub- 
lication, as may seem required in future 

So concludes a chapter in the history of 
early educational work in this State, cover- 
ing in all nearly twenty years ; and it is es- 
pecially inscribed to the former patrons and 
students of the departments of the College 
of California. 

S. H. Willey. 



I AM asked to explain in behalf of the iron- 
workers who a few months since resisted the 
proposed reduction of wages by the iron 
manufacturers of this city, the reasons why 
the workmen did not accept the representa- 
tions of the employers that the reduction 
was absolutely necessary, and consequently 
resisted it. I desire to state as well as I am 
able the side of the iron-workers of this city in 
their differences with the manufacturers. 
Perhaps it would not be out of place to give 
here a short history of the strike. 

The first intimation the workmen had that 

there was to be a reduction of their wages, 
was contained in the following notice, which 
was posted in the Union, Pacific, Risdon, 
Fulton, Empire, and National workshops, on 
Saturday, February yth, 1885: 


In consequence of the depressed condition of 
business and the recent universal reduction of wages 
in the East, which has decreased the prices of ma- 
chinery more than twenty-five per cent, below those 
of any previous time, and the importations having re- 
sulted in a general decrease of work produced here, 
and in order to avoid a general discharge of employ- 
ees, and perhaps an entire suspension of work, we 


The San Francisco Iron Strike. 


feel reluctantly compelled to make a reduction of 
. fifteen per cent, on all wages on and after February 
9, 1885. 

As this reduction was to take effect the 
next day but one after its date, evidently 
there was no intention to consult with the 
workmen, nor to leave any great opportunity 
for them to consult each other. 

Special meetings of the iron-workers were 
called for Sunday afternoon, and those attend- 
ing resolved not to accept the reduction; 
but owing to the fact that there had been no 
organization in any branch except the mould- 
ers, in that branch alone was there unani- 
mity of action. They resolved not to accept 
the reduction, and appointed a committee to 
inform the proprietors of that fact. The 
meeting then adjourned till Monday evening, 
when the committee were to report the re- 
sult of their work, and any impressions they 
might have formed during the day. 

In every other branch there were a few men 
at work on Monday, but not a single iron- 
moulder went near the shops. Their com- 
mittee visited each of the firms above named, 
and having delivered their message, heard 
what the proprietors had to say, which in 
suSstance amounted to what is contained in 
the notice of reduction above referred to. 
The committee replied as best they could, 
giving their reasons for opposing the reduc- 
tion, which were in effect as given below. 
The committee reported in the evening that 
they had been kindly received by all the 
firms, and some of them thought it was pos- 
sible to have a compromise if the society 
would advance the proposition ; but the 
Union instructed the committee not to go 
near the employers unless sent for. 

Nothing new occurred until Wednesday, 
the 1 2th, when by request the iron-moulders' 
committee met the proprietors at three 
o'clock, in Mr. Rankin's office. The inter- 
view was very friendly, and both sides ad- 
mitted the senselessness of keeping up the 
strife. When the meeting adjourned, the 
moulders' committee felt that if the Union 
would appoint a committee with full power 
to act, a compromise could be effected by 
a seven and a half per cent, reduction ; but 

the Union that evening reaffirmed its for- 
mer decision, and the following communica- 
tion was sent to the proprietors on Thursday 

SAN FRANCISCO, Feb. 12, 1885. 

Mr. , DEAR SIR: We informed the 

Union last evening of the result of our conference, 
and that we believed it possible to have a settle- 
ment if the Union would appoint a committee with 
power to act. The discussion which followed lasted 
till nearly midnight. The Union then decided not 
to compromise or permit the committee to make any 
compromise, and that the men will not return to 
work except at the old rates. 

Very respectfully, 


With this all hope of a compromise ended. 

The decision of the majority was strictly 
adhered to. Strong committees watched 
each shop from the dawn till midnight, to 
prevent the transfer of work or patterns 
owned by firms on strike to those that were 
paying the old rates, it having been agreed 
by the men that they would not cast from 
patterns owned by the firms in question. 
This, however, did not prevent machine 
shops that were paying the old wages from 
removing their own patterns from firms that 
had given notice of reduction to those that 
were not on strike. During all this time the 
other branches were perfecting their organ- 
izations, and the men were gradually coming 
out and joining those on strike ; so that at 
the end of the first week, with few excep- 
tions, all had joined their respective Unions. 
Committees wereappointed from each branch 
to confer with the others as to the best 
methods of conducting the strike to a suc- 
cessful end. 

Sunday, the i5th, was a very busy day 
among the workmen. There was a joint 
meeting of each branch in the morning at 
ten A. M., and in the afternoon all the Unions 
met and arranged matters for the following 
morning. The apprentices agreed to turn 
out and cast their lot with the men, who in 
return pledged themselves not to return to 
work without the apprentices. This com- 
pletely paralyzed work in the foundries, for 
the boys could not be bribed to go to work 
under any circumstances. 


The San Francisco Iron Strike. 


On Monday, the i6th, the committees 
were very strict in the performance of their 
duties. Every movement of the bosses was 
watched. In the afternoon the Globe Foun- 
dry was closed on account of having agreed 
to work on a pattern owned by the Fulton. 
The shops on strike could not get a pound 
of melted iron from those that were running. 
In fact, the men were masters of the situation. 
The Legislature adopted resolutions of sym- 
pathy for the workmen on strike. Commu- 
nications were sent to all parts of the United 
States, cautioning workmen to keep away 
from this point until the strike was ended ; 
and everything was done that had a tendency 
to strengthen the Unions. 

On Tuesday evening, the i7th, the iron- 
moulders' committee was requested to meet a 
representative of the manufacturers for the 
purpose of arranging a settlement. The 
meeting was held, and it was suggested that 
the proposition to compromise at seven and 
a half per cent, reduction be laid before the 
Union, with the understanding that all hands 
would be reemployed at that figure. A 
meeting was called for the following evening, 
but the men would not listen to the propo- 
sition. When the result was announced to 
a representative of the Empire workshops, 
he, on behalf of the firm, requested their 
men and boys to return to work in the 
morning at the old rates. The Union de- 
clared the strike ended in that shop, and the 
men and apprentices were authorized to re- 
sume work on Thursday morning, the igth. 

About ten o'clock on Thursday, the com- 
mittee was requested to meet the proprietors 
of the other shops, and after a short discus- 
sion, it was agreed that the workmen in all 
branches should return to work on Friday 
morning, the 2oth, after a suspension of ten 
days. The news spread very rapidly, and in 
the evening, when each branch met, the 
strike was officially 'declared at an end, and 
advertisements announcing the fact and di- 
recting the men to resume work, appeared in 
each of the morning papers. 

The laborers and moulders and helpers 
have had some trouble in one of the shops, 
but the firms generally have kept their prom- 

ises to the old hands. Those who have been 
employed since are working at lower rates. 
The strike was well conducted. Not a sin- 
gle breach of the peace or arrest was made 
during the whole affair. The proprietors de- 
clared they could not afford to pay old rates, 
and the men withheld their labor, declaring 
they could not afford to work for less. 

So much for the actual history of the 
strike of the iron-workers last February. I 
will now try to give reasons to justify the 
workmen's action. During the past twenty- 
five years the workmen of America have been 
given abundant proof that manufacturers, as 
a class, never wait for the necessity of a re- 
duction of wages, but are ever looking for 
an opportunity for it, which, when offered, 
they never fail to embrace ; and further, they 
have used unjust methods to create opportu- 
nities. This is a sweeping assertion, but it 
is clearly proven by the way in which immi- 
gration has been encouraged by them ; by 
their opposition in the East to the Chinese 
Restriction Act ; and by their extensive im- 
portation of contract laborers, through which 
they have forced American laborers in the 
East down to a condition little better than 
slavery. And this, notwithstanding the fact 
that they (the manufacturers) have been pro- 
tected by a high tariff, the benefits of which, 
by the use of the means above mentioned, 
have gone into their pockets exclusively, en- 
abling them to build lordly mansions and 
live in luxury while the hearts of the toiling 
masses are made desperate through want of 
the means to obtain the bare necessaries of 
life, and while warehouses and stores are 
crowded to overflowing with the comforts 
and luxuries of life, which their labor has 
created. Is it any wonder, then, that there 
should be an irrepressible conflict between 
labor and capital, and that the assertions of 
manufacturers concerning the necessity for 
reductions in wages, or anything else for that 
matter, are taken with a great deal of doubt 
and suspicion by their employes ? 

The standard of wages contended for by 
the iron-workers of this city is that portion 
which will bring within their reach the com- 
forts and necessaries of life ; which enables 


The San Francisco Iron Strike. 


a man to live in a comfortable dwelling, and 
to obtain enough of good, wholesome food 
and warm clothing for himself and family ; 
and to educate his children that they may be 
qualified to take their proper place as good, 
intelligent citizens in the world's affairs. 
This comfort and education are impossible 
at the Chinese or European rates of wages 
towards which the importation of Chinese 
and Europeans is forcing American working- 
men. Surely, considering the immense re- 
sources of life supplied by the Creator, and 
the facilities which man's ingenuity has pro- 
vided for turning this natural abundance 
into the forms necessary for man's use and 
comfort, this is not an unreasonable claim, 
and it is one that all citizens should be in 
favor of. Submitting this as a standard, we 
will see how our present wages supply the 

At least two-thirds of the men are married, 
and this being the proper state of mankind, 
we will estimate the cost of living as follows : 
We will take a family consisting of five per- 
sons. That a family of this size may live 
comfortably without crowding, it is necessary 
that they should have at least four rooms in 
their dwelling, and a comfortable house of 
this size cannot be had for less than $3.75 
per week. Meat and vegetables cost $2.50 
per week. Bread and milk will average $1.50 
per week. Groceries $2.75, including cof- 
fee, tea, sugar, butter, lamp-oil, etc. Fuel 
will cost $1.25 per week. This is not too 
high, when three meals a day have to be 
cooked, and the wife does the washing for 
the family. Clothing, including foot-wear, 
will average $2'.5o per week. Wear and tear 
of -furniture, including cooking utensils and 
dishes, we will set down at 60 cents per 
week. Books and other articles necessary 
for school children must be had, and will 
cost 40 cents per week. Every workingman 
should belong to the Union of his trade, or 
some other mutual aid society, which will in 
times of sickness or disability help his fam- 
ily during such disability. This, including 
funeral tax, will amount to about 35 cents 
per week. In many instances the men live 
a considerable distance from the workshops. 

If they walk to work in the morning, they 
find it necessary to ride home in the evening, 
owing to the cold winds and the fact that 
many of them leave the workshops with their 
clothing wet by perspiration. We will set 
the car-fare of the family down at 60 cents 
per week, and if they desire to ride on the 
street cars to the park or beach (on Sundays) 
it is not enough. A man should have some 
enjoyment, and the laboring classes take 
most enjoyment in an occasional glass of 
beer and a smoke. Allow 20 cents per day 
for beer and tobacco, which amounts to 
$1.40 per week. If any one thinks these are 
wrong, let any other recreation be substitut- 
ed' to the same amount. Newspapers and 
writing materials, 25 cents per week. There 
is more or less sickness in a family, and he 
is a lucky man who gets off with less than 
$30 per year, or about 60 cents per week 
for doctor's bills and medicine. There are 
other expenses, such as hair-cutting, shaving, 
holiday expenses, church expenses, personal 
property tax and poll tax, with many others 
too numerous to mention. We will class 
these as sundries at 50 cents per week. I 
recapitulate : 

Rent $3-75 per week. 

Meat and vegetables 2.50 

Bread and milk i . 50 

Groceries 2.75 

Fuel 1.25 

Clothing 2 . 50 

Medicine and doctor's bills 60 

Wear and tear of furniture 60 

School books 40 

Society dues 35 

Car fare 60 

Beer and tobacco, or other recreation i . 40 

Newspaper and stationery 25 

Sundries 50 

The average mechanic in this city is not 
employed more than ten months in a year. 
Including holidays, we will say that he is 
out of employment nine weeks out of the 
fifty- two ; this leaves forty-three weeks in 
which he must earn enough money to support 
his family fifty-two weeks. Wages of mechan- 
ics in the iron trade average $3.25 per day 
here. When the strike occurred in this city 
there were only a few of the best workmen 
employed, and the wages paid them was 
slightly above this average. At $3.25 per 


The San Francisco Iron Strike. 


day a mechanic earns $19.50 per week, and 
in forty-three weeks he will earn $838. 50, an 
average of $16.12^ per week for the fifty- 
two weeks in the year. A family will have 
to be very economical to live within the 
amount above named, and live comfortably, 
yet the cost of living exceeds the income 
$2.82^ per week, or $146.90 per year. If 
this is the condition of the mechanic who 
earns $3.25 per day, what must be the con- 
dition of the poor laborers who earn but 
$2.00 per day ? Is it any wonder, then, that 
the average mechanic and day laborer finds 
himself at the end of the year heavily in debt 
to his grocer, butcher, and baker? And in- 
stead of New Year's Day bringing joy and 
gladness, it is a day of sadness bordering on 

Fully two-thirds of all the employes are 
married. About fifteen per cent, of them 
own their own homes, or are paying for them 
on the installment plan ; and about five per 
cent, have small sums of money in bank. 
The foremen of the shops receive from $5.00 
to $7.00 per day. The highest wages paid 
to mechanics in any of the five branches of 
the iron trade is $4.00 per day, which is very 
rare. The lowest that is paid is $2.50 per 
day, which is the wages paid to those who 
have finished their apprenticeship. This 
number is always in excess of the number 
that receive $4.00 per day. Laboring men, 
who number about twenty per cent, of the 
working force, receive $2.00 per day. 
Apprentices receive $4.00 per week for the 
first year, $6.00 the second, $8.00 the third, 
and $10.00 for the fourth year. They work 
very hard, particularly in the foundries, 
where in the fourth year they perform as 
much of the work they are given as journey- 
men can do. In many shops fully one-third 
of those who work at the trades are appren- 
tices. This is particularly the case with ma- 
chinists and machine blacksmiths, where in 
the latter case at present there are thirty-one- 
men employed and nineteen apprentices ; 
eleven of the nineteen being in charge of 
fires. In the iron moulding branch the ap- 
prentices are not so numerous, on account 
of the Society having established the pro 

rata of i to 8 ; and they are gradually ap- 
proaching this limit. 

It should be added that the foregoing com- 
putation of wages makes no allowance for lay- 
ing up even half a dollar a week, and there- 
fore leaves no prospect for the superannuat- 
ed workman except charity or the almshouse. 
It should also be observed that the employ- 
ers regularly hold back one week's or two 
weeks' wages, and that some of them only 
pay monthly. Both these arrangements are 
hardships upon the workmen, and the for- 
mer is a fraud, and is particularly cursed as 
such in the Bible. Why, on earth, should a 
powerful firm practically embezzle ten thous- 
and dollars of its workmen's money ? They 
would not let the workmen do the like. 

Among the reasons given by the manufac- 
turers for the proposed reduction of 15 per 
cent, is, first, competition with Eastern man- 
ufacturers. Manufacturers here have always 
had to compete with Eastern firms, and at 
times when they were not as able as at pres- 
ent. Eastern firms have always had their 
agencies here, and the competition from that 
point is no more keen now than it was ten 
or fifteen years ago. If you interview these 
agents, they will tell you that they are not 
doing the amount of business they did in 
former years, any more than our own manu- 
facturers are ; and it is rumored that several 
large firms in the East are compelled to 
force goods on the market at whatever price 
they will bring, owing to financial embarras- 

The second reason given is, that railroad 
rates are much lower now than formerly. It 
is true that there have been some slight re- 
ductions, but even now the ruling rates af- 
ford considerable protection to manufactur- 
ers on this coast, as the following figures will 
show. They claim that the most keen com- 
petition they have to contend with is from 
Chicago and Milwaukee. The rates on ag- 
ricultural machinery from New York, Bos- 
ton, Philadelphia, and Baltimore, to this 
point run from $35 up to $80 per ton ; and 
from Chicago and Milwaukee from $30 up 
to $65 per ton. On castings for repair pur- 
poses, the rates are very nearly the same ; 


The San Francisco Iron Strike. 


on castings, nails, hinges, kettles, rivets and 
such like, the rates are $43 per ton from 
Chicago and Milwaukee, and $50 per ton 
from New York. On grates, fenders, and 
fire-sets, the rate is $60 per ton from New 
York, and $52 per ton from Chicago and 
Milwaukee. On boilers not over 28 feet 
long the rate is $80 per ton from New York, 
and $69 per ton from Chicago. On the 
best finished machinery for all other pur- 
poses the rate runs from $40 per ton up to 
$100 per ton from New York, and from $34 
to $69 per ton from Chicago and Milwau- 
kee. These figures are taken from the new 
schedule of freight rates, which went into ef- 
fect on January ist, 1885, and on which 
there is no rebate. 

The third reason given is, that wages are 
25 per cent, higher here than in the East. 
It is true that there has been a great amount 
of distress among the laboring classes in the 
East, of late, brought about principally by 
miners, manufacturers and other employers, 
who have brought hordes of contract labor- 
ers from countries where labor is most poor- 
ly paid, and compelled American workmen 
to accept the same rates as this servile class, 
or starve. But the effect of this system is 
felt even on this coast, and the difference 
between the wages here and there is not so 
great as the manufacturers would make it 
appear. Wages are not more than 15 per 
cent, higher here for mechanics than in the 
East, and the wages of laboring men em- 
ployed in foundries, machine shops, boiler 
yards, and all other branches of the iron 
trade, are much higher there than manufac- 
turers here are willing to admit. The reas- 
on is, that they must possess more intelli- 
gence than the men who labor at less skilled 
work, such as grading in the open air and 
shoveling earth into carts. So that I am 
sure 15 per cent, will coverall the difference 
in wages of both mechanics and laboring 
men. But all men who work by the day 
here perform fully 15 per cent, more labor 
than the same class do in the East. There 
are reasons for this. In the first place, in 
the hot summer months men can not per- 
form the same amount of work in the East 

as we can in the coast climate here, and 
there are often periods in the dead of winter 
in many places at the East, when men can 
not work at all ; while here, the same quan- 
tity of work can be performed all the year 
round : moreover the custom of mechanics 
here is to work faster than at the East. 
Many of them are Eastern men, who sur- 
passed their fellow workers in Eastern work- 
shops ; and having confidence in themselves, 
and a knowledge of their superior mechani- 
cal abilities, were not afraid to venture into 
strange cities and distant States. This is 
true in every trade, as well as in the work- 
shops where machinery is produced. 

Now, as to the cost of material. It is 
said that the coal used for smelting costs in 
this city $14 per ton, while in the East it 
costs but $4 per ton. This is about correct 
as far as this city is concerned, but it is not 
strictly true for the East, because the same 
class of coal which costs $14 here is $7.50 
per ton in New York, and about the same in 
Chicago and Milwaukee. It cannot be had 
at any place for $4 per ton, except, perhaps, 
at the mouth of the pits where it is dug. 
They have likewise set the average cost of 
pig iron in the East too low, and here en- 
tirely too high. It has not cost on an aver- 
age any where near $27.50 per ton in this 
city within the past year, nor has it been ob- 
tained in the East for as low an average as $18 
per ton, which facts the following figures will 
prove. (The "foundry" and "car-wheel" 
iron is the best grade of iron used inthiscity.) 


Furnished by E. L. HARPER & Co., Dealers in Pig Iron, &c., 
Cincinnati, O. 

CINCINNATI, January 20, 1885. 


Hanging Rock Charcoal No. i, $20 5o@2i 50 cash. 

" No. 2, 19 50(9)2050 " 

Strong Neutral Coke No. i, 16 7S@i7 50 " 

" " " No. 2, 15 so@i6 25 " 

American Scotch 16 50:3)17 oo " 


Neutral Coke 14 oo@i4 50 " 

Cold short 14 oo@i4 50 " 


Hanging Rock, cold blast 25 00(3)25 50 " 

" \yarm " 22 oo@22 50 " 

Southern, cold blast 2200^)2300 . " 

Virginia, warm blast 21 oo@2i 50 " 

Lake Superior, Charcoal, all grades.... .. 21 50^22 oo " 


The San Francisco Iron Strike. 


J. W. HARRISON, Metal Roofer, No. 204 California 

Pig Iron. 

To the Iron Importers and Foundrymen of San Francisco: 

Lowest and 









#22.00@$26 00 

White, 359 
boft ...16,505 


White, 1,506 



White, 465 

Soft . ..12,220 




The present stock on hand consists of 16,864 tons, of which 
9,096 tons are Scotch and English, and 7,768 tons are Eastern 
and Home manufacture. There are 5, 164 tons in first hands, 
and 11,700 tons among consumers. 

Most of the firms here are importers and 
dealers, as well as consumers, thereby saving 
the expense of broker's fees. This is partic- 
ularly the case with Prescott, Scott & Co., 
who, it is said, control and fix the price of 
Clipper Gap metal, which is produced in this 
State, and is of excellent quality. It will 
also be seen by this card that all, both East- 
ern and foreign metals, come by water, and 
most of it comes from English ports. Any 
way, there has always been the same differ- 
ence in the cost of material between the 
East and this point. As high as $25 and 
$28 per ton has been paid for the same coal 
within the past fifteen years that is obtained 
now for $14 per ton. This will not be de- 
nied, and the rates of freight on raw material 
have been reduced in the same ratio as on 
manufactured articles. It should also be 
remembered that a considerable expense is 
necessary in the East for warming the shops, 
all of which is saved here. 

Provisions here cost about the same as in 
Chicago, while it is well known that house- 
rent, clothing, and fuel are much higher 
here than there; so that, everything consid- 
ered, the condition of California workmen is. 
very little, if at all, better than that of the 
same class in Eastern cities, and there is 
almost as great a difference in the prices paid 
to workmen in Chicago and Massachusetts 
as there is between San Francisco and Chi- 

cago, As Henry George has said, " Progress 
and Poverty go hand in hand ; they follow 
each other just as surely as the night follows 
the day." 

After all, however, the best proof in the 
world against the necessity for the reduction 
which I am discussing, is found in the fact 
that a large proportion of the iron manufac- 
turers did not ask their men to accept it, 
but declared that they could and would pay 
the old rates, and that the competition which 
was most injurious was not with the East, 
but right here among home manufacturers'; 
and it would be just as keen after a reduction 
of 15 per cent, as it is at present, the only 
difference being that the workmen would 
have 15 per cent, less money to live on, 
which fact would add to the present stagna- 
tion in business rather than relieve it. And 
another proof, perhaps equally strong, of the 
justice of the workmen's refusal to accept 
the reduction, is the plain fact that not a sin- 
gle iron-working concern has found itself 
driven either to the " general discharge of 
workmen" or the "entire suspension of 
work " anticipated in the employers' notice 
of reduction. 

The Eastern firms that trouble us most 
are those that have made a specialty of some 
particular branch of the iron business, such 
as mining machinery, agricultural work of 
every description, ranges and stove work, 
grates, fenders, fire-sets, and hollow ware, 
pipe and pipe-fittings. By selecting one of 
these lines of work, and procuring the most 
perfect plant at an enormous expense, they 
have, after years of experience, become very 
proficient in the manufacture of those arti- 
cles. Their workmen, also, by working on 
one pattern for years, become experts. Man- 
ufacturers here take quite a different course. 
Each shop takes every job that comes along, 
and does not make a specialty of anything. 
Very frequently you will find three or four 
grades of iron melted in the same furnace, 
and on the same day, the lightest cast iron 
ornament being produced alongside of the 
heaviest mining machinery castings in the 
world. In this respect, our manufacturers are 
at a disadvantage; and if it were not for the 


The iSan Francisco Iron Strike. 


fact that the best mechanics in the world are 
and have been in the workshops of this city 
for years, the history of manufacturing on 
this coast would not have been what it is 
today, nor would its progress have been 
nearly so rapid. Again, manufacturers here 
are no doubt at a great disadvantage on ac- 
count of the high rents, rates of insurance, 
and interest on money which they have to 
pay. Neither of these disadvantages, how- 
ever, are imposed by the workmen, nor 
should they suffer on account of them. The 
condition of these firms at present, as com- 
pared with the past, is the best proof of 
their prosperity, and is also a guarantee for 
the future. Their workmen are not unrea- 
sonable. In good times no organized effort 
was made by them to raise wages, as they 
knew that a dull time would be sure to fol- 
low, in which, however, they expected to be 
treated in the same reasonable way; but 
they were mistaken. Surely the workmen 
suffer enough in dull times, on account of 
being out of work part of the time, and em- 
ployers should not try to make their con- 
dition at such times more desperate than it 
is. Manufacturers and workmen should each 
bear their own share of the burden. If this 
were done, hard times would be of shorter 

Now, concerning the apprentice question, 
for I am afraid my paper will be too long. 
The Iron-Moulders' Union has not until very 
recently interfered with employers concern- 
ing the number of apprentices employed; 
and if it had not been that about two years 
ago many of the foundries had more boys 
than journeyman moulders employed, in all 
probability the Union would not have en- 
forced the rule. At that time, however, the 
number was so greatly in excess of a reason- 
able proportion, that it was impossible for 
the moulders to maintain their position as a 
Society, or for their members to find remu- 
nerative employment, if some check had not 
been put upon the increase of apprentices. 
About that time the following circular was 
adopted by the Society, and thus a strike 


Gentlemen : 

The increase of Apprentices has been so great dur- 
ing the past three years, that at the present time con- 
siderable uneasiness is felt by the Journeymen Iron- 
Moulders of this city, who see no brighter prospects 
ahead than hard labor through life for such wages 
as conditions compel employers to give. The man- 
ner in which these Apprentices are being used in 
many shops has a tendency to keep down the price 
of labor, and in dull times they are always retained, 
while journeymen moulders, with families to support, 
are compelled to walk the streets in idleness., or if 
employed, forced to work for such wages as bring 
degradation and poverty to themselves and families. 

In view of these facts, the Iron-Moulders' Union 
of North America, as a means of self-preservation, 
has wisely made a pro rata limit of one apprentice to 
every eight journeymen moulders to be employed in 
any shop. For years we have seen this mischief 
afoot, and permitted it to take what course it might, 
until now we are compelled to act in the matter, or 
suffer the disastrous results that are sure to follow a 
continuation of this evil. 

From carefully gathered facts, we find that in your 
foundry there are at the core-bench and on the floors 

apprentices and journeymen employed, 

making one apprentice to every journeymen. 

Knowing how inconvenient and unpleasant it would 
be for your firm to make the change immediately, 
and adopt the pro rata limit established by our Soci- 
ety ; and owing to the fact that we desire, if possi- 
ble, to live at peace and on good terms with our em- 
ployers, we have decided not to demand the imme- 
diate dismissal of any apprentices from your foundry, 
but hope and expect that no more will be employed 
until time has made the desired change. We will 
feel in duty bound by our obligation to resist any fur- 
ther increase of apprentices by your firm. This in- 
junction being complied with, the Iron-Moulders' 
Union will do its utmost to make good mechanics of 
those now employed, and also assist you to obtain 
the full benefit of their apprenticeship. 

With a sincere desire that in the future, as for' 
years past, mutual good will and harmony may exist 
between us, and earnestly desiring to know your dis- 
position in this matter, we request that a reply be 
given our Committee, through your foreman, at an 
early date. By order of 

Iron- Moulders' Union, No. 164, of San Francisco. 

A copy of this circular was sent to each 
firm, and most of them admitted that they 
did not consider it a hardship to comply 
with its provisions: nor can they prove it 
to be so now, for in many instances their 


The San Francisco Iron Strike. 


numbers are far in excess of the proposed rate, 
and will remain so until times improve. As 
it is now, there will be a better class of work- 
men, and the trade will be worth learning. 

" Labor has no protection the weak are 
devoured by the strong. All wealth and all 
power center in the hands of the few, and 
the many are their victims and their bonds- 
men." So says an able writer in a treatise 
on Association. Without organization, the 
laboring classes are at the mercy of their 
employers, and are compelled to accept what 
is given them for their labor, just as the 
clerks did, who, the writer of an article pub- 
lished in the "Journal of Commerce" March 
1 2th says, " accepted the reduction of wages 
without murmur or sign of dissatisfaction." 
What else could they do? Self-preservation 
is the first law of nature, and trades unions 
have proved to be the best means through 
which the workmen can obtain a fair reward 
for their toil. By insisting upon a fair rate 
of wages, they are enabled out of their sur- 
plus earnings to take care of their sick and 
disabled members, and give their deceased 
comrades a respectable burial. The writer 
of the article above referred to says, that 
trades unions are useful so long as they con- 
fine their operations to benevolent purposes 
among their members. He is very kind, in- 
deed. So long as they relieve the tax-pay- 
ers of heavy burdens which they would oth- 
erwise have to bear, they are of use ; but 
when they dare to ask sufficient reward for 
their toil to enable them to do that good 
work, they ought, in the opinion of this 
gracious person, to be prohibited by law ! 
"What position are we, the mechanics of 
America, to hold in society ? " is a question 
which concerns workmen all over this great 
land at the present time. Mr. Ricardo, a 
leading English political economist, lays it 

down that the natural price of labor is that 
price which is necessary to enable the labor- 
ers, one with another, to subsist and to per- 
petuate their race without either increase or 
diminution. (Works, 1871, p. 50.) It is dif- 
ficult to see that this rule allows to a man 
more than to a beast, even in' the point of 
perpetuating his race, which, as in the beast's 
case, is subjected to an arbitrary limit. The 
opinion of the working classes is, that wheth- 
er the employers are conscious of it or not, 
their doctrine is pretty much that of Ricardo. 
When one considers the condition of the 
toiling masses in the Eastern States, and un- 
derstands that it is the greed of manufactur- 
ers that has brought this state of things 
about; when one hears the wail .of distress 
that has been raised in Hocking Valley, the 
mills of Lawrence and Fall River, Mass- 
achusetts, and the manufacturing districts of 
Pennsylvania, one can not help thinking of 
Southey's noble appeal to the influential 
classes of England, counseling them to take 
some heed for the poor, who, though trouble- 
some at times, were not altogether useless ; 
and feeling that they are as applicable in 
America today, as they were in Great Britain 
at the time they were uttered. 

"Train up thy children, England, 

In the ways of righteousness; and feed them 

With the bread of wholesome doctrine. 

Where hast thou mines but in their industry ? 

Thy bulwarks where, but in their breasts ? Thy might 

But in their arms ? 

Shall not their numbers therefore be thy wealth, 
Thy strength, thy power,-thy safety, and thy pride? 

O grief, then grief and shame 
If in this flourishing land there should be dwellings 
Where the new-born babe doth bring unto its parents' 

No joy ! where squalid poverty receives it at the 


And on her wither'd knees 
Gives it the scanty bread of discontent." 

Iron- Worker. 


Debris from Latin Mines. 


Two interesting remnants of the ancient 
Roman tongue are the Ladin and Rumanian 
dialects, spoken respectively in Switzerland 
(principally) and in Rumania, both, in all 
probability, about the least known idioms of 

The Ladin is also known as the language 
of the Grisons, the Rheto Romance, Ru- 
monsh, and Rumansh, but it is ^best to call 
it simply Ladin. On the east it is spoken 
by about 450,000 people in Italy, on the 
banks of the Tagliamento, and in Austria 
as far as Goritz ; in the center, in two tracts 
in Austrian Tyrol, by about 90,000 persons; 
on the west, where it is called Rumansh, it 
is spoken in the greater portion of the 
Swiss canton of the Grisons by a population 
of about 40,000 making altogether about 

This is a relic, not of the classic speech 
of Cicero and Quintilian, but of that of the 
marts of trade, the provinces, the legionaries, 
termed the " Lingua Romana rustica," which 
was diffused by Roman soldiers and colon- 
ists throughout Iberia, Gaul, and Dacia, 
giving rise to the seven neo-Latin tongues 
the Portuguese, Spanish, French, Provenal, 
Italian, Ladin, and Rumanian. 

There are two distinguishing characteris- 
tics of these idioms known to philologists ; 
one is the persistence of the tonic accent, 
the other the transition from declension to 
the analytic state. The accented syllable of 
the parent speech is still that of the modern 
dialects. For example, in Latin the accent 
is on the a in bonitdtem (the accusative case 
forming the basis of derivation) ; so in French 
it is bonte the e representing the a of the 
Latin better retained in Ladin bonitad, the 
accent infallibly being on the , Rumanian 
bunetdte ; so in Latin, liberdre, to liberate; 
French, livrer (accent on the final syllable) ; 
Ladin, liberdr; Rumanian, liberd. 

The second peculiarity signifies the loss 
of declension, of which not a trace has been 

left; /. <?., in nouns and adjectives. The 
Langue d'O'il (Proven9al), which gives us 
the oldest Romance relics, we find had a 
period of true declension ; but there is not 
a trace of it in her sisters. The analytic 
stage indicates the modern form -declension 
accomplished by means of prepositions, no 
inflection appearing in the body of the word. 
Thus in Ladin : 


ilg frar, 

the brother. 


dilg frar, 

of the brother. 


a Igi frar, 

to the brother. 


ilg frar, 

the brother. 


o frar, 

O brother. 


davart ilg frar, 

from the brother. 

The oldest document of the Ladin is a 
version of the New Testament, dating from 
the sixteenth century, although there are 
some short inscriptions in the Friuli dialect 
which are referred to the twelfth century ; 
but the Testament is all that is available for 
our purposes. There is but little literature, 
and that is almost exclusively theological. 

Observe the following selections from the 
language, as illustrations of its peculiarities : 

Ilg vaun carstioun praepona ; 
Ilg sabi Deus dispona. 

The idle man proposes ; 
The wise God disposes. 

Senza spinas ei rosas naginas, 
Without thorns there are no roses. 

The first five verses of the first chapter of 
St. John's Gospel read as follows : 

Lower Engadine. 

1. Nel principi eira il pled, e'l pled eira pro Deis, 
e'l pled eira Dieu. 

2. Quel eira nel principi pro Deis. 

3. Ogni chosa ais fatta tras quel, e sainza quel ne 
Una chosa fatta, non ais statta fatta. 

4. In el eira vita, e la vita eira la gliim della 

5. E la gliim gliischa nellas schiirezzas, e las 
schiirezzas non Than compraisa. 

Upper Engadine. 

I. Enten 1'antschetta fova il plaid, ad il plaid fova 
tier Deus, ad il plaid era Deus. 


Debris from Latin Mines. 


2. Quel fova enten 1'antschetta tier Deus. 

3. Tuttas caussas ein fatgas tras el, e senza el ei 
fatg nagutta da quei ca ei fatg. 

4. Enten el fova la vita, a la vita eira la glisch 
dils carstiauns. 

5. A quella glisch dat clarezia enten la schiradeg- 
na, mo las schiradegnas il ban buca cumprin. 

It may not be taken as an impertinence to 
append the English version, to save the 
trouble of reference to any who may have 
forgotten some of the words. 

1. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word 
was with God, and the Word was God. 

2. The same was in the beginning with God. 

3. All things were made by him, and without 
him was not anything made that was made. 

4. In Him was life ; and the life was the light of 

5. And the light shineth in darkness ; and the 
darkness comprehended it not. 

It should be observed that the two ver- 
sions above given are translated by different 
hands, or there would be less dissimilarity. 

We give one more illustrative text. 

Niebla Gagliardiensche. 

Un schuldau Romaun, cavet tin process, roga 
August d'ilg defender. Ilg Imperaclur Igi dev' Un 
hum da sia C'uort par ilg mariar tiers ils derschaders. 
Ilg schuldau fova gagliards aviinda da gir tiers Aug- 
ust : " Signur, en risguard dad els hai jou bucca faig 
aschia, cur els eran en prieguel en la battaglia sper 
Actium ; Jou mez hai cambattieu par els." En quei, 
c'el schet quels plaids, scha scuvri el si sias plagas, 
c'el veva survangieu. Questarepresentatiun commo- 
venta ilg August da tal guisa, ca el ma sez enten la 
casa da la darchira, par defender ilg schuldau. 

Noble Boldness. 

A Roman soldier who had a lawsuit, asked Augustus 
to defend him. The Emperor gave him one of his 
courtiers to take him to the judge. The soldier was 
bold enough to say to Augustus : "Sire, I did not 
so fail you when you were in peril in the battle of 
Actium ; I fought for you myself." While he said 
these words he uncovered the wounds which he had 
received. This sight so moved Augustus that he 
himself went to the Court to plead the cause of the 

The orthography of the Ladin is in a some- 
what fantastic state ; it is very much con- 
fused, especially because of dialectical varia- 

We now turn to the land which was for- 
merly called Dacia, settled by the legionaries 
VOL. VI. 4. 

of Trajan in the early part of the second cen- 
tury of our era. There we find a form of 
speech termed Rumanian or Wallachian, 
which was long supposed to be a Slavonic 
dialect, until the electric light of comparative 
philology was turned full upon it. The mis- 
apprehension was owing to the fact that it 
was written in Cyrillic letters, the same as 
are employed by the Russian, Servian, and 
Bulgarian. This alphabet has been discard- 
ed for the Roman. There are some respects 
in which the Cyrillic is preferable to the 
other for the transcription of this idiom, but 
on the whole the preference is with the 
Roman, though it has been considered nec- 
essary to supplement it by certain diacritical 

The name Wallachian is one which they 
repudiate, for it is merely a descriptive Teu- 
tonic term signifying " foreign " Walsch 
Welsh an appellation applied by our own 
forefathers to the Celts whom they drove 
into the fastnesses of the West. They very 
naturally prefer to be called Rumanians, a 
term which is reminiscent of their origin. 
The Roman soldiers who had been stationed 
for twenty-five years in the same outposts, 
settled down upon the banks of the Danube, 
married, and formed the basis of a Roman 
population, and laid the foundations of a 
Romance dialect. 

It is the most remarkable of all the neo- 
Latin stock; it is not so rich as the other 
dialects, from which it is so completely sepa- 
rated in geographical position, being on the 
eastern frontiers of Europe ; but it neverthe- 
less retains more classic words of the age of 
Augustus than the others, and many of them 
have retained their original value, so often 
entirely lost elsewhere. 

Rumanian is spoken by between 8,000,- 
ooo and 9,000,000 people. Its locus in quo 
is described as "singularly uniform and com- 
pact" (with the exception of one small de- 
tached subdivision), " forming a sort of ir- 
regular circle of over one hundred leagues 
in length, from the Dniester to the Danube, 
and about the same in width from Arad to 
the mouth of the Danube. Besides Wal- 
lachia and Moldavia that is, Rumania 


Debris from Latin Mines. 


proper it comprises the northeast of the 
principality of Servia, the Banat of Temes- 
var, a great part of eastern Hungary, the 
greater portion of Transylvania, South Bu- 
koonia, Bessarabia, and the Danubian del- 

What remains there may be of the old 
Dacian tongue in Rumanian is uncertain, 
but they are apparently but small. The Da- 
cian has been engulfed in the vortex of time, 
but the Slavonic infusion is very strong, con- 
stituting two-fifths of the vocabulary. The 
Magyar, Turkish, Modern Greek, and Alba- 
nian languages supply almost all the remain- 
ing words not Latin in origin. All these 
have been gathered up, and put into the 
shape of an etymological vocabulary by M. 
de Cihac, in his " Dictionnaire d'Etymolo- 
gie Daco-Romane," Frankfort on the Main, 
iSyo-'yg. Although these regions were in- 
undated by barbaric hordes Goths and 
Huns, Slavs and Bulgarians from the fourth 
to the thirteenth century, yet this has re- 
mained essentially a Romance dialect. The 
Latin element, however, only constitutes 
one-fifth of its vocabulary. 

The vowels of the Latin language have 
undergone in the Rumanian two principal 
modifications : e and o in certain cases have 
become ea and oa in other words, have de- 
veloped into diphthongs, strongly recalling 
what is denominated " brechung," that is, the 
breaking or shivering of one vowel into two 
under a consonantal influence, in the Ger- 
manic family notably in Anglo-Saxon ; fur- 
ther, many vowels have acquired a deep and 
almost nasal sound. But the most remark- 
able peculiarity is the suffix article, as in Bul- 
garian and Albanian all perfectly distinct 
idioms. This is a peculiarity also exhibit- 
ed by the far-away Scandinavian family of 
speech. In Rumanian, om signifies man; 
om-ul, (man the,) the man. This may be a 
relic of the old Dacian custom, but we have 
no means of verifying it. The feminine ar- 
ticle is a ; thus, curte, court ; curte-a, the 
court. The article, however, assumes other 
forms in connection with the inflections, 
vowel-endings, etc. 

It now only remains to give some illustra- 

tions of Rumanian, which shall be brief. 
The first is the fable of the mouse and the 


Soacerele si broasca. 1 

Un soarece voia sS, treacS, preste o ap& si nu putea. 

El se rugS de o broascS, ca s I ajute. Broasca 
era o inselfttoare, si disc catrS, soarece : Leaga- picio - 
rul teu de piciorul meti, si asa inotand te voiii trece 
dincolo. Cand ansS, amendoi furS, pe apS,, broasca se 
dete afund, si voia s& inece pre soarece. Pre cand 
soarecele se batea si se c&snea, iata c& sboara- pre 
acolo un cocor, care it m&ncS, pre amendoi. 


A mouse wished to cross some water, and could 
not. He asked a frog to help him. The frog was 
a deceiver and said to the mouse : " Tie your leg to 
my leg, and, swimming thus, I will take you over." 
So, when both were on the water, the frog dove 
down and wished to drown the mouse. But when 
the mouse struggled and fought, behold ! there flew 
over them a kite, which ate them both up. 

Limba romaneasca. The Rumanian Language. 
Mult e dulce si framoasa 
Limba ce vorbim ! 
Alta limba armonioasa 
Ca ea nu gasim ! 
Salta inima'n placere 
Cand o ascultam, 
Si pe bude aduce miere 
Cand o cuventam, 
Romanasul o inbeste 
Ca sufletal seu, 
O ! vorbiti, scriti romaneste, 
Pentru Dumnedett ! 

Very soft and beautiful, 

Is the language which we speak. 

No other tongue so harmonious 

Do we find. 

Leaps the heart with pleasure 

When we hear it. 

On the lips it is like honey 

When we speak it. 

The Rumanian loves it 

As his soul. 

Oh ! speak, write Rumanian 

For the sake of all that's good ! 

[Literally, for God's sake.] 

The Latin is dead, we say ; and that the 
new idioms are the debris from its rich 
mines. It is true. But perhaps we should 
do better to liken it to the aloe plant, which 
in blooming dies ; when it blooms, a won- 
drous bud at its crown breaks into a thousand 
flowers. Each one of these flowers as it 

1 This word, meaning frog, is Albanian. 

1885.] Two Sonnets. 51 

drops to the ground takes root and becomes ile crags of Switzerland, in La Belle France, 
an infant plant ; and thus the parent stem, in the sunny meads of the Tagus, among the 
though to the flower a sacrifice, lives again castled hills of Spain, as well as in its orig- 
in the young that spring up at its feet. So inal home, Italy, land of the olive and the 
this wondrous Latin plant has bourgeoned vine, the peerless daughters of the Latin 
and blossomed, the little flowers have fallen, radiant flowers of speech have taken firm 
and upon Danubian banks, among the ster- root and grow luxuriantly. 

Adley H. Cummins. 

Summer Night. 

FROM the warm garden in the summer night 

All faintest odors came : the tuberose white 

Glimmered in its dark bed, and many a bloom 

Invisibly breathed spices on the gloom. 

It stirred a trouble in the man's dull heart, 

A vexing, mute unrest : " Now what thou art, 

Tell me ! " he said in anger. Something sighed, 

" I am the poor ghost of a ghost that died 

In years gone by." And he recalled of old 

A passion dead long dead, even then that came 

And haunted many a night like this, the same 

In their dim hush above the fragrant mold 

And glimmering flowers, and troubled all his breast. 

" Rest ! " then he cried ; " perturbed spirit, rest ! " 


Be true to me! For there will dawn a day 
When thou wilt find the faith that now I see, 
Bow at the shrines where I must bend the knee, 
Knowing the great from small. Then lest thou say, 
" Ah me, that I had never flung away 
His love who would have stood so close to me 
Where now I walk alone " -lest there should be 
Such vains regret, Love, oh be true! But nay, 
Not true to me: true to thine own high quest 
Of truth ; the aspiration in thy breast, 
Noble and blind, that pushes by my hand, 
And will not lean, yet cannot surely stand ; 
True to thine own pure heart, as mine to thee 
Beats true. So shalt thou best be true to me. 


Fine Art in Romantic Literature. 




THE literature usually known as Classical 
is the creation of a remote past ; the Roman- 
tic is the comparatively recent and familiar. 
Popular opinion does, indeed, often couple 
the Romantic with the ancient and unfamil- 
iar, but it must be observed that this ancient 
is rather mediaeval than antique, and where 
antique materials are employed they are re- 
moulded in conformity with the sentiments 
of a later age, so that the Theseus of the 
" Knight's Tale " and of the " Midsummer 
Night's Dream " is no longer the Theseus of 
Sophocles and of Plutarch. To borrow the 
technical language of geology, the early clas- 
sical art of Europe belongs to the palaeozoic 
period, while Romantic art represents the 
mesozoic and casnozoic epochs. Fully to 
comprehend either, it is necessary to take 
into account its opposite, or rather its com- 
plement. The art of antiquity illustrates 
that of the present; in Romantic art we 
witness the consummation of a development 
which is for a moment arrested in the mar- 
ble of Praxiteles and the hexameters of Ho- 
mer. Antiquity forms the background upon 
which the modern world is projected ; into 
the foreground are crowded our engrossing 
interests, the permanent charm of existence 
nay, our very life itself. A flood of lim- 
pid waters rolls past our doors, charged, 
it may be, with a pungency and vivific 
quality which it has gathered from the 
air, the herbage, and the chalybeate or cal-. 
careous soil of its banks, but we seldom 
allow our imagination to wander to the 
sweet springs far above. The plow turns 
over the rich, black mould, full of the genial 
elements which shall nourish the coming 
harvest, but we are unmindful that it rests 
on the detritus of the crumbling crag, and on 
fragments torn from the shoulders of the dis- 
tant hill. But comparison is always interest- 
ing, and, in the discussion of our subject, 

almost indispensable. As the majestic 
presence of such an Alpine peak as the 
Jungfrau, the unsullied whiteness of its 
snows, and its regal indifference to the con- 
cerns of ordinary humanity, are more keenly 
realized by him who, after arduous journey- 
ings, gazes upward from the valley of Lau- 
terbrunnen, or the lovely surroundings of In- 
terlaken ; and as the fitness of the smiling 
vale for the abode of man, the deep green- 
ness of its vegetation, the windings of its 
streams, and the glancing silver of its lakes, 
are best appreciated by the traveler who 
looks down from the scanty pastures which 
encroach upon the eternal snows ; so, if it 
were possible to comprehend the two in a 
single panorama, the splendors of classical 
antiquity might be flashed upon the behold- 
er from its own serene heights, while the 
chequered, romantic scenery of the lowlands 
should at the same time refresh his aching 
vision, and inspire in him a blissful content- 
ment with the lowlier lot. To furnish such 
a panoramic view would be beyond the limits 
of the task assigned, but a preliminary 
glimpse at a few examples of the art of each 
period may assist us in conceiving the true 
nature of Romantic literature. 


NOT far from a sluggish river, which pours 
its reluctant waters through a tract of marshy 
ground in Southern Italy, rise the ruined col- 
umns of the temple of Neptune at Paestum. 
Venerable with the touch of time, which has 
worn the travertine into hollows, while appa- 
rently gilding the surface of the stone, it is 
still more imposing because of the massive 
and solid character of these low, fluted pil- 
lars. Each is a short, thick-shouldered giant, 
placed to support a heavy entablature. This 
architecture is simple, rugged, and bold ; a 
severe taste has dictated its proportions ; it 
was consecrated to the worship of the earth- 


Fine Art in Romantic Literature. 


shaking god, the deity of the ocean-depths, 
who occasionally emerges into the sunlight, 
and glides smoothly in his chariot over the 
watery plain, but oftener contents himself 
with lunging terrifically at the solid land, 
smiting it amain with his huge billows, and 
sinking back, amid the deep reverberations 
of the blows, to the cavernous recesses of 
the sea. The temple is worthy of the divin- 
ity ; sturdy and thickset, defiant and frown- 
ing ; such is the aspect of the edifice, and 
such we imagine the god. This building 
alone might, without great injustice, be taken 
as a type of the architecture of both Greece 
and Rome; but, lest the selection should 
seem partial, let us turn to distant Athens, 
" the eye of Greece," and seat ourselves be- 
fore the Parthenon. Here the columns are 
more slender, as befits the gracefulness of 
the virgin goddess ; the entablature is light- 
er ;- sculptures fill the pediment, and, in the 
form of high reliefs, extend along the frieze, 
belting the entire temple with a procession 
of lifelike and highly-animated figures ; ev- 
erything is wrought of white marble, virgin 
as Athena herself, and polished to suit the 
taste of a fastidious people ; the whole har- 
monious in design, faultless in execution, 
and triumphal in situation. But certain fea- 
tures still remain common to the two struc- 
tures. As Neptune, upon the western pedi- 
ment of the Parthenon, contests with Athe- 
na the soil of Attica, the ruder natural forces 
which minister to man's welfare being thus 
brought into rivalry with the arts which re- 
fine and humanize, so the whole temple 
bears testimony on the one hand to mighty, 
but beneficent agencies, tending to material 
comfort and luxury, and, on the other, to a 
calmness akin to self-complacency, a satis- 
faction with the life that now is. 

The architecture of the North and of the 
Middle Ages is of a quite different order. 
The Rhine at Cologne flows past the foun- 
dations of another temple; dedicated to the 
service of another deity. That of Neptune 
was solid and self-subsistent ; this needs but- 
tressing from without to enable it to sustain 
itself at the altitude it has reached, for, 
whereas-the columns at Psestum are scarcely 

thirty feet in height, these are five times as 
long ; from the roof to the ground is over 
two hundred feet ; while the spires are lifted 
into air to a distance of more than three 
hundred additional feet. And not only have 
the columns grown to these astounding di- 
mensions, but the architrave which they sup- 
port seems also to have felt the impulse up- 
ward. No longer resting in a horizontal 
position, it has parted in two between each 
pair of columns, and springs in buoyant 
curves Jo the crown of a pointed arch. Sim- 
plicity has given place to complexity. The 
forms of leaves and flowers are everywhere 
imitated in a manner which indicates a love 
for natural beauty, and a perception of its 
relation to worship. The sculpture of the 
exterior is not confined to a single level, but 
climbs from base to summit, ensconcing itself 
in niches up the buttresses, following the 
lines of the arches, occupying the tympanum 
of the fagade, and crowning the pinnacles 
above the roof. Nor are these sculptures 
confined to the representation of tutelary di- 
vinities, or the demigods and heroes of the 
land. Uncouth animal forms mingle with 
those of bishop and king ; monsters with 
demoniac visages grin at the eaves. Life, 
life everywhere, but not always joyous or 
beautiful life. No law of self-restraint ap- 
pears to be observed. Profusion reigns and 
has made its masterpiece. The solid rock 
has blossomed into flamboyant tracery; stone 
has become etherealized and wayward ; the 
ribs of the ancient earth have grown mobile, 
and mount as a wavering flame toward the 

But Sculpture has also its lesson to teach. 
Among the Parthenon statues of the eastern 
pediment, there is one of a reclining male 
figure. It is immaterial whether we call it 
Theseus or Olympus. What it imports us 
to know is that the frame is strongly knit, 
the arms and chest those of an athlete, the 
head finely poised, the countenance express- 
ive of vigor and determination. Though the 
attitude is one of repose, the muscles are 
not relaxed, but every limb seems aglow with 
the ruddy tide of health, and ready, at a 
moment's warning, to start into activity. 


Fine Art in Romantic Literature. 


Contrast this with the Pieta of St. Peter's at 
Rome, executed in the same material by 
Michael Angelo. What woman is this who 
looks down so mournfully at the body lying 
across her knees? And whose is the body, 
thus prone and rigid? Surely this can be no 
Spartan mother, mourning for the son who 
has returned upon his shield. The muscles 
of the dead man are not those of a warrior; 
the features of the mother are not those of 
a Spartan. His face is emaciated and care- 
worn; her features are dissolved in grief and 
tenderness. The Niobe group may furnish 
a parallel; in both cases the heart of a 
mother is pierced through the bosom of the 
child. But Niobe seeks to ward off the 
blow; terror has vanquished pride, and so- 
licitude for her loved ones is the reigning 
emotion. The mother of the Crucified, 
on the contrary, has put forth no effort to 
save her son; resignation has forestalled de- 
fiance, and even protest ; there is no mur- 
muring, only an inexpressible agony of 
love and sorrow. Humanity is no long- 
er self-poised. Yielding to the will of a su- 
perior Being before whom it bows, it con- 
sumes resolve in emotion, and for the lux- 
ury of conquest substitutes the luxury of 

The Painting of antiquity exists for us 
but in two forms : the decoration of Greek 
vases, and the mural pictures of Pompeii. 
Of these the Pompeian frescoes, though be- 
longing to a comparatively late period, rep- 
resent nearly everything that has survived of 
the art of Zeuxis and Apelles. Serving ad- 
mirably the purpose of mere decoration, 
they are strikingly deficient in most of the 
great qualities of modern painting. Of bold- 
ness or subtlety in conception there is almost 
nothing. Only two principal styles are at- 
tempted, the one including a rather limited 
range of mythological compositions, and the 
other treating genre subjects in a pleasing 
but almost infantile manner. Portraiture 
was not unknown among the Greeks, and 
the best of their artists are said to have at- x 
tained great proficiency in this branch, but 
we have no means of gauging their preten- 
sions. The Pompeian wall paintings furnish 

no examples of portraiture, nor is it easy to 
understand how a deceptive resemblance to 
any particular human countenance could be 
secured by artists whose drawing is often 
conspicuously bad. Landscape, as in early 
Christian painting, serves but as a back- 
ground or framework for scenes of more 
immediate human interest. There is no 
attempt to depict familiar localities ; such 
landscape as there is appears conventionalized 
and unreal, and may be compared, though re- 
motely, to the scenery which adorns a Chinese 
fan. Of perspective in the modern sense there 
is scarcely an indication. There is no grada- 
tion of tone, no aerial perspective, and none 
of the magic of chiaroscuro. On the other 
hand, the figures are frequently light and 
graceful, the transparency of thin and flut- 
tering drapery is successfully imitated, and 
the coloring, though simple, is pure and 
agreeable. Judged by present standards, 
these frescoes fall into a very subordinate 
category. The gulf which separates them 
from the gorgeous creations of Veronese and 
Tintoretto, in the halls of the Ducal Palace 
at Venice, is far too wide to be spanned by 
a sentence or a paragraph. Between the ex- 
tremes indicated lie the naive spirituality of 
Fra Angelico, the " rushing sea of angels" 
which Correggio has suspended in the cathe- 
dral cupola at Parma, the patrician features 
of Titian's prelates and statesmen, and the 
girlish, motherly, or saintly Madonnas of 
Raphael. If the period which has elapsed 
since the i6th century be included in the 
survey, the disparity becomes still more 
remarkable. Who that has stood before 
the Building of Carthage, or the Embark- 
ation of the Queen of Sheba, in the Na- 
tional Gallery, would hesitate if asked to 
choose between one of these and the best 
landscape of the Pompeian collection ? Who 
would exchange a fine Reynolds or Land- 
seer, a Gerome or Meissonier, for any paint- 
ing that could be offered him from the 
House of Lucretius or of the Tragic Poet ? 
The rugged lineaments of Rembrandt's bur- 
gomasters and the tatters of Murillo's street 
urchins could have found no place or ac- 
ceptance in the abodes of Campanian lux- 


Fine Art in Romantic Literature. 


ury, and as little in the palaces of Roman 
pride. A Greek of the age of Pericles would 
have turned with scorn or ridicule from Ti- 
tian's Assumption, would have condemned as 
barbarous the Ecce Homo, and would have 
censured the Santa Notte of Correggio for 
its unaccountable light and shade. But 
Painting, being essentially a Romantic Art, 
though originating in antiquity, must obtain 
its justification and its praise from those 
among whom it has flourished, and whose 
life it has faithfully reflected. 

The chief distinction between Greek and 
modern Music is, that the former was pure- 
ly melodic, while the latter, without exclud- 
ing melody, is also harmonic. At all events 
it is safe to affirm that the harmonies admit- 
ted by the Greeks were of the most simple 
character, such as occur, for example, when 
the same part is sung by men and women 
at the interval of an octave from each 
other. The hymn, the chorus, and the ode 
were chanted in a solemn and stately reci- 
tative, with or without the accompaniment 
of instrumental music. The lyre and the 
flute, or the typical forms of string and wind 
instruments, were employed, but their use 
was chiefly restricted to the accompaniment 
of the voice. A general conception of the 
nature of ancient music is no doubt afforded 
by the Gregorian chant, and the ecclesiasti- 
cal music into which the latter enters as a 
constituent. Confined to religious ceremo- 
nial and occasions of festal pomp, it never 
laid aside its dignity, simplicity, and serious- 
ness, except when religion became revelry, 
and festivity degenerated into Bacchanalian 
license. Glees and catches would have been 
scouted as trivial and profane, and as an 
undue concession to private conviviality. 
The piercing, agitated cry of the violin, its 
wail, mournful and sweet as of an imprisoned 
dryad, its maniac ravings and shuddering 
laughter, even the rapturous joy which mur- 
murs through its strings like the resonant, 
wind of evening through the branches of a 
pine-wood these would have disturbed the 
Grecian placidity and equipoise, and hence 
would have been deemed intolerable. The 
Greek pantheon enshrined no St. Cecilia, 

for the Greek spirit had never been pene- 
trated with the need for organ music, for 
those buoyant impulses of canorous sound, 
which, like elastic pinions, are capable of 
wafting the listener toward celestial spheres. 
Except for such instances as the trumpet- 
call to battle, instrumental music was not 
dissociated in antiquity from the human 
voice. The sonata and the symphony had 
not been dreamed of. Since polyphonic 
music had not been invented, choruses in 
the modern sense were impossible, and for 
the same reason there was nothing corres- 
pondent to our orchestral playing among 
the Greeks and Romans. These considera- 
tions at once exclude the opera and the ora- 
torio from the circle of ancient musical com- 
positions. Thus it will be perceived that 
the unity in variety which is exemplified in 
Gothic architecture, and which is the un- 
questioned norm of all the esemplastic arts, 
must not be looked for in classical music. 
And it must further be evident that harmo- 
ny, the reconciliation of disparates, can. nev- 
er be possible until there is an evolution of 
individuality. The violin, the trombone, 
the clarinet, and the bassoon must each have 
its distinct and well-defined timbre, or there 
can be no orchestral unison. In like man- 
ner, choral harmony results from the four- 
fold division of bass, tenor, alto, and treble, 
each with its own proper function and sever- 
al office. Concord, in other words, exists 
only in virtue of differentiation. This was 
clearly seen by Milton, who was no less mu- 
sician than poet, and who has embodied 
his Rarmonical theory in the poem, " At a 
Solemn Music": 

" And to our high-raised phantasy present 
That undisturbed song of pure concent, 
Aye sung before the sapphire-colored throne 
To Him that sits thereon, 
With saintly shout and solemn jubilee ; 
Where the bright Seraphim in burning row 
Their loud uplifted angel-trumpets blow, 
And the Cherubic host in thousand quires 
Touch their immortal harps of golden wires, 
With those just Spirits that wear victorious palms, 
Hymns devout and holy psalms 
Singing everlastingly : 
That we on Earth with undiscording voice 
. May rightly answer that melodious noise." 


Fine Art in Romantic Literature,. 


The basis of all concord must indeed be 
assumed; the harmonics or overtones which 
are the very condition of unison can not be 
dispensed with ; but the touchstone of Ro- 
manticism, in music as in literature, is the 
development of personality, the consumma- 
tion of the individual. 


DURING the early Christian centuries, 
when the world was filled with crime and vio- 
lence, men sought the desert in order to live a 
life of solitude. The measure of human 
wickedness seemed full, and in escape lay 
the only safety. At first in such wilder- 
nesses as the Thebaid, and afterwards in the 
monasteries, devout souls vowed themselves 
to eternal communion with the Father 
of spirits. In this communion human na- 
ture found a real satisfaction. The struggle 
for emancipation from the bondage of the 
flesh became an end in itself. In propor- 
tion, to the fierceness of the conflict with 
besetting sin, was the worth of the victory 
enhanced. Hours and days were passed in 
silent meditation and prayer. At times the 
devotee fell into a trance, in which the very 
heavens seemed opened, and legions of ce- 
lestial visitants descended into his cell. The 
revelation of glory would have been insup- 
portable, were it not that the soul, intoxi- 
icated with rapture, nerved itself to receive 
more and more of the divine energy. To 
some were vouchsafed glimpses of angels 
and demons, battling for the future posses- 
sion of a tried and fainting soul. But the 
sight of these combats only intensified the 
desire of the convert to make his own peace 
with God. Here the Scriptures came to his 
aid. He pondered upon the New Testa- 
ment, and especially upon the Gospel nar- 
rative of the life of Christ, until the ascended 
Lord became a living reality. Mystics like 
Tauler and Thomas a Kempis burned for 
union with this transfigured ideal, who was 
at once friend and Master, the embodiment 
of all life, all purity, and all love. Not 
only was He the Supreme Judge of all the 
earth, rewarding every man according to his 

deeds, but was Himself, here and hereafter, 
the reward, the consolation, and the joy. 
Images borrowed from the Song of Solomon 
were profusely employed to symbolize the 
transport of this ineffable union. The flesh 
was castigated, the body emaciated, in order 
to remove the last obstacle which hindered 
the free effluence and upward progress of 
man's immortal part. Tennyson's descrip- 
tion of Percivale's sister, the holy nun, will 
apply to thousands of both sexes : 

"And so she prayed and fasted, till the sun 
Shone, and the wind blew, thro' her, and I thought 
She might have risen and floated when I saw her." 

Such aspiration is begotten of faith, and in 
turn begets faith. The effects were marvel- 
lous. The maiden of "The Holy Grail," 
speaking with her knight, 

"Sent the deathless passion in her eyes 
Thro' him, and made him hers, and laid her mind 
On him, and he believed in her belief." 

The rapt contemplation of supernal mys- 
teries is the favorite occupation of the me- 
diaeval saints, such as Francis of Assisi and 
Catharine of Siena. Men as unlike in other 
respects as Pascal and Jeremy Taylor here 
meet upon common ground. The spirit as- 
serts its lofty destiny and privileges, spurns 
its limitations, refines away the grossness of 
its material integument, and escapes into the 
pure empyrean. The invisible chords of the 
soul tremble into music. It is an ^Eolian 
harp for the winds of heaven to play upon, 
and the response from other spheres is blent 
with its melody. 

Nor are we to imagine that this note 
is peculiar to the romantic literature of 
the mediaeval period. Henry vm. despoiled 
the abbeys and evicted their tenants ; but 
neither he nor the philosophizing eighteenth 
century has quenched the fine ecstacy of 
this music. It thrills again in the consecra- 
tion song of Wagner's " Parsifal " ; it is the 
" slender sound as from a distance beyond 
distance " of Tennyson's Idyls. Who, if he 
were not familiar with "The Excursion," 
would believe, on reading the following lines, 
that they were written by the poetical an- 
chorite of Rydal Mount, and not by a con- 
temporary of Abelard ? 


Fine Art in Romantic Literature. 


"Sound needed none, 
Nor any voice of joy ; his spirit drank 
The spectacle ; sensation, soul, and form 
All melted into him ; they swallowed up 
His animal being; in them did he live, 
And by them did he live; they were his life. 
In such access of mind, in such high hour 
Of visitation from the living God, 
Thought was not ; in enjoyment it expired." 

It is not Tennyson's holy nun, but a 
secular counterpart of the nineteenth cen- 
tury, who, in the words of her poet, the 
woman beloved alike of England and Italy, 
thus ends her story and her life : 

"So, no more vain words be said! 
The hosannas nearer roll 
Mother, smile now on thy Dead; 
I am death-strong in my soul. 
Mystic dove alit on cross, 
Guide the poor bird of the snows 
Through the snow-wind above loss ! 

Jesus, Victim, comprehending 
Love's divine self-abnegation, 
Cleanse my love in its self-spending, 
And absorb the poor libation ! 
Wind my thread of life up higher, 
Up, through angels' hands of fire, 
I aspire while I expire ! " 

To persons thus constituted, there is but a 
single step from admiration of superhuman 
excellence to admiration of physical perfec- 
tions. Love is transferred, by an easy as- 
cent, from the knight to the pattern of all 
knighthood, from the earthly to the heaven- 
ly bridegroom. The Beatrice of the Vita 
Nuova is still a girl when Dante first sees 
her ; she is "at the beginning of her ninth 
year almost," and "clothed in a becoming. 
and modest crimson," yet even then he can 
not refrain from calling her the " youngest 
of the angels "; in the Divina Commedia she 
has become pure Intelligence, and stands for 
nothing less than the Divine Wisdom, which 
meets the soul at the confines of earth and 
heaven, and, mounting with it from sphere 
to sphere, at length stands in the unspeakable 
effulgence of the Paradisal Rose and the 
Splendor of God. 

Of Tennyson's nun we are told 

" Never maiden glowed, 
But that was in her earlier maidenhood, 
With such a fervent flame of human love, 
Which, being rudely blunted, glanced and shot 
Only to holy things. " 

What is true of love is true of beauty. 
The squire, holding solitary watch on the 
eve of his knighthood, mingles visions of the 
Madonna with reminiscences of the lady 
whose favor he is to wear in tourney and 
tented field. The poet, nourished by Plato, 
and catching the temper of his own surround- 
ings, writes with the same pen " An Hymne 
in Honour of Beautie" and "An Hymne of 
Heavenly Beautie." In the latter he sings : 

" Yet is that Highest farre beyond all telling, 
Fairer then all the rest which there appeare, 
Though all their beauties joynd together were ; 
How then can mortall tongue hope to expresse 
The image of such endlesse perfectnesse?" 

In the former he reduces this ideal beauty 
to terms of the visible and measurable : 

" So every spirit, as it is most pure, 
And hath in it the more of heavenly li'ght, 
So it the fairer bodie doth procure 
To habit in, and it more fairely dight 
With chearefull grace and amiable sight; 
For of the soule the bodie forme doth take; 
For soule is forme, and doth the bodie make." 

The pursuit of beauty in its more evanes- 
cent forms becomes with later poets the. pur- 
suit of the unattainable ideal. Byron, Goethe 
and De Musset, with many of their fel- 
low-poets, exhibit in their lives the perver- 
sion of this noble tendency. The alabaster 
vase, glowing with its prisoned flame and ex- 
haling precious incense, is seized in the rude 
grasp of their frenzied hands, and crushed to 
atoms. They chase the frail and richly-tint- 
ed Psyche through wood and plain, and at 
length capture the volatile prey, but the bloom 
and lightness have departed, and only two 
folded wings and a mangled body remain. 
With such experience comes a reaction, part- 
ly of remorse, but largely of disappointment. 
All that's bright does indeed fade, and per- 
haps the brightest still the fleetest. The 
vague longing in the heart of the youth, 
when the untried world lies stretched out be- 
neath his feet, becomes the regret of the man 
of riper years, who has tried all and found 
all wanting. The pensive sweetness of the 
maiden, as her petals softly unclose to the 
light, passes gradually into the gentle melan- 
choly of the days when the winds scatter the 
same petals on the bosom of the earth. 
" Here have we no continuing city" is the 


Fine Art in Romantic Literature. 

burden of these minor chants. Every hym- 
nology contains a version of that antiphon of 
longing and anticipative fruition, " Jerusa- 
lem the Golden," which may be regarded as 
the classic expression of this mood in relig- 
ious verse. 

One of its most graceful forms in secular 
poetry is Villon's " Ballad of Dead Ladies," 
of which I must be content to cfnote a frag- 
ment in translation : 

"Nay, never ask this week, fair lord, 
Where they are gone, nor yet this year, 
Except with this for an overword, 
But where are the snows of yester-year?" 

" The snows of yester-year ! " They are 

" Snow-falls in the river, 
A moment white then melts for ever." 

But why multiply examples of a species 
of writing from whose omnipresence one can 
hardly escape? It is the poetry of Chateau- 
briand and Lamartine, and of the German 
elegists Salis and Matthisson. Its sullen 
monotony is borne through Young's Night 
Thoughts; its theme is repeated with tragic 
accompaniments in The Sorrows ofWerther. 
In Childe Harold the music is sprightlier 
and the air more lively and stirring, but 
there is a haunting sense that the motif is 
older than the century. The plaint of the 
violins maddens us, and we long for the 
mellow cry of the clarion, the cheerful echoes 
of the flute, or even the doubling discord of 
the drums. Hence it came that the France 
of Rousseau and of Chateaubriand hailed 
Napoleon, and that the Germany of dream- 
ers started into a Germany of warriors. 
Thought needs action as a counterpoise, 
and from the ashes of buried hopes may 
spring the blossoms which shall feed the 
bee, and scatter the germs of a fairer time. 

IF the melancholy disposition grow ob- 
serving and critical, we have the satirist. 
Shakespeare, the repertory of whose types 
would of itself supply all the illustrations 
needed, furnishes us for the present purpose 
with the melancholy Jaques. Let us hear 
him lay down his conditions. First, he must 
be free to say what he likes: 

" I must have liberty 
Withal, as large a charter as the wind, 
To blow on whom I please ; for so fools have ; 
And they that are most galled with my folly, 
They most must laugh." 

But his discourse has an object : 

" Give me leave 

To speak my mind, and I will through and through 
Cleanse the foul body of the infected world, 
If they will patiently receive my medicine." 

Here is your true satirist. Juvenal was not 
more rank than he will be, but he will not be 
more rank than the offence against which he 
declaims. If any one like not the medicine, 
let him beware of the infection. Like the 
tristful and meditative Hamlet, he will but 

" Set you up a glass 
Where you may see the inmost part of you." 

It is your fault if there you 

" See such black and grained spots 
As will not leave their tinct." 

The cynicism of Jaques, if such be the 
name for it, is the cynicism of Swift ; but in 
Swift it is more bitter and malignant. Swift 
revels in moral ugliness for its own sake, 
though the hypocrisy of the age in which he 
lived excuses the atrocity of some of his 
pictures. Swift is perhaps not more coarse 
than Juvenal, but he does not confine him- 
self to externals. As his own life is more 
inward, it is the rottenness of the bones that 
he portrays. It is the monstrous vanity and 
meanness that instigate the actor, not the 
vicious deed that he perpetrates, which at- 
tract the modern censor. It is pruriency 
that he scourges, rather than profligacy. 
He demands a reformation from the heart 
outwards ; the ceremonial washing of gar- 
ments will not suffice. Swift is morose, but 
he is capable of tenderness. His "little 
language " is the language of the affections. 
His falcon eyed, jealous, yet playful love 
for Stella is kindred with Hamlet's fierce, 
unutterable, but mocking love for Ophelia. 
Both adored pure womanhood in the be- 
loved object, and, nevertheless, or rather for 
this reason, both were insane enough to 
wreck the happiness and life of those they 
should have protected. Neither could rec- 
oncile his knowledge of human nature with 


Fine Art in Romantic Literature. 


his faith in feminine innocence and candor, 
and both, as being the greatest sufferers by 
their own mistakes, are rather to be pitied 
than condemned. More humane and char- 
itable than Swift, Thackeray has not been 
able to divest himself of a belief in man's 
capabilities of goodness. The concentrated 
gall and venom of Swift's later years is di- 
luted and sweetened before it flows from 
Thackeray's pen. He perceives the foibles 
and baseness of human nature, but does not 
gloat over the weakness he discloses. He an- 
atomizes with an unsparing hand, but is de- 
void of Swift's morbid pleasure in the evi- 
dences of disease. When he laughs, it is 
like a man of the world, and not like a luna- 
tic or a fiend. Becky Sharp serves as a foil 
to Amelia; Colonel Newcome would still 
ennoble the name of gentleman, were he 
surrounded by twice as many knaves and 
worldlings. But in his perception of evil, 
keen in proportion to his admiration for vir- 
tue and moral beauty, Thackeray must be 
ranked with Swift, and, if our deductions are 
correct, with Hamlet. Herein, too, he must 
be classed with Aristophanes, a genius born 
out of due time, but yet sufficiently accounted 
for by the quickened spiritual sense which 
Socrates awoke in his contemporaries, as 
Juvenal is explained by the leaven of Chris- 
tianity in the later Roman civilization ; and 
with Cervantes, whose Don Quixote is not 
more earnest and chivalrous than his Sancho 
Panza is lumpish and uncouth. Since we 
are endeavoring to discover the character- 
istics of Romantic literature, it may repay 
us to seek in Greek and Roman antiquity for 
a parallel to Sancho Panza. Turn over the 
pages of the Iliad, and search among the 
multitude of its personages for the buffoon, 
the low, underbred individual who shall 
bring out in relief the heroism and magna- 
nimity of the leaders. You find but one, 
Thersites, and he is quickly dismissed with 
an admonition and a beating. In the Odys- 
sey no such incarnation of ignoble or currish 
propensities is to be found. But in Dante's 
great poem, the epic of medisevalism, one 
circle after another of the Inferno is filled 
with unheroic creatures, or with the loath- 

some opposites of all that the great Italian 
most admired. Of the least obnoxious mem- 
bers of the former class Dante is evidently 
loath to speak, but passes judgment on them 
in this wise: 

"This miserable mode 
Maintain the melancholy souls of those 
Who lived withouten infamy or praise. 
Commingled are they with that caitiff choir 
Of Angels, who have not rebellious been, 
Nor faithful were to God ; but were for self. 
The heavens expelled them, not to be less fair; 
Nor them the nethermore abyss receives ; 
For glory none the damned would have from 

If such be his estimate of this merely in- 
glorious troop, the malefactors are likely to be 
sorely troubled, and so, indeed, they are. The 
significant fact is, that Dante admits them to 
his Inferno, thus bestowing impartial justice 
on all classes ; and that the everlasting bless- 
edness of Paradise is enhanced by contrast 
with the torments of the damned. Long- 
fellow has compared the Divina Commedia 
to a Gothic cathedral, and as the former 
has its depraved and fiendish creatures, so 
the latter has its gargoyles subdued to me- 
nial use, and its grotesque carvings of ape 
and contorted human countenance on the 
folding seats of the cathedral choir. The 
eye of the beholder, endeavoring to compass 
the manifold and bewildering beauty of some 
exquisite faade, wandering from carven 
angel to carven saint, is suddenly arrested by 
the hideous mouth and spiny or scraggy neck 
of some monster of deformity. Or, while 
his ear is drinking in the rich and plaintive 
harmonies which, slowly detached from the 
organ, go floating through the interior, and 
the sunlight, poured in rose and amethyst 
through the painted window, envelopes him 
in garments of transfiguring radiance, he be- 
comes aware of a demon grinning at him 
from the opposite stall, and turning all his 
imaginations of heaven into gloomy sugges- 
tions of unending wickedness and woe. 

But these contrasts are of the very essence 
of Romantic literature. The Greek dramas 
knew nothing of them, for the abyss of evil 
had not yet opened before the feet of dram- 
atist and audience. But when Shakespeare 

Pine Art in Romantic Literature. 

depicts a trustful Othello, he places over 
against him a crafty and villainous lago; 
Imogen is set off by Cloten and lachimo, 
Cordelia by Goneril and Regan, Ariel by 
Caliban, and, on the other hand, Macbeth 
by Duncan and Banquo. The representa- 
tive drama of the nineteenth century does 
the same. Who poisons the cup of life for 
Marguerite but Faust, and who stalks at the 
side of both, irremovable as a shadow, but 
the spirit of eternal negation, forever derid- 
ing all generous ardor and neutralizing all 
unselfish activity ? Here belong, also, the 
fools of Shakespeare's plays, though it would 
not be just to identify them with the vil- 
lains. They are rather, like Sancho Panza, 
the embodiment of shrewd common sense, 
which is not ready to let the main chance 
slip for the mere gratification of a chivalrous 
impulse. Measured by the altitude of true 
royalty, they are plebeian and despicable. 
Pitiable as Lear may be, his fool is more pit- 
iable still, as the First and Second Common- 
ers of Julius Caesar are paltry when compar- 
ed with the dead and discrowned Imperator. 
Whatever may be urged against them as 
sentient and responsible beings, the drama 
of Shakespeare would be singularly complete 
if the villain and jester were omitted. Both 
set at naught the sacredness of life; the one 
by plotting to destroy it, the other by making 
it a subject of ridicule. Curiously enough, 
however, the sense of sacredness is enhanced 
by the very agencies which are at work to 
nullify it. Duncan appears most reverend 
and amiable at the moment when Macbeth 
is clutching at the airy dagger, and the sor- 
rows of aged Lear, the elemental passion of 
a grand but shattered nature, appeal most 
forcibly to the imagination when the fool is 
taunting him with odds and ends of ballads 
and old songs. The tragic constituent of 
the drama is thus heightened by the comic, 
while the latter is left partially free to divert 
the mind, and prevent it from being over- 
whelmed by pity and terror. Thus the 
comic element comes to have an independent 
value, though a value which depends upon 
antithesis. The gambolings of a knot of 
harlequins would strike the mind as puerile 

after listening to Touchstone and Launcelot, 
and even Touchstone and Launcelot, if as- 
sociated in broad farce with their brethren of 
the bauble, would lose half their piquancy. 
The sense of incongruity, which it is the 
province of the fool to excite, is at the foun- 
dation of humor. The English race, pro- 
verbial for its seriousness, almost possesses a 
monopoly of humor. Foreigners note the 
intense and joyless expression of the Ameri- 
can countenance, but American humor is the 
most extravagant of all. This can only be 
accounted for on the principle of antithesis. 
Given the natural and straightforward man- 
ner of looking at a thing, humor consists in 
shifting the point of view, so that the object is 
seen at an unexpected angle, and assumes a 
ludicrous aspect. The greater the surprise, 
the more humorous is the effect, and the 
surprise is proportioned to the tenacity with 
which the ordinary mind clings to the mat- 
ter-of-fact view. The sight of a familiar face 
in a convex or concave mirror is apt to cause 
laughter, and the power of humor may be sim- 
ilarly accounted for. Humor is thus associat- 
ed with gravity, and often with pathos. It is 
a gleam of light over the surface of gloomy 
and troubled waters. While one side of a 
billow is illuminated, the other is cast into 
the deeper shade, and, no longer of a neu- 
tral tint, the whole surging mass is divided 
between two extremes. It depends upon 
circumstances which is to gain the ascend- 
ency. If the humor is genuine, the smile 
may at any moment give place to tears, 
and the gurgle of quiet laughter be choked 
in a sob. Dickens alternates between the 
pathetic and the humorous, but has less 
skill in blending the two. To only a few 
writers of rare delicacy is it vouchsafed 
to intermingle the facetious and the touch- 
ing with so dexterous a hand that the read- 
er is impelled to continue from one page 
to the next for the -sake of the amuse- 
ment afforded him, and only at the end of 
certain paragraphs becomes aware that his 
gayety is ending in a sigh. The emotion ex- 
cited by such productions will not be poig- 
nant. It will depart as lightly as it came, 
but not without communicating the sympa- 


Fine Art in Romantic Literature. 


thetic kindliness of the author to the reader 
whose leisure he has been beguiling. Where 
shall one seek among the ancients for the 
humor of Holmes and Lamb? Who will 
bring to light a Greek " Autocrat of the 
Breakfast Table," or the Latin " Essays of 
Elia " ? 

Through the whole mediaeval period there 
is, as we have seen, a continuous growth of 
personality. Man becomes aware of himself, 
and retreats to the forest and sandy plain to 
feed his soul with contemplation. He closes 
his eyes upon worldly distractions, and purges 
himself from the grossness of the flesh. Cleav- 
ing to unseen realities, the patterns of visi- 
ble objects, he discerns the archetype of 
pure beauty, and it becomes fateful to him. 
With headlong haste he pursues the fleeting 
shape, and when he is just upon it, perceives 
that it has eluded his grasp. Falling into 
reverie upon the vanity of all his endeavors, 
he moralizes over human destiny and his 
own shortcomings, until he is plunged into 
a gulf of despair. Thence emerging, he 
falls to criticizing the associates among whom 
his lot is cast, and becomes a satirist through 
his perception of moral ugliness. Evil in- 
corporates itself in grotesque and frightful 
forms, crouches by his pathway, obtrudes it- 
self in the very temple hallowed to pure and 
lofty meditations, and appears engaged in 
deadly and ever-renewed combat with good. 
This combat becomes the only serious thing 
in the whole circle of his observation. Up- 
on a vast theatre these antagonists, in Pro- 
tean disguises, with names as various as 
their masks, play in succession all the parts 
in an interminable repertory. But evil is 
active or passive ; it is either malevolent or 
neutral; it is Richard the Third or Panda- 
rus ; in Mephistopheles it is both. The im- 
mense stage, upon which all men and women 
are merely players, contracts to the Globe 
Theatre on Thames-side, but still the drama 
is unchanged. The woof of comedy is shot 
athwart the web of tragedy. There is a 
strange intertexture of golden and sable 
threads. Every one runs to view it, because 
he recognizes in it precisely what exists in 
himself. Change the dramatic form to that 

of genial commentary, but retain the comic 
and tragic elements, and you have the most 
precious form of humor, namely, that which 
is so subtly blended with the substance of pa- 
thos as to be inseparable from it. 

Thus far it is man himself who, irresisti- 
bly attracted toward what he conceives to 
be the highest good, but incessantly assailed 
by temptation and discouragements, looks 
vainly about him for a perfect deliverance. 
But presently, to his heated imagination, the 
whole universe is filled with spiritual intelli- 
gences, who impress into their service, on 
one side or the other, all the inferior crea- 
tures and all the phenomena and forces of 
nature. Thus the whole series of created 
existences becomes a group of symbols. Ev- 
erything stands for something else. Every 
hard fact is transformed into a potent alge- 
braic formula. Gain its secret, and you have 
conferred upon yourself a magical power. 
As in the German fairy tale, if you have eyes 
to pierce through the solid crust beneath 
your feet, the interior of the globe will grow 
transparent as crystal, and the gnomes will 
ascend as through an unresisting medium, 
bearing with them the gold and jewels from 
the central mines. Hearing may be sharp- 
ened until it takes cognizance of the grow- 
ing of the grass, and the understanding un- 
til it can interpret the song of birds. Thus 
allegory is born, and with it, though the two 
must not be confounded, a belief in magic 
or necromancy. In the Roman catacombs 
the lamb and the fish are employed as a 
kind of shorthand, to denote the person and 
attributes of Christ. In the Old English lit- 
erature we come upon two poems, "The 
Panther " and " The Whale," which, after 
describing the supposed peculiarities of the 
two animals, end by regarding them as types, 
the one of Christ and the other of the Arch- 
Fiend. Dante's Epic is one long allegory. 
The forest in which the poet walks is a sym- 
bol : the panther signifies worldly pleasure ; 
the lion, ambition ; and the she-wolf ava- 
rice ; or, again, they stand respectively for 
Florence, the French Monarchy, and Rome. 
Virgil is a symbol : Rachel and Leah are 
symbols; Beatrice stands for Divine Wis- 


Fine Ar? in Romantic Literature. 

dom. It is needless to dwell upon such fa- 
miliar examples as the Faerie Queene and 
Pilgrim's Progress, but contemporary poems 
like Rossetti's "Card Dealer," are more like- 
ly to be overlooked : 

" What be her cards, you ask ? Even these : 
The heart, that doth but crave 
More, being fed ; the diamond, 
Skilled to make base seem brave ; 
The club, for smiting in the dark. 
The spade, to dig a grave. 

Thou see'st the card that falls, she knows 

The card that followeth ; 

Her game in thy tongue is called Life, 

As ebbs thy daily breath ; 

When she shall speak thou'lt learn her tongue 

And know she calls it Death." 

The artist, being thus accustomed to play 
with the great and the petty, and to assem- 
ble the most incongruous images in illustra- 
tion of some simple, majestic thought, ren- 
ders himself liable to the reproach of extrav- 
agance and absurdity. The Faerie Queene is 
a phantasmagoria ; a series of pictures moves 
onward as in a revolving wheel, or like the 
banks of a river when one is descending a 
rapid stream. One scene fades out and is 
borne on into the distant perspective as an- 
other assumes vividness and life ; yet it is 
possible, by an effort of the will, to include 
both shores, and a long stretch of castled, 
vine-clad, and mountain-guarded country in 
a single glance. Not only is there variety of 
form, but variety of color as well. The art- 
ist is not a painter in monochrome, gray on 
gray. Spenser delights in brilliant hues as 
heartily as Titian, or any of the Venetian 
school. Besides, he commits anachronisms. 
To him all the past is present. Space and 
time are annihilated. The ancient world is 
one with that of the Middle Ages and the 
Renaissance. If you sympathize with the 
poet, and adopt his verities as your own, all 
will seem concordant, requiring no justifica- 
tion nor apology. If you regard the details 
of his scheme, and do not share in his fine 
frenzy, you will be likely to stigmatize the 
composition as Gothic and barbarous. Up- 
on the former hypothesis the distinction be- 
tween Fancy and Imagination, so much in- 
sisted on, will be obliterated. Nothing will 

be censured as wild or extravagant which 
approves itself to be true. 


DURING the last quarter of the eighteenth 
century and the first quarter of the nineteenth 
century there was a revival of Romanticism. 
Shallow philosophy and formal poetry were 
no longer adequate to those who felt the 
pulse of a new and fuller life beating within 
them. The more advanced of the new gen- 
eration broke with tradition, and eagerly 
sought release from the stifling dungeon in 
which they and their fathers had been con- 
fined. In this attempt they were successful. 
The rusty bars gave way, the ancient moat 
was dry, the outer fortifications were falling 
into decay. But those who had thus emerged 
from the house of bondage knew not at first 
what they should do with their dear-bought 
and highly-prized freedom. Many, overcome 
with joy, laughed and wept alternately, or 
fell into paroxysms of hysterical weeping and 
refused to be comforted. These have been 
already described ; they include Sterne and 
Rousseau, and all the sentimental race that 
followed. Others, climbing the nearest hill, 
and surveying the landscape in all direc- 
tions, looked pityingly down on their late 
companions and the plain whence they them- 
selves had but just departed, declaring that 
they had seen it all, and that henceforth 
there was nothing worth living for. They 
had been cheated by the dreams of their 
prison cell. Now they were disillusioned 
they would neither return to their pallet of 
straw, nor would they strike out for any goal 
whatever. They would remain upon the hill, 
or circle slowly round about it. From their 
post of observation they had descried all 
that lay in the distance, and proclaimed that 
ifr was in no respect better than what they 
had just quitted. Of this company Byron 
may be taken as the type. 

Still others, ascending the same hill but 
half-way, looked beyond and over the for- 
tress where they had been immured, and 
perceived a smiling landscape, dotted with 
craggy steeps, which were crowned with bat- 


Fine Art in Romantic Literature. 


demented towers. Knights and ladies were 
descending through portcullis gates and 
down winding bridle paths to the plain be- 
low. There the gay greensward was gayer 
still with pavilions and standards. The lists 
were set, horses pranced and caracoled, and 
the faint sound of the herald's trumpet, as 
he blew the signal for the onset, was borne 
through the expectant air. In another place, 
a train of black-robed monks was advancing 
slowly toward a distant monastery, an abbot 
leading the way, with the cross glittering 
above his head and pointing out the direc- 
tion which his followers should take ; the 
tones of the monastery bell, pealing out the 
summons to evening prayer, blent harmoni- 
ously with the subdued clangor of the trum- 
pet. In other words, this band of liberated 
prisoners, not yet having gained a height 
whence they could overlook the future, be- 
held only the past the Middle Ages, peo- 
pled with clerics and cavaliers, and with such 
picturesque members of the Third Estate as 
Robin Hood and Maid Marian. If they 
saw a darker side to this joyous pageantry, 
it was only as Monk Lewis and Mrs. Rad- 
cliffe saw their spectres and ogres, without 
half believing in their existence. These 
poets of the romantic past can be named : 
they are such as the Germans Uhland, Bur- 
ger, Goethe, Tieck, Schiller: they are the 
Frenchmen Chateaubriand and Victor Hu- 
go ; and their leader in England is Sir Wal- 
ter Scott. This curiosity regarding the Mid- 
dle Ages resulted in a deeper study of his- 
tory. Documents were brought to light and 
critically examined. Old poems, like the 
Nibelungen Lied, the Canterbury Tales, the 
Chanson de Roland, and the Cid, were 
published, commented upon, and perused 
with avidity. Antiquarian zeal became fash- 
ionable. The historic method, the study of 
origins, requiring a minute inspection of ev- 
ery 'fact and event, in itself, and with refer- 
ence to all the circumstances of its occur- 
rence, now took precedence of any other. 
Criticism became more exact, but without 
damping the ardor of the more impassioned 
votaries of learning. Of this era the Idyls 
of the King are the poetic product, and 

such histories as Freeman's " Norman Con- 
quest," Carlyle's "French Revolution," and 
Michelet's " History of France," are the 
scholarly product. 

The first effort of a certain few among 
the emancipated was to make sure of their 
own identity and their own freedom. Weary 
of their shackles, yet seeing multitudes who 
accepted them without a protest ; discon- 
tented with their companions, whom they 
saw scattering in different directions; more 
than half dissatisfied with themselves, since 
they found themselves intoxicated with the 
breath of heaven, and invested with a new 
accession of strength, yet possessed neither 
of the ability to liberate others, nor to direct 
their own course toward any definite end, 
they turned to the plashing streamlet and 
the shady covert for solace and refresh- 
ment of the body, and to the Alpine 
throne of liberty and the unfettered clouds 
for the courage and unceasing inspiration 
needed by the spirit. With a renewed and 
deepened consciousness of personality, of 
the existence and worth of the soul, con- 
cealed, yet manifested, in the organism of 
their own frames, they went farther than 
the allegorists, and assigned a soul to every 
organism. Nature thus became endowed 
with life ; not the blind and creeping life of 
sap or molluscan lymph, but a vitalizing 
principle. Self determination and moral 
qualities are attributed to plant and animal. 
Fouqu^'s delicious prose idyl of Undine is 
the story of a Naiad, who, by means of 
her love for a young knight, is enabled to 
acquire a human soul. But it was not one 
Undine alone who was thus distinguished. 
Every rill and waterfall, every flower and 
blade of grass, every mountain and beetling 
cliff, was conceived of as instinct with Divin- 
ity. Wordsworth's Skylark and Linnet are 
not mere singing-birds. The former has 

"A soul as strong as a mountain river 
Pouring out praise to the Almighty Giver." 

The latter is addressed as 

"A Life, A Presence like the Air, 
Scattering thy gladness without care, 
Too blest with any one to pair ; 
Thyself thy own enjoyment." 

Fine Art in Romantic Literature,. 

And what reader, without looking at the 
superscription, would conclude that the fol- 
lowing stanza was addressed to a daisy ? 
4< Thou wander'st the wide world about, 
Uncheck'd by pride or scrupulous doubt, 
With friends to greet thee, or without, 

Yet pleased and willing ; 
Meek, yielding to the occasion's call, 
And all things suffering from all, 
Thy function apostolical 

In peace fulfilling." 

The pantheism, propounded as a philo- 
sophical system by Spinoza, begins to appear 
in fine art with Rousseau, and reaches its 
literary consummation in Wordsworth and 

Those who attribute intelligence and sen- 
sibility to natural objects may be divided in- 
to two classes, according as they transfer to 
these objects the passing emotion with which 
they themselves are affected, or endeavor to 
ascertain what is the real or typical nature 
of each created thing. Whenever the feel- 
ings of the poetizing individual are attributed 
to insentient objects or to the lower animals, 
we have an instance of what Ruskin calls 
the " pathetic fallacy." Whenever an at- 
tempt is made to express the specific qual- 
ity of any object or existence inferior 
to man in terms of human emotion or 
activity, we are simply idealizing in a man- 
ner which is inseparable from our notions 
of high art. The two modes of poetizing 
are perfectly distinguishable in theory, 
though they may be confounded in prac- 
tice ; as where one, in determining the spe- 
cific quality of a flower, for example, permits 
himself to be influenced by the mode of 
feeling which is uppermost at the time. 
The u pathetic fallacy " is more common 
in passionate, the idealization of specific 
quality in reflective poetry. Wordsworth is 
a master of both, but particularly excels in 
the second. The latter method is closely 
akin to that of science. Goethe's discovery 
that each of the various organs of the flower 
is modeled upon the structure of the leaf is 
an example to the purpose, and the union of 
the poetic and scientific natures in an ob- 
server like Alexander von Humboldt will 
illustrate the same truth. In fact, poetry 

precedes and accompanies science, as we 
have already remarked that it precedes and 
accompanies history. 

To return again to our point of departure, 
the ego or personality of the individual. Com- 
fortably housed and safely defended in the 
eighteenth century, it often found itself home- 
less and shivering after the French Revolu- 
tion. Protected even against the assaults of 
others' self-love by the politeness of which 
Chesterfield is so famous an exponent, it was 
suddenly stripped of every adventitious cov- 
ering and ornament, and obliged to change 
conditions with the meanest wretches. The 
footing upon which it had stood disappeared. 
The aristocrat began to question concerning 
himself, his inalienable rights, and his duties, 
at the moment when the man of the peo- 
ple had completed a theory, not only of the 
aristocrat's rights, but of his own. Hence- 
forth the only patent of prerogative was man- 
hood. In the simple citizen of the new era 
all ranks were confounded. Man had grown 
self conscious and reflective; he was now to 
be analytic. The age of science and exact 
scholarship was at hand, but science and 
exact scholarship are evoked only at the bid- 
ding of the imperious human spirit which 
requires their ministrations. Science which 
investigates the powers and functions of the 
human soul is psychology. Science which 
aims to discover the essence and necessary 
basis of all being is ontology. Spinoza's pan- 
theism, for example, is ontological. Both 
were to be cultivated in this epoch, and both 
were to manifest themselves in fiction and 

The French exponent of psychology in 
fiction is Balzac; the English, George Eliot ; 
the American, Hawthorne. In poetic psy- 
chology, Dante and Petrarch are the illus- 
trious progenitors of the modern school. 
All true poetry is fundamentally psychologic, 
but the word, as here used, refers to an ab- 
normal development of self-consciousness, 
which therefore becomes in the highest de- 
gree observant and critical of its own states 
and processes. No modern poet is more 
psychologic in this sense than Robert Brown- 
ing, and the knowledge gained by self-intro- 


Fine Art in Romantic Literature. 


spection makes him the shrewdest diviner of 
other men's thoughts and motives. But in 
him the spirit has sublimed away the artistic 
form, so that his poetry is not ordinarily sens- 
uous enough to be dramatic, nor sometimes 
to be truly lyrical. 

The poet of ontology is Emerson. From 
this point of view, his " Brahma" is peculiarly 
significant, as marking the point of junction 
between Occidental and Oriental philosophy. 
As California is the border, and its shore the 
barrier, where the Aryan race makes pause 
before precipitating itself into the bosom of 
the Orient whence it sprang, so Concord is 
the halting-place where Western thought, in 
its final outcome and supreme result, reflects 
for, an instant longer, and finally is merged 
into the transcendentalism of the East. 
Goethe and Riickert having established the 
precedent of composing poems in the Ori- 
ental manner, Emerson and Browning have 
thought fit to follow. Here again scholar- 
ship goes hand in hand with poetry. The 
study of the Sanskrit language and antiqui- 
ties has kept pace with the growing predilec- 
tion for Orientalism in poetry and in decora- 
tive art. Edwin Arnold is not a pioneer, 
nor even one of the advanced guard; he is 
only well up with the main army. The 
translators of Saadi and Omar Khayyam are 
"sometimes anticipated even by the bard of 
Lalla Rookh. 

One practical lesson has been taught by 
Emerson, or rather clearly formulated by 
him -the lesson of self-reliance. The French 
Revolution, like the Protestant Reformation, 
was a revolt of the individual against society, 
that is, against law and custom, which, framed 
in the interest of the few, had grown unen- 
durable to the many. The audacity dis- 
played at these periods, by Mirabeau in the 
French Tribune, as by Luther at the Diet of 
Worms, can only be paralleled by that of 
Paul on Mars' Hill. The energy and self- re- 
liance of the orator and reformer react upon 
pure literature. Victor Hugo rebels against 
pseudo-classicism in France, as Wordsworth 
and Keats do in England. As the trouba- 
dours were both poets and warriors, as Milton 
was statesman and polemic no less than a de- 
VOL. VI. 5. 

votee of the Muses, so these new singers grasp 
the sword with one hand, and wield the pen 
with the other. What Bertrand de Born was 
to the Provence of Richard the First's day, 
Korner was to the Germany that had known 
Napoleon. The sentimentalism which had 
been despised as mere weakness, bore fruit 
in the downfall of monarchies which had out- 
lived their usefulness. Poetry was becom- 
ing identical with the truest and noblest life. 
One indication of this movement is the 
change which takes place in the poetic con- 
ception of the Golden Age. The poets' 
of Greece and Rome have already left it 
far behind them. Quite otherwise with us 

" Doubt not through the ages one increasing pur- 
pose runs, 

And the thoughts of men are widened with the pro- 
cess of the suns "; 

and who perceive 

" One God, one law, one element, 

And one far-off divine event, 
To which the whole creation moves." 

With the Golden Year in the future, the 
poets and every writer is now a poet, a 
creator or maker set resolutely about bring- 
ing it near. Tennyson cries out 

" But well I know, 

That unto him who works, and feels he works, 
This same grand year is ever at the doors." 

The poets are revolutionary as long as 
revolutions tend to elevate humanity. Shelley 
defies authority in the name of Man, for 
whose sake all authority is constituted. He 
would set no bounds to the personality which 
has wrought these stupendous changes. Byron 
abandons poetry as craftsmanship, and lays 
his reputation, his fortune, and his life on the 
altar of Grecian independence. But revolu- 
tions accomplish their task, and are succeed- 
ed by reforms. Southey and Coleridge form 
extensive plans for a pantisocracy, or com- 
munity where all men shall be absolutely 
equal, and which is to be situated in Penn- 
sylvania. Thus they anticipate the idea of 
Brook Farm, whose citizens were also to be 
literary people, and to exist in a state of 
perfect equality. Shelley will know nothing 


An Impossible Coincidence. 

" A life of resolute good, 
Unalterable will, quenchless desire 
Of universal happiness, the heart 
That beats with it in unison, the brain 
Whose ever-wakeful wisdom toils to change 
Reason's rich stores for its eternal weal." 

Wordsworth advocates 

"A more judicious knowledge of the worth 
And dignity of individual man ; 
No composition of the brain, but man 
Of whom we read, the man whom we behold 
With our own eyes. I could not but inquire 
Not with less interest than heretofore, 
But greater, though in spirit more subdued 
Why is this glorious creature to be found 
One only in ten thousand ? What one is 
Why may not millions be ? " 

The watchword is repeated by others. 
Lowell, Whittier, and Longfellow chant the 
fetters off the slave. Madame De Stael rises 
up as the protagonist of womanhood. Her 
Corinne is the genius who, beneath Italian 
skies, dares to assert that woman is not a 
mere appendage of man, and to claim for her- 
self co-equal sovereignty in her own sphere. 
George Sand, Charlotte Bronte, and George 
Eliot, with the female novelists of the eight- 
eenth century, make a place for woman in 
fiction. Mrs. Browning writes " The Cry of 

the Children," "Aurora Leigh," and "Moth- 
er and Poet," and after her death receives 
from her poet-husband a tribute of invocation, 
such as is due to none but an immortal 
muse : 

" Never may I commence my song, my due 
To God who best taught song by gift of thee, 
Except with bent head and beseeching hand 
That still, despite the distance and the dark, 
What was, again may be ; some interchange 
Of grace, some splendor once thy very thought, 
Some benediction anciently thy smile." 

In the name of humanity, Charles Dick- 
ens espouses the cause of the poor, the out- 
cast and forlorn, and preaches against invet- 
erate abuses in sermons that are never dull. 
Reade and Kingsley are fellow-laborers in the 
same cause the elevation of the suffering 
and oppressed. Literature all the best of 
it becomes humanitarian and practical, but 
without ceasing to be idealistic and, in the 
profoundest sense, Romantic. What was 
hitherto thought trivial and mean is irradi- 
ated and lifted out of the region of the com- 
monplace, until we realize the meaning of the 
voice that spake to the Prince of Apostles : 

" What God hath cleansed, that call not 
thou common." 

Alberts. Cook. 


Everett Boscawen, of Boston, writes from 
Thompson's Ranch, California, to his cous- 
in and intimate friend, Boscawen Everett, 
also of Boston. 

August 12, 1882. 

I have not written before, because I did 
not feel sure that you would be on this side, 
and did not wish my letter to pass you on the 
Atlantic, and follow you back from London, 
to be read when as stale as a campaign 
prophecy after election. I have a great ob- 
jection to having my letters read when stale ; 
a man appears with a certain absurdity in an 
old letter, as in an old photograph. 

" Back in the land of one-century-old an- 

tiquities and three-generations-old aristoc- 
racy," you say. My dear fellow, think where 
/am. Our newness and rawness is mellow 
antiquity to the place I now inhabit. As 
America to Europe, so California to Amer- 
ica, I was about to say, as though our Atlan- 
tic strip constituted America ; and, indeed, it 
does as we know America. It is curious to 
realize how unconscious we have always re- 
mained of what is really the chief bulk of 
America, our America being a mere little 
edge in front of this enormous expanse. 
There is positively something vulgar in its 
unwieldy breadth stretching away and away 
interminably, an endless waste of factory and 
railroad and pork-packing and cattle-raising, 


An Impossible Coincidence. 


without a flash of real life to have so much 
as made us realize its existence : as if our 
ideal of Columbia were like the traditional 
one of a Kaffir belle the fatter the more 
beautiful. We ought to embody the national 
ideal on the dollars. 

Don't imagine that I have escaped the land 
of the Philistine by crossing to salt water 
again, nor picture me in any California con- 
ceived from Bret Harte. That either was 
only a book California, or has passed away. 
No picturesque miners and unconventional 
stage-drivers, no frankly barbarian Pikes, are 
here; only the familiar old type of American 
bourgeois, somewhat the worse from reigning 
here supreme, unchecked by the presence of 
any non-Philistine class. 

I wish my doctor could have seen fit to 
let me take my lungs to Italy or Southern 
France. If he had ordered me among real 
savages, I should have liked it better than 
this : the savage is no more objectionable 
than any other lower animal ; but the man 
and worse, the woman of the dead middle 
level ! I was foolish enough to present 
one or two of my letters in San Francisco. 
I was hospitably received (not so effusively 
as I have seen Englishmen received among 
us, though I should think a Bostonian in 
California was much the same thing as an 
Englishman in Boston), and introduced to 
certain aristocratic circles, where I saw a 
good deal of rude luxury, and met on equal 
terms whom but old Nancy Rutt's son 
Dick (do you remember old Nancy, who 
used to be so intimate with our cook ?) 
the Honorable Richard Rutt, if you please. 
His grammar was unchanged, however. 

Warned by experience, I presented no 
more letters, but fell back upon a village 
some twenty-five miles away, where the pre- 
scribed conditions of thermometer and ba- 
rometer seemed to prevail. Here I man- 
age to keep in pretty fair seclusion. I was 
trapped into a "literary gathering "yesterday. 
I did not wish to attend it. If these peo- 
ple would follow out their natural impulses 
with simple merry-making that they could 
enjoy, as their Spanish neighbors do, with 
their fandangoes (you know we always liked 

to look at the people's fetes in England and 
on the continent), they would be interesting ; 
but when they stand on intellectual tip-toes 
and caricature letters and art, they make 
themselves as absurd as a sturdy hay-maker 
when he puts off his shirt and trousers to 
make himself fine for his photograph in ill- 
fitting "store-clothes." I had to yield to 
urgency, however. "You will enjoy being 
among your own sort of people, Mr. Bos- 
cawen," Mrs. Thompson said ; " We have a 
very cultured circle here." 

You must know the village contains sev- 
eral rich men who have an ambition to trans- 
mute their wealth somehow into culture; 
hence they carefully nourish a " literary " 
and "artistic" tone in the community; they 
encourage the -city literati to visit them ; 
they even lure into their homes an occasion- 
al Eastern visitor of distinction. One of 
our Harvard professors spent a month last 
summer in the house I was at yesterday. 

It is a very good house in appearance 
large and comfortable, and midway between 
a farmer's and a country gentleman's in its 
air. Its master is an elderly man, and its 
mistress his niece, a young widow, a com- 
monplace person with very literary tastes. 
She had an appalling company, all bent upon 
making an impression on each other ; local 
stars and imported attractions from the city. 
I suppose I ought to have been amused at 
their painful efforts to talk up to a high 
enough plane; but I was not I wasennuied 
and exasperated to desperation. I met just 
one interesting person -a young woman. 
Probably she pleased me the more because 
she was produced just at the point when my 
nervous exasperation had become equal to 
Von Rothstein's, when those manufacturer's 
girls in Yorkshire undertook to entertain him 
by playing Chopin. She made me feel much 
as he did when they dropped the Chopin and 
the youngest one sang "Allan Water" in a 
pretty, natural little voice, though she didn't 
in the least know how to sing. 

She was introduced to me pretentiously 
enough as " Miss Tessenam, one of our most 
gifted young writers." I expected either an 
acquiescent simper or a disclaiming blush ; 


An Impossible Coincidence. 


but she paid no attention to it, and seemed 
to be much more interested in observing a 
specimen from what she must consider an 
ancient and learned community, than in the 
impression she might be making on the spec- 
imen. I remember what an awed and ex- 
cited feeling we used to have when we were 
little chaps over a stranger from the wonder- 
land out of which Punch and Scott and the 
rest of them came to us ; and if he had ac- 
tually seen Thackeray and shaken hands with 
Dickens, ! Some point-blank questions 
from others had already drawn from me an 
admission of a trifle of acquaintance with 
two or three of our most widely known men 
at home ; so it was easy to see that an ar- 
dent girl (for girlhood is no less given to 
thrilling enthusiasms and generous illusions, 
admirations and haloes, than childhood, I 
fancy) would make any commonplace person 
stand as symbol for all I had associations 
with : Touchstone, embodying all the dimly- 
dreamed glories of court to Audrey and all 
the time only court-fool ! 

She took me out to show me the view from 
the rear of the house out of the populated 
" parlor," to my immense relief, through a 
broad hall, which crossed the whole width 
of the house, and out on the veranda to 
which it opened. This veranda ran around 
the three sides of a court formed by the 
main house and two wings, and open on the 
fourth side. 

" Ah, this is more like my preconception 
of California than anything I have seen 
before," I said, as I stepped out upon the 

The court itself was nothing, but a few 
enormous scarlet geraniums made it passa- 
ble. Beyond, the ground fell away from the 
house in a long slope, covered with grape- 
vines, to a small stream, a half-mile away ; 
and beyond, the grain fields stretched three or 
four miles to where a bright strip of the Bay 
was visible, bounding the western edge of the 
plain as far as we could see, north and south ; 
and beyond this, a blue range of mountains. 
Miss Tessenam had chosen a flattering hour 
to show me her view, for it was late after- 
noon, the light was low, and a dry, dusty air 

like this has almost unlimited capacity for 
coloring and atmospheric effects. It was 
like a flood of transparent gold poured over 
everything, and the gold and tawny shades 
of the plain under it beyond the green fore- 
ground of grape-vines, and the burnished rim 
of silver water, and the blue mountains be- 
yond, were what no one with any artist in 
him could fail to admire. 

Miss Tessenam was much gratified that I 
liked it. She had evidently brought me out 
there alone with a mind single to the view. 
I had half expected an attempt at an Ameri- 
can flirtation when she took me off alone 
a thing that, innocent though it is, is not in 
the least according to my taste, nor accord- 
ing to my ideas of dignity and propriety in 
young women. But she evidently had no 
intention of the sort whether from native 
modesty, or because she stood in awe of 
Touchstone. (It was not because she was too 
unsophisticated, for you may notice that girls 
are only the more crammed with crude co- 
quetry in proportion to their distance from 
civilization.) Her manner was altogether 
frank, simple, and pleasing : like that of a 
self-respecting mechanic, who has not be- 
come spoiled by knowledge that there is 
such a thing as manners to be anxious 

She was ra.ther a pretty girl : trim little fig- 
ure a sort of plump slenderness, like a little 
brown linnet compact without heaviness, 
slender without angularity ; excellent brown 
eyes, pretty wave of hair (and I should think 
natural) round her forehead, child-like out- 
line of face ; bright, energetic expression, 
and a pretty resolute look around the mouth. 
She looked as if she might be the eldest 
daughter of ten, with an invalid mother ; or 
else might be a girl who earned her living in 
some way. Her dress looked like that, too 
a sort of cleared-for-action air about it, and 
all very plain ; but it looked very lady-like, 

I wish I might have been at home to shake 
hands on your return, old fellow. I wish 
you were with me here. I am, however, 
none the less, most heartily yours, 



An Impossible Coincidence. 


November 28th. 

* * * You ask if I saw anything farther of 
the little Californian I mentioned in my first 
letter ; and if I did not find my impression 
of an agreeable behavior mainly illusion, 
born of my relief at getting out of that par- 
lor; and if she did not try to flirt or to read 
her poems to me on farther acquaintance. 
To your first question : Yes, I have seen a 
great deal more of her, and should have recit- 
ed the fact if I had supposed it would at all 
interest you. To the second : No ; on the 
contrary, she improved on acquaintance 
though she proved more naive and more of 
a child than I supposed her at first ; she 
probably had, on first acquaintance, the dig- 
nity of shyness. 

They expounded her to me as soon as we 
left the house where I met her. " I saw you 
were interested in Dora Tessenam," Mrs. 
Thompson said. "She is a very smart girl, 
and so capable. She is educating a younger 
brother at college: there was a little left 
them, enough, with some help from her, to 
keep him at college, and she supports her- 
self besides ; she lives and does her own 
cooking in a single room, and writes for the 
papers and takes scholars." 

This was possibly all very laudable, but 
certainly all very squalid. To my mind, any 
notion of duty that sets a girl to living and 
cooking alone in a city room and writing for 
the papers is not even laudable, for it shows 
her wanting in a fine sense of womanliness. 
It would have been more suitable for the 
boy to go into some respectable business, 
make himself and his sister comfortable, and 
educate the second generation. I resolved 
to be pretty shy of Miss Tessenam ; for no 
one can ever be certain when or where an 
acquaintance will turn up ; and it is not my 
notion of a gentleman's behavior to make 
acquaintances for temporary amusement, be- 
cause he is out of sight, and drop them when 
he is in sight. I propose to stand by any 
claim I give ; and to add a woman who vol- 
untarily lives and cooks alone in lodgings, 
and writes for the papers, to my list of lady 
acquaintances, was not desirable. 

They asked her around to dinner, how- 

ever on purpose to meet me, I fancy, for 
Mrs. Thompson took pains to leave us to- 
gether. Since tete-a-tete was inevitable, I 
thought the most interesting use I could 
make of it would be to try to take her ground 
her point of view see how such a life 
looked to herself. 

" Mrs. Thompson tells me you are quite 
a literary character," I said. 

She looked at me seriously, as if she were 
making up her mind whether I was trustwor- 
thy, and seemed to decide that I was, for 
she said, quite simply : 

" Yes, sir, I have written a great deal. I 
think literature is a noble profession. Since 
you came from Boston," she added, hesitat- 
ing a little, as if she feared the remark were 
audacious, "you write, of course?" 

It was rather pathetic to see that her Bo- 
hemian work took the dignity of " literature " 
in her eyes. I should have liked to be able 
to say I never wrote, for there are altogether 
too many people writing; but my conscience 
is at least clear of poetry and fiction, so I 
told her I only did a little in heavy articles 
and criticism. This rather awed her, how- 

"Are you really a critic?" she said. "I 
never knew one. We do not have them out 
here only reviewers, and they are not regu- 
lar reviewers; they just give the books to 
somebody who is on the staff anyway. I 
wish we did have critics : I could get ac- 
quainted with them, and get them to criti- 
cise my work, and advise me about it. My 
literary friends cannot advise me very much : 
they haven't had much chance. They have 
usually been poor, and had to begin with 
the country newspapers about barns that 
have fallen victim to the fire-fiend, and such 
things, you know and work up gradually. 
I value very much the chance of spending 
the fall here (did you know? I am going to 
stay all fall with my friends) ; there is such 
a cultured little circle here. Is it anything 
like New England, Mr. Boscawen?" 

"N-o," I said, " not very much." 

" I suppose there is a great deal more cul- 
ture there," she said, " especially in Boston. 
That is what I have thought that there must 


An Impossible Coincidence. 


be a culture somewhere as much above ours 
as ours is above our ignorance. And then 
Europe is as much above that, I suppose? 
Dear me, how it does make the world widen 
out ! " 

" It is not considered proper patriotism," 
I said, " to admit that Europe can be even 
equal to us in anything. The newspapers 
speak very ill of any one who does." 

" Ah, but patriotism ! " she cried, " mustn't 
the true patriotism be for those who are in 
accord with us wherever we find them ? for 
one's true country the rempitblicam liter- 
arum ? " She checked herself and blushed. 
" I don't mean to pretend to know Latin, ' ; 
she apologized. " That phrase is in the dic- 
tionary. You know Latin, of course," she 
added wistfully. 

" Oh, only as the ordinary Harvard man 
does," I said. " One doesn't know Latin 
unless he goes in for it, and I did not do 

" It must be a great help to a literary per- 
son to know Latin," she said. " I never 
had a chance to know anything. Anybody 
brought up in a mining-camp, and having 
always to earn one's own living, doesn't have 
much opportunity for anything. And now I 
have worked gradually into a pretty good 
literary position, I don't want to stop there: 
I want to go on and get a grade higher. 
But I don't know how to do it ; I haven't 
anybody to help me, Mr. Boscawen." 

Now, that really constituted an appeal, 
though unintentional. You would have told 
her so by immediately becoming politely 
frigid, and the poor child would have gone 
home and cried to think she had been so 
forward and so snubbed. I was casting 
about in my mind for some gentler evasion 
of the most obvious answer namely, to of- 
fer my services (not that I was unwilling, as 
far as my own entertainment went, but I had 
no wish to help on any girl in so ill-chosen 
and unfit a path) ; when it came across me 
that I had heard editors say the surest way 
to suppress ill-founded literary aspirations in 
a young person was to give him training 
which should tend to develop his critical 
sense ; only real ability or very robust vani- 

ty would survive this process. I don't deny 
that my being so frightfully bored with the 
place and people, and her innocent brown 
eyes and confiding appeal had something to 
do with it ; but I did not forget to forecast 
consequences and decide that I would stand 
by them (even if it involved showing some 
social attentions at home, beneath your dis- 
approving eyes, good sir), before I answered 
that perhaps I might be able to do some- 
thing, if she thought my judgment of any 

" Oh, Mr. Boscawen ! But of course I do 
if you only would but I did not mean to 
ask " she cried, coloring up. 

No need to bore you with any more con- 
versation in fact, I don't remember any 
more. I told her she must perfect her knowl- 
edge of literature, and her judgment of it, 
and we rather went into a course of reading 
(that was over three months ago, you know). 
It involves no end of unchaperoned tete-a- 
ttte : but no one sees anything odd about it. 
It is considered a case of "birds of a feather." 
" I am taking a course of reading with Mr. 
Boscawen," she announces proudly; and 
that is accepted as exceedingly natural. 

I find it very interesting myself; it renews 
the charm of the old books wonderfully to 
go over them again with a teachable, bright 
little pupil, who welcomes them eagerly as 
doors into a wonderful world, out of which 
she thinks I have stooped for the moment. 

But she is so intelligent, Boscawen ! I 
am perfectly amazed to find how correct is 
her criticism, how promptly she masters an 
author, how penetrating is her appreciation. 
She suggests new thoughts to me constantly, 
and keeps well up with my mind in the most 
difficult authors (for, beginning with simple 
ones, I found her so quick that I followed 
my own tastes out of light literature into the 
philosophical authors Emerson, Arnold, 
Spencer, Mill and found her able to fol- 
low); and I feel, after going over a book with 
her, that I never understood it so well before, 
myself. I look at her in amazement, and 
say in my heart, "You are cleverer than I, 
if you did but know it, you pupil of mine ! " 

There is no doubt that I have chanced, in 


An Impossible Coincidence. 


this most unexpected place, upon a woman 
of the witty and intellectual type. You know 
I do not fancy the type; but that is no rea- 
son I should not take the goods the gods 
provide in the way of the entertaining com- 
pany of such an one, in the absence of any- 
thing better. Then this little girl has not 
the aggressiveness of most intellectual wo- 
, men, for she does not know her own strength. 
Yes, thank you, my lungs are much bet- 
ter, though I should not have supposed dust 
would agree with them, and the air here con- 
sists chiefly of dust. If they continue to be- 
have as well, I shall hope to see you in the 
spring ; and for the present remain most gen- 
uinely yours, E. B. 

December, i4th. 

* * * THERE is something in what you say 
of the danger of intermeddling in the little 
Californian's affairs though it isn't exactly 
intermeddling to try to train some of her nat- 
ural abilities. You say she would be much 
happier to stick to her Bohemian writing, 
and marry some newspaper man, and never 
doubt that they are at the top of the ladder. 
That may be ; and yet it is a question 
whether one does not take more responsibil- 
ity in refusing to help a young thing's pa- 
thetic eagerness to climb into a higher life 
than in helping it. Wise or unwise, the 
dream is her own. You must direct a man 
to the street he wants to find, even if you 
think his errand thither foolish. 

But your other warning! It makes one 
feel a good deal of a cad to say so yet, of 
course, it would be affectation to deny that 
girls who have not seen many gentlemen may 
put an altogether undue value on a stray 
specimen that a girl of generous, believing 
disposition might wrap up a very common- 
place fellow in some of her sweet illusions, 
and suppose she fancied him, when, in fact, 
it was only the sort of people and the way of 
life he represented that she fancied. And it 
is a thing I wouldn't be reckless of amuse- 
ment at cost of a girl's heart-ache is for a 
very different style of fellows from you or 
me. But, then, good heavens, man have 
women shown themselves disposed to fall in 

love with me? Is a man to go about muffling 
his charms from gaze, lest the eyes of women 
who fall upon them may be dazzled? 

Your great news is no news to me : I knew 
Amy Dudley would become Lady Averil. 
Perhaps it is because I have known it so 
long that I do not mind it more: perhaps, 
because what I cared for in her was more 
the type than the woman. It may have been 
the title, as you say, that made the breach 
with a plain American ; we all know how her 
family would feel about that, and a high-bred 
English girl doesn't choose against the will' 
of her family ; and in fact, though I be the 
man hurt by it, I will say it is much more 
becoming in a woman to be gentle and du- 
tiful about such things, and to be guided in 
her actions by her proper protectors. Com- 
pare Amy Dudley with the little Californian 
here, rowing her own boat and choosing her 
own destinies! There is no doubt, by the 
way, that the little Californian is fifty times 
as clever. Amy made no pretence at clever- 
ness ; in fact, she made it seem bad form to 
be clever. But it is odd that the same man 
should be in one place put aside because of 
his caste and birth-place, and in another 
should be considered so dangerous on ac- 
count of them that he must be warned against 
entangling a girl's feelings by looking at her ! 

I will confess to you, on the whole, that one 
thing has given me a sort of alarm. I chanc- 
ed to show her, today, a little novel very 
pretty in its way and I was giving a resume 
of the story to her while she turned over the 
leaves, when she suddenly crimsoned, start- 
ling me so that I almost lost the thread of 
my talk; and the thing that I was speaking 
of at the instant had been a situation in the 
book similar to that which you forebode. I 
took pains to go on unconcernedly, but I saw 
that her fingers, holding the book, trembled, 
and she gave me a covert look of positive 

It came into my head that a girl might 
look so if she had suddenly but that is non- 
sense, you know. There is not the least 
sentiment about our intercourse. I will re- 
treat, I assure you, if I see the least danger. 
And now to other subjects. * * * 


An Impossible Coincidence. 


December i8th. 

BOSCAWEN, I cannot express my indigna- 
tion and humiliation. You have seen it, of 
course the last number of " The Continen- 
tal Monthly." Let me tell you that the writ- 
er of that story is the California girl I have 
wasted so much liking on ! You were quite 
right in telling'me I was overrating her. Not 
her mind she is even cleverer than I dream- 
ed but I might have known the innate vul- 
garity would out somewhere. If it is still 
possible that you haven't seen the thing, I 
will tell you. A story, published in a prom- 
inent journal, whose hero bears the name of 
Everett Boscawen, and answers in personal 
description to an idealized copy of the real 
E. B. You will be almost as angry as I, for 
an insult to the Boscawen name hits you 
nearly as close as me; and you will feel 
yourself madeJTridiculous in the person of 
your cousin. 

The worst of it is the situation of the 
story the girl's adoration ; the whole thing 
is a most unblushing avowal of but what is 
the use of talking about it ? The thing can't 
be undone. I would gladly buy up and burn 
the whole edition, if it were possible. 

What could be the girl's idea in blazoning 
her emotions and advertising me in that 
fashion? Could she have fancied that she 
could make an'appeal to me through print 
that would be impossible to make more 
directly ? I wonder she did not name her 
heroine Theodora Tessenam, by way of mak- 
ing her intent a^little clearer. 

Or did she think to flatter me by publicity? 
such people so hanker after publicity them- 
selves, and fancy everybody does. I was an 
idiot to suppose that because a girl of her 
class has a fine mind she could escape the 
indelicacy of her kind. I shall beware of 
Bohemiennes henceforth. 

I am going to pack my trunks, now. I 
shall leave the field to Miss Tessenam's un- 
disturbed possession. 

I cannot help feeling sorry, too. She 
seemed such a pretty, sensible, good sort of 
girl. I hate to see my pleasant conception 
of her, and the memory of all this pleasant 
intercourse go down into a mud-hole of dis- 

gust. Ah well ! I do not care ever to si gn 
my be-handled name again, so you may have 
this unsigned. 

January 3d, 1883. 

Yours just received. Do you know, I fan- 
cy we are not being quite fair to the girl. 
Your letter seemed rather harsh. It is only 
just to think'of her side of it. Probably, with 
her provincial inexperience, she did not 
realize the publicity of the thing indulged 
her fancy in using the name, supposing me 
and every one ignorant of her signature 
(her hostess who is probably her confi- 
dante throughout had told me). That the 
enormous impropriety was not intended as 
an advance, and that she herself realized 
its frightfulness as soon as she saw it in 
print, is evident ; for she anticipated me in 
leaving the village fled precipitately, with- 
out a word of good-by, which, after our in- 
timacy of so many weeks, could only mean 
that, overwhelmed with mortification, she 
had retreated to hide herself. 

After all, she has the worst of it no mor- 
tification the thing can cause me could be 
equal to hers. Poor little soul! It would 
certainly be very rough to have done such a 
thing, and then realized the consequences. 
And considering the misplaced emotion 
there is in the case, to go off and hide her- 
self, break our intercourse short off, and for- 
ever (for she did not leave an address), shows 
that she did realize it. In fact, it is not im- 
possible that she over-realized it. Girls are 
conscientious, tender-hearted creatures she 
may be torturing herself with even more 
shame and remorse over it than the thing de- 

It is a'good story you are right there"; 
and my namesake is really a fine fellow, with- 
out any miss'ishness about him. ThereTis 
precious little of me really in him ; it gives 
one a queer feeling to fancy himself looking 
like that in a girl's eyes. It is hard on her 
with the cravings for a wider life the child had, 
to spend weeks constantly with somebody 
whose circumstances made it possible for 
her to idealize him into an embodiment of 


An Impossible Coincidence. 


all the things she most admired and desired ; 
to express her innocent devotion in a good 
story, and stumble into the unaccountable 
folly of transferring his name to the page ; 
then to realize too late, what cause for of- 
fence she had given (how she has comprom- 
ised herself, she cannot know, for she does 
not know that I know her signature), and to 
take it thus seriously it causes me com- 
punction, for I might have taken warning. 

I miss her companionship, and find all 
my books spoiled by the now uncomforta- 
ble association. It is raining dismally out- 
side, heavily, as if the clouds had dropped 
the rain they were too tired to hold any 
longer, not as if they dashed it down with a 
good will. It is horribly depressing. I am 
counting the weeks till I may come home. 

Think over her side of it, and write and 
tell me if you do not think we were too 
harsh in the first shock. E. B. 

February ist. 

I DON'T like your tone, Boscawen. How- 
ever, if you choose to distress yourself about 
my dangerous weakness toward Dora Tesse- 
nam, you may set your mind at rest: there 
is no danger, because it is past danger. 
Think what you like of me, but I am in love 
with her. Oh, I know I am a fool ; I know 
all about the difference in station, and that I 
am brought up to a fastidiousness which all 
her circumstances are unpleasant to, and 
which even she herself has shown herself ca- 
pable of offending (yet only once, in all my 
knowledge of her). I can't help it. I am 
going to marry her, and you may disown me 
if you like. I have missed her too horribly 
not to know that she is more to me than 
you and all the rest of the world put togeth- 
er. I met her last week in the street; she 
blushed, barely bowed, and slipped around 
a corner before I could speak". But I knew 
then what I had been longing after ever 
since she left me. The whole world broke 
into blossom when I caught sight of the lit- 
tle trim gray figure. Good-by to you, Bos- 
cawen, forever or not, just as you choose ; I 
am going to keep my world in blossom. 

SAN FRANCISCO, February ad. 

You may add to my epithet of fool, ap- 
plied to myself in my letter of yesterday, as 
much emphasis as you choose ; I had at the 
time of writing no conception of its appro- 
priateness. Is it possible no one has detected 
me hitherto for a despicable idiot ? or have 
you all known it all along? I wish 1 were a me- 
diaeval ascetic, given to the use of the scourge. 
The best substitute possible under modern 
circumstances is probably to relate to you 
every word of what has passed. Don't im- ' 
agine I dislike to do it. I am so absolute- 
ly sick of the cad in question, that I take 
satisfaction in abasing him ; if he writhes 
a little over every detail of his discomfiture, 
so much the better. 

I hunted her up and sent my card to her 
room. She came down to the boarding- 
house parlor, and she was self-possessed 
enough at bottom, under a thin film of em- 
barrassment. / was not embarrassed not 
I ; I smiled at her reassuringly and affection- 
ately. Her conventional "Good morning" 
smile faded at once, and she looked interrog- 
ative. She had put out her hand as a mat- 
ter of course, and I took it and held it, while 
I looked down tenderly into her eyes, and 
said : 

" My poor little girl, I am afraid you have 
been fretting yourself greatly over that story. 
Put it out of your mind now ; we will both 
forget it. Perhaps it was a good thing after 
all, for it revealed to me that the world was 
empty after my little Dora had gone." 

Long before I had ended that speech, 
she had pulled her hand away, and retreated 
some steps to a table at the side of the 
room (a painfully shabby room, and the 
table was covered with stamped green flan- 
nel) ; she put one hand on the table, and I 
saw the fingers of the other curl up tightly 
into the^pink palm. She did not say a word, 
but looked straight at me. I followed her, 
and said : 

" I know now that I want Dora Tessenam 
and no one else for my wife. Come to me, 
my Dora, and we will not let any foolish 
memories come between us." 


An Impossible Coincidence. 


She trembled visibly, and her breath came 
and went hard, but she did not speak till I 
put out my arms to draw her to me. Then 
she drew back just out of reach, and said 
"Stop, sir," in a way that did stop me. 
Her color came up with a rush as soon as 
she spoke, and her eyes began to blaze. 
She was the prettiest thing I ever saw in my 
life, but there was no mistaking that she was 
angrier than I ever saw any one. After all 
my magnanimity, it was hard to understand ! 

" Why, Dora" I began. 

She cut me short. 

" Why do you take the liberty to call me 
that ? " she said. Her voice trembled when 
she began, and then steadied, and she turned 
icily instead of excitedly angry. Her eyes 
looked positively steely, for all their brown- 
ness. ''Perhaps, however, in spite of your 
appearance of a gentleman, you think you 
may treat women whom you consider your 
social inferiors in a way impossible with those 
whose position defends them." 

I understood, of course, that it was not 
the use of the name she was so angry at, 
but the assuming her affection; and it seem- 
ed to me a not unnatural expression of her 
own humiliation over having betrayed her- 
self. I had touched the sore spot, where 
she could not bear to have even a feather- 
weight laid. 

"Dear child," I said, "there is no want 
of respect. Believe me, I never put any such 
construction on your story as you think 

"Oh, that story! "she broke in. "You 
mean, I suppose, in plain language, that you 
acquit me of having intentionally proclaimed 
the state of my young affections to you 
therein, with a view to producing the pres- 
ent result. That is really quite high-minded 
in you. But why do you lay the whole re- 
sponsibility on the story? Do you pretend 
that it did more than ripen suspicion into 
certainty ? " 

Her tone and manner were of a sort hard 
to stand contemptuous ; I never knew be- 
fore what it was like to be addressed con- 
temptuously and I was terribly in love with 
the girl. It brought the blood to my face; 
yet I suspected her of partly shamming. 

" My dear girl," I said, " I had not a 
thought disrespectful to you. When a man 
offers his love to a girl, he has usually had 
some reason to believe it acceptable, before- 

" You had no reason" she said, still con- 
temptuously. "You had some excuse at 
least what might serve as excuse to a man 
predisposed to suppose a girl in love with 
him. You were mistaken. I think there is 
no need of continuing the subject nor our 
acquaintance. I wish you good-day, Mr. 

She was actually leaving the room, and it 
penetrated my conceit by that time that she 
was in earnest, and not merely trying to re- 
instate her dignity. 

" Stop, Miss Tessenam," I said, and I felt 
my voice thicken in my throat. " I am not 
the coxcomb you would make me. I am 
very much in earnest, and you have no right 
to deny me an explanation." 
. She turned in the door, full of wrath and 
scorn, and more than pretty. 

" You mean proof, I suppose," she said. 
" I might have known it would require 
proof to convince you I was not in love with 
you. Fortunately, I am able to supply it." 

She walked straight on out of the room, and 
as something more seemed coming, I tramp- 
ed around over the tawdry carpet till she 
came back, in about five minutes. She had 
in her hand a package of letters. 

" I wrote to my boy to send me back one 
of my letters which contained some dates 
and other memoranda I needed; and he, 
boy-like, unable to find the right one at 
once, tied up all my letters of the last year, 
and sent them to me by a friend who was 
coming out here." She was rapidly sorting 
out several envelopes from the rest, and held 
them out to me. 

" If you suspect forgery," she said, smil- 
ing in an unflattering way, " let me refer you 
to the post-marks I am told they are very 
difficult to forge." 

She turned away, leaned nonchalantly 
against the window-frame, and looked down 
into the street. I sat down, began at the 
beginning, and read straight through the let- 


An Impossible Coincidence. 


ters she had given me. I have them before 
me now ; and since they are calculated to 
make any man wince, I propose to copy 
every word of them for you. Here they 
are : 

"SAN FRANCISCO, January i3th, 1882. 

" By all means decline that or any other 
offer of employment. I will not have my 
theories invaded, and one of them is that a 
man in college should have his time undi- 
vided for study. Besides, these things make 
a social difference where you are, and there 
is no use flying in the face of a prejudiced 
old society ; while anonymous newspaper 
work, story-writing, or private pupils, cannot 
possibly hurt me here. When you are once 
through your studies you may turn over the 
patrimonial income to me for an equal term 
of years, and supplement it, if you like; 
meanwhile, it doesn't hurt me in the least to 
take my turn at doing that same. I am med- 
itating a considerable addition to the income 
at one blow. I have just written a story 
which is my l cheff dooverj and I have a pri- 
vate conviction that the editor of the 'Conti- 
nental ' will accept it. I would if I were he. 
I didn't sign my truly name which was a 
weakness on my part, for the old name need 
not be afraid of an honorable publicity ; but 
I do not like to see my name in print. 

' Oh, Hal, I did have such a struggle to 
name my hero just right in this story! I have 
hitherto named them as it came handy; 
but I wanted just exactly a certain flavor in 
this name neither commonplace, nor gro- 
tesque, nor fine ; neither Henry Taylor, nor 
Zimri Hoey, nor Eugene Arundel. There 
I sat on the floor, studying the 'births, 
deaths, and marriages ' that I have clipped 
out and accumulated in my bottom drawer 
for just such purposes. At last a ' Boscawen ' 
struck the chord in me that is devoted to our 
Welsh ancestry. Another search, this time 
through one of your Harvard catalogues, sug- 
gested that Everett might do for a prefix. It 
is not just the thing, but I like to put together 
names that will not by any chance find 
themselves together in real life. Boscawens 

there be, and Everetts there be, but no such 
Boston-Wales team as Everett Boscawen. 

" Don't get moonstruck, nor lightning- 
struck, nor anything. And, Harry, sign 
your name in full, for the convenience of 
the Dead Letter clerks. Never shall I for- 
get my feelings when a letter with the trian- 
gular blue mark, addressed ' Teddy, 599 
Payne St., San Francisco, Cal.,' was handed 
me by the grinning postman. Since when, 
I remain consistently, 


" SAN FRANCISCO, March 8th. 

"The editor of the 'Continental' is a man 
of literary taste, and I am not merely richer 
than yesterday, but invited to try it again. 
' Now is the winter of our discontent made 
glorious summer by this sun of New York. 
(No, my dear, restrain the pun ; I happen to 
know that the editor is not a son of New 
York, but was born in Vermont.) My reg- 
ular letter to you went by this morning's 
mail ; this is just a postscript to report the 
note from the ' Continental,' received just 
now ; so I am, in haste, yours, 


"Ax MR. ELDON'S, August i4th. 

" You will see by the date that I am visit- 
ing Carrie Hill she keeps house for her 
uncle now, you remember. Carrie is one 
of the loveliest women in the world when you 
know her well, but the dear girl is not especial- 
ly bright, and it is unfortunate that she has a 
special desire for literary society. She does 
get together the drollest collections of village 
as pirants, and city Bohemians, and really 
charming people. The day after I came, 
she had such an assemblage. There was a 
Boston gentleman boarding at the Thomp- 
sons' weak lungs and they brought the 
poor soul over. He evidently regarded it 
as a typical California affair. 

" There was one very curious thing about 
him. Do you remember about my ' Con- 
tinental ' story, and my hero, Everett Bos- 
cawen ? Well, this fellow's name is Bosca- 


An Impossible Coincidence. 


wen. Moreover, he answers not badly to 
my description of my Boscawen. He doesn't 
look in the least like my idea, you under- 
stand, but my expression of the idea will ap- 
ply about equally to both the Mr. B's. That 
is, they are both dark not in the glittering, 
black way of dime novel heroes, but in a 
mild, mellow fashion ; hair a soft black, or 
brown 'on the black,' and very dark gray eyes. 
Good, slim, strong figure, well carried 
the Apollo type, you know, rather than either 
the Antinoiis or the Hercules. Now this Mr. 
B. (don't know his first name call him Fer- 
guson), Mr. Ferguson B. is a little stiff, a lit- 
tle too perfect in bearing, manners, looks, 
everything. He doesn't speak to you a 
shade too familiarly nor too distantly ; he is 
not self-conscious nor self-unconscious. Yet 
his manners could be described in almost 
the same words as Everett B's. Of this I 
am certain : Ferguson B. would never, never 
be willing to make himself ridiculous, while 
Everett B. would, if it were necessary in a 
good cause. 

"He evidently scorned California, climate 
and people and all. I made him admire 
the view from the back porch, and he talked 
very ' cleverly ' about that and other things 
(said that it was like everything in California, 
in substituting for fineness and finish a cer- 
tain bold lavishness of effect. " For instance, 
the sole elements of this view are breadth of 
distance and atmospheric effect. In New 
England, we should have that thirty miles 
filled with hill and valley and varied wood- 
land" which I should say was fair criticism). 
He was just a bit condescending ; his man- 
ner to me would have been perfect, if I had 
been an ignorant backwoods girl, whom he 
was compelled, for the time, to meet as an 

"Just find out about his family, if it comes 
convenient, Harry. He evidently comes 
of nice people, but he's awfully narrow. 
Has some English airs, too. 

"I will write again tomorrow and talk of 
other things, for Mr. Ferguson Boscawen 
has taken too much of this letter. Good 
night, my boy. 


"August 24th. 

"Oh, Harry, my boy, I wish you were 
here, for I am in mischief, and you might 
share the fun. It is that Ferguson Bosca- 
wen who led me into it. I met him again, 
and was left alone with him. The most bored 
look came over his face, politely suppressed 
at once, and he said, graciously, 

" 'Mrs. Thompson tells me you are quite 
a literary character.' 

" I looked at him. There was not a. trace 
of sneer in voice or face. He thought I was 
such a little idiot that I would take the remark 
as a compliment, while he himself would know 
it to be a sneer. ' You poor, unsophisticat- 
ed little Californian,' it meant, 'I will not un- 
deceive you as to the true value of your 
attempts at literature.' 

'"All right, sir,' thought I, 'if you like 
that, I can stand it as long as you can ' ; and 
I assumed the mogt innocent face, and an- 
swered as nearly as I could in the character 
'he assigned me. He took it in good faith, 
so I ventured farther and farther, and he 
swallowed it all. I told him the awfullest 
lot of lies that I was bred in a miners' camp, 
and began literature with barns and fire- 
fiends; and I said 'culture' reverentially. 
Once I let a Latin phrase slip, and thought 
I had given myself away ; but I told him I 
found it in the dictionary, and, do you know, 
the man believed me, though there was an 
oblique case in it that couldn't possibly have 
been in any dictionary form of the phrase ! 
Before I left the house he had promised (I 
confess I fished for it) to give me a course of 
instruction to improve my mind. I expect 
to enjoy it immensely, for it will be exciting 
to see how far the immaculate Ferguson B. 
will make himself ridiculous. If flirting was 
in my line, it would be an excellent chance; 
but it isn't. I detest this getting into per- 
sonal relations with men, and I think there's 
a defect of good taste in every girl that does 
it; and if sometimes I feel tempted to step 
in and show bunglers at that game how to do 
it (for I've the making of an expert in me), I 
know enough of the after disgust to refrain. 
But this is just the thing : our relations shall 
be purely intellectual, and I can have the ex- 


An Impossible Coincidence. 


citement of experimenting in human nature, 
without the objectionable elements of flirta- 
tion. He is interesting and well-bred, or 
the joke would be too stupid to fash myseP 
wi'. I won't ever let him know, for I don't 
care to mortify him he hasn't been horrid 
enough to deserve that, you know ; only just 
horrid enough to deserve a little strictly pri- 
vate guying him on my part. Nobody but 
you shall know; and so, good night. 


" December i4th. 

"O my Harry, I'm afraid your unlucky 
Ted has got herself into a dreadful, dread- 
ful scrape, and it's all along o' that horrid Mr. 
Ferguson Boscawen. Harry, dear, he isn't 
Ferguson at all ! and what do you think he 
is? Guess the very worst thing you can, and 
you'll be right. 

" He was showing me a book, and I was 
pretending I had never heard of it, and 
turning the leaves over while I half listened 
to his exposition of it, when I chanced to 
catch sight of his name on the title-page, and 
it made me jump as if it had been yelled 
at my ear. 

"Harry (brace yourself) Harry his 

" ' Can such things be and overcome us, 
&c. ? ' I suppose the chance of my Everett 
Boscawen being duplicated was about one 
in thirty-nine billion ; and there I've struck 
that one chance ! I might have known that 
where there was as much as one chance in 
thirty-nine billion of getting into a scrape, 
I should certainly, with unerring aim, hit 

" I wrote at once to the magazine, asking 
to be allowed to see my proof again (they've 
got the thing into type, and sent me proof a 
month ago; but that's no sign they are going 
to print it within a year), and I shall change 
the name. But if my note should be too 
late ! I thought of telegraphing, but consid- 
ering that they probably have no intention 
of printing it soon, that would be foolish. 

"I could do this: I could just say to 
him: ' 1 happened to see your full name the 
other day, Mr. Boscawen, and was much 

surprised to find ' and then tell him the 
whole thing. 

" But I couldn't make him believe that I 
had never seen his name before, for he has 
lent me books innumerable. But, you see, 
I have always tossed his Matthew Arnold, or 
Spencer, or George Eliot, or Turgenief, into 
a corner, let them stay there long enough to 
give plausibility to the theory that I was 
reading them for the first time, then brushed 
up my acquaintance with the authors in my 
own books, and taken his bade to him. 

" Besides, I don't want him to know what 
I write: this story would give me away as to 
having known nothing before his advent. 
Anyway, he wouldn't believe me. He thinks 
I have a most reverent admiration for him, 
and he would certainly believe that I had 
written the story to celebrate him, and then 
disavowed it. And if worst comes to worst, 
it isn't signed with my name. But if it 
should come out uncorrected, and he should 
see it, and I should find that Carrie had let 
slip my signature, I should just fold my tent 
like the Arab, with a bigger body of Arabs 
on the war-path visible on the horizon. 
There would be no mortal use in explana- 
tions, and I should just run. 

" Meantime, I really enjoy him, for all 
his shadow of snobbishness, he is so intel- 
ligent and gentlemanly. He would be a 
very good fellow if he were not so crammed 
with notions, and false, narrow views of life 
and society. I don't know but the worst of 
him is, he hasn't a proper sense of humor. 
He takes himself so awfully seriously; is so 
afraid of not being just right and entirely 
dignified and admirable. But one can see 
there is something peculiarly, punctiliously 
honorable and high-minded and cleanly 
about him, and he is thoroughly kind, too. 
I should be ashamed of making a guy of him 
if I had begun it. But I have only followed 
his lead acted out his ideas. 

"Thank you for the information about 
his family and reputation. I knew they 
must be irreproachable. But don't get ac- 
quainted with the cousin : he would find out 
your connections there, and might chance to 
let this man know, and I don't want him to 


An Impossible Coincidence. 


know the fluid in my veins runs as blue as 
his own. 

" Good night, Harry, from your scared, but 
not yet penitent sister, 


I don't suppose, Boscawen, I could make 
you realize the view of myself with which I 
folded up those letters. It made a differ- 
ence, of course, that I was so profoundly and 
irretrievably in love with the girl. She 
turned from the window when she heard me 
rise from my chair. I did not shirk meet- 
ing her eyes. I hated myself too much for 
that; I almost felt that I could shake hands 
with her over her opinion of the fellow. 

"I will wish you good-day, Miss Tesse- 
nam," I said. 

"My letters, please," she said. 

" They are in my pocket. I am going to 
keep them, Miss Tessenam." 

She looked at me keenly. What she could 
not guess was that even stinging words in that 
particular trim, frank handwriting had a 
value to me ; but of the other half of my 
two-fold object in keeping the letters, she 
seemed to divine something. 

" As you please," she said, more gently. 

I moved to the door, and she followed with 
cool civility. At the door I stopped, and 
made some motion to offer my hand. She 
stepped back a little and bowed. 

I could not go so, for my very soul cried 
out for her. "Miss Tessenam," I said, "if 
some time in the future I should be able to 
come back to you with some title to your re- 

She broke in impatiently. 

" Don't, Mr. Boscawen ! I can't endure to 
have any sentimental conversation with you. 
I beg you to leave anything of that sort un- 

I lifted my hat and walked off; and left 
there the only thing I seriously care for in 
this world. 

But don't imagine that is the end of it. 
The end will be when the end of me comes. 
I have no more intention of giving her up 
than of giving up my life. I imagined once 
it was a fine thing to be in love with a sweet- 

voiced English girl. The whole affair was 
half-affectation, and I resigned her easily 
enough to a title. This affair breaks sharp 
off all my old life and begins a new one. I 
am going to go to work ; and it will be some- 
thing hard and useful, and mark you, Bos- 
cawen something that is uncompromisingly 
bad form, according to our old codes and 
formulas. Yours, as you choose, 


Miss Theodora Tessenam writes from San 
Francisco to her brother, Harold Tessenam, 
at Harvard College. 

June 2d, 1884. 


I have a curious story to tell you one 
that has caused me some embarrassment 
I went out to Berkeley this Commencement, 
and saw some of your old High School boys 
among the students, and several of my co- 
temporaries among the younger alumni. 
Will Camden, who has been out a year or 
two now, came and sat in front of me in 
alumni meeting, and turned round in his 
chair and chatted during the interstices, 
Camden always was an enthusiastic sort of a 
fellow, and managed to get through college 
without learning to be ashamed to confess 
enthusiasm ; so pretty soon he began : 

" By the way, Miss Tessenam, I'm expect- 
ing a friend whom I'm very anxious to intro- 
duce to you. He's a magnificent fellow ; 
grandest man I ever knew. If I were a few 
years younger I should get up a perfect hero- 
worship for him. He's a finely educated man, 
of good family, still young, not many years 
older than I, and has a comfortable property ; 
yet he has been, this last year, teaching a coun- 
try school in my county, purely because he 
says he wanted to have a hand in the real, gen- 
uine work of civilization. And, Miss Tesse- 
nam, you can't think what a power that man 
has been in our neighborhood ! He has made 
our rough farmers and wild boys believe in 
education, and, what is more, in fineness, 
and high-mindedness, and gentleness. I tell 
you, sir," he exclaimed, sacrificing accuracy 
of address to emphasis, "I tell you, sir, it 
was something fine to see that man going 


An Impossible Coincidence. 


about among us, so superior to us all, and 
yet so free from airs of superiority, so high- 
bred, and yet so simple and grand. It made 
me ashamed to think how little good my ed- 
ucation, that -my old father worked so hard 
for, has done to my community." 

" That is fine ! " I said enthusiastically. 
" I shall be delighted to know him. What 
is his name ? " 

" Boscawen," said he ; " Everett Bosca- 

You are prepared for it, by the connection ; 
but I wasn't, and I positively jumped. Cam- 
den had turned his head, for a speaker was 
beginning, so he didn't see. But wasn't it a 
fix, Harry ! I couldn't meet the man, and I 
couldn't confess to having anything against 
him by refusing to meet him. 

A friend in the gallery gave me an excuse 
to leave my place at the end of the address. 
I had barely taken my seat in the gallery, 
when I saw my deserted seat occupied by 
him. Camden jumped up and greeted him 
with rapture. I could not resist staring at 
him ; and I am so unconscionably far-sight- 
ed that I could see him quite well. And, 
Harry, in spite of my old grudge against him 
I had to admit that his expression was no- 
ble. Something had gone out of him an 
indefinable something, too subtle to be called 
stiffness or self-consciousness. I should have 
to describe his air in almost the same words 
that I should have used before; but he 
looked this time as if he ivould be willing to 
makehimself ridiculous, if it seemed right and 

His face drew my eyes back and back to 
it. There was something in it that grew on 
me : it seemed almost like endurance and 
courage, the look of a man who has a trou- 
ble and a purpose that has taken the non- 
sense out of him. 

Going out, just as I hoped I had escaped, 
the crowd swept us together, shoulder to 
shoulder. He must have seen me first, for 
when I discovered who was at my elbow, he 
was already gazing at me, with quite a serene 
air. So it was I who blushed and looked 
confused. He bowed at once, very nicely 
pleasantly, but not eagerly; gravely, but not 

severely. He didn't offer his hand, nor I 

" Good-day, Miss Tessenam," he said 
pleasantly. "I'm glad to meet you." 

I suppose that was really the best way to 
acknowledge the broad general fact of ac- 
quaintance, and ignore all the details there- 
of. I said " How do you do, Mr. Bosca- 
wen, "and then walked out dumbly at his side. 
I was going directly to the train, and he 
walked on down the road beside me. I 
asked about his lungs, and he said they were 
all sound again ; and then he talked about 
the Commencement, as if we had been pleas- 
ant acquaintances a little gravely, but in a 
very kindly way. You know that I told you 
that of old I should have thought him al- 
most the pleasantest company I ever knew, 
but for the touch of snobbishness and con- 
descension. There was not a bit of that now. 
Fancy Mr. Everett Boscawen commenting 
on a California Commencement without 
sneer or snub ! He was as friendly and ap- 
preciative in his criticisms as the best friends 
of the college could ask. 

He stayed with me all the way to the boat ; 
there some friends joined me, and he lifted 
his hat and walked off. 

I feel quite upset at his reappearance. I 
had piously hoped he was underground. He 
recalls a freak I am considerably ashamed 
of now, and a decidedly mortifying encoun- 
ter I had with him before I was through with 
it. His turning out so well makes my be- 
havior look worse : an ex post facto condem- 
nation of my judgment. 

You know, Harry, to be really square, he 
had about as much to complain of as I did 
in that affair. If he had chosen to take it so, 
he might have turned on me and been very 
justly indignant over having been deliberate- 
ly fooled, instead of pocketing my letters 
and going off as meek as Moses, taking all 
the blame to himself. For it was a rowdy 
thing to do in the first place, to deliberately 
play the game I did on him ; and it was an 
awfully mean thing to show him all those 
letters. The first one would have fully suf- 
ficed. But I was angry enough at the mo- 
ment, and I meant to trample on him. Af- 


An Impossible Coincidence. 

terward, the face he had after reading them, 
and when he went away with them in his 
pocket kind o' worked on me. 

He is to be in San Francisco some months, 
and asked if he might call ; so I shall have 
to worry through the embarassment as best 
I can. 

Your beginning-to-be-penitent sister, 


November i5th, 1884. 

You ask why you hear no more of Mr. 
Boscawen. Well, you shall hear enough 
now : 

I have been feeling rather sore about him, 
Harry. He has been, all summer and fall, 
just grave and pleasant, and not cordial, till 
my guilty conscience began to torment me 
with a suspicion that he must have a very 
bad opinion of me. (He had a right to, in 
all conscience.) I saw him quite often, and 
I had to admire him. All the time he never 
offered me his hand. I liked him better all 
the time, and I got fairly unhappy over his 
grave, distant manner. This evening he 
called, but rose to go quite early. I deter- 
mined to solve the hand question ; so when 
I opened the door, I put mine out quite 
pointedly. He took it promptly, and a queer 
sort of look went over his face. 

"So you will give me your hand now, 
Miss Tessenam ? " he said seriously. 

" Why not ? " I said carelessly. 

" Once you would not at this very door." 

" Once I was very much out of temper," 
I said laughing at the grotesque situation 
of that day, and yet coloring because I was 
ashamed of it. 

" May I come back and prolong my call ? " 

I cheerfully took him back to the parlor, 
but panic was in my heart, for that old scene 
was not a comfortable thing to talk over. 
We were both chilled with the few minutes 
at the door, so I drew a chair for him before 
the stove and sat down .in another in that 
horrid, shabby room, you know. He did 
not sit down, but stood with his hand on the 
back of his chair, and he looked awfully 
handsome, and good, too. 

" When I went away," he said, " you 
would not shake hands with me because you 
had not enough respect for me. You offer- 
ed me your hand just now. That means 
you have a better opinion of me, now." 

" I wouldn't shake hands because I was 
angry," I protested, but he thought he knew 
best, and went on as if I hadn't said any- 
thing : 

" When I went away, I did not ask your 
pardon for insulting you." He brought 
out the word in a sort of sincere way that 
made me feel queer to see him standing 
there looking so exceedingly gentlemanly, 
you know, and talking about insulting peo- 
ple. " I did not ask it, because I did not 
see any possible reason why you should par- 
don me. May I ask it now ? " 

" Good gracious ! " I said, " I brought it 
on myself, Mr. Boscawen. And you use too 
strong words about it." 

" I ask your pardon," he repeated obstin- 
ately, but quite humbly, too. " May I not 
have it ? " 

"By all means," I said. "But we shall 
have to exchange pardons, for you have a 
longer score against me." 

He paid no attention. " When I went 
away," he said, " you would not even let me 
ask if I might come back some time. I 
have come without permission. You have 
given me your hand, and your pardon. 
Does that mean that you regard past scores 
all wiped out, and that I may begin new with 
a clean slate? Does it mean," he said, his 
voice getting deeper, " that I am free to ask 
a woman to marry me, as if all that had 
never happened ?" 

I assure you, Harry, my heart went in two 
directions at once, for I distinctly felt it sink- 
ing down like lead, at the same instant that 
I felt it in my throat. I never had attached 
the least importance to the sentiment he had 
talked that other day ; but it seemed he 
meant to be fully released and acquitted of 
it all, and take a clean scutcheon to the 
chosen lady. And it made me feel awfully 
snubbed and deserted. The fact was and 
I had had a misgiving of it for some time I 
found I was tremendously in love with him. 


Victor Hugo. 


I got up, too, and put my hand on the 
back of my chair. Now that I think of it, 
we must have looked a little as if we meant 
to fling the chairs at each other ; but I, at 
least, felt like holding on to something. 
"Surely, Mr. Boscawen," I said. "What 
possible reason that you should not ? " 

He turned and walked once or twice across 
the room, evidently very much excited ; then 
he came and stood in front of me. 

" Is it too presumptous in me," he said, 
" is it any use for me now to ask you" 
well, in short we became engaged. 

Now, mind you, Harry, he is the best man 
in the world, and I would give a good deal 
if I had never told you a thing you could 
remember to the contrary. But who could 
have foreseen ? Anyway, all that past stuff 
is straight between him and me now. I was 
by all odds the main sinner; but he well, 
it's all right, anyway. And you are to give 
me all sorts of joy, dear boy, for I am really 
very happy over it. 

Just before he went away, I said : 

" Will you give me back my letters now, 
Mr. Boscawen ? " 

He smiled at me, and said, " Do you 
think their mission is done? " 

"I don't want you to have them," I said, 
blushing furiously. " Besides, it's senti- 
mental you meant it for penance." 

" But if I am to be emancipated from the 
fear of being ridiculous, that need not 
frighten me," he said, laughing. But he took 
them, after awhile, out of his inside pocket, 
where he said he always kept them. They 
looked well-worn, and it made me tingle to 
think of his reading them over. In fact, to 
be frank, it made me cry. I burned up 
every shred of them, and said: 

" I'll write you some better ones." 

" Perhaps not truer ones," he said. 

" A great deal truer," said I. And then 
he went away, and after a little I came and 
wrote all this to you, and now I must 

There's one thing, Harry: if I could see 
all that he wrote about me to his cousin (he 
admits that he wrote to a cousin) perhaps I 
should find that we were pretty near square, 
after all. Always your loving sister, 



" Et peut-etre en ta terre ou brill e I'esperance, 

Pur flambeau, 

Pour prix de man exil, tu nt'accorderas, France, 
Un tombeati." 

"AND perhaps in thy land where hope 
shines, a pure torch, for price of my exile 
thou wilt grant me, France, a grave." This 
is the last stanza of a poem that Victor 
Hugo wrote in Brussels, on the 3ist of 
August, 1870, at which date he returned to 
France, after an exile of eighteen years. On 
Monday, June 8th, 1885, France accom- 
plished the wish of her Poet, by opening to 
him the Pantheon, as his last resting-place, 
whither he was attended by a mourning pro- 
cession of more than one million people, from 
all parts of France and the civilized world. 

Literature, like science, has its common- 
place formulas of inquiry. Any one who 
VOL. VI. 6. 

begins to speak of a celebrated man is 
immediately addressed with such introduc- 
tory questions as these : Did you see him ? 
Did you know him? What are your impres- 
sions of him ? Though I have seen Victor 
Hugo, I must acknowledge that my impres- 
sions of him, at least, from having met him, 
are quite inconsiderable. ' Victor Hugo was 
not a great talker, except with intimate 
friends, and he gave to reporters no favor- 
able audience. "To the public," he used 
to say, " I give my ideas, not myself." I 
remember only one circumstance worth men- 
tion. It was in 1873 or 1874, in a large 
company of gentlemen, few ladies being 
present, that conversation glanced upon the 
great subject of a future life. Victor Schoel- 
cher, who has since taken a prominent part 
in French politics, observed : 


Victor Hugo. 


" Some persons pretend to feel in their 
souls an irresistible longing for another life, 
from which, as from a reliable promise, they 
infer such a life to be a reality. I do not 
feel anything of the kind, and am perfectly 
satisfied with this lower world." 

" My friend," Victor Hugo answered, " I 
believe you ; but do you not know that there 
are different kinds of worms? Some of 
them are silk-worms, and spend their terres- 
trial life in weaving a cocoon, from which 
silken grave they emerge transformed into 
brilliant butterflies; while common worms 
Well, you are satisfied with creeping on the 
earth ; I am not, and I weave my cocoon. 
Let, then, everybody be served according to 
his own wishes, and with reference to the 
fact of his having spun a cocoon or not." 

These few words, which I gather from a 
remembrance eleven or twelve years old, are 
not certainly very remarkable. But these 
and many other ideas on the same subject 
were expressed with a gentle, delicate irony 
hardly to be expected from the Poet of 
Chatiments. On that occasion I think I 
had my first real glimpse of the man who was 
to teach L'art d 'etre Grand-fere. 

But no casual allusions of this kind can 
teach to us Victor Hugo in the fullness of his 
genius. This literary Titan has just left ten 
volumes of manuscripts, after giving to the 
world during his life so many celebrated 
novels, political speeches, and volumes of 
literary and philosophical miscellany. Of 
far greater worth than his prose are his poetic 
lines, more than one hundred thousand in 
number, very few of which are destined to 
be erased by Time. He never wrote a line 
for money or other unworthy purpose. He 
was thus more fortunate than Alexandre 
Dumas pere, from whom his creditors ex- 
torted so much that is unworthy of him. 
Lamartine also, like Dumas p&re, after wast- 
ing several fortunes, was reduced to deal in 
watered prose, and " to change his lyre into 
a tire-lire " (money-box). 

This will not be a regular criticism. My 
only wish is to make Victor Hugo under- 
stood, and to increase the desire of my read- 
ers to read our poet in his own language 

rather than in translations " Traduttore, 

Victor Hugo was an enfant prodige, one 
of those wonderful children, most of whom 
become mere failures, as if Nature had 
not the power to fulfil an extravagant 
promise. Yet Nature sometimes surpasses 
herself to honor human-kind with a Pascal. 
When twelve years old, without teachers or 
books, Pascal discovered by himself the first 
elements of geometry. At the age of fifteen 
he ranked among the first mathematicians 
of his age, and died at thirty-seven, killed 
mentally and bodily by thought, and leaving 
a literary, philosophical, and scientific work 
which Chateaubriand pronounced to be that 
of an awful genius. Victor Hugo, also, be- 
fore his sixteenth year, wrote a very remark- 
able poem, the most remarkable written on 
a subject proposed by the French Academy 
in the year 18-16. It was his wish from that 
time to be a Chateaubriand or nobody. He 
composed, while still a school-boy, and be- 
tween two games of prisoner's base, a novel 
entitled " Bug-Jargal," worthy of a place in 
the collection of his books. At his gradu- 
ation, at the age of sixteen years, he re- 
ceived three medals from the Academic des 
Jeux Floraux of Toulouse. The President 
of the Academy, -M. Alex. Soumet, himself 
a distinguished poet, addressed to Victor 
Hugo the following letter : 

" Since we have received your poems, everyone 
speaks only of your beautiful talent and of the great 
hopes which you give to our literature. If the Academy 
coincide with my opinion, there will not be crowns 
enough to reward the merits of the two brothers 
[Victor Hugo and his brother Eugene]. Your seven- 
teen years find with us only admirers, I should say 
skeptics. You are to us an enigma, which the Muses 
alone are able to solve." 

This enfant sublime as Chateaubriand, 
who then dominated French literature, called 
him began, as early as 1820, when eighteen 
years old, to issue those immortal Odes 
which are still considered his best work by 
some critics. The resemblance between 
Hugo and Pascal happily stopped at the 
limits of youth. Our poet was made strong 
enough to bear, uninjured and to old age, 
the weight of his genius. He became greater 


Victor Hugo. 


every year, and advanced farther toward the 
summit of fame, keeping to the last all the 
resources of his mind. His brother Eugene, 
on the contrary, his rival in the Academy of 
Toulouse, had hardly arrived at his twen- 
tieth year, when he was confined in zmaison 
de sante, where he soon died, having never 
recovered his reason. 

From the influence of his mother, a de- 
cided partisan of the educational system sup- 
ported by Rousseau, and also from circum- 
stances that carried him, still a child, suc- 
cessively throughout Italy, France, and Spain, 
Victor Hugo's education was of a rather pe- 
culiar sort. At eight years of age he was 
reading Tacitus with General Lahorie, an old 
soldier, probably more familiar with battle- 
fields than classics. In his tenth year he 
studied Spanish, and went to Madrid, where 
his father, General Hugo, had gained a high 
position. Here he entered a Spanish school 
and the following year, 1812, returned to 
Paris, with no increase of classical knowl- 
edge, I should say, but with his imagination 
full of the brilliant sunlight, the picturesque 
mountains, the strange palaces and churches, 
the original pictures, the barbarous supersti- 
tions, and the heroism of Spain. All of these 
impressions were forever engraved upon his 
extraordinary mental and visual memory. 
Classics were then begun again, but the 
school-room was a garden. According to 
Madame Hugo's ideas, Nature was the book 
to read first of all, and plants and children 
can develop harmoniously only in perfect 

As to religious matters, Victor and his 
brothers never had any connection with any 
church, and received no Christian instruc- 
tion. They never went to a Catholic or 
Protestant place of worship. They were al- 
lowed to read any kind of books, good or 
bad, moral or immoral, being let loose in the 
library, as in the garden, with perfect freedom 
and no more suggestions than prohibitions. 
Rousseau, Voltaire, Diderot, prose and 
poetry, historical and philosophical writings 
all the works of the eighteenth century 
went through their young brains. There 
was never anything more the reverse of 

common rules than Victor Hugo's educa- 

I really doubt if he was much of a Latin 
scholar, or able to write good Latin prose. 
Yet he seems at the early age of twelve 
years to have been reading at sight most of 
the authors of a collegiate course. 

As General Hugo did not at all share the 
ideas of his wife in educational matters, he 
desired Victor, when thirteen years old, l> 
enter a school preparatory to the celebrated 
Ecole Polytechnique, but it was too late for 
a change. Instead of solving equations or 
studying geometrical theorems, the free pu- 
pil, after Jean Jacques Rousseau, began to 
write verses his first verses with no rhyme 
nor rhythm, no caesura, it is true, for he was 
never taught anything by anybody. He 
would read to himself his queer lines, chang- 
ing again and again as long as his ear might 
feel offended, until he happened to strike the 
right words and measure. And so, through 
a succession of attempts, burning sheet after 
sheet, and yet recommencing new ones, this 
literary Robinson Crusoe learned by himself 
the technical part of versification. He was 
thus prepared to become the great reformer 
of the French rhythm and metre, as he was 
to accomplish, perhaps from his very lack of 
regular classical studies, that still greater re- 
form of our literature, historically known as 
Romantisme. No wonder that such a man, 
accustomed as he had been since his early 
childhood to trust but himself and admit no 
other guide than his own judgment, and gift- 
ed with so powerful a genius, should reject 
so much of the past, and create in his coun- 
try nothing less than a new literature. 

Immediately after the publication of his 
first volume of lyric poems, Victor Hugo 
took place in the literary world by the side 
of Lamartine, but did not as yet appear the 
man he was to be. Scarcely can we trace in 
these early productions some faint marks of 
the thinker, fewer still of the patriot who 
afterwards, either from research or the per- 
spicacity of devotion, understood so clearly 
and so extensively the historical destinies of 
France. No traces whatever are revealed 
to us of the seer who will write years after 


Victor Hugo. 

the Legendes des Siecles. A remarkable 
poet, without doubt, he sings with harmoni- 
ous voice ; but in that singing there is too 
little of his own personality and too much of 
his mother's. 

She was one of those strange, though fre- 
quent, combinations of a royalist "Ven- 
de"enne," and an infidel disciple of Voltaire. 
Her early influence must have been present 
tp her son's mind, when, forty years after, he 
describes, in " Les Miserables," the charac- 
ter of the grandfather of Marius. General 
Hugo, who differed widely from his wife in 
political opinions, used to say about Victor's 
excessive royalism : "Let it go; children think 
with their mother and men with their father." 

In fact, a change had already begun in 
his religious, if not in his political, views. 
After reading Chauteaubriand's Atala and 
Genie du Christianisme, young Hugo had 
renounced Voltaire's sterile negations, with 
the materialistic doctrines of the eighteenth 
century. By degrees, Roman Catholic be- 
liefs, blended with admiration of old cathe- 
drals and of grand Biblical metaphors, took 
possession of this poetical mind, and effected 
a primary and important change, which has 
apparently been too much overlooked by 
critics, although it merits their full attention. 
Do not imagine him a semi-convert merely, 
for he went so far as to adopt a regular con- 
fessor. The man of his choice was the cel- 
ebrated Abbe de Lamennais, a deep thinker, 
and a writer of the first order. It would be 
interesting to know to what extent the peni- 
tent was morally influenced by the confessor, 
who was a Breton, as Hugo was himself on 
his mother's side ; how long Hugo went to 
confession and complied with Catholic rules. 
It is certain that the association lasted long, 
and that both the confessor and the penitent 
sustained publicly for many years the most 
intimate relations. More recently, in 1832, 
after the Roman court had pronounced his 
expulsion from the Church for liberalism, 
Lamennais lapsed into pantheism, while 
Hugo, who had abandoned confession and 
church several years before, retained to his 
last days the essential principle of Christian- 
ity, viz., a firm belief in God and in immor- 

tality. This belief, with the desire of politi- 
cal freedom, inspired all his poetry, and he 
never ceases speaking of the grave as Her- 
nani speaks of it : 

" C'est un prolongement sublime que la tombe, 

On y monte, etonne d'avoir cru qu'ony tombe." 
"How sublime a continuation is the grave! 
we rise thither, amazed to have believed we 
should descend." 

In 1874, at the tomb of Madame Paul 
Meurice, he solemnly professed adherence 
to his faith, before an audience composed 
almost exclusively of atheists : 

" Death is a second entrance into more 
light. May the eternal mind welcome the 
immortal one in the abode on high ! Life 
is the great problem, and death its solution. 
The grave is not empty darkness, but a pas- 
sage to boundless splendor. When a man, 
so to speak, does not exist any more here 
below " (he was seventy-two years old), 
" and all his ambitions culminate in death, 
he has a right to hail, far away in the infinite, 
across the sublime and awful glare of the 
sepulchre, this immense sun God ! " 

Many persons mistake Victor Hugo for 
an atheist, on the ground of his hatred 
against the Roman priesthood. But the dis- 
tinction between two things so widely differ- 
ent, he himself made on another occasion, 
again speaking over a grave, that of a com- 
panion of his exile : " Men of democracy 
know the human soul to have a double des- 
tiny, and their self abnegation in this life 
shows their deep-rooted hopes in another, 
. . . Our faith in this grand and mysterious 
future can support even such a heart-rending 
spectacle as is exhibited by the Catholic 
priesthood, who enslaved themselves to the 
man of December [Napoleon in]. Popery, 
in this very moment, does terrify human 
conscience. . . . Those priests, who, for 
money, palaces, mitres, and crooks, do bless 
and exalt perjury, murder, and treason ; 
those temples resounding with hymns, in 
honor of Crime elevated to a throne those 
temples, I say, those priests, might ruin the 
most firm convictions, the most profound 
ones, if we did not see, far above the Church, 
heaven, and far above the priest, God." 


Victor Hugo. 


So it must be understood that the hatred 
of Victor Hugo against the Roman church 
is political, not religious. If he assailed 
priests, as he did magistrates and the army, 
it was only because they played an active 
part in the Coup d'Etat. 

His contempt of bourgeois or of peasants 
was solely due to their approval of a sover- 
eignty which represented to his eyes all 
shame, ignorance, and immorality. Nobody, 
indeed, was spared by his poetical indigna- 
tion, not even the City of Paris, the greatest 
pride of his life. On a certain night of Septem- 
ber, 1855, from his rock of Jersey, while gazing 
on the light-house of St. Malo, face to face 
with France, he composed an eloquent ap- 
peal .to the people of Paris: "A ceux qui 
dorment " " To those that sleep " ; conclud- 

"Si dans ce cloaque on demeure, 
Si cela dure encore un jour, 
Si cela dure encore une heure, 
Je brise clairon et tambour, 
Je fletris ces pusillanimes ; 
O vieux peuple des jours sublimes, 
Geants, a qui nous les melions, 
Je les laisse trembler leurs fievres, 
Et je declare que ces lievres, 
Ne sont pas vos fils, 6 lions ! " 

The "Coup d'Etat" was a turning point 
in the life of Victor Hugo : " Be ye cursed," 
he exclaims : " D'emplir de haine un cosur 
quideborde d 1 amour!" " for filling with hate 
a heart that overflows with love." Until the 
2d of December, 1851 fatal date not a 
line, not a single word, was ever uttered or 
written by him hostile to religion or to priests. 
Even since that epoch, did he hear of a priest 
who had sealed his devotion to the gospel by 
his blood, Hugo would celebrate the mar- 
tyr with a vehemence of admiration, unsur- 
passed by the energy of his bursts of indig- 
nation. Thus, number eight, first book, Les 
Chaliments : 

" O, saint pretre ! grande ame ! Oh ! je tombe a ge- 
noux," etc. 

In 1870, after the fall of Napoleon, if the 
French church had joined with republican 
France, instead of losing their popularity in 
foolish attempts for an impossible restora- 
tion, without doubt Victor Hugo could have 

been thoroughly reconciled to the church, 
and, perhaps, as his death approached, if 
not seen kneeling as formerly with Lamen- 
nais, he would have been heard conversing 
" with Monseigneur Bienvenu," of the great 

In the days of the Coup d'Etat and of 
his subsequent exile, began the period of the 
full development and grandest works of our 
greatest poet. 

" What shall we do ? " he asked his sons 
Charles and F. V. Hugo, on their leaving 
France for Jersey. 

" I will translate Shakspere," was F. V.'s 
answer. (This he did, and gave us our best 
translation of the greatest poet of England.) 

" As for me," said Hugo, " I will gaze on 
the ocean " ; and the ocean, in its turn, 
seemed to reflect itself in his poetry in deep 
and boundless metaphors. 

From that moment, also, he is no more an 
artist, in exclusive pursuit of "art for art's 
sake." The social and political future of 
France and of all nations will absorb him so 
entirely that it would be senseless to draw in 
his works a dividing line between politics and 
poetry. It does not matter whether you call 
his verses poetical politics, or political poetry. 
The two elements can no more be separated 
than mind and body in human nature, and 
form a whole in which the style derives all 
its beauty from political and philosophical 
inspiration. Victor Hugo is the man who, 
face to face with the empire, almost alone, 
during eighteen years, with his avenging 
verse and inexorable prose, fought and final- 
ly overthrew that other man, Napoleon, who 
had stolen France, conquered Russia, form- 
ed alliance with England, weakened Austria, 
liberated Italy, and for a score of years daz- 
zled Europe and America. Victor Hugo is 
that poet, or he is of no worth at all in liter- 
ature and politics. 

There are several kinds of persons devoted 
to politics. The most common, though not 
the highest in rank, are the politicians of 
their time and of their country, absorbed 
entirely with present issues and national in- 
terests, and even when endowed with gen- 
ius, thoroughly unconscious of the ultimate 


Victor Hugo. 


solution of the problem whose factors they 
are combining. Has the great German 
statesman ever looked beyond the interests 
of his country or his caste ? He has suc- 
ceeded marvelously well, and nowadays 
Germany is ruled according to the most aris- 
tocratic and despotic principles. She is a 
formidable military power, and the greatest 
obstacle to universal peace that has ever ex- 
isted So was France in the hands of Rich- 
elieu (I do not speak of Napoleon i. a 
passing hurricane.) Richelieu was followed 
by Madame de Maintenon and Madame de 
Pompadour, and his work went to pieces. 
So will it be with Bismarck's dura /ex, sed 
lex. Above the politicians we place the 
thinkers, either philosophers or poets, mere 
dreamers in the judgment of many, who de- 
vote their efforts to the advancement of man- 
kind, and for whom civilization rests upon 
moral foundations. There is also a scien- 
tific school, whose most illustrious represen- 
tative is Herbert Spencer, but this school 
seems to incline toward materialistic con- 

Victor Hugo is assuredly not a politician 
of the order of Bismarck or Richelieu ; never 
did he seek the reputation of a practical man, 
nor take place in a cabinet. He desired to 
be a depute or senateur, only to ascend the 
tribune, and thus gain a higher ground of 
vantage for his ideal. No more is he a sci- 

"Le penseur est croyant, le savant est athee." 
"The thinker is a believer, the scientist is 
an atheist." 

" I know," he said, "that philosophers ad- 
vance rapidly, while statesmen advance slow- 
ly; the latter, nevertheless, must in the end 
join the former. If a timely union is effect- 
ed, progress is established and revolutions 
are avoided. But if this cooperation is too 
long delayed, then danger arises. It is ur- 
gent that legislators consult with thinkers, 
that politicians, so often superficial, take into 
account the profound meditations of writers, 
and that those who make laws, obey those 
who make morals." 

His voice, the voice of the people, a sing- 
ing voice, like the chorus of ancient tragedy, 

while denouncing abuses, requests and sum- 
mons statesmen to find and apply practical 

Justice and truth, that is to say, anything 
just and true, must, sooner or later, arrive at 
actual embodiment. Such is the fundamen- 
tal dogma of his political creed, and the su- 
preme rule for the solution of international 
as well as social problems. " We shall have 
the United States of Europe supervening 
upon the old world, as the new one has cul- 
minated in those great United States of 
America. ... To unite all European na- 
tions into a large family, to liberate commerce 
impeded by frontiers, and industry paralyzed 
by prohibitions, to emancipate labor enslaved 
by luxury, land crushed by taxes, thought si- 
lenced by despotism, conscience fettered by 

We see from these citations what are some 
of those objects that he had in view in call- 
ing into existence true and just principles of 
action. A firm idealist, he constantly op- 
posed the doctrines of those writers to whom 
men are mere bodies, and whose politics 
concentrates in the development of wealth, 
without moral, artistic, or intellectual aims. 

When Darwin's conception is applied to 
public and international relations, how cruel 
and unnatural it appears, as compared with 
so great an Ideal ! Struggle for life, survival 
of the fittest, every one for himself, indul- 
ging all selfish instincts, and constructing his 
own happiness from the unhappiness of oth- 
ers these are the Darwinistic substitutes for 
justice and truth. Such principles are based 
upon real facts, perhaps, but are more suit- 
able to lower animals or to savages than to 
civilized and Christian nations. Cholera, 
also, is a reality; so is famine, as well as the 
barbarity of the Middle Ages. If those 
scourges have already measurably disappear- 
ed, why in like manner should not other 
obstructive realities disappear, which are 
equally unacceptable to enlightened minds? 
All inferior races, it is asserted, shall die to 
make room for a superior race: or, as Bis- 
marck cynically says, " Force is prior to 
law." In opposition to such maxims, Victor 
Hugo believed in an endless perfectibility 


Victor Hugo. 


of all grades of human-kind, not of the high- 
est only. All races must perpetuate and de- 
velop themselves by education, because each 
race represents a special department of hu- 
man nature, and, to obtain its full evolution 
and perfect development, not one of its ele- 
ments, or its special capacity, or its individ- 
ual energy, can be disregarded with impun- 
ity. It is not sufficient, in his eyes, to 
multiply rich merchants or clever manufac- 
turers, to build numberless miles of railroads, 
to construct telegraphs, telephones, electric 
candles, and to secure the endless parapher- 
nalia of luxury: art, literature, poetry, men- 
tal and scientific speculations, appear to him 
more necessary to civilization. Fraternity, 
far from being an empty word, is the embod- 
iment of a real law, and moral progress pre- 
cedes and does not follow material progress. 

" Chimeras," the wise will say, " mere chi- 
meras. l ah ! Le Poete, il est dans les nuages' 
the poet, he is in the clouds. Look upon 
America; there, as the Caucasian, not to 
say the Saxon, advances, the Indian race is 
gradually retreating toward complete extinc- 

This cannot be denied, and we can reckon 
upon the eventual disappearance of the few 
hundred thousand Indians who formerly 
peopled the vast solitudes of North America. 
But, on the other hand, can any one, un- 
less he has lost the last vestige of common 
sense, admit for one moment, from the phe- 
nomenon of Indian decay, a world-wide gen- 
eralization that inferior races succumb before 
the higher, according to the doctrines of 
Darwin ? Consider other races vastly more 
numerous and tenacious, and so extensively 
prolific, in spite of their supposed inferiority. 
Turn to China or to India. Count their in- 
habitants. Regard, also, the Irish Celts, so 
despised by Saxons and Germans, the Celt- 
Latins of France and of Southern Europe, 
the Slavonians, who spread all over the east 
and the north, as well as the Spanish half- 
breeds extending from Mexico to Cape 
Horn. Can any one really believe in their 
coming disappearance before an advancing 
superior race ? If the survival of the fittest, 
as understood by many, is a law of human 

life, we should expect a Chinafication of the 
world. Such must be the conclusion after 
a serious consideration of the facts. 

But, after all, is not Victor Hugo of the 
same school as Darwinistic philosophers ? 
Does he not attribute to Latins, and, first of 
all, to the French, this same superiority, 
which he refuses to recognize among Ger- 
mans or Saxons? No one who reads his 
works carefully will come to such a conclu- 
sion. Victor Hugo had too broad a mind 
to adopt so narrow views of human destiny. 
Certainly, he loved France more than any 
other country in the world, and frequently 
dwells with some complacency upon her 
leading role in the advancement of modern 
civilization. But Germans, as all men know, 
contemplate very generally the future Ger- 
manization of the world ; and Englishmen, 
gazing on their vast Empire, draw similar 
inferences for their own tongue, as if their 
language were already spoken from one pole 
to the other in Africa, from the Cape of 
Good Hope to Alexandria, throughout the 
Soudan and Congo; in Asia, from India 
through Afghanistan to Constantinople ; and 
in America, from the extreme north to Cape 
Horn. Victor Hugo never indulged such 
extravagant dreams, or thought of Frenchi- 
fying our planet. " Will there be several 
languages in the thirtieth century of our 
era? and if but one language, which one ? " 
he neither proposes nor answers such a 
question. There is an English, a German, 
and a French civilization, and their concur- 
rence is to produce a result greater than 
its elementary components : United-Civiliza- 
tions and United-States, nothing more. 

Whenever Victor Hugo speaks of Ameri- 
ca, he sees her as a great example set to 
Europe. In an address to the Parisian del: 
egates who were sent to the Philadelphia ex- 
hibition, he said : " The future of the world 
is clear from this moment, and you are to 
outline this superb reality, which another 
century will fulfil, the embrace of the United 
States of America by the United States of 

The obstacles which oppose his hope, the 
Americanization of Europe, do not escape 

Victor Hugo. 

his eyes : " In the middle of the continent, 
Germany stands armed to the teeth, an un- 
ceasing threat to peace, the last effort of the 
mediaeval spirit. Everything that was done 
(1870) must be undone. Between the great 
future and us there is a fatal obstacle. Peace 
is perceptible only after a collision and an 
inexorable struggle. Alas ! Whatever the 
future may promise, the present has no re- 
alization of peace." 

If we compare, for instance, Europe in 
the eleventh century with America in the 
nineteenth, and realize what an immense 
distance extends between them, and how 
easily that distance has been traversed and 
overcome, we may clearly understand that 
none of the expectations of Victor Hugo are 
impossible, or even to be relegated to a dis- 
tant future. Undoubtedly, European na- 
tions are widely separated by differences of 
race and religion. But America, with so 
many different sects Catholics, and Protes- 
tants of all denominations, with such various 
nationalities, Saxons, Germans, Celts, Lat- 
ins, and even negroes multiplying in the 
Southern States to an almost alarming ex- 
tent America, I say, shows such difficulties 
not to be insurmountable. The barrier 
raised by diversity of language, which does 
not exist on this side of the Atlantic, is be- 
coming every moment less formidable. The 
time is near when the culture of modern 
languages, taking possession of all the ground 
. lost by the Greek and the Latin, will pro- 
duce a mutual interpretation of ideas and 
sentiments, and demolish those walls of pre- 
judice so carefully maintained by conceit and 
narrow mindedness. Why, then, shall we 
draw a line between the new and the old 
world, and say : " Freedom and justice on 
this side, despotism and social tyranny on 
the other side ? " Is this really a mere 
question of longitude? 

These are the opinions of Victor Hugo. 
They have nothing new nil novi sub sole, 
except in the scientific fields. Only he sang 
these grand old themes with a voice so so- 
norous, so powerful, so sublime, that they 
have resounded all over the earth, and deep- 
ly impressed and modified men's hearts and 

minds in France and other civilized coun- 

Victor Hugo, though considered by most 
men in all countries as the greatest of French 
poets, had and still has many adversaries. 
First among them, we may see the Bonapart- 
ist admirers of that Napoleon branded by 
Hugo as Napoleon le Petit, or Cartouchele 
Grand. These men were supporters of a 
throne shown by him to be founded on per- 
jury, murder, and burglary. Against Bona- 
partism Victor Hugo has written two satires, 
the most forcible, perhaps, that exist in any 
language. When the first, a prose pamphlet, 
entitled Napoleon le Petit, was issued, the 
Bonapartists affected to laugh. After the 
Coup d'Etat, a few weeks before Napoleon 
in. assumed the title of Emperor, one could 
read in one of the journals that favored the 
Prince-President : " M. Victor Hugo has just 
issued in Brussels a pamphlet with the title 
Napoleon le Petit, which contains the most 
severe animadversion against the head 
of the government." An officer of rank 
brought to Saint Cloud the satirical issue. 
Louis Napoleon took it in his hands, looked 
at it a moment with a smile of contempt on 
his lips, and then, pointing to the pamphlet, 
he said to the persons around him : 

"Look here, gentlemen, this is Napoleon 
le Petit, described by Victor Hugo le Grand." 

Was Louis Napoleon a prophet inferior 
in any respect to the biblical ass of Balaam? 

The would-be laugh stopped short, for, 
soon after, the Chatiments made their ap- 
pearance, and never did such a whip fall on 
the shoulders of a criminal. In fact, this 
book, printed on candle-paper not one 
publisher in all Europe could be found to 
print the terrible book secretly introduced 
into France, secretly read, for fear of prison 
or deportation this book, I say, prepared 
the fall of the Empire, by indoctrinating the 
rising generation with the noble cause of lib- 
erty. After the Franco-German war and the 
horrors of the Commune, there would have 
been perhaps an attempt at Napoleonic res- 
toration, but for that powerful book. Through 
Hugo's influence, such an attempt had be- 
come utterly hopeless, and remained untried. 


Victor Hugo. 


Many books, before and after the definite 
fall of Bonapartism, have been written with 
the purpose of impairing the force of the 
Chatirnents, all in vain. The Memoirs of 
M. de Maupas, recently published, have been 
the last and strongest effort made by Bona- 
partists to vindicate an event that disgraced 
France, between the years 1851 and 1870. 
Poor M. de Maupas ! why, in fifty years 
twenty, ten, five perhaps nobody will read 
his Memoirs, and thus not a line of that 
plea of his shall linger in history, in which 
truth alone is allowed by time to remain. 
The book will be forgotten not, alas ! the 
name of its author, for that name has been 
engraven in the Chdtiments by a hand that 
engraves for all time : 
"Trois amis 1'entouraient, ils etaient & l'Elys<5e 

Morny, Maupas le grec, Saint- Arnaud le chacal." 

and forever will men say, Maupas le grec,^ 
they will say Napoleon le Petit or Cartouche 
le Grand. 

To the adversaries of Victor Hugo, known 
as Bonapartists, we shall add a class known 
as Les Ventrus. They worshiped the em- 
pire, inasmuch as this government was to 
them a golden calf, and allowed them to fill 
their purse with other people's money. 
These latter did not go so far, perhaps, as to 
hate Victor Hugo, but could not help refus- 
ing their admiration to a man who address- 
ed them in those lines : 

" Le bon, le stir, le vrai, c'est 1'or dans notre caisse. 
L'homme est extravagant qui, lorsque tout s'affaisse, 
Proteste seul debout dans une nation 
Et porte a bras tendu son indignation. 
Que diable ! il faut pourtant vivre de 1'air des rues, 
Et ne pas s'enteter aux choses disparues. 
Quoi ! tout meurt ici-bas, 1'aigle comme le ver 
Le Charancon perit sous la neige 1'hiver, 
Quoi ! mon coude est troue, quoi ! je perce mes 


Quoi ! mon feutre etait neuf et s'est use depuis, 
Et la Verite, matre, aurait, dans son vieux puits 
Cette pretention rare d'etre eternelle. 
De ne pas se mouiller quand il pleut, d'etre belle 
A jamais, d'etre reine, en n'ayant pas le sou; 
Et de ne pas mourir quand on lui tord le cou ! 
Aliens done ! Citoyens, c'est au fait qu'il faut 
croire I " 

The "rentrus"arQ followed by the "Phil- 
istines," and by all those who remain infat- 

uated with an inordinate, although in some 
respects legitimate, admiration of that litera- 
ture, called by them rather pompously " The 
Literature of the Grand Siede." Most of 
these men are fifty years old or more. No 
hatred in them for Victor Hugo ; not even 
the refusal of some esteem. They are ig- 
norant of his poetry or prose. While they 
were school-boys they heard that Hugo 
might be permitted to occupy a place of a 
certain distinction between Lamartine and 
Alfred de Musset. All their poetical ideas 
are derived from Boileau and M. de la 
Harpe, that strange critic who thought it 
necessary to justify Racine for the use of 
the word Men (dog) in his tragedy of 
Athalie. Could such people possibly un- 
derstand a Hugo bold enough to write with- 
out blank (en toutes lettres) the real word of 
Cambronne on the Waterloo battle-field, 
and many other things no less shocking to 
their refined taste ? 

But we must go on ; thanks to God, Bon- 
apartists or bourgeois are but a small minor- 
ity in France, and Victor Hugo is to nearly 
all the uncontested king of our literature. 

" Victor Hugo was born with the century," 
writes M. Henri Rochefort, " and when he 
disappears we shall feel as if he had taken 
the whole century with him." 

Are there any writers, in fact, bold enough 
to divide among themselves the empire of 
that other Alexander, who subdued, himself 
alone, the whole literary world in writing 
dramas, romances, and unlimited verse, 
which extends from the Orientales to the 
Legende des Siedes"? Will any others re- 
new that prodigious labor by which he trans- 
formed the French language to such an ex- 
tent as to make almost unreadable today 
writers who were his seniors by a few years 
only, such as Chateaubriand, Casimir Del- 
avigne, or Alfred de Vigny ? He marked 
with his own stamp and impressed with his 
genius three successive generations of writ- 
ers, several of whom submitted to him as by 
force, unable, in spite of their will, to escape 
this irresistible domination. All, or nearly 
all, French writers of the nineteenth century, 
whether they know it or not, whether they 


Victor Hugo. 


acknowledge it or not, have been moulded 
by the hands of Victor Hugo. 

The variety of his political formulas is al- 
most incredible, and no chord has been miss- 
ing in his lyre. Grand and sublime, he strikes 
all imaginations ; sweet and tender, he 
sings of children and roses ; then, suddenly, 
he is full of burning indignation he terrifies, 
he forces admiration and awe. There was 
never a more complete poet ; to France he 
is a real Shakspere. 

Among his characteristics we must dwell 
upon his marvelous memory, either of facts 
or of conceptions. Nothing written on the 
bronze tablets of his memory has ever been 
erased. Hence the marvelous variety of his 
metaphors, never diminishing, always increas- 
ing in number. His eyes do not perceive 
objects in the ordinary manner ; there is in 
them an extraordinary power of magnifying. 
" Hence," says so appropriately M. Emile 
Montegut, " his predilections for immense, 
overpoweringly gigantic objects and for fright- 
ful and sublime spectacles. He prefers to all 
other themes war, storms, death, early civiliza- 
tions, with their Babels and monstrous orgies, 
nature in prehistoric times, with her colossal 
prodigies and forests of gigantic ferns. What 
powerful imitations of oceans howling under 
tempests! How graphically glaring to our 
eyes does he depict the conflagration of cit- 
ies, how crushing the trampling of steeds 
in bloody battles ! " These are his favorite 
subjects of description; here is the domin- 
ion over which he rules, with no fear of ri- 
valry. In other fields, he may have com- 
p6titors; here Victor Hugo is peerless. 

Never do ideas occur to his mind in ab- 
stract forms ; to him they are always embod- 
ied in metaphors. After he has long gazed 
upon things, his imagination becomes in- 
flamed, as Sybilla's on the tripod; apocalyptic 
visions, rising from objects all around, and 
from his own fancy, swarm before his mental 
sight with a stormlike fury, amidst a dazzling 
light, in all the colors of the rainbow; while 

he, ever calm, serene, master of himself, re- 
lates, describes, engraves everything he sees 
in the fathomless abyss. Most other poets 
or writers, after the over-excitement of com- 
position, have to suppress and concentrate ; 
he does neither. He makes only a few cor- 
rections of detail, about which he is known 
to be very peculiar. Thus is explained the 
abundance, the multiplicity of his points of 
view, and also his repetition. First he per- 
ceives his object under a certain light, de- 
scribes it, but is not satisfied ; after that first 
image, a second, a third, and so on, succeed 
in turn, until he finally comes to the supreme 
expression, to the full light, to what he terms 
somewhere "the embrace of Mind and 
Truth." So, with him things become grad- 
ually comprehended, on all their sides suc- 
cessively, more and yet more clearly, until 
we come to the perfect vision. His prelim- 
inary views, with which many a distinguished 
poet would be satisfied, are seldom to be 
suppressed, as they lead on to a more com- 
plete understanding. On ascending the 
mountain, the reader passes from enchant- 
ment to enchantment, until he is at last 
transported on the summit, face to face with 
the sun in his radiant splendor. 

Are there no spots on that sun of French 
poetry? There are certainly, and many of 
them. But why should I care to point them 
out? Every one will be inclined to discover 
them, and even to exaggerate their number 
and size. Read his works, his novels, plays, 
and verse the latter especially. His poet- 
ical diamonds, in my opinion, are the Chdt- 
tments, and, superior to all, the Legendes 
des Sieves, a series of wonderful epic 
poems, a mirror of twenty centuries of past 
civilizations, and an idealized World's His- 
tory. Read, allow me to repeat, read and 
meditate upon the great French poet. With 
the object of reading Victor Hugo's poetry, 
it is worth the trouble to study the French 
language, as it is worth the study of English 
to read Shakspere. 

F. V. Paget. 


Four Bohemians in Saddle. 



WE sat on a brown, sunlit slope in the 
high hills that looked down on Pope Valley, 
and talked of California and its horticultural 
future. One of our number had grown up 
with the prosperous colonies of the Southern 
counties each one of them worthy a sepa- 
rate magazine article ; another knew the old 
camps of the Sierras " like a book * and held 
that the future would prove the most valua- 
ble land of the State to lie in that region ; a 
third had helped to reclaim some of the tule 
islands, and had fought spring floods of the 
Sacramento and San Joaquin. The journalist 
of our party had ridden on horseback over 
the State, questioning all men, and saying 
all that his conscience allowed in praise of 
each and every district he visited, being gift- 
ed by nature with that faculty of enjoying 
everything, which, while men envy, they also 
criticise without mercy. 

Keen and glad, the wind blew from rocky 
ridges and across bits of vine-planted clear- 
ings, while we talked of the brave work 
that men were doing in these Pacific States. 

"If we could look forth, this moment," 
said one, "and have a birdseye view of Cal- 
ifornia, how much pioneer work, and how 
much, also, that seldom comes to commu- 
nities till the third generation, we should see. 
The interior towns are growing with great ra- 
pidity, the State is receiving accessions of 
the better sort of settlers, the large tracts of 
land are being subdivided, there is no suffer- 
ing and but little poverty. The season that 
we call a ' hard ' one will nevertheless distri- 
bute nearly twice as much money per capita 
as is received by the inhabitants of one of 
the dull and slow Atlantic States." 

"Always the hit at the East!" said anoth- 
er ; "You are California born and bred. It 
is worse than absurd for any one who has 
not known the charm of life in the New Eng- 
land and Middle States underproper auspices 
to pronounce that life dull and slow. The 
Eastern man who comes to California may 

do a good thing for himself financially, though 
even that is not certain, but he will assuredly 
miss much in society and climate." 

"Climate oh-h ! New York's soggy 
heat that untwists the very tendons, and 
melts the marrow in one's bones why, cer- 
tainly, how one must miss it ! " 

"Peace," said the journalist. "Let us 
saddle our horses, and try a gallop over this 
high table land. Leave climatics, for that 
way madness lies. I once spent a year of 
time and all my spare change vainly trying 
to convince my New York friends that fruits 
of reasonable quality grew in California, that 
drinkable wine was really made here. To 
us, it is strange that so many Eastern people 
prefer Hudson Valley Concords and Clin- 
tons to Sqlano County Muscats and Flame 
Tokays ; to them it is passing strange that 
dust, and wind, and rainless summer, and 
gold-brown fields, can be found endurable by 
any mortal. Yet we know with how strong a 
charm California calls back her wandering 
children, and so we can afford to smile, and 
go on planting our orchards, vineyards, and 
gardens. When we have made it as beauti- 
ful as the plains of Lombardy or the valleys 
of Southern France, these pioneer days will 
seem but the rude beginnings that they are 
in reality. 'Tis only a small corner of the 
world as yet, this California, and only when 
one speaks of the realm of the Pacific Coast 
does the thought of its imperial possibilities 
over-master the imagination. The world 
will say hard things about us, or worse still, 
will ignore us in calm preoccupation, until 
we know beyond dispute that we have the 
permanence of varied industries, and the ca- 
pacity to work out our own civilization. 

" There's room and to spare for a discus- 
sion," said another, "but let us saddle the 
mustangs, and be off." 

We ran down the rocky slope to the pas- 
ture-field, drove the manada of horses and 
colts to the corral, selected our mounts, and 


Four Bohemians in Saddle. 

in fifteen minutes more were fairly afloat in 
the sea-like chapparal, and galloping stormi- 
ly against the wind. Soon we were riding 
south and southwest, along narrow paths 
through the woods, across a broad and su- 
perbly picturesque table-land of red volcanic 
soil, corrugated into low ridges on which 
pines and redwoods grew. Of perfect and 
satisfying blueness was the glorious sky over- 
head ; deepest purple were the remote ran- 
ges north of Pope, west of Napa, south of 
Conn, east of Berryessa an unbroken cir- 
cle of purple and violet walls rising out of 
dark emerald woods, and brown cliffs, and 
ripe harvest fields of checkered silver and 
gold, lying deep in the valleys, or out- 
stretched upon sun-lit slopes. 

Fifteen minutes of this impetuous gallop, 
and we rein up our horses ; we let them walk 
slowly through the forest, and again the care- 
less sybarite of our party, the Santa Barbara 
Bohemian, who has no love to spare for any 
land where oranges are not, begins the con- 
versation : 

"I call that good fun." he said. "Any 
horse worth the name enjoys a stampede in 
such a breeze, and on this height. But it's 
one thing to gallop for the pleasure of the 
thing, and it's another to ride on a life and 
death errand as men have done so often." 

"Yes!" quoth the tule-islander. "The 
thought carries one back to the elder world 
of song and story, of kings' courier and true 
knights' haste. In the world of which we 
are now a part, the telegraph and railroad 
take messages, and only on the Gran Chaco, 
or across the African Vledt, or in the Cen- 
tral Asian waste, do men ride as Captain 
Burnaby rode." 

The Sierra-dweller smiled at this. "That 
is what people are apt to say, and yet I ven- 
ture to assert that not a night passes over the 
Pacific Slope, but that somewhere this side 
of the Rockies men are riding for life. 
They may be fugitives with justice pursuing, 
or fathers seeking a doctor for their dying 
children. The thing happens hourly. Ire- 
member in my own case We drew clos- 
er, in eager attention, for this friend of ours 
seldom spoke of himself. 

"It was ten years ago. I was eighteen 
years old, and had been away from home 
for months. I came back to the dull farm 
in the upper San Joaquin, near the foothills, 
and my mother came crying to the door to 
meet me. My little brother was very ill. He 
was only five years old, my pet and delight, 
and my mother was a widow. An elder sis- 
ter was in Tuolumne, teaching school ; my 
elder brother, who managed the small farm, 
had gone to Stanislaus to buy sheep, and 
mother and Walter were all alone. It was four 
miles to tffe nearest village and stage station, 
from which place I had walked, reaching the 
house at dark. I went in and found little 
Walter unconscious ; my mother could not 
tell what was the matter with him. I ran 
down to the pasture and called my colt, Ma- 
jor, the best horse I ever owned. He came 
at once, and I saddled him and rode off at a 

" It was early winter, and rain had made 
the road heavy ; cloudy all day, a drizzle be- 
gan before I had been five minutes in the 
saddle. I had neither whip nor spur. Now 
and then I spoke to Major, and he knew the 
work before him. Two miles we went with- 
out a pause, the road dead level, and so slip- 
pery that I could feel Majors lide like a boy 
on a frosted side-walk, but he would keep 
his feet and resume his wild pace. He took 
the bit in his teeth and ran, snorting with 
excitement ; for a year he had not been rid- 
den by living creature, and his muscles were 
steel, his lungs like a steam engine. I let 
him walk for a few moments, then he did the 
remaining two miles at a tearing gallop. We 
reached the village, and I rode to the doc- 
tor's door. 

"'Not here. Gone ten miles into the 
foothills to the old Bemont place.' 

"That was east, in a direct line, and three 
miles south was another village, where per- 
haps a doctor could be found. If not, it 
was but a few minutes lost, for another road 
could be taken to Bemont's. 

" Again the wild pace, under the clouded 
night and cold rain, thoughts of my lonely 
mother and my little brother urging me to yet 
greater haste. The road was hard, with a 


Four Bohemians in Saddle. 


thin coating of mud that spattered me from 
head to foot, and the wind blew sharply in 
my face. I lived over in memory every 
scene of our lives, every word said to my 
brother, every act done in the past his arms 
about my neck in thanks for some little gift; 
long days behind the plow, with his toddling 
feet in the furrow ; a child asleep in the 
summer grass, a bunch of wild poppies in 
his chubby hand, the calico sunbonnet tossed 
back from the curly hair. Then I remem- 
bered that when I went away mother wrote that 
every day little Walter asked : "Won't brother 
Tom come home to-night ? I want to see 
brother Tom." Suddenly the speaker's voice 
failed. He caught a quick breath, and 
paused a moment. 

" Well, I reached the other village, and 
found that the doctor who lived there was sick 
himself, and worthless at best. Nothing to 
do but to start for Bemont's, and find a man 
I could trust. Again the gallop, no longer 
on level roads, but through rolling hills, and 
under a darkness that was Egyptian. Major 
began to falter, but he kept on with noble 
courage. A horse of that sort one might 
trust with the bearing of a kingdom's ran- 
som, a man's honor, a woman's love, or a 
mother's protection. 

'"We were descending into a hollow be- 
tween high hills. The road was narrow, dark, 
slippery, and the soft sound of falling rain 
drowned the noise of wheels. Through a 
break in the eastern clouds, the stars shone 
out ab.ove the hill-crest. Suddenly, instant- 
ly, without a stroke of warning, there loomed 
up before me, black, dreadful, appalling as 
De Quincey's "Vision of Sudden Death," a 
vast moving pile, six mules, a Carson wagon, 
ore-laden to the brim, a sleepy driver, nod- 
ding on his seat and tearing into that mass 
of wood, iron, stone, and wild animal life, 
was a tired horse, a heart-sick, wearied rider. 
Simultaneously came the discovery upon us 
all. The driver awoke with a loud cry, the 
mules sprang back and snorted ; I saw and 
heard a neck-yoke snap, and a flash of light- 
ning lit up the dark hollow to the very feet 
of the frightened animals. Of myself I could 
do nothing, so narrow was the space between, 

so brief the time left for thought. But in- 
stinct helps in such cases. On one side of 
the road was a shallow ditch, on the other a 
wall of rock. Major gathered himself up, 
and made a leap sidewise, crying out in mor- 
tal terror as he sprang, and we landed safely 
below, clearing by a few inches the tangled 
leaders and the great wheel of the wagon. 
Wild with terror still, and screaming with 
fright, Major ran as he had not run before. 
He climbed the bank again and resumed his 
tearing pace along the roadway. That night 
in the nearest village the teamster told his 
cronies at the tavern that a ferocious-looking 
highwayman had ridden down upon him, 
frightened his mules, and fired several shots 
as he galloped past ; but excited imagina- 
tion, and stones rolling down the hills may 
be held responsible for the pistol-firing item. 

" I reached Bemont's in safety, but only 
to find that the doctor had returned to the 
valley by another road, and was already far 
past my overtaking for the condition of my 
horse warned me that I must slack my pace. 
I hired a boy on a fresh horse, and sent him 
after the doctor, while I took the shortest 
way home." 

Again a long pause. 

" And when I reached home Walter had 
been dead an hour. No human power could 
have prolonged his life. He revived a little 
once, and asked whether brother Tom had 
come home." 

"Poor child," said the sybarite, after a 
moment, making a pretence of wiping the 
dust from his face; then a pause, and he 
spoke again, very quietly, and in a tone we 
had never heard him use : 

" I knew a man once, who owned a farm 
in San Luis Obispo County, fifteen miles 
north of Cambria, on the coast. He was 
young, happy, and ambitious; not a lazy 
fellow, such as I am. And he was romantic, 
I may add, and foolish in many things. 
Then came a pretty girl into the district, and 
taught the school there. She boarded at 
the nearest farm-house to his, and sometimes 
called upon his mother ; and so they grew to 
like each other, and they read German to- 
gether, and took long walks on Saturdays ; 


Four Bohemians in Saddle. 


and he felt almost certain that she loved 
him. Now, several months before, his old- 
est friend and college chum in New York 
had lost all his property, and so this San 
Luis farmer let us call him Marion Lee 
wrote to Will Burns to come and help him 
run the ranch, and share the profits. Burns 
had been only two weeks on the place, when 
a little boy, son of the woman with whom 
Miss Carman, the school teacher, boarded, 
came over, and said that she was dangerously 
ill, with symptoms of poisoning. The near- 
est doctor was at Cambria ; and it was a wet 
winter, and the streams were very high. Lee 
saddled his best horse, told Burns to go and 
see what could be done, and rode off. He 
found bridges washed away, and had to 
swim several streams. The tide was high, 
and when, to save time, he rode along the 
beach, it was dangerous enough. He struck 
a bit of marsh, and narrowly escaped being 
engulfed in black mud. But he tore ahead, 
and made the fifteen miles in less time than 
it has ever been made before or since ; he 
found the physician, and started back with 
him. They rode for several miles along the 
beach there are better roads there now ; 
they found the streams still higher. The 
physician's horse failed, and Lee gave him 
his, and told him to push ahead. Well, it 
saved the girl's . life, for there was vegetable 
poisoning from weeds carelessly gathered 
with garden vegetables, and an hour later no 
skill could have pulled her through. 

" After the physician had gone, pronoun- 
cing the patient out of danger, Lee reached 
the house, on foot, and through the open 
door, looking into the large family room, 
saw Burns and Miss Carman talking ear- 
nestly together. His look was deeply ear- 
nest, hers radiant. Lee slipped away, for 
neither of them had seen. him. Two weeks 
later they were engaged. Burns had some 
money left him, and bought the farm, where 
they live now. Lee adopted three little girls, 
named them all after Mrs. Burns, and is ed- 
ucating them in three different cities. He 
drifts about, and bids fair to become a con- 
firmed bachelor." 

" Well, if you ever see him," said the 

journalist, " tell him that hard work will 
bring him out of the worst of his troubles, 
and nothing else will. Now I'll tell you a 
true story. It happened in Shasta county, 
a number of years ago. A man had been 
murdered by a gang of desperate scoundrels. 
The principal witness for the State was a 
mountain school teacher. Soon after the 
leaders of the gang had been arrested and 
taken to Shasta City, this witness was sum- 
moned from his home in the Sierras to testi- 
fy. The rest of the gang heard of it, and 
determined to shoot him down while he was 
crossing a certain ford across a creek. But 
a young woman of rather questionable char- 
acter, a relative of one of the desperados, 
had once been nursed through a dangerous 
fever by the wife of this school teacher, and 
had received many kindnesses at her hands. 
She happened to overhear the plans of the 
villains, and after they had left, she took a 
horse and rode off through the woods and 
hills, at such an angle as might best inter- 
cept the teacher before he reached the ford. 
She had about twelve miles to go, and was 
compelled to make a considerable detour so 
as to avoid being seen, as little mercy would 
have been shown her in case of discovery. 
She rode at the top of her speed, but it was 
dusk before she reached the cross road, a 
mile from the place where, with buck -shot- 
ted guns, the men lay close concealed in 
the willows. She drew her veil closely over 
her face, hid her horse in the manzanita, 
and stood silently by the trunk of a large 
pine. The school teacher rode up, and saw 
her there. He nodded, in mountain fashion, 
and started on. She stepped into the road, 
lifted her hand, and said : 

" ' Go back and take another trail, or you 
will be shot at the next ford. Tell your wife 
this warning is because of her.' 

" He followed her advice, and reached 
Shasta City in safety. The young woman 
managed to get home long before the baffled 
villains, and they never suspected her agen- 

We had ridden slowly for so long, that 
again we let our horses take the bits ; again 
we rushed stormily over the fragrant creep- 

1885.] Their Days of Waiting are so Long. 95 

ers and through the thickets of azalea by the veins, and we shout aloud in the joy of ex- 
borders of flowing springs. On the hillsides istence. 

men were hewing down the tall oaks and We leave the main road, and hasten 
conifers, and gathering the brush into piles across sloping and barren volcanic rock to a 
for the burning. Quail flew up far in front deep and wild gorge, from whose heart a 
of our horses' ringing hoofs, and scurrying sound of falling waters comes, mingled with 
before the loud-mouthed hounds ran a the murmur of wind in the tree-tops. In the 
mountain hare, swift and victorious. We midst of blooming styrax we leave our tired 
round the base of a sunlit peak, and come horses, and, vying with each other, in boyish 
upon a small vineyard, a cottage therein, haste, we scramble down the rocky path, 
children playing about the door, and roses and swing ourselves from bush to bush until 
clambering over the rustic porch. The we stand in an amphitheatre of rock with a 
owner is at work tying up the vines' green waterfall on either hand, and bright ripples 
shoots to redwood stalks, and he waves his and lovely cascades at our feet. Here we 
hat and smiles at our dust -heralded caval- rest, and loaf, and tell stories, and the after- 
cade. The healthy pulse of life is in our noon wears away before we start homeward. 

Stoner Brooke. 


THEIR days of waiting were so long, so long ! 

Greeting with smiles that over-brimmed in tears ; 
Parting for sluggard months but hope was strong 

To draw a solace from the coming years. 
And o'er the barren hours, their life to be 

Hover'd in blissful dreams by night and day, 
As, in mid-azure o'er the sleeping sea, 

The wizard dreams of glad lands far away. 
But days of waiting were so long ! 

Their time of living was so short, so short ! 

A twelvemonth of unrippled heart-content. 
The long past faded and they took no thought 

Of morrow hid where blue horixon bent. 
If they had asked for aught, they would have prayed 

Only to drift for aye, unchanging, blest, 
Nor dreamed they on that Heaven could invade 

A cloud to mar the bliss of perfect rest. 
Their time of living was so short ! 

Their days of waiting are so long, so long ! 

For she was summoned, smiling through her tears, 
And he is desolate but hope is strong 

To draw a solace from eternal years. 
No cloud their blissful greeting may invade 

Upon the quay of gold by pearl-strewn sands ; 
The long past shall anew dissolve and fade 

In silent kiss and clasp of wistful hands. 
But days of waiting are so long ! 

Wilbur Larremore. 


A Midsummer Night's Waking. 



IF ANY lover of unique theories should 
propound one to the effect that night, not 
day, is the mother of us all, no dash between 
two clauses of life, a swoon, a temporary 
death of earth, but the very source of exist- 
ence, instinct through all its darkness with 
unfolding wings of life, pierced through and 
through with roots of life he could make a 
very fair showing for his theory. Unanswer- 
able science could crush him with the rela- 
tion of the sun to animal and vegetable life; 
but he could go back of unanswerable sci- 
ence to that region of eternal night where 
science is unanswering, but into which the 
imagination gropes with blindly reaching fin- 
gers, and feels half feels, strains to its ut- 
most and hardly touches, and misses again 
not death, not uncreative blackness, but 
the very life of life, stirring in the void be- 
fore ever it was said " Let there be light." 

Whither but into night and darkness says 
our theorist, warming into conviction of what 
he at first propounded as a mere whimsical 
paradox whither but into night and dark- 
ness can you trace back any thread of life ? 
Put your hand on the tiny fraction of it that 
stretches in the sunshine, and feel back, back 
the life of the plant, the life of the animal, 
the life of the race, the life of all being and 
into night and darkness they all take you. 
Down into the dark go the roots of the plant : 
and if the seed that started there came from 
the sunshine, bringing with it the germinat- 
ing power stored up in the light, to use at its 
leisure in the quiet dark, it is only that indi- 
vidual vessel for the holding of life, that lit- 
tle seed-package of carbon and oxygen and 
hydrogen and nitrogen, whose genesis we 
found in the light; the life poured into it, and 
through it for the new plant, came through 
how many myriads of such little vessels, 
shaped in the light and stirring into power 
in the dark for how many myriads of ages, 
from where ? Where but from the primal, 
potent, all-creative night? Down into the 

dark go the roots of the tree Ygdrasil, and 
though the leaves come and go in the sun- 
light above, no one finds the seed that was 
shaped in the light for the making of that tree. 
" The Books teach Darkness was at first of all, 
And Brahm, sole meditating in that Night." 

The all-creative, all-inspiring Life dwelleth 
in darkness ; out of the eternal dark it flows 
into the visible forms that we call lives. 
What if day be the cheerful, noisy, warmed 
and lighted workshop in which lives are 
made, and night the recurrent glimpse of 
that all-embracing darkness wherein life 
broods ? 

Something of a consciousness of this life 
and potency in the wide darkness stirs in the 
human soul of a summer night. Winter night 
has less of this power: it means fireside, 
and lamp, and book a miniature reproduc- 
tion of the narrow day-workshop. The tides 
of life in human veins run low. But out un- 
der the summer night the soul expands, and 
seems aware of the breathing of an infinite 
life through the surrounding space, the stir- 
ring of the great earth's pulse, the mighty 
marchings of th^e cosmic bodies, and the 
streams of force, drawing and repelling, and 
filling every inch of all space. Life runs 
deeper and stronger ; the tide pours into all 
the shallow places and dry creeks and marshes 
of feeling : the old dead love of years ago 
stirs in its grave; the living love of today 
cries and yearns across land and sea to the 
distant beloved one. 

" In the dark and in the dew, 
All my soul goes out to you." 

At night, too, religious awe and religious 
ecstasy mount to their height : then comes 
the vision to the mystic, the passion of ador- 
ation to the devotee, the sense of the divine 
actually present and in conscious commun- 
ion with the human soul. The envelope of 
life seems too narrow to hold the feeling that 
dwells within it, strains and aches against its 
sides, searches for place to overflow. 


A Midsummer Night's Waking. 


As winter night is less full of life than sum- 
mer night, so northern night is less than south- 
ern. This is not solely because the night of 
winter or of the north drives the weak hu- 
man body in to the fireside, but because the 
animal and vegetable world stir with activity 
in the nights of warm climates, and send to 
the human ear and eye their constant breath- 
ings and motions. Travelers describe the 
waking up of the tropic forests as night 
comes: the voices of animals begin, the 
drooping leaves straighten up and unfold, all 
the denizens of the great forest are abroad. 

On the plains where by day the world 
lay drooping and passive, and by night the 
lion came abroad, and the palms freshened, 
and men knew the night well, and brooded 
much under the stars, were born all the 
world-religions not among the sturdy, day- 
light, northern races, who have become the 
chief supporters of at least one of these. 
From spirits nurtured in this same familiari- 
ty with the voices of night came the sacred 
poems of the ancient world, with their unap- 
proachable weight of feeling; and the mod- 
ern poet who, more than any one else, has 
caught a note or two from David's harp, 
seems to find his deepest wells of feeling 
stirred by summer night : 

" From the intense, clear, star-sown vault of heaven, 
Over the lit sea's unquiet way." 

Or in the 

" Plainness and clearness without shadow of stain ! 
Clearness divine! " 

of moonlight. 

For even with us who are not of the trop- 
ics, night is no time of suspended activity. 
It is full of breathings and soft little mur- 
murs of life. The trade wind goes down 
with the sun; the vague bustle that even in 
the country is in the air, ceases (while it lasts 
you cannot hear it, but when it stops you 
can perceive the purer silence); there is no 
jubilation of insect voices, as in the summer 
nights on the Atlantic coast for while the 
Eastern summer lasts, it is much more like 
the tropics than ours. Yet there is a light, 
steady trill of crickets a sound not sharp 
and insistent, but almost bird-like. It runs 
on, soberly, monotonously, until you become 
unaware you are hearing it. Bits of white 

moths flutter aimlessly about, as if they had 
no more knowledge of where they wished 
to go or what they wished to do than so 
much white down floating on the air. It is 
high noon for the toads ; now is their time 
to come out, and sit cooling their fat sides 
in the dew, and listening contemplatively to 
the crickets. It should properly be their 
hunting time : but they have the whole night 
to forage in, and will not hurry themselves ; 
it is only at leisurely intervals, if you sit still 
and listen, that you hear the scuffling stir of 
their clumsy movements. But walk about 
the paths, and they go rustling heavily away 
from under your feet every few minutes a 
discomforting sound, for at first it seems im- 
possible so small an animal can make so 
much noise in soft grass or green tufts of 
violets, with no dry leaves about, and you 
have a fleeting apprehension of some unspec- 
ified creature of more formidable size ; while 
on second thought, after recognizing the 
sound, or seeing the lumpish bit of darkness 
tumbling away, it seems impossible that you 
can avoid stepping on one, sooner or later, 
so awkward is their retreat. No wonder they 
like best to sit and meditate, like Dutch bur- 
gomasters only the toad, sitting amid the 
cool, dewy grass, bathing in moonlight, seems 
really more a creature of taste in his pleas- 
ures, than the burgomaster with his pipe and 

The domestic animals do not seem to 
think the night is to be regarded as a hiatus 
in life ; and one must be fairly in the wilder- 
ness not to hear from time to time the dogs 
answering each other from distant farm- 
houses now one a half mile away, and then, 
as he pauses, the answering bark, faint and far- 
off, sounding as if it came from the very edge 
of the horizon or a horse moving and stamp- 
ing in his stall. The kitten comes and ruhs 
about your feet, and makes progress almost 
impossible, with the same inconvenient fond- 
ness as by day. She is even more alive than 
by day, like her. tawny kindred who come 
out by night to stalk over the ruins of Pal- 
myra; and shows a little excitement, as kit- 
tens do on a windy day, dodging away from 
a stroking hand to dash after a toad who has 
reluctantly found a change of position neces- 


A Midsummer Night's Waking. 

sary, or to skitter aimlessly about among the 
geraniums, making wild little light-footed re- 
treats, with about as much noise among the 
leaves as a toad no bigger than her head 
would create. 

About half an hour before midnight, the 
cocks have their first few minutes of crow- 
ing. It is a great mistake to suppose that 
they only herald the dawn : at this season 
" the bird of dawning singeth all night long" 
at due intervals every pleasant night, 
without any reference to saint's days or holi- 

Nothing gives one a better realization of 
the waking, busy life of a summer night than 
to find the flowers nearly all wide awake. 
They seem, somehow, far more awake than 
in the daytime, as if this were their time to 
talk to each other and attend to their own 
affairs, when intrusive mankind is out of the 
way. They hold up their heads more firm- 
ly ; they turn their faces to the sky, instead 
of bending them this way and that toward 
the light. They have an air of independent, 
conscious existence ; and the human imagi- 
nation has recognized this by peopling 
them with a world of fairies, up and stirring 
by night, folded away somewhere uncon- 
scious by day. The fragrance of the gar- 
den, deadened by day, now comes out freely 
on the fresh air heliotrope, and jasmine, 
and magnolia, and lily, and sweet pea, and 
a vague blending of odors from the flowers 
that give scarcely any by day, roses and 
pansies and geraniums, and all the endless 
variety from all corners of the earth that a 
Californian garden gathers together. The 
white flowers shine across the beds and 
lawns, startlingly plain in even clouded 
moonlight, and pale pink geraniums and 
roses scarcely less so. By day it was scarlet 
geraniums and gladiolas and nasturtiums 
that challenged the eye ; now they are gone 
out of sight altogether, unless you come very 
close to the bush, or unless the moon be at 
its very brightest. On these very brightest 
nights, all the colors in the garden red and 
pink and blue hardly less than white stand 
scarcely changed, only all softened and 
toned together in the silvery illumination. 

But when the moonlight is dimmed, the 
scarlet flowers become visible as you come 
close to them, in a deep, black-red hue. 
Pick one, and look at it as closely as you 
will ; hold it up to the full light of the moon ; 
still it keeps that rich and beautiful black- 
red. Look at it well, for you will see no such 
color in any flower by day. 

By night the trees, too, seem to have a 
life and consciousness of their own. The 
leaves stir and breathe in elm and maple ; 
the palm-trees stand rigid like sentinels, and 
one may well summon a little courage, and 
half-listen for a challenge, before he can 
march past them to pace a walk whose en- 
trance they guard ; the red-gums brandish 
their little swords and clash them against 
each other, and bicker and make peace 
again. It is easy to personify everything, 
when the dim light turns trees into mere 
dark figures, and flowers into mere white up- 
looking faces ; by day there is bark and stem 
and chlorophyll, petal and stamen, and cell- 
structure, that you may place under a mi- 
croscope; by night, the being flower or tree. 
The Greeks filled full their night with per- 
sonification ; along the moon-lit beaches 
the white wave-crests rose up into nymphs, 
flying in tireless dances all night over the 
sand : naiads stole out from the springs, and 
nymphs from the trees ; Apollo led the 
Muses across the hills. The fullness of hap- 
py, half-supernatural life with which the 
Greek brimmed his world at all times, rose 
to its highest in the summer night ; though 
man might sleep, the world was taken pos- 
session of, in their turn, by another race 
who held it with even more vivid activity, till 
day. Indeed, it has been the instinct of man 
everywhere to deliver over the night-world 
to other powers glad or gloomy, friendly 
or harmful, according to the suggestion 
yielded by night nature. Man crept into 
his cave or his hut or his castle and closed 
the entrance then all night long around 
his refuge roamed a medley of living beings 
to whom the night belonged wild things 
of the woods, fairies and elves of every sort, 
spirits and monsters and much uneasiness 
he endured lest they should not confine 


A Midsummer Night's Waking. 


themselves to the outside of that little, shut- 
up refuge. But wherever nature's mildness 
encouraged men to sleep without so shutting 
themselves in, though they none the less 
peopled the night full with living beings, it 
was without terror. 

Bright moonlight nights nights of a 
" plainness and clearness without shadow of 
stain," beyond any Mr. Arnold is likely to 
have seen in England are frequent here ; 
but the midsummer moons are not apt to be 
entirely undimmed. At this season, a night- 
fog is prone to roll in, cloaking the sky, but 
never descending to earth. It comes some- 
times just after sunset, sometimes during the 
first half of the night drifting in with wave 
after wave white and dark fog marbled in 
together, with changing spaces of pure sky. 
So transparent is the veil that as the thinner 
white parts drift past the moon, she seems to 
float almost absolutely unobscured by them 
though when, for a moment, the whole 
rolls past and leaves her alone in a lake of 
bare sky, the difference is evident ; the shad- 
ows on the ground under the trees grow 
sharp-edged : the leaves, damp with the 
slight touch of dew that these overcast nights 
produce, glitter, and a white polish goes 
over the surface of pond or pool. 

Twelve o'clock is fairly enough midnight, 
by measurement of time from light to light 
again. But it is not the midnight of super- 
stition, the time for graveyards to yawn and 
powers of evil to walk abroad ; the time when 
sleepers become sunk in deepest slumbers, 
and when the nervous waker most reasona- 
bly may begin to listen for burglars ; when 
the watcher by the sick, or the student who, 
through some need, has prolonged his work 
beyond the midnight hour, up to which, but 
not far beyond which, many a student likes 
to work, feels a deep hush settle over the 
world, a pause between late evening and 
early dawn ; when the blood moves slowest, 
and the vital powers run low, and the flicker 
of life goes out In the sick and aged. That 
time comes between one and three in the 
morning. At that core of night, the Gothic 
population of the darkness sometimes seems 
more credible than the Hellenic : witches 

might ride abroad ; the spirits of the dead 
might wake ; vampires, were-wolves, all the 
blood-chilling horrors that the northern races 
managed to conceive might be about. 

The dark of a moonless night is crammed 
with possibilities of supernatural horror, and 
even the white moonlight holds uncanny sug- 
gestions of ghost or witch, of moon-stroke, 
and such like superstitions. Moonlight on 
a windy night is really very weird, almost 
more so than deep darkness. Even horses 
and dogs, which do not mind the darkness 
at all, are cowed by the writhing dark forms 
and flying shadows and lights. 

But it is hard, after all, to find anything 
uncanny in the uncanniest hours of these 
bright, still, midsummer nights, with the 
windows open to all out-doors, and the flow- 
ers shining white all over the garden, and 
the fish plashing from time to time in the 
carp-pond. Probably this witching hour of 
night is midnight to the human frame, be- 
cause it comes more nearly in the middle of 
the hours of sleep than the true midnight 
does ; and the habit of generations, using 
this hour for mid-sleep, has made it the time 
at which the bodily forces tend to be most 
dormant, when the heart beats lower and the 
blood moves slower, and courage in the 
brain lapses with the supply of blood. The 
deepest chill of the earth and air, which have 
been cooling off ever since sunset, comes 
scarcely later than this in summer ; but if it 
were only this chill that brought the vital 
forces low, the creatures that walk by night 
would feel it too. Possibly the tropic forests 
do lull a little in these mid-sleep hours : the 
domestic animals seem to take a sort of after- 
dinner-nap then ; the dogs suspend their an- 
swering back and forth from distant farms ; 
the stamping and movement from the stalls 
becomes more infrequent. But the fish plash 
oftener, and the crickets keep faithfully 
on with their monotonous note apparently 
a single note, brought from a fiddle of one 
string, and repeated tirelessly, over and over, 
like the ticking of a clock " twee, twee, twee, 
twee, twee" with only just the least quiver in 
it, giving it a bit of trill, while the number join- 
ing in, not all in perfect unison of time, makes 


A Midsummer Night's Waking. 


it less clock-like in monotony. From dark till 
dawn each little fiddler unless they relieve 
each other draws his bow back and forth 
across his single string without an instant's 
pause. It is hard to conceive how even 
an insect's muscle can stand it. No 
doubt they do take turns, but it must be 
with great regularity, for there is no rising 
and falling of the note, as if a greater or less 
number of fiddlers chanced to be joining in 
it, no pause or break, no trace of answer and 

Between three and four o'clock, the dawn- 
change comes over the light. It comes just 
about as the moon sinks, so that the quan- 
tity of light scarcely changes, but it passes 
rapidly from silver to gray. The night-fog, 
dappled and marbled, or smoothly uniform, 
still rests over the sky; perhaps in the last 
two hours a wing of it has once or twice 
veered a little lower, and brushed across the 
earth, half dissolving into drizzle, and half 
keeping its form of mist ; so that the pleas- 
ant smell of moistened dust has been added 
to the garden's fragrance. No such detach- 
ment has settled to earth, however ; the 
whole sheet rests level upon some elastic 
stratum of air, just clearing the tops of the 
hills. The result of this is a narrow strip of 
clear sky along the hill-line, with the fog 
hanging close above, to the eye a concave 
dome. Against this background the line of 
crests, clean though dim, has the intangible 
effect of coming dawn. The faint light sug- 
gests neither moonlight, nor starlight, nor 
evening twilight. By day the hills are taw- 
ny, but in this light they look a cool gray ; 
it is nearly an hour yet before the sun can 
reach the horizon. 

It creeps on toward four o'clock, the twi- 
light slowly brightening. Now the cocks 
begin in good earnest. They have devoted 
a few minutes, about once every hour and a 
half, the whole night through, to a little call- 
ing back and forth, across acre.s of country ; 
but now they all begin and go on tirelessly 
now near, then a faint echo from miles 
away. The five " shrill clarion " notes, sent 
out loud and clear, coming back fainter and 
fainter, and then taken up loudly again, 

have not at all an unmusical effect, all to- 
gether : they ring hack, answering and re- 
answering in quite an antiphonal fashion. 
For a full half hour this never pauses. 

Meanwhile, in the slowly growing light, an 
occasional bat or owl goes homeward hur- 
rying, as it seems, flying straight, and evi- 
dently direct to a goal. Now, too, the birds 
begin to waken : a single questioning note 
comes from some nest deep in the vines ; 
silence for a few minutes, and presently, from 
the midst of some tree, comes another a 
long, sweet note, still of inquiry. If it were 
a perfectly clear dawn, there would soon be 
a multitudinous chorus ; as it is, now a note 
comes from one, and then from another; 
then a little exchange of greeting and an- 
swer; then a subdued twittering here and 
there. Meanwhile, a faint little rattle of 
sound announces a waking quail, and in a 
few minutes the bubbling chuckle which tells 
that the quail is up and out for his morn- 
ing stroll, comes from several directions. 
The most familiar note of the quail is his 
call three loud and clear syllables ; but 
it is by no means the whole of his vocab- 
ulary. This chuckling noise is apparently 
for everyday conversation with his family, 
and no doubt expresses a great variety of 
meanings, as, in the course of their strolls, he 
now and again addresses it to them. 

At last the birds have fairly decided that 
it is dawn. They do not leave their nests 
and perches and begin to fly about yet ; but 
from within their coverts they are all in an ec- 
stasy of twitter and chirp and whistle and war- 
ble. A little longer, and a light from the sun 
down on the horizon behind will come across 
the clear strip at the rim of the hills ; the fog 
will begin to rise and dissolve ; then one little 
bird will step out through the leaves with a 
soft rustle, look about and twitter a little; 
then another and another, thinking of bath 
and breakfast. All the little lives of day be- 
gin to be astir; all the mysteries of night, 
the quickening of emotion, the sense of 
vaster life, have drawn away, like stars be- 
yond the reach of sight they seem dreams 
and vanished; the midsummer night is 

H. Shewin. 


Reports of the Bureau of Education. 



THE educational reports of the national 
government are not, as a usual thing, very 
technical, and in some instances are more 
adapted to general reading than to that of 
teachers, inasmuch as they contain reviews 
of matters already well known to all actual 
teachers. It certainly would seem that there 
should be some convenient means of com- 
munication between the schools and the pub- 
lic, by which something of the needs and 
condition of the schools may be known, pub- 
lic co-operation may be bespoken for needed 
reforms, and ill-advised public intermeddling 
prevented, by giving that better knowledge 
of danger and difficulties which teaches cau- 
tion. The national reports do not, in fact, 
serve this purpose, because they are scarcely 
read except by specialists, nor are they easi- 
ly and conveniently accessible. The educa- 
tional journals, likewise, are scarcely more 
likely to be read by those who are not teachers 
or school officials, than medical journals by 
others than doctors. Such information and 
comment about the schools as trickles into 
the daily press is generally absolutely worth- 
less, founded on no real consideration of the 
subject whatever ; while the more careful 
weekly and monthly press of the highest 
grade does not concern itself about the 
schools at all. 

Indeed, in every respect, one who notices 
cannot but observe a peculiar esoterism about 
public schools, most amazing when one con- 
siders how close they come to the general life. 
Not merely has it been repeated, even ad 
nauseam, that the common schools are almost 
the vital point of our social framework : they 
are also an institution which enters into the 
daily interests of millions of our people, 
through the children of millions of house- 
holds. And yet the conditions and needs 
of university work are better understood and 

1 Circulars of Information of the Bureau of Education, 
No. 4, 1884 No. i, 1885. Pamphlets of the Depart- 
ment of the Interior, Bureau of Education : Washing- 
ton: Government Printing Office. 1885. 

more a matter of interest to reading people 
in this country, today, than those of the com- 
mon schools. We find that class of men in 
whom the safety of the state rests what 
Plato would call " the philosophers " and 
the journals through which they express 
themselves, open to an eager interest in col- 
lege and university education, and in every 
political and scientific question that concerns 
human improvement: the reform of the civ- 
il service, the relations of labor and capital, 
prison reform, tenement house reform, the 
Latin and Greek question, the Indian ques- 
tion ; one who reads the best journals is kept 
pretty well aware of the progress of the clas- 
sical school at Athens, and the excavations 
in Egypt, and the scientific discoveries in 
Central Asia. But common schools are, 
with certain honorable exceptions, left to a 
more Philistine management. Worthy and 
intelligent though the people are who organ- 
ize and manage public schools, it cannot be 
denied that men of the highest and widest 
training, of excellent rank as scholars and 
recognized weight upon all subjects, are ex- 
ceptions among them, and that such men 
do not take that active interest in common 
school education which they take in other 
important matters outside of their imme- 
diate participation. This should not be so ; 
it is not altogether so in other countries. 
Matthew Arnold is perhaps the most con- 
spicuous instance of the best power and cul- 
ture that England can afford brought to the 
work of a school inspector, but by no means 
a solitary one. Neither are such instances 
as Horace Mann, in Massachusetts, and Pres- 
ident Oilman, in Connecticut, unparalleled 
among us ; but they are apparently only hap- 
py accidents here. 

These reflections occur very forcibly to 
one who reads over these educational reports 
now before us. They are not all valuable re- 
ports : they contain some things that are triv- 
ial, and some that do not recommend them- 


Reports of the Bureau of Education. 


selves to the judgment ; many things that are 
purely technical, and should interest only 
those whose concern it is to know about regis- 
ters and programs and the practical manipu- 
lation of the schoolroom ; and also much that 
ought to be a matter of active interest to 
every sensible person who concerns himself 
for the good of society. Why, for instance, 
should it be a matter for the grave considera- 
tion of such persons how factory hours shall 
be regulated with reference to the health and 
prosperity of employees and the best inter- 
ests of owners, but of no interest whether 
recess be abolished in schools or not? or 
how the best method of appointing clerks 
in the post-office shall be attained, but not 
how the best possible teachers for millions 
of our children shall be secured ? We shall 
not review all the reports before us with any 
detail, but shall merely touch on several 
points suggested by them: and the first of 
these is especially apropos to the point of 
which we are speaking." 

Circular 6-1884 of the Bureau is devoted 
to the subject of Rural Schools. It contains 
many points of detail, but the general drift 
of it all is to urge the need of supervision 
and system in this class of schools. Now 
these are serious questions. The slovenly, 
dead-and-alive teachingin many rural schools, 
where a lazy or ignorant teacher consumes 
the whole day in going through the merest 
forms of teaching, is ruinous. Yet there is 
nothing but the teacher's own conscience to 
prevent it (nor is there any but the slightest 
provision for securing teachers with con- 
science): there is no test to which the work 
must be brought, none but the faintest 
shadow of supervision from any higher of- 
ficial. In our own State there is a system of 
county examination and inspection which, 
when administered by an energetic officer, 
affords means of detecting absolutely worth- 
less teachers, but not of applying any remedy 
save that of quiet diplomatic influence to 
oust one and substitute another. And where 
the very best possible with the means at 
hand is not thus done, it is no uncommon 
incident to find a teacher remaining year 
after year in a country school, occupying the 

children from nine till four with anything 
that will keep them still and sound all right 
if they tell of it out of school, and nothing 
more. Work is assigned, and never in- 
spected; some sort of nominal progress is 
made from the first page to the last page of 
the text-books ; and the child's mind is al- 
most hopelessly stupefied by dawdling over 
pretended work, with neither effort, nor com- 
prehension, nor enjoyment. Compare this 
with the clock-work system of the German 
or French schools: how thoroughly, under 
a complete system of supervision, everything 
must be done ; how well every teacher must 
know his business, and work hard at it. 

On the other hand, consider wisely the 
result of our now highly systematized and 
supervised city schools. Note the complaint 
of the wisest teachers that they paralyze indi- 
viduality, destroy independence and power 
of real mental effort in the child, and substi- 
tute aptness at going through a sort of intel- 
lectual routine. There is a popular supersti- 
tion that the work of the schools is too hard 
for the children, and is going to hurt their 
brains by overwork. In fact, the danger is 
the contrary : the real, vigorous mental ef- 
fort that was required of the child of the last 
generation has gone out of fashion, and there 
seems danger that instead of the powerful 
minds then produced, we shall have a gen- 
eration of well-drilled mediocrites, whose 
brains may have become confused with 
many things, but whose teachers have care- 
fully made everything easy for them have 
been compelled to by public sentiment and 
the clock-work system, even when against 
their own judgment. In the country school 
of the last generation, hard tasks were set 
the pupil ; problems in " ciphering," and 
" parsing," such as would be considered quite 
out of the question for the school children of 
today ; they were propounded in books writ- 
ten in hard language, without the effort to 
simplify down to the childish vocabulary 
that modern text-books make, and with no 
great amount of explanation in the text; 
and the teacher did not dream of himself 
supplementing the text-book with explana- 
tion upon explanation, and visible demon- 


Reports of the Bureau of Education. 


strations, kindergarten fashion. The child 
was simply set at these things, and expected 
to be punished if he did not masterthem ; and 
somehow, not merely the exceptional child, 
but the majority of the class did master them, 
and came out of the school with healthy, 
active brain and a power of original thought. 
Now, the text-book is simplified to the ut- 
most possible, and fortified with pic ures and 
like aids ; the teacher is trained in Normal 
School, and Teachers' Conventions, and by 
educational tracts, to know all manner of 
ingenious ways of explaining and illustrating 
every process ; and subjects really requir- 
ing thought are no longer given to the child 
of eight or ten, but reserved for the last years 
of the eight years' course into which the 
graded schools are divided. Moreover, the 
hours of school are shortened, broken with 
exercises and movements of a recreatory 
nature. And yet the complaint is always of 
overtaxed children. 

There is something in all this that will 
bear much looking into. The best teachers 
say that not over-work, but too little real 
work, with too much variety of subject, arti- 
ficial stimulation of ambition, and the un- 
ceasing sense of a machine-like grind ir the 
school system, wears out the children, while 
the bulk of the work is done for them by the 
teachers, whom the modern school breaks 
down, as the longer hours and worse grading 
of theold fashioned school did not break them 
down. This is partly, they say, due to the 
incessant pressure of the public, of children's 
literature, of every influence, toward keeping 
everything severe from children ; but partly 
to the necessities of a working graded sys- 
tem of schools. 

.Moreover, it is suggested that though the 
old-fashioned country school, with its un- 
compromising demands, did produce vigor- 
ous, healthy minds and original power, the 
conditions cannot be repeated : the country 
was new, peopled by a strong-brained race, 
chosen originally by a sort of natural selec- 
tion out of that portion of the upper yeoman- 
ry and plainer gentry of England in whom 
the tendency to mental independence wag 
strongest, and not yet seriously modified eith- 

er by immigration or by the easier life of a 
country grown prosperous. The teachers 
were the daughters of this race, sensible and 
authoritative by nature, and its sons, fresh 
from college, embryo ministers and lawyers 
and statesmen. The severe demands to 
which these healthy young brains responded 
so well, would be simply crushing to the mix- 
ed race that now fills our school-rooms. The 
children of educated parents are to a great 
extent withdrawn from the lower public 
schools, the boys to academies, in the best 
of whicn the vigorous methods of the older 
time still prevail, and the girls to more or 
less fashionable seminaries, where quite the 
converse is true. The high schools for the 
most part live well up to the sterner meth- 
ods, and mental vigor and independence are 
found in them ; but by the time the high 
school is reached, the eliminations from the 
classes have restored their make-up more 
nearly to the old type. In the city primary 
and grammar schools, and the mixed com- 
mon schools of the country, there is a very 
large per cent, of the children of foreigners ; 
few of the children come from homes of as 
strenuous mental habits as their parents may 
very likely have done. The relaxation of 
theology, the relaxation of home-teaching, 
the relaxation of literature, all send the chil- 
dren into school unprepared for mental stress. 
The laissezfaire system of the country schools 
still turns out, occasionally as every observer 
knows pupils of more competent mental 
equipment than the city machine produces; 
high school and college teachers will testify to 
this. But it may be by a survival-of-the-fit- 
test process : hundreds of mediocre brains 
may have lost such training as they were cap- 
able of, that this one excellent brain might 
work out its own development the better for 
having to do it almost unhelped. 

What then? Between the dangers of 
laissezfaire and the dangers of system and 
organization (and supervision means system 
and organization), what can be done ? The 
question is not unanswerable. For either 
method works admirably with ideal teachers, 
boards, and inspectors. Either method will 
approximate to admirable working as these 




are approximated to. The one thing to be 
devised is away to get teachers of the right 
sort into the schools. It is very true that it 
is impossible to man all the common schools 
of a country with teachers like Doctor 
Arnold : but to do the best possible in this 
direction with the available material is the 
desideratum. Then as the writer of the 
report under review wisely suggests the 
fairly good teachers, destitute of originality 
or enthusiasm in their calling, can be held to 
an imitative higher standard of work by effi- 
cient supervision. But no system can be de- 
vised that will secure the employment of the 
best teachers : nothing will do this but the 
employment of a high quality of officers in 
the work of supervision. Here is where the 
secret of the thorough working of the for- 
eign systems comes in : with a more com- 
plete organization, they seem to suppress 
originality less than we, because the super- 
vision is in the hands of more scholarly men. 
A paterna' government, with high intellectu- 

al standards, can easily place it and keep it 
in such hands. But with our government 
methods, and under a system of electing most 
educational officers by popular vote, it is a 
more difficult matter. 

It may be that the substitution of appoint- 
ment for election in many cases would be a 
step toward accomplishing it : it may be that 
bringing to bear upon the action of the su- 
pervising officers a heavy weight of influence 
from competent persons, would be sufficient 
to steadily constrain electors into choosing 
properly, as a similar stress of influence 
constrains electors more or less successfully 
toward wise nominations and ballots in other 
directions. This brings us back to the re- 
flection with which we began, as to the pecu- 
liar indifference of the class who can most 
potently wield this sort of influence, to the 
common schools. In the awakening of their 
interest and enlisting their efforts, must lie 
the solution of all difficult questions con- 
cerning the schools. 


THERE are in our community a few voices, and 
some of them not entirely without influence, which 
from whim or conviction are rather loud against our 
high schools and university. A favorite theme with 
these is the uselessness of the education and the inef- 
fectiveness of the graduates. As regards the high 
schools, the complaint is not confined to California: 
there is a prejudice afloat among a good many 
(though it is far from affecting the great multitude of 
our people, on whose support the high school system 
firmly rests) to the effect that high school training 
unfits for humble work, without fitting for better. 
A very effective antidote to this prejudice and the 
corresponding one against the alumni of universities, 
can generally be supplied by submitting a list of the 
graduates and their occupations. Indeed, it seems 
to us an important omission that record is not kept, 
as complete as possible, of the course of high school 
graduates, from which reports, with due estimates of 
percentages, may be made, showing how far, in com- 
parison with the rest of the community, they tend to 
the various occupations, and what their proportional 
success is therein. We believe it would be found, 
"The Breadwinners" to the contrary, that those 
high school pupils who come from the class of me- 

chanics remain in it cheerfully, unless, through their 
high school course, something better opens to them 
naturally and properly; that practically all graduates 
enter appropriate callings and have a high average 
success in them ; that they are a class of consider- 
ably higher respectability in behavior and serviceable- 
ness in the community than the graduates of the low- 
er schools alone, and almost inestimably higher than 
those of no schooling. These are truisms to most 
people, yet disputed by many: and there could be few 
better services performed by alumni organizations 
than the collection and classification of data of the 
sort we have indicated. 

THERE is only one high school class of whose post- 
graduate fates THE OVERLAND knows anything. 
This was rather too small in numbers to found gener- 
alizations upon : yet it was in no respect an unusual 
one, except that it contained a somewhat more com- 
plete assortment of representatives from the various 
ranks of the community than any other class that was 
in the school at the same time. It was favored with 
exceptionally good teaching, and that on the "cul- 
ture " principle everything being made to tell rath- 
er for the widest development of mental power, 




than for the training of specific abilities or ' ' prac- 
tical " bents. The class numbered fifteen eleven girls 
and four boys. A few years since it compiled a rec- 
ord of its graduates. The four boys had all gone to 
college, and had all made there a creditable record 
in scholarship (ranging from first honors to fair aver- 
age), and the best possible one in personal character. 
Three are now, after proper professional study, in the 
professions of law and medicine, and evidently re- 
spected and successful therein. One, whom circum- 
stances took from college before he had completed 
his course, is in business employment. Nine of the 
eleven girls of the class became public school teach- 
ers for longer or shorter periods, and every one with 
success some with reasonable, some with excellent 
success. Of the remaining two, one married at once, 
and one was competent to teach in the less arduous 
special form of music. In " The Breadwinners," Miss 
Matchin is thrown back upon her parents 1 hands, 
restless and discontented, unable to find occupation 
easy and exciting, and socially creditable, and remun- 
erative ; unable to support her splendor adequately 
at her father's expense ; and unwilling to marry a 
plain carpenter. These eleven girls had no such 
trouble : the school-room door stood wide, and all 
were competent to enter it. Two of them took a 
year or so at the State Normal School, but the rest 
did not feel even this farther equipment needed : 
they presented themselves for examination, took 
their certificates, did not wait and besiege for any 
city positions, but scattered to the corners of the 
State down the coast, up in the mountains wher- 
ever small schools, suitable for young high school 
girls to undertake, could be had. Only two of them 
ever entered the school department of their own city. 
In due time seven of them were married each in the 
rank of life to which her own family belonged ; each, 
so far as can be ascertained, happily ; and each is 
now making the center of a good home, in which, 
we venture to say, much influence is visible from the 
high school course of the mothers especially in the 
case of those whose home surroundings were not in- 
telligent, and who therefore owed all their mental 
resources^ to school. We cannot recall at present 
writing all the occupations of the husbands whom 
these young women married, but we believe they 
were all mechanics, clerks, or farmers. Of the four 
unmarried women (the class is still not long enough 
out of school to have reached the milestone of thirty 
years), one is still a successful teacher in the public 
schools; and every member of the class up to the full 
one hundred per cent. is appropriately and useful- 
ly engaged, with due ambition and without undue 
or unhappy striving after unattainable things in the 
way of rank and position. Three of the girls of the 
class also went to college and two took first honors with 
the A. B. degree : but the percentage of thirty-three and 
one-third per cent, college graduates to the whole num- 
ber of the class, and the large proportion of honors 

taken by it, is to be regarded as exceptional, and due 
chiefly to the exceptionally inspiring nature of the 
teaching. The thing that is not, according to our best 
observation, exceptional, is the cheerful and sensible 
way in which any high school class can be expected to 
take hold of life and make a reasonable success of it. 
Much must depend on whether it is a good high 
school or a poor one; but for the average high school, 
we believe the facts would be found to back up 
pretty well the case of this typical class. 

THE service of such a collection of graduate rec- 
ords as we have desired has been in part done for the 
University, by the enterprise of some young men of 
the junior class. This class issues yearly a students' 
catalogue known as the "Blue and Gold" in 
which records of the undergraduate societies, clubs, 
and similar matters independent of the official organ- 
ization of the University, find place, with the class 
histories and the like, and many local jokes. The 
young men who this year managed the publication 
have, with admirable energy, sought out the present 
whereabouts and occupation of the whole alumni 
list, dating from '64 (the first class of the College of 
California), nearly 400 in all. A most interesting 
investigation as to the occupations these graduates 
seek is thus possible. The percentages assigned to 
the different occupations are based on somewhat less 
than the whole number of graduates, as seventeen 
are dead, and the dozen married women among the 
alumnae, and nearly a dozen more engaged only in 
the indefinable employments of "home," were ruled 
out, as too difficult of classification. . With these 
reservations, 24.12 per cent, of the University grad- 
uates prove to be engaged in law; 14.12 in mercan- 
tile business; 12.06 per cent, in teaching (in all ranks, 
public and private : one of the graduates of the last 
decade, for instance, is a professor in Harvard Col- 
lege, another a Kindergartner); in a number of un- 
classified pursuits agents, post-graduate or art-stu- 
dents, here or abroad, civil service officials, wood- 
engravers, &c., one or two in each pursuit 12.06; 
in engineering, civil, mining, and mechanical, H-77J 
9. 1 1 per cent, are farmers; 6.47 per cent, physicians, 
3.82 chemists; 3.23 editors and publishers; 2.35 
clergymen; and 0.89 capitalists. These alumni are 
all, of course, comparatively young men, as only 
twenty-one years have elapsed since the first gradua- 
tion, described by Dr. Willey in the present number 
of THE OVERLAND; and some of the youngest gradu- 
ates are now engaged in law studies who will not 
make law their permanent occupation. It is common 
for young graduates, while seeking their permanent 
niche, to take a course in the law school, as a thing 
that will come in handy anywhere. Nevertheless, 
there can be no doubt that law is the calling which 
attracts our young college men, out of all proportion 
beyond others. " Business," teaching, and engineer- 
ing are the staple callings of our graduates, after law; 




and farmers and doctors are also in good numbers ; 
outside of these six occupations, the number in each 
one is very small. Among the graduates of Eastern 
colleges, in like manner, law is found to take preced- 
ence over all other occupations. Many lads go to 
college with no other intention, from the first, 
than of fitting there to take up the study of law. 
We doubt whether the proportion of lawyers, how- 
ever, is quite as large elsewhere as here. It will be 
seen how few journalists are to be found among the 
graduates, though journalism is a favorite calling 
with Eastern college men. The reason of this is, 
doubtless, not so much disinclination on the gradu- 
ates' part, as lack of sufficient opening for their work 
on this coast. We shall hereafter recur to the " Blue 
and Gold " alumni list, to comment upon several 
other interesting facts which it reveals. 

THE educational interests of the Pacific Coast have 
suffered a severe loss by the death of Henry B. Nor- 
ton, of the State Normal School. He was a promi- 
nent figure in the small group of men who have been 
natural leaders of the common school system of Cal- 
ifornia, and he had to an unusual degree the faculty 
of interesting and influencing the teachers of the 
State. He was a pleasant lecturer, and for years he 
has spent a portion of each year in taking charge of 
teachers' institutes, so that few men have been brought 
intocontact with so many workers in the public schools. 
Professor Norton's early education was in some re- 
spects hard and narrow; but his mind in manhood was 
earnest and sympathetic. The library he collected, 
his delight in his orchard and rural home at " Sky- 
land," on the Santa Cruz hills, the varied enterprises 
he helped with power and voice, are evidence of his 
character. In the class-room, as has been said by 
one who knew him well, "He was never tired nor 
tiresome"; in the lecture room, he drew large audi- 
ences and interested them for hours. He endeav- 
ored to popularize the latest results of scientific dis- 
covery, and his lectures on physics and astronomy, 
while not laying claim to any original research, were 
unusual in their combination of correctness, clear- 
ness, and vividness of statement. Of recent years he 
has become conspicuous for his knowledge of the in- 
sect pests that afflict the horticultural interests of the 
State. It may be years before any one can fill the 
place he occupied, as the friend and counselor of 
hundreds of young men and women throughout Cal- 
ifornia, whose acquaintance he had made while in 
lecturing tours, or when botanizing in vacations, or 
as their teacher at the State Normal School. The 
guest chamber of his house was seldom empty, and 
his friendships were peculiarly deep and lasting. 
Though the public has taken less notice of his de- 
parture than the death of many a noisier and less 
worthy man might attract, there are not wanting 
those who feel that this high-minded and thoroughly 
devoted teacher has left a wide void in the commu- 

WHEN we talk of the pioneers of '49, we are in the 
habit of thinking of them those that still live as 
Californians only. But of the thousands who came 
here in those days, expecting to return East soon, 
many actually did so ; and scattered here and there, 
all through the East, are genuine '49ers, whose few 
years in California, almost lost under later experi- 
ences, yet stir very warmly in their memories on oc- 
casion. One of these writing to send the following 
verses, adds thus to the incident they narrate : 

"While on a business trip to Milwaukee, I recog- 
nized one of my old mining partners, in a white-haired 
gentleman of portly figure who passed the window of 
the hotel. I followed him, put my hand on his 
shoulder, and saluted him as 'Bill.' You can im- 
agine his surprise. I do not believe he had been 
called familiarly by his Christian name in twenty 
years. His face flushed, and he seemed about to ex- 
plode with anger, when I smiled, and straightway the 
clock of the world went back thirty years, and he rec- 
ognized me. He was in town on business, and wait- 
ing for t he midnight train on the St. Paul road, while 
I was expecting to leave at the same hour on the 
Chicago and Northwestern." 

After Many Years. 

WHO is that passing on the street I wonder? 

His face looks like a face I seem to know. 
Can it be he ? It is, it is, by thunder : 

Will H , my chum of thirty years ago ! 

To make assurance doubly sure I'll hail him. 

I'll wager he's the same old convive still. 
Will he know me, or will his memory fail him ? 

I'll try it on, by Jove : " How are you, Bill?" 

He turned at this familiar salutation, 

With puzzled mien, and glance equivocal, 

But with that glance took in the situation, 

" God bless my soul ! " he said, " How are you 

" Whence come you now, and whither are you 

bound ? 

How many years is it since last we met ? 
Where do you hail from ? Where's your stamping 

ground ? 
We'll have a social chat tonight, you bet. 

" Come, let us leave the street ; here close at hand 

I claim since yesterday a domicile, 
Only a transient one, you understand, 

Within the cirque of Plankinton's hotel. " 

And now, behold us seated by the table, 
Two staid old pioneers of " forty-nine " 

With locks so white, and beards so venerable, 
Recounting escapades of "auld lang syne." 

Thus seated knee by knee, and cheek by jowl, 
Each seems forgetful of his fifty years. 

With merry jest we drain and fill the bowl, 
And to our minds the past alone appears. 




Question on question follows thick and fast; 

" Do you remember? " forms the text for all, 
While incidents, forgotten, of the past, 

Each to the other's memory we recall. 

" Do you remember how I washed that shirt, 
At Hawkins Bar in eighteen forty-nine ? 

And having cleansed it of the mud and dirt, 
The owner came and said it wasn't mine ? 

" Do you remember crossing to discover 
New claims upon the river's further side, 

How at your wink ' Steve ' turned the pirogue over, 
And laughed to see me stem the icy tide ? 

" Do you remember how we lost the trowels, 
In that same accident to the canoe, 

How ' Robert ' wondered ' that we had the bowels 
To come to camp, and come without them too ' ? 

" Do you remember, you mendacious cuss, 
That mule we jayhawked down on Woods's 

creek ? 

And how, when that mule's owner made a fuss, 
You lied, and 'Griff' and I endorsed your 
cheek ? 

" Alas, poor ' Griff,' we'll meet no more on earth ; 

He's staked a claim in Campo Santo's ground ; 
His voice no more, in sadness or in mirth, 

Will greet us with the old familiar sound 

" ' Bruce,' too, has journeyed to the land of souls, 
And ' Tribbie's ' earthly pilgrimage is o'er ; 

He who all human destinies controls 

Has called them from us to the unknown shore. 

"And you and I who have been boys together, 
Though now grown old, will try and cherish 

Those friendly ties, which through all winds and 

Have yet survived ; let's trust they ever will. 

" Heigho, old boy, it's time for us to part, 
The minute hands mark 'leven forty-five. 

Let's have another glass before we start, 
And then together leave this human hive. 

"You for your home by Mississippi's stream, 
And I for mine beneath the northern pine. 

Where this amid past memories will gleam, 
And cast a halo around Friendship's shrine." 

The driver calls, " You've got five minutes still 

To reach the station, and you'll need 'em all." 
I hail him as he goes with " So long Will," 
And he responsive answers, "So long Cal." 

H. C. G. 

Literary Training. 

EDITOR OVERLAND: The present is emphatically 
an age of technical schools. They have been estab- 
lished for almost every art, science, and trade in the 
whole range of human effort. It is the purpose of 
this letter to call attention to the fact that in one de- 

partment of industry the school has not kept pace 
with the times. For authorship, profession or trade, 
there is offered no special training. The classical 
and literary courses in schools and colleges furnish 
excellent general preparation for the literary life, but 
it is a training more practical and technical to which 
reference is now made. Ever since the days when 
authors starved in Grub Street garrets (what a fine 
sarcasm in the name!), the young writer has floun- 
dered along as best he could, till he has become dis- 
couraged, or has chanced to make a hit. 

Let us suppose a young man that has made up his 
mind to become an author. His most obvious course 
is to begin by writing for some magazine. He sub- 
mits his article, prose or verse, to the editor. The 
chances are a hundred to one that his manuscript 
comes back to him with a courteous form expressing 
regret that it is " not available." Here is a perplex- 
ity. Why ? Had the editor no time to read the 
manuscript carefully, or was there an overplus of ac- 
cepted matter, so that the article was declined on 
general principles ? Or, supposing, as more likely, 
that the fault is in the production itself, what is it? 
Is the subject matter unsuitable, so that what he has 
said was not worth saying, or has he not said it well ? 
Then there are the more practical questions: Is it 
waste of time for him to try again ? or, if not, how 
shall the second attempt differ from the first ? 

It may be said that the young writer is his own 
best judge ; for if he has the divine afflatus, it will so 
impel him to write that no adverse circumstances 
will deter him. This is very beautiful in theory, but 
unfortunately it is belied time and again in experi- 
ence. Indeed, there are so many things to warp an 
author's judgment and especially in the case of a 
young author of his own work, that the opinion of 
almost any other person of intelligence is of more 
value. Instances in support of this proposition will 
occur to every reader: Virgil, desiring with his latest 
breath that the " ^Eneid " be destroyed, because it 
had not received his final polish; Walter Scott, as he 
tells us in the charmingly confidential introduction to 
"The Lay of the Last Minstrel," burning the first 
part of that poem, discouraged by the silence of two 
friends to whom he had read it; Milton, believing 
that his fame would rest on " Paradise Regained," 
rather than on its great predecessor; John Hay, 
piqued becanse the public chooses to recognize him 
as the author of "Little Breeches," the trifle of an 
idle .hour, and forgets his more serious work: on the 
other hand, Salmi Morse, proclaiming that the " Pas- 
sion Play " is second only to " Paradise Lost ; " and 
the inspired being of every neighborhood, who insists 
on writing and publishing his worthless poems, de- 
spite the neglect of an unappreciative world. 

Since, then, his own judgment stands him in little 
stead as to the course to be pursued in order to sat- 
isfy his craving for literary fame and for things more 
substantial, to whom shall he go for advice ? Of 
course, his immediate friends and relatives are ready 




to give him a surfeit of the article, but, unfortunately, 
their opinions are of hardly more value than his own; 
they either think him and all he does perfect in the 
blindness of their love, or, on the other hand, they 
think him an idiot for attempting literary work, 
to the neglect of occupations more prosaic in their 
nature, but more certain in their returns. But there 
is his distinguished friend, Mr. Blank Blank: why 
not ask the advice of that gentleman ? There are 
many reasons to make the young author hesitate. 
Mr. B. is such a busy man, that it is asking as much 
to make a demand upon his time as upon his purse. 
Then, again, Mr. B. would hardly consider it a 
pleasant task to pore over a crude manuscript and 
give a just opinion, at the risk of receiving small 
thanks for his trouble. At any rate, the young 
writer feels a delicacy about asking favors of this 

To whom shall he go then ? The fact is, there is 
only one man in the world who knows exactly why the 
editor rejected the first article, and just what sort of an 
article would be acceptable. That man is, of course, 
the editor himself. "But you surely don't say that 
the editor should take the time to examine every ar- 
ticle that is sent in, and return all unaccepted ones 
with reasons and advice as to further writing ? " 
Precisely that. "But it wouldn't pay him to do it " 
(and here the objector adds some remark in dispar- 
agement of the common sense of a man that suggests 
such an idea). But why not make it pay ? Let the 
announcement be made in the magazine that every 
manuscript accompanied by a certain sum of money 
one dollar, two dollars, or five dollars, the amount 
to be determined by experience will be more care- 
fully examined than is possible for ordinary contribu- 
tions, and advice sent, as above stated. 

The advantages of this plan are many. The 
young writer will be sure of obtaining the judgment 
and advice of a thoroughly impartial and practical 
critic. He will be told whether or not his writing 
shows any signs that he will ever achieve success. 
Me will be instructed as to the department of litera- 
ture that offers the fairest prospect for him. As a 
result, he will waste no time in hopeless effort, and 
will know just where to put his attention in further 
writing. Thus, every rejected article will represent, 
not lost time, but a stage of progress. Should he 
succeed, his profits as a writer will soon repay the 
outlay he has made in his apprenticeship; or his 
money will be well spent if it puts to rest aspirations 
that could lead only to loss of time and disappoint- 

To the magazine the benefits of this scheme would 
be no less signal. It is not supposed that it will add 
directly to the revenue of the publishers; for, to 
make the matter a success at all, the ^enclosure must 
be kept at the smallest amount that will pay for the 
extra work involved, and the increase of editorial 
staff that would be required. But it would enable 
the editors to mould the most promising of the young 

writers that offer themselves as the needs of the pub- 
lication may require, and in time to have at their 
command a body of contributors trained under their 
care, and loyal to the hand that has guided them to 

It is true that this system demands peculiar sa- 
gacity and tact on the part of the editor. He must not 
be in any sense a narrow man, but must be able to 
appreciate any sort of excellence in all departments 
of literature, and to discern the seeds of ability in 
the crude effort of the novice. Failing in these qual- 
ities, he would mould his apprentices into an insuf- 
ferable sameness of thought and style, or would dis- 
courage those who might otherwise succeed. But 
these qualities are nearly those of the able magazine 
editor now. 

In any case the attempt would require no great ef- 
fort; it would interfere in no respect with those who 
prefer the present method. Manuscripts could still 
be sent in the ordinary way, to heap the waste basket 
with productions that have cost weary hours hours 
utterly lost in comparison with the good that would 
have come from directed work. 

But, if it should succeed, the plan has possibilities 
of growth. Authorship might become no longer the 
haphazard thing it now is, and it might be that a really 
sane man could adopt letters as a profession, expect- 
ing to get his bread and butter by it. The time 
might come, too, when the School of Authors' would 
take its place with the Schools of Design and of 
Music, as it would have good right to do; for it would 
teach the finest of the fine arts, an art more universal 
in its influence and greater in its power than all oth- 
ers combined. G. 

Grave Subjects. 

IT was my fortune to spend a portion of the sum- 
mer of 1884 in a quiet little New England village, 
away from the whirl and bustle of busy life. There 
was little to break the monotony. So one day I 
strolled into the grave-yard, where lie the remains of 
those who lived so long ago their very names are for- 
gotten by the present generation. These old New 
England grave -yards in too many instances are sadly 
neglected. The battle for mere existence is so hardly 
won on its stubborn soil that many give it up, and, 
with the course of empire, take their way westward, 
leaving no kith or kin of those who sleep under the 
shadow of their ancestral homes. The new-comers 
who take their places have no reverence for the mem- 
ory of those they never knew, and the want of a 
modern " Old Mortality" is plainly seen. 

From the monumental stones, many of which 
were moss-covered, and others so eaten by the tooth 
of time as to leave their inscriptions almost illegible, 
I copied some epitaphs, among which were the fol- 
lowing. Some of them, doubtless, are to be found 
elsewhere, while others bear the evidence of entire 
originality. For instance, this, which is a good speci- 
men of condensed biography: 




" Sixteen years I lived a maid, 

Two years I was a wife, 
Five hours I was a mother, 

And so I lost my life. 
My babe lies by me, as you see, 
To show no age from Death is free." 

Several stones near each other bear inscriptions 
that evidently emanated from the same source; some 
of them are as follows: 

" One day in health I did appear, 

The next a corpse fit for the bier." 
" Friends and brothers, see where I lie ; 
Remember you are born to die." 

' ' What hidden terror death doth bring, 
It takes the Peasant and the King; 
Then prepare, both one and all, 
For to be ready when God doth call." 

A stone for a young lady of twenty-four years 
bears this couplet: 

" Sleep on, sweet babe, till Jesus comes 
And raises all from sleeping tombs." 

The following, although inscribed with no regard 
to'orthography or measure, was evidently selected by 
one of high poetic feeling: 

' ' Life's a journey ! Man the rugged path with hope 
and fear alternate travels on: but e'er his journey half is 
o'er, grim death, like a villian in the dark, lets fly his 
quivering dart: the traveller falls. " 

Here are two that may have been written by the 
same hand: 

" No. I'll repine at death no more, 

But with a cheerful gasp resign 
To the cold dungeon of the ground 
These dying, withering limbs of mine." 

* My flesh shall slumber in the ground 
Till the last Trumpet's joyful sound; 
Then burst the Chains of Sweet Surprise 
And in my Savior's image rise." 

The epitaph of a clergyman who died at the age 
of twenty-seven, which was, as is certified on the 
same stone, composed by himself on his death-bed, 
reads as follows: 

" How short, how precarious, how uncertain is life ! 
How quick the transition from time to eternity. A 
breath, a gasp, a groan, and, lo, we're seen no more. 
And yet on this point, oh, alarming thought, on this 
slender point swings a vast eternity." 

Following the ordinary inscription of name, date 
of death, age, etc.. on the headstone of one who 
was found dead one morning, having evidently fallen 
to the ground from outside stairs leading to a house 
door, are these lines: 

" No cordial to revive his heart, 
No one to hold his hea.d, 
No friend to close his dying eyes, 
The ground was his death-bed." 

One t stone is erected " In memory of Mr. Timothy 
Moses and his wives." Aftei stating that he died 
August 25, A. D. 1787, aged 81, it gives the names, 
dates of death, and ages of four of his wives, and 
states^that "Mrs. Mary ye 5th Survives.'' Stones 
for the first two wives stand beside his, but evidently 
the expenses for such momentoes became after this 
too much for Timothy to bear. 

Not far away stand the memorial stones of a man 
and three wives one of which wives died within a 
year of a former one, and I was told that he left two 
more survivors one divorced and one his widow. 


ALL the poets of the Present, 

Practical, and worldly-wise, 
Write in rhyme of city customs, 

City cares, and city lies ; 
Or describe a brief vacation, 
And conventional flirtation. 

What are these ? Come, let us ramble 

In the dear and olden way 
Down the quiet, country meadows, 

Bright with blossomed flowers of May; 
In the pleasant summer weather 
Let us spend an hour together. 

How the light of noon-day lingers 
On the creamy four o'clocks ! 

How the breeze from piny forest 
Every grass-blade lightly rocks ! 

All the world is young together 

In this early summer weather. 

Here we'll dally by the brookside 

Where the sun upon it lies, 
While the wary trout goes flashing 

Past us as the lightning flies ; 
We'll be friends with him together 
In this friendly summer weather. 

And perchance, we may discover, 
Idly basking 'neath the brake. 

Streaked and striped with brown and yellow, 
Some reposing water-snake ; 

We will pause awhile together 

In this careless summer weather. 

Blue above, serene and cloudless 
Spread the heavens overhead ; 

Here we'll lie among the clover, 
Here we'll make our fragrant bed ; 

With the bees and birds together 

We will spend the summer weather. 


-Book Reviews. 



Italy, 1815-1878. 

THE greatest constitutional events of the last three- 
quarters of a century might well be summed up in 
the phrase, " United Italy United Germany "; and 
as, for centuries, history linked German and Latin, 
so men now living remember when the struggle of 
Italians for liberty and union aided to stir the thoughts 
of broken fragments of States beyond the Alps. The 
courage of Victor Emmanuel, the ardor of Joseph 
Mazzini, the cool, philosophical statesmanship of 
Count Cavour, were priceless gifts to the welfare of 
Europe at large. Young Americans should read the 
story of the regeneration of Italy, in order to under- 
stand how much a few brave and educated men may 
do, how great a reform they can begin. The field of 
action was large in extent, and of classic interest ; 
literature, art, and song, had made the land their 
own. It had given Europe lessons in manners and 
chivalry, and had protected the learning of Greece. 
In its Soil was the dust of Caesars, and the ruins of 
Roman and Etruscan temples. But at last the inter- 
est taken in the struggle by poet, philosopher, and 
antiquarian paled, as it ever will in great struggles, 
before the purely human interest. Here were peas- 
ants and counts, humble carbonari, and noble diplo- 
mats, and red-shirted mountaineers, and dwellers in 
ancient towns, whose mighty oath was to set Italy 
free. The people -usually knew what they wanted, 
but foolish and treacherous leaders often led them 
astray, and delivered them up to axe and dungeon. 
At first, indeed, men wanted Naples free, Piedmont 
free, Venice free, and cared little for their brethren. 
Then, when it was discovered that their fates and 
fortunes were one and indivisible, men tried to shape 
the New Italy according to certain preconceived no- 
tions of what a State should be. The growth of the 
national idea broke all fetters, until constitutional 
freedom arid union under the House of Savoy were 

Mr. Probyn, in the modest volume under review, 
has endeavored to give a concise account of the chief 
causes and events which transformed Italy from a 
divided into a united country. He tells us that dur- 
ing 1859 and 1871, he spent a part of each year in 
Italy, where he studied the people and their political 
affairs. His book bears every internal evidence of 
thoroughness and accuracy in detail. The important 
change in the policy of Pope Pius IX. towards the 
Liberals of 1848, the growth of Piedmont under Ca- 
vour's administration, the part he played in the Cri- 

Italy: from the fall of Napoleon I. in 1815, to the 
death of Victor Emmanuel, in 1878. By John Webb 
Probyn. London & New York: Cassell & Co. For 
sale in San Francisco by A. L. Bancroft & Co. 

mean War, the alliance with France, the war of 1859, 
the fall of Gaeta, and the first Italian Parliamentin Feb- 
ruary, 1860, are told with dispassionate carefulness. 
The story properly ends when Italy takes Rome, and in 
November, 1871, opens her parliament there. The 
very important Law of the Papal Guarantees is given 
in full, and the relations of Church and State in prac- 
tice are described. 

As for the present condition of free Italy, statistics 
are highly encouraging. The percentage of illiteracy 
has been reduced one-half, and more than six million 
dollars is annually ^pent on the schools. There are 
12,700 university students in Italy. In 1861 there 
were 820 miles of railroad; now there are 5,500 
miles, and 2,000 miles more are in process of con- 
struction. The savings banks in 1879 held 656,000,- 
ooo francs, and there were 925,000 investors. Pub- 
lic securities have risen from 68 to 92. Dante's 
bitter reproach : 

"Alas! enslaved Italy, abode of grief, 
Ship without pilot in a mighty tempest," 
is no longer true. 

Coues's Key to North American Birds.! 

THE original edition of this well-known work 
(which contains a concise account of every species of 
living and fossil bird at present known on the conti- 
nent north of the boundary line between Mexico and 
the United States, including Greenland) having be- 
come exhausted, and the demand for it being very 
great, a revision of it has been issued, in connection 
with another of the author's old works, the "Field 
Ornithology. " Part First of the new volume consists 
of the old " Field Ornithology " a work invaluable 
to the student, giving him minute and complete di- 
rections for collecting, studying, and preserving speci- 
mens. Even boys cannot resist the description of 
the fowler's outfit with which the book opens, and 
they follow with avidity into the haunts of the birds, 
eager to avail themselves of the hints about bringing 
down their game, securing it, and about the hiding- 
places for nests, the best way of preserving the eggs, 
and the art of taxidermy. The boy-fowler is an en- 
thusiast on these points. Had it been a stroke of 
policy to entice boys, nothing could have been more 
masterly than the opening chapters. But the work 
is simply the cheery noting of the author's own ex- 
perience, given to his younger brothers in the field, 
with the earnest hope that ways that have proved 
useful to him may be helpful to them. And, al- 
though so cheery, it teaches the student how to study 
like the scientist, how to examine his specimens, 

1 A Key to North American Birds. By Elliot Coues. 
Boston : Estes & Lauriat. 


Book Reviews. 


and how to record his most minute observations. 
Part Second is the introduction to the old " Key," 
relating to the technical terms of the science revised 
and enlarged into a full treatise on the ex ternal and in- 
ternal structure of birds, their classification and nomen- 
clature. Part Third, the Key proper, corresponds in or- 
nithology to the well known Keys of Gray and Wood 
in botany. It describes over nine hundred species of 
birds concisely, but fully enough for great certainty 
of identification, guarding most carefully against 
mistakes arising from changes in plumage owing to 
sex, season, or age. It notes carefully, also, the geo- 
graphical distribution and differences of species, and 
gives brief accounts of the "habits, haunts, mi- 
grations, song, nests, eggs, etc," of the birds de- 
scribed. The work contains between five and six 
hundred cuts, and all so expressive that the descrip- 
tions of the text are hardly necessary. It is a per- 
fectly complete guide to the naming and classifying 
of specimens, and absolutely indispensable to the 
teacher of ornithology. Pait Fourth is a synopsis 
of the Fossil Birds of North America. In conse- 
quence of the wonderful progress of the science in 
the last few years, a revision of the old "Key " had 
become desirable. The present volume contains the 
summing up in the briefest manner compatible with 
exactness and clearness, the latest knowledge in or- 
nithology, resulting either from the author's own un- 
wearying investigations, or those of his brother scien- 
tists. Moreover, through it all, the author's natur- 
ally gay and poetic vein bubbles over charmingly, 
and there is a most seductive commingling of in- 
struction, sentiment, and fun. 

The Lenape Stone. 1 

This is a very thorough monograph upon an interest- 
ing Indian relic found in Pennsylvania. The stone 
an ordinary "gorget stone" bears a scratched pic- 
ture of a fight between Indians and a mammoth. If 
genuine and contemporary, it would be by all odds the 
most remarkable record of the mammoth in existence. 
The author evidently wishes very much to believe it 
genuine, yet he sums up the evidence with commend- 
able fairness. Unfortunately, the most competent 
archaeologists who have examined it agree in pro- 
nouncing the picture probably a recent forgery, 
though the stone itself is a genuine ancient gorget. 
On the other hand, the evidence of the perfect good 
faith of the farmers who found the stone seems con - 
elusive, and no sufficient motives seem to have exist- 
ed for any forger to thus throw away his work. The 
picture was undoubtedly drawn either by some an- 
cient artist who had seen the mammoth, or some 
modern one who had seen pictures of him. That 
the mammoth did exist in America until long after 
the period of human occupation, is established ; it 
even seems probable that he remained here until 

'The Lenape Stone: or, The Indian and the Mam- 
moth. By H. C. Mercer. New York and London: G. 
P. Putnam's Sons. 1885. 

within the period of Indian tradition, and possible 
that the last specimens of the great creature lingered 
in the interior of the country after Europeans had 
touched the coasts. Some points in the Indians' nar- 
rations seem to indicate that they did. Even if this 
were so, the animal was then practically extinct, a 
source of amazement to the Indians themselves on the 
rare occasions when they caught a glimpse of it ; and it 
is to these last glimpses of an animal forgotten by the 
native dwellers on the soil that the accounts in the 
legends refer if, indeed, they refer to the mammoth 
at all. Again, some attempts to figure the mam- 
moth have been discerned in pipes from the mounds, 
and in the shapes of certain mounds themselves ; 
but these are not admitted by careful archaeolo- 
gists to be at all certainly mammoths, but possi- 
bly tapirs, and possibly nothing of that kindred. 
Among these obscure hints and possibilities of human 
records of the mammoth, the Lenape stone drawing 
would be of incalculable value, if genuine, with its 
unmistakable mammoth ; while, on the other hand, 
its amazing difference from all these others makes it 
look untrustworthy. The archaeologists' chief objec- 
tions to it are founded upon the character of the pic- 
ture, which is totally un-Indian and suspiciously like 
the famous La Madeleine mammoth picture; and upon 
the nature of the incisions, which they think must 
have been made by steel. These are certainly very 
weighty objections ; even though the force of the lat- 
ter is a little broken by the testimony of the farmer 
who owns the stone, that he cleaned out the lines 
with a nail. 

Briefer Notice. 

IN Patroclus and Penelope" 2 - Colonel Dodge has 
given a great deal of useful and interesting informa- 
tion about horses and horsemanship, gaits and sad- 
dles, breeding and training, and all in a free, easy 
style that makes it very readable. He believes in 
careful schooling for horse and man, and in the mo in 
points he considers the method of Baucher the best 
ever devised. We scarcely think he is right in 
saying that a cowboy or vaquero in his big saddle 
would be easily thrown by a racing colt on account 
of the difference in motion between the colt and the 
western broncho : for those who have seen much of 
vaquero riding are inclined to believe that the best of 
that profession can "stick " to anything that they can 
get the sinch to stay on. The big Mexican saddle 
would not be the proper thing, or even the most 
comfortable thing, on the street or in the hunt ; but 
for the mere "sticking" to all kinds of beasts with 
all kinds of gaits, it is hard to excel. The book is 
illustrated with fourteen fine photographs taken by 
the instantaneous process, which show clearly, as 
the author intends them to, that in carefully selected 
views of a fine moving horse, it is not necessary that 

2 Patroclus and Penelope ; A Chat in the Saddle. 
By Theodore Ayrault Dodge. Boston: Hough ton 
Mifflin & Co. 1885. For sale in San Francisco by Chil- 
ion Beach. 


Book Reviews. 


the animal look as if he were all out of joint. The 
chapter on this subject is as full of suggestions that 
are of value to artists as are the remaining ones of 

points for the horseman. The beautiful little 

books of the Riverside Aldine Series are thus far 
seven in number; the first four we have heretofore 
noticed ; the three following are Howells's Venetian 
Life, 1 in two volumes, and Burroughs's Wake Robin. * 
The selections for this series have been no less satis- 
factory than the form. No more valuable books 

of reference can come into the student's hands than 
the different Q. P. Indexes. Indeed, it is hard to 
think how we ever got along without them. The 
Annual Index to Periodicals^ for 1884 has reached 
us, making that year's stores of magazine articles 
available. The device on the covers of these in- 
dexes a hand holding an eel by the tail is very apt. 
We note among the titles indexed for the year some 
seventy-odd from THE OVERLAND. From the same 
quarter comes A Directory of Writers for the Literary 
Press,* a first issue, and not entirely complete. An- 
other excellent index is The Cooperative Index to 
Periodicals,^ a quarterly issue. This does not select 
among articles, like the Q. P. Index, but indexes all 
prose articles. It is less compact than the Q. P. 
Index, and less specifically of use to students, being 

1 Venetian Life. I., II. By W. D. Howells. River- 
side Aldine Series. Boston: Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 
1885. For sale in San Francisco by Chilion Beach. 

2 Wake Robin. By John Burroughs. Riverside Al- 
dine Series. Boston: Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 1885. 
For sale in San Francisco by Chilion Beach. 

* An Annual Index to Periodicals: The Q. P. In- 
dex Annual for 1884. Bangor: Q. P. Index, Publisher. 

4 A Directory of Writers for the Literary Press in the 
United States. Compiled by W. M. Griswold. Ban- 
gor, Maine : Q. P. Index, Publisher. 1884. 

5 The Cooperative Index to Periodicals. Edited by 
W. I. Fletcher. Vol. I., No i., January-March, 1885. 
New York. 1885. 

easier to find one's way in. It indexes by subjects, 
not titles, which is the only way to be really service- 
able to seekers. Un Mariage cf Amour 6 is the 

third of William R. Jenkins's well-selected Conies 

Chaises. One of the many enthusiastic admirers 

of General Gordon has compiled literally piled to- 
gether an unassorted medley of extracts from his 
letters, put them between card-covers, tied these 
together with a ribbon, and entitled the result Chi- 
nese Gordon, the Uncrowned King? There seems 
no particular work in the world for the pamphlet, 
as it contains nothing new. The National Acad- 
emy Notes and Complete Catalogue* for 1885 is a 
more interesting issue than ever to those at a dis- 
tance, as the sketch-reproductions (nearly a hundred 
in number) are better than before. These give some 
very fair hint of the appearance of most of the figure 
paintings, but are in all but a few the merest sugges 
tion of the landscapes. Among them we notice two 
from pictures of the Santa Barbara Mission, by Ben- 
oni Irwin. Biographical notes upon the artists are 
added, and a list of prices attached to the pictures. 
Magruder's John Marshall* of the "Ameri- 
can Statesmen " series, shows an appreciable depar- 
ture from the high standard which has been main- 
tained hitherto in the series. It is little more than a 
repetition of the familiar phases of Marshall'^ life and 
character. Its treatment of the larger questions 
which the career of the great Chief Justice suggests 
is entirely inadequate. 

6 Un Mariage d' Amour. Par Ludovic Halevy. 
New York: William R. Jenkins. 1885. 

7 Chinese Gordon, the Uncrowned King. Compiled 
by Laura C. Holloway. New York: Funk& Wagnalls. 

8 National Academy Notes and Complete Catalogue. 
1885. New York, London, and Paris: Cassell & Com- 

9 John Marshall. By Allan Magruder. Boston : 
Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 1885. For sale in San Fran- 
cisco by Chilion Beach. 





VOL. VI. (SECOND SERIES.) AUGUST, 1885. No. 32. 


THE stars know a secret 

They do not tell ; 
And morn brings a message, 

Hidden well. 

There's a blush on the apple, 

A tint on the wing, 
And the bright wind whistles, 

And the pulses sting. 

Perish dark memories ! 

There's light ahead; 
This world's for the living, 

Not for the dead. 

In the shining city, 

On the loud pave, 
The life-tide is running 

Like a leaping wave. 

How the stream quickens, 

As' noon draws near ! 
No room for loiterers, 

No time for fear. 

Out on the farm-lands 

Earth smiles as well : 
Gold-crusted grain-fields, 

With sweet, warm smell; 

(Copyright, 1885, by OVERLAND MONTHLY Co. All Rights Reserved.) 

114 La Santa Indita. [Aug. 

Whirr of the reaper, 

Like a giant bee ; 
Like a Titan cricket, 

Thrilling with glee. 

On mart, and meadow, 

Pavement, or plain ; 
On azure mountain, 

Or azure main, 

Heaven bends in blessing; 

Lost is but won ; 
Goes the good rain-cloud ? 

Comes the good sun ! 

Only babes whimper, 

And sick men wail, 
And faint-hearts, and feeble- hearts, 

And weaklings fail. 

Down the great currents 

Let the boat swing ; 
There was never winter 

But brought the spring. 

E. R. Sill. 


MORE than three hundred years ago a little Christianity where once arose the smoke 

village of mud-built cottages, thatched with of heathen sacrifice. 

long, sharp vacate de cuchillo, or knife grass, In those days, when the village was one of 

nestled at the foot of a mountain, covered the most unimportant in all the great realm 

half its height with tropical shrubs and trees, of Montezuma, the Aztec king, there lived 

which formed a sombre and beautiful base there a little brown maiden called " Otzli," 

for the summit of dazzling snow that re- or "The Wind Flower." Perhaps we should 

fleeted the brilliant sunlight, or was half lost smile at such a comparison, but to her father 

in fleecy clouds. and mother and all the villagers she was the 

There is a large town now where the hum- most lovely and delicate creature upon the 

ble village once stood, and handsome dwell- earth. She was the chief's daughter, a prin- 

ings overshadow mud-built huts, while for cess, and was served with the tenderness and 

both rich and poor a massive church opens deference due to her high rank, and she was 

its large and heavy portals. How grand is loved as only the gentle and pure minded 

its facade of dark brown stone, wrought in can be. 

myriad forms of saints and angels, prostrate Her days passed by in perfect happiness, 

demons, leaves, and flowers ; how its dome, She lay beneath the shade of flower laden 

covered with polished and many colored por- trees, and looked up at the silvery mountain 

celain, flashes in the sun, upholding a tower- or the blue, cloudless sky. Her playfellow 

ing cross of glittering bronze the symbol of was a pet fawn, which gamboled at her side 


La Santa Indita. 


wherever she went, or lay beside her when 
she slumbered, and shared the fruits and tor- 
tillas thin cakes of corn freshly toasted 
which she^ thought so delicious. 

Otzli's father was stern and proud, rarely 
deigning to speak to his little daughter, but 
sometimes he laid his hand on her head as 
he passed her, or looked at her with a tender 
smile; and Otzli knew that he loved her, 
and was instructed not to expect caresses 
from so great a warrior. But her mother 
petted and kissed her with endless affection, 
and to her Otzli poured out all her tender 
little heart. 

At last the peaceful life in the little village 
was abruptly ended. Breathless messengers 
came to warn the chief and his followers that 
a terrible enemy was threatening their capital. 
" They were pale as the spirits of the dead ! " 
they said; "they bestrode fierce beasts which 
breathed forth smoke, and were as the im- 
mortal gods in strength and courage ! " And 
worst of all, they carried enchanted rods, 
which, at the command of their masters, 
roared with a loud voice, sent forth flames 
of fire, and even from afar struck agony and 
death. In truth, the Spaniards under Cor- 
tez, riding on horses and using firearms, 
were the formidable enemies the poor In- 
dians were called upon to encounter. 

They marched forth bravely, chanting 
war-songs of proud defiance. Even the 
women who remained at home did not suf- 
fer a tear or a sigh to escape them, lest they 
should dishearten or annoy their brave de- 
fenders. But when these were all gone, 
Otzli's mother bade them be cheerful and 
industrious, and set them an example by un- 
wonted diligence in her own household tasks, 
and in the direction of public affairs, in which 
she was assisted by some grave elders, who 
were too old and infirm to go to the war. 

Otzli did not cry when her father went 
away, for she would have thought it coward- 
ly, and unworthy a chief's daughter. But at 
last there came a day when all women might 
bewail themselves unchidden. The city of 
Mexico had fallen ; its king was dethroned ; 
thousands of his subjects lay dead in the 
streets, and their corpses filled the streams. 

Not one of the men who had left the little 
village returned to tell the tale. 

Poor little Otzli ! What a terrible grief 
filled her young heart. Never, to her dying 
day, could she forget the scene that ensued, 
when the dreadful tidings became known. 
The women ran shrieking through the 
streets, tearing their long hair, and calling 
upon their gods to help them. They sur- 
rounded the hut in which Otzli and her 
mother lived, and begged her to speak to 
them, to give them some comfort. But she 
could not comfort them ; she could not 
speak, nor did she weep. She stood mo- 
tionless, as if turned to stone, only her large 
eyes burned like coals. 

No one dared to go near her ; even Otzli 
crouched at her feet tremblingly, awe-stricken 
by her strange and terrible appearance. 
One by one the weeping people turned away 
to their homes, and as night came on the 
village grew silent. Otzli lay and looked up 
at the silver-crested mountain, glorious in a 
flood of moonlight. Her mother's gaze was 
fixed there also ; she seemed to see some- 
thing far, far away. By and by, Otzli sobbed 
herself to sleep, and late in the night, when 
the moon was setting, and even the snowy 
peak grew dark, her mother stepped out into 
the gloom, leaving her child in the silent 
chamber, where she awoke at sunrise to find 
herself alone. 

She was not alarmed at first, but waited 
patiently for her mother to return ; but long 
hours passed and she did not make her ap- 
pearance. At last some women came to 
know why she had not come out to speak to 
them. They were amazed and alarmed 
when they found she was not in the hut. 
They sought her all that day, and for days 
thereafter, but found her not. At last, all 
but Otzli became reconciled to her loss ; but 
poor little orphaned Otzli, how could she 
cease to hope? She would have died had 
she despaired ! Oh, how cruel her gods 
seemed to her. They had taken her all 
upon earth ; they offered her nothing in the 
future ! The one little flame that warmed 
her soul, was the faint hope that her mother 
would return. 


La Santa Indita. 


The months went by and she came not ; 
but one morning a strange sound was heard 
without the village walls. It burst upon the 
ears of the newly arisen people like the tri- 
umphant music of the gods ; and before 
they could recover from their surprise, a 
startling vision appeared. The terrible white 
strangers, riding their enchanted monsters, 
swept through the town, and gathering in 
the open square in the center, unfurled a 
glorious banner, and knelt before some mys- 
tic symbol, held in the hands of a venerable 
man with gray hair streaming over his loose 
black robes. 

They soon learned that this symbol was 
the cross, the sign of the new religion to 
which, through force or conviction, they 
were soon obliged to attach themselves. 
The gray-haired man was the priest, to 
whom they learned to look for protection 
from the lawless soldiers, and who became 
the guide and father of the forsaken Otzli. 
She grew to love him dearly, and believed 
implicitly all he told her. She found a new 
hope added to that she still held of her 
mother's return. Beyond this world, which 
had been so sad a one to her, she learned 
to look for another, where there shall be no 
sorrow nor weeping. 

Father Luis was old and infirm, and had 
come to the new country because he seemed 
to hear a divine voice calling him to the 
work ; but he often asked himself hopelessly 
what he could do, and his fellow clergymen, 
when they thought of him, said the same. 
And so he was left in this tiny village, with 
its few inhabitants of young boys, old men, 
and women, and made some sincere con- 
verts for whom he thanked God. 

There had been one high hope in Father 
Luis's heart when he entered upon his mis- 
sion : he had longed, and still longed, to 
raise up a temple to. the true God in this 
land of idols. But his hopes grew fainter 
and fainter; the village was so obscure, so 
far removed from ways of travel, so small 
and poor, a church there seemed as little 
needed as it was probable it could be built. 

Poor old Father Luis as his hopes faded, 
so dearer and dearer they became to him, 

and he talked of them constantly to his only 
confidant, the child Otzli. As she became 
more and more devoted to her new faith, 
she caught the enthusiasm of her pastor. 

" The dear Jesus will bless us," she would 
say ; " before you die, he will grant your de- 
sires. I pray to him without ceasing ! He 
will send my mother back to me, and the 
spot on which I first see her shall be blessed." 

The father listened almost in awe. The 
child spoke with such simplicity, and yet 
with such assurance, that she seemed like 
one inspired. 

For some time thereafter the good father 
felt a new hope. But it faded when months 
passed by, and his congregation decreased, 
the village began to fall in ruins, the fields 
were forsaken, and worse than all, his com- 
forter and darling, little Otzli, sickened and 
seemed about to die. 

She had not spoken much of late, either 
of her mother or of the church ; but one 
evening, as the sun was setting, she went to 
the little chapel to pray. She knelt down at 
the humble altar, and lifted her heart in 
adoration. Father Luis came softly into the 
tiny yet sacred room, and with bent head 
watched her, as the last long rays of the sun 
streamed from the crest of the snowy moun- 
tain, and enveloped her form in glory. 

As he stood there, a wan and haggard 
creature, so ragged, so emaciated that it 
seemed scarcely human, glided in at the 
open door. It was a woman, a wretched, 
elf-like creature, with wild eyes glowing un- 
der her tangled hair. Yet wretched and 
wild as she was, she bore in her hand an ex- 
quisite wreath of wild flowers such flowers 
as, the father knew, grew only upon the 
snow-clad mountain lovely, delicate flow- 
ers, blooming in the midst of eternal snow. 
They were the ethereal blossoms in remem- 
brance of which the chieftain and his wife 
had named their little one Otzli, or "The 
Wind Flower." 

The woman stood motionless as her eyes 
fell upon the kneeling child ; then rushing 
forward before the alarmed priest could in- 
terpose, she had clasped her in her arms. 

It was Otzli's mother. " My prayer is an- 


Early Horticulture in California. 


swered," cried the child, as she clung to the 
miserable and famine wasted form. "O 
Jesus," she added in a voice of almost agon- 
ized entreaty, " Thou who hast answered the 
prayer of a little child, consider the desires of 
thy faithful servant, and glorify thy name." 

As she prayed she dropped upon her 
knees before the altar, and with an instinct 
of sacrifice, caught from her mother's hand 
the wreath of ethereal snow flowers, and ex- 
tended it towards the rude image of the 
blessed child ; and lo ! within her hands the 
fragile leaves and blossoms were transformed 
and became a glittering crown of gold and 
silver, sparkling with precious stones. 

This was the miracle by which God grant- 
ed the prayer of the good Friar Luis and 
the little Indian convert. 

Far and wide spread the wonderful tidings, 
and hundreds and thousands, both heathen 
and converted, thronged to the altar whereon 
the glittering wreath lay. Every leaf and 
flower were as perfect in form as when they 
clung to the rugged mountain sides; but oh, 
how glorified, how wondrously transformed ! 
So the obscure village became a place of 
pilgrimage, and from the gifts of the faithful 
immense sums soon filled the coffers of the 
wondering Friar Luis, and within a few 
months he began the fulfillment of the dear- 
est object of his life, the erection of his church. 

But alas ! a great grief came upon him. 
God removed from his sight his beloved In- 
dian child. Otzli died in the arms of her 
mother, who, once more restored to her right 
mind, and a true convert to the Christian 
faith, soothed the last days of the loving and 
saintly child, and afterward became the 
abbess of the first nunnery of Indian con- 
verts established in Mexico. 

Father Luis lived to see the completion 
of the church, and to dedicate it to the Sav- 
ior under the name " La Santa Indita " ; and 
for many years it was renowned for its wealth 
and grandeur, and thousands annually flock- 
ed to visit the tomb of the sainted Indian 
maiden, and to worship before the altar, 
where her effigy of pale brown stone, most 
exquisitely carved, upbore the miraculous 
wreath before the image of the loving Sav- 
ior, who said, " Suffer little children to come 
unto me." 

Such is the legend of the beautiful church 
which still stands, half lost in tropic verdure, 
at the foot of the snow-clad mountain ; but 
it has been despoiled of its wealth, the mir- 
aculous crown has been removed to a se- 
cret resting place, and is represented by one 
of tinsel and colored glass. But the mem- 
ory of the trustful child remains, and awak- 
ens still the reverence and love of all to 
whom her history is made known. 

Louise Palmer Heaven. 


No writer has yet attempted to give a care- 
ful account of early horticultural experiments 
in this State, and if the work be not under- 
taken before the last of the pioneers has 
passed from the field of his triumphs, many 
personal reminiscences of value will be lost. 
The generation that has seen the transforma- 
tion of cattle-ranges into wheat fields, and, 
within less than two decades, the change of 
wheat fields into orchards and vineyards, 
can tell stories of unequaled horticultural 
triumphs. Thirty years ago each planting of 
a vine or tree was considered a hazardous 

experiment on this coast, except, indeed, in 
those favored spots where the Spanish padres 
had tested the fertility of the soil. It is al- 
most impossible for the younger men and 
women of California to realize how slowly the 
horticultural possibilities of this domain of 
Coast Range, great central valley, and Sierra 
foothills, were at last revealed. 

The discussions that took place in the col- 
umns of the early agricultural journals of 
California, show how little men knew of the 
soil they were beginning to cultivate, and of 
the climate which was adapted to such a va- 


Early Horticulture in California. 


riety of fruits and flowers. For years the 
worthlessness of the southern counties of the 
State was considered axiomatic, despite the 
beautiful oases of vine and orange about the 
old missions. For years no man dared to 
plant an orchard anywhere except on a river- 
bottom, and the necessity of irrigating vine- 
yards was widely proclaimed in the "fifties." 

The first series of the OVERLAND MONTH- 
LY contributed greatly to enlightened views 
upon horticulture in California, and no ex- 
haustive history of the subject can ever be 
written without reference to its articles upon 
vineyards, olive-culture, orchards, gardens, 
orange groves, and similar topics. The ear- 
liest reports of the State Agricultural and 
Horticultural Societies, the earliest files of 
San Francisco newspapers and periodicals, 
and some notes from the personal recollec- 
tions of .pioneer nurserymen, supply still far- 
ther material, and are the basis of the pres- 
ent article. 

Though its subject is pioneer American 
horticulture, it should be recalled that horti- 
culture in California properly begins with the 
Franciscan priesthood, whose gardens flour- 
ished in San Diego, Los Angeles, San Bue- 
naventura, Santa Barbara, and many another 
beautiful spot, half a century before Hugo 
Reid, the eccentric Scotchman of San Ga- 
briel, had begun his essays on the history 
and customs of the Indians ; before Yount, 
the trapper, had built his log cabin in upper 
Napa ; before Dr. John Marsh had settled 
in his famous " stone house " on his " Farm 
of Pulpunes." The palm trees that the priests 
planted in San Buenaventura still add a 
charm to the landscape. A few of the olive 
trees they planted near San Luis Obispo 
yet shade the crumbling walls. The tall pear 
and fig avenues they set out at the Mission 
San Jose" were cut down in their prime. 
At San Gabriel, the celebrated " Mother 
Vineyard " contained three thousand vines 
at first, but this number was soon increased 
to one hundred and fifty thousand, in small 
vineyards separated by pomegranate hedges, 
and surrounded by a high fence of Mexican 
cactus. Padre Salvadea, a botanist and 
classic scholar, had flowering shrubs brought 

from the mountains, roses from Mexico, and 
rare seeds from Spain and Portugal. In the 
midst of the flower-garden an hour-dial stood, 
streams of water flowed along the rows of 
orange trees, which had been planted about 
1820. In gardens like these, we can discern 
the promise of colonies such as Pomona, 
Pasadena, Riverside, and Ontario. 

An account of the horticultural progress 
of the State might be written from either the 
florist's or the nurseryman's standpoint. A 
few persons began the growth of plants for 
sale very soon after the gold rush, and early 
in the " fifties," Sacramento, San Jose", Brook- 
lyn, and San Francisco had small establish- 
ments, partly market gardens, partly nurser- 
ies. Plants were brought safely overland in 
not a few instances, and propagated for sale 
in the mines. An old lady in Trinity Coun- 
ty, ten years ago, showed the writer geraniums, 
carnations, and roses, the lineal descendants 
of plants she had watered and cared for during 
the weary weeks of the journey from Western 
New York to Weaverville, California, by way 
of " Jim Beckwourth's Pass " and the town of 
Shasta. Many others must have done like- 
wise, and brought to their new homes by the 
Pacific seeds, cuttings, bulbs, or plants from 
the gardens of their childhood in the Atlantic 
or Western States. And how natural it was 
to write back : " Mother, send me a head of 
ripe dill, a pinch of portulacca seed, a poppy 
seed-case from the fence corner." So in 
California, as in all new countries, the small 
and homely and commonplace plants came 
with the pioneers, and found their way here 
easily and swiftly. The ill-smelling datura 
that some Westerner brought with him had 
escaped to the hillsides, in some parts of the 
State, almost before Americans had begun 
to plant orchards. Fennel and burdock 
grew rankly beside California streams, while 
as yet the miners of the Feather were wed- 
ded to their " rocker and long-torn " systems 
of obtaining gold. The really valuable hor- 
ticultural acquisitions of the State came as 
such things always do from energy and fore- 

The early orchards of the Pacific Coast were 
'chiefly descended from importations, over- 


Early Horticulture in California. 


land, by William Meek and John Lewelling. 
Mr. Meek left Van Buren County, Iowa, on 
the first day of April, 1847, w i tn a wagon 
load of choice grafted apple and other fruit 
trees, two of a variety, planted upright in a 
wagon box of soil, which he kept moist all 
the way. Of course, by close packing, as 
every nurseryman knows, several hundred 
trees could easily be placed in a wagon, and 
for so long a journey, over 2,000 miles, trees 
packed in bundles would have perished. 1 
Mr. Lewelling's load of trees, taken across 
the continent in 1848, included cherries, 
peaches, and many other kinds, and this also 
arrived in good condition. These gentlemen 
went into the nursery and orchard business, 
and the families have ever since held a very 
prominent place in the history of fruit cul- 
ture on the Pacific Coast, both in Oregon 
and in California. The Meek and the Lew- 
elling fruit farms at San Lorenzo, Alameda 
County, have always been esteemed as two 
of the model establishments of the State; 
and the Lewelling vineyards near St. Hel- 
ena take equally high rank among viticultur- 

According to the files of the " California 
Farmer" for 1857, William Meek at that 
time possessed the best apple orchard on 
the coast. It was in Clackamas County, 
Oregon, and occupied about fifty acres of 
land. The " California Culturist " for June, 
1858, reports that the sales from this orchard 
for the previous season had been 4,000 bush- 
els, or 180,000 pounds, which sold at an 
average price of twenty-five cents per pound, 
making the gross returns $45,000. He had 
discarded as worthless the methods of pick- 
ing, preparing for market, and shipping, to 
which he had been accustomed in his boy- 
hood ; and had adopted the large fruit houses, 
well-ventilated, and much .the present meth- 
od of packing in boxes, at the proper time 
of maturity, but not before. This orchard 
supplied the San Francisco market with its 
choicest apples. In 1859 Mr. Meek sold 
his Oregon property, and moved to San Lo- 
renzo, where he purchased some 2,000 acres 
of the Soto grant, and continued his opera- 
tions. By 1864 he had 260 acres in fruit. 

The writer has heard him speak of the 
large prices paid for fruit and fruit trees in 
early days in Oregon. A dollar a pound was 
a common price, and often more. Five dol- 
lars apiece for grafted trees was not consid- 
ered extortionate. Men came for many 
miles to get them at that price, and they 
were taken overland to the California mines. 
Apple orchards now growing in the Siskiyou, 
Trinity, and Klamath region, were from the 
noted Willamette Nurseries, and the small 
trees were carried on pack mules across the . 
mountains. Nearly all who had bearing 
orchards before the mining era closed made 
large sums of money. In numbers of cases, 
grafts from the early Oregon orchards were 
set in wild stocks, cherry, apricot, and plum, 
in the mining camps of northern California ; 
but few of these flourished. 

The prices for fruit mentioned above may 
seem extraordinary for 1857, but in May, 
1858, a San Francisco journal said: "The 
first ripe cherries the present season appeared 
May 3d. They were from the Lee Gardens, 
Oakland, and of the variety known as the 
Van Slyke, medium size, pale red, inclining 
to yellow, .slightly mottled, and of excellent 
flavor. To us they possessed so strong a 
1 taste of silver ' it was difficult to distinguish 
between them and the real shining metal, 
selling as they were at one dollar a dozen." 
On the 22d of May, Black Tartarians were 
in market, and sold for five dollars a pound ; 
in June they brought two dollars, which was 
considered quite reasonable. May i5th, the 
first blackberries of the season appeared. 
They were wild, gathered in the Coast Range 
valleys and ravines, " plentifully mingled 
with red ones," and better adapted to cook- 
ing than for dessert ; but they commanded 
fifty cents a pound. May 22d, watermelons 
from the Hawaiian Islands arrived, and were 
sold at two dollars apiece. Seven years be- 
fore, in 1851, the late George G. Briggs, of 
the well-known Briggs Orchards, near Marys- 
ville, on the Yuba River bottom, had planted 
twenty-five acres of melons, which he culti- 
vated, gathered, and sold at his own door 
for sixteen thousand dollars above all ex- 
penses. This story seems well authenticated, 


Early Horticulture in California, 


as it appears in State reports and in the 
"California Culturist " for June, 1858, then 
edited by W. Wadsworth, the corresponding 
secretary of the State Agricultural Society, 
of which J. C. Fall was President. 

A study of the San Francisco berry 
markets shows that Santa Clara County is 
the region that supplies the bulk of the 
strawberries. But thirty years ago the sandy 
levels of Oakland and Alameda were almost 
the only spots in the State devoted to this 
fruit. Since then there have also been num- 
berless changes in the favorite varieties. In 
1852, Mr. Lee, of Oakland, succeeded in sav- 
ing two plants of the British Queen straw- 
berry, received by mail from the East, and 
the variety soon became the leading one. 
Wilson's, and many of note elsewhere, had 
previously failed to give satisfactory results. 
In 1858, of one hundred and sixty acres in 
Oakland and Alameda planted in berries, 
all but fifteen acres were British Queen. 
Hovey's Seedling was planted to some ex- 
tent, also Ajax, Prince of Wales, Jenny Lind, 
Peabody's Seedling, and a few others. The 
Hovey and Peabody were extensively planted 
in later years, but of the dozens of other 
varieties described in flamboyant terms by 
the horticultural writers of the time, hardly 
one is to be found in any private collection, 
much less in market gardens. 

The first exhibit of fruits and flowers held 
in California, so far as I can learn, was that 
of Colonel Warren, at Sacramento, in 1852. 
Another was held in San Francisco, in Octo- 
ber of the following year. The leading coun- 
ties of the State were represented, and the 
displays of fruits, flowers, and vegetables ex- 
cited the surprise of all visitors. It was ev- 
ident that California was to be good for some- 
thing besides gold digging. 

The first fruit report ever written in Cali- 
fornia was made at the fair of October, 1853, 
and published the following January in the 
" California Farmer." The committee con-' 
sisted of F. W. Macondray, Julius K. Rose, 
W. N. Thompson, David Chambers, and G. 
P. Throckmorton. Gen. Vallejo of Sonoma 
exhibited six plates of grapes, and five of ap- 
ples ; Pierre Beccowarn, of San Francisco, 

two baskets of strawberries; J. Truebody, of 
Napa, five Yellow Newtown Pippin apples; 
H. B. Crist, of Sacramento, specimens of Cal- 
ifornia black walnut ; David Spence, of Mon- 
terey, first almonds grown in California ; L. 
B. Benchley, of San Francisco, three Louis 
Bon de Jersey, grown in Rhode Island, and 
brought to California by the Panama steam - 
er. The fruit growers of Oregon sent ap- 
ples from J. B. Stevens's nurseries, Newtown 
Pippins, Golden Pippins, Spitzenbergs, G reen - 
ings, and other varieties. Captain Dodge, 
General Holbrook, Captain Rowland, Gen- 
eral M. M. McCarver, J. Pritchard, and oth- 
ers were also exhibitors of Oregon fruit. John 
Lewelling and E. L. Beard, Mission San 
Jose", showed six varieties of apples, boxes of 
fine grapes, olives, figs, eight Porter apples 
from a one year old graft, and four pears on 
one branch, weighing four pounds. Capt. 
Isaac Morgan, of Bolinas Bay, showed three 
baskets of apples from trees planted in 1852, 
sixteen apples gathered from one two years old 
tree ; Julius K. Rose, of Sonoma, exhibited 
White Chasselas grapes, Mission grapes, figs, 
and apples. Nine silver medals and a sil- 
ver cup were awarded as premiums in this 

October i3th, 1853, Dr. Henry Gibbons 
delivered the first lecture on horticulture of 
which I have been able to find any record 
in San Francisco journals. He said: "Three 
years ago, when I landed here, it was a ques- 
tion whether California would ever produce 
a good crop of potatoes ; now, the soil is full 
of them, and thousands of bushels will rot in 
the earth, not worth the digging ; even in 
Contra Costa, almost at the door of this great 
market, the farmer will give half his crop to 
the laborer who gathers it." " Oats," he add- 
ed, "are exhibited nine feet, four inches 
high, and one specimen ten feet, seven inch- 
es." Mention is also made of a stalk of 
oats shown in San Francisco in 1851, which 
measured thirteen feet in height. 

It was in 1853 that Mr. John M. Horner 
raised 400,000 bushels of potatoes on his 
farm in Alameda County. By 1854 E. L. 
Beard and John M. Horner, whose posses- 
sions were contiguous, had built more than 


Early Horticulture in California. 


eighty miles of fencing about their ranches. 
Some of it cost eight hundred dollars per 
mile, and a large part, of imported English 
iron, cost more than three thousand dollars 
per mile. Mr. Beard planted out one hun- 
dred acres of fruit trees and vines that win- 
ter. On the two ranches more than two 
thousand five hundred acres were under cul- 
tivation in 1854. "Sunnyside," as many 
persons called the Beard homestead at the 
Mission San Jose, a comfortable old adobe, 
became famous throughout the State. 

These two men in Alameda County, with 
T. P. Robb, of Sacramento, J. B. Hill, of 
Pajaro, and W. Pomeroy, of Alviso, were 
the leading vegetable growers of the time. 
Among other exhibitors of prize vegetables 
were James Denman, then of Petaluma, E. 
T. Crane, of San Lorenzo, A. T. McClure, 
then of San Francisco, Col. J. T. Hall, Dr. 
Samuel Murdock, A. Lloyd, and W. N. 
Thompson, of Suscol. 

The first steps to organize a State Agricul- 
tural Society were taken December 6,. 1853, 
in Musical Hall, San Francisco, and the fol- 
lowing officers were elected: President, F. 
W. Macondray; Vice-Presidents, J. M. Hor- 
ner, of Alameda County, Major John Bid- 
well, of Butte, Mr. Chipman, of Contra Costa, 
Abel Stearns, of Los Angeles, Jerome D. 
Ford, of Mendocino, General C. J. Hutchin- 
son, of Sacramento, C. M. Weber, of San 
Joaquin, Dr. J. B. Clements, of San Luis 
Obispo, William F. White, of Santa Cruz, 
Major P. R. Reading, of Shasta, General M. 
G. Vallejo, of Sonoma, Mr. Ryan, of Trinity, 
John A. Sutter, of Yuba, James K. DeLong, 
of El Dorado, Captain J. A. Morgan, of 
Marin, J. Bryant Hill, of Monterey, J. W. 
Osborn, of Napa, Judge J. J. Ames, of San 
Diego, S. R. Throckmorton, of San Fran- 
cisco, J. F. Kennedy, of Santa Clara, Pablo 
de la Guerra, of Santa Barbara, Jefferson 
Hunt, of San Bernardino, S. Thompson, of 
Solano, E. Linoberg, of Tuolumne. The 
first county meeting of agriculturists and 
fruit growers was held in Napa City (then 
a part of Sonoma County), in March, 1854. 
About thirty persons were present ; J. M. 
Hamilton presided ; Judge Stark, A. L. 

Boggs, Wells Kilburn, and other well- 
known men were members. The second 
county to organize an agricultural Associa- 
tion seems to have been Santa Clara County. 
In June, 1854, a letter to the "California 
Farmer," from "Sim's Ranch," Alameda 
County, urged the formation of a similar 

Under date of October 3ist, 1854, a docu- 
ment, called a "Memorial" to Congress, was 
sent from San Francisco by the firm of Warren 
& Son, " asking for the endowment of an agri- 
cultural college" in California for the Pacific 
Coast. It set forth the particular horticul- 
tural needs of the State, and the probabilities 
of much being done with fruits and semi-tropic 
products. At this time, cotton had been suc- 
cessfully grown in Shasta County for two 
seasons, by Major Reading, and in Sacramen- 
to by Thomas Selby. Tobacco plants were 
on exhibition, and preparations were being 
made to test sugar-cane as soon as plants 
could be procured. Yontz & Myers, of San 
Jose", who sunk the first artesian well in that 
region, are credited with having sowed, in 
1854, the first field of flax in California. 

California pomologists are beginning to 
place great faith in the value of our native seed- 
ling fruits, as often better adapted to soil and 
climate, longer-lived, more prolific, and better 
flavored. New varieties of peaches, apricots, 
almonds, plums, cherries, apples, and pears 
are becoming widely known as choice mar- 
ket fruits. It should therefore be of inter- 
est to horticulturists that nearly thirty years 
ago valuable new California fruits were 
brought to public notice in horticultural 
journals ; some of these are still cultivated, 
others have been superseded. For instance,, 
the once widely disseminated " Myer's Rare- 
ripe," originated at the Pioneer Nurseries of 
Alameda, took the lead as an early market 
peach until Hale's Early supplanted it, to be 
in time superseded by Briggs's Early May, 
and the remarkable group of Eastern seed- 
lings, such as the Alexander. We also find 
that a seedling ding-stone grown about 1855 
by N. McPherson Hill, of Sonoma, attracted 
much attention, and took premiums at State 
fairs a few years later. Seedling peaches 


Early Horticulture in California. 


from the Wiemer Gardens, Coloma, Eldorado 
County, from Colonel Weber, of Stockton, 
and from many other exhibitors, even from 
some dwellers in San Francisco, were shown 
at the Horticultural Fair of 1858. This 
fair also gave a conspicuous place among 
apples to "Skinner's Seedling" from San 
Jose, a variety which has held a good rank 
ever since, and to McCarver's Seedling, an 
Oregon winter apple, of which little has been 

In early days the nursery business was 
found very profitable in California, as few 
men had the necessary knowledge. The 
Pomological Nursery of A. P. Smith, two and 
a half miles from Sacramento, on the Amer- 
ican River, was on land purchased from Gen- 
eral Sutter in 1849. I" ^^5 an d 1851, the 
tract was devoted to growing vegetables, but 
by 1852 peach pits and trees in dormant 
bud had been obtained from the Eastern 
States, and the nursery was fairly begun. By 
1854, a small orchard, set out in 1850, was 
in bearing, but suffered greatly from the 
grasshopper visitation of that year. By 1856, 
the nursery was well stocked with fruit trees, 
shade trees, shrubs, vines, and green-house 
plants. Two thousand choice camellias were 
grown for outdoor culture one of the first 
extensive experiments with the camellia in 
this State. We have been informed that 
the gross sales of stock from this nursery for 
the two seasons of r856-'57 and 185 7-^58, 
were upwards of one hundred and fifty thous- 
and dollars. The land it occupied was long 
ago washed away by the Sacramento river. 
In 1854 Cort & Beals, of San Francisco, 
advertised roses "only 27 days from eastern 
nurseries, via Nicaragua." 

The first nurserymen's convention ever 
held in the State took place November gth, 
1858, in San Francisco, and its object was to 
regulate prices, and to drive out the tree- 
peddlers, there being inferior imported trees 
in market. By advertisements a few days 
later, we observe that the following nurseries 
formed the combination " to protect home- 
grown trees " : A. P. Smith, Pomological 
Garden, Sacramento ; J. Aram, Railroad Nur- 
sery, San Jos ; J. Lewelling, San Lorenzo 

Garden, San Lorenzo ; L. A. Gould, Santa 
Clara Nursery ; China Smith, Pacific Nurse- 
ry, San Jose; B. S. Fox, Valley Nursery, 
San Jos< ; R. W. Washburn, Shell Mound 
Nursery, San Francisco ; G. H. Beech, New 
England Nursery, Marysville ; and A. Lew- 
elling, Fruit Vale Nursery, San Antonio- 
A glance at this list will show how great 
have been the changes since ; most of the 
leading nurserymen of California have en- 
tered the business since the days of this con- 

The prices fixed upon by the nurseryman 
of 1858, though a great reduction upon for- 
mer schedules, would strike the fruit grow- 
ers of the present time as remarkably stiff. 
We quote: "Apple, i yr., .50, 2 yr., $i ; 
cherry, 2 yr., $i to $2 ; fig, foreign, $3 ; ap- 
ricot, i yr., .75 to $i ; grapes, California, 
$10 per hundred ; foreign, .50 to $i apiece. 

The first California State Horticultural 
Society was organized by fifteen persons at 
San Josd, October roth, 1856. Its first 
annual meeting was held in San Francis- 
co, in April, 1857, and in September of the 
same year its first annual fair took place 
in connection with the Mechanics' Insti- 

Among the prominent florists of the time 
were Messrs. Sontag, Prevost, O'Donnell, 
Smith and Walker. The Honorable Wilson 
Flint delivered the annual address in 1858, 
at which time the State Horticultural Society 
numbered more than a hundred members. 
F. W. Macondray was President, and J. W. 
Osborn, Vice-President. Mr. Wilson's ad- 
dress was largely devoted to the desirability 
of -planting extensive orchards, and drying 
the fruit for export ; and to the future value 
of the wine-making and raisin producing in- 
dustries. The list of awards shows among 
the exhibition many names long prominent 
in the horticultural history of California, such 
as John Lewelling, of San Lorenzo ; Dr. H. 
Haile, of Alameda; L. A. Gould, of San 
Jose ; E. W. Case, of Santa Clara; S. Thomp- 
son, of Suscol ; B. S. Fox, of San Jose ; 
D. L. Perkins, of Alameda ; G. W. Fountain, 
of Oakland ; Colonel A. Haraszthy, of So- 


Early Horticulture in California. 


The " Edinburgh Review," which had giv- 
en unquestioned currency to many " travel- 
ers' tales " concerning the large gold yield of 
California placers, happened to find an agri- 
cultural report of 1855, and said: "At the 
State Fair held at Sacramento, California, 
were exhibited among other prodigies, a beet 
weighing seventy-three pounds, a carrot 
weighing ten pounds, and three feet, three 
inches in length (there were fifty in the same 
bed of equal size) ; a corn-stalk measuring 
twenty-one feet, nine inches in length ; an 
apple measuring fifteen and a half inches 
each way. But we cannot tell how much 
may be owing to that Cyclopean grandeur of 
description in which American fancy is apt 
to indulge." 

The State Fairs of 1857 and 1858 brought 
to the front a beet that weighed one hundred 
and twenty-five pounds ; a turnip that sur- 
passed thirty pounds in weight ; a cornstalk 
that was twenty-five feet in height, and pears 
that weighed four pounds apiece. The not- 
ed pear that was grown in 1858 on a three- 
year-old tree in the garden of Mr. E. L. 
Beard, at the Mission San Jose, weighed two 
and a quarter pounds ; and although speci- 
mens of this variety (the Pound or Winter 
Bell) have since been grown of equal or even 
greater size, yet this one became known 
abroad as none since, a life-size engraving 
being made, arid published in several jour- 

Everywhere in the early horticultural lit- 
erature of the Pacific Coast, we find efforts 
to map out the climatic zones, and a full rec- 
ognition of the broader problems that have 
perplexed the planters of orchards and gar- 
dens to the present day. Mr. Wadsworth, 
in establishing the " California Culturist," in 
1858, wrote : " So peculiar and so strongly 
marked are our climates that a new system 
of cultivating the soil seems almost indispen- 
sable." Dr. Horace Bushnell, in an article 
upon the " Characteristics and Prospects of 
California," which appeared in the " New 
Englander," gave the ablest account of the 
subject that had up to that time appeared 
in any journal. The following extracts- are 
worth permanent place in the history of hor- 

ticulture, for they define with skill and sci- 
ence the conditions which prevail here : 

" Conceive that middle California, the region of 
which we now speak" lying between the headwaters 
of the two great rivers, and about four hundred and 
fifty or five hundred miles long from north to south, 
is divided lengthwise, parallel to the coast, into three 
strips, or ribands of about equal width. First, the 
coast-wise region, comprising two, three, and some- 
times four parallel tiers of mountains, from five hun- 
dred to four thousand, five thousand, or even ten 
thousand feet high. Next, advancing inward, we 
have a middle strip, from fifty to seventy miles 
wide, of almost dead plain, which is called the 
great valley ; down the scarely perceptible slopes 
of which, from north and south, run the two great 
rivers, the Sacramento and the San Joaquin, to join 
their waters at the middle of the basin, and pass off 
into the sea. The third long strip, or riband, is the 
slope of the Sierra Nevada chain, which bounds the 
great valley on the east, and contains in its foot-hills, 
or rather in its lower half, all the gold mines. The 
upper half is, to a great extent, bare granite rock, 
and is crowned at the summit with snow about eight 
months of the year. 

"Now the climate of these parallel strips will be 
different, almost of course ; and subordinate, local 
differences, quite as remarkable, will result from sub- 
ordinate features in the local configurations, particu- 
larly of the seaward strip or portion. For all the va- 
rieties of climate, distinct as they become, are made 
by variations wrought in the rates of motion, he 
courses, the temperature, and the dryness of a single 
wind, viz: the trade wind of the summer months, 
which blows directly inward all the time, only with 
much greater power during that part of the day when 
the rarefaction of the great central valley comes to its 
aid ; that is from ten o'clock in the morning until the 
setting of the sun. Conceive such a wind, chilled by 
the cold waters which have come down from the 
Northern Pacific, perhaps from Behring Straits, 
combing the tops and wheeling through the valleys 
of the coast-wise mountains, crossing the great valley 
at a much retarded rate, and growing hot and dry, 
fanning gently the foot-hills and sides of the Sierra, 
still more retarded by the piling necessary to break 
over into Utah ; and the conditions of the California 
climate, or climates, will be understood with general 
accuracy. Greater simplicity in the matter of climate 
is impossible, and greater variety is hardly to be im- 
agined. . . . 

"We return now to the coast- wise mountain re- 
gion, where the multiplicity and confusion of climates 
is most remarkable. Their variety, we shall find, de- 
pends on the courses of the wind currents, turned 
hither and thither by the mountains ; partly also on 
the side' any given place occupies of its valley or 
mountain, and partly on the proximity of the sea. 
Sprinkled in among these mountains, and more or 


Early Horticulture in California. 


less enclosed by them, are valleys, large and small, 
of the highest beauty. But a valley in California 
means something more than a scoop or depression. 
It means a rich land-lake, leveled between the moun- 
tains, with a sharply-defined, picturesque shore, 
where it meets the sides and runs into the indenta- 
tions of the mountains. What is called the Bay of 
San Francisco is a large, salt-water lake in the mid- 
dle of a much larger land-lake, sometimes called the 
San Jose valley. It extends south of the city forty 
miles, and northward among islands and mountains 
twenty-five more, if we include what is called the 
San Pablo Bay. Three beautiful valleys of agricul- 
tural country, the Petaluma, Sonoma, and Napa val- 
leys, open into this larger valley of the Bay on the 
north end of it, between four mountain barriers, hav- 
ing each a short navigable creek or inlet. Still far- 
ther north is the Russian River valley, opening to- 
wards the sea, and the Clear Lake valley and region, 
which is the Switzerland of California. East of the 
San Jose valley, too, at the foot of Diablo, and up 
among the mountains, are the large Amador and San 
Ramon valleys ; also the little gem of the Simol. 
Now these valleys, if we except the great valleys of 
the two rivers, comprise the plow-land of middle Cal- 
ifornia, have each a climate of their own, and pro- 
ductions that correspond. We have only to observe 
further, that the east side of any valley will com- 
monly be much warmer than the west ; for the very 
paradoxical reason that the cold coast-wind always 
blows much harder on the side or steep slope, even, 
of a mountain, opposite or away from the wind, than 
it does on the side towards it, reversing all our 
notions of the sheltering effects of the mountain 

" Nothing will so fatally puzzle a stranger as the ob- 
serving of this fact ; for he will doubt for a long time, 
first, whether it be a fact, and then, what possible 
account to make of it. Crossing the Golden Gate in 
a small steamer, for example, to Saucelito, whence 
the water is brought for the city, he will look for a 
quiet shelter to the little craft, apparently in danger 
of foundering, when it comes under the lee of that 
grand mountain wall that overhangs the water on the 
west. But he is surprised, when he. arrives, to find 
the wind blowing straight down the face of it, harder 
even than elsewhere, gouging into the water by a 
visible depression, and actually raising caps of white 
within a rod of the shore. In San Francisco itself, 
he will find the cold coast wind pouring down over 
the western barrier with uncomfortable rawness, 
when returning from a ride at Point Lobos, on the 
very beach of the sea, where the air was compara- 
tively soft and quiet. So, crossing the Sonoma val- 
ley, he will come out into it from the west, through 
a cold, windy gorge, to find orange trees growing in 
General Vallejo's garden, close under the eastern 
valley wall, as finely as in Cuba. In multitudes of 
places, too, on the eastern slopes of the mountains, 
he will notice that the trees, which have all their 

growth in the coast-wind season, have their tops 
thrown over, like cocks' tails turned away from the 
wind. After he has been sufficiently perplexed and 
stumbled by these facts, he will finally strike upon 
the reasop, viz : that this cold trade wind, being once 
lifted or driven over the sea-wall mountains, and 
being specifically heavier than the atmosphere into 
which it is going, no sooner reaches the summit than 
it pitches 'down as a cold cataract, with the uniformly 
accelerated motion of falling bodies. 

"Having gotten over the understanding of this 
fact, many things are made plain. For example, in 
traveling down the western side of the bay from San 
Francisco to San Jose, and passing directly under 
the mountain range just referred to, he has found 
himself passing through as many as four or five dis- 
tinct climates ; for, when abreast of some gap or 
depression in the western wall, the heavy wind 
has poured down with a chilling coldness, making 
even an qvercoat desirable, though it be a clear sum- 
mer day; and then, when he is abreast of some high 
summit, which the fog- wind sweeps by, and therefore 
need not pass over, a sweltering and burning heat is 
felt, in which the lightest summer clothing is more 
than enough. He has also observed that directly 
opposite the Golden Gate, at Oakland, and the Ala- 
meda point, where the central column of this wind 
might be supposed to press most uncomfortably, the 
land is covered with growths of evergreen oak, stand- 
ing fresh and erect; while north and south, on either 
side, scarcely a tree is to be seen for many miles : a 
mystery that is now explained by the fact that the 
wind, driving here square against the Contra Costa 
or second range, is piled, and gets no current, till it 
slides off north and south from the point of quiet here 
made; which is also confirmed by the fact that, in 
riding down from San Pablo on the north, he has 
the wind in his face, finds it slacker* as he approaches 
Oakland, and passing on, still southward to San Le- 
andro, has it blowing at his back. 

"The varieties, and even what appeared to be the 
incredible anomalies of California climates, begin 
at last to be intelligible. The remarkable contrast, 
for example, between the climates of Benicia and 
Martinez, is clearly accounted for. These two places, 
only a mile and a half apart, on opposite sides of the 
Straits of Carquinez, and connected by a ferry, like 
two points on a river, are yet more strikingly con- 
trasted in their summer climates than Charleston and 
Quebec. Thus the Golden Gate column, wheeling up- 
on Oakland and just now described, sweeps along the 
face of the Contra Costa chain in its northward course, 
setting the few tree-tops of San Pablo aslant, as weath- 
er vanes stuck fast by rust, and drives its cold sea- 
dust full in the face of Benicia. Meanwhile, at 
Martinez, close under the end of the mountain which 
has turned the wind directly by, and is itself cloven 
dow.n here to let the Straits of Carquinez pass 
through, the sun shines hot and with an almost daz- 
zling clearness, and all the characters of the climate 


Early Horticulture in California. 


belong rather to the great valley cauldron, whose rim, 
it may be said, is here. 

" Equally plain now is the solution of those appar- 
ent inversions of latitude, which at first perplex the 
stranger. In the region about Marysville, for ex- 
ample, he is overtaken by a fierce, sweltering heat in 
April, and scarcely hears, perhaps, in the travel of a 
day, a single bird sing as if meaning it for a song. 
He descends by steamer to San Francisco, and thence 
to San Jose, making a distance in all of more than 
two hundred miles, where he finds a cool, spring-like 
freshness in the air, and hears the birds screaming 
with song even more vehement than in New England. 
It is as if he has passed out of a tropical into a tem- 
perate climate, when, in fact, he is due south of 
Marysville by the whole distance passed over. But 
the mystery is all removed by the discovery that in- 
stead of keeping in the great valley, he broke out of 
it, through the Straits of Carquinez, into the Bay val- 
ley, and the cold bath atmosphere of the coastwise 

In these early horticultural journals we dis- 
cover little, if any, effort to study soils and to 
analyze their properties. This all-important 
work was left to the intelligent labors of the 
agricultural department of the State Univer- 
sity, whose able reports easily rank with the 
best that any State in the Union has yet sent 
out. We find a wide-spread opinion about 
1858, that the soil of California would sel- 
dom produce without irrigation, and many 
crude theories in regard to cultivation were 
promulgated. Men are gravely advised " not 
to plant grapes on the hillsides." The 
editor of one horticultural journal states that 
he has grown thousands of apple, pear, cherry, 
and plum trees from cuttings, a perform- 
ance which certainly has never been repeated 
in this State. The " tap-root " discussion 
raged for the better part of two years ; writ- 
ers, as early as 1854, advocated the utility of 
summer-fallowing, and few or none realized 
the great importance of stirring the surface 
and keeping it mellow. The leaf-roller was in 
the grape vines, and the apple-borer in the 
apple trees, by 1858. 

Alfalfa was a novelty, to be tested in gar- 
dens, and slowly recognized as one of the 
most valuable of forage plants, almost revolu- 
tionizing the system of stock-raising in whole 
counties of California. Alfalfa plants grown 
on the Brophy ranch, near Marysville, were 
shown at the State Fair of 1858, and a writer 

in the San Andreas "Independent," during 
the same year, speaks of several profitable 
alfalfa fields in the San Joaquin Valley. Cal- 
ifornia-grown hops were on exhibition at the 
State Horticultural Fair of 1858, and receiv- 
ed the Society's highest premium. Two hun- 
dred pounds which were grown in that year 
by Mr. Bushnell, of Green Valley, Bodega, 
sold for one dollar a pound. 

We have spoken of the early Mission gar- 
dens. Prior to 1852, there were found about 
these gardens, and around Los Angeles, a 
native seedling peach, of small size, white or 
yellow flesh, shape globular, with a deep su- 
ture, the trees much liable to curl .leaf. The 
Spanish pear was much earlier than the 
Madeleine, a good bearer, but fruit of poor 
quality. The "Spanish prune," grown by 
the padres, was like the German prune, and 
was propagated in many cases from seeds. 

The first stock of gooseberries in the 
State came from Hovey, of Boston, and were 
imported by W. B. West, of Stockton. With 
currants the story of beginnings is quite re- 
markable. In December, 1853, Jesse and 
Lyman Beard, of Mission San Jose', and 
John Lewelling and E. T. Crane, of San Lo- 
renzo, made up a fund, and sent Dr. Whaley 
to the Eastern States to buy plants and fruit 
trees. The business relations of the Beards 
and Mr. Lewelling were at this time very 
close. Mr. Henry Ellsworth, of Niles, in- 
forms the writer that Mr. John Lewelling 
had reached the Mission San Jose- after a 
hard Oregon experience, and his horticul- 
tural knowledge attracting Mr. Beard's atten- 
tion, the latter offered to let Mr. Lewelling 
plant an orchard of peaches, apples, and 
other fruits, on shares. Mr. Beard advanced 
all the funds, over sixty thousand dollars, 
and in its time there was no better orchard 
in California. Mr. Lewelling went to Ore- 
gon in 1852, and bought trees, which were 
planted the following winter. For seven 
years he was to have a half interest in the 
orchard, and it proved so profitable for all 
concerned, that his share enabled him to es- 
tablish himself at San Lorenzo. But to re- 
turn to the subject of currants. The Beards 
and their friends sent Dr. Whaley to visit 


Early Horticulture in California. 


Eastern nurseries. At Elwanger & Barry's, 
in Rochester, he was shown some plants of 
the cherry currant, then highly spoken of in 
France, but a decided failure in the United 
States. Mr. Elwanger wished Dr. Whaley to 
try it in California, and a few plants were 
shipped. In the division Mr. Crane had four 
plants, Mr. Lewelling twelve, and Mr. Beard 
" the largest number." At this time the Red 
Dutch currant, the White Dutch, the Ver- 
saillaise, and other kinds, had been planted 
and proved worthless in this climate. Hor- 
ticulturists despaired of ever having Califor- 
nia currants. But in a few years the cherry 
currants at San Lorenzo began to bear fruit. 
Mr. Beard's plants had mostly died, and the 
discovery of the great value of the variety 
came from Mr. E. T. Crane, who by 1858 
had one-fourth of an acre, and paid Mr. 
Lewelling $100 for enough cuttings to plant 
as much more. Rooted plants were soon 
sold by the thousand, propagated from sin- 
gle joints, but the San Lorenzo and Hay- 
wards region proved the best for their growth. 
In 1865 Mr. Crane sold 6,000 pounds of 
fruit^ at prices ranging from thirty to fifty 
cents a pound. The sales for some years 
averaged from $2,000 to $4,000 per acre. 
Over-production then followed, and about 
1878 currants were a drug in the markets, 
were given to whoever would gather them, 
until no more could possibly be utilized, and 
many tons rotted on the bushes. The nom- 
inal price was $1.50 per chest, or about one 
and a fourth cents a pound, which did not 
cover the expense of gathering and shipping. 
Since that time, currants, although often 
low, have never again reached so small a 

One of the most interesting of early exper- 
iments in irrigation was by John M. Homer, 
a prominent pioneer in the southern part of 
Alameda County. A letter from his pen ap- 
peared in a San Francisco journal, under 
date of September 26th, 1856. He says that 
in December, 1855, he began to irrigate lands 
he wished to crop in 1856. Upon eighty 
acres thus irrigated, the wheat was forty 
inches high, plump and good ; the unirrigat- 
ed was twenty-five inches high, and much 

shrunken. Mr. Horner, a few years later, 
rented a large tract west of Niles on the 
north side of the Alameda creek, and irrigat- 
ed it with water from the millrace. The State 
Agricultural Society in 1859 offered prizes 
for the best essays on irrigation, and the first 
one was taken by William Thompson, of Mil- 
lerton. Practical experience in irrigation 
was so lacking at this time, that the articles 
which appeared in horticultural journals pre- 
vious to 1860 were chiefly compiled from 
foreign sources. It was not until the ample 
State reports of recent years that California 
contributed much to the literature of the sub- 
ject. Meanwhile, the people of the mining 
counties had been constructing an elaborate 
and costly system of ditches and flumes, 
many of which were equally available for irri- 
gation purposes. Between 1850 and 1872, 
upwards of five thousand miles of such ditch- 
es had been made by the miners of the State, 
and some of them have become sources of 
horticultural wealth to mountain and foot- 
hill communities. 

The grape interests of the State, as is well 
known, attracted much attention, and at an 
early date. Almost every pioneer soon be- 
came aware of the extent to which grapes 
were grown in the prosperous Mission gar- 
dens, and cuttings were widely distributed. 
Essays upon wine-making, varieties to plant, 
choice of soil for vineyards, and similar top- 
ics, form a noteworthy part of early agricul- 
tural reports. An article in the " California 
Culturist," for January, 1859, describes a 
visit to the vineyard of Mr. M. K. Barber, 
two miles from Martinez, where some four 
thousand three-year-old vines of the Mission 
variety were to be found on " bottom land." 
Near by was the vineyard of Mr. John Strent- 
zel, of ten thousand vines. Hundreds of 
experiments with grapes were going on 
throughout the State, and by a process of 
selection, the best viticultural districts were 
brought to the front. Far too great stress 
was long laid upon the value of rich bottom 
lands for grapevines. The few writers who 
held that the barren hillsides of California 
would ultimately produce the finest grapes, 
were often laughed at as harmless enthusiasts. 


Early Horticulture in California. 


It would seem, from the correspondence 
published in local journals during i855-'59, 
that too much irrigation was often practiced 
on vineyards, and the quality of the fruit 
was much impaired. The 1858 report of 
the State Agricultural Society marked an 
era in the progress of the grape industry. 
This report incidentally states that the first 
grape vines planted in California were set 
about the year 1740, and at or near the 
Mission San Diego and the Mission Viecho, 
the latter sixty miles from San Diego. I 
notice an account of experiments made dur- 
ing 1856, in grafting the Mission grape on 
the wild vine (Vitis Californica). In 1854 
a writer in the "Pioneer Magazine," in 
discussing diseases of the vine, advises prop- 
agating new California seedlings. By 1861, 
there were 10,592,688 grape vines in the 
State, and Los Angeles and Sonoma took 
the lead. In 1862 the product of wine was 
343,47 7 gallons. 

The present State Horticultural Society, 
which so admirably fulfills its mission, and 
whose reports have contained many and able 
papers on horticulture, was organized in 1879. 
Butthegardeners and horticulturists of Santa 
Clara County organized, as early as Septem- 
ber 1 7th, 1855, a Horticultural Association. 
Colonel Grayson, Mayor Belden, and other 
prominent persons were members. Alame- 
da County had a floral exhibition June i4th, 
1859, the first attempted in the State. E. S. 
Chipman, of San Leandro, was Secretary. 
F. K. Shattuck, Frank R. Fargo, Robert 
Blacow and Dr. H. Gibbons were among 
the directors. The State Agricultural Soci- 
ety, incorporated under an act of 1853, 
amended in 1854, published its first report 
in 1858. The peculiar value of the now 
rare volumes of these reports for 1858, 1859, 
and 1860, consists in the letters they con- 
tain from a traveling committee, which vis- 
ited all the agricultural districts of the ' 
State, and described the crops, gardens and 
orchards. If space permitted, I should be 
glad to print copious extracts from these 
chapters. The change from a mining to a 
farming community, the mining camps of 
the Sierra foothills, the beginnings of the 

large ranches of the valley, the unfenced 
plains, the healthy pioneer life of 1858, the 
" first transition era," are all illustrated with 
unconscious force in the unpretending re- 
ports of this traveling committee. Here, for 
instance, is a story of a washerwoman, in a 
mining camp, who sent to Oregon, in 1853, for 
one year old apple trees at five dollars apiece, 
and sold the fruit in 1857 for ahundred dol- 
lars a tree. There is also a story from Ophir, 
Placer County, of a man who in 1851 bought 
two cows at Sacramento for $400, and in 
two months had sold $720 worth of milk at 
.50 a quart. Hay was $80 per ton, and 
meal was $800 per hundred ; so it cost him 
$100 per month to keep them. He paid $4. 
apiece for his hens, and sold the eggs at $5 
per dozen. When thanksgiving day came, 
his turkey for dinner cost him $12. 

Early files of the " Alta California" con- 
tain much that throws light on the horti- 
cultural events of the time. The spread of 
innumerable vegetable gardens " at the Mis- 
sion" and beyond ; the orchards of Santa 
Clara, Mission San Jose, and Sonoma, are 
revealed in rapid glimpses. Under date of 
August 3d, 1850, a writer in the "Alta Cali- 
fornia" describes the Mission Dolores fields, 
" with gentle streams irrigating the sarce gar- 
dens," and the dusty highway stretching off 
into the sand hills. Fourteen miles north of 
San Jose", in San Mateo, was the fine ranch of 
Capt. Wyman. About the Mission of Santa 
Clara were dozens of squatters' huts on the 
lands claimed by the Church. The spacious 
pueblo of San Jose contained thrifty pear, 
apple, quince, and other fruit trees, break- 
ing down with the weight of the crop. 
About it, far over the valley, were the be- 
ginnings of farms. Artesian wells had been 
sunk, in one or two instances. The labor 
was chiefly Indian, paid six or seven dollars 
a week. Governor Barrett had just founded 
the town of Alviso, in the salt marshes along 
the shore of the Bay. In 1850, the sugges- 
tion that a State Fair should be held was 
first made in a San Francisco paper. 

In 1860 General John Bidwell, of Chico, 
delivered the annual address before the 
State Agricultural Society, and in the course 


Early Horticulture in California. 


of that address, he said: "From 1848 to 
1853 we were dependent upon importation 
from abroad for almost everything, even the 
staff of life. In 1853 we imported 498,740 
barrels of flour. How stands the case now ? 
We are able to export half a million barrels 
ourselves. In 1853 we imported 80,186 
bags of wheat; now the scales have turned, 
and we are able to export. In 1853 we im- 
ported 16,281 barrels of beef; in 1859 only 
4,807 barrels. In 1853 we imported 294,- 
065 bags of barley ; in 1859 were able to 
export 295,852 bags." Of oats, the impor- 
tations in 1853 were 104,914 bags; but in 
1859 the exportations were 218,648 bags. 
Pork was imported in 1853 to the amount 
of 51,169 barrels, but in 1850 to only 29,- 
444 barrels. What new country ever took 
hold of the cultivation of the soil with great- 
er zeal ? " 

In 1 86 1 the wheat area of the State was 
361,351 acres, and the total yield was 8,805,- 
411 bushels, of which 6,008,336 bushels 
came from the seven counties of Alameda, 
Contra Costa, Santa Clara, Napa, San Joa- 
quin, Solano, and Yolo. The California 
Club, or Old Russian, the Sonora, the White 
Australian, the Egyptian, the Oregon White, 
and the Red Turkey, were extensively plant- 
ed, the Club and Australian taking the lead. 
Too many farmers depended upon the vol- 
unteer crops, and the burning of the straw 
in the fields immediately after the first rains 
was well-nigh universal. In the earlier years 
of grain-growing the average product of 
wheat was between 60 and 70 bushels to the 
acre in favorable seasons. In 1854 a field 
of 100 acres of barley in Pajaro Valley av- 
eraged 133 2/5 bushels per acre of clean 
grain for the whole tract. Fifty centals of 
wheat have been grown to the acre. Con- 
tinuous cropping has greatly impaired the 

fertility of the soil, and the average wheat- 
yield has decreased ; but summer fallowing, 
the use of fertilizers, and rotation of crops 
in brief, the adoption of better methods of 
farming is checking the evil. 

It is difficult, if not impossible, to give a 
complete list of the horticultural and agri- 
cultural journals that have thriven and failed 
to thrive in this State of California. The 
pioneer was the well-known " California 
Farmer," established by Col. Warren in Jan- 
uary, 1854. The "California Culturist," a 
monthly magazine of forty-eight pages, lasted 
from 1858 to 1860 inclusive. At a later date, 
1875, the "California Horticulturist " began, 
and continued for five years. About 1864, 
the " California Rural Home Journal " was 
established by Thomas Hart Hyatt, a noted 
writer on grape culture, and continued pub- 
lication for about two years. The " Rural 
Press" began January ist, 1876, developing 
from a special farm-edition of the " Mining 
Press." Several journals entitled " Agricul- 
turist " at various times occupied the field. 
The "Hesperian," "Pioneer's Magazine," and 
" Hutchings's Magazine "contained a few hor- 
ticultural items. The " United States Agri- 
cultural Reports" of 1851 and 1862 have 
notes from California writers. The " State 
Agricultural Reports" have already received 
attention. Works of travel in California 
during the fifties, in nearly every case, con- 
tain mention of the gardens, the orchards, 
the pioneer farms, the old Mission tracts of 
land. The works of John S. Hittell, Cronise, 
and others deal extensively with the horti- 
cultural advances of the State since the "days 
of '49." But there is hardly a better way to 
obtain a glimpse of the subject than in the 
files of the daily and weekly newspapers of 
San Francisco, Sacramento, and leading in- 
terior towns prior to 1860. 

Charles Howard Shinn, 


In the Summer-house. 



[ Translated from the German of Karl Neumann Strela. ] 

IN the year of our Lord 1 783, the delicious 
spring arrived so suddenly that Winter, the 
old grumbler, was obliged to take leave in 
headlong haste. Everywhere was verdure 
and bloom, and the innumerable birds gave 
in their best manner the songs they had been 
studying through the winter. 

One afternoon, in the city of Leipzig, a 
company of students passed through one of 
the city gates on their way to the neighbor- 
ing village of Reutnitz, where the landlord 
of the " Golden Lamb " sold a renowned 
and favorite beer. Rollicking, insolent fel- 
lows were these students ; they threw their 
caps in the air, swung their pipes and canes, 
and set their gigantic dogs on every stone in 
the road. If a maid passed, she was greeted 
and kissed, and if a Polish Jew appeared in 
black kaftan, with his love-locks behind his 
ears, there arose from a dozen throats the 
cry, " Noting to trade." 

A little later, a student about twenty years 
old left the city by the same gateway. He 
did not .follow his companions. When he 
reached the open field, he paused for a mo- 
ment, and then took another road ; he in- 
tended to go around the city. This young 
collegian had a powerful body, a kindly, 
honest face, and a new brown coat with 
steel buttons. 

Whoever met this student, whose name was 
Jean Paul Friedrich Richter, could not have 
failed to notice the joy that beamed from his 
eyes, or to be surprised by the costume in 
which our young Richter took pleasure in 
arraying himself. He disdained the laws of 
the prevailing fashion, and wore neither frill 
nor neckerchief, powder nor cue. His shin- 
ing hair fell unconfined in long locks on his 
shoulders, and his breast, covered only by a 
shirt, was exposed to wind and weather. 
When he was laughed at, he shrugged his 
shoulders ; when he was scolded, he replied 
VOL. VI. 9. 

that he could surely clothe himself to his 
own liking. 

There was joy in his eyes and happiness 
in his heart, as he strode on past gardens 
and fields. When a bird caroled he sang 
with him, and when a lark mounted straight 
into the blue heavens, he leaped for gladness. 
Past was the time of anxiety, forever past 
the days in which he had vainly struggled 
for daily bread ! How often had a crust 
soaked in water been his onjy food ! How 
often had he thrown himself hungry upon 
his bed ! Very young and very poor, he 
came two years before to Leipzig, to study 
the sciences in the University. He had no 
recommendations. He did not understand 
how to defer submissively to all he met. His 
maxim was, " Ever forward, and everything 
through one's own endeavor." He wished 
to teach, but he found few scholars, and was 
glad to receive two groschen for a lesson. 
Even that was much for a hungry man. 

After this torture had lasted about eigh- 
teen months, he had an idea : he would 
teach no longer. No sooner thought than 
done. He felt that something burned in 
his head and heart, and that something he 
must put on paper. He wrote day and 
night, and soon the first volume of his "Die 
Gronlandischen Processe " was finished. He 
took it under his arm, and with a beating 
heart knocked at the door of the distinguish- 
ed bookseller, Herr Voss. Eight days later a 
young man walked through Leipzig, who be- 
lieved that with the fifteen Louis d'or in his 
pocket he could buy at least one half the 
city. This happy fellow was Jean Paul 
Friedrich Richter, and Herr Voss had paid 
him the shining gold pieces. Gone was 
need, gone anxiety. " Ever forward, and 
everything through one's own endeavor." 
The first step was taken, and was successful ; 
now on in the path to immortality! 


In the Summer-house. 


His debts and his room rent for the next 
three months were paid, the brown coat 
bought, and five gold pieces remained. 
These would suffice until the second part of 
the " Gronlandischen Processe" was written, 
and this our Richter intended now to begin. 

As this sunny afternoon he went on and 
on through the fields, and by the gardens, 
he thought of his work, and of the gold piec- 
es lying, each wrapped separately in paper, 
securely in his pocket, for the coat was new, 
and therefore the pocket was whole. Sud- 
denly he stood before a small, carefully tend- 
ed garden, separated from the road by a 
lath fence. The principal gate led to a dwell- 
ing house with a steep roof, and a small, 
round house, shaped like a tower, stood 
among fruit directly behind the fence. 
This summer-house, with its green door, 
and windows extending to the ground, cap- 
tivated our student. How one could live, 
and work, and dream here in the midst of 
this verdure, and the songs of the birds ! 
"Rich and fortunate people!" sighed the 
student, as his eyes roamed over the garden ; 
but as he grasped his pocket, " am I not also 
rich and fortunate ? therefore boldly enter 
and enquire. A modest question about this 
little paradise can provoke no one." 

As he was about to open the garden-gate, 
a young girl stepped from the house a pret- 
ty vision, with blue eyes and magnificent 
blonde hair under a red kerchief. Her 
green gown was short, with a black border ; 
her bodice white; and around her neck a 
chain, on which hung a silver coin. Her 
feet were encased in black leather boots with 
red heels. She came down the path, laid 
her hoe and shovel on a mossy bank, took 
out a handkerchief, and dried her forehead. 
The student drew her attention by a slight 
cough, and the girl, astonished, looked up, 
then rapidly approached the gate. 

At the first glance she started ; a young 
man of the better class without powder and 
cue, without frill and neckerchief! She nod- 
ded, however, and asked what he wished. 
A burning red flamed in his cheeks. When 
he took off his cap, he did it very awkward- 
ly, and as he put the question whether the 

summer-house was for rent, he actually stam- 

She shrugged her shoulders. "My moth- 
er has never thought of that. If one might 
ask, what had the gentleman thought of do- 
ing in the little house ? " 

" I should like to write and study there." 

" Well," she continued, resting her elbows 
on the gate, " there is certainly room enough 
for that. Table, chair, and bed you would 
not need more. Pardon me, are you a schol- 
ar? My mother, to be sure, cannot be spoken 
to immediately ; she is at Aunt Jettchen's, 
in the Petersstrasse, for her birthday, but I 
am quite certain she will have nothing 
against it, if you wish to come to us. Come 
in, and first of all, look at the summer-house 
for yourself. 

" That is not necessary, my dear Frauhin. 
You are very good." With these words he 
entered the garden, and went slowly by her 
side up the path. 

" It is beautiful here," said the girl, " and 
at evening, especially, it is so quiet, we can 
hear our own hearts beat. My father was a 
gardener; he has sat here evening after even- 
ing, enjoying every blossom like a child. It 
is three years since my father died," she add- 
ed sorrowfully, " and Peter Wilm, who was 
his assistant, has since then taken the land 
ori lease." 

" Does the garden house belong to Peter 
Wilm ? " he asked quickly. 

" No," she said, " my mother has used it 
to store old lumber, which could be put on 
the ground." 

" And what about the rent, if I may en- 
quire ? " 

"That I really do not know. Wait until 
my mother comes, or come again tomorrow." 

" The birthday festival may last long," he 
answered. " And to wait until tomorrow 
oh, no ! The evening is so beautiful ! I beg 
you, my dear Fraulein, make your demands, 
and if I can afford it, I will hasten back, hud- 
dle my baggage together, and be here again, 
that I may feel this very evening like a king 
of a new kingdom." 

She opened her eyes. " How beautifully 
you know how to say that ! Are you a poet?" 


In the Summer-house. 


He smiled ; " I hope one day to become 
a poet, but the rent; let me entreat you !" 

" Would you like to remain until autumn ?" 

" So long as the heavens are blue and the 
birds sing." 

" Well, then, twelve groschen a month ; or 
is that too much?" 

" That is too little ! " he exclaimed, and 
thought of his five shining gold pieces. 

"No more, on any account!" she cried 

There was a short pause. The young girl 
walked to and fro, and Richter examined his 
fingers ; then he looked in her face, extend- 
ed his hand, and said : " If you positively 
will not have it otherwise it is settled ! " 

"Settled ! " she said, and laid her hand in 

He struck his breast, and with a comical 
pathos exclaimed : " Thus in a good hour, 
the king will enter his kingdom to the sound 
of drums and trumpets." 

She laughed, and added quickly: "We 
will have the honor, your majesty, to receive 
you at the gate." 

" Subject, farewell ! " He nodded and 
went forward a few steps; she bowed low 
and turned. 

"One question more, daughter of my 
realm," he suddenly cried. 

She turned like a whirlwind : " Your maj- 
esty commands ? " 

" The king would know the name of his 
faithful subject." 

" My name is Hannchen Lerche." 

" Hannchen Lerche may always be assured 
of my favor. Farewell ! " 

They bowed, they laughed, and as he 
stood before the fence, he threw his hat high 
into the air for pure happiness. 

Hannchen flew to the gate, and looked 
after him until he disappeared in a curve of 
the road. " Those honest eyes ! that bright 
waving hair ! and what was his name ? " 
She had not once thought of asking to for- 
get a thing so important ! 

But now quickly to work ; that must go 
like the wind. With the help of the garden- 
er's man the lumber was removed from the 
house. Then with broom over walls, ceil- 

ing and floor, a table at the window, a chair 
before it, and a bed set up, " Ready ! " 
cried Hannchen, and clapped her hands. 

At this moment Madame Lerche returned 
from Aunt Jettchen's in the Petersstrasse. 
The " Lerchin," as she was called by the 
neighbors, was a tall, thin woman, with a 
winged cap, and a sea-green parasol. She 
was usually seen with her eyebrows drawn 
together, and a stern expression about her 
blue lips ; but today she looked cheerful 
she was in a birthday humor. Aunt Jettchen 
had regaled her with plenty of coffee, cake, 
and more than all, with some sweet wine. 

At the first moment Dame Lerche stared 
when she saw the change in the summer 
house, and she stared still more when she 
heard of the arrangement. " Twelve gros- 
chen a month ! " but the birthday mood re- 
pressed the blame that was at her tongue's 
end. " She must say she had never thought 
of renting the little box, but twelve groschen 
might be better than nothing at all," and 
after this consideration had taken possession 
of her, she laughed, nodded, and called ev- 
erything good. 

At this instant our student appeared, with 
books under his right arm, and over his left 
his dressing gown and clean linen. So lad- 
en he stood before the garden gate. 

" Is that he ? " whispered Dame Lerche 
to her daughter. " Good heavens ! how he 
looks ! No cue, no powder, no neckerchief ! 
Of what country can he be ? Hm ! all the 
same, his face pleases me, and that is the 
chief thing." 

" Good evening, your Majesty ! " cried 
Hannchen, and courtesied. 

" What are you raving about there ? " call- 
ed her mother, in the greatest astonishment. 

"We were joking before," answered her 

" I salute you, daughter of my kingdom," 
cried the student. " Madame, your obedient 
servant; here I am, bag and baggage." 

"Young man," said the Lerchin, while 
she drew herself bolt upright, and flopped 
the sea green parasol noisily, " young man, 
the room has been put in order, and I will 
conduct you to it, if you please. Hannchen, 


In the Summer-house. 


you can, in the meantime, go into the cellar 
and look after the milk." 

The girl's face fell, and she withdrew 
slowly. The others disappeared in the sum- 
mer house, and after Richter had glanced 
about him, he exclaimed : " My boldest ex- 
pectations are far exceeded; this is the ante- 
room of Paradise ! " 

Dame Lerche smiled ; asked him to re- 
lieve himself of his baggage, and helped him 
dispose of his few possessions. 

"Well, young man," she then began, while 
she untied the white ribbons of her cap, and 
took her place on the edge of the bed; 
" now we will, for the first time, speak seri- 
ously. Seat yourself on that chair; now, 
your name ? " 

" Richter." 

"And what is your occupation ? " 

" I am a student and write books." 

" And, if I may enquire, where are you 
from ? " 

"From Wunsiedel, in the Fichtelgebirge." 

" And that is in what portion of the earth, 
if I may ask ? " 

He laughed. " Do I look like a Hotten- 
tot, then? Wunsiedel is a German city." 

"What do you say? I thought, indeed 
because you had no frill, no cue, and no pow- 
der it 's of no consequence," interrupting 
herself; "that is not necessary now. I only 
wanted to talk with you in an orderly way." 

He looked out of the window at the trees 
and the evening sky, and nodded. 

" First, then, take good care that the gate 
is always locked; no one ever has slipped in, 
it is true, but it might happen, and mankind 
gets worse every day. And in the second 
place, do not burn any light in the evening : 
you might be reading or writing, and get 
tired and nod over it, and ho ! there are the 
flames up to the roof? And third, it will be 
best for you to close the window punctually 
at seven o'clock, for the evenings are still 
cool and damp, and such air is hurtful. And 
fourth did I have something more to re- 
mark ? No ; I have finished." 

He breathed again, and an inaudible 
" God be praised ! " escaped his lips. She 
pushed her cap further over her forehead, 

drew her kerchief closer around her shoul- 
ders, and arose. He offered his hand, and 
they bade each other good-night. 

Hannchen sat at the window when her 
mother entered. Dame Lerche yawned, 
and said it would be best to go to bed: 
Hardly thirty minutes later, Dame Lerche 
was lost in a charming dream : she smiled in 
her sleep, for she dreamed that from this 
time Aunt Jettchen was to celebrate her 
birthday daily. Oh ! the cakes, and the cof- 
fee, and the sweet wine ! 

Hannchen threw herself restlessly to and 
fro on the bed. She could not help think- 
ing over arid over again of the earnest, hon- 
est eyes, and the shining hair. 

Through the garden, with his arms crossed, 
walked the poet. The trees rustled myste- 
riously; the stars glittered; the moon threw 
her gentle light over leaves and blossoms. 
The poet lay down upon the mossy bank ; 
glowworms came flying and dancing around 
him ; beetles, glistening like gold, crept out 
of the moss; silvery threads waved in the air, 
and clung to his forehead. Then heart and 
tongue rejoiced it was "a summer night's 

IN a garden close by stood a gloomy house, 
and under this roof lived the school-master, 
Timotheus Baumgarten. Herr Timotheus 
was a tolerable teacher, and a prodigious 
pedant, who looked as morose as a gouty old 
man of eighty, though hardly fifty years had 
passed over his head. Nothing gave him 
pleasure ; his ossified soul no longer glowed 
for anything. He had neither wife, child, 
nor friend. With his talkative landlady he 
did not exchange three words from morning 
until night. He stood every day at his win- 
dow for about ten minutes before going to 
school ; not, however, to refresh himself with 
the verdure and the fragrance he firmly 
believed that the colors acted beneficially on 
his eyes ; and while in this position he was 
accustomed, that he might not be quite idle, 
to count from one to three hundred. Then 
he dressed himself, and betook himself to 
his scholars, who feared him as they would 
the pestilence. 


In the Summer-house. 


But today when in his counting he had 
reached eighty-four, the eighty-five stuck in 
his throat. His glance fell on his neighbor's 
garden, his look grew black. What was 
going on next door? Under the trees the 
student Richter was walking to and fro ; he 
was thinking of his book, which he was to 
begin this morning. 

The Master sighed deeply, " Oh ! the de- 
pravity of youth ! " Then he drew on his 
long, black coat, wound the white band three 
times around his neck, seized hat and cane, 
and was off to his pupils. On the way he 
shook his head many times. By the time 
the school was closed he had also concluded 
his deliberations. He set off promptly and 
knocked at Dame Lerche's door. " Neigh- 
bor," he cried, when the door had hardly 
closed behind him, " who is that fellow out 
there? Oh ! youth ! youth ! " 

"Well, Master, towhat do I owe this honor? 
I pray you be seated. How can I serve you ? " 

She was alone in the room. Hannchen 
sat in the kitchen by the hearth, scraping 
beets. Timotheus Baumgarten remained 
standing between the door and the window, 
and continued to shake his head, while he 
pressed the knob of his walking stick against 
his chin. " Neighbor, I firmly believed that 
you were a woman who endeavored to be- 
have yourself in the most decorous manner ; 
but now I must confess that I have been 
mistaken, and that my " 

A glance shot from her eyes, her tall, thin 
figure seemed to become taller and thinner, 
she lifted her arm ; she had intended to make 
a withering speech, but after the first words 
"What have you to say to it?" she 

The Master pointed with his stick to the 
window, frowned, and inquired in a raised 
voice : " Does that fellow out there live with 
you ? " 

" The young man's name is Richter ; he 
is a student ; he writes books, and he lives 
with us," she said shortly, and set her arms 

He drew his eyes together and said in an 
impressive voice : " This fellow, Richter, will 
do you much harm." 

"No," she said decidedly, "he would not 
hurt a fly." 

" And yet he offends daily, hourly, every 
moment, he offends decorum. Neighbor, 
where are your eyes ? " 

She laughed aloud. " Now I see you 
wish to joke with me." 

" I never joke," he answered in icy tones. 
" Is that the clothing of a respectable man ? 
Does not this fellow, Richter, go about, the 
horror of decent people, without necker- 
chief, without cue, without powder? That 
is the dress of a vagrant, and consequently 
you have the best proof that you have a 
vagrant living with you." 

" He has a good, honest face, and conse- 
quently I have the best proof that he is no 

" A mask ; only a mask ! If the author- 
ities should learn your attachment to this 
swaggerer ! He must leave the summer- 
house and be off from the place." 

Dame Lerche set her teeth together and 
turned her back on the school-teacher ; then 
she suddenly screamed : 

" And if I say he remains, then he shall 
remain! Do you understand? I, and I 
alone, will concern myself about this Richter; 
and as for you, Master, do you concern 
yourself about your boys, that they learn 
something. Bah ! " 

" That, then, is your last word on this 
highly-important matter ? You will bitterly 
repent it. Farewell ! " He threw his walk- 
ing-stick over his shoulder, and left the 
room, sighing deeply. 

Two minutes later there was a clatter in 
the kitchen. Hannchen let fall two earthen 
plates. Dame Lerche rushed to the door 
like a bird of prey, and called out : " The 
like has never happened before. What 
could crazy Mam'selle have got in her head ?" 

Hannchen said not a word, and her moth- 
er went back muttering to herself. 

During the dinner Dame Lerche made 
some observations. First, Hannchen had 
no appetite ; second, Hannchen's disturbed 
looks betrayed the fact that her thoughts 
were not on her food ; and third, Hannchen 
began to ask inconsiderate questions. Half 


In the Summer-house. 


of the beets were left ; should she not carry 
a part of them to Herr Richter ? Then her 
mother was completely terrified. A part for 
the student, but none for Peter Wilm, the 
successor of her sainted husband! And to 
this Peter Wilm, Hannchen was to be be- 
trothed in the autumn that was a settled 

The mother trembled in every limb.. 
Hannchen had no appetite; she was dis- 
turbed; she had let the plates fall. Why? 
She loved the student ! and if he returned 
her love ! if both should agree ! if agitating, 
despairing scenes should occur, or a diffi- 
culty between Richter and Peter Wilm ! or, 
perhaps, an elopement! The poor Dame 
became so agitated that she was attacked by 
pains in the chest, and by her old asthmatic 
complaint. She was obliged to lie on the 
sofa, to be rubbed, and she also took a great 
spoonful of rhubarb. 

In the meantime, Timotheus Baumgarten 
was seated at his little table, but he did not 
feel the least appetite. This "vagrant " gave 
him too much to do. So long as this dis- 
turber walked in his neighbor's garden, Mas- 
ter Baumgarten was not in a condition to 
stand at the window for his accustomed pur- 
pose. For this creature, who scorned all 
propriety, became more and more vexatious 
to him. and to such a degree that his entire 
rest and composure was destroyed. Poor 
Timotheus rose from his table. In his an- 
ger he forgot his pinch of snuff. The va- 
grant must, he must leave ! Baumgarten 
sank into deep thought ; but he suddenly 
rose ; he had found the means ; he nodded 
his head, snapped his fingers, and went no, 
ran to his neighbor's. 

Hannchen was mixing a cooling drink for 
her mother. Timotheus threw a significant 
look at Hannchen, and Dame Lerche under- 
stood the look ; Hannchen was sent out of 
the room. The mother threw back cushion 
and cover, rose from the sofa, and looked 
enquiringly and anxiously at the Master ; but 
as Timotheus still remained dumb, she could 
no longer keep silence ; she seized his arm, 
and asked in a trembling tone : " Have you 
come back on account of my daughter ? " 

Timotheus cleared his throat three times 
before he began : " Quite right, neighbor ; in 
spite of your rude behavior, I stand here 
again. I have come once more to warn and 

" For heaven's sake ! has anything hap- 
pened already ? Master, have you noticed 
anything? Oh ! unfortunate woman !" 

" Aha ! you know then what I wish to say. 
Well, I am glad that you think and speak dif- 
ferently; but compose yourself; so far as I 
know, nothing has yet happened. I, at least, 
have noticed nothing. But what has not 
yet happened may happen on any day to- 
morrow, or the day after, and on that ac- 
count, my worthy neighbor, we must do what 
duty requires of us. If a volcano is about 
to vomit fire, then water is poured in with 
the greatest haste, that the flame may be ex- 
tinguished before an eruption. Do you un- 
derstand my figure ? " 

"Perfectly: you mean that the student 
must leave as soon as possible." 

" Right ! I have always said that Dame 
Lerche was a wise woman. My landlady 
told me once that your Hannchen and Peter 
Wilm would make a match; that is a choice 
that I can approve, and is additional evi- 
dence of your wisdom. But there is this 
fellow Richter. A young man, and a stu- 
dent above all, is never at a loss for amorous 
looks and amorous speeches. Besides, this 
fellow delights in an unusual dress, and I 
could prove to you by a hundred examples 
that that very singularity attracts young wo- 
men : consequently, who can answer for a day 
so long as this Richter is here? and conse- 
quently, he must leave he must leave !" 

" I see it," she said softly ; then stepping 
to the windows, she added, in a compassion- 
ate tone, " Heaven help us ! I am very 
sorry; he is so happy in the little place. It 
will be very hard for me to tell him." 

Timotheus frowned. " What ! you are 
already vacillating ! Neighbor, think of 
your child, of Peter Wilm, of the future, and 
take a bold step. Moreover, if your heart 
is in the business, I am ready to undertake 
to give him notice to quit are you agreed?" 

She nodded. He gave her his hand, and 


In the Summer-house. 


left. If it had been suitable for a school 
master, Timotheus could have laughed 
and sung on his way to the summer-house. 
Tomorrow he could stand at his window, 
without being obliged to endure the sight of 
this stroller. 

But he would not merely give him notice 
to leave : no by virtue of his position, he 
would warn him no longer to offend against 
decency, and once for all to give up the silly 
business of writing. 

Dame Lerche found Hannchen in the 
kitchen. She coughed three times and said : 
"Richter is going away this very evening." 

All the color left Hannchen's cheeks ; she 
tried to speak, but only a confused sound 
escaped her lips. Her mother left the 
kitchen and thought, " Heaven help us ! 
She really loves him. What a mercy that 
it is as it is ! That would have been a hor- 
rible story ; that would indeed have been a 
nail in my coffin ! " 

In the kitchen Hannchen sank on her 
knees ; she clasped her hands over her eyes, 
and hot tears rolled through her cold fingers. 

The master knocked at the door of the 
little room where the student sat at work. 
He arose and politely enquired, " How can 
I serve you, sir?" 

" I am Master Timotheus Baumgarten, 
and I suppose you have already heard of me." 

" No," was the candid answer. 

The master twisted his mouth. " Well ! 
Yes, to people of your sort, our sort, it is 
true, is not often known." 

"What am I to understand by that, sir?" 

" In short, you desire to be something ex- 
traordinary ; but I, in virtue of my position 
as Master, I tell you that you are a good-for- 
nothing ; for 

" Sir ! " roared the student. 

"For a person who dresses like you, who 
runs around as you do, to the extreme an- 
noyance of respectable people, is precisely a 
good-for-nothing. Young man, you should 
be ashamed of yourself ! I in virtue of 
my position I advise you to reflect. Think 
of the consequences, and from this time 
forth clothe yourself as becomes a decent 

Richter laughed. " If you had nothing 
more to say to me, you might have spared 
yourself the walk." 

" Oh ! I have not yet concluded ; the 
most important is yet to come. You write 
books : what kind of books are they ? /do 
not know them. 7 will never read them ; 
but that your books are wretched stuff, that 
is bomb-proof. Monsieur Richter, desist ! 
Listen diligently to your instructors, that 
you may receive some knowledge, and make 
your parents and fellow beings glad. For I 
tell you, if you continue, you will bring down 
sorrow upon the heads of your unfortunate 
parents, and reputable men will avoid you 
as they would a pestilence." 

" And I tell you," said the student, who 
could contain himself no longer, " that you 
may pack yourself off this moment, or I will 
show you !" He lifted his clenched hand. 

" As soon as I have imparted to you the 
matter of importance, I will go," answered 
the master, retreating to the door, for the 
clenched hand looked formidable. "I have 
come with a message from Madame Lerche. 
Madame Lerche insists that you leave this 
place instantly instantly ! "And if you are 
seen here after fifteen minutes, Peter Wilm 
will come and throw you head over heels. 
Do you understand ? Dixi!" 

Richter trembled and staggered : it was 
an evil dream. When he lifted his eyes 
again, the school-master had disappeared. 
Then everything was clear to him. Disgust- 
ing truth ! What can he do against the 
wishes of Madame Lerche ? Nothing ! He 
went to the window, and took leave of the 
trees, the flowers, and the mossy bank. 
Then gathering together his books, his clothes, 
his pipe, with one last look, he left his para- 
dise, thrust out by ignorance and misappre- 

He returned to his gloomy little room in 
the city, and wrote and wrote; and when 
the second part of his " Gronldndischen Pro- 
cesse" was finished, Herr Voss paid him 
one hundred and twenty-five shining dol- 
lars. Fortunate Jean Paul Friedrich Rich- 
ter ! If all went well, he would surely be a 
rich man ! The first use he made of his 


In the Summer-house. 


wealth was to send one hundred dollars to 
the home at Hof, where his mother, sisters, 
and brothers lived in bitter poverty. 

Soon after this a new book was finished, 
but Herr Voss shook his head. The second 
volume had done nothing. Richter applied 
to ten other publishers, but all ten shook 
their heads. That was a frightful fall from 
the heavens ! 

The twenty-five dollars were consumed. 
More debts were contracted; his creditors 
pressed; they became uncivil; at last, rude; 
and one lovely day the poet disappeared 
from Leipzig, or, as they say in Germany, he 
was regularly burned through. He returned 
to his mother at Hof. There he lived day 
after day on bread and salad. He could not 
visit a friend, because he had no shoes. Still 
hope did not desert him. He still wrote : 
thick manuscripts traveled in every direc- 
tion; but they regularly returned to him. At 
last distress reached it's climax, and he sought 
a livelihood in a new life. He became tutor 
to a nobleman, and afterward teacher of 
children in Schwarzenbach. When, weary 
with this uncongenial labor, he returned to 
his pen, the voice in his breast would have 
its way, and at last the flower of fortune 
blossomed for him. He found in Gera a 
publisher for his romance. The shadows 
gave way, and he saw once more, clear and 
bright, the azure vault of Heaven. 

How our fathers and mothers loved the 
books which the poet Jean Paul gave to the 
world ! Jean Paul ! under this title he wrote 
work after work. Young men and maidens 
adored him, and the old became young again 
when they lost themselves in his poems. 
They were like a splendid fountain, from 
which all drank wonder and rapture. 

Naturally, the Leipzig public worshiped 
Jean Paul. And the pedagogue and pedant, 
the man with the callous soul, there he sits 
over the " Hesperus." Now he laughs, and 
now he weeps. His heart has become young 
again : even into the Master's heart sunshine 
and springtime have come since Jean Paul 
has thrown the fresh blossoms of his soul 
into the lap of the world. When everything 

rejoiced, when everything cried, " This is a 
genius ! " then even Timotheus Baumgarten 
could no longer resist. He read, and was 
caught and carried away like an eighteen- 
year-old boy. He ran almost every day to 
the book stores, and asked whether anything 
new had appeared by "this unparalleled Jean 
Paul." His income was very small, but he 
gladly fasted that he might read the books 
of the "incomparable Jean Paul." 

Every day he ran over to Dame Lerche's 
to read aloud to her from his favorite book, 
the " Hesperus." Dame Lerche had grown 
thinner. m She looked now like a veritable 
toothpick ; but she still wore the winged cap, 
and carried the sea-green parasol. 

The Master often exclaimed : " If I could 
only press this glorious Jean Paul to my 
breast ! " and Dame Lerche often cried, 
" How I would like to embrace him ! " 

Occasionally Hannchen Wiltn also appear- 
ed. She had grown stout, had a colossal 
appetite, and five unmannerly children. For 
the rest, she was a contented woman, for her 
husband treated her well. She could laugh 
now over her girlish fancy for the student 
Richter, that youthful stupidity, and wonder 
what had become of the lad. 

"Yes," said Madame Lerche, "what can 
have become of that Richter ? " 

"In. any case, a complete ragamuffin, and 
a good-for-nothing of the worst sort," said 
Timotheus. " But we will think no more of 
that blot on human society. Madame Wilm, 
listen ; the fourth chapter in ' Hesperus ' is 
wonderfully beautiful!" 

Year after year went by; fourteen years 
had flown since the student Richter left the 
summer house. Dame Lerche was now as 
thin as a thread, and had the gout. Master 
Timotheus, too, complained of gout, and 
hobbled on a stick. Hannchen Wilm was 
as round as a ball, and had nine frightfully 
rude children. 

One day the door of the Lerche dwelling 
was suddenly thrown open, and so violently 
that Madame Lerche lost her balance for 

" Heavens ! Master ! What is the mat- 
ter ? Where is the fire ? " 


In the Summer-house. 


" Neighbor," he cried, hobbling in, " all 
Leipzig is in a commotion ; the divine Jean 
Paul is on the way ; he arrives tomorrow, 
and will put up at the Richter Kaffeehaus. 
Oh! my old eyes will behold him! I ask 
but one favor that I may press this unpar- 
alleled being to my breast." 

Dame Lerche clasped her hands over her 
head. " Master, I will go with you. My 
parasol is, it is true, a little damaged, but I 
hope this great mind will not notice it. Still 
one thought weighs on me. He will be 
surrounded and regularly besieged ; will 
they admit us ? " 

"If I should force a way with my stick, I 
must, I must see him ! Only come with me ; 
I will be your guide and protector." 

Jean Paul arrived ; he took lodging in the 
world-renowned Richter Kaffeehaus. He 
occupied two rooms on the first floor, and 
the host and hostess received him with the 
respect they were accustomed to keep in re- 
serve for crowned heads. Fortunate, and 
yet unfortunate, Jean Paul ! He could 
neither eat nor sleep in peace ; he was be- 
sieged like a fortress. Publishers came to 
beg for his latest manuscript ; young girls in 
white to bestow a wreath ; students to cheer 
him ; servants in livery with invitations from 
the merchant princes ; old maids with their 
albums ; tender souls who prayed for a lock 
of his hair ; and one day the servant ap- 
peared and announced an old man and an 
old woman. 

On the threshold stood Master Timotheus 
Baumgarten and Dame Lerche. He bowed 
himself to the ground ; she courtesied at 
least three times in a second. Slowly the 
poet, who was standing at the window, turned, 
and the Master became rigid ; still more 
rigid grew the Dame. The god-like, the 
" unparalleled Jean Paul," without necker- 
chief, without frill, without powder, without 
cue ! With another look at the poet, their 
faces grew longer, as with one voice they 
stammered, " Rich Richter ! " 

"My dear people, what ails you?" asked 
the astonished poet. " Yes, my name is 

" I think," stammered Timotheus again, 

" we are we are in the presence of the poet, 
Jean Paul?" 

" This resemblance ! " cried the Dame. 

The poet laughed. " My name is Jean 
Paul Friedrich Richter, and my nom de 
plume is Jean Paul." 

" Merciful heavens ! it is really he," 
screamed Dame Lerche, and let fall the sea- 
green parasol. 

" Horrible ! Unfortunate beings ! " cried 
Timotheus, and sank upon his knees. "Sir, 
forgive us ! " 

The poet became more and more aston- 
ished. " My friend, stand up ! Forgive you ? 
Can you ever have inflicted any injury upon 
me ? " 

Then both cried out together, so that it 
was like listening to a mill clapper. " This 
noble spirit !" "Sir, recollect, I am Master 
Baumgarten, who once in the summer-house 
oh, heavens ! I thought otherwise then 
but since your works " and, " I am Dame 
Lerche, with whom you once lived ; and on 
my daughter's account I was worn out with 
anxiety ; but as truly as my name is Lerche 
if I had six daughters, and the gentleman 
wanted all six " "Most respected Herr 
Richter, most renowned Jean Paul, command 
me, a poor teacher ; I will serve you, where 
and as you will, I will," and, " My whole 
being, too, is at your service." 

Richter explored the chambers of his 
memory, and gradually became conscious 
of the day in the summer-house ; then he 
extended his hand to both, and said in the 
heartiest tone : " My friends, old grievances 
should rest ; your presence here proves that 
you are now of another mind, and I thank 

Then both breathed as if three thousand 
pounds had been lifted from their breasts. 
" Master," sobbed the old woman, " he is our 
friend ; he says so himself " ; and the quak- 
ing master cried, " Neighbor, so long as we 
live we will remember this day ! " 

Once more Dame Lerche turned to the 
poet. " Would he do them the favor to 
come into the summer-house again ? " 

He accepted the invitation, and the old 
people left the Kaffeehaus highly blest. He 


Battles of Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge. 


had promised at ten o'clock the next morn- 
ing to enter once more that room from which 
the "fellow " and the incorrigible vagrant had 
been driven. 

Wreaths were made, and yellow sand and 
flowers adorned the room. Garlands were 
hung around the fence, the windows, the 
door. The master and Dame Lerche had 
not closed their eyes during the whole night, 
and at the first sunbeam they had cleaned 
the little house, replaced the table at the 
window, and set up the bed ; he should find 
everything again as it had been then. The 
clock in the Nicolas gate pointed only to 
nine, but Timotheus and Madame Lerche, 
decked and bedizened, were already standing 
like two sentinels on either side of the 
gate, while the eldest son of Madame Wilm 
was perched outside the fence, to signal the 
appearance of the " unparalleled." 

At last, as the bell struck ten, Jean Paul 
entered the garden. The old man and wo- 
man vied with each other in bowing and 
courtesying, and the boy screamed " Viva ! " 
with all the strength in his body. With a 
gracious wave of his hand, the Master invit- 
ed the poet to enter the summer-house, 
while the old people followed him like a 

" This singular dress becomes him finely," 
she whispered. 

" A genius ought not to dress otherwise," 
he whispered back; "if I had only known 
his genius then." 

Jean Paul looked around him, and a 

shadow of melancholy for a moment crossed 
his face ; his eyes fell on the table ; there, 
surrounded by a wreath, lay his Hesperus. 
Madame Wilm appeared at the window and 
leaned in. Her expression did not change, 
her heart did not even beat fast ; she had 
grown too stout ; she ate too much. She soon 
disappeared from the window, for near the 
dwelling house were scuffling her nine un- 
ruly children. 

"Yes, it was here," said the poet, " at this 
table I sat, and there, my worthy Master, you 
stood and read me a lecture, and there 

"Oh! Herr Jean Paul Richter ! If I 
could take back that hour," cried Timothe- 
us. " Will you not punish me ? Even 
chastisement from you would be enjoyment!'' 

The poet laughed, and putting one arm 
around the old man, the other around the 
old woman, he kissed them both. " Let 
this be your punishment," and before they, 
overcome with surprise, had recovered their 
senses, he was gone. 

" Neighbor," rejoiced the Master, " I have 
reposed on his breast ! " 

" Master," rejoiced Dame Lerche, " I too! 
I too ! " 

" Now the summer-house is immortal!'' 

"We too ! we too ! immortal through him." 

" This is the happiest day of my life ! " 

" Now I shall die gladly ! " 

So they triumphed, and laughed, and wept 
for a long, long time. 

And now, what remains of them all ? 

Dust dust ! 

Harriet D. Palmer. 


EARLY one morning, towards the end of 
July, 1884, the "Lightning Express" was 
rapidly approaching Chattanooga, on its way 
from New Orleans to Cincinnati, at its sched- 
ule rate of thirty miles or more an hour, on 
one of the best road-beds in the South. 
Among its many passengers was the writer 
of this sketch, who had agreed with his trav- 
eling companion that whichever waked first 

should call the other, soon after daybreak, if 
possible. Their purpose was that they might 
together, and with other friends on the train, 
have a good view, before reaching Chattanoo- 
ga at 5.30 A.M., of the now historical Look- 
out Mountain and its surroundings, where, 
twenty years ago and more, huge armies met 
in deadly strife, and made a bloody history. 
At the time appointed, a gentle touch was 


Battles of Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge. 


felt, and a gentle voice said : " Wake up. It 
is daylight." How different that call from 
the shrill reveille we had heard, on many a 
morning near the same spot, in those days 
of blood twenty-one years ago ! By the time 
one could rub his eyes and get them fairly 
open for sight-seeing, our train stopped a mo- 
ment at Rising Fawn, a station twenty- 
five miles, or less than an hour's run, from 
Chattanooga. To our right lay the long, 
dark, high, tree-clad ridge with fogs along 
its sides and clouds resting on its crest 
which culminates, twenty miles farther north- 
east, in the craggy " Point " of Lookout 
Mountain, or, as it was called in former 
times, " Pulpit Rock." To the left we could 
see distinctly, in spite of a slight morning 
haze, the long, rough ranges and spurs of 
Walden's Ridge and the Cumberland Moun- 
tains, across the Tennessee River north of 
us, and stretching in a high bluish line to the 
northeast as far as the eye could reach. 

Soon we were whirling through the beau- 
tifully undulating foot-hills of the upper part 
of Will's Valley, and then in the Wauhatchie 
region, past many a neat farm-house, perched 
on well-shaded hillsides and nestling in cosy 
dells. On each side of us were well-fenced 
fields of waving corn, in tassel and silk; 
meadows covered with windrows and ricks 
of new mown-hay; wheat fields and oat fields, 
thickly dotted with their ungarnered sheaves. 

Here, amid these present scenes of rural 
abundance and thrift, in the little picturesque 
valleys and along the gentler slopes which 
the traveler now admires, Bragg's army 
camped for a time after crossing the Ten- 
nessee at Brown's Ferry, the first week in 
July, 1 863, when retreating before Rosecrans. 
Here part of Rosecrans's army camped prior 
to the marches and countermarches through 
McLemore's Cove, preparatory to the three 
days of desperate carnage along Chickamau- 
ga and Peavine Creeks, September i8th, 
igth, and 2oth, 1863.' Here, the following 
November, the reinforcements under Grant 
and Sherman lay encamped, when they came 
from Mississippi after the close of the Vicks- 
burg campaign to loosen Bragg's iron grip on 
Chattanooga, the key to Georgia and to all 

the southern seaboard of the Atlantic and 
the Gulf. By that time, scarred and de- 
pleted by the necessary ravages of immense 
armies of friend and foe, it presented a scene 
of complete ruin and desolation, in strong 
contrast with its pleasing appearance today. 

As our train wound its way swiftly among 
these old camping grounds of our war's his- 
tory, and while such reminiscences were 
welling up from the reservoirs of memory as 
must come unbidden to every old soldier of 
either side who now revisits these scenes, 
the black point of old Lookout gradually 
came into view, partly veiled with its morn- 
ing fogs, yet dark, and fixed, and sharply de- 
fined, far up among those misty clouds, 
looking for all the world as it did on that 
memorable November morning before Joe 
Hooker's men scaled its steep and rugged 
western slopes, and achieved what was un- 
questionably one of the most daring and 
brilliant successes of the war. Yes, there, as 
we gazed, was a superb view of Lookout 
Mountain, with its gradual slope southward 
in almost a straight line, and its bold, sharp 
northern front, perpendicular above and then 
descending in an abrupt, precipitous curve to 
the very banks of the turbid Tennessee its 
whole outline like the giant style of a mam- 
moth sun-dial, wrought there in the rocks by 
the skillful hand of Nature. 

A few moments more, and we dashed on 
under the mountain's brow, along the narrow 
road-bed cut in its rocky base, just above 
the river's edge. As we passed we caught a 
glimpse, in the rocky bluff on our right, of 
the yawning mouth of Nickajack cave, now 
closed by a strong wooden wall and door, a 
huge cavern, noted in war-times for the salt- 
petre it furnished to manufacture Confeder- 
ate powder, before it became necessary to 
establish the celebrated " Nitre Bureau " at 
Selma, Alabama. With scarcely time to ad- 
mire the tortuous course of the broad Ten- 
nessee, and its picturesque surroundings at 
this well-known point, we crossed the fine 
iron bridge over Chattanooga Creek, and 
sped rapidly, in the quiet of the early morn- 
ing, to the elegant railroad depot, through 
two miles of that temporary home of so 


Battles of Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge. 


many soldiers the final home of thousands 
of them Chattanooga, now a busy mart of 
trade and manufacture, which, though a town 
of scarcely 2,000 inhabitants in the days of 
its battles, attained, according to the census 
of 1880, a population of 13,000, and now 
claims some 5,000 more. 

The passing view of these once familiar 
scenes, the first time for more than twenty 
years, and the memories they vividly recalled, 
inspired a yearning to examine once more 
in detail this truly grand arena of war's ter- 
rible work. As this desire was gratified a 
few weeks later, some results of this late visit 
to these old battle-fields will be here record- 
ed, with the hope that the reminiscences 
presented, and their associations, may prove 
acceptable to those of my surviving comrades 
of the gray and of the blue, into whose 
hands this sketch may chance to fall and 
to their friends, who were spared those thrill- 
ing and harrowing experiences through which, 
as soldiers on the one side or on the other, 
we were called to pass. 

The interval before this return to Chat- 
tanooga was spent in parts of Tennessee and 
Kentucky, among other scenes of the war. At 
Tullahoma, at Wartrace, at Murfreesboro, at 
Nashville how many recollections of hard 
and perilous service in i863~'64 were brought 
to mind ! Yet now, except to the actors in 
the intense life of that period, there are few 
visible marks and reminders of grim war's 
doings only now and then a dim trench or 
well-worn earth-work, on some untilled slope 
or hill-top, beaten down and almost obliter- 
ated in places by the storms and changes of 
nearly a quarter of a century. But above 
all are those imperishable evidences of the 
carnival of death, the " National Cemeteries " 
the one at Murfreesboro especially con- 
spicuous to the left of the railroad as you 
pass out towards Nashville, a scene of calm 
serenity now, with its beautifully kept grounds 
and thousands of white stones, each mark- 
ing the last resting place of some Union .sol- 
dier and so many "Unknown"! In the 
outskirts of Nashville are more remains of 
elaborate old entrenchments than anywhere 
else in Tennessee, the special relics of Hood's 

investment in December, '64. As you go 
out of the handsome buildings and beauti- 
fully-improved grounds of Vanderbilt Uni- 
versity, occupying seventy-five acres a mile 
and a half southwest of the State Capitol, 
you see distinctly the familiar outlines of the 
strong earth-works of old Fort Negley with 
its embrasures, still occupying in sullen soli- 
tude the high, conical knoll on the left of 
the University, while on the right are still 
visible the remains of other formidable forti- 
fications, the mute monuments of the genu- 
ine folly as well as the destructive conse- 
quences of that gigantic strife. 

In Nashville I visited, for old acquaint- 
ance sake, the State's Prison, where so many 
of us captured " rebs " boarded with Uncle 
Sam for a few days or weeks, before we were 
sent farther north for safe-keeping. 

The battles of Lookout Mountain and 
Missionary Ridge, the Atlanta Campaign, 
and Hood's Tennessee Campaign, filled this 
old prison and its spare grounds to over- 
flowing. Many, many a Southern soldier 
can recall this old " boarding house " and its 
discomforts. There its grim, uninviting old 
stone walls and iron bars stand to-day, the 
main building just as it was twenty-one 
years ago. There is the same large arched 
wagon-way in front, the entrance to the in- 
ner buildings and cells, where the striped 
convicts were kept in those days, while we 
prisoners of war were held in the front 
building and yard. There is the same high 
stone wall on the right of the main entrance 
that enclosed the yard, where we were so 
often drawn up in line to receive our ration 
of pickled pork or boiled beef with " hard 
tack," and sometimes coffee. There you see 
the same little, round, open belfry or cupola, 
with its red dome supported by its small, 
white columns, and on its broad, white 
facings the cheering inscription which used 
to greet our eyes when its strong doors 
swung open to receive us : PENITENTIARY, 
ERECTED A. D. 1828. I told those in 
charge my reason for revisiting this old 
prison, and I was kindly welcomed and 
shown around by the present State Su- 
perintendent, Col. J. E. Carter. He was 


Battles of Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge. 


Colonel of the First Tennessee Cavalry of 
the Confederate Army, and served during 
the war in Virginia, Kentucky, and Tennes- 

How different this from the condition 
when I made my home there for six weeks, 
a wounded prisoner, after the battle of Mis- 
sionary Ridge ! Had the Colonel and our 
crowd been there together in 1864, he would 
have occupied one of those well-filled cells 
with us. Now he is " boss " there. How 
times change ! 

We walked together through those prison 
halls and rooms, where so many Southern 
soldiers were crowded together in those days 
as many as could sleep together on the 
floor at once some of whom have since 
been members of our Legislature, and even 
of Congress ; and so many of whom have 
now finished their life's work. Colonel Car- 
ter pointed out the spot in the prison yard 
where Champ Ferguson was hung, in 1865, 
on the charge of murdering one or more Fed- 
eral soldiers. 

Leaving Nashville and its war memories 
August 1 5th, I spent Saturday, the i6th, in 
and around Chattanooga, living over again 
the battle scenes of November 23d, 24th, 
25th, 1863, and recalling the events that im- 
mediately preceded and followed those truly 
momentous days of our great civil war. 

There could be no more charming and 
suitable day than was August i6th, '84, for 
observations in a mountain region. The 
sun rose brightly over Missionary Ridge in 
a calm, cloudless, blue atmosphere, remark- 
ably transparent for a summer sky. The 
justly noted view from Cameron Hill, be- 
tween the city and the river, was superb. 
Southward, and to right and left, at our feet, 
lay the now large and handsome city of Chat- 
tanooga, basking in the most glorious sun- 

On its eastern boundary was the gently- 
sloping knoll, still crowned by the old red 
earth-works of Fort Wood, one of the strong- 
est defensive points in the formidable Federal 
line. Three quarters of a mile beyond rose 
Orchard Knob, about one hundred feet above 
the general level, one of the chief positions 

along the right of Bragg's line of investment. 
Next came the long familiar outline of Mis- 
sionary Ridge, between three and four miles 
distant at its nearest point, extending from 
southeast to northeast along the southeast- 
ern horizon of the narrow valley, across 
which Bragg's siege line stretched westward 
to its left, near the summit of Lookout 

Then, most conspicuous of all, old Look- 
out towered into the blue air, fully three 
miles in a straight line southwest of us, clear- 
cut and grand, with its height above the 
river surface of full 1,600 feet, and its alti- 
tude above sea-level of more than 2,200 feet, 
not a cloud or mist obscuring its bold out- 
lines. How calm and peaceful now is this 
magnificent panorama, which, twenty-one 
years ago, in a campaign of nearly two 
months, was bristling with murderous batter- 
ies at every salient point along the two hos- 
tile lines. 

Soon, for a nearer view of those old battle- 
fields, and mounted on a good, bridle-wise 
traveler, I wended my way through the busy 
streets, past the handsome Stanton House 
and grounds, on the road to Rossville, five 
miles distant, without a guide. For one of 
Bragg's " foot-cavalry " needs no guide to 
show him the roads and by-ways between the 
various strategic points, on every part of 
which we marched and counter-marched, in 
those days of "tramp, tramp, tramp," when 
we lived, and so many of us died, by march- 

No one general principle was more fully 
illustrated by our gigantic struggle, than that 
"Large bodies move slowly." This was es- 
pecially true in the movements of our West- 
ern armies. After the termination of the 
Perryville campaign by the fierce battle of 
Stone River, or Murfreesboro, ending Janu- 
ary 2nd, 1863, the armies of Bragg and 
Rosecrans did not again meet in pitched 
battle for nearly nine months, or at Chicka- 
mauga, September i8th to 2oth. More than 
two months then elapsed before the mountain 
fights around Chattanooga, November 23rd 
to 26th. Five months of comparative inaction 
ensued, before the opening of the prolonged 


Battles of Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge. 


campaign from Dalton to Atlanta and Jones- 
boro, May to September ist, 1864. After 
this, three months were consumed in maneu- 
vering and marching, before the bloody clash 
of arms at Franklin, Tennessee, November 
3oth, the prelude to Hood's investment of 
Nashville, his defeat, and his retreat into 
Mississippi, which ended at Tupelo, January 
loth, 1865. 

Thinking of such things, while riding to- 
wards the old battle grounds, one was 
brought to a realizing sense of the greatly 
changed present, by passing a well-guarded 
set of about fifty State convicts, white and 
black, who were hard at work macadamiz- 
ing the Rossville pike. Most of the South- 
ern States now utilize their convicts in labor 
on public works, as well as in mines and on 
plantations. Just to their right, a mower 
was cutting German millet for hay, along the 
edge of a small ravine, where the line of our 
picket-pits had extended during Bragg's siege 
of Chattanooga. Far to the left, towards 
Orchard Knob and eastward of it, lay that 
portion of the valley now thickly dotted 
with farm-houses, and checked off by fences 
into pastures and corn-fieldswhere at 2 
p. M. Monday, November 23rd, the line two 
miles long, composed of 25,000 Union 
troops of Sherman's wing, under Granger, 
Sheridan, Wood, Howard, and Schurz, stead- 
ily moved forward, while the batteries on 
both sides were thundering away, and carried 
Bragg's rifle-pits and advanced line not only 
on Orchard Knob, but to its right and left. 

Half a mile further on the broad lane, 
and about three miles distant from the rail- 
road depot, the noted Watkins house is 
reached. With its surroundings, it looks 
just as it did in war-times, except that the 
fences have been restored, and in August 
last there were waving fields of rankly-grow- 
ing corn near by on its well-tilled lands, 
which I am told are now valued at one hun- 
dred dollars per acre. Some three hundred 
yards to the right of the Rossville Road, and 
two miles from that village, crowning a broad- 
topped knoll, gently sloping in all directions, 
there stands that old family mansion of ante- 
bellum days a large, white, two-story frame 

building, fronting east, with its tall portico 
and four huge white columns, one-story 
wings with smaller porticos flanking it to 
right and left. Here was the central posi- 
tion of Bragg's crescent line of siege, which 
extended between five and six miles in length. 
His right was near the Dalton railroad, and 
his left at the Craven house, near the summit 
of Lookout Mountain, the extreme left of 
his picket pits extending to the palisades 
which form the base of " Pulpit Rock." 

This line he occupied early in October, 
after resting and recruiting his army for ten 
days, shattered and worn out as it was by 
the terrible shock during the three days of 
deadly conflict at Chickamauga, where our 
forces had been lessened by at least sixteen 
thousand killed, wounded, and missing, and 
had inflicted on Rosecrans's army a loss of 
twelve thousand killed and wounded, eight 
thousand prisoners and thirty-six cannon. 
Here we remained quietly awaiting and pre- 
paring for the coming struggle, while Grant 
and Sherman, after Rosecrans was super- 
seded by Thomas, October iQth, were bring- 
ing up their formidable reinforcements. 
During all this time scarcely a movement of 
our troops occurred, only an occasional 
shifting of a brigade or division from one 
wing to the other, except Bragg's fatal mis- 
take of sending Longstreet's command, five 
thousand strong, to Knoxville, thus materi- 
ally weakening his line, while the Federals 
were constantly gaining strength. While the 
two armies were so closely confronting each 
other, little or no fighting occurred. There 
was occasional picket-firing, and now and 
then an artillery duel between the Federal 
batteries on Moccasin Point and our heavy 
guns on Lookout, or between Forts Wood 
and Negley and Bragg's batteries on Orchard 
Knob and Missionary Ridge. 

The final positions of the forces on both 
sides before the heavy fighting began, No- 
vember 23d, was as follows: On Bragg's 
line, Breckenridge's corps occupied his left, 
Hardee his center, while Buckner's corps 
and the Georgia State troops held his right. 
Opposed to these, Grant's corps command- 
ers, in order from his right to" left, were 


laities of Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge. 


Hooker, Palmer, Granger, Howard, and 
Sherman, their effective forces full 80,000 
strong, to Bragg's 45,000. 

The position near Bragg's center, at the 
Watkins House, as just described, was held 
continuously till the afternoon of November 
24th by Clayton's Brigade of Alabamians of 
General A. T. Stewart's division, to which 
the regiment of the writer belonged. From 
this prominent point in the. narrow valley, 
the view afforded of the entire scene of the 
Herculean struggle which was destined to 
completely raise the siege of Chattanooga, 
was one of the very best. The knoll on 
which the house stood was from sixty to 
eighty feet above different parts of the sur- 
rounding plains. On its left, or westward, 
as we faced the town, Lookout was in full 
view, with its sloping sides mostly wooded, 
but partly cleared where Bragg's line of in- 
trenchments stretched like a broad seam to- 
wards Pulpit Rock, or " The Point," the latter 
lying nearly three miles in a direct line 
slightly north of west from us. To our right, 
or eastward, Missionary Ridge, with its steep, 
tree-clad slopes, was visible for its entire 
length, from where it disappeared in the dis- 
tance four or rive miles northeast of us, to 
the depression at Rossville, two miles south- 
east, through whose gap passes the road to 
the battle-field of Chickamauga and to La 
Fayette, the latter twenty-one miles from 
Rossville. Immediately in our front Chatta- 
nooga was distinctly seen, as well as Forts 
Wood, Negley, King, and the commanding 
summit of Cameron Hill, the greater eleva- 
tions of the Cumberland Mountains stretch- 
ing far away in the background. 

How vividly were all the scenes of '63 re- 
called to mind on this bright August day ! 
Except the absence of the 125,000 actors in 
that grand drama; except that the stillness of 
the air was not broken by the heavy boom of 
artillery, the whistle of shells, the crack of 
rifles, or an occasional drum-beat or a bugle- 
call ; except that Chattanooga, with its many 
larger and handsomer buildings its Court 
House due north of us covered much more 
ground than when, with its narrow valley, 
it was the stage in the great theater of war, 

the entire scene is but little changed. 'The 
old earthworks for our battery, sixty yards 
north of the house, and the old trenches ex- 
tending east and west of it, still remain. 

Immediately around the Watkins house 
is a beautiful grove of large oaks, which were 
but little injured by the ravages of war. On 
every side of this the valley is generally an 
open country, with narrow lines of timber 
along ravines to northward, and along Chat- 
tanooga Creek west and northwest. Here, 
on the southern slopes of its broad, high 
knoll, well protected from all deadly missiles, 
our regiments were just finishing very com- 
fortable winter-quarters of pine slabs and 
clapboards split for the purpose having, 
with all of Bragg's army, destroyed our tents 
the preceding June, at the beginning of our 
retreat from War-trace to Chattanooga before 
Rosecrans when the scenes of our monot- 
onous camp-life began suddenly to change, 
on Sunday, November 22d. Reliable infor- 
mation had come that a large part of Grant's 
army was in motion from his right to his left 
Sherman moving to take his position above 
indicated and that three days' rations and 
eighty rounds of ammunition had been issued 
to all the " Yanks." These latter facts in 
army life always meant business. Hence 
.the stir and change; two of our divisions 
marching to our right, and minor movements 
occurring along our lines. 

Since the war we have learned that Sher- 
man was to have begun the attack on Bragg's 
right, Friday, the 2oth, but the heavy rains 
and bad roads of that Friday and Saturday 
delayed Sherman's march via Brown Ferry 
and along the north side of the Tennessee 
River, to the point where he recrossed, at 
the mouth of Cilico Creek. This delayed 
Grant's opening attack till Monday, the 23d. 
To aid in a clear conception of this Chatta- 
nooga campaign, the reader must bear in 
mind that it consisted of four distinct en- 
gagements, on as many successive days, or, 
in fact, four separate battles. First : On 
Monday, the 23d, Sherman forced back 
Bragg's right center from Orchard Knob to 
Missionary Ridge, as described above. Sec- 
ond : Tuesday, the 24th, Hooker's men 


Battles of Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge. 

scaled and carried Lookout Mountain, driv- 
ing back Bragg's left wing. Third : Wed- 
nesday, the 25th, the entire Federal line as- 
saulted Bragg's whole position, then with- 
drawn to the sides and crest of Missionary 
Ridge, and dislodged his army. Fourth : 
Thursday, the 26th, Grant's pursuing forces 
attacked Bragg's rearguard, strongly posted 
at Ringgold, and were repulsed with heavy 
loss. There the hot pursuit ceased, and the 
campaign ended. 

To chronicle the movements of our brig- 
ade at this time, as a type of army life : 
Sunday and Monday nights we slept on our 
arms in the trenches, remaining in them 
closely Monday and Tuesday, under consid- 
erable shelling, though no assault was made 
on our part of the line. Tuesday night we 
fought and slept an hour, or two among 
the rocks at the foot of the palisades of Look- 
out Mountain, on Bragg's. extreme left. Wed- 
nesday we fought on the top of Missionary 
Ridge, four miles farther east, and the re- 
maining fourth of the brigade, who were not 
placed hors du combat ', camped that night 
near Chickamauga Creek, and next night 
south of Ringgold ; many sleeping their last 
sleep upon the battle-fields, while hundreds 
were prisoners and numbers wounded with- 
in the Federal lines at Rossville. 

The Sunday morning before all this stir 
and din and carnage, was as calm and placid 
as could be along our entire lines, dis- 
turbed now and then only by random picket 
shots. I, myself, being off duty that day, 
visited our brigade picket pits with a brother 
officer, and ventured upon a transaction 
which I never indulged in but that once dur- 
ing three years of service. Having a late 
Atlanta paper, I concluded to try an ex- 
change of it with a confronting picket. Our 
orders were strict that those on picket duty 
should not communicate with the enemy. 
But being off duty, I did not violate the rule. 
Just then, all was quiet. So, notifying our 
men of my intention, I mounted the earth- 
workof an advanced pit and waved the paper. 
Instantly a Federal officer mounted one of 
his pits and did the same. I waved to the 
left, towards an open depression that extend- 

ed between our picket lines, which were 
here about four hundred yards apart. He 
evidently understood the signal, and as I ad- 
vanced from our pits towards the depression, 
he did the same. In this way we advanced 
towards each other, papers in hand, each at 
a brisk walk. Reader, you ought to have 
seen how the boys in blue and the boys in 
gray crowded out of their long lines of rifle- 
pits on both sides like ants, on that bright 
sunny morning, and anxiously, eagerly watch- 
ed their impromptu representativesapproach- 
ing each other. Not only was no gun fired, 
but not a loud word or shout was uttered. A 
deep silence prevailed. We soon met about 
midway. We shook hands, exchanged 
names and regiments, and as we exchanged 
papers merely remarked that we supposed 
each would like a late paper from the oppo- 
site side. Then shaking hands again, we 
each wished the other a safe issue from the 
hazards of war, and returned to our respec- 
tive lines. Soon the hostile pickets were hid- 
den in their pits again, and as we walked 
back to camp, they were popping away at 
each other occasionally on parts of the line. 
In the lapse of time, the name and command 
of this officer have faded from memory. But 
he was a Lieutenant in an Illinois regiment 
the Tenth, as well as I can remember. I 
should like to know if he is living, and 
should be pleased to meet him in these days 
of peace. 

Differences of elevation are always items 
of interest in connection with the topogra- 
phy of a battle-field. As these differences 
were more remarkable in the very grand bat- 
tle-scenes around Chattanooga than in any 
other of the numerous battles of the war, I 
made special efforts during my late visit to 
learn them accurately from former records, 
and from my own observations, at each point, 
with a trusty pocket aneroid. According to 
the engineers' " bench-mark " at the Chatta- 
nooga depot, the elevation of the surface 
there above sea-level is 665 feet, while some 
later observations make it about 15 feet high- 
er. The altitude at which the United States 
Signal Service instruments are placed, in the 
upper story of the Court House, is 783 feet, 


Battles of Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge. 


according to observations made by Sergeant 
Goulding, now in charge, and others. This 
shows the Court House ridge to be about 
750 feet above sea-level, while Orchard 
Knob is some 850 feet. Taking the record 
of the Signal Service barometer as the stan- 
dard, I found, as the altitude of the knoll of 
the Watkins house, 830 feet; the top of 
Missionary Ridge, where the Brundage 
house now stands near Rossville, 1230 feet; 
and the summit of Lookout Mountain, 
where the upper toll house is, 2240 feet, 
"The Point " being about 65 feet lower. It 
follows, that the higher parts of Missionary 
Ridge, where it trends northeast of Ross- 
ville, and where the most desperate fighting 
for the possession of that ridge occurred, 
ranges between 1400 and 1500 feet above 
sea-level, or some 800 feet higher than the 
site" of the Chattanooga railroad depot. 

The prelude to the storming of Lookout 
Mountain by Hooker's Corps was Sherman's 
advance on Orchard Knob and Bragg's 
right wing the evening before, or November 
23d, as already described. This was itself 
a heavy movement and a severe battle, and 
was eclipsed only by the still more brilliant 
achievements on the 24th and 25th, by 
Grant's very superior numbers over Bragg's 
weakened and disheartened army. In that 
assault Sherman's loss is reported as four 
hundred and twenty killed and wounded, 
while Bragg's was somewhat greater. This 
assault evidently misled Bragg as to the 
main point of attack, and induced him to 
weaken his left still more by transferring part 
of its troops to his right. 

Tuesday, the 24th, opened cold and 
misty, clouds and fogs enveloping the top 
and the higher slopes of old Lookout. 
Later in the day occasional showers fell 
there and throughout the valley. All was 
quiet along the lines till about eleven o'clock 
in the morning, when suddenly the attention 
of both armies was called to the roar of ar- 
tillery and the sharp rattle of musketry on 
our extreme left. All eyes were turned to- 
wards Lookout, and as the fog gradually 
lifted and unveiled the mountain slopes at 
intervals, we could see about an hour after 
VOL. VI. 10. 

the firing began that a lively fight was rag- 
ing immediately under Pulpit Rock and 
around the Craven house. As we learned 
long afterwards, the earlier part of the morn- 
ing had been occupied by Hooker's men in 
scaling, under cover of a dense fog, the 
steep and rugged western declivity of the 
mountain, until they suddenly appeared on 
a ridge above our men, near our rifle-pits, 
and sweeping down upon them with a gall- 
ing fire, took General Walthall's brigade of 
Mississippians completely by surprise. To 
accomplish this really gallant achievement, 
General Cruft's Division of Hooker's Corps 
marched at five A. M. from Wauhatchie, five 
miles west of Lookout Point, and climbed 
the western slope of the mountain, while 
Hooker's two remaining divisions, under 
Generals Geary and Osterhaus, occupied the 
attention of our left by a threatened attack 
in front. 

The scene we witnessed from our trenches 
near the Watkins house, as the battle pro- 
gressed near the mountain top, was superb 
and thrilling. In fact, the contest was in 
full view from a large part of both lines to 
eastward, whenever the clouds rose now and 
then, and broke away along the rocky slopes. 
We have at times, since the war, seen the 
question raised whether it was correct to call 
this daring attack of Hooker's men the " bat- 
tle of the clouds," "above the clouds," 
or "in the clouds." If these expressions 
are intended to convey the idea that, while 
the fight was going on at an elevation near- 
ly a half-mile above sea-level, clouds and fog 
once and again enveloped the combatants, 
and sometimes appeared below the lines of 
attack and defense, either one of these terms 
is literally correct. Perhaps, to call it " the 
battle in the clouds " is preferable, as it ex- 
presses the exact state of the case, and in- 
cludes the other ideas. 

Never shall I forget how a parcel of us 
" rebs," including General Clayton, stood, 
glass in hand, about high noon, on the knoll 
near the battery which our brigade was sup- 
porting, and watched with intensest anxiety 
the contending lines along the mountain 
slope. Gradually, the fog and clouds broke, 


Battles of Lookout .Mountain and Missionary Midge. 


and when they rolled off, like the curtain of 
a stage, the desperate drama was fully re- 
vealed to us. There was the line of attack, 
swaying to and fro, half a mile or more in 
length. All along both lines were puffs of 
smoke, blown swiftly away by the mountain 
breezes, and mingled with the surging, low- 
lying clouds. Soon we saw flags waving 
along our line of works, and it must be con- 
fessed that when, by 'aid of our glasses, we 
recognized that they were the "Stars and 
Stripes," we could scarcely believe our eyes, 
and our hearts sank within us. For we had 
been led to believe that our position on 
Lookout was impregnable against all direct 
assaults. But now, under cover of a treacher- 
ous fog, it had been carried by storm, and the 
day was evidently won for the Union arms. 
As became known afterwards, our loss by this 
unexpected assault was between 300 and 
400 killed and wounded, and about 1,000 
prisoners, Hooker's loss in killed and wound- 
ed being less than ours. 

Its immediate result was to force back 
Bragg's extreme left more than a mile. The 
Federal advance was checked by part of 
Pettus's brigade of Alabamians, which was 
moved rapidly from its position two miles 
distant, and posted on a rocky spur jutting 
out eastward from the palisades that form 
the summit of Lookout. 

Late in the afternoon all was astir on our 
portion of the line, as orders were received 
to be ready to march at a moment's notice. 
About sunset our brigade was marched by 
the Watkins Cross Road over Chattanooga 
Creek, where we were exposed to shelling 
from Moccasin Point, and several of our men 
were killed and wounded ; and soon after- 
wards we relieved Pettus's brigade in its 
rocky position. At this dismal, dreary post, 
we exchanged a desultory fire with the Fed- 
eral advance till ten o'clock or later; and 
held it till after midnight. Our men who 
remained in the valley told us next day that 
this battle scene at night was deeply impres- 
sive, the two lines of battle, extending up 
and down the mountain side, being marked 
by the incessant flash of rifles till nearly mid- 
night, like thousands of "lightning-bugs " on 

a midsummer night in our southern woods. 
After the firing ceased, those of us who could 
do so snatched a few moments of troubled 
sleep on our rocky perch. 

Between two and three A. M., an order 
came to withdraw from our position as qui- 
etly as possible, and we followed our guide, 
drawing our slow length along, we knew not 
where. In the small hours of that frosty No- 
vember morning, the full moon was shining 
brightly. It was in eclipse soon after three 
A. M., when our pickets, under Captain Car- 
penter, of the 36th Alabama, withdrew silent- 
ly from their rocky rosts in the thick woods, 
just before daybreak. Never can I forget the 
ghastly sight presented by some of our dead, 
as they lay along our pathway, ready for a 
soldier's hasty burial, with their blanched 
faces, and glaring though sightless eyes, up- 
turned in the full moonlight. What a picture 
there, in that solitary mountain forest, of ut- 
ter loneliness and desolation ! 

The eclipse that night naturally set us to 
thinking that matters began to look as if 
Bragg's great success over Rosecrans, at 
Chickamauga, was about to be eclipsed by 
the exploits of Grant and Sherman around 
Chattanooga. And such, indeed, was to be 
the case, but none for a moment anticipated 
the crushing disaster in store for Bragg's 
army that day. 

We soon found ourselves approaching our 
old camp at the Watkins house, and there 
about sunrise we were halted, only long 
enough, without even breaking ranks, to fill 
our haversacks with several days' rations, 
prepared by our cooks the night before. We 
at once took up our line of march towards 
Missionary Ridge, and learned that all of 
Bragg's center and left wing were moving in 
the same direction. Our brigade gained the 
top of the ridge by a wagon road of easy 
grade, a half mile or so northeast of Ross- 
ville a road that still exists much as it was 
in war times, as I found by riding down it 
last August from the Brundage place, a farm 
which includes our part of the old battle- 
field. When we reached the summit, we 
filed to the right, passing near the house that 
was occupied throughout the day as Breck- 


Battles of Lookout Mountain and Missionary ' Ridge. 


enridge's headquarters. Not a vestige of 
that house remains, and the numerous set- 
tlers living on the ridge at present know 
nothing about it. Reaching a point on the 
rocky and then well-wooded crest, a quarter 
of a mile or so southeast of Breckenridge's 
headquarters, towards Rossville, and well 
down towards the abrupt point of the ridge 
which overlooks that village, we were halt- 
ed, stacked arms, and were allowed to en- 
joy a much needed rest from nine in the 
morning till about one in the afternoon. 
Soon all of our three thousand men who were 
not needed for picket duty had stretched 
their weary limbs upon the ground in the 
shady woods, and were at once wrapped in 
the profound sleep so necessary for the ter- 
rible ordeal through which we were all des- 
tined to pass before another sun should set. 

Without knowing it, and without any spe- 
cial thought about it at the time, we were, 
then occupying Bragg's extreme left just as 
we had the night before on Lookout with 
an interval of nearly or quite three-quarters 
of a mile between our isolated brigade and 
the rest of his army, which occupied a line 
along the crest of Missionary Ridge, extend- 
ing some six miles to our right, or towards 
the northeast. There our weary men lay 
sleeping many a poor fellow enjoying his 
last sweet dream of home and but little 
disturbed by the heavy boom of artillery and 
the rattle of rifles which began about ten 
o'clock far to our right, and kept roaring con- 
tinuously with but little intermission until 

When we awoke after our refreshing mid- 
day slumbers, how superb a sight was pre- 
sented, under that clear, sunny November 
sky a regular army-review, in grandest style, 
unasked for by us and unsought! The vast 
army of Grant and Sherman, 80,000 men or 
more, not passing, but forming in review, in 
the long valley beneath us. There they were 
as far as our line of vision could reach to- 
wards the northeast, in the bright sunlight, 
brigades and batteries filing and wheeling 
into line, one after the other, evidently pre- 
paring for the general assault that soon came 
along our entire front. On no other battle- 

field of the war did we witness, with such 
distinctness and to such an extent, so impos- 
ing an array. While a group of us officers 
gathered on a commanding point of Mission- 
ary Ridge, near our forest bivouac, were 
watching with a field-glass these threatening 
formations of one of the best Federal armies 
ever organized best in equipment, disci- 
pline, experience, personnel, and dash a 
Major Hammond of Louisiana, then on 
Breckenridge's staff afterwards the husband 
of Miss Belle Boyd, the noted female spy of 
Lee's army rode up and watched with us 
for a time these formidable movements. 
Just then, between one and two in the after- 
noon, we began to see a very strong Federal 
force marching rapidly across the valley in 
several columns, apparently two miles or 
more to our left, and far to the right of the 
rest of the Federal line. They appeared to 
be moving towards Rossville, which lay in 
the gap of Missionary Ridge, as already de- 
scribed, and was scarcely half a mile in a di- 
rect line to the left of our brigade. We called 
Major Hammond's attention to this evi- 
dent flank movement in heavy force, and as 
we learned he was a staff officer, one of us 
remarked that we hoped General Bragg had 
made ample provision to meet it, or would 
do so at once. He expressed the belief that 
it had been foreseen and amply guarded 
against, and soon rode away. Reader, that 
large flanking force proved to be Hooker's 
full corps, some 15,000 strong, flushed with 
their handsome and fruitful victory on Look- 
out Mountain, the day before. And what 
do you suppose was the only preparation 
made to meet, and if possible to check, that 
powerful flank movement ? As we soon 
learned to our great surprise and sorrow, the 
only provision against this regular avalanche 
of Joe Hooker's fighting men, was our one 
brigade of Alabamians, with less than three 
thousand rifles ! To expect three thousand 
men to be able to check, for any length of 
time, the advance of fifteen thousand was 
unreasonable enough. But, as we have since 
concluded, perhaps Bragg could spare no 
more men at that time to support us, in our 
attempt to hold Hooker's corps at bay. For 


Battles of Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge. 


his army had been seriously reduced, and 
Grant and Sherman were keeping him so 
busy at that time, on his right and center, 
that he could not possibly send any ree'n- 
forcements from other parts of his line. 

Not only was our number merely one-fifth 
of Hooker's, but we had no intrenchments 
or earthworks whatever on our part of the 
line, not even any rifle-pits. Federal official 
reports referring to this part of the battle, 
speak of taking two lines of "barricades." 
These were hastily constructed of small 
stones placed in rows and a few logs laid on 
top of them, and these " barricades " were 
not made by us, but by General Rosecrans's 
men, when they fell back from Chickamau- 
ga, two months before ; and though a few 
men of our brigade were able to fight behind 
them, they afforded very little protection .for 
us, for they extended up and down the ridge 
to defend the crest against an advance from 
the east and could have served to defend 
it towards the west ; but Hooker's advance 
was from the southwest, against the end of 
the ridge, and not up its sides, as was the 
assault on the right and center of Bragg's 
line on Missionary Ridge. It follows that 
Hooker's advance completely flanked these 
slight barricades, and they were entirely use- 
less to our brigade in our efforts to repel his 
flank movement. As will be seen, then, our 
part of the battle on Bragg's left, soon to be 
described, was very different from the con- 
flict on the rest of his line on November 
25th; for it was a free fight in the open 
woods, without defensive works and without 
a battery, or even a single cannon, and with- 
out the slightest warning from any of our 
superior officers of what we were to expect, 
or to brace ourselves for a pitched battle, 
in fact, between the short line of one brig- 
ade, and three of the largest and best divis- 
ions of the Federal army. With these ex- 
planations, the results now to be told will 
not seem strange. 

Mention has just been made of the ab- 
sence of any form of warning to our men on 
the eve of this battle, which was destined to 
prove so disastrous to the Confederate cause. 
It was worthy of notice in Bragg's series of 

signal defeats around Chattanooga, and is 
worthy of record here, that not a single gen- 
eral order was issued to his army preparatory 
to these battles ; not a word of explanation, 
not a word of encouragement, not a word 
tending to "enthuse" or strengthen an army. 
Before Chickamauga, Bragg issued such an 
order, and it certainly had a very fine effect 
in inspiriting his men. It always seemed to 
us as if General Bragg was totally unpre- 
pared for the masterly stroke of the Federal 
generals there in all these spirited assaults 
as if they came unexpectedly to him, and he 
was . completely surprised and stunned by 
each heavy blow. 

To form a correct idea of the battle 'of 
Missionary Ridge, or Mission Ridge, as it is 
called in Federal authorities, we must remem- 
ber not only that it was an entirely distinct 
engagement from the Battle of Lookout 
Mountain, and fought the following day 
though the two are confounded in some of 
our leading histories in their descriptions 
and engravings but that the Union forces 
made three distinct attacks in that battle on 
different parts of Bragg's line, which was six 
miles long, and all these attacks were in the 
afternoon, the morning being occupied by 
Grant's army in securing positions for attack. 
Sherman, on the Federal left, opened an ar- 
tillery fire during the morning on Bragg's 
right, and between one and two in the after- 
noon he made two efforts to advance his 
line, but both charges were repulsed by Har- 
dee's and Buckner's men, with an admitted 
loss to the assaulting columns of seven hun- 
dred killed and wounded. Next came the 
charge of Hooker's corps on Clayton's brig- 
ade of Alabamians, forming Bragg's left, near 
Rossville, between two and three o'clock. 
Then followed the charge of the Federal cen- 
ter under Granger, with Sheridan in the 
lead, up the western slopes and to the crest 
of Missionary Ridge, at a quarter to four. 
This ended that truly terrific struggle, with 
the whole .Federal force in hot pursuit of 
Bragg's routed army, in the short interval 
between sunset and dark. 

Leaving to other pens any details of the 
fighting along Bragg's right and center, I 


Battles of Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge. 


shall close this account with some incidents 
of Hooker's attack on Bragg's left flank, 
which rapidly arid completely turned the 
Confederate position. 

Soon after the heavy firing caused by 
Sherman's charges had died away not far 
from half past two in the afternoon Clay- 
ton's Brigade, consisting of the eighteenth, 
thirty-sixth, thirty-eighth, thirty-second, and 
fifty-eighth Alabama Infantry, was called to 
" Attention ! " and was marched a few hun- 
dred yards further to our left. Part of the 
brigade was filed to our rear by the left 
flank, so that it faced southward towards 
Rossville, the rest of it still facing westward 
towards Chattanooga Valley, thus forming an 
L. Four companies were at once deployed 
as skirmishers under Lieutenant, afterwards 
Captain, William N. Knight, of the thirty- 
sixth. They moved southward, or down the 
ridge, and under General John C. Brecken- 
ridge's immediate supervision, were deployed 
rapidly to their left, forming a line some four 
hundred yards in length. This line moved 
across a slight depression, and when they 
reached the crest of the ridge beyond, scarce- 
ly two hundred yards from the rest of our 
brigade, they saw a long Federal column fil- 
ing through the gap along the road from 
Rossville to Chickamauga Station, on the 
railroad to Dalton. The head of this col- 
umn was already far behind the left of our 
skirmish line, that is, in Bragg's rear. These 
were Hooker's men, and the long column at 
once faced to their left, confronting our 
skirmishers, and advanced on them up the 
end of the ridge, where it abuts upon Ross- 
ville Gap. The Federals, seeming to take 
our skirmishers for stragglers or deserters, 
began calling out to them, " Come in, boys, 
we wont hurt you ! " By Lieutenant Knight's 
orders, our men, who had at first thought 
Hooker's men were a part of our own, imme- 
diately opened fire, and the fight began in 

The Federal line of battle advanced rap- 
idly, and our long and thin skirmish line fell 
back and fought desperately from tree to 
tree all that part of Missionary Ridge being 
then thickly timbered, but with very 'little 

undergrowth. Our skirmishers were soon 
hurled back upon the main line of our brig- 
ade, and the engagement became general, 
our single brigade, with no supports within a 
half mile of us, making the best fight we 
could. Our men were ordered to lie down 
and fire, which they did soon after our skir- 
mishers reached us. We were able in this 
way, by using trees, rocks, and all other pos- 
sible cover for our 3,000 men, to check the 
advance of Hooker's center a short time 
from twenty to thirty minutes, as well' as we 
were able to judge while his right and left 
wings were closing in around us, along the 
eastern and western slopes of the rough 
ridge. Our line then fell back, and in a new 
position again checked the Federal advance 
for some fifteen or twenty minutes. 

From the official reports of General Hook- 
er and his subordinate Generals, the follow- 
ing facts are gathered, so far as they refer to 
his corps, its disposition and advance, in this 
memorable struggle for the possession of 
Missionary Ridge. Hooker's corps consist- 
ed then of Osterhaus's division of the Fif- 
teenth Corps, Cruft's division of the Fourth, 
and Geary's of the Twelfth ; and facing near- 
ly north slightly east of north they moved 
up and along the ridge in the order here 
named, from their right to left. Osterhaus 
moved parallel with the Ridge on its east 
slope, Cruft on the crest of the Ridge, and 
Geary along its west slope, all in supporting 

It will be seen, then, that our single Ala- 
bama brigade was engaged chiefly with 
Cruft's division, as we occupied only the 
top of the Ridge. The Federal batteries 
moved with Geary's division near the west 
slope, or in Chattanooga Valley. As already 
mentioned, our position at the southern end 
of Missionary Ridge was not strange to say 
defended by a single piece of artillery. 

According to the Federal account, Gen- 
eral Cruft and staff preceded his column to 
form lines, and was at once met by a skir- 
mish line advancing. This was our four com- 
panies of skirmishers from theThirty-sixth Al- 
abama, under Lieutenant Knight Lieuten- 
ant John Vidmer, of our brigade staff, from 


Battles of Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge. 


Mobile, and since dead, gallantly directing 
and assisting in this effort to check the Fe'der- 
al advance. The official reports then state : 
" The Ninth and Thirty-sixth Indiana regi- 
ments sprang forward, ran into line under 
fire, and instantly charging drove back the 
rebels, while the residue of the column form- 
ed their lines. Gross's Brigade, with the 
Fifty-first Ohio, and Thirty-fifth Indiana of 
Whitaker's Brigade in advance, then moved 
forward, and the top of the ridge was found 
to be so narrow, that the division (Cruft's) 
was thrown into four lines. 

The divisions of Geary and Osterhaus now 
kept abreast. Whenever our short Confed- 
erate line made a stand, Geary and Oster- 
haus's divisions advanced and poured in a 
withering fire from the west and east, while 
Cruft's division was making its direct attack 
from the south. Our line, having been rap- 
idly formed in its second position, so as to 
face south to meet the main attack, this new 
line, being formed under fire, and necessari- 
ly in some confusion, was, in the way de- 
scribed, steadily forced back from point to 
point. According to Federal official reports, 
this fighting " continued until near sunset." 

Meanwhile, General Breckenridge, who 
had gone towards his head-quarters, after 
seeing our skirmishers properly deployed and 
advancing, seemed to ascertain how large the 
attacking force was, and to realize how hope- 
less was our contest against such odds. 

In the thickest of the fight, seeing that our 
brigade in this unequal contest would soon 
be surrounded and captured, to a man, he 
dashed up to our line of battle on his fine, 
dark bay horse, at a moment when the Fed- 
eral advance was slightly checked. He 
called out : 

"Who is in command of this line?" 

Being referred to Col. L. T. Woodruff, of 
the Thirty-sixth Alabama (from Mobile), the 
ranking officer present, he gave him the 
brief command, " Bring out your men at 
once, and follow me." 

The survivors of the brigade who were 
not already prisoners, rapidly followed Gen- 
eral Breckenridge and Colonel Woodruff 
northward along the ridge and then down 

its eastern slope, the Federal forces pressing 
forward and closing in on their right and 
left, until their line was like a horse-shoe. 
The few hundreds of our brigade who were 
able to escape by passing out of the narrow 
opening, left just in time. Had General 
Breckenridge delayed his timely order for 
retreat but a few moments, Clayton's entire 
brigade would have been captured, and prob- 
ably General Breckenridge, our corps com- 
mander at that time, would have shared our 
fate. As it was, with a loss to the brigade 
of between four hundred and five hundred 
killed and wounded, as well as we have ever 
been able to learn, and at least two thousand 
prisoners (General Hooker claims upwards of 
two thousand), only about six hundred men 
answered at brigade roll call next morning. 
This was in their bivouac, some six miles 
from the battle field, and just south of the 
bridge over Chickamauga River, which was 
crossed by a large part of Bragg's routed 
army during the night of the 25th. Out of 
some seventy men in Company C, and my 
own Company (H) of the Thirty-sixth Ala- 
bama, who went into the fight, only seven- 
teen were left to answer at roll-call next fnorn- 
ing, and they, like many other companies, 
were then consolidated, as but few officers 
escaped from that disastrous field. 

The writer of this sketch does not give 
these closing facts of the retreat as an eye- 
witness ; I learned them long afterwards 
from fellow- officers who came out of the bat- 
tle safely. It fell to my share to be left dis- 
abled on Missionary Ridge in our second 
line of battle, and near where the fight be- 
gan by a minie-ball in the right hip. 

Who can paint the horrors of lying help- 
less from a wound, and on an exposed spot, 
under a heavy cross-fire from foe and friend 
for fifteen minutes or more? Or who can 
realize the feeling of gloom, when thus face 
to face with death, a desperately wounded 
soldier first recognizes the fact that, far from 
his loved ones, and they in uncertainty, he 
is a prisoner, as he learns by the steady 
tramp of the conquering foe, when they 
march, line after line, in serried ranks, till 
four lines of battle have passed where he and 


Battles of Lookout Mountain and Missionary Midge. 

us fellow-unfortunates strew the ground? 
Such was my experience on Missionary 
Ridge. Then followed four months in Fed- 

Fral hospitals and prisons ; an escape to Can- 
da and the Bermuda Islands ; and a safe run- 
ning of the blockade in the Clyde steamer. 

Permit me to record here two acts of con- 
siderate humanity towards a worsted foe, one 
on the part of General Cruft, the other by 
General Grant. Soon after" Hooker's skir- 
mishers and advanced line reached the part 
of the battle-field where I lay, faint from loss 
of blood, among dead and dying comrades 
uncertain how the scale would turn for 
me John McGinnis, Orderly Sergeant of 
Company A in my regiment, came to me 
in charge of a Federal guard, and told me of 
a number of our wounded and dead men 
who lay near us. He said his captors told 
him that they thought General Cruft, who 
was then approaching, would consent that 
he be detailed on parole to help nurse those 
of us who were wounded, and asked me to 
sign officially a hurriedly written request that 
he might be so detailed. I did this, and in 
a few minutes McGinnis returned, as request- 
ed by General Cruft's order, and looked after 
his suffering comrades. He was allowed to 
remain with us, as was Charles Whelan, of 
Company C, our Surgeon's assistant now 
Doctor Whelan, of Birmingham, Alabama 
and their presence added greatly to the com- 
fort of their suffering comrades ; for in the 
Chattanooga hospitals very rough and un- 
comfortable from necessity they helped to 
dress our wounds, looked after the burial of 
those of our number who died, and were 
permitted three weeks later to accompany 
the first of our wounded, who were suffic- 
iently recovered to be removed to Nashville. 
At General Bragg's request, General Grant 
permitted thirteen Confederate soldiers to 
come within his lines, and to remain three 
months at Chattanooga, helping the Federal 
surgeons in attentions to their numerous 
wounded prisoners. 

Never can I forget how I lost my sword. 
It lay at my side in its scabbard, the latter 
badly damaged by rough service. Two 
"boys in blue," passing near me, noticed it, 

and one of them, saying, "I guess you'll have 
no farther use for this," was carrying it with 
him. Just then, I saw two mounted officers 
riding by, and I called out to them : 

" Is either of you a captain ? " 

Being answered in the affirmative, I ex- 
plained that the man was taking my sword, 
and requested the officer to receive it, as I 
preferred to yield it to one of equal rank. 
He did as requested, and took charge of the 
war-worn Confederate blade. 

When such disasters overtook large armies, 
as befell Bragg at Chattanooga, Rosecrans 
at Chickamauga, Hood at Nashville, and 
McDowell at Bull Run, wonder is often ex- 
pressed that troops so badly defeated were 
not at once pursued and completely over- 
whelmed .before they had time to rally from 
the shock. Usually the supreme efforts of 
troops that result in such victories, their loss 
of rest and their irregular rations, leave the 
victors in quite as exhausted a condition as 
the vanquished. This was peculiarly true in 
our great civil war. Neither side was really 
fit to again offer the gauge of battle after 
almost constant marching, countermarching, 
and fighting for three days, or sometimes 
for a week. Then, each side had too much 
pluck to be easily overwhelmed, even when 
partly crushed. Again, pursuers, flushed with 
victory, are apt to attack positions too reck- 
lessly, and thus, in turn, suffer bloody re- 
pulses and defeat. Lee's victorious army suf- 
ered so at Malvern Hill, against McClellan, 
and so did Grant's pursuing forces suffer a 
severe check when they threw themselves 
too recklessly, on the evening of November 
26th, against the strong position held by 
Bragg's shattered but resolute veterans at 
Ringgold. This bloody repulse ended the 
fighting in Georgia until the following May. 
Not to make this narrative too long, it 
only remains to be said that the losses in all 
this desperate fighting around Chattanooga 
in November, '63, foot up somewhere near 
the following figures: Bragg's total loss, 
about 3,500 killed and wounded, 6,500 pris- 
oners, 8,000 small arms, and 40 pieces of 
artillery, against a Federal loss of 757 killed, 
4,527 wounded, and 300 missing. 


The Hermit of Sawmill Mountain. 


Another closing fact worthy of record is, 
that now scarcely a vestige of the great strug- 
gle on Missionary Ridge remains, except 
that the plowshare occasionally turns up a 
solid shot or shell, a minie ball, or even, 
once in a while, a skeleton. The only mark 
on the battle-ground where we fought is a 
remnant of the rocky barricade to which ref- 
erence has been made. Almost the entire 
top of the ridge is cleared and divided into 
small fruit-farms, where the finest of fruits 
and vegetables are raised for the markets of 
Cincinnati and other cities. But the odd- 
est thing about it is, that these well-tilled 
places, almost without exception, are owned 
by men from Pennsylvania and other North- 
ern States the very people we tried to drive 
away from there twenty-one years ago. Yet 
so changed are times and feelings now, that 
we would not drive these thrifty neighbors 
from our Southern land if we could, but, on 
the contrary, we extend them a cordial wel- 
come to our midst. 

The saddest of all sad thoughts, as one 
gazes enraptured from the dizzy " Point " of 
Lookout Mountain over thetruly magnificent 
panorama of mountain and valley and river 
where these battle-scenes occurred, is this : 
The National Cemetery in full view contains 
nearly as many silent inhabitants as there 
are people in the busy homes of Chatta- 
nooga in 1880 13,000 Federals, who per- 
ished in the deadly campaigns of Chicka- 
mauga, Chattanooga, and Dalton ; while, on 
Cameron Hill, near by, rises the tasteful 
monument in memory of nearly or quite as 
many Confederate dead. Nor does any re- 
flection lessen our sorrow, when we think 
of the myriads of victims of fearful and 
shall we say useless ? strife, unless it be the 
truth that our Union of States is twice as 
strong today and twice as likely to be perpet- 
ual as it was before the craggy defiles of old 
Lookout and Missionary Ridge reechoed the 
roar of the " red artillery," and the deadly 
rifles of our fratricidal war. 

/. W. A. Wright. 


IT was neither religious fervor nor a desire 
to fly from the " world's cold scorn," which 
had made a recluse of Charles Sydney. He 
was simply a victim to himself a slave to 
his appetite for drink. Fresh from a some- 
what strict collegiate course, he had gone to 
the home of his wealthy parents in Western 
New York, and, in the exuberance of youth- 
ful spirit and regained liberty, immediately 
proceeded to do his utmost to disgrace a 
good old family name that had been hon- 
ored in the county for generations. Instead 
of following the brilliant professional career 
of parental anticipation, he grew more and 
more dissipated as the years went on and 
bade fair to degenerate at last into a con- 
firmed sot. 

Affairs grew desperate at last. The heart 
of the mother was breaking at the wayward- 
ness of her only child. An added shade of 
silver tinged the massive head of the father. 

A family council was called then. The Judge 
and Mrs. Sydney, Agnes Denton, the Judge's 
ward, and Charles, the derelict, assembled in 
the library one bright June morning. 

It was a more than usually pleasant room, 
the library at Sydney farm, with an outlook 
upon lawn, and river, and distant woodland. 
It was the favorite assembling room of the 
family, and many of the most pleasant hours 
of their lives had been passed within it. But 
it was for no pleasant purpose that the Judge 
had requested the presence of his family here 
this morning. He sat now, stern and erect, 
in his big chair by the south window. In a 
low chair near him, Agnes stitched busily to 
hide her nervousness, upon some bit of Ken- 
sington work. Mrs. Sydney sat at the end 
of the reading table, her head bowed upon 
her hands ; and Charles stood leaning upon 
the low mantel, dramming nervously upon it. 
He had been upon a more than usually dis- 


The Hermit of Sawmill Mountain. 


graceful " spree " the night before and was 
now consequently afflicted with headache 
and nausea and repentance, careless almost 
whether he lived or died. The Judge broke 
the silence, which had become uncomforta- 
ble : 

" How much longer do you suppose this 
sort of thing is to continue ? " he said, ad- 
dressing his son. 

The drumming upon the mantel contin- 
ued, but there was no answer to the ques- 

" It would be idle to dwell upon the ad- 
vantages that you have thrown away," the 
Judge went on. " It is sufficient that you 
have wasted them. There is but one thing 
to be done with you, and such as you. I 
shall consign you to a private home for in- 
ebriates. I have carefully considered this 
matter. We will start today. Have you 
any objections to offer to the plan ? You 
are of age, you know, and need not go unless 
you see fit only, if you reject this opportu- 
nity, the doors of my house will be forever 
closed against you." 

For a moment a wild desire came to 
Charles Sydney to defy his father, and to go 
>ut into the world and fight his way alone, 
"hen he choked back the impulse, and said, 

a voice thick and husky : 

" I have no objections. I will go with 
pou, sir." 

" Very well, sir. I commend your wis- 
dom. You may. go to your room and pre- 
pare for an extended absence from home." 

Charles turned to leave the room, and his 
mother arose and followed him, sobbing audi- 
bly. Together they went to the cosy room 
which had been his own den since babyhood, 
and his trunk was packed amidst many sol- 
emn promises and bitter tears. The Judge 
and his ward were alone in the library. 

" Uncle," she said, still stitching industri- 
ously, and keeping her eyes upon her work, 
"I think that you are very cruel." 

She was a great favorite besides being an 
independent young lady and could afford 
to take liberties. She called Judge Sydney 
" uncle," though in no way related to him, 
simply as a convenient form of address. The 

suddenness of her remark surprised him out 
of his reverie, but he only said mildly : 

" Why, my dear ? " 

" To send Charlie off to a horrible home 
for inebriates. It is like sending him to 

"But we can do nothing with him here, 
and he is breaking his mother's heart." 

" But think of the disgrace of it." 

" No one will know it, my child, besides 

" Oh, yes, they will. Cook will know it, 
and the field hands will know it, and then 
the neighbors. You cannot hide such things 
in a country neighborhood. Charlie can 
never hold up his head here again." 

" Charlie should have thought of that be- 
fore. As to the disgrace, I would sooner 
see him dead than in the condition he was 
in last night." 

" But, uncle, have you ever thought how 
much idleness may have had to do with 
Charlie's drinking? Everything has been 
made so easy for him. He has never really 
been compelled to make an effort. Give 
him just one more chance." 

" Do you advise me to turn him out to 
shift for himself?" 

"No though even that would come 
nearer making a man of him than the in- 
ebriate asylum, perhaps. Place him in a 
position of responsibility, that is all." 

"But where shall I put him? Run the 
farm he cannot, and placing him in my of- 
fice is but throwing him in the way of temp- 

Agnes was silent a moment, thinking in- 
tently. Her work dropped in her lap and 
remained there untouched. At last she 
spoke : 

"You were talking the other day at din- 
ner, uncle, about the money to be made in 
wool-growing in Southern California. Why 
would it not be a good plan to buy some 
sheep out there, put Charlie in charge of 
them, make him a sharer in the profits, and 
give him to understand that he will be cast 
off at the first evil report? You may use 
my money, if you cannot spare enough of 
your own." 


The Hermit of Sawmill Mountain. 


" God bless you, my child," said the Judge. 
" I will think of it." 

But Agnes was not satisfied to have him 
think of it. She wanted him to consent to 
do it, or, at least, consent to go out there 
with Charlie and see if something could not 
be done. She prevailed upon him finally. 

The proposed trip to the home for inebri- 
ates was abandoned, and Charles was told 
of the change in his prospects, and who had 
wrought it. His gratitude was very touch- 
ing. Agnes he treated as a young queen, 
his mother found once more the loving, def- 
erential son of long ago, and his father re- 
ceived from him a respect that he felt had 
been lacking for many years. Already he 
began to take an interest in the business, 
and posted himself thoroughly upon the rel- 
ative merits of Southdowns and Spanish 
Merinos. Only once in this time of prepar- 
ation did he fall from grace ; and then the 
dereliction was so slight, and his repentance 
was so sincere, that he was readily forgiven. 
For the most part he kept resolutely away 
from the village and temptation. 

Judge Sydney was not slow in putting his 
house in order for a long absence. It was 
Sunday evening. In the morning Judge Syd- 
ney and his son would take the six o'clock 
train for Buffalo, and go on their long trip 
across the continent. 

A soft summer stillness was in the air. 
Agnes stood alone upon the veranda of the 
farmhouse, watching the play of the lights 
and shadows of the moonlight upon the lawn 
and fields and distant river. A man came 
slowly across the lawn, and, ascending the 
steps, stood upon the porch at her side. 

" Is it not beautiful?" he said, putting his 
arm about her waist and drawing her closer 
to him. 

She did not shrink from him, nor did she 
break the silence. Her breath came a trifle 
quicker that was all. They had been lov- 
ers, these two, in the old days, though not 
formally pledged to each other. Latterly 
they had drifted apart. It had not been her 
fault. She had loved him through every- 
thing. Wrapped in the selfishness of his evil 
courses, Charles had not seen, or had chosen 

not to see, the wealth of love which had 
been held ready to be lavished upon him. 
Perhaps new ties formed in his college days 
had weakened the force of the old. She had 
remained at home, and gone on loving him. 
But she was only a woman. If he chose to 
forget she could not remind him. She could 
only suffer and be silent. 

Now, for the first time in all the years, he 
approached her with a lover-like gesture. 
She would have been more than woman to 
have put him off. 

"Agnes," he said, "you have saved me." 

" No one can save you, Charlie, but your- 
self. Be true to your manhood, and you are 

" You have saved me," he repeated. " Had 
I gone to to well, you know where, I 
would never have come out alive. I had 
firmly resolved upon that much." 

" Do not talk so, Charlie; it is wicked. I 
will not listen." 

"Very well, then, I will not. Agnes, I 
give myself five years of penance in this far- 
off land of Nowhere to which I am bound. 
You used to care something about me in the 
old times. Will you wait until I prove myself 
a man ? or is all that done with ? " 

" Is it done with ? Will I wait ? " 

She turned up to him a face which the 
moonlight had fairly glorified. The answer 
seemed to satisfy him, for he stooped and 
kissed her. For a long time they stood there 
in silence. 

".It grows late," she said. Let us go in." 

He turned toward the door. 

" With God's help, Agnes, I will be a man 
for your sake." 

"With God's help," she repeated rever- 

Early Monday morning Judge Sydney and 
his son took their departure, as had been 
agreed. As was to have been expected, it 
was not a very pleasant trip. Both father 
and son were too much engrossed in their 
own thoughts to take much pleasure in the 
usual interesting incidents of travel. Of 
course, they extended to each other the ordi- 
nary courtesies of traveling companions for 
both were gentlemen, at least in breeding 


The Hermit of Sawmill Mountain. 


but beyond that there was very little inter- 
course between them. Of course, Charles 
exerted himself to spare his father as much 
of fatigue and annoyance as possible, and of 
course Judge Sydney watched narrowly that 
no temptation to indulge his fatal appetite 
was thrown in the way of his son. The 
scenery and the strange new country through 
which they passed interested them but little. 
Each, but for a different reason, longed eager- 
ly for the end of the journey. 


THEY made Santa Barbara without acci- 
dent. Of course, there was much canvassing 
as to locality, and number of sheep, and pur- 
chase price thereof; but all these details 
were adjusted with but little friction, and 
Charles Sydney was comfortably settled upon 
a corner of General Beale's immense ranch 
in Kern County, and given charge of some- 
thing like five thousand head of sheep. It 
was a most excellent range, and the new ven- 
ture bade fair to be a prosperous one. 

Upon one of the northern spurs of Saw- 
mill Mountain, Charles built his cabin a 
very cosy affair of rustic redwood and, with 
a touch of the poetry of old college days, he 
christened it " The Hermitage." Naturally 
enough, then, the neighbors fell into the prac- 
tice of calling him "the Hermit." He bore 
out the character for the first few months, 
too, showing little disposition to form ac- 
quaintances or to fraternize with his neigh- 
bors. Surrounding himself with books and 
pictures and newspapers, he sought to find 
in them and in his letters a solace for the 
human companionship which he had volun- 
tarily renounced. 

The experiment was a failure, however. 
He was of a companionable nature, and the 
joys of solitude palled upon him. There 
came a time, indeed, when he could almost 
have shrieked aloud in utter loneliness. The 
grand music of the wind among the pines 
upon the mountain side, which at first had 
seemed like the deep notes of some old or- 
gan, grew inexpressibly weird and dreary. 
His soul sickened of the messages which the 

night-wind whispered to the trees, and which 
the waving, bending, writhing needles told 
again to him. Nay, even his meerschaum 
had ceased to give him comfort so that it 
will readily be seen he 'was in a very bad 
way. Ah Yup, the genius of the kitchen, 
was no company for a white man. Ah Yup 
was but a symphony in white and yellow- 
and a monotonously aggravating one at that. 

It was- at this time Charles sought the 
company of his herders finding, to his sor- 
row, that they could speak no word of Eng- 
lish. Feeling the need of a medium of com- 
munication, of course, he set to work to mas- 
ter the Spanish language. There was noth- 
ing else for it The herders would not, or 
could not, learn English. Being used to sol- 
itude, possibly they felt no need for sympa- 
thy, and consequently none for company. 

It was but natural that the acquirement of 
this strangely beautiful language, so musical 
and so fascinating for itself alone, should 
awaken in Sydney a desire to practice his 
new accomplishment. 

As he became proficient himself in the 
tongue, he could readily discern that the vo- 
cabulary of his dusky retainers was very lim- 
ited even in their own mongrel dialect. 
What easier of accomplishment, then, than 
an acquaintance with the courtly Don Senor 
Jose de Carillo? Courtly and elegant, re- 
fined and intelligent, proud in spirit, though 
broken in purse, Don Jose was a Castilian 
gentleman of the old school once so com- 
mon ; now, alas, becoming so rare in Cali- 
fornia. Once, in the old days, he had held 
in his own right all the broad domain of 
General Beale, and a score of others equally 

As did all his class, Don Jose" had wel- 
comed the coming of "Los Americanos" to 
the country. They had come and had 
brought him ruin. It was the old story of 
vexatious lawsuits, grasping attorneys, land 
thieves, and the extravagance of a large fam- 
ily reveling in new and costly luxuries. Of 
all his great possessions, he retained but the 
old adobe ranch house, large and roomy, of 
La Roblar, and a few, a very few, acres of 
land surrounding it. 


The Hermit of Sawmill Mountain. 


To this ranch house and all that it con- 
tained, Charles Sydney was made most cor- 
dially welcome. Of course, his bright face 
and his taste for fine old wines and brandies 
made him a prime favorite with the old Don 
whose own sons had degenerated, with the 
easy facility of their race, from young landed 
proprietors into sheep-herders, vaqueros, and 
what-not. Sydney was a favorite with the 
women, too but then he had always been 
that. They did not seem to mind his drink- 
ing to excess occasionally. They seemed 
even to like and encourage it, esteeming it 
rather manly as is the way with their 

He had returned to his old habits, you 
see. And he seemed almost to live at La 
Roblar, abandoning his cottage among the 
pines upon the mountain side to the mercies 
of Ah Yup and the herders. The sheep did 
not need his immediate supervision ; and it 
was much pleasanter here ; and the folks at 
home would never know ; and well, his 
correspondence was neglected, of course, 
and Agnes worried herself almost sick over 
his short letters and his long intervals of 

Of course, there was a reason for all this, 
aside from the acquirement of a knowledge 
of the Spanish and while a large part of 
that reason lay in the good cheer which pre- 
vailed at La Roblar, I very much fear that 
a larger part lay in the witchery which lurked 
in the dreamy, passionate, black eyes of the 
Don's only daughter, Claudia. 

Truly she was a woman to make a man 
forget all the world beside in her presence 
her form, slight, yet rounded in the perfect 
curves of Andalusia ; eyes liquid with mel- 
ancholy, yet breathing the very fire of tropi- 
cal longing ; skin just tinged with olive, yet 
showing beneath its satin smoothness the 
faintest trace of richest carmine ; long lashes, 
drooping ever downward ; features regular in 
outline as some delicate sculpture ; dainty, 
shapely hands and feet; a curving swell of 
throat and neck ; and a well poised head 
crowned by a shimmering mass of raven hair, 
straight as the tail of an ebon charger. 

Sydney loved her almost before he knew 

it. What was the cold regard he had felt 
for Agnes to the fiery longing for possession 
which now filled him ? And yet and yet 
sometimes a pale, accusing, beautiful face 
would rise before him, and he could find 
forgetfulness only when he felt the blood of 
the grape tingling in his finger ends. 

Is it necessary to tell that Claudia loved 
him also ? Well has it been said that " the 
Spanish maid is no coquette." Why should 
she feel shame in the great gift which had 
been showered upon her ? 

So they loved, and so at last there came 
a time when Sydney's passion would be de- 
nied no longer and a day had been set for 
their wedding. 

The old Don made no objection. Was 
not his prospective son-in-law at least appar- 
ently possessed of five thousand sheep ? 
That was enough. He called them his own. 
He never spoke of his Eastern relatives. 
For all Don Jose and Claudia knew to the 
contrary, Charles Sydney might have been 
without a tie on earth. It was not their cus- 
tom to inquire as to the character and ante- 
cedents of their guests. What was told them 
they believed. More they cared not to know. 

At first, Charles had told them nothing, 
simply from his inability to do so. After- 
wards, as he grew to love Claudia, he had 
remained silent. Confession meant renun- 
ciation and he was not strong enough for 

But he was even more criminally silent 
than he had been to Claudia ; for he told 
Agnes nothing of his new love, his engage- 
ment, or his approaching marriage. It is 
true he wrote her no such warm letters as of 
old he could not carry deception so far as 
that but she attributed this silence to busi- 
ness cares (as he had intimated), and, wom- 
an-like, loved and trusted on. 

Once, only once, his better nature had 
almost conquered him, and he resolved to 
tell Claudia and brave everything. It was 
perhaps a month before the time set for their 
wedding. He had received a letter from 
Agnes, oh, so delicately sympathetic, telling 
him gently that his father had died suddenly 
ten days before, and that two days afterward 


The Hermit of Sawmill Mountain. 


his gentle mother had followed her life-love 
to the grave. 

"You need not come home, dearest 
Charlie," the letter concluded, " for I will 
settle everything and come to you. I am 
quite a famous business woman. There is 
nothing to keep us apart now, and / can 
trust you " 

All that was good in Charles Sydney's 
nature came to the surface at the receipt of 
that letter. He would be true to Agnes, 
cost what it might. Full of his good resolu- 
tion, he went to La Roblar. Claudia greet- 
ed him lovingly, as was her wont, clinging to 
him and moving before him with the lithe 
grace of a lioness. One long look into the 
passionate depths of her eyes, and his tongue 
and his heart failed him. Did she know, 
with the intuition of her sex, that some- 
thing had gone wrong with her lover ? She 
did not question him ; she only pressed the 
gleaming wine upon him, and he drank and 
was silent. 

Of course he cursed himself, returning to 
his lonely home that night, for his weakness 
as he always cursed himself when not 
under the influence of drink. But at least 
he would write to Agnes, tell her the truth, 
and throw himself upon her generosity. 
That much he could and would do ; but he 
did not do it. It was an unpleasant task 
at best, and from day to day he postponed 

There came a time when it was too late. 
A telegram was brought from. San Buena- 
ventura, his post-office, couched in these 
words : 

" I start today. Will travel as far as Santa Bar- 
bara with the Winters. AGNES." 

Sydney made a hurried mental calculation. 
In just ten days time he was to be married 
in the Mission Church at San Buenaventura. 
Counting for the delays incident .to travel 
and he knew that the Winters would proba- 
bly travel very slowly Agnes would reach 
Santa Barbara in, say, twelve days. That 
would be two days after his marriage. He 
and Claudia were to take Santa Barbara in 
on their wedding trip to San Francisco. 
They could change their plans easily enough 

to meet Agnes. Then he would introduce 
Claudia as his wife, and let the women settle 
it between them. That, he reflected philo- 
sophically, would be the easiest way to get 
it over. Of course Agnes would be surprised 
but she would get over that. She never 
was much of a girl for making a scene, any- 

He spoke to Claudia about the change that 
night, telling her he desired to introduce 
some Eastern friends who were coming out. 
Of course she acquiesced, and then the sub- 
ject dropped. Claudia had no time to make 
inquiries as to who these "friends" were, 
and Sydney chose to smoke his pipe and 
congratulate himself upon the easy road 
which had opened out of his difficulties. 


THE Concord wagon running by night be- 
tween Santa Barbara and San Buenaventura 
rattled to the front door of the principal 
hotel in the latter place with a great noise 
and clatter at sharp midnight. Only one 
passenger, a lady, dusty and travel-stained, 
alighted. She was received by the night- 
clerk, and shown at once to her room. The 
clerk was new at the business, and so forgot 
to request her to register an omission for 
which, afterwards, she came to be most de- 
voutly thankful. In the hurry of business in 
the morning, this oversight was not noticed 
in time to remedy it, and to the hotel books 
she came to be known only as "the lady in 
No. 7." She had a valise, certainly, but it 
was taken by request to her room. Her 
trunk, through the exigencies of stage travel, 
she had been compelled to leave in Santa 

Agnes Denton, for the solitary arrival at 
the hotel was none other, found very little 
sleep visit her couch that night. Her sur- 
roundings were so strange, she had seen so 
much of novelty lately, that it was no great 
wonder. And then, she was just a little bit 
put out that Charlie had not met her at the 
stage. "I would not let him arrive alone 
and uflwelcomed in a strange town," she 
thought. "Poor fellow; I suppose he grew 


The Hermit of Sawmill Mountain. 


tired, and went to bed, thinking to see me 
in the morning. He may be in this very 
house, now or there may be other hotels; 
or perhaps he had not expected me so soon. 
He would think that the Winters had trav- 
eled slower than they actually had." 

Her conflicting thoughts thus kept her 
tossing restlessly until broad bands of sun- 
shine stole in at her window, and lay quiver- 
ing upon the worn " three-ply " carpet ; and 
she arose feverish and unrested. 

She found herself the first arrival in the 
long, low-ceiled dining-room, and sipped her 
tea and ate her poached egg with but very 
little relish. Everything was clean and neat, 
and bright and pretty, but her appetite had 
deserted her. 

Afterwards she went up stairs into the 
plainly furnished parlor, and sat gazing idly 
out upon a street upon which, in spots, green 
grass was growing, and where a wagon, dust- 
covered, and apparently from somewhere in 
the mountain country, was passing now and 
again. A few vagrant flies drummed idly 
against the window, and across the street a 
row of low, tile-roofed adobes seemed to sleep 
in the indolent atmosphere. Further up town 
there was a quaint old church, its white- 
washed walls fairly glimmering in the sun- 
shine, with antique wooden doors and deep- 
set, small-paned windows, and low, massive 
belfry, with a double chime of bells in full 
view; while still higher up the street, where 
the rows of adobe broke and mingled with 
tiny frame stores and square-fronted bricks, 
there seemed to be a slight stir as of business 
but it was very slight. Plank sidewalks 
lined the street on either side, and up toward 
the hillsides there were glimpses of beautiful 
gardens and waving trees and this was Jan- 

All of this, however, had but very slight 
interest to Agnes. She might grow to like 
the town, and she might not. It did not 
matter so much, either. Charley had written 
that he lived among the pines, and she knew 
that must be pleasant ; anywhere would be 
pleasant with him and then she branched 
off into a train of visionary musing, as girls 
will, which was broken by the entrance of 

the landlady a bustling Western woman, 
gifted with her full share of curiosity. 

"Got any friends about yer, Miss? "she 
said, with the freedom peculiar to her kind. 

"Oh, yes," said Agnes, blushing a trifle. 
" I expect a gentleman a friend to meet 
me here." 

" Does he live in these parts, this friend 
of yours, Miss ? Maybe I mought know him. 
I reckon I know everybody about yer, 

Agnes hesitated a moment, and then, some- 
thing of kindly sympathy in the woman's 
homely face appealing to her, she answered : 

" His name is Sydney Charles Sydney. 
He has a sheep farm somewhere on Sawmill 
Mountain or some such place as that I 
think. Do you know him ? " 

" Why, in course I know him. Why, he's 
the feller that's a goin to git married tonight 
to old Don Josti Carillo's darter, Claudy. Is 
he kinsfolk of yourn, Miss?" 

Married ! For a moment a great cloud 
seemed to swim before Agnes Denton's eyes. 
She thought that she was going to faint but 
she did not. Pale and cold, with a chill 
which struck to her very heart, she recovered 
her composure with an effort ; and the wo- 
man still droned on : 

" Sydney's the feller they call the ' Hermit 
of Sawmill Mountain' the boys call him 
that, Miss, for no earthly reason, as I kin 
see, except that he haint never alone. Allus 
got some boys havin' a good time at his 
place, er out somewheres a rampagin' around 
with the Spanish gals. Did you say he was 
kin o' yourn, Miss? 'Cause he's in the 
house, now, and if yer want to see 'im, I'll 
send him up. He come in to git married 
tonight, as I said afore, and maybe he'd 
want to see you." 

The woman started toward the door as 
she spoke.. It seemed to Agnes that she 
went over her whole life in a flash, before 
she said : 

" No, I do not wish to see him just yet." 
The woman stopped, looking at her in 
slight surprise. For only a moment did Ag- 
nes doubt. The landlady's face was the 
very essence of sympathy. She could be 


The Hermit of Sawmill Mountain. 


trusted. Agnes was utterly alone silence 
was killing her she knew no-other woman 
she must tell some one she must have 
advice and help. She looked up and spoke 
again : 

" Will you come to my room in half an 
hour ? I must have time to think and, in 
the meantime, do not tell Mr. Sydney nor 
nor anybody that I am here." 

Then she walked steadily down the hall 
and entered Room 7. It took her a long 
time to think out her position to realize 
that the man she loved was untrue to her. 

" It cannot be," she moaned. " It cannot 

And yet reason told her that it was true. 
It was preposterous to think; as she had at 
one moment wilfully hoped, that there were 
two Charles Sydneys in the same place, and 
engaged in the same business. At all events, 
her line of conduct was marked out plainly 
enough. She would see this man herself 
unseen and if it were her Charles, why he 
should never know that she had seen him. 
With a great sigh of relief she remembered 
that she had not put her name upon the 
register the night before. 

Promptly as the half-hour expired, there 
was a soft rap at the door, and the landlady 
entered. Her face fairly beamed with good- 
natured curiosity and kindly sympathy. 

Agnes was in manner almost her old self 
as she met the woman. " I am going to tell 
you a secret, 1 ' she said, "and to ask you to 
help me. I know that you can." 

" Ef I kin, I will," the woman said, ener- 

" I have known Charles Sydney all his 
life," Agnes went on, speaking with nervous 
rapidity. " I am engaged to be married to 
him, and I came out here to fulfil that en- 
gagement. You tell me that he is to be 
married tonight. I do not know that this 
is. the same man but I think that it is. I 
must see him but where he cannot see me 
and find whether it is he or no. There 
has been some terrible misunderstanding, 
but if it is the same man he must never know 
of my presence here. Never! Do you un- 
derstand? I have plenty of money, and 

shall return East without my presence com- 
ing to his knowledge. I should like also to 
see the woman he is to marry. Can it be 
managed ? " 

" Easy enough, miss. The Padre marries 
'em at the Mission at eight o'clock tonight. 
Ef you hev a thick veil we can easy slip into 
a back seat unbeknownst to nobody. Most 
likely, only the candles up front will be lit." 

Promptly as the vesper bells chimed eight 
o'clock that January evening, two well-filled 
carriages dashed up to the front of the Mis- 
sion church and discharged their loads of 
gayly chattering occupants. On the arm of 
the stately old Don Jose, Claudia swept 
down the center aisle of the church between 
the stiff-backed pews, her darkly glorious 
beauty trebly enhanced by the cloud of tulle, 
and satin, and old point lace in which she 
moved. Behind them, leading the Dona 
Carillo, was Sydney erect and handsome, 
but with flushed face and sparkling eye, 
which to one watcher, at least, betokened 
heavy potations. After the bridal party, a 
gay crowd swept up the aisle, and ranged 
themselves in silence before the altar rail. 

Within the church a dim, shadowy dark- 
ness half hid and half revealed the solemn 
scene. The candles upon the altar gleamed 
like stars upon the surrounding gloom, and 
the ghostly light of a young moon mapped 
upon the floor the outlines of the western 
windows. Upon the walls the faded pictures 
of the Passion were but darker spots upon 
the darkness and the large crucifix upon 
the western side, with its drawn face of tense, 
bitter agony, was brought out startlingly by 
the one swinging lamp which burned before 
it. Upward the rudely painted walls faded 
into darkness, and the great rafters holding 
the roof might have been the supports of the 
vault of heaven so high, and dim, and dark 
did they seem. 

From one side a priest in the sacred vest- 
ments of his order moved softly like a shad- 
ow, and took position in front of the high 
altar with its lofty gilt cornice, its showy 
mirrors, and its solemn symbols. Turning 
slowly to face the church, he raised his hands 
in solemn silence. The bridal party knelt 


The Hermit of Sawmill Mountain. 


reverently to receive the blessing. Then the 
priest advanced to the rail, and began the 
impressive marriage service of the Catholic 

No one had heeded the two women, close- 
ly veiled, who crouched in a pew far back as 
the bridal party entered. Now, as the cere- 
mony was concluded, and the bride and 
groom turned with their friends to leave the 
church, no one noticed that one of these 
women had fallen back limp and white, and 
lay as one dead against the high back of the 
pew. Only the landlady of the hotel knew 
what had happened, and she dared give no 
alarm, fearful of she knew not what. 

Charles Sydney did not know, would nev- 
er know, that when he left that church with 
his new-made wife, a proud and happy bride- 
groom, he left within its walls so much of 
heart-ache and bitter woe. 

Arriving at Santa Barbara, of course, Syd- 
ney made diligent inquiries for Agnes. The 
Winters, he found, had not been there at all. 
They had passed down on the steamer on 
the 1 2th the day before his marriage but 
had gone on to either Los Angeles or San 
Diego. So far as he could learn, there had 
been no young lady with them. The clerk 
at the hotel, after his memory had been re- 
freshed, remembered that a young lady had 
left the steamer on the i2th, and at once 
taken the night stage for Ventura. She had 
left her trunk at the hotel, but had returned 
on the night stage of the i3th, and at once 
taken the stage for San Luis Obispo. He 
thought that she meant to catch the steamer 
there, going north, but was not certain. Did 
not remember her name, but did not think 
it was Denton. She had breakfasted there 
on the 1 3th. but had not registered. 

Clearly this could not be Agnes, thought 
the sagacious Charles and he gave up the 
search, contenting himself with sending her 
his wedding cards. Something had prevent- 
ed her coming, he supposed. Then he 
shrugged his shoulders, after the manner of 
his kind, at the vagaries of women, and con- 
gratulated himself on the fact that she had 
not come. 

The receipt of the cards was never ac- 

knowledged. Sydney received a note from 
his father's lawyer, stating that the farm had 
been sold, as per request, and the money 
placed to his credit in an Eastern bank. 

After that, everything pertaining to his 
past life was dead to him as though it had 
never been. He invested his inherited 
wealth in sheep and for a time all went 
well with him. 


THE rainy season of '76 opened very au- 
spiciously in Southern California with an 
early fall of rain in November, starting the 
grass in hill and canon, and putting the agri- 
cultural land in excellent shape for working. 

But December came and went, and '77 
opened, but there was no more rain. Old 
settlers began to shake their heads ominous- 
ly, and to talk of the great drought of '63. 
Wise stock-men looked out for and secured 
all additional available range, and farmers, 
alarmed at the prognostications of wise- 
acres, hesitated to plant where there was no 
prospect of harvest. Then the plowed fields 
became' wastes of dust, and it was too late 
to plant. January waxed and waned, but the 
rain came not. 

Charles Sydney, with his broad ranges and 
his ten thousand fat sheep, laughed at the 
fears of his neighbors. In the five years that 
he had been in the country there had been 
no such thing as a drought. Such a thing 
was impossible. The February rains would 
start the grass, and in the meantime he had 
abundance of the glorious grasses of Cali- 
fornia which dry upon the ground, and make 
a hay which needs no harvesting. 

He had been married a little over a year 
now, and shortly expected that a greater 
blessing even than his wife had proved would 
be bestowed upon him. 

But the dry spell continued. February 
was well advanced, and even the most san- 
guine began to lose heart. Sydney had not 
been prepared for such a contingency as now 
confronted him. His sheep began to die 
literally starving to death at first one or two 
daily, and then in steadily increasing num- 


The Hermit of Sawmill Mountain. 


bers. More range could not be procured, 
for there was none. The country was scorch- 
ing all around him. In December some 
more fortunate owners had driven their 
stock into Arizona, but it was too late now 
to think of that. The attempt would be 
madness, for there was no feed along the 

In the San Francisco market sheep had 
gone steadily down to twenty-five cents per 
head. Then they ceased to be quoted. 
There were no takers. The local market 
was glutted with mutton, for the sheep men 
sought thus to save some small share of their 
investment. Fifty cents for a sheep, skinned 
and dressed, was the ordinary price. Clearly, 
^he could not dispose of his stock. It is 
doubtful if he could have even given them 

The feed upon the ground had dried up 
long ago, and had been swept away in clouds 
of dust by the hot winds, which came like the 
breath of a furnace from the scorching sands 
of the Mojave Desert. 

One day in early March, Charles and his 
herders had killed two thousand lambs 
knocked them in the head, ruthlessly, to 
prevent starvation. It was pitiful, but there 
was no room for pity. 

At last Sydney saw that but one resource 
was left him. He would establish a matanza 
forthwith, and slaughter his flocks for their 
pelts. The little shearing house down upon 
the creek bank was speedily prepared for 
the work. In two days it was in full opera- 
tion, killing at the rate of five hundred per 
day, and the green hides were being cured 
for transportation. 

But a greater calamity even than the loss 
of his flocks was in store for the man. One 
Friday night his wife was taken suddenly ill, 
and on Sunday they carried her to rest in the 
old Mission churchyard in San Buenaven- 
tura. Upon her breast a little baby lay, fair- 
haired and waxen-fingered, which had never 
opened its eyes upon the world. 

Sydney seemed to give up everything 
after the funeral, going about everywhere as 
one in a dream. He was listless and restless. 
All interest had gone out of life. 
VOL. VI. it. 

It was at this time of trouble that the 
image of Agnes Denton, fair and smiling, 
again rose before him. He would go to her, 
he thought. Though she might despise 
him, she would still pity him and comfort 
him in his sorrow. He was very humble 
now. Whatever of her great sympathy she 
chose to accord him, he would accept it 
thankfully, and would ask for no more. 

At first, I think, he only wanted to be 
near some one who knew him and who would 
condole with him in his sorrow. Don Jose" 
and the Dona were kind, but they did not 
know and could not understand. 

He began at once to prepare for his de- 
parture from Southern California. His bus- 
iness affairs were soon arranged ; his pelts 
disposed of to the best advantage, to a peri- 
patetic Basque dealer in hides and tallow, 
and he was ready to start. The cabin he 
would -leave as it was, simply locking the 
doors and placing the key in charge of Don 
Jose\ There was nothing but his immediate 
personal effects that he cared to take with 
him, and some day in the future, perhaps, 
when he was happier, it might be a source of 
melancholy pleasure to return here for a 
season and to muse over the happiness which 
had gone out of his life forever. The cabin 
and its contents were safe from molestation 
until his lease of the land expired, five years 

It was on the 25th day of April that he 
mounted his horse a splendid animal, kind- 
ly loaned him for his ride into town by Don 
Jose and turned to bid farewell to valley 
and mountain and whispering pines. 

" It is the day upon which my five years' 
probation expires," he muttered, smiling 

Slowly he rode into town and stabled his 
horse. Then, from force of habit, he en- 
tered the postoffice and asked for mail. A 
newspaper was handed him, but he put it 
into his pocket without so much as a glance 
at the handwfiting in which it was directed. 

He thought of it again at supper that 
evening, and pulling it out, prepared to glance 
over it, while waiting the filling of his order. 
It was a copy of a New York paper, he no- 


The Bent of International Intercourse. 


ticed, dated April i2th. Carelessly his eye 
ran down the column, until arrested by the 
following paragraph, which was marked : 

MARRIED. In Grace Church, yesterday, by Rev. 

, Mr. Henry Rollins, of this city, and Miss 

Agnes Denton, of Buffalo. No cards. 

The couple will sail for Europe on the "Scotia" 


The waiter brought Charles Sydney his 
supper, but it remained untouched upon the 
table. He sat there silently, gazing into va- 
cancy. His room was needed at last, and 
the waiter approached and touched him re- 
spectfully upon the shoulder. Then, slowly 
and painfully, as an old man moves, Sydney 
arose and staggered out into the night. 

I WAS deer-hunting in the Lockwood val- 
ley last summer, and I saw the t Hermit of 
Sawmill Mountain, sitting quietly in the door 
of his cabin, and smoking a meerschaum 
pipe, which never leaves his lips, they say, 

day or night. He arose as we drove up, 
and tottered out into the sunshine. His 
gait was feeble and stooping, his eyes lack- 
lustre, his hair silver-gray, his hands nerve- 
less, and his whole appearance that of a man 
prematurely aged. He partook freely, with 
very little urging, of our liquid supplies, and 
afterwards grew quite garrulous. He was a 
trifle daft, I concluded, for he jumbled Ho- 
mer and Virgil and the latest market quota- 
tions together in inextricable confusion. It 
was evident, however, that his education had 
been excellent. With a grandiloquent wave 
of the hand he placed the whole valley at 
our disposal, and then tottered back into his 
cabin as we rode off. 

Thus, it is said, he treats all campers and 
wayfarers. At other times he sits alone in 
his cabin, muttering to himself and smoking, 
and, in times of high winds, bending his 
head to catch the music of the pines, and 
waiting waiting for what ? 

Sol. Sheridan. 


THE gift by a foreign country to the United 
States of a statue of " Liberty enlightening 
the World," carries with it a compliment of 
no inconsiderable significance. It is a testi- 
monial to the fact that Liberty has found a 
congenial home within our confines. And 
what is Liberty ? " Liberty," says Victor 
Hugo, "is the climate of civilization"" 

But in the face of this, what do we see? 
Alien writers and lecturers coming to this 
country, assuming the right to teach the 
people, and proclaiming Europe as an exem- 
plar, because they have been reared in an 
older civilization and received its approval. 
Throughout their discourses Europe is their 
standpoint, and the way things are done in 
Europe is their standard. But who is pre- 
pared to accept this criterion ? Who, among 
Americans, is willing to admit that the new 
world would be altogether better for instruc- 
tion from the old ? Thomas Jefferson makes 
the admission, it is true, but in a way from 

which it is not necessary to dissent. During 
the days of his diplomatic service abroad, 
writing to James Monroe, he says : 

" I sincerely wish that you may find it convenient 
to come here ; the pleasure of the trip will be less 
than you expect, but the utility greater. It will make 
you adore your own country, its soil, its climate, its 
equality, liberty, laws, people, and manners." 

What would be the effect of such advice 
upon this generation? Let an American 
hailing from any of the States of the Atlantic 
sea-board travel abroad today, and he will 
no doubt find a great contrast between that 
life with which he is familiar and that which 
he observes. But let a resident of any of 
the Western States make the same tour, and 
to him the contrast will be much more 
marked, and the patriotic profit of travel, 
perhaps, be greater, because the recent States 
of the Union, within the last three or four 
decades, have come to more closely resem- 
ble the country of Jefferson than do the 


The Bent of Intrenational Intercourse. 


colonial States themselves. Remote from 
that sea-board which is most exposed to the 
Old World, they have, without effort, pre- 
served traditions and developed traits which 
are still called American, though often des- 
ignated in deference to foreign criticism, 
" Philistine." 

The first traveler, while he pursues his 
way, is more apt to become enamored of 
European life, and lingers abroad ; but the 
other, more sensible to the artificial charac- 
ter of his new surroundings, will probably 
become more attached to the life which he 
has left behind, and long to return : he will 
think with Hawthorne, that the years he 
spends on a foreign shore have a sort of 
emptiness, and that he defers the reality of 
life until he breathes again his native air. 
This predilection in favor of his own coun- 
try does not arise from any incapacity to 
enjoy the magnificence of the old civiliza- 
tion, its treasures and refinements, but he 
distinguishes after his own manner between 
a salon and a home, between passing pleas- 
ures and permanent interest, between false 
standards of conduct and what he regards as 
the more serious duties of life. Such a man 
has little sympa'thy with Europe. But the 
other is impressed differently: bred, perhaps, 
in a State that, by closer contact with the old 
world, has fallen into many of its ways, ac- 
cepted its criteria, and submitted to its cen- 
sorship, he is not so jealous of the distin- 
guishing characteristics of his native country. 
He takes pleasure in possessing the real of 
which before he had only an imitation. But 
he is only one of a large and may be increas- 
ing class living on the eastern verge of our 
continent, who look upon America as a poor 
copy of the master prototype across the wa- 

Europe possesses the accumulations of 
the ages, which are, it is true, drawn upon 
by America, but discriminatingly ; and this 
wise discrimination is, or has been, one of 
Columbia's cardinal virtues. She rejected 
manners, morals, ideas, and rule, and in 
these vital respects became a law unto her- 
self. What influence Europe exerted over 
early America was, for the most part, nega- 

tive : the fathers of the republic, by knowing 
Europe, knew what to avoid. Principles 
were formulated and constitutions made in 
consonance with an ideal government in 
which the most people should be the most 
benefited. But the conspicuous feature of 
them all was their antagonism to the prevail- 
ing foreign methods. In these principles 
and instruments there was but little copied ; 
it will even be admitted that they showed 
considerable creative intellect, something 
which is often denied to America ; and, at 
the time of their adoption, Europe rather 
noisily proclaimed them the height of original- 
ity, not to say worse. Certainly the mother 
country disclaimed all responsibility for the 
new creation, and America was left to her 
own destiny. 

But what this country might have been with- 
out Europe's example and contribution, has 
occasionally afforded a subject of speculation 
for curious minds. Disraeli, in one of his nov- 
els, makes Shelley, who figures for the time as 
a character of fiction, exclaim : "I wish that 
the Empire of the Incas and the Kingdom of 
Montezuma had not been sacrificed ; I wish 
that the republic of the Puritans had blended 
with the tribes of the wilderness." Then, he 
thinks, the Americans would be an original 
people, and have a nationality ; otherwise 

But such rank originality as this would be 
hardly desirable. A people with pretensions 
to a race, language, and skin of their own 
might have resulted ; and while this would 
have gladdened the poet's heart, it would 
not have contributed to the substantial hap- 
piness of mankind. No; the essence of 
American nationality must be sought and 
found in the republican form of government 
and all that flows from it ; for the distinguish- 
ing characteristics of the people are not in 
the color of their skins, but in the color of 
their minds ; not in the words they adopt to 
express their ideas, but in the ideas them- 

A nationality founded on institutions, 
ideas, manners, and morals is, however, sub- 
ject to change. If formerly, as it has been 
remarked, the influence which Europe ex- 

The Bent of International Intercourse. 


erted on this country was to a large extent 
negative and advantageous, of late positive 
influences have prevailed which seem to war 
with the design and true distinction of Amer- 
ica. Due to this cause is the fact often ob- 
served, that the United States do not now 
possess in the same degree the national vir- 
tues which adorned their early history. 
There is not among all classes the same at- 
tachment to democracy and confidence in 
its success, nor the same simple life. The 
political ideals have fallen from the estab- 
lishment of liberty and happiness to ends 
less worthy and more material. The old 
school of statesmen would inquire what ef- 
fect innovations would have upon man, the 
new school upon money ; and where there 
was once a people there is now a populace. 
Under a paternal policy special interests have 
been so fostered, to the general loss, that 
great inequalities of wealth have resulted, 
creating those conditions in this country 
most favorable to the growth of European 

Even now throughout the Atlantic States 
foreign tastes and manners have taken hold 
of a large section of society. There is a 
mania for English "form" and French 
modes, and rules and regulations as to con- 
duct and costume are not only accepted 
from abroad, but eagerly sought. In mat- 
ters of etiquette and dress, America is with- 
out a convention. What is indigenous is 

When the Due de Chartres and the 
Comte d'Artois introduced English sports 
and fashions into France to the prejudice of 
their own, even the Court of Louis xvi., on 
the score of national pride, condemned their 
course, and required them to abandon their 
folly. And Carlyle indulges his sarcasm 
when he refers to the period, and says : " O 
beautiful days of international communion ! 
Swindlery and blackguardism have stretched 
hands across the channel and saluted mu- 

In this country public opinion, that unique 
force, is opposing the Anglo and other 
manias which afflict the land, but not always 
with success. Sports, wines, vehicles, lan- 

guage, manners, arts fine, culinary, and 
dubious are supplanting our own, and with 
increased intercourse the danger is from an 
inundation which will sweep away the re- 
sults of a century of independence. In- 
deed, public opinion itself is not impreg- 
nable to attack. Fifty years ago, when 
Tocqueville wrote his " Democracy," it may 
be said without pessimism, that America 
had a more marked individuality, and even 
more creditable characteristics than are ob- 
servable today. Notwithstanding the severe 
drawing of the old master, the picture he 
has given us of the United States at 
that period is refreshing to contemplate. 
The people were happy, equality of condi- 
tions had some reality, excessive individual 
importance was unknown, corporations were 
undeveloped, the avenues to office were 
clean, the voters, to his knowledge, had 
never been bribed, and politics were a field 
on which the best men of the day were 
proud to contend. Employment was uni- 
versal, leisure exceptional, luxury discour- 
aged, and the tyranny of fashion no more 
submitted to than that of King George. 
Men were still 'intensely serious in the work 
of maintaining free government without sel- 
fish incentive, and their patriotism amounted 
even to vanity. "If I say to an American 
that the country he lives in is a fine one, 
'Aye,' he replies, ' there is not its fellow in 
the world.' If I applaud the freedom its 
inhabitants enjoy, he answers : 'Freedom is 
a fine thing, but few nations are worthy to 
enjoy it.' If I remark the purity of morals 
which distinguishes the United States, 'I 
can imagine,' says he, ' that a stranger who 
has been struck with the corruption of all 
other nations is astounded at the difference.'" 

Such enthusiastic sentiments serve to show 
how much more the people esteemed their 
own country than any other, and how far 
they were from falling into that fatal flattery 

But what may be the causes which are 
leading the Republic from her quondam sim- 
plicity, her notable morality, her intense de- 
mocracy, and are reducing her to a condi- 
tion little better, if at all better, than other 

The Bent of International Intercourse. 


nations in these respects? What has put 
this country, after so much early resistance, 
at last within the influence of the old world, 
whose tastes, manners, and thought are 
known to be inimical to republican life ? 

Thomas Jefferson has undoubtedly given 
us an important clue. During his life-time 
he attributed the virtue of his fellow citizens 
to the fact that " they have been separated 
from the parent stock and kept from con- 
tamination, either from them or the people 
of the old world, by the intervention of so 
wide an ocean." Here, then, is the cause 
of the change : the ocean no longer inter- 
venes. It has practically dried up, leaving 
but a narrow channel to cross. The shore 
which was for Jefferson about two months 
distant, is for us less than a week for travel, 
and less than a moment for thought ! 

Tocqueville, with prophetic vision, antici- 
pated many evils which would beset the new 
Republic, but contamination by contact 
with Europe he left to the finer patriotic in- 
stincts of Thomas Jefferson. The ocean was 
then a real barrier between the two conti- 
nents, the winds and the waves beating 
back adventurous craft, and allowing few to 
break their lines. No prophet, however en- 
dowed, would, one hundred years ago, have 
ventured to predict this marvelous annihila- 
tion of space ! Europe and America are to- 
day, for most purposes, as closely bound to- 
gether, by grace of electricity and steam, as 
are California and New York, parts of our 
own continent and country. Aye, more so, 
for in the one case the highway is free, and 
the expenses of transportation less. And 
the West might as well expect ultimate immu- 
nity from Eastern influence, as the United 
States hope to keep its institutions- intact, on 
account of the intervention of what was once 
an ocean, but is now a "pond." 

The question then suggests itself, as a cor- 
ollary, Should not America, self-reliant and 
firm in her principles, discourage too close a 
communication with Europe, whereby a fickle 
and perverse generation might become enam- 
ored of a condemned civilization, and fall 
away from their own ? The Israelites, when 
they observed in their wanderings that other 

nations had royal establishments, cried out 
for a king : and such was the force of exam- 
ple that they disregarded the advice of their 
judges to put not their trust in princes, and 
later had reason to repent it. The same 
people, in servile imitation, worshiped idols 
when most favored by the living God. "What 
the eye does not see the heart does not crave 
for." And we also know by proverbial wis- 
dom the effects of touching pitch and loving 
danger. Therefore, if the products of Euro- 
pean life are detrimental to our own, there 
should certainly be a discriminating moral 
prohibition against them. 

The old world bears about the same rela- 
tion to the new that Judaism bears to Chris- 
tianity. The ever constant surprise to the 
Pharisees is that so much ,good should have 
come out of Nazareth. The old law was re- 
jected by the Master, in-so-far as it was incon- 
sistent with the new. The disciples turned 
their backs upon the religion of their fathers 
and let the dead past bury its dead. The 
new dispensation had come, better and more 

The traditional policy of this country, as 
declared by Monroe and Madison, and by 
Washington himself, in his farewell address, 
is to leave Europe severely alone. Says 
Washington : " Europe has a set of primary 
interests, which, to us, have none or a very 
remote relation." Again: "The great rule 
of conduct for us in regard to foreign na- 
tions is, in extending our commercial rela- 
tions, to have with them as little political 
connection as possible." Monroe declared 
that " we should consider any attempt on 
their part to extend their system to any por- 
tion of this hemisphere as dangerous to our 
peace and safety." 

Europe was, as it is plainly seen, an object 
of suspicion, from which nothing was asked. 
Washington thought that such were the re- 
sources, and " the peculiarly happy and re- 
mote situation " of this country, that it could, 
without loss, assume an attitude of entire in- 

Is this policy still pursued ? Has not the 
diplomatic service been extended unneces- 
sarily ? Has not the United States, without 


The Bent of International Intercourse. 


precedent, sat with European powers, on a 
foreign commission, for disposal of a foreign 
territory, and otherwise contravened the 
spirit of the Monroe doctrine ? Are we not 
afflicted with Anglo-mania and every mania 
foreign? The " happy and remote situation " 
has no longer any reality, and to this is attrib- 
utable the silent invasion of our territory by 
European peculiarities, customs, and thought. 
Europe and America remained apart until 
innocent causes at last drew them together, 
and the reduction of the distance between 
the two continents effected with equal pace 
a diminution of the differentia. 

The immediate result of greater proximity 
is increased intercourse ; and intercourse 
may be by travel, immigration, commerce, 
and literature. Now let us enquire to which 
of these, or to all combined, is the contam- 
ination spoken of by Jefferson particularly 

i. Not to immigration is it due in any 
marked degree, because the un-American 
proclivities and fond imitation are attrib- 
utable to the so-called higher classes, where- 
as the large body of immigrants belong to the 
humbler. And again, it is on account of the 
introduction of ideas and tastes, and not of 
men, that America suffers. Men and ideas, 
it is true, go together, but the immigrant is 
not engaged in a propaganda. And further, 
it is a matter of common observation, that 
in one or two generations the immigrant be- 
comes what his improved environment makes 
him. He arrives, as it were, in a nascent 
state, and is absorbed and assimilated by the 
established communities 'into which he is 
cast. He is influenced, but does not sensibly 
influence. He conforms to the manners of 
the place, and does not contaminate by his 
European breeding the people among whom 
he resides. His loyalty is rarely questioned. 
If he retains an affection for the land of his 
birth, though it has given him naught but 
life, yet it is a sentiment no man would stifle, 
and one which, in the breast of his offspring, 
will be awakened thereafter for the land of 
his adoption. But the sentimental and un- 
sentimental alike find ample reason for the 
renunciation of their old allegiance in the 
passage from the Greek : 

"The land where thou art prosperous is thy country." 
It is not surprising that naturalized citizens 
should be devoted to the institutions of the 
United States. They appreciate free govern- 
ment the more on account of their intimate 
acquaintance with despotic rule, which they 
leave because they do not love. 

Consequently, it can in no way follow that 
because this country was settled by Europe- 
ans, and continues to receive them, that it 
should on that account be affected by Euro- 
pean ideas, and have no distinct character 
of its own. It had a distinct character, be- 
cause it disapproved all along, not of mere 
foreigners, men who happened to be born 
elsewhere, but of those foreign principles of 
government and morals which are found to 
be fatal alike to freedom and virtue. It is 
very often the same strong disapproval by 
the emigrant himself, which drives him from 
fatherland. Not without a pang are the ties 
of native associations severed, and the man 
who, under oppression, leaves home and 
country, must dislike his own government 
and respect himself. The very fact of vol- 
untary exile should make him worthy of 

There are certain classes who feel that 
their influence in the State is not commensu- 
rate with their social, financial, or intellectu- 
al importance, and consequently they are res- 
tive under popular rule, and stand opposed 
to immigration. But it is a question which 
are the more dangerous classes to the Re- 
public, the lordly or the lowly. If ever 
Europe be enthroned in America, and 
king, caste, and their concomitants be in- 
troduced, it is safe to say that neither the 
foreign population nor the lower orders will 
be responsible for it. The encouragement 
and support will come from another class, 
sincerely patriotic, no doubt, but whose 
ideas have been perverted by education, and 
whose ideals are cast after false models. The 
most thorough American of recent years was 
Wendell Phillips. He had a just apprecia- 
tion of American society, having made its 
constitution and bearing the study of his 
life. In his memorial oration, George Wil- 
liam Curtis thus speaks of him: "He felt 
that what is called the respectable class is 


The Bent of International Intercourse. 


often really, but unconsciously, and with a 
generous purpose, not justly estimating its 
own tendency, the dangerous class." 

Now, we may point out at least one way in 
which this class has become dangerous. In 
the first place, what is called the "respecta- 
ble " class wields comparatively a large 
amount of influence, more than they them- 
selves perhaps believe. They are in a posi- 
tion to exact virtue or tolerate vice ; they in- 
augurate fashions, adopt manners, and set 
examples. Nor is their sway confined to 
their immediate circle: it extends beyond, 
for there are always multitudes who follow 
blindly the law that is given. There ' are 
also included under this designation the men 
and women who represent the thought of 
the country, who edit newspapers, write 
books and plays, and who, on platform and 
stage, or in the legislature, propagate ideas 
or give them local habitation. This impor- 
tant class, consciously or unconsciously, are 
subject to all the influences of the older civ- 

2. This influence is exerted in many 
ways, among which is the medium of im- 
ported literature. There is practically a free 
trade of books between the two continents, 
but the current is all one way, and author- 
ship in this country remains the only indus- 
try unprotected. The English-speaking peo- 
ple of America give comparatively little en- 
couragement to the native literature, and as 
Lowell has expressed it, "read Englishmen's 
books and steal Englishmen's thoughts." 
But it would be nearer true to indicate Eu- 
rope and not England alone as the source of 
America's intellectual subsistence. The ab- 
sence of international copyright has given to 
America greater facilities for an acquaintance 
with European literature than the Europeans 
themselves enjoy. What is the result but 
that America is most affected thereby, and 
that this becomes one of the agencies 
through which the worst features of con- 
tinental life are introduced, and made, as it 
were, by intimate acquaintance, the common 
experience of the people ? For instance, 
what a disastrous popularity the French 
drama and novel have gained, and Ouida 

is read only less than Zola. They paint with 
shocking fidelity the daily life of the old 
world, and cast a glamour of false coloring 
over practices and principles which are fatal 
to the orderly existence of society. 

But a republic is a much more sensitive 
organism than a monarchy. The former de- 
pends entirely upon the people, and when 
the people become corrupt, it is impossible 
for it to thrive. A monarchy flourishes on 
that very food which is fatal to freedom, for 
the necessity of absolute government in- 
creases part passu with the inability of the 
masses to govern themselves. Thus France 
is keeping up the conditions of monarchy, 
and we are importing them. 

3. Intercourse by commerce, the least 
objectionable form it can take, is closely 
guarded by a protective tariff; while the 
gates are wide open to the introduction of 
everything else. American industries would 
certainly suffer, temporarily, at least, were 
import duties abolished, as American nation- 
ality suffers now from a free trade of the im- 
palpable products of Europe, which compete 
with native ideas, tastes, and manners. As 
foreign goods are less expensive, so foreign 
ways are more comfortable, and the people 
insensibly adopt them. 

4. But immigration, literature, and com- 
merce yield, perhaps, in the effects they 
cause, to travel, which is one of the principal 
de-Americanizing forces at work. By travel 
I mean the perennial hegira of the people of 
this country to foreign parts ; tourists, who 
turn their faces against the course of empire, 
traverse the dividing sea, and revel in the 
continent beyond. At one time travel was 
the necessary complement of education ; 
but since then the world has changed. 
Prester John can no longer rule ; Hernan- 
do Mendez Pinto is impossible. All coun- 
tries have been explored and described. 
One may sit down in his library and read ac- 
curate accounts of distant places with per- 
fect confidence. And daily at breakfast one 
need but to read the newspapers to be put 
en rapport with the remotest peoples, and to 
learn of yesterday's events throughout the 


The Bent of International Intercourse. 


While travel has a fascination in itself, 
and, within reasonable limits, has much edu- 
cating influence, yet, when extended or hab- 
itual, it is open to objection from a patriotic 
point of view. If, perchance, it improves 
the American as an individual, which is not 
entirely conceded, it undoubtedly detracts 
from his value as a citizen. Europe is a 
hot-house of men and things. All develop- 
ment there is artificial ; the rugged virtues 
are apt to be rejected as weeds, and the nat- 
ural powers lost in over-cultivation. Society 
is insincere. In every field false standards 
are set up. Everything militates against the 
proper training of an American respecting 
rights, duties, government, and home. To 
trust in the people, the domestic virtues, and 
the dignity of labor, there is opposed the 
despotic idea, lubricity, and leisure. Jeffer- 
son has said that two things only may be 
learned better abroad than at home, namely, 
"vice and the foreign languages." Whether 
strictly true or not, this remark carries more 
force now, with our advance in the means of 
education, than it did one hundred years ago. 

The English have been called the greatest 
of travelers, but of recent years the Ameri- 
icans have outstripped them, particularly on 
the continent of Europe. And as regards 
the effects of travel, there can be no analogy 
between the two peoples, for the English 
have an established nationality and are an 
ancient race, while America is new, impres- 
sionable, and still plastic, and her people 
largely cosmopolitan. 

Emerson has dwelt upon the fondness of 
his countrymen for travel, and deplored it. 
" It is for want of self-culture that the super- 
stition of Traveling, whose idols are Italy, 
England,. Egypt, retains its fascination for 
all educated Americans. They who made 
England, Italy, or Greece venerable in the 
imagination did so by sticking fast to where 
they were, like an axis of the earth." " Trav- 
eling is a fool's paradise." And again : " Our 
minds travel when our bodies are forced 
to stay at home. We imitate ; and what is 
imitation but traveling of the mind? Our 
houses are built with foreign taste; our 
shelves are garnished with foreign ornaments; 

our opinions, our tastes, our faculties, lean 
and follow the past and the distant." 

And as the flow is more ample, the resist- 
ance being diminished, so, the victories of 
peace having broken down the barriers of 
space, travel has assumed floodlike pro- 
portions. Invention has verily laid siege to 
the Atlantic, and it has yielded up most of 
its terrors. And so natural have speed and 
comfort become, the Clyde leviathans seem 
merely to supply an omission in the scheme 
of creation. And thus facilitated, travel 
has grown portentously popular. It is esti- 
mated that an average of one hundred and 
twenty-five thousand persons sail yearly for 
European ports, three-fourths of whom are 
of the tourist class. Only Russia has seen 
fit to tax her travel-loving subjects, who pay 
one hundred and sixty roubles ($115) per 
year during their absence; and the United 
States, under a recent interpretation of the 
Act of Congress of August 3, 1882, is about 
to collect a duty of fifty cents for every alien 
passenger, including tourists and transient 
visitors, arriving from a foreign port. With 
these exceptions the traffic of travelers is un- 
restricted. Indeed, every facility is afforded 
it. The passport system has been abolished, 
and passports are now needless, unless, per- 
haps, to more speedily get a registered letter 
or gain admittance to a private gallery. The 
principle of " once a subject always a sub- 
ject " is being gradually relaxed, while the 
writ of ne exeat is confined exclusively to 

And as to special facilities, there are estab- 
lished in the principal capitals, exchanges, 
whose single purpose is to smooth the way of 
innocents abroad. And so complete have ar- 
rangements been made, that it is now unneces- 
sary for the bare uses of travel to carry any 
money whatever; for it is possible to pur- 
chase in any large center, as New York, 
tickets and hotel accommodations for an en- 
tire European tour ; and, as it were, supple- 
mentary to this, far-sighted benevolence has 
provided an institution at Paris wherein 
stranded Americans are cared for or ad- 
vanced the wherewithal to bridge over tem- 
porary distress. 


For a Preface. 


It is not surprising that travel is encour- 
aged by Europe. It is a rich source of rev- 
enue to the national railroads, museums, and 
galleries ; to hotels and to producers gener- 
ally from Ultima Thule to the Isles of 

Again, the same " respectable class " of 
Wendell Phillips are the principal offenders. 
They go to Europe with growing families for 
residence and education, and generally with 
the purpose to return. And every shipload of 
returning tourists of this sort is a Trojan horse 
of danger. They become familiar with a 
life inimical to ours, and what they do not 
learn to enthusiastically admire they pas- 
sively tolerate. This is true of manners, mor- 
als, thought, tastes, and government. They 
are no longer staunch in their love of coun- 
try, a sentiment which they are informed by 
foreign critics is "'a narrow provincialism." 
No longer do they put any value on political 
privileges, and they become oblivious at last 
to the historic struggles which resulted in 
human freedom. Travel affords them the 
luxury of being without a country, and they 
are proud of their new condition as " citi- 
zens of the world." Of Europe they unqual- 
ifiedly approve. They say that the men and 
women abroad are more cultivated, the peas- 

ants more picturesque, the governments bet- 
ter conducted, the capitals more gorgeous, 
and existence more enjoyable than at home. 
Everything seems to be done for the people, 
and they are not required to do anything for 
themselves. With such surface observations 
they are content. They do not suspect that 
ceremonies, forms, and pageantry are all de- 
signed to act upon the imagination of the 
crowd, and keep them in awe of authority, 
and that authority, in its turn, acts as a cloak 
to despotism. They do not see the result- 
ant misery, the denial of freedom, religious 
and civil, the enforced conscription, the bur- 
dens upon industry, and the chronic impov- 
erishment of the people. A true knowledge. 
of the past and contemporaneous history of 
Europe would make better Americans of 
such travelers, whose information now is 
gleaned on delusive fields. 

International intercourse may be instru- 
mental in civilizing America, but is it not on 
the old lines condemned by the Fathers? 
Is there not danger, by too close contact with 
Europe, of losing all that is distinctive in 
American life? And, notwithstanding the 
strictures of foreign criticism, is not Ameri- 
can nationality,, such as it is, worth preserv- 

/. D. Phelan. 


I HAVE stood shivering in November days 

The sour November days that threatened frost 
Watching the birds that, summer long, had crossed 

And crossed so oft my quiet garden ways, 

I knew and loved them as I did the rays 
Of sunshine there, wing southward until lost 
At the far, misty world brim, cloud embossed, 

Where summer still lay warm in drowsy haze. 

They .found the summer ? That I do not know. 

Mayhap 'twas not for them nor yet for these, 
My books. I only stand as they depart, 

Miss them and wait, not eager that they please 
So much as wistful that they bring the glow 

Of lacking summer to some chilly heart. 


August in the Sierra. 



THE clear sunlight fills this glorious moun- 
tain land. I write from beneath the shelter 
of a sugar pine growing on the hillside, near 
a ruined saw-mill, and close by the flash and 
sparkle of water flowing from a broken flume. 
A mile below, far down the ridge, are the 
clustered houses of a mining village, once, 
in the days before the decision against hy- 
draulic mining, a thrifty mountain town, but 
now fast tumbling into decay. Ten years 
ago there were fifty children in the public 
school; now only fifteen. Ten years ago 
the town had three hotels and half a dozen 
stores ; now the single hotel-keeper runs the 
store and keeps the post-office and the liv- 
ery stable, and peddles vegetables, and mines 
a little during the intervals of his other occu- 

Far up the ridge, beyond the sharp knobs 
of quartz and masses of lava, beyond the 
dark cedar forest, are peaks on whose pre- 
cipitous sides a few patches of snow yet lin- 
ger in the hot August sun. Deep down sheer 
descents, twinkling along the bottom of the 
gulch, is a winding river, flowing through 
wastes of gravel and past trunks of blasted 
trees. At my feet are flowers in earliest bud 
flowers that long ago passed out of bloom 
in the valley ; and beside them are shyer 
flowers, which only the wilder heights nour- 
ish. Here is that rare luxuriance of inter- 
mingling trees, vines, shrubs, trailers, and 
lesser plants, which only the mountain can 

It is the earliest summer here; the grass- 
es are yet green ; the flush of spring has not 
quite faded. Climb a mile further up the 
steep trail, and you will find wild roses in 
first bloom, and imagine yourself back in 
April. Down in the far-away valley gardens 
of Sacramento and San Jose, there are dahl- 
ias and hollyhocks, gladiolas, oleanders, 
crape myrtles, and magnolias; here, larkspurs 
and dicentras. If one should climb to the 
edges of yon snow-drift, the green grass, a 

finger's width in tallness, would be found 
lying about it, and blue nemophilas of March 
would be seen there. 

As one sits in peace beneath his chosen 
pine tree, the beauty of this broad plateau, 
so cleft by rivers like the Yuba and Feather, 
so uplifted into crags and snow peaks, takes 
possession of his thoughts. He remembers 
the slow ascent, the pictures of the past, the 
foothill homes, the winding roads, the busy 
and prosperous men he met in the way hith- 
er. How long ago it seems since he was in 
the midst of the broad barley fields of Sola- 
no, Yolo, and Sacramento, white to the har- 
vest, already falling before the gleaming 
reaper blade. 

The Sierra foothills extend so far down 
into the valley that it is hard to say at any 
point, " here the lowland ceases, the upland 
begins." The low hills that one finds after 
leaving the valley, have little to commend 
them to the eye. They are dull in appear- 
ance, and seemingly unfertile, given over to 
stunted fields of grain, and small chicken 
ranches, with an occasional effort at orchard- 
ing and vegetable gardening. Approach the 
Sierras from whichever way you choose, the 
entrance must be through this region of few 
attractions, this narrow belt of land that does 
not as yet attract the horticulturist. The 
true orchard land is farther up the heights. 
But the judicious use of water from the old 
mining ditches extended to the outermost 
verge of these hills will work a surprising 
change in their appearance. 

Just below me, within fifty yards in fact, 
is a cabin sinking slowly into decay. " Old 
Cap "' lives there, a miner, who goes down 
into the gulch each morning to his toil, and 
returns each night with a little gold-dust, 
enough to supply his wants. He owns a lit- 
tle claim down there, and he takes water 
from the mining ditch that courses its way on 
the hillside above us. The little work he 
does hardly roils the stream for a mile, and 


August in the Sierra. 


so, despite decisions of Courts, he will prob- 
ably go on in the same uneventful way for 
the rest of his life. Scattered all through 
these ravines are such men as " Old Cap," 
upon whom the spell of this warm, spicy 
mountain air, this dreamy, beautiful land, 
has taken an irresistible hold. They cannot 
depart if they would ; they would not depart 
if they could. " Old Cap " often passes me, 
with his pick on his shoulder a glittering 
and dangerous weapon, curved in the shape 
of a third of the circumference of a cart-wheel, 
steel-pointed, burnished from tip to eye, and 
with a handle " like a weaver's beam." I 
have seen him poise his weapon carelessly 
above a foot square fragment of stone, and 
splinter it with a stroke. Not a weapon for 
unskilled hands, this famous tool of the 
seekers for minerals in waste places so 
many centuries, the toil-sacred Pick that 
stands on our State shield, the weapon that 
Aletes carried over the hills of Spain, when 
he searched for and found the most famous 
silver mines of antiquity ; the weapon that 
Attic slaves in revolt caught up, and that 
Bargulus, the Illyrian, led his troops with. 
" Old Cap " will tell you, with a chuckle, 
that "a young city chap thought he could 
heft my pick, and drapped the p'int on his 
foot " another chuckle. 

"And what happened, Cap?" 

" Nothing much. Only he had to mend 
his shoe a thin thing, like a girl's. Two 
holes one in the upper, t'other in the 

Cap comes home about an hour before 
sunset, cooks his supper, washes the dishes, 
and then brings out an old chair and sits in 
front of his hut till bed-time. Now and then 
he goes off to the village, a half-hour's walk, 
and brings back his weekly paper, and buys 
a few groceries. He has not written nor re- 
ceived a letter for fifteen years. He has a 
few books in the cabin, so he tells me, but 
what they are I do not know, for his gentle- 
ness is of the sort that invites not but rather 
repels questions, and he does not invite any 
one across his threshold. Yet it will hardly 
do to build up a romance upon all this. He 
is no ex-professor from a far-off college, no 

heart-broken romancist, hiding here ; long 
ago he found he could live, and eat, and 
sleep here, and he is just as contented as the 
cattle on the hillside, and in much the same 

From this point on the slope, the far-off 
mining village seems to sprawl over space 
enough to make several good-sized farms. 
One gets little good out of a mining camp in 
daytime. It is at dusk that it takes on the 
air of peaceful acquiescence that most be- 
comes its nature. In the whole world, one 
is tempted to believe, there is nothing else 
like the old mining camp for contented ac- 
ceptance of the ways of Providence. The 
sleepiest fisher village that ever clung to 
dark cliffs above slow breakers and white 
sea-sand, will rouse from its quiet when 
shoals of herring fill the bay, or when winter 
storms hurl some doomed ship on the rocks; 
the laziest village of all the valleys will grow, 
though slowly, by increase in the value of 
lands, and by better means of communica- 
tion with larger towns ; even a peaceful hill- 
tribe of the Afghan foothills may find their 
little village invaded by Boundary Commis- 
sioners and emissaries of empires whose 
capitals are a continent away. But the old 
mining camp is repose unbroken. If a man 
moves away, he leaves his house behind him, 
unsold, uncared for, and there it stands till 
it rots into a pile of kindling wood, or falls 
down the bank, or is utilized as a bon-fire by 
some of the boys in times of political fer- 

Yonder was a pretty garden on the slopes, 
but the miners here have stopped work, the 
water flows no more in the ditch, the gar- 
den is dead and gone to dust and weeds. 
The ferns and red thistles cover it like a 
garment. Here is a building with solid 
brick walls, iron shutters, and a door which 
would stand a siege from a regiment. This 
was a bank once, and the Express Company 
had an office there, and the miners bought 
exchanges and letters of credit on Hamburg, 
Paris, Berlin, London, New York it says 
so in faded letters painted on the old iron 
door. But now strange metamorphosis of 
a banker's office the front is plastered over 


August in the Sierra. 


with red paper charms against evil, and pray- 
ers to the manes of departed relatives ; piles 
of rice-sacks heap the stone floor, and twen- 
ty or more Chinese, who carry on a little 
mining and have vegetable gardens along 
the river, are owners and occupants of the 
building. Sometimes it seems a camp from 
which all life has long before departed with 
the gold and miners of forty years ago for- 
gotten miners who died unrecorded deaths, 
and fill unmarked graves on rain-washed 
hillsides. You can find the marks of their 
work for miles about the place, along the 
ancient gold-bearing channels, and on the 
highest ridges of the tempest-torn land ; 
stumps of pine in the forest show where 
sawyers and loggers worked ; prospect holes 
on the ledges tell a story of uncounted strug- 
gles and failures. 

Yet somehow, through all its vicissitudes, 
the true camp keeps much that is homelike 
and unique. Slip quietly away from the 
hulking business houses, where the stock that 
suffices to supply fifty inhabitants is vainly 
trying to occupy the shelves of once-gorgeous 
establishments that supplied ten times that 
population, and you will discover that there 
is home-life, though no business life. For 
almost always a few families that would grace 
the society of far more populous places re- 
main to watch their rose gardens and prune 
their vines. They keep ample communica- 
tion with the outside world : chiefly for them 
the mail-bags come and go, the lumbering 
stage-coaches and light wagons climb the 
dusty slopes from distant towns. Crooked 
streets wind up the hill, trees line them with 
deep shade; cottages stand back from the 
street, and gardens are everywhere. Pretty 
women in white summer gowns stand on 
wide porches overhung with roses, and chil- 
dren run and frolic on terraced grass plots. 
Neighborly people slip in and out, by gates 
hidden in hedges, to make twilight visits ; 
the sound of music and laughter and friendly 
talk mingle, and one falls in love with the 
place, and is disposed to write himself for- 
ever a dweller in this lotus-land. 

How varied are the uses men make of 
water in the mountains ; how abundantly it 

flows by roadside and trail. It is used in 
small orchards, grass-plots, alfalfa and red 
clover fields, gardens and vineyards. In even 
the smallest "camp" the dusty street is 
kept wet and hard from one end of the vil- 
lage to the other. Almost every half mile, 
as one travels through the Sierra, there is a 
trough or barrel by the roadside, and cool 
water flows in and seeps over the edge again, 
and so away, keeping a trail of green grass 
quite across the road, and a rod of blossoms 
below. Springs are numerous, and water is 
near the surface. You cannot ride far in any 
direction before you come upon a scooped 
out place in the gravel-bank, or almost hid 
in bushes, where a spring bubbles up or 
drips out of a rock, most clear and ice cold. 
In nine cases out of ten you will also find 
that a tin can for a cup has been hung on a 
bush, or stands in a narrow niche cut in the 
bank some friendly teamster's forethought 
has provided it so that you need not go down 
on your knees in the wet grass, and dip your 
nose in the water, or lap like Gideon's three 
hundred, or scoop the water hastily with 
bent palm. 

From the top of my hill, and it is not far 
thither, I should see the valley in its cloudy 
distance. I should see the State House at 
Sacramento, and the two largest rivers of 
California, and the Coast Range, and the 
peak of Mount Diablo. I should be able to 
count ten towns and fifty villages, and a hun- 
dred landmarks of interest. The level plain, 
checker boarded with inch-square farms, and 
the sea-green wastes of tule along the rivers, 
represent the realm of the lowlands. There 
are towns lying level as floors of a house ; 
there are long, monotonous roads, deep dust, 
sweltering heat, toiling men, threshing ma- 
chines, from whose hoppers the golden grain 
runs. There men are busy enough, in a 
thousand modes of activity building, gath- 
ering grapes, shipping fruit, putting out fires 
in wheat fields, arranging for their county 
fairs as becomes easy, comfortable, and 
prosperous lowlanders. If I could see it all, 
from Reading to Tejon Pass, with such mi- 
nuteness that I could count the spears of 
grass in each farmyard, I would not hasten 


August in the Sierra. 


to climb my hilltop today. I would rather 
sit here, and see where a yellow cliff gleams 
in a circle of dark pines toward the south ; 
and watch a river-like torrent that foams pas- 
sionately down the cliff, and breaks into 
spray on black rocks below. Let the valley- 
world make its pilgrimage here, and when we 
have nothing better to do, we will take a pine- 
branch for an umbrella, and visit the lands 
of the tule islands, .the cities of dead levels 
and streets mathematical. 

One arrives in the Sierras by slow grada- 
tions. You cannot easily understand the 
greatness of the mountain battlements you 
ascend. Along some artery-like road, hewn 
out years ago by the argonauts in their gold- 
quest, you climb unaware into the land of 
peace and silence. The Coast Range often 
has its peaks cleft nearly to the valley level, 
and its ridges follow no law of arrangement, 
but project towards all points of the com- 
pass. But the axis of the Sierra is unbroken ; 
from the high plateau still higher peaks rise, 
and ravines descend to profound depths ; 
but the traveler who once gains the " divide " 
between two rivers can follow it up to the 
snow-peaks, and find that the season keeps 
at almost a standstill for him, if he times his 
journey with judicious care. How good a 
plan, just for a change, to have three months 
of June, and come back to the valley to dis- 
cover that it was September there ! 

The children one passes on the roadside 
are carrying armfuls of wild lilies. You can 
find them growing in tall clusters in openings 
in the forest clusters sometimes so tall 
that if you are on horseback the topmost 
buds will be nearly at your waist. A child 
is always an object of interest in the moun- 
tains ; parents make companions of them to 
the greatest extent imaginable, and the pet- 
ting they have from old miners who live 
lonely lives in their cabins is quite marvel- 
ous. Thus they come at last to have a 
demure dignity all their own, and learn to 

rule their kingdom with a rod of iron at 
least, the girls do ; for the boys are too soon 
dethroned, and learn that the world yields 
only to wit, strength, and wisdom. 

Not many years ago the old mining coun- 
ties were considered worn-out, and fit to em- 
igrate from ; but one of the most encouraging 
of recent developments in the direction of 
fruit culture and grape-growing is in these 
same old mining regions. The settler finds 
good timber, free fire wood, pure water, a 
glorious climate, soil which will grow the 
grains and fruits of the temperate, and often 
of the semi-tropical zones. Some men of 
energy have created for themselves fertile 
gardens on the hillsides, and there is room 
for thousands of others. According to the 
reports of the immigration societies, a steady 
stream of travel to the mining counties ap- 
pears to have begun, and it is not hard to 
predict a great change there within a few 
more years. Shasta is receiving much new 
blood ; the broad plains east of the Sacra- 
mento, at Redding, are dotted with cabins, 
and the red-land foothills west of Anderson 
are nearly all occupied. Placer and Butte 
Counties have become favorite spots for 
home-seekers, and Nevada County is also 
attracting attention. Tuolumne, Calaveras, 
Mariposa, and the southern Sierra region, 
^are also coming into public notice. This 
very hillside where I sit would make an ex- 
cellent place for an apple orchard, and the 
fruit would keep much later than that grown 
farther down the ridge, ten miles from here ; 
and several thousand feet lower, peaches and 
grapes thrive. A slice of land a mile wide, 
and extending across this county, would be 
like a strip of territory from the Gulf to the 
Lakes, put into a condenser and reduced to 
thirty miles exactly. At one end there 
might be a date palm tree planted for a gate- 
post, and at the other end an edelweiss from 
the Alps, for a warning that only lichens and 
snow-plants could grow beyond. 

Paul Meredith. 


The Metric System. 


AN instinctive sense of the right of property 
seems to be coextensive with intelligence. We 
discover abundant evidence of the existence 
of this feeling among the lower animals as 
well asamong ourselves. Carniverous animals 
and birds will store away provisions, and will 
defend the property thus acquired. Among 
the social animals, as the beaver, and the 
social insects, as the ant and the bee, we 
perceive the principle more broadly devel- 
oped. But the lower animals, while they 
assert the right of property, never manifest 
any notion of commerce or exchange, even in 
its simplest form. "The commercial idea 
makes its first appearance in man. It is 
present in every stage of human civilization." 
Man is essentially an animal which barters 
and exchanges. 

As wealth augments, and as its forms be- 
come diversified, the necessity of determining 
the equivalents exchanged by quantity rather 
than by tale is quite manifest. Out of this 
necessity springs the creation of conventional 
standards, by means of which quantities may 
be correctly ascertained and everywhere ac- 
curately verified. Hence have arisen the- 
various systems of measure and weight which 
have been found to accompany even the 
rudest forms of civilization. As social and 
political institutions became developed, legis- 
lation has stepped in from time to time to 
alter these primitive systems; to change the 
value of their unit bases ; to modify the re- 
lations of derivative denominations ; until, 
at the present time, there is no reason to be- 
lieve that there survives a single value of any 
standard unit of measure or weight identical 
with one in use two thousand years ago. 

No precise notion can be formed of any 
measurable magnitude in any other way 
than by comparing it with some other more 
familiar magnitude taken as a unit. So far 
as measures and weights are concerned, the 
most important unit is that of length, or the 
linear unit. For the square of the linear 

unit furnishes the unit of surface, the cube 
of the same unit furnishes the unit of volume 
or capacity, and the weight of a unit volume 
of some substance, as water at a standard 
temperature, furnishes a unit of weight. 

The necessity of having recourse, for the 
interchange of ideas, to units of length not 
entirely arbitrary, but fixed by nature, and 
intelligible alike to all mankind, seems to 
have been recognized in the earliest ages. 
Hence originated the fathom, the pace, the 
cubit, the foot, the span, the palm, the digit, 
the barleycorn, the hairbreadth, and other 
denominations of linear measure, taken from 
parts of the human body, or from natural 
objects, which, though not of an absolute 
and invariable length, have a certain mean 
value sufficiently definite to answer all the 
purposes required in a rude state of society. 

But as civilization advanced, the necessity 
of adopting more precise standards would be 
felt, and the inadequacy of such units as the 
pace, cubit, foot, etc. (referred only to the 
human body), to convey accurate notions, 
would be rendered more apparent in their 
application to itinerary measures, or the es- 
timation of great distances; where differences 
of the fundamental unit, of no account when 
only one or two units are considered, would 
amount, by repeated multiplication, to enor- 
mous quantities. To avoid this inconve- 
nience, recourse was had to other methods of 
estimation, so vague as scarcely to deserve 
the appellation of measures. Thus, in an- 
cient writers, we frequently read of a day's 
journey, a day's sail, and so forth ; and in 
many countries, even at the present time, it 
is the custom of the peasantry to estimate 
itinerary distances by hours. 

As civilization advanced, the inconve- 
niences arising from the variability and want 
of uniformity of the units of linear measure 
derived from parts of the human body be- 
came so perplexing, that material standards 
were prepared, and carefully kept by govern- 


The Metric System. 


ment in places of security. At Rome they 
were kept in the Temple of Jupiter; among 
the Jews they were in the custody of the 
family of Aaron. 

The excavations at Pompeii have revealed 
many household articles in use among the 
Romans during the first century of our era. 
It is well known that this city was buried 
under the ashes of Vesuvius in the year 79 
of our era. Fine specimens of steel-yards, 
called statera, or tnitina campana, have been 
found, bearing inscriptions showing that they 
had been proved at Rome in the year 77, 
two years before the destruction of the city. 
These excavations have likewise revealed a 
pair of scales, with equal arms (called libra), 
having scale-pans and the appliances for 
delicate weighing, including a graduated arm, 
with a movable rider for indicating fractional 

From an early period the English standard 
of length was, as it is now, the yard. There 
is no reason to doubt the commonly received 
account which derives the yard from the 
length of the arm of King Henry L, about 
the year 1115. For the purpose of securing 
some degree of uniformity among the ordi- 
nary measures of the kingdom, certain stand- 
ards were preserved in the Exchequer, with 
which all rods were required to be compared 
before they were stamped as legal measures. 
The most ancient of these in actual existence 
dates from the reign of Henry VIL, about 
1485, but it has long been disused. 

That which, till the year 1824, was con- 
sidered as the legal standard, was a brass 
rod, placed in the Exchequer in the time of 
Queen Elizabeth, about 1570. To this rod 
belonged a brass bar, on one edge of which 
was a hollow bed or matrix fitted to receive 
the square rod of the standard yard ; and 
into this bed were fitted the yard measures 
brought to be examined and stamped with 
the standard marks. All rods so stamped 
became standard measures. It is evident 
that measures determined in this coarse man- 
ner could have no strict claim to be consid- 
ered as accurate copies of the original stand- 
ard. Moreover, from Mr. Baily's report, it 
would seem that the standard itself was in- 

capable of affording any definite or correct 
measure. Mr. Baily, who had an opportu- 
nity of examining this curious instrument, 
thus describes it (Memoirs Roy. Ast. Soc., 
Vol. ix.): "A common kitchen poker, filed 
at the ends in the rudest manner, by the 
most bungling workman, would make as good 
a standard. It has been broken asunder, and 
the two pieces been dovetailed together, but 
so badly that the joint is nearly as loose as 
that of a pair of tongs " ; and yet, as late as the 
year 1820, "to the disgrace of this country, 
copies of this measure have been circulated 
all over Europe and America, with a parch- 
ment document accompanying them, certify- 
ing that they are true copies of the English 

Such being the condition of the English 
legal standard, it was obviously impossible 
that it could be applied to any purpose 
where great accuracy and minuteness were 
demanded. In fact, it was utterly inappli- 
cable to any scientific purpose whatever. 
In the year 1742 some Fellows of the Royal 
Society of London and Members of the 
Academy of Sciences of Paris, proposed to 
have accurate standards of the measures of 
both nations made and carefully examined, 
in order that means might be provided for 
comparing the results of scientific experi- 
ments in England and France. The com- 
mittee having the matter in charge found, 
besides the legal standard in the Exchequer, 
some others which were considered of good 
if not of equal authority. At Guildhall they 
found two standards of length. Another, 
preserved in the Tower of London, is a solid 
brass rod forty-one inches long, on one side 
of which was the measure of 'a yard, divided 
into inches. Another, belonging to the 
Clockmakers' Company, having the stamp 
of the Exchequer for 1671, was a brass rod 
on which the length of the yard was ex- 
pressed by the difference between two up- 
right pins. The committee selected the 
standard in the Tower as being the best de- 
fined; and Mr. George Graham (the cele- 
brated clockmaker) was directed to lay off 
from it, with great care, the length of the 
yard on two brass rods, which were sent to the 


The Metric System. 


Academy of Sciences at Paris, who in like man- 
ner laid off thereon the measure of the Paris 
haM-toise. One of these was kept at Paris, 
the other was returned to the Royal Society, 
where it still remains. Unfortunately, it 
was not stated at what temperature the toise 
was set off, and, consequently, the compari- 
son is now of little or no value for scientific 

In 1758, a committee of the House of 
Commons was appointed to inquire into the 
original standards of measures and weights. 
The committee presented an elaborate re- 
port, in which they recommended that a rod 
which, at their order, had been made by Mr. 
Bird from the standard of the Royal Society, 
should be declared the legal standard of all 
measures of length. 

In the following year another committee 
was formed on the subject, which concurred 
with the former committee in recommending 
that " Bird's Standard Yard of 1758 " should 
be the only unit of linear measure; and at 
the same time recommended that a copy of 
it should be made for security against acci- 
dents, and deposited in some public office. 
Accordingly a second standard was construct- 
ed by Bird in 1760, intended to be an exact 
copy of the former. This last standard (of 
1760) was declared, by the Act of 1824, to 
be the legal standard of the kingdom. 

Notwithstanding these two parliamentary 
reports, no legal enactment was passed, and 
the subject remained for a long time (from 
1760 to 1824) in the same state of uncer- 
tainty. During this interval, the celebrated 
Troughton constructed various measures, 
which were all copies, as nearly as could be 
made, of Bird's Standard of 1760, or, at 
least, of a copy of it constructed by Bird him- 
self, which was in the custody of the British 

In 1814 the subject of standards of meas- 
ures and weights was again brought under 
the consideration of Parliament ; a report 
was made, but was attended with no result. 
In 1819 a commission was appointed, con- 
sisting of several distingushed Fellows of the 
Royal Society, who, in their final report, in 
1820, proposed the adoption of "Bird's 

Standard of 1760," as being the best defined. 
This standard was at length legalized by an 
act passed in June, 1824, in which for the 
first time the unit of measure was defined as 
the " distance between the centers of the 
two points in the gold studs in the brass 
rod " of the " Standard Yard of 1760," the 
same being at the temperature of 62 (F.). 
It was designated as the " Imperial Standard 
Yard." The act further declared, that "if at 
any time hereafter the said standard shall be 
lost or destroyed, it shall be restored by 
making a new Standard Yard, bearing the 
proportion to the length of a pendulum vi- 
brating seconds of mean time, in the lati- 
tude of London, in a vacuum, and at the 
level of the sea, of 36 inches to 39.1393 
inches." This measurement of the length of 
the second's pendulum, which- is made the 
basis of the restoring feature of the enact- 
ment, was executed with extraordinary pre- 
caution and skill, in 1818, by Captain Kater, 
who at the same time first made an accurate 
determination of the relation between the 
metre and the British standard yard. 

The recommendation of the commission- 
ers, on which the enactment was founded, 
has been severely criticized ; for, when Mr. 
Baily compared the legal standard with the 
new standard scale 1 made by Troughton, 
for the Royal Astronomical Society, it was 
found to be utterly impossible to ascertain 
the centers of the points in the gold studs 
within distances perfectly appreciable by 
modern methods of observation. The mean 
diameter of each of the holes was nearly 
i-iooth of an inch ; and they by no means 
presented anything like a circular shape. In 
fact, the irregularities were such, when viewed 
under the microscope, that Mr. Baily char- 
acterizes these holes as resembling the "cra- 
ters of lunar volcanoes." And Mr. Baily 
justly adds, that how the commissioners of 
so late a date as 1824, when the art of 
making instruments of precision had attained 
such perfection, " could have sanctioned the 
adoption of such an imperfect and undefin- 
able measure as this for a standard, must 
always be a matter of astonishment, more 
especially when we consider that the French 


The Metric System,. 


had recently set us a laudable example in 
the great pains and labor taken in the execu- 
tion of a new set of standard weights and 
measures of superior accuracy and precision." 
(Mem. Roy. Ast. Soc., Vol. ix.) 

The contingency contemplated by the last 
clause of the Act of 1824 actually happened 
in less than ten years after its passage ; for 
the standards were lost, or irremediably in- 
jured, in the great fire which destroyed the 
Houses of Parliament in October, 1834. It 
was then discovered that the restoration of 
the lost standard yard could not be effected 
with tolerable accuracy by means of its ratio 
to the length of the second's pendulum at 
London, as prescribed by the Act. For Cap- 
tain Kater's measurement was subsequently 
found to be incorrect, owing to the neglect 
of certain precautions in determining the 
length of the pendulum, which more recent 
experiments have shown to be indispensable. 
On account of these sources of error, the 
yard could not be restored with certainty 
within one five-hundredth of an inch ; an 
amount which, although inappreciable in all 
ordinary measurements, is an intolerable er- 
ror in a scientific standard. 

Fortunately, early in 1834 (hardly six 
months before the destruction of the stan- 
dards), Mr. Baily had executed a most labo- 
rious and minute comparison of the different 
standard measures with a new scale con- 
structed for the Royal Astronomical Society. 
Thus the length of the legal standard, as 
nearly as it could be determined, is known 
in terms of this scale; and may, therefore, 
be recovered, but not in the manner pre- 
scribed in the legislative enactment. 

The Commissioners appointed in 1838, 
" to consider the steps to be taken to restore 
the lost standard," recommended in their re- 
port of December, 1841, the construction of 
a " standard yard," and four " Parliamentary 
copies," from the best-authenticated copies 
of the " Imperial standard yard" which then 
existed. These recommendations were adopt- 
ed, and the restored standard yard was'legal- 
ized by an act of Parliament in July, 1855. 

Under the provisions of this act, the stan- 
dards were deposited in the office of the Ex- 
VOL. VI. 12. 

chequer. But in 1866, on the consolidation 
of the Office of Exchequer with the Audit 
Office, and the creation of the Standards 
Department of the Board of Trade, the cus- 
tody of the " Imperial Standards " was trans- 
ferred to the Warden of the Standards De- 
partment. They are now deposited in a fire- 
proof iron chest in the strong room in the 
basement of the Standards' Office. Copies 
have been deposited at the royal mint and at 
the royal observatory at Greenwich. Thus 
the present British standard of length re- 
mains virtually the same as prescribed by 
the Act of 1824. 

The legislation in 1855 changed the stan- 
dard of weight from the Troy pound of 5,760 
grains, to the Avoirdupois pound of 7,000 
grains ; but did not abolish the Troy weight 
and the Apothecaries' weight. 

The legislation of 1824 changed the stan- 
dard of capacity from the wine gallon of 
231 cubic inches to the " imperial gallon " of 
277.274 cubic inches. This is equivalent in 
weight to ten pounds avoirdupois of distilled 
water at sixty-two degrees, Fahrenheit. In 
like manner, the bushel equaling eight gallons 
was changed from the Winchester bushel of 
2,150.42 cubic inches, to the Imperial bushel 
of 2,218.192 cubic inches. The Act of 1855 
did not disturb these measures of capacity. 

The actual standard of length of the 
United States is a brass scale of eighty-two 
inches in length, prepared for the United 
States Coast-Survey by Troughton, of Lon- 
don, in 1813, and deposited in the Office of 
Weights and Measures at Washington. The 
temperature at which this scale is a standard 
is sixty-two degrees, Fahrenheit, and the 
standard yard is the distance between the 
twenty-seventh and the sixty-third inches of 
the scale. It was intended to be identical with 
the British standard yard; and should be so 
regarded. From a series of careful compar- 
isons of this'scale, executed in 1856 by Mr. 
Saxton, under the direction of the late A. 
D. Bache, with a bronze copy of the British 
standard yard, it was found that the British 
standard is shorter than the American yard 
by 0.00087 of an inch a quantity by no 
means inappreciable. Hence : 


The Metric System. 


i American yard equals 36.00087 British inches. 
3 ' feet " 3.0000725 " feet, 

i " " " 1.0000241667 " 

10,000 " " " 10,000.2416667 " " 

Our standard of weight is the Troy pound 
of 5,760 grains, copied by Captain Kater, in 
1827, from the British Imperial Troy pound 
for the United States Mint. The avoirdu- 
pois pound of seven thousand grains is de- 
rived from this. Our standard of weight is, 
therefore, identical with the present British 
standard, excepting that in England, the 
avoirdupois pound is the standard. 

Our standard measures of capacity are the 
wine gallon of 231 cubic inches, for liquids, 
and the Winchester bushel of 2,150.42 cubic 
inches, for dry measure. Hence, we see that 
our measures of capacity, unlike the meas- 
ures of length and of weight, are not in har- 
mony with the British standards. These 
several standards were adopted by the Treas- 
ury department of the United States on the 
recommendation of Mr. Hasslef, in 1832. 

ON looking among the objects of nature 
for a standard of measure perfectly definite, 
and, at the same time, invariable and access- 
ible to all mankind, a very moderate acquain- 
tance with geometry and physical science 
will suffice to show that the subject is beset 
with innumerable difficulties. In fact, mod- 
ern researches render it quite certain that 
nature presents no elements that are strictly 
invariable. The dimensions of our globe, 
and the intensity of the force of gravity at a 
given place, are unquestionably the two ele- 
ments which approach most nearly to invari- 
ability. Hence the length of a degree of the 
meridian, and the length of the second's pen- 
dulum, Have both been used as the basis of 
a system of measures. 

The idea of securing a uniform standard 
of length, by connecting it with one of these 
assumed invariable elements in nature, is 
quite old. Mouton, an astronomer of Ly- 
ons, about 1670, proposed as a universal 
standard of measure a " geometrical foot," of 
which a degree of the earth's circumference 
should contain 600,000. In 1671, Picard 
proposed a similar idea. Still earlier, Father 
Mersenne, in the third volume of the " Re- 

flections," in 1647, fi rst suggested the use of 
the pendulum as the unit or standard of 
measures. This idea must have been famil- 
iar to the people as early as 1663 ; for Sam- 
uel Butler, in " Hudibras," thus launches 
his keen satire at it : 

"They're guilty, by their own confessions, 
Of felony, and at the Sessions 
Upon the bench I will so handle 'em, 
That the vibration of this pendulum 
Shall make all taylors' yards of one 
Unanimous opinion." Part 2, Canto j. 

About the same time, Robert Hooke was 
ridiculed for his experiments with pendu- 
lums, which were designated " swing-swangs." 
Ten years later Huyghens speaks of the idea 
of employing the pendulum as a standard 
of measure, as a common one. 

But no attempt was made" to establish a 
regular system of measures on the basis of 
either of these standards, until the period of 
the French Revolution. In 1790, Prince 
Talleyrand, then Bishop of Autun, distrib- 
uted among the members of the Constituent 
Assembly of France a proposal for the 
foundation of a new system of measures and 
weights, upon the principle of a single and 
universal standard. The decree required . 
" that the National Assembly should write a 
letter to the British Parliament, requesting 
their concurrence with France in the adop- 
tion of a natural standard of weights and 
measures ; for which purpose, commissioners 
in equal numbers from the French Acade- 
my of Sciences and the British Royal Socie- 
ty, chosen by those learned bodies respec- 
tively, should meet at the most suitable 
place," and select an invariable standard for 
all measures and weights. The British gov- 
ernment gave no response to this friendly in- 
vitation. " The idea of associating the inter- 
ests and the learning of other nations in this 
great effort for common improvement, was 
not confined to the proposal for obtaining 
the concurrent agency of Great Britain. 
Spain, Italy, the Netherlands, Denmark, and 
Switzerland were actually represented in the 
proceedings of the Academy of Sciences to 
accomplish the purposes of the National As- 

The preliminary work, as well as the se- 


The Metric System. 


lection of the standard, was intrusted to a 
committee consisting of the most distinguish- 
ed members of the French Academy of Sci- 
ences, viz: Lagrange, Laplace, Borda, Monge, 
Condorcet, and Lalande. The committee 
had under consideration thfee projects of a 
natural standard of length ; viz : first, the 
length of a second's pendulum ; second, a 
fraction of the equatorial circumference of 
the earth ; and third, a fraction of the quad- 
rant of the terrestrial meridian. After a full 
deliberation, and with great accuracy of 
judgment, the committee preferred the last ; 
and proposed that the io,ooo,oooth4part of 
the quadrant of the meridian should be cal- 
led the metre, and be considered as the stan- 
dard unit of linear measure ; that the subdi- 
visions and multiples of ail measures should 
be made on the decimal system ; and that 
the weight of distilled water at the tempera- 
ture of its maximum dejisity, measured by a 
cubical vessel in proportion to the linear 
standard, should determine the standard of 

eights and of vessels of capacity. 

report to the Academy of Sciences 
was made on the igth of March, 1791, and 
immediately transmitted to the National As- 
sembly; the sanction of this body being 
promptly received, the execution of the great 
work was intrusted to four separate commis- 
sions, including some of the most celebrated 
men of science in France. The measure- 
ment of the arc of the meridian from Dun- 
kirk to Barcelona was assigned to Delambre 
and Mechain; and for determining the length 
of the metre, to the two men just mentioned 
were added Laplace, Legendre, Von Swin- 
den, of Holland, and Trall&s, of Switzerland. 
The determination of the weight of the cubic 
unit of water was intrusted to Lefevre-Gi- 
neau, assisted by Fabroni, of Florence ; and 
their operations were revised by Coulomb, 
Trailes, Mascheroni, and Von Swinden. 

But the Assembly did not wait for the com- 
pletion of the great work of measuring the 
arc of the meridian, before giving to the sys- 
tem a legal and practical existence : for La- 
caille's measure of a degree of the meridian 
in latitude forty-five degrees* furnished an 
approximate determination of the metre suf- 

ficiently exact for all ordinary purposes of 
life. The system was, therefore, provision- 
ally established by law on the ist of August, 
1793; and the uniform decimal nomencla- 
ture, which now distinguishes it, was adopted 
on the 7th of April, 1795. 

At length, Delambre and his associates 
after encountering and overcoming unheard- 
of difficulties incident to that turbulent pe- 
riod completed the measurement of the arc 
of the meridian. In 1799, an international 
commission assembled at Paris, on the invi- 
tation of the French Government, to settle, 
from the results of the great meridian survey, 
the exact length of the "definitive metre." 
In this commission were represented the 
governments of France, Holland, Denmark, 
Swede'n, Switzerland, Spain, Savoy, and the 
Roman, Cis-Alpine, and Ligurian Republics. 
The report of this commission was presented 
by Trailes, of Switzerland, on the 3oth of 
April, 1799 ; and on the 226. of June, 1799, 
they proceeded to deposit at the Palace of 
the Archives in Paris, the standard metre- 
bar of platinum, which represents the linear 
base of the system ; and the standard kilo- 
gramme weight, also of platinum, which rep- 
resents the unit of metric weights. 

The system was declared obligatory on the 
2d of November, 1801 ; but the people of 
France were not prepared for so sudden 
a change, and accordingly, in 1812, during 
the period of Napoleon the Great, a compro- 
mise was adopted, which was designated as 
the " systeme iisuel." In the year 1837, how- 
ever, during the reign of Louis Philippe, a 
new law was passed, prescribing the use of 
the metric decimal system and nomenclature 
in all its integrity, which wks ordered to be 
universally enforced from the beginning of 
the year 1840. All vestiges of other systems 
have disappeared in France ; and, as we shall 
see, the metric system has been quite gener- 
ally adopted by European nations. 

IT has been said that the linear unit of this 
system is too large " to be apprehended by 
a young and uninstructed mind." It is very 
hard to appreciate the force of this objec- 
tion. How much more difficult would it be 


The Metric System. 


for a child to apprehend the length of a me- 
ter than the length of a yard ? 

But Mr. Adams says the meter is too long 
for a pocket-rule ; and that " neither the me- 
ter, the half-meter, nor the decimeter is suit- 
ed to that purpose." Would a foot-rule fit 
into a carpenter's pocket more conveniently 
than the decimeter? Cannot a folded meter 
be carried in the pocket as easily as a folded 
two-foot measure ? We have tape-measures 
of a yard or a fathom in length ; and we can 
have tape-measures of a meter in length. 

It is evident that we must have several 
linear units, appropriate to different classes 
of measurement ; and it is the great merit of 
the metric system that its secondary units 
have the simplest of relations to one another. 
In the physical laboratory, the millimeter may 
be the unit ; in the machine shop, the centi- 
meter ; and on the railroad line, the meter 
and the kilometer. But we can translate 
quantities from one to another by simply 
moving the decimal point; whereas, quite an 
arithmetical computation is required to re- 
duce inches to feet, rods, and miles. 

Second : It is said that ten is a difficult 
number to grasp ! Is not twelve equally dif- 
ficult to grasp ? This objection will not bear 
the slightest examination. Our children 
must know something about decimal arith- 
metic, for it is the basis of our arithmetical 
notation. They must have this knowledge, 
whether they learn the metric system or not. 
If they know it, they know the system, all 
excepting the nomenclature ; if they do not 
know it, then it is difficult to conceive of 
" educational . machinery better suited to 
make them know it, than the visible magni- 
tude of the mefric measures placed before 
their eyes." Moreover, our currency is deci- 
mal, and yet there is no difficulty in learn- 
ing it. 

Third :. It is admitted that the decimal ra- 
tio is infinitely more favorable for calculation 
than any other ; but asserted that for the daily 
purposes of life, the binary subdivision is to 
be preferred. Mr. Adams urged this as a 
most serious practical difficulty in the adop- 
tion of any decimal system, and especially in 
relation to the successful introduction of our 

decimal currency. He thought that the 
people would persist in dividing into eighths 
and sixteenths. Yet within ten years after 
he wrote, all the small Spanish coins had 
been swept away, and nobody now perceives 
the want of them. Moreover, the binary 
system may be retained, as far as it may be 
convenient. Halves and quarters of the 
meter might be used as freely as halves and 
quarters of the dollar. Finally, the general 
use of the decimal system in Europe demon- 
strates that it is not unsuitable for the practi- 
cal purposes of life. 

Fourth : " Decimal division has failed as 
applied to the circle," With regard to this 
objection, it must be remembered that when 
the metric system was created, only four 
things were the sanje for all civilized mankind, 
viz: (i.) The Arabic numerals: (2.) The al- 
gebraic symbols ; (3.) The divisions of the 
circle ; and (4.) The divisions of time. 
Hence, to decimalize the divisions of the cir- 
cle was to introduce diversity where uniform- 
ity already prevailed. Moreover, such a 
change involves the destruction of the use- 
fulness of a vast body of scientific literature, 
tables, etc., which had been founded on the 
sexagesimal division. For these reasons the 
decimal division of the circle, after a brief 
trial, was abandoned by the French. Nev- 
ertheless the centesimal division of the quad- 
rant was found to be much more conveni- 
ent than the old system ; and when the 
metric system shall be universal, it is proba- 
ble that the decimal division will be once 
more applied to the circle. Nothing could 
be less convenient than the sexagesimal di- 
vision which is now employed. In fact, this 
inconvenience is so far recognized that this 
-law of subdivision has already been aban- 
doned for all values below seconds, and, in 
some instances, for values below minutes, 
such values being expressed decimally. 
This objection may, therefore, be regarded 
as without foundation. 

Fifth : " The unit of length should be 
some dimension of the human body." This 
point has been strongly urged by the ob- 
jectors to th^ metric system. It has been 
assumed that our present measures of length 


The Metric System. 


have their prototypes in the dimensions of 
some parts of the human body. Thus, it 
has been said that the " foot " " was undoubt- 
edly adopted as the standard of measure 
from the part of the body from which it 
takes its name." Let this be granted ; but 
what foot? Careful inquiry shows that 
more than one hundred foot-measures, dif- 
fering in value from 23.22 to 8.75 British 
inches, have been in use' at some time in 
some part of Europe. It can hardly be 
supposed that .alHhese measures were taken 
from the human foot. It is evident that the 
name foot has been perpetuated from very 
early times ; but the thing named has either 
lost its original value, or it has been arbi- 
trarily changed. In relation to the origin 
of the British 'foot, we know that was derived 
from the yard ; it is simply one-third part of 
that measure. 

It is continually asserted that our foot 
measure is in length but a fraction in excess 
of the average human foot. It is astound- 
ing how such an opinion ever originated. 
According to Doctor Young, the length of 
the human foot is 9.768 British inches. Ac- 
cording to Dr. B. A. Gould's measurements 
of the feet of 16,000 men, volunteers for the 
army, of whom about i r,ooo were white and 
the rest colored, the mean length for no na- 
tionality exceeded 10.24 inches, and none 
fell below 9.89 inches. The mean value for 
the total was 10.058 inches. This latter is 
much nearer the quarter of a meter than the 
one-third of a yard. Our foot, slightly mod- 
ified, would be equal to three decimeters. 

The facility jof measuring off the yard on 
the arm furnishes the objector with another 
ground of objection to the meter. Sir John 
Herschel's rule is : " Hold the end of a string 
or ribbon between the finger and thumb of 
one hand, at the full length of the arm, ex- 
tended horizontally sideways, and mark the 
point that can be brought, to touch the cen- 
ter of the lips, facing full in front." Very 
good; now, if you will carry the string or 
ribbon entirely across the lips, and mark the 
point that can be brought to touch the lobe 
of the ear, you will have a meter. Moreover, 
we have the following metrical relations, 
viz : 

The breadth of the palm is I decimeter, 

^little finger is i centimeter, 
length " " pace is 9-10 of meter. 

Hence, by adopting metrical measures, 
we shall not, in the slightest degree, be dis- 
abled from finding, in the dimensions of our 
own persons or of our steps, all the means 
of performing rough measurements. Conse- 
quently, this objection falls to the ground. 

Sixth : As regards the objection that the 
introduction of the new measures would in- 
validate the titles. to lands held under old sur- 
veys, nothing can be more imaginary. No 
legislation on this subject can be retroact- 
ive. It would not affect past deeds ; and in 
making a new deed in future, nothing would 
be easier than to translate the language de- 
scriptive of linear and superficial dimensions 
from one form of expression to the other. 
Changes would thus come on gradually, as 
property changed hands. 

Seventh : Some have criticised the metric 
system on the ground that its base is not 
well chosen. The meter purports to be the 
ten millionth part of a meridional quadrant 
of the terrestrial spheroid. But recent inves- 
tigations show that the earth is not a sphe- 
roid, but rather an ellipsoid of three unequal 
axes; hence, the meridians are unequal. The 
polar axis of the earth, on the other hand, 
being the common minor axis of all merid- 
ians, is a magnitude more suitable, it is as- 
serted, for the base of a system of measures, 
than any quadrant of the earth. This is 
the view of Sir John Herschel and of Pro- 
fessor Piazzi Smyth ; and if the whole thing 
were to be done over again, it would un- 
doubtedly be the unanimous view of the sci- 
entific world. But the matter has gone too 
far now to change the base; and, moreover, 
it is evident that the natural unit from which 
the linear base is derived is a feature of in- 
significant importance compared with the 
other merits of a uniform metric system. At 
the present time, measures are not verified 
by applying them to the meridian ; and we 
need not trouble ourselves about whether 
the quadrant of the meridian or the polar 
axis of the earth is the more suitable dimen- 
sion from which to derive the linear base. 
Sir John Herschel proposes that the Brit- 


The Metric System. 


ish standard of length be an aliquot part of 
the earth's polar axis. He shows that if the 
existing English standard measures were in- 
creased by one one-thousandth part, and 
calling it the " geometrical standard," a geo- 
metrical inch would be exactly equal to the 
five hundred millionth part of the polar axis 
of the earth ; a rod of fifty inches would be 
equal to the ten millionth part of the same 
axis; and one of twenty-five inches would be 
equal to the ten millionth part of the polar 
semi-axis. Discarding the error of one part in 
8,000, one cubic geometrical foot of water, 
at the standard temperature, would be equal 
to 1,000 imperial ounces or 100 half pints. 
This scheme would certainly be a great im- 
provement on the present complicated and 
incoherent British system ; but it would not 
help us towards unification. 

Eighth : Another objection to the base of 
the metric system, which is often urged in a 
tone of exultation, is, that, after all, the 
meter is not equal to the particular merid- 
ional quadrant from which it was derived. 
Thus, BesseFs calculations make the quad- 
rant equal to 10,000,857 meters; General 
De Schubert, of the Russian army, in 1859, 
from a comparison of arcs, makes the true 
length of the French quadrant to be 10,- 
001,221.6 meters ; while Captain A. R. 
Clarke, of the British Ordnance Survey, in 
1860, finds the length of the French quad- 
rant to be 10,001,561.8 meters(io, 001,498. 85 
meters as revised in 1866). Hence we find 
that these recent investigations all concur in 
showing that the actual meter is slightly 
shorter than the ten millionth part of the 
quadrant. Thus, according to these results, 
the actual meter is in error by the following 
fractions, viz : 

Bessel = i/u665 of a meter, or 1/296 of an inch. 
Schubert=i/8i86 of a meter, or 1/208 of an inch. 
Clarke= 1/6403 of a meter, or 1/163 f an inch. 
" =1/6671.776 of a meter or 1/172 of an inch. 

It is quite certain, therefore, that the actual 
meter is not identical with the mefer of def- 
inition. This discordance was noticed in 
the year 1838, by Colonel Puissant. M. 
Largeteau, in his report to the French Bureau 
of Longitudes, fairly meets the objection 

under consideration. After announcing that, 
the length of the metre having been fixed in 
a definite manner by the commission, " that 
length neither can nor ought to be changed," 
he proceeds to remark : " With respect to 
the simple relation which was attempted to 
be established between the metre and the 
quadrant of the meridian, all philosophers 
knew from the beginning that such relation 
must necessarily be to a certain extent hy- 
pothetical " ; " that the new system would 
bear, in its birth, the impress of the state of 
contemporary science on trite question of the 
magnitude and figure of the earth." 

The fact is, the idea of a natural standard 
in an absolute sense of the term is Utopian ; 
for nothing in nature is invariable. Every 
assumed natural standard is liable to the 
same objection. * The ascertained length of 
a second's pendulum at some particular 
place, and the computed length of the polar 
axis of the earth, are liable to change with 
the progressive improvements in methods of 
measurements. Nay, more ; we have every 
reason to believe that the dimensions of the 
earth, and consequently the intensity of grav- 
ity at its surface, are not invariable, but the 
subject of secular changes. Indeed, all at- 
tempts to derive an invariable standard of 
length from some fixed dimension in nature, 
must, from the very nature of things, fail. 
Thus the French declared that the metre 
prototype is a certain definite and assigned 
portion of the earth's quadrant which it is 
not , and that, if lost or injured, it shall be 
restored to the same length in conformity 
with its definition which cannot be done. 
In like manner, the British Act of 1824 de- 
clares that the standard yard is a certain defi- 
nite portion of the length of a second's pen- 
dulum which it is not ; and that, if lost or 
injured, it shall be restored to the same 
length in conformity with the definition 
which cannot be done. These are lessons 
which are well calculated to humble the pride 
of our philosophy, and signal reproofs of the 
presumption of supposing that we have, in 
any one case, arrived at the last stage of the 
journey to which the progress of knowledge 
is perpetually leading us. 


The Metric System. 


With regard to the advantages of the met- 
ric system : 

First : There is no change so simple in 
itself, which promises to yield so great an 
amount of practical advantage to the great 
body of the people, as the adoption of a pure- 
ly decimal system in the arrangement of the 
various denominations of measures, weights, 
and money. In our complicated system, it 
is impossible to estimate the amount of la- 
bor thrown away every year by the people of 
this country and of Great Britain, while per- 
sisting in performing the manifold computa- 
tions necessary to the gigantic commerce 
and industry involved. But the waste of 
time and money must be enormous, while 
every year it becomes greater and greater. 
Were the different measures, weights, and 
money brought into harmony with the fun- 
damental principle of our common arithme- 
tic, by the adoption of a purely decimal ar- 
rangement, it is estimated that the labor of 
commercial and professional calculations 
would be reduced much below one-half of 
what is now expended in this direction, while 
the risk of errors would be diminished in 
still greater ratio. 

The British system, in so far as it relates 
to the various denominations of money, is 
vastly more dislocated and complicated than 
our own ; but as far as relates to measures and 
weights, our system is equally uncouth and in- 
coherent. For example, to find the value of 
5,760 yards of calico at 3^ pence per yard, 
requires : 

By practice 33 figures 

" compound multiplication 43 " 

' ' rule of three 44 " 

" decimal multiplication 14 " 

Again, to find the value of three acres, one. 
rood, and thirty-six perches of land, at forty- 
seven pounds, fourteen shillings, six pence 
per acre, requires, by the ordinary method, 
one hundred and twenty-six figures ; where- 
as, by using acres and decimals of an acre, 
and pounds and decimals of a pound (and 
carrying the approximation to three places 
of decimals), only thirty-three figures are re- 
quired ! That is, the result is secured by 
writing about one-fourth the number of 

digits required by the first process ; the time 
required for performing the operation by the 
two processes would be nearly in the same 
proportion. In view of this condition of 
things, Sir William Thomson very justly says: 
" It is a remarkable phenomenon, belonging 
rather to moral and social than to physical 
science, that a people tending naturally to 
be regulated by common sense should vol- 
untarily condemn themselves, as the British 
have so long done, to unnecessary hard labor 
in every action of common business or scien- 
tific work related to measurement from which 
all other nations of Europe have emancipat- 
ed themselves." 

Second : Were a decimal system intro- 
duced, the various denominations of meas- 
ures, weights, and money, increasing and 
diminishing by a uniform scale of tens and 
tenths, the labor of imparting and of acquir- 
ing a knowledge of all the arithmetic neces- 
sary for ordinary commercial purposes would 
be vastly abridged. Sir John Bowring says 
that in China, where a uniform decimal sys- 
tem is in use, a boy at school becomes a bet- 
ter practical arithmetician in a month, than 
a boy in an English school can become in a 
year ! Perhaps this may be an overdrawn 
picture of the advantages of the decimal sys- 
tem ; but the main fact is undeniable. Ac- 
cording to the results obtained by the inqui- 
ries of the International Association among 
school-masters, it appears that the time re- 
quired for learning arithmetic would be in 
the proportion of two years to ten months, 
or as twenty-four to ten. De Morgan esti- 
mated the time saved in arithmetic at one 
half, if not more. Dr. Farr said : " You get 
rid of all compound arithmetic, and make 
calculations simple and mechanical." Mr. 
Barrett's testimony shows that the time spent 
in education would be shortened two years 
by adopting the decimal system. 

Third : The advantages of the metric sys- 
te"m to all classes of 'practical engineers and 
machinists cannot be overestimated. Ac- 
cording to the metric system, the numbers 
contained in a table of specific gravities of 
various substances indicate at once, without 
any calculation, the weight in grams of a 


The Metric System. 


cubic centimeter of each substance; also, 
the weight in kilograms of a cubic deci- 
meter : and by simply moving the decimal 
point three places to the right, we have the 
weight in kilograms of a cubic meter. 

According to our system, to find the weight 
in pounds avoirdupois of a cubic foot of any 
body, we should have to multiply the specific 
gravity of the body by 62.4 the weight of 
a cubic foot of water. To. find the weight 
of a cubic yard, another multiplication would 
be required ; and to find the weight of a cu- 
bic inch, still another. 

The inconveniences and losses arising from 
the great diversity of systems of measures, 
weights, and coins among the chief nations 
of the earth, have long been felt and ac- 
knowledged ; but they are becoming greater 
and more evident with the constantly increas- 
ing facilities for international communication, 
by which the people and commodities of re- 
mote regions are brought into constant and 
close contact. 

The collections of the Department of 
Measures, Weights, and Coins of the Paris 
Exposition for 1867, comprised no less than 
sixty-seven different systems of measures, 
based upon sixty-two different units ; thirty- 
six different systems of weights based upon 
thirty-six different units ; and thirty-five dif- 
ferent standards of gold and silver coin, be- 
longing to eighteen different monetary sys- 
tems, based upon eighteen different units or 
measures of value. 

Questions of metrical reform are, like oth- 
er political and economical changes, strictly 
practical questions, where the advantages to 
be gained are to be considered in connection 
with the inconveniences which they will oc- 
casion, as well as the practicability of enfor- 
cing them when made ; and it is hardly pos- 
sible to avoid a signal failure in attempting 
such changes, if these considerations are not 
kept distinctly in view, There can be no 
question that the progress of human civiliza- 
tion demands uniformity in the systems of 
measures and weights. And the question is, 
How shall this demand be met ? 

John Quincy Adams, in his elaborate and 
exhaustive report to the Senate of the Unit- 

ed States, in 1821, very justly pronounces 
the metric system " an approach to ideal per- 
fection of uniformity," and predicts that it is 
destined, whether it succeed or fail, to " shed 
unfading glory upon the age in which it was 
conceived." Apart altogether from the source, 
whence the metric system first originated, we 
accept it, not because it is a unit derived from 
nature, but because it is a unit which has been 
adopted with entire satisfaction, for a period 
exceeding a half century, by a large number 
of civilized nations. But one great recom- 
mendation of the metric system is its extreme 
simplicity, symmetry, and convenience. Its 
exact decimal progression ; its power of sub- 
division and multiplication from the highest 
and largest to the smallest and most minute 
quantities ; the few and specific names by 
which each unit is distinguished ; their anal- 
ogy and natural relation to one another : 
these are the merits which have put the met- 
ric system far in advance of any other. 

It has been urged that the history of Brit- 
ish legislation upon the metrical reforms 
demonstrates the utter futility of invoking 
the aid of legislative power. But the reason 
why British laws have failed to secure uni- 
formity is not because the people did not 
recognize the desirability of a uniform sys- 
tem ; but because her legislators never pre- 
sented to the public any motive for uniform- 
ity. The Imperial bushel was not any bet- 
ter than the Winchester bushel, or any other 
bushel ; the Imperial gallon was scarcely 
more convenient than any of the other gal- 
lons in common use ; and no great advan- 
tage was gained by changing the standard of 
weight from the Troy pound to the avoirdu- 
pois pound, so long as both weights were 
recognized as legal. 

As every economy of labor, both material 
and intellectual, is equivalent to actual in- 
crease of wealth, the adoption of the metric 
system which may be ranked in the same 
order of ideas as tools and machines, rail- 
ways, telegraphs, logarithms, etc. com- 
mends itself in an economical point of view. 
The simplicity of the relations by which it 
connects the measures of surface, of capacity, 
and of weight with the linear base, is such 


Eager Heart. 


as to make the system a powerful intellect- 
ual machine, and an important educational 
instrumentality. The universal adoption of 
this system would unquestionably confer an 
immense and incalculable benefit upon the 
human race, in the increased facilities it 
would afford to commerce, and to exactness 
in matters that concern the practical life of 
humanity. But there are still higher motives 
for its adoption. " To secure that severe ac- 
curacy in standards of measurement which 
transcends all the wants of ordinary business 
affairs, yet which, in the present advanced 
state of science, is the absolutely indispensable 
condition of higher progress, is an object of in- 
terest to the investigators of nature immensely 
superior to anything which contemplates only 
the increase of the wealth of the nations." 

Within the last quarter of a century, the 
metric system has made encouraging pro- 
gress. And it is a significant fact, that every 
change which has taken place has thus far 
consisted in replacing the values of the meas- 
ures and weights in common use by adopt- 
ing other values from the metric system. 
Within the last ten or fifteen years, the pro- 
gress towards unification has been more en- 
couraging. In December, 1863, when Mr. 
S. B. Ruggles made his report to the Secre- 
tary of State of the United States, it was esti- 
mated that of the civilized nations of Europe 
and America, about one hundred and thirty- 

nine millions of people were using the metric 
system, and one hundred and fifty-three mil- 
lions were not using it. At the present 
time, twenty-one nations, containing an ag- 
gregate population of more than three hun- 
dred and thirty-six millions, have adopted 
the metric system in full; while a popula- 
tion of over eighty-four millions have adopt- 
ed metric values. 

The world will have a common system of 
measures and weights. Great Britain, Rus- 
sia, and the United States, the three great 
nations which have not yet adopted the me- 
tric system, cannot remain long isolated. It 
may cost something to make the change ; 
but it is equally true that it is costing us 
enormously to keep up the present confusion. 
Witness the army of clerks ; the time thrown 
away in schools; the unnecessary brain work. 
Its money-value cannot be estimated. 

But whether we like it or not, there are 
many indications that our people will, at no 
distant day, adopt the metric system. Men 
of science use it; it is used in the coast sur- 
vey, and to some extent in the mint. A 
great many architects in the principal cities 
of our country indicated their opinion by 
agreeing that they would use it after July, 
1876. It is very questionable, however, 
whether this promise was carried out at the 
appointed time, by any considerable number 
of architects. 

John LeConte. 


O EAGER heart, that speaks out thro' the eyes 
From depths of truthfulness, do thou beware ! 

The dawn so watched with hopeful certainty 
May come to thee, alas, and bring despair. 

Stretch not those trembling hands too fervently 

To grasp the deep fulfillment of thy dreams ; 
A shadowy phantom might arise like Fate 

And strangling darkness overmatch the gleams. 

Down in thy heart's remote, sad bravery 

Reserve a quiet stronghold wide and deep. 
Teach thyself patience, hope with doubt, and learn 

To still tumultuous longing into sleep. 

Marcia D. Crane. 


A Silo Plantation. 



ON the morning of the second day from 
Honolulu, the passenger for Hilo, looking 
landward from the swaying deck of the " Ki- 
nau," sees close upon the right the surf 
breaking against a long succession of old lava 
cliffs, separated from one another by many 
narrow inlets which the streams have cut. 
Through these openings he may perhaps 
catch a passing glimpse of pretty waterfalls, 
half hidden by bread fruit and pandanis 
trees, sweeping down between ferny and 
grass-covered banks, with clustered cocoanut 
trees in the foreground. On the top of the 
cliffs and stretching backward from* the sea, 
lie the plantations, making with their alterna- 
tion of light green cane-fields and grassy pas- 
ture, clustered buildings and tall mill chim- 
neys, a wide brocaded ribbon bordering the 
sea. Back of them is the belt of woods, an 
impenetrable tropical jungle at first, but grad- 
ually changing in character, till, at an eleva- 
tion of five or six thousand feet, it gives place 
to open, grass-covered slopes. And topping 
all, if the day be clear, stands the summit of 
Mauna Kea, dashed with snow. From that 
far summit, or through rifts in the mountain 
sides, came down, in ages too old for any man 
to tell, flow after flow of fiery lava, building 
the base of the mountain out into the sea. 
But now, for long, the sea has been taking 
its slow revenge, cutting the land backward, 
and undermining the shore cliffs, while its 
winds and rains have reduced the surface to 
arable soil, and sculptured it with long lines 
of ravines. 

The chances of seeing the summit of Mau- 
na Kea clear are not, however, very great ; 
for Hilo district is the most rainy in the Is- 
lands. The constant trade wind, blowing 
directly inland, brings against the cool upper 
slopes of the mountains great masses of 
cloud, just ready for condensation, and the 
result is frequent and copious showers. To 
this district is credited that story of Mark 
Twain's, of the man who found that the rain 

fell in at the bung-hole of a barrel faster than it 
could run out at both ends, and finally filled 
the barrel. By actual measurement, howev- 
er, the rain falls not infrequently at the rate 
of an inch an hour, and it scarcely provokes 
a smile when a boy is sent out in the rain to 
measure and empty the gauge so that it shall 
not run over. 

The rain keeps the whole country as green 
as a spring wheat field, and the smallest 
streams run the year round. A Californian, 
used to 

" Half a year of clouds and flowers, 
Half a year of dust and sky." 

finds the flowing water and the seeming con- 
stancy of early summer an especial delight. 
He will miss one thing, however: there are 
no field flowers in Hawaii, nothing in the 
whole circuit of the year like- the acres of 
yellow mustard and flaming poppies that 
mark the opening of the summer in his na- 
tive State. 

It has been said of the Islands as a whole, 
that there is no pleasanter place to visit, and 
no worse place to live, the world over. This 
applies a fortiori to the plantations. On 
one side, trfe characteristic kindness is here 
more kind, and the hospitality even more 
hospitable, if such a thing can be; but, on the 
other side, the isolation is more complete. 
Honolulu is seven days removed from con- 
tact with the rushing current of the world's 
affairs ; the pfantations from ten to forty 
hours from such ripples as stir the capital. 
The society of the city lacks elements that 
numbers alone can give ; that of the planta- 
tion is restricted to those Hying on it, and 
to such neighbors as can be reached over 
miles 'of muddy roads. This, perhaps, 
makes the guest all the more welcome ; at 
all events, he is welcomed royally, and ev- 
erything done to insure his pleasure. 

Let us imagine ourselves, then, so fortu- 
nate as to be going by invitation to one of 
the plantations we have just passed. When 


A Hilo Plantation. 


we go ashore at Hilo, the manager will be 
in town, and presently the horses will be 
brought up, and we shall ride back across 
the tops of the cliffs, and up and down the 
gulches, the lower ends of which we have 
seen. In the first five miles we shall cross 
seven of them, all but two of which at some 
seasons of the year require bridges. We 
shall all go on horseback, for outside of Hi- 
lo town wheeled vehicles are practically use- 
less. The ladies of the party will ride astride, 
as is the commendable custom of the coun- 
try. Constant rain means almost constant 
mud, and much use reduces some of the 
roads to such a state-that they show where 
travel is . least safe, and the actual road be- 
comes a series of divergent trails through the 
grass on either side. Part of the road near 
town is paved with stone blocks, but the 
paving is not over a good yard wide, and so 
broken and slippery that one is not sorry to 
see it end. 

At last we come within sight of the mill 
and the manager's house. The latter is oft- 
en not unlike a California farm-house of 
the better sort, though with more conces- 
sions to fresh air, and more verandas. But 
true adaptation to the climate forbids a com- 
pact style of architecture, and the most com- 
fortable houses are really sets of cottages 
connected by covered porches. Jn small 
cottages, shadily situated at some distance 
from the main house, live the book-keeper, 
engineer, sugar boiler, and some of the tunas, 
or gang bosses. If such a plantation were 
in California, they would all be quartered in a 
redwood boarding house, where the windows 
jam, and the smell of the dinner comes up. 
through the partitions. Near by are the 
plantation office and the store, which latter 
might for all the world have been transport- 
ed bodily from some cross-road village in 
Napa County, except for the bar : the use 
of liquor on the plantations is, as far as pos- 
sible, prohibited. A little further off, in 
groups or singly, stand the houses of the 
field hands, and within easy reach, the school- 
house. The mill buildings in this district 
are usually placed near tide water, and 
near them stand the sugar store-house and 

the sheds for drying the "trash," or crushed 
cane stalks, which is presently to be used for 
fuel. From the mill radiate lines of flume 
to the various fields of the plantation ; the 
abundance of water is thus used for trans- 
porting the cane. The children utilize them, 
too, for a sort of liquid coasting. They 
gather a bundle of brush wood, and seated 
upon it in the water, go down the flumes at 
a good, round speed. 

Both for population and buildings, a plan- 
tation is not unlike a fair-sized village. No 
such number of people can work effectively 
at anything, or even live at peace, without 
something like organized government. At 
the head of affairs, of course, is the manager. 
He stands as the representative of the plan- 
tation to the owners and to the public ; he 
directs the general working of it, manages the 
finances, and like other successful leaders, 
watches the details of everybody else's work. 
His first assistant in the field work is the 
overseer, who apportions the work and sees 
to its execution ; under him again are the 
lunas, each in charge of from thirty to fifty 
men or more. In the mill work rhe sugar 
boiler takes the rank, for upon the- success 
of his work depends in large measure the 
percentage of sugar obtained. 

As regards the condition of the field hands, 
much has been written and much misinfor- 
mation put afloat. The fact is, that, unusual 
cases aside, the plantation laborer is no worse 
off than other laborers of equal skill and in- 
telligence in other parts of the world. Brief- 
ly the case stands in this way : a laborer con- 
tracts to work under certain conditions for a 
certain sum of money, part of which is usu- 
ally advanced at the signing of the contract. 
This agreement he makes voluntarily. If, 
by and by, he fails to keep his part of the 
bargain, the law obliges him to do so, as it 
obliges any man to make good his contract. 
This method of hiring labor is on the whole 
no more oppressive than the shipping of 
sailors, from which practice it actually has 
grown up. Indeed, the laborer has the ad- 
vantage of the sailor, for his manager has no 
such power of punishment as a shipmaster 
exercises, and he can at any time have ready 


A Hilo Plantation. 


appeal to the law. No doubt managers are 
sometimes domineering, as all employers 
may be, and plantation hands are sometimes 
exasperating as other employes frequently 
are; yet, on the whole, good feeling seems to 
exist on both sides, and it is quite common for 
those whose time has expired to be anxious 
to recontract. They live as well and are as 
well housed on the plantation as their coun- 
trymen of equal ability, whose time has been 
served out. Their children are educated, an 
advantage, by the way, which all of them do 
not seem to value, and they have medical 
attendance free of cost. Whatever objection 
may be brought against the system in the- 
ory, it must be remembered that in practice 
it works well. Labor must be cheap, and 
cheap labor is not conscientious nor educat- 
ed, and there seems, as yet, to be no better 
and fairer way of establishing the/mutual 
rights and duties of both planter and laborer. 

Before the above digression, we were about 
to dismount before the house of our host, the 
manager. Within, you will soon be made at 
home. The simple, straightforward welcome 
of your hostess does that, and they all have 
somehow caught that prime requisite of en- 
tertaining, the art of helping every one to do 
as he pleases. Whatever the plantation af- 
fords is the guest's upon one condition, that 
he enjoy himself. Does he fancy exercise? 
the horses are his. Does he prefer lotus- 
eating? he may lie all day in a hammock 
under the wide veranda roof, and watch the 
sunlight and shadow shift on the ocean, or 
the gray fringe of a shower trailing in and 
shutting off the distant points of the coast 
long before the rapid drops sound on the 
roof above" him; and when the shower is 
over, he may see the white cloud-galleons 
sail, and the vivid green flash out, above the 
surf, when the sunlight falls on the coast ten 
miles away. If his indolence is not too great 
for the exertion of eating, he may feast on 
all the tropic fruits and unlimited sugar-cane, 
fresh from the field, and not hardened by a 
week's sea-voyage. 

If he likes the bath, there is the stream 
below, and the young people of the fam- 
ily always ready to accompany him. In 

the one I have now in mind, there are 
two large pools not a dozen feet apart, 
just below the break in the bed of the 
stream, which marks its backward cut from 
the line of the sea cliffs. Into one the main 
stream pours, making it cool as may be in 
that climate ; into the other the water, com- 
ing slowly by a little offset from the river 
some yards up stream, and moving slowly 
among the rocks, falls several degrees warm- 
er. In either of these one may simply luxu- 
riate, or he may imitate his guides in jump- 
ing over the fall, or from the over-hanging 
rocks upon the bank into the depths below. 
Unless he is more than ordinarily expert, he 
will find more than a match in this and in 
all the swimmers' feats among the youngest 
of his companions. 

If he fancy sea-bathing, there is the whole 
Pacific before him, and breakers whose curv- 
ing crests invite to a trial of the surf board. 
Any six-foot piece of plank will do for the 
trial. It looks easy, too; just wait for the 
wave to be on the point of combing, then 
throw your feet backward like a frog till you 
get the start, and away you go. But the sea 
and the sailor both enjoy hazing a green 
hand. It is not so easy to dive under the 
breakers as you go out with so large a thing 
as a board under your arm, and provided you 
finally get out beyond them without having 
one comb squarely on top of you, it requires 
the judgment of an expert to tell just when 
to start. If you start too soon, the wave tips 
you over ; if too late, it glides out from un- 
der and you have your kicking for your pains. 
If you strike just the nick of time, and steer 
well so as not to fall off sideways, you go in 
toward the shore in grand style, but then the 
chances are that you have your chest tattoo- 
ed with the end of the board till you look as 
though you wore an American flag for a 
shirt front. 

For the scientist, the plantation is also full 
of interest. The botanist will find treasures 
in the woods : ferns that a man may ride 
under on horseback, and never stoop; walk- 
ing ferns, that start rootlets and frondlets 
,from the tips of the fronds; climbing ferns, 
the stems of which cling like ivy to the tree- 



trunks ; others with fronds like ivy leaves. 
Birdsnest ferns spread out fronds as large 
as banana leaves, and hang all covered below 
with lines of spore dust, like great rosettes of 
green and brown, in the crotches of the trees. 
He will find great trees bursting into flower- 
like garden shrubs, and mallow-like trees 
in thickets, spreading far and wide a tangle 
of snaky branches, covered with yellow and 
brown flowers. There are parasites that 
wind themselves about the more erect stems 
of the ohia trees, and hang out flame-colored 
brushes of flowers. There are bananas grow- 
ing wild, and native palms, and vegetable ab- 
surdities, and beauties enough to make the 
botanist crazy. Besides all these, there are 
the imported plants, already acclimated, many 
of them, and ready to displace the ancient 
proprietors of the soil. 

For the geologist, there are lava forma- 
tions scarcely cold, and in all stages of disin- 
tegration and soil-making ; there are the 
first beginnings of stratified rock and coral 
limestone in formation ; the cliffs before 
mentioned, which the wind-driven ocean is 
gradually eating away, and the streams with 
their falls gradually retreating inland, which, 
if accurate observations could be obtained, 
might give the approximate age of the dis- 
trict, and the time when the fires went out 
on Mauna Kea. In the matted and drip- 
ping forest, and along the shore, he may- 
find near kin of long extinct floras, and real- 
ize in part how the carboniferous jungles ap- 

The zoologist also will find on land a lim- 
ited though interesting fauna, but in the sea 
no end of beauty and instruction : sponges 
and polyps, cuttle-fishes and artistically tint- 
ed crabs, fishes more vivid in metallic blues 
and greens than could be painted, others rosy 
pink, as though a shattered rainbow had fallen 
and become animated in the sea ; sharks, too, 
and broad-finned flying fish. 

For the sociologist there are all those in- 
teresting questions of the amalgamation of 
widely different races, the adjusting of Euro- 
pean and Asiatic civilizations with the relics 
of barbarism, the peculiar relations of labor 

and capital, the government's experience in 
finance, the circumstances of the present re- 
action against the civilized ideals and ways 
of living introduced by the missionaries, and 
the fast disappearing remains of ancient 
Hawaiian customs and building. 

Or the practically disposed guest may in- 
spect irrigation and bone-meal fertilization 
without stint; and especially will he be in- 
terested in the sugar-mills. On horse- back 
again, he will pass through the fields of grow- 
ing cane to where the cutters are at work cut- 
ting and trimming the ripe cane-stalks with 
heavy knives, and throwing them by armfulls 
into the flume, or in another part planting the 
sections of stalk from which new plants are 
started, or hoeing the weeds from the older 

He must visit the mill, also. The cane 
which he has just seen tossed into the flume 
is most likely there before him, but more is 
constantly coming down. Water and cane 
together come out upon a wide belt of wood- 
en slats, which lets the water fall through, 
but moves on with the cane to the crusher. 
This consists of three solid iron rollers as 
large around as a barrel, one above and two 
below, and all enormously heavy. They are 
marked lengthwise with little grooves, so as to 
catch and hold the cane, and connected with 
heavy cogwheels, so that they move together. 
The whole thing is turned most frequently by 
a special engine, though in this rainy district 
water-power is sometimes used. At the ma- 
chine stand two men with great knives, to 
cut such pieces as do not start between the 
rollers properly, and to see that the cane is 
fed in regularly. The juice, as it is pressed 
out, flows into a little trough, where a strainer 
takes out the bits of stalk and coarser impur- 
ities, then on into the boiling house. There 
it is immediately treated with lime or some 
other preventative of fermentation ; for the 
juice is not simply sugar and water, but con- 
tains vegetable substances of a complex na- 
ture, which sour with great rapidity. In- 
deed, this fact is taken advantage of on the 
sly by the hands, whp, with stolen sugar, or 
even with sweet potatoes, make a liquor of 


A Hilo Plantation. 


no mean powers. The next step is the boil- 
ing of the corrected juice, which is done by 
steam heat in open metallic vats in the newer 
and better mills, and first by direct fire, and 
afterward by steam, in some of the older 
ones. This boiling has the double advan- 
tage of catching and floating to the surface 
certain impurities in the form of scum, which 
can be easily removed, and of getting rid of 
a portion of the water. When this process 
has been carried as far as practicable in this 
way, the removal of the water is continued 
in the vacuum pan. In the early manufac- 
ture of cane sugar, the water was simply 
boiled away, as is now done in the making 
of maple sugar, but the risk of spoiling the 
whole caldron full as the syrup nears the 
point of crystallization was very great, and 
the loss considerable by chemical changes of 
the sugar itself from prolonged heating. But 
by the present method, all this is in a great 
degree avoided. 

The vacuum pan is a large cast iron cylin- 
der with rounded top and bottom, furnished 
inside with coils of copper pipe, through 
which hot steam is passed. Into this cylin- 
der the boiled juice is drawn and the steam 
turned on. At the same time a steam air- 
pump exhausts the space above the liquid, 
and by the well known laws of physics so 
decreases its boiling temperature that the 
former danger of burning the sugar is quite 
removed. The point to which this part of 
the manufacture is carried,. differs with dif- 
ferent grades of sugar and in different 
mills. In some the process goes on until 
the grain of the sugar is formed, but more 
commonly, and with the lower grades of 
sugar almost universally, the graining takes 
place in large sheet-iron tanks, called coolers, 
into which the syrup is allowed to run from 
the vacuum pan. As 'it stands cooling it 
might well pass in color and consistency for 
thin tar. When, after some time of stand- 
ing, the grain is well formed, the thick liquid 
is put into whirling tubs of finely perforated 
brass, called centrifugals. Their rapid mo- 
tion turns the .dark mass light colored, by 
throwing the molasses outward through the 
perforations, and leaves the sugar pressed 

close to the sides of the machine, dried and 
ready for packing. The molasses obtained 
by this process is after a time put through the 
vacuum pan and centrifugal again, and yet 
a third time, at each repetition giving a 
lower and darker grade of sugar. . Some- 
times, while the sugar is in the centrifugal, it 
is further whitened and purified by turning 
steam upon it, or by pouring in water, the 
object being to wash out such slight traces 
of molasses as still remain. Sugar thus 
treated is known as washed sugar, and for 
quality and appearance is scarcely inferior 
to refined sugar. The finished product is 
packed for shipping by shoveling it into jute 
bags about the size of fifty pound flour 
sacks. ,. 

An improved compound vacuum pan has 
been introduced within the last few years. 
In this the hot vapor which arises from the 
liquid in the first pan passes through the 
coiled pipes of the second, causing the juice 
in that to boil also, and the vapor of the 
second boils the juice in the third, if there is 
a third. These machines are called the 
Double or Triple Effect from the number of 
pans used. It is obvious that such an ar- 
rangement must result in a great saving of 
fuel, and in an improved grade of sugar. 

Then, in the evening, when the manager 
sits down for an after-dinner cigar, he can tell 
you tales of the early days in Hawaii : of ad- 
ventures by shore and flood; how the consti- 
tution was adopted in spite of a dictatorial 
king; how once, in early days on Molokai, 
the natives came across from the opposite 
side and said that a ship with sails still set 
had come ashore ; and how, when they 
crossed the island and boarded her, they 
found her empty, save for a few casks of 
liquor, and scuttled into the bargain (she 
had been left, it proved, by the captain and 
crew to sink in the open channel as she 
might, while' they rowed around to Honolulu 
to collect the insurance ) ; and how, with the 
saved liquor, the whole mob of natives had 
a general and prolonged spree. 

Or of how a canoe load of natives, setting 
out to cross between two of the islands, were 
capsized, and all drowned except two an old 

toses in California. 


man and his daughter ; of the lonely swim- 
ming of the two in the heaving waste. 
Finally, the old man was ready to give up, 
and begged his daughter to swim on and 
leave him ; but she would not, and made 
him float on the water while she rubbed and 
pressed his exhausted limbs and body 
" lomied " him, as the native word is. Again 
they swam on till the old man's strength 
again failed, and the rubbing was repeated , 
and all this the daughter did even a third 
time. And when at' last the old man died 
in the sea from sheer exhaustion, the still 
faithful girl put his thin arms around her 
neck, and, holding them with one hand, 
swam with the other till they stiffened, and 
then swam on till after I dare not say how 
many hours, she brought the body to land. 
Or he may tell of his own similar experi- 
ence of eight hours' swimming for his life; of 
dealings with superstitious natives, who were 
actually sickening with the fear that some 
one was praying them to death ; of labor 
troubles in the earliest times, before proper 
legal means were adopted for enforcing con- 
tracts, when the imported Chinese turned 
out to be full-fledged land pirates and refused 

to work, were made temporary prisoners in 
their house, replied by threatening murder, 
which they were about to commit when a 
well directed pistol ball in the leg laid up the 
leader and put an end to the mutiny. 

Social pleasures are not wholly lacking; 
the neighbors surmount the difficulties of the 
roads, and call. There may be a neighbor- 
hood dance in the school-house with accor- 
deon music and unlimited jollity ; or evenings 
in town, ending in a moonlight ride out to 
the plantation; or a wedding among the 
hands, with a cross-eyed bride; or a serenade 
on the birthday of the overseer from the 
amateur band of Hilo organized from the la- 
borers of several adjacent plantations ; bath- 
ing picnics on Cocoanut Island in Hilo Bay ; 
horseback jaunts to Rainbow Falls and the 
woods. And it may be that your host will 
find time to act as your guide to the volcano, 
or upper slopes, of Mauna Kea. 

But with all the beauty of the scenery and 
all the lavishness of hospitality, you will go 
away thankful that your life is not to be spent 
on a plantation, and hopeful that it may be 
your good fortune again to visit a place so de- 

E. C. S. 


LESS than a hundred years ago, there 
arose for the. flower lovers of the newer 
world a floral star in the eastern horizon, a 
gift from the Orient to the Occident. Not 
from Eden or the Euphrates, and the hang- 
irtg gardens of Babylon, not among any of 
the recorded flowers of the ancient world, do 
we find trace of this later acquisition, be- 
yond all other floral gifts to this century. 
From its home in the fertile valleys of India 
or China, where the wild, five-petaled rose 
had been known for centuries, there came 
to Europe a primitive form of the tea rose. 

We have no authentic account of the orig- 
inal history of this tea rose, and the earlier 
ones were single or nearly so, and gave little 
hint of the possibilities of their future, save 

only in their true tea fragrance, which has 
been a fixed characteristic in all later addi- 
tions. The first double one of any value was 
the well known Devoniensis, than which 
even now we have few more sterling kinds. 
Rosarians number the varieties of the tea rose 
now grown at over six hundred, though many 
puzzling synonyms occur. The characteris- 
tics of certain families are easily determined, 
under which their respective descendants may 
be grouped. It is this group of roses which 
is most largely grown in California, being 
adapted to the climatic conditions, and af- 
fording almost constant bloom, while in 
England and France acres of glass are re- 
quired to secure immunity from frost and 
severe thermometrical fluctuations. 


Hoses in California. 


Save for our favorable conditions, these 
countries would be formidable competitors 
against the claim made, that in California the 
rose has found its true habitat. A genera- 
tion of experience has given to continental 
rosarians a skill not lightly to be valued, 
but when we shall have attained a like skill, 
with systematic endeavor to use it for the 
highest results, the question will no longer 
be a mooted one. From the fickleness of 
European climates, the fatal alternations of 
heat and cold, excessive moisture without 
counterbalancing sunshine making the use of 
glass a necessity, the California rose-grower 
turns with unalloyed satisfaction to a mini- 
mum of these conditions. Especially is this 
true of localities a few miles distant from the 
sea coast, where the sea breezes are softened. 
We are equally removed from the rigors of 
Eastern winters, and from springs that tarry 
in the " lap of Winter," leaving too short a 
floral season for anything like perfect success, 
save to those who resort to conservatories, 
and making out-of-door culture a practical 
impossibility for anything more than the brief 
summer months. At no period of the year 
do tr>e florists of San Francisco fail to pro- 
cure garden-grown roses for their require- 
ments. From sheltered localities adjacent 
to the city come at all seasons buds and blos- 
soms of great beauty. 

In Southern California, from Point Con- 
cepcion to San Diego, we find Marechal 
Niels resting their golden heads on the mos- 
sy couches in the florists' windows. Here 
the Marie Van Houtte takes on her golden 
raiment with a mantling blush. of carmine, 
such as is not seen elsewhere. The royal 
kin of the Duchesse de Brabant to remotest 
degree show linings of sea-shell pink, shad- 
ing to amber, beyond the power of brush or 
palette. While the demands of early win- 
ter cause comparative scarcity of blooms in 
the immediate neighborhood of the metrop- 
olis, the denizens of the Southland revel in 
rose gardens, where there always may be 
found some venturesome forerunners of the 
early spring-time. The industrious Safrano 
never feels called upon to close her blinds 
or take a vacation, the pure white Bella makes 

a specialty of winter rose buds, and the 
Duchesse de Brabant affords the touch of 
color needed in a winter landscape if one 
can imagine such a thing, with sunny skies 
and green hillsides.' 

Just here Nature forgets her thrifty winter 
economies, and expends fortunes of color 
and draperies on her royal favorites ; forgets 
wholly her chary habits of growth in her 
Januaries and Februaries elsewhere, save 
when in sullen mood over superabundant 
rain-drops, atoned for in a sudden burst of 
sunshine by fabulous growths of stem and leaf, 
and incipient buds. It is here that the court 
of the rose kingdom holds its revels, where 
whole troops of fairies may give royal ban 
quets in Marechal Niel roses without mar- 
ring their royal costumes, or pirouetting dan- 
gerously near the circumference. Professor 
Gray advises operas and kindred patrons of 
the queen of flowers to center there. If 
"Mahomet will not come to the mountain, 
then the mountain must come to Mahomet." 

"All seasons are its own," is true of the 
rose, in its chosen home in Southern Califor- 
nia ; but even here its perfection is reached 
only in a few favored localities. The sea 
coast, unlike the northern portions of the 
State, gives here the best results. The 
soft, moist atmosphere provides a bath of 
dew-drops all the early hours of the day a 
luxury not lightly to be estimated. A rose 
garden at Santa Barbara, perhaps, illustrates 
as perfectly as any other these conditions. 
It is set to a chromatic scale of color, as 
hopeless of reproduction as trie famous sun- 
rises of that locality reflected in the clear 
waters of the bay a bewildering kaleido- 
scope of gold and crimson, blended wiih 
tender tints of rose, and amber, and pearl. 
So when the rose festival of the early spring- 
time gathers together the clans of flower lov- 
ers and the treasures of their gardens, it is 
not an open question as to "who shall be 
Queen of the May." For several years, the 
attraction of those months has been this 
feast of roses. At first, a leading object 
was the correction of nomenclature, which 
had become a hopeless tangle ; now it as- 
sumes a larger place, and taxes each year 


25 in California. 


the taste and resources of every florist of 
note. An attraction of the current year was 
in arrangements of moss and turf of gener- 
ous extent, laid out as rose gardens, and sup- 
plemented with minor growths to accentu- 
ate their beauty. A toboggan of shaded crim- 
son roses, with sliding ground of white La- 
marques, was a striking "novelty," arranged 
to the life by ladies "to the manner born." 
The lavish profusion with which roses are 
used on these occasions would paralyze an 
Eastern or a European florist. Some simple 
bank or side- decoration will require five 
thousand roses of one shade ; another con- 
trasting bank as many of crimson shaded to 

Ventura, Los Angeles, San Diego, River- 
side, Pasadena, and many another town and 
hamlet could provide displays which would 
destroy the peace of rose-growers of other 
lands. As springtime deepens, the central 
and northern counties wheel into line, and 
the whole. State is crowned with roses and 
heavy with fragrance. Oakland, Alameda, 
Haywards, Niles, San Jose, and intermediate 
places, are filled with the glories of rose 
gardens a gladness to every beholder ; 
though it is a question if the less frequent win- 
ter bud and blossom is not more perfectly 
appreciated than the "embarrassment of 
wealth " of the later season. The Banksias 
on the trellis are .thro wing out golden spheres 
on one side and miniature snow-wreaths on 
the other, rivaling the Cloth of Gold, the 
William Francis Bennett, the Niphetos, and 
the endless array from Adam to Vicomte de 
Gazes. Every bud and bloom of the lesser 
lights of the floral world is eclipsed, and the 
carnival of roses holds undisturbed for many 
a gala day. 

This picture is true of all California for 
the spring and summer months. Santa 
Rosa claims precedence over her sister 
towns, though the unprejudiced observer 
notes as lavish a display at Napa, Sonoma, 
and many another favored locality. Sacra- 
mento considers herself most favored in 
roses at this present season, and with appar- 
ent reason. Beside the mountain roses of 
the early spring-time, barbaric splendors pale. 
VOL. VI. 13. 

Not content with trellis or neighboring cor- 
nice, they reach out for adjacent tree-tops, 
covering the leafy splendors with uncounted 
thousands of royal bud and bloom. In the 
mad strife for gold some decades since, an 
argonaut of '49, in a homesick hour, planted 
a branch of climbing rose at his cabin door. 
Now, deserted cabin and tree and hillside 
are a wilderness of " white chalices held up 
by unseen hands," relieved by tangled masses 
of vines and tendrils, fed by a clear stream 
that murmurs past the cabin door. The 
materials are all here, the poetry and the 
pathos all ready for the writer. Old-world 
ruins, overgrown with ivy, winning from the 
pilgrim and tourist willing tribute in song 
and story, could find here a fitting counter- 

An effective method in arrangement of 
roses is often seen in beds cut in the lawn, 
where harmonizing or contrasting colors can 
be satisfactorily introduced. These beds are 
usually composed of Tea, Noisette, and 
Bourbon Roses, with an occasional Hybrid 
Tea, and the following varieties, from habit 
of growth, symmetry of form, and free- 
dom of bloom, may safely be arranged to- 
gether : Coquette de Lyon, Catherine Mer- 
met, Marie Van Houtte, Perle des Jardins, 
Sombrieul, La France, Madame Fernet, La 
Jonquille, Madame Lambard, William Fran- 
cis Bennett, Comtesse Riza du Pare, Sunset, 
La Princess Vera, Coquette des Alpes, Caro- 
line Kuster, Cornelia Cook, Madame Guillot; 
and for gardens near the coast and cooler 
portions of the State, Safrano, Madame Fal- 
cot, La Sylphide. In Southern California the 
first two succumb to the prevalent sunshine, 
and the last is subject to mildew and a sub- 
stitute in that case is much better policy 
than a battle. A retreat is often the better 
part of valor in rose culture. An equally 
effective arrangement of Hybrid Perpetuals, 
with a border of low-growing ones for spring 
and autumn blooming, may be composed of 
the following varieties : Marie Baumann, Al- 
fred Colomb, Baroness Rothschild, Marquis, 
de Castellane, Louis Van Houtte, Marie 
Rady, Etienne Levet, White Baroness Roths- 
child, Vulcan, Xavier Oliba, Monsieur E. Y. 


Hoses in California. 


Teas, Baron Bonstetten, Prince Camille de 
Rohan, Abel Caniere, Fisher Holmes, Fran- 
c,ois Michelon. with an outer edge of Pseonaia 
and Madame Frangoise Pettit. This number 
calls, of course, for a large space, but a se- 
lection therefrom will be found valuable for 
a smaller one. Special care has been given 
to select sorts that bear well our large allow- 
ance of sunshine. Many choice varieties 
are failures here for no reason but that they 
do not. An experienced florist specially rec- 
ommends Louis Van Houtte and Marie 
Baumann as free from this objection ; also 
General Jacqueminot, and Alfred Colomb. 
In the shades of rose color the more perma- 
nent ones are Marquis de Castellane and 
Rev. J. B. Camm. In the paler shades are 
recommended Eugene Verdier, Monsieur 
Noman, and Captain Christy. To be avoid- 
ed where brilliant sunshine is the rule, are 
the Verdier type, save the one given above, 
the Giant of Battles, the Lefevres, and the 
Duke of Edinburgh family. 

A few of the leading florists on this coast 
have increased the value of this article by 
naming to the writer a few reliable varieties 
for their several localities. For the imme- 
diate neighborhood of San Francisco, in the 
constant blooming varieties, are given Pau- 
line La Bonte, Safrano, Claire Carnot, Isa- 
bella Sprunt, Bon Silene, Gloire de Dijon, 
Marie Van Houtte; for Hybrids General 
Jacqueminot, Paul Neyron, John Hopper, 
Cardinal Patrizzi, Jules Margotten, Madame 
Rivers, Boule deNiege; for Noisettes Reve 
d'Or, or Climbing Safrano, Reine Marie 
Henriette, Gold of Ophir, Aimee Vibert, 
La Marque, Climbing Devoniensis, Marechal 
Niel, Mrs. Heyman, Microphylla ; for Bour- 
bons, Souvenir de Malmaison, Paelona, Her- 
mosa, Madame Bosanquet. The following 
remedies for insects affecting the rose in 
this locality are kindly added: "For green 
fly in the spring, syringe with whale-oil soap 
and tobacco water ; for red spider, syringe 
under leaves and dust with sulphur." Roses 
grown out of doors and under the best con- 
ditions, however, give comparatively little 
trouble in this direction. Perhaps the most 
troublesome enemy is an insect that stings 

the outer leaves of opening buds, for which 
no remedy is given, as it would have to be 
like the famous recipe for cooking a hare ' 
" First catch your" bug, then kill it. Scale 
sometimes annoys old plants; for this, whale- 
oil soap is a remedy but probably a better 
one is a new, plant. 

Another enthusiastic florist gives a list for 
interior localities : For Teas Bella, Cather- 
ine Mermet, Devoniensis, Elise Sauvage, Isa- 
bella Sprunt, Marie Van Houtte, Madame 
Lombard, Madame Falcot, Niphetos, Perle 
des Jardins, Safrano, La Sylphide ; for Hybrid 
Perpetuals Alfred Colomb, Baroness Roths- 
child, Gen. Jacqueminot, Jules Chretien, Pae- 
onia, Earl of Pembroke, Heinrich Schultheis, 
Madame Vidot, Merveille de Lyons ; climb- 
ers Reine Marie Henriette, La Marque, 
Marechal Niel; Noisettes W. A. Richard- 
son, Ophire, Madame Caroline Kuster; Bour- 
bons Appoline, Queen of Bedders, Souvenir 
de Malmaison ; for winter bloomers W. F. 
Bennett, Sunset, Madame de Watteville, 
Southern Belle, Bon Silene. 

The following list, irrespective of indi- 
vidual locality, will be found to contain valu- 
able sorts of constant bloomers, all carefully 
tested, largely of the Tea, Noisette and Bour- 
bon varieties, and particularly adapted to 
this Coast. Very few " novelties " will be 
found, as they await the decision of the 
court of California florists, and at present are 
held as " not proven " : Madame Welche, 
Etoile de Lyon, Madame de Watteville, 
L'Elegante, Antoine Mermet, Sunset, Red 
Souvenir de Malmaison, La France, Cornelia 
Cook, Bella, Shirley-Hibbard, Catherine Mer- 
met, Comtesse Riza du Pare, La Princess 
Vera, Comtesse de la Barthe, Devoniensis, 
Gloire de Dijon, Letty Coles, Madame 
Bravy, Madame Falcot, Md'lle Rachel, Marie 
Van Houtte, Madame Lam bard, Niphetos, 
Safrano, Perle des Jardins, Marie Sisley, Som- 
brieul, Elise Sauvage, La Jonquille, Jaune 
d'Or, Pauline La Bonte, Arch Duke Charles, 
Agrippina, Madame Bosanquet, Marie Guil- 
lott, Madame de Vatrey, Madame Villermoz, 
Rubens, Homer, Souvenir de Malmaison, 
Appoline, Celine Forester, Comtesse de 
Nadaillac, La Sylphide, Chromatella, W. F. 


loses in California. 


Bennett, W. A. Richardson, Bon Silene. 
Climbers : Marechal Niel, Claire Carnot, 
Chromatella, Madame Marie Berton, La 
Marque, La Reine, Solfaterre, Setina, Caro- 
line Goodrich the latter a fine, red climber 
after the style of General Jacqueminot. The 
yellow and the white Banksia, though bloom- 
ing but once a year, cannot be omitted. 
Among Moss roses, the so called" perpetuals 
have not proved a satisfactory addition ; the 
older varieties are still the best. Among 
these the Comtesse de Murinais, the Ecla- 
tante and the Crested Moss are reliable ; the 
latter was found on the walls of the Convent 
at Fribourg. and has always been a favorite, 
as it is usually free from mildew. Of the 
Hybrid Teas, La France and Michael Saun- 
ders are the best, nearly all of the others fad- 
ing in this climate, thus proving a disappoint- 

Concerning seedlings, several florists of 
our State are making valuable experiments, 
and their seedlings are among the thousands 
in number ; but none are prepared to an- 
nounce new varieties as yet, though some 
very promising ones are being developed. 
Some seedlings fromComptesse de la Barthe, 
La Sylphide, and Safrano are of especial 
promise, and we shall look with interest for 
further developments. Careful inquiry shows 
that much interest is being felt here on this 
point, and the future will show valuable re- 
sults. Some promising seedlings are being 
exhibited at the Rose Festivals of Southern 
California. California should, with her long 
seasons and favorable climate, give some 
prominence to these experiments. England 
and France send out yearly large numbers of 
new roses, and among them we have secured 
types and additions of permanent value. 
Nearly all of our best varieties are the product 
of the. last twenty-five years, and are largely 
the result of the careful experiments of the 
last decade. 

Concerning the culture of roses, we have 
something to learn from other nations. Fair 
results have been reached with so little labor 
on the part of the grower, that we have paused 
there. When we shall have reached the 
maximum of care bestowed upon French and 

English rose gardens, where operations are 
conducted with mathematical precision and 
unfailing devotion, we shall see marvelous 
results. When we shall prepare roses for ex- 
hibition two years in advance ; when we shall 
study our soils and conditions with a seventh 
floricultural sense, born of an intense enthu- 
siasm for our work ; then we shall see results 
worthy of the climatic conditions with which 
nature has endowed us. Just here lies our 
danger; so much has been given that we 
allow it to suffice, and are satisfied with a 
thousandfold less than we might receive. 

Regarding the pruning, much depends on 
locality and variety. The cooler climate of 
the coast permits a standard form, and higher 
trimming than in the warmer valleys, where 
the heat of summer requires shade for 
healthy growth, and of necessity low culture. 
During periods of rest the old wood should 
be removed, leaving, if possible, from one to 
three upright shoots from the root. A mat- 
ter of vital importance is to commence train- 
ing the rose from the first planting, and un- 
less one is hampered .by varieties addicted to 
slow and awkward growths, a satisfactory re- 
sult is attainable. 

The old wood should be cut below the 
ground ; when young and vigorous shoots 
are ready to take its place, awkward and 
straggling side growths should be headed in 
though in this regard, prevention is better 
than cure. Sacrifice bloom rather than allow 
such growths, and the reward will come in 
later days. In climbers, side pruning and 
a selection of runners will be all that can be 
accomplished. Beyond all these conditions 
of success is the one of rapid growth. 

When insects attack a rose grown out ot 
doors in inland localities, it is usually an old 
or an unhealthy plant. If the root finds lux- 
urious plant food, the top will show splendid 
results. An English florist gives an excel- 
lent, formula for rose planting: Allow the 
hole to be eighteen inches in depth, and 
large enough to contain a " wheelbarrowful 
of compost, two-thirds turfy loam, and one- 
third decomposed manure," and adds that 
" it is difficult to give a*Hfce too good a soil." 
When 'California rosarians grow their roses 


Roses in California. 


after this fashion, the rest of the floral world 
will accept its Waterloo. 

The average soil required must be a strong, 
friable one by nature, or made so by appli- 
cation of the lacking requisites. Fine results 
are shown on our heaviest adobe soils, where 
careful culture and ample moisture are sup- 
plied, but the application of sandy loam and 
leaf mould or decomposed turf greatly bene- 
fits this class of soils. For lighter ones, burnt 
clay with manures of all kinds are valuable. 
A clay subsoil is invaluable in holding both 
moisture and plant food. Fresh manures 
should be liberally applied at the beginning 
of the rainy season, and decomposed ones 
as liberally in the spring, for a mulching dur- 
ing the early rains, then to be spaded into 
the ground. If desirable, this mulching 
may be replaced by lawn clippings in warm 
localities. A marvelous growth of Marechal 
Niel may be secured by giving this treat- 
ment during the summer months also. It 
will bear ten or twelve inches (not too near 
the stalk), with a generous daily supply of 
water. The result of a like treatment was 
twelve feet of growth in one summer, and 
the roses were wonderfully beautiful. The 
plant, of course, was a budded one. 

Concerning the expense of rose gardens, 
the range is as varied as the taste and means 
of the rose-grower permit. A large propor- 
tion come into life and beauty very much 
after the fashion of Topsy. They grow from 
small beginnings, and out of slowly gathered 
experience. California is a land of experi- 
ments; it is still delightfully indefinite; there 
is as much of floral prospecting to be done 
as of any other sort, and its devotees are as 
persistent and undaunted as the most incur- 
able gold-seeker. 

The favorite varieties cultivated are found 
among the lists of Tea roses, giving as they 
do almost constant bloom. Hybrid Perpet- 
uals form less than a tenth of the ordinary 
rose garden, as two crops at most are all that 
can be expected, and the latter a small one. 
Noisettes, Bourbons, and Hybrid Teas form 
a somewhat larger proportion. The ordinary 
varieties of these are supplied by florists on 
the coast at from ten to fifty cents each, ac- 

cording to size and class. New varieties 
come higher, and are likely to be cautiously 
ordered until they have established a well- 
grounded reputation. The second season 
from planting will give fine results from even 
the smallest plants, the larger ones giving 
returns at once if carefully planted and cared 
for. Buds of winter-blooming varieties W. 
F. Bennett, Sofrano, Sunset, Bella, Madame 
de Walteville, Bon Silene, Cornelia Cook, 
and others have always a commercial value, 
regulated mainly by frosts and operas. Other 
exigencies afford fair returns ; a conjunction 
of these two will afford golden ones. 

A point of interest in this view of the sub- 
ject is a successful venture in Southern Cali- 
fornia, to introduce the Provence Rose for 
extracting the well-known attar of rose of 
commerce. Dr. Hall until recently a res- 
ident of France has a plantation of these, 
and other perfumery plants, at Carpenteria, 
a suburb of Santa Barbara. It is proposed 
to enter upon the extraction of the essential 
oil as soon as a sufficient stock shall have 
accumulated ; and the day is not far distant 
when we shall add to our exports the varied 
extracts of perfumery plants, among them the 
attar of rose. 

At a rose festival in Santa Barbara, the 
question was propounded as to how one not 
familiar with the numberless rose family 
should distinguish a Provence rose from its 
countless sisterhood. The inquirer was taken 
to a portion of the hall where a large bowl of 
this fragrant variety stood, and thereafter no 
difficulty will be experienced in deciding on 
the locality of a Provence rose, even if its 
form or color is forgotten. In these it 
somewhat resembles our native Castilian, but 
is less double, and smaller. A very large crop 
is required before it can profitably be utilized. 

The poetic element is not ordinarily 
wanting in any direction in this realm of 
sunshine and 'flowers, where beauty is a birth- 
right and her kingdom a perennial one. It 
grows in the eternal silences, is fashioned 
without sound of the hammer or echo of 
turmoil. And yet one touch of tenderness, 
one note of pathos, we lack we have no 
"last Rose of Summer," around the memory 


Reminiscences of General Grant. 


3f which lingers in other lands so much 
of tender sadness a death march in 
Nature, whose mournful tones hint so re- 
motely of a possible resurrection in the far- 
iistant spring-time. For this reason, possi- 
Dly, we fail to realize the completeness and 
perfection of this kingdom of beauty. An 
Eastern winter suddenly transferred to our 
;ihore would bring to our minds an intense 
realization of our blessings. Were there a 
single month of impossible rose-buds, what 
,i wail would extend over the land. 

The legends of history interweave the rose 
with the palmy days of Rome and Greece. 
The classic revels were incomplete without 
giving it a prominent position. The white 
: - ose among the ancient Romans was called 
;he "earth star," and decorations in which 
:t prevailed always gave a hint of silence. 
All conversations held there were " sul> 
rosa." Hence, according to one story, this 
phrase, as a synonym of confidential inter- 
course. The extravagance of the entertain- 
ments of this era were very largely in its dec- 
orations of roses. The fabulously extrava- 
gant receptions given to Marc Antony in- 
cluded other fantasies than pearls dissolved 

in wine, and purple and golden draperies. 
The grand saloon was carpeted with roses 
to a depth of eighteen inches, a votive offer- 
ing of the " bloom of love." Nero's expen- 
diture of a hundred thousand dollars for 
roses to decorate a single feast is as well 
known as his other less innocent vagaries. 
The classic laurel wreath often divided its 
honors withachaplet of roses, crowning poets 
and orators, as well as the victors at the Olym- 
pic games. Naturally, it crowned their mar- 
riage feasts, and hid the somber tomb under a 
wealth of beauty and fragrance, special be- 
quest being made for this purpose. Several 
countries have adopted it in its various 
colors for national emblems, as the Great 
Seal of England in the reign of Edward iv. 
and other coinage of the realm. The York 
and Lancaster strife, in the reign of Henry 
vi., the " War of Roses," is a household 
word at this day; and the "White Rose of 
the Stuarts " is as trite a remembrance. Less 
well known is the record of a poem written 
by Ronsard on the emblematic flower, which 
brought to its fortunate writer, as a gift from 
Mary Queen of Scots, a royal rose of silver, 
valued at five hundred guineas. 

/. C, Winton. 


GENERAL GRANT was much interested in 
the Pacific Coast, and showed great atten- 
tions to gentlemen from California and Ore- 
gon, always extending to them during the 
years of his Presidency a hearty welcome to 
the White House. The best part of his 
greeting was its unaffected simplicity and 
cordiality. They could always depend upon 
him for assistance in any legitimate enterprise 
calculated toadvancethe interest of the Coast. 
One of the best proofs of this was in the fact 
that when his Attorney-General, Ackerman, of 
Georgia, made very peculiar decisions against 
the Oregon Land Grants, which would have 
prevented the building of the Oregon and Cali- 

fornia railroad, Grant, upon being made aware 
of Ackerman's views on this subject, asked 
for his resignation, and appointed ex-Senator 
George H. Williams, of Oregon. He felt, 
and so expressed himself at the time, that so 
important a subject ought to be left in the 
hands of a man who was well acquainted 
with the needs of the States most interested. 
Williams made an excellent Attorney-Gen- 
eral, and his name was sent in as nominee 
to fill Chief Justice Sprague's place; but the 
famous "Landaulet Story" prevented his 
confirmation. General Grant's far-sighted in- 
terest in the Pacific States is also shown by 
the frequent allusions he made during the 


Reminiscences of General Grant. 


late years of the war to the desirability of 
having the Union and Central Pacific rail- 
roads extend a branch to Portland and Puget 
Sound, thus doing the work for the great 
Northwest that the Northern Pacific has 
since accomplished. Some time in 1868 
the General, in talking over the subject with 
Ben Holliday and myself, used the strong 
expression : " You Oregonians have been 
fairly robbed of a railroad." 

Among the early friends of Grant on this 
coast were the late Ben Simpson, of Oregon, 
Collector of the Port and State Senator ; also 
a few old merchants of Oregon. Captain R. 
R. Thompson, of this city, was well acquaint- 
ed with Captain Grant in Oregon. 

The stories which have been extensively 
circulated to the effect that young Grant led 
a dissipated life while on this coast, may 
be briefly characterized as lies. He was a 
nice, quiet fellow, who made friends, and 
stuck steadily to his business. There was a 
story told in many parts of the coast to the 
effect that Grant lived in Humboldt County 
for some years, and " drove a mule team," as 
an imaginative pioneer once was heard tell- 
ing a group of men on Pine Street. Another 
story oft.en retailed is that young Grant once 
kept a billiard saloon in Walla Walla; still a 
third that he "went to the mines," and 
owned a claim on the Feather or upper Sac- 
ramento; while yet a fourth is, that he lived 
in Stockton, and " loafed penniless about its 
muddy streets one winter in the early fifties." 
These stories, and similar ones, are suffic- 
iently set to rest by the evidence of George 
W. Dent, late United States Appraiser, and 
General Grant's brother-in-law; also by the 
statements of Grant's early Oregon friends. 

Grant's arrival on the Coast was in 1850. 
He brought government supplies and stores 
for use at Benicia, where he deliverd them 
to the Quartermaster General. His regiment 
was for some time stationed in San Francisco. 
At this time, George and John Dent were living 
at Knight's Ferry, and he visited them there, 
during his first furlough. It was during this 
visit that he explored the Stanislaus and Tu- 

olumne hills, saw the miners at their work, 
helped the Dents build a bridge, and had 
what he afterwards spoke of as "one of the 
best vacations of his life." While in San 
Francisco, he boarded at the Tehama House, 
which stood on the site now occupied by the 
Bank of California. His regiment was called 
to Northern California and Oregon to aid in 
quieting Indian troubles, and shortly after 
its return he wrote out and forwarded his 
resignation, immediately after which he pro- 
ceeded to the Eastern States. 

Senator Nesmith, of Oregon, who died a 
few months ago, was a prominent member of 
the Committee on Military Affairs of the U. 
S. Senate, and gave his hearty support to all 
of Grant's measures. During the darkest 
hours of the great General's career, Senator 
Nesmith, one of the best known of war Dem- 
ocrats, was determined to sustain him, and 
Grant often made his headquarters while in 
Washington at the Senator's house. Both 
Stanton and Halleck were often opposed by 
the energetic Senator, but no one ever heard 
a word of complaint from Grant, whose loy- 
alty to the ideals of military obedience was 
one of his most admirable qualities. Only 
President Lincoln, and a few men such as 
Nesmith, knew how strong a pressure was 
brought to bear against Grant at this time. 

Ben Holliday kept house on E Street, in 
Washington. He was then President of the 
Oregon and California railroad. Among the 
old friends who often assembled there, one 
would often see General Phil. Sheridan, Quar- 
termaster General Ingalls, now in Portland, 
Oregon, and General Grant, together with 
any other old Pacific Coasters. They would 
sit and smoke, and talk over old times till 
past midnight, when the President's friends 
would accompany him to the door of the 
White House. 

1 was on board the steamer that carried 
his daughter, Nellie Sartoris, across New 
York harbor, on her way to England. Grant 
showed deep feeling, and said to a friend 
who stood near me, " My heart goes across 
the ocean with that girl." 

A. M. Loryea. 


Reminiscences of General Grant. 



WHO, twenty-one years ago, could have 
believed that as a united and harmonious 
people we should mourn the death of the 
leader of the national armies in the colossal 
struggle then going on that for such a 
cause the outward emblems of grief would 
so soon enshroud a land convulsed by dis- 
sension and bloody war ? 

Unanimity and peace seemed to have de- 
parted never to return ; and our unhappy 
country was rent by passions so fierce and 
desperate that the civilized world stood 
aghast at the spectacle, and wondered if the 
fratricidal war would stop short of the de- 
struction of the combatants. The land was 
deluged with brothers' blood. Twenty-one 
short years have passed, and a united and 
happy people mourn the death of the most 
prominent actor in that fearful struggle. 
The South unites with the North in paying 
homage to the chief who led the Union forces 
to victory. The East and West alike'mourn 
his loss. 

Though such incredible change has come 
over our happy land, it is not probable we 
are yet competent to pass in just review the 
character of the mighty chief who handled 
an army of a million men with such easy 
skill and terrific force. The sense of relief 
from overwhelming peril is still upon this 
generation. The hopes, the fears, the des- 
pair engendered by the most terrible strug- 
gle ever engaged in by the human race are 
still too fresh in our recollection for us to 
judge calmly and dispassionately the char- 
acter of the man who, above any other, was 
instrumental in saving us. His life, like that 
of Lee, his great competitor, remains yet to be 
written. To those who have followed him 
with friendly but critical eyes since his great 
victory at Donelson, he is hard to understand. 
Such simplicity and straightforwardness of 
character; such obtuseness of vision at times, 
with such wonderful prescience at others; 
such an infallible judge of the capacities of 
his military subordinates, and such an easy 
dupe to transparent wiles of others ; such 
surrender of self and entire devotion to the 
cause of suppressing the rebellion, with such 

selfish egotism in seeking a third term, after 
the experiences of the first and second, and 
against the protest of the country; such ex- 
traordinary capacity and incapacity, have 
rarely been equaled, and need the hand o 
a master for their correct portrayal. 

Of his life in the army before the war little 
is known. Colonel Bonneville (the Captain 
Bonneville of Washington Irving), who com- 
manded Grant's regiment at one time, once 
told the writer that Grant was compelled to 
leave the army. The truth, no doubt, is that 
army life on our frontier posts was utterly 
distasteful to him. He took no interest in 
his duties and had no professional pride. 
His accomplished Colonel could not forgive 
the apparent insensibility and lack of inter- 
est on the part of his subordinate, and mat- 
ters came to such a pass that Grant sent in* 
his resignation. One would suppose his sit- 
uation then, with a young family, without 
money, without a profession or business, and 
no capacity for business, would have been 
most depressing. Yet probably he did not 
suffer from depression of spirits. His at- 
tempt at farming near St. Louis was a. failure 

During the war his persistent refusal, on 
all occasions, to talk was the cause of much 
comment. His enemies said he couldn't 
talk, and the loyal element of the North 
wondered that a general who could command 
armies should seem unable to converse 
about anything except horses. But this ex- 
treme reticence was sometimes laid aside 
in presence of a congenial spirit. A friend 
once told me that just after leaving col- 
lege he visited a brother who had married a 
sister of Mrs. Grant, and was living near 
the St. Louis farm. The young man spent 
much time with the future general, and 
found him an excellent talker. He said that 
on every subject which came up for discus- 
sion it was evident Grant had thought, and 
had given it careful consideration. So that 
the impassiveness and taciturnity, for which 
he was so famous during the war, did not 
arise from lack of thought or ability to ex- 
press it. A gentleman now living in Grass 
Valley knew him well in Galena, and bears 


Reminiscences of General Grant. 


witness to the General's conversational 
powers and the extent and variety of his infor- 
mation. But these mental stores were only 
exhibited to a few friends. 

In Galena his father allowed him a salary 
of $40 per month. His poverty and his 
taciturnity made him one of the most ob- 
scure men of the town. Did he suffer as 
any other man of his education and men- 
tal powers would have suffered under such 
circumstances? He was now thirty-nine, 
an educated gentleman, with a large family, 
dependent on his father, who paid him $40 
per month for services as clerk and salesman 
in a leather store. The war broke out, and 
for the first time, so far as known, this man 
was really roused. 

War became at once the business of our 
people. But men who knew anything about 
war were exceedingly scarce. The demand 
for anybody who knew anything at all about 
military drill was immense, and Grant soon 
found himself drilling a company of volun- 
teers, and soon went with them to the State 
capital as their captain. Regiments were 
being organized faster than men fit to com- 
mand them could be found, and Grant, as 
a graduate of West Point, was almost imme- 
diately made Colonel. 

Men fit for Brigadiers were few, and this 
Colonel, who evidently understood his busi- 
ness, and was quietly and sedulously attend- 
ing to it, was soon promoted, and given an 
important command. This man who had 
served in the army for eleven years with in- 
difference to its duties, by the chance of a 
great rebellion finds himself suddenly restor- 
ed to it, with high and independent com- 
mand. He who disliked, and who has al- 
ways disiiked, military life and all connected 
with it, finds himself at the head of an army, 
and determined to make every possible use 
of it to grind the rebellion to powder. The 
impassive, taciturn man is thoroughly arous- 
ed. The nominal Democrat, who had ap- 
parently taken no interest during all his life 
in his government, unless to denounce the 
anti-slavery agitation, awakes, and with cool 
head, iron will, and a heart devoid of fear or 
doubt, bends all his powers to beat the ene- 
my in the fight. He recognizes the fact at 

once, that to prevent the disruption of the 
Union all the energy and force of the entire 
North must be put forth, and the South con- 
quered by crushing, overwhelming blows ; 
that the Southern people must be defeated 
in battle until utterly exhausted, and that it 
was only by constant and fearful fighting 
the South could be exhausted and the war 

From the moment he took the field, and 
long before the rest of the country realized 
the necessities of the situation, his clearness 
of vision seemed like inspiration. For four 
bloody years he was a representative of the 
Union force of the nation, grim, resolute, 
fearless, undoubting. 

In 1864 it seemed, and foreigners thought, 
the North and South would fight to their 
mutual destruction. They compared the 
two sections to Kilkenny cats. Nast pub- 
lished a cartoon of a noble cat (the North) 
engaged in deadly combat with the black, 
short-tailed cat of the South, with Grant 
quietly looking on and remarking, "Our 
cat's tail is the longer." It represented in 
homely manner the grim determination of 
which Grant was the embodiment, to fight 
it out at any cost. That he made mistakes 
as a General, it is useless to deny. That 
the enemy, 40,000 strong, should march up 
to within two miles of his army, and go 
into camp for the night, without his know- 
ing it, and then attack him all unprepared 
the next morning, is unprecedented in the 
history of warfare. But, likewise, it is un- 
precedented that a commanding General, 
assailed under such circumstances, should 
be as cool and undisturbed as if on parade, 
and as resolved to fight and conquer as if he 
were the attacking party, and be able to in- 
fuse his resolution and self-confidence into 
his soldiers. It has been said that he was 
not a Napoleon, but his Vicksburg campaign 
is without a parallel in military annals, save 
only in Napoleon's Italian campaigns. The 
military critic finds it hard, in these portions 
of their careers, to award the palm of genius 
in those matters constituting a master in the 
art of war. The conception of the plan, the 
estimate of the movements of his adversaries, 
the celerity of his own movements, the rapid- 


Reminiscences of General Grant. 


ity of concentration at critical points, and 
the terrific force with which he delivered his 
blows, find their parallel only in Napoleon's 
first Italian campaign. Both had supreme 
self-confidence. Though Grant was acting 
against the advice of his most trusted lieuten- 
ant, and deliberately placed himself where 
he could not receive the despatches from 
Washington recalling him, yet the possibility 
of defeat or failure does not seem to have 
occurred to him. When he commenced his 
march into the interior of Mississippi, away 
from communication with his base, he had 
such assurance of success that he took his 
little boy along, not doubting that the lad 
would see the defeat of the enemy. Any 
other man would have thought that perhaps 
he himself might be defeated and captured. 
He always expected to win the battle, no mat- 
ter what the situation. After Rosecrans' fiasco 
at Chickamauga and Chattanooga, Grant's 
prompt, energetic measures saved the army at 
Chattanooga from starvation and possible sur- 
render. But the enemy were then in plain 
sight on Lookout Mountain and Missionary 
Ridge. To allow it to remain there without 
attacking it would have been contrary to 
Grant's principles. The enemy occupied 
high, almost inaccessible, ridges in strong 
force, and were flushed with their recent vic- 
tory. No other General in Christendom 
would have thought of attacking the enemy 
in front, by scaling the precipitous heights 
in the face of a numerous and resolute foe. 

But attack he did. An Alabama brigade 
weakly gave .way before the impetuous Sher- 
idan, whose division poured into the breach, 
and the astounded Southern Generals, who 
anticipated another Fredericksburg, suffered 
a most crushing defeat. 

The army of the Potomac had had a suc- 
cession of able commanders. Time and 
again that army had moved out from Wash- 
ington to meet the enemy between it and 
Richmond. A great battle followed, and 
then it came back to its intrenchments. 
Grant at last took command. He, too, march- 
ed against the enemy blocking his way to 
Richmond. The horrible battles of the Wil- 
derness followed, with the advantage on the 
whole on the side of the Confederates. Af- 

ter prolonged bloody and resultless fighting, 
Grant found it impossible to cut his way 
through. Did he return to Washington, or 
retreat ? He simply moved off by the left 
flank, and continued his march towards 
Richmond. The enemy again blocked his 
way at Spottsylvania, and more terrible bat- 
tles followed. Again, finding it impossible 
to make headway directly toward his goal, 
he moved off by the left flank, but drawing 
nearer to Richmond, " determined to fight it 
out on that line if it took all summer." North 
Anna then witnessed a drawn battle, and 
another movement by the left flank to Cold 
Harbor followed, where Grant was repulsed 
in a terrible assault. Still no retreat, but 
another advance across the James, and the 
siege of Richmond was begun. Petersburg 
was the key of Richmond, and to capture it 
was to possess the capital of the Confederacy. 
It did take all summer ; it took all winter ; 
but Grant's hold was never relaxed. Mary- 
land was invaded, and Washington threat- 
ened by the enemy, but all to no purpose ; for 
the ponderous hammer was kept at its work. 
The army of the Potomac slowly beat down 
the barriers, and Petersburg was won. There 
is no such instance in history of tenacity and 
unflagging resolution. What must have been 
Lee's sensations as he saw his army grad- 
ually shrinking in numbers from the persist- 
ent and unceasing attacks of the Union forces ! 
Sherman's vigorous campaign in the West 
prevented his being reinforced, and narrowed 
the source of his supplies. His enemy in 
front was determined to crush him at all 
hazards, and by steady, sledge-hammer 
blows was crumbling his army to pieces. 
Desperation ruled the Confederates, from 
general to private, after the battle of the Wil- 
derness. Grant's hand was on the throat of 
the rebellion, and with iron grip and relent- 
less purpose he held on. When Lee's lines 
south of Petersburg were broken, and his 
troops were in full retreat for Richmond, 
Grant, as soon as he heard it, hastened to 
stop the pursuit. He had been fighting for 
almost a year for the possession of this city ; 
now his troops, in hot pursuit of the beaten 
Confederates, could almost enter the city 
along with them. He refused to follow them 

202. The Picture of Bacchus and Ariadne. [Aug. 

into Richmond, but directed his generals to Vicksburg campaign and the pursuit of Lee 

push with all possible expedition to the are as brilliant in conception and in execu- 

west along the Appomattox. It was the in- tion as anything in military history. The 

spiration of genius. By following Lee he great soldiers of the world have done noth- 

would have quickly captured Richmond, but ing more brilliant. 

the rebellion would not have been ended. With the crushing of the rebellion, Grant 

Lee and his army would have escaped. The did a work not only entitling him to the 

capture of cities amounted to little now, gratitude and veneration of the American 

so long as armies of fighting men remained, people, but he did a work for civilization 

But what other man than Grant would have and the human race, which will entitle him 

forborne the pleasure of entering Richmond to the love and respect of mankind to the 

in triumph, or would have thought of stop- remotest time. 

ping pursuit by his flushed and victorious A country saved can afford to judge leni- 

troops and of sending them on a forced march ently the man who did so much to save it. 

across the country ? The result was that he A great general was necessary to our national 

kept Lee from crossing to the south of the salvation, and we found him. Now that he 

Appomattox, and by hard marching headed is dead, let us call to mind the hero of our 

off his retreat and forced a surrender. The victories, and forget the faults of after years. 

Warren Olney. 


Paraphrase from a Chant by Lorenzo de Medici. 

How beautiful is Youth, but soon it flies : 
Let those who seek delight, seek it ere long. 
Tomorrow may not come when this day dies : 

O Youth be bold and strong ! 

: -~m 

We are deceived by Time which hastens by ; 
But these two, bound in endless love and deep, 
Forever happy are, while each is nigh ; 
And on their joy, sweet nymphs attendance keep. 
Let those who seek delight, seek it ere long. 
O Youth be bold and strong ! 

Gay little satyrs on fair nymphs do spy, 
And snares within the caves and woods they build ; 
Then, thrilled by Bacchus do they leap full high 
And dance, for all the air with joy is filled. 

Let those who seek delight, seek it ere long. 
O Youth be bold and strong ! 

Maidens and lovers young, let Bacchus live ! 
Long life to love ! Let each one play and sing ! 
May flames of love the heart sweet pleasure give ! 
Swift end to pain and sadness let us bring ! 

Let those who seek delight, seek it ere long. 

O Youth be bold and strong ! 
Tomorrow may not come when this day dies. 
How beautiful is Youth ! How soon it flies ! 

Laura M. Marquand. 

1885.] Early Days of the Protestant Episcopal Church in California. 203 


AFTER the several interesting accounts of 
the circumstances surrounding religious 
teachers in the early days of California, al- 
ready given by writers who were actors in 
those stirring times, which called out the 
force of a real Christian manhood, it would 
be superfluous, to say the least, for one of 
another generation to attempt to repeat from 
other sources what they have written so well 
from memory. On this account, then, with- 
out further introduction, the writer of this 
sketch begs leave of the indulgent reader, to 
pass at once to the circumstances by force 
of which the Church was established in Cal- 

In the year 1848 a request from six of the 
leading members of the Church was forward- 
ed from San Francisco, then a tiny village 
nestling on the borders of our noble bay, to 
the Board of Missions of the Protestant 
Episcopal Church in New York, asking that 
a missionary be sent to them to minister to 
their spiritual necessities. In answer to 
this request, the Board of Missions sent out 
the Reverend L. Ver Mehr, who, with his 
wife and little children, undertook the long 
voyage around Cape Horn, reaching San 
Francisco September 8th, 1849. 

Meanwhile, the Reverend Flavel S. Mines 
had arrived by the shorter route of Panama, 
and had already organized Trinity Parish, . 

On the arrival of Doctor Ver Mehr it 
was deemed best to organize Grace Parish, 
and steps were taken to provide suitable 
buildings for Divine worship. The congre- 
gations at first used the parlors of private 
residences placed at their disposal Trinity 
congregation worshiping in the house of 
J. H. Merrill, Esq., and Grace congregation 
in that of Frank Ward, Esq. 

It was not long, however, before the two 
congregations were able to erect modest 
chapels ; which, by the necessities of the case, 
were not far from each other, on Powell 

street. In these simple buildings began the 
parochial history of the mother churches of 
the Diocese of California ; and at the sound 
of their bells, calling men away from the 
wild life of those early days to the quiet and 
calm of the sanctuary, came many a rough- 
clad miner to listen to the dear, familiar 
words of the Church service, and found peace 
to the restless heart, beating high in the ex- 
citement of the time; and as psalm and les- 
son, creed and collect, were offered, the mind 
went back,/ over the long journey, to the 
home parish, and the wanderer bowed once 
more before the altar of the village church, 
and with the dear ones far away prayed in 
the same words, and felt that wondrous bond 
which exists so strongly among the people 
of our Church, making each one with the 
other when the priest stands at the altar, and 
we acknowledge our faith in the Commun- 
ion of Saints. To these modest temples 
came the gold seekers, and let us believe 
that many there found that treasure which 
moth and rust cannot corrupt, which the 
thief cannot steal. 

The labors of the two earnest clergymen 
were blessed so abundantly that the chapels 
soon gave way to churches. Grace Parish 
erected a well planned edifice on the corner 
of Powell and John streets. The building 
still stands, but is no longer in the possession 
of its original owners, having been sold many 
years ago to a congregation of colored Chris- 
tians. Trinity Parish, toward the close of 
the same year, erected a church building of 
corrugated iron on Pine street near Kearny, 
on a site now covered by the California 

The devoted Rector Flavel S. Mines lived 
but to see his beloved church prosper in its 
new location, and then was called up high- 
er. His mortal remains were reverently 
laid beneath the chancel, and when the pres- 
ent church was built, the loving hands of 

204 Early Days of the Protestant Episcopal Church in California. [Aug. 

those to whom he had ministered in holy 
things tenderly bore his ashes to the new 
Trinity Church, and beneath that chancel 
the first Rector of the Parish awaits the 
sound of 

" The high trump that wakes the dead." 
He was succeeded by the late Reverend C. 
B. Wyatt, so well known and so much re- 
spected by many of our fellow citizens for 
his virtues and successful work. 

During these years, however, other clergy 
came to the coast, and the services of the 
Church were established in Sacramento dur- 
ing 1849. St. John's Parish, Stockton, was 
founded in 1850, and services were held in 
Marysville by Reverend Augustus Fitch, who 
was obliged to leave there in 1852. But the 
difficulties in the way of establishing regular 
services were very great ; and often were the 
bright hopes of the faithful clouded with 
grave disappointment ; so that in 1853 we 
find the standing committee confessing very 
little progress ; that the work was standing 
still ; and that the deaths of devoted clergy- 
men, and the departure of others and what 
was infinitely worse, the disciplining of others 
still had contracted the number of the 
clergy very materially. 

Jn order to properly understand the atti- 
tude of the Church, it will be necessary to 
explain that a Convention had been called, 
and met on the evening of July 24th, 1850 ; 
the result of which was a body of canons, a 
standing committee, and the election of 
Bishop Southgate to the office of Bishop of 
the Diocese of California, an offer which he 
promptly declined. This disappointment 
was very great, and as the general Church 
took no steps to supply a Bishop to the strug- 
gling little Church in the far West, the 
churchmen were much disheartened ; and 
as Doctor Ver Mehr relates, it was gravely 
proposed by one of the members of the late 
Convention to apply to the Russo-Greek 
Church ; a step which, of course, was never 
seriously considered. 

The Convention did not meet again until 
1853 ; on May 4th of that year the Conven- 
tion re-assembled in Trinity church ; Doctor 
Ver Mehr, in the absence of a Bishop, was 

elected President, and Major E. D. Town- 
send was chosen Secretary. Only three 
clergymen were entitled to seats : Reverend 
Messrs. Ver Mehr, Wyatt, and Chaplain Jonas 
Reynolds, U. S. A. Four parishes were rep- 
resented, Sacramento, Stockton, and two 
from San Francisco. The principal work 
of the Convention was the alteration and 
amending of the canons of 1850 ; and stren- 
uous efforts towards obtaining, at least, an 
Episcopal visitation, were made by the mem- 
bers, both clerical and lay. 

The following year, however, saw all these 
difficulties as to the Episcopate solved by the 
arrival of a missionary bishop for Califor- 
nia. The Right Reverend William Ingraham 
Kip, D.D., LL.D., had been consecrated to 
his high office on the Festival of SS. Simon 
and Jude, Oct. 28th, 1853 ; and sailing very 
soon after his consecration, he reached San 
Francisco January 29th, 1854, on a Sunday 
morning. The Bishop began his ministry 
that day, attending divine service both morn- 
ing and evening at Trinity Church, thenunder 
the rectorship of Rev. C. B. Wyatt. The 
Bishop, notwithstanding the fatigue of a 
perilous voyage, preached twice that day. 

The arrival of a Diocesan soon placed the 
Church upon its scriptural and historical 
basis, and its future was assured and began 
at once to brighten. In his first address, 
delivered to the Convention of 1854, which 
met three months after his arrival, the Bish- 
op, in referring to his new relation, laments 
the small number of his fellow-laborers; but 
the next report shows that the body of clergy 
had increased to one Bishop and nine priests, 
while the two or three parishes of the previ- 
ous year had increased to eight. Certainly, 
the work began to look more encouraging, 
and it is very touching to read these early 
convention reports, and learn how the Bish- 
op and his clergy went from point to point, 
over great distances, journeying by land and 
by sea to reach the scattered flock, going 
fifty miles to visit the dying bed of a sick 
man, and administer the consolations of re- 
ligion to one who craved the Church's priv- 
ileges ; and again, a little later, making a 
like journey to lay away, with the glorious 

1885.] Early Days of the Protestant Episcopal Church in California. 205 

words of hope, the mortal remains of the 
pilgrim who had finished the journey of 

It would be unjust not to notice the help 
given by faithful laymen to the efforts of the 
clergy. Again and again does the Bishop 
narrate, in his annual reports, the fact that in 
some remote place an earnest lay reader is 
keeping the Church together by reading ser- 
vice on the Lord's day to such as he can 
gather; and many a record can be found 
in these early journals of Convention of the 
efficient service done in this way by the offi- 
cers of the regular army, who, remembering 
that greater army in which, too, they were 
soldiers, would act as lay readers here and 
there, where necessary. 

The strange state of society in which the 
work of the Church had to be done no 
doubt interfered very much with any perma- 
nent establishment in many places, at one 
time populous; and in one of the early reports 
we find the complaint that among the many 
difficulties of settling a clergyman was that 
of making sure of a congregation. Often and 
again it would happen that a town would lose 
one-half or two-thirds of its population with- 
in a few days or weeks, and the clergyman, 
who, after a long correspondence, had under- 
taken the tiresome and expensive journey 
from the East, would find a very different 
state of affairs, upon his arrival, from what 
he had been led to expect ; would feel much 
discouraged, and desirous of getting back to 
a settled community. Again, fire and flood 
would undo the labor and dishearten the 
congregation ; not unfrequently would the 
fire fiend burst out in the inflammable little 
towns, and the church would share the gen- 
eral ruin; or, in the river towns, the levee 
would give way, and water would ruin what 
it did not sweep away. 

Stranger than the circumstances were the 
characters who followed the great rush of 
gold-seekers to the coast. Men who had 
not succeeded came hither in hopes of meet- 
ing, by some bold stroke of fortune, a suc- 
cess upon these distant shores ; and as 
with other professions, so with the clerical. 
Eccentricity, and even worse, had to be met 

by the ecclesiastical authorities, and firmly 
repressed ; and many were the, difficulties of 
this sort, which rendered the Episcopal vest- 
ments decidedly warm. For example, in the 
way of eccentricity, it is related that one 
clergyman had the somewhat personal habit 
of making a very pointed gesture with his 
prayer-book, when reading the command- 
ments, at such of the congregation as he 
thought the especial commandment might 
have some bearing upon ; the effect was quite 
striking, to say the least, and by the victims 
considered unpleasant. 

But the Church did not neglect educa- 
tional work during those unsettled days, and 
we find that Doctor J. L. Ver Mehr and the 
Reverend J. Avery Shepherd conducted large 
and successful girls' schools, from both of 
which came some of the loveliest girls of 
the young State, who now are matrons 
whose praise is in all the churches. The 
Reverend Mr. Chittenden, during several 
years, assisted by Mr. Lowndes, conducted 
the San. Francisco College for boys, with 
great success. 

Thus were the foundations of the Church 
laid upon this coast. With much self-denial 
and personal self-sacrifice has our Bishop 
labored to build up the Diocese to which he 
came in the flush of early manhood one-and- 
thirty years ago. Under his care the Church 
has slowly but surely made its way; ever a 
haven of rest for' the weary, she has never 
permitted the sound of political strife to mar 
the harmony of her services, but faithful to 
her Lord, has proclaimed the everlasting 
gospel, and that alone, from the Sierras to 
the sea. Many of those who were his fellow- 
workers have gone to their long rest, while 
some still, even in this State, serve the God 
who has led them all these years. And now 
another generation has grown up, and men 
of that new generation are standing 'about 
the Bishop, and when Convention meets from 
year to year in Trinity Church, and through 
the long lines of white-robed priests and dea- 
cons, the now venerable Bishop passes to 
his seat near the altar, we may well believe 
that old faces, seen through the mist of years 
gone by, look upon him, and voices now 


Accomplished Gentlemen. 


heard no more on earth sound in .his ears, 
and the forms of faithful fellow-workers sur- 
round the holy altar, as he recalls that con- 
vention of the Diocese when the faithful few 
came together to celebrate the Eucharistic 
feast, and receive from their new Bishop, 
whose years of apostolic toil lay all before 
him, the benediction they so long had craved. 
And now for many years has the seed 
been sown, and the sheaves are being gath- 
ered in. Far down the long vistas of the 
future the work will go on, long after the 
last of the pioneer clergy has fallen asleep, 
after the toil accomplished, the labor well 

done he has entered into rest. Grace, 
mercy, and peace be multiplied unto them, 
whether still with us, or dwelling in radiant 
light with the Master they served so well. 
Their labors we well may emulate, their vir- 
tues we well may imitate; their mistakes are, 
or will be, buried in their graves. By them 
the founding of the Church was 
" 'Mid toil and tribulation, 

And tumult of her war." 

May we of later, easier days, be as earnest, 
as self-sacrificing, as true-hearted, as the pio- 
neer clergy of our Church, who built our 
Zion on the shores of the sunset sea. 

Edgar / Lion. 


1. Who should be an accomplished gentle- 
man ? Every man. The President of the 
United States, or any hired laborer, should 
as nearly as he can be an accomplished gen- 

Nobody will deny this of the highest po- 
sitions, lay or clerical, professional, political, 
commercial or mechanical. Since a laboring 
man in America is liable to be called up 
to the highest positions, it is true of him. 
Where a laboring man can never become a 
ruler, he might with less obvious unsuitable- 
ness be a brute. 

Whether this standard of attainment is 
reached at all, and the degree in which it is 
reached, must depend chiefly upon the train- 
ing of each individual before he becomes 
responsible for himself. The age for learning 
good habits in everything the age for learn- 
ing everything is youth. 

2. But California has peculiar needs in 
respect to this training. A cosmopolitan com- 
munity, cast together under the extraordinary 
circumstances which formed California, and 
still retaining so much that is exceptional in 
its character, as California society does, has 
special need of a cosmopolitan quality of 
training for the young. Now a cosmopolitan 

who is such in any complete sense, is an ac- 
complished gentleman. 

Moreover, California causes have pro- 
duced strong character in its people. The 
young men of such a people require a train- 
ing not merely cosmopolitan in its scope, 
but peculiarly strenuous and efficient in its 
spirit and methods. Strong even wild 
young men, appropriately trained, make the 
noblest adults. A whole university-full of 
" Mad Bismarcks " would make a splendid 
lot of leaders for the next political generation. 

j. Education for the Rich. Some useful 
object in life is much more requisite now for 
"higher classes" of any sort than for a long 
time back. In Europe, for instance, this 
need is felt. -The youth of royal or noble or 
wealthy families are on system trained to be 
infinitely more useful citizens than in the 
eighteenth century. In fact, Europe is 
ahead of the United States in this matter. 
No want is more distinctly visible in this 
country than the almost total want of an Ed- 
ucation for the Rich. The poor are, in this 
matter, in comparison magnificently provided 
for; but "the rich are sent empty away." 
As fast as great fortunes become numerous, 
very much faster does the folly of the sons 


Accomplished Gentlemen. 


of the fortune-makers stare out upon society. 
A fool or lout is displayed with horrid prom- 
inence in the lurid light of spendthrift wealth. 
The point where self-control and responsi- 
bility begin is where the young man's life 
ceases to be under daily and constant super- 
vision. This point is where a youth goes 
away from home for business or study. No 
clearer demarcation line can be drawn be- 
tween school and college or university than 
that arising at this point, and conditioned by 
this assumption of self-control. School is a 
continuation of home ; college is a preface 
to life. Supervision at school is quasi-par- 
ental; at college it is (or should be) quasi- 

4. The Earth, An important element for 
the best home and school training, far too 
often neglected, especially for town and city 
youth, is the earth element. Man is of his 
mother, the Earth. In cities, an armor of 
pavements shuts him off from her bosom, 
and stairs and elevators lift him away from 
it. Accordingly, families run out in a gen- 
eration or two of city life, unless there is a 
constant, regular recourse to the country for 
more vitality. The city is a sink-hole, a bot- 
tomless pit, into which the stream of rural 
health and strength steadily pours and dis- 
appears. The story of Antaeus and Hercules 
is (for the present purpose) an allegory of the 
struggle of man with city civilization. As 
this civilization lifts man off the earth, he 
weakens. In proportion as he comes back 
to her,, he strengthens. When kept quite 
off her, he is quickly destroyed. Therefore, 
all youth, and city youth most of all, should 
be kept as much and as long as possible in 
constant and intimate relations with the old 
mother Earth. Thus will the independent 
period of life be begun with a maximum 
capital of vitality, sure to be exhausted quite 
soon enough in the fervent and often furious 
competitions of our present social condition. 
This does not mean (as a scoffer or tramp 
might argue) that one should (so to speak) 
locate a farm upon his person. The doc- 
trine does not imply anything other than the 
most delicate cleanliness. It means that a 
boy and a youth should as much as may be 

live and exercise out-doors, work at farming 
or gardening, walk and run and ride and 
camp out, and shoot and fish and sail and 

5. Classical or Scientific ? The best edu- 
cation is, to learn all you can, both of know- 
ing and doing. To this end, all the mastery 
should be gained that is possible, both of 
language and of fact. It is needless to add 
in habit and in thought ; for good training 
in languages and in facts must develop right 
habits and thinking power. A usual descrip- 
tion of these two departments is to call them 
classical and scientific. There is a strong 
tendency at present to advocate a supposed 
scientific training as distinct from a classical 
one, and to substitute modern languages for 
Latin and Greek. But Latin and Greek, 
while they have sometimes been over-valued 
and over-taught, are indispensable parts of 
an accomplished gentleman's education, and 
so they are of a sound scientific education. 

Their usefulness in learning general gram- 
mar, the philosophy of language, the logic of 
thought and speech, cannot be equalled by 
any other language whatever. English can- 
not be understood without Latin. No sci- 
entific nomenclature can be extended, or mas- 
tered, or used, without Latin and Greek. 
Neither history, literature nor philology can 
be competently studied in any full and com- 
plete sense without them. Even a whole- 
sale grocer or a mining engineer would all 
his life be a shrewder, and wiser practical 
man for having a good knowledge of Latin 
and Greek. So would a hired laborer. For 
if he have the abilities and attainments which 
one must have who has got so far forward as 
to know Latin and Greek, it is morally cer- 
tain that he can soon lift himself above the 
undesirable position of a hired laborer. 

6. Preparatory Schools. High grade pre- 
paratory schools are a necessary introduction 
to high grade collegiate institutions. There 
is no reason in the nature of things, why the 
University of California and our other col- 
leges may not afford an education in every 
particular at least as good as any other insti- 
tution on the continent. But whatever facil- 
ities these institutions may have within them- 


Accomplished Gentlemen. 


selves, that equality cannot be maintained 
without preparatory schools as good as any 
on the continent. 

Some situations are good for an academ- 
ical school, and some are not. No school 
can render the best service in a city except 
to pupils who live in their own homes. Such 
a school, in fact, should be as far away from 
everything except the country as it can be 
without being too far. 

The whole atmosphere, discipline, life, of 
such an institution as California requires, 
should not only teach morality, but should 
be morality. American life needs training in 
honor more peremptorily than is the case in 
any other community, for the obvious reason 
that individual freedom is greater. Call the 
total of influences to keep a man pure and 
noble, one hundred. If ninety parts of this 
safeguarding total are laws enacted from out- 
side of him, he needs only ten of personal 
honor and self-control. But in America not 
more than ten parts are enacted law; in 
California not more than one part. There- 
fore, an American needs to be governed hine- 
tenths by his own self-control and by consid- 
erations of personal honor ; and a Californian, 
ninety-nine hundredths. Let this doctrine 
be practiced for the next twenty-five years, 
and we shall see clean politics in California. 

Religion should be taught in such a school 
so as not to destroy the religious teachings 
of any home, and so as to strengthen the 
foundations of every home belief. This rule 
implies not indoctrination, but training in 
right life; not theology, but morality; not 
sectarianism, but respect for all sincere be- 
lief; not so much precise drill in forms and 
precepts, as the influence of a pure moral 
atmosphere, and the result of constant guid- 
ance in well-doing; and it needs the regular 
and serious fulfillment of sufficient institu- 
tional observances. 

THESE reflections are suggested by an oc- 
currence that marks a positive and real new 
departure in the educational history of Cali- 
fornia : the establishment of the first high 
grade preparatory school of that particular 
class which is so designed as to satisfy all the 

requirements above implied. There are ex- 
cellent preparatory schools in the State, but 
they are not designed to fill exactly the same 
place as the strictly rural, select family 
school, which has hitherto been lacking here, 
and cannot, therefore, from the nature of 
the case, meet all the demands just outlined. 
Yet no State is properly provided with pre- 
paratory education, in which High Schools 
and large Academies are not supplemented 
by these select schools, that the needs of 
all classes of the community may be met. 
The Pacific Coast holds a strong and grow- 
ing community. One such school will quick- 
ly be followed by more. It is the first of a 
class which marks the epoch of a class. It is 
because this is such that we have thus passed 
in review the onerous and difficult elements 
of the complex problem that any such in- 
stitution must solve ; it is as such that we re- 
cord the establishment and features of the 
new institution at Belmont. Its site is 
probably not inferior in natural beauty to 
any in California, being in the bosom of a 
lovely little valley among the hills near Bel- 
mont. The estate would have been acquir- 
ed by the late Mr. Ralston for a residence 
instead of that now known as Belmont, which 
he did buy, and which is now owned by Mr. 
Sharon ; but it could not then be purchased. 
He did, however, subsequently buy it, and it 
has since his death been occupied by Mrs. 
Ralston. The property possesses a curious 
assemblage of city and country merits. It 
lies in the quiet, rustic solitude of its valley, 
with wooded hills all around, and one single 
picturesque view into the distance eastward 
between the hills across the southern part of 
San Francisco Bay. And the land is thor- 
oughly underlaid with a system of irrigation 
pipes; a reservoir up among the hills secures 
a perennial water supply; and the gas-works 
on Mr. Sharon's property will furnish the 
second of the two chief privileges of city 
housekeeping. There is not another house 
in sight except the Belmont mansion across 
the valley. There is hardly even a village 
at the railroad station, and even this is a 
mile away and out of sight. The house and 
offices are roomy, elegant, and modern, and 


The Russians at Home and Abroad. 


have that peculiar solidity and thoroughness 
of construction which seems to have belonged 
to all the buildings erected by Ralston. In 
short, the estate is a lonely country farm, 
with a fine city house on it, and city conven- 
iences all over it a singular aggregation of 
contradictory attractions. It meets the het- 
erogeneous requirements which have been set 
forth in this paper after a fashion which could 
hardly have been more prophetic, had Mr. 
Ralston consulted the writer with the inten- 
tion of preparing the place for a boys' school. 
The reputation of Mr. W. T. Reid, the 
head of the new institution, is even a better 
guarantee for the practical merit of the in- 
stitution than are locations and fittings for 
its mere lodging. Mr. Reid, as everybody 
in California knows, has for the last four 
years been President of the University of 
California. As such, he has had both friends 
and opponents ; but the attitude of the Bel- 
mont School towards the University is en- 
tirely friendly, and vice versa, so far as the 
writer knows; and both friends and oppo- 
nents would argue that Mr. Reid is certainly 
no worse fitted to prepare students for the 
University in consequence of having been 
its President. His previous professional 
experience as assistant in the famous Boston 
Latin School and as principal of the Boys' 
High School of San Francisco, is ample 
evidence of his technical fitness ; and it 
would be at least superfluous to indorse him 
personally, or to enumerate the offers which 
he has declined of high educational posi- 
tions elsewhere, from a laudable ambition to 

identify himself with an important forward 
step in the educational improvement of this 

Our Academical Problem. Let the new 
Belmont School succeed, and let a compe- 
tent number of schools of like high aims and 
abundant and appropriate equipment arise 
after it, and one of the most important 
problems for California's future will have 
been solved. The gambling era of Califor- 
nia is closed. The increase of small farms 
and growing variety of legitimate industries 
will, in due time, answer the hoodlum ques- 
tion, and the tramp question, and the Chi- 
nese question. This industrial movement is 
already solidifying perceptibly the very foun- 
dations of genuine and healthy sociological 
conditions in California. It is in higher 
grades of improvement, preeminently in edu- 
cational improvement, that we must trust for 
the symmetrical completion of the social edi- 
fice. When we shall possess our full propor- 
tion of means for the higher training of youth, 
objects will have been secured which no in- 
dustrial conditions could attain. To solid 
and legitimate industrial prosperity will be 
added the purity of politics, the reform of 
abuses, and the development of a genuinely 
and highly cultivated society. Such schools- 
as the Belmont School will perform a work 
impracticable by any other agency, playing 
an important part in supplying to American 
society an element not less important than 
any other whatever, and in American society 
peculiarly necessary, yet hitherto compar- 
atively lacking accomplished gentlemen. 


FOR the last eighteen months we have 
heard little of the Nihilists. Attempts, even, 
at assassination, seem to have been few in 

!The Russians at the Gates of Herat. By Chas. 
Marvin. New York: Charles Scrihner's Sons. 1885. 
For sale in San Francisco by A. L. Bancroft & Co. 

3 Russia Under the Tzars. By Stepniak. Rendered 
into English by Wm. Westall. New York : Charles 
Scribner's Sons. 1885. For sale in San Francisco by 
A. L. Bancroft & Co. 

VOL. VI. 14. 

number, and in the rare cases of which we 
have had intelligence, not directed at either 
the Czar or any of the higher Russian offi- 

8 The Russian Revolt. By Edmund Noble. Boston : 
Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 1885. Tor sale in San Fran- 
cisco by Chilion Beach. 

4 Afghanistan and the Anglo-Russian Dispute. By 
Theo. F. Rodenburgh, Bvt. Brig. Gen. U. S. A. New 
York : G. P. Putnam's Sons. 1885. For sale in San 
Francisco by Strickland & Pearson. 


The Russians at Home and Abroad. 


cials. At first glance it would appear that 
the leaders of the revolt, either exhausted by 
past efforts, or finally borne to earth by the 
repressive measures of the government, had 
abandoned their terrible enterprise. 

At a superficial view, such would seem to 
be the case ; but to those acquainted with 
Russia beneath the surface it has long been 
apparent that Nihilism or that revolution- 
ary movement which is known to us of the 
West by the name of Nihilism, but which is 
far broader in reality than Nihilism alone 
is chronic in the Russian body politic, and 
that whatever pause may come in the efforts 
of the revolutionists will prove to be but a 
breathing-time, after the expiration of which 
their fight against absolutism will be renewed 
with greater vigor than before. To make 
this clear to the American mind seems to 
have been the object of Mr. Edmund Noble 
in writing his monograph, "The Russian 
Revolt," and to his task he seems to have 
brought a knowledge of Russian history, a 
familiarity with Russian ideas and ways of 
thought, acquired on the ground, and hence 
of the greatest value both to author and 
readers For, far as we are removed from 
the great Slav Empire in material distance, 
we are much further separated in traditions, 
habits of thought and social, political and in- 
dustrial ideas; indeed, the Slav has little more 
in common with the Anglo-Saxon (save his 
color) than has the latter with the Chinaman. 

Thus it is that a protracted residence in 
Russia, such as Mr. Noble seems to have 
had, has been of inestimable benefit in fitting 
him for the task which he has so successfully 
accomplished. He has been enabled to enter 
into Russian life, to study types and charac- 
teristics ; and as a result has given to our 
public by far the clearest, most intelligent, 
and concise account and explanation of the 
Russian revolt so far written in English. 

It is interesting to speculate upon the future 
of Russia, social and governmental. No peo- 
ple has ever been placed under similar condi- 
tions. Growing with the growth of the Em- 
pire, and gaining strength with each of its 
extensions, an autocratic system has fastened 
itself upon the Russian people, which is op- 

posed to every one of its traditions, to the 
whole genius of the race; one which, in this 
last quarter of the nineteenth century, pre- 
sents to the world a most astounding paradox 
seventy-five million people looking back, 
while all the rest of the world is looking for- 
ward And singularly enough, the very for- 
ces which elsewhere have contributed to the 
growth of popular liberty, have in Russia 
proved the most efficient allies of despotism ; 
the influence of Byzantine Christianity (as 
Mr. Noble shows) has steadily contributed 
toward the growth and perpetuation of the 
autocratic system, so that not the army, but 
the Church, is its strongest support. 

Could a vote today be taken, of the intel- 
ligence and education of Russia, upon the 
maintenance of Czarism, it is probable that 
not one-tenth of these would be found sup- 
porting it ; but unfortunately, Russian intel- 
ligence and education are concentrated with- 
in a very small proportion of the whole peo- 
ple. Despotism finds its stronghold among 
the brutish millions who still look up, from 
the murk of ignorance which the Church and 
autocracy have caused, to the Czar as their 
" Little Father," and upon whom all effort at 
enlightenment seems lost. Aware of nothing 
better, they remain true to the present sys- 

And what a system it is! The late Em- 
peror is credited with the remark: "There 
is only one man in Russia who does not 
steal, and I am that man." But dishonest 
business and administrative methods are 
the least among the evils for which Czar- 
ism is responsible. There is absolute 
concurrence of opinion among all observ- 
ers, that the repressive measures of the gov- 
ernment are crushing out the intellect of 
Russia. Both " Stepniak " and the author of 
" The Russian Revolt " are united upon this. 
Says the former : 

" The despotism of Nicholas crushed full-grown 
men. Tho despotism of the two Alexanders did not 
give them time to grow up. They threw themselves 
on immature generations, on the grass hardly out of 
the ground, to devour it in all its tenderness. To 
what other cause can we look for the desperate ster- 
ility of modern Russia in every branch of intellectual 
work ? Our contemporary literature, it is true, boasts 


The, Russians at Home and Abroad. 


of great writers geniuses, even worthy of the high- 
est place in the most brilliant age of our country's lit- 
erary development. But these are all men whose 

active work dates from the period of 1840 

The new generation produces nothing, absolutely 
nothing. Despotism has stricken with sterility the 
high hopes to which the splendid awakening of the 
first half of the century gave birth. Mediocrity 
reigns supreme. We have not a single genius ; not 
one man of letters has shown himself a worthy inher- 
itor of the traditions of our young and vigorous liter- 
ature. As in letters, so it is in public life 

The present regime chooses its victims from the flower 
of the nation, taking all on whom depend its future, 
and its glory. It is not a political party whom they 
crush ; it is a nation of a hundred millions whom 
they stifle. 

" This is what is done in Russia under the Tzars; 
this is the price at which the Government buys its 
miserable existence." [p. 237.] 

Says the latter : 

"It (the censorship) not only prevents the forma- 
tion of healthy public sentiment ; it discourages think- 
ing ; by trammeling expression, it makes journalism 
frivolous ; it forms a serious hindrance to educational 
processes, and by menacing them with heavy losses 
makes newspaper enterprises the most precarious of 

Loss of free institutions, the ascetic for- 
malism and tyranny of the Byzantine Church, 
the crushing out of all individual activities, 
burdensome taxation to support a corrupt 
bureaucracy, harassing restriction upon 
thought and free movement these are the 
characteristics of the autocratic system. 
What wonder is it that under the accumulat- 
ed burden of woes such as these, borne for 
generations, the thinking minds of Russia 
become warped and half-insane, declaring 
that " the old must be totally destroyed, to 
give place to the new." All allowance being 
made for partisanship, it is impossible to read 
the evidence furnished by the Nihilist publi- 
cations, first of the rottenness of the system, 
then of the horrors which Czarism perpe- 
trates in its fight against the revolt, without 
a feeling of horror that such things should 
exist in a community calling itself civilized. 

Listen to the report of a special official of 
the Ministry of Justice, sent into the prov- 
ince of Orenburg to investigate the tribu- 
nals there, and who, it is needless to say, was 
promptly removed from office upon making 

it this, by the way, being beyond question 
trustworthy : 

" I lived in an atmosphere of appalling groans and 
sighs. I liberated innocent persons who had been 
kept in prison by the Executive years after they had 
been acquitted in open Court, and who had been se- 
cretly tortured .... I pass over an infinite num- 
ber of cases, and come to the last of all. I was 
making my customary round of the district prisons, 
when I noticed an abnormal excitement among the 
prisoners at Ilezk. I instituted an inquiry, and 
found that two months previously all the prisoners 
had been led out to an open space outside the town 
gates, and then beaten with such inhuman cruelty 
that the populace wept bitterly at the sight. First 
they were flogged till tMey lost consciousness, then 
water was poured over them till they recovered, then 
the warders beat them with what was readiest at 
hand .... The ground was stained with blood, like 
the floor of a shambles. " 

The mind revolts at the thought that a sys- 
tem which makes possible crimes like these, 
can last. Bad as it is now, even, the immediate 
future gives little hope for the better. Yet, 
while the ignorant devotion of the peasant 
is, for the present, the safeguard of Russian 
autocracy, " none the less " (to quote again) 
" is it doomed. The forces that undermine 
it are cumulative and relentless. Not ter- 
rorism, or nihilism, or socialism, is it that 
feeds these forces, but civilization, national 
enlightenment, individual awakening." What 
hope is there for the increase of these? 

The personality of "Stepniak," and of 
men like "Stepniak," is the reply. This 
book, " Russia under the Tzars," the title of 
which is something of a misnomer, is the 
most scathing indictment and denunciation 
of a governmental system that has appeared 
in the world for decades. Making all allow- 
ance for partisan prejudice, for hatred of a 
government which has condemned many of 
his friends and co-workers, preachers of lib- 
eral ideas, to punishment worse than death, 
for indignant and (possibly) intemperate ut- 
terances, there yet remains here a mass of 
testimony from Russian official sources, from 
the very lips of officials themselves, more 
than sufficient to damn forever in the eyes 
of the world the autocratic system of Russia. 
If any of our readers have in the past won- 
dered at the vitriolic hatred which the Nihil- 


The Russians at Home and Abroad. 


ists feel, and by word and deed have ex- 
pressed toward their oppressors, let them read 
" Stepniak's " chapters on the " Troubetzkoi 
Ravelin " and " After Judgment," and their 
wonder will cease. The recital bears inter- 
nal marks of truth, and is calculated to rouse 
all one's pity and indignation pity for the 
victims of an awful tyranny, indignation at 
its methods and its crimes. 

It may be objected to " Stepniak's " work, 
that it gives little explanation of or reason 
for the more striking facts of Nihilism, its 
devoted followers, its self-sacrifice, its almost 
superhuman repression of individuality in 
work for the common cause; but these con- 
cern more especially the psychological side 
of the subject, with which, we imagine, 
" Stepniak " would say he has little to do. 
The student of race traits may concern him- 
self with these, may speculate as to this won- 
derful display, in an age unused to the sight 
of the heroic virtues, of traits which find 
their parallel among the early Christian mar- 
tyrs alone. Not the ablest or clearest-mind- 
ed students of Nihilism have as yet made 
the reason of these clear; " Stepniak " seems 
to accept all this magnificent self-sacrifice as 
not to be wondered at as to be expected, 
indeed, of a race which asserts that it has 
nothing to learn from the West, and to have 
deliberately confined himself to the political 
and social, rather than to the psychological, 
aspects of the question. 

He is not hopeful ; that spirit of pessimism, 
one of the most marked traits of the Russian 
character, appears in his forecast of the 
nearer future. It is to the intelligent public 
opinion of the world, indeed, that "Step- 
niak " looks for the first modification of Rus- 
sian tyranny. After stating the case as fol- 
lows : 

" Strange spectacle I Here are a State and a Gov- 
ernment calling themselves national and patriotic, 
which systematically, from year to year, do things that 
the most barbarous conqueror could do only in some 
sudden access of wild rage and stupid fanaticism. For, 
without a shadow of exaggeration, the exploits of our 
rulers can be compared with those of the celebrated 
Caliph of Egypt alone. Surely, in no other country 
was such a government ever seen. If all we have 
exposed were not proved, and doubly proved, by 

heaps of official documents, we might be tempted to 
disbelieve it. But it is all, unhappily, only too true ; 
and what is still worse, will always be true as long as 
the autocrat lives in Russia." 

He proceeds: 

"This anomalous condition of so great a country 
as Russia cannot last. In one way or another the 
catastrophe must come that is what everybody says 
at present. Some accurate observers find many points 
of likeness between modern Russia and France before 
the Revolution. There is a great deal of analogy 
indeed. . . . The material condition and moral 
dispositions of the masses are not unlike, either. 
There is, however, a point of great difference, on 
which we must dwell a moment, because it contrib- 
utes greatly to quicken and intensify the decomposi- 
tion of the Russian State, and to the approaching of 
the ultimate crisis. It is the political position of 

"The despotic France of the eighteenth century 
had around her States as despotic as herself. Russia 
has for neighbors constitutional states. Their consti- 
tutions are very far from being the ideal of freedom. 
But in any case they prevent their Governments from 
being in open war with the whole country. . . . All 
the Governments do their best to promote general 
progress, which turns to their advantage. In Russia 
this progress is either stopped or is extremely slow, 
from the check it encounters on every hand from the 

"Now, being indissolubly united with the other 
European States by political ties being obliged to 
sustain an economical, military, and political compe- 
tition, . . . Russia is evidently obliged to ruin her- 
self more and more. . . . The longer this competi- 
tion lasts, the more it becomes disastrous and difficult 
to sustain for the Russian state. The political crisis is, 
therefore, much nearer, more forcible and immediate 
than the social one. And the actual position of Rus- 
sia in this point presents us a great analogy with the 
position of Russia herself, in the period which pre- 
ceded the reform of Peter the Great. The autocracy 
plays now the same part as regards culture, as the 
Moscovite clericalism played in the sixteenth and sev- 
enteenth centuries. After being the instrument of 
the creation of Russian political power, it is now the 
cause of its gradual destruction. If the autocracy do 
not fall under the combined effects of interior causes, 
the first serious war will overthrow it. ... The de- 
struction of the autocracy has become a political as 
well as social and intellectual necessity. It is required 
for the safety of the State, as well as for the welfare 
of the Nation." [pp. 362-3.] 

The reader of "The Russian Revolt," 
and "Russia under the Tzars," will see 
that the American publicist, studying from 
the outside, and the Russian agitator, work- 
ing from the inside, arrive at much the same 


The Russians at Home and Abroad. 


conclusions. These are : first, that Czarism 
has come to its period of decadence ; that 
however long that period may extend, still 
the system is hopelessly rotten, and its down- 
fall only a question of time ; and second, 
that this downfall will be brought about nei- 
ther wholly by the efforts of the Nihilists 
classing as Nihilists all agitators, whatever 
may be their schemes nor, indeed, by any 
particular development of circumstance-now 
to be foreseen. 

If impending changes in the world's social 
order, which so many acute thinkers declare 
are soon to come about, are to be of the co- 
operative or socialistic kind ; if, as Chamber- 
lain, leader of the English radicals, lately de- 
clared before the " '80 Club," "it belongs to 
the State to protect the weak, to provide for 
the poor, to redress the inequalities of our 
social system, and to raise the average en- 
joyments of the majority of the population "; 
then will Russia's autocratic system be suc- 
ceeded by one adapted to the needs of the 
new regime. For as every student of her 
affairs points out nowhere in all history does 
a more grotesque contrast present itself than 
between her popular institutions and her gov- 
ernmental ideas. The former are absolutely 
socialistic and democratic; and on these as 
a basis, rests the dead weight of an irrespon- 
sible despotism. When, therefore, this breaks 
or is broken down, Russia has but to return 
to the traditions of the past to be in line with 
the necessities of the future. 

The inheritor of Anglo-Saxon ideas, of the 
spirit of independence, of individuality, of 
self reliance, which has done so much for 
civilization, will be slow to believe that any 
species of socialism, as distinguished from 
individualism, is to be the foundation of the 
future social order. But we are living in a 
period of change, when the masses are quick 
to grasp and assent to novel ideas ; and it 
must be admitted that in Europe the doc- 
trines of Lasalle and Carl Marx are every 
day making advance. In their essential 
points, too, the State-insurance and coopera- 
tive measures which Prince Bismarck has 
been so vigorously advocating are socialism, 
pure and simple, though directed by a strong 

central authority. It would be strange, in- 
deed, if, from the communistic ideas of the 
Russian, the Latin and Germanic mind were 
to take lessons in the adjustment of society 
to new conditions. 

Of course, all this is in the distant future; 
for the present the Russian problem is 
how to do away with a despotism which, 
though rotten at the center, displays a 
wonderful degree of vigor at its borders. 
Just as the power of old Rome extended 
itself, seeming well-nigh irresistible, long 
after central authority, honey-combed with 
corruption, had become so hopelessly weak- 
ened that it was the sport of palace in- 
trigue or Pretorian revolt, so do Russian 
conquest and influence ever expand in wid- 
ening circles. The mot of Napoleon, that 
Europe in a century would become Repub- 
lican or Russian, is seen now to have been 
nonsense ; had the remark been made of 
Asia and the contingency limited to Rus- 
sianization, we might regard it as prophetic. 
And if recent advices from St. Petersburg 
are trustworthy, and the war party there real- 
ly believes that the conflict between England 
and Russia is to come not later than autumn 
of the present year equivalent to saying 
that Russia has determined upon war then 
we of America may sit as spectators, watch- 
ing the great despotism and the " crowned 
republic " as they fight for the control of a 

If Mr. Marvin, author of " The Russians 
at the Gates of Herat," has done no other 
service to his countrymen, at least they owe 
him thanks for this : he has clearly shown 
how hopeless must be the effort of England 
to hold Afghanistan as a " buffer " between 
her possessions and Russia's in Central Asia. 
He convinces us that their boundaries must 
become coterminous, and that once for all 
England ought either to occupy Afghanistan, 
or abandon it as a costly folly, and maintain 
herself behind those splendid natural de- 
fenses on the north of India. 

The idea, generally prevalent, that Rus- 
sian advance means in every instance a 
national longing for an outlet on the ocean, 
is not confirmed by a study of the Central- 


The Russians at Home and Abroad. 


Asian situation. Undoubtedly the intelli- 
gent desire for possession of some seaport 
open the year round, and within their own ab- 
solute control, has impelled Russian states- 
men toward occupying territory round about 
the Persian Gulf. Moreover, the Russian 
branch of the Slavic race looks upon Constan- 
tinople as its natural and national proper- 
ty, and longs for the time when no treaty of Ber- 
lin shall stand in the way of its conquest. But 
as regards the present Russian movement in 
Central Asia, Mr. Marvin is probably right 
when he declares that it is almost solely 
prompted by the desire to worry England into 
future concessions when for the next time 
Russia makes war upon Turkey. Constan- 
tinople is the objective point, and not British 

No Englishman of the present day has 
had better opportunities to study this ques- 
tion, and no other has devoted more time to 
it. In every instance heretofore, where he 
has ventured upon prediction, the result has 
justified his statement. So he may be re- 
garded as an authority, and the English peo- 
ple should thank him for putting the case 
so plainly to them, and pointing out the inev- 
itable that England and Russia must soon- 
er or later meet in Central Asia, as foes or 
as friends. And sound statesmanship would 
seem to dictate that Afghanistan should be 
left to its barbarians and its fate, and that 
England should content herself with taking a 
firm stand upon her own territory. Such was 
the counsel of Sir Charles Napier, such the 
advice of the ablest man who has, within the 
present century, administered thegovernment 
of India Lord John Lawrence. But that 
this advice will be taken by the " home au- 
thorities " is more than doubtful. India is 
cursed with a bureaucracy which, for its own 
purposes, and to subserve its own ends, has 
determined that England's Asiatic policy shall 
be warlike. Russophobists in doctrine, with 
careers only to become brilliant by war with 
somebody, the administrators of the Indian 
civil and military service strain every nerve 
to keep the relations of Russia and England 
in a chronic state of embroilment. War is 
their opportunity. 

We do not overlook, in taking this view of 
the Central Asian question, the provocations 
of which Russia has been guilty in the course 
of her Asiatic advance. A concentrated 
power, administered by a single will, amen- 
able to no criticism, and answerable to 
nobody ; remorseless, untruthful, making 
solemn engagements with deliberate inten- 
tion of violating them when opportunity for 
further gain arrives ; as England surveys this 
" Northern monster," there is little wonder 
that the desire for a fight, which shall settle 
the status of things Asiatic for a century at 
least, arises in the nation's breast. And 
whatever prejudice we may entertain against 
England, growing out of her superciliousness, 
or her treatment of us during the rebellion, in 
any contest between Anglo-Saxon civilization 
and Slavic semi-barbarism, our sympathies 
must be with our own kindred by blood. It 
is only the fact that, as the fight must come, 
we hope to see it entered into by England 
under advantageous conditions, that leads 
her well-wisher to pray that it may take place 
where she will not be crippled by distance, 
or by those physical disadvantages which, to 
an on-looker, make her success on the Asi- 
atic upland seem almost impossible. 

And now, at home and abroad, what are we 
to expect for the Russians? Let us be frank 
and say, neither Russian nor foreigner can 
tell ! The intelligent author of "The Russian 
Revolt " can only "hope." " Stepniak," too, 
sees clearly the dangers, the difficulties of re- 
form, the foulness of the governing power 
and he, too, "hopes" that European influence 
may in time amend and change the despotism, 
and liberalize it. But " hope deferred mak- 
eth the heart sick," whether the heart of 
men or of a nation. It is true enough that 
Russian expansion began with the establish- 
ment of Czarism ; that this autocracy, this 
wielding of the power of a hundred millions 
of human beings by a single will, is fraught 
with menace to the peace of the world ; that 
the Slav character is not essentially warlike, 
and that, once let despotism be overthrown, 
any danger to the West from its ambition or 
lust of conquest would once for all be taken 
away, the Russian people then devoting i t 


Educational Reports. 


self to internal problems. But in this pres 
ent decade any correction of Russian evils 
from the outside, whether peaceful or by 
force, is hardly to be looked for. Western 
Europe does not dread Russia ; a Czar who 
fears to face his own subjects is not to be 
feared by others. 

But, as has been stated heretofore, the 
downfall of Czarism, or at least its modifica- 
tion, is inevitable. The system is too glaringly 
anomalous, too much in opposition to the 
spirit of the age, long to exist in this modern 
world of ours. The trend of the time is 
toward Democracy ; not any Chinese wall of 
caste prejudice, of religious teaching, of bay- 
onet-points and piled-up cannon, can avail 
against the desire of humanity for more per- 
fect liberty, for freedom of individual effort. 
And while the constitution of Russian soci- 
ety, with its mtr and the zemstvo, socialist by 
tradition, will modify and amend democratic 
teachings and ideas, fitting these to race sur- 
roundings and race peculiarities, it cannot 
be doubted that in Eastern as well as West- 
ern Europe democracy will win. 

But not speedily. For as "Stepniak" 
points out, all the resources of the empire, 
all material aids, all the discoveries of sci- 
ence, are under the control of the Czar and 

Czarism. And eighty million peasants, sep- 
arated into sluggish little communities that 
only exist for themselves, and only ask to be 
left to themselves, begging the tchinovnik to 
corne for taxes, or recruits for the army, as 
rarely as possible, look to the "Little Father" 
to some day dispossess all land-owners, and 
give to them absolute control of the soil of 
Russia. For generations nothing is to be 
expected from these. The change will come 
through circumstances that we cannot now 
apprehend ; by union, perhaps, of foreign 
influence and the effort of popular intelli- 
gence, ripe even now for reform ; or by pal- 
ace intrigue, misdirected and inaugurating 
a revolutionary movement which it cannot 
control. Fortunate will it be for the world 
and the Russian people (and under all the 
circumstances hardly to be expected) if it be 
consummated without tearing to pieces the 
very structure of society and shedding oceans 
of innocent blood. 

By comparison with this the future of 
the Russians at home, the reform of the des- 
potic system which rests upon a hundred 
millions of God's creatures as the plagues of 
old rested upon Egypt how insignificant 
becomes the question as to who shall con- 
trol the barren uplands of Afghanistan ! 

S. B. W. 


WE noted last month the most significant 
lesson of the educational reports then under 
notice : viz, the absolute dependence of the 
schools upon the quality of the teacher, and 
the extent to which in this country we lack 
such active interest 'in common schools on 
the part of the most qualified class (outside 
of those actually engaged in the work) as 
would compel excellence in the teachers. 
Circular 7, 1884, brings this out again even 
more effectively. It is a report upon the 
teaching of physics, by Professor Wead, of 
Michigan University. It embraces a series 
of questions sent out to Normal School 
teachers, teachers of secondary schools (high 

schools and academies) and college profes- 
sors, as to the desirability, practicability, and 
method of teaching physics, first, in the ele- 
mentary schools, second, in the high schools, 
and third, in colleges ; the answers to these 
questions, and some studies of European 
experience in the matter. 

Professor Wead sums up the answers as 
being with much unanimity in favor of phy- 
sics in the elementary schools, in very rudi- 
mentary form, with much experiment ; again 
in the secondary schools, by the inductive 
method as far as possible, with laboratory 
work ; and still again in college. 

The answers themselves, however, do not 


Educational Reports. 


quite bear him out in this summary. It is 
true, a majority of them approve this course ; 
but there is a very considerable dissent, and 
what Professor Wead fails to note, in esti- 
mating the answers received solely by num- 
ber instead of weight one of importance. 
Professor Hastings, of Johns Hopkins Uni- 
versity, for instance, holds that physics should 
not be taught in the primary schools ; that 
in the secondary schools it may be taught, 
but chiefly for information, not discipline, 
with a text-book, and without laboratory 
work ; and that very little physics should 
be required for admission to college courses : 
while Professor Rowland, of the same Uni- 
versity, advises the deductive method, and 
puts the price of apparatus such as would do 
for laboratory work of any value at $2,000 to 
$5,000 a price that practically prohibits the 
work in secondary schools. Professor Hast- 
ings adds : " The only disadvantages, as far as 
my experience goes, depend on imperfect 
teaching. For that reason I should advise 
confining the high school course chiefly to 
a study of phenomena"; and Professor 
Rowland : " Under no circumstances should 
the study of physics be attempted without 
demonstration given with quite complete ap- 
paratus, as I believe a positive injury results 
from any other course." 

Professor Henshaw, of Amherst, also 
places the cost of proper apparatus at $i,- 
ooo to $5,000, and discourages requiring 
physics in preparation for college, as " pre- 
vious work generally starts the student 
wrong, and must be undone " ; and like- 
wise holds that in the elementary schools 
the whole work should be devoted to the 
elements of a good English education. 

Still more do the extracts from English 
reports on the subject show the same fear of 
smattering at the subject with incompetent 
teaching and inadequate apparatus, if it be 
attempted at all. Mr. Wilson, of Rugby, 
"says that the modern pressure on the 
schools has led to a distracting variety of 
studies, that 'tends to eliminate the close 
study of detail and the drudgery that is es- 
sential in all good work.' The best twenty 
per cent, of our scholars know more when 

they leave us, but they have less power of 
acquiring knowledge than former students." 
" Methods of teaching are very important, 
but the teacher is of far more importance." 

Reverend W. Tuckwell, head master of 
Taunton College School, says : " My experi- 
ence has shown forcibly the unexpected 
value of general culture in teaching special 
subjects. The man who knows science ad- 
mirably, but knows nothing else, prepares 
boys well for an examination ; but his teach- 
ing does not stick. The man of wide cul- 
ture and refinement brings fewer pupils up to 
a given mark within a given time, but what 
he has taught remains with them ; they nev- 
er forget or fall back." 

R. B. Clifton, F. R. S., professor of ex- 
perimental philosophy at Oxford, testified 
to a commission : " I see no harm in doing 
that [physics teaching in the secondary 
schools], but it requires to be done with 
very great care, and it requires an ex- 
tremely skilled person to do it 1 

think the way the teaching has been given 
is calculated to do considerable harm, judg- 
ing by the results From experience, 

I should prefer that a student should come 
to me with no knowledge of physics at all, 
unless he has learned thoroughly what he 

professes to know The phenomena 

about which they have learned do not appear 
to have a different effect upon their minds 
from that which would be produced by a con- 
juring trick." W. B. Carpenter, M.D., F. 
R. S., testified : " We find practically that 
in natural philosophy especially, at the matri- 
culation examination, the preparation is ex- 
tremely bad .... and very great ignorance 
is shown of the subjects an ignorance aris- 
ing from the want of the power of applying 
their minds to them." 

Right Rev. James Fraser, who had, as a com- 
missioner of schools, spent some months in 
Americastudying our methods, "finds that far 
too many studies have been introduced into 
the American schools, and that the introduc- 
tion of the scientific studies worked mischiev- 
ously ; ' a sufficiently exact knowledge is not 
retained, the forces of the mind get dissipated, 
and the pupil has not learned how to acquire 


Educational Reports. 


exact knowledge afterwards in any subject ; 
in fact, the system produces a disinclination 
to take up any subject with a view of accu- 
rate knowledge.' " A committee of the Brit- 
ish Association, consisting of eminent phys- 
icists, reported : " No very -desirable results 
can be looked for from the general intro- 
duction of physics into school teaching, un- 
less those who undertake to teach it have 
themselves made it the subject of serious 
and continued study." In the London 
"Journal of Education," Mr. R. E. Steele 
writes, taking it for granted that a special 
" science master " must be employed, as spe- 
cial teachers of music or drawing are with us. 

Yet, in spite of all this timidity as to the 
teaching that can be had, there is an all but 
unanimous agreement that if proper teaching 
were possible, and if time could be had, phys- 
ics in high schools would be a very good 
thing, or even in primary schools. That 
some science is desirable, from the very low- 
est schools, is generally conceded ; whether 
physics or something else is a different ques- 
tion. The child should be taught to observe 
nature and know her ways, and reason for 
himself about them. Botany, as the best 
classified of the sciences, and the one that 
deals with the prettiest objects, is the one 
most readily thought of for the purpose. 
Several scientific men, however, object to it 
that it is purely classificatory, and does not 
teach the child the impulse of experiment; 
he learns to observe, but not to interrogate 
nature. Others set down the classificatory as 
the only science a child can advantageously 
study. Reverend J. M. Wilson, of Clifton Col- 
lege, pronounces both to be right -botany 
as the teacher of observation, physics as the 
teacher of experiment. 

Probably this last judgment is the true one, 
and physics and botany, properly taught, 
should lay the foundations for the study of na- 
ture in the child's mind; but this is not to our 
present point, which is to call attention to the 
injustice done the conservatives as to scien- 
tific education, in supposing them to be op- 
posed to it. As a general thing, they believe in 
it as strongly as does any one, but hold a 
higher standard than do others as to what 

does constitute proper scientific education, 
and despair of its being at present practica- 
ble. Their ground is simply that new 
things would better not be taught at all than 
made a pretense of. And that the majority 
of primary teachers could do no more than 
make a pretense of physics, is certain : on the 
strength of an elementary course in it them- 
selves, they would feel competent to under- 
take to wake in children the mental powers that 
this profound mental science is to train. It is 
against this sort of bungling that the conserv- 
atives protest. Nothing ought to be taught 
to a child by a person who is not himself 
more than a primary pupil in it. The young 
girls who undertake to teach reading, writing, 
and elementary arithmetic to little children 
know these things. They know them as 
well as any college professor does. More- 
over, they are things which the child is to 
actually learn not merely to learn a few 
illustrations of, but to make himself absolute 
master of, so that the boy of fourteen may 
know them as well as the wisest scholar. 
Therefore, the understanding from the first 
is, that in taking hold of these things, busi- 
ness is meant, and therefore in these things 
there is safety. 

The other point that must impress the 
reader of this report is, that in England the 
difficulty of improper teaching is at once so 
much better realized, and so much less in- 
superable ; and this simply because, through 
Royal and other commissions, University 
local examinations, and many other such 
agencies, a subject of this sort receives the 
careful and interested consideration, not 
only of teachers, but of the foremost scien- 
tists in the kingdom (if it were a question of 
literary studies, it would be the foremost 
men of letters) ; that such men are appealed 
to and respond to the appeal, and, with the 
backing of the government, with which- 
their influence weighs for much, can carry 
into effect measures looking to the preven- 
tion of slip-shod teaching, and the accom- 
plishment of reasonably good teaching. 

Passing over Mr. Philbrick's report on 
city schools in the United States, and a 
pamphlet with regard to " Arbor Day " and 


Educational Reports. 


tree-planting, both of which contain much 
that is very important, but not of close bear- 
ing upon the line of thought we are now fol- 
lowing, we will close with an extract from a 
speech upon Southern education, addressed 
to Southerners, by Mr. Mayo, a well-known 
worker for education in that section. 

" But I am told that, with the uttermost that can be 
be expected even under favorable circumstances, the 
amount of money that can be set apart for education 
in the average Southern community must be small, 
and the people may well-nigh be discouraged, when 
they have done their best. All this I have seen, and 
am not discouraged myself; for the upshot of all I 
know about education is, that but one thing is abso- 
lutely necessary to a good school. That one absolute 
essential is a good teacher ; and a good teacher every 
school may have if the people will begin to spend at 
the soul end and develop the material accessories 
therefrom. I am not indifferent to the great assist- 
ance that may be derived from a model school-room, 
improved school books, and the various illustrative 
apparatus which adorns, sometimes even encumbers, 
the teacher's desk. But all this is a ' body of death ' 
till breathed upon by the spirit of the true instructor, 
and a real teacher can bring around himself at least 
a temporary body, until the people are able to give 
the fit clothing to his work. 

" General Garfield, returning to his alma mater, 
Williams College, Massachusetts, which for many 
years was known chiefly by the great teaching of 
President Hopkins, said, at Commencement dinner : 
' I rejoice with you over the new surroundings of our 
old college : these beautiful buildings, large collec- 
tions, ample endowments, and the improvements of 
this beautiful town. But permit me to say that, if I 
were forced to elect between all this without Dr. Hop- 
kins, and Dr. Hopkins with only a shingle and a 
piece of chalk, under an apple tree, he on one end 
of an oak log and I on the other, I would say, My 
university shall be Dr. Hopkins, president and col- 
lege in one.' 

" May the South, in its new ' building for the chil- 
dren,' learn from the dismal American experience of 
the past to put its first money into the teacher, and 
keep putting it in, until teachers and children per- 
suade the people to give an outward temple fit for 
the dwelling place of the new spirit of life that has 
been born in their midst. 

" I have in mind a picture of a noble school-house, 
in a prosperous Northern town, going to wreck, with 

broken windows, battered doors, the walls disfigured, 
the yards a litter, and the school itself a nursery of 
bad manners and clownish behavior. The trouble is a 
knot of 'eminent ' citizens, whoinsist on keeping in the 
central room a quarrelsome woman, . . . whose ob- 
stinate conceit and selfishness make havoc of every 
good influence therein. ... I remember another 
school, in the Southland, where one of the gentlest of 
gentlemen and bravest of captains, at the close of the 
war, gathered about him a crowd of wild little col- 
ored children in a deserted house, and ' kept school ' 
so beautifully that, out of their own poverty, the col- 
ored people developed his dilapidated shanty into a 
neat and commodious school-house, where, with the 
help of the older children, he was giving instruction, 
in his faded old soldier clothes, such as I never knew 
until my school days had gone by. A good teacher 
carries his school in himself. His own life and daily 
' walk and conversation ' are an hourly ' object les- 
son ' in morals and manners ; his fullness of knowl- 
edge supplies the lack of text books ; his fertile brain 
and child-like spirit blossom anew every day into 
some wise method of imparting truth or awakening 
faculty ; and his cunning hand brings forth devices 
for illustration more effective than cabinets of costly 


" I know a hundred neighborhoods, where a good, 
womanly, Christian colored girl has gone from her 
academical course at Fiskor Hampton, and so toiled 
with the children and prevailed with their parents 
that she has not only gotten over her head a good 
school-house, but built up around her a ' new depar- 
ture ' in a Christian civilization. If you have only 
money enough to procure the best teacher that 
can be had, take the teacher, gather the children, 
and begin to push for the millennium. If there is no 
fit interior, begin in God's school-house of all-out- 
doors. Somebody will give your new school elbow 
room under a tree, and the wondrous library of nature 
will spread its open leaves before you. Let the teach- 
er instruct the boys to fence in a campus, and the 
girls to plant flowers therein, and make ready the 
place for building. Ere long the most godless or 
stupid of parents will take a big holiday to build you 
as good a house as they are able, and that humble 
temple of science may be so adorned by the genius 
and grace that you can coax out of thirty children 
and youth that is will become an invitation to 
better things. One book is enough in a school, if 
the teacher knows what to do with a book, while 
the Congressional Library is not enough for a pe- 
dant . . . who only turns the crank of a memory 




As we go to press, the city stands draped with 
mourning in memory of a man whom it is in one 
sense no exaggeration to call the foremost citizen of 
the country. That is, he was, on the whole, more of 
a figure in the general mind than was any other man. 
His name has somehow penetrated to every nook and 
cranny of the land, as the name of no other man who 
has served the country in this generation has done. 
When one considers that this popular esteem is based 
almost entirely on services twenty years past, it is 
surprising to find that an infant class, say, of rustic 
babies, whose little memories hold no trace of so re- 
cent an event as Garfield's funeral, and who have not 
the remotest idea of the name of any president of the 
United States, as such, can call out "General 
Grant " in unison, in answer to any simple question 
concerning him; or that grown rustics who remem- 
ber all our other public men as scarcely more than 
names, make "Grant" a household word. It is 
probable that this is not true of the less slowly moved 
and less tenacious city population one admiration is 
there displaced by newer ones, .and politics makes 
heroes as well as war; but it is doubtless safe to say 
that there never has been a time this twenty years when 
General Grant did not seem to the people counting 
in all classes from highest to lowest the greatest 
figure in the country. 

THIS is largely a mere matter of tribute to military 
glory. The successful soldier commands an admira- 
tion from all classes that success in no other line 
could possibly win him. In the case of civil war, 
which taxed the energies of the whole country, mili- 
tary achievements must be even more universally 
followed by the public mind and make a much pro- 
founder impression than when a general wars 
abroad. To a younger generation, even to those who 
themselves participated in the war, but have since 
been in callings that kept the mind full of new inter- 
ests, it is impossible to realize the figure the war still 
cuts in the thoughts of a great number of people. It 
is not rustics alone to whom wars seem the only in- 
cidents of national life, and soldiers the only heroes ; 
nor is it school-boys alone who suppose they hav e 
learned the history of the world when they have 
learned the battles: that the historians themselves 
are only beginning to suppose anything else, shows 
how general is the adoration of the soldier. And 
although it must be acknowledged that the states- 
man, the teacher, the preacher, the editor, may do a 
greater thing than conquer in just war, for they 
may and repeatedly do achieve the same ends without 
war still it is inevitable that- the victories of cab- 
inet or press should show tamer and smaller than 

those of the foughten field, with their appalling, their 
almost incredible accompaniments of human exertion 
and daring and death. The pen may be mightier 
than the sword, but the sword must always look 
larger and shine brighter. 

IT is not, however, entirely to his military glory, 
that General Grant's persistent hold upon the mind 
of the people is due. There has always been a pe- 
culiar sympathy between him and the people. There 
is no class from whom he has not commanded in the 
main, at least, a certain cordiality of feeling, while 
from an unusually large number this has amounted 
even to affection. Yet no man was ever more de- 
ficient in the glib tongue and suave arts by which pub- 
lic favor is won. It was not necessary that he should 
have these: his military achievements gave him pub- 
lic favor in the first place, and he kept it largely by 
virtue of silence, simplicity, and perhaps most of 
all an evident amiability, and liking for the people. 
Many men who have loved the people, desired fer- 
vently their good, labored and died for it, have yet 
never had their affection. Such men have loved the 
people more than they have liked them: either they 
have been aristocrats in taste and feeling, in spite of 
democratic sympathy, or they have made demand upon 
the people for a higher quality of mind and morals than 
they possessed, and have been discontented with them 
as they are. Jeremiah was never a popular favorite. 
The public is far better pleased to be liked than to 
be loved: and it was always evident to the people 
of this country that Grant liked them ; he was con- 
tent with them as they are, valued their attentions, 
felt himself one of them. To a very surprising degree 
he remained a man of the people through all circum- 
stances of political elevation and the surroundings 
of wealth and distinction. 

His civil history has been a remarkable instance 
of enduring even invincible gratitude on the part 
of a republic. For twenty years the country has felt 
that it could not do too much for Grant. Station 
and money have been freely at his disposal, and 
though his life closed, pathetically enough, in phys- 
ical and mental misery, and sense of betrayal, it 
would not have been so could any liberality of friends 
have averted these troubles. The sorrow and pain 
of the last months of his life must be deeply regretted 
by every one; yet in adding a strong touch of pathos 
to his memory, they have done much to perpetuate, 
after his death, the affection he received in life from 
the great mass of his countrymen. 

A CONTRIBUTOR in this number deprecates the 
admission of European influence to this country bjr 




means of travel. But we should say that our country 
must be the worse for learning from Europe only so 
far as the things it learns are evil, and the better for 
learning whatever is good. To refuse to learn from 
Germany what music is, and what university educa- 
tion is, or from England what standards of commer- 
cial and political integrity a great nation must ob- 
serve, or from France a high esteem for science, 
would be to deserve, indeed, the epithet "Philis- 
tine." The true patriot is not he who thinks every- 
thing best in his own country, but he who is willing 
to spend himself to make everything best there; and 
as a preliminary to doing this, it is necessary to know 
what are his country's defects, and what lessons the 
experience of any other country has to offer toward 
mending them. The students who go abroad, pos- 
sess themselves of the treasures of learning, of taste, 
or of goodness, which exist in other countries, and 
bring them back to add to our home store, are 
therefore f patriots better patriots than if they had 
opened some commercial channel for the influx of 
thousands of dollars to our treasury. The loiterers 
who go abroad and bring back from the stores of the 
old world lessons of self-indulgent idleness, or of val- 
uing men for what they seem instead of what they are, 
are unpatriotic and hurtful to the commonwealth. 
But, is not this difference in the freight which they 
bring back to this country due to the difference in 
the men themselves, and in the intention with which 
they went abroad ? It was, therefore, in the American 
citizen who left us for foreign sojourn, not in the for- 
eign land, that the seeds of evil lay. And it is, per- 
haps, open to question, whether the man who goes 
abroad without any serious purpose, becomes ener- 
vated by the greater opportunities for selfish enjoy- 
ment offered in older countries, and withdraws him- 
self from active participation in American life, is any 
loss to that life. In many cases he remains abroad, 
and the country certainly can dispense with him. 

YET we must not do injustice to the patriotism of 
a class of men who fall very generally under sus- 
picion of foreign sympathies. There are, in Eastern 
cities, a number of highly accomplished and educated 
men, of blameless personal character and fastidious 
taste, who do not conceal a certain distaste for much 
in American life, and a high regard for much in for- 
eign life. Yet the last few years have shown the 
strongholds of these men to be also the strongholds 
of a great readiness to take hold with vigor and self- 
sacrifice in the practical work of bettering American 
life. A very different class are the wealthy and indo- 
lent, who like European life for the greater skill in 
spending money for personal satisfaction that it 
teaches ; or who have a childish vanity in imitating the 
little tricks and customs of foreign fashion, and veneer- 
ing with the surface habits of that fashion their own 
ignorance and emptiness. The man or woman who 
comes into possession of money, without having any 
qualities in himself that teach him how to spend it, 

is a mournful object at best, and a menace to the 
public good ; and whether he does worse to waste it 
at home or abroad, is open to question. 

MR. EMERSON said some stern things of travel. 
But Mr. Emerson was himself a highly appreciative 
traveler, who enjoyed immensely his sojourn in Eng- 
land. Mr. Longfellow wrote 

" Stay, stay at home, my heart, and rest, 
Home-keeping hearts are happiest." 

But Mr. Longfellow delighted in European travel, and 
plundered European fields incessantly for the mate- 
rial with which he raised American poetry higher 
than the previous generation had deemed possible. 
And the Greeks who made Greece great by " stick- 
ing fast to where they were, like an axis of the earth," 
would never have made Greece great without the 
help of Egypt. Emerson, who never states one side 
of a truth alone without stating somewhere else the 
other side, has defined well enough the true limits of 
this matter of travel : that the wise and useful life 
should be anchored firmly in some parent soil, yet 
swing thence with a long tether ; should love the 
home land and the home hearth, yet know and ap- 
preciate all others, with no snobbish deference to the 
foreign because it is foreign, nor blind attachment to 
the native because it is native. If there is in all this 
world any good thing to be had, let us not fail to pro- 
cure it for our country for lack of a generous and ap- 
preciative search. But by all means, let the purvey- 
ors of foreign things for our country be the wise and 
earnest, and let us discourage the harmful importa- 
tions brought by the ignorant and self-indulgent. 

That Little Baby That's Dead. 

" O TEACHER," exclaimed a pupil of mine one morn- 
ing, "Will you excuse me if I am late to school? I 
want to take a cross for that little dead baby." " What 
little dead baby?" I asked. "Oh, that little baby 
that's dead." 

Poor little baby that's dead ! 

Little it matters to you 

What was the name that you had, 

Now your short journey is through ; 

Careless of flower-strewn bed 

Is that little baby that's dead. 

Lilies and roses and all, 

Twined in a cross white and fair 

Since you have 'scaped from life's thrall 

Never a cross will you wear. 

Many a sorrow-bowed head 

Might envy the baby that's dead. 

Not for the baby a tear, 
Surely the baby is blest ; 
But in that bosom where first 
Lay the dear darling at rest, 
Anguish unspeakable bled 
When that little baby was dead. 

Flora De Wolfe. 


Book Reviews. 



TAKE up thy rich and wondrous garments 
Oh August, queen of months, and turn away. 

Bend not thy face, serene, commanding, 
Nor let the fragrance of thy presence stay. 

I cannot bear thy proud, calm beauty 

Here in these hard-trodden streets of trade : 

Thy place is in the woods and meadows, 
Amid the hills, or lakes in sunshine laid. 

Depart and leave me to my longing, 
Or take me unto thy still realms with thee : 

The very trees toward thee are bending, 
And crouching lies the great, pale sea. 

Here I will rest me in thy sylvan kingdom 
Where no unquiet sentiments intrude : 

Thy courtier days may now pass lightly, 
Pass lightly by, nor irritate my mood. 

H. C. 


Samuel Adams. 1 

THIS is one of the better written of the "American 
Statesmen Series." It tells an interesting story in a 
straightforward manner, with only a slight show of 
not very profound pedantry in the matter of the 
" folk-mote." The epoch is one of ever-living inter- 
est, and a well-handled popular presentment, with 
Samuel Adams thrown into relief as a leading figure, 
we consider very timely. The character of the revo- 
lutionary struggle can hardly be understood without 
a comprehension of Samuel Adams's services therein. 
And Mr. Hosmer's chief merit is in having given an 
available account of them. That Adams was the 
"father of Independence," he has given substantial 

We regret that Mr. Hosmer is not able to idealize 
the character of Adams from his work, and present 
us with a clear analysis of him as an individual. The 
apparent materials for this are scanty ; but we believe 
that the real materials are adequate, and that the in- 
dividual might have been found reflected in his work. 
Samuel Adams, preeminently among the rather arbi- 
trarily selected statesmen of this series, seems to us 
a figure that gave opportunity for a sketch that might 
have been a permanent contribution to American lit- 
erature. We regret that Mr. Hosmer could only 
quote, and could not fully realize, the following opin- 
ion of John Fiske's : " A man whom Plutarch, if he 
had only lived late enough, would have delighted to 
include in his gallery of worthies, a man who, in the 
history of the American Revolution, is second only to 
Washington, Samuel Adams." 

But as an historical narrative, in biographical style, 
the work is well done. Mr. Hosmer has made good 
use of historical materials ; he often shows a fine dis- 
criminating sense, and writes with impartial justice. 
Historically, the most instructive portion of the book 
is that in which he deals with the five years of Thom- 
as Hutchinson's prominence in colonial history. This 
is the backbone of the narrative, and Mr. Hosmer 

1 Samuel Adams. By James K. Hosmer. "Ameri- 
can Statesmen." Boston: Houghton, Miffiin & Co. 

here displays his best powers of historical writing 
and of critical judgment. He summarizes as follows 
the main facts of Hutchinson's career : 

"Born in 1711, he left Harvard in 1727, and soon 
made some trial of mercantile life. From a line of 
famous ancestors, among them Mrs. Anne Hutchin- 
son, that strong and devout spirit of the earliest days 
of Boston, he had inherited a most honorable name 
and great abilities. He was a Puritan to the core ; 
his wealth was large; his manners conciliated for him 
the good will of the people, which, for a long time, 
he never forfeited. He became a church member at 
twenty-four, selectman of Boston at twenty-six, and 
at thirty was sent as agent of the province to London 
on important business, which he managed success- 
fully. For ten years after his return he was repre- 
sentative, during three of which he served as speaker. 
In particular, he did good service in the settlement 
of the province debt in 1749. For sixteen years he 
was member of the Council, and while in the Council 
he became judge of the probate, lieutenant-governor, 
and chief-justice, holding all these offices at once. It 
is shooting quite wide of the mark to base any accu- 
sation of self-seeking on the number of Hutchinson's 
offices. The emoluments accruing from them all 
were very small ; in some, in fact, his service was 
practically gratuitous. Nor was any credit or fame 
that he was likely to gain from holding them at all 
to be weighed against the labor and vexation to be 
undergone in discharging their functions. A more 
reasonable explanation of his readiness to uphold 
such burdens is that the rich, high-placed citizen was 
full of public spirit. That he performed honorably 
and ably the work of these various offices, there is no 
contradicting testimony. As a legislator, no one had 
been wiser. As judge of probate, he had always 
befriended orphans and widows. As chief-justice, 
though not bred to the law, he had been an excellent 
magistrate Besides all this, he had found time to 
write a history of New England, which must be re- 
garded as one of the most interesting and important 
literary monuments of the colonial period a work 
digested from the most copious materials with excel- 
lent judgment, and presented in a style admirable for 
dignity, clearness, and scholarly finish." 

By contrast, too, with Hutchinson, Mr. Hosmer is 
enabled to bring out more strongly the attitude of 
Adams at the time of the "Massacre." With an- 
other extract, we commend the book to all American 
readers. Mr. Hosmer says : 


Book Reviews. 


"It was, however, as a manager of men, that Sam- 
uel Adams was greatest. Such a master of the meth- 
ods by which a town-meeting may be swayed, the 
world has never seen. On the best of terms with the 
people, the ship-yard men, the distillers, the sailors, 
as well as the merchants and ministers, he knew pre- 
cisely what springs to touch. He was the prince of 
canvassers, the very king of the caucus, of which his 
father was the inventor. His ascendency was quite 
extraordinary, and no less marked over men of ability 
than over ordinary minds. Always clear-headed and 
cool in the most confusing turmoil, he had ever at 
command, whether he was button-holing a refractory 
individual or haranguing a Faneuil Hall meeting, a 
simple but most effective style of speech. As to his 
tact, was it ever surpassed? We have seen Samuel 
Adams introduce Hancock into the public service, 
as he did a dozen others. It is curious to notice how 
he knew afterwards in what ways, while he stroked 
to sleep Hancock's vanity and peevishness, to bring 
him, all unconscious, to bear now against the Bos- 
ton Tories, now against the English ministry, now 
against prejudice in the other colonies. Penniless as 
he was himself, it was a great point, when the charge 
was made that the Massachusetts leaders were des- 
perate adventurers, who had nothing to risk, to be 
able to parade Hancock in his silk and velvet, with 
his handsome vehicle and aristocratic mansion. One 
hardly knows which to wonder at most, the astute- 
ness or the self-sacrifice with which, in order to pre- 
sent a measure effectively or to humor a touchy co- 
worker, he continually postpones himself, while he 
gives the foreground to others. Perhaps the most 
useful act of his life was the bringing into being of 
the Boston Committee of Correspondence ; yet, when 
all was arranged, while he himself kept the laboring 
oar, he put at the head the faltering Otis. Again 
and again, when a fire burned for which he could not 
trust himself, he would turn on the magnificent 
speech of Otis, or Warren, or Quincy, or Church, 
who poured their copious jets, often quite uncon- 
scious that cunning Sam Adams really managed the 
valves, and was directing the stream." 

Books on Correct Speech. 1 

THE little manuals of advice on behavior, speech 
and so on, which from time to time undertake to 
teach the public, are likely to be opened by the dis- 
creet critic with very little cordiality of expectation. 
The better class of them contain very much that is 
sensible, and that it is well to preach to the young or 
other uninstructed persons ; but it is nearly impossi- 
ble to find one unvitiated by a few pieces of pedantic, 
misleading, or even positively erroneous teaching. 
If it were practicable, or were worth the while, to 
go straight through a book of this sort, noting every 
one of these failings, and then cheerfully recommend- 
ing the residue to readers, it would be a simpler mat- 
ter. As it is, we can only say that such books as 
Discriminate, or its predecessor, ' ' Don't, " are valua- 
ble more in the teacher's hands than the pupil's, or 

1 Discriminate. A Companion to "Don't." A Manual 
for Guidance in the Use of Correct Words and Phrases 
in Ordinary Speech. By " Critic." New York: D. Ap- 
pleton & Co. 1885. 

How Should I Pronounce? By William Henry P. 
Phyfe. New York and London: G. P. Putnam's Sons. 

those of the "general reader." Yet, even one who 
depended upon the book's teachings implicitly, with- 
out the advantage of a teacher to tell him where to 
distrust, would learn far more that was right than 
wrong from Discriminate, and might, therefore, be 
better off with than without it. This discriminating 
between words is really an important matter, and the 
slovenly confusion among them into which newspa- 
pers, " the spread of general information," and other 
social conditions, are leading us, is ruinous to the 
language. The discriminations between "ability" 
and "capacity," and between "aggravate" and 
"irritate," or "provoke," are, for instance, worthy 
of attention ; so between "allude," "speak of," and 
" mention." Neglect of the distinction between 
"in" and "into," and between "should" and 
" would," amounts to positive error, and yet is so 
common as to deserve attention in a book of this 
sort. (A happy instance of the correct use of 
"would" and "should," requoted from R. G. 
White in this connection, is worth pausing to quote 
yet again : 

" How long I shall love him I can no more tell, 
Than, had I a fever, when I should be well. 
My passion shall kill me before I will show it, 
And yet I would give all the world he did know it; 
But oh, how I sigh when I think should he woo me, 
I can not refuse what I know would undo me ! ") 

But it seems out of place to add to warning against 
these confusions, which, though downright errors, are 
possible even to good speakers, such primary school 
blunders as "think for," "lay down" (for lie), "do 
like I do," " those kind," " leave her be," and even 
" he done it." An opposite fault is the insertion of 
over-fine, fussy distinctions, or positive assertion on 
mooted points. Thus, " a setting hen," is prohibit- 
ed we must say "sitting " ; we must not say " right 
there," but "just there," nor "you are mistaken," 
but "you mistake." But if these instances be a trifle 
pedantic, what of soberly telling us that we must not 
say "a bad cold," but " a severe cold," nor "at 
night," but " by night," nor "all over the country," 
but "over all the country?" These things are sim- 
ply an obtuse failure to "discriminate" between 
idiom and error. Any healthy language will grow 
spontaneously into irregularities; every form of in- 
flection, every figurative word, every abstract word, 
in our language was once what a pedant could have 
called an error. Language ought of right to be 
used freely and flexibly, and allowed its natural de- 
velopments : there is a total difference between such 
use of it, and its murder by slovenly confusions ; yet 
what rule there is for recognizing this difference, we 
cannot say there is no short road to doing so. Nor 
will such books as this teach it ; yet in the hands of 
a good teacher, "Discriminate " would be very useful. 
How Should I Pronounce proves not to be exactly, 
as its name would lead one to expect, of the class of 
books to which "Discriminate" belongs. It is a 
sound and careful manual, intended largely for col- 


Book Reviews. 


lege use, upon the whole subject of English pronun- 
ciation, scientifically treated. Its chief defect is that 
it is somewhat too long for its subject : the warmest 
friend of correct pronunciation and vocal culture can- 
not expect many hours to be taken from a college or 
high school course for this certainly important but 
still minor matter. The preface observes, rightly 
enough, that the exact ground of this manual has 
never been covered : the existing books are either 
mere lists of words usually mispronounced, or ex- 
haustive scientific treatises upon some one branch of 
the subject, as Tyndall on sound, or Meyer on the 
physiology of the vocal organs. We should think, 
however, that for practical purposes the ground here 
covered was too wide. After many general remarks 
in an introduction, there are taken up, chapter after 
chapter : the physical nature of sound, with consid- 
eration of media, wave motion, musical tones, pitch, 
intensity, timbre, echo, and resonance ; the physiol- 
ogy of the vocal organs and leading principles of their 
use, and the organ oi hearing ; an analysis of artic- 
ulate sounds ; of English sounds ; alphabetic sym- 
bols, with account of their historical devolopment 
and present varieties ; the English alphabet, its de- 
fects, and diacritical marks; and three chapters more, 
in which the subject of English pronunciation is spe- 
cifically treated. While we think that much of this 
should have been left to physics or philology, where 
it belongs, and that the introduction of matter only 
allied to the subject cumbers a special treatise, and 
wearies instead of interesting the pupil, we must not 
fail to say that it is all good, if it were in its place ; 
and of the most of it, not even this qualification need 
be made. 

Mr. Phyfe sets down the number of sounds that 
vocal organs could make, and a trained ear distin- 
guish, at over a thousand (including indistinguishable 
shades, the vocal organs can produce an infinite 
number). A thousand seems a high number, consid- 
ering that Mr. Ellis, whose ear must be highly trained, 
has distinguished only four hundred. Even this will 
seem to be an enormous number, when one remem- 
bers that most alphabets contain only twenty-odd 
letters, which were originally supposed to cover the 
sounds of their respective languages. In fact, how- 
ever, the inadequacy of the alphabets is not so ridic- 
ulously great, for not more than a hundred sounds 
are practically used in human language, and not more 
than forty are apt to be used in any one language. 
The fundamental sounds, common to all languages, 
are some twenty, and upon these the alphabets are 
based. English, with an alphabet of twenty-four 
letters (for c and q are purely superfluous), has forty- 
two sounds. Thirty-six of these are recognized by 
every one, but six are "shade- vowels," which are 
not merely undistinguished in the speech of all but 
the educated, but, we venture to say, absolutely un- 
distinguishable by the ear of the majority of the Eng- 
lish-speaking people ; even among educated people 
it is only those of fine and highly trained ear that 

can readily distinguish the whole six as, for in- 
stance, the difference between "wr-gent"and "er- 
mine," between o in "only" and in "old." 

The book closes with a list of one thousand words 
frequently mispronounced. Some of 'these mispro- 
nunciations are solecisms too gross to be properly in 
the list, such as "ar'tic"for "arctic," "ar-e"for 
area": the most of them are not uncommon, even 
among educated people who have taken no special 
pains to ascertain the best usage, and have had less than 
the very best opportunity to hear it ; thus "ar'oma" 
for " aroma," cayenne as " kl-en " instead of" ka-en," 
(cayenne) "chasti'sement"for "chas'tisement," "op'- 
ponent " for "opponent ": some of them are only tech- 
nically mispronunciations, being such according to 
the dictionaries, but not according to usage. In some 
instances the dictionaries fix unaccountably upon pro- 
nunciations which are even grotesquely out of accord 
with the usage of most educated people, as for in- 
stance, Worcester's preference of "banana" over 
"banana," Webster's of "apurn" over "aprun" 
(apron), and the "Ashea" (Asia), and "dizonest" (dis- 
honest), of both dictionaries. Nor is it of any use for 
the dictionaries to try to enforce the traditional pro- 
nunciation "bwoo-y" (buoy), so long as vocal organs 
remain constituted as at present; nor have years of in- 
sistence persuaded English-speaking people to say 
either " dog " or " God." The folly of attempting to 
prune one's speech according to thedictionary, no mat- 
ter how much against the grain, is evident from the ex- 
perience of those who train themselves to say "dyn- 
amite," only to find that the next edition of the dic- 
tionary makes their achievement an affectation, and 
the customary "dynamite" correct. Our author, 
however, is not responsible for the dictionaries ; and 
it is, indeed, a great satisfaction to have grouped to- 
gether in this list all the cases in which one must 
refuse submission to them, as well as a very great 
number in which they are undoubtedly to be obeyed. 

Briefer Notice. 

The Philosophy of a Future State\ a thin pam- 
phlet, gives a brief, direct, and intelligent summary of 
the philosophic objections to current beliefs as to im- 
mortality. Mr. Augustin Knoflach's ingenious and 

serviceable series of German lessons 2 in periodical in- 
stallments already noticed in THE OVERLAND, has 

reached its eighth number. The pretty series of 

" Contes Choises," published by William R. Jenkins, 
has taken a somewhat new departure in its fifth 
number: instead of a French reprint, an original 
American story (in the French language, of course) 
is issued, Peppino,**. tale of Italian life in New York, 

1 The Philosophy of a Future State. A Brief Dem- 
onstration of the Untenability of Current Speculations. 
By C. Davis English. Philadelphia: Edward Stern 
Co. Boston : Cupples, Upham & Co. 1885. 

2 German Simplified. By Augustin Knoflach. New 
York: A. Knoflach. 1885. 

8 Peppino. Par L. D. Ventura. New York: Wil- 
liam R.Jenkins. 1885. 


Book Reviews. 


written by a teacher of languages in Philadelphia. 
Another little French book from the same pub- 
lisher, in conjunction with a Boston one, is Anecdotes 
Nouvelle,^ which is intended to supply easy and amus- 
ing reading and recitations for classes. Mrs. Kate 

Wiggin, of this city, has just published a pretty col- 
lection of Songs and Games " for Kindergartens and 
Primary Schools "; they are those which have been 
from time to time composed or arranged to meet the 
needs of the kindergartens under her care, and which 
have been long used with satisfaction in these. They 
are preceded by a few general suggestions from ex- 
perience as to their use in kindergartens, and then 
grouped under the heads of Ring Songs, Prayers 
and Hymns, Beginning and Closing, Songs of the 
Gifts, Marching Songs, Christmas Songs, Miscel- 

1 Anecdotes Nouvelle. Lectures Faciles et Amusantes, 
et Recitations. Boston: Carl Schoenhof. New York: 
William R. Jenkins. 

2 Kindergarten Chimes; A Collection of Songs and 
Games Composed and Arranged for Kindergartens and 
Primary Schools. By Kate Douglas Wiggin, Califor- 
nia Kindergarten Training School, San Francisco. 
Boston: Oliver Ditson & Co. 1885. 

laneous, Games. It will be remembered that 

one of the latest numbers of Houghton, Mifflin & 
Co.'s "American Men of Letters" series was by 
Professor Beers, upon the subject of Nathaniel Par- 
ker Willis reviewed lacely in THE OVERLAND. It 
did the best possible by its subject, and undoubtedly 
revived a passing interest in this not altogether insig- 
nificant author, who was so significant in his time : 
probably no one read it without a desire to look a 
little at some of the prose and poetry there spoken 
of. Willis's poetry is not altogether obsolescent; two 
or three of his poems figure in almost every collec- 
tion, and almost every one who read Professor Beers's 
memoir of him knew something of them. But his 
prose had passed almost out of sight. It is, there- 
fore, a very well-thought-of idea to follow the me- 
moir with a collection 3 of the worthiest of the prose 
writings all, in fact, that any one in these days is 
likely to find himself able to read. 

8 Prose Writings of N. P. Willis. Edited by Henry 
A. Beers. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons. 1885. 
For sale in San Francisco by A. L. Bancroft & Com- 







DR. STILLMAN published in the OVERLAND 
MONTHLY for November, 1873, as one of the 
chapters of his since well-known book called 
" Seeking the Golden Fleece," a contempo- 
rary record of his experiences at the time of 
the Squatter Riot of '50 in Sacramento. In 
a note to this valuable reminiscence, Dr. 
Stillman remarked that no detailed account 
of the remarkable affair had ever been print- 
ed. So far as I know, the same thing can 
still truthfully be said. But the scenes of 
violence themselves form but a small part 
of the real story of the movement ; and I 
shall venture in the following to try to pre- 
sent a somewhat connected account of the 
events that preceded the riot and that cul-- 
minated therein. I draw my materials prin- 
cipally from the contemporary files of the 
"Placer Times "and the "Sacramento Trans- 
cript ' : ; but I shall also seek to accomplish 
what has certainly so far been neglected, viz., 
to indicate the true historical significance of 
this little episode in our pioneer annals. For, 
as I think, the importance of the conflict was 
greater than even the combatants themselves 
knew ; and most of us are not in a fair way 
to comprehend the facts, unless we remind 

ourselves of a good many long since forgot- 
ten details of the narra- 

Of course, this essay has no actual dis- 
coveries to present, for old newspapers are 
not mysterious archives, and contain only 
quite open secrets. But the old newspapers 
are many, heavy, and dusty, and we are not 
apt to think them as 'profitable for re- 
buke or for instruction as they really are. 
By way of acknowledgment, I must say 
at the outset that I am indebted for the 
file of the " Placer Times " to the courtesy 
of the librarian of the Mercantile Library, 
who gave me facilities for research during 
a brief visit of mine to San Francisco in 
the summer of 1884, and who has since 
permitted rne to get copied for my use such 
items from the file as I needed, and could 
not personally consult. The file of the "Sac- 
ramento Transcript" of 1850 that I have 
used reposes in the cool shade of the base- 
ment of Harvard College Library, among 
numerous other newspaper files, which this 
library has somehow managed to get togeth- 
er, and which help to make Cambridge what 
it is a very good place for the study of 
American local history. Other important 

VOL. VI. 15. (Copyright, 1885, by OVERLAND MONTHLY Co. All Rights Reserved.) 


The Squatter Riot of '50 in Sacramento. 


published literature than the above I cannot 
name as bearing directly on the riot of '50, 
although the whole legal history of the Sut- 
ter case, as it was summed up in the United 
States Supreme Court Decisions of 1858 
and 1864, has an indirect bearing on the 
matter ; while the problems concerned have 
of course affected all the rest that has been 
written or said about any of the land titles 
that are based on Sutler's Alvarado grant. 
In forming my judgment of the perspective 
in which all this matter is to be viewed, I 
must further acknowledge how much I owe 
to the free use granted to me in the summer 
of 1884, by Mr. H. H. Bancroft, of his great 
collections of pioneer records. As it hap- 
pens, I did not find time during several 
weeks of study that I enjoyed at Mr. Ban- 
croft's library to consult his records of this 
particular affair, and so cannot confess any 
debt to him for the material here collected 
from the Sacramento newspaper files. But 
while I was reading in his original sources 
for other purposes, I collected numerous 
suggestions, and got glimpses of facts that 
have enabled me to see the present topic in 
a much clearer light, when I later came to 
consider it. I hope to have a chance to 
show my direct indebtedness to the Ban- 
croft library more fully in another connec- 
tion hereafter ; but for the present, so much 
may suffice as acknowledgment of the indi- 
rect help that I owe to Mr. Bancroft's cour- 
tesy, in my study of the present question. 


AND now to begin the story with the moral, 
let us try to understand at once why this epi- 
sode should seem of so much historical sig- 
nificance. That a few lives should be lost 
in a squabble about land, is indeed a small 
thing in the history of a State that has seen 
so many land quarrels as California. The 
Squatter Riot of '50 was but a preliminary 
skirmish, if one will judge it by the number 
of killed and wounded, while the history of 
settler difficulties in the whole State, during 
the thirty-five years since, seems, by compar- 
ison of numbers, a long battle, with killed 

and wounded who would need to be count- 
ed, not by fives, but by hundreds. 

Not, however, for the number of lives lost, 
but for the importance of just that crisis at that 
moment, must we consider the Squatter Riot 
noteworthy. Just as the death of James 
King of William happened to seem of more 
importance to the California community than 
the deaths of ninety and nine just miners 
and other private persons, who were waylaid 
or shot in quarrels ; just as that death had 
many times the historical significance that it 
would have had if King had been slain un- 
der the most atrocious circumstances a few 
months earlier; even so the Squatter Riot in 
Sacramento is significant, not because blood- 
shed was unknown elsewhere in California 
land quarrels, but because nowhere else did 
any single land quarrel come so near to in- 
volving an organized effort to get rid, once 
for all, of the Spanish titles as evidences of 
property in land. Elsewhere and later, men 
followed legal methods, or else stood nearly 
alone in their fight. Men regarded some 
one title as fraudulent, and opposed it ; or 
frankly avowed their private hatred of all 
Mexican land titles, but were comparatively 
isolated in their methods of legal or illegal 
resistance to the enforcement of the vested 
rights ; or they were led into lengthy and 
often murderous quarrels by almost hope- 
lessly involved problems of title, such as so 
long worried all men alike in San Francisco. 
Elsewhere than in Sacramento, men thus 
tried, in dealing with numerous questions of 
detail, to resist the enforcement of individual 
claims under Mexican titles ; but in Sacra- 
mento, in 1850, the popular opposition was 
deeper, and its chances of a sweeping suc- 
cess were for a moment far greater. 

In form, to be sure, even the Sacramento 
squatters, like so many successors, pretended 
to be doubtful of the legal validity of Sutler's 
Alvarado grant, and to believe that, if it were 
valid, the grant still did not cover Sacramen- 
to. Bui this pretense was here a very thin 
veil for an undertaking that was in its spirit 
and methods distinctly revolutionary. The 
squatters of that time and place were well 
led, and they meant to do, and contempo- 


The Squatter Riot of '50 in Sacramento. 


rary friends and foes knew that they meant 
to do, what would have amounted to a de- 
liberate abrogation, by popular sovereignty, 
of Mexican grants as such. Had they been 
successful, a period of anarchy as to land 
property would probably have followed, far 
worse in its consequences than that lament- 
able legalized anarchy that actually did for 
years darken the land interests of our State, 
under the Land Law of 1851. Bad as that 
enactment proved, the squatter doctrine, as 
preached in 1850, came near proving far 
worse. To investigate how the people of 
Sacramento showed their weakness in letting 
this crisis come on as it did, and their 
strength in passing it when it at last had 
come on, is to my mind, in view of the dan- 
gers of that and of all times, a most helpful 
exercise in social science ; since it is such 
investigations that enable us to distinguish 
the good from the evil tendencies of the 
popular mind, and to feel the difference be- 
tween healthy and diseased states of social 
activity. I want, in short, to make this es- 
say a study of the social forces concerned in 
early California land difficulties. 

Sutler, as we have all heard, owned at the 
time of the conquest, and in fact, since 1841, 
eleven leagues, under a grant from Gover- 
nor Alvarado. Moreover, as is again noto- 
rious, Sutter supposed himself to own much 
more than this grant, by virtue of promises 
made to him by Governor Micheltorena, in 
1845. In the latter supposition, Sutter 
made a serious blunder, as was pointed out 
to him in 1858 by the United States Supreme 
Court. Micheltorena had made to him no 
valid grant whatever. In 1848, when the 
gold-seekers began to come, Sutter began to 
lose his wits. One of the pioneer statements 
in Mr. Bancroft's collection says rather se- 
verely that the distinguished Captain thence- 
forth signed "any paper that was brought to 
him." At all events, he behaved in as un- 
businesslike a fashion as could well be ex- 
pected, and the result was that when his af- 
fairs came in later years to more complete 
settlement, it was found that he had deeded 
away, not merely more land than he actual- 
ly owned, but, if I mistake not, more land 

than even he himself had supposed himself 
to own. All this led not only himself into 
embarrassments, but other people with him ; 
and to arrange with justice the final survey 
of his Alvarado grant proved in later years 
one of the most perplexing problems of the 
U. S. District and Supreme Courts. 

One part of his land, however, seemed from 
the first clearly and indisputably his own, to 
deed away as he might choose. That was the 
land about his own " establishment at New 
Helvetia." Here he had built his fort, com- 
manded his laborers, received his guests, and 
raised his crops ; and here the new-comers of 
the golden days found him, the reputed pos- 
sessor of the soil. That he owned this land 
was, in fact, by this time, a matter, so to 
speak, of world-wide notoriety. For the 
young Fremont's "Report," which, in various 
shapes and editions, had years before become 
so popular a book, and which the gold-fever 
made more popular than ever, had distinctly 
described Sutter as the notorious and indis- 
putable owiicr of this tract of land in 1844. 
If occupancy without any rival for a term of 
years could make the matter clear to a new- 
comer, Sutler's title to his " establishment" 
seemed beyond shadow. Moreover, the title 
papers of the Alvarado grant were on rec- 
ord. Governor Alvarado's authority to grant 
eleven leagues to Sutter was indubitable, and 
none the less clear seemed the wording of 
the grant, when it gave certain outer boun- 
daries within which the tract granted was to 
be sought, and then defined the grant so as 
to include the "establishment at New Hel- 
vetia." Surely, one would say, no new com- 
er could attack Suiter's right, save by means 
of some purely agrarian contention. A set- 
tler might demand that all unoccupied land 
in California should be free to every settler, 
and that Mexican land ownership should 
be once for all done away with. But unless 
a man did this, what could he say against Sut- 
ler's title to New Helvetia? 

And so, when the town of Sacramento 
began to grow up, the people who wanted 
lots assented at the outset to Suiter's claims, 
and recognized his title. That they paid 
him in all cases a perfectly fair equivalent 


The Squatter Riot of '50 in Sacramento. 


for his land, I venture not to say. But from 
him they got their titles, and under his Alva- 
rado grant they held the lands on which the 
town grew up. land-holders under Sutler 
they were who organized the town-govern- 
ment, and their speculation was soon profit- 
able enough to make them quite anxious to 
keep the rights that Sutter had sold them. 
The question, however, quickly arose, whether 
the flood of the new immigration would re- 
gard a Spanish land-title as a sufficient bar- 
rier, at which its proud waves must be stayed. 
The first safety of the Sutler-title men lay in 
the fact that the mass of the new-comers 
were gold-seekers, and thai, since Sacramenio 
was nol buill on a placer mine, ihese gold- 
seekers were not inleresled in despoiling its 
owners. But this safeguard could not prove 
sufficient very long. The value of land in 
the vicinity of a thriving town must soon at- 
tract men of small capital and Californian 
ambitions from the hard work of ihe placers; 
and ihe rainy season would, al all evenls, 
soon crowd Ihe lown wilh disconlenled idlers. 
Moreover, the whole question of California 
land-lilies was a criiical one for Ihis new 
communily. The Anglo-Saxon is, as we so 
often hear, very land-hungry. Many of the 
newcomers were accustomed to the almost 
boundless freedom of western squatters; the 
right to squat on vacant land had come to 
seem to them traditional and inalienable; 
they would probably have expected to find 
it, with a little search, somewhere in the 
Declaration of Independence, or among the 
guarantees of the Constilution. Among ihese 
men some of the more influenlial pioneers 
were slrongly under ihe influence of ihe Or- 
egon tradition. In Oregon, squatter sover- 
eignty, free and untrammelled, had been 
setlling ihe land queslions of a newly occu- 
pied wilderness mosl happily. The lempla- 
tion to apply these methods to California 
was very slrong ; in fact, during the inter- 
regnum after the conquest of the Territory 
of California, and before the golden days 
began, the discontenled American settlers of 
the Sacramento Valley and of the Sonoma 
region had freely talked about the vexations 
caused by these Mexican land-lilies, and had 

even then begun to propose methods of set- 
tling their own troubles. The melhods in 
question would ultimalely have plunged 
everybody inlo far worse troubles. 

The dangerous and blind Americanism of 
some among these people is well shown by 
discussions in the " California Star," for 1847 
and '48, a paper which I have been able to 
consult in Mr. Bancroft's file. There is, for 
instance, a frequent correspondent of the 
"Star" in those days, who signs himself 
" Paisano." Although I have nobody's au- 
thority for his identily, I am sure, from plain 
inlernal evidence, lhal he is L. W. Haslings, 
ihen a very well-known emigrant leader, and 
the author of a descriptive guide to Califor- 
nia and Oregon. Hastings was a very big- 
oted American, at least in his early days on 
the Pacific coast, and his book had filled 
many pages with absurd abuse of native Cal- 
ifornian people and institulions. Such a 
man was, just then, an unsafe popular leader, 
although he was a lawyer by profession, and 
later did good service in the Constitulional 
Convenlion of 1849. I n discussing land- 
titles, in these letters to the " Star," " Pai- 
sano " plainly shows the cloven foot. Lei 
us insist upon a territorial legislature al 
once, he says, in effecl ; lei us sel aside Ihis 
nuisance of a mililary government, by its own 
consenl if possible, and lei us pass laws lo 
seltle forthwith these land difficulties. All this 
" Paisano " cloaks under an appeal lo the 
mililary governmenl lo call such a legisla- 
ture. Bui ihe real purpose is plain. The 
legislature, if then called, would cerlainly 
have been under the influence of the squat- 
ter sovereignty tradition of Oregon, since its 
leaders, e. g., Hastings himself, would have 
been, in many cases, Oregon men. Il would, 
al all events, have been under purely Amer- 
ican influence; it would have despised ihe 
nalives, who, in their turn, fresh from the 
losses and griefs of ihe conquesl, would 
have suspecled its motives, would have been 
unable to understand ils Anglo-Saxon meth- 
ods, and would have left it to ils work of 
Irealing Ihem unfairly. Unjusl land laws 
would have been passed, infringements on 
vested righls would have been inevitable, 


The Squatter Riot of '50 in .Sacramento. 


and in after time appeals to the United 
States authority, together with the coming of 
the new immigration, would have involved 
all in a fearful chaos, which we may shudder 
to contemplate even in fancy. Yet " Pai- 
sano " did not stand alone among the pio- 
neers of the interregnum in his desires and 
in his plans. That such plans made no ap- 
pearance in the Constitutional Convention 
of '49, is due to the wholly changed situation 
of the moment, and to the pressing business 
before the Convention. 

But if things appeared thus to the com- 
paratively small group of Americans in the 
dawn of our life here, even before the gold 
discovery, how long should this complex 
spider-web of land-titles, wherewith a Cali- 
fornia custom or caprice had covered a 
great part of the Territory, outlast the tramp- 
ling of the busy new-comers ? Who should 
resist these strange men ? The slowly mov- 
ing processes of the Courts how could they, 
in time, check the rapacity of American set- 
tlers, before the mischief should once for all 
be done, and the memory of these land-titles 
buried under an almost universal predatory 
disregard of them, wl.xh \vould make the 
recovery of the land by its legal owners too 
expensive an undertaking to be even thought 
of? The answer to this question suggests 
at once how, amid all the injustice of our 
treatment of Californian land-owners, our 
whole history has illustrated the enormous 
vitality of formally lawful ownership in land. 
Yes: this delicate web, that our strength 
could seemingly so easily have trampled out 
of existence at once, became soon an iron 
net. The more we struggled with it, the 
more we became involved in its meshes. In- 
finitely more have we suffered in trying to 
escape from it, than we should have suffered 
had we never made a struggle. Infinitely 
more sorrow and money and blood has it 
cost us to try to get rid of our old obligations 
to the Californian land-owners, than it would 
have cost us to grant them all their original 
demands, just and unjust, at once. Doubt, 
insecurity, retarded progress, litigation with- 
out end, hatred, destruction of property, ex- 
penditure of money, bloodshed: all these 

have resulted for us from the fact that we 
tried as much as we did to defraud these 
Californians of the rights that we guaran- 
teed to them at the moment of the con- 
quest. And in the end, with all our toil; we 
escaped not from the net, and it binds our 
land-seekers still. But how all this wonder 
came about is a long story, indeed, whereof 
the squatter riot of '50 forms but a small 

At all events, however, the critical charac- 
ter of the situation of California land-owners 
at the moment of the coming of the gold- 
seekers appears plain. That all the rights 
of the Californians should ultimately be re- 
spected was, indeed, in view of our rapacious 
Anglo-Saxon land-hunger, and of our nation- 
al bigotry in dealing with Spanish Ameri- 
cans, impossible. But there were still two 
courses that our population might take with 
regard to the land. One would be the just- 
mentioned simple plan of a universal squat- 
ters' conspiracy. Had we agreed to disre- 
gard the land-titles by a sort of popular fiat, 
then, ere the Courts could be appealed to 
and the method of settling the land-titles or- 
dained by Congress, the disregard of the 
claims of the natives might have gone so 
far in many places as to render any general 
restitution too expensive a luxury to be prof- 
itable. This procedure would have been 
analogous to that fashion of dealing with 
Indian reservations which our honest settlers 
have frequently resorted to. Atrociously 
wicked as such a conspiracy would have 
been, we ourselves, as has been suggested 
above, should have been in the long run the 
greatest sufferers, because the conspiracy 
could not have been successful enough to 
preserve us from fearful confusion of titles, 
from litigation and warfare without end. Yet 
this course, as we shall see, was practically 
the course proposed by the Sacramento 
squatters of '50, and for a time the balance 
hesitated between the choice of this and 
of the other course. The other course we 
actually adopted, and it was indeed the one 
peculiarly fitted to express just our national 
meanness and love of good order in one. 
This was the plan of legal recognition and 


The Squatter Riot of '50 in Sacramento. 


equally legal spoliation of the Californians ; 
a plan for which, indeed, no one man is re- 
sponsible, since the cooperation of the com- 
munity at large was needed, and obtained, 
to make the Land Act of '51 an instrument 
for evil and not for good. The devil's in- 
strument it actually proved to be, by our 
friendly cooperation, and we have got our 
full share of the devil's wages of trouble for 
our ready use of it. But bad as this second 
course was, it was far better than the first, 
as in general the meanness and good order 
of an Anglo-Saxon community of money- 
seekers produce better results than the bold- 
er rapacity and less legal brutality of certain 
other conquering and overbearing races. 

This struggle, then, resulting in the triumph 
of good order over anarchy, we are here to 
follow in a particular instance. The legal- 
ized meanness that was to take the place of 
open rebellion disappears in the background, 
as we examine the immediate incidents of 
the struggle, and we almost forget what was 
to follow, in our interest in the moment. 
Let us rejoice as we can in an incident that 
shows us what, amid all our folly and weak- 
ness, is the real strength of our national 
character, and the real ground for trust in 
its higher future development. 1 


IN the winter of J 49-'5o, that winter of 
tedium, of rain, of mud, and of flood, the 
trouble began. The only contemporary re- 
cord that I know bearing upon this contro- 
versy in that time, I did not mention above, 
because it is so brief and imperfect. Bayard 
Taylor, then traveling as correspondent for 
the " New York Tribune," had his attention 
attracted by the meetings of malcontents on 
the banks of the Sacramento. They were 

!The community owes to Mr. John S. Hittell a con- 
siderable moral debt for the earnestness with which, 
from a very early period, through good and evil report, 
he has maintained the just cause of the Californian land- 
holders, and has pointed out the real character of our 
dealings with them. Many have felt and mentioned the 
injustice of our behavior ; but nobody has more ably 
and steadfastly insisted on it than he, both in magazine 
articles, in newspaper work, and, later, in his valuable 
" History of San Francisco." 

landless men, and they could not see why. 
These people, Taylor tells us, 2 " were located 
on the vacant lots which had been surveyed 
by the original owners of the town, and were 
by them sold to others. The emigrants, who 
supposed that the land belonged of right to 
the United States, boldly declared their in- 
tention of retaining possession of it. Each 
man voted himself a lot, defying the threats 
and remonstrances of the rightful owners. 
The town was greatly agitated for a time by 
these disputes ; meetings were held by both 
parties, and the spirit of hostility ran to a 
high pitch. At the time of my leaving the 
country, the matter was still unsettled ; but 
the flood which occurred soon after, by 
sweeping both squatters and speculators off 
the ground, balanced accounts, and left the 
field clear for a new start." 

The papers of the following spring and 
summer refer a few times to these meetings. 
Taylor was wrong in supposing that the affair 
was to be ended in any fashion by the flood. 
More water does not make an Anglo Saxon 
want less land, and this flood of '50 itself 
formed a curious part of the squatters' pre- 
tended chain of arg, nent a little later, as 
we shall see. Much more efficacious in 
temporarily quelling the anger of the land- 
less men was the happy but deceitful begin- 
ning of the spring of '50. Early fair weather 
sent hundreds to the mines, and put every- 
body into temporary good humor. Argu- 
ments gave place to hopes, and the landless 
men hunted in the mountains for the gold 
that Providence had deposited for the sake 
of filling just their pockets. 

The intentions of Providence included, 
however, some late rains that spring. The 
streams would not fall, mining was delayed, 
provisions were exhausted in some of the 
mining camps, and a good many of the land- 
less men went hack to that city where they 
owned no land, abandoning their destined 
fortunes in the mountains, and turning their 
attention afresh to those ever charming ques- 
tions about the inalienable rights of man to 
a jolly time and a bit of land. And then 

2 Bayard Taylor, "Eldorado" (in his "Works," 
Household Edition), chap, xxvi., p. 279. 


The Squatter Riot of '50 in Sacramento. 


the trouble began to gather in earnest ; al- 
though, to be sure, in that busy society it 
occupied a great place in the public atten- 
tion only by fits and starts. The growth of 
the evil seems to have been steadier than 
the popular notion of its character and mag- 
nitude. But let us turn for an instant to 
glance at the general social condition of the 
city that was to pass through this trial. 

The " Sacramento Transcript," in its early 
numbers in the spring of '50, well expresses 
the cheerful side of the whole life of the ear- 
ly days. The new California world is so full 
of wonders, and the soul of the brave man is 
so full of youth and hope! Mr. F. C. Ewer, 
the joint editor with Mr. G. Kenyon Fitch, 
is a person of just the sort to voice this spirit 
of audacity, and of delight in life. "The 
opening of a new paper," he says (in No. i 
of the "Transcript," April i, 1850, absit 
omen), "is like the planting of a tree. The 
hopes of many hearts cluster around it. ... 
In the covert of its leaves all pure principles 
and high aims should find a home." As 
for the city, he tells us in the same issue, 
everything is looking well for its future. 
The weather is becoming settled, business 
activity is increasing, substantial buildings 
are springing up, health " reigns in our 
midst." The news from the mines is good. 
There is Murderers' Bar, for instance. Late 
reports make " its richness truly ^surprising" : 
two ounces per day's work of a man for from 
one hundred to one hundred and fifty work- 
ers. To be sure, however, there has been a 
great rise in the waters, and a large portion 
of those holding leads have been obliged to 
suspend operations. But all that is a mat- 
ter of time. When one turns from the con- 
templation of the mines, to the contempla- 
tion of the general condition of the country 
at large, one is struck with awe ; for then 
one has to reflect on what the great Ameri- 
can mind has already done. " Never has a 
country been more orderly, never has prop- 
erty been held more inviolable, or life more 
sacred, than in California for the last twelve 
or fourteen months." (Editorial, April 20.) 
" Is it strange, then, that this feeling of self- 
reliance should be so strong and broad- 

cast in the land ? With a country so rich in 
resources so blest in a people to manage 
it the future destiny of California is one of 
the sublimest subjects for contemplation 
that can be presented to the mind." (Id,) 
All this sublimity is, of course, quite consist- 
ent with occasional items about affrays and 
robberies of a somewhat primitive sort here 
and t