Skip to main content

Full text of "Putnam's magazine of literature, science, art, and national interests"

See other formats 


Google 


This  is  a  digital  copy  of  a  book  that  was  preserved  for  generations  on  library  shelves  before  it  was  carefully  scanned  by  Google  as  part  of  a  project 

to  make  the  world's  books  discoverable  online. 

It  has  survived  long  enough  for  the  copyright  to  expire  and  the  book  to  enter  the  public  domain.  A  public  domain  book  is  one  that  was  never  subject 

to  copyright  or  whose  legal  copyright  term  has  expired.  Whether  a  book  is  in  the  public  domain  may  vary  country  to  country.  Public  domain  books 

are  our  gateways  to  the  past,  representing  a  wealth  of  history,  culture  and  knowledge  that's  often  difficult  to  discover. 

Marks,  notations  and  other  maiginalia  present  in  the  original  volume  will  appear  in  this  file  -  a  reminder  of  this  book's  long  journey  from  the 

publisher  to  a  library  and  finally  to  you. 

Usage  guidelines 

Google  is  proud  to  partner  with  libraries  to  digitize  public  domain  materials  and  make  them  widely  accessible.  Public  domain  books  belong  to  the 
public  and  we  are  merely  their  custodians.  Nevertheless,  this  work  is  expensive,  so  in  order  to  keep  providing  tliis  resource,  we  liave  taken  steps  to 
prevent  abuse  by  commercial  parties,  including  placing  technical  restrictions  on  automated  querying. 
We  also  ask  that  you: 

+  Make  non-commercial  use  of  the  files  We  designed  Google  Book  Search  for  use  by  individuals,  and  we  request  that  you  use  these  files  for 
personal,  non-commercial  purposes. 

+  Refrain  fivm  automated  querying  Do  not  send  automated  queries  of  any  sort  to  Google's  system:  If  you  are  conducting  research  on  machine 
translation,  optical  character  recognition  or  other  areas  where  access  to  a  large  amount  of  text  is  helpful,  please  contact  us.  We  encourage  the 
use  of  public  domain  materials  for  these  purposes  and  may  be  able  to  help. 

+  Maintain  attributionTht  GoogXt  "watermark"  you  see  on  each  file  is  essential  for  in  forming  people  about  this  project  and  helping  them  find 
additional  materials  through  Google  Book  Search.  Please  do  not  remove  it. 

+  Keep  it  legal  Whatever  your  use,  remember  that  you  are  responsible  for  ensuring  that  what  you  are  doing  is  legal.  Do  not  assume  that  just 
because  we  believe  a  book  is  in  the  public  domain  for  users  in  the  United  States,  that  the  work  is  also  in  the  public  domain  for  users  in  other 
countries.  Whether  a  book  is  still  in  copyright  varies  from  country  to  country,  and  we  can't  offer  guidance  on  whether  any  specific  use  of 
any  specific  book  is  allowed.  Please  do  not  assume  that  a  book's  appearance  in  Google  Book  Search  means  it  can  be  used  in  any  manner 
anywhere  in  the  world.  Copyright  infringement  liabili^  can  be  quite  severe. 

About  Google  Book  Search 

Google's  mission  is  to  organize  the  world's  information  and  to  make  it  universally  accessible  and  useful.   Google  Book  Search  helps  readers 
discover  the  world's  books  while  helping  authors  and  publishers  reach  new  audiences.  You  can  search  through  the  full  text  of  this  book  on  the  web 

at|http: //books  .google  .com/I 


COL'RIBB 

BIKIK  BI\P£Ey, 


//  f  / 


''.     .    .   •-. 


UTNAM's  Magazine 


ORIGINAL    PAPERS 


ON 


LITERATURE,  SCIENCE,  ART, 


AND 


NATIONAL  INTERESTS. 


NEW  SERIKS. 


Fifth  Volume.      January — June,  1870. 


NEW  YORK: 

G.   P.    PUTNAM   &    SONS,    4Tn    AVE.  &   23d   ST. 

i-:o. 


KntkkiuP,  McrorJInj}  to  A-.t  ol"  Coi!j;rei»«,  iu  ll»e  yext  1S70,  hy 

O.  P.  PUTNAM  A  SONS, 

In  the  Clcrk'f  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  8ta!e«  for  the  Southern  Dirtrlct  of  Xcw  York. 


TROW   A  KMITII    B«)i-K   MIM'I  ACTl'llINQ   CiiMI'Jiyy, 
FBlTimi*,  STCBCOTTTCJIS,  AXI)  LLCCTBOTVrcB^. 


INDEX  TO  THE  FIFTH  VOLUME. 


<  • » 


Artlde.                                                           Author.                    Now  Pac& 

or  Design  axd  ABT-EDUCAnoN Eugmt  Benaon.             XXIX.  (i&4 

use S,  W.Dufidd,               XXV.  49 

Exodus /.  J/I  Caxcneau.            XXVL  192 

r  DocTRiXE  or  Kiutralitt XXVUI.  468 

Puss Schdedt  Vert.           XXVIII.  885 

Hotels By  a  ComopolUoH.         XXV.  23 

RjLiLWAT  Trateluxo "            '*                 XXVI.  195 

8  AKD  soiri  or  rniiR  CnAKACTEiiiSTics. . . .  .7*.  iT.  Coan^  M,D.       XXVIL  851 

[  or  Age John  11.  Bryant           TTTX  560 

THE  Midst  or  Us Oeo.  Wakeman.           XXVII.  294 

RT  (The) ;  or,  Lirs  iv  Sweden A.  Oulhrandaon,              **  265 

Rebecca  IIardingJ>avU.XSy  I.  163 

BALL  WE  HATE  A  MORE  READABLE J,  B.  BUtitiffer.                   XXX.  C68 

THE  North Pre».  F.  A.  ChtuOtcume.    "  630 

8  PErALCATiON A.  Web$ter,  Jr.           XXVII.  266 

TRAE8LATI05  Or  HOUER **  306 

BERITANCE  (Our) Prof.  L.  Clark  Seelye.  XXIX.  614 

r  THE  Pawn F.  Barrow.                     XXX.  720 

BIO  CoARLOiTE Autfwr  of  Still  Lift  in  Faru.*'    88,  181,819,407 

LRTHA,  The  Stoet  or Fru.  Htnry  Coppee.      XXVI.  221 

>  Staih XXV.  9 

EvESTS F.B.  Ftrk'tng.  138,  262,  879 

CLL  (The) AlfrtdFord.                 XXVI.  216 

Li5ruL? E.  F.  Buffet,  M.D.      XXVII.  311 

BTSy  In  ms W.  II.  Babeock.             XXV.  60 

I.  Buttles  AND  Tucks LouUc  Falmer  Smith.     XXX.  708 

BoxANCE  (A) XXX.  675 

B  Danube Col.  John  Ilay.               XXX.  625 

» F.  W.IIolland.             XXVI.  233 

Portal  or  toe  Pole Fro/.  T.  B,  Maury.    XXVm.  437 

Literature,  Outlook  or  our Frof.  J.  M,  Hojqnn.        XXX.  64  9 

>N  or  TiiE  Academy  or  Design Eugene  Benton.              XXX.  009 

Stacintor  and  His  Church Hon.  John  Bigelow.        XXV.  96 

Itacinthe's  Predecessor W.  C.  WUkinton.         XXVI.  177 

UkTONS  rOR  Ck)MDAT  WITH C.  W,  Wyckoff.            XXVI.  226 

hiATEAU(A) Mrs.  Clarence  Cook.      XXIX.  606 

Ialon  (A) Sidney  Hyde.                   XXV  68 

ST ifary  L.  Ritter.               XXX.  667 

8  or  Belmont  and  Blodoett Eugene  Benson.             XXIX.  534 

U.B  at  Passamaqcoddt Sidney  Hyde,                  XXVI.  212 

OLD  Flurry J.  A.  Peters.                  XXIX.  687 

sh's  Chanting  CnERrns S.  F.  Co*'/'er.                XXVI.  21 1 


yi  Index  to  the  Fifth  Yoluub. 

Aitida                                                               Author.                       No.  Pag«L 

HiXTiOT Edgar  Fauxeti,                XXV.  55 

HialmabJxbl Wm.  WaUace  Young.     XXVL  242 

Human  Ear,  My  Notion  of  the O.  W.  Bagbg,               XXVI.  281 

In  Extremis Ed.  lUnaud.              XXVIII.  445 

Insect-Life  in  Winter 8.  F.  Cooper.                  "  424 

In  the  Departments W.  H.  Babcock.              XXV.  50 

Is  Death  Painful  ? E.  P.  Buffet^  M.D.      XXVII.  311 

Jury,  Trial  by W,Z.  BavU.                XXVI.  176 

Letter- Writing Zticy  Fountain.                  "  285 

Linguists— TiiE  New  Philology Prof,  J.  (?.  JL  McElroy.  XXV.  90 

Madame  Roland N,  &  Dodge.              XXXIX.  545 

Madrid,  from  Noon  till  Midnioui A.  Auguetua  Adee.     XXVIII.  427 

Magic  PALACE(Thc) S.  F.  Cooper.                 XXVI.  160 

Mary  Russell  Mitford H.  T.  Tuckerman.      XXVIIL  472 

Musical  Mystery  (A) C.  P.  Cranch.              XXIX.  554 

My  Notion  adolt  the  Human  Ear G  W.  Baghy.               XXVI.  281 

NErTR.\LiTY,  American  Doctrine  of /.  Jf.  Bundg.             XXVIII.  488 

New  SouTn(The) Ed  De  Leon.                  •*  458 

Night  on  the  Mississippi  (A) Bou  Ouffin.                   "  419 

NoTUS  Ignoto Bayard  Taylor,              XXIX.  582 

"  On  Time" XXX.  686 

Opening  pF  the  Suez  Canal Elie  Rectus.                 XXVII.  828 

Organ  (The) J.  P.  Jardine.               XXIX.  571 

Our  Celtic  Inheritance , Prof.  L.  Clark  Seelye.   XXIX.  514 

Outlook  of  our  English  Literatukk Prof.  J.  M.  Iloppin,       XXX.  C49 

Our  Political  Degeneracy Parke  Oodtein.             XXIX.  590 

Pernickitty  People Mn.  F.  Barrow.               "  541 

Pictures  in  the  Private  Gallebiks  of  Kkw  York.  . . Eugene  Benson.                "  584 

Political  Degeneracy  and  its  Remedy Parke  Godwin,                 "  596 

Polyglots Philip  G.  BamerUm.        "  577 

PoMPEiiAN  Enigma  (A) Leonard  Kip.            XXVIIL  475 

Portal  TO  THE  Pole,  The  Eastern Prof  T.  B.  Maury.          "  487 

Prkdicatoriana  :    Sensation  Preachers /.  Vila  Blake.                  "  464 

Princess  Diddy  (The) Louise  Palmer  SmitK    XXV.  1 14 

Quaker  Quirks Fanny  Barrow.               XXX.  693 

Queen  OF  Society  (A) /.  W.Deforesl.          XXVIIL  396 

School-Days  at  the  Sacred  Heart E.deAf.                      XXVIL  275 

Shall  we  hate  ▲  more  Readable  Bible  ? J.  B.  BiUinger.              XXX.  668 

Sketches  in  Color Elizabeth  Kilham.  31,  205, 804 

Story  of  Crazy  Martha  . . , Jlcnry  Coppee^  LLD.    XXVI.  221 

**  Subvknted  '*  Church  (The)  and  the  Circumtented 

Churches Aut/tor  of  Established  Cfiurch.      XXVH.  857 

Tale  OF  A  Comet.    I.. Edward Speneer.           XXIX.  521 

"          "           II "            "                   XXX.  639 

Thawed  Out Mary  L.  Bissell.             XXV.  5^5 

"Time,  On" XXX.  680 

Trlal  by  Jury W.  Z.  Davis.                XXVL  175 

Virginia— Old  AND  New 11.  T.  Tuckerman.             "  149 

Weapons  for  Combat  with  Fire C.W.  Wyckoff.               «*  226 

Wind  OF  THE  SouTnLAND A.  W.  Bellaw.                  "  211 

Woman's  Rigiit  (A),  a  Novel Mary  Clemmer  Ames.      77.  137,  844, 

446,  561,  666 

Woman's  Wiles  (A) L.  W.  Jennison.           XXVIL  843 


IXDBZ  TO  THB  FlFTn   VoLCMB.  ?i|- 


MOXTHLT  CHRONICLE. 

Pag«L  Fife. 

TALK :  Newspapers  and  tbo  Theatre 61  :t 

.UonOpeningg 117  ?"?  l*>  ^^^^^  "^hroat " 

Service  Bill **  ^  Defence  of  Polygamy " 

aectioDs 120  E*]***  ^^'*h  •:••••  1  •: j-v ^" 


ich  Empire 121  What  to  Write  and  IIow  to  Write 61.'. 

Reading— Periodicals.'! ! !.'!!!.  122  Habitations  of  Men '* 

SducaUon  of  Women 124  Proportional  RepnsscnUtion 721 

let  of  the  Colored  Race 125  A  Star  in  the  West 721 

>f  Inyentions 243  Snuffing  a  Heresy 722 

inScandal 244  Corrupting  the  Language 723 

[oflntloQ [^'  4»  A  Word  to  the  Girls " 

g  in  America'.' */.'/.". .........  "  The  Plea  of  Insanity 724 

Beading 245  Lcpl  Ethics " 

Cathedral 246  ^  Mu»ical  Treat  in  Store 725 

I's  NewYohme. . .  ...!!.*.'.* .'!.'  ♦*  ^  Supgcstion  for  Schools *' 

^j^fi *«  Two  Important  Books 720 

;f};«hi-u»i;;d-8ut;;::::::::  ul  ijteratcbe  at  home: 

ninEorope "  Illustrated  Gift-Boota 127 

icbXinistiy "  American  Family  in  Paris 129 

Questions 249  Bryant  Homestead  Book ISm 

u  in  New  Shape 360  Elain's  ITivsician's  Problems " 

Finances "  Mrs.  Hawthomc*s  Notes  in  England,  &c..  132 

th  the  Taxes. "  Hyadnthc's  Discourses " 

snts 861  Tennyson's  Holy  Grail 252 

Circles "  Massov's  Tale  of  Eternity •• 

sofCritldam 802  Mrs.  Embcrry's  Poems 2.'53 

Suicides '*  Evenings  with  Sacred  Poets 254 

tj "  Life  of  Dr.  Alexander 255 

▼ent 363  The  Pope  and  the  Council 257 

nd  State  in  Pennsylvania 864  The  Priest  and  the  Nun ** 

lal  Festival **  Lamps,  Fitehcrs,  and  Trumpets 371 

and  Civilization "  The  Spanish  Barber 372 

Reproduction "  Froudc's  History  of  EngUind 375 

IDuplicity 365  Geo.  Sand's  Happy  Boy. . .   874 

Todd's  ♦*  Sunset  Land  " *• 

LAL  NOTES:  Wood's  Bible  Animals 375 

Sunday  Book  of  Poetry ** 

1  Writing 500  De  Vcrc's  Love-Songs 870 

br  Writers 501  Leigh  Hunt's  Dav  by  the  Fire 5U5 

V^itality 502  Morris' Earthly  Paradise 500 

for  New  York **  Lowell's  Among  my  Books 010 

Sonth 608  Emerson's  Society  and  Solitude 617 

m *<  Geo.  Sand's  Mauprat 618 

ipers 504  Spielhagen'a  Hohcnstcins 019 

ot  Dead ••  Alkin's  Queen  Elizabeth " 

k.Making **  Ulnstrated  Library  of  Wonders 620 

Literature 609  Life  of  Rufus  Choato '' 

er  Criticism 610  The  Bab  Ballads 720 

nable  Amusement *'  Mcdberry's  Mysteries  of  Wall  Street. ...  727 

to  be  Written 611  Kelly's  Proverbs  of  all  Nations 726 

Massacre "  Taylor's  Claaaic  Study " 

(to  Americans 612  Journal  Geographical  Society 729 

ding-Rooms '*  Journal  of  Social  Science 730 

;idatioo 612  Pioneer  Biography '* 

TUBE,  SCIENCE  AND  ART  ABROAD 258,  377, 509,  621,  782 


"^  //., 


i 


UTNAM'S    MAGAZINE 


OF 


LITERATURE,   SCIENCE.  ART, 


AND 


NATIONAL  INTERESTS. 


c •=■-■ 


Vol.  v.— JANUARY— 1870.— No.   XXV. 


CUBA  AND  SPAIN. 


iitnam'a  Monthly  for  January, 
e  gave  a  historical  accoimt  of 
od  discussed  very  fully  the  situ- 
f  the  island,  its  relations  with 
.nd  the  United  States,  and  the 

the  latter  Power  with  regard 
This  was  at  a  time  when  there 
ich  excitement  in  consequence 

various  so-called  filibustering 
ions,  commencing  in  1850  and 
ng  to  1854.  These  expeditions, 
carried  on  by  Cuban  funds,  were 
kI  of  Americans,  whose  landing 
I  was  to  produce  an  uprising 

was  no  insurrectionary  moTO- 
^anwhile  on  the  island, 
it  article  we  expressed  our  sym- 
or  the  oppressed  Cubans,  but 
rod  the  United  States  could  not 
r  interfere,  and  suggested  that 
otiations  which  had   been  at- 

under  President  Polk  should 
7ed  for  the  purchase  of  the  isl- 
m  Spain.    The  fierce  political 

in  the  United  States  which 
ted  in  the  war  of  the  rebellion 
w  the  attention  of  this  country 
iba  only  to  have  it  again  cx- 
id  with  a  tenfold  interest, 
more,  after  the  lapse  of  seven- 
jrs,  we  approach  the  subject, 
opic  of  slavery  is  dead  in  the 


United  States,  and  should  be  buried  out 
of  our  sight;  but  in  explaining  the 
causes  which  have  produced  for  so  many 
years  the  bitterest  disaffection  in  Cuba 
toward  Spain, we  have  distinctly  to  bring 
it  forward.  In  this  connection  wo  make 
the  following  statements. 

Ist.  That  the  slave-power,  which  for 
extent,  influence,  and  resources,  has  been 
the  most  powerful  engine  ever  wielded 
in  civilized  communities,  still  rules  ub- 
restrained  and  omnipotent  in  Spain. 

2d.  That  the  terrible  oppressions  ex- 
ercised against  the  Cubans  by  the  sys- 
tem of  monopolies,  exactions,  and  taxa- 
tion, and  by  the  importations  from  year 
to  year  of  blacks  from  Africa,  were  by 
the  slave-oligarchy.  That  these  impor- 
tations kept  the  Creole  population  in 
perpetual  fear,  and  enabled  their  dee- 
pots  to  wring  from  the  inhabitants 
sums  which  appear  fabulous  in  the 
aggregate. 

3d.  That  the  Cubans  have  always 
been  opposed  to  the  slave-trade,  and 
for  the  last  twenty-five  years  have  been 
in  favor  of  the  emancipation  of  the 
colored  population. 

In  these  statements  lies  the  explana- 
tion of  the  Cuban  Insurrection. 

We  will  first  devote  a  few  sentences 
to  a  historical  summary. 

The  invasion  of  Spain  by  the  first 


•  yrar  Wn,  by  O.  T.  TXTTMAU  *  t09.  ta  tbt  aark's  Offle*  of  tl>«  Diitrirl  C«art  of  th*  V.  S.  fpr  lh«  t««th«ra  Diatrict  af  Jl.  T. 

L.  v.— 2 


10 


Putnam's  Magazine. 


[Jan., 


Napoleon  produced  an  uprising  of  the 
Spaniards,  and  gave  as  its  result  the 
Constitution  of  1812.  The  assembly 
which  formed  that  code  proved  to  the 
world  that  the  seeds  planted  by  the 
eminent  statesmen  of  the  last  century 
— ^Florida  Blanca,  Aranda,  Jovcllanos, 
and  others — were  not  lost  to  the  country. 
It  was  democratic  in  its  character,  and 
its  deliberations  were  marked  by  mode- 
ration and  enlightened  views.  This 
Constitution  declared  that  the  "  Spanish 
nation  consisted  in  the  Spaniards  of 
both  hemispheres,"  and  acknowledged 
equal  rights  to  all.  In  1814,  on  the 
return  of  Ferdinand,  both  Spain  and 
Cuba  were  again  subjected  to  absolute 
rule.  In  1820  constitutional  govem- 
ment  was  restored  to  Spain  and  the  col- 
ony. In  1823  the  absolute  power  of 
Ferdinand  VIL  was  restored  orer  both. 
In  1834  Cuba  was  placed  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  the  same  rights  as  Spain,  and 
she  sent  deputies  to  the  Cortes.  In 
1837  these  rights  were  denied  to  her, 
and  her  deputies  refused  admittance, 
while  it  was  decreed  that  the  colonies 
should  be  governed  by  special  laws. 

Here  let  it  be  distinctly  borne  in 
mind  that  while  up  to  1837  Cuba  main- 
ly followed  the  fortunes  in  government 
of  the  mother-country,  enjoying  the 
benefit  of  liberal  changes,  and  return- 
ing with  it  to  absolute  rule ;  from  this 
year  (1837),  when  her  deputies  were 
excluded  from  the  Cortes,  she  has  had 
no  representation — ^has  not  received 
the  promised  special  laws  but  has  been 
at  all  times  subject  to  the  will  of  the 
Govemor-Gkneral,  who  has  had  the 
•ame  power  as  is  given  to  "  governors 
of  besieged  towns,*'  with  the  right  of 
deportation  of  persons,  and  df  suspend- 
ing royal  orders  or  general  decrees  in  all 
the  branches  of  administration. 

Agunst  this  state  of  things  the  in- 
habitants have  struggled  for  the  last 
thirty-two  years,  in  which  their  re- 
•onrces  have  been  drained  for  the  bene- 
fit of  the  slave-oligarchy. 

While  the  **  wrongs  of  the  Cubans,** 
io  far  as  they  relate  to  the  exactions 
wrong  from  them,  and  the  severity  with 
which  they  have  been  governed,  are 


now  well  known,  it  is  not,  we  believe, 
generally  understood  in  this  country 
that  not  only  has  the  slave-trade  been 
carried  on  against  the  protest  of  the 
inhabitants,  but  that  slavery  itself  has 
been  maintained  in  spite  of  their  earnest 
desire  to  bring  it  to  an  end.  It  is  this 
point  we  wish  especially  to  present  to 
our  readei;^ ;  for  it  changes  the  aspect 
of  the  Cuban  question,  and  places  the 
situation  of  the  Cubans  toward  tho 
civilized  world  in  its  proper  light. 

In  Spain  itself,  during  tho  last  half- 
century,  there  has  been  a  constant 
struggle,  or  rather  yearning,  of  a  brave 
and  well-meaning  but  uneducated  and 
ignorant  people  on  one  side,  and  tho 
slave-power  on  the  other,  which  power 
was  not  more  remarkable  for  its  per- 
severance in  carrying  on  a  traffic  con- 
demned by  the  age,  than  for  its  successful 
attack  on  the  liberties  of  the  freemen 
of  old  Spain.  We  must  state  facts, 
though  they  destroy  cherished  ideas  of 
the  honor  and  high  tone  of  the  Spanish 
hidalgo,  and  weaken  the  charm  which 
surrounds  the  descriptions  of  some  of 
our  most  popular  writers. 

The  peninsular  crusades ;  the  Moorish 
tinge  of  chivalry  and  romance  imbibed 
by  tho  Spaniard  from  the  Saracen  dur- 
ing a  war  of  eight  centuries ;  the  ardent 
poetry,  the  tender  ballads,  and  the  pre- 
cious remains  still  extant  of  the  arts  and 
civilization  of  that  peculiar  race ;  tho 
discovery  and  conquest  of  America 
under  the  auspices  of  the  Catholic 
kings,  and  the  fleeting  greatness  ondpr 
Charles  Y.  and  Philip  II.,  have  pto- 
duced  in  literary  men  all  over  the  world 
an  almost  idolatrous  regard  for  tho 
Spanish  name.  It  is  therefore  in  a 
kindly  spirit  that  inquiry  has  been 
raised  to  ascertain  why  so  many  draw- 
backs have  accompanied  the  labor  of 
political  regeneration  on  that  soil.  Some 
observe  that  Spain  has  been  unfortunate 
in  the  period  when  she  undertook  to 
develop  constitutional  rule,  because  it 
is  one  of  selfishness,  unbelief^  and  sen- 
sual proclivities.  Others  contend  that 
the  precious  metals  profusely  poured  in 
from  the  newly-discovered  regions  cre- 
ated a  foolish  vanity  among  the  hidal- 


Cuba,  akd  Spais. 


11 


Qolated  laxtiry,  idleness,  and 
coontenanced  labor,  arts,  the 

and  virtue,  and  thus  liberty 
ther   sought    for  nor   yalaetL 

in  his  English  ciyilization, 
le  coarse  of  the  Spanish  Intel- 
n  the  fifth  to  the  nineteenth 
and  ascribes  its  backwardness 
erstitious  spirit  unable  to  dis- 
th,  which  element  the  writer 
I  a  drawback  to  intellectual 
I  The  author  further  points  to 
»gical  formation  of  the  soil,  the 
kes  and  frequent  famines,  as 
visitations  inducing  a  timid 
the  mind,  and  consequent  in- 

in  progress. 

g  it  to  others  to  discover  the 
reason  why  the  Spanish  mind 
^led  in  vain  to  throw  off  its 

we  charge  expressly  that  the 
lie  organization  has  tcnacious- 
iccessAxUy  absorbed  all  power, 
smothered  the  sparks  of  free- 
ch,  if  allowed  to  kindle,  would 
sumcd  the  inexhaustible  foon- 
s  polluted  wealth, 
ver  cause  of  decline  be  ascribed 
}t  weak  sovereigns  of  the  Aus- 
lasty  in  Spain,  it  is  certain  that 
i  of  the  eighteenth  century 
3  nation  entirely  dependent  for 
ty  and  prosperity  on  the  mo- 
f  trade  with  its  possessions  in 
ispherc.  This  embraced  the 
j:  Privileges  to  work  the 
rivilcged  cities  in  Spain  which 
)ne  carry  on  commerce ;  privi- 
mmercial  and  shipping  com- 
irivilegcd  mercantile  fleets  sail- 
ivoys  at  stated  periods ;  excise 
jverywhcre  directing  the  course 

patents  for  providing  salt  and 
kttle,  and  other  necessaries  of 
vileges  to  tlio  class  of  mar- 
atents  for  executing  judiciary 
ach  production  and  each  in- 
as  at  war  with  the  other,  and 
*al  advance  was  based,  not  on 
ot  on  the  price  of  man's  labor, 
ight  and  the  XHissive  obedience 
lonists.  Jorge  Juan  and  Ulloa, 
Spanish  mariners,  in  secret  and 

reports,  in  vain  warned  the 


court,  unveiling  the  hideous  features  of 
oppression  and  corruption  which  **  di»> 
honored  the  Spanish  rule  in  America.** 
When  nothing  remained  of  the  vast 
Spanish  possessions  but  Cuba,  Puerto 
Rico,  and  the  Philippine  Islands,  un- 
taught by  the  past,  the  energy,  the 
mercantile  spirit  and  the  capital  of  the 
Spaniard  still  clung  to  monopoly  as  the 
only  means  of  prosperity.  Light  was, 
however,  piercing  through  ecclesiastical 
and  monarchical  darkness.  The  author 
of  the  agrarian  law  had  published 
principles  sustained  in  our  day  by  Cob- 
den  and  the  League.  Some  of  the  limi- 
tations of  trade  were  reluctantly  re- 
moved, and  when  the  alliance  with 
Napoleon  drove  the  €ag  of  Spain  from 
every  sea,  we  notice  the  efforts  of  Cuba 
to  free  herself  firom  commercial  bond* 
age;  they  are  visible  in  the  debates 
which  took  place  in  1808  in  the  Pro- 
vincial Consulado,  now  extinct,  where 
we  read  such  words  as  the  following : 

*'  And  what  if  because  the  motber^oouutry 
cannot  proTide  articles  we  need  :  shall  she  pun- 
ish in  us  the  deficiency  of  her  manufactures 
and  territorial  productioni  ?  " 

Peace  was  restored,  and  the  exclusive 
system  had  to  yield  to  the  exigencies 
of  existence,  which  broke  through  all 
restrictions  and  fixed  on  Cuba  a  contm- 
band  trade  as  regularly  organized  as  if 
it  had  been  legal.  This  system  and  the 
slave-trade,  clandestine  in  name  also, 
became  the  source  of  Spanish  power 
and  prosperity  in  Cuba. 

Soon  afler  the  Congress  of  Vienna 
had  condemned  the  African  trade,  Spain 
accepted  the  treaty  of  the  28d  of  Sep- 
tember, 1817,  making  the  trade  illegal 
for  Spaniards.  It  is  curious  to  watch 
from  that  day  the  constant  struggle 
between  the  liberal  spirit  of  the  times 
and  the  terrible  avarice  of  thn  slave- 
dealers.  On  the  80th  of  October,  1830^ 
that  being  the  date  when  importation 
of  slaves  should  cease,  a  further  tolera- 
tion of  two  years  was  obtained.  Then 
followed  repeated  seizures  of  Spanish 
vessels  engaged  in  the  forbidden  traffic ; 
prizes,  courts  to  settle  their  legitimacy, 
and  the  condition  of  the  captured  Afri- 
can.    A  profoundly  exciting  intemsr 


■V 


Id 


Putnam's  MAOAZDrc. 


[Jan., 


tioDal  agitation  followed  between  Eng- 
land and  Spain,  kept  up  by  a  laudable 
zeal  on  the  part  of  the  former  in  behalf 
of  the  negro,  which  has  only  died  away 
since  slavery  ceased  to  exist  in  the 
United  States. 

The  importation  of  slaves,  however, 
went  on  without  regard  to  treaties  or 
subsequent  stipulations.  The  British 
Government  urged  the  want  of  a  law 
w^hich  should  make  known  to  Spaniards 
that  they  could  no  longer  trade  in 
human  beings.  A  royal  order  appeared 
in  consequence  on  the  2d  of  January, 
1826,  especially  forbidding  any  investi- 
gation about  the  origin  of  the  African 
slaves  who  might  be  imported  previous- 
ly to  a  decree  th^t  the  Captain-Qeneral 
toould  gite  at  aome  future  time.  This 
promised  decree  teas  never  made.  Eng- 
land was  mystified,  and  the  importations 
were  continued  without  interruption. 

The  widow  of  Ferdinand  VIL,  at  a 
much  later  period,  had  placed  her  for- 
tunes in  the  hands  of  the  Spanish  lib- 
erals in  order  to  secure  the  throne  from 
the  grasp  of  Don  Carlos.  A  charter  of 
political  rights  called  "  the  Estatuto 
Real  "  was  proclaimed,  and  the  remon- 
strances of  the  British  Government 
being  sustained  by  the  sentiment  of  the 
Cortes,  a  new  treaty  was  entered  into 
on  the  28th  of  June,  1835,  the  publicity 
of  which  was  the  first  etficiont  check  on 
the  African  slave-trade.  But  the  specu- 
lations were  too  lucrative ;  the  agents 
of  the  Queen  at  Havana  were  largely 
engaged  in  them ;  the  ofiicials  both  in 
Cuba  and  in  Spain  participated  in  the 
profits.  Hence  a  powerful  struggle  en- 
sued between  the  Cubans  aspiring  to  ol> 
tain  free  institutions  and  the  clique  of 
slave-dealers  which  was  publicly  de- 
nounced by  Jos6  Antonio  Saco. 

Ever  since  the  report  of  Serrano,  the 
present  Regent  of  Spain,  was  published 
in  this  country,  it  has  been  well  under- 
stood that  up  to  1837,  as  we  have  al- 
ready mentioned,  Spain  and  Cuba  had 
always  followed  the  same  political 
£atc.  But  the  coincidence  of  time  may 
have  escaped  many,  between  the  blow 
at  the  slave-trade  by  the  act  of  1835 


and  the  exclusion  from  the  Cortes,  in 
1837,  of  the  representatives  of  the  island 
of  Cuba.  For  it  could  only  be  under 
an  exceptional  and  arbitrary  govern- 
ment, that  violation  of  treaties  could  be 
so  scandalously  committed.  Without 
knowing  this  secret  motive  of  the 
Spanish  rulers,  it  would  be  impossible 
to  explain  why  General  Tacon  was  at 
war  with  the  Corporation  of  Havana, 
strenuously  opposing  political  reforms, 
asking  for  means  to  put  down  the  ex- 
pected rising  of  the  colored  j)opulation 
announced  by  the  Spanish  Legation  at 
Washington ;  and  permitting  at  the 
very  same  time  vast  and  public  impor- 
tations of  Africans.  Salustiano  Clo- 
zaga,  the  fascinating  orator  of  the  Cor- 
tes, was  the  counsel  for  the  city  of  Ha- 
vana on  the  occasion  of  the  attack  on  it 
by  Tacon,  and  nothing  could  better 
show  the  uselessness  of  Imttling  against 
the  slave-oligarchy  than  the  despotic 
decision  of  the  Court  on  that  occasion. 

Baffled  in  its  demands,  yet  continual- 
ly coming  forward  to  the  charge,  the 
Government  of  Great  Britain,  after 
many  vain  remonstrances,  proposed  on 
the  17th  of  December  of  1840  the 
emancipation  of  all  slaves  introduced 
since  1820  in  violation  of  the  treaty ; 
which  the  Spanish  officials  admitted 
would  comprise  the  bulk  of  the  efficient 
labor  then  in  existence.  Tumbull,  the 
British  Consul,  being  ejected  from  the 
Sociedad  Patriotica,  Jos6  de  la  Luz 
Caballero,  the  distinguished  Cuban 
patriot,  and  others  equally  known  as 
enemies  to  slavery,  appeared  at  the 
society  and  demanded  that  the  repre- 
sentative of  Great  Britain  should  be 
received  back  into  the  Corps. 

In  1843  and  1844,  slight  disturbances 
were  noticed  among  the  slaves,  and 
under  General  O'Donnell,  who  after- 
ward controlled  the  destinies  of  Spain, 
a  method  of  ea-purgo  and  precautionary 
punishment  was  applied,  which  finds 
no  parallel  in  the  age  wo  live  in.  The 
indiscrimin:ite  persecution  of  the  ne- 
groes in  1844  is  a  deep  stain  on  the 
national  character,  proving  how  Spain 
is  bound  downward  in  the  scale  of  civ- 
ilization in  order  to  retain  hur  grasp  on 


Cuba,  asd  Spain. 


18 


rhe  scaffold  did  not  fill  the 
of  blood  required  by  the  mili- 
omey8  appointed  to  execute 
3  called  Bumniary  justice.  The 
were  shot  in  groups,  but  the 
lumber  sank  in  deadly  agony 
le  lash  during  interrogatories 
proceedings ;  "  and  in  order 
lisgust  the  sensibilities  of  the 
th  century,  it  was  certified  on 
al  records  that  the  victims  had 
fi-om  natural  diseases.  Thus 
Riuz,  Tolon,  Blakely,  Andrew 
Pedro  Nufiea^  Thomas  Vargas, 
Sanches,  Jos6  Caballcro,  Juan 
SColina,  and  hundreds  of  others. 
I,  Fernando  Perch er,  in  render- 
ccount  of  the  cases  committed 
harge,  adduced  certificates  of 
h  of  twenty-nine  freemen  and 
ee  slaves.  From  three  to  four 
1  of  the  colored  population 
?pt  away  unrelentingly  through 
em  of  torture.  Deceived  by 
Oference  shown  by  civilized  na- 
s  agents  of  Spain  attempted  to 
in  Englishman  by  the  name  of 
in  their  savage  persecutionw 
1,  the  British  Consul,  addressed 
O'Donnell,  and  with  the  wont- 
ess  of  a  British  official  told 
the  testimony  against  Elkins 
1  obtained  by  forcible  means, 
eedings  inculpating  him  were 
Donnell  hesitated,  was  pressed, 
victim  was  spared. 
Llanes,  one  of  these  military 
fiscals,  when  the  echo  of  the 
tions  had  disturbed  the  equa- 
)f  the  home  government,  was 
it  last  of  extortions  of  money 
Itics  to  his  victims,  and  com- 
licide  in  the  prison, 
gth  the  Spanish  Cortes,  under 
ure  of  Great  Britain,  passed  a 
of  March,  1845— the  penalties 
I  were  apparently  decreed  for 
er  suppression  of  the  slave- 
i  was,  however,  only  efficient  in 
the  titles  secure  to  slaves  im- 
n  violation  of  treaties,  while 
Qtinued  to  be  introduced  and 
[cultural  enterprises  were  under- 
pending  on  their  labor !  Ayes- 


teran,  Santos  Suarez,  and  Escobedo, 
eminent  Cubans,  boldly  made  a  report 
in  1844  in  the  Junta  de  Fomento,  and 
Cintra  in  1847,  in  the  Corporation,  which 
demonstrated  the  superior  advantages  of 
free  labor ;  but  the  Government,  to  wit 
the  slavers'  clique,  was  deaf. 

Meanwhile,  Lord  Palmerston  was  too 
shrewd  to  be  duped  by  the  penal  law, 
which,  had  it  not  been  enacted  under 
the  influence  of  this  clique,  must  have 
nearly  stopped  the  obnoxious  traffic. 
He  became  roused,  and  claimed  the  per- 
emptory investigation  of  the  origin  of 
the  existing  slaves,  accepting  the  testi- 
mony of  the  Africans.  Spain  replied, 
invoking  her  duty  to  secure  the  tran- 
quillity, prosperity,  and  contentment  of 
the  inhabitants  of  Cuba,  which  would 
be  forfeited  by  complying  with  the 
wishes  of  n.  B.  M.'s  Government. 

It  was  on  that  occasion  that  Lord 
Howden  received  from  the  British  Pre- 
mier the  following  communication,  dated 
the  20th  of  October,  1851. 

^*  As  to  that  portion  of  Se&or  Miraflores's 
letter  wbereiD  he  affirms  that  the  Spanish  Got- 
emment  cannot  understand  bow  the  Govern- 
ment of  II.  B.  M.  can  seriously  recommend  a 
measure  which  would  be  very  injurious  to  the 
natives  of  Cuba,  while  recommending  that  tbo 
Spanish  Government  endeavor  to  conciliate 
the  affection  of  those  Cubans  ;  I  have  to  com- 
mission your  lordship  to  state  to  Senor  Mira- 
florcs  that  the  slaves  constitute  a  great  portion, 
and  certainly  of  no  slight  importance,  of  th« 
people  of  Cuba,  and  that  any  measures  adopted 
to  promote  their  emancipation,  would  be  in 
harmony  (as  to  the  colored  population)  witli 
the  recommendations  made  by  the  Government 
of  II.  B.  M.  to  the  effect  that  measures  be 
adopted  to  enlist  the  sympathies  of  the  people 
of  Cuba,  with  the  object  of  ensuring  the  con- 
nection of  said  island  with  the  Spanish  crown : 
and  it  must  be  evident  that,  if  the  colored 
population  became  free,  that  fact  would  raise 
a  most  powerful  element  in  opposition  to  any 
project  to  annex  the  island  of  Cuba  to  the 
United  States,  where  slavery  still  exists.  With 
reference  to  the  influence  which  the  emancipa- 
tion of  the  blacks  would  have  in  the  interest 
of  the  white  proprietors,  it  may  certainly  be 
affirmed  that  free  labor  is  cheaper  than  slave 
labor,  and  it  is  beyond  question  that  a  free 
and  contented  working  class  is  a  safer  neigh- 
bor for  the  wealthy,  than  ill-treated  and  ag- 
grieved slaves." 

England  obtained  more  enactments 
from  the  Court.    A  royal  order  of  May 


14 


PcTNAH^B  Magazine. 


[Jan., 


5th,  1853)  authorized  the  seizure  of  im- 
ported Africans  in  opposition  to  the 
law  of  1845,  with  the  evident  object  of 
appeasing  the  English;  the  Audiencia 
of  Havana,  however,  paid  no  regard  to 
it,  80  that  another,  to  the  same  effect, 
appeared  on  the  21st  of  March,  1854. 

The  accomplished  scholar,  Marquis 
Pezuela,  then  filled  the  oflScs  of  Gov- 
ernor-General, and  endeavored  to  exe- 
cute the  laws,  and  to  prepare  a  change  Ii 
the  condition  of  labor.  His  two  pro- 
clamations, so  entirely  contradictory, 
issued  with  but  an  interval  of  twenty- 
seven  days,  are  the  strongest  proof  of 
the  controlling  influence  of  the  clique. 
He  said,  on  the  dd  of  May,  1854  : 

**  It  is  also  time  to  make  the  life  of  the  slaye 
more  agreeable  than  that  of  the  white  man 
who,  with  another  name,  labors  in  Europe. 
The  planters  may  exchange  their  present  rapid 
but  precarious  gains  for  others  of  Ie»s  present 
value,  yet  more  certain  and  lasting,  which 
will  pass  to  their  grandchildren  instead  of 
being  destroyed  in  one  generation;  thus  be* 
coming  consolidated  and  in  harmony  with 
religion,"  kc,  &c. 

And  on  the  80th  of  the  same  month, 
under  the  pressure  of  the  clique,  he 
aays: 

"  The  Ctoremment  of  Her  Majesty  is  but  too 
well  aware  that  this  unhappy  race  which  un> 
derstands  by  liberty  nothing  but  vagrancy, 
for  the  honor  of  mankind  should  not  be  taken 
out  of  the  soil  of  their  birth,  but  once  among 
eirilized  men,  protected  by  religion  and  by  the 
great  laws  of  our  fathers,  is,  in  its  so-called 
tlarcry,  a  thousand  times  happier  than  por- 
tions of  the  European  population  who  are  free 
only  in  name." 

The  organization  of  the  slave-dealers 
owned  the  stock  of  the  Diario  de  la 
Marina  in  ahares,  and  this  journal  toas 
the  organ  of  the  Oovemment.  The  hu- 
manitarian, whether  Spanish  or  Cuban, 
urged  freedom  for  all  slaves  seized  in 
Tiolation  of  the  treaties;  registration 
of  those  in  existence,  so  as  to  reject 
claims  to  Aiture  importations;  and  a 
schedule  to  secure  the  titles  of  the 
owners.  Those  forming  that  party  were 
without  influence.  The  emaneipadoes^ 
or  prize  negroes,  continued  to  be  a 
•ource  of  profit  at  the  Government  pal- 
ace ;  the  schedules  were  sold  at  thirty- 
four  dollars  a-piece,  and  the  registra- 


tion, after  being  a  short  time  in  opera- 
tion, was  annulled  in  a  proclamation  of 
General  Concha,  that  subsequent  impor- 
tations might  not  be  questioned  !  Lat- 
terly, when  a  feeling  of  national  dignity 
was  awakened,  and  Francisco  Duran  y 
Cuervo  wifS  dismissed  from  the  High 
Court  of  Justice  and  sent  to  Spain  on 
accusations  of  bribery  in  the  case  of 
free  negroes  converted  into  slaves,  the 
clique  at  once  brought  him  safely  back 
to  Havana,  where  he  now  urges  the 
volunteers  to  robbery  and  murder. 

The  peculiar  position,  of  the  British 
Government  during  the  protracted  agi- 
tation to  obtain  the  execution  of  treaties 
for  the  suppression  of  the  African  trade 
has  placed  it  in  possession  of  the  ne- 
cessary testimony  to  fully  establish  the 
unblushing  power  and  action  of  the 
oligarchy. 

It  is  a  fact  not  generally  known,  that 
on  the  34th  of  December,  1854,  Julian 
Zulueta,  the  slaver,  Isidore  Lira,  of 
the  "  Diario  de  la  Marina,"  and  Sabino 
Ojero,  of  the  mercantile  house  known 
as  J.  Morales  <&  Co.,  petitioned  the 
Queen  to  grant  political  freedom  to 
Cuba  I  These  parties  were  spurred 
to  the  movement  by  the  Quitman  ex- 
citement in  this  country,  and  perhaps 
even  more  by  Mr.  Everett's  letter  of  the 
1st  of  December,  1852,  which  had  just 
been  made  public,  and  which  destroyed 
the  slave-dealers*  hopes  of  the  Euro- 
pean Tripartite  alliance,  wherein  it  was 
proposed  that  England,  France,  and  the 
United  States  should  guarantee  the  pos- 
session of  Cuba  to  Spain. 

In  January,  1865,  Serrano,  the  present 
Regent,  said  in  the  Spanish  Senate,  in 
answer  to  a  member  of  the  Cabinet : 

*'  That  he  ought  to  know  that  wherever  the 
infamous  traffic  was  practised,  complete  de- 
moralization reigned ;  that  under  the  pretext 
of  the  trade  every  iniquity  and  horror  was 
committed ;  that  in  those  negotiations  nothing 
was  committed  to  writing,  that  contracts  were 
verbal,  and  where  the  conditions  were  broken, 
it  was  usual  to  raort  to  the  dagger  for  redreu. 
We  call  (he  said)  upon  the  civilized  world  to 
hear  the  acknowledgment ;  that  he  bad  found 
out  that  all  parties  participating  in  the  African 
trade  leere  oppotttd  to  the  fending  of  deputies 
from  Cuba  and  to  every  reform  whatsoever/  " 

Very  soon  alter,  the  noble  Duke  re- 


CXTBA  AND  SpAIX. 


16 


a  petition,  signed  by  twenty 

n>  of  the  most  distinguished 

mts  of  Caba,  which  from  its 

eous  character  gives  a  correct 

the  political  sentiment  prevail- 

le  time,  and  justifies  the  follow- 

eresting    extracts.     Wc  allow 

1  no  freedom  in  translating  : 

coald  those  reaping  the  advautftges 
ercial  moDopolj,  or  enriching  tbem- 
the  expeoss  of  the  nation's  honor,  ever 
>  the  political  reforms  to  which  Cuba 
1,  and  which  are  called  for  bj  the 
eal  as  long  as  those  reforms  are  sure 
e  the  suppression  of  the  priTilegcs, 
id  of  so  egregious,  immorality  7  " 

•  •  •  •  • 

WD  the  mother-country  and  the  XJl- 
I  ProTinces  a  wall  has  been  raised  in 
of  a  political  charter  *  robbing  the 
be  rights  and  guarantees  which  they 
yed  at  all  times  in  common  with  the 
J." 

•  •  a  •  • 

ime  has  come  to  return  to  the  path  of 
istice,  and  expediency.  As  men  and 
irds ;  by  natural  law ;  by  the  law 
nd  stamped  in  all  the  constitutions 
;  the  constituents  Cortes  of  1837, 
e  incompetent  to  rob  from  us  a  right 

before  on  all  occasions  when  the 
iTinces  of  the  Spanish  nation  had 

them.  We  neither  participated  in, 
ted  to,  that  usurpation,  and  the  right 
3me  under  prescription,  and  it  is  in 
aba  protested  then  through  her  re« 
)utie8,  and  has  protested  erer  since 
trect  means  in  her  power." 

le  28th  of  June  following,  the 

oligarchy  addressed  the  Gov- 

in  support  of  their  exclusivo 

and  the  people  of  Cuba,  one 

later,  July  28th,  addressed   a 

il  to  Her  Majesty : 

the  conspiracies  (it  said),  the  expa- 
nd executions  which  we  all  deplore, 
d  it  is  proper  not  to  forget)  that  as 
e  European  Spaniards  and  the  natire 
?ere  equal,  no  conspirators  existed, 
'  was  it  found  necessary  to  spill  one 
lood  for  political  motires.*' 

etitioners  mention  unfair  means 
d  to  obtain  signatures  by  the 
garchy  in  support  of  their 
tating  that  in  some  cases  the 
lad  disavowed  their  incautious 
I.  It  adds : 
diiora,  it  is  not  true  thai  the  inhobit- 

•Ttatof  1837. 


ants  of  Cuba  are  in  a  majority  so  abject  as  to 
reject  and  fear  political  reforms :  the  truth  is, 
that  they  are  anxious  to  receive  them,  and  thai 
thej  require  them  of  every  kind." 

In  spite  of  the  strenuous  exertions  of 
their  opponents,  a  time  arriired  when 
the  Government  could  no  longer  resist, 
and  on  the  25  th  of  November,  1865,  the 
Queen  issued  an  order  creating  a  Junta 
merely  to  report  ^^  on  the  basis  of  the 
special  laws  that  should  be  presented  to 
the  Cortes  for  the  government  of  the 
Antilles ;  on  the  regulation  of  the  ex- 
isting labor  and  emigration,  on  com- 
mercial treaties  with  other  nations,  and 
on  the  tariff  question.'^  The  Junta 
should  consist  of  a  number  of  officials 
not  limited,  of  twenty-two  Commisaion- 
ers  elected  by  the  people,  and  of  twen- 
ty-two more  of  Government  choice. 

General  Domingo  Dulce,  then  Ck)V- 
emor-General,  was  the  man  whose  duty 
it  became  to  direct  the  election  of  Com- 
missioners ;  and  it  was  so  unfairly  dona 
that  the  Corporation  of  Havana  itself 
condemned  the  illegality  of  the  act; 
the  Court,  however,  sanctioned  the  un- 
lawful trick  practised  to  favor  the  oli- 
garchy in  the  election.  But  in  spite  of 
intrigues,  the  reformists  elected  their 
Commissioners  almost  to  a  man.  It  is 
proper  to  state  with  reference  to  the 
manoeuvre  of  General  Dulce,  that  in  the 
Spanish  Senate,  the  Secretary  of  the 
Colonies  assumed  the  responsibility  of 
the  unfair  management  of  the  election, 
as  having  been  ordered  by  him  in  a  pri- 
vate communication  to  Dulce. 

We  have  shown  what  were  the  lawAiI 
demands  of  twenty  thousand  leading 
citizens  of  Cuba.  The  proof  that  they 
really  expressed  the  public  sentiment,  is 
demonstrated  in  the  consideration  shown 
in  the  timid  royal  decree  for  convening 
the  Junta  at  Madrid.  The  unquestiona- 
ble validity  of  that  expression  is  also 
proved  by  the  extraordinary  success  in 
the  election.  We  will  next  briefly  revert 
to  the  proceedings  of  the  Junta  install- 
ed at  Madrid. 

At  the  inauguration,  the  Commission- 
ers were  told  that  they  were  at  liberty 
to  discuss  any  question  except  that  of 
national,  monarchical,  and  religious 
unity;  yet  the  first  interrogatory  pre- 


16 


FOTNAU^S  MaGAZUIS. 


[JaiL, 


eented  for  them  to  answer  referred  only 
tQ  how  the  labor  of  the  colored  and 
Asiatic  population  should  be  regulated, 
and  what  imioigration  should  be  favor- 
od«  Upon  that  Joti  MaraUs  LcmuSy  now 
the  representative  of  Cespcdes  at  Wash- 
ington, and  then  one  of  the  elected 
Commissioners  from  the  people,  re- 
minded the  presiding  officer  that  such 
a  course  was  inconsistent  with  the  ob- 
ject and  the  pledges  of  the  Minister  of 
the  Colonies.  The  latter,  however,  de- 
nied the  Commissioners  the  right  to 
question  the  order  of  interrogatories. 

Among  the  remarkable  incidents  was 
a  proposition  made  by  the  Commission- 
ers from  Puerto  Rico  for  the  immediate 
abolition  of  slavery,  with  or  without 
indemnification,  and  a  report  of  the  ma- 
jority, requesting  the  slave-trade  to  bo 
declared  piracy,  and  those  engaged  in 
it  to  be  excluded  from  Spanish  nation- 
ality. To  sustain  our  statement  as  to 
the  power  of  the  slave-oligarchy,  we 
make  some  extracts  from  this  report. 
Alluding  to  the  ejection  of  the  repre- 
sentatives in  1837,  it  says : 

"From  that  tinier  instead  of  begging  for 
toleration,  the  Africao  trade  lifted  its  bead 
proudly,  and  woe  to  whoever  should  dare  cen- 
sure it.  Ue  would  show  himself  thereby  a 
false  Spaniard,  a  rebel  opposing  the  equilibrium 
of  the  races  in  order  to  weaken  and  destroy 
the  power  of  the  mother-country :  he  would 
be  looked  upon  with  suspicion,  and  at  least 
be  deported  from  the  country.  In  the  opinion 
of  many,  to  be  an  African  trader,  to  buy  and 
hold  slares,  was  evidence  of  being  a  good 
Spaniard,  because  these  means  were  calculated 
to  strengthen  the  national  sentiment.  To 
oppose  the  contraband  in  slaves,  to  refuse  to 
purchase  the  recently  Imported,  or  to  free  the 
slaves,  was  to  show  wicked  intentions.  Not 
even  public  functionaries  were  spared  trouble 
and  bidden  attacks  if  they  showed  zeal  in  the 
fulfilment  of  duty  in  the  matter  of  the  slave- 
trade." 

A  gentleman  of  great  honesty  and 
•apcrior  acquirements — Antonio  Gon- 
zales de  Mendoza — awake  to  the  perils 
of  further  introductions  of  Africans,  had 
obtained  permission  to  organize  a  so- 
ciety, whose  members  bound  themselves 
to  purchase  no  slaves  arriving  after  the 
10th  November,  1865 : 

"The  basts  of  this  project  (we  quote  from 


the  Commissioner's  same  Report)  could  not  be 
more  simple,  inofibnsive,  and  innocent,  as  may 
be  seen  in  the  copy  annexed,  and  tiierefore 
the  worthy  General  did  not  hesitate  to  approve 
it  pro  tem.,  but  the  slave-dealers,  on  finding  out 
that  all  classes,  especially  the  planters,  sympa- 
thized with  the  object  of  the  association  and 
were  hastening  to  subscribe  the  engagement 
not  to  purchase  recently  imported  negroes,  nor 
aid  directly  or  indirectly  the  African  traffic, 
felt  that  they  were  in  great  danger,  and  initiated 
a  species  of  crusade  against  it.  They  said  that 
it  was  revolutionary  in  its  character,  that  it 
covered  hidden  views,  that  it  attacked  national 
unity  under  pretext  of  opposing  the  slave-trade, 
and  by  these  means  succeeded  in  having  the 
association  disproved  and  the  sanction  of 
the  Governor-General  invalidated ;  thereby 
strengthening  the  belief  in  some  that  it  is 
really  anti-national  to  oppose  the  slave  trade 
and  in  others  that  it  is  useless  and  even  dan- 
gerous to  battle  against  it,  or  to  urge  the  appli- 
cation of  laws  sanctioned  for  its  suppression. 

"Cuba  is  no  longer  bent  on  sustaining 
negro-slavery,  though  it  may  so  seem  ;  she  was 
so  for  reasons  we  all  know,  and  she  laments 
it ;  she  has  been  drawn  in  spite  of  herself  to  bo 
an  unwilling  accomplice  in  the  unjustifiable 
contraband.  The  majority  of  her  people  arc 
now  aware  that  negroes  are  not  the  only  vic- 
tims sacrificed  to  the  avarice  of  the  slave- 
dealers  ;  they  understand  how  far  their  future, 
and  even  their  present  mode  of  being,  are  com- 
promised through  the  persistency  in  that  traf- 
fic :  they  ardently  desire  to  see  it  forever  end- 
ed :  they  are  anxious  to  prove  how  much  the 
past  weighs  on  their  minds  and  brings  shame 
to  their  checks,  and  how  sincerely  tlicy  are 
determined  not  to  full  again  into  a  fault  which 
has  been  the  source  of  so  many  evils.  We  arc 
compelled,  from  a  sense  of  duty,  to  sustain  the 
laudable  sentiment  of  our  constituents,  and  if, 
in  order  to  do  so,  we  have  been  obliged  to 
enter  into  details  distasteful  perhaps  for  some, 
the  fault  lies  in  those  who  by  their  tenacious 
violation  of  the  laws,  and  by  the  means  to 
which  they  have  resorted,  have  forced  us  to 
the  sad  necessity  of  protesting  against  the 
injury  they  are  inflicting  on  that  island,  and 
against  accusations  which  that  island  no  longer 
deserves. 

**  A  day  may  come  (we  quote  again),  when 
this  Report  may  be  published,  and  it  may 
perhaps  incline  some  to  desist  from  specula- 
tions which  they  undertake  possibly  without 
reflection  and  not  comprehending  the  shame- 
ful hideousncss  of  the  crime  and  the  horrors 
ofitacflfects.  The  World  thalU/un  hiotc  that 
Cuba  hat  avaiUd  lurs«lf  of  tht  Jirit  opportu- 
nity which  has  bfen  granUd/or  her  to  fp€(d;  in 
ord^rto  prot4H  energttically  agaifut  the  abom- 
inabU  trade,  and  the  idea  of  a  common  respon- 
sibility existing  between  the  country  and  tbt 


OuBJL  AKD  Spain. 


17 


m  who  dishonor  it,  being  made  to  di»- 

the  fonner  wril  be  spared  some  of  the 

by  which  it  is  surroanded,  and  the 

ill  be  less  inclined  to  indulge  hopes  of 

Commissioners  proposed  the  abo- 
of  customs,  the  substitution  of 
)  tax ;  a  scheme  of  local  govern- 
nyolying  representation  and  the 
renco  of  the  colonial  vote  for  the 
tion  of  taxes ;  and  they  also  pre- 
a  plan  for  the  abolition  of  slav- 
)m  which  we  feel  compelled  to 
icse  extracts : 

think  with  Mr.  Poey,  that  a  cause 
a  the  precedents  of  slavery,  is  irretriev- 
t  at  the  tribunal  of  human  conscience, 
ythat  a  social  system  needing  the  sup- 
aws  offensive  to  good  morals,  which,  in 
ss  of  precautions  against  the  slave,  at- 
e  security  of  the  free,  though  belonging 
)minant  race  which  is  also  suspected ; — 
a  in  which  we  find  a  man  coarse  and 
yielding  discretional  power  over  two 
I  or  more  individuals,  whom  he  is  at 
to  chastise  or  hold  in  fetters— which 
as  a  human  being  to  a  brutal  existence, 
ws  him  to  be  sold  as  sheep ;  an  insti- 
rhich  corrupts  the  master  and  degrades 
c,  which  tarnishes  the  modesty  of  the 
td  stimulates  the  sensuality  of  the  youth 

of  whose  existence  every  honest  soul 
K)  ashamed  to  be  an  accomplice."  .  . 
I  carries  providentially  in  himself  the 
y  of  labor  and  the  capacity  to  produce, 
cr  to  use  the  elements  which  nature 
rithin  his  reach,  the  calling  to  exercise 
rer,  and  consequently  the  right  to  enjoy 

of  his  labor. 

abolition  of  slavery  no  longer  depends 
Government,  or  people,  of  countries 
'ct  retain  the  few  remains  of  the  fatal 
an.  It  is  a  fact  irrevocably  consumma- 
10  general  sentiment  of  the  world ;  it  is 
.'al  result  of  a  series  of  acts  and  events 
g  more  magnificent,  more  exacting, 
e  irresistible." 

.nnals  of  any  civilized  state  have 
imished  such  instances  of  injus- 
)  these  records  disclose  in  the 
snt  of  the  Cubans  by  the  slave- 
hy.  The  solemn  appeal  of  the 
^sioners  in  1867,  only  two  years 
lemandiug    for    themselves    the 

sd  by.  J.  31.  Angnlo— Aco^tn— Castcllanoa 
te — Job6  Morales  Lcmois — Count  Fozos— 
Antonio  Bodrigncc— Toma«  Terry— J.  A. 
ia— Qui&oncs  —  Bomal  —  Camejo— It.  Bel- 


rights  of  freemen,  and  rejecting  slavery 
and  the  slave-trade,  is  a  solemn  specta- 
cle, having  no  precedent  in  the  history 
of  any  slave  country ;  and  it  is  in  this 
aspect  we  present  the  case  of  Cuba  to 
the  people  of  the  United  States.* 

What  excuse  did  the  rulers  of  Spain 
ofifer  for  disregarding  the  requests  of 
the  colonists?  None.  Still,  thirty 
years  of  patient  endurance  were  insuffi- 
cient to  exhaust  forbearance.  The  Cu- 
bans continued  to  manifest  a  submis- 
sive spirit.  The  disturbed  state  of  the 
nation,  and  the  changes  among  the  offi- 
cials in  power,  which  accompanied  the 
last  days  of  the  reign  of  the  Queen, 
were  accepted  as  causes  sufficient  for* 
slighting  their  demands.  And  when 
the  nation  seemed  to  awake  from  a  pro- 
longed trance  of  corruption  and  tyran- 
ny, and  the  cry  of  "  Spain  with  honor/  " 
was  launched  as  the  watchword  to  the 
expectant  citizens  of  the  whole  coun- 
try, and  Serrano  and  Duke,  and  their 
Liberal  associates,  were  installed  in  the 
government  palace  of  Madrid,  could 
any  one  imagine  that  the  rights  of 
Cuba  would  still  be  withheld  ?  Every 
military  commander  was  at  once  rt>- 
moved,  excepting  the  one  whose  cor- 
ruption was  the  most  glaring,  whose 
administration  was  the  most  venal, 
whose  profligacy  was  the  most  scandal- 
ous and  repugnant.  That  man  was 
Lersundi,  who  respected  no  principles, 
who  was  bitterly  opposed  to  the  fran- 
chises, having  come  as  Governor-Gene- 
ral to  Cuba  to  amans  a  fortune,  which 
could  only  be  acquired  through  the 
slave-dealers*  clique. 

While  raising  altars  to  liberty  in 
Spain,  the  people  there  were  neverthe- 
less imbued  with  the  spirit  of  that 
clique,  and  cruelly  disappointed  the 
expectations  of  the  Cubans.  Notwith- 
standing the  rising  of  a  resolute  small 
band  of  patriots  at  the  village  of  Yara, 
on  the  10th  of  October,  1SG8,  on  the 
24th  of  the  same  month  distinguished 
citizens  of  Havana,  anxious  to  avoid 


♦  Wc  commend  the  foregoing  account  to  "Wendell 
PhlUip«,  who  aA<ierts  tho  Cnbans  have  no  desire 
to  emancipate  tbo  slaves  I  Beo  Anti-Slavery  Btan- 
dard,  October  20. 


18 


Putnam's  Maoaziks. 


[JfllL, 


dvil  war,  waited  on  the  Governor-Gen- 
eral, and,  in  courteous  and  respectful 
terms,  asked  that  Cuba  should  be  as- 
similated to  the  European  provinces,  as 
in  1812  and  1820.  The  refusal  was  ac- 
companied with  remarks  of  disrespect 
to  the  assembly ;  and  Colonel  Modet,  a 
Spanish  officer  in  the  service,  was  in- 
stantly shipped  to  Spain  for  daring  to 
sustain  the  wishes  of  the  Havanese. 
Stilly  the  latter  did  not  relinquish  a  lin- 
gering loyal  hope.  They  remembered 
the  acknowledgment  of  their  grievances 
by  the  Duke  de  la  Torre  (Serrano),  then 
at  the  head  of  the  Provisional  Gov- 
ermnent;  they  trusted  the  man,  and 
many,  whose  hearts  have  become  filled 
with  resentment  since,  wrote  to  him, 
describing  that  last  affront ;  while  they 
b^ged  for  one  drop  from  the  fountain 
of  liberty,  to  in  some  degree  appease 
the  excited  islanders.  The  telegraph 
brought  the  public  answer — it  was  the 
sanction  of  the  exclusion  enforced  on 
the  citizens  of  Havana  by  Lersuudi, 
the  old  soldier  of  despotism.  At  the 
Cortes,  which  soon  after  met,  there 
were  some  European  Spaniards  who 
generously  demanded  justice  and  free- 
dom for  the  West  Indian  Colonics ;  they 
were  chiefly  from  the  republican  ranks. 
The  eloquent  Emilio  Castclar,  whose 
voice  has  stirred  many  districts  of 
Spain  while  resounding  praises  to  the 
American  nation,  advocated  the  cause ; 
and^  pointing  to  the  British  colonial 
policy,  claimed  that  the  institutions  for 
Cuba  should  be  so  ample  and  free,  that 
the  union  with  the  mother-country 
should  depend  on  the  will  of  the  Cu- 
bans. In  answering  these  suggestions, 
this  very  summer,  the  Duke  Kcgcnt  re- 
minded the  orator  that^  in  Cuha^  slavery 
exiiUd;  apparently  forgetting  that  he 
had  himself  advocated  emancipation, 
and  that  to  grant  it  would  be  to  con- 
form to  the  popular  will  on  the  island. 
His  policy  became  that  of  the  slave- 
clique — viz.,  to  compel  blind  obedience, 
and  sustain  the  obnoxious  institution. 

When  the  outcry  against  Spanish  rule 
became  literally  wild,  and  Ccspedes  and 
Harmol  had  shown  that  there  were  finn- 
ness  and  energy  in  the  revolution,  Dulce 


was  sent  to  Havana  to  appease  the 
storm,  not  by  the  granting  of  rights, 
but  by  his  personal  popularity.  He 
called  around  him  the  reluctant  reform- 
ists of  old,  issued  an  amnesty  to  those 
in  arms,  talked  of  reforms  extensively 
but  guardedly,  allowed  liberty  of  the 
press,  and  permitted  citizens  to  assem- 
ble and  discuss  all  subjects. 

But  he  studiously  withheld  the  elec- 
tive franchise,  allowing  the  bureaucratic 
structure  still  to  represent  the  various 
interests  at  stake.  It  was  simply  his 
will,  or  exclusive  authority,  which  ruled. 
For  nearly  two  weeks  he  permitted  the 
people  freely  to  express  their  opinions, 
for  the  purpose,  it  would  almost  seem, 
of  ascertaining  the  victims  that  were  to 
fall  at  the  appointed  time. 

Dulce  soon  saw  that  the  slave-oligar- 
chy— never  well  pleased  with  him — had 
organized  volunteer  corps,  exclusively 
composed  of  peninsulars,  to  oppose  all 
political  concessions. 

His  predecessor,  Lersundi,  relied  on 
this  armed  cohort  of  factious  spirits  for 
all  emergencies ;  to  uphold  the  clique, 
to  frown  upon  free  institutions,  and  to 
even  raise  in  America  the  throne  of  the 
wandering  Queen.'*'  He  boasted,  as  he 
left  the  Cuban  shores,  that  his  successor 
would  find  it  a  hard  task  to  control  the 
ferment  he  bequeathed  him  in  the  vol- 
unteers ;  and  later  events,  ending  in  the 
ejection  of  Dulce  himself  from  the  isl- 
and, proves  the  correctness  of  the  threat. 
One  word  as  to  these  volunteers.  From 
the  name,  one  might  reasonably  suppose 
them  charged  with  the  defence  of  all 
peaceful  citizens.  They  are  a  body  or- 
ganized by  Lersundi,  in  the  country 
districts  as  well  as  in  the  cities,  and 
consist  of  merchants,  shopkeepers,  and 
their  clerks,  in  the  seaports  and  in  the 
interior — wherever,  in  fact,  a  shop  ex- 
ists. They  constitute  the  Spanish  Eu- 
ropean element  (67,562  in  numbers,  ac- 
cording to  the  last  census),  who,  as  a 
body,  youthful  and  strong,  had  appa- 
rently thrived  in  the  drygoods,  hard- 
ware, and  grocery  business^  while,  in 


*  Ue  roceirod  a  telegram  tram  laalxd,  dated  at 
Pan,  appealing  to  his  loyalty  when  it  was  too  lata 


I 


Cuba  akd  Spaik. 


19 


fy  the  importation  of  slaves  was 
lief  source  of  their  profits.  Eyen 
I  education  of  the  masses  had  at- 
l  a  decent  development  in  8pain, 
emoralizing  effect  of  the  business 
upheld  would  have  made  them 

as  they  were  really  ignorant, 
the  time  when  the  lucrative  trade 
ed,  many  had  become  bankrupt ; 
hey  could  no  longer,  through  the 
ary  channels  of  trade,  satisfy  the 
mate  wants  and  habits  created 
iasily  provided  for  by  the  favorite 
lation.  In  a  Creole,  the  volunteer 
ae  possessing  superior  intelligence, 
1  in  power,  rising  in  proportion  as 
1  ideas  progressed— an  opponent 
3  system  which  had  enriched  the 
peninsulars  of  his  party.    Thwart- 

his  personal  expectations,  it  was 
b1  for  him  to  look  upon  the  native 
1  as  the  enemy  of  his  country.  It 
his  way  the  strength,  joint  action, 
erocity  of  the  volunteers  can  be 
Ined.  Our  readers  remember  how 
iished  from  an  ambuscade,  to  .fire 
3  defenceless  people  at  the  Villar- 

theatre,  and  paraded  the  streets 
lole  days,  massacring  the  innocent 
itants,  on  the  ground  that  they 

seditious  cries;  how  they  shot 
people  at  the  Louvre,  in  the  capa- 
f  police-agents,  aud  crowded  into 
lis  to  insult  the  powerless  victims ; 
they  sacked  the  Aldama  palace 
osing  governors,  who  resisted 
merciless  purposes — insisting  on 
iiate  executions.  And  when,  as 
;  of  clemency,  to  save  the  lives  of 
eds  unjustly  imprisoned,  Dulce 
idcd  in  shipping  the  latter  to  an 
citable  island  on  the  African  coast, 
olunteers  murdered  numbers  on 
[avana  wharf,  who,  they  said,  had 
ested  sympa'thy  for  their  exiled 
s. 

s  was  on  Easter  Sunday,  1869. 
jly  had  they  finished  their  coward- 
issinations,  when  they  forced  Gene- 
ulce  to  leave  his  palace,  to  sane- 
lie  immediate  execution  of  a  poor 
^hom  a  policeman  had  thought  it 
ity  to  protect.  The  Havanese  wit- 
l  with  terror  these  acts  of  atrocity, 


which  was  intensified  by  the  powerless 
condition  of  the  Govemor-Oeneral.  All 
have  heard  the  account  of  the  two  hun- 
dred and  sixty  gentlemen,  rudely  thrust 
on  board  a  Spanish  man-of-war,  and 
subjected  to  every  species  of  abuse  and 
suffering  during  a  long  voyage  to  Af- 
rica, at  the  hands  of  the  "  volunteers." 

Next  came  the  executions  of  Leon 
and  Medina,  who  had  been  legally  con- 
demned, and  who  uttered  infianmiatory 
patriotic  words  on  the  scaffold.  Borne 
one  in  the  crowd,  it  is  said,  made  a 
sympathetic  response.  There  were  thou* 
sands  of  armed  soldiers  and  volunteen 
at  the  time  in  the  square,  and  through 
the  city,  yet  they  fired  instantly  on  the 
populace,  and  six  victims,  including  a 
woman,  were  killed.  Dulce  himself 
cannot  be  acquitted  of  blame.  He 
praised  them  for  their  loyalty,  and 
gave  them  encouragement.  ^^  Ton  must 
seize,**  he  said  to  the  volunteers,  in  a 
proclamation,  *^  whosoever  shall  spread 
alarming  reports,*'  etc 

Thus  the  spirit  of  persecution  and  the 
thirst  for  blood  was  inspired  through-  ^ 
out  the  Spanish  ranks ;  and  the  killing 
of  suspected  citizens,  not  by  judicitd 
decree,  nor  even  by  order  of  a  com- 
mander, but  by  the  infuriated  armed 
rabble,  became  the  rule.  It  was  the 
same  spirit  which  broke  all  bounds, 
and  turned  against  Dulce,  when  he  at 
last  attempted  to  control  it  Then  it 
was  the  volunteers  ejected  him — ^the 
represei^tative  of  Spain  I  It  is  difficult 
to  keep  pace  with  these  outrages.  The 
silent  murder  of  prisoners  at  Santiago 
and  (by  wholesale)  in  the  camps ;  the 
treacherous  death  inflicted  on  Augusto 
Arango  by  the  Governor  of  Principe 
not  heeding  a  safe-conduct,  on  the  faith 
of  which  he  had  trusted ;  the  disjijrace- 
ful  proclamation  of  Yalmaseda;'^  the 
burning  of  prisoners  at  Las  Tunas. 
We  pause  before  the  heart-rending 
drama  of  Jiguani.  Eight  universally 
beloved  and  wealthy  citizens  of  San- 


*  Jt  punished  with  death  whoerer  was  Dot  at  hia 
residence,  and  did  not  acconnt  for  it  satisfiictorllj ; 
it  ordered  that  women  found  away  from  their 
homes,  should  be  conducted  forcibly  to  Bay^mo; 
and  that  houses  not  bearing  a  white  (lag  should 
bo  destroyed. 


so 


POTHAM^B  MAOAZI5B. 


[Jan. 


tiago,  with  their  Berraots  and  friends 
who  came  to  soothe  them  in  their  grief 
(twenty- one  in  number),  were  shot,  on 
the  8<1  of  last  August,  by  the  escort  of 
Colonel  Palaclos. 

When  they  were  made  acquainted 
with  Valmascda's  order  for  tbcm  to  go 
a  long  land-journey,  they  petitioned, 
through  the  foreign  consuls,  to  be  judg- 
ed at  their  domicile,  requesting,  if  go 
they  must,  to  do  so  under  an  escort 
which  they  could  trust,  declaring  their 
fears  of  what  might  happen  on  the 
road.  They  reached  Bayamo  safely, 
and  then  they  were  made  to  undertake 
another  unexpected  journey  under  the 
terrible  Palacios,  who,  at  a  given  mo- 
ment, fell  on  the  defenceless  prisoners, 
leaving  not  one  alive.  Of  the  victims, 
not  one  had  been  judged.  Many  had 
not  been  accused,  and  some  had  actu- 
ally been  released  as  innocent.  Palacios 
was  allowed,  by  General  de  Rhodas,  to 
reach  Spain  unmolested.  While  allud- 
ing to  these  records  of  official  crime,  we 
have  evidence  of  similar  deeds  commit- 
ted on  the  19th  and  22d  of  October,  at 
Roque  and  Palmillas,  within  six  and 
twelve  hours'  ride  from  Havana.  Twen- 
ty citizens  were  tied,  carried  off,  and 
slaughtered — nine  at  Aizpwinas,  eleven 
at  Palmillas.  The  volunteers,  the 
chapelgorri,  and  the  Governor  of  Colon, 
are  implicated ;  but  they  are  %afe^  being 
agents  of  a  recognized  Power. 

The  question  naturaUy  arises,  how  far 
these  sanguinary  persecutions  bave  suc- 
ceeded in  restoring  peace  to  the  people 
and  security  to  the  Spanish  hold  on 
Cuba?  Nearly  fifty  thousand  regular 
troops,  and  as  many  volunteers,*  perfect- 
ly armed  and  equipped,  have  up  to  this 
time  been  employed  to  crush  the  rebel- 
lion, aided,  besides,  by  a  powerful  navy 
and  abundant  cash  resources  drawn  on 
the  credit  of  the  island.  What  is  the 
result  ?    Let  us  see. 

The  Western  Department,  from  Cape 
San  Antonio  to  the  cast  of  Cardenas, 
bears  the  oppressive  weight  of  stupen- 
dous military  array,  comprising  the  for- 
tifications of  Ilavana;   and  no  move- 

■ 

'Thej  liaro  by  (bolr  own  ftocoux^  W)bt  a6,00Q 


ment  is  heard  there  save  murders,  like 
those  of  Guansgay  and  the  Oliveras. 

In  the  section  of  the  Cinco  VDlas,  or 
the  space  lying  between  Remedios  and 
Sagua  on  the  north,  and  Cienfiicgos  and 
Jaguey-Grande  on  the  south,  including 
Santa-Clara  and  the  moimtains  of  Mani- 
caragua,  there  are  about  fourteen  thou- 
sand patriots,  under  General  Federico 
Cabada,  who,  so  far  from  being  dis- 
persed, have  commenced  the  threatened 
war  of  fire  on  the  canefields.  It  is  said 
that  at  Cienfuegos  they  have  received 
an  important  accession  from  the  Spanish 
ranks,  of  republicans  who  refuse  to 
attack  their  political  brethren. 

In  the  Central  Department,  Ignacio 
Agramonte  commands  10,000  Camague- 
yanos,  intercepting  the  road  between 
Nuevitas  on  the  northern  coast  and 
Puerto-Principe,  holding  in  check  four- 
teen thousand  well-armed  regular  troops, 
with  abundance  of  artillery.  Puerto- 
Principe  is  deprived  of  trade  and  provi- 
sions, cruelly  oppressed  and  reduced  to 
veiy  small  numbers. 

Generals  Jordan  and  Marmol,  in  the 
east,  from  Santiago  to  Bayamo,  have 
under  their  command  about  18,000  men. 
The  General  Commander-in-Chief^  Que- 
sada,  counts  besides  on  several  thou- 
sands, of  all  shades  of  color,  who  are 
waiting  for  arms ;  and  also  on  the  en- 
tire population,  whose  soul  is  with  the 
Liberals.  With  hands  and  feet  tied  by 
want  of  arms  and  ammunition,  and  in 
the  a])aence  of  municipal  concert  and 
authority,  with  no  proper  organization 
in  the  outset,  the  resistance  of  the  Cu- 
ban army  is  a  matter  of  surprise,  and 
can  only  be  accounted  for  by  the  over- 
whelming power  of  despair. 

The  Cubans  fight  bravely.  No  one 
can  read  the  Spanish  version  of  the  bat- 
tle of  Baire,  which  lasted  one  hour  and 
three  quarters— the  fight  being  carried 
on,  not  with  firearms,  but  with  cold 
steel — ^without  being  satisfied  of  their 
valor,  and  the  spirit  which  inspires 
them.  The  struggle,  however,  is  un- 
equal. The  Spaniards  hold  possession 
of  the  totnis  and  forts ;  they  are  not 
entangled  by  family  ties,  maintaining, 
as  they  do,  disreputable  intimacies  with 


•1 


Cuba  and  6pain. 


91 


ed  mistresses  whom  they  despise. 
Cubans  lack  discipline  and  arms, 
even  clothing,  while  they  tremble 
le  fate  of  their  wives,  mothers,  and 
jen.  The  cause  of  Spain  is  sus- 
d  by  a  reign  of  terror  (unchecked 
le  least  restraint),  such  as  has  never 
justified  by  civilized  governments ; 
i  the  Cubans,  separated  from  their 
is  by  an  inhospitable  sea,  are  hem- 
in  by  their  narrow  territory,  and 
bed  by  a  powerful  navy.  They  are 
:ed  to  seek  secretly  in  America  the 
ort  and  the  arms  which  our  coun- 
as  always  before  tendered  to  strug- 
;  republics,  and  which  we  openly 
;  to  their  enemies, 
show  the  animus  with  which  the 
tst  is  to  be  carried  on  in  the  future, 
le  part  of  Spain,  we  translate  from 
Cronistaj  the  Spanish  organ  pub- 
i  in  this  city,  of  date  November  20. 
long  of  the  proposed  burning  of 
anefields,  by  command  of  Ccspe- 
t  says : 

>thi»g  Beems  easier  than  tbe  execution 

plan,  if  tbe  Spanish  antboritica  do  not 

measures  of  terror  of  sucb  nature  that 

re  enunciation  of  them  be  sufficient  to 

wilU  fear  the  blood  of  the  bandits." 

vrill  certainly  happen  (in  case  the  bum- 
not  stopped)  that  on  a  day  least  expect- 
i  Spaniards  will  rise  in  wrath,  and  ex- 
on  the  Island  a  general  robber-deed 
ihatada!)  that  will  resound  over  the 

antil  the  end  of  the  world." 

le  Spaniards  of  the  Island  of  Cuba  hare 
to  defend  it  at  any  hazard,  eten  to  bury' 
in  tfu  abyss  of  the  sea  if  necessary,  that 
emies  shall  not  gain  her  ;  and  they  will 
m  this  as  loyal  men,  doing  all,  all  that 
e  necessary  to  fulfil  their  oath." 

es  it  seem  credible  that  such  lan- 
5  could  appear  in  print,  here  in 
ity  of  New  York,  in  this  year  of 
,  1869  ?  We  would  not  have  be- 
l  it,  had  we  not  the  CronUta  lying 
e  table  before  us. 

e  question  rises  directly  f^om  the 
ctr— a  question  not  to  be  blinked 
aded,  except  with  the  loss  of  na- 
l  dignity— What  is  the  duty  of  the 
d  States  ?  Wo  answer : 
st,  to  interfere  to  compel  the  con- 
1  Cuba  to  be  carried  on  according 
)  rules  of  civilized  warfare. 


Second,  to  accord  to  the  Cubans  bel- 
ligerent rights. 

Of  the  precedents  (and  precedents 
are  very  soothing  to  the  diplomatist), 
to  justify  the  first  proposition,  the  one 
which  most  naturally  occurs  to  us  is 
the  *' Elliot  Treaty,"  so  called,  where- 
in England  interfered  during  the  Car- 
list  war  in  Spain,  to  stop  the  sangdi- 
nary  character  of  the  contest.* 

Let  the  United  States  follow  a  prece- 
dent BO  noble  and  humane,  and  compel 
the  contest  in  Cuba  to  be  carried  on 
according  to  the  rules  of  war. 

Next,  as  to  granting  Cuba  belligerent 
rights.  According  to  Vattel,  neutrals 
are  bound  to  consider  the  parties  in  a 
civil  war  as  independent. 

That  belligerency  is  not  a  right,  but  a 
fact  which  must  be  admitted  in  prac- 
tice, though  it  may  not  be  recognized 
in  an  official  declaration. 

Such  have  been  the  principles  sus- 

*  Thit  was  in  1835,  the  year  aAer  a  treaty  of  al- 
liance bad  been  enterod  into  between  England, 
France.  Spain,  and  Portugal,  tbe  objeet  boln;^  ika 
support  of  Maria  of  Portugal  and  Isabel  II.  of 
Spain,  the  **  Constitution  '*  baring  a  fow  days  be- 
fore been  accepted.  At  that  time  \ho  party  of 
Don  Carlos  was  making  headway  under  its  fa^ 
niouji  loader  Zumalncarregui.  The  contrat  a^ 
sunied  a  most  sitngulnary  character  on  both  sidoa, 
and  Lord  Palmcraton  requested  the  Mnrquls  MU 
raflores  to  make  known  to  Her  Majesty  the  Queen 
Regent  of  Spain,  ^  tbe  inmost  and  pernunal  desire 
of  His  Britannic  Mi^^vty  to  bave  measures  adopted 
which  shall  subject  tbe  proceedings  of  the  officials 
and  commanders  of  her  Qovernmcnt  nnd  army 
to  a  system  calculated  rather  to  conciliate  than  to 
destroy  those  whom  it  Is  Her  Majesty's  interest  to 
call  to  duty." 

Subeeqnently,  on  the  27th  and  2Sth  April,  1885, 
an  agreement  proposed  by  Lord  Elliot,  Commis- 
sioner of  Uis  Britannic  Majesty,  was  adpoted  as  a 
rule  for  tbe  belligerents  nt  Quipuzcoa,  Alava, 
Vizcaya  and  Navarra.    It  was  as  follows  : 

Art.  1st.  The  Commondors-in-Chiof  of  the  ar- 
mies now  at  war  (in  the  •provinces)  agree  to  spare 
the  lives  or  the  prisoners  mudn  on  either  side  and 
to  exchange  tbcm  in  the  following  manner,  etc 

Arts.  2d.  Sd,  and  4th  refer  to  tbe  exchange  of 
prisoners. 

Art.  5:h,  fixes  a  place  for  security  for  prisoners 
not  exchangcHl. 

Art.  6tb.  During  this  contoi»t  no  life  nhall  bo 
taken  of  any  pori>on,  civilian  or  military,  for  his 
political  opinions,  without  his  havinif  been  Judged 
and  condemned  according  to  mUitary  rules  and 
the  ordinances  of  Spain,  this  condition  not  being 
applicable  to  prisoners  of  war  whoso  fate  is  men- 
tioned in  tbe  preceding  articlei^ 

Art  7  protects  tbe  wounded  and  sick. 
Signed:  Oeronimo  Valdsz, 

TOUAS  ZUJiALACAaaEQUl. 


d3 


PUTNAM^3  MaGAZIKS. 


[Jan., 


tained  by  England,  France,  and  other 
nations,  especially  during  the  wars  of 
the  yarious  Colonies  of  America  against 
the  parent  State. 

The  United  States  have  officially  de- 
clared that  they  would  admit  the  flag 
of  any  party  in  rebellion,  provided  it 
respected  the  law  in  this  country  ;  and 
they  have  further  declared  that,  from 
the  commencement  of  the  insurrection 
of  the  Spanish -American  provinces 
against  Spain,  they  admitted  their  flags 
without  investigating  whether  the  pa- 
triots had  just  cause  for  rising  or  a 
probability  of  success. 

The  flag  of  Cuba  should  therefore  be 
admitted  in  our  ports  on  the  same 
terms  as  that  of  Spain.* 

We  claim  to  have  proved  the  three 
statements  with  which  we  commenced 


*  Hr.  BamDer  «lle;es,  on  the  other  tide,  that 
neither  Poland  nor  Hungary  were  acknowledged 
u  beUigercnta. 

Bat  the  British  OoTommcnt  aald  in  182S,  on 
the  Oreoion  qnustlon,  that  the  nutional  intercflt 
required  that  the  right  of  belligerency  be  granted 
to  any  portion  of  a  people  riaiiig  in  arma  The 
Polca  teer4  belllgertnta,  whether  Europe  were 
jnat  or  not  in  their  behalf. 

As  to  Uungary,  in  Wheaton^a  Elemcnta  of  In- 
ternational Law,  edited  by  E.  II.  Dana,  Jr.,  81h 
edition,  we  read  on  page  40  : 

•*  Tlie  state  of  things  In  Uungary,  in  1649,  would 
doubtlesa  hare  justified  any  nntlon  in  recognizing 
the  lielligereitey  of  Hungary,  if  her  own  relations 
with  tho  partiea  to  the  contest  had  bren  snch  as  to 
require  such  a  declaration  as  a  guide  to  her  own 
officials  and  private  oitlzons  and  as  a  notioo  to  both 
parties.'* 

Mr.  Sumner  falls  into  the  error  of  dalming  that 
there  should  bo  sufficient  strength  to  conquer, 
which  we  have  shown  to  l>e  unsound.  What  of 
our  own  struggle  in  1776.  brought  to  a  happy  issue 
by  the  aid  rendered  by  France,  viewed  in  the  light 
of  Mr.  Bumnor's  Oomxnentary  on  National  Law  f 


thia  article.  We  believe  we  have  re- 
corded enough  to  satisfy  every  one  who 
reads  it,  of  the  character  of  the  Cuban 
struggle. 

As  to  our  (Government's  interfering  to 
humanize  the  contest,  precedent  justi- 
fies it  and  humanity  demands  it.  Fur- 
ther, the  law  of  nations,  the  custom  of 
civilized  States,  and  our  own  course 
hitherto,  demand  that  we  accord  to  the 
Cubans  the  rights  of  belligerents. 

There  is  not  the  least  doubt  of  the 
ultimate  result  of  the  struggle.  How 
long  it  may  be  protracted  depends  on 
intercurrent  events.  The  responsibility 
rests  on  our  own  Government.  It 
should  adopt  a  just,  humane,  and  dig- 
nified position,  uninfluenced  by  and 
without  reference  to  Oastilian  arro- 
gance and  pride,  or  to  the  fears  of/ 
timid  and  shallow-minded  politicians. 

The  day  of  personal  government  is 
past.  The  power  of  emperor,  king, 
sultan,  pacha,  have  all  to  yield  to  the 
force  of  opinion  over  tho  whole  world. 
The  tide  of  human  progress  bears 
down  the  ramparts  of  tyranny,  inspires 
everywhere  a  Iceener  sense  of  men's 
rights,  which  is  to  result  in  exact  and 
equal  justice  to  all.  Spain  alone,  of  all 
constituted  Governments,  defies  tho 
civilization  of  the  age.  The  character 
of  her » present  revolution  has  become 
narrowed  to  a  strife  for  control  between 
ambitious  and  unscrupulous  chiefs. 
The  republican  party  there  is  crushed, 
while  she  retains  her  grasp  on  Cuba  by 
a  scries  of  cnormitiea  which  outrage 
the  moral  sense  of  all  Christendom. 


AnxBiaiH  Hoxna. 


AMERICAN    HOTELS. 
[bt  a  cosmopolitan.] 

**  BhaH  I  not  take  mine  mm  in  min*  inn  t  "Shakttpmrt, 


he  memorable  year  of  European 
itions,  1848,  a  yomig  Austrian 

took  it  into  his  head  to  run 
with  the  prima  donna  of  the 
I  Stadt  Theatre,  and  to  spend  his 
noon  in  America.  Haying  taken 
at  the  Astor  House,  where  his 
magnificent  toilette,  her  pretty 
and  the  gigantic  chasseur  in  tall 
g  costume  had  created  no  small 
on,  he  startled  the  waiter  in  at- 
ite  at  his  rooms  by  ringing  the 
iriously,  and  ordering  him  per- 
rily  "to  send  the  landlady  up." 
sconcerted  waiter  yenttired  to  re- 
bate, and  to  inquire  what  the 
Qce  was.  "Tell  the  landlady," 
\xG  answer,  "to  come  up  here, 
leeb)  are  damp  I    This  will  neyer 

Whether  the  "landlady"  ever 
:d  the  message  or  not,  is  not 
I ;  but  in  the  little  incident  there 

flood  of  light  thrown  on  the 
of  American  hotels, 
erienced  trayellers  state  with 
force,  that  one  of  the  happiest 
obtained  from  an  extensiye 
edge  of  the  world,  is  the  habit 
Bcting  all  comparisons,  and  the 
of  discoyering  what  is  good  and 
Qt  in  eyery  country  and  eyery 
al  habit  They  will  neyer  ask 
er  the  Rhine  is  the  finer  riyer  or 
adson,  or  think  of  balancing  the 
es  of  Lake  George  against  those 
ce  Como ;  bat  rather  try  to  proye 
.kill  in  pointing  out  to  you  charms 
andscape  where  before  you  saw 
raction,  and  merits  in  local  pecu- 
s  whidi  had  escaped  your  atten- 
Bo  it  is  with  hotels.  American 
are  neither  better  nor  worse  than 
of  Europe.     They   haye   great 

of  their  own,  and  not  a  few 
1,  of  both  of  which  it  may  not 


be  amiss  to  say  a  few  words,  not  to 
much  for  their  own  sake,  as  because 
they  are  eminently  characteristic  of  the 
American  people  and  their  national 
habits. 

A  good  hotel  is  a  word  suggestiye  of 
ycry  different  meanings  in  different 
parts  of  the  world.  The  Euglishmaa, 
reproducing  in  himself  the  insular  type 
of  his  country,  loycs  to  be  by  himself, 
looks  upon  his  house  as  his  castle,  and 
wants  "  his  ease  in  his  inn«"  Hence  the 
domestic  character  of  the  English  hotel, 
with  its  perfect  stillness,  its  thickly- 
carpeted  staircases  and  priyate  apart- 
ments. The  British  require  of  a  good 
hotel  the  closest  imitation  of  a  peace- 
ful home.  They  ask  for  their  sitting- 
room,  haye  their  meals  seryed  up  pri- 
yately,  and  neyer  see  nor  hear  the  other 
^^uesta.  They  expect  to  pay  high,  but 
they  exact  also  a  full  equiyalcut  for 
their  money,  not  in  luxury  and  splendor 
of  outfitting,  but  in  real,  substantial 
comfort.  The  yery  costume  of  the  ser- 
yants  is,  hence,  prescribed :  the  gloomy 
undertaker's  dress  for  the  silent,  well- 
trained  waiter,  and  the  coquettish  cap 
with  the  smart  ribbons  for  the  pretty 
chambermaid.  So  far  is  this  desire  to 
see  only  what  is  familiar  and  homelike 
carried  by  certain  classes  in  England, 
that  country  squires  and  ministers  of 
the  church,  legal  men  and  country 
practitioners,  the  magnates  of  one  shire 
and  those  of  another,  haye  each  their 
fayorite  hotel  in  towh,  to  which  they 
and  their  fathers  haye  gone  faithfully 
for  generations.  Trayellers  will  easily 
recall  such  old  establishments  in  Han- 
oyer  Square,  Piccadilly,  or  Comhill, 
just  as  others  are  equally  fayorite  re- 
sorts of  the  old  Catholic  families  or 
foreign  diplomats.  "  Commercial "  men 
and  foreigners  haye,  of  course,  hotels 


24 


Pdtvam^b  Maqazike. 


[Jan. 


of  their  own,  after  special  patterns; 
but  the  good  hotel  of  the  Englishman 
is  uniformly  quiet,  de^,  and  eminently 
comfortable. 

The  good  hotel  of  the  German,  on 
the  contrary — and  they  are  very  good — 
bestows  its  main  efforts  upon  the  table, 
which  must  offer  a  judicious  combina- 
tion of  respectable  quantities  with  su- 
perior quidity,  in  order  to  satisfy  the 
customer.  The  German  cats  no  break- 
fast, in  the  English  sense  of  the  word. 
He  is  satisfied  with  a  cup  of  coffee  and 
a  roll ;  but  he  makes  two  most  substan- 
tial meals  of  his  dinner  and  his  supper, 
and  here  lies  the  excellency  of  German 
hotels.  The  cuisine  of  Vienna,  where, 
by-the-by,  a  table  d*h6te  was,  until 
within  a  few  years,  unknown,  is  ac- 
knowledged by  gourmets  to  be  the  best 
in  the  world,  combining  the  merits  of 
(German  and  French  cooking  in  the 
happiest  manner.  The  rooms  are  a  mi- 
nor consideration  in  German  hotels, 
mainly  because  the  prudent  economy 
which  prevails,  in  all  classes,  from  the 
humblest  to  the  very  highest,  leads 
guests  to  choose  their  apartments  ac- 
cording to  their  purse.  The  German 
well-to-do  merchant  does  not  think  of 
going  into  a  first-floor  sitting-room, 
which  is  kept  for  fools,  princes,  and 
Americans;  but  he  would  instantly 
leave  the  house  where  a  room  should 
be  offered  to  him  in  the  sixth  or  seventh 
story,  with  furniture  which  his  coach- 
man might  think  barely  admissible. 
The  German  landlord  manages  every 
thing  himself,  leaving  to  his  oberkellner 
merely  the  distribution  of  rooms  and 
superintendence  of  waiters.  Ho  is  ever 
at  hand  to  hear  complaints,  to  furnish 
information,  and  to  aid  the  traveller 
with  his  advice  and  experience.  He 
does  not  take  a  hotel  on  speculation,  or 
because  he  has  failed  elsewhere :  with 
him  the  business  is  a  profession,  for 
which  he  is  trained,  and  in  which  he  is 
aa  anxious  to  win  an  honored  name  as 
well  as  to  earn  a  fortune.  Generally 
the  son  of  a  landlord,  he  is  sent  as  a 
young  man  to  some  renowned  hotel  in 
Frankfort  or  Vienna,  where  he  serves 
his  apprenticeship  as  a  common  waiter, 


napkin  on  arm,  and  piles  of  plates  in 
Ids  hands.  He  thus  becomes  familiar 
with  all  the  minor  details  of  the  kitch- 
en, the  cellar,  and  the  dining-room ; 
with  all  the  habits  and  cunning  tricks 
of  waiters,  and  the  different  ways  of 
procuring  supplies  prevalent  in  different 
countries.  He  is  next  promoted  to  the 
responsible  position  of  head-waiter,  in 
order  to  acquaint  himself  with  the 
room-letting,  and  the  nature  of  gene- 
ral supervision,  while  he  is  now  also 
brought  in  contact  with  the  guests  of 
the  house,  and  acquires  that  marvellous 
tact  by  which  the  experienced  landlord 
detects  the  sharper  instantly,  and  reads, 
by  a  glance  at  the  cut  of  the  traveler's 
coat,  the  shape  of  his  trunk,  and  the 
manner  of  entering  the  house,  not  only 
to  what  class  of  society  he  belongs,  but 
his  nationality  also,  and  his  peculiar 
tastes.  Then  only,  when  he  is  fully  pre- 
pared to  keep  up  the  fair  renown  of 
some  great  hotel,  which  has  been  well 
spoken  of  for  a  century  throughout  the 
broad  German  land,  ho  returns  home, 
and  assumes  either  the  house  over  which 
his  ancestors  have  ruled  for  many  gene- 
rations, or  some  new  enterprise,  in  which 
he  may  show  that  his  training  has  not 
been  in  vain.  It  is  remarkable  that 
many  a  ^*  good  hotel "  in  Germany  and 
Belgium  is  kept  by  women,  whose  judi- 
cious management  results  in  the  great 
comfort  of  the  guests  and  the  clear 
profit  of  the  owner.  Few  travellers 
who  have  ever  enjoyed  the  admirable 
table  of  the  Hotel  de  Bellevue,  in  Brus- 
sels, or  sat  in  its  hanging  gardens  on 
the  flat  roo&  overlooking  the  park,  will 
forget  the  excellent  lady  who  presides 
over  the  well-kept  establishment,  and 
points  with  legitimate  pride  at  the  tab- 
let in  her  dining-room,  on  which  the 
remote  year  of  the  last  century  is  re- 
corded, which  witnessed  the  first  open- 
ing of  her  house. 

The  Belgian  hotels,  though  more 
German  than  French,  still  resemble  the 
"  good  hotel "  in  France  in  many  points. 
There  the  late  breakfast,  equal  in  all 
points,  but  the  missing  soup,  to  a  full 
dinner,  and  the  late  dinner  itself,  mak- 
ing any  additional  meal  superfiuous,  if 


American  IIoTELfl. 


25 


)OSsible,  fonn  the  characteristic 
Here,  also,  generation  after 
ion  often  follow  each  other  in 
le  house,  and  here  also  women 
tly  manage,  if  not  the  whole 
hment,  at  least  the  financial 
3ut  the  caf6  proves  in  France  a 
rival  to  the  hotel.  The  rooms 
irefore,  apt  to  be  very  unsatis- 

if  in  spite  of  the  never-failing 
ace  of  mirrors  and  cheap  bron- 
l  the  annoying  wax  candles,  to 
I  over  and  over  again  by  auc- 

relays  of  guests.  The  French- 
es 80  ezclosively  at  the  caf6,  to 
the  pleasant  air  of  his  native 
d  the  firmly-rooted  habits  of  his 
men  lead  him  early  in  the  mom- 
.t  he  requires  of  his  hotel  little 
lan  a  modest  bed-room  for  the 
ind  his  two  good  meals  for  the 

*  nations  have  either  no  hotels 
•Stockholm,  a  king^s  residence, 
superb  capital  of  a  great  realm, 
iw  years  ago  not*  a  single  hotel 
ns,  which  are  the  horror  of  all 
rs,  like  those  of  Spain  and  the 
of  Russia.  In  other  lands, 
they  are  so  closely  mo<lclled 
B  pattern  of  French  hotels,  that 
d  be  wrong,  as  well  as  useless, 
3are  them  to  American  houses 
>ettcr  class. 

American  hotel  derives  its  pecu- 
from  two  characteristic  features 
people,  for  whom  they  are  built 
pt.  The  American  is  emphati- 
grcgarious  animal :  he  loves  a 
and  prefers  living  in  a  crowd. 
}rn  in  a  crowd;  for  physicians 
that  there  are  more  births  of 
I  the  Union  than  in  other  lands, 
rms  in  crowds  to  public  schools, 
rs  in  commons  at  higher  colleges, 
les  in  crowds  upon  railways  and 
)ats,  which  are  always  filled  to 
and  is  not  satisfied  with  aught 
)nster  meetings.  He  dies  in 
;  for  nowhere  do  disasters  kill 
lumbers  at  once,  whether  it  bo 
osion  on  the  railroad-track  or 
miner's  shaft.  And  even  after 
Le  loves  to  lie  amid  a  crowd  in 
VOL.  V. — 3 


those  enchanting  cemeteries  which  his 
quaint  hospitality  leads  him  to  show  in 
every  town  to  the  visitor  from  foreign 
lands,  as  the  cheeriest  spot  and  fairest 
resort  in  his  magnificent  country.  The 
same  tendency  makes  him  fond  of  liv- 
ing in  a  crowd  at  a  hotel.  No  house  is 
a  **  good  hotel "  to  him,  that  docs  not 
count  its  gtiests  by  the  thousand,  or 
at  least  by  hundreds,  and  opens  to  him 
a  suite  of  gorgeously  furnished  apart- 
ments, where  he  can  meet  large  num- 
bers of  friends,  and  his  wife  and  daugh- 
ter can  exhibit  their  expensive  ward- 
robe before  a  critical  crowd,  which 
stands  them  instead  of  friends  and  so-' 
quaintances.  He  would  not  think  it 
possible  that  the  quiet  pcrt^  eoeh^e  of  a 
European  hotel,  with  its  grand  Suisse 
in  the  hall,  and  no  other  earthly  being 
near,  could  lead  to  a  "  first-rate  "  house. 
To  be  cooped  up  in  his  sitting-room  all 
day  long  would  be  intolerable  to  him, 
and  he  would  scorn  the  idea  of  dining 
with  his  family  in  a  pleasant,  cheery 
room,  all  by  themselves  I  He  demands 
that  he  shall  be  met  with,  as  he  enters 
the  hotel,  by  an  immense  host  of  smok- 
ing and  spitting  men,  which  surges  up 
and  down  the  vast  hall,  overflows  upon 
the  street  without  and  up  the  broad 
staircase  within,  and  through  which 
he  has  to  make  his  way  by  sheer  force, 
in  order  to  reach  the  counter  behind 
which  stands  the  impassive  master  of 
his  life  for  the  time  during  which  he 
will  stay  at  the  house.  Woe  is  him  if 
he  has  not  followed  the  now  universal 
custom  of  the  Old  World,  to  engage 
rooms  beforehand  by  telegram !  A  cold 
refusal  meets  him,  or  he  is  reluctantly 
assigned  to  a  room  which,  upon  follow- 
ing the  morose  waiter  who  leads  him 
up-stairs,  he  finds  in  the  seventh  or 
eighth  story,  and  is  expected  to  share 
with  a  number  of  other  guests.  The 
latter  he  hardly  objects  to,  for  the 
American  is  not  averse  to  sleeping  in 
crowds  also,  and  many  a  visitor  spe- 
cially demands  to  be  put  into  the  same 
room,  nay,  in  the  same  bed,  with  oth- 
ers. Did  not  a  President  of  the  United 
States  share  his  bed  with  a  renowned 
politician,  and  leave  the  record  of  their 


28 


PUTNAM^S  HaOAZIKE. 


[Jan., 


joint  consultations  daring  the  night  on 
the  record  of  history  ? 

In  this  assignment  of  rooms  occurs 
the  first  serious  objection  to  American 
hotels — ^the  rooms  have  all  one  and  the 
same  price,  whether  they  are  conven- 
iently situated  on  the  first  fioor  and 
furnished  with  splendor,  or  lie,  at  the 
end  of  a  ten  minutes*  adcent,  in  the 
garret,  and  hold  merely  a  bed,  a  wash- 
stand,  and  a  chair.  Thousands  would 
be  willing  to  pay  a  slight  addition  even 
to  the  exorbitant  rates  exacted  now,  to 
be  spared  the  fatiguing  journey  to 
and  fro«  As  many,  perhaps,  would  be 
equally  willing  to  content  themselves 
wit^  a  remote  room  and  plain  f\imi- 
ture,  if  by  so  doing  they  could  be  at  a 
good  hotel,  and  yet  live  somewhat 
more  cheaply.  Then  it  is  a  mere  matter 
of  chance  or  of  partiality  what  room 
the  unlucky  traveller  is  forced  to  oc- 
cupy. The  American  has  always  been 
famous  for  his  chivalrous  appreciation 
of  a  lady — which  means,  in  his  vocabu- 
lary, every  white,  decently  dressed  wom- 
an—but the  gentleman  is  as  yet  a  myth 
to  him.  The  days  have  happily  gone 
by,  when  it  was  not  considered  safe  to 
admit  male  travellers  to  the  ladies* 
ordinary,  and  the  privilege  of  dining 
there  had  to  be  paid  for  in  addition  to 
the  usual  charges ;  but  a  man  is  a  man, 
and  no  more,  in  the  eyes  of  the  Rhadar- 
maDthuB  in  the  office,  and,  unless  he 
can  claim  acquaintance  with  the  haugh- 
ty clerk,  and  shake  hands  across  the 
counter,  he  goes  the  way  of  the  me- 
chanic in  his  holiday  suit,  or  the  gam- 
bler with  the  huge  diamond  in  his  cra- 
vat. If  he  asks  to  be  allowed  a  room 
for  himself^  he  is  looked  at  askance, 
and  gruffly  answered  that  the  house  is 
ftill ;  and  with  the  marvellous  life  that 
surges  continually  up  and  down  the 
great  thorough£ftrcs  of  the  land,  it  is 
very  likely  that  the  private  parlors  arc 
Aill  of  cots,  and  the  passages  even 
blocked  up  by  deeping  accommoda- 
tions. This  is  especially  the  case  in 
houses  situated  on  some  of  the  main 
arteries,  as  the  Delavan  House  in  Albany, 
the  Hassasoit  BxmBO  in  Springfield,  and 
others,  where  hundreds  of  travellers  ar- 


rive nightly,  to  depart  again  by  an  early 
morning  train.  It  is  here  and  on  such 
occasions  that  the  American  displays  in 
its  full  vigor  his  national  virtue,  pa- 
tience ;  for  the  book  of  Job  is  evident- 
ly his  favorite  reading,  and  in  his  green 
and  yellow  melancholy  he  worships  Pa- 
tience on  a  monument  above  all  earthly 
deities.  He  allows  himself  to  be  push- 
ed to  and  fro  in  the  hall,  to  be  ordered 
to  the  Mansard,  as  if  a  great  favor 
had  been  bestowed  upon  him,  to  be 
bullied  by  Paddy,  who  tdls  him  he 
must  do  this  and  not  do  that,  and  when 
he  is  hungry,  to  wait  patiently  till  it 
pleases  his  majesty,  the  landlord,  to  let 
him  have  his  meals. 

For  his  insane  passion  to  be  ever  in 
a  crowd  breaks  forth  most  powerfully 
when  he  is  hungry.  He  cannot  enjoy 
the  abundance,  even  of  excellent  pro- 
visions, which  the  good  hotel  in  Amer- 
ica almost  invariably  provides  for  him, 
unless  he  hears  a  fearful  din  and  tur- 
moil around  him,  and  feels  himself, 
hero  also,  one  of  the  people.  Great  Is 
the  consternation  of  the  uninformed  for- 
eigner, who  expresses  a  modest  wish  to 
dine  at  his  favorite  hour;  greater  yet 
the  dismay  of  the  unlucky  traveller,  who 
arrives  after  a  fatiguing  journey,  during 
which  he  has  been  forced  to  fast,  wea- 
ried and  exhausted,  but  at  an  hour 
when  a  meal  has  just  been  concluded, 
and  is  peremptorily  told  that  the  doors 
will  not  open  again  for  hours  I  He 
cannot  breakfast  when  he  chooses,  nor 
dine  at  the  hour  which  would  suit  his 
engagements.  He  has  bound  himself 
over  to  a  tyrant,  who  summons  his 
slaves,  when  it  pleases  him  and  his  con- 
venience, by  a  barbarous  gong  or  a 
thundering  knock  at  the  door,  to  come 
to  table.  And  woe  is  to  him  again,  if 
in  his  innocence  he  should  hope  to  be 
allowed  to  sit,  where  he  chooses,  near 
friends,  or  facing  the  bright  scene  1  A 
stem  master  seizes  him  as  he  enters, 
and,  with  a  majestic  wave  of  the  hand, 
delivers  him  over  to  another  official, 
who  sternly  assigns  him  his  seat,  and 
vanishes  instantly,  totally  unconcerned 
about  the  traveller's  wishes,  and  deter- 
mined to  ignore  his  request  to  avoid  a 


Amsbioan  Hotels. 


27 


light  in  front  or  a  treacherous 
t  from  behind.  The  American's 
3  is  admirable.  He  enters  the 
le  takes  the  chair,  he  waits  the 
IS  his  master  ordains,  and  nine 
I  ten  he  eats  what  his  so-caUed 

behind  his  chair  decrees  shall 
dinner.  If  he  sighs,  the  waiter 
ulky,  declares  that  the  dishes  he 
'  are  out,''  and  disappears  before 
lone.  If  he  insists,  and  orders 
$  wants  like  a  gentleman  accus- 
X)  dine  well,  the  man  obeys,  but 
a  liberal  fee  to  compensate  him 
unusual  trouble, 
ly  comes  the  quart  d'heure  de 
\.  The  bill  is  not  sent  to  him. 
ordered  to  appear  at  a  certain 
;  in  a  grated  cage,  and  sum- 
to  state  his  name  and  the  num- 
liis  room.  The  amount  is  made 
a  few  seconds,  and  in  a  round 
d  he  is  expected  to  pay  what  is 
gdthout  inquiring  about  the  de- 
is  the  rates  are  fixed  at  a  cer« 
n  per  day,  and  besides  wines — 
are  very  little  in  demand — no 
aal  charges  are  likely  to  be 
he  computation  is  easy  enough. 
re  also  the  grand  style  of  these 
otels  is  apt  to  show  itself  in  ithe 
ay  in  which  money  is  spent.  A 
tore  or  less  matters  apparently 
I  landlord  or  guest,  and  as  the 
computed  from  the  meal  first 
after  the  traveller's  arrival,  the 
guest  who  rises  from  dinner  at 
I  leaves  the  house  at  seven,  is, 
standing,  expected  to  pay  for 
[ch  is  served  at  six,  because  he 

that  hour  still  in  the  house, 
leral  custom  of  charging  three, 
id  five  dollars  a  day  for  rooms 
Etls  has,  no  doubt,  \t&  advantages 
Gargantua.  He  can  enjoy  five 
tial  meals,  the  most  modest  of 
lunch  and  tea,  would  afibrd  in 
alone  abundant  support  for  a 

But  the  less  happy  man,  whose 
3  is  more  moderate,  and  content 
iree  good  meals;  the  traveller, 
3  the  good  fortune  of  enjoying 
iral  hospitality  for  which  Ameri- 
re  justly   renowned ;   the  sick 


man,  whose  physician  enjoins  absti- 
nence or  an  extremely  light  diet,  often 
for  days ;  and  the  curious  explorer,  who 
wishes  to  make  himself  acquainted 
with  the  cuisine  of  famous  establish- 
ments like  Delmonico's,  Guy's,  and  oth- 
ers— all  these  classes  are  grievously 
punished  for  their  inability  to  obey  the 
landlord,  who  orders  them  to  take  their 
five  meals,  and  to  take  them  at  his 
house.  The  high-bred  lady,  in  her 
sumptuous  room  on  the  second  floor, 
facing  Broadway,  and  the  unfortu- 
nate traveller  in  the  attic  over  the 
steam-kitchen ;  the  hungry  fanner,  who 
comes  to  town  but  once  a-year,  and  eats 
his  fill  at  the  sumptuous  table,  and  the 
delicate  girl,  who  hardly  touches  what 
is  set  before  her — all  pay  one  and  the 
same  price.  The  will  of  the  landlord 
is  like  the  law  of  the  Medcs  and  Per- 
sians, which  altereth  not. 

Perhaps,  in  order  to  obviate  this  seri- 
ous grievance,  hotels  have  been  opened 
on  what  is  absurdly  called  the  Euro- 
pean plan,  furnishing  rooms  at  a  special 
rate,  and  meals  in  a  restaurant,  where 
guests  eat  d  la  carte.  The  main  fca^ 
turesof  the  European  plan,  the  pleasant 
table  d'h6te,  and  meals  served  in  the 
rooms  of  the  guests,  are  still  unknown ; 
and  the  charges,  so  far  from  being  less 
than  those  of  American  hotels,  amount 
in  the  end  even  to  more.  Room-rent  is 
still  demanded  of  each  of  two  occu- 
pants, as  if  it  cost  the  owner  more  to 
lodge  two  persons  than  one  in  the  same 
apartment,  the  only  article  of  towels, 
perhaps,  excepted.  And  the  prices  of 
the  restaurant  are  generally  so  exorbi- 
tant, that  the  traveller  who  should  at- 
tempt to  order  a  really  good  dinner,  ' 
such  as  he  would  obtain  at  an  ordinary 
hotel,  would  be  fairly  amazed  at  the 
bill.  The  great  desideratum  in  the 
way  of  good  hotels, — a  class  of  well- 
kept  houses,  with  clean,  neatly  furnish- 
ed rooms,  and  a  good  but  unpretend- 
ing table,  where  travellers  of  moderate 
means  might  find  what  they  are  accus- 
tomed to  have  at  home,  and  are  able  to 
pay  a  fair  price  for, — is  still  wanting  in 
the  United  States.  Nor  is  it  likely  that 
such  houses  will  soon  be  established,  at 


28 


Putnam's  Magazine. 


[Jan., 


) 


least  not  as  long  as  money  is  so  easily 
made  and  so  lavishly  spent  in  the  States, 
and  as  every  body,  true  to  republican 
instincts,  insists  upon  being  treated 
with  the  best  in  the  land.  The  Ameri- 
can, the  nomad  of  civilization,  always 
has  money  for  travelling.  He  demands 
for  his  money  the  right  to  walk  on  rich 
carpets  in  a  blaze  of  gas,  with  gilding, 
and  mirrors,  and  costly  furniture  all 
around  him,  and  an  imlimited  abun- 
dance of  provisions  on  what  he  loves 
to  call  a  *^  table  groaning  under  all  the 
delicacies  of  the  season."  He  would 
never  acknowledge  that  at  home  he 
dispenses  with  his  coat  at  dinner,  and 
is  content  with  pork  and  beans,  or  mid- 
dling and  cabbage.  When  he  travels, 
he  is  the  gentleman  in  black  broadcloth, 
who  is  far  more  fastidious  about  his 
dishes,  and  orders  the  servants  far  more 
imperiously  about,  than  the  well-bred 
gentleman  who  has  come  to  town  from 
his  country-place  on  the  Hudson  or  his 
sugar-plantation  on  the  Mississippi. 

It  must  be  acknowledged  that,  from 
an  American  standpoint,  the  American 
hotel  is  perfection.  It  is  a  large  and 
splendid  edifice,  often  built  of  white  mar- 
ble, and  always  decorated  with  a  profu- 
sion of  architectural  ornaments.  Vast 
halls  and  vestibules,  with  superb  stair- 
cases leading  to  the  upper  stories,  give  a 
palatial  air  to  the  whole,  while  the  long 
suite  of  public  parlors  displays  a  splen- 
dor of  upholstery  dazzling  even  to  the 
habitue  of  Fenton  and  Mivart,  or  the 
Grand  Hotel  in  Paris.  The  private 
rooms,  although,  with  the  exception  of 
a  small  number  of  suites  of  parlor  and 
bed-room  adjoining  each  other, — they 
are  simple  bed-rooms  only, — are  richly 
furnished  in  the  lower  stories,  and  com- 
fortably on  the  higher  floors.  Separate 
breakfast  and  tea-rooms  near  the  public 
parlors  abound  in  costly  mirrors  and 
bright  frescoes,  while  the  huge  dining- 
hall  is  apt  to  be  overloaded  with  show^y 
ornamentation.  The  meals  are  liberal 
beyond  any  thing  known  in  Europe, 
but  on  the  whole  less  well  prepared,  as 
it  can  hardly  be  otherwise  where  such 
immense  quantities  are  to  be  made 
ready  at  once.    If  a  certain  hotel  on 


Broadway,  in  New  York,  may  be  taken 
as  a  fair  model  of  the  "  good  hotel " 
of  America,  the  utmost  profusion  reigns 
at  table,  the  bill  of  fare  is  almost  over- 
whelming in  its  wealth,  making  the 
choice  a  trouble,  and  nothing  is  w^ant- 
ing  that  can  fairly  be  desired  and  is  in 
season.  The  Englishman,  to  be  sure, 
misses  his  cuts;  the  Frenchman  his 
rag6uts  and  fricasses,  which  are  rarely 
Buccessfidly  imitated.  The  foreigner, 
moreover,  finds  it  difficult  to  become  ac- 
customed to  the  manner  of  serving 
what  he  orders :  a  slice  of  meat,  almost 
unavoidably  cold  from  its  small  size 
and  the  long  distance  from  which  it 
comes,  and  a  number  of  small  deep 
dishes  with  vegetables,  are  piled  up 
around  him,  the  latter  provided  with 
tea-spoons,  with  which  he  sees  them 
very  generally  eaten.  The  dessert  w 
especially  rich  in  pies — a  favorite  dish 
at  the  North— and  in  the  superb  fruits 
of  the  country.  But  what  constitutes 
by  far  the  most  striking  feature  of  the 
American  hotel,  is  the  completeness 
with  which  provision  is  made  for  all 
possible  wants  of  the  guest.  A  bril- 
liant saloon,  often  the  most  gorgeous 
room  in  the  house,  contains  a  bar,  where 
an  infinite  variety  of  simple  and  com- 
pound liquors  is  dispensed  by  a  num- 
ber of  experienced  men,  while  smoking 
and  reading-rooms  are  near  by,  and 
ample  accommodation  is  afiforded  for 
vmting  letters.  A  special  post-office,  a 
desk  for  the  sale  of  stationery  and 
stamps,  and  a  telegraph  office,  arc  at 
hand  to  help  him  in  his  correspondence, 
while  a  large  book-stall  furnishes  him 
an  abundant  choice  of  newspapers, 
magazines,  and  books.  Further  on  he 
sees  an  office  where  he  can  purchase 
tickets  for  every  conceivable  journey  by 
land  and  by  water,  from  a  trip  to  the 
nearest  town  to  an  excursion  on  the 
Pacific  Railway  to  distant  California. 
A  couple  of  clerks  are  constantly  en- 
gaged in  receiving  and  despatching  let- 
ters and  parcels  that  arrive  for  the  in- 
mates of  the  hotel,  while  in  the  vesti- 
bule a  lot  of  waiters  are  sitting  in 
readiness  to  answer  the  bells  from  the 
rooms.    If  the  guest  is  in  need  of  a 


American  Hotels. 


29 


he  enters  a  magnificent  e^stab- 
t  situated  on  the  ground-floor, 
the  hotel,  where  hairdressers 
Vj  and  all  that  belongs  to  the 
J  laid  out  in  tempting  array, 
lor  and  the  hatter,  the  boot- 
.nd  the  haberdasher,  have  stores 
ig,  and  there  is  literally  nothing 
n  needs  in  the  ordinary  course 
vhich  is  not  provided  for  in  the 
lelf. 

inner  administration  of  the 
m  hotel  has  been  carried  to  a 
Df  perfection  which  excites  the 
ion  of  foreigners,  and  requires 
\i  talent  and  energy,  that  to 
how  to  keep  a  hotel "  has  be- 
pro  vcrbial  expression  for  great 
trative  ability.  The  division 
r  is  systematically  carried  out, 
'ry  department  is  strictly  kept 
om  all  others.  The  clerk  who 
ut  the  accounts  does  not  receive 
icy,  and  the  waiter  assigned  to  . 
rooms  is  not  allowed  to  attend 
•s.  There  are  persons  who  have 
to  do  but  watch  the  gas  or  to 
he  disposal  of  ladies*  visiting 
others  who  carry  parcels  about 
se ;  and  thus,  down  to  the  de- 
who  watches  over  the  safety, 
resident  physician,  who  attends 
ealth,  of  the  guests.  Each  floor 
female  employes  to  watch  over 
iture,  the  carpets,  and  the  linen, 
le  bevy  of  \fasherwomen  are 
at  work  in  the  steam-laundjy, 
\  kept  busy  with  the  thousands 
ins  and  towels  that  are  daily 
say  nothing  of  the  linen  of  the 
and  cham!>crmaids  are  placed 
natrons  responsible  for  their 
iepartment.  It  is  only  by  such 
irablc  organization  that  it  be- 
)ossible  to  lodge  and  feed  a 
i  guests  daily,  without  causing 
it,  or  creating  the  slightest 
I  the  complicated  machinery, 
diord  himself  never  appears  in 
iic  capacity,  and  yet  the  whole 
}  smoothly  a.i  if  his  eye  were  in 
om  and  on  every  guest, 
ict  i^,  he  is  not  a  landlord,  but 
speculiitor,  who  has  taken  up 


the  keeping  of  a  hotel  as  oiher  men 
run  a  steamboat  or  manage  a  railway. 
He  may  or  he  may  not  have  any  per- 
sonal acquaintance  with  the  business, 
but  he  enters  upon  it,  not  because  his 
father  did  so  before  him,  or  because  he 
lilvcs  it,  but  simply  in  order  to  make  a 
fortune.  With  that  truly  marvellous 
versatility  of  American  genius  which 
changes  the  divine  of  to-day  into  a 
politician  to-morrow,  and  the  renowned 
judge  of  a  Southern  State  into  a  success- 
ful cotton-broker  at  Liverpool,  he  bends 
at  once  all  of  his  energies  and  all  of 
his  ability  upon  the  new  enterprise ; 
and  in  the  majority  of  cases  he  retires 
in  a  few  years  with  a  large  and  well- 
earned  fortune. 

And  finally,  who  are  the  guests  at 
the  American  hotel  ?  It  has  already 
been  stated,  that  the  European  custom 
of  providing  at  certain  houses  for  cer- 
tain classes  is  unknown  in  the  Union, 
with  a  few  exceptions  in  the  city  of 
New  York,  where  one  hotel  is  almost 
exclusively  frequented  by  foreigners, 
and  another  by  politicians,  and  one  or 
two  l>y  Southerners.  Generally,  every 
body'  goes  wherever  he  chooses,  or 
rather  where  fashion  or  business  leads 
him.  In  the  large  cities  the  last -built 
hotel  invariably  beromcs  the  fashion, 
and  all  rush  there  to  see  its  splendor, 
and  to  boast  hereafter,  at  home,  that 
they  also  have  been  at  that  superb 
place.  Other  hotels  are  built  i*i  the 
immediate  neighborhood  of  the  centre 
of  business,  and  they  are,  of  course, 
frequented  by  business  men,  unaccom- 
panied by  their  families,  for  mere  con- 
venience' sake.  But  there  is  another 
class  of  guests  quite  peculiar  to  Ameri- 
can hotels — the  boarders.  The  difficul- 
ties and  the  expcnsivencss  of  house-keep- 
ing are  so  great,  that  large  numbers  of 
bachelors  not  only,  but  of  families,  pre- 
fer abandoning  their  home  and  living 
at  a  hotel.  As  Americans  have  not  yet 
become  accustomed  to  living  in  flats, 
after  the  custom  prevailing  on  the  Con- 
tinent and  in  Scotland,  the  house-rent 
becomes  a  heavy  charge  on  a  limited 
income,  and  servants*  wages  are  im- 
moderately high.     But  the  main  trouble 


80 


PuTNAM^S  MaOAZIXTE. 


[Jan., 


is  the  difficulty  of  obtaining  good  ser- 
vants from  abroad — Americans  hardly 
ever  enter  domestic  service — and  espe- 
cially of  keeping  them  for  any  length 
of  time.  Paddy  very  soon  lias  laid  by 
enough  to  buy  himself  a  snug  little 
farm  in  the  West,  where  he  can  be  his 
own  master,  and  Bridget  knows  that 
no  "  character  "  is  needed  to  find  a  new 
place ;  so  if  her  tea  is  not  etrong,  or  her 
mattress  not  of  good  hair,  if  break- 
fast is  ordered  too  early,  or  dinner  kept 
waiting,  she  packs  up  her  traps,  de- 
mands her  wages,  and  ofif  she  goes, 
leaving  the  lady  of  the  house  in  dire 
distress.  That  elderly  people  should 
weary  of  all  such  continuous  troubles, 
and  enjoy,  at  a  time  when  they  are 
probably  less  alone  in  the  world,  the 
easy  comforts  of  a  first-class  hotel,  can 
well  be  understofid,  and,  at  the  worst, 
does  no  one  any  harm  but  the  indolent 
couple.  It  is  far  different,  however, 
with  young  married  people,  who  but 
too  frequently  shun  the  trouble  rather 
than  the  expense  of  beginning  house- 
keeping, and  spend  year  after  year  at  a 
hotel.  They  forget  that  nothing  knits 
two  hearts  so  closely  together  as  the 
common,  patient  endurance  of  the  petty 
annoyances  of  life,  and  that  no  happi- 
ness equals  the  delight  of  two  happy 
beings  who  have  gradually  built  up  a 
sweet  home  from  small  beginnings  and 
after  much  tribulation.  They  forget 
that  nothing  on  earth  can  replace  a 
home  with  its  simple  joys  and  sad 
memories;  and  above  all  that,  to  de- 
prive children  of  a  home,  with  which 
to  associate  the  unclouded  and  only 
real  happiness  of  their  lives,  is  to  do 
them  a  grievous  injury.  People  who 
always  dine  in  public  perform  a  penance 
to  which  of  old  the  sovereigns  of  Eu- 


rope were  periodically  condemned. 
The  husband  is  sure  to  seek  comfort  in 
his  clubs;  the  wife,  having  no  duty 
and  no  occupation  save  that  of  dressing 
finely  to  be  admired  by  a  mixed  crowd 
of  strangers,  becomes  listless  and  indo- 
lent, and  the  children,  growing  up  amid 
people  with  whom  they  have  nothing 
in  common,  lose  forever  the  blessed 
teachings  of  home-life,  and  the  simple 
purity  of  their  affections. 

Like  all  public  institutions  of  the 
Great  Republic,  American  hotels  also 
are  strikingly  uniform  throughout  the 
land.  From  east  to  west,  and  from 
north  to  south,  the  "  good  hotel "  is 
absolutely  the  same  in  every  city ;  the 
same  in  its  high  charges,  without  re- 
gard to  what  the  guest  consumes ;  the 
same  in  its  tyranny  exercised  by  the 
landlord  by  means  of  a  villanous  gong, 
and  the  same  in  the  promiscuous  crowds 
that  fill  its  rooms  from  day  to  day. 
The  prices  diminish  somewhat  as  the 
traveller  penetrates  into  the  interior, 
but  the  outfit  of  the  hotel  and  the 
character  of  the  table  keep  duly  pace. 
Still,  such  is  the  marvellous  restlessness 
of  the  people,  and  such  their  habit  of 
spending  money  with  a  lavish  hand, 
that  good  hotels  with  high  city  prices 
are  often  found  in  remote  watering 
places  or  favorite  resorts,  from  the  nu- 
merous houses  of  this  kind  which 
abound  in  the  White  Mountains  of 
New  Uampshire  to  the  modest  cottages 
at  the  White  Sulphur  Springs  in  Vir- 
ginia. The  American  evidently  has 
both  a  passion  for  keeping  a  hotel,  and 
a  special  talent  for  it;  and  whatever 
impressions  the  traveller  from  foreign 
lands  may  carry  home  with  him  on  his 
return,  he  can  never  forget  his  admira- 
tion for  the  American  hotel. 


Skjetohes  in  Colob. 


81 


SKETCHES   IN   COLOR 


SECOM). 


le  gentleman  who,  in  the  col- 
f  the  New  York  Times,  pours 
soul  in  such  bitter  lamentations 
the  youth  of  our  city,  whose 
ition  is  behig  undermined  by 
3Ctive  ventilation  of  our  public 
"  could  have  seen  the  building 
we  daily  superintended  the 
5  of  ideas,  young  and  old,  I 
3  doubt  he  would  have  sent 
by  the  next  train,  all  of  the 
iforesaid  under  his  control,  to 
ith  us  the  blessing  of  thorough 
ion.  He  will  probably  considei 
g  evidence  of  total  depravity, 

that  we  could  have  wished  it 
little  less  thorough  ;  neverthe- 
h  is  the  fact. 

>uilding  was  a  barrack,  formerly 
i  by  soldiers,  but  not  needed 
5n,  and  given  to  us  for  school 
3  until  the  good  time  coming, 
mething  more  suitable  could  be 
i,  which  time,  however,  never 
We  finished  our  work  whore 
in  it — in  the  barrack ;  the  per- 
tilation  of  which  was  its  chief, 
somewhat  doubtful,  merit, 
i  been  built  when  our  troops 
mpied  the  place,  not  of  very 
iterial,  nor  in  the  most  substan- 
nncr;  and  summer  suns  and 
frosts  had  shrunk  the  boards, 
ned  the  cracks,  and  made  great 
ound  the  windows,  through 
he  winds  of  heaven  blew  in  as 
ted,  and  whistled  through  the 
I  most  independent  fashion,  cvi- 
indcr  the  impression  that  they 
ill  out  of  doors.  It  was  not 
for  any  fire  to  warm  rooms  so 

built,  and  unplastered;   and, 

to  all  our  anticipations  of  a 
I  climate,  the  cold  was  severe — 

pinching  cold,  infinitely  more 
lian  the  clear  frosty  weather  of 


the  North.  There  was  no  snow,  but 
cold,  drizzling  rains,  with  heavy  fogs, 
continued,  with  scarcely  a  day  of  sun- 
shine, for  nearly  two  months.  It  was 
just  the  weather  for  rheumatism ;  and 
the  ague-demon  seemed  to  hover  in  the 
air,  so  close  that  we  could  almost  hear 
the  rustle  of  his  wings. 

Our  school-rooms  were  furnished  in 
a  style  of  "  severe  simplicity ; "  rather 
too  severe  for  comfort  or  convenience. 
Desks  were  unthought  of.  There  were 
only  long  benches,  many  of  them  with- 
out backs,  and  a  common  pine  table 
and  chair.  One  of  the  rooms  had  not 
even  this  luxury,  and  the  teacher  made 
an  empty  flour-barrel  do  duty  as  a 
table,  and  enthroned  her  dignity  upon 
a  three-legged  stool.  But  these  ap- 
pointments were  luxurious,  compared 
with  those  which  fell  to  the  lot  of  some 
of  our  sisters  farther  south.  Some  of 
them  taught  in  bams ;  others  in  rooms 
so  small,  that  the  children  were  literally 
packed  in,  and  where  the  air  was  sti- 
fling; others  still  in  churches,  where, 
besides  the  inconvenience  of  the  pews 
for  such  a  purpose,  several  schools  were 
in  operation  at  the  same  time,  making 
a  *^  scene  of  confusion  and  creature 
complaint"  that  cannot  be  described, 
and  only  faintly  imagined.  Thinking 
of  all  this,  we  congratulated  ourselves 
upon  our  lot ;  for  our  rooms  were  large, 
and  each  school  had  its  own. 

In  this  building,  a  week  after  our 
arrival,  we  gathered  a  miscellaneous 
crowd  of  all  ages,  sizes,  and  shades, 
from  jet  black  to  pure  blonde.  Some 
of  the  latter  were  very  beautiful,  and 
so  free  from  any  trace  of  colored  blood, 
that  visitors  have  frequently  asked  in 
surprise,  "  Do  you  have  white  children 
in  your  schools?"  and  could  scarcely 
be  persuaded  that  these  were  not  in 
name  what  they  reaUy  were  in  fact. 


Fztsjlm'a  Mjlgazzsz. 


[JaiL, 


;t 


T!iii  T.iri  oc  cinafiifjiiig  was  soon 
xle9ri.%^i  :l.  i:r  tiiey  were  nearly  all  at 
'Iiii  5;»;i:  .f  lae  ladder,  gazing  with 
♦acr^,  ■¥  ;rLii»»riii|^  eyes  ap  the  steep 
LI.  3ii>«t  of  them  had  some  kind 
:»iGt£,  icutrceiy  two  alike ;  and  some 
▼iia  laiy  s  le^  of  a  primer  or  spell- 
3xa'-''-»ik,  of  wliich  they  knew  not  a 
Aogiti  ktier,  bat  which  they  &tin  held, 
xp6i<le  <^li>wn  as  frequently  as  any  way. 
and  pored  over  assidiioasly. 

What  a  work  it  was  to  bring  them  to 
aaj  kind  of  order  !  They  had  no  idea 
•f  the  proprieties  and  discipline  of  a 
JchocI— <how  should  they  i)  ;  and  when 
the  awe  of  novelty  had  a  little  worn 
off,  they  chattered  and  gcsticolateJ  like 
to  many  monkeys.  When  we  bad  at 
bcc  succeeded  in  making  them  under- 
itand  that  they  most  not  t^Lik,  nor 
feare  their  seats  without  permission, 
we  were  almost  as  much  iruuLled  by 
their  zeal  in  looking  after  one  another, 
and  reporting  any  Tiolation  of  the  rules 
that  happened  to  fall  under  tlieir  notice. 
Erery  f-w  moments  a  hand  would  be 
raise  J,  and  its  owner  would  report, 
"  boy  oat  his  seat ;  ■*  *•  gal  a-talkinV 
Ac. 

Bnt  the  most  frefjuent  complaint  was 
that  some  one  was  *•  cussinV'  that  being 
the  chr/^en  word  of  the  wltole  ne2TO 
nee  to  describe  any  oflence  of  the 
tongue.  *•  Dis  yer  lx)y  a-cussin\''  we 
would  be  informed ;  and  on  investiga- 
tion would  find  the  offenler  had  been 
calling  namcij,  or  sometiiicg  of  the 
kind :  not  proper,  to  be  sure,  but  still 
scarcely  answering  to  the  charge  made 
by  the  inHulte<l  party — as,  for  instance, 
when  one  day  a  little  ebony  figure,  half 
a.^leep,  nused  its  morsel  of  a  hand,  and 
drawled  out, 

*•  Boy  a-cuthin' ;  called  me  a  foo- 
oo-l." 

Once,  without  any  premonitory  sig- 
nal to  attract  attention,  a  boy  exclaimed, 
in  wirle-eye<l  horror, 

••  Cu.-flin' !  cusfiin'  in  dis  yer  comer ; 
gal  a-CQ«ain'  I "' 

••  Oh  :  teacher,  I  nebbcr  cuss  a  bit ; 
my  mammy  don't  -low  me  to  cuss  ;  boy 
ie»'  a-cih-in'  hcsc'f;"  indignantly  re- 
sponded the  accused. 


The  alm»>st  invariable  answer  cf  the 
children,  when  ch.irged  with  any  mis- 
demeanor, is,  -'deed  I  nebter.  My 
mammy  don't  'l«>w  me  ter  do  it." 

The  boy  pcrsiste'l :  "  G:il,  yer  done 
cuss ;  knows  yer  did ;  'deed,  teacher, 
she  cuss  a  heap." 

'^  Well,  what  did  she  sav  I  "  I  asked. 

"  Say  I  done  took  her  IxH^k.  an'  my 
mammv  bavcd  dis  ver  book  she  own 
se'f  at  de  sto'  yes'day  : "  tlien  in  a  stage- 
wlnsper  to  the  girL  "  Gai,  I'se  gwine 
mash  ver  mouf  when  I  iriis  vcr  outside 
de  do*." 

Threatcnetl  with  such  an  assault,  the 
girl  took  up  the  complaint. 

**  Teacher,  can't  yer  make  vlls  yer  bey 
Tiave  hl>oolf?  he  ccssln'  me  here:  say 
he  gwine  mash  my  mouf." 

"  So  I  is  gwiiie  m;iih  I'cz  mcji',  yer 
ole  black  nigger." 

It  was  difficult  to  tell  v. Mch  was  the 
blacker  of  the  two ;  but  it  h  curious 
how  univ(.Ts;iI!v  children  cr.d  irrown 
people  uso  this  r.s  a  term  or'  reproach 
in  their  quarrels  :  "  yoa  ole  nigger,"  or 
'•vou  biack  rxir:rer,"  :\re  houseuold 
wortls  V. i:h  them;  au'l,  "  l\e  crwiiie 
mash  vcr  nif.uf"  is  the  crand  climax 
of  their  vcnireance. 

Our  greatest  trouble  uiirin;^  the  Crst 
few  days  arose  from  the  chiir.rcn  giving 
different  names.  And  what  nuincs  some 
of  them  wtre  !  I  remember  thr.e  broth- 
ers, named  rvsi;ectively,  Jonah,  Judab, 
and  Jubilee ;  and  an  adoptoJ  child  of 
the  family,  Jerusalem  Cal  h  (h^melius. 
The  Old  Testament  wonhic?  had  nume- 
rous namesakes ;  and  I  thi::k  I  have 
heard  everv  name  that  c.n  \  c  fouiul  in 
the  Bible  excepting  Mahcr-.-halal-hash- 
baz.  It  was  very  rarely  that  the  chil- 
dren bore  the  same  surname  as  their 
parents.  In  one  family  there  were 
seven  children,  each  witli  a  different 
surname,  and  not  one  of  the  seven  the 
same  as  the  father's. 

Tliey  wouM  come  into  ouc  school, 
give  a  name  v.hieh  wouhl  bo  registtre-h 
and  the  ne\t  day,  j)erh»aps,  go  in:,) 
another,  giving  tluTc  a  ditTcrcnt  uan;e  : 
aud  so  throuv'h  them  all,  for  the  pur- 
pose, I  suppose,  of  d*.tcniuning  v»hich 
teacher  they  like  I  lest,  before  settling 


SKETOnZS  IK  COLOB. 


83 


Ivea.  They  had  the  advantage 
kt  first,  for  the  little  black  faces 

all  alike  to  us,  and  it  took  some 
>  learn  to  distinf^uish  them  ;  and 
ir  to  gather  together  our  scattered 
we  had  to  go  from  room  to  room, 

the  missing  names  in  each  one ; 
en  so  they  were  sometimes  too 
or  us. 

changing  of  names  is  one  of  the 
Lirious  fancies  of  the  colored  peo- 
l  as  well  as  young.  It  will  un- 
dly  wear  off  as  they  grow  accus- 

to  their  freedom,  but  it  seemed 
liey  were  desirous  of  exercising 
ew  privileges  in  this  as  in  every 
;lse,  and  would  take  a  new  name 
f-er  it  suited  them,  giving  some- 
most  original  reasons  for  so  do- 
V  boy  belonging  to  our  school 
>ne  day  and  informed  his  te^ch- 

•  name  ain't  Lewis  Jackson  no 

ill,  what  is  it  now  ?  " 

I  Lewis  Taylor." 

lat  have  you  changed  it  for  ?  '* 

sister  done  got  married  last 
30  now  my  name's  gwine  ter  l>e 
Taylor." 

re  known  a  whole  family  change 
lames  on  the  occasion  of  one 
r  being  married.  Some  would 
»vo  or  three  names,  which  they 
adiscriminately.     We  frequently 

0  look  for  children  whom  we 
lot  find  at  all  by  the  names  they 
ren  us.  Some  of  them  had  one 
or  school,  another  among  their 
tcs^  and  a  third  for  home  use — 
>y  who  entered  under  the  name 
jph  Marshall ;  the  boys  called 
irshall  Black  ;  and  the  name  bc- 

upon  him  by  his  parents,  and 
ch  he  was  called  at  home,  was 
Black  Thomas, 
vrote  a  great  many  letters  for  the 

people,  and  often  they  would 
at  the  close, 

1  her  to  write  to  so-and-so.'' 

ly  I  "  we  would  ask,  "  don't  you 

er  to  write  to  you  ?  " 

J,  Miss,  dat's  me." 

t  that  is  not  your  name." 


"  Dat's  my  name  now ;  done  change 
do  ole  one." 

"  What  do  you  do  that  for  ?  " 

"Dunno,  Ziickly ;  t'ou^dit  1  jes'  try 
dis  yer,  an'  see  ef  I  likes  it  Ixttcr." 

And  they  could  not  1  e  made  to  un- 
derstand that  the  slightest  inconven- 
ience could  possibly  arise  in  the  de- 
livery of  letters,  or  in  any  other  way, 
from  such  an  arrangement. 

Tlie  incidents  of  our  school-life  were 
so  unlike  any  thing  in  our  previous  ex- 
perience, so  novel,  so  entirely  unique, 
that  w(j  often  stopped  and  gathered  our 
bewildered  ideas  together,  trying  to 
realize  it  all ;  doubting  much  whether 
we  were  not  only  reading  some  wild, 
extravagant  narration,  from  which  wc 
should  by-and-by  awake  to  the  old 
matter-of-fact,  orthodox  life. 

There  were  not  nearly  enough  seats 
for  the  numbers  that  crowded  our 
rooms,  and  they  sat  anywhere  and  any- 
how, on  the  floor,  under  the  table,  on 
stones  and  logs  which  they  brought  in 
for  the  purpose.  Wo  could  scarcely 
move  without  walking  on  them  ;  and 
we  came  to  have  a  sympathizing  appre- 
ciation of  the  situation  of  **  the  old 
woman  who  lived  in  a  shoe,  and  had  so 
many  children  she  didn't  know  what  to 
do." 

The  mothers  of  some  of  the  children 
went  daily  to  work,  and  there  were  lit- 
tle ones  left  to  the  care  of  their  elders, 
who  had  either  to  stay  away  from 
school,  or  bring  their  charges  wuth 
them ;  so  that  we  not  seldonj  had  school 
and  nursery  combined — a  nc  w  develop- 
ment of  the  Kinder-gnrten.  One  boy 
came  regularly  with  his  ba])y,  and  a 
cup  of  hominy.  He  depo:^ited  the  little 
bundle  on  the  floor,  wliere  it  slept  qui- 
etly until  about  eleven  o'clock,  when  it 
would  open  its  eyes,  and  make  some 
slight  demonstration— (colored  l)abies 
never  cry) ;  the  juvenile  nurse  would 
drop  his  book,  unroll  tluj  bundle,  and 
cram  dov>'n  the  hominy  till  it  seemed  as 
if  the  child  must  choke ;  then  roll  it 
up  again  and  lay  it  on  the  lloor,  where 
it  would  sleep  until  the  close  of  school. 

The  colored  boys  make  very  good 
nurses ;  better,  I  think,  than  the  girls. 


34 


Putnam's  Magazine. 


[JaiL, 


They  are  uniformly  kind  and  gentle, 
and  liave  a  wonderful  tact  in  soothing 
fretful  children.  There  is  something 
about  them  which  little  children  recog- 
nize, and  are  attracted  by.  The  hos- 
pital surgeon  had  a  child  a  year  old, 
whose  fretfulness  resisted  the  combined 
efforts  of  parents  and  nurse,  but  who 
would  go  to  almost  any  ragged,  dirty 
colored  boy,  and  allow  itself  to  be  en- 
tertained and  soothed  into  a  st^te  of 
smiling  complacency,  to  which  it  rarely 
condescended  in  any  other  society. 
Certainly,  I  would  rather  trust  a  child 
with  one  of  these  rough-looking  colored 
boys,  so  patient  and  faithful  underneath 
the  roughness,  than  with  nine  tenths  of 
the  nurses  who  are  so  largely  paid  to 
neglect  and  ill-treat  the  little  ones,  too 
young  to  tell  of  it. 

All  our  "  extras,"  as  we  called  them, 
were  not  so  peaceful  as  the  baby.  One 
of  our  boys  came  in  one  day,  leading  a 
child  about  six  years  old,  whom  he 
brought  to  me  with  this  encouraging 
introduction : 

*'  Dis  ycr's  my  brudder,  an'  my  mam- 
my done  sont  him  to  school ;  an'  dis 
yer's  a  book  for  him  to  learn  out  of,  an' 
she  says  he  can't  see,  an'  he  ain't  got 
good  hard  sense  neither." 

Having  deposited  this  promising  pu- 
pil in  a  comer,  with  a  slate  and  pencil, 
which  I  thought  might  amuse  him 
sufficiently  to  keep  him  quiet,  I  turned 
my  attention  to  a  class,  and  was  soon 
so  absorbed  that  I  forgot  every  thing 
else,  until  roused  by  a  sudden  rush  and 
clatter,  and  a  simultaneous  giggle  from 
the  children.  My  new  pupil  had  ob- 
tained possession  of  a  second  slate, 
which,  together  with  his  own,  he  fast- 
ened by  a  long  string  about  liis  waist, 
and  started  on  a  canter  through  the 
room,  the  slates  clattering  after  him.  I 
hastened  in  pursuit,  but  he  eluded  me 
— by  instinct,  it  must  have  been,  for  he 
had  partially  lost  his  sight.  After  fol- 
lowing him  in  and  out  among  the 
benches,  doubling  and  turning  like  the 
old  game  of  "  hare  and  hounds,"  I  was 
about  to  lay  my  hands  upon  him,  when 
ho  made  a  spring,  disappeared  through 
the  open  window,  and  went  prancing 


down  the  street,  with  the  slates  rattling 
at  his  heels. 

After  a  time  he  returned,  and,  watch- 
ing his  opportimity  when  I  was  busy, 
came  in  again.  Seizing  upon  one  of 
the  pointers  used  for  the  charts  and 
black-board  exercises,  he  poked  at  the 
little  bundle  on  the  floor  until  he  had 
worked  off  the  shawl  in  which  it  was 
rolled ;  then,  with  a  piece  of  chalk 
which  he  had  pulverized  for  the  pur- 
pose, he  tattooed  the  baby's  face,  and 
powdered  its  head ;  and  all  so  quietly 
that  no  one  was  aware  of  his  return, 
until  he  had  accomplished  his  work. 
No  words  can  do  justice  to  the  extra- 
ordinary appearance  of  that  baby,  one 
of  the  blackest  of  its  kind,  tattooed 
with  white.  I  was  just  in  time  to  pre- 
vent a  collision  between  the  artist  and 
baby's  nurse,  who  had  become  aware 
of  the  state  of  affairs,  and  was  threat- 
ening to  "  mash  his  mouf."  I  con- 
cluded that  it  was  about  time  for  him 
to  go  home;  and  made  up  my  mind 
not  to  receive,  in  future,  scholars  whose 
lawful  guardians  acknowledged  them 
to  be  destitute  of  "  good  hard  sense." 

One  morning,  in  the  midst  of  a  very 
busy  session,  the  door  was  flung  wide 
open,  and  a  little  flgure,  with  a  mass  of 
rags  and  tatters  hanging  around  it,  and 
fluttering  in  the  wind,  stood  looking  at 
us  with  wide,  wondering  eyes.  I  went 
toward  the  door  to  close  it,  and  he 
shrunk  away  like  some  frightened  wild 
thing;  but  after  a  little  coaxing  was 
persuaded  to  enter. 

"  Do  you  want  to  come  to  school  ? " 
I  asked. 

"  Dunno." 

"Don't  you  want  to  learn  to  read, 
and  have  a  slate  to  write  and  draw  pic- 
tures on  ? " 

"  Spec  I  does." 

"  What  is  your  name  ? " 

"  Name  Jim." 

"  Jim  what  ? " 

"  Jim  Crow." 

Ah !  we  had  got  it  now.  Here  was 
the  veritable  article;  and  I  can  bear 
witness  that  he  did,  on  more  intimate 
acquaintance,  "  wheel  about,  turn  about, 
and  do  just  so,"  after  a  fashion  that 


SeETOHES  127  COLOB. 


86 


to  furnisli  concluslyc  evidence 
direct   descent  from   the  real, 
IJim. 

;am  to  write  is  the  great  ambi- 
'  the  colored  people,  old  and 

To  deprive  a  child  of  its  slate 
!  greatest  punishment  that  could 
cted ;  and  the  writing-hour  was 
looked  forward  to,  though  not, 
lases,  appropriated  to  its  legiti- 
mes. There  was  one  boy  in  the 
who  was  a  bom  artist.  He 
icessantly — naughty,  to  be  sure, 
I  with  a  great  deal  of  character, 
sort  of  wild  grace  that  gave 
I  of  future  excellence,  if  he  could 
iv&  opportunities  for  the  devel- 

and  cultivation  of  this  talent, 
only  by  refusing  him  slate  and 
intil  his  lessons  were  done,  that 
L  get  him  to  learn  any  thing, 
len  ho  once  more  held  the  be- 
rticle,  it  seemed  impossible  for 
do  any  thing  but  draw.  Write, 
ir  could  not  or  would  not ;  and 
n  examining  the  copies,  I  came 
in  turn,  he  would  hand  me  his 
his  face  expressing  a  curious 
I  of  defiance,  and  longing  for 
dy  in  his  favorite  pursuit;  and 
;ath  a  spirited  group  of  animals, 
s — thie  latter,  frequently,  perfect 
les — I  have  sometimes  found  ad- 
to  myself,  in  rough  "printing 
this  query :  "  Ant  Jon  a  badboy 
his  tim  draan  picters  insted  of 
3  kopi?"  "Kopis"  and  spell- 
e  his  abomination ;  and  he  never 
luch  greater  progress  in  either 
indicated  by  the  above  speci* 

not  know  what  the  experience 
lers  in  other  parts  of  the  South 
jn,  but  we  found  the  colored 
ir  more  intelligent,  quicker, 
r,  more  interesting  in  every  way, 
D  girls ;  and  I  think  the  same  is 
atively  of  the  men  and  women ; 
mer  have  generally  much  the 
laracter  and  intelligence.  The 
our  schools  had  a  frightful  fash- 
decorating  their  heads,  which, 
tedly,  was  in  part  the  cause  of 
ninteresting   appearance.    They 


separated  the  hair  into  small  locks; 
then,  beginning  at  the  roots,  wound 
each  one  tightly  round  with  scarlet 
worsted,  fastening  it  securely  at  the 
end,  not  breaking  it  off,  but  carrying  it 
on  to  the  next,  until  their  heads  were 
covered  with  scarlet  rolls  about  the  size 
of  a  caterpillar,  and  disagreeably  sug- 
gestive of  those  animal  horrors.  No 
persuasion  could  induce  them  to  aban- 
don this  style  of  decoration,  which  they 
considered  very  ornamental ;  and  it  im- 
parted a  half-barbarous,  half-stupid  ex- 
pression to  their  faces,  that  was  unat- 
tractive in  the  extreme. 

The  parents  were  very  desirous  to 
cooperate  with  us  in  the  matter  of  dis- 
cipline. They  were  all  firm  adherents 
to  Uncle  Phil's  doctrine  of  corporal 
punishment,  and  neither  by  argument 
nor  persuasion  could  we  bring  them  to 
our  view  of  the  subject — that  while 
there  are,  undoubtedly,  instances  in 
which  it  is  necessaiy  and  beneficial,  it 
is,  when  constantly  resorted  to,  the 
worst  possible  mode  of  government. 
They  would  bring  their  children  to  us 
with,  *'  Dis  yer's  my  boy,  Miss.  I  wants 
him  ter  come  ter  school ;  an'  ef  he  don't 
'have  hisse'f,  hopes  you'll  whop  him ;  " 
then  to  the  youngster,  with  a  shake  of 
the  finger  accompanying  each  word, 
"  You  hears  dat  ar  now  ?  Ef  yer  don't 
mind  do  teacher,  Pse  gwine  whop  yer, 
'sides  de  whoppin'  she  gib  yer." 

One  woman  left  her  boy  with  the  re- 
mark that  she  "would  like  to  be  re- 
formed ef  he  misbehaved,  and  she'd 
'tend  to  his  bein'  rectified." 

The  command  "  thou  shalt  not  go  up 
and  down  as  a  tale-bearer  among  thy 
people,"  has  apparently  been  instilled 
into  the  minds  of  the  colored  children, 
with  the  "  not "  left  out ;  for  they  are 
universally  inveterate  tale-bearers.  If 
any  child  was  in  disgrace  at  school,  his 
or  her  parents  were  very  sure  to  hear 
of  it  from  the  others ;  and  frequently 
they  would  bring  the  offenders  to  uo 
with,  "  I  heam  'bout  dis  yer  chile  mis- 
behaviu,'  an'  troublin'  all  you  ladies, 
an'  I  jcs'  gib  him  a  gen-iQcl  whippin', 
an'  I  spec  he  'have  hisse'f  now."  The 
children's  idea  as  to  the  gentility  of  the 


86 


Putnam's  Maqazixe. 


[Jan., 


whipping  probably  differed  Bomewhat 
from  that  of  their  elders. 

The  colored  people  are  very  cruel  in 
this  matter  of  "  rcctifyin' "  their  chil- 
dren. I  have  never  been  able  to  recon- 
cile it  "with  their  otlier  characteristics, 
for  their  dispositions  are  not  gepcrally 
cruel.  But  I  have  often  doubted  wheth- 
er the  children  would  have  received,  in 
slavery,  any  treatment  one  half  so  cruel 
as  they  experience  almost  daily  from 
their  parents.  I  have  known  of  their 
being  beaten  with  broomsticks,  and 
other  heavy  pieces  of  wood ;  and  of 
their  being  knocked  down,  kicked,  and 
stamped  upon,  so  that  tliey  were  not 
able  to  attend  school  for  two  or  three 
days,  on  account  of  this  barbarous  treat- 
ment. We  frequently  expostulated  with 
the  parents  upon  the  cruelty  and  folly 
of  their  course,  but  received  the  invari- 
able answer,  "  D(?se  yer  chillens  is  so 
bad,  got  ter  git  de  badness  outen  'em 
some  way.  You  ladies  is  too  easy  wid 
'em ;  oiighter  gib  'cm  dc  stick."  And 
the  fact  of  our  plan  being  entirely  suc- 
cessful had  no  weiixht  at  all  with  them. 
The  **  old  paths  "  arc  the  *'  good  ways  " 
to  them.  They  *'  ncbbcr  seed  chillens 
brungcd  up  wid  out  whoppin'  'cm  ;  "  so 
they  will  probably  continue  in  the  same 
way,  until  educated  to  fuller  under- 
standing of  the  right. 

Having  brought  our  turl)ulent  juve- 
niles to  something  like  order,  and  hav- 
ing been  supplied  with  books  by  friends 
at  the  North,  so  as  to  proceed  regularly 
with  the  work  of  teaching,  we  began 
to  appreciate  some  of  the  difficulties  in 
our  way.  The  children  generally  learn- 
ed readily ;  but  the  almost  impossibil- 
ity of  making  them  pronounce  proper- 
ly, or  articulate  distinctly,  made  the 
task  of  teaching  them  to  read,  with  any 
degree  of  clearness  and  precision,  far 
greater  than  we  had  imagined.  Their 
voices  are  frequently  thick  and  indis- 
tinct ;  they  run  their  words  together, 
and  almost  invariably  drop  the  last 
letter,  pronouncing  last,  las' ;  best,  bcs' ; 
and  so  on.  "Wherever  the  letter  c  oc- 
curs, they  call  it  a;  and  a  they  pro- 
nounce as  e.  The  word  clear  they  call 
(lare^  while   choir  is  cheer ;  fear  they 


transform  into  fare^  and  care  into  Tceer  ; 
and  usually  they  give  r  the  sound  of 
aw  ;  as  born,  Jxiim  ;  sure,  shnah. 

For  a  time  we  were  in  despair  of  ever 
bringing  them  to  any  thing  like  cor- 
rectness or  propriety  in  reading;  but 
having  overcome  in  a  measure  the  diffi- 
culty of  pronunciation,  the  work  was 
nothing.  The  imitative  powers  of  the 
colored  race  are  wonderful.  They  copy 
an  expression  or  a  tone  exactly ;  and 
owing  to  this,  will  read  with  taste  and 
apparent  feeling  passages  of  which  they 
do  not  understand  one  wo^d.  I  have 
heard  the  veriest  little  scapegraces  in 
our  schools  read  the  Scriptures  with  a 
solemnity  of  utterance,  and  an  impres- 
siveness  of  accent,  that  many  a  Rever- 
end might  envy. 

Thinking  over  all  the  colored  schools 
that  I  have  seen,  I  should  say  that  if 
there  is  now  one  thinjj  in  which  thcv 
particularly  excel,  it  is  in  reading. 
They  are  very  bright  in  arithmetic, 
though  it  has  so  often  been  asserted 
that  the  negro  brain  is  deficient  in 
mathematical  power.  My  evpcrience 
has  been  directly  the  reverse ;  still  I 
think  their  speciality  is  reading.  Cer- 
tainly I  never  heard,  in  any  reading- 
class  at  the  North,  the  iKTfcct  intona- 
tion, tlie  force  of  expression,  and  the 
carefulness  with  regard  to  pauses  and 
inflections  that  characterize  the  reading 
in  the  colored  schools. 

A  lady  who  had  taught  for  many 
ycai's  in  Massachusetts,  where  the  schools 
have  been  carried  to  such  a  point  that 
teachers  and  scholars  are  just  ready  to 
join  the  perfectionists,  expresj^ed  the 
opinion,  alter  careful  and  extended  ob- 
servation, that  the  Second-Reader  class- 
es in  the  colored  schools  are  generally 
better  readers,  particularly  as  regards 
inflection  and  expression,  than  the 
Fourth-Reader  classes  in  Nev/  Encrland 
schools  ;  and  I  can  believe  it.  Yankee 
independence  reads  for  itself,  each  in 
its  own  fashion :  negro  imitativenrrs 
copies  exactly  the  model  given  it.  This 
seems  to  me  a  satisfactory  solution  of 
the  question  which  has  puzzled  so  many 
heads. 

Geography  is  the  favorite  study  of 


Sketches  in  Oolob. 


87 


ed  cliildren,  when  the  instruc- 
ral,  and  a  school  recites  in  con- 
t  when  they  progressed  beyond 

used  books,  I  have  generally 
lem  impatient  of  the  trouble 
ig  out  map-questions,  and  com- 
to  memory.  It  is  difficult  to 
n  the  proper  pronunciation  of 
especially  in  teaching  orally, 
'  attention  is  not  easily  fixed ; 
I  half  catch  a  word,  and  fill  it 
leir  fancy  suggests,  making  the 
icrous  blunders.  I  have  heard 
bate  of  Kanturketj  ;  the  Bay  of 
cu^ie^  (Campeachy)  ;  Cape  Med/i- 
ndocino)  ;  Isthmus  of  Buwin ; 
)f  tkirah ;  and  sundry  others 
uld  be  sought  in  vain  in  any 
cing  gazetteer. 

who  feel  sufficient  interest  iii 
Bct  to  read  this  at  all,  will  prob- 
:  here  the  question  which  has 

subject  of  so  many  discussions, 
ich  the  teachers  of  freedmen 
>wn  weary  of  answering :  "  How 
ed  children  compare  with  the 

do  they  learn  as  readily  ? " — 
ich  is  usually  answered  by  a 
cidcd  negative  or  affirmative, 
half-way  opinion,  according  to 
ker's  convictions  or  prejudices, 
t  prepared  to  endorse  or  deny 
tnswer.  I  have  found  many 
children  who  learned  as  quick- 
telligently,  as  appreciatively,  as 
htest  white  children.  Again,  I 
und  many  who  were  **stony- 
'    learners;   their  lessons  were 

quickly,  but,  taking  no  root, 
gotten  almost  immediately, 
lot  think  that  we  can  at  all  tell 

these  first  years  of  emancipa- 
lat  are  the  real  capacities,  capa- 

or  dispositions  of  the  colored 
Jomparisons   are  idle.     Slavery 

the  character  of  any  people, 
iculties  develop  only  partially 
he  restraint ;  others  not  at  all. 
til  we  see  a  generation  of  edu- 
•ecmen,  who  shall  be  the  chil- 
'  educated  freemen,  can  this 
question  of  the  powers  and  ca- 

of  tlie  negro  race  bo  fairly,  or 
be  at  all,  settled. 


All  the  influences  of  slavery  were  de- 
grading. The  minds  of  its  victims  re- 
volved in  the  smallest  possible  orbit, 
compatible  with  any  degree  of  human 
intelligence.  Their  whole  existence 
was  "  of  the  earth,  earthy.''  The  phys- 
ical was  dominant,  and  ground  down 
with  an  iron  heel  the  spiritual ;  and  the 
mind  lay  blind,  helpless,  crushed  almost 
out  of  all  semblance  of  life  beneath  its 
weight.  Sometimes — as  if  to  show  that 
the  gifts  of  God  are  independent  of  cir- 
cumstance and  situation— there  appear- 
ed a  mind  like  a  lost  star,  whose  radi- 
ance not  even  the  darkness  and  degra- 
dation of  its  surroundings  could  dim. 
But  these  were  necessarily  exceptions, 
and  very  rare  ones. 

Children  partake  naturally  of  the 
mental  condition  of  their  parents,  their 
capacities,  and  habits  of  thought — re- 
produce them,  in  fact.  And  it  is  of  this 
reproduction  of  generations  of  a  slug- 
gish, grovelling,  debased  slave-nature, 
the  question  is  asked,  "  Are  they  equal 
in  capacity  to  white  children  ? " — chil- 
dren inheriting  as  their  birthright  the 
clear,  keen  Saxon  brain,  the  broad  in- 
telligence, the  quick  perceptions,  the 
lightning-like  intuitions,  that  have 
come  to  them  through  centuries  of 
freedom  and  of  progress. 

Beside  these  children  of  generations 
of  freemen  we  place  the  children  of 
generations  of  slaves,  and  would  insti- 
tutp  a  comparison — their  friends  pro- 
nouncing them  fully  equal ;  their  ene- 
mies, hopelessly  inferior, — folly  on  the 
one  side,  cruelty  on  the  other.  The 
question  must  remain  an  open  one  for 
years  to  come.  It  is  a  common  saying, 
"  Men  are  what  they  make  themselves." 
True,  undoubtedly,  to  a  limited  extent ; 
but  they  are  also  in  large  measure  what 
their  ancestors  were ;  and,  says  one  of 
the  greatest  living  writers,  **It  takes 
many  generations  to  breed  high  quali- 
ties, either  of  mind  or  body."  Judging 
from  what  the  colored  people  have  ac- 
complished in  this  so  short  time  of 
their  freedom,  I  feel  assm^edly  that 
equal  liberty  and  equal  advantages  will 
place  them  side  by  side  in  intelligence 
with  the  Saxon  race — a  different  in- 


dd 


Putnam's  Magazine. 


[Jan., 


telligcnce,  it  may  be,  as  every  nation 
and  people  has  its  distinguishing  char- 
acteristics; different  in  kind,  bat  not 
in  degree. 

For  the  fears  of  those  who  are  always 
"careful  and  troubled"  about  the  fu- 
ture, on  the  subject  of  a  possible  "  negro 
supremacy"  in  this  country,  I  think 
they  may  lay  them  to  rest.  Wherever 
the  Anglo-Saxon  foot  has  trod,  or  the 
Anglo-Saxon  brain  worked,  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  has  been  the  dominant  race,  and 
will  be  so  to  the  end  of  time.  It  will 
know  no  rule  but  its  own;  and  the 
AMcan  race  must,  like  every  other,  give 
way  before  its  aggressive  and  conquer- 
ing energy. 

The  thought  has  come  to  me,  that 
this  continent  will  not  witness  the  full 
development  of  the  African  race ;  that, 
it  may  be,  it  will  be  reached  in  the  land 
whose  name  they  bear.  Why  not? 
Every  other  part  of  the  earth  has  had 
its  harvest-time ;  this  has  lain  unreaped 


because  unsown.  But  now  the  seed- 
time has  come,  why  not  also  in  due 
time  the  harvesting  ?  The  old  civiliza- 
tions of  the  East  are  buried  and  for- 
gotten ages  since ;  that  of  Europe  is 
already  on  the  wane ;  a  twilight  shadow 
gathered  on  its  glory  when  "  the  star 
of  empire  westward  took  its  way  "  long 
years  ago,  and  it  has  deepened  and 
broadened  since ;  the  light  of  the  New^ 
World  is  even  now  at  its  brightest ;  and 
shall  not  the  reflection  of  its  radiance, 
that  flashes  over  all  the  earth,  reach 
that  far-off  land,  and  brighten  into  full- 
orbed  day,  in  whose  light  Ethiopia  shall 
rise  from  the  darkness  that  has  covered 
her,  and  the  "  gross  darkness  "  that  has 
enveloped  her  children,  and  take  her 
place,  yoimgest  of  the  civilizations  of 
the  earth — ^last,  but  not  least,  honored 
in  the  sisterhood  of  nations  ? 

Only  a  vision,  perhaps.  But  visions 
seemingly  wilder  and  more  improbable 
have  been  realizecL 


■•♦• 


CONCERNma  CHARLOTTE. 


CHAKLOTTB  AT  BOXX. 


"  If  you  will  dine  with  us  to-mor- 
row," sadd  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  as  she  kiss- 
ed Charlotte  good-by,  "  you  will  have 
a  chance  to  see  Mr.  Lauderdale's  new 
pet,  Mr.  Allston." 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  was  rich,  and  her 
handsome  grounds  adjoined  those  of 
Charlotte,  who  was  also  rich.  In  other 
respects,  she  and  her  neighbor  were  as 
similar  as  a  pumpkin  and  a  melon  re- 
posing in  the  same  garden-mould,— a 
happy  comparison,  of  which  the  reader 
may  perhaps  be  again  reminded  in  the 
coarse  of  this  history. 

Charlotte  as  yet  had  married  nobody ; 
but  Mrs.  Lauderdale  had  married  Mr. 
Lauderdale.  I  speak  advisedly  when  I 
use  this  form  of  expression  to  describe 
the  marriage  contract.  Every  one  knew 
that  it  was  the  lady  who  had  become 
first  enamored,  and  anxious  to  ex- 
change her  acres  and  her  liberty  against 
Henry  Lauderdale's  beauty  and  talent. 


The  profits  of  this  exchange  were,  how- 
ever, in  themselves,  insuflicient  to  tempt 
a  romantic  youth,  just  embarked  on  a 
minor  literary  career.  But  when  he  had 
been  informed,  by  officious  friends,  that 
the  heiress  was  dying  of  love  for  him, 
and  growing  thin  under  the  ravages 
of  unrequited  passion,  he  was  over- 
whelmed with  pity  and  remorse.  A 
practical  mind  would  have  consoled  it- 
self with  the  reflection  that  thinness 
was  more  becoming  than  flounces  to  the 
unhappy  fair,  and  that  the  agent  of 
such  a  change  in  her  personnel  might 
justly  be  considered  as  her  greatest 
benefactor.  Henry,  however,  had  not  a 
practical  mind,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
all  the  sensibility  and  all  the  vanity 
characteristic  of  young  literary  men. 
His  imagination  was  familiar  with 
broken  hearts,  and  with  consumptions 
consequent  upon  unretumed  afiection. 
Only  a  brute  could  be  indifierent  to 
such  woeful  possibilities,  and    Henry 


CONOSBNINO  ChABLOTTB. 


89 


I  himself  he  was  no  biv/e.  In 
tiereof,  he  resigned  certain  airy 
hoyering  in  a  distant  ideal,  and 
.  himself  to  be  married  to  Mrs. 
iale.    She  was  immensely  proud 

acquisition,  and  sported  her 
1  like  a  now  diamond.  And, — 
e  perhaps  of  some  sterling  quali- 
he  good  dame^s  character,— she 
ed  to  be  just  as  proud  of  Henry 
in  years'  married  life,  as  at  the 
ng.  She  never  missed  an  oppor- 
X)  show  off  his  taste,  his  refine- 
lis  culture,  and  seemed  to  derive 

satisfaction  from  the  contrast 
e  world  drew  between  her  hus- 
id  herself  in  these  respects.  The 
aluable  a  person  he,  the  more 
)he  to  have  succeeded  in  captur- 
i.  So  egotism  tempered  by  loyalty, 
klty  stimulated  by  egotism,  kept 
.uderdale  a  faithful  and  attentive 
id  Henry  lived,  if  not  in  happi- 

least  in  clover.  I  am  inclined 
ic  that  this  was  all  he  really  de- 

thus  particular  in  describing  tho 
lents  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lauderdale, 
aely  because  they  have  very  little 
rith  my  story.  I  imitate  a  host 
esses  in  conspicuous  brocade  the 
that  shall  open  the  door  for  his 
while  he  and  they  retreat  to- 
into  undisting^uishable    broad- 

10  is  Mr.  AUston  ? "  asked  Char- 
is  a  political  eidle,"  replied  Mr. 
dale ;  "  a  man  whose  entire  life 
n  expended  in  heroic  enterprises, 
yed  a  conspicuous  part  during 

olution  in  X ,  and  for  a  time 

position  in  the  Provisional  Gk>v- 
t.  When  the  reaction  occurred, 
exiled,  and  since  that  time  has 
a  this  country,  supporting  him- 
his  pen,  which  he  wields  with 
bility.  While  here,  he  married 
seamstress,  whom  hard  work  and 
m  were  driving  into  a  decline, 
rl  was  pretty,  but  uneducated, 
irely  below  Allston^s  level.  Ho  w- 
his  only  object  was  to  take  care 
lis  marriage  might  be  considered 


a  perfect  success.  His  own  means  were 
veiy  small  at  the  time,  but  he  pinched 
himself  narrowly,  and  often  lived  upon 
bread  and  water,  to  be  able  to  procure 
luxuries  for  his  sick  wife.  She  lingered 
three  years,  and  died  eighteen  months 
ago.  I  am  daily  expecting  to  hear  that 
AUston  has  married  some  factory-girl, 
now  that  his  hands  are  a  little  free.'' 

"  Mr.  Lauderdale,"  observed  his  bet- 
ter half,  *^  always  manages  to  find  out 
something  romantic  about  people.  I 
don't  believe  any  one  else  ever  heard 
that  story,  or  would  take  the  trouble  to 
remember  it  so  well.  I  must  confess 
that  /  don't  see  any  thing  so  remarka- 
ble in  3Ir.  AUston ;  but  since  Mr.  Lau- 
derdale likes  to  patronize  him,  of 
course  I  have  nothing  to  say." 

"  Patronize  AUston ! "  exclaimed 
Mr.  Lauderdale. 

"  That  is  Mr.  Lauderdale's  delicacy," 
continued  the  wife  in  a  confidential 
aside,  *^  and  I  fall  in  with  it  to  please 
him  ;  but  we  all  know  what  it  means." 

"Well,"  said  Charlotte,  "do  you 
want  me  to  dine  with  you  to-morrow  ?  " 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  beamed  hospitality 
from  every  comer  of  her  ample  face. 

"  My  dearest  Charlotte,  you  know  we 
are  always  delighted  to  have  you.  Pot- 
luck  or  grandiose,  you  arc  always  wel- 
come ;  and  I  would  mention  that  it  is 
grandiose  to-morrow,  on  account  of  the 
Stebbinses." 

"  How  thoughtful  you  are,"  observed 
Charlotte.  "  I  know  now  that  I  must 
come  in  my  good  clothes." 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  looked  a  little  sol- 
emn at  this  speech.  She  felt,  with 
vague  alarm,  that  dinner-silks  had  been 
alluded  to  with  levity ;  and  on  such 
subjects,  levity  was  dreadfully  unbe- 
coming. Unable,  however,  to  fix  the 
offence  precisely  with  her  fat  forefinger, 
she  was  obliged  to  pass  it  over  in  si- 
lence. Embracing  Charlotte  again, 
though  a  little  more  coldly  than  before, 
she  took  leave. 

Charlotte  stood  on  the  piazza,  and 
watched  her  guests  walk  down  the 
lawn.  Mrs.  Lauderdale  kept  the  middle 
of  the  path,  tugging  stoutly  at  the  folds 
of  her  riding-skirt.     Mr.   Lauderdale 


40 


Putnam's  Magazine. 


[Jan., 


strayed  nonchalantly  on  the  grase, 
striking  at  the  shrubs  with  his  whip. 
Presently  Mrs.  Lauderdale  called  him 
to  her  side,  gathered  her  troublesome 
skirt  on  one  arm,  and  placed  the  other 
in  that  of  her  hushand,  and  thus  in 
most  conjugal  fashion  the  pair  disap- 
peared in  the  shrubbery. 

Charlotte,  observing  this  manoBUvrc, 
laughed  maliciously. 

"  A  sweet  domestic  tableau,  and  got 
up  at  the  most  effective  moment  I  *'  she 
said  to  herself. 

Among  all  the  contrivances  for  ac- 
cohiplishing  the  ends  of  justice  that 
have  been  devised  by  man,  it  is  aston- 
ishing no  one  has  yet  thought  of  hand- 
ing over  female  culprits  to  the  mercies 
of  feminine  juries.  The  chances  of  es- 
cape would  be  diminished  seventy-five 
per  cent. 

The  hall-clock  struck  half-past  six, 
but  the  July  day  was  still  wide  awake, 
and  the  reapers  still  at  work  in  the  rye- 
fields.  Charlotte's  house  faced  the 
lawn,  but  the  piazza  in  the  rear  com- 
manded a  view  of  a  large  part  of  the 
farm  that  belonged  to  the  property,  the 
orchards  and  fields  of  many-colored 
grain,  from  the  rye,  already  yellow  for 
the  harvest,  to  the  fall-wheat,  still  green 
as  the  lush  grass  in  the  meadows.  Char- 
lotte, who  had  a  strong  instinct  of  prop- 
erty, rather  preferred  this  view  to  that 
of  the  lawn,  for  she  liked  to  be  remind- 
ed of  her  possessions,  and  of  the  re- 
sponsibilities and  powers  thereto  apper- 
taining. She  superintended  the  farm 
herself,  and  now,  when  the  afternoon 
shadows  had  sufl5ciently  tempered  the 
sunlight,  she  resolved  to  go  down  into 
the  field<^,  and  see  what  the  reapers  had 
accomplished  that  day. 

Taking  her  hat  from  the  peg  in  the 
hall,  Charlotte  traversed  the  garden, 
crossed  the  brook  that  encircled  it,  and 
was  presently  standing  amidst  the  fallen 
rye.  At  some  distance,  the  men  whetted 
tbeir  scythes  for  a  final  onslaught,  and 
the  women  bound  in  sheaves  the  grain 
already  reaped.  The  comer  of  the  field 
close  to  the  brook  lay  in  the  shadow  of 
some  walnut-trees,  and  a  woman  had 
availed  herself  of  the  grateful  shelter, 


to  lea^'e  her  baby  asleep  on  a  pile  of 
dry  straw.  As  Charlotte  approached, 
the  baby  awoke  and  began  to  cry,  after 
the  imperious  fashion  of  babies.  She 
kneeled,  and  took  the  little  one  in  her 
arms.  To  his  hungry  instincts,  all 
women  represented  but  one  possibility, 
and  his  hand  immediately  began  tug- 
ging at  Charlotte's  bosom,  in  anticipa- 
tion of  his  accustomed  refreshment. 

In  face  of  this  naive  confiden  e,  Char- 
lotte felt  a  sudden  contempt  for  her  use- 
less, maiden  breasts,  and  a  whimsical 
sympathy  for  the  disappointment  of  the 
poor  baby,  whose  sobs,  for  a  moment 
arrested  by  a  glimmer  of  hope,  now 
broke  forth  afresh. 

**  I  might  as  well  be  a  man  I "  she 
exclaimed,  angrily.  Fortunately,  suc- 
cor was  not  far  distant.  Charlotte  es- 
pied the  mother  at  the  end  of  the  field, 
and  carried  the  child  to  her,  to  be  over- 
whelmed with  thanks  for  her  facile 
complaisance. 

She  exchanged  a  few  words  with  the 
laborers,  inquired  about  the  day's  work 
and  the  calculations  for  to-morrow,  her- 
self  assisted  to  bind  so;ne  sheaves,  and 
then  continued  her  walk  through  the 
odorous  meadows. 

On  arriving  again  at  the  brook  Char- 
lotte encountered  an  old  woman  about 
to  cross  the  plank,  and  tottering  under 
the  weight  of  a  great  bundle  she  carried 
on  her  back.  Charlotte  helped  her 
over,  and  then  exclaimed  in  pity  of  a 
heavy  burden  for  such  aged  shoulders : 

"  Please  let  me  carry  it  for  you,"  she 
said. 

"  It  is  too  heavy." 

"  If  it  is  too  heavy  for  me,  what  must 
it  be  for  you  ?  I  entreat  you,  let  me  at 
least  try." 

"  Well,"  said  the  other,  *'  you  may 
try ;  but  you'll  soon  sicken  of  your 
bargain.  Fine  ladies  do  not  like  such 
work." 

"  I  am  not  a  fine  lady,"  said  Char- 
lotte, and  heaved  the  bundle  on  her 
back. 

Charlotte  was  stroncr,  but  naturally — 
(that  is,  as  the  world  is  arranged) — un- 
accustomed to  this  kind  of  work,  and  she 
staggered  not  a  little  under  the  burden. 


CONCSBNIXG  Oh^BLOTTE. 


41 


i  woman  walked  by  her  side, 
her  with  more  malice  than  grati- 

a  feel  very  grand  now,  don't 
she  remarked,  presently, 
.nd ! "  returned  Charlotte  gently, 
ashamed  to  think  that  you,  who 
and  poor,  must  also  suffer  from 
hardships  of  labor,  while  I,  who 
ng  and  strong,  have  nothing  to 
amuse  myself." 

i*t  tell  me,"  repeated  the  dame 
batinate  conviction.  "/  know 
)u*ll  boast  to  your  sweetheart 
laving  helped  an  old  woman, 
ice  him  on  to  think  you're  such 
of  perfection." 

jlood  flared  up  into  Charlotte's 
d  she  dashed  the  bundle  on  the 
.  "  Carry  your  load  yourself,  old 
)he  exclaimed,  *^  and  next  time 
ow  to  be  decently  civil  to  peo- 
nd  she  strode  off  in  great  wrath, 
3h,  to  do  her  justice,  she  was 
[y  extremely  ashamed, 
other  watched  her  for  awhile, 
n,  resuming  her  bundle,  trudged 
irds,  chuckling  as  she  went  over 
I  smartness,  which  had  proved 
aantly  effective. 

otte  arrested  her  indignant  steps 
rove  of  beech-trees    near    the 
These  trees  were  dearer  to  her 
ly  living  thing  on  the    farm, 
child,  she  had  sought  them  as 
t  constant  playmates  in  moments 
tiine,  her  most  steadfast  friends 
frequent  storms  that  darkened 
mtilc  horizon.     Here  she  had 
her  doll,  hero  she  had  trained 
,  here  she  had  studied  her  les- 
pored  over  marvellous  romances, 
^ove  grew  peopled  with  imag- 
icnds.     An  hour  in  the  calm 
3f  these  trees  had  never  failfed 
e  the  most  passionate  grief  or 
despair  of  that  restless  child- 
Charlotte    remembered    those 
that  moment,  and  clasping  an 
and  the  smooth  bole  of  a  noble 
ad  pressing  her  forehead  against 
tool  rind,  she  laughed  over  the 
13  impertinence  which  had  been 
K>  ruffle  her  equanimity. 
)L.  V— 4 


**  I  would  climb  this  tree  this  minute, 
just  as  I  used  to,"  she  thought,  **  if  I 
had  not  a  muslin  dress  in  the  way. 
When  the  world  has  outgrown  its  pres- 
ent wretched  civilization,  it  will  reckon 
clothes  as  its  most  dreadful  Limbo  of 
Vanity." 

From  the  beeches  to  the  kitchen-gar- 
den, to  see  if  the  lettuce  had  gone  to 
seed,  and  thence  to  the  stable  to  pat 
the  white  forehead  of  her  saddle-horse, 
and  finally  to  the  house  again,  when  the 
night  had  begun  to  embrace  the  earth 
with  dewy  kisses,  and  above  the  dark- 
ness the  July  heavens  brightened  with 
golden  stars. 

After  tea,  Charlotte  settled  herself 
luxuriously  in  the  parlor  to  read. 

(There  was,  of  course,  a  housekeeper, 
or  retired  governess,  or  dame  de  compch 
gnie^  who  lived  with  Charlotte,  and  pre- 
served the  proprieties.  As,  however,  I 
have  no  use  for  her  except  in  connec- 
tion with  the  proprieties,  I  prefer  not 
to  charge  myself  with  her  description. 
But  I  seize  this  opportunity  to  beg  my 
readers,  who  are  undoubtedly  more 
posted  in  such  matters  than  I  am,  to 
themselves  introduce  this  needful  per- 
sonage into  any  scene,  or  at  any  junc- 
ture that  their  finer  instincts  may  deem 
desirable.  I  am  persuaded  that  by  this 
device  we  shall  all  be  better  satisfied ; 
I  shall  avoid  the  risk  of  blundering, 
and  innumerable  tediums,  and  my  cour- 
teous readers,  having  assumed  the  re- 
sponsibility, must  blame  themselves  if 
the  situations  are  not  arranged  to  their 
liking,  and  in  accordance  with  their 
highest  principles.) 

The  book  selected  for  this  evening's 
perusal  was  Wilhelm  Meister.  Char^ 
lotte  always  derived  singular  enjoyment 
fh)m  Goethe,  whose  vast,  calm  mind, 
composed  in  such  unfathomable  seren- 
ity, never  failed  to  open  to  her  endless 
fiwcinations.  The  serenity  arises,  not 
firom  indifference,  but  from  the  perfect 
balance  of  all  conceivable  elements, 
that,  isolated,  might  have  tended  to 
excess.  Every  thing  is  there,  and  each 
detail  tends  to  harmonize  the  rest,  as  in 
a  broad  landscape  that  reposes  in  the 
mellow  sunshine  of  an  autumn  day — 


42 


TrrsAM'B  Magazine. 


[JmtL, 


fbowning  mountain  and  placid  valley, 
sombre  forests  peopled  with  hobgoblins, 
and  bourgeois  villages  where  mugs  of 
ale  froth  incessantly  on  inn-signs, — 
nothing  omitted,  nothing  out  of  place, 
the  whole  perfectly  combined  as  the 
strains  in  an  orchestral  symphony. 

There  is  no  comfort  like  that  arising 
from  communion  with  these  universal 
minds, — no  thought,  or  feeling,  or 
passion,  that  they  cannot  understand, 
explain,  and  soothe.  We  yield  our- 
selves to  them  with  the  same  confidence 
as  we  follow  Nature,  knowing  that  any 
momentary  antagonism  will  be  balanced 
further  on  by  some  new,  profound  sym- 
pathy. It  was  in  this  way  that  Char- 
lotte read  Goethe. 

The  volume  opened  of  itself  at  the 
charming  description  of  Theresa,  her 
orderly  house,  and  the  well-scoured  tubs 
riuiged  before  the  door.  Charlotte  had 
read  the  chapter  many  times,  but  tliis 
evening  it  struck  her  in  a  new  light. 

*'  I  believe  I  am  just  like  Theresa," 
she  said  to  herself!  "  Only  I  am  afraid 
my  tubs  are  not  quite  as  brilliantly 
clean.'' 

She  read  on,  through  the  Confessions 
of  a  Beautiful  Soul,  the  history  of 
Nathalie,  and  into  the  Second  Part,  in 
whose  mysterious  depths  she  finally  lost 
herself,  and — no  offence  to  Goethe— fell 
asleep. 

She  slept  comfortably  for  several 
hours,  and  was  at  last  awakened  by  a 
cnickling  sound,  and  the  smell  of  some- 
thing burning.  A  great  light  filled  the 
T<K>m  and  dazzled  her  eyes,  so  that  it 
wa»  several  seconds  before  she  was 
clearly  aware  that  the  window-curtains 
werc>  on  fire.  They  had  caught  from 
the  lamp,  as  its  flame  flared  up  just 
Wore  lining  extinguished. 

Tli'i  cl<i€k  p^>inted  to  one,  the  house- 
hold wa»  therefore  certainly  in  bed,  and 
th*i  ujiutreM  resolved  to  leave  well-eam- 
«;  J  f\um\Mfn  undisturbed,  and  rely  upon 
Jji-r  */vm  irx*'rtion»  for  mastering  the  fire. 
}f>'h**  pu^b<;d  a  t'ible  against  the  wall, 
iii</uttt45<i  uiM/n  it,  and  tried  to  wrench 
tLc  curU^i^K  from  their  fastcnincfs.  They 
4;uuA4r  Hway  in  fragments,  which  she 
thrvw  </ut  of  the  window,  not  darinjj  to 


trust  them  to  the  floor  covered  witk 
smnmer  matting.  Once,  however,  some 
burning  pieces  dropped,  and  set  the 
matting  on  fire.  Charlotte  was  obliged 
to  abandon  the  curtains,  and  busy  her- 
self in  treading  out  the  new  flame. 
Then  a  pile  of  newspapers  caught,  and 
the  whole  room  seemed  to  be  endanger- 
ed. Charlotte  turned  over  on  the  floor 
the  table  which  held  the  combustihk 
material,  and  beat  upon  the  fire  nntO 
the  papers  had  been  reduced  to  a  mass 
of  charred  cinders ;  then  to  work  again 
at  the  curtains,  now  nearly  consomed, 
but  falling  in  glowing  drops  that  inoes- 
Bantly  menaced  destruction.  Charlotte 
worked  furiously,  she  burned  her  dreas, 
her  hands,  even  her  hair  was  on  ^it  Hat 
a  moment  A  wild  exultation  ^nimai^^ 
her  in  this  struggle  with  the  beaotifiii 
writhing  flame,  and  shut  out  the  faint- 
est whisper  of  terror.  On  this  account 
she  was  stronger  than  the  elements,  and 
prevailed  against  them,  and  finally 
stood  victor, — in  rags — amidst  a  heap 
of  ashes, — and  before  a  blackened  walL 

"  This  is  what  all  victories  amount 
to,"  thought  Charlotte.  "They  leave 
you  alive, — in  the  midst  of  desolation.^ 

She  could  not  abandon  such  desola- 
tion without  attempt  at  relief.  Pulling 
oflf  her  shoes  to  tread  more  softly,  she 
searched  pantry  and  kitchen  for  candles 
and  matches,  for  broom,  dustpan,  basin, 
soap  and  water,  and  set  to  work  to 
sweep  and  scrub  with  immense  energy — 
energy  entirely  superfluous,  since  the 
whole  work  could  have  been  done  rath- 
er better  the  next  morning  by  the  house- 
maid. But  Charlotte  was  so  roused  and 
wide-awake  after  the  excitement  of  put- 
ting out  the  fire,  that  she  could  not  bear 
the  thought  of  sleep.  She  measured 
the  necessities  of  the  case,  not  by  what 
was  to  lie  done,  but  by  the  surplus 
activity  at  her  disposal  for  doing  it, — 
and  which  devoured  the  material  ele- 
ments placed  before  it,  with  scarcely 
less  im]>etuosity  than  the  flame  had 
done  the  hour  before. 

At  last  all  was  finished  and  in  order, 
the  broom  and  other  implements  scru- 
pulously restored  to  their  places,  and 
Charlotte  leaned  on  the  partially  rcno- 


CONOSBXINO  ChABLOTTB. 


48 


nndow-sill,  to  watch  the  coming 
It  was  half-past  three  o^clock ; 
sater  number  of  the  stars  had 
but  those  that  remained  were 
id  bright,  as  they  always  are  at 
>nr  in  summer,  like  the  eyes  of 
a  who  listen  to  fairy  tales.  The 
»  had  thinned  to  a  silver  mist, 
on  the  lowlands  watered  by 
>ok;  a  little  breeze  stirred  in 
ubbery  and  heralded  the  mom- 

^mpass  of  a  single  day  is  wide 
for  almost  all  possibilities  of 
t  or  freaks  of  imagination.  Like 
in  who  resumes  many  women  in 
to  fix  the  fickle  fancy  of  her 
he  day,  having  oflfered  all  varie- 
rcality  during  its  hours  of  sun- 
encompasses  the  vaster  regions 
jality  during  the  hours  wasted 
vorld  in  sleep.  At  this  strangest 
t  between  darkness  and  dawn, 
becomes  weird  and  fantastic,  the 
.  foundations  of  things  waver 
)bwebs  hanging  on  the  rose- 
the  most  unquestionable  truths 
grotesque  to  our  irreverence  as 
dows  lying  on  the  lawn.  People 
1  to  scepticism  should  avoid 
Dur  like  poison.  But  others, 
too  firmly  planted  amidst  the 
)f  this  life,  amidst  irreproachable 
lea  and  unquestionable  truths, — 
not  ill  for  them  to  hold  an  oc- 
1  vigil  at  half-past  three  o'clock 
mmer  morning. 

lotte,  still  haunted  by  the  me- 
f  Theresa  and  her  well-scoured 
ras  dimly  aware  of  the  advan- 
f  such  a  vigil,  and  still  more 
alive  to  the  enjoyment  of  being 
it  that  time  of  the  morning, 
ever  sat  up  all  night  before,'' 
d.  "  It  is  delightful.  I  wish 
;ains  would  catch  fire  every  even- 
she  watched  the  dawn  until  the 
,d  reddened  like  a  country  milk- 
■nd  every  thing  returned  to  com- 
ce.  Then  she  washed  her  face, 
nt  to  bed,  to  recruit  decent  en- 
6r  Mrs.  Lauderdale's  dinner  that 
3n. 


THC  BIHKEIl-PAKTT. 


When  Charlotte  awoke,  late  in  the 
day,  she  discovered  that  her  left  hand 
had  been  badly  burned,  and  was  by 
this  time  swollen  with  inflammation. 
The  pain,  at  first  rather  severe,  yielded 
to  soothing  topics,  but  the  hand  was 
helpless — must  be  enclosed  in  wrappings 
— and  stood  decidedly  in  the  way  of 
due  enjoyment  of  the  dinner-party. 
But  Charlotte,  whose  very  latent  friend- 
ship for  the  Stebbinses  seemed  to  have 
been  suddenly  fanned  to  flame,  could 
not  refuse  herself  the  opportunity  offer- 
ed for  meeting  them.  She  therefore 
threw  a  light  scarf  over  her  dress,  con- 
cealed her  burned  hand  in  its  fblds,  and 
in  this  fashion  presented  herself,  not 
unpresentably,  at  Mrs.  Lauderdale's. 

As  she  entered  the  room,  a  handsome 
youth  came  forward  eagerly  to  greet  her. 

"  Mrs.  Lauderdale  has  commissioned 
me  to  take  you  to  dinner,"  said  he  im- 
mediately. 

"  Ingenious  Mrs.  Lauderdale  !  I  trust 
that  masterly  manoeuvre  did  not  cost 
her  many  hours'  sleep  last  night  ?  " 

^'  I  did  not  ask  her,  and  did  not  care. 
I  only  know  that  she  has  made  me 
supremely  happy,  and  relieved  my  mind 
of  a  load  under  which  it  has  been 
groaning  all  day." 

"  Poor  boy  I  If  it  is  not  an  indiscre- 
tion, may  I  inquire  tohat  load  ?  Have 
you  been  helping  Canton  carry  pota- 
toes? But  no,  you  never  would  have 
engaged  in  any  thing  half  so  useful." 

"  Now,  Charlotte  !  Don't  begin  to 
be  vicious  already.  You  know  well 
enough  I  had^  every  reason  to  fear  that 
you  would  be  assigned  to  some  one  else 
— this  AUston,  for  instance,  about  whom 
Lauderdale  talks  so  much." 

Chariotte  bit  her  lip.  "  Oh  Gerald  ? 
how  profound  is  the  selfishness  of  hu- 
man nature  I  Have  you  no  sympathy 
for  Mr.  Allston,  whom  you  have  thus 
cruelly  deprived  of  the  pleasure  ? " 

"  Not  a  bit.  Every  one  for  himself 
in  cases  like  this.  Let  my  conscience 
alone,  will  you  ?  I  am  perfectly  happy 
at  this  moment,  and  don't  want  to  be 
troubled,  especially  just  before  dinner. 
It  spoils  the  digestion." 


44 


PUTKAM^S  MaGAZIKB. 


[Jan^ 


As  Charlotte  suspected,  Mrs.  Lauder- 
dale did  pride  herself  on  remarkable 
ingenuity  in  the  assortment  of  this  pair 
of  guests, — and  that  for  a  reason. 

Gerald  was  suitor  to  Charlotte. 

Had  he  not  been,  Charlotte  would 
probably  have  fallen  in  love  with  him 
long  ago,  for  he  was  handsome,  grace- 
Ail,  charming  in  eyery  respect.  As  it 
was,  she  could  not  quite  make  up  her 
mind  whether  to  accept  or  reject  him. 
She  was  quite  indifferent  to  him  when 
he  was  hot,  and  quite  fond  of  him  when 
he  was  cold,  and  neyer  could  strike  an 
average  sentiment  sufficiently  reliable 
to  form  the  basis  of  a  matrimonial  alli- 
ance. In  the  meantime  there  was  no 
hurry, — Gerald  was  young— just  her 
own  age, — and,  as  Charlotte  observed  to 
him,  could  not  have  lighted  upon  a 
more  fascinating  employment  than  that 
of  making  love  to  her. 

"  There  is  therefore  no  harm  in  pro- 
longing it,"  she  added.  "  I  am  con- 
vinced it  is  the  most  serious  business  in 
which  you  have  ever  been  concerned. 
In  the  course  of  time,  it  is  probable  that 
your  attentions  will  have  produced  the 
requisite  effect, — and  then  I  will  marry, 
you." 

"But  don't  you  love  me  a  little,  just 
a  little  now,  to  start  with?"  urged 
poor  (herald. 

"  Ah,  well !  I  really  don't  know.  That 
is  your  business  to  find  out.  If  you  are 
ever  bored  with  the  effort,  you  arc 
always  at  liberty  to  resign, — and  on  my 
part,  I  promise  you,  should  I  come 
spontaneously  to  any  conclusion,  I  will 
tell  you  at  once." 

"  How  is  it  possible  for  a  person  not 
to  know  whether  they  love  another  or 
not  ? " 

'•  How  is  it  possible  for  a  well  be- 
haved young  woman  to  know  what  she 
thinks  about  a  gentleman  until  he  has 
asked  her  ? " 

*'  Well,  I  hate  asked  you." 

"Precisely, — and  so  lam  beginning 
to  think  about  it.  But  these  things 
take  time.  Don't  imitate  the  children, 
and  pull  up  the  seeds  as  soon  as  plant- 
ed, to  see  if  they  have  taken  root." 

FauU  de  mieux^  Gkrald  accepted  this 


provisory  arrangement,  and,  as  Char- 
lotte had  predicted,  found  it  to  be  not 
destitute  of  charm.  He  saw  Charlotte 
frequently,  and  she  always  enjoyed  his 
society,  except  on  the  rare  occasions 
when  it  interfered  with  something  else. 
Gerald's  last  remark,  as  he  handed  her 
to  dinner,  now  restored  her  to  thorough 
appreciation  of  him. 

"  I  do  not  believe  Allston  has  come, 
after  all.  Lauderdale  would  have  been 
introducing  him  to  every  body." 

At  table,  Charlotte  became  seriously 
embarrassed  by  the  helplessness  of  her 
burnt  hand.  The  soup  and  fish  were 
easily  discussed,  but  when  the  roast  was 
served,  the  difficulty  grew  insurmounta- 
ble,— and  unable  to  resolve  it,  she  left 
her  plate  untouched.  This  Gerald  did 
not  fail  to  notice. 

"  Why  don't  you  eat  ? "  asked  he. 

"  I  am  not  hungry." 

"  Oh,  are  you  ill  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  this 
time  in  a  tone  of  extreme  anxiety. 

"  Yes." 

"  Oh,  Charlotte,  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 
repeated  Gerald,  turning  pale  and  lay- 
ing down  his  fork  in  consternation.  **  I 
should  not  have  supposed  you  were  ill." 

"  That  is  just  like  men's  thoughtless- 
ness. How  can  you  look  in  my  face, 
and  not  perceive  there  the  stamp  of  suf- 
fering ? " 

"But,"  hesitated  Gerald,  looking  at 
her  in  perplexity,  "  your  lips  are  red." 

"  That  is  the  fever." 

"  And  your  eyes  are  bright." 

"  That  is  delirium." 

*'  Charlotte,"  said  Gerald,  solemnly, 
'^  you  make  me  miserable  by  such  sus- 
pense. I  entreat  you  to  tell  me,  on  your 
word  of  honor,  are  you  ill  ? " 

"  Gerald,"  returned  Charlotte  in  the 
same  tone,  "  I  perceive  that  your  sensi- 
bilities must  not  be  trifled  with.  On 
my  word  of  honor,  then, — no." 

"Then  why  don't  you  cat  your 
dinner  ? " 

As  Charlotte  beat  her  brains  for  some 
new  excuse,  she  happened  to  drop  her 
handkerchief.  Gerald  f,tooped  to  pick 
it  up,  and  in  so  doing  caught  sight  of 
the  wounded  hand,  which  Charlotte, 
trusting  to  the  concealment  of  the  table, 


CosrosBNiNG  Charlotte. 


45 


sntangled  from  her  scarf.  Light 
upon  him. 

I  see  what  is  the  matter.    You 
art   your   hand.      Poor    little 

sense,  you  know  that  my  hands 

little." 

y  seem  so  to  me  when  they 

What  has  happened  to  yon  ? " 

imed  myself." 

d  heavens !    How  ?  What  were 

Qg?" 

sting  chestnuts.". 

7  could  you  do  that  ?  " 

d  no  cat's  paw  to  get  them  out 

re  for  me." 

,  Charlotte,  there  arc  no  chest- 

this  season  ?  " 

lid,  your  rural  knowledge  will 

e  overwhelming.     Before  long 

I  be  convinced  that  tomatoes  do 

V  out  of  doors  in  December." 

me  honestly,  Charlotte,  how 
oed  yourself." 
11.    But  prepare  your  nerves  for 

shock.    First,  which  way  did 
le  here  this  afternoon  ?  " 
•he  Crofton  road." 
!i    you    did   not   pass  by  my 

Otherwise,  you   would   have 
(casually)  that  it  is  a  mass  of 
dd  ruins." 
rlotte ! " 

sure  you.  The  curtains  in  the 
)ok  fire, — the  woodwork  caught, 
itly  the  whole  house  was  in  a 
I  have  lost  every  thing,  fumi- 
thing,  jewelry, — not  to  speak  of 
sum  of  money  iu  the  wooden 
f.  I  am  nearly  beggared." 
.  you  sit  there  so  quietly  and 
ihat  I " 

ee  months  ago  I  read  Seneca, 
IS,  and  Marcus  Aurelius  Anto- 
ius,  all  at  once.  I  knew  some- 
ould  come  of  it.  But  that  is 
Dn  I  am  so  calm." 
irdly  know  whether  to  believe 
Lot.    Is  there  nothing  I  can  do 

r" 

you  may  cut  up  this  chicken 
I  am  half  starved." 
i  readily  accepted  the  charge, 
get   possession  of  Charlotte^s 


plate,  without  attracting  the  attention 
of  the  other  guests,  was  a  feat  that 
required  rather  complicated  manoeuvres. 
To  such  manoQUvres,  renewed  with  every 
course,  the  two  friends  addressed  them- 
selves in  ridiculous  earnestness  and 
profound  enjoyment.  Several  times  they 
were  nearly  swept  out  of  all  table  pro- 
prieties, by  a  suppressed  gale  of  laugh- 
ter at  their  own  absurdities. 

"  Gerald,  you  arc  delicious,"  said 
Charlotte. 

*^And  you  are  a  sugarplum  from 
heaven,  to  say  so.  To  what  else  can  I 
help  you  ? " 

**  Nothing  for  the  moment.  It  is 
astonishing  how  the  appetite  is  stimu- 
lated by  the  possession  of  some  one 
ready  to  do  all  the  hard  work  for  you. 
Tou  ought  to  sigh  for  the  pudding  as 
for  Elysian  fields." 

"  I  don't  see  why." 

"  Because  that  is  eaten  with  a  spoon, 
my  brilliant  friend.  And  think  of  the 
raisins  and  the  nuts  I — which  you  shall 
crack  for  me, — and  the  bonbons  I  I 
will  give  you  all  my  prettiest,  with  the 
most  touching  mottoes,  as  a  slight  ac- 
knowledgment of  your  inestimable  ser- 
vices." 

"Do  not  insult  Mrs.  Lauderdale,  or 
her  housekeeper,  by  the  supposition 
that  there  will  be  bonbons.  I  should 
think  you  had  not  been  out  to  dinner 
since  you  were  ten  years  old." 

"  So  should  L  I  wish  I  were  no  more 
now.  However,  I  have  my  wish  when- 
ever you  are  at  my  elbow,  for  you  are  a 
very  fountain  of  eternal  youth." 

"I  wish  you  would  consent  to  re- 
juvenate yourself  with  me  eternally," 
said  Gerald  in  a  low  tone. 

"  I  will — when  I  am  thirty,"  answer- 
ed Charlotte. 

During  the  monotonous  interim  that 
Anglo-Saxon  civilization  places  between 
the  excitbment  of  dinner  and  the  ex- 
citement of  the  "gentlemen"  after- 
wards, Charlotte  sat  in  a  sandbank, 
covered  with  artificial  flowers,  and  com- 
posed chiefly  of  Stebbinses.  Just  as 
eyes,  mouth,  nose,  and  ears  were  becom- 
ing choked  with  flying  sand,  dusty  and 
gritty  as  is  its  nature  so  to  be,  there 


46 


PuTNAH^s  Magazine. 


[Jan., 


fell  a  shower  of  pore  cool  rain,  and  laid 
the  dust.  This  refreshing  effect  be- 
longed more  to  the  voice  than  the 
words,  which  were  as  follows : 

*^  No,  Lauderdale,  this  is  only  another 
of  the  prejudices  by  which  you  Anglo- 
Saxons  shut  yourselves  out  from  com- 
munion with  humanity.  Tou  cannot 
imagine  that  any  thing  which  is  not 
yau^  has  any  claim  to  serious  considera- 
tion. If  you  are  narrow-minded,  you 
hate ;  if  you  are  liberal,  you  regard  with 
superb  pity  all  wretches  lying  in  the 
outer  darkness,  beyond  the  sacred  in- 
fluence of  your  regulation  broadcloth, 
condemned  to  bearskin  or  pigtails.  That 
the  Chinese  like  their  pigtails,  that  they 
have  as  good  reason  for  maintaining 
them  as  you  have  for  shaving  your 
faces,— Mai  never  enters  your  practical 
imaginations.  You  send  missionaries 
to  these  benighted  heathen  to  convert 
them  from  their  absurdities  to  your 
own;  you  poison  them  with  opium, 
and  tiy  to  outcheat  them  in  trading. 
But  as  to  calling  the  Chinese  men, — as  to 
admitting  the  Celestial  Empire  into  the 
Federation  of  the  World, — ^you  would 
as  soon  extend  your  fellowship  to  the 
man  in  the  moon." 

The  diction  of  the  speaker  was  so 
rapid,  that  Charlotte  would  have  sup- 
posed English  to  be  his  native  lan- 
guage, except  for  the  slight  foreign 
accent  and  the  extreme  vivacity  of  the 
tone.  He  had  entered  the  room  with 
Mr.  Lauderdale,  and  the  host  now  led 
him  directly  towards  Charlotte. 

"  Allow  me  to  introduce  to  you  Mr. 
Ethelbert  Allston,"  said  Mr.  Lauderdale. 

"Ethelbert  Allston,  Ethelbert  AU- 
ston,"  repeated  Charlotte  to  herself  as 
she  looked  at  the  stranger.  And  from 
that  moment  she  was  never  able  to  dis- 
sociate the  name  from  him,  or  himself 
from  the  name. 

"  We  have  been  discussing  the  merits 
of  the  Chinese,"  continued  Lauderdale, 
^'  whom  Mr.  Allston  seems  to  bave  taken 
under  his  special  protection.  Perhaps 
Mr.  Allston  only  uses  the  Chinese  to 
defend  a  general  theory." 

"  The  .doctrine  is  certainly  general," 
answered  Mr.  Allston.    **  But  you  can- 


not fail  to  see  how  specially  it  applies 
to  these  outrageously  abused  Chinamen. 
Here  is  an  Empire  that  has  subsisted 
for  centuries,  and  developed  an  elabo- 
rate and  polished  civilization;  whose 
political  economy  has  solved  the  prob- 
lem of  supporting  the  densest  popula- 
tion on  the  smallest  territory;  whose 
administration,  a  marvel  of  ingenious 
mechanism,  has  preserved  order  and 
stability  on  an  immense  scale,  and  for 
inmiense  periods  of  time ;  whose  learn- 
ed societies  have  furnished  the  model 
for  European  institutes,  and  whose 
learned  men  have  given  the  ton  to 
European  savants ;  whose  commerce 
rivals  Liverpool,  and  whose  industry 
throws  Manchester  into  the  shade; 
whose  religion  is  among  the  most  moral 
ever  invented,  and  whose  ecclesiastical 
system  is  as  skilfully  balanced  as  that 
of  Catholicism  or  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land. This  is  the  people  reckoned  as  a 
deadweight  among  the  nations  of  the 
world!  Socialists  devise  systems  that 
ignore  China;  thinkers  proclaim  phil- 
osophies that  despise  China  ;  moralists 
castigate  their  countrymen  with  the 
dread  of  imitating  China ;  all  Europe, 
this  speck  on  the  face  of  the  world,  this 
moment  in  the  history  of  time,  this 
parvenu^  big  with  its  own  conceit,  never 
misses  an  opportunity  to  belabor,  to 
calumniate,  to  sneer  at  China." 

"  So,  in  chivalrous  opposition  to  the 
rest  of  the  world,  Mr.  Allston  uses  every 
opportunity  to  defend — China." 

**  Quite  true,  Charlotte,"  said  Mr. 
Lauderdale.  "  And  I  confess,  Allston,  I 
hardly  understand  such  quixotic  chiv- 
alry. You  of  all  men,  with  your  passion 
for  movement  and  progress  and  liberty, 
should  be  stifled  by  the  eternal  fixity 
and  monotony  and  ingenious  despotism 
of  China." 

"  I  do  not  admire  either  monotony  or 
despotism,"  answered  Allston.  "  But  I 
claim  that  those  who  admire  them  in 
Europe  have  no  right  to  despise  them  in 
China.  Mandarins,  and  state  religions, 
and  intellectual  aristocracies,  and  pub- 
lic assemblies,  are  as  respectable  there 
as  in  France.  And  I  doubt  if  the  fixity 
be  as  eternal  as  you  suppose.     These 


OONOBBXING  OhaBLOTTE. 


47 


1  reyolations,  this  inyasiou  of 
gs,  this  emigration  to  California, 
iiance  with  America,  these  de- 
for  Coolie  naturalization,  all  this 
significance.  But  it  is  easier  for 
oalyse  the  atmosphere  of  the  sun, 
be  nature  of  human  beings  that 
ad  tho  bad  taste  to  settle  at  the 
klountains  instead  of  the  Alps. 
)mes  us  well  to  talk  about  bar- 
I" 

much  further  might  haye  pro- 
the  rehabilitation  of  Chinese 
:er,  I  cannot  say,  not  being  well 
on  all  its  possible  claims  to  re- 
I  consideration.  But  at  that 
re  somebody  came  along  and 
3ff  in  another  direction  tho  chamr- 
r  humanity  in  the  Celestial  Em- 
ad  Charlotte  was  left  alone, 
did  not,  therefore,  fall  back  into 
ndbank,  for  its  hour  was  over. 
3  companions  and  varied  conyer- 
.  beguiled  the  time  agreeably, 
he  adyent  of  one  of  her  neigh- 
farmer,  a  most  worthy  man  but 
alker,  and  in  regard  to  whom 
Charlotte's  inyentiyo  mind  fore 
difficulties.  She  had,  howeyer, 
;d  herself  for  heroic  enterprises ; 
eviously  discussed  servants  with 
iy  on  her  right  in  a  tone  as  ani- 
ls the  subject  admitted ;  and  now 
d  with  good  heart  into  beets  and 
1.  But  in  spite  of  the  most  con- 
)U3  efforts,  the  conversation  lan- 
1.  At  a  critical  moment,  Char- 
•bserved  Mr.  AUston  approach, 
kt  himself  on  an  adjoining  sofa, 
d  by  a  new  idea,  she  addressed 
ipanion  in  a  different  key. 
:er  all,  Mr.  Penton,  we  must  ao- 
:dge  that  farming  is  slow  work. 
3U  and  I  vegetate  in  the  country, 
ms  before  the  pre- Adamite  del- 
d  instead  of  growing  richer,  we 
I  our  money  into  machines  that 
rork,  and  into  drains  that  don*t 
\griculture  is  a  syren,  a  cheat. 
}rcc  alone  opens  to  the  enterpris- 
reeable  and  profitable  means  of 
:  their  living." 
w?" 
the  first  place,  the  mental  satis- 


faction of  the  merchant  is  infinitely 
superior  to  that  of  the  farmer.  Instead 
of  ]X)king  away  over  his  own  miserable 
potato-patch,  he  busies  himself  with 
distributing  potatoes  to  the  entire  globe, 
and  thus  accomplishes  work  for  human- 
ity. The  Chinese,  our  forerunners  in 
civilization,  and  from  whom  we  have 
derived  every  thing  that  we  have  worth 
speaking  about,  have  long  ago  divined 
this  moral  superiority.  They  have 
made  themselves  niasters  of  all  the  arts 
of  conunerce,  cheating  included,  and  on 
the  most  sublime  scale.  Why,  I  have 
read  that  in  China  a  merchant  is  allow- 
ed by  law  to  keep  three  balances,  one 
for  selling  too  light,  one  for  buying  too 
heavy,  and  one  for  private  correction  of 
his  own  operations ;  that  grocers  cover 
blocks  of  wood  with  layers  of  meat 
and  sell  them  for  Westphalian  hams,  as 
fresh  from  the  pig  as  is  compatible  with 
irreproachable  salting  in  material  ob- 
tained from  the  dSirU  of  Lofs  wife. 
Ton  know  the  Dead  Sea  is  more  accessi- 
ble from  Pekin  than  firom  London.  On 
the  whole,  I  cannot  sufficiently  admii'e 
this  wonderful  people  for  the  wonderf al 
use  they  have  made  of  the  most  won- 
derful institution  of  modem  society — 
commerce.  I  think  I  shall  sell  my  farm, 
and  emigrate  to  Hong  Kong  to  engage 
in  silk-worms  or  the  tea-trade.  Which 
do  you  advise,  Mr.  Penton  ? " 

Before  that  gentleman  could  collect 
his  ponderous  wits  for  a  reply,  Mr.  AU- 
ston had  drawn  nearer,  as  if  to  join  in 
the  conversation.  The  worthy  farmer 
availed  himself  of  the  opportunity  to 
beat  a  retreat,  and  Allston  installed 
himself  in  his  place. 

^^  I  did  not  expect  to  have  so  soon  the 
privilege  of  hearing  such  an  able  de- 
fence of  China,"  said  he,  with  a  smile 
that  would  have  been  mischievous  in  a 
more  personal  kind  of  person. 

"  I  suppose  not,"  answered  Charlotte 
gravely.  If  you  have  a  proselytizing 
disposition,  you  must  be  enchanted  with 
your  rapid  success  in  bringing  over  to 
your  theories  even  so  insignificant  a 
convert  as  myself." 

"  No  person  is  insignificant  when 
their  relations  to  truth  are  concerned," 


48 


Putnam's  Magazins. 


[Jan., 


replied  Allston,  with  entire  seriousness, 
and  completely  ignoring  the  opportunity 
for  gallantry  afforded  by  Charlotte's 
remark,— a  fact  of  which  she  took  due 
notice.  "  And  I  am  sorry  to  perceive 
that  you  share  the  ordinary  delusion  in 
r^ard  to  the  majesty  of  conmierce.  I 
know  you  were  jesting,  yet  you  seemed 
partly  in  earnest  when  you  spoke  of  the 
services  rendered  by  conmierce  to  hu- 
manity. Is  it  possible  that  you  also  do 
reverence  to  this  monstrous  Baal, — ^this 
overgrown  parasite  that  drains  the 
strength  from  our  sinews, — ^this  gigantic 
tissue  of  fraud,  lies,  cheating,  sux>erBti- 
tion  and  oppression  ? '' 

"  To  tell  the  truth,"  said  Charlotte, 
"  I  have  never  thought  much  about  it, 
except  when  my  butcher  sells  me  stale 
meat  or  my  grocer  falsifies  the  butter. 
But  I  should  be  most  happy  to  hear 
your  exposition  of  the  subject.  Icono- 
clasm  is  always  exciting, — and  profita- 
ble,— for  the  by-standers  can  steal  the 
stones  from  the  ruins,  and  use  them  to 
build  up  their  own  bams." 

"  No,  I  will  not  bore  you  with  two 
harangues  in  one  evening.  Besides,  I 
came  to  ask  you  a  question.  Who  is 
that  young  lady  sitting  alone  in  the 
comer  ? " 

"  With  the  heliotrope  in  her  hair  ? " 

"  Now  you  mention  it,  I  perceive  that 
she  has  one." 

"  It  is  the  only  flower  she  ever  wears. 
It  is  Margaret  Bumham,  governess  to 
Mrs.  Lauderdale's  children.  8he  is  a 
very  lovely  person,  and  one  of  my  best 
friends." 

**  She  does  not  seem  to  know  many 
people  here." 

"No,— or  at  least  she  is  shy  and 
diflSdcnt  about  talking  in  company." 

**  Would  you  be  so  very  kind  as  to 
introduce  me  to  her  t " 

"  With  the  greatest  pleasure.'' 

They  crossed  the  room  to  Margaret, 
rousing  her  from  the  dream  in  which 
she  had  been  absorbed,  to  complete 
oblivion  of  every  thing  around  her.  As 
Charlotte  introduced  Mr.  AUston,  she 
colored  faintly,  but  apparently  more 
from  embarrassment  than  pleasure.  But 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  Charlotte, 


looking  from  the  other  side  of  the  room, 
was  astonished  to  see  her  engaged  in 
animated  conversation  with  the  stranger. 
He,  not  only  by  his  words,  but  in  every 
tone  of  his  flexible  voice,  every  gracefVil 
swaying  gesture  that  accompanied  his 
fluent  speech,  seemed  to  adapt  himself 
with  such  friendly  tact  to  the  shy 
thoughts  of  his  companion,  that  he 
elicited  their  expression  almost  uncon- 
sciously to  herself.  Her  color  rose,  her 
eyes  sparkled  softly. 

"  Can  that  be  Margaret !  "  thought 
Charlotte,  wonderingly. 

When  Charlotte  entered  the  dressing- 
room  for  her  shawl,  preparatory  to  de- 
parture, Margaret  followed  to  inter- 
change a  friendly  salutation. 

"  How  well  you  look,"  said  Charlotte, 
"  really  happy,  Madgeling." 

"  I  feel  quite  happy  to-night,"  answer- 
ed Margaret.    "  I  hardly  know  why." 

"  Little  goose,"  said  Charlotte,  taking 
Margaret's  chin  in  her  hand  and  kissing 
her  forehead,  "/  know  why.  It  is 
because  you  have  enjoyed  the  refresh- 
ment of  talking  to  a  person  bright  and 
intelligent,  and  able  to  appreciate  and 
sympathize  with  you." 

"  Oh,  no,"  exclaimed  Margaret,  shrink- 
ing ;  "  I  hope  I  am  not  so  egotistical  as 
to  be  affected  by  such  a  circumstance ! " 

"  My  dear  Margaret,"  observed  Char- 
lotte, wisely,  "  when  you  are  as  old  as  I 
am,  you  will  have  learned  the  tme  value 
of  occasional  egotisms." 

"I  am  a  good  deal  older  than  you 
now." 

**  By  the  calendar,  yes ;  but  any  one 
properly  informed  concerning  the  pre- 
ezistence  of  the  soul,  must  perceive  in 
an  instant  that  I  have  sojourned  several 
ages  in  other  planets,  and  arrive  in  this 
world  already  ripened  by  experience." 

"  What  planet  do  you  come  from  ? " 

**  First,  I  believe,  from  Mars,  but  my 
latest  residence  was  in  Jupiter,  so  that 
my  originally  combative  instincts  have 
been  overmastered  by  instincts  for 
domination.  But  you^  little  friend, — 
you  sprang  to  life  all  at  once — and  not 
long  ago— from  a  conjunction  of  moon- 
shine and  silvery  cobwebs." 

*'  Nonsense  !  do  nut  talk  about  such 


Ad  Msipsuv.  49 

B  joBt  before  going  to  bed.    It     top,  while  von  will  lie  awake  half  the 
able  your  Bleep.**  night  from  the  excitement  of  tnlkiag  to 

lall  go  home  and  sleep  like  a     Mr.  AUston.** 


■•»• 


AD    MEIP8UM. 

Had  I  the  words  which  weave  and  twine 
Around  dull  things  with  Nature's  art ; 

Or  if  the  gift  were  only  mine 
By  some  old  power  to  move  the  heart ; 

Then  would  I  sit  and  catch  the  notes 

Which  birds  upraise  with  happy  throats, 
And  mine  should  be  the  happier  part. 

0  master-singer  I  far  away 

Thy  strong,  free  pinions  bore  thee  on : 
We  only  wait,  and  sadly  say, 

"  The  old  heroic  times  are  gone." 
We  strike  the  strings  with  feeble  hand, 
We  wake  no  long-unheeding  land  : 

Though  we  are  many,  thou  art  one. 

Music  I    This  measure  cannot  reach 
Those  clear,  sweet  heights  of  sound  serene. 

1  fail  with  all  the  rest,  and  teach 

No  better  souls  to  stand  between 
The  throng  who  look  with  eager  eyes 
On  unavailing  Paradise, 

And  them  who  tread  the  fadeless  green. 

But  if  God  grant  me  now  and  then 
A  verse  from  some  dear  angcVs  book — 

If  He  shall  help  me  upward,  when 
It  may  be  given  that  I  look 

For  one  brief  moment  at  the  plan 

Framed  with  the  earth  as  time  began — 
That  shall  seem  better  which  I  took. 

And,  even  as  a  child  may  tell 
Of  hidden  and  mysterious  things, 

I,  too,  may  utter  passing  well 
Our  longings  and  the  inward  strings 

Which,  unto  every  soul  of  man 

Bom,  with  our  being,  under  ban 
Forever  this  existence  brings. 

Then,  if  the  breath  of  some  new  thought 
Thrills  the  slow  music  of  the  time — 

If  hoi>es  of  higher  help  are  brought 
Out  of  another,  purer  clime — 

If  men  grow  better  and  their  hearts 

Lighter  through  this,  the  best  of  arts, 
I  shall  have  prospered  with  my  rhyme. 


50 


Putvam's  Magazinb. 


[Jaa^ 


IN  THE  DEPARTMENTS. 

803fB  ASPECTS  OF  THE   "  CIVIL  SEBYICE." 


3iT  object  in  penning  ibis  article  is 
to  put  upon  record  a  few  cursory  ob- 
servations and  tbougbts  suggested  dur- 
ing several  years  of  service  in  the  De- 
partments at  Washington. 

It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose,  as  many 
persons  appear  to  do,  that  the  clerk  is 
a  mere  drone,  or  machine,  at  the  best. 
Some  of  the  most  efficient  and  indefat- 
igable workers  that  I  have  ever  met 
belong  to  this  class;  and  he  who  is 
really  willing  to  labor  will  seldom  be  at 
a  loss  for  objects  on  which  to  exercise 
his  industry ;  while  he  who  prefers  idle- 
ness cannot  long  continue  to  shirk  his 
proper  duties.  Every  piece  of  work 
which  he  neglects  accumulates  upon 
the  hands  of  some  one  else ;  then  fol- 
low grumblings  from  equals,  and  censure 
from  superiors ;  and  sooner  or  later  dis- 
charge is  inevitable.  A  merely  oma- 
mcntol  clerk  is  a  costly  luxury  for  any 
office,  and  one  which  is  not  apt  to  be 
particularly  prized. 

In  the  Departments  are  many  men 
once  widely  known  in  business  circles, 
who  have  here  sought  and  found  a  tem- 
porary resting-place,  where  they  can 
take  fresh  breath  and  nerve  themselves 
anew  for  the  toilsome  ascent.  Here, 
too,  are  men  deeply  versed  in  profes- 
sional learning, — lawyers,  doctors,  cler- 
gymen, editors,  and  others — many  of 
whom  have  enjoyed  somewhat  of  local 
reputation  in  their  day,  and  could  no 
doubt  better  their  condition  even  now, 
if  they  but  dared  to  trust  to  their  wings 
again. 

Several  ex-Congressmen  and  officials 
of  no  mean  rank  share  their  fate,  and 
may  be  seen  at  their  respective  desks, 
plodding  along  as  resignedly  as  though 
their  aspirations  had  never  passed  be- 
yond the  granite  walls  that  ncwr  contain 
them. 

Here,  too,  as  might  bo  expected,  a 
goodly  delegation  of  authors  may  be 


found.  The  hours  of  labor  and  the 
nature  of  the  employment  suit  their 
tastes  and  convenience,  leaving  abun- 
dant leisure  for  the  exercise  of  their 
favorite  art.  Nevertheless,  with  few, 
if  any,  exceptions,  they  are  accounted 
among  the  most  valueless  clerks  in  the 
governmental  service. 

Some  time  since  I  was  amused  to  see 
in  an  article  written  by  one  of  the  most 
prominent  lady-editors  of  our  day,  a 
vigorous  protest  against  the  high  sala- 
ries paid  to  clerks  as  a  class,  immediate- 
ly followed  by  this  qualification  : 

"  Of  course  I  do  not  mean  to  iccludc  in  these 

remarks  the  author  of ,  or  the  author  of 

The  talents  which  these  gentlemen 


bring  to  the  public  sernce  are  but  poorly  com 
pensated  by  the  salaries  which  they  receire." 

Did  it  never  occur  to  the  fair  admirer 
of  genius  that  a  man  might  be  perfectly 
capable  of  composing  faultless  poetry 
or  fiction,  and  yet  be  utterly  without 
value  as  an  accountant,  a  copyist,  or  a 
man  of  business  ?  It  is  not  the  amount 
of  talent  which  a  man  possesses,  but  its 
adaptation  to  the  work  in  hand,  that 
constitutes  his  real  worth  in  any  capa- 
city ;  and  plain  Tom  Jolinson  or  Dick 
Jones,  who  could  not  scribble  a  pre- 
sentable couplet  or  chapter  to  save  their 
lives,  may  bo  far  more  useful  in  the 
practical  working  of  an  office  than 
Charles  Dickens  or  AlJfred  Tennyson. 
Furthermore,  the  particular  authors 
whom  she  has  specified  are  reported  to 
be  far  less  efficient  clerks  than  hundreds 
of  patient,  unknown  workers  whom  she 
would  deprive  of  a  portion  of  their 
pay,  because  they  are  deficient  in  b'ter- 
ary  "  talents." 

Instead  of  anecdotes  about  the  minor 
literary  notabilities  to  be  found  in  the 
Departments,  let  me  name  an  excellent 
example  of  a  most  praiseworthy  class — 
the  unassuming  hard  workers.  For 
eighteen  years  before  obtaining  his  ap- 


In  the  D£PABTM£NT8. 


51 


at  he  waa  a  priyate  soldier  in 
liar  anny,  and  served  through 
»le  of  the  war.  He  is  one  of 
whom  the  country  owes  more 
>robably  will  ever  acknowledge. 

.6  is  Benjamin  £ e. 

the  rebels  under  Early  ad- 
to  attack  the  Capital,  he  was 
>n  account  of  his  long  ezpcri< 
command  of  a  redoubt  on  the 
own  road,  the  point  where  the 
ck.  was  made.  It  was  weakly 
ed  by  some  volunteers  who  had 
!en  imder  fire,  and,  as  a  matter 
B,  the  first  gun  that  was  brought 
ipon  them  was  near  terminating 

est.   But  £ e,  manoeuvring  a 

iece  with  his  own  hands,  replied 
ually  that  the  enemy  were  glad 
Iraw  their  battery,  not  without 
L  dash  of  cavalry  was  repulsed 
sme  manner,  and  by  keeping  up 
h>nt  the  enemy  were  induced  to 
their  point  of  attack  to  one 
ras  &r  less  vulnerable.  Had  the 
t  been  taken,  Washington  would 
;en  in  the  hands  of  the  rebels 
em  hour,  for  its  defences  then 

the  condition  of  an  egg-shell, 
iding  to  be  pierced  at  any  one 

become  utterly  valueless  evcry- 

nan  is  an  indefatigable  worker, 
months  remained  habitually  at 
:  from  nine  in  the  morning  till 
an  hour  or  two  of  midnight, 
rough,  blunt,  good-hearted  Qer- 
las  a  ludicrous  habit  of  solilo- 
;  and  at  present  occupies  the 
of  Chief  Clerk  of  one  of  the 
s    of    the    Adjutant-Generars 

I  is  a  great  difference  among  our 
nen  in  their  manner  of  transact- 
iness.  General  Sherman,  for  iu- 
unashes  through  it  as  he  did  at 
through  the  Confederacy.  Many 
idorsements  are  extremely  char- 
c.  He  had  ordered  a  certain 
0  be  discontinued,  at  which  a 
nount  of  Government  property 
red.  Some  delay  in  us  removal 
y  took  place,  which  was  no 
irotractcd  by  the  usual  obstruc- 


tions of  rod-tape.  After  bcinfj  anr.oyctl 
by  several  communications  u|K>n  a  but> 
ject  of  which  he  was  heartily  tired,  ho 
blurts  out  thus :  "  Better  bum  the  w  hole 
concern  down  than  go  on  in  this  w:iy." 

Again,  information  is  received  tluu  a 
remnant  of  the  tieminoles  Btill  resilient 
in  Florida  are  likely  to  give  tniuble; 
whereupon  he  endurscs  as  follows : 
"  Try  and  get  the  Indian  Bureau  to  take 
care  of  these  Indians.  Don't  let  us  have 
another  Seminole  war,  for  Heaven's 
sake.  Belter  give  up  the  whole  penin- 
sula, which,  at  a  fair  valuation,  is  not 
worth  the  cost  of  a  single  campaign.'^  I 
quote  him  literally.  There  are  niuiiy 
more  like  these;  and  all  bear  the  Rtanip 
of  the  same  impatient  energy,  ar.d  <'()n- 
tempt  of  obstacles. 

Grant  in  the  Department  was  i^.iiet 
and  grave,  seldom  smilin*;,  and  p:r.eral- 
ly  keeping  his  eyes  fi.veil  upon  the 
ground,  except  when  he  raised  them 
with  a  quick,  scarehing  glance  to  Uio 
face  of  some  panser-by. 

His  adopted  son  is  a  remarkable  little 
fellow,  who  is  generally  taken  for  one 
of  his  own,  and  seems  to  be  completely 
unknown  to  the  ])ublic.  During  the 
war,  1  was  amused  on  meeting,',  at  the 
residence  of  a  lady-friend,  a  boy  of 
about  three  feet  six  inches  in  height, 
who  talked  with  all  the  self-iK)Jv<e»^ion 
of  a  veteran  man  of  the  worliL  lie  wa:* 
thin  and  pale-faced,  but  sceme^l  (xissess- 
ed  of  unusual  ambition  and  good  senM\ 
I  soon  learned  that  he  was  an  orphan, 
and  had  long  l)een  with  the  nrniy,  in 
the  capacity-,  I  believe,  of  drunniur. 
Altogether,  he  struck  mc  at  the  lime  as 
a  remarkable  character. 

Soon  afterward,  the  rebels  under 
£arly  invested  the  city,  and  citizens  as 
well  as  soldiers  took  up  anus  in  its 
defence.  Every  body  was  alive  with 
enthusiasm  who  was  not  quaking  with 
fear ;  and  the  little  warrior  caught  the 
infection. 

He  was  standing  close  to  my  side 
when  a  gun  rattled  post  followed  by 
another  and  another.  On  each  were 
seated  several  men,  who  had  chosen  this 
novel  means  of  conveyance,  rather  than 
wait  for  any  other.    At  once  he  leaped 


53 


PuTNAM^s  Magazine. 


[Jan., 


into  the  street  and,  making  for  the 
nnarcst,  begged  to  be  allowed  to  go 
with  them  and  fight  the  rebels.  He 
was  answered  by  shouts  of  laughter,  and 
after  a  vain  attempt  to  climb  in,  retired 
discomfited. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  his  eyes  brimful  of 
tears  and  his  face  more  than  brimful 
of  disgust,  "  well,  I  don't  care  if  they 
do  get  whipped.  They  say  they  want 
men  to  fight  the  rebels ;  and  when  a 
man  offers  to  go  thfey  won't  take  him." 

This  spirit  probably  accounts  for  his 
adoption  by  the  General,  which  soon 
afterward  occurred.  But  to  return  to 
the  Departments. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  the  general 
tendency  of  office  routine  is  far  from 
beneficial.  A  vast  majority  of  the  clerks 
have  of  necessity  but  little  responsibil- 
ity resting  upon  them,  and  soon  learn 
to  let  their  interest  in  their  work  cease 
with  each  day's  allotted  portion.  Their 
minds  are  thus  left  vacant  during  the 
remaining  eighteen  hours,  and  suscepti- 
ble to  all  external  temptations,  while 
salaries  regularly  paid  furnish  them 
with  the  means  of  gratifying  their  de- 
sires. It  is  no  wonder  that  many  of  the 
younger  and  more  thoughtless  should 
be  beguiled  into  follies  that  at  home 
would  be  almost  without  attraction. 

But  this  is  not  the  only  evil  effect 
produced.  While  there  are  undoubtedly 
some  situations  in  the  various  offices 
which  require  unusual  ability,  diligence, 
an<l  learning,  it  is  none  the  less  true 
that  at  most  of  the  desks  but  a  very 
moderate  quantity  of  brainwork  is  re- 
quired, and  no  body- work  that  is  worthy 
of  the  name.  As  a  natural  result,  the 
unused  faculties,  both  mental  and  physi- 
cal, lose  their  power ;  the  knowledge 
acquired  by  patient  study  at  school  and 
college  is  forgotten  little  by  little ;  the 
skill  of  hand  in  more  laborious  avoca- 
tions steadily  decreases ;  and  even  bod- 
ily health  and  vigor  soon  waste  away. 
Besides,  the  cheerfulness  and  sell-respect 
that  come  from  continuous  and  useful 
labor  is  at  least  partially  lost;  while 
the  consciousness  of  being  an  underling 
with  no  chance  of  promotion  tends  to 
dwarf  all  ambition  and  undermine  all 


self-reliance  and  independence  of  char- 
acter. 

A  very  considerable  number  of  the 
young  men  who  enter  the  Departments  * 
marry  within  two  or  three  years  after- 
ward ;  and  to  some  of  them  marriage 
proves  a  blessing.  Indeed,  it  is  a  mat- 
ter of  general  remark  that  for  every 
single  clerk  who  lays  up  money  there 
are  five  married  ones.  But,  notwith- 
standing, it  is  a  somewhat  hazardous 
experiment.  Even  if  the  couple  suc- 
ceed in  saving  any  thing  at  first,  which, 
considering  the  exorbitance  of  Wash- 
ington prices,  is  no  easy  matter,  their 
slender  resources  are  sure  to  be  drawn 
upon  as  the  family  increases,  till  noth- 
ing is  left.  Then  there  is  the  ever-pres- 
ent danger  of  discharge  continually 
hanging  over  their  heads.  With  every 
change  of  administration  it  comes  in 
the  guise  of  rotation  in  office ;  while 
between  times  "  reduction  "  (that  terri- 
ble word  I)  constitutes  a  sufficient  ex- 
planation at  any  moment.  Very  often 
this  same  "  reduction  "  is  only  apparent, 
consisting  simply  in  the  removal  of 
strangers  or  personal  enemies  to  make 
room  for  the  friends  of  those  in  power. 
But  that  is  a  poor  consolation  to  the 
helpless  discharged  one.  Ilis  only  re- 
source is  to  dog  the  heels  and  play  lac- 
quey in  the  anterooms  of  our  little 
great  men,  hoping  that  by  Congression- 
al infiuencc  he  can  procure  reinstate- 
ment. 

This  failing,  as  it  usually  does,  a 
hard  lot  awaits  him.  His  long-con- 
tinued sedentary  life  has  totally  unfit- 
ted him  for  either  manual  labor,  mer- 
cantile pursuits,  or  the  practice  of  a 
profession ;  and  in  all  probability  he 
has  no  resource  either  of  mind  or  body 
that  possesses  a  market  value.  Then  he 
has  beeif  tugged  so  long  in  the  wake 
of  the  Ship  of  State  that  he  doubts  his 
ability  to  row  alone,  and  is  half  in- 
clined to  shrink  from  the  undertaking. 
Without  money,  friends — for  he  has 
probably  made  none  in  Washington 
who  can  help  him^-or  means  of  earn- 
ing a  livelihood,  and  with  a  family 
looking  to  him  for  support,  his  condi- 
tion is  far  from  enviable. 


In  thb  Depabtmekts. 


58 


1,  the  amount  of  suffering  whicli 
rom  the  present  arbitrary  sys- 
lischarges  is  far  greater  than  is 
f  known,  and  perhaps  than 
e  generally  belieyed.  The  trou- 

trials  of  a  clerk  attract  no  at- 
from  the  world  outside ;  and 
little  from  eyen  his  companions 
£ce.    They  recognize  in  him  a 

passage  like  themselves,  who 
lo  one  knows  whence,  and  goes 
mows  whither.  While  together, 
ve  their  petty  merry-makings 
rtbumings,  their  common  griev- 
nd  pleasures;  but  when  the 
discharge  comes,  he  passes  from 
;le  world  like  a  star  blotted  out 
>a,  leaving  not  a  trace  behind, 
der  then  that  his  after-struggles 
rows  remain  hidden  from  the 
eye. 

)r  two  incidents  illustrate,  as 
lustain,  my  assertions. 
i\  years  ago  a  party  were  visit- 
Qsane  asylum  in  the  vicinity  of 
^on.  The  gentleman  who  was 
ing  them  over  the  establishnient 
lied  away  for  a  few  moments, 
re  left  to  await  his  return, 
n  the  next  room  they  heard 
3  pacing  continually  backward 
^ard  like  those  of  some  chained 
Now  they  sounded  with  a 
avy  regularity,  as  if  they  were 
hanical  action  of  one  who  was 

in  reverie  or  depressed  by  sor- 
ow  with  nervous  rapidity,  as 
in  inward  excitement  too  strong 
ntained  had  sought  this  means 
'.  It  broke  by  fits  and  starts 
le  gait  to  the  other;  and  be- 
le  footfalls  they  could  hear  low 
carcely  rising  above  the  breath, 
ing  an  inexpressible  degree  of 

igth  the  walker  seemed  aware 
proximity,  and,  coming  close 
le  door  which  separated  the  two 
nts,  tapped  gently  upon  it  sev- 
BS.  Then  they  heard  .her  voice ; 
>man'8  voice,  and  a  very  sweet 
rtbrokcn  one  it  was.  She  said : 
;  —  ladies  —  gentlemen  —  ladies 
itlemen — won't  you  do  a  little 


favor  for  me.  WonH  you  carry  a  letter 
to  my  tUar  husband,  and  my  little  son 
only  nx  years  old.  They  won't  let  them 
come  to  see  me ;  and  Fve  been  here  I 
don't  know  ?iow  long.  Now  do,  do  he 
kind,  ladies ;  Pm  sure  Fve  asked  you 
humbly;  I'm  sure  Tve  been  polite  to 
you.  Won^t  you  give  a  letter  to  my 
husband  and  my  dear  little  son  only  nx 
years  old  ? " 

The  whole  affair  was  extremely  affect- 
ing ;  and  when  their  conductor  return- 
ed he  was  at  once  besieged  with  in- 
quiries. "  Poor  thing,"  said  he,  "  her 
husband  and  son  are  both  dead ;  but 
we  cannot  make  her  understand  it.  He 
was  a  Qovemment  clerk,  and  a  most 
estimable  man ;  but  his  life  in  the  De- 
partment nourished  a  natural  tendency 
to  consumption,  and  when  his  discharge 
came  it  found  him  utterly  unfitted  to 
make  his  way  in  the  world.  It  was 
based  entirely  upon  political  grounds. 
As  might  have  been  expected,  he  had 
neither  friends  nor  money,  and  his  deli- 
cate wife  was,  if  possible,  still  more 
helpless.  The  hardship  and  poverty 
that  followed  killed  him,  and  made  her 
a  lunatic.  Their  little  son  died  soon 
after  his  father,  for  ho  had  inherited  all 
the  feebleness  of  his  parents.  She  was 
passionately  fond  of  both,  and,  as  you 
see,  cannot  be  made  to  realize  that  tliey 
are  dead ;  but  weeps  and  moans  a  great 
deal  of  the  time,  and  tries  every  way  to 
communicate  with  them." 

Another  case  fell  more  immediately 
within  my  own  knowledge.    Old  Mr. 

F had  been  for  many  years  a  clerk  in 

the  Treasury,  having  managed  to  weath- 
er the  periodical  storms  as  well  as  the 
intermediate  and  almost  equally  dan- 
gerous gusts ;  and  had  begun  to  con- 
gratulate himself  on  the  possession  for 
the  rest  of  his  days  of  a  position  which 
long  practice  had  enabled  him  to  fill 
well,  and  which,  indeed,  was  now  about 
the  only  one  that  he  could  fill  at  alL 
But  ^'  the  pitcher  that  goes  often  to  the 
well  will  be  broken  at  last ;  "  and  so  he 
was  finally  discharged. 

Of  course  current  expenditures  had 
swallowed  up  his  salary  as  fast  as  it 
accrued ;  and  he  was  as  totally  unfitted 


64 


Putnam's  Maqa^^ike. 


[Jan. 


for  the  duties  and  struggles  of  active 
life  as  a  mummy  newly  taken  from  the 
pyramids  of  Egypt.  His  only  resource 
was  to  seek  other  employment  similar 
to  that  of  which  he  had  been  deprived ; 
and  a  wearisome,  hopeless  search  it 
seemed.  Day  after  day,  and  week  after 
week,  passed — and  still  nothing  to  do. 
It  was  not  till  absolute  destitution  had 
long  been  at  their  door  that  help  ar- 
rived; and  then  it  came  too  late  to 
remedy  the  mischief  that  had  been 
done. 

The  mental  agony  which  his  wife  had 
undergone  at  that  trying  period,  to- 
gether with  the  desperate  and  long-con- 
tinued struggles  which  she  had  made 
for  the  support  of  the  family,  had  so 
affected  her  nerves  that  she  became  to- 
tally blind.  What  might  have  been  the 
effect  of  a  prolongation  of  that  anguish 
can,  of  course,  only  be  conjectured. 

Mr.  F still  is  a  clerk,  a  little, 

thin,  tottering  old  man,  with  pale, 
shrunken  face,  and  hair  that  is  nearly 
white.  He  moves  feebly  from  place  to 
place,  like  one  whoso  enjoyment  in  life 
has  long  ceased,  and  who  walks  amid 
the  ghosts  of  his  former  pleasures.  It 
is  not  probable  that  he  will  ever  be 
reduced  to  want  again,  but  his  whole 
life  is  a  living  death.  His  wife  has  but 
partially  recovered  her  eyesight,  and 
never  will  bo  again  what  she  was  be- 
fore their  great  trouble.  It  is  often 
observed  that  elderly  clerks  very  sel- 
dom survive  their  discharges  for  any 
great  length  of  time.  The  total  change 
of  habits  and  pursuits  which  is  thus 
forced  upon  them  is  like  tearing  up  a 
tree  by  its  roots ;  and  the  anxieties  of  a 
helpless  and  moneyless  old  age  aid  in 
breaking  down  their  enfeebled  constitu- 
tions. 

But  clerks,  whether  discharged  or 
not,  seldom  live  very  long.  Senility 
comes  to  meet  them  with  hasty  steps ; 
and  their  gait  becomes  a  totter  at  a  time 
of  life  when  the  former  exults  in  the 
full  vigor  of  a  healthy  middle  age. 

The  instances  of  suffering  which  I 
have  given  are  not  solitary,  but  are 
taken  from  large  classes  of  which  the 
public  never  hear.    All  of  these  are  due 


first  to  the  injurious  influences  of  cleri- 
cal life ;  and  secondly  to  the  present 
system  of  arbitrary  discharges.  It  ia 
idl  very  well  to  cry  "to  the  victors 
belong  the  spoils  I  '^  and  to  laud  the 
doctrine  of  rotation  in  office;  but 
would  the  country  be  greatly  injured  if 
the  spoils  were  to  be  placed  where  none 
could  grasp  them  ?  And  does  this  sys- 
tem of  constant  shifting  produce  any 
benefits  that  will  counterbalance  such 
evils  as  these  ?  By  all  means  remove 
the  incompetent  and  unworthy ;  but 
why  discharge  a<wful  workmen  merely 
for  the  sake  of  change  ?  Who  would 
not  stigmati2e  a  man  as  a  fool  who  was 
constantly  turning  away  skilled  me- 
chanics from  his  establishment  in  order 
that  new  hands  might  supply  their 
places  ?  Yet  that  is  precisely  what  the 
Government  is  doing  all  the  time — and 
yet  people  wonder  that  the  civil  service 
is  expensive,  and  far  from  perfect  in  its 
organization. 

There  is  urgent  need  that  some  plan 
should  be  adopted  similar  to  that  pro- 
posed in  the  bill  introduced  by  Mr. 
Jenckes  during  the  last  Congressional 
session.  Applicants  for  appointments 
should  be  examined  so  as  to  test  their 
fitness  for  the  position  ;  but  the  exami- 
nation should  be  of  an  exclusively  prac- 
tical kind.  This  is  an  all-important 
requirement ;  and  yet  it  is  one  that  will 
very  probably  be  overlooked.  The 
work  of  a  clerk  is  ordinarily  of  the 
simplest  kind ;  and  requires  a  thorough 
acquaintance  with  the  fundamental 
branches  of  an  English  education,  and 
nothing  more.  In  some  offices  a  knowl- 
edge of  bookkeeping  is  required ;  in 
others  facility  and  accuracy  of  composi- 
tion ;  in  almost  all,  handsome  penman- 
ship, and  spelling  as  nearly  faultless  as 
may  be.  He  who  possesses  these,  to- 
gether with  a  stock  of  good  common 
sense  and  industry,  will  speedily  make 
the  best  of  clerks  for  all  positions  ex- 
cept a  very  few.  But  it  is  perfectly 
evident  that  the  greatest  genius  or  most 
erudite  savant  may  be  deficient  in  them, 
and  consequently  of  little  value  for 
Departmental  purposes.  As  before  re- 
marked, it  is  not  the  extent  of  a  man^s 


HABYBar. 


55 


lements  so  much  as  their  adapta- 
)  the  business  in  hand  which  con- 
is  their  real  value ;  and  an  exami- 
i  aimed  solely  at  the  former  object 
dl  most  lamentably  in  producing 
>od  results. 

e  appointed,  the  clerk  should  be 
ed  only  because  of  incompetency 
worthiness,  clearly  proven  by  a 
iaL  And,  when  worn  out  in  the 
s,  justice  and  humanity  alike  sug- 
tiat  his  declining  years  be  secured 
wnxit  and  suffering, 
these  three  desiderata  be  properly 
led  to— the  securing  of  competent 
by  means  of  suitable  cxamina- 
the  abolition  of  arbitrary  dis- 
ss, and  the  support  of  those  who 
grown  old  in  harness — and  the 
ervice  at  Washington  will  become 
more  efficient  instrument  of  Gov- 
nt  than  it  ever  has  been;  and, 
rmore,  there  will  be  an  end  to 
periodical  suffering  and  hardship 
I  has  so  long  been  a  disgrace  to 
>untry. 

lerkship,  however,  never  will  be  a 
de  place  for  any  independent,  en- 
c,  ambitious  spirit;  nor  will  it 
tease  to  totally  unf  t  all  who  long 
in  it  for  any  other  mode  of  life. 
)uld  be,  and  must  be,  the  lot  of 
[uiet  class  of  men  who  are  satisfied 


with  a  life-long  possession  of  its  advan- 
tages and  disadvantages.  There  will 
always  be  a  sufficient  supply  of  these, 
and,  harassed  by  no  external  cares,  and 
distracted  by  no  ulterior  aims,  they  will 
make  the  vcry^best  body  of  clerks  that 
could  possibly  be  found.  But  let  all 
others  shun  the  Departments. 

To  this  dictum,  however;  I  would  make 
one  exception.  The  clerkships  of  the 
Departments  may  be  made  the  step- 
ping-stones to  higher  and  nobler  objects 
by  one  who  has  the  resolution  to  leave 
them  when  the  proper  moment  has  ar- 
rived. He  who  can  do  this  is  blessed 
with  rare  opportunities  for  advance- 
ment. His  labors  at  the  office  occupy 
but  a  portion  of  the  day,  and  if  he  wiU 
resolutely  apply  the  remainder  to  the 
acquisition  of  the  profession  which  he 
has  chosen,  rapid  progress  lies  within 
his  power. 

But  it  is  hard  to  keep  straight  on, 
never  glancing  at  the  allurements  which 
bespread  the  right  hand  ai\d  the  left ; 
and  harder  still  to  drop  the  staff  that 
has  so  long  upheld  one^s  footsteps,  when 
it  is  becoming  a  weight  clogging  the 
heels.  Tet  it  can  be  done,  and  he  who 
has  the  fortitude  to  do  it  will  have  lit- 
tle occasion  to  look  upon  the  years  of 
his  clerk-life  as  wasted  and  profitless 
years. 


•♦•' 


HARVEST. 

Lo,  on  our  land  ftilfilment^s  gracious  birth 
From  that  sweet  prophecy  glad  April  breathed 
When  the  white  bloom  of  her  soft  arms  had  wreathed 

So  tenderly,  erewMle,  the  enraptured  earth ! 

Lo,  her  fair  dowry  of  illimited  worth 
Divinely  to  the  ftill-grown  year  bequeathed : 
Ripe  fruitage,  crimson,  purple,  or  gold-sheathed, 

In  mellowing  pomp ;  a  gaudier-petalled  mirth 

Of  gardens,  lovelier  than  their  soil  has  worn 
Since  May  dropt  silver  in  the'robins'  notes ; 

And  out  where  breezy  uplands  front  the  mom^ 
Wide  fields  of  billowy  wheat  and  twinkling  oats, 

And  radiance  of  pennon-tossing  com 
The  shadowless  heaven's  blue  splendor  overfloats ! 


56 


Pt7tnam*b  Magazine. 


[Jan., 


THAWED   OUT. 


I  MIGHT  have  known  something  queer 
was  going  to  happen  when  the  Simple 
Susan  went  down. 

Dame  Fortune,  or  the  equally  un- 
amenable female  yclept  Evolution,  ^ho 
has  usurped  her  place  in  nineteenth 
century  mythology,  always  makes  two 
bites  at  a  cherry  when  she  considers  it 
worth  her  while  to  taste  it  at  all— as  wit- 
ness the  old  proverbs :  "It  never  rains 
but  it  pours ; "  "  Misfortunes  never 
come  singly ; "  "  Accidents  hunt  in  cou- 
ples ;  "  and  the  like — and  I  might  have 
foreseen  that  more  would  come  of  it 
than  a  simple  shipwreck,  if  I  had  not 
been  too  ardently  engaged  in  rescuing 
myself  from  the  debris  of  my  belong- 
ings, to  speculate  upon  the  law  of  sc- 
qoflDces. 

And,  even  in  the  light  of  antiquity, 
condensed  into  proverbs  and  polarized 
by  personal  experience,  I  feel  inclined 
to  excuse  myself. 

Tossing  up  and  down  in  an  open  boat 
on  the  stormy  waves  of  the  North  Pa- 
cific, aud  watching  the  tea-chests  and 
spice-bales  into  which,  in  an  evil  hour, 
one  has  metamorphosed  one's  precious 
eagles  and  moidores,  bob  away  into 
Ultima  Thule,  or  wherever  it  is  all  the 
lost  things  go  to — (a  shrewd  old  tar,  of 
my  acquaintance,  has  a  theory  which 
he  maintains  in  the  face  of  all  geogra- 
phy, and  with  considerable  show  of 
reason,  too,  that  there  is,  in  some  unex- 
plored, uncxplorable  region,  such  a  hole 
as  Syms  dreamed  of,  and  that  it  is 
crammed  and  jammed  full  of  them) — is 
not  a  situation  eminently  conducive  to 
the  exercise  of  philosophy,  Spenperian 
or  otherwise.  And  when  to  these  dis- 
couraging circumstances  arc  added  a 
sick  Irishman  as  sole  compagnon  du  to- 
yafjc^  aud  a  half-empty  cigar-case  and 
pocket-flask  of  brandy  as  sole  provision 
for  what  bids  fair  to  be  a  lengthy  cruise. 


I  think  one  may  hold  oneself  fairly 
justified  in  thinldng  and  acting,  as  th^ 
saying  is,  from  hand  to  mouth ;  and 
denouncing  Dame  Fortune,  or  the  other 
woman,  for  the  rum  old  jade  she  looks 
to  be. 

It  was  a  very  uncomfortable  pickle  to 
be  in,  I  assure  you  ;  and  being  in  it  was 
all  owing,  under  Dame  Fortune,  or  the 
other  woman,  to  the  American — I  beg 
pardon  —  the  Great  American  Tea 
Company. 

I  had  fallen  heir  to  a  fortune,  or,  at 
least,  the  rudiments  of  one— just  that 
snug  little  sum  which  bloated  capital- 
ists are  always  likening  to  the  snow- 
ball which,  skilfully  turned  over,  gath- 
ers and  grows  into  a  mountain. 

Looking  around  for  a  comfortable, 
well-powdered,  inclined  plane  down 
which  to  roll  it,  I  stumbled  ui)on  one 
of  the  advertisements  of  that  immortal 
company. 

Good  reader,  did  you  ever  i)eni8e 
one  ?  If  you  have  not,  try  it.  You'll 
find  it  even  yet,  along  with  Tagliabue's 
Eflfcrvesccnt  Seltzer  Aperient,  and  the 
Gingham  Electro-plate  (no  charge  for 
these  notices)  upon  the  cover  of  your 
favorite  magazine,  or  in  the  columns  of 
your  daily  paper. 

Try  it ;  and  I'll  guarantee,  unless  you 
are  a  boarding-house  keeper,  with  a 
sharp  eye  to  the  economies,  it  will  have 
the  same  effect  upon  you  that  it  had 
upon  me.  You  will  immediately  make 
a  rough  guess  at  the  sum-total  of  those 
^  eight  profits,"  and  paint  upon  the 
fumes  of  your  meerschaum  a  i)icture 
in  gold-foil,  regular  pre-Raphaelite  style, 
of  yourself  as  banker,  owner,  shipper, 
importer,  speculator,  dealer,  &c.,  all  in 
one. 

And  I'll  engage,  t<'0,  if  you  happen 
to  have,  as  I  had,  a  snug  little  pile 
awaiting  investment,  and  no  fcmiuines 


Thauvsd  Out. 


57 


^OQ  nay,  you'll  charter  a  ship,  as 

nd  hire  a  captain  and  crew,  and 

as  your  own  supercargo,  and 

ar  tea  at  a  bargain, — and  here's 

I  you  better  luck  with  your  ven- 
in  I  had  with  mine. 

^  went  on  smoothly  enough  at 
ough — have  you  observed,  they 
do  when  one  is  getting  into  a 
— I  secured  a  splendid  ship,  and 
d  captain,  and  a  creditable  crew, 
dc  a  good  voyage  out,  bought  a 
^o  of  teas  at  a  bargain  in  Uong 
illed  up  the  chinks  with  spices 
lla,  and  set  sail  for  home  in  the 
dth  and  spirits,  all  hands  round, 
'ere — somewhere — I  don't  know 
y  the  latitude  and  longitude; 
lad  just  settled  fairly  to  work 
my  way  through  the  package 
-8  and  chest  of  novels  I  had  re- 
fer the  home-voyage,  when,  one 
m,  just  at  the  middle  of  a  choice 
,  and  at  the  very  denouement  of 
addon's  last,  we  were  struck  by 
;hing — I  don't  know  to  this 
bether  it  was  a  simoom,  or  a  cy- 
r  a  sirocco— I  am  not  a  meteor- 
and  I  have  been  prevented,  by 
tanccs  over  which  I  had  no  con- 
m  companng  notes  with  Simp- 
skipper. 

a,  my  comrade  in  the  boat,  in- 
3  the  opinion  that  it  was  a  si- 
but  I  have  a  vague,  spectral 
ion  of  that  word  with  Don  Pa- 
d  the  Three  Spaniards,  which 
e  to  mistrust  O'Shea's  geogra- 

II  tell  you  how  it  acted,  and 
you  can  judge  for  yourself. 

,  as  I  said,  lounging  in  my  cabin 
hoicest  puff  of  a  cigar,  and  in 
act  of  detecting  and  exposing 
raddon's  murdcring-thief-of-a* 
t  hero,  when  I  heard  a  sudden, 
ill,  unmistakably  the  captain's, 
nds  on  deck  I  "  What  with  the 
d  the  novel,  my  wits  were  rather 
bstract,  but  I  remember  glanc- 
it  the  open  cabin-window,  men- 
:claiming,  "What's  up?  The 
smooth  as  a  duck-pond  I "  aad 
lapsing  again.  Two  minutes 
d  a  shadow  like  midnight  fell 
VOL.  V. — 5 


across  my  page,  shrouding  the  rascal  in 
congenial  darkness,  and  leaving  me  to 
this  hour  in  ignorance  as  to  whether  he 
ever  got  his  deserts. 

My  first  thought  was  that  the  ship 
was  sinking,  and  the  cabin  already  un- 
der water.  Then  I  remembered  the 
open  window,  and  scrambled  hastily  to 
the  deck. 

If  I  were  a  Salvator  Rosa,  I  should 
like  to  paint  you  the  scene  which  met 
my  eye.  I  have  a  mental  photograph 
of  it  which  no  pen  can  do  justice  to — 
nor  brush  either,  for  that  matter.  To 
leeward  the  sky  was  soft  and  fair,  and 
bright  with  the  reflected  hues  of  sun- 
set, and  the  sea  calm  as  a  summer  lake ; 
to  windward  the  one  was  like  ink  and 
the  other  like  buttermilk.  For  on« 
breathless  instant  wo  seemed  to  hang 
between  the  two  in  motionless  suspense ; 
the  next,  it  was  all  mixed  together  in  a 
seething  mass,  with  the  Simple  Susan 
spinning  round  in  the  midst,  humming 
like  a  gigantic  top. 

I  heard  a  groaning  crash  of  timbers ; 
caught  a  momentary  glimpse  of  Simp- 
son's white,  despairing  face ;  felt,  rather 
than  heard,  through  the  din,  his  des- 
perate order,  "  To  the  boats  I "  and 
thought,  God  knows  how  or  why,  of 
O'Shea,  the  Irish  sailor,  helpless  with 
fever  down  below. 

Poor  fellow  1  I  found  him  sitting  up 
in  his  berth,  drenched  with  the  sea 
which  was  already  spouting  in,  in 
bucketfVils,  and  muttering  his  Aves  and 
Paternosters  with  frantic  devotion.  We 
got  upon  deck  somehow ;  but  what 
happened  afterward  I  can't  tell  you,  for 
I  don't  know  myself. 

I  have  a  confused  remembrance  of 
plunging  about  for  an  indefinite  period, 
with  one  arm  round  poor  Patsey,  amid  a 
surging  mass  of  timbers,  and  bitles,  and 
boxes.  I  think  the  ship  must  have 
literally  broken  in  pieces ;  and  how  we 
came  out  of  her  alive,  passes  my  com- 
prehension. 

However,  we  did ;  and,  what  is  more, 
so  did  Simpson  and  the  rest.  They 
picked  each  other  up  into  the  long- 
boat, and  were  picked  up  again  by  a 
British  merchantman,  and  so  got  home, 


58 


Putnam's  Magazine. 


[Jtt, 


safe  and  sound.  Fye  never  seen  any  of 
them  since;  for,  when  I  got  back  to 
New  York  the  other  day,  they  had  all 
shipped  again  for  various  ports ;  but  I 
am  told  they  searched  for  us  long  and 
fiEdthAilly.  I  suppose  wc  parted  com- 
pany in  the  night,  and  they  finally  gave 
us  up  for  lost,  and  told  O'Shoa's  mother 
some  sort  of  cock-and-bull  story  about 
my  heroism  in  sacrificing  myself  to 
save  her  son,  which  put  the  poor  old 
lady  to  great  expense  in  masses  for 
"  the  two  of  us." 

Meanwhile  we  had  found  ourselves  at 
last  under  a  clear,  star-lit  sky,  clinging 
to  a  piece  of  the  wreck ;  and,  as  good 
luck  would  have  it,  with  the  small- 
boat^  half  full  of  water,  floating  near. 
I  baled  her  out  with  a  pipkin  which  I 
managed  to  catch,  and  got  O'Shea  in ; 
and  so  in  the  morning  there  we  were, 
as  I  said,  afloat  on  the  broad  Pacific, 
with  a  half-pint  of  branny  and  a  brace 
of  wet  cigars  for  our  breakfasts,  watch- 
ing my  tea-chests  bob  away  toward 
some  Pacific  Ultima  Thulo. 

Three  mortal  days  we  floated  there — 
days  which  won't  bear  talking  about 
[  fed  the  brandy  by  thimblefuls  to  poor 
O'Shea,  and  chewei  away  at  the  cigars 
myself. 

Upon  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day, 
when  I  had  begun  to  think  a  good  deal 
about  the  ancient  mariner,  and  Patsey 
had  begun  to  call  piteously  upon 
St.  Lazarus,  a  Russian  whaler  hove  in 
sight,  and  was  flnally  induced  to  reply 
to  my  frantic  pantomime,  by  sending 
out  a  boat  to  our  rescue. 

Queer,  isn't  it,  what  creatures  of  cir- 
cumstance we  are!  Positively,  now, 
that  abominable  stench  of  train-oil, 
with  which  the  whole  vessel  was  reek- 
ing, smelled  fhigrant  as  the  perfumes 
of  Araby ;  and  that  ofi'-scouring  of  Ba- 
bel— that  charivari  of  consonants  de- 
mented which  serves  the  Sclavonics  in 
lieu  of  a  language— sounded  sweet  as 
the  music  of  the  spheres. 

The  Russian  captain  spoke  no  English, 
or  next  to  none ;  but  O'Shea  had  a  little 
Russian,  and  I  some  German  and  French ; 
10  between  us  we  mixed  up  a  polyglot, 
which  answered  indifierently  well. 


They  were  bound,  we  learned,  for 
Petropaulouski,  the  seaport  of  Eam* 
tschatka,  and  purposed  to  winter  there. 
It  was  not  a  pleasant  prospect,  certain- 
ly, to  exchange  for  my  anticipated 
Christmas  en  famiU^  with  an  old  friend 
at  San  Jos6;  but  we  had  still  a  slim 
chance  of  being  taken  off  from  eithei 
the  vessel  or  the  port,  and  "  any  thing 
in  life  was  better,"  as  O'Shea  remarked, 
''than  following  the  tea-chests,  and 
starving  of  thirst  upon  brandy  and 
cigars." 

Of  course,  you  have  always  looked 
upon  Kamtschatka  as  the  jumping-off 
place,  and  Petropaulouski — if  you  were 
not  in  blissful  ignorance  of  its  exist- 
ence— as  the  residence  of  the  last  of 
men.  So  did  I,  dear  reader,  until  I 
went  there ;  and  being  convinced  against 
my  will,  Pm  much  of  the  same  opinion 
still,  as  the  old  rhyme  gives  me  prece- 
dent; nevertheless,  Kamtschatka  is  a 
very  tolerable  country — for  Siberia  and 
the  Samoides  dwell  somewhat  farther* 
north. 

It  boasts — the  country,  I  mean— -of  a 
flrst-chop  mountain,  Klioutscherski  by 
name — ^pronounce  it,  if  you  dare — a 
lively  volcano,  an  annual  earthquake  or 
so,  and  hunting  and  fishing  fit  for  the 
Czar  himself. 

As  to  the  town,  though  it  is  built  of 
logs,  warmed  with  brick  stoves  and 
glazed  with  talc,  it  would  be  very  much 
like  other  towns  of  a  Russian  origin, 
but  for  the  singular  and  somewhat  un- 
comfortable fact  that,  of  its  two  thou- 
sand inhabitants,  fully  three  fourths  are 
of  the  canine  persuasion.  It  is  certain- 
ly a  trifle  humiliating  to  biped  self- 
sufficiency  to  find  itself  so  largely  in 
the  minority,  especially  when  "  the  ad- 
ministration "  has  such  a  boisterous 
habit  and  manner  of  asserting  its  su- 
premacy. 

However,  the  snug  little  harbor  of 
Peter  and  Paul — ^  the  heavens  be  their 
bed ! '  (O'Shea) — with  its  girdle  of  snow- 
capped mountains,  rosy  with  the  hues 
of  sunset,  looked  very  inviting  after  our 
long  contemplation  of  the  viewless 
horizon  where  the  tea-chests  had  van- 
ished;   and   its   rugged  shore,  albeit 


Thawkd  Otjt. 


59 


to  the  nether  fires  that  the 
aid  to  come  through  and  melt 
'ems  tinder  the  snows,  felt  very 

substantial  after  the  perils  of 
irhile  the  kindly  welcome  of  the 
tropaulouskans  went  far  to  re- 
s  to  the  chorus  of  canine  remon- 
dth  which  it  was  accompanied, 
r  the  American  residents — and 
rersal  Yankee  nation  was,  as 
rgely  represented — would,  I  am 

d,  have  received  us,  for  Colum- 
B,  with  open  arms ;  but  Techul- 
Russian  captain,  seemed  to  re- 
ts his  lawful  prize ;  and  as  ho 
at  to  be  a  comfortable,  well-to- 
holder,  with  a  notable  wife  and 
retty  daughter,  we  ndldly  ad- 
le  claim. 

n  hospitality  is  proverbially  of 
kest   and    heartiest;   but   the 
assiduities  of  Madame  Tcchul- 
L  the  shy,  sweet  sympathy  of 
ming  Ejitinka,  who,  after  the 
>f  her  sex,  was  clearly  fain  to 
for  the  perils  we  had  passed  " 
nothing  of  the  fragrant  cups 
d  multitudinous  "  three  drops  " 
;er  beverage,  the  bountiful  sup- 
comfortable  beds,  were  cer- 
mething  sui  generUy  even  for 
Tat^s  dominions, 
er  by  dint  of  the  dieting,  or  the 
or  both  combined,  I  could  not 

e,  but  O'Shea's  fever  had  long 
.  him,  and  he  was  already  far 
gh  road  to  convalescence.  His 
ght,  good  fellow  I  upon  rising 
dug  after  our  arrival,  was  for 
^dral,  whose  dumpy  dome  he 
id  bulging  above  the  log  roofb 
;  before.  I  represented  to  him, 
J  bound,  that  the  Greek  Church 
igrant  heresy ;  that  she  denied 
;he  supremacy  of  Peter,  and 
itized  the  homoonsion  or  the 
-ow,  I  was  not  quite  clear  which, 
luthorized  and  abominable  in- 
)n.  But  when  the  poor  lad, 
a  answer  to  give,  turned  upon 
such  a  bewildered,  imploring 
his  pleasant  Milesian  eyes,  I 
>ked  my  arm  into  his,  and 
ff  to  the  cathedral  with  him. 


to  kneel  down  upon  the  damp  stone 
floor,  and  offer  a  thanksgiving  or  two  on 
my  own  account.  And  I  don't  believe 
the  blessed  Peter  lays  it  up  against 
either  of  us. 

For  a  recruiting-station,  after  an  anx- 
ious and  ill-provisioned  voyage,  I  can 
cordially  recommend  PetropaulouskL 
The  American  residents  are  good  fel- 
lovrs,  every  one;  the  Russians  hospit- 
able as — ^Russians ;  the  tea  is  imperial, 
the  punch  superlative  and  inexhausti- 
ble, the  fishing  fit  for  a  Walton,  and 
the  hunting  for  Nimrod  himself.  But, 
being  neither  a  hon  vivant,  a  spinster, 
nor  a  tippler,  a  disciple  of  Walton  nor 
a  descendant  of  Ifimrod,  when  I  did 
get  recruited,  I  soon  began  to  weary  of 
it  all.  Even  Madame^s  kind  attentions 
irked  me,  and  Katinka^s  sweetness  cloy- 
ed ;  in  a  word,  I  grew  homesick,  and 
began  devising  ways  and  means  of  get- 
ting home. 

It  was  rather  a  bad  lookout  at  that 
season,  for  the  commerce  of  those  north- 
em  porta  hibernates  like  the  bears,  and 
my  hospitable  entertainers  made  it  a 
point  of  etiquette  to  prove  such  a  thing 
impossible.  .  But  I  stumbled  at  last 
upon  an  Ohkotsk  merchant,  uncivil 
enough  to  inform  me  that  his  house 
were  about  shipping  a  late  cargo  of 
ivory,  in  which  I  could  get  passage  to 
Shanghai — so  the  harbor  did  not  freeze 
before  it  was  gotten  off. 

"  Ivory  from  Ohkotsk !  "  exclaimed  I 
in  surprise.  I  am  neither  a  geographer 
nor  geologist,  kind  reader. 

"  Surely  you  are  aware  that  walruh 
tusks  and  fossil  ivory  form  one  of  our 
principal  exports,"  was  the  reply.  And 
then  followed  a  long  account  of  the 
discovery  of  the  fossil  elephants,  which, 
as  you  are  doubtless  familiar  with  it,  I 
shall  not  trouble  myself  to  repeat. 

Now,  my  best  reader,  you  may  ac- 
count for  the  fact  as  you  please,  after 
reading  the  rest  of  my  story.  I  have 
not  set  up  any  theory  of  my  own  to  be 
jealous  about  seeing  knocked  down ; 
but,  from  the  very  first  mention  of  those 
antediluvian  elephants,  my  home-sick- 
ness vanished  like  the  smoke  of  Awat- 
cha  before  the  morning  breeze. 


60 


Putnam's  Magazine. 


[JaiL, 


I  never  had  the  slightest  taste  for 
geology  or  paleontology — ^the  very  name 
exhausts  mc.  I  always  hated  natural 
history,  and  had  a  nervous  dread  of 
herbariums,  museums,  and  **  cabinets ;  *' 
and  yet  about  these  blessed  old  relics  I 
felt,  from  the  very  first,  just  as  I  did 
about  that  tea  when  I  read  the  adver-^ 
tisement  of  the  Gbrat  Company;  or, 
as  the  Welsh  giant  did  (wasn^t  ho 
Welsh  ?)  when  he  smelled  the  blood  of 
the  Englishman—"  Fe !  Fi !  Fo  I  Fum  I 
dead  or  alive  I  tcill  have  some/' 

And  so,  in  place  of  quizzing  the  fel- 
low about  his  ship,  I  began  at  once 
asking  all  manner  of  questions  about 
her  cargo.  "  Where  did  it  come  from  ? 
How  could  one  get  to  the  elephant 
country?  Was  it  possible  to  reach  it 
at  this  season  ? "  etc. 

"Oh,  yes;  nothing  easier,"  was  the 
nonch^ant  answer.  "Winter — early 
winter  is  the  season  of  all  others  for 
travelling  in  Siberia.  With  plenty  of 
dogs  and  provisions,  one  could  reach  the 
Pole  at  this  season,  for  aught  he  knew." 

"  Could  I  organize  a  party  at  Ohkotsk, 
did  he  think  ? " 

"  No  doubt  of  it.  There  were  always 
plenty  of  whalers  and  such  folk  hang- 
ing about  there  at  this  time  of  year, 
ready  for  any  thing." 

And  here  Techulski  chimed  in.  If  I 
wanted  to  go  hunting  in  the  elephant 
country— the  elephant  islands,  he  called 
it — 7i6  was  my  man.  "Moosh  time, 
moosh  dogs,  moosh  blubber,  and  dried 
fish  to  feed  them."  And  he  had  been 
there  once  already — prime  hunting  all 
the  way — paid  well — silver  foxes,  ermine, 
Bable,  seal,  and  walrus.  I  had  no  need 
to  go  to  Ohkotsk — we  could  make  up  a 
jolly  party  here  in  Petropaulouski — and 
ttraightway  half-a-dozen  good  fellows 
Tolunteered  themselves,  their  dogs,  and 
sledges,  and  provisions^  for  the  expedi- 
tion; and  the  expedition  became  the 
sensation  of  the  hour. 

As  in  duty  bound,  I  consulted  O'Sbca. 
Would  he  go  with  me  to  the  Pole,  to 
look  for  elephants  ? 

"  Anywhere  wid  you,  ^listher  Allen," 
was  the  ready  answer.  "Afther  any 
thiug — the  pole  or  the  aqoathcr,  ele- 


phants or  squirrels — it's  all  the  same  to 
me."  • 

And  so  it  was  settled,  and  the  expe- 
dition was  organized  forthwith. 

Katinka  pouted  a  little  at  the  rival 
diversion,  but  managed  the  matter  so 
impartially  that  I  am  to  this  moment 
in  doubt  whether  it  was  O'Shea's  hofk- 
TiommU  or  my  savoir  faire  she  parted 
from  most  reluctantly.  Anyhow,  she 
got  a  promise  of  unlimited  sable  and 
ermine  from  each  of  us;  and,  with  a 
misty  farewell  glance  from  her  sweet 
blue  eyes,  a  hearty  kiss  from  Madame, 
and  a  heartier  chorus  of  barks  from  the 
canines,  we  scampered  off 

I  do  not  mean  to  bore  you  with  the 
details  of  our  journey ;  and,  indeed,  I 
do  not  know  that  I  could  do  so  if  I 
would.  It  seems,  to  look  back  upon, 
a  mere  dizzy  whirl  of  dogs,  and  snow, 
and  carte  llanchc  below  zero  in  the  day- 
time, and  smoke,  and  naked  Indians, 
and  carte  hlancTie  above,  in  the  native 
huts,  at  night. 

My  companions  boasted  hugely  of 
their  hunting  spoils ;  but  I  proved  such 
an  indiflerent  marksman,  that  Katinka's 
prospects  began  to  look  slim ;  and,  be- 
sides, I  was  really  so  wholly  bent  upon 
bagging  a  primeval  elephant,  tl)at  I  had 
very  little  enthusiasm  to  spare  for  lesser 
and  more  modem  game. 

So,  running  the  gauntlet  of  smoke 
and  snow,  frost  and  fire,  Heym  and 
L6ke — as  the  old  Moosemen  put  it — we 
came  at  last  to  the  dreary  shores  of  the 
Northern  Ocean,  and  crossed,  upon  the 
perilous  bridge  of  the  ice-pack,  to  some 
adjacent  islands  which  were  said  to  be 
a  mere  conglomerate  of  ice,  sand,  rocks, 
and  fossils. 

A  grim  and  grcwsome  place  enough 
it  looked — the  island  where  we  landed 
— ^to  have  been  the  cemetery  of  Antcdi- 
luvia.  But  my  companions,  who  seem- 
ed, somehow,  to  the  manner  born,  ap- 
peared to  think  it  all  jolly  as  need  be, 
built  us  a  cluster  of  snow-huts  in  regu- 
lar Esquimaux  fashion,  and  set  about 
their  explorations  as  gayly  as  if  it  had 
been  hen's  nests,  instead  of  graves,  they 
were  hunting. 

And,  truly,  they  recked  very  little,  I 


Thawbd  Oct. 


61 


of  AntediluYia ;  for  no  sooner 
J  scent  the  seals  and  walms  in 
n  water  to  the  westward,  than 
scampered  off  thither,  and  left 
and  me  to  onr  solitary  inyestiga- 

solitary,  and  ycry  futile,  too, 
imed  at  first  There  were  traces 
Js,  indeed,  scattered  here  and 
and  even  an  occasional  tusk,  in 
ble  state  of  preservation ;  but  I 
Dthing  for  these.  I  had  set  my 
rith  what  seemed,  even  to  my- 
.  utterly  absurd  and  insensate 
,  upon  a  whole  elephant — body 
as  bones,  skin,  hair,  flesh,  and 
ih  as  I  had  been  told  had  once 
up  upon  the  shores  of  the  White 
i  been  devoured — a  savory  and 
Uowed  morsel — by  the  dogs  of 
rored  clime. 

:  I  should  have  done  with  the 
i/1  had  found  him — for,  reader, 
not  find  him — remains  to  this 
L  unattempted  problem.  In  my 
flights  of  fancy  —  and  never 
[reamed  of  his  mistress  more 
ly  and  perseveringly — I  never 
ond  the  vision  of  him  stretched 
evcred  and  colossal  majesty  be- 
longing eyes. 

BO,  while  my  merry  companions 
sred  the  seals,  and  fought  yal- 
ttles  with  the  walri  (I  wonder 
is  the  orthodox  plural),  I  wan- 
p  and  down  among  the  ice-clifiB 
or,  patientgbewildered  O'Shea  at 
s,  a  regular  Yankee  *'  questing 
seeking  and  seeking  that  blessed 
>hant. 

ul,  dizzy,  wearing  work  it  was, 
ing  about  in  the  twilight  gloom 
fathering  Arctic  night,  scaling 
s  and  exploring  the  vast  gloomy 
with  which  the  island  seemed 
literally  riddled  through  and 
u  Into  these  last  O'Shea  ven- 
omewhat  reluctantly.  Ho  had 
Tering,  Irish-peasant  belief  in 
nd  genii ;  and  one  could  scarce- 
e  him,  for,  indeed,  they  looked 
r  enough  by  the  flickering  light 
orches,  to  have  been  the  abode 
nes  and  kobolds  innumerable. 


Weird,  awful  places ;  grand  enough  for 
cathedrals,  gloomy  enough  for  cata- 
combs. They  would,  I  am  sure,  have 
impressed  even  njy  unimprcssiblc  Yan- 
kee imagination  with  a  sense  of  terror, 
had  not  the  said  imagination  been  al- 
ready crammed  to  repletion  with  ele- 
phants. 

As  it  was,  however,  I  only  looked 
upon  them  as  probable  lurking-places 
of  my  favorite  beast ;  and  disregarding 
all  warnings  and  entreaties,  plunged 
recklessly  into  their  deepest  dcptlis,  and 
flung  the  light  of  my  inquisitive  torch 
remorselessly  into  their  remotest  cor- 
ners, while  poor  Patsey  followed,  faith- 
ful but  trembling,  in  my  wake,  holding 
up  a  toe  of  St.  Gregory  Nazianzen, 
Katinka^s  parting  gift,  as  a  charm  to 
ward  off  the  demons.  It  might,  per- 
haps, have  comforted  the  dear  old  lad 
to  know  that  I  had  the  blessed  Chry- 
sostom^s  third  right-hand  finger-nail 
in  my  breast-pocket;  but  fearing  to 
awaken  his  jealousy  I  did  not  tell  him. 

We  had  explored  every  nook  and 
cranny  in  the  island,  except  one  small 
cave  which  I  had  reserved  as  a  honns 
louehe^  because  from  a  projecting  cliff 
above  the  entrance  one  could  catch  the 
last  glimpse  of  the  retreating  sun  when 
he  took  his  final  dip  beneath  the  hori- 
zon. Upon  this  crag  we  stationed  our- 
selves one  queer  November  noon,  and 
bathed  our  eyes  in  the  last  ripple  of  the 
dying  light,  then  turned  away— O'Shea, 
with  a  groan,  and  I,  it  must  be  confess- 
ed, with  a  shiver,  to  finish  our  work. 

Whether  it  was  the  feeling  that  the 
dreadful  Arctic  night  had  fairly  closed 
down  upon  us  in  these  dreary  solitudes, 
or  whether  it  was  something  begotten 
by  the  atmosphere  of  the  place  itself,  I 
know  not ;  but  I  seemed  to  imbibe  a 
modicum  of  O'Shca's  superstition  at  the 
very  entrance,  which  deepened  and 
strengthened  into  absolute  terror  as  wo 
proceeded. 

The  cave  was  far  smaller  and  less 
imposing  than  many  we  had  visited, 
yet  a  strange  uncanny  infiuence  seemed 
to  pervade  it,  exalting  and  magnifying 
even  its  physical  proportions.  An 
awful  stateliness  loomed  in  its  gloomy 


62 


PUTNAM^S  MaGAZINS. 


[JaiL, 


arches,  a  weird  magnificence  flashed  out 
from  its  icy  walls ;  a  solitade  pregnant 
with  preternatural  presence  brooded 
there,  a  silence  instinct  with  solemn 
sound ;  and  as,  with  bated  breath  and 
hesitating  tread,  we  groped  along,  the 
conviction  strengthened  into  certainty 
that  we  were  approaching  some  dread 
mystery;  or  trampling  with  sacrileg- 
ious foot  upon  the  hoary  sanctity  of 
either  a  temple  or  a  tomb. 

O^Bhea  felt  it,  and  brought  his  white 
(jftce  round  close  to  mine : "  Shurc,  Misther 
Allftn^  there^s  something  here.  Is  it  the 
elephant,  think?  The  saints  prcserre 
us,  then,  for  he's  not  a  beast  t ''  As  he 
spoke,  we  turned  the  sharp  comer  of  a 
projecting  rock ;  and  the  light  of  our 
torches  flashed  back  to  us,  reflected  in 
a  thousand  varying  hues  from  the  glit- 
tering sides  of  a  sort  of  recess  in  the 
wall  of  ice  which  blocked  our  further 
passage. 

"  No,  Pat,"  I  answered,  in  a  startled 
shout,  which  echoed  through  the  cavern 
like  the  blast  of  a  trumpet.  "  No,  Pat, 
he's  not  a  beast  I " 

Wo  had  entered  the  presence.  We 
had  found  him  ;  not  an  ichthyi  of  any 
kind,  dear  Agassiz ;  not  elephas  primi- 
geniuSj  0  wise  Palaeontologist ;  not  the 
elephant,  0  royal  Public ;  but — ^what  ? 

O'Shea  made  half-a-dozen  ineffectual 
cross-shaped  lunges  with  St.  Gregory's 
toe ;  and,  failing  to  exorcise  the  appari- 
tion, dropped  his  torch  and  fled  incon- 
tinently ;  while  I  sank  upon  my  knees 
dumbfoimded  with  awe  and  wonder  be- 
fore the  glorious  vision  which  revealed  it- 
self—the colossal  flgure  of  a  man  fully 
twelve  feet  in  height  and  magnificently 
proportioned,  reclining,  in  an  attitude 
of  dreamless  slumber,  upon  a  sort  of 
couch  or  altar  of  ice  within  the  recess. 

The  ice  had  evidently  once  formed  a 
solid  wall  across  the  passage ;  but  from 
some  cause  it  had  crumbled  and  melted 
away  until  only  a  thin  transparent  film 
covered  the  recumbent  figure.  The 
massive  brow  gleamed  through  it  placid 
and  fair ;  the  fldl-fnnged  eyelids,  the 
manly  bronze  upon  the  check,  the  long, 
fair  hair  falling  to  the  shoulders  and 
mingling  with  the  golden  beard  upon 


the  breast ;  the  shapely  limbs,  half  hid- 
den, half  revealed  by  some  glittering 
garment  of  strange  stuff,  showed  "  mock- 
ingly like  life."  There  was  nothing 
sodden,  nothing  death-like  about  the  fig- 
ure. It  was  not  death,  but  sleep,  pro- 
found, dreamless,  eternal,  perhaps,  but 
living  sleep. 

And,  being  so,  the  feeling  which  it 
inspired  was  not  terror,  or  even  fear, 
but  simple  soul-subduing  awe  and  rev- 
erence and  wonder,  such  as  a  child 
might  have  felt  on  first  beholding  a 
man,  or  a  savage  on  meeting  a  sage. 

Kneeling  there,  the  curtain  of  the 
ages  seemed  to  draw  aside  and  reveal 
to  me  the  earth  in  its  primeval  glory, 
the  race  in  its  pristine  beauty  and 
strength.  Fragments  of  old  Scripture 
floated  through  my  brain,  strange  rec- 
ords of  the  grand,  dim  Adamic  time : 
**  And  there  were  giants  in  the  earth  in 
those  days,  mighty  men  which  were  of 
old,  men  of  renown ; "  queer  specula- 
tions about  Jabal,  Jubal,  and  Tubal, 
great  forefathers  of  agriculture,  mechan- 
ics, and  the  arts ;  or,  again,  the  later  ex- 
perience of  the  Hebrew  spies :  "  And  we 
were  in  our  own  sight  as  grasshoppers, 
and  so  we  were  in  their  sight." 

How  long  I  should  have  remained 
thus  I  know  not,  had  not  a  sudden 
flickering  roused  me  to  the  fact  that 
my  torch  was  going  out.  I  picked  up 
O'Shea's,  lighted  it  mechanically,  and 
stumbled  back  through  the  cavern  like 
a  man  in  a  trance.  Half  way  to  the 
entrance  I  met  Pat,  fule  and  haggard, 
a  veritable  Irish  ghost.  The  faithful 
fellow  had  gone  out  to  the  huts  for 
another  torch  and  ventured  back  to  find 
me,  in  spite  of  his  fears. 

"  Ah,  thin  yc're  alive  yet  I  Qod  be 
praised  t "  he  cried.  "  I  was  coming  to 
fetch  ye.  Bedad,  I  was  afraid  the  janus 
would  make  'way  wid  yo  before  this. 
Is  he  there  yet  ? " 

**It's  not  a  genius,  O'Shea,"  I  an- 
swered, coolly ;  "  it's  a  man." 

"  A  man  !    He's  as  big  as  twelve !  " 

"  Of  course ;  he's  an  antediluvian,"  I 
replied,  with  the  quietest  assurance. 
The  big  word  and  matter-of-fact  man- 
ner silenced  him,  as  I  intended. 


TnATTED  Out. 


60 


,  Pat,"  I  added,  "  go  and  find 

d  and  the  rest,  and  tell  them 

a  k^  of  rum  and  some  blan- 

i  all  the  peat  and  blubber  they 


n 


e. 

f  Moses  1    You're  not  going  to 
al" 

Pat,  Fm  going  to  thaw  him 
.'s  all." 

ampered  ofif  readily  enough ; 
mspect,  of  an  excuse  for  sum- 
assistance  ;  and  left  me  pacing 
lown  before  the  entrance  of  the 
tnding  guard,  as  it  were,  over 
hty  sleeper  within.  I  am  not 
)  analyze  my  feelings  for  your 
lear  reader ;  for  I  am  not  clear 
ad  any  feelings  to  analyze.  I 
icious  only  of  an  intense  •urios- 
.  a  resolute  determination  to 
t,  if  possible,  at  whatever  cost, 
pied  a  sort  of  rift  or  crevice  in 
'  of  the  cave  near  the  recess, 
thought  could  be  cleared  into 
le  chimney.  I  meant  to  make  a 
3  and  thaw  him  out  That  he 
rake  to  life  again,  once  he  got 
}surd  as  the  expectation  seems, 
doubted  for  an  instant.  He 
lave  been  sleeping  there  for 
certainly  looked  like  it;  but 
was  not.    Of  that  I  was  moral- 

cruits  came  in  promptly,  duly 
and  equipped;  the  Russians 
demoralized  by  O^Shea^s  report, 
Yankees  full-primed,  and  dou- 
sed with  curiosity  and  interest. 
.  a  little  council  of  war  at  the 
,  and  then  went  in  to  recon- 
I  must  confess  to  putting  up  a 
petition  to  O^Shea's  devout 
hot  we  might  find  the  '*  janus  " 
I  in  smoke  and  brimstone.  The 
ling  seemed  so  incredible  when 
in  any  thing  like  a  business-like 
kt  I  felt,  in  spite  of  my  senses, 
ubts  of  its  reality.  But  no,  we 
lim  there,  reposing  in  serene 
upon  his  chilly  couch  ;  and  it 
med  to  me  that  the  film  of  ice 
)wn  thinner,  and  the  slumber 
)-likc  in  the  interim, 
cool  enough  by  this  time  to 


note  the  cfifcct  of  the  strange  sight  upon 
my  companions.  The  Yankees  took  it 
with  aboriginal  iangfroid  ;  the  Russians 
wavered  a  little,  but  rallied  bravely ;  and 
O^Shea,  after  the  mercurial  fashion  of  hb 
race,  even  volunteered  to  play  showman ; 
though  I  observed  that  the  little  velvet 
bag  which  held  Katinka's  keepsake 
fiourished  rather  conspicuously  in  the 
foreground. 

We  cleared  out  the  crevice  for  a 
chimney,  and  made  a  rousing  fire  of 
blubber  and  dried  peat,  with  such  wood 
as  we  could  spare;  the  Russians  even 
sacrificing  one  of  their  cherished  sledge- 
frames. 

It  was  a  picture  to  remember  for  a 
lifetime ;  the  gloomy  cavern  lighted  up 
into  weird  splendor  by  the  dancing 
fiames,  the  irregular  arches  and  broken 
pillars  stretching  away  into  interminable 
vistas,  peopled  with  shadowy  shapes; 
the  group  of  awed  and  anxious  faces, 
each  mutely  questioning  its  neighbor; 
and  that  beantiAil  serene  Colossus  lyins 
there,  dwarflngu.au  into  plgn.i«S 
his  magnificent  proportions. 

It  was  a  trial  of  courage  to  Uiuch 
him,  and  so  we  watched  and  waited  till 
the  cavern  steamed  like  a  native  hut, 
and  the  ice-film  vanished  into  mist; 
then  I  rose  and  turned  to  my  compan- 
ions with  a  gesture  of  mute  appeal. 
They  responded  as  mutely ;  and  silently, 
reverently,  as  those  who  minister  about 
the  newly  dead,  we  lifted  him  upon  a 
couch  of  skins  we  had  prepared,  and 
set  to  work. 

The  garments  dropped  into  impalpa- 
ble powder  at  a  touch,  and  I  looked  to 
see  the  whole  form  follow  them ;  but 
no,  the  fiesh  was  icy  cold,  indeed,  but 
firm  and  human-feeling ;  the  long  fair 
hair  and  golden  beard  silky  and  flexile 
as  the  tresses  of  a  woman. 

One  by  one  we  tried  all  the  accredited 
Russian  remedies — rubbing  with  snow, 
douches  of  ice-water,  rum,  hot  blankets, 
artificial  respiration — and  one  by  one 
they  failed  us.  The  flesh  grew  softer, 
the  muscles  relaxed,  the  frost  went  out, 
as  O'Shca  expressed  it ;  but  that  was 
all.  One  after  another  my  comrades 
shook  their  heads  hopelessly  and  turned 


ti 


Pdtsa.m'8  ]i£▲o▲ZI^'E. 


[JaiLy 


away.  What  bad  inspired  them  all 
with  tho  feeling  that  he  would  come 
back  to  life  again  I  never  knew.  I  had 
said  nothing  of  my  own  convictions  in 
the  matter,  and  yet  they  evidently  did 
expect  it,  and  were  as  disappointed  at 
the  failure  as  I  myself. 

A  failure  it  plidnly  was, — a  waste  of 
time  and  labor  and  good  spirits — as 
Techulski  prudently  hinted.  The  crea- 
ture was  clearly  dead — had  been  dead 
probably  ages  before  one  of  our  number 
was  born.  And  yet  he  did  not  look 
dead ;  he  did  not  feel  dead ;  he  did  not 
$0fm  dead.  We  had  found  "the  ele- 
phant ^^  indeed.  What  to  do  with  him 
was  now  the  question.  One  could  not 
leave  him  there  to  teeze  up  again  while 
he  looked,  and  felt,  and  seemed  like 
that 

And  so  we  all  sat  down  again,  and 
stared  at  him  and  at  each  other  in  help- 
less, hopeless  bewilderment,  until  sud- 
denly a  German  of  tho  company,  an 
odd  fellow  full  of  crotchets,  who  had 
lumbered  the  expedition  with  a  whole 
sledgvful  of  private  baggage,  sprang 
up,  Mghttd  a  torch,  and  darted  out  of 
the  cavern  as  though  possessed  with  a 
new  idea. 

**  Lager,  or  dU  M€taphy4il\  which  t  "^ 
whispered  an  irrepressible  Yankee  at 
my  elbow. 

**  Hush !  Mauer*s  the  very  man  to 
have  the  very  things  I  answered ;  and 
in  a  trice  the  fellow  was  bock  again, 
bearing,  of  all  things  in  the  world,  a 
portable  galvanic  battery. 

^  Just  so/*  he  muttered,  in  respoBst 
to  my  ecstatic  pantomime  of  approba- 
tion. **  When  a  man— ^Xa  GtKhdpf 
(apologetically)  has  been  sleeping  an 
dvfi  or  so,  we  must  get  pretty  close  in 
order  to  wake  him.^ 

And  clode  enough  we  got,  g^n<^'«g 
the  subtle^  mysterious  force  through 
brain  and  marrow  and  nerve,  along  the 
wonted,  yet  so  long  unwonted,  courses 
of  vital  action ;  but  in  vain. 

The  muscles,  indeed,  responded,  after 
a  time,  in  a  deliberate,  majestic  fashion 
of  their  owz»  strangely  unlike  the 
gha^Iy  contonions  of  a  human  subject. 
And  this  rcault  was  so  far  sati&CMtory 


that  it  proved  the  whole  body  to  be 
still  intact,  uninvaded  by  the  slightest 
touch  of  corruption  or  decay ;  but  the 
movements  were  so  plainly  and  p«r- 
severingly  automatic  that  even  Mauer*! 
patience  and  my  hopefulness  failed  at 
last 

And  yet  he  did  not  look  dead — we 
could  not  persuade  ourselves  that  he 
was  dead.  So  we  sat  down  again  and 
stared  at  him  and  at  each  other — Haoer 
in  a  brown-study,  I  in  despair — miti- 
gated, however,  by  some  vague  rem- 
nants  of  hope  from  tho  brown-study; 
for  I  had  begun  to  believe  in  Mauer. 

And  not  without  reason,  for  presently 
a  gleam  of  speculation  lighted  the 
vacant  pale  blue  eyes,  a  flash  of  energy 
kindled  and  stirred  in  the  stolid  £use, 
and  the  good  fellow  sprang  up  alert 
and  eager,  fired  with  a  new  idea. 

'*  I  have  it !  **  he  criecl,  speaking 
aloud  for  the  first  time  since  our  en- 
trance. '*  I  have  it !  This  atmosphere 
is  too  weak — too — what  vou  call— di- 
lute.  It  must  have  been  richer  in  the 
old  time  to  dcvelope  (he  called  it  devil- 
€p)^  such  a  physique  as  that  We  must 
make  it  for  him.'^ 

"  Make  what  ?  ^ 

*'  Make  oxygen  I  In  an  ice-cavern — 
at  the  North  Pole  I  Mauer,  are  vou 
mad  i  You  talk  as  though  wo  were  in 
a  chemist *s  laboratory.-* 

Talk  about  French  $an'j  frt^U  and 
Yankee  impudence— for  cool,  impertur- 
bable audacity,  in  theory  at  least,  your 
speculative  German  tops  us  all. 

''  We  are  in  Xature*s  laboratory,*'  an- 
swered Signer,  quietly,  **and  we  can, 
because  we  must  Behold  him  !  Com- 
ment il  €U  magr*\fi^e !  Ah,  yes,  we 
fliv«f.  Hist,  let  me  think.  The  chlorate 
— I  have  it  in  mine  arzcmi-l-Ut^ — a  spe- 
cific for  diphtheria,  you  know.  And 
manganese — the  peroxyd — one  may 
•crape  it  fix»m  the  rocks  there  at  the 
entrance.  I  saw  it  but  now  as  we  came 
in— a  brace  of  oil-flusks,  a  tube,  the 
stem  of  my  meorschauiii,  will  do  with  a 
bit  of  nibl>er.  Ah.  yos,**  rubbing  his 
hands  gleefully  :  "  ali,  yes  we  shall  do 
^^11— we  shall  feed  him  with  hb  mut- 


Thawed  Out. 


63 


—bis  natiye  air.  We  can,  because 
1st ; "  and  off  the  brave  follow 
,  to  return  again  laden  with,  I 
not  what,  clumsy  but  efficient 
t's  paraphernalia,  with  which  he 
ed  to  manufacture,  in  an  incredi- 
)rt  space  of  time,  seycral  gallons 
B  oxygen. 

1,  by  a  dexterous  application  of 
I,  directing  the  current  to  the 
nerves,  he  managed  to  produce 
ct  simulation  of  the  respiratory 
and  cause  the  giant  actually  to 
the  vivifying  fluid. 
I  the  first  flask  full  there  came  a 
f  perceptible  yet  startling  change 
be  marble  face,  a  faint  dawning 
octant  life,  a  shadowy  hint  of 
e  expression  which  brought  with 
no  at  least,  a  thrill  of  mingled 
md  horror.  It  waa  sleep,  not 
then,  and  the  hour  of  waking 
ar.  He  tcaa  coming  to  life  again, 
'  he  did — when  he   did — what 

we  do  with  him  ?  or  rather — 
8  that  was  the  question — ^what 
he  do  with  us  ? 

3r,  however,  seemed  to  be  trou- 
ith  no  misgivings.  He  had  set 
ssians  at  work  collecting  man- 
and  O^Shea  manufacturing  oxy- 
hile  he  went  on  breaking  and 
ig  his  circuit  with  monotonous 
:ity,  pointing  ont  to  me,  mean- 
with  an  appearance  of  the  coolest 
^on,  the  gathering  signs  of  life 
strange  subject — the  deepening 
pon  the  lips,  the  slight  quiver  of 
uscles,  the  faint  flutter  of  the 
the  shadowy  semblance  of  a  re- 
3n  which  was  still  kept  up  when 
Ivanic  irritation  was  withheld, 
rork    of   resuscitation  went    on 

The  faint  flush  deepened  to  a 
J  glow — the  fluttering  pulse  grew 
id  firm,  the  feeble  respiration 
ed  strength,  yet  patience  had  her 
;  work.  I  grew  as  nervous  as  an 
3man,  and  even  Mauer's  steady 
.ught  a  shade  of  worry  and  anx- 
:he  chlorate  was  exhausted,  and 
>ck  of  manganese,  which  O^Shea, 
)  help  of  an  old  iron  pemmican 
id  an  improvised  blow-pipe,  had 


managed  to  use  by  itself,  was  running 
very  low,  before  the  slow  muster  of 
the  vital  forces  became  complete,  and 
conscious  life  began. 

Yet  it  was  well  worth  waiting  for,  to 
witness  the  serene,  complacent  majesty 
of  that  awakening,  the  slow  dawning 
of  life  and  expression  in  the  beautifli] 
face — the  gradual  unclosing  of  the  glo- 
rious blue  eyes — the  calm,  deliberate 
survey  of  the  cavern  and  its  occupants, 
the  look  of  wondering  incredulity,  melt- 
ing by  degrees  into  compassionate  in- 
dulgence, with  which  he  contemplated 
his  discoverers. 

Mauer  had  entrusted  to  Techulski  the 
brewing  of  a  vast  bowl  of  superlative 
punch  with  which  to  inaugurate  the 
supreme  moment  of  recovery.  This  he 
now  offered,  sinking  on  one  knee  with 
an  instructive  gesture  of  admiring  rev- 
erence, which  the  stranger  acknowledged 
by  a  smile  of  ineffable  sweetness  and 
graciousness,  and,  rising  upon  one  elbow, 
quaffed  the  whole  portion  at  a  single 
draught,  then  sank  back  upon  his  couch 
again  with  an  expression  of  sweet  lazy 
brightness  which  reminded  me  curiously 
of  a  newly-awakened  child. 

"  Bedad,  that's  a  good  notion,"  mut- 
tered O'Shea,  who  had  latterly  betaken 
himself  to  a  renewed  gyration  of  St. 
Gregory's  toe.  "A  very  good  notion. 
Give  him  another,  Techulski ;  there's 
nothing  in  earth  so  good  for  sw atoning 
the  temper." 

It  was  the  first  time  one  of  us  had 
spoken  since  the  signs  of  life  began  to 
show  themselves,  and  the  giant's  awak- 
ened senses  evidently  caught  the  sound. 
A  curious,  half-puzzled  cxprer^ion  came 
into  his  face ;  he  turned  his  head  quick- 
ly, and,  looking  straight  at  O'Shea,  ut- 
tered in  a  low,  clear,  exquisitely  modu- 
lated voice  a  single  word. 
•  Not  one  of  us  understood  its  mean- 
ing ;  and  yet  it  thrilled  through  every 
one  of  us  like  an  electric  shock.  I  have 
compared  notes  with  my  companions 
since,  and  I  find  their  experience  corre- 
sponded in  every  particular  with  my 
own ;  but  I  almost  despair  of  convey- 
ing to  you  any  idea  of  its  singular 
effect. 


66 


FUTiTAM's  MaOAZIKB. 


[JaiL, 


There  was  such  a  vague,  tormenting 
suggestion  of  familiarity  about  the 
word,  a  just-missed  meaning,  a  sensa- 
tion as  if  the  sound  had  gone  wander- 
ing away  into  my  brain,  seeking  in 
some  long-closed,  long-forgotten  cham- 
ber for  the  slumbering  idea  which, 
wakened  by  its  echoes,  should  breathe 
into  it  the  breath  of  life  and  make  it  a 
living  word  again. 

0*Shea's  interpretation  of  the  feeling 
would  have  been  comical  at  any  other 
time. 

*^  And  is  it  spaking  to  me  he  is  ? ''  he 
cried,  glancing  round  at  us  in  hopeless, 
appealing  bewilderment.  "And  I  not 
to  sense  the  maning  of  it,  at  all,  at  all ; 
though  it^s  Irish,  as  thrue  as  you^re 
bom  I  God  be  good  to  us  I  And  it's 
maybe  St.  Pathrick  himself  I " 

A  shadowy  reflection  of  O^Bliea's  be- 
wilderment seemed  to  pass  into  the 
stranger's  face  at  this.  He  looked  in- 
quiringly at  the  Irishman  for  a  moment, 
and  then,  turning  half  impatiently  to- 
wards Mauer,  spoke  half-a-dozen  words 
in  a  clear,  full  voice  which  echoed 
through  the  cavern  like  the  notes  of  a 
silver  trumpet,  bringing  into  every  face 
fhe  same  eager,  hopeful,  baffled  expres- 
sion as  before. 

"  It  is  not  Dcutsch,'*  said  Mauer,  re- 
flectively ;  **  and  yet  it  is  liker  than  any 
language  I  know.  I  shall  try  him  with 
die  Sprache,  It  is  nearest  the  mother- 
tongue." 

Poor,  dear  fellow ;  it  was  not,  to  my 
ear,  in  the  least  like  Deutsch ;  yet,  with 
that  sublime  confidence  in  the  antiquity 
and  adaptability  of  "  die  Sprache  "  which 
never  deserts  your  true  German,  he 
answered  with  a  simple,  reverent  cour- 
tesy infinitely  becoming:  ^^ Ich  verttehe 
ne  nieht^  Mnn  Herr,  Sprachen  %ie 
DeuUehf' 

The  giant  shook  his  head ;  and  this 
time  we  saw  our  own  feelings  plainly 
reflected  in  his  face.  The  language  of 
gesture  and  expression,  at  least,  is  as  old 
and  as  broad  as  the  world. 

"  Ah  I  "  said  Mauer,  mournfully ; 
'*  the  parent  cannot  recognize  the  child 
any  more  than  the  child  the  parent." 

"Try   him    with    Latin    or    Greek, 


Mauer,  German's  the  grand-daughter; 
you  must  get  farther  back,"  whispered 
my  irrepressible  Yankee  friend;  and 
Mauer  obeyed,  but  all  in  vain.  The 
most  painful  and  persevering  efforts  to 
understand  only  resulted  in  a  concen- 
tration of  the  baffled  expression  which 
we  understood  so  well;  and,  wearied 
out  at  last  with  the  fruitless  attempt, 
the  giant  waved  his  would-be  interpre- 
ter aside  with  an  impatient  gesture; 
and,  rising  hastily  into  a  sitting  pos- 
ture, began  examining  first  himself,  then 
the  cavern,  and  then  each  of  us  in  turn, 
as  if  he  were  seeking  to  solve  the  prob- 
lem of  his,  or  our,  existence. 

Then  first  we  saw,  or  noticed,  the 
startling  change  which  was  passing 
upon  him.  The  fircshness  and  bright- 
ness were  fading  rapidly  out ;  the  glo- 
rious beaming  expression  of  vigor  and 
youth  was  wearing  away ;  he  was  aging 
visibly  and  momently  before  our  eyes. 

Mauer  saw  it,  and  snatching  from 
Techulski  the  bowl  of  punch  he  had 
been  industriously  brewing,  oficred  it 
as  before  upon  his  bended  knee;  but 
the  giant  put  it  absently  aside,  and 
went  on  with  the  study  of  his  mighty 
problem. 

I  never  saw  so  much  expression  con- 
centrated in  a  human  (and,  reader,  this 
teas  a  human)  face.  We  could  read  its 
changes  almost  as  if  it  had  been  an 
open  book  spread  out  before  us :  utter 
bewilderment ;  a  dim  memory,  kindling 
gradually  into  clear  and  perfect  remem- 
brance of  some  glorious,  ineiBfablo  past ; 
the  sudden,  paralyzing  recollection  of 
some  tremendous  catastrophe;  agony, 
horror,  unutterable  despair,  as  the  whole 
truth  burst  upon  him,  and  finally,  grand- 
est of  all,  a  stem,  hopeless  resignation, 
calmly  accepting  the  inevitable. 

Meanwhile,  the  change  which  was 
passing  upon  his  physical  being  grew 
every  moment  more  appalling.  It  seem- 
ed as  if  time  were  avenging  itself ;  as 
if  the  ages,  held  so  long  in  abeyance  by 
that  icy  wall,  had  leaped  in  one  fell 
host  upon  their  prey,  and  were  doing  in 
a  moment  the  work  of  centuries— blight- 
ing with  a  breath,  crumbling  by  a  touch, 
that  glorious  image  of  immortal  youth 


TnAwsD  Out. 


67 


gor  into  the  very  impersonation 
repitude  and  decay. 
%s  a  terrible  8X)ectacle.  Fancy  it, 
I  man  aging  by  lifetimes  before 
7ery  eyes,  driven  with  awful 
,  moment  by  moment,  through 
drling  centuries,  and  laden  re- 
3S3ly  by  each  with  its  dread  bur- 
care  and  weariness  and  sorrow, 
it,  if  you  can ;  we  have  no  words 
cribc— as,  thank  God,  we  have 
;casion — the  horrors  of  such  a 

stood,  I  know  not  how  long, 
less,  spell-bound,  watching  those 
I  ages  doing  their  fearful  work, 
leir    magnificent  yictim  calmly 

its  progress  with  an  eye  that 
eternity.  Mauer,  as  usual,  was 
t  to  break  the  spelL 
.  I  he  IB  dying,  perishing  before 
>s  I "  he  cried  in  despair.  ^*  And 
tell  us  nothing ;  we  shall  neyer, 
know  who  he  is,  or  whence  ho 

Oh  I  for  a  scholar,  a  linguist ! 
I  waif  from  antiquity ;  he  holds 
of  the  world^s  history,  the  key 
ages ;  and  we  shall  let  him  die, 
wither  away,  and  make  of  it  no 
Stay — hist-— ho  cannot  speak  to 
'an  he  tDritc?     Qrotefend  deci- 

the  Keilschriitcn ;  Champollion 

eted  the  Rosotta  stone :  there  may 

>lars  now  in  France,  in  Germany. 

I  pen— ink — ^papsrl  quick  I  for 

fe!" 

writing  materials  were  brought, 
luer  spread  them  out  before  him ; 
lating  like  a  Frenchman — scrib- 
.  word  or  two,  and  offering  the 
iploringly.  He  was  put  aside 
y  at  first ;  but  his  eager  panto- 
K)on  attracted  a  sort  of  half  in- 
t  attention  which  by-and-by  gave 
to  curiosity  and  interest.  The 
ook  the  pen  into  his  huge  fingers, 
led  it  with  a  half  quizzical  smile, 
imed  to  Mauer,  questioningly. 
tiis  face  lighted  up  with  eager, 


intelligent  comprehension,  melted  again 
into  a  warm,  thrilling,  human  expres- 
sion, a  look  of  being  en  rapport  with  us, 
which  brought  the  moisture  to  Mauer^s 
honest  eyes,  and  sent  the  blood  tingling 
through  all  our  veins,  and  settled  at 
last  into  a  sort  of  introspective  inez- 
pression,  as  he  began  rapidly  tracing 
some  strange  cabalistic  characters  upon 
the  paper. 

Several  pages  were  written  thus,  into 
every  lino  of  which  the  memories  of 
ages  seemed  to  be  condensed ;  and  with 
every  line  of  which  the  weight  of  ages 
seemed  to  descend  upon  the  writer; 
then  the  huge  fingers  slowly  relaxed, 
the  majestic  form,  venerable  now  be- 
yond all  human  imagination,  sank 
wearily  back  upon  the  couch  again ;  the 
spent  life  flickered,  faded,  went  out, 
and  the  long  baffled  centuries  reclaimed 
their  prey. 

"  What  shall  we  do  with  him  ?  "  ask- 
ed Mauer,  at  length,  breaking  the  awful 
silence  in  which  we  had  watched,  I 
know  not  how  long,  by  that  strange 
deathbed.  ^'  He  is  dead  now,  and  what 
shall  we  do  ? " 

As  he  spoke  he  bent  forward  to  close 
with  reverent  hand  the  sunken  eyes, 
and  started  back  with  a  shriek  of  hor- 
ror from  a  sight  which  froze  the  very 
life-blood  in  our  x^ins ;  for  at  his  touch 
the  whole  gigantic  f^ame  crumbled  into 
atoms  and  fell — ^the  merest  shapeless 
stain  of  inorganic  dust  upon  the  pile  of 
skins. 

.  *  .  .  • 

You  will  not  care  for  further  dotailp. 
Suffice  it  that  we  brought  away  the  MS., 
the  only  tangible  witness,  even  to  our- 
selves, of  the  reality  of  our  strange 
adventure. 

Mauer  has  since  submitted  it  to  the 
savans  of  Germany  and  France ;  but  he 
writes  me  they  can  make  nothing  of  it, 
and  asks,  pathetically,  '*Is  not  some 
American  scholar  brave  enough  to 
try?" 


68 


Putsam's  Maoaziks. 


[Jan^ 


A  FRENCH  SALON. 


"Well,  will  you  go?"  asked  my 
friend  Mahler,  drawing  back  a  little, 
and  contemplating  his  picture  with 
those  half-shut,  complacent  eyes  that 
artists  are  apt  to  turn  upon  their  own 
works.  "It  will  be  new  and  queer, 
possibly  entertaining;  and  then,  if 
there  is  nothing  else,  you  will  see  Adair 
Douglas." 

"  Who  is  he  ? "  I  inquired,  carelessly, 
as  I  pulled  out  a  fresh  cigar  from  the 
box  under  the  table.  Mahler  was  al- 
ways yery  free  with  his  Havanas. 

My  friend  turned  and  contemplated 
me  with  a  gaze  m  which  pity  struggled 
with  amazement, 

"He!  Adair  Douglas  is  the  most 
beautiful  foreigner  in  Paris." 

"  Is  he  a  model  ?    I  don't  paint." 

"  Qood  heavens  1  man,"  cried  Mahler, 
aghast  at  my  stupidity.  "  It  isn't  a  he 
at  all ;  she's  a  woman  !  " 

"  Then  why  did  you  not  say  so  at 
once  ?  How  the  d — 1  was  I  to  know 
that  Robin  Adair  was  not  a  man  ? " 

"  I  said  Adair  Douglas.'* 

"  Well,  it's  all  the  same ;  it  is  not  a 
feminine  appellation,"  I  growled. 

"  But  she's  a  glorious  womaa  ! "  said 
Mahler,  waving  his  brushes  and  mabl- 
stick  enthusiastically ;  "  a  great  crea- 
ture, with  such  eyes  and  hair,  and  figure 
and  complexion !  A  perfect  Hebe.  A 
trifle  too  large  to  marry,  you  know ; 
but  splendid  to  look  at.  Every  motion 
is  a  study." 

"  I  think  ni  go,"  said  I,  nonchalant- 
ly ;  and  put  my  feet  on  the  mantelpiece, 
thereby  establishing  my  nationality. 

Mahler  is  a  Frenchman,  and  not  quito 
used  to  American  ways,  but  a  good  fel- 
low in  the  main.  He  looked  uneasily 
at  his  delicate  bronzes,  but  he  did  not 
say  any  thing. 

"Admire  the  attitude?"  I  inquir- 
ed. "  Striking  design  for  a  new  coin, 
when  my  free  and  enlightened  govern- 
ment resumes  specie  payments, — young 


Columbian  trampling  upon  the  monu- 
ments of  imperial  arrogance ; "  and  I  put 
my  toe  on  the  cocked  hat  of  the  figure 
of  Napoleon,  which  surmounts  the  coU 
umn  of  the  Place  Vend6me.  I  refer, 
of  course,  to  Mahler's  model,  of  which 
he  was  proud. 

"Why  don't  you  have  this  figure 
altered  ? "  I  asked ;  "  it  is  no  longer  a 
fac-simile.  They've  got  a  prizefighter 
in  a  Scotch  kilt  up  there  now,  with  a 
ragged  towel  round  his  head." 

"  It  is  a  farce  I "  said  Mahler,  con- 
temptuously. "But  this  fellow  here," 
— it  is  thus  that  he  designated  the 
present  incumbent  of  the  Tuileries, — 
"  was  always  subject  to  ideea  fixes.  One 
of  tbem  was  to  sit  on  the  throne  of 
France,  another  to  make  this  alteration 
in  the  column.  You  know  that  at  first 
there  was  a  statue  on  it  of  Napoleon,  in 
his  full  imperial  robes.  When  the  Allies 
were  in  Paris,  Wellington's  soldiers  got 
a  rope  round  its  neck  to  haul  it  downj 
but  were  prevented.  However,  it  was 
decently  removed,  and  the  white  flag 
of  the  Bourbons  put  up  in  its  stead, 
alternated  with  the  tri-color  when  there 
was  a  revolution,  Louis  Philippe,  who 
was  always  a  gentleman,  and  disposed 
to  do  honor  to  all  Frenchmen  who  had 
brought  glory  to  la  grands  nation^ 
with  his  usual  magnanimity  put  up  the 
well-known  semblance  of  U  pdit  Capo- 
ral  in  his  cocked  hat  and  gray  ridiug- 
coat,  as  a  fitting  tribute  to  the  distin- 
guished Gencrjil  Bonaparte.  That 
pleased  every  body. 

"But  nothing  would  satisfy  ^Celui-d,'' 
but  ho  must  have  up  this  ridiculous 
effigy  of  a  Roman  emperor,  with  a  crane 
neck,  and  impossible  legs,  that  make 
you  shiver  of  a  winter's  day,  they  look 
so  bare  and  cold.  Then  he  sends  the 
little  corporal  out  to  Neuilly,  and  sticks 
him  on  a  pillar  there,  in  the  middle  of 
the  Rond  Point,  to  bo  seen  by  nobody. 
If  I  were  the  Invalides,"  said  Mah- 


A  Fbxsoh  Salov. 


09 


owiDg  excited,  "I  would  Dover 

immortelle  at  the  foot  of  this 
ly ;  I  would  carry  them  all  to  the 
Id  soldier  at  Ifeuilly,  and  say  my 
s  to  him  there." 

id  raise  a  row  with  the  paternal 
iment,  and  have  your  rations 
d  in  consequence,"  I  remarked,  in 
hesis. 

K>nclude  our  views  will  not  affect 
rangements  of  the  public  monu- 

of  Paris,"  Mahler  continued ; 
jfore,  suppose  we  return  to  the 
d  topic." 

gin,  then,  with  the  history  of  the 
'hose  aahn  you  propose  visiting." 
idamc  Canseuse,"  said  Mahler, 
ig  away  at  his  canvas,  ^^is  an 
lie — queer,  you  understand.  (That 
never  would  believe  that  I  could 
chend  a  French  idiom.)  She's 
^lishwoman  by  birth,  and  married 
renchman,  who  is  dead.  One  of 
ughters  sings  at  VOpSra,  Anoth- 
on  accomplished  pianiste,  artiste, 
n  is  superb  on  the  violin,  and  has 

for  drawing,  too,  I  believe,  but 
it  I  am  not  sure.     Madame  is 

remarkable  as  the  Indian  corre- 
jnt  of  the  London  HespenLs.  Per- 
ou  remember  those  clever  letters 
Singapore,  Lucknow,  Delhi,  and 
(t  of  the  places  where  the  army 

But,  anyhow,  you    know    the 
>f  Jessie  Brown  ?  " 
>t  *The  Campbells  are  Comin'* 
1?" 

le  same.     Madame  Canseuse    is 
renter  of  that  pathetic  tale." 
ihlcr,  spare  me  I   have  all  thoso 
:)€en  shed,  those  poems  written, 
«rmons  preached, — about  a  hum- 

Yritdblement !  Madame  Canseuse 
those  letters,  conceived  that  ro- 
,  in  her  apartment  in  the  Fau- 
St.  Honors.  It  is  a  pretty  well- 
L  fact.  The  Hesperus  got  into 
lisgrace  for  the  cheat" 
)u  delight  met  This  is  better 
he  beauty.  What  time  will  you 
br  me  ?  I  bum  to  throw  myself 
hdame's  feet.  She  is  a  great 
il" 


"  Beware,  my  friend.  Remember  she 
is  an  Englishwoman,  and  restrain  your 
ardor.  After  eight  o'clock  we  are  at 
liberty  to  visit  her." 

My  cigar  had  burnt  out  I  threw  the 
stump  in  the  fire,  extricated  my  limbs 
from  the  bronzes,  left  Mahler  cleaning 
his  brushes,  and  went  home  to  dinner. 
That  is,  I  stopped  at  Dotesio's  and  got 
the  best  mackerel  d  la  mf litre  tTMtd 
that  Paris  can  furnish,  to  preface  my 
chicken  with ;  and  such  an  omeletU 
$oujfflea  as  only  No.  10  Rue  Castiglion« 
can  proTidc.  After  which  I  went  to 
my  lodgings  for  a  white  cravat. 

Mahler  came  for  me  punctually  at 
eight ;  and  wc  strolled  up  the  Rue  St 
Honors,  across  the  broad  and  briUiantl  j 
lighted  RueRoyale,  into  the  less  crowd- 
ed  Faubourg. 

We  stopped  before  the  entrance  of 
one  of  the  large  old  houses,  with  curi- 
ously decorated  facades,  not  far  up  the 
Rue  du  Faubourg  St.  Honors.  The 
great  oaken  doors  swung  open  mysteri- 
ously, in  answer  to  our  ring,  and  we 
stepped  at  once  into  a  large  and  dimly- 
lighted  quadrangle,  with  walls  rising 
on  all  sides. 

"  Au/and  de  la  eour^  au  quatrUms  etU' 
dessus  do  Ventre^ol^  d  gauche^  said  the 
concierge,  in  answer  to  our  inquiries ; 
"  and  take  care  of  the  staircase,  Mes- 
sieurs, for  it  is  very  dark,"  she  added, 
wamingly. 

We  stumbled  across  the  courtyard,  by 
the  faint  light  of  a  huge  oil-lamp  placed 
on  an  iron  column  before  the  vesti- 
bule ;  and  with  some  difficulty  found  a 
narrow  stone  staircase  winding  upwards, 
with  a  dim  glimmer  at  each  ^tage,  by 
which  we  guided  ourselves.  The  win- 
dows which  gave  light  to  this  gloomy 
escalier  were  narrow,  and  barred. 

"  I  believe  it  was  built  for  a  convent," 
said  Mahler,  as  we  groped  our  way  up 
six  fights  of  stairs  to  what  was  called 
by  courtesy  the  fourth  story.  We  pull- 
ed the  bell-rope  which  hung  beside  the 
door  on  the  left  of  the  landing,  and 
after  some  little  delay,  were  admitted 
by  a  neat  old  woman  in  a  ruffled  cap 
into  an  antechamber,  where  we  de- 
I>osited  our  overcoats,  clinging  to  our 


70 


Pctham'8  Magazcve. 


[JaiLy 


hats  with  that  dcBperation  which  is  the 
mark  of  a  man  of  fashion. 

At  tbe  end  of  the  antechamber,  an 
open  door  disclosed  a  long  low  room, 
with  ceiling  slightly  sloping  on  one 
side,  and  one  broad  window  set  deep  in 
the  wall,  showing  that  we  were  directly 
mider  the  roof.  A  small  wood-fire  was 
smoking  in  the  back  of  a  narrow  chim- 
ney-place, across  one  comer  of  the 
apartment. 

The  floor  was  waxed,  with  rugs  of 
different  patterns  disposed  before  the 
sofas  and  chairs.  At  one  end  of  the 
parlor  stood  an  npright  piano.  The 
room  was  fhmished  in  the  French  style, 
but  with  a  certain  air  of  English  home- 
liness and  comfort  wanting  in  the  na- 
tiye  M/<m.  Groups  of*  people  were 
gathered  there  already,  who  were  sip- 
ping chocolate  and  coffee,  as  they  stood 
or  Bat  about,  and  nibbling  wafery,  roll- 
ed-np  cakes,  called  "  plaisirs,"  probably 
on  account  of  their  unsubstantial ity. 

Madame  sat  near  the  door,  in  the 
comer  of  a  sofa,  talking  animatedly  to 
two  gentlemen.  She  rose  as  we  enter- 
ed,— a  large,  fair  Englishwoman,  with 
bright  gray  eyes,  fresh  color,  and  thin 
lips.  Ilcr  light  hair  curled  on  both 
sides  of  her  comely  face ;  her  brow  was 
broad  and  unwrinklcd.  Her  manner 
was  cool  and  critical.  She  simply  greet- 
ed us,  and  then  resumed  her  interrapted 
conversation,  leaving  us  to  find  our  own 
amusement  and  companions.  Fortu- 
nately, Mahler  was  well  acquainted,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  I  was  seated  beside 
Mdlle.  Fran^oise,  the  younger  and 
sprightlier  of  the  sisters,  and  being 
informed  by  her  as  to  which  of  the 
occupants  of  the  room  were  notables. 

"  That  gray-haired,  handsome  gentle- 
man talking  to  my  mother,*'  she  said,  **  is 
the  Paris  correspondent  of  the  London 
Jupiter,  a  most  charming  man.  You 
must  talk  to  him.  lie  knows  every 
body  and  every  thing,  and  has  done  so 
for  a  thousand  years.  He  was  a  friend 
of  Lady  Morgan  and  Lady  Blessing- 
ton  ;  knew  Byron  well,  and  is  intimate 
with  the  beautiful  Ouiccioli,  now  Mar- 
quise de  Boissy.  Ah,  she  is  a  marvel. 
Monsieur  I  hard  upon  sixty,  and  with 


the  air  and  complexion  of  thirty — not 
a  gray  thread  in  her  lovely  auburn 
curls,  and  at  night  you  would  take  her, 
in  full  dress,  with  her  white  smooth 
neck  and  arms,  for  a  young  woman. 

"  The  other  gentleman,  who  gesticu- 
lates so  much,  is  a  friend  and  aide-de- 
camp of  Garibaldi,  who  has  fought  all 
his  campaigns  by  his  side.  He  loves 
the  General  with  perfect  enthusiasm.  It 
is  an  absolute  eulU,^ 

''And  who  is  the  remarkable  lady 
with  the  ringlets  t  "  I  asked,  indicating 
a  much-befiizzed  and  befurbelowed 
female,  sitting  with  one  knee  crossed 
over  the  other,  in  a  somewhat  degagte 
attitude,  while  she  talked  volubly  in 
French  in  a  very  high  key  to  a  hand- 
some but  indolent-looking  youth,  with 
hair,  eyes,  and  beard  of  that  beautiftd 
reddish  brown  the  Venetian  painters 
loved. 

''That  is  Madame  Despleurs,*'  said 
my  informant,  "  author  of  those  cele- 
brated poems,  'Lcs  Larmes  de  Mon 
Coeur.'  She  is  very  sentimental  and 
impulsive." 

"  And  M.  Despleurs  ?  " 

*'  S^existe  plus^^^  said  Mile.  Francoise, 
with  a  curious  little  look  that  I  did  not 
know  how  to  interpret.  "  That  is  my 
brother,  to  whom  she  Ls  talking/' 

"  And  who  is  tbs  dark-browed  lady 
in  the  wiji:  ? "  I  pursued. 

"  It  is  not  a  wig,  it  is  her  own  hair ; 
but  she  wears  it  in  that  eccentric  fash- 
ion, because  it  is  classic.  That  is 
Marcia,  once  a  celebrated  tragedienne 
at  Le  Fran^aut ;  she  is  married  now, 
and  has  left  the  stage.  That  little, 
quiet  man  in  the  comer  is  her  husband, 
M.  Brunon.  If  he  will  permit  her,  she 
will  recite  something  by-and-by." 

"  Permit  her !  Why,  she  is  twice  as 
big  as  he ;  and  strong  enough  to  knock 
him  down." 

"  That  may  be ;  but  she  is  the  most 
lamb-like  of  wives,  and  he  the  most 
jealous  of  husbands,  and  he  hates  any 
thing  that  reminds  the  world  of  her 
former  position." 

At  that  moment  a  charming  child  of 
about  fourteen  entered  the  room,  closely 
followed  by  a  middle-aged  man  with 


A  FsKNOH  Salov. 


71 


yes  and  hair,  evidently  her  father, 
rl  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then 
imidly  to  the  ride  of  my  com- 

• 

.  Fran^oise  kissed  her  on  the 
vrhite  forehead,  and  said  simply, 
m  glad  to  see  thee,  H^l^ne ;  and 
dies  ?  do  they  progress  ?  Is  thy 
leased  with  thee ! " 
s  is  content,"  said  the  child; 
I;  is  difficult  work,  and  the  leam- 
heart  takes  so  many  hours ;  but 
md  of  it." 

little  Mend,"  said  Mile.  Fran- 
iming  to  me,  '^  is  studying  for  the 

She  is  a  niece  of  tbe  Brohaus, 
)rated  in  high  comedy.  Did  you 
lee  Augustine  in  Suzanne,  in  Le 
e  de  Figaro?  Ah,  that  was 
1  It  was  her  best  role.  Made- 
^as  clever,  but  Augustine  was 
ing  more.     She  wrote  a  little, 

and  she  was  very  high-spirited 
lughty,  a  great  devote   in   her 

and  proud  as  Lucifer.  Did  you 
ar  her  device,  paraphrased  firom 
L  Rohan  motto  ?  ^  Coquette  ne 
ubrette  ne  daigne,  Brohan  jt  tuU,^ 
Lne  is  married  now  to  M.  Achard, 
irright  and  poet,  and  it  is  she 
training  her  niece  to  take  her 
>me  day  at  Lo  Fran^ais." 
1  do  you  like  it?"  I  asked, 
ig  the  quiet  mien  of  the  little 
v^hose  great  brown  eyes  were 
to  mine.  It  was  a  calm,  steady 
th  an  innocent,  child-like  expres> 
d  a  grave  mouth  and  smile, 
ch.  Monsieur,"  she  answered, 
'^  I  always  hoped  papa  would 

but  he  waited  a  great  whik  to 

',  a  century,  petit&y^^  said  the 
smiling  down  upon  her  with 
iased  eyes.  ^*  Thou  art  not  quite 
maid  yet,"  and  he  began  talking 
with  much  pride  of  her  career, 
Diizea  she  had  already  taken,  of 
ti  standing  at  the  Conservatoire, 
the  severe  training,  physical  and 
to  which  she  was  salijected; 
dUne  chatted  affectionately  with 

iZSC 

I  there  is  M.  Plandrin  t "  cried 


the  latter,  suddenly  springing  up.  '^  He 
is  the  first  trombone  at  the  Op^ra.  I 
hope  he  has  not  forgotten  his  instni- 
ment." 

As  she  passed  me,  a  hand  fell  on  my 
shoulder.  **Why,  Clarke,  how  came 
you  here  ?  "  asked  my  friend  Earslake, 
a  wandering  Member  of  Congress,  who 
had  been  my  neighbor  over  Madame 
Busquc's  excellent  buckwheat  cakes  at 
the  American  restaurant  that  morn- 
ing. 

**  I  came  with  a  Mend ;  but  you  ? " 

^Le$  leaux  yeux  of  Mile.  Fran^oiae 
brought  me,"  he  replied.  "  I  met  her 
at  the  Consul's  last  Monday,  and  found 
her  charming.  But  I  did  not  expect  to 
find  compatriots  here.  What  a  queer 
lot  they  are,  to  be  sure  I  Who  are  they 
all  ? " 

I  repeated  such  information  as  I  had 
already  received,  and  in  return  had 
several  other  celebrities  pointed  out  to 
mc. 

''That  tall,  hawk-eyed,  thin  man, 
with  the  lump  on  his  forehead,  is  Gar* 
nier  Pagds,"  said  Earslake, ''  Prerident 
of  the  Provisional  Qovemment  in  1848. 
I  have  been  talking  to  him ;  but  these 
fellows  are  not  practical,  they  don^t 
understand  this  question  of  self-govern- 
ment. Just  listen  there,"  and  he  drew 
my  attention  to  a  fiery  little  French 
artist,  arguing  a  point  with  the  Jupiter 
correspondent,  who  listened  with  a 
bland  smile. 

''  It  is  of  no  use,"  the  speaker  de- 
clared ;  *'  the  system  of  free  speech  is 
all  very  well  for  the  Americans,  and 
you  cool-blooded  Englishmen.  Toa 
talk,  and  talk,  and  talk,  and  it  ends  in 
talk.  Every  thing  grows  smooth,  and 
you  settle  matters ;  but  with  as,  it  is 
different  Allow  free  speech  one  day, 
you  must  have  tribunes  in  the  Champs 
Elys^es  the  next;  the  third  day.  La 
Guillotine  I  No,  no ;  we  Frenchmen 
have  but  one  force,  and  it  is  a  great  one 
— ^la  bayoncttel"  and  here  he  gave  a 
great  thrust  with  his  two  hands,  illus- 
trative of  the  practical  workings  of 
that  instrument 

"  Ah  I "  broke  in  the  clear  voice  of 
Madame  Canseose ;  ^  you  go  so  fast,  it 


PmrAM's  MagazdiS. 


[Jul, 


5-.r 


a  "^rrf  :Ld '  I  jliaZ  2r.t  soon  forget  how 
I  f6-.r..:  :a  i  *^aIi:czT  in  the  Rue  do 
'SLrr-.d  ji  :  S4:*.  Jti-i  aaw^  the  crowd  heave 
inii  iTCT^  Ti^iir  rh*  window?,  waiting 
*;«nti-xi:-.  Th<:T  did  not  wait  in 
rhti  ATir.g  and  Qneen  came  quietly 
ii-.'n  liis  st*ip»  of  the  Toileries,  walked 
-1  :fiii  zi-'y-.,  got  into  a  carriage,  and 
ir;T»  iTFi-  There  was  a  minute's 
pnOB^^  T-^;i  a  m^n*^  voice  struck  up 
La  JCLTV-fll  iiie.  Be' ire  he  had  reached 
±e  lilrl  U-^.  it  waa  echoed  from  a 
'\n'd:^A  t'-  -i.-:ir.i  throata.  Such  a 
Kfiiil !  Ar.  c'  1  Frenchwoman  standing 
*i7  n**.  tIo  remembered  1793,  threw 
•ip  zjiT  Liz.  J  and  crie-j. 

-  '  Al.  2ion  Diiiu  !  e'd*  nni!  it  13  all 
&T«r :  *  and  we  felt  as  if  it  was,  when 
Ui«  t^V.tXA  came  in  at  the  upper 
wiiAfjw*r 

^  Xamma,  we  are  to  have  some  mu- 
ik,"  laid  3IIlc.  Fran^ise  who,  mind- 
fdl  of  French  surveillance,  did  not  like 
the  turn  the  conversation  was  taking. 

Every  l>ody  became  silent  in  an  in- 
ttant.  Xcar  the  piano  was  standing, 
facing  the  audience,  with  a  sheet  of 
music  in  her  hand,  a  tall,  fair,  cold- 
looking  woman,  with  regular  features 
and  golden  hair.  Her  bearing  was 
haughty  and  impenetrable,  her  figure 
commanding,  her  profile  classic  in  its 
perfecti^>n  of  outline.  This  was  Mile. 
Nina,  the  prima  donna.  Iler  sister 
played  the  accompaniment,  while  she 
gang.  Ilcr  voice  was  beautiful ;  clear, 
flute-like,  and  powerful,  with  a  bell-like 
precision  in  the  notes.  So  exquisitely 
modulated  was  it,  that  though  possess- 
ing volume  of  tone  enough  to  enable 
her  readily  to  fill  the  Grand  Opera 
House  with  waves  of  sound,  not  a 
cadence  was  too  full  for  the  low  and 
stifled  apartment  in  which  wo  sat. 
When  she  ceased,  a  vigorous  clapping 
of  hands  attested  the  satisfaction  of  the 
company.  Mile.  Nina  looked  unmoved, 
merely  acknowledging  the  courtesy  by 
a  slow  bending  of  her  stately  head. 

*•  THiat  a  statue  she  is  !  '*  whispered 
Karslake.  **  There  is  no  tiro  in  her 
tones,  it  is  perfect  melody ;  but  it  docs 
not  reach  the  heart.-* 

"So  the  bird  sings,"  said  Mahler, 


who  had  joined  us,  "  without  sympathy 
and  without  passion.  She  needs  to  faU 
in  love.-' 

"Now  I  will  play  for  you,"  said 
Fran^oiic;  and  a  graceful  melody  of 
Stephen  Heller  rippled'  from  under  her 
fingers.  Her  execution  was  perfect,  her 
movement  free,  her  touch  full  of  feeling. 

*'  She  is  a  pupil  of  Halle,^'  said  Mah- 
ler ;  "  she  has  caught  a  bit  of  his  soul : 
that  is  not  a  woman*s  rendering,"  and 
we  all  listened  silentlv. 

"  That  was  not  a  fair  thing  to  say," 
said  the  artiste,  turning  to.  Mahler, 
under  cover  of  the  clapping  of  hands 
which  succeeded  her  performance.  "  I 
never  heard  Hall6  play  that  Tarantel- 
la,'' 

'•  All  the  better.  Mademoiselle ;  you 
only  prove  the  truth  of  my  remark. 
You  will  be  none  the  worse  for  an  in- 
grafting  of  Halle." 

A  little  flush  rose  to  the  girl's  cheek. 
She  turned  again  to  the  instrument  and 
began  improvising.  Strong,  sweet 
chords  prefaced  the  melody.  Then 
came  a  soft,  hcrcc^^se  movement,  follow- 
ed by  a  strain  of  such  wild  lament,  that 
tears  came  into  the  listeners'  eyes  at 
hearing.  Slowly,  from  the  hurried, 
passionate  arpeggios  which  followed, 
was  evolved  a  harmony  of  single  notes, 
which  culminated  in  the  grand  strains 
of  a  choral.  Full,  powerful  chords, 
with  a  certain  proud  triumph  in  their 
majesty  of  conscious  strength,  closed 
the  melody. 

"  No  ncetl  to  tell  me  that  it  is  your 
own,"  said  Mahler.  "  It  is  written  in 
your  face.    After  struggle,  victory." 

The  girl  rose  up ;  the  color  had  died 
in  her  cheek,  and  her  eyes  glowed. 

"  It  is  only  a  study,"  she  said  ;  "  but 
it  was  hard  to  master." 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  bustle  in 
the  antechamber,  a  rustling  of  silken 
robins ;  and  a  vision  appeared  in  the 
doorway. 

I  saw  Adair  Di^uglas  not  long  ago, 
walking  with  the  man  she  is  to  marry. 
Ilor  roses  had  not  palod,  the  lustre  of 
her  eyes  is  undimmed ;  nor  ha.")  she  lost 
her  grand  statelincss  of  manner,  nor  her 
rare,  sweet  smile;  but  something  has 


A  Fbkncii  Saloh. 


73 


om  ber  that  she  possessed  that 
The  room  seemed  to  expand  as 
ered  it,  so  queenly  was  her  ges- 
superb  ber  air. 

ras  above  the  ordinary  height 
len,  with 'magnificent  physique, 
Q,  round  outlines.  Her  hair  was 
own,  with  golden  threads  still 
ig  in  its  meshes;  her  complexion 
3  and  fresh,  her  features  lovely. 
>uth,  when  slie  smiled,  showed 
rliest  teeth,  and  her  great  dark- 
es  opened  under  perfect  brows 
g,  sweeping  lashes.  Her  voice, 
ic  spoke,  was  the  sweetest  I  have 
ard,  and  her  carriage  was  slow 
ceful. 

ike,  who  knows  every  body,  went 
.  to  meet  her,  and  spoke  to  her 
ne,  a  pleasant,  talkative  Eng- 
lan,  who  seemed  on  sociable 
with  the  whole  world.  The 
correspondent  hastened  to  the 
the  old  lady,  saying, 
Mrs.  Claymont,  this  is  an  tin- 
d  pleasure.  I  thought  I  should 
leet  you  again.  They  will  not 
a  at  your  door.  I  have  broken 
e  there  twice  within  the  last 
it  *  On  ne  refoit  paSy^  is  the 
al  answer." 

a  too  bad/*  replied  the  lady, 
"  My  servant  is  as  stupid  as 
(lessington's,  though  with  less 
cause." 

V  is  that?"  asked  Madame 
e. 

you  never  hear  of  my  last  call 
*  Lady  Blessington  ? "  said  the 
an.  **  I  went  there  one  evening 
;ption,  having  received  cards  a 
fore.  I  was  en  grande  tenue^  of 
and  having  reason  to  think  I 
>ected,  was  rather  surprised  to 
by  her  *<  B^tiim  "  that  Madame 
receive." 

•w  ?  *  I  asked.  *  llave  I  made  a 
in  the  evening  ?  *  and  I  glanced 
ird. 

n.  Monsieur,'  responded  the 
rionsicur  has  made  no  mistake ; 
lame  ne  regoit  pas.' 
7  well,'  I  said ;  *  I  presume  that 
I  is  indisposed.  Pray  make  her 
i.  v.— 6 


my  compliments,  and  express  my  re- 
grets.' 

*^  *•  Mais,  Monsieur,'  said  the  footman, 
once  again,  ^  Madame  is  not  indisposed, 
but  Madame  ne  rcQoit  pas  to-night.  The 
fact  is,  Madame  is  dead.' 

*'  Poor  lady !  she  had  had  a  stroke  of 
apoplexy  that  afternoon,  and  had  died 
in  half  an  hour;  and  the  blockheafl 
was  so  stupefied  by  the  catastrophe  and 
the  confusion,  that  he  had  nothing  left 
in  his  brain  but  the  usual  formula. 

*^  By  this  time  D'Orsay  had  heard  I 
was  there,  and  sent  down  for  me ;  and 
knowing  him  very  well,  1  went  up.  I 
found  him  in  the  room  above  the  one 
where  Lady  Blessington  lay  dead.  He 
was  in  a  terrible  state,  poor  fellow ;  it 
was  a  shocking  thing  for  them  all. 
Your  beautiful  friend  is  strikingly  like 
one  of  Lady  Blessington -s  nieces,"  he 
continued,  turning  to  Blrs.  Claymont. 
^^  Did  I  understand  you  that  she  is  an 
American  ? " 

At  this  point  I  at  once  claimed  an 
introduction  to  Miss  Douglas,  on  the 
ground  of  being  a  compatriot ;  Kars- 
lake  presented  me,  and  I  found  the  lady 
conversing  amiably  with  little  M.  Plau« 
drin.  After  gracefully  returning  my 
greeting,  she  turned  again  to  the  mu- 
sician. 

"  I  hope  I  have  come  in  time  for  the 
trombone,"  she  said.  "  3111e.  Frangoisc 
has  told  me  about  it,  and  I  would  not 
miss  it  for  the  world." 

M.  Plaudrin  bowed,  and  glowed  all 
over.  He  was  "  too  hapj)y  to  afford 
Mademoiselle  any  pleasure,"  and  went  at 
once  in  pursuit  of  the  means  of  gratifi* 
cation. 

The  trombone  was  in  the  antecham- 
ber. The  little  man  skipped  out,  and 
was  soon  seen  extricating  the  gigantic 
instrument  from  its  case  of  green  oaize. 

After  some  delay,  during  which  I 
succeeded  in  procuring  a  seat  by  Miss 
Douglas,  M.  Plaudrin  reiSntcred  the 
apartment  in  the  wake  of  a  huge  brass 
trumpet,  with  three  tubes  appertaining 
thereto,  and  established  himself  by  the 
piano. 

"  I  try  to  persuade  him  to  put  the 
mouth  of  the  trombone  out  of  the  win* 


74 


Putnam's  Maqazixe. 


[J, 


dow,"  wliispcred  Mile.  Fran^oise ;  "  but 
I  think  it  insults  him.  I  am  afraid, 
therefore,  that  you  will  all  be  blown 
away.    It  is  tremendous  I  " 

It  toas  tremendous.  Plaudrin  swell- 
ed his  cheeks  till  he  looked  like  Boreas 
blowing  a  northeaster.  He  clattered 
up  and  down  with  the  movable  tube 
at  the  side,  and  blew  such  a  blast  as 
might  have  brought  down  the  walls  of 
Jerichb.  Mile.  Frangoise  played  a 
charming  accompaniment,  and  the 
trombone  would  have  been  magnificent 
—out  of  doors.  As  it  was,  it  was  sim- 
ply intolerable. 

The  company,  with  real  French  cour- 
tesy, looked  delighted.  I,  who  was 
brought  by  my  change  of  position  un- 
comfortably near  the  thing,  overcame 
my  strong  inclination  to  put  my  fingers 
in  my  ears,  and  held  my  chair  firmly 
with  both  hands,  fully  convinced  that  I 
should  never  hear  again. 

Miss  Douglas  sweetly  smiled. 

How  long  it  lasted  I  shall  never 
know  ;  for  I  sat  in  expectation  of  total 
deafness  through  what  seemed  a  never- 
ending  period  of  sound.  I  was  relieved 
at  length  from  my  agony.  There  was 
an  awful  silence,  followed  by  a  burst  of 
applause ;  and  then  I  heard  the  en- 
chanting voice  at  my  side  thanking  the 
villain  for  the  great  pleasure  she  had 
enjoyed  I 

"  This  is  all  the  music  we  shall  have 
for  the  present,"  said  Madame  Oanseusc. 
"  Madame  Brunou  has  kindly  consented 
to  give  us  a  recitation." 

"  Wc  hive  enticed  her  husband  into 
the  next  room,  to  look  at  some  old  MS., 
of  which  he  is  very  fond,"  whippercd 
Fran^ise,  "  and  we  hope  he  will  not 
hear  what  she  is  about." 

Marcia  stood  near  the  door,  facing 
us  all.  She  was  a  tall,  dark-eyed,  vig- 
orous woman,  %vith  a  profusion  of 
bushy  blaqk  hair  that  rose  in  frizzes 
and  fell  in  ringlets  over  her  head  and 
neck.  She  struck  a  tragic  attitude*, 
assumed  a  sepulchral  tone,  and  began. 

I  was  prepared  to  find  it  ridiculous. 
No  stige  effect,  no  costume ;  only  an 
ugly  woman  in  a  red  gown,  standing  in 
a   crowded    parlor,    repeating   stilted 


French  poetry,  with  rhymes  at  the  end  . 
of  every  two  lines. 

In  one  minute  I  had  discovered  my 
mistake.  The  passage  chosen  was  from 
Comeille's  M6d6e — the  scene  between 
Medea  and  N^rine,  where  the  enchan- 
tress describes  the  concoction  of  her 
hellish  poison.  To  read,  the  lines  are 
not  especially  impressive ;  but  as  that 
strange,  deep  voice,  thrilling  with  hor- 
ror, repeated  their  weird  burden,  the 
small  room  faded  away,  we  forgot  the 
audience,  the  surroundings,  the  incon- 
gruities— every  thing.  We  saw  only  the 
barbarian  queen,  wandering,  impelled 
by  passion,  to  seek  wild  herbs  for  her 
unholy  purpose.  It  is  impossible  to 
convey  the  impression  of  the  lines — 

**  Moi-m6me  on  Ics  cneillant  jc  fin  p&lir  la  lane, 
Quand  los  chevcux  flottant9>,  le  brAs,  et  Ic  pied  so, 
J 'en  d6pouiIlui  jadis  un  cllmat  inconnu.'* 

From  this  she  passed  suddenly  into 
the  invocation  in  the  first  act,  where 
Medea  calls  upon  the  gods  to  avenge 
her  wrongs,  and  implores  them  in  their 
just  wrath  to  send  down 
**  Qudqac  chose  do  piro  pour  mon  perflde  Aponz.** 

Every  lineament  of  the  actress  ex- 
pressed the  profoundest  scorn,  her  tones 
quivered  with  indignation,  her  quick, 
fierce  gestures  conveyed  a  world  of 
vehement  nnguish ;  and  she  ceased 
abruptly  with  the  concluding  words : 

"Et  que  mon  soilvcnir  jasque  dans  lo  tombean 
Attiicho  k  son  esprit  un  ctcmel  bourrcao.^ 

It  was  magnificent  I  There  was  a 
hush  for  a  full  minute  after  the  trage- 
dienne ceased,  and  then  came  a  storm 
of  applause.  I  could  not  have  con- 
ceived that  such  an  effect  was  possible. 

"  Soul  of  a  tigress  I "  said  Mahler. 

"Now  we  will  hear  H^ldne,"  said 
Mme.  Canseuse  ;  and  the  father  opened 
a  little  volume  of  MoliJire,  while  my 
little  friend  of  the  Broban  family  stood 
before  him. 

It  was  the  r61e  of  Agnes,  in  L'Scole 
des  Femmes,  and  the  father  read  the 
part  of  the  husband  ;  while  the  youth- 
ftil  character  of  the  heroine  suited  per- 
fectly the  immature  actress.  Her  self- 
possession  was  wonderful,  her  intona- 
tions excellent,  her  gestures  simple  and 
impressive.    She  entered  fully  into  the 


170.] 


A  Frekgh  Salok. 


75 


krt,  and  showed  evidence  of  careful 
lining,  and  much  promise. 
She  was  most  kindly  applauded,  and 
ircia  took  her  by  the  hand,  and  com- 
inted  favorably  on  several  points  in 
r  acting,  while  the  girl  listened,  and 
ced  judicious  questions,  evidently 
luing  criticism  as  much  as  praise. 
[  was  struck  with  the  nice  discri mi- 
don  shown  by  all  who  commented  ; 
5  fine  appreciation  of  the  good  parts, 
I  prompt,  though  not  unkindly,  re- 
^tion  of  defects,  all  conveyed  with 
t  graceful  elegance  and  felicity  of 
rase  of  which  only  the  French  tongue 

I  French  critics  are  capable. 

ties  Douglas  approached  the  little 
ress  and  spoke  gently  to  her. 

We  shall  hear  of  you  some  day," 

said. 

I  hope  so,  Mademoiselle,"  replied 

child,  with  quiet  confidence.     "I 

II  do  my  best  for  it." 

|11e.  Nina  sang  again,  and  then  with 
Tor  I  saw  M.  Plaudrin  sliding  the 
e  of  his  tr«mbone  up  and  down 
e  more. 

For  Heaven^s  sake,  effect  a  diver- 
1,"  I  implored  in  an  awful  whisper, 
Sarslake  passed  me,  knowing  him  to 
aess  a  ^rain  fertile  in  expedients. 
le  turned  to  Miss  Douglas. 
'  Now  you  must  sing,"  he  said. 
'No,  indeed,"  she  answered,  "not 
ong  these  artistes;   it  would  be  a 

'  Not  for  me  ?  "  he  asked  persuasi ve- 
in very  low  tones. 

Certainly  not,"  said  the  lady  in 
y  clear  response.  "  Why  should  I  ? " 
^  Do  you  remember  the  little  air  I 
ght  you  in  Rome  ? "  he  inquired, 
h  a  significant  expression. 

Which  ?  there  were  so  many." 
Larslake  hummed  a  few  bars. 

Tes,  I  remember ;  I  did  not  like  the 
rds." 

'  I  have  made  new  ones  for  it.  I  will 
5  them  for  you  to-morrow." 
'You  shall  do  it  now,"  she  cried, 
ih  sweet  authority.  "  Mademolnelle, 
.  Earslake  sings  delightfully ;  make 
1  faror  us." 
rhe  gentleman  was  at  once  beset. 


There  was  no  escape ;  and  being  really 
a  highly  cultivated  musician,  he  con- 
sented graci»fully  at  length,  though 
against  his  will. 

"  I  did  not  deserve  it,"  he  said,  as  he 
lefl  Miss  Douglas'  bide. 

He  played  a  low  gondolied  accom- 
paniment, and  sang  with  pointed  em- 
phasis and  marked  expression. 

A  RECOGNITION'. 

**If  possmg  in  a  crowd, 

Two  hands  meet,  nnd  touch. 
Would  the  world  think 
That  were  much  ? 

**  If  a  ctsemcnt  gapo. 

And  a  m.in'd  glance  fhll 
On  a  smtill,  bright  (ace  ;— 
That  is  all 

**  Does  it  end  there,  then  T 
Is  the  meeting  vain? 
Shall  wo  know  that  grace 
Ne'er  again '.' 

"If  one  summer-day 

My  soul  met  your  own. 
Do  we  two  forget, 
Though  'tis  gone  T 

3  the  faces  of  the  hills,  i 

linous  nebulae  far  down.^ 

the  jncau^ain^sides^inf 

**  Though  the  end  may  ooAe, 
Though  the  dream  deport. 
We  shall  meet  once  more 
Heart  to  heart  I" 

The  glance  with  which  he  concluded 
the  last  bar  brought  a  deep  flush  to 
Adair  Douglas*  cheek. 

The  Frenchmen  did  not  quite  under- 
stand the  words  of  the  cong ;  but  the 
glowing  eyes  and  impassioned  accents 
of  the  singer  interpreted  its  burden. 

Miss  Douglas  crossed  the  room  slowly 
to  her  chaperone's  side. 

^^ FUre  coquette!''''  said  a  gentleman 
behind  me,  **  but  magnificent ;  d'un 
beauts  superbe  I " 

"  What  a  nation  you  must  have  I " 
said  Mile.  Fran^oLse.  "  All  your  wom- 
en are  beautiful." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ? " 
asked  Mahler ;  '*  you  look  dazed." 

"I  think  Karslake  has  forgotten 
something,"  I  said,  watching  him  as  he 
followed  Miss  Douglas.  "  I  wonder  if 
she  knows " 

"  That  he  is  very  much  in  love  with 
her  ?  Trust  a  woman  for  that !  But 
she  holds  him  oflf  well." 


76 


FuTNUc'a  Maqazinb. 


[Jao^ 


"  Mahler,  I  most  speak  to  Miss  Doug- 
las on  a  matter  of  the  utmost  import- 
ance. Can  you  draw  off  that  gentleman 
for  awhile  ?  I  can  say  all  that  is  neces- 
sary in  five  minutes/' 

"  I  hope  you  won*t  get  into  difficul- 
ties with  your  compatriot/'  said  Mahler, 
laughing  good-naturedly.  "I  do  not 
mind  helping  you  on  a  little  with  the 
beauty,  however,"  and  he  intercepted 
Karslake  in  his  slow  progress  across  the 
room,  and  detained  him  till  I  had 
reached  Miss  Douglas*  side. 

"  Our  friend  has  improved  his  tenor 
of  late,-'  I  said.  "  I  think  he  must  be 
in  good  practice." 

**  Mr.  Karslake  has  a  charming  voice," 
she  said  in  reply ;  ^*  but  trif»  rather  too 
much  for  dramatic  effectr— don't  you 
think  ?  " 

"  He  is  always  fond  of  that,"  I  said. 
**  I  have  frequently  remarked  it.  I  used 
to  hear  Mrs.  Karslake  speak  of  it  as  an 
inherited  f^lM^w^^Kusn^^l^Vj'ew  her 
hu8band."Aig  it  lasted    I  shall 

**  Mrs.  A I  sat  in  expectation  of 

** Did  yiroughjyyitMiMH^idas  mar* 
ried  ? " 

I  looked  Miss  Douglas  full  in  the  face 
as  I  spoke.  She  was  too  thorough  a 
woman  of  the  world  to  pale  or  blush, 
but  her  eyelids  quivered  a  little,  and 
her  pupils  dilated,  as  she  calmly  return- 
ed my  gaze,  and — lied. 

'^  Oh,  of  course  t  she  was  a  Miss 
Dayenger,  of  Philadelphia;  was  she 
not  t " 

"  No ;  Miss  Moore,  of  Boston." 

"Ah,  another  £unily.  I  have  con- 
founded two  families.  She  is  not  abroad 
with  him  ? " 

"  I  believe  not.  I  knew  her  in  the 
cotmtry,  by  accident.  I  do  not  think 
Karslake  is  aware  that  I  ever  met  her. 
She  is  a  lovely  woman." 

"  No  doubt ;  her  husband  is  a  fastid- 
ious man.  Mrs.  Claymont,  I  believe  the 
carriage  is  waiting  for  us.  Had  we 
better  go  ?  " 

"  As  you  please,  my  love,"  said  the 
obliging  matron. 

*'Aro  you  going?    May  I  take  you 


down?"  asked  Karslake's  voice  oyer 
my  shoulder. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Clarke  will  be  so 
kind,"  said  Miss  Douglas,  with  quick 
anticipation  of  my  intention.  Her  per- 
fect gentleness  of  manner  was  un- 
changed ;  but  there  was  a  little  steely 
gleam  in  her  blue  eyes. 

The  gentleman  drew  back. 

"  May  I  come  to-morrow  ? "  he  asked. 

"Certainly;  Mrs.  Claymont  will  be 
glad  to  welcome  you.  I  am  going  out 
of  town  for  two  weeks,  and  shall  not 
see  you  again.  So  I  will  say  good-by 
now.  Bon  voyage !  When  I  meet  yon 
in  Washington  next  winter,  you  mvtt 
present  me  to  your  wife." 

An  ugly  look  came  into  Karslake's 
face. 

"  I  hope  I  may  have  that  pleasurei" 
he  said,  and  turned  away. 

Mahler  and  I  took  leave  of  our  host- 
ess and  her  daughters,  and  escorted 
Mrs.  Claymont  and  Miss  Douglas  down 
the  narrow  stone  steps  to  their  carriage. 

"  It  has  been  a  curious  experience,**  I 
said. 

"  Remarkably,"  replied  Miss  Dooglms, 
and  said  no  more. 

Mrs.  Claymont  put  her  head  out  of 
the  carriage-window. 

"  Come  and  see  us,"  she  cried ;  "  we 
are  in  the  Champs  Elys^,  just  above 
the  Rue  d'Angoul6me;  and  always  at 
home  on  Saturdays." 

"  Is  she  not  enchanting  ?  "  asked  my 
friend,  as  we  turned  down  the  Fau- 
bourg towards  home. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied ;  "  but  I  shall  not  go 
to  see  her.  She  will  hate  me  forever, 
because  I  told  her  Karslake  had  a  wife 
at  home." 

"  DiabU  I "  said  Mahler.  "  I  would 
not  like  to  do  that  Will  he  call  you 
out  ? " 

"Hardly,"  I  replied;  "even  if  he 
knew  who  betrayed  him.  But  I  would 
not  have  believed  him  capable  of  such 
treachery." 

"  Ah,  mon  ami,"  replied  my  cynical 
friend,  "in  Rome  one  does  as  the 
Romans." 


A  Woman's  Rioht. 


7T 


A  WOMAN'S  RIGHT. 


I. 


LBlTnrO  KOM& 

0D-3T,  Rene." 

od-by,  Win."  Here  the  soft  voice 
and  a  pair  of  bro'wn  eyes  looked 
h  gathering  tears,  while  the  yonng 
10  owned  them  leaned  across  a 
a^te  and  kissed  a  boy  who  stood 

ad-by,  Pansy,"  she  said,  turning 
ttle  girl.  "  Be  a  good  girl  to 
till  I  come  back,  and  I  will 
^ou  a  new  dress  as  blue  as  the 
Think  of  it.  Pansy,  and  don't 

promise  of  a  new  dress  stopped 
;  tear^.  She  opened  her  purple- 
es  wide  and  laughed  with  de- 
She  threw  her  arms  around  her 
.nd  exclaimed :  *^  Rene,  how  long 
jrou  will  come  back  and  bring  me 
f  frock  ? " 

7  soon,"  said  Rene,  and  she  kiss- 
3hild  on  her  yellow  hair, 
ther !    You  will  pray  for  me  ? " 
J.    Always." 

ne  I  We  shall  be  too  late  for  the 
They  never  stop  for  goodrhyt^^'* 
kind  voice  a  little  impatiently. 
U  came  from  an  elderly  man  who 
ting  in  a  rickety  buggy.  As  he 
he  mildly  jerked  the  reins,  as  if 
irt  a  little  of  his  own  impatience' 
lorse  ;  but  the  jerk  only  made 
iek  old  mare  stretch  out  her 
t  neck  a  little  straighter,  stiffen 
I  as  if  they  were  riveted  in  the 
i  she  herself  willing  to  stand  till 
I  of  the  world  without  stirring, 
be  sound  of  her  father's  voice 
turned  to  her  mother  with  a 
,  deep  embrace,  then  hurried 
he  gate,  climbed  up  into  the 
vehicle,  tucked  herself  into  a 
of  the  rusty  seat,  and  without 
f  back  said,  '*  Now,  father." 
;  up,  ^luggins  I  " 
tfuggins  was  decidedly  averse  to 


"getting  up."  She  seemed  to  know 
that  it  involved  carrying  Eirene  away. 

"  Muggins,  I  say,  get  vp  !  " 

The  injunction  this  time  was  accom- 
panied by  so  decided  a  jerk,  that  Mug- 
gins did  **  get  up  ;  "  that  is,  she  began 
to  move  away  at  the  slowest  of  all 
paces.  The  aged,  straight-necked  horse, 
the  old  wagon,  tlie  gray-haired  man, 
the  young  girl,  went  shaking  together 
along  the  stony  hill-road. 

A  COt'XTtT    RAILWAT-5TATI05. 

The  October  sun  had  filtered  its  gold 
through  a  hazy  heaven  till  the  wide 
spaces  of  air  palpitated  with  topaz 
mist.  An  vpHfted  veil,  it  trembled 
above  the  faces  of  the  hills,  and  floated 
in  luminous  nebuls  far  down  the  valley. 

On  the  mountain-sides,  in  the  deep 
gorges,  in  the  wide  woods,  the  carnival 
of  color  had  bcgim. 

The    maples    fluttered    their    vivid 
ambers  and  scarlets;    the  oaks  wore 
their  garnet ;   vines,  ruby  and  yellow^ 
festooned  the    nigged    boulders  with 
flame-like  hues. 

Armies  of  ferns  stood  by  the  way 
with  nodding  plumes  and  crimsoned 
falchions.  Through  the  mellow  air 
rained  the  ripe  leaves  of -October. 

With  a  low  stir  of  melody,  they  rus- 
tled down  into  the  stony  road,  and  the 
ruthless  wagon- wheels  passed  over  them 
and  crushed  them.  They  were  full- 
juiced,  and  their  exuding  wine  filled 
the  atmosphere  with  a  faint,  delicious 
fragrance.  The  air  was  sweet  also  with 
the  perfume  of  the  pines,  distilling 
their  balsams  amid  the  stillness  of  the 
hills.  The  world  was  all  athrill  with 
murmurous  music — ^the  quick  rustle  of 
the  squirrel  running  through  the  loosely- 
meshed  leaves,  the  shrill  trill  of  the 
cricket,  and  the  low  hum  of  insect- 
wings  astir  on  the  borders  of  silence. 
Over  all  bent  the  azure-amber  firmament. 


78 


FUTNAU^B  MAQjkZINX. 


IJ«*, 


It  was  one  of  the  rare  days  which  God 
makes  perfect. 

"  How  sweet  the  pines  smell,  father. 
I  can't  make  it  seem  that  I  am  not  going 
to  see  these  dear  old  woods  any  more  j " 
and  as  she  uttered  these  words,  Eirene, 
who  had  been  silently  taking  in  color 
and  odor  and  sound,  gazed  around  her 
with  an  expression  of  unutterable  love 
and  sa(biess,  strangely  at  variance  with 
a  face  so  young. 

"  Yes,  you  will,  child.  You  will  see 
the  old  woods  at  Thanksgiving.  You 
know  that  I  am  coming  down  after  you 
then,''  said  her  father. 

"  Yes,  but  at  Thanksgiving  the  leaves 
will  all  have  fallen.  The  woods  will  be 
gray — not  my  woods,  all  in  a  glory  as 
now.  But  then  I  am  going  to  something 
better.  I  am  glad  of  that,  father,"  and 
the  girl  looked  anxiously  into  bis  face, 
as  if  sorry  that  she  had  uttered  a  repin- 
ing word. 

"  I  wish  that  you  were  going  to  some- 
thing better,  Rene.  I  haven't  said  any 
thing  about  it  before,  because  I  felt 
that  I  couldn't.  It  is  very  hard  for  me 
to  send  my  Rone  out  into  the  world  to 
cum  her  bread,  instead  of  sending  her 
to  school,  and  giving  her  the  start  in 
life  which  I  always  intended  that  she 
should  have.  But  I  have  done  the  best 
that  I  could,  child.  It  is  not  my  lot  to 
be  lucky." 

There  was  a  pathos  in  the  man's 
voice  and  utterance  which  brought  the 
swift  tears  back  into  Eirene's  eyes. 

"  Oh,  father,  I  didn't  know  that  you 
felt  so  bad  about  my  going  away,"  she 
said,  *^  or  I  am  sure  I  would  not  have 
spoken  a  word  about  leaving  the  woods. 
You  know  that  I  want  to  go.  I  am 
young  and  strong  ;  why  shouldn't  I  do 
something  ?  After  my  work  is  done,  I 
shall  find  some  time  to  study.  And  if 
Win  and  Pansy  can  be  educated,  it  docs 
not  make  so  much  dificrencc  about  me. 

"  Now,  father,  don't  feel  bad  any 
more,  because  there  isn't  any  reason 
why  you  should,"  she  continued,  as 
looking  up  she  saw  that  her  words  had 
failed  to  bring  any  smile  into  the  sor- 
rowful eyc!*.  "  Fatlier,  mind  me ;  "  and 
with  an  effort  to  be  playful,  she  took 


the  comer  of  her  shawl  and  wiped  away 
the  solitary  tear  that  was  making  its 
way  down  a  groove  of  the  furrowed 
cheek. 

It  was  only  two  miles  to  the  railroad- 
station,  down-hill  all  the  way.  Eirene 
and  her  father  had  ridden  in  silence 
but  a  little  way,  when  the  most  uninter- 
esting of  all  material  objects,  a  countiy 
railway-depot,  confronted  them  at  the 
angle  of  two  roads.  It  looked  like  a 
diminutive  bam  painted  a  blackish 
brown.  Inside  it  boasted  of  a  dirty 
floor,  a  spittoon  half  filled  with  saw- 
dust, a  rusty  stove,  a  bleared  looking- 
glass,  two  unsteady  benches,  and  a  hole 
in  the  wall,  in  which  was  set  the  red 
face  of  a  man  waiting  to  sell  tickets. 
Yet  this  depot  was  the  centre  of  attrac- 
tion for  miles  around.  It  was  the  grand 
hall  of  reunion  for  all  the  people  of  the 
scattered  town,  not  second  in  import- 
ance even  to  the  meeting-house.  Here, 
twice  a-day,  stopped  the  great  Western 
and  Eastern  trains,  the  two  fiery  art^ 
ries  through  which  flowed  all  the  tu- 
multuous life  of  the  vast  outer  world 
that  had  ever  come  to  this  secluded 
hamlet.  Its  primitive  inhabitants  in 
their  isolated  farm-houses,  under  the 
hills  and  on  the  stony  mountain  moors, 
could  never  have  realized  the  existence 
of  another  world  than  the  green,  grand 
world  of  nature  around  them  and  above 
them,  and  would  have  been  as  oblivious 
of  the  great  god  **  News  "  as  the  deni- 
zens of  Greenland,  if  it  had  not  been 
for  the  daily  visits  of  this  Cyclops  with 
the  burning  eye.  Now  twice  a-day  the 
shriek  of  his  diabolical  whistle  pierced 
the  umbrageous  woods  and  hilly  gorges 
for  miles  away,  and  its  cry  to  many  a 
solitary  household  was  the  epoch  of  the 
day.  Hearing  it,  John  mounted  his  nag 
and  scampered  away  to  the  station  for 
the  Boston  journals  of  yesterday.  Seth 
harnessed  Peggy,  and  drove  off  in  the 
buggy  in  all  possible  haste  to  see  if  the 
mail  had  brought  a  letter  from  Amzi 
w^ho  was  in  New  York,  or  from  Nimrod 
who  had  gone  to  work  in  '*  Bosting,"  or 
if  the  train  had  brought  Sally  and  her 
children  from  the  city,  who  were  ex- 
pected home  on  a  visit.    Here,  under 


A  WoMAK*!  Right. 


79 


;  of  waiting  for  the  con,  coDgre- 
the  drctfies  and  Bupernumcraries 

different  neighborhoods,  loung- 

the  steps,  hacking  the  benches 
leir  jack-knives  for  hours  togcth- 
lie  they  discussed  politics,  and 

over  their  own  and  their  neigh- 
ffairs. 

ilk  to  the  station  on  a  summer 
^  was  more  to  the  boys  and  girls 

rural  region  than  a  Broadway 
lade  to  a  metropolitan  belle, 
lay^s  tasks  done,  here  they  met  in 
omparing  finery,  and  indulging  in 
9ns  with  an  impunity  which 
not  have  been  tolerated  by  their 
%t  the  Sunday  recess  in  the  meet^ 
jse.  Then,  besides,  it  was  such  an 
g  sight  to  see  the  cars  come  in, 

the  long  rows  of  strange  faces, 

tatch  glimpses  of  the  new  fosh- 
t  their  open  windows.     Besides, 

intervals,  a  real  city-lady  would 
y  alight  at  the  rustic  station  of 
),  followed  by  an  avalanche  of 
,  "  larger  than  hen-houses,"  the 
ould  afterward  affirm  to  their  as- 
5d  mothers,  when  it  was  discover- 
;  the  city-lady,  in  her  languishing 
ty  for  country-air,  had  really 
cended  to  come  in  search  of  a 

country-cousin.  Besides  the  fine 
iometimes  small  companies  of 
g  young  gentlemen,  with  fishing- 
nd  retinues  of  long-eared  dogs, 
Qg-haired  artist  with  a  portfolio 
his  arm,  all  lured  by  the  moun- 
ind  woods  and  streams  to  seek 
•e  in  far  different  ways,  would 

at  the  station  and  inquire  of 
taring  rustic  where  they  could 
le  hotel. 

question  invariably  called  forth 
ponse, 

ar'  ain't  nun' ;  but  Farmer  Smoot 
nodatcs." 

dog-star,  whose  fiery  rays  sent 
uigrims  of  the  world  to  the  cool 

of  the  hills,  had  long  set.  It  was 
r  now.  No  one  was  expected, 
e  girls  and  boys  of  Hilltop  had 
on  Sunday,  **  at  meeting,"  that 
idayEirene  Vale  was  going  down 
yville  to  work  in  a  factory,  and 


they  had  come  to  the  station  to  see  her 
off. 

She  stood  in  the  midst  of  a  group, 
her  plain  brown  dress  and  shawl,  her 
dark  straw  bonnet,  with  its  blue  ribbon, 
affording  a  striking  contrast  to  the 
glaring  finery  of  her  companions. 

"  Now,  I  say,  Rene,  if  you  don't  l)ring 
the  Fashion  Book  when  you  come  hum 
at  Thanksgiviu',  you'll  see  what  you'll 
git.  You  know  we've  scch  lots  of  com- 
pany tu  our  house,  Tve  got  to  be  dress- 
ed," said  a  coarse,  red-haired  girl,  who 
rejoiced  in  the  mellifluous  appellation 
of  Serepty  Ucpzibah  Smoot. 

*'  See  here,  Rene  I "  and  a  tall  girl  with 
glowing  red  cheeks  and  flaming  black 
eyes  took  her  by  the  arm  and  drew  her 
aside  with  an  air  of  impenetrable  mys- 
tery. **  See  here,  Rene,  and  don't  you 
tell,  for  if  it  gits  out,  mother'li  set  her 
back  agin  it,  and  I  can't  bring  it  round. 
But  I'll  tell  you  what,  if  you  like  it 
down  to  Busyville,  I'm  coming  tu.  Til 
work  and  board  with  you.  I  know 
thar*  ain't  no  need  on't.  Father's  fore- 
handed. He  sez  I  can  go  tu  school,  bet 
I  ain't  goin'.  I  never  could  lam ;  now 
I'm  eighteen,  I  ain't  goin'  to  try.  I'm 
goin'  to  have  clothes.  Father  don't 
half  dress  me,  so  Fm  goin'  to  work  tu 
earn  'em.  I  ain't  goin'  to  live  and  die 
on  this  old  mountain.  Fm  goiu'  whar' 
I  can  see  and  be  seen  !  "  and  the  rustic 
beauty  tossed  her  head  with  a  self-con- 
scious and  defiant  air. 

**  Let  me  speak  I "  said  a  squeaky 
voice,  in  an  imploring  tone.  **  The 
cars'U  come  and  I  shan't  have  no 
chance  ;  "  and  black-eyed  Nancy  Drake 
made  way  for  Moses  Lo])lolly,  a  tall, 
lank  youth,  with  a  crotchet  in  his 
shoulders,  yellow  locks,  and  small,  pale 
eyes  of  a  gooseberry  green. 

"  Rene,  here's  a  keepsake  fur  yer  to 
remember  me  by,"  he  said,  thrusting 
into  her  hand  a  small  metallic  cag«, 
inside  of  whose  swinp^ing  ring  sat  a 
little  green  parrot,  muffling  its  bill  in 
its  feathers,  and  peering  and  blinking 
with  great  solemnity  from  a  pair  of 
yellow  eyes. 

"  Yer  can't  guess  the  lotu  of  time  I've 
spent  a-lamin'  on't,  and  it's  learnt.   Say 


80 


PUTNAM^S  MA.GAZIXB. 


[J«n^ 


your  lessoD,  Polly :  *  Pretty  Reuc.  Poor 
Mo—,  Poor  MoBcs  Lop " 

As  it  heard  these  words,  the  bird 
placked  its  bill  from  out  its  breast, 
nodded  its  head,  winked  on  one  side, 
then  on  the  other,  and  with  a  shrill 
scream  called  out,  "  Say  your  lesson, 
Polly.    Pretty  Rene,  poor  Mo — j  poor 

Moses  Lop ; "  at  which  utterance 

the  boys  and  girls  of  Hilltop  broke 
forth  into  simultaneous  laughter.  All 
but  Moses  LoploUy ;  he,  with  a  very  sor- 
rowful visage,  leaned  over  Eirene,  and 
whispered  :  "  When  it  screeches,  you'll 
think  of  me,  won't  yer,  Rene  ?  Yer 
won't  forget  me  'mong  the  scrumptioua 
fellers  you'll  see  down  in  Busyville,  will 
yer  ?  You  know  I  never  sot  so  high  by 
nobody  as  I  set  by  you,  Rene  ? " 

"I  shan't  forget  you,  Moses,"  said 
Eirene.  "  You  have  been  too  kind  to 
Win  and  Pansy,  as  well  as  to  me." 

"  Why  should  I  forget  any  one  be- 
cause I  am  going  to  Busyville  ?  "  she 
asked.  *^  I  shall  think  of  you  all,  and 
of  the  pleasant  times  that  we  have  had 
together."  This  was  an  exceedingly 
popular  remark.  Tlio  young  Hilltopers 
naturally  wished  to  be  held  in  remem- 
brance by  their  young  companion  amid 
the  splendors  of  Busyville,  and  they 
gathered  closer  around  her  with  part- 
ing injunctions  and  ejaculations. 

'*  Wal,  neighlx)r  Vale,  so  yer  goin'  to 
send  yer  little  gal  out  to  seek  her 
fortin',"  said  red-faced  Farmer  Stave 
to  the  sad-eyed  man  who  stood  leaning 
against  the  door,  gazing  at  his  child. 

"  I  reckon  she  hain't  goin'  far  to  find 
it.  Shouldn't  wonder  if  she'd  be  mcr- 
rid  afore  this  time  next  year.  Sech 
eyes  as  hem  wam't  sot  in  no  gal's  head 
for  nothin'.  I  tell  yer  what,  nei<j;hbor 
Vale,  they're  mighty  takin',  them  are 
eyes,  leastwise  they'd  be  to  me,  if  I  was 
a  youngster.  'Tween  me  and  you, 
neighbor  Vale,  if  your  little  gul  wasn't 
jest  Ecch  a  gal  as  she  is,  I  should  say 
it's  tamal  risky  bus'nis  a-sendin'  on  her 
down  into  the  pomps  and  vanities  and 
tem'tatious  of  Busyville,  and  not  a 
blessed  soul  to  look  arter  her  but  her- 
self." 

"  Here  they  are,  the  cars !  you  must 


be  on  the  platform,  or  yonll  get  left," 
exclaimed  a  voice,  and  all  rushed  out 
as  the  shrieking  whistle,  piercing  the 
gorge,  announced  the  arrival  of  Cyclope. 
lie  condescended  to  tarry  but  a  moment 
at  the  unimportant  station  of  Hilltop. 
There  was  just  time  for  Eirene's  father 
to  lift  her  upon  the  platform.  In  anoth- 
er moment,  with  her  satchel  in  one  hand, 
and  Moses'  bird-cage  in  the  other,  with 
a  tremulous  "  Good-by,  father,"  and  a , 
strangely  palpitating  heart,  Eirene  had 
vanished  through  the  car-door.  In 
another,  the  engine  with  a  scream  and 
a  snort  was  off;  and  in  another  the  long 
train  had  darted  behind  the  sharp  dure 
of  an  aggressive  mountain,  leaving  the 
little  group  upon  the  station-steps  still 
gazing  in  its  wake. 

As  they  turned,  each  instinctively  felt 
that  there  was  nothing  to  be  said  to  the 
silent  man  who  was  slowly  untying  his 
horse  from  a  tree  near  by,  and  who, 
with  a  kind  "  Good-day,  all,"  mounted 
into  his  ancient  vehicle,  and  drove  away 
without  another  word. 

"  Neighbor  Vale  seems  clean  cut  up 
about  his  little  gal's  goin'  away,"  said 
Farmer  Stave,  looking  after  him ;  **  and 
I  think  myself,  she  might  as  well  a-staid 
to  hum.  It's  mighty  risky  business 
a-scndin'  on  such  a  purty  cretur  into 
sech  a  sink-hole  as  Busyville,  and  neigh- 
bor Vale  is  jest  clean  cut  up  about  it. 
It  doesn't  seem  more  nor  a  year  ago, 
sencc  me  and  him  sot  eatin'  doughnuts, 
and  noonin'  it,  on  the  meetin'  'us  steps, 
and  the  purty  little  cretur  was  a  sittin' 
in  the  middle ;  and  neighbor  Vale  was 
a-starin'  at  her.  And  sez  he :  *  Neigh- 
bor Stave,'  sez  he,  *  this  child  shall  be 
eddicatcd.  She's  a  destiny  to  fill  in 
the  world,  and  it  haint  triflin'.  I  can 
afford  to  be  of  small  account  if  my 
child  is  cddicated  and  look'd  up  to  in 
the  world.' 

'*  I  looked  at  him  so  kind  a-droopin'- 
like,  and  sez  I,  in'ardly,  her  destiny's 
mighty  doubtful  if  it  depends  on  the 
education  that  you'll  give  her.  For 
you  all  know,  though  neighbor  Vale 
has  the  best  heart  in  'the  world,  ho 
haint  a  mite  of  kalkerlation  ;  and  none 
of  the  Vales  never  had,  as  ever  I  hecrd 


A  Woman's  Right. 


81 


When  he  thinks  of  what  he  said 
about  hereddication  and  sees  her 
she  ain't  no  more  than  eighteen, 
behind  that  screechin'  enjin'  to 
r  bread  and  butter  in  Busyville, 
t  no  wonder  he's  clean  cut  up." 
>,  'tain't  no  wonder,"  chimed  in  a 

Then  these  two  old  gossips,  with 
sistance  of  occasional  data  Arom 
dozen  others,  began  to  enumer- 
)w  many  times  Neighbor  Vale's 
had  failed;  how  many  mishaps 
cfallen  him  since  the  beginning 
.  career;  how  large  a  mortgage 
was  on  his  farm ;    "  for  nuthin' 

the  sun,"  they  said,  "only  for 
nt  of  kalkerlation."  "  Yes  I "  cried 
r  Stave,  bringing  his  heavy  stick 
the  dirty  floor  with  great  em- 
,  and  growing  very  red  in  the 
**  There  ain't  no  better  man,  no 
feelin'  man  in  the  world  than 
)or  Yale,  and  it's  a  thousand  pit- 
him  and  hisen,  that  he  hain't  a 
f  kalkerlation." 

THS  TALKS. 

he'd  only  tuk  to  lamin'  that 
wrought  in  su'then,"  Farmer  Stave 
ued,  "  ef  he'd  only  tuk  to  lamin' 
le  could  ha'  turned  to  account, 

the  pint !  He  needn't  be  dig-^ 
1  the  rocks  now,  and  nuthin'  to 

I  tell  ye,  Deacon  Smoot  I  " 
8  a  myst'ry  to  me,  with  sech  a 
:^oolin',  how  he's  picked  up  sech 
of  lamin.'  I  tell  ye  thar'  ain't 
'  from  doctorin'  a  child  all  tuck- 
it  with  teethin'  to  namin'  on  the 
but  he  knows  suthin'  about  it. 

lamin'  doos  wall  enough,  when 
igs  in  a  fortin';  but  what  the 
J  is  its  vally  if  a  chap's  got  to  be 
cuss  all  his  life,  with  a  mortgage 
)  farm  ?  Pm  glad  I  alias  teas 
rd.  I  hain't  had  nuthin'  to  hen- 
)  gcttin'  forehanded.  Like  enu^ 
uk  to  lamin'  as  Vale  did,  me  and 
ks  might  a-ben  a-Uvin'  from  hand 
th  as  well  as  him  and  hisen.  The 

with  him  is,  he  hain't  no  kalker- 
But  all  the  Yales  never  had, 
is  ever  I  heerd  on ;  they  was  all 
d  for  lamin',  that's  my  idee." 


It  is  tme,  the  Yales  were  a  cultivated 
and  gifted  race,  long  before  one  of  its 
sons  brought  his  moderate  temporal 
fortune,  his  elegant  tastes,  and  rich 
mental  possessions  across  the  Atlantic. 
They  were  opulent  in  those  days.  Then 
the  wealth  which  maternal  ancestors 
had  garnered  for  them  (a  Yale  never 
could  have  accumulated  a  fortune)  wojj 
not  nearly  exhausted. 

Nothing  in  their  necessities  prompt- 
ed them  to  coin  their  large  gifts  into 
gold  for  their  own  uses.  Each  gener- 
ation slipped  away  devoted  to  reli- 
gion, to  science,  and  to  the  aesthetic 
arts,  and  every  son  found  himself  a  lit- 
tle poorer  than  his  father.  At  last  it 
came  to  pass,  upon  a  later  day,  one 
Aubrey  Yale  found  himself,  upon  his 
twenty-fourth  birthday,  an  orphan  ;  his 
only  inheritance  a  University  education, 
a  learned  scroll  (proclaiming  him  to  be 
a  Doctor  of  Medicine),  his  father's  li- 
brary, and  his  father's  spotless  memory. 
With  a  Yale's  abilities,  any  one  but  a 
Yale  would  have  planted  himself  in  a 
flourishing  place ;  there  investing  this 
capital  OS  a  sure  guarantee  for  future 
success. 

But  a  Yale  had  never  been  known 
who  knew  how  to  struggle  for  his  own 
fortune  or  his  own  fame.  The  town  of 
his  nativity  was  amply  provided  with 
physicians,  but  Aubrey  Yale  knew  that 
the  not-distant  hamlet  of  Hilltop  did 
not  possess  one  resident  medical  man. 

He  said :  "  What  a  quiet  spot  for  a 
home !  what  magnificent  scenery  !  Its 
practice  will  afford  mo  support,  its  re- 
tirement opportunities  for  study.  If  I 
ever  want  the  world,  I  know  where  to 
find  it." 

But  the  air  of  Hilltop  was  bleak,  too 
bleak  for  Aubrev  Yale,  too  bleak  for 
Alice  Yale,  the  young  wife,  the  tropical 
flower  transplanted  from  a  richer  and  a 
sunnier  soil.  Thev  never  saw  their  sum- 
mer.  It  was  yet  their  spring  when  all 
that  was  left  of  them  mortal  was  laid 
away  in  one  grave  in  the  neglected 
graveyard  of  Hilltop,  a  desolate  place 
half  overgrown  with  blackberry  bushes, 
and  left  open  as  a  pasture  for  cows.  It 
was  many  years    afterward    that    the 


82 


FUTNAH^S  MaOAZINX. 


rJ«nn 


briera  were  torn  away  from  the  else  for- 
gotten grave  by  a  strong  man's  hands, 
and  the  new  turf  planted  with  violets 
and  lilies  of  the  valley  by  the  hands  of 
a  child — a  child  wondrous-eyed,  with 
a  low,  vibrating  voice.  She  was  Eirene 
Vale,  and  the  dark-eyed  man  was  her 
father. 

Lowell  Vale  was  left  an  orphan  when 
but  six  years  old.  After  the  small 
homestead  was  sold,  to  provide  in  part 
means  for  his  support,  nothing  was 
left  the  child  but  the  Vale  library. 
There  were  no  near  kin  to  claim  the  lit- 
tle boy. 

Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  Lowell 
Vale  was  thrown  from  the  track  of  life 
over  which  his  ancestors  had  glided  so 
smoothly  and  gracefully  for  centuries. 

Doubtless  he  had  his  own  niche  in 
the  world ;  but  as  there  was  no  one  to 
tell  him  what  it  was,  he  never  found  it. 

It  was  a  sad,  sad  childhood  for  a 
child  of  such  a  nature — no  father,  no 
mother  I 

No  one  was  cruel  to  him,  but  who  was 
tenderly  kind  ?  They  would  have  liked 
him  better — those  sturdy  farmer-women 
— if  he  had  borne  a  closer  resemblance 
to  their  own  tow-headed  urchins.  *'  Such 
a  queer  crctur,  to  be  sure  I "  they  said 
to  each  other.  "  So  still  and  mopin'. 
Why  didn't  he  thrash  about  like  Ileze- 
kiah  ? "  Thus  he  was  tossed  from  farm- 
house to  farmhouse  till  he  came  to 
man's  estate.  Then  why  did  he  not  fly 
from  this  desert-bondage  ?  you  inquire. 
Oh,  he  could  not ;  he  was  a  Vale. 

The  infirmity  of  his  race  was  in  his 
blood,  its  weakness  in  his  brain.  With 
a  little  more  self-reliance,  a  little  more 
hope,  a  little  surer  faith  in  himself,  only 
a  little  more  of  positive  qualities,  he 
would  have  gone  forth  into  the  world 
where  he  could  have  wrestled  witli  men 
for  the  world's  prizes,  and  he  would 
have  won  them.  His  comprehensive 
mind  would  have  compassed  success ; 
his  lack  of  executive  power  made  his 
life  a  failure. 

Here  was  a  Vale  at  last,  who,  with 
the  lack  of  business  qualifications  which 
marked  his  family,  had  been  denied  the 
liberal  culture  which  had  helped  many 


of  them  to  eminence  in  the  professiooa. 
He  bought  a  little  rock-bound,  rock- 
sown  farm,  and  his  life  shrank  into  one 
hopeless  effort  to  wring  from  the  stony 
soil  gold  enough  to  make  this  sterile 
piece  of  earth  his  own  and  his  chil- 
dren's. To  fail  even  in  this,  what  a  fate 
for  a  Vale ! 

When  Lowell  Vale  said  to  Eirene,  "  I 
have  done  the  best  that  I  could.  It  is 
not  my  lot  to  be  lucky,"  he  told  the 
whole  story  of  his  life.  We  see  many 
men  who  never  learn  to  fit  their  natures 
to  the  groove  of  life  in  which  they  find 
themselves.  At  Hilltop  life  had  gath- 
ered itself  into  one  narrow  channel  for 
generations.  Here  human  nature  had 
repeated  itself  in  one  phase  for  centuries. 
The  railway  cut  its  first  path  out  to  the 
great  world.  Cyclops  was  the  first 
screaming  herald  of  progress,  the  first 
innovator  upon  the  unutterable  dulness 
of  Hilltop. 

Yet  even  now  the  topics  of  conversa- 
tion were  very  scanty ;  its  people  liad 
little  to  talk  about  but  each  other.  One 
variety  in  the  genus  homo  made  an  in- 
exhaustible theme;  thus  it  happened 
that  Lowell  Vale  and  his  affairs  wen< 
more  talked  of  than  of  all  others  put 
together.  It  was  of  no  account  to  these 
sturdy  yeomen  that  his  organization 
was  more  delicate,  his  instincts  finer,  his 
aspirations  liigher,  while  his  house  re- 
mained smaller,  his  stock  poorer,  and 
his  crops  scantier  than  their  own. 

Of  these  spiritual  facts  they  were 
very  dimly  conscious ;  but  the  material 
ones  stood  with  painful  palpability  be- 
fore their  scrutinizing  eyes.  They  be- 
held them,  to  gaze  with  ever-renewed 
complacency  upon  their  own  posses- 
sions, and  to  exclaim  for  the  ten  thou- 
sandth time,  with  pharisaical  commis- 
eration :  *'  Poor  neighbor  Vale  I  a  bet- 
ter critter  never  lived,  nor  none  more 
feelin',  and  it's  a  thousand  pities  for 
him  and  hisen  that  he  hain't  a  mite  of 
kalkerlation.'' 


LKFT. 


Tlie  unfortunate  object  of  all  this 
mingled  criticism,  commiseration,  and 
good-will,  slowly  urged  Muggins  up 
the  mountain-road,  through    the    for- 


A  W0MAK*6   BlOHT. 


88 


ider  the  scarlet  rain  of  leaves, 
13  he  did  an  hour  before  when 
I  sat  by  his  side.  No,  not  just  as 
i  then.  He  was  alone  now.  He 
ever  felt  so  alone  in  all  his  life 
In  spite  of  himself,  he  felt  as 
lad  lost  his  child, 
id  yet,"  he  reasoned,  "she  has 
jone  to  Busy vi  He.  I  can  drive 
there  after  her  any  day.  It  is 
«?enty  miles  away."  The  fact  that 
as  there  did  not  seem  in  itself 
3nt  to  fill  him  with  such  a  sense 
J.  For  eighteen  years  his  meagre 
id  absorbed  grace  and  beauty, 
and  love,  from  this  child.  But 
uutil  now  had  he  realized  that 
is  the  very  soul  of  his  soul ;  that 
1  the  very  light  of  the  world  had 
iway  with  her  eyes, 
he  emerged  from  the  forest-road 
w  his  home  before  him,  he  thought 
e  had  never  seen  it  look  forsaken 
isolate  before. 

-emembered  that  all  the  fine  houses 
iyville  had  failed  to  disgust  him 
this  lowly  abode;   that  it  never 

I  such  an  inviting  face  toward  him 
»n  he  returned  from  that  hand- 
>ut  commonplace  village.     With 

II  of  joy  he  had  always  caught 
rst  glimpse  of  its  dormer  win- 

of  its  low  roof,  of  its  brown 
He  could  see  nothing  which  fill- 
n  with  such  positive  delight  as 
^ht  of  those  trees  and  flowers  and 
planted  by  his  own  hands.  Then 
s  loved  ones  awaited  his  return 
I  tliis  home.  Now  for  the  first 
ne  was  wanting,  and  for  the  first 
the  little  house  looked  dreary. 
lOok  must  have  been  the  reflec- 
f  his  own  feelings ;  for  any  travel- 
)uld  have  said  at  this  moment, 
1  all  the  scattered  town  of  Hilltop 
was  not  another  abode  so  lowly 
3t  so  homelike  in  its  aspect.  A 
r  would  have  seen  before  him  a 
e  of  such  brilliant  autumn  beauty 
ic  would  have  longed  to  transfix 
lanvas  forever. 

rywhere  the  red  maples  had  cast 
their  scarlet  leaves,  now  lying  in 
ig  drifls  in    the  hollows  of  tho 


roads.  The  yellow  maples  ripening 
slowly  in  the  soft  shelter  of  the  hills, 
still  fluttered  their  green  skirts  edged 
here  and  there  with  gold ;  while  others, 
standing  in  the  crisp  air  of  some  open 
space,  spread  out  their  tremulous  pano- 
plies of  unbroken  amber. 

The  old  vines,  which  festooned  the 
gables  and  dormer  windows  of  the  cot- 
tage, hung  in  vivid  relief  beside  the 
dark  green  of  the  dappled  English  ivy — 
an  ivy  sprung  from  the  immemorial  vine 
which  an  elder  Yale  had  brought  across 
the  seas  and  planted ;  a  souvenir  amid 
the  rocks  of  New  England  of  his  old 
English  home. 

The  Swiss  larches  which  Eirene^s 
father  planted  when  she  was  a  baby 
waved  their  green  plumes  above  the 
russet  grass  in  the  yard  before  the  house, 
while  on  each  side  of  the  path  stood 
the  sturdy  autumn  flowers  which  had 
defied  the  early  frosts.  A  few  mari- 
golds still  flaunted  their  brazen  splen- 
dor, here  and  there  a  garnet  dahlia 
looked  down  from  its  blackened  stalk, 
and,  each  side  of  the  porch,  beds  of 
crysanthemums  brightened  the  air  with 
their  delicate  bloom.  On  one  side,  the 
meadow  sloped  down  to  a  narrow 
river  running  swiftly  away  from  the  far 
mountains  in  its  rear ;  on  the  other, 
the  little  farm  stretched  away  to  the 
woods  that  crowned  the  hill.  Before  it, 
far  below,  spread  a  lovely  valley,  while 
beyond  it,  another  chain  of  purple 
mountains  bound  the  horizon. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  Lowell 
Vale  was  blind  to  the  beauty  of  the 
world  around  his  home ;  he  thought 
only  of  the  little  group  about  its  hearth, 
and  that  one  was  wanting. 

Win  and  Pansy  heard  the  wagon- 
wheels,  and  ran  out  to  meet  their  father, 
their  eyes  still  swollen  with  weeping ; 
and  as  if  to  console  themselves,  began 
to  quarrel  as  to  who  should  drive 
Muggins  into  the  barn.  Pansy  ended 
the  discussion  as  her  father  alighted, 
by  scrambling  up  one  of  the  wheels, 
and  quickly  seizing  the  reins,  which 
feat  being  accomplished,  she  turned  to 
her  amazed  brother  with  an  indescriba- 
bly triumphant  air,  and  exclaimed : 


64 


PtTNAH^s  Magazine. 


[JtB, 


"There,  Mister  Win,  who'll  drive 
now  ? " 

He  sprang  forward  as  if  to  seize  the 
bridle,  but  Pansy's  sudden  pull  of  the 
reins  sent  Muggins  off  at  a  frantic  gal- 
lop toward  the  barn — a  gallop  which 
proved  that  Muggins  was  a  susceptible 
animal  in  spite  of  appearances;  that 
she  thrilled  to  her  very  shoes  with  the 
nervous,  wilful  pull  of  Miss  Pansy,  al- 
thonsrh  no  amount  of  mild  orthodox 
jerks  could  ever  induce  her  to  "get  up." 

"  For  shame  on  a  girl  driving  a  horse ! 
I  wouldn't  stoop  to  quarrel  with  a  girl 
anyhow  ! "  cried  the  discomfited  Win. 

A  moment  after,  he  saw  Muggins  in 
her  unprecedented  momentum  not  only 
knock  the  buggy-shafts  and  her  own 
nose  against  the  door  of  the  bam,  but 
toss  the  triumphant  Pansy  from  her  seat 
against  the  front  of  the  vehicle ;  seeing 
which  sight,  this  young  man  of  four- 
teen turned  and  walked  slowly  away 
with  a  lofty,  injured,  yet  satisfied  air. 

Nevertheless,  the  moment  he  reached 
the  house,  he  quickened  his  steps,  and 
exclaimed :  "  Oh,  father,  I'm  afraid 
Pansy  is  hurt !  Won't  you  go  and 
see  ? " — an  act  which  he  very  much 
desired  to  perform  himself,  only  his 
pride  and  sense  of  injury  would  not  let 
him. 

At  supper,  Pansy  had  a  black  eye,  and 
her  pretty  nose  was  very  much  swelled. 
But  little  Win  looked  away  from  her 
with  a  severe,  offended  air.  Ho  was  too 
magnanimous  to  say  that  he  was  glad, 
•yet  altogether  too  angry  to  say  that  he 
was  sorrj'. 

Pansy's  nose  ached,  so  did  her  heart. 
She  had  a  confused  feeling  that  she  had 
iilrejidy  forfeited  the  blue  frock,  and 
that  every  thing  was  going  wrong.  The 
peacemaker  who  had  always  poured  oil 
on  their  naughty  tempers  was  gone ; 
her  seat  between  the  scowling  brother 
nud  sister  wag  empty. 

Tlie  most  eventful  dav  that  ever 
comes  to  a  New  England  household 
had  come  to  the  lowlv  home  of  the 
Vales. 

The  first  child  had  gone  out  from  its 
shelter  into  the  world.  Sooner  or  later 
this  day  comes  to  every  country  New 


England  home :  its  sons  and  daughters 
must  go  forth  to  be  educated,  or  to 
work.  The  secluded  farm,  the  scatter- 
ed town,  afford  scanty  advantages  and 
few  employments.  Thus  the  girls  and 
boys  must  go  elsewhere  to  work  in  shops, 
to  study  in  college,  to  icach  school ;  and 
to  those  who  are  left,  home  never  seems 
quite  the  same  that  it  did  before  they 
went  away. 

It  was  a  sore  trial  to  this  father  and 
mother  to  know  that  their  young  child 
had  gone,  not  to  the  BusyviUe  Academy, 
but  to  the  Busyville  factory  ;  that  fix>m 
morning  till  night  she  was  to  be  shut 
up  to  work  in  a  close  shop,  with  little 
choice  of  associates,  and  with  none  of 
the  amusement  and  interest  so  indis- 
pensable to  the  young.  But  the  poor, 
who  have  never  learned  the  trick  of 
making  life  easy  for  themselves,  can 
hardly  do  more  for  their  children. 

Eirene  had  gone ;  what  was  left  for 
them  now  but  resignation  ? 

Pansy's  little  purple  nose  was  bathed 
in  camphor,  and  she  had  mounted  the 
confessional  of  her  mother's  knee,  there 
to  confess  her  sins  and  say  her  prayers 
before  going  to  bed.  She  was  very 
penitent  at  first. 

She  had  been  naughty,  she  said ;  she 
was  sorry,  and  would  be  good  to-mor- 
row. 

Suddenly  another  mood  swept  over 
her.  She  wouldn't  have  been  naughty 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  Win.  Mister  Win 
needn't  think  that  lie  was  always  going 
to  drive  Muggins,  and  leave  her  stand- 
ing on  the  ground.  Her  head  ached, 
her  nose  was  sore — "  it  was  Muggins 
who  was  wicked  to  bump  her  against 
the  barn  there  I  "  Thus,  with  a  passion- 
ate sob,  the  penitent  suddenly  passed 
into  a  severely  abused  child  bewailing 
its  grievances  without  stint.  She  re- 
fused to  be  soothed,  till  :it  last  her 
mother  said  : 

"  What  would  Rene  say  to  see  Pansy 
so  angry  with  Win  ?  How  sorry  it 
would  make  her  ! '' 

These  words  Avere  magical.  Pansy 
saw  as  in  a  virion  the  receding  outline 
cf  a  sky-blue  frock,  and  the  eyes  of  her 
sister  full  of  tears. 


A  WOKAV'l  BieBT. 


86 


A  together  loye  and  selfishnoss 
}hed ;  so  early  does  the  mingled 
e  of  good  and  eyil  enter  into 
I  motive. 

By  suddenly  wiped  her  eyes,  threw 
ms  around  her  mother^s  neck,  and 
ered, 

im  sorry  that  I  was  naughty." 
n  the  little  sinner  in  the  round 
cap  and  long  night-gown  march- 
to  bed. 

family  prayers  that  night,  Lowell 
for  the  first  time  prayed  for  the 
;.  As  he  prayed  the  Good  Shepherd 
»  hold  in  his  keeping  the  beloved 
;hat  they  had  sent  out  from  the 
his  voice  trembled,  and  at  last 

7  Vale  was  very  quiet  in   her 

All  her  life  she  had  been  relin^ 

ng    desire;   not  so   much  desire 

it  which  she  had  lost,  as  for  that 

she  had  missed.  It  was  a  gift 
red  upon  her,  this  power  of  self- 
aation.    She  had  not  been  always 

her  soul  had  been  eager  and  im- 
late  once.    Then  it  had  seemed 

that  she  must  beat  her  way  out 
3  restricted  sphere  in  which  she 
om. 

t  life  which  she  read  of  in  books 
'as  very  sure  was  only  the  faint 
ion  of  a  richer  life  to  be  found 
rhere  in  the  world.  It  was  very 
)nt  from  the  life  of  Hilltop ;  to 
e  was  certain  it  would  be  more 
ing.  There  were  books  and  pic- 
and  music  in  this  life.  There 
^ay  cities,  cathedrals,  and  resonant 
s;  all  the  wonderful  eights  of 
;e  lands,  rivers,  and  oceans  that 
kd  never  seen  I  There  was  wealth 
eisure  and  beauty  in  the  world ; 
Qight  she  not  have  something  of 
in  her  portion  9 

1  she  married  an  ambitious  and 
isfol  man,  he  could  have  conferred 
her  no  honor  that  she  would  not 
^own  to  adorn.  As  it  was,  be- 
er youth  had  passed,  Mary  Yale 
that  this  life  which  she  saw  in 
IS  would  never  become  real  in  her 
y  lot  It  was  a  natural  transition 
her  hopeless  longings  turned  from 


the  delights  of  earth,  which  she  knew 
could  never  be  hers,  to  the  joys  of  the 
heaven  which  she  felt  sure  would  one 
day  be  her  portion.  It  was  such  hap- 
piness to  know  that  she  could  imagine 
nothing  of  this  unseen  world  that  would 
transcend  the  reality.  She  could  afford 
to  live  in  a  poor  house  here,  and  even 
have  a  mortgage  upon  that,  while  she 
felt  certain  that  after  a  little  while  she 
would  enter  into  a  building  of  God,  a 
house  not  made  with  hands,  eternal, 
and  in  the  heavens. 

She  loved  to  read  over  to  her  chil- 
dren its  description  in  Revelations,  all 
glowing  with  gems.  And  when  she  had* 
ended  the  inspired  story,  she  would 
turn  to  her  husband  with  softly  dilat- 
ing eyes,  and  say :  '*  Hy  dear,  the  heirs 
of  9ueh  an  inheritance  can  afford  to 
wait"  "Father I"  This  one  word 
comprehended  her  entire  idea  of  God. 
To  her  He  was  a  tender,  an  all-pervadr 
ing,  ever-guarding  Presence.  Every  one 
of  His  promises  she  seized  with  child- 
like trust.  He  might  deny  her,  nught 
bereave  her,  yet  she  never  doubted  His 
love.  Every  morning  she  prayed  for 
His  strength  to  bear  the  cross  of  that 
day ;  every  night  she  laid  it  down  at 
the  feet  of  her  Lord  with  tearful  thanks 
that  the  burden  had  been  so  light 
There  was  no  object  on  earth  dearer  to 
her  than  her  first-bom  child.  To-day 
she  had  relinquished  her  without  one 
repining  word.  Yet  what  a  different 
lot  she  would  have  chosen  for  her,  had 
it  been  possible.  A  few  tears  dropped 
upon  her  pillow  ere  she  slept.  Then 
the  lids  drooped  over  the  soft  eyes,  and 
with  a  tender  smile  she  passed  out  into 
the  limitless  realm  of  dreams,  this 
mother,  to  walk  hand  in  hand  with  her 
child. 

Lowell  Vale  waited  till  she  slept, 
then  taking  the  candle  from  the  stand 
beside  which  he  had  apparently  been 
reading,  he  walked  quietly  up-stairs  to 
Eirene's  room. 

If  a  room  can  reflect  the  character  of 
its  occupant,  how  pure  must  have  been 
the  nature  of  this  child.  The  windows 
of  the  little  dormer  chamber  faced  the 
east,  looking  out  upon  the  valley  with 


M 


PUTMAM^S  MAOAZmS. 


fJin^ 


its  ribbon-like  river,  and  the  great 
mountains  which  girded  the  sky.  They 
were  draped  with  white,  and  between 
them  stood  the  white  toilet  which 
Eirene's  own  hands  had  fashioned. 
Oyer  it  hung  a  little  mirror  festooned 
with  golden  tissue-paper,  falling  like 
flakes  of  flame  against  the  pale-blue 
walls. 

At  one  end  of  the  room,  commanding 
the  view  from  the  windows,  stood  Ei- 
rene's  table.  This,  too,  was  covered  with 
white,  and  on  it  still  stood  her  work- 
basket  and  a  glass  filled  with  pink  and 
white  crysanthemums.  Over  it  hung  a 
swinging  bookcase  filled  with  relics  of 
the  Vale  library. 

Here  were  Shakespeare  and  Milton  and 
old  George  Herbert  in  antique  bind- 
ings, stained  and  worn  by  time.  Here 
were  Rollin  and  Gibbon,  and  volumes 
of  the  Spectator  and  Rambler.  Thomas 
&  Eempis,  Jeremy  Taylor,  and  holy 
old  Baxter  stood  on  the  same  shelf  with 
Byron  and  Bums.  Ivanhoe  and  Old  Mor- 
tfldity,  with  other  of  Scott^s  magic  crea- 
tions were  the  only  novels ;  but  there 
was  a  shelf  filled  with  old  Latin  books 
which  Eirene  had  always  treasured  as 
if  they  were  gold,  because  they  looked 
so  wise ;  and  another  filled  with  French 
books,  which  the  child  had  studied 
many  a  night  when  all  in  the  house 
were  sleeping.  Under  the  bookcase 
where  tbe  sweet  face  always  looked 
into  hers  as  she  sat  there,  Eirene  had 
hung  an  engraving  of  St.  Elizabeth  of 
Hungary  in  a  frame  of  dark  wood 
which  her  father  had  made  for  her. 
How  well  he  remembered  her  look,  and 
the  kiss  that  she  gave  him,  when  she 
took  it  from  his  hands,  that  frame  so 
deftly  fashioned,  so  fit  a  setting  for  her 
treasure. 

Over  the  mantel  opposite  hung  the 
portrait  of  a  young  and  most  lovely 
woman.  The  beauty  of  this  face  was 
not  of  mere  tint  and  outline,  although 
both  seemed  faultless.  It  was  not  ruddy 
and  rustic,  but  a  high-bom  face,  with 
the  exquisite  profile  which  we  see  cut 
in  antique  gems.  But  what  were  this 
to  the  soft  splendor  of  the  half-veiled 
eyes,  and  the  tender  smile  brooding  in 


the  curves  of  the  gentle  mouth !  It  was 
a  mouth  to  which  childish  lips  would 
turn  and  cling  in  the  loving  innocence 
•of  infancy.  And  the  rippling  hair  of 
nutty  brown  just  touched  with  gold, — 
how  a  child^s  hand  would  love  to  lose 
itself  in  its  silken  luxuriousness ! 

It  was  the  face  of  a  woman  that  no 
manly  man  could  behold  without  love ; 
of  a  woman  for  whose  sake  such  a  man 
would  live  and  die,  nor  desire  a  hap- 
pier destiny.  It  was  the  face  of  one  in 
the  first  lustrum  of  womanhood,  else  it 
might  well  have  been  taken  for  the 
portrait  of  Eirene  Vale. 

It  was  the  portrait  of  Eirene's  grand- 
mother. How  unlike  the  other  grand- 
mothers of  Hilltop,  sitting  in  their 
mouldy  frames  in  high  caps,  sausage 
curls,  and  bagpipe  sleeves,  was  this 
tutelary  saint  who  passed  from  the 
world  in  the  undimmed  lustre  of  her 
youth  1  The  image  of  Alice  Vale  was 
repeated  in  her  grandchild.  Perhaps 
this  was  one  reason  why  the  heart  of 
Lowell  Vale  seemed  bound  by  so  dose 
a  tie  to  his  first-bora  child — that  her 
face  recalled  in  vivid  reality  the  living 
face  of  the  young  mother  so  dimly 
remembered. 

Lowell  Vale,  with  the  light  in  his 
hand,  walked  slowly  around  the  room, 
pausing  before  every  object,  each  one 
in  his  eyes  sacred  for  the  sake  of  his 
child. 

Every  thing  was  left  as  if  she  had 
gone  out  for  an  hour,  and  might  return 
any  moment.  There  was  the  unfinished 
work  in  her  basket,  the  glass  filled  with 
flowers,  the  last  book  that  she  had  read 
with  the  mark  in  it  as  she  had  laid  it 
down  on  the  table ;  the  low  chair  where 
she  had  sat. 

Lowell  Vale  looked  long,  looked 
with  a  sigh  that  swelled  almost  to  a 
groan,  as  he  turned  to  the  low  cot  with 
its  white  counterpane  and  untouched 
pillow.  Since  he  first  laid  her  down 
there  himself,  a  tiny  child,  fourteen 
years  before,  when  Win  was  bora,  this 
was  the  first  night  that  the  cot  had 
been  empty,  and  the  fair  child-head 
sheltered  by  the  roof  of  strangers. 

He  knelt  down,  buried  his  face  in 


A  Womah'b  Right. 


87 


iow,  and  did  what  the  strongest 
akest  of  mortals  are  almost  sure 
in  their  moments  of  extremity, 
ther,  who  felt  that  it  was  beyond 
ering  powar  to  take  care  of  her 
',  again  committed  his  child  to 
s  of  God. 


THB  9IRL  VP-9TAZSS. 


[e  her  father  knelt  beside  her  pil- 

home,  Eirene  sat  alone  in  her 

om  at  Busyyille.     She  sat  like 

a  daze,  as  if  stunned  by  the 

ness  of  her  surroundings.     Her 

{re  fixed  upon  Moses  Loplolly^s 

>arrot,  now   fast    asleep   on  its 

yet  she  did  not  see  the  bird  nor 

d,  bare  outline  of  the  new  room. 

0  saw  her  own  little  chamber 
s  azure  walls ;  saw  her  own  little 
law  her  father  kneeling  by  its 
hen  again  the  soft  eyes  swam  in 
nd  she  started  as  if  she  had  just 
;d  from  a  vision. 

:her,"  she  murmured,  stretching 
arms  as  if  to  enfold  him.  "  Dear 
for  your  sake,  and  for  yours,  dear 
,  I  will  be  brave  and  patient  and 
I." 

*elt  strangely  alone.  Surely  that 
r  little  room  could  never  seem 
ike  to  her ;  it  was  so  cold  and 
B8.  Its  very  atmosphere  was  re- 
Its  bare  walls  were  covered 
>arse  whitewash ;  its  one  window 

1  with  a  stiff  paper  curtain ;  its 
as  painted  a  bright  yellow;  its 
re  consisted  of  a  very  diminutive 
^-glass,  a  pine  washstand  on  which 
I  tin  basin,  a  straight-backed 
I  chair,  and  a  bed  covered  with  a 

patchwork-quilt.  As  Eirene's 
andered  over  these  meagre  ap- 
s,  she  started,  for  the  first  time 
Bering  the  words  of  a  metallic 
ittered  while  the  door  was  clos- 
)n  her  for  the  night : 
Tiember,  we  breakfast  at  six.  We 
rait.  You  are  to  be  in  the  shop 
n  o'clock." 

le  took  from  her  head  the  silken 
ich  covered  her  hair,  and  as  she 
and    brushed  out   its   waving 

repeated  to  her.^lf  the  Bible 


verse  which  her  mother  had  marked  for 
her  in  the  morning. 

The  young  head  touched  the  strange 
pillow,  and  the  young  lips  murmured 
as  they  had  murmured  from  infancy : 

**  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  ileop, 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep." 

Thus,  and  with  a  prayer  in  her  heart 
for  each  beloved  one  at  home,  the  young 
eyes  closed  in  innocent  sleep. 

But  there  was  somebody  very  wide 
awake  down-stairs.  This  somebody  sat 
in  a  large  family-room,  a  conmiodious 
room  which  reflected  the  competence 
and  the  thrifty  housekeeping  of  its 
owner. 

Yes,  it  was  a  very  comfortable  room, 
although  not  a  single  picture,  not  one 
artistic  touch,  suggested  a  love  for  the 
beautiful  in  the  one  who  had  Airnished 
it.  The  walls  were  hung  with  yellow 
paper ;  the  windows  were  coverc<l  with 
yellow  shades.  The  great  lounge  and 
stiff-backed  rocking-chair  were  covered 
with  chintz  of  large  device,  and  glar- 
ing hue. 

The  floor  was  covered  with  that  home- 
made carpet  indigenous  to  New  Eng- 
land, which  is  never  seen  in  perfection 
out  of  it — a  carpet  in  which  stripes  of 
violent  yellow,  red,  and  green  run  side 
by  side  in  acute  lines  till  they  cover  the 
floor. 

The  slumbcnng  fire  of  an  autunm 
night  dwindled  upon  the  hearth.  Be- 
fore it  stood  a  large  table,  on  which 
was  a  shaded  lamp  and  a  work-basket 
piled  high  with  work.  On  each  side 
sat  a  man  and  woman,  with  a  cradle 
between  them,  in  which  a  baby  slept. 
The  woman  slowly  moved  the  cradle 
with  her  foot,  while  her  busy  hand  plied 
the  needle  in  and  out  through  the  heel 
of  a  stocking,  which  had  been  mended 
till  not  even  imagination  could  conjec- 
ture which  had  been  its  original  yam. 
This  woman  had  restless,  eager  eyes; 
greedy  eyes  you  would  have  called 
them,  had  you  looked  into  them  closely. 
They  had  a  taking-in  look,  as  if  they 
had  grown  hungry  gloating  over  objects 
of  desire  and  of  possession. 

Yet  they  were  handsome  eyes,  and  in 
certain  moods  could  sufifuse  with  tears 


88 


PUTNAH^S  MaGAZINS. 


[Jtt, 


of  motlierly  feeling.  The  watery  ten- 
dency of  these  handsome  eyes  had  won 
a  popular  reputation  for  their  owner 
among  the  matrons  of  Busyville.  *^  There 
never  was  a  more  feeling  woman  than 
Tabitha  Mallane,"  they  would  say. 
**  Such  a  capable  woman  I  What  a 
family  she  has,  and  how  she  has  brought 
them  up.  What  a  mother  she  is,  to  be 
sure  I "  Her  face  was  deeply  caro-lincd. 
Every  motion  indicated  disquietude,  as 
if  in  all  her  anxious,  workful  life  she 
had  ucYcr  earned  the  right  to  Heaven^s 
own  boon— repose. 

It  was  not  thus  with  her  husband. 
Time  and  care  had  furrowed  his  face 
also;  but  in  its  intellectual  lines,  so 
much  more  intellectual  than  his  wifc^s, 
you  could  trace  the  capacity  for  rest  as 
well  as  for  work ;  and  now  with  a  re- 
mote look  in  his  eyes  he  was  buried  in 
the  oblivion  of  his  newspaper. 

Perhaps  his  wife  was  more  restless 
than  usual.  She  gave  a  spasmodic  rock 
to  the  cradle,  she  moved  her  chair,  she 
pushed  the  lamp,  she  pulled  her  needle 
with  such  violence  through  the  stocking 
that  the  yam  broke.  From  time  to  time 
she  looked  round  the  side  of  the  news- 
paper into  the  face  of  her  quiet  husband 
with  an  expression  of  positive  annoy- 
ance. At  last  the  silence  became  unen- 
durable. Again  she  jerked  the  cradle, 
pushed  the  lamp,  and  in  a  peremptory 
tone  said : 

"  Father ! " 

No  reply  issued  from  the  voluminous 
depths  of  the  Boston  Journal.  Mr. 
Mallano  was  absorbed  with  the  affairs 
of  his  countr}'. 

"  Father  I " 

Tliis  time  the  endearing  appellation 
was  uttered  in  such  a  keen  tone  of  accr- 
bity,  that  it  penetrated  the  thick  rirae 
of  national  afCdrs. 

Mr.  Mallano  slowly  laid  down  his 
paper,  slowly  took  his  spectacles  from 
his  eyes,  slowly  took  his  silk  handker- 
chief Ih>m  his  pocket,  slowly  wiped  his 
glasses,  and  as  slowly  said : 

"  Well,  mother  ? " 

"  I  should  think  that  you  would  say 
*  Well,  mother  I '  Where  are  your  eyes, 
Mr.  Mallane  ? " 


"  In  my  head,  I  believe,  Tabitha." 

^^  You  know  what  I  mean  I  Are  yov 
crazy,  John  Mallane  ? " 

"  No.    I  am  perfectly  sane,  Tabitha^" 

*^  No,  you  are  not.  You  are  either 
blind  or  crazy ;  or  you  never  would 
have  brought  that  girl  up-stairs  into 
this  house." 

"  Wliy  not  ?  She  is  a  very  pretty 
girl,  mother.  I  should  think  that  yon 
would  like  to  have  her  in  the  house  for 
the  sake  of  the  children.^' 

"  For  the  sake  of  the  children  I  Why 
do  you  aggravate  me,  John  Mallane? 
Isn't  Paul  coming  home  in  a  week? 
Hasu^t  Paul  eyes  in  his  head  ?  " 

*^  Yes,  Paul  has  eyes  in  his  head,  very 
handsome  eyes,  too;  just  such  eyes  as 
yours  used  to  be,  Tabitha,  before  yoa 
began  to  worry ;  and  he  knows  how  to 
use  them,  too,"  said  Mr.  Mallane ;  and 
a  smile  of  parental  pride  passed  over 
his  face  as  he  spoke  of  his  first-born  son. 

"ril  tell  you  how  he'll  use  them, 
John  Mallane ; "   and  in  her  eagemeaa:^ 
the  mother  leaned  forward  with  difr- 
tended  eyes  and  ominous  voice  : 

"  He'll  use  them  the  very  first  thing 
to  fall  in  love  with  that  girl  np-staiiB. 
If  there's  no  running  away  and  getting 
married,  and  all  that,  it  will  be  a  pretty 
story  to  go  about  town,  that  Paul  Mal- 
lane has  fallen  in  love  with  one  of  his 
father's  shop-girls.  I  warn  you,  John 
Mallane." 

**  Tabitha,  why  will  you  always  bor- 
row trouble  ?  As  you  say,  Paul  has 
eyes  in  his  head.  He  will  see  that  the 
girl  is  pretty.  He  can-t  help  that.  But 
Paul  has  common  sense.  Paul  is  long- 
headed; he  has  any  amount  of  fore- 
sight. He  is  just  as  ambitious  for  wealth 
and  for  position  as  you  are.  He  is  the 
last  follow  on  earth  to  make  a  fool  of 
himself  by  running  off  with  a  poor 
shop-girl.  And  I  don't  see  that  he  is 
very  much  inclined  to  fall  in  love  with 
any  body.  Here  he  has  been  flirting  a 
whole  year  with  Tilly  Blane,  the  pret- 
tiest and  the  richest  girl  in  town.  She 
would  like  to  have  him  fall  in  love  with 
her ;  but  he  hasn't.  And  she  is  pretty, 
and  I  don't  know  but  prettier  than  the 
girl  up-staire." 


A  WOMAN^B  BlOBT. 


89 


},  she  is  prettier,  perhaps,^'  an- 
the  mother,  dubiously.  ^^  But  it 
'  flesh  and  blood   pretty,  pink 

blue  eyes,  curly  hair.  At  thirty 
1  be  as  ugly  as  her  mother,  who, 
5W,  twenty-five  years  ago  was  the 
f  Busyville.  But  this  girl  up- 
los  an  uncommon  face.  Didu^t 
tice  it,  father  ?  Why,  with  that 
ion  on  it,  she  will  be  beautiful 
When  those  great  brown  eyes 
)  through  those  long  lashes,  there 
k  in  them  that  would  take  the 
at  of  any  young  man,  and  theyUl 
10  heart  out  of  our  Paul.  And 
urn  them  up,   and  cast    them 

SheUl  make  good  use  of  those 
e  artful— 


7» 


reasonable,  be  reasonable,  Tabi- 
>on^t  call  the  poor  child  names ; 
s  only  a  child,  and  whatever  arts 
^  learn,  she  hasn't  learned  them 
>u  could  sec  that  at  supper.  She 
itrange  and  frightened,  she  could 
'  eat  She  has  never  been  away 
»me  before.  Let  us  show  her  the 
ndness  that  we  would  like  shown 
Grace  if  we  had  to  send  her 

>  earn  her  bread." 

>w  her  kindness  f  The  greatest 
s  that  we  can  show  her,  is  to 
3r  out  of  this  house.  It  is  no 
•r  her,  I  cannot  have  her  here, 
ot  have  her  here.  She  shall  go 
ow.  I  have  set  my  foot  down, 
allane." 

shall  not  go  to-morrow,"  said 
kUane,  quietly,  but  in  a  tone 
:ould  not  be  contradicted.     It 

happened  that  when  Tabitha 

>  "set  her  foot  down,"  John 
I  set  his  down  also. 

y  and  quietly  he  asserted  his 
►ut  having  once  asserted  it,  it 
Sxed  as  a  rock.  His  wife's  tem- 
:e  a  stormy  wave,  chafed  and 
in  helpless  anger  against  the 
ible  mountain  of  will.  Poor 
t  soon  beat  itself  weary.  Baffled, 
it,  it  always  subsided  in  sullen 
y  at  last. 

bhn  Mallane  was  not  a  tyranni- 
}and.  As  he  allowed  no  one  to 
B  with  "  his  business,"  so  he  was 
L.  V. — 7 


careful  not  to  encroach  upon  his  wife's 
prerogatives  in  the  management  of  the 
household  where  she  reigned  supreme. 
Thus,  this  sudden  invasion  of  her  terri- 
tory, with  his  last  declaration  of  author- 
ity, seemed  as  unpardonable  as  it  was 
unexpected.  Yet  he  had  said  it — "  She 
shall  not  leave  to-morrow '' — and  Tabi- 
tha Mallane  knew  that  now  there  was 
nothing  for  her  to  do  but  to  smother 
her  rage  and  submit. 

John  Mallane  read  on  awhile  in  si- 
lence, giving  time  to  the  chafed  and  fret- 
ted temper  of  his  wife  to  subside  into 
calnmess.  She,  too,  was  silent,  knowing 
well  that  at  the  present  crisis  no  added 
word  of  hers  could  avail  in  gaining  her 
end.  John  Mallane  was  wise ;  he  never 
talk^  with  his  wife  when  she  was 
*°gry ;  and  thus,  without  any  serious 
matrimonial  combats,  ho  managed  to 
have  his  own  way  whenever  he  chose. 

When  he  thought  that  the  proper 
moment  had  arrived,  he  laid  down  his 
newspaper,  took  off  his  spectacles,  took 
his  red  silk  handkerchief  again  from 
his  pocket,  deliberately  polished  his 
glasses,  deliberately  reset  them  upon 
the  high  bridge  of  his  imperturbable 
nose,  and  as  deliberately  said : 

"Tabitha,  I  have  no  desire  to  be 
unreasonable.  I  know  that  you  have 
care  enough,  and  I  don't  want  to  in- 
crease it.  But  I  promised  this  little 
girl's  father  she  should  have  a  home  in 
my  family.  I  feel  sorry  for  Tale.  He 
is  one  of  the  kindest  men  in  the  world, 
but  he  isn't  a  manager.  I  am.  I've 
been  successful ;  ho  hasn't.  I'm  rich, 
he's  poor.  I  send  my  boy  to  college ;  he 
sends  his  little  girl  to  work  in  my  shop. 
And  he'll  have  to  take  her  small  wages 
to  help  pay  the  mortgage  on  his  farm. 
I  am  not  willing  to  advance  money  on 
the  mortgage,  but  am  wiling  to  give  a 
comfortable  home  to  his  little  girl,  who 
will  help  earn  it.  I  am  perfectly  able 
to  do  the  first,  I  am  only  willing  to  do 
the  latter.  It  is  no  stretch  of  generos- 
ity, you  see,  Tabitha  ?  " 

Mrs.  Mallane  made  no  reply.  But 
the  needle  in  the  stocking  seemed  to 
listen,  and  the  cradle  moved  with  a 
slow,  thoughtful  motion. 


90 


Putnam's  MA.GAZI^'s. 


[Jin, 


Her  husband  continued :  "  Poor  Yale  1 
The  tears  came  into  his  eyes  when  he 
spoke  of  his  little  girl.  I  thought  of 
our  Gracy ;  what  it  would  be  to  us  to 
send  her  out  into  a  strange  place  to 
work  in  a  shop,  and  I  said :  *•  Yale,  PU 
do  the  best  that  I  can  for  your  child. 
She  needn't  go  into  the  boarding-house 
witli  the  other  hands.  She  shall  stay  in 
my  family,  and  eat  at  my  table,  and  I'll 
ask  nothing  extra.'  To  have  said  less 
would  have  been  inhuman.  You  don't 
want  me  to  be  inhuman,  especially  when 
it  don't  cost  any  more  to  be  human,  do 
you,  Tabitha  ? " 

Under  ordinary  circumstances,  Tabi- 
tha Mallano's  better  nature  would  have 
responded  to  this  appeal,  and  she  would 
have  said :  "  Yes,  father,  you  are  fight. 
I  haye  been  unreasonable.  I  don't  com- 
plain that  you  take  your  own  way." 

But  against  this  act  of  her  husband's, 
against  this  child  whom  he  had  brought 
into  her  home,  was  arraigned  the  strong- 
est instinct  of  her  nature,  the  instinct 


of  maternity,  fierce,  selfish,  prenil- 
ing. 

In  and  out  through  the  heel  of  a  btak 
stocking  flew  the  glittering  needle  widi 
spasmodic  haste,  while  the  jerking  cn^ 
die,  the  working  of  the  strong  featnm^ 
the  movement  of  the  large  frame^  all 
told  of  an  inward  struggle.  There  wil 
a  silence  of  moments  before  she  qK>ke; 
then  the  anger  had  gone  out  of  her 
voice,  but  its  tones  were  deeply  troubled. 

"I  have  feeling  for  the  girl,"  ahfi 
said,  "  when  I  think  of  our  Grace  in 
her  place.  I  should  be  willing  enoogh 
to  have  her  stay,  if  it  was  not  for  our 
Paul." 

^^  Nonsense  1 "  said  John  Mallane^  In 
an  incredulous  voice.  "Tabitha,  let 
me  tcU  you  once  for  all  that  our  Paul 
will  take  care  of  himself; "  and  witili 
these  words,  John  Mallane  again  took 
up  the  Boston  Journal,  and  soon  forgot 
the  existence  of  the  girl  up-stairs  in  the 
excitement  of  reading  about  ^*  Sooth 
Carolina  Fire-Eatcrs." 


*♦•■ 


LINGUISTICS— THE  NEW  PniLOLOGY. 


TTrmn?  the  past  seventy  years  of  this 
century,  a  new  study,  Lin^isties^*  or 
77ie  Science  of  Language^  has  invaded 
the  circle  of  the  sciences,  demanding,  as 
her  own  assigned  place  in  the  world  of 
knowledge,  an  arc  of  its  circumference. 

Preceded  by  an  analogous  science. 
Philology^  which  it  both  supplements 
and  ** retires"  (in  part,  at  least),  it  is, 
of  course,  in  a  position  of  antagonism  to 
one  member  of  the  club  to  which  it 
would  be  elected,  and  hence  has  met 
with  a  not  altogether  cordial  reception 
from  that  great  ^^  executive  committee^'* 
the  educated  ^orld.  For  this  cause, 
few  among  even  our  reading  public  are 
aware  of  the  exact  truth  now  commonly 
received  in  regard  to  language.  We 
propose  to  state  some  of  the  fundamen- 
tal principles  reached  by  the  science. 

♦  Tliii  nnmc,  proposed  in  France,  has  been  re- 
jected by  many,  because  of  its  hyhriditm.  See 
Max  Mailer's  Lcctnrcf,  toI.  L  Also,  Manb, "  Tbc 
Eog.  Long.,'*  ToL  L 


First,  Linguistics  has  fully  established 
and  vindicated  the  proper  method  of  solv- 
ing certain  enigmas  in  human  speech. 

From  earliest  times,  men  have  been 
curious  about  language.  Why  does 
man  alone,  of  all  created  beings,  possen 
the  power  of  articulate  speech  ?  Wlr^ 
does  not  Revelation,  that  tells  him  of 
his  origin,  tell  him  also  why  he  was 
thus  "made  to  differ"?  These,  with 
many  other  questions,  have  ever  been 
spurring  him  on  to  inquiry  into  the 
nature  of  language.  Hence  we  find 
that  not  only  heathen  philosophers, — 
the  great  thinkers  of  Greece  and  the 
Brahmins  of  India, — but  the  learned 
Churchmen  of  the  Middle  Ages  also, 
and,  indeed,  scholars  of  many  sorts  at 
all  times,  have  given  exhaustive  and 
untiring  study  to  this  subject. 

But,  starting  from  a  point  and  by  a 
method  fatal  to  the  achievement  of  any 
thing,  until  the  beginning  of  this  cen- 
tury they  thought  in  vain.    Among  the 


LnrGT7iBTiGS<-Tns  New  Philology. 


01 


i,  language  was  either  idealized 
K>etic,  or  attenuated  into  a  meta- 
ls conception;  and  hence  its 
'as  of  that  unsatisfactory  nature, 
h.  any  inquiry  into  facts,  when 
me  character  is  misunderstood, 
ways  be.  The  Brahmins  and 
iek  philosophers,  says  MQller, 
0  more  for  the  facts  of  language 
)  who  wrote  an  account  of  the 
nthout  haying  seen  either  the 
or  the  desert. 

BO  the  Churchmen  (like   their 

•B,  clerical  and  lay,  of  the  early 

period)  went  equally    astray. 

)t  only  based  their  labors  upon 

fficicnt  collection  of  facts,  but 

ed  by  an  unscientific  method, 

zing  from  a  mere  handful  of 

)&  to  laws  covering  the  whole 

f  human  speech.     True,  fh)m 

:udies  resulted  the  science  of 

^,  which  has  taught,  and  will 

;h,  important  lessons  in  regard 

e  languages  or  classes  of  Ian- 

but  whenever  philologcrs  have 

ed  to  treat  of  language  in  its 

,    they    have    only   illustrated 

id  again  how  truly  the  sublime 

one  step  from  the  ridiculous. 

the  oddities  of  Home  Tooke  in 

Hversions  of  Purley,"  and  the 

dogmatism  of   the    Hebraists, 

cause  Hebrew  was  the  original 

e  of  the  Old  Testament,  asserted 

re/ore  it  was  the  language  of 

5. 

LOt  60  has  Linguistics  treated 
uestions.  Starting  from  the 
ion,  that,  if  the  facts  of  Ian- 
re  ever  to  be  reduced  to  a  gys- 
must  be  aJtcTy  and  not  he/ore^ 
icts  are  known,  the  scholarly 
hat  founded  this  science  pro- 
with  remarkable  patience  to 
he  vocabularies  and  grammars 
'  language,  great  or  small,  civil- 
barbarian,  that  is  known  to 
sted,  or  to  be  now  existing,  on 
h.  This  work  accomplished 
i  greater  or  less  extent  for  dif- 
inguages)  by  a  kindred  science, 
itive  Grammar^  the  next  step 
determine,  by  careful,  logical 


induction  ^m  well-authenticated  data, 
the  principles  governing  this  mass  of 
linguistic  phenomena.  And  as  far  as 
the  present  light  will  allow  the  detec- 
tion of  these  principles,  they  have  been 
established  beyond  a  doubt.  Upon  a 
much  larger  field  surveyed  by  the  sci- 
ence, however,  no  sufficient  light  has 
yet  been  thrown ;  and  consequently  im- 
portant differences  of  opinion  prevail 
among  even  leading  linguistic  philoso^ 
phers.  But  these  disputes,  though  they 
have  cast  over  the  whole  subject  a  seem- 
ingly unpractical  appearance,  do  not, 
of  course,  invalidate  what  is  known. 
The  results  of  induction  are  only  hi/po* 
thetical  theories  until  they  are  verified, 
and  unverified  theories  arc,  in  every 
branch  of  learning,  conmion  battle- 
grounds, where  any  man  may  come  to 
break  a  spear. 

This  certainty  of  linguistic  methods 
will  appear  more  clearly  in  an  illustra- 
tion, taken  from  Miiller : 

"  There  could  never  be  any  doubt," 
he  writes,  **  that  tbe  so-called  Romance 
languages,  Italian,  Wallachian,  Proven- 
QsHy  French,  Spanish,  and  Portuguese, 
were  clofcely  related  to  each  other. 
Every  body  could  see  that* they  were  all 
derived  from  the  Latin.  But  one  of  the 
most  distinguished  French  scholars,  Ray- 
nouard,  maintained  that  Provencal  alone 
was  the  daughter  of  Latin;  whereas 
French,  Italian,  Spanish,  and  Portuguese 
were  the  daughters  of  Provencal."  To 
refute  this  theory,  an  appeal  is  taken  to 
the  Science  of  Language,  and  a  com- 
parison is  made  between  the  Prevengal 
grammar  and  those  of  the  other  Ro* 
mance  dialects.   "  In  Provencal  we  have, 

*em= French  noiu  tofnmw, 
eis  =      "      vous  iletj 
ion  =      "      iU  sontf 

and  it  would  be  a  grammatical  miracle 
if  crippled  forms  such  as  «ewi,  eU^  son, 
had  been  changed  back  again  into  the 
more  healthy,  more  primitive,  more 
Latin,  sommes,  ttcSy  $oni ;  aumuSj  estiSj 

Again,  it  was  asserted  that  Greek  and 
Latin  were  daughters  of  Sanskrit.  The 
assertion  is  thus  shown  to  be  unfound- 
ed :  the  root  of  the  verb  "  to  he''  is  the 


92 


PuTXAM's  Magazine. 


[Jan, 


same  in  all  three  languages,  as  or  es. 
From  it  come, 

Per.    Saxukrit.  Orcck. 

oj  f  1.  ai-mi.  es-mi, 

3  J  2.  af-«t.  (a«0      e»-ti. 
*?  Is.  a»-/^.  «*-/». 

2  p.  ajt-ma;.  (mas.)  es'tnes, 

E  I  2.  at-iha.  (stha.)    e«-/«. 

r-^is.  a«-an<».  («an/i.)  en-ti. 


Latin. 

e«-vmuj.  {sumu:.) 
ti-unt.       (8unl.) 


A  glance  suffices  to  show  that  the 
more  perfect  form  of  the  Greek  2d  p. 
sing.,  cM»,  could  not  possibly  have  come 
from  the  only  form  known  to  Sanskrit, 
(ui;  and  that  the  Latin  estis  is  an  equally 
improbable  derivative  from  the  Sanskrit 
itha.  So,  also,  why  are  the  Sans.  pi.  1 
'and  3.,  snuu  and  santiy  original,  but  the 
Latin  forms,  aumus  and  suntj  derivative  ? 

Suppose,  once  more,  that  one  were 
found  bold  enough  to  deny  any  rela- 
tionship between  the  languages  we  have 
been  considering.  The  tables  we  have 
presented  would  be  sufficient  .answer ; 
for  accident  or  chance  is  as  impossible 
in  language  as  it  is  elsewhere  in  nature. 

Secondly,  very  considerable  progress 
has  been  made  toward  a  complete  cloisi- 
Hcation  of  languages. 

The  simplicity  of  the  laws  governing 
any  classification,  and  the  Apparently 
clear,  indisputable  analogy  between  lan- 
guages, combined  to  make  the  arrange- 
ment of  man's  dialects  into  families  seem 
easy ;  and  the  learned  world  therefore, 
in  that  it  underrated  the  work,  lost  sight 
of  the  only  correct  principles  on  which  it 
should  have  proceeded.  For  this  cause, 
the  results  were  of  a  character  to  make 
one  doubt  whether  the  sublime  be  even 
one  step  from  the  ridiculous.  For  ex- 
ample, the  existence  of  Greek  colonics 
in  Lower  Italy  was  reason  enough  for 
the  declaration  that  Latin  was  a  deriva- 
tive of  Greek,  under  influences  from 
Italic  races.  That  the  Latin  ager,  aro, 
tinunij  su8j  fero,  and  a  host  more,  were 
the  same  as  the  Greek  agros,  aro,  oinos, 
W9,  phhro,  etc.,  was  argument  enough. 
Therefore  was  Latin  the  daughter  of 
Greek.*  Again,  Hebrew  is  written  from 
right  to  left,  but  Greek  from  hft  to  rigid. 
Therefore,  said  Guichard,t  to  change 
Greek  to  Ilcbrew,  read  it  hacJcu:ard, 

•  See  Trench,  ••On  the  Study  of  Words,*'  chcr-  li- 
t  M&Ucr,  Tol.  L 


The  method  of  Linguistics,  however, 
is  essentially  different.  In  accordance 
with  its  fundamental  principle,  that 
linguistic  truths  can  be  reached  only  by 
induction,  its  efforts  have  been  l^sed 
upon  the  grammatical  structure  of  lan- 
gaagcs,  rather  than  upon  their  yocabn- 
larics ;  and,  though  it  may  be  true  that 
"  no  one  system  of  arrangement  can  yet 
be  said  to  have  received  the  assent  of 
scholars,"  *  yet  much  has  been  establish- 
ed, that  is  no  doubt  as  morally  certaia 
as  it  is  that  *^  all  planets  move  in  ellipti- 
cal orbits."  We  can  only  glance  briefly 
at  its  results. 

The  Science  of  Language,  like  Na- 
tural History,  has  attempted  two  wholly 
distinct  classifications.  Arranging  witli 
respect  merely  to  race,  it  classifies  ^maa- 
logically;  but,  searching  deeper  to  de- 
tect that  subtle  something  which  makes 
all  forms  of  human  speech  language^  it 
classifies  morphologically.  Let  us  punnie 
the  analogy,  and  so  unfold  this  state- 
ment. 

The  naturalist,  in  his  genealogical 
classification,  keeps  in  his  view  but  one 
principle,  race  or  lilood.  Whether  the 
animal  be  now  reproducing  itself,  so  that 
he  may  from  time  to  time  study  it  in 
its  native  state,  or  whether  it  be  one  of 
those  forms  known  to  us  now  only  flrom 
fossil  remains — a  monster  reprodud^  to 
our  view  in  a  museum  of  Natural  Sd- 
ence, — in  each  case  he  seeks  to  deter- 
mine only  its  family  relationship.  Tme, 
in  the  latter  case  the  difficulty  is  great- 
er. One  may  not  find  a  mastodon  teadi- 
ing  an  observer  its  habits,  or  prove  the 
mammal  character  of  the  megatherium^ 
by  detecting  it  in  the  act  of  feeding  its 
young ;  but  the  facts  to  be  determined 
are  the  same  as  if  these  suppositions 
were  possibilities,  and  the  conclusion, 
when  reached,  is  no  less  certain  than 
that  from  induction  in  another  case. 

And  just  so  is  it  with  languages.  They 
arc  both  living  and  dead,  and  though 
the  latter  are  in  some  cases  preserve 
entire  by  a  literature,  in  others  their 
remains  arc  a  few  fossil  bones,  or  some 
footprints  imbedded  in  clay  that  har- 

♦  ifarsh,  vol.  1.  p.  192. 
and  58. 


But  s:>c  alao  pp.  57 


LiifouiSTic8--TiiE  New  Philolooy. 


98 


iie  the  impression  was  lost.  In 
Ases  but  a  manuscript  or  two 
,  the  key  to  a  whole  class  of 
b;    as    the    Maao-Oothic    relics 

the  Teutonic  dialects, — relics 
t  which  the  linguistic  study  of 
I  would  be  almost  impossible.  It 
ll-known  fact  that  the  origin  of 
/'  as  a  sign  of  the  past  tenses  in 
1,  was  a  mystery  until  in  these 
ts  of  a  literature,  whose  makers 
from  history  a  century  ago,  it 
md  that  it  was  a  decayed  form 
<?," — that  /  loved  was  originally 
id,  or,  as  we  say  now,  /  did  love,* 
3r  cases  there  are  left  but  the 
r "  of  a  language,  that  linguistic 
f  implies  miut  have  existed,  but 
is  now  forever  lost  to  men ;  as 
iposed  ^^  primal  langiuige,^^  which 
rid  must  be  assumed  to  hare  had 
J  beginning,"  but  whose  existence 
19  bo  proved  only,  as  is  that  of 
birds,  by  its  daics  imprinted  in 
rlasting  rocks. 

yet,  to  detect  the  relationship 
a  such  languages  is  not  another 
hough  it  is,  of  course,  a  more  dif- 
ne  than  it  is  to  classify  living 
}.  To  find  the  cousinship  of  Sans- 
reck,  and  Latin — dead  languages 
I  abundant  literature  preserved ; 
reen  Mceso-Gothic  and  old  Prus- 
rhose  only  remains  are  an  old 
or  two ;  is  surely  the  same  kind 
c  as  it  is  to  prove  the  sisterhood 
Qch,  Italian,  and  Spanish.  In 
se  it  is  to  assign  a  language  to 
)er  family,  whether  Indie,  Italic, 
tonic.  But  carry  the  argument 
by  an  illustration, 
learned  languages  of  the  early 

period  were  Latin,  Greek,  and 
',  and  the  effort  to  classify  all 
^es  naturally  began  with  them, 
dical  difference  between  Greek 
brew  that  had,  even  before  the 
of  which  we  speak,  excited  a 
)n  of  their  utter  want  of  close 
relationship,  however  they  might 
0  an  ultimate  common  origin, 

first  truth  established.    History 


and  Ethnology  had  suggested  it,  and 
grammatical  analysis  only  added  con- 
firmation. Greek  was  Aryan  ;  Hebrew, 
Semitic. 

Here,  then,  was  a  starting-point.  No 
one  attributed  a  Semitic  language  to  an 
Aryan  class,  or  vice  versa,  except  through 
errdr;  and  very  soon  the  distinction 
grew  so  clear,  that  the  two  great  fam- 
ilies so  named  came  to  bo  recognizable 
by  their  features  alone,  notwithstand- 
ing any  probable  argument  to  the  con- 
trary. 

And  so,  step  by  step,  in  each  ^^  family  " 
there  were  marked  out  ** classes,^  and  in 
these  again  "  tub-classes  ;  "  the  latter  con* 
taining  languages  more  closely  related  to 
each  other  than  to  those  of  other  sub- 
classes in  the  same  class.  These  divi- 
sions for  the  Aryan  and  Semitic  families 
—of  a  third,  the  Turanian,  we  shall 
speak  below — ^have  been  comparatively 
well  determined,  though  there  yet  exist 
differences  of  opinion.  A  convenient 
table  of  them  will  be  found  in  Philip 
Smith's  "  History  of  the  Worid,"  vol.  L, 
and  fuller  discussions  of  the  grounds  for 
so  classifying  them  may  bo  had  from 
Muller,  vol.  i.,  "Whitney,  chaps,  v.  to  ix., 
or  B.  W.  Dwight,  "  Modem  Philology," 
vol.  i.  Any  presentation  of  them  here 
would  be  obviously  out  of  place. 

To  illustrate  further,  suppose  the 
question  asked.  What  is  tlie  place  of 
English  in  the  Aryan  family  f  To  an- 
swer briefly,  we  submit  a  table  that  will 
readily  explain  itself 

Assumed  Primal  Aryan  Langunga 


Teatonic. 


Italic. 


1.  Anglo-Siixon.*  2.  German.  =  Latin. 


I 


JK^ 


•  =  Xonnan-Frcncb. 


ncy, 


(( 


Lcingaago,    and  the   Study   of 


Eugliiib. 

One  point,  however,  deserves  notice. 
The  product  of  Anglo-Saxon,  a  language 
coordinate  with  Genuan  and  Latin — 
and  Norman-French,  the  ehUd  of,  and 
therefore  subordinate  to,  German  and 
Latin — ^English,  is  hence  the  daughter 
of  disparate  species.  Now,  in  the  animal 
world,  as  is   well  known,  every  such 

♦  This  would  bo  correct,  even  on  Mr,  Marsh's 
theory,  that  Anglo-Sazou  existed  only  aJUr  the 
races  united  in  England. 


94 


PUTNASI'S  MaGAZOTB. 


[JK 


product  has  marked  and  peculiar  cliar- 
actcristics,  which,  taken  together,  render 
it  completely  sui  generis.  Among  these 
are  extraordinary  strength,  singularity 
both  of  external  appearance  and  of  in- 
ternal constitution,  and  entire  individ- 
uality of  existence.  So,  may  it  not  be 
that  the  remarkable  strength  of  the  Eng- 
lish language,  its  singular  isolation  in 
th6  matter  of  vowel-sounds,  gender,* 
and  some  other  matters,  and  its  inca- 
pacity for  union  with  other  languages, 
are  comparable  with  the  great  power  and 
peculiar  nature  of  a  like  product  else- 
where t  The  resemblance  is  of  course 
worthless  as  an  argument,  but  curious 
as  an  analogy. 

We  have  thus  far  considered  only  the 
ffCMahgical  classification  of  languages. 
We  turn  now  to  their  other  division, 
morphoioffieal. 

Observation  both  of  animals  and  of 
plants  has  determined  that  individuals 
of  far  different  species,  genera,  etc.  may 
present  organic  forms  either  analogous 
to,  or  metamorphosed  from,  each  other. 
Ultimately,  the  analysis  reaches  certain 
varieties,  and  the  proper  exposition  of 
these  varieties,  homologies,  and  meta- 
morphoses, is  the  science  of  morphology. 

Similarly,  all  languages  may  be  re« 
duced  to  roots,  apparently  the  ultimate 
organic  forms  of  expressed  thought 
These  roots  combine  in  various  ways, 
and  the  arrangement  of  languages,  ac- 
cording to  their  modes  of  combining 
roots,  constitutes  their  morphologieal 
classification. 

To  illustrate,  let  us  suppose  that  two 
roots  are  to  combine.  It  is  evident  that 
only  three  cases  are  possible :  t 

(a)  Each  root  may  remain  unaltered ; 

(b)  One  may  be  kept  unchanged, 
while  the  other  is  modified ;  and, 

(c)  Both  may  be  so  corrupted  as  to 
coalesce  into  one  new  word. 

The  combination  of  more  than  two 
roots  is  in  no  way  difierent ;  for  if  no 
one  changes,  the  case  is  a  /  if  any  num- 


*  I  hsT»  kmrd  H  wali,  I  ksov  not  on  what 
Actlioiitj,  tiiAt  Old  rerfioa  maJe  g«ad:r  a  rtal 
diitiactionof  nez. 

'  MlUler,  rcL  L,  froa  vhca  also  mn  taken  most 
cf  tL«  cxat:;-!'.!  ns^d  UwV. 


ber  less  than  all  arc  modified,  it  is  5; 
and  if  all  unite,  it  is  e.  These  suppoo- 
tions,  then,  exhaust  the  possibilitia, 
and  it  is  an  argument  to  certainty,  then- 
fore,  that  no  human  language  will  ever 
be  found,  not  assignable  to  one  of  theaa 
classes.  Hence  the  morphological  rlitri 
fication  prepares  the  way  for  indnctions 
not  possible  from  a  genealogical  divisioii, 
the  latter  viewing  only  a  limited  portion 
of  rational  speech.  Not  to  anticipate^ 
however,  let  us  examine  some  examples 
of  these  three  classes  of  languages^ 

(a)  Of  the  first  class— called  monotyl' 
labie,  because  its  roots  are  so,  and  iatffal- 
tn^,  because  these  roots  never  oomhiiie^ 
— Chinese  ia  the  best  representative.  In 
it  we  find  that  "«r*fi"  is  ^dng,  "A^im»» 
is  u^,  and  '' th^  sun''  is  gi;  but  that 
"  icith  the  stick;'  •*  at  home,''  and  "  tm 
of  the  sun  "  ("  day  "),  are  modificatioiiai 
not,  as  with  us,  by  prepositions,  nor,  as 
in  Latin,  by  change  of  tennination  (Bacii- 
lo,  domiy  solis  Jilius),  but  are  mere  collo- 
cations of  independent  words,  y  idn§^ 
U6h7i,  ^irtsey  the  additions,  y,  /i,  tm^ 
meaning  respectively  "  to  employ^*  **  t»- 
side,"^  and  '^  son."  Hence  the  Chfneae 
say  ^*' empUy-sticl'"  ^' house-insiile,^  and 
^^sunson,"  their  language  never  quali- 
fying one  idea  by  another,  except  by  the 
co-adjacencc  of  the  roots  expressing  these 
ideas.  A  rather  curious  fact  foUowa, 
but,  of  course,  naturally,  from  this  law. 
The  same  wonls  in  various  orders  may 
express  different  ideas.  Thus,  ngd  td  ni 
means  "  I  beat  thee,"  but  ni  Vl  ngd  tran^ 
lates  into  "  t?if/u  beatcst  me." 

(5)  The  second  class — called  aggHutu 
TMtite,  because  the  altered  root  is  glued 
on  (as  it  were)  to  the  other,  and  termi- 
national,  because  the  altered  word  be- 
comes a  sufiSx  (or  afiix)  to  the  perma» 
nent  radical,  and  may  easily  be  sepa- 
rated from  it — included  a  large  number 
of  languages  that  form  the  third  genea- 
logidQ  family  spoken  of  above.  Ear- 
nest efforts  have  been  made  to  classify 
them  genealogically,  but  they  have  so 
fiur  failed,  even  Muller,  the  apostle  to 
these  Turanian  heathen,  writing  in  a 
rather  despairing  tone.  That  the  future 
will  shed  more  light  upon  them,  it 
would  be  difficult— ccrtainlv unwise — to 


LiNoxTisTiGS — Tns  New  Philology. 


95 


t;  but  that  they  offer  a  rich 
»f  study,  is  evident  to  any  one 
rill  examine  them  even  casually. 
J  purpose,  we  only  need  an  exam- 

!*urkish,  the  root  "  to  regard  "  is 
The  present  tense  is  then  form- 
s: 

sr-im,  I  regard.        bakar-it,  we  regard. 
sysn'n,  thou,  &c.      beUcar-tinis,  you,  &c. 
ai^— ,  he,  &c.  bakar-lar,  they,  &c. 

b  the  root  does  not  vary,  we  need 
mologist  to  tell  us;  but  why 
ire  believe  that  these  terminations 
nee  original  words  ?  Simply  be- 
they  are  found  elsewhere  in  the 
,ge  (and  that,  too,  in  uncorrupted 
,  being  the  pronouns  "  J,"  "  thou^" 
lere,  as  in  other  tenses,  they  are 
from  their  ^^ftnt  utaU^^^  but  they 
evertheless  themselves;  as  the 
of  a  man  remains,  though  his 
lose  its  every  limb.  True,  it  is 
vays  easy  to  trace  these  termina- 
roots  to  their  origin,  but  is  it  not 
qually  as  difficult  to  recognize  in 
itilated  face  of  a  returned  soldier 
tures  that  before  were  his  distinc- 
laracteristics  ? 

Ve  have  yet  to  mention  the  third 
called  inflectional^  organu^  and 
tmating ;  names  that  explain 
lives.  These  languages  are  so 
ir  to  us  who  speak  English  and 


study  the  classics,  that  a  single  illustra- 
tion will  suffice. 

The  Sanskrit  tin»atij  the  Greek  eilati^ 
and  the  Latin  vigintiy  equivalents  of  our 
^*  twenty,''^  seem  at  first  appearance  to  be 
primitives.  They  certainly  bear  no  re- 
semblance to  the  Chinese  eulihi^  twhten, 
nor  can  they  be  separated  into  a  root 
and  terminations.  Analyze  them,  how- 
ever, in  the  light  of  a  sound  inductive 
etymology,  and  we  reach  ultimately  two 
words,  dois  (Greek  di$,  Latin  bis,  English 
twice),  and  dasan,  ten,  from  which,  it 
may  be  fully  proved,  these  apparent 
primitives  have  come.  Each  root  has 
suffeilsd,  and  the  result  is  a  new  whole. 
Amalgams,  like  braas  they  are  neither 
daii  nor  dasan — neither  ccpper  nor  tine; 
but  are  units,  themstlves  capable  of  en- 
tering into  further  compounds. 

So  much,  then,  has  Linguistics  done 
for  the  classification  of  languages.  It 
may  not,  indeed,  have  solved  every  enig- 
ma in  the  subject,  but  it  has  at  least 
determined  the  only  premises  from 
which  valid  reasoning  may  start  in  the 
investigation  of  the  hidden  truth,  and 
laid  a  solid  foundation  for  the  theories 
of  the  science.  These  theories,  concern- 
ing the  origin,  the  unity,  the  nature  of 
language,  and  its  relation  to  the  human 
intellect  and  will,  are  rational  and  valua- 
ble only  as  they  rest  upon  the  facts 
proven  by  the  Science  of  Language. 


PtTNAM^S  MAQA2INB. 


[Jtn, 


FATHER  nYAGINTHE  AND  HIS  CnURCn. 


On  tbo  18th  day  of  October  last,  tlio 
Superior  of  the  Monastery  of  Barefooted 
^Carmelites,  in  Paris,  was  landed  from  a 
French  steamer  upon  the  wharf  at  New 
York.  Instead  of  w^earing  tbo  usual 
garb  of  his  order,  however,  ho  was 
clothed  in  the  ordinary  dress  of  a  private 
gentleman ;  instead  of  availing  himself 
of  the  hospitality  provided  in  most  largo 
cities  for  the  religious  mendicant  orders, 
ho  drove  with  his  baggage  directly  to 
ono  of  our  popular  hotels.  His  arrival 
was  promptly  telegraphed  to  the  ex- 
tremities of  the  continent ;  it  was  tho 
subject  of  comment  in  every  newspaper 
in  our  land.  Every  source  of  informa- 
tion was  ransacked  for  derails  of  his  life ; 
his  hotel  was  thronged ;  ho  was  inter- 
viewed by  reporters;  ho  was  deluged 
with  invitations;  shop-windows  and  il- 
lustrated jonrnals  wore  radiant  with  his 
portrait ;  the  mails  were  loaded  with 
expressions  of  interest  and  sympathy  for 
Tihu ;  in  fact,  Pius  IX.  himself,  if  he  had 
executed  tho  purpose  at  one  time  at- 
tributed to  him,  of  taking  refuge  in  tho 
United  States,  could  hardly  have  pro- 
iliiced  a  greater  sensation. 

The  name  of  tho  monk,  whoso  extra- 

ordinary  reception  among  us  contrasts 

;<o  widely  with  that  usually  given  to 

monastic  vbitors,  is  Charles  Loyson,  to 

which  was  added  that  of  Brother  Ilya- 

cinthe,  by  tho  religions  order  of  which 

lio  had  taken  tho  vows.    Father  Ilya- 

c^nthe— for  it  is  by  that  naiqe  th:it  ho  is 

now  knova  to  the  world — is  a  French 

gentleman  abont  forty-two  yonrs  of  age, 

A  grad^Mte  of  the  Theological  Seminary 

of  St.  Bnlpice;  for  the  past  four  or  live 

rears  the  fkrorite  pnlpi*-  orat^»r  of  Paris, 

and    in  bia  form,  carriage,  and  general 

app>eMruieef  bearini;  a  singular  re?em- 

Ussca  to  tht  first  Xa;ioleon.    But  it  is 

aoi  £or  MJ  of  tlie^e  dUinctions  that  hi^ 

-^■■0  if  fkov  on  every  tony^ie,  arid  his 

p. ...  .„ ._ ., 


The  day  Father  Ilyacinthe  left  Paris, 
ho  renounced  tho  position  he  held  as 
Superior  of  the  Convent  of  Carmelites 
and  laid  asido  the  garb  of  his  order  with- 
out pcrmifsion ;  thus  provoking  the  sol- 
emn penalties  of  excommunication  from 
his  church,  that  ho  mfght  the  more 
cfTcctually  vindicate  the  rights  of  con- 
science and  the  "liberty  of  prophesying." 

It  was  this  daring  protest  of  the  most 
illustrious  orator  of  the  Latin  com- 
munion against  tho  growing  preten* 
sions  of  the  Papacy,  that  has  awakened 
in  this  country  a  degree  of  interest,  not 
easily  exaggerated,  in  the  person  and 
history  of  its  author. 

Of  tho  origin  and  history  of  the  rap- 
ture between  Father  Ilyacinthe  and  his 
Church  but  littlo  is  generally  knowxi. 
Till  his  departure  for  tho  United  States 
was  telegraphed  from  Franco,  his  name 
had  rarely  been  heard  outside  of  liis 
own  religious  communion,  and  the  im- 
pres<iion  naturally  prevails  that  some 
sudden  misunderstanding  had  resulted 
in  an  explosion,  the  immediate  ejects  of 
which  havo  become  familiar  to  the  pub- 
lic. This  is  a  mistake.  The  antagonism 
between  Father  Ilyaciritho  and  ihe  Papal 
government,  or  its  ultramontane  sec- 
tion, has  been  developing  for  years, 
though  hitherto  successfully  concealed 
from  the  secular  ptiblic.  Xor  have  tho 
real  grounds  of  their  ditferenccs  yet 
transpired.  About  all  that  is  known  of 
them  is,  that  liis  Catholicism  is  broader 
than  that  of  Rome,  and  that  he  prefers 
to  defy  the  thunders  of  Rome  to  those 
of  his  own  conscience. 

"We  feel,  therefore,  that  v/o  c.mnot 
render  a  more  acceptable  service  to  tho 
public  than  to  give  a  brief  history  of  a 
religions  dis-^i-n^im  whith,  in  view  of 
the  appn 'aching  Council,  threatens  to 
take  s;rio*:3  pr  p.  rtior.?,  and  which  can 
hardly  f:ii\  in  any  event,  t.i  produce  a 
j.rofuiir.d  i:^:y:\s-i 'U  u;^i"»:i  tho  Latin 
Ci.-:rch. 


FATnBs  Htacinthe  and  his  Ohubch. 


97 


e  BQmmer  of  1864,  Father  Ilya- 
BTos  invited  to  deliver  an  address 
I  club  of  joang  people  organized 
he  name  of  the  CercU  Catholique^ 
iolio  Clob,  at  Paris,  correspond- 
some  extent  with  our  Young 
Christian  Assceiatian.  He  ac- 
their  invitation,  and  in  the  course 
ddress,  conceived  in  fullest  sym- 
rith  the  progressive  thought  of 
he  referred  to  the  first  French 
tion  in  the  following  terms: 

9  est  un  fait  accompli,  et  s'il 
pas,  il  faudrait  Paccomplir."  ♦ 

'ather  Uyacinthe  was  already  as 
own  for  what  was  regarded  by  a 
class  of  his  coreligionists  as  lib  too 
hensive  Christian  charity  as  for 
[uence,  this  phrase  aroused  a  great 
feeling  in  Paris ;  he  was  violently 
d  by  the  Monde^  an  organ  of 
tramontanists,  and  a  cabal  was 
f  organized  to  limit  the  infection 
langerous  eloquence  as  much  as 
)  by  destroying  his  influence,  t 
ot,  however,  succeed  in  poisoning 
nd  of  the  Archbishop  of  Paris, 
gardless  of  their  remonstrances, 
Father  Hyacintho  to  preach  the 
inces  of  Advent  that  year  at  No- 
ae.  This  pulpit  for  years,  I  might 
turies,  has  been  reserved  for  the 
opular  orator  in  the  Galilean 
Several    attempts  had  been 

0  revive  those  conferences  since 
ith  of  Lacordaire,  but  they  had 
unsuccessful.  None  of  the  preach- 
lignated  for  that  duty  since  the 

of  the  famous  Dominican,  had 
ip  to  the  traditional  standard, 
•reached,  but  they  failed  to  at- 

\  is  an  acconipUsh«d  fliiet,  and  if  K  were 
>ald  be  nccesaary  to  acoompU»h  it" 

1  possibly  aatooiah  tomo  of  those  oenson 
r  Hyacintbe  to  be  reminded  of  the  ioV- 
vowal  made  by  Thiors,  In  the  Corpe 
r,  In  1846 : 

rever  an  absolute  OoTernmcnt  ceaeee  to 
Europe,  whenever  a  new  liberty  i« 
jiee  loses  an  enemy  and  gaios  a  fineikd* 
nd  me  weU.  I  am  of  the  party  of  the 
tOj  ae  well  4n  France  as  in  Europe.  I  de> 
tne  Government  of  the  Revolution  rest 
ads  of  moderate  men.  I  will  do  what  1 
itinuo  it  tbera  But  if  thia  Qovemment 
I  into  the  hands  of  men  leas  moderate,  of 
DO,  even  radioala,  I  shall  not  abandon  my 
that.  I  shall  always  be  ot  the  party  of 
lution." 


tract  hearers.  Some  discourses  deliv- 
ered by  Father  Hyacinthe  during  the 
sammer  immediately  previous,  led  the 
Archbishop  to  hope  that  he,  if  any  one, 
could  revive  the  ancient  glories  of  Notre- 
Dame.  Nor  was  he  destined  to  be  dis- 
appointed. Their  success  was  complete, 
though  the  Monde  did  not  see  fit  to  an* 
nounce  them.  They  fixed  his  position 
as  the  worthy  successor,  not  only  of 
Lacordaire,  but  of  any  of  his  prodcces- 
Eors  in  that  famous  temple. 

It  was  at  these  conferences  that  the 
writer  first  saw  Father  Hyacinthe. 
The  solemn  old  cathedral  was  crowded 
with  all  that  was  socially  most  distin- 
guished in  Paris,  and  hundreds  hung 
around  the  doors,  unable  to  gain  admis- 
sion, but  seeking  to  catch  a  casual  phrase 
as  it  fell  from  the  burning  lips  of  the 
hermit-preacher. 

The  following  entry,  made  in  the 
writer's  diary  immediately  after,  will 
give  an  idea  of  the  impression  left  upon 
the  mind  of  a  foreigner  and  a  Protestant 
whom  curiosity,  mainly,  had  brought 
under  the  magical  influence  of  hb  elo- 
quence. 

**  Sunday. — Went  to  hear  Father  Hya- 
cinthe, the  Carmelite,  at  Notrc-Dame. 
Paid  a  franc  for  my  scat ;  Bcrryer  sat 
just  in  front  of  mo.  Great  crowd.  The 
speaker  middle-sized,  plump,round-faced, 
well-conditioned  man,  with  the  faculty 
of  kindling  from  his  subject  until  ho  gets 
into  a  blaze  of  eloquence.  His  move- 
ment is  exceedingly  graceful — as  perfect 
as  possible.  I  would  go  to  hear  him 
again  if  I  had  a  chance.  Tiio  Arch- 
bbhop  was  present,  and  after  the  sormon 
wos  finished,  left  his  soat  below,  mounted 
the  pulpit,  and  made  a  short  speech  and 
pronounced  the  benediction." 
• 

La  France^  a  semi-oflicial  journal  of 
the  Government,  and  one  of  the  organs 
of  the  Gallican  Church  in  Paris,  gave  a 
brief  account  of  this  conference,  which 
closed  as  follows : 

"When  Father  Hyacinthe  had  des- 
cended from  the  pulpit,  where  we  hope 
he  will  soon  reappear,  Monsiguor  the 
Archbishop  of  Paris  took  his  place,  and 
addressed  the  immense  audience,  an  allo- 
cution admirable  for  its  noble  tli oughts 
and  Christian  views.  Ho  at  first  thank- 
ed and  congratulated  the  young  and  bril- 


PimrAH^s  Magazine. 


[JaiL, 


liant  orator  who  had  bo  early  placod 
himself  in  the  ranks  of  the  great  masters 
of  speech,  and  confirmed  his  teachings 
with  all  his  authority  as  a  hishop  and 
his  charity  as  a  pastor. 

"  The  effect  produced  hy  this  unex- 

Sectcd  discourse  was  great,  and  the  crowd 
ispcrsed  profoundly  impressed." 

To  measure  the  importance  of  the 
Archhishop^s  presence  and  remarks  on 
this  occasion,  it  is  necessary  to  know 
something  of  the  relations  then  subsist- 
ing between  the  French  or  Gallican  and 
Ultramontane  Catholics. 

It  will  bo  remembered  that  when  the 
famous  popular  demonstrations  were 
made  in  Europe,  in  1848,  the  Pope  gave 
them  his  sympathies,  and  popular  meet- 
ings were  held  all  over  the  United  Stites 
to  hail  the  omen.  That  tendency  was 
followed  by  a  violent  reaction,  and 
since  then  tlie  Roman  Church,  under  the 
counsels  of  the  Jesuits,  has  been  striving 
in  every  possible  way  to  centralize  its 
power  in  the  hands  of  the  nominal  head 
of  the  Church.  Its  first  trial  of  strength 
on  a  large  scale  was  made  in  the  procla- 
mation by  the  Pope,  in  1854,  without  the 
aid  of  any  council,  of  the  Immaculate 
Conception  of  the  Virgin  Mary  as  a 
dogma  of  the  Church.  The  audacity  of 
this  proceeding  shocked  largo  bodies  of 
French  and  German  Catholics,  and  pro- 
voked many  publications  designed  to 
throw  doubt  upon  the  validity  of  the 
new  dogma.  The  leading  liberal  Catho- 
lics of  France  were  astonished,  and  many 
were  alarmed ;  but  Rome  was  to  them 
too  important  an  ally  in  the  warfare 
they  were  waging  with  the  Imperial 
Government,  to  contest  the  growth  of 
an  authority  which,  in  view  of  their 
pressing  exigencies,  they*  were  dis- 
posed to  increase  rather  than  diminish. 
They  therefore  quietly  accepted  the 
dogma,  but  they  became  only  the  more 
zealous  in  their  efforts  to  liberalize  the 
Church  and  reconcile  it  with  the  civili- 
zing tendencies  of  the  ogo.  These  very 
efforts  tended  to  divide  them  cs  a  class 
more  and  more  from  the  ultramontanists. 
To  give  power  and  organization  to  the 
reactionary  influence,  the  Liberals,  pro- 
minent among  whom  were  the  Arch- 
^^Dp  of  Paris,  the  Rishop  of  Orleans, 


the  Count  de  Montalcmbert,  Bordas  Dn- 
moulin,  Arnaud  de  Ariege,  the  Prinoe  de 
Broglie,  A.  Cochin,  Falloux,  and  daring 
their  lives,  Lammenais,  Lacordaire,  and 
Ozanam,  with  the  Avenir  and  later  the 
Eetue  CorrespoTulanty  for  their  orgont 
in  the  press,  held  a  sort  of  Liberal  Catho- 
lic Congress  at  Malines,  in  August  of  the 
year  1863,  at  which  they  gave  formal 
expression  to  their  distinctive  senti- 
ments and  aspirations.  It  was  at  this  Con- 
gress that  the  Count  do  Montalcmbert 
made  two  spceche?,  which  were  widely 
circulated  in  France  as  a  faithful  reflec- 
tion of  the  feelings  of  the  Congress.  A 
paragraph  or  two  fVom  these  discoursefl 
will  disclose  at  once  the  spirit  and  signi- 
ficance of  this  movement. 

"Of  all  the  liberties  of  which 
up  to  this  time  I  have  undertaken  the 
defence,  the  liberty  of  conscience  is  in 
my  eyes  the  most  precious,  the  moat 
sacred,  the  most  legitimate,  the  most 
necessary.  I  have  loved,  I  have  served 
all  the  liberties,  but  I  honor  myself  more 
than  all  for  having  been  the  soldier  of 
this.  Again  to-day,  after  so  many  years, 
so  many  contests,  and  so  many  defeats,  I 
cannot  speak  of  it  without  emotien 
*  ♦  *  Yet  I  must  admit  that  this  en- 
thusiastic devotion  for  religious  libertj 
which  animates  nie,  is  not  general  among 
the  Catholics,  They  desire  liberty  for 
themselves,  and  in  this  there  is  no  great 
merit.  In  general,  every  body  wishes  all 
sorts  of  freedom  for  himself.  Rut  reli- 
gious freedom  in  itself;  freedom  of  con- 
science to  every  one;  that  freedom  of 
worship  which  is  contested  and  resisted, 
that  it  is  which  disquiets  and  alarms 
many  of  us. 

"  I  am,  then,  for  freedom  of  conscience, 
in  the  interest  of  Catholicism,  without 
reserves  or  hesitation.  I  accept  freely 
all  its  consequences,  all  which  pubho 
morals  do  not  reprove  and  which  equity 
demands.  This  conducts  me  to  a  delicate 
but  necessary  question.  I  will  meet  it 
boldly.  Can  one  to-day  demand  liberty 
for  truth — ^that  is,  for  himself  ("for  every 
one  acting  in  good  faith  thinks  he  has 
the  truth),  and  refuse  it  to  error  (that  ia, 
to  those  who  do  not  think  as  we  do)  ? 

"  I  answer  boldly,  No.  Here  1  feel, 
indeed,  ineedo  per  ignes.  So  I  hasten  to 
add  again  that  I  have  no  pretension  to 
give  more  than  my  individual  opinion. 
I  bow  to  all  the  texts,  all  the  canons 
which  may  bo  cited.    I  will  not  contest 


Fatskb  Htaointhe  and  hib  Chttbch. 


99 


>ii83  any  of  tbem.  Bat  I  oannot 
a  under  foot  to-day  the  conyiction 
roles  in  my  beart  and  conscienoe. 
ire,  then,  that  I  experience  an  in- 
e  horror  for  all  those  pnnishments 
olences  visited  upon  humanity, 
the  pretext  of  serving  or  defending 
i«  The  fires  of  persecntion,  light- 
Jatholio  hands,  shook  me  as  mnch 
scaffold  on  which  Protestants  have 
ited  so  many  martyrs.  The  gag 
month  of  any  one  preaching  his 
^ith  a  pore  heart,  I  feel  as  if  it 
etween  my  own  teeth,  and  I  shud- 
Lh  the  pain  of  it.  The  Spanish 
tion  saying  to  the  heretic,  ^'The 
>r  death,^^  is  as  odious  to  me  as  the 
L  terrorist  saying  to  my  grand- 
"  Liberty,  fraternity,  or  death." 
)  has  the  right  to  sabject  the  ha- 
>nscience  to  snch  hideous  altemar 


}e  were  new  doctrines  to  come 
ny  large  body  of  eminent  and  rep- 
itive  Catholics.      They  were  re- 

as  deliberately  hostile  to  the 
,  and  generally  unfriendly  to  ul- 
Ltane  Catholicism.  These  proceed- 
ad  barely  time  to  get  to  Rome, 
Europe  resounded  with  the  fa- 
Encyclical  Letter  and  Syllabus  of 
7hich  was  a  formal  protest  from 
against  pretty  much  every  thing 
lad  been  accomplished  for  the 
and  political  improvement  of  the 
race  since  the  dark  ages, 
following  paragraph  from  this 
I  document  leaves  no  doubt  that  it 
esigned  as  a  formal  rebuke  of^ 
.  as  reply  to,  the  Congress  of  Ma- 
in are  not  ignorant,  venerable 
rs,  that  there  are  not  wanting  men 
day  who,  applying  to  civil  society 
ipious  and  absura  principle  of 
lism,  as  they  call  it,  aare  to  teach 
the  perfection  of  government  and 
rogress  require  that  human  society 
istltuted  and  governed    without 

any  more  account  of  religion 
'  it  did  not  exist»  or  at  least  with- 
tingaishing  between  the  true  and 
Ise.'  Besides,  contrary  to  the 
le  of  the  Scriptures,  of  the  Church 
3  holy  fathers,  they  do  not  fear  to 
that  ^  the  best  government  is  that 
recognizes  no  objection  in  itself 
ess,  by  legal  penalties, the  violators 
Catholic  fciito,  except  when  neces- 


sary to  maintain  social  order.'  Parting 
from  this  absolutely  false  idea  of  sooial 
government,  they  do  not  hesitate  to 
favor  this  erroneous  opinion,  fatal  to  the 
Catholic  Church  and  to  the  safety  of 
souls,  characterized  by  our  predecessor 
of  happy  memory,  Gregory  XVI.,  as  a 
delirium,  *  that  the  freedom  of  conscience 
and  of  religious  worship  is  the  proper 
right  of  every  man,  which  ought  to  be 
proclaimed  by  law,  and  secured  in  every 
well-oonstituted  State,  and  that  citizens 
have  a  right  to  the  fullest  freedom  in  ex- 
pressing their  opinions,  whatever  they 
may  be,  by  printing  or  otherwise,  with- 
out any  limitation  from  civil  or  ecclesi- 
astical authority.'  Now,  in  sustaining 
these  rash  afiirmations,  they  do  not  think 
nor  consider  that  they  preach  the  freedom 
of  perdition,  and  that  if  it  be  permitted 
to  numan  opinions  to  contest  every  thing, 
men  will  not  be  wanting  who  will  dare 
resist  the  truth,  and  place  their  confidence 
in  the  verbiage  of  human  wisdom,  a  per- 
nicious v^ity  which  faith  and  Christian 
wisdom  ought  to  carefully  avoid,  accord- 
ing, to  the  teaching  of  our  Lord." 

Attached  to  the  Encyclical  Letter  was 
a  Syllabus,  or  list  of  popular  errors  upon 
which  the  Pope  wished  specially  to  place 
the  seal  of  his  condemnation.  We  will 
quote  a  few  of  these  proscribed  errors ; 
a  few  will  suffice,  for  from  them  the  rest 
may  be  inferred — as  with  a  telescope,  all 
objects  may  be  seen  within  its  range  by 
simply  changing  its  direction. 

"Every  man  is  free  to  embrace  and 
profess  the  religion  which  he  shall  re- 
gard as  true,  according  to  the  light  of  his 
own  reason." 

The  reader  will  please  not  forget  that 
the  propositions  we  are  citing  are  con- 
demned, not  approved,  by  the  Syllabus. 

"  The  Church  has  no  power  to  employ 
force. 

**  The  Cliarch  should  bo  separated  from 
the  State,  and  the  State  from  the  Church. 

"  In  our  time  it  is  not  useful  that  the 
Catholic  religion  be  considered  the  only 
religion  of  the  State,  to  the  exclusion  of 
other  modes  of  religious  worship. 

**  In  some  Catholic  countries,  the  law 
has  wisely  provided  that  foreigners  com- 
ing there  to  settle  should  enjoy  the  pub- 
lic exercise  of  their  religion. 

''  It  is  false  that  the  freedom  of  all 
religious  worship  propagates  the  pesti- 
lence of  indifibrence. 

**  The  Roman  Pontiff  can  and  should 
put  himself  in  harmony  with  progress, 


100 


PUTNAM^B  MaGAZINB. 


[Jao., 


with  liberalism,  and  with  modern  civil- 
ization.*' 

The  appearance  of  this  extraordinary 
proclamation  from  Rome  was,  of  course, 
hailed  with  jubilant  enthusiasm  by  the 
Jesuits  and  the  Ultramontanists.  "It 
was  tbeir  hour  and  the  power  of  dark- 
ness." The  Pope  had  come  to  the  sup- 
port of  their  favorite  doctrines  with  the 
consecrated  weapon  of  his  Infallibility, 
and  the  apologists  of  Passive  Obedience 
and  of  the  Inquisition  were  proclaimed 
to  have  most  correctly  divined  the  pol- 
icy of  the  Church. 

It  was  in  the  heat  of  this  contest  be- 
tween the  liberal  Catholics  of  France 
and  the  Ultramontanists,  that  Father 
Hyacinthe  vindicated  the  Revolution  of 
1789,  and  was  invited  to  preach  the 
Conferences  of  Advent  at  Notre-Dame. 

We  have  already  spoken  of  the  efforts 
made  at  this  time  to  bring  his  teachings 
onder  discipline  at  Rome. 

To  disarm  his  adversaries,  or  to  neu- 
tralize their  influence,  he  was  sent  for  by 
the  General  of  his  order  to  come  to 
Rome  in  1865,  under  the  pretext  of  as- 
sisting at  the  beatification  fStcs  of  a 
Carmelite  Nun  of  the  name  of  Marie 
des  Anges.  lie  was  then  for  the  first 
time  presented  to  the  Pope,  by  whom  he 
was  received  with  the  greatest  kindness, 
and  so  far  from  being  censured  or  even 
questioned,  was  treated  with  special  con- 
sideration. 

Meantime  the  war  went  on,  modified 
more  or  less  by  the  various  exigencies 
of  the  Papacy  on  the  one  hand,  and  of  the 
liberal  Catholics  on  the  other,  until  1868, 
when  Father  Hyacinthe  was  again  sent 
for  to  come  to  Rome,  ostensibly  to  preach 
the  Conferences  for  Lent  in  the  church 
of  St.  Louis  of  France,  but  really  to 
counteract  by  his  presence,  if  possible, 
the  prejudices  which  tlio  Ultramontanbts 
were  still  sedulously  propagating  against 
him.  His  subject  for  these  conferences 
was  "  The  Church,"  which  he  treated  in 
a  most  comprehensive  and  liberal  spirit, 
and  with  scant  respect  for  mere  sectarian 
distinctions.  He  sought  to  trace  the 
plan  of  a  universal  church  wliich  should 
conciliate  God^s  children  in  all  Christian 
cotnin unions,  while  he  specially  denounc- 


ed the  Pharisaism  which  in  our  Lord's 
time  was  constantly  seeking  to  entnq> 
Him  in  his  words,  as  it  is  now  seeking  to 
entrap  His  disciples. 

His  success  was  something  marvel- 
lous ;  it  was  almost,  if  not  quite,  unpre- 
cedented. He  was  received  on  this 
visit,  also,  in  the  kindest  manner  by  the 
Pope,  who  testified  his  pontifical  affabil- 
ity by  a  most  gracious  pun  upon  his 
name.  He  called  him  "  Jlyacinth^jfleur 
etpierre  predevse^ 

Father  Hyacinthe  left  Rome  again, 
triumphing,  it  may  be,  over  his  enemies, 
but  with  impressions  of  the  Holy  City 
and  government  painfully  unsettled. 
Like  Luther  when  ho  returned  from  his 
first  visit  to  Rome,  he  felt  as  if  he  were 
awakening  from  a  painful  dream.  He 
had  not  found  the  dignitaries  there  as- 
sembled to  receive  the  oracles  of  God,  as 
exempt  from  human  infirmities  as  he 
had  been  educated  to  believe  them.  He 
encountered  ignorance  often  where  he 
looked  for  wisdom,  intolerance  where  he 
expected  charity  and  brotherly  love; 
double-dealing,  selfishness,  and  worldly- 
mindedness  where  ingenuousness  and 
devotion  to  the  Church,  to  humanity,  and 
to  God  were  promised.  With  all  his 
success,  he  loft  Rome  more  troubled  in 
mind  than  when,  almost  in  the  character 
of  a  criminal,  and  uncertain  of  the  re- 
ception that  awaited  him,  he  set  out  for 
the  Eternal  City.  Suspicions  had  been 
planted  there  which  reacted  upon  many 
of  the  most  pleasing  and  endeared  asso- 
ciations of  his  life. 

In  December  of  1868  he  was  again 
invited  to  preach  the  conferences  at 
Notre-Dame.  He  treated  of  the  same 
subject,  "The  Church,"  which  had  been 
the  theme  of  his  conferences  at  Rome, 
and  from  substantially  the  same  point  of 
view.  His  portrait  of  what  he  regarded 
as  the  true  idea  of  a  Universal  Christian 
Church,  contrasted  so  broadly  with  the 
Church  of  the  Encycliquo  and  the  Syl- 
labus of  1864,  that  it  greatly  increased 
the  irritation  of  the  Ultramontanists, 
which  was  aggravated  to  exasperation 
by  the  closing  discourse  on  Pharisaism, 
the  aim  of  which  could  not  be  mii-taken. 
The  Archbishop  of  Paris  listened  also 


Fatheb  BrjLcnmnL  Aim  ms  Ohtbch. 


101 


3  discourse,  and  at  its  closo  made 
lie  acknowledgment  to  tbe  orator. 
)  following  extract  from  a  despatch 
rdinal  Bernis,  when  French  Minis- 
Rome,  addressed  to  the  Minister 
reign  Aftairs,  in  1779,  is  calculated 
ve  the  impression  that  Pharisaism, 
e  eyes  of  French  Catholics,  is  a 
ic  vice  with  the  Ultramontanists, 
hat  that  phrase  in  the  mouth  of 
r  Ujacinthe  had  a  traditional  sig- 
ice,  which  is  almost  necessary  to 
nt  for  the  bitterness  which,  in  this 
ice,  it  will  be  found  to  have  engcn- 
• 

hey  think,  at  Rome,"  he  writes, 
.  the  Catholic  Courts  do  but  their 
when  they  favor  the  Court  of 
t,  and  that  they  fail  of  their  duty 

they  do  not  blindly  every  thing  it 
ads  to  have  the  right  to  decide, 
labit  of  seeing  these  things  does  not 
nt  my  being  often  revolted  by  it. 
9  not  to  reproach  myself  with  not 
g  expostulated  upon  the  subject  on 
than  one  ocoasion,  hut  the  &cil  is 
(Ale.    I  content  myself,  therefore, 

making  the  best  of  a  country 
3  jPharisaUm,  if  I  may  permit  my- 
0  Hse  such  a  term,  prevails  mere 
an V  where  else." 

lile  descending,  as  it  were,  from  the 
;  of  Notrc-Dame,  on  the  occasion 
lich  we  have  just  referred,  Father 
in  the  received  a  summons  to  repair 
36  to  Rome  to  explain  a  letter  which 
Bcently  appeared  over  his  signature 
Italian  Review,  and  which  was  re- 
i  to  have  filled  the  heart  of  the 

Father  with  a  degree  of  wrath 
ally  supposed  to  be  unknown  to 
ial  minds.  And  what  offence, 
crime,  could  have  been  committed 
ve  provoked  the  Pope  to  such  a 
Hating,  such  a  degrading  procedure 
st  the  most  popular  preacher  in  the 
ch,  at  the  very  moment  when  the 

aisles  of  Notre-Dame  were  yet 
]g  wiih  his  matchless  eloquence? 
)  will  explain  as  briefly  as  possible, 
e  of  the  Paris  Clubs,  Father  Hya- 
a  had  been  accused  by  a  popular 
r  of  having  invoked  the*  aid  of 
;er-shot  against  atheists  and  frec- 
ers.  Though  nothing  was  farther 
the  thoughts  or  character  of  the 


preacher,  he  thought  it  his  duty  to  re- 
ply to  this  charge,  in  a  letter  which  was 
read  at  the  next  meeting  of  the  Club.  In 
the  course  of  this  letter  he  said  : 

"I  did  not  think  it  was  necessary  to 
separate  my  cause  from  that  of  certain 
Catholics  who,  without  appealing  to  can- 
ister, yet  mourn  the  loss  of  the  Inquisi- 
tion and  the  Dragonnades.  They  have 
taken  eare  to  separate  themselves  from 
me  by  attacks  of  which  I  have  been 
the  target  since  the  beginning  of  my 
ministry,  and  which  assail,  I  admit,  the 
most  deliberate  and  unshakable  convic- 
tions of  my  reason  and  of  my  con« 
science.  * 


»j 


This  letter  was  bitterly  assailed  by  the 
ultramontane  press,  and  provoked  a  sec- 
ond reprimand  from  the  General  of  his 
order.*  It  was  followed  shortly  by  an- 
other, written  privately  to  the  editor  of 
la  Becuta  Universale  of  Genoa,  accom- 
panying a  religious  discourse,  designed 
for  the  columns  of  the  Review.  The 
Bexista  Unitenale  is  a  liberal  Catholic 
periodical,  monthly,  we  believe,  belong- 
ing to  the  same  order,  doctrinally  speak- 
ing, as  the  Correspandant  of  Paris.  It  is 
edited  by  a  personal  friend  of  Father 
Hyaointhe,  the  Marquis  Salvago,  who  is 
also  a  Member  of  the  Chamber  of  Depu- 
ties; and  it  numbers  among  its  con- 
tributors such  men  as  Crosar  Cantn,  the 
historian,  Aud'isio,  a  learned  professor  at 
Rome,  and  other  equally  renowned  and 
equally  unsuspected  Catholics.  The 
Marquis  wrote  for  permission  to  publish 
the  private  note  with  the  discourse. 
Permission  wa?  given.  The  letter  in 
question  had  been  written  just  at  the 
breaking  out  of  the  recent  Spanish  revo- 
lution, and  when  all  the  ultramontane 
press  were  firing  tlie  hearts  of  the  faith- 
ful to  rally  them  to  the  rescue  of  the 
Church,  imperilled  in  the  sacred  person 
of  the  most  Catholic  Queen  Isabella.  In 
this  note  he  said : 

"The  old  political  organization  of 
Catholicism  in  Europe  is  tumbling  over 
on  all  sides  in  blood,  or,  what  is  worse, 
into  the  mire,  and  it  is  to  these  crum- 


*  Allnsion  to  this  1b  made  by  the  General  in  bU 
letter  of  September  28,  threatening  Father  Hya- 
cintho  with  ezeommiinlcatlon  in  case  he  did  not 
rotom  to  his  ooovent  within  ten  days. 


102 


PUTXAM^S  MaOAZINS. 


[Jan^ 


bling  and  shamoful  fragments  that  they 
would  bind  the  futare  of  the  Church.** 

lU  disposed  persons  persuaded  the 
Pope  that  this  was  an  allusion  to  the 
decliuing  fortunes  of  his  temporal  power, 
and  Monsignor  Nardi,  UJitore  di  Eota^ 
had  given  the  letter  that  interpretation, 
in  a  communication  to  the  Ossefcatore 
Cattolico  of  Milan. 

His  Holiness  accepted  the  interpreta- 
tion without  hesitation  or  inquiry.  "  He 
says  we  are  fallen  into  the  mire,  *  nella 
fangd,^ "  cried  out  the  Pope,  to  one  of 
his  court.  He  was  excessively  irritated, 
and  directed  orders  to  be  sent  at  once 
through  the  State  Department  to  Father 
Hyacinthe,  to  explain  his  letter  in  the 
next  number  of  the  Recuia,  "  The  soul 
of  the  Holy  Father,"  they  wrote  to  him 
from  Rome,  "  is  filled  with  bitterness." 

Father  Hyacinthe  had  no  diflScnlty  in 
washing  his  hands  of  whatever  was  offen- 
sive in  the  letter  which  had  so  disturbed 
the  peace  of  his  ecclesiastical  sovereign, 
and  showed,  in  a  brief  communication  to 
the  JSevUta,  that  his  previous  note  had 
no  reference  whatever  to  the  temporal 
power  of  the  Pope.  But  while  vindicat- 
ing himself  from  this  gratuitous  accusa- 
tion, he  took  occasion  to  remind  the 
Pope  of  his  fallibility  in  a  way  to  leave 
a  far  more  grievous  wound  than  the  im- 
aginary attack  upon  his  temporal  author- 
ity had  occasioned.  He  said  that  Aus- 
tria Concorditaire  had  fallen  in  blood 
at  Sadowa,  and  that  absolutist  and  in- 
tolerant Spain  had  fallen  into  the  mire 
with  the  government  of  Isabella  IL; 
that  to  bind  the  interests  of  the  Church 
to  any  of  these  expiring  regimes  was  to 
bind  them  to  impotent  and  dishonored 
ruins.  He  then  dwelt  upon  the  liberal 
and  reforming  spirit  of  the  first  years  of 
Pius  IX.,  and  cited  the  following  striking 
passage  from  the  letter  of  the  Pope 
himself  in  1848  to  the  Emperor  of  Aus. 
tria,  to  persuade  him  to  yield  to  the 
Italian  aspirations  for  national  unity. 

"Let  it  not  bo  disagreeable  to  the 
generous  German  nation  that  wo  invite 
it  to  lay  aside  nil  hatred,  and  to  convert 
into  useful  relations  of  friendly  nci^rhbor- 
huod  a  domination  which  would  be 
neither  noble  nor  prosperous  if  it  rested 
solely  i![K>ri  the  sword. 


**  So  have  we  confidence  that  the  nft- 
tion  justly  proud  of  its  own  nationality 
will  not  commit  its  honor  to  bloody  at- 
tempts against  the  Italian  nation,  but 
will  rather  make  it  a  point  to  recogniza 
her  nobly  for  a  sister, — since  both  are 
daughters  very  near  to  our  heart, — each 
content  to  dwell  within  her  natural  fron- 
tiers with  honorable  treaties,  and  the 
Lord's  blessing." 

This  letter  committed  the  unpardon- 
able fault  of  reproducing  an  epoch  and 
acts  which  the  Holy  Father  wished  con- 
signed to  oblivion.  It  irritated  him  be- 
yond measure.  "VMien,  soon  after  this 
letter  appeared,  the  General  of  the  Car- 
melites at  Rome  asked  the  Papsd  blessing 
for  his  order,  the  Pope  is  said  to  have 
replied,/*  Yes,  for  all  your  order,  but  not 
for  Father  Hyacinthe." 

It  was  in  this  frame  of  mind  that  the 
letter  was  conceived  which  summoned 
Father  Hyacinthe  to  Rome  in  January, 
18G9. 

Father  Hyacinthe  did  not  choose  to 
comply  with  this  summons  at  once.  He 
assigned  as  reasons  for  deferring  his  visit, 
that  he  was  fatigued  with  the  conferen- 
ces which  he  had  just  concluded,  that  his 
health  had  suffered  from  the  rigors  and 
privations  of  conventual  life,*  that  he 
had  certain  engagements  in  France  to 
fulfil,  that  the  season  was  unfavorable  to 
traTelling,  etc.  "With  one  or  another  of 
these  reasons  ho  excused  himself  from 
going  to  Rome,  though  repeatedly  urged 
to  come,  and  even  threatened,  if  he 
longer  delayed,  with  expulsion  from 
his  order,  and  prohibition  from  preach- 
ing or  saying  the  mass.  Imdependent 
of  the  reasons  he  assigned  for  this  de- 
lay, there  were  others  which  it  requires 
no  very  lively  imagination  to  suppose 
were  operating  upon  his  mind.  He  was 
doubtless  unwilling  to  reveal  to  the  pub- 
lic the  full  force  of  the  indignity  put 
upon  him  by  the  Papal  sninmons,  as  he 
would  have  done  by  obeying  it  promptly. 
The  eflTect  would  have  been  in  every  way 
as  prejudicial  to  the  Church  as  to  him- 
self.   It  might  be,  too,  that  the  insensi- 

•  no  dl«l  not  ta-to  mont  fiT  the  ten  yean  ho 
was  attached  to  the  Convent,  except  when  dl*- 
charglnsr  duties  outride.  Tl.ca  he  had  t)ie  priri* 
lego  of  Ilvlnj  ft?  othcri  live. 


Fathsb  HTAcnrmx  asd  his  Chxjboh. 


108 


3xhibit6d  by  the  Pope  for  his  feel- 
od  position  in  the  Oharch,  might 
.  to  his  person,  for  in  Itome  pris- 
id  graves  as  well  as  the  chnrohes 
at  the  behest  of  his  Holiness, 
be  coarse  of  his  journey  to  Rome, 
'  Hyacinthe  passed  through  Flor- 
Tbere  he  saw  some  of  the  Italian 
es,  and  especially  M.  Massari,  the 
and  posthumous  editor  of  Gio- 
He  also  attended  the  session  of 
hamber,  always,  of  course,  in  his 
3h  dress,  when  tbe  new  Menabrea 
ry  was  installed.  A  Carmelite 
fellowshiping  with  Italian  lib- 
at  Florence  was  not  an  event 
cape  notice  or  animadversion. 
IS  rated  for  it  very  severely  by 
%  Cattolica  and  other  ultramon- 
rgans.  He  reached  Rome  at  the 
5f  Pentecost,  and  on  the  very  day 
ihe  papers  arrived  announcing 
moancing  his  visit  to  the  Italian 
)cr  of  Deputies.  Though  sensible 
s  visit  to  Florence  was  not  likely 
ease  tbe  cordiality  of  his  reception 
Vatican,  he  lost  no  time  in  apply- 
r  an  audience.  It  was  granted 
it  delay,  which,  for  a  person  under 
ne,  was  unusual.  This  was  his 
irprise.  On  entering  the  papal 
30,  his  countenance  wore  a  respect- 
sad  expression,  as  became  a  man 
id  been  treated  with  injustice  and 
mscious  of  the.  rectitude  of  his 
3.  The  Pope  extended  his  hand 
As  the  Apostle  refused  to  profit 
I  open  doors  to  escape  from  the 
to  which  he  had  been  unjustly 
fined,  60  the  Father  declined  the 
ed  hand  until  he  had  kneeled 
issed  the  foot  of  the  Pope, 
he  usual  custom  of  the  faithful, 
m  rose,  and  with  his  hands  folded 
h  his  scapulary,  stood  silent. 
i  moment^s  stillness  on  both  sides, 
>pe  asked  why  he  had  come  to 
Father  Hyacinthe  made  no  re- 
*  he  knew  that  his  questioner  had 
*e  need  than  he  of  the  information, 
ope  resumed,  "  I  told  your  Gen- 
at  I  wished  to  speak  with  you, 
u  were  occupied  and  unable  to 


Father  H,  "  Very  Holy  Father,  I  was 
not  only  occupied,  but  suffering  in 
health." 

The  Pope,  "  You  have  written  some 
things  lacking  prudence  and  good  sense, 
but  I  forget  now  what  they  are." 

Father  H.  "  Very  Holy  Father,  it  is 
very  possible  that  I  have  written  things 
wanting  in  prudence  and  good  sense,  but 
if  I  have,  it  has  not  been  my  intention 
to  do  so." 

The  Pope.  "  It  was  in  an  Italian  jour- 
nal ;  one  of  those  journals  which  are 
striving  to  reconcile  Jesus  Christ  with 
Belial." 

Father  E,  "  I  have  never  written  but 
for  one  Italian  Review,  La  Retista  Uni- 
9er$ale,  of  Genoa,  but  it  is  my  duty  to 
say  to  your  Holiness,  in  reference  to 
my  Tetters  in  that  print,  that  my  ene- 
mies have  attributed  to  me  not  only  the 
opposite  of  my  thoughts,  but  the  oppo- 
site of  my  language.  Monseignor  Nardi 
has  calumniated  me." 

The  last  words  were  repeated  in  Ital- 
ian and  emphasized  with  respectful  firm- 
ness. The  Pope  resumed  with  afiability, 
"Then  why  did  you  not  set  yourself 
right  in  the  same  Review?  " 

Father  E.  "  I  did  so,  and  in  the  same 
Review." 

The  Pope,  "  Ah  I  yes,  but  you  have 
reproduced  a  letter  of  the  Popo  to  the 
Emperor  of  Austria.  That  was  ill- 
timed." 

Father  E.  ''Very  Holy  Father,  I 
believed  I  was  doing  honor  to  your 
Holiness.  It  is  often  affirmed  that  the 
Pope  is  the  enemy  of  Italy.  I  have  w  ished 
to  show  by  his  own  words  that  while  he 
condemns  its  faults,  he  loves  the  nation.** 

His  Holiness  was  not  insensible  to  tbe 
compliment  latent  in  this  reply,  and 
appeared  perfectly  satisfied  with  the 
Futher^s  explanation.  lie  detained  him 
in  conversation  for  a  full  half-hour 
longer,  and  with  a  degree  of  aff*ability 
and  freedom  which  Father  H.  had  never 
experienced  at  any  previous  interview. 
They  talked  of  the  religious  and  political 
situation,  of  the  approaching  Council, 
of  the  temporal  power,  and  especially 
of  the  Emperor  and  of  the  Archbishop 
of  Paris,  both  of  whom,  though  in  dif- 


104 


PoTirA.H*8  Maoazixe. 


[Jaou, 


feront  ways,  haro  contrived  to  give  the 
Holy  Father  not  a  little  concern  of  miod. 

The  Pope  gave  Father  Ilyacinthe  some 
pradential  connsel  in  the  most  general 
terms,  and  having  special  reference  to  the 
gravity  of  the  sitaation  of  the  Church,  bnt 
uttered  not  a  syllable  of  censure  upon 
his  ])reachiDg  or  conduct.  He  did  not 
ask  him  to  withdraw  a  word  he  had 
spoken,  or  to  undo  any  thing  he  had 
done,  nor  did  he  impose  upon  him  aiiy 
Art  of  prohibition  whatsoever. 

While  speaking  of  the  temporal  pow- 
er, his  Holiness  observed  that  he  only 
insisted  upon  it  as  a  principle  of  justice, 
and  added :  "  Ambition  is  not  a  motive 
with  Popes." 

Father  H.  profited  by  this  remark  to 
bring  back  the  conversation,  become  too 
genera],  to  his  own  affairs,  and  said : 

"  If  the  Holy  Father  will  excuse  my 
referring  to  however  remote  a  resem- 
blance between  us,  I  may  say  also  that 
ambition  is  not  the  motive  which  in- 
spires me.  I  became  priest  and  recluse 
only  to  servo  God  and  his  Church,  and 
to  save  souls ;  now  they  are  trying  to 
destroy  my  usefulness  by  poisoning  the 
ears  of  your  Holiness  and  of  the  Catho- 
lics in  Franco  with  calumnies.  I  have 
for  enemies,  very  Holy  Father,  the 
friends  of  M.  Ycuillot  and  the  enemies 
of  the  Archbishop  of  Paris." 

To  this  the  Pope  oddly  enough  an- 
swered, "If  the  Archbishop  finds  his 
position  so  delicate,  and  thinks  it  neces- 
sary to  show  so  much  caution  in  his  re- 
lations with  the  Government,  why  do 
you  not  take  counsel  from  some  of  the 
other  bishops  of  France  ? " 

The  Father  made  no  reply :  there  was 
but  one  thing  to  s.iy,  but  that  was  un- 
necessary and  would  have  been  disre- 
spectful :  "  Why  did  you  name  him  Arch- 
bishop of  Paris  ? " 

The  Pope  then  bUs«ed  the  Father  very 
affectionately,  saying,  "  I  bless  you,  dear 
Hyacinthe,  that  you  may  never  say  what 
they  accuse  you  of  having  said,  and 
which  yon  affirm  that  you  never  sold." 

Thus  terminated  the  Father's  third 
and  last  visit  to  the  great  Catholic 
metropolis.  Each  time  he  had  gone 
there  as  an  offender  under  discipline,  and 


each  time  he  left  without  a  \i*ordof 
censure  for  the  past  or  of  instruction  for 
the  future.  The  cordiality  and  homage 
which  awaited  him  from  the  court  when 
the  character  of  his  reception  had  trans- 
pired, was  proportioned  to  the  coldneas 
and  reserve  with  which  ho  had  been 
received  on  his  arrival.  He  was  con- 
gratulated upon  the  great  victory  he  had 
achieved,  and  the  triumph  that  awaited 
him.  Ambitious  prelates  flocked  around 
him  to  testify  their  gratification  with  his 
success,  and  for  the  moment  he  was  the 
lion  of  Rome.  He  did  not,  however, 
tarry  long  to  enjoy  his  victory — ^for  to 
him  it  was  no  victory.  It  was  an  ela- 
borate outrage.  He  was  summoned  to 
Rome  in  a  way  which  only  the  graveit 
offence  could  justify ;  his  usefulness  in 
the  Church  and  his  standing  with  the 
world  were  gravely  compromised.  He 
reached  Rome  imdcr  the  condemnation 
of  his  brethren,  and  though  confident  in 
his  innocence,  he  naturally  expected  a 
serious  investigation  of  charges  plausible 
as  well  as  serious  in  their  character.  He 
waits  upon  the  Pope,  who  has  or  pre- 
tends to  have  forgotten  what  he  came  for ; 
who  accepts  unhesitatingly  an  explana- 
tion of  the  offending  letter,  which  a 
simple  perusal  would  have  rendered  su- 
perfluous ;  he  utters  no  word  of  rebuke ; 
he  asks  him  to  retract  nothing  he  has  ever 
written  or  said ;  he  prescribes  no  restric- 
tion upon  his  future  conduct,  and  closes 
with  a  peculiarly  disingenuous  effort  to 
sow  dissension  between  him  and  his 
Archbishop. 

Father  llyacintlie  set  out  for  home, 
scarcely  conscious  himself,  probably,  of 
the  change  which  the  third  visit  to 
Rome  had  wrought  in  him.  He  had 
begun  to  learn  with  how  little  wisdom 
his  Church  was  governed,  and  to  ask 
himself  if  this  is  the  sort  of  men  whom 
it  is  proposed  by  a  Universal  Council  to 
proclaim  infallible  ?  Is  this  the  sort  of 
statesmen  who50  temporal  power  and 
sovereignty  are  essential  to  the  indepen- 
dence of  the  Church  and  to  the  prote^ 
tion  of  tlio  holy  Catholic  religion  ? 

A  few  days  after  the  Father's  return 
to  Paris,  M.  Venillot,  in  the  Un  iters,  pro- 
tended to  give  an  account  of  what  had 


Fatheb  Htacinthb  and  his  Cnuncn. 


105 


between  him  and  the  Pope,  pre- 
it,  of  conrae,  in  a  point  of  view 

ing  but  advantageons  to  the 
His  article  provoked  the  folio  w- 

ly  from  Father  Uyacinthe,  bear- 

)  the  Sth  of  Jane  last. 

:  Too  faithful  to  the  practices  of  a 
press  calling  itself  Catholic,  yon 
8  to  divine  wbat  passed  between 
y  Father  and  myself,  on  ground 
neither  delicacy  nor  self-respect 
me  to  follow  yon. 
3  very  true  that  in  consequence  of 
from  a  religions  party  which  I 
ored  in  having  for  adversaries,  I 
3en  summoned  to  Rome  by  the 
ither  •  but  it  is  no  less  true  that  I 
)eiveu  by  him  with  a  goodness 
ler  paternal,  and  that  I  have  not 
quired  to  retract  a  single  word 
,  I  have  either  written  or  spoken, 
s  reply  once  made,  whotever  in- 
>ns  my  public  speech  or  private 
,  may  expose  me  to  in  future,  you 
rmit  me  to  consult  as  well  my 
8  my    dignity    by    maintaining 

jeive,  sir,  the  assurance  of  such 
nts  as  I  owe  yon,  in  the  charity 
x)rd  Jesus  Christ." 

r  days  after  this  note  appeared 
;,  the  following  note  appeared  in 
n  of  a  communication  in  V  Osser- 
Bomano,  an  "oflScions"  print 
>d  in  Home. 

IB  premise  that  the  Convent  of 
leather  Hyacinthe  was  Superior  is 
at  Passy,  formerly  a  suburb  but 
tart  of  the  city  of  Paris,  and  also 
of  a  renowned  asylum  for  the 

m  Passy,  a  place  near  Pai-ia,  re- 
for  its  hospitals,  and  where 
diseases  are  healed  with  success, 
h  barefooted  Carmelite  writes  to 
lie  journal,  a  letter  the  contents 
h  are  not  entirely  in  conformity 
e  truth." 

offensive  paragraph  was  attri- 
7  the  Pope  himself^  both  in  the 
f  the  Uniten^  and  at  the  papal 
.  at  Paris,  and  was  the  theme  of 
phant  article  in  the  ultramontane 

The  editor  did  not  soruple  to 
)  it  the  words  of  St  Augustin : 

loeuta  est,    eav$a  finita    eaty 
LOS  spoken ;  the  cose  is  finished. 
h  v.— 8 


On  the  10th  of  July,  Father  Hyacinthe 
was  invited  to  address  the  Peace  Society 
of  Paris,  and  accepted  the  invitation. 
In  his  discourse  were  two  paragraphs 
conceived  in  that  large  and  comprehen- 
sive Christian  charity  which  had  already 
so  often  provoked  the  secret  or  open 
censures  of  the  Jesuits  and  ultramontane 
Catholics. 

"For  my  part,"  he  said,  "I  bring 
to  the  Peace  movement  the  gospel;  not 
that  gospel  dreamed  of  by  sectaries  of 
every  age— as  narrow  as  their  own  hearts 
and  minds — ^but  my  own  gospel,  received 
by  me  from  the  Church  ana  from  Jesus 
Christ ;  a  gospel  which  claims  authority 
over  every  thmg  and  excludes  nothing — 
[wTwa^ion]— which  reiterates  and  fulfils 
the  word  of  the  Master,  ^  he  that  is  not 
against  us  is  fbr  us,'  and  which,  instead 
of  rejecting  the  hand  stretched  out  to  it, 
marches  forward  to  the  van  of  all  just 
ideas  and  all  honest  souls."  \^Applaugc.] 

Farther  on,  he  made  the  concession 
which  brought  upon  him  the  formal 
censure  of  his  General,  and  may  there- 
fore be  regarded  as  the  proximate  cause 
of  his  quitting  his  Convent.     He  said : 

"  To  banish  war,  to  say  to  it  what  the 
Lord  says  to  death — *  O  death,  I  will  bo 
thy  death  ' — we  must  make  exterminat- 
ing war  on  sin — sin  of  society  as  well  as 
of  the  individual — sin  of  peoples  as 
well  as  of  kings.  We  must  record  and 
expound  to  the  world,  which  does  not 
understand  them  as  yet,  those  two  great 
books  of  public  and  private  morality, 
the  book  of  the  synagogue,  written  by 
Moses  with  the  fires  of  Sinai,  and  trans- 
mitted by  the  prophets  to  the  Christian 
Church ;  and  our  own  book,  the  book 
of  grace,  which  upholds  and  fulfils  the 
law,  the  gospel  of  the  Son  of  God.  The 
decalogue  of  Moses,  and  tho  gospel  of 
Jesus  Ojiristl— the  decalo-roe,  whi^ 
speaks  of  righteousness,  while  show- 
ing at  the  height  of  righteoasness  the 
fruit  of  charity;  tho  gospel,  which 
speaks  of  charity,  while  showing  in  the 
roots  of  charity  the  sap  of  righteousness. 
This  is  what  wo  need  to  affirm  by  word 
and  by  example,  what  we  need  to  glorify 
before  peoples  and  kings  alike  I  [Pro- 
longed applause,] 

**  Thank  you  for  this  applause  f  It 
comes  from  your  hearts,  and  it  is  intend- 
ed for  these  divine  books  I  In  the  name 
of  these  two  books,  I  accept  it.  I  accept 
it  also  in  the  name  of  those  sincere  men 


106 


Putnam's  Maqazinb. 


[Jan, 


who  group  themselves  about  these  books, 
in  Europe  and  America.  It  is  a  most 
palpable  fact  that  there  is  no  room  in  the 
daylight  of  the  civilized  world  except  for 
these  three  religious  communions,  Ca- 
tholicism, Protestantism,  and  Judaism  1 " 
[Renewed  applause,] 

The  concession  of  tbe  privileges  of 
salvation  and  grace  to  the  Jews,  not  to 
speak  of  Protestants,  was  the  cottp  de 
grdce  to  ultramontane  forbearance. 

The  phrase  in  reference  to  the  three 
religions,  which  was  vehemently  ap- 
plauded, was  immediately  perverted  by 
the  Univers,  and  made  the  pretext  for 
violent  and  prolonged  attacks.  They 
represented  the  preacher  as  saying  that 
there  were  three  religions  equally  accept- 
able in  the  sight  of  God,  or  at  least  three 
religions  equally  entitled  to  be  taught  to 
men ;  whereas,  he  had  simply  announced 
the  fact,  so  honorable  to  the  Bible,  that 
the  three  religious  societies  which  recog- 
nized its  authority,  the  Jewish,  the  Ca- 
tholic, and  the  Protestant,  are  the  only 
ones  upon  which  the  sun  of  civilization 
shinef^. 

This  discourse  produced  a  profound 
sensation  at  Rome,  and  brought  prompt- 
ly from  tlie  General  of  his  order  the  fol- 
lowing letter  dated  July  22,1809,  not  only 
reflecling  upon  the  tendency  of  his  past 
teachings,  but  strictly  prohibiting  him 
from  meddling  with  any  of  the  questions 
agitated  among  Catholics : 

THE  SrrERIOIt-GEN'EKAL  TO   THE   MONK. 

"Rome,  July  22,  18G9. 
"  My  vep.t  Rev.  Father  IIyacintiie  : 
I  have  received  your  letter  of  the  9th 
inst.,  and  in  a  short  time  after  the  speech 
which  you  delivered  at  the  Peace  League. 
I  have  not,  happily,  found  in  that  speech 
the  heterodox  phrase  attributed  to  you. 
It  must  be  said,  however,  that  it  contains 
some  vague  propositions,  admitting  of 
unfortunate  interpretations,  and  that 
such  a  speech  does  not  come  well  from  a 
monk.  The  habit  of  the  Carmelite  was 
certainly  there  no  longer  in  its  place. 
My  reverend  father  and  dear  friend,  you 
know  the  great  interest  I  have  always 
taken  in  you.  From  the  commencement 
of  your  sermons  at  Xotre-Dame  de  Paris, 
I  have  earnestly  exhorted  you  not  to 
identify  yourself  with  questions  in  dis- 
pute among  Catholics  and  on  which  all 
were  not   agreed;    because,  from    the 


moment  you  attach  yourself  osteoBiUy 
to  one  side,  your  ministry  became  mora 
or  less  unfruittul  with  tbe  other.  Kow, 
it  is  patent  that  you  have  made  no  ac- 
count of  the  intimation  of  your  father 
and  superior,  as  last  year  you  wrote  a 
letter  to  a  Club  in  Paris,  in  which  yoa 
freely  disclosed  your  opinions  in  favor 
of  a  party,  having  little  wisdom,  and  in 
opposition  with  the  sentiments  of  the 
Holy  Father,  the  episcopacy,  and  tbe 
clergy  in  general.  I  was  alarmed,  as 
were  also  the  French  clergy.  I  wrote 
to  you  immediately,  to  enable  yon  to  aee 
the  false  path  you  had  entered  on,  in 
order  to  stop  you.  But  in  vain,  for 
some  months  after  you  authorized  fiom 
yourself  a  periodical  review  in  Genoa  to 
publish  another  letter,  that  has  been  the 
cause  of  so  much  vexation  to  yoa  and 
me.  Lastly,  during  your  last  sojourn  at 
Rome  I  made  you  serious  observations 
and  even  rather  strong  reproaches  on 
the  false  position  you  were  placed  in,  on 
account  of  your  imprudence;  but  yoo 
had  scarcely  arrived  at  Paris  when  you 
published,  under  your  own  signatm^  t 
letter  dei>lor^d  by  all,  even  by  your 
friends. 

"Lately  yon r  presence  and  speech  at 
the  Peace  League  have  caused  as  great 
scandal  in  Catholic  Europe  as  happened 
about  six  years  ago  on  the  occasion  of 
your  speech  at  a  meeting  in  Paria  Yon 
have,  beyond  doubt,  given  some  reason 
for  such  recriminations  by  some  bold,  ob- 
scure, and  imprudent  phrases. 

"  I  have  done  all  thati  could  up  to  the 
present  to  defend  and  save  you.  To-day 
I  must  think  of  the  interests  and  honor 
of  our  holy  order,  which,  unknown  to 
yourself,  you  compromise.  " 

"  You  write  mo  from  Paris,  November 
19,1808:  *I  avoid  mixing  the  Paris 
Convent  and  the  Order  of  Mount  Carmel 
with  these  matters.'  Let  me  say  to  yon, 
my  dear  father,  that  this  is  an  illusion. 
You  are  a  monk,  and  bound  to  your  supe- 
riors by  solemn  vows.  We  have  to  an- 
swer for  you  before  God  and  man,  and 
consequently  have  to  take  the  same 
measures  in  your  regard  as  in  that  of 
other  monks,  when  your  conduct  is  pre- 
judicial to  your  soul  and  our  Order. 

'*  Already,  in  France,  Belgium,  and 
oven  here,  some  of  the  bishops,  clergy, 
and  faithful  are  blaming  the  superiors 
of  our  Order  for  not  taking  certain  meas- 
ures in  your  regard,  and  it  is  concluded 
that  there  is  no  authority  in  our  congre- 
gation, or  that  it  shares  in  your  opinions 
and  course  of  action.  I  do  not  certainly 
regret  the  course  I  have  followed,  up  to 


Father  HTACiNTnE  and  his  CnuBOH. 


107 


sent,  in  regard  to  you ;  but  niat- 
)  arrived  at  such  a  point  that  I 
compromise  my  conscience  and 
re  Order  if  I  do  not  take  more 
»ns  measures  in  tliis  matter  tbnn 

done  in  the   past.      Oon>ider, 

•e,  dear  and  reverend  father,  that 

)  a  monk,  that  you  have  made 

vows,  and  that  by  the  vow  of 

ce  you  are  bound  to  your  snpe- 

a  lien  as  strong  as  that  which 
le  ordinary  priest  to  hi-j  bishop, 
herefore,  no  longer  tolerate  your 
ing  to  compromise  the  entire 
jy  your  speeches  or  writings,  no 
lan  I  can  tolerate  our  holy  habit 
ng  at  meetings  that  are  not  in 
y  with  our  profession  as  liare- 
Carmelites.     Therefore,  in    the 

of  your  soul  and  of  our  holy 
[  order  you  formally  by  this  pres- 
,  in  the  future  to  print  any  letters 
lb ;  to  speak  outside  the  churches ; 
resent  at  the  cliambers ;  to  take 
in  the  Peace  League,  or  any  other 
;  which  has  not  an  exclusively 
0  and  religious  object.  I  hope  you 
y  with  docility  and  even  with  love. 
w  let  me  speak  to  you  with  an 
sart,  as  a  father  to  his  son.  I  see 
ered  on  an  extremely  dangerous 
bich,  despite  your  present  inten- 
nay  conduct  you  where  to-day 
ay  deplore  to  arrive.  Arrest 
f,  then,  my  dear  son ;  hear  the 
(  your  father  and  friend,  who 
bo  yon  with  a  heart  broken  with 
"With  this  view  you  would  do 

retire  to  one  of  the  convents  in 
)vince  of  Avignon,  there  to  re- 
)urself,  and  perform  tbe  retreat 
[  dispensed  you  from  last  year  on 
)  of  your  duties.  Meditate  in 
)  on  the  great  truths  of  religion, 
preach  them,  but  for  the  profit 
:  soul.  Ask  light  from  heaven, 
contrite  and  humble  heart.  Ad- 
rourself  to  the  Holy  Virgin,  to 
Lber  Saint  Joseph,  and  to  our 
0  mother  St.  Theresa.  A  father 
U  address  these  words  to  his  son, 
^h  he  be  a  great  orator.  It  is  a 
rious  question  for  you  and  for  us 
pray  to  the  Saviour  that  He  may 
o  accord  you  his  light  and  grace, 
amend  myself  to  your  prayers, 
e  you  my  benediction,  and  I  am 
jry  humble  servant, 
i.  Dominique  de  Saint  Joseph, 

"  tJuperior-General." 

letter,  in  its  tone  and  purpose, 
>  entirely  at  variance  with  the 


sentiments  of  almost  patcrmil  benev- 
olence tlieretofore  uniformly  manifested 
by  the  General  to  Father  Ilyacinthe,  that 
it  was  obvious  that  ho  was  acting  under 
a  pressure  which  he  could  not  resist. 
Hence  the  curious  inconsistencies  of  it 
as  a  measure  of  discipline.  Though  for- 
bidden to  print  any  letters  or  speeches ; 
to  speak  outside  the  churches;  to  be 
present  at  the  deliberations  of  the  Legis- 
lative Chambers;  or  to  take  part  in  any 
public  meeting  except  for  some  exclu- 
sively Catholic  object,  ho  was  privileged 
to  retain  his  high  rank  in  his  Order ;  to 
hold  on  to  his  position  as  Superior  of 
the  Convent  at  Paris ;  to  remain  one  of 
the  four  Members  of  the  Council  of  the 
Province ;  and  to  continue  to  preach,  as 
usual,  at  Notre-Dame.  Of  those  privi- 
leges, however,  Father  Hyacintbe  did 
not  think  it  his  duty  to  avail  himself. 
The  letter  he  had  received  was,  as  he 
believed,  a  blow  aimed  by  the  Jesuits, 
through  him,  at  the  vitals  of  the  Chris- 
tian Church.  It  proved  to  liira  that  in 
the  present  state  of  the  Catholic  Church, 
and  especially  under  the  rule  of  monastic 
discipline,  the  Evangelical  Word  was 
not  free.  It  gave  him  an  occasion,  by 
which  ho  deemed  it  his  duty  to  profit, 
"  to  protest  as  a  Christian  and  a  priest 
against  those  doctrines  and  practices 
which  call  themselves  Roman  but  are  not 
Christian." 

On  the  20th  of  September  Father 
Hyacintbe  addressed  the  following  re- 
ply to  his  General  at  Rome,  and  on  the 
same  day  he  abandoned  his  Convent  and 
the  garb  of  his  Order,  thereby  protesting, 
by  act  as  well  as  by  speech,  against  the 
abuse  of  ecclesiastical  power,  of  which 
ho  felt  that  he  was  tho  victim. 

To  the  Reverend  the  General  of  the  Order 

of  Barefooted  CarmelitcSy  Borne, 
Very  Revebend  Father: 

During  the  five  years  of  my  ministry 
at  Notre-Dame,  Paris,  notwithstanding 
the  open  attacks  and  secret  misrepre- 
sentations of  which  I  have  been  the  ob- 
ject, your  confidence  and  esteem  have 
never  for  a  moment  failed  me.  I  retain 
numerous  testimonials  of  this,  written 
by  your  own  hand,  and  which  relate  as 
well  to  my  preaching  as  to  myself. 
Whatever  may  occur,  I  shall  keep  this 
in  grateful  remembrance. 


108 


Putnam's  Magazine. 


[Jan^ 


To-day,  however,  by  a  sudden  shift, 
the  cause  of  which  I  do  not  look  for  in 
your  heart,  hut  in  tlie  intrigues  of  a 
party  omnipotent  at  Rome,  you  fiud  fault 
with  what  you  have  encouraged,  blame 
what  you  have  approved,  and  demand 
that  I  shall  make  use  of  such  language, 
or  preserve  such  a  silence,  as  would  no 
longer  be  the  entire  and  loyal  expression 
of  my  conscience. 

I  do  not  hesitate  a  moment.  With 
speech  falsified  by  an  order  from  my 
superior,  or  mutilated  by  enforced 
utterances,  I  could  not  again  enter  the 
pulpit  of  Notre-Daine.  I  express  my 
regrets  for  this  to  the  intelligent  and 
courageous  bishop,  who  placed  me  and 
has  maintained  me  in  it  against  the  ill- 
will  of  the  men  of  whom  I  have  just 
been  speaking.  I  express  my  regrets 
for  it  to  the  imposing  audience  which 
there  surrounded  me  with  its  attention, 
its  sympathies — I  had  almost  said,  with 
its  friendship.  I  should  be  worthy 
neither  of  the  audience,  nor  of  the 
bishop,  nor  of  my  conscience,  nor  of 
God,  if  I  could  consent  to  yltiy  such  a 
part  in  their  presence. 

I  withdraw  at  the  same  time  from  the 
convent  in  which  I  dwell,  and  which,  in 
the  new  circumstances  which  have  be- 
fallen me,  has  become  to  me  a  prison  of 
the  soul.  In  acting  thus  I  am  not  un- 
faithful to  my  vows.  I  have  pnjmised 
monastic  obedience — but  within  the 
limits  of  an  honest  conscience,  and  of 
the  dignity  of  my  perspn  and  ministry. 
I  have  promised  it  under  favor  of  that 
higher  law  of  justice,  the  **  royal  law  of 
liberty,"  which  is,  according  to  the 
apostle  James,  the  proper  law  of  the 
Christian. 

It  was  the  mo?t  untrammelled  enjoy- 
ment ot  this  holy  liberty  that  I  came  to 
seek  in  the  cloister,  now  more  than  ten 
years  ago,  under  the  impulse  of  an 
enthusiasm  pure  from  all  worldly  cal- 
culation— I  dare  not  add,  free  from  all 
youthful  illusion.  If,  in  return  for  my 
sacrifices,  I  to-day  am  offered  chains,  it 
is  not  merely  my  right,  it  is  my  duty,  to 
reject  them. 

This  is  a  solemn  hour.  The  Church 
is  passing  through  one  of  the  most  vio- 
lent crises — one  of  the  darkest  and  most 
decisive — of  its  earthly  existence.  For 
the  first  time  in  throe  hundred  years,  an 
(Ecumenical  Council  is  not  only  snm. 
moned,  but  declared  necessary.  Those 
are  the  expressions  of  the  Holy  Father. 
It  is  not  at  such  a  moment  that  a 
preacher  of  the  Gospel,  were  he  the 
feast  of  all,  can  consent  to  hold  his  peace. 


like  the  "dumb  dogs"  of  Israel- 
treacherous  guardians,  whom  the  prophet 
reproaches  because  they  could  not  bark. 
Canes  muti^  non  valentes  latrare. 

The  saints  are  never  dumb.  I  am  not 
one  of  them,  but  I  nevertheless  know 
that  I  am  come  of  that  stock— JtlU 
sanctorum  sumus — and  it  has  ever  beea 
my  a:nbition  to  place  my  steps,  my  teaia, 
and,  it'  need  were,  my  blood,  in  the  foot- 
prints where  they  have  left  theirs. 

I  lift  up,  then,  before  the  Holy  Father 
and  before  the  Council,  my  protest  as  a 
Christian  and  a  priest  against  those  doc- 
trines and  practices,  which  ofill  them- 
selves Roman,  but  are  not  Christhn, 
and  which,  making  encroachments  ev» 
bolder  and  more  deadly,  tend  to  change 
the  constitution  of  the  Church,  the  sub- 
stance as  well  as  the  form  of  its  teach- 
ing, and  oven  the  spirit  of  its  piety.  I 
protest  against  the  divorce,  not  less  im- 
pious than  mad,  which  men  are  strug- 
gling to  accomplish  between  the  Chnrco, 
which  is  our  mother  for  eternity,  and  the 
society  of  the  nineteenth  century,  whose 
sons  we  are  for  time,  and  toward  which 
wo  have  also  both  duties  and  afifectioDS. 
I  protect  against  that  opposition,  more 
radical  and  frightful  yet,  which  sets  itself 
against  liumnn  nature,  attacked  and 
revolted  by  these  false  teacheif  in  its 
most  indestructible  and  holiest  aspiro- 
tion<i.  I  protest  above  all  against  the 
sacrilegious  perversion  of  the  Gospel  oi 
the  Son  of  God  himself,  the  spirit  and 
the  letter  of  which,  alike,  are  trodden 
under  foot  by  the  Pliarisaism  of  the  new 
law. 

It  is  my  most  profound  conviction, 
that  if  France  in  particular,  and  the 
Latin  races  in  general,  are  delivered 
over  to  anarchy,  social,  moral,  and  reli- 
gious, the  principal  cau«o  of  it  is  to  bo 
found—not,  certainly,  in  Catholicism 
itself — but  in  the  way  in  which  Catholi- 
cism has  for  a  long  time  past  been  under- 
stood and  practised. 

I  appeal  to  the  Council  now  about  to 
assemble,  to  seek  remedies  for  our  ex- 
cessive evils,  and  to  apply  them  alike 
with  energy  and  gentleness.  But  if  fears 
which  I  am  loth  to  share,  should  come 
to  be  realized — if  that  august  assembly 
should  have  no  more  of  liberty  in  its  de- 
liberations than  it  has  already  in  its 
preparation — ^if,  in  one  word^  it  should 
be  robbed  of  the  characteristic  essential 
to  an  (Ecumenical  Council — I  would  cry 
to  God  and  men  to  demand  another, 
really  assembled  in  the  Holy  Spirit,  not 
in  the  spirit  of  party — really  represent- 
ing the  Church  universal,  not  the  silence 


FaTIIEB  HyACINTCB  A^'D  HIS  CncscH. 


100 


le  and  the  constraint  of  others, 
tbe  hurt  of  the  daughter  of  my 
am  I  hurt  I  am  black.  Aston- 
it  hath  taken  hold  on  me.  Is 
tto  balm  in  Gilead — is  there  no 
ian  there?  Why  then  is  not  the 
of  the  daughter  of  my  people  re- 
d?  "— /erm^A,  viii.  21,  22. 
,  finally,  I  appeal  to  Thy  tribuDal, 
1  Jesus  I  Ad  tuum,  Domine  Jesu, 
%l  appello.  It  is  in  Thy  presence 
nrrite  these  lines ;  it  is  at  Thy  feet, 
baying  prayed  much,  pondered 
satfered  much,  and  waited  long — 
Thy  feet  that  I  subscribe  them, 
this  confidence  concerning  them, 
oirever  men  may  condemn  them 
arth,  Thou  wilt  approve  them  in 
.    Living  or  dying,  thLi  is  enough 

Brother  IlYAoiNTnK, 

Superior  of  the.  Bartfootid  Carmditca 
of  Parity  Second  Df-finitor  of  the 
Order  in  the  province  of  Avtgnon. 

:  Passt,  fc?eptcmbcr  20, 1869. 

thrilling  protest  was  promptly 
)d  by  another  letter  from  tlie 
1  at  Rome,  threatening  him,  if  he 
;  return  to  his  convent  in  ten  days, 
i  privation  of  all  his  dignities  in 
ler  of  Caimelites ;  with  the  major 
nunication,  which,  by  the  way,  he 
\o  facto  incurred  on  quitting  the 
it  without  the  authority  of  his  su- 
^  and  with  the  note  of  infamy, 
is  the  serercst  penalty,  we  believe, 
e  Church  has  the  power  to  inflict 
on-resident  offenders.  This  letter 
follows : 

Rome,  Sept.  26. 
SREND  Fathkb:  Your  letter  of 
ih  only  reached  me  yesterday. 
ill  easily  imagine  how  deeply  it 
1  me,  and  with  what  bitterness  it 
ly  soul.  I  was  fiar  from  expecting 
fall  to  such  a  depth.  Therefore  my 
deeds  with  grief,  and  is  filled  with 
aense  pity  for  you,  and  I  raise  my 
8  supplications  to  the  God  of  all 
s  that  he  may  enlighten  you,  par- 
u,  and  lead  yon  back  from  that 
able  and  fatal  path  on  which  yoa 
utered.  It  is  very  true,  my  reve- 
ather,  that  during  tbe  last  five 
in  spite  of  my  personal  opinions, 
are  in  general  contrary  to  yonrs 
ny  religious  questions,  as  I  have 
than  once  expressed  to  you;  in 
f  the  counsels  I  hare  given  to  you 
eral  occasions  relative  to  your 
ings,  and  to  which,  excepting  in 


the  case  of  your  Lent  sermons  at  Rome, 
you  paid  but  little  attention,  so  long  as 
you  did  not  openly  depart  from  the  lim- 
its imposed  by  Christiim  prudence  on  a 
priest,  and  especially  on  a  monk.  I  al- 
ways manifested  toward  you  sentiments 
of  esteem  and  friendsbip,  and  encouraged 
you  in  your  preachings.  But  if  that  is 
true,  so  also  is  it  that  from  the  moment 
in  which  I  perceived  that  you  were  be- 
ginning to  go  beyond  those  limits,  I  was 
forced  to  begin  on  my  side  to  express  to 
you  my  fears,  and  to  mark  to  yuu  my 
dissatisfaction.  You  must  rememher, 
my  reverend  father,  that  1  did  so  especial- 
ly last  year  about  the  month  of  October, 
when  passing  through  France,  relative  to 
a  letter  addressed  by  you  to  a  Club  in 
Paris.  I  tlien  explained  to  you  what 
annoyance  that  writing  had  caused  me. 
Your  letters  published  in  Italy  were  also 
very  painful  to  me,  and  also  drew  on 
you  from  me  observations  and  reproach- 
es when  you  last  vi^iled  Rome.  Lastly, 
your  presence  and  speech  at  the  Ligiie 
lie  la  Paiz  filled  up  the  measure  of  my 
apprehensions  and  my  grief,  and  forced 
me  to  write  to  you  the  letter  of  the  22d 
of  July  last,  by  which  I  formally  onlered 
yon  in  future  not  to  print  any  letter  or 
speech,  to  speak  in  public  elsewhere 
than  in  the  churches,  to  be  present  in 
the  Chambers,  or  to  take  part  in  the 
Ligue  de  la  Paiz  or  any  other  meetings 
the  object  of  wbich  was  not  exclusively 
OathoBo  and  religious.  My  prohibition, 
^as  you  see,  did  not  in  tlio  Ica^t  refer  to 
your  sermons  in  the  pulpit.  On  tbe 
contrary,  I  desire  you  in  future  to 
devote  solely  and  entirely  your  tal- 
ents and  your  eloquence  to  teachings 
in  the  Church.  Consequently  it  was 
with  painful  surprise  that  I  read  in  your 
letter  that  "  you  could  not  rcasccnd  the 
pulpit  at  Notrc-Darae  with  language  per- 
verted by  dictation  or  mutilated  by  reti- 
cence." You  must  be  aware,  reverend 
father,  that  I  have  never  forbidden  you 
to  preach,  that  I  have  never  given  you 
any  order  or  imposed  any  restriction  on 
your  teachings.  I  only  took  the  liberty 
of  giving  to  you  some  counsels,  and  of 
addressing  to  you  some  observations, 
especially  on  the  subject  of  your  last  lec- 
tures, as  in  my  quality  of  Superior  it  was 
my  right  and  my  duty  to  do.  You  were, 
consequently,  as  free  to  continue  youi 
preachings  at  Paris  or  elsewhere  as  in 
preceding  years,  before  my  letter  of  22d 
July  last,  and  if  you  have  resolved  not 
to  reappear  in  the  pulpit  of  Notre-Dame 
de  Paris,  it  is  voluntary  and  of  your 
own  free   will,   and  not  by  virtue  of 


110 


PuTNAM^s  Magazine. 


[Jan., 


measures  adopted  by  mo  toward  yon. 
Your  letter  of  the  20th  announces  to  mo 
that  you  are  about  to  leavo  your  monas- 
tery in  Paris.     I  learn,  indeed,  by  the 
journals  and  by  private  letters  that  you 
have  cast  off  your  gown  without  any 
ecclesiastical  authorization.     If  the  fact 
is  unfortunately  true,  I  would  remark 
to  you,  my  reverend  father,   that  tho 
monk   who    quits    his    monastery  and 
the   dress  of  his    Order    without    the 
regular   permission,  from    the    compe- 
tent   authority,     is     considered    as    a 
real  apostate,  and  is  consequently  liable 
to  the    canonical    penalties  mentioned 
in    Cap.    PericuUso,    The    punishment 
is,  as  you  are  aware,  tlie  greater  excom- 
munication, latcB  sentintia  ;  and,  accord- 
ing to  our  rules,  confirmed  by  the  Holy 
See,  part  iii.,  chap,  xxxv..  No.  12,  those 
who    leave    tho    community    without 
authorization  incur  the  greater  excom- 
munication ii>so  facto  and  the  note  of 
infamy.     Qui  a  congregatione  rcccdunt 
prater  apostasiam^  ipso  facto  excammuni' 
cationtm  et  infamim  notam  incurrunt 
As  your  Superior,   and   in   accordance 
with  tho  prescriptions  of  tho  Ai)OstoUc 
decrees,  which  order  me  to  employ  even 
censure  to  bring  you  back  to  the  bosom 
of  the  Order  you   have  so  deplorably 
abandoned,  I  am  under  the  necessity  of 
calling  on  you  to  return  to  the  monastery 
in  Pans  which  you  have  quitted  within  ten 
days  from  the  date  of  the  present  letter, 
observing  to  you  that  if  you  do  not  obey 
this  order  within  tho  time  stated,  you* 
will  be  deprive<l  canonically  of  all  tho 
cliargea  you  hold  in  the  Order  of  Bare- 
footed Carmelite  Monks,  and  will  remain 
under  tho  censure  established  by  the 
common  law  and  by  our  rules.    May 
you,  my  reverend  father,  listen  to  our 
voice  and  to  the  cry  of  your  conscience; 
may  you  promptly  and  seriously  descend 
within  yourself,  soo  the  depth  of  your 
fall,  and  by  a  heroic  resolution  manfully 
recover  youi'<«elf,  repair  tho  great  scan- 
dal you  have  caused,  and  by  thiit  means 
console  the  Church,  your  mother,  you 
have  80  much  afflicted.   That  is  the  most 
sincere  and  ardent  desire  of  my  heart ; 
it  is  also  that  which  your  afflicted  friends, 
and  myself,  your  father,   ask  with  all 
tho  fervor  of  our  souls  of  God  Almighty 
—of  God,  80  full  of  mercy  and  goodnc-s. 
BnoTiiEu  Dominique, 

of  St.  Jotoph. 

Of  tho  samo  date  with  tho  preceding 
letter  from  the  General  of  the  Carmelites 
is  tho  following  letter  addressed  to  Father 
Uyacinthe  by  Dupanloup,  Bishop  of  Or- 


leans, hb  friend  and  the  friend  of  his 
friends  in  France : 

"  Obleans,  Sept.  25,  1869. 
*'My  Dear    Colleague:    The  very 
moment  I  learnt  from  Paris  what  yon 
were  upon  the  point  of  doing,  I  endeav- 
ored, as  you  know,  to  save  yon   at  all 
costs  from  what  could  not  but  be  for  yoa 
a  great  fault  and  a  great  misfortune,  as 
well    as    a   profound    sorrow  for   the 
Church ;  that  verj^  moment,  at  night,  I 
sent  your  old  schoolfellow  and  friend  to 
stop  you  if  possible.    But  it  was  too  late ; 
tho  scandal  had  been  consummated,  wod 
henceforth  you  can  measure  by  the  griof 
of  all  the  friends  of  the  Church,  and  the 
joy  of  all  her  enemies,  the  evil  yoa  have 
done.    I  can  only  pray  to  God  now,  aod 
implore  you  to  stop  upon  tho  brink  yon 
have  reached,  which  leads  to  abysses  the 
troubled  eye  of  your  soul  has  not  seeD. 
You  have  suffered — I  know  it ;  but  allow 
mo  to  say  it.   Father  Lacordaire  and 
Father  Ravignan  suffered,  I  know,  more 
than  you,  and  they  rose  higher  io  pa- 
tience and  strength,  through  love  of  tbe 
Church  and  Jesus  Christ.    How  was  it 
you  did  not  feel  tho  wrong  you  were 
doing  the  Church,  your  mother,  by  these 
accusations,   and  the    wrong    you   are 
doing  Jesus  Christ  by  placing  yourself 
as  you  do  alone  before  llim  in  contempt 
of  Ilis  Church  ?    But  I  would  fain  hope, 
and  I  do  hope,  that  it  will  only  be  a 
momentary  aberration.     Return  among 
us;    after  causing  the   Catholic  worla 
this  sorrow,  give  it  a  great  consolation 
and   a  great  example.     Go  and  throw 
yourself  at  the  feet  of  the  Holy  Father. 
His  arms  will  be  open  to  you,  and  in 
clasping  you  to  his  paternal  heart  he 
will  restore  to  you  tho  peace  of  your 
conscience  and  the  honor  of  your  life. 
Accept  from  him  who  was  your  Bishop, 
and  who  will  never  cease  to  love  you, 
this  testimony  and  these  counsels  of  a 
true  and  religious  affection. 

"  Felix,  Bishop  of  Obleasu." 

To  this  letter  Father  Hyacinthc  re- 
plied as  follows : 

**  MoNSEioxErn :  T  am  much  affected  by 
the  sentiment  which  hn^  dictated  the 
letter  you  have  done  mo  tho  honor  to 
write,  and  I  am  very  grateful  for  the 
prayers  which  you  make  on  my  behalf; 
but  I  can  accept  neither  tho  reproaches 
nor  the  counsels  which  you  address  to 
me.  That  which  you  call  the  commis- 
sion of  a  great  ff.nlt,  I  regard  as  the  ful- 
filment of  a  grand  duty.  Accept,  Mon- 
seigneur,  the  most  respect fulsentimcnta. 


I 


Fathsb  Hyachtths  A2m  his  Ohtbch. 


Ill 


Krhich  I  remain,  in  Jesus  Christ  and 
9  Ohurcb,  your  very  humble  and 
?nt  servant, 

'TbEBB  HTACINTnK. 

'aru,  Sept  26,  1869." 

)  ten  days*  limit  prescribed  for  his 
\  to  the  convent  expired  on  the  9th 
tober.  On  that  day  Father  Hya- 
>  embarked  on  board  the  steamer 
•e  for  New  York, 
the  18th  of  that  month  the  heads 
)  Order  beld  a  meeting  at  Rome, 
rononnced  the  following  sentence 
their  insubordinate  brother : 

le  term  fixed  by  the  Rev.  Father 
^neral  in  Chief  of  the  Barefooted 
elites,  for  Father  Hyacinthe,  of  the 
culate  Conception,  provincial  de- 
Superior  of  the  House  in  Paris,  to 
I  to  said  convent,  baving  expired — 
5  examined  the  papers  and  authen- 
^ofs  that  said  Father  Hyacinthe  has 
)t  returned  to  his  convent,  the  sn- 

authority  of  the  Order,  by  decree 
Oct.  18,  1869,  has  deposed  Father 
nthe  of  the  Immaculate  Conception 
ill  the  charges  with  whici)  he  was 
ed  by  the  Order,  declaring  him 
s  attainted  by  his  apostasy,   and 

the  major  excommunication,  as 
8  all  other  censures  and  ccclesias- 
•enalties  denounced  by  the  common 
id  by  the  Constitution  of  the  Order 
t  apostates.'' 

h  is  an  imperfect  outline  of  the 
ises  by  which  one  of   the  most 

and  meritorious  oflBccrs  of  the 
Church  has  been  provoked  to  re- 
gainst  his  ecclesiastical  superiors, 
sliberately  incur  the  severest  pen- 
which  are  reserved  for  such  insub- 
tion.  To  us  it  seems  incredible  that 
f  the  acts  imputed  to  him  by  his 
es  should  have  exposed  him  to  the 
•0,  still  less  to  the  persecutions,  of 
)Ociety  of  professing  Christians. 
)  recapitulate  them : 
!n  one  of  his  discourses  he  treated 
3 volution  of  1789  as  a  political  and 
necessity, 
n  another  he  denounced  Fharisn- 

in  the  Church,  as  Jesus  Christ  had 
)efore  him. 

n  defending  himself  from  an  asper- 
ipon  his  charity  towards  persons 
;  different  religious  views  from  his, 


he  intimated  that  there  were  Catholics 
who  mourned  the  disappearance  of  the 
Inquisition  and  the  Dragonnades,  a  state- 
ment fully  confirmed  by  the  Encyclical 
letter  of  1864. 

4.  In  a  private  note  to  a  friend  he 
stated  that  the  Catholics  who  were  try- 
ing to  identify  the  fortunes  of  the  Churdi 
with  those  of  a  disreputable  woman  who 
had  been  Just  expelled  from  the  throne 
of  Spain,  were  dragging  the  Church 
through  blood  and  mire. 

6.  He  quoted  a  letter  written  by  the 
Pope  in  1848  to  the  Emperor  of  Austria, 
which  favored  Italian  unity. 

6.  He  proclaimed  that  Jews  and  Pro- 
testants,  as  well  as  Catholics,  came  within 
the  pale  of  an  enlightened  Christian 
charity. 

7.  He  always  preached  a  religion  in 
sympathy  with  the  progressive  tenden- 
cies of  modern  civilization. 

8.  Finally,  he  persisted  in  being  the 
friend  of  the  Archbishop  of  Paris,  and 
refused  to  place  himself  under  the  direc- 
tion of  any  bishop  of  another  diocese. 

We  make  no  account  of  his  abandon- 
ing his  convent  and  disobeying  the  order 
of  his  General  to  return,  for  those  acts 
were  the  logical  consequences  of  the 
prior  offences,  if  tlie  Church  will  persist 
in  regarding  as  offences  the  acts  which 
ultiraated  in  the  interdict  from  Rome  of 
July  22.  There  is  no  doubt  that  he 
violated  the  laws  of  his  Church  in  quit- 
ting his  convent  without  permission,  and 
thht  he  exposed  himself  to  the  penalties 
which  have  been  visited  upon  him  by 
the  executive  officers  of  his  Order.  His 
Church  provides  a  mode  of  procedure 
for  the  secularization  of  priests  desiring 
to  renounce  their  monastic  vows,  but 
Father  Hyacinthe  did  not  choose  to  avail 
himself  of  it.  He  declined  to  recognize  an 
authority  which,  as  he  thought,  had  been 
abused  in  his  person,  which  was  degrad- 
ing the  priesthood,  corrupting  the  hie- 
rarchy, and  sapping  the  vital  forces  of  the 
Church.  He  thought  it  his  duty  to  stand 
to  the  faith  he  had  conscientiously  es- 
poused, and  which  he  believed  Evangel- 
ical, rather  than  succumb  to  what  he 
regarded  as  organized  error  and  Phari- 
saical oppression.  It  was  the  duty  of  some 


1 


112 


PnsAM*B  Magazox. 


fJan, 


one  to  cbillecge  the  wolf  which  in 
bh^:ep'i  clolLiDg  w£s  deTooring  the  fkith- 
fcL  He  njitorall  J  enoogh  concluded  tli&t 
there  WM  no  fitter  person  than  himself 
to  do  it.  Nor  in  this  was  he  mis- 
taken. His  pietr ;  his  well  known 
devotion  to  the  Church  ;  his  eminent 
giftf  of  speech,  which  promised  him 
ererf  possible  distinction  thiit  Ro:se 
can  confer,  and  which  therefore  protect 
his  motives  from  degrading  scspicions,  all 
seemed  to  conspire  to  make  his  the 
voice  tljat  should  crj  "  in  the  wilderness, 
to  prepare  the  waj  of  the  Lord  acd 
make  his  paths  straight*^ 

Since  Luther  there  has  been  no  suc!i 
rignal  revolt  agdnst  the  authority  of 
the  Romish  Hierarchj.  Fenelon  pro- 
fessed doctrines  which  Lonis  XIV.  com- 
polled  the  Pope  and  his  Cardinals  to 
condemn.  Thongh  Fenelon  defended 
his  Maximes  up  to  the  last  hour  of  the 
deliberations  at  Rome  with  unreleutiDg 
earnestness,  the  moment  Rome  spoke, 
though  by  a  bare  majority  of  the  Car- 
dinals, he  succumbed  and  publicly  de- 
nounced his  book  from  the  pulpit  of  his 
own  cathedral.  Lammenais  revolted 
against  the  abuses  of  the  Papal  Govern- 
ment, but  unhappily  his  religion  had  the 
Church,  not  the  Bible,  for  its  ba>e,  and 
he  wandered  away  into  rationalism  and 
unbelief. 

Lacordnire  hovered  all  his  life  on  the 
borders  of  the  Cliurch,  forever  preach- 
ing a  broader  Christianity  than  was  tol- 
erated at  Rome,  always  tormented  with 
tlie  restraints  imposed  upon  his  tongue 
and  conscience  by  his  ecclesiastical  Su- 
perior, and  always  in  a  state  of  mental 
and  moral  insubordination  to  the  Papal 
hierarchy.  But  Lacordairo  had  not  the 
physical  health  nor  animal  force  neces- 
sary to  bravo  the  consequences  of  an 
open  revolt.  lie  was  constitutionally 
timid ;  his  monastic  life  had  gradually 
incapacitated  him  for  comprehending 
the  vast  resources  for  such  a  contest, 
which  the  living  world  around  him, 
with  the  Divine  blessing,  would  have 
8npj)lied,  and  he  succumbed  to  the  rigors 
of  ecclesiastical  discipline  and  to  disease, 
induced  no  doubt  by  his  inability  to  live 
the  complete  life  for  which  he  had  been 


created.  He  fell  a  prey  to  a  sort  of  diy* 
rot,  which  fSu^tens,  sooner  or  later,  upon 
all  who  commit  their  consciences  to  thft 
keeping  of  fellow-sinners,  who  seek  to 
escape  sin  by  fleeing  frum  temptatioo 
rather  than  by  fighting  and  overoomii^ 
it,  and  who  fancy  that  the  best  way  of 
keeping  the  commandments  is  to  spend 
all  one^s  time  in  reciting  thenL 

The  eloquent  Bishop  of  Orleans  is 
also  one  of  these  representative  men,  too 
earnest  and  enlightened  a  Christian  to 
accept  the  perverse  follies  of  the  SyHa- 
bus;  but  instead  of  taking  his  stand 
against  it,  he  set  himself  to  work,  iS 
soon  as  it  appeared,  to  prove  that  it 
meant  something  very  different  firoo 
what  it  said,  and  that  instead  of  being 
in  conflict  it  was  in  harmony  with  the 
doctrines  proclaimed  at  Malines.  This 
disingenuous  plea  for  the  Papal  Govern* 
ment  was  attributed  by  his  partisans  to 
his  worthy  desire  to  avoid  diai?ensioiiiin 
the  Church.  lie  preferred  to  see  it  a 
prey  to  error  rather  than  to  schism— to 
surren(ler  the  shepherd's  crook  to  the 
wolf  than  to  have  the  flock  scattered 
by  learning  their  peril. 

The  consequence  is,  that  this  gifted  and 
admirable  prolate,  instead  of  remaining 
what  his  genius  designed  him  to  be,  a 
controlling  power  in  the  Church  of 
Christ,  has  by  degrees  parted  with 
his  birthright,  and  is  now  the  relao- 
tant  but  unresisting  instrument  of  a 
devastating  Ultramoutanism.  Like  Lam- 
menais and  Lacordairo  and  Fenelon, 
he  has  not  proved  equal  to  his  oppor- 
tunities. Like  them,  ^Mie  rejected  the 
commandments  of  God  that  he  might 
keep  the  tradition  of  the  elders.''  like 
them,  too,  he  has  ahvnys  been  toiling 
for  reforms,  but  accomplishing  none,  be- 
cause he  had  more  faith  in  the  Church 
than  in  Providence.  *^IIo  made  flesh 
his  arm." 

It  was  not  so  with  Luther.  Thus  for  it 
has  not  been  so  with  Father  llyacinthc. 
"Will  ho,  too,  full  by  the  way,  or  is  he  to 
share  the  reward  reserved  for  tliose  who 
endure  unto  Iho  end  ? 

Father  Hyacinth o,  it  is  believed, 

has  thus  far  followed  his  convictions 
faithfully.      AVhon   his  conscience  told 


I 


FaTIIEB  HTACGiTHB  AKD  ni8  CnUBCH. 


118 


istiDctlj  that  Roman  theology  waa 
fallible  theology,  he  refused  to  ao- 
t  as  such ;  when  his  conscience  told 
lat  the  temporal  power  of  the  Pope 
naintained  at  the  expense  of  his 
nate  spiritual  influence,  that  it  was 
3ment  of  weakness  rather  than  of 
;th  to  the  Church  of  Christ,  he  re- 

any  longer  to  conntenanoe  or  de- 
it.     When    he    found   pontifical 
tions  and  the  oanons  of  connoils 
LDg  the  place  and  authority  of  the 

in  the  Church,  he  chose  to  stay 
the  Bible  rather  than  go  with  its 

substitute.  In  this  firm  faith  in 
.od  the  right,  in  this  bold  rejection 
compromises  with  the  priesthood 
or,  he  alone  of  all  the  illustrious 
lers  of  Catholicism  since  Luther 

an  apostolic  attitude.     Will  he 
ain  it? 
surrender  deliberately  and  volun* 

the  most  cherished  affections  of 
heart  is  a  fearful  trial  for  any  man. 
are  equal  to  it.  With  Father 
nthe  the  Church  of  Rome  had  re- 
ited  all  that  was  most  pure  and 

on  earth.  His  life  had  been  spent 
orating  it  with  iinaginary  charms, 
s  youthful  vision  it  was  the  New 
ilem  coming  down  from  God  out  of 
[),  with  walls  of  jasper,  gates  of 

and  streets  of  gold.  He  finally 
)  from  his  illusion,  and  found  that 
ation  and  sin  reap  their  harvests  at 

as  regularly  as  elsewhere,  and 
^  God  alone  is  great." 
ber  Hyacinthe  has  no  quarrel  with 
.tholic  Church,  but  with  its  abuses. 
Isely  thinks  tliat  its  maladies,  like 

of  the  human  system,  are  to  be 
from  within  and  not  from  without ; 
he  remedy  must  be  applied  to  the 

not  to  the  skin.  He  does  not, 
ore,  intend  to  abandon  his  Church, 


but  to  labor  for  it.  He  wisely  declines 
to  take  refuge  in  any  other  religious 
organization,  for  he  knows  that  the  vices 
of  which  he  complains  in  his  Church 
belong  to  the  universal  human  heart, 
and  in  one  shape  or  another  are  likely 
to  present  themselves  in  all  denomina- 
tions. Ho  has,  therefore,  given  the 
world  to  understand  that  what  capacities 
of  usefulness  remain  to  him,  will  be 
consecrated  to  the  purification  and 
edification  of  the  Church  in  which  he 
was  reared,  and  which  he  thinks  has 
enjoyed,  and  continues  to  enjoy,  at  least, 
as  much  of  God's  favor  as  any  other. 

Naturalists  tell  us  that  the  sparrow 
abandons  eggs  which  she  di^cover8 
have  been  handled,  and  refuses  to 
give  life  to  ofi'spring  which  she 
feels  herself  too  weak  to  protect. 
The  eagle,  on  the  other  hand,  confident 
in  her  strength,  fights  for  her  oflspring; 
and  if  one  is  ravished  from  her  nest  she 
cherishes  the  rest  of  her  brood  only  the 
more  tenderly.  The  $oi'di8ant  liberal 
Catholics  of  Europe  since  Luther,  like  the 
sparrow,  take  council  of  their  weakness, 
and  as  reformers  have  begotten  nothing ; 
have  abandoned  their  convictions,  as  it 
were,  in  the  egg.  On  the  other  hand. 
Father  Hyacinthe,  like  the  eagle,  confi- 
ding in  that  sort  of  strength  wiiich  ren- 
ders the  feeblest  arm  invincible,  is  ready 
to  fight  in  defence  of  his  convictions, 
and,  with  the  blessing  of  God,  propos- 
es to  do  what  he  can  to  deliver  the 
Church  from  its  enemies,  and  in  open- 
ing its  doors  again,  as  in  the  begin- 
ning, to  all  who  make  the  love  of  God 
and  their  neighbors  the  rule  of  their 
lives.  Will  he,  in  shooting  the  arrow  of 
God's  deliverance,  ^^  smite  the  ground  five 
or  six  times,''  or  like  the  King  Joash,  for 
want  of  faith,  will  he  smite  only  three 
times,  and  stop  ? 


lU 


Putnam's  Magazine. 


P•l^ 


BREVITIES. 


BiDDT  Dethroned. 


"The  seryantrgirl  will  always  rule 
till  the  mistress  is  able  and  ready  to  do 
the  work.  Know  housework  and  cook- 
ing, madam.  Then  you  can  issue  your 
Declaration  of  Independence  against 
your  tyrant." 

I  smiled,  Putnam,  when  I  read  these 
words  of  yours  in  August ;  your  author 
was  so  complacently  sure  that  in  them 
the  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter  was 
roached. 

So  I  thought  on  my  wedding-day, 
twe  years  ago.  The  serene  exultation 
with  which  I  looked  forward  to  my 
housekeeping,  can  never  be  told.  For 
did  I  not  know  it  all  ?  Had  I  not  for 
years  in  my  country-home,  at  no  in- 
convenient distance  from  town-visitors, 
gone  over  and  over  the  whole  gamut 
of  domestic  preparations  from  soft  soap 
to  Charlotte  Russe  ? 

I  was  bringing,  too,  to  my  prospective 
housekeeping,  that  health,  whose  absence 
in  our  girls,  magazines  so  love  to  be- 
moan. I  could  work  upon  my  feet  from 
dawn  to  darkness  without  discomfort. 
Well  might  my  soul  with  secret  pleasure 
look  forward  to  the  day  when,  released 
from  the  cares  of  eldest  daughter  in  a 
houseful,  I  should  sit  down  in  my  own 
little  home  with  no  years  of  rubbish 
choking  its  corners.  Every  thing  would 
be  so  spick  and  span  and  bran  new,  I 
was  afraid  I  should  feel  like  the  veneer- 
ings !  The  resemblance  proved  a  brief 
one. 

I  could  scarcely  imagine  how  I  and 
my  servant  were  both  to  keep  occupied. 
I  planned  elaborately  for  my  future  lei- 
sure ;  at  last  I  should  have  time  to  write. 

Somehow,  that  leisure  has  not  yet 
come.  Visitors,  however,  did  arrive. 
Perhaps  the  novelty  about  a  new  visit- 
ing-place helped  to  keep  the  room  full, 
six  months  of  the  first  year. 

Why  was  there  90  much  for  me  to  do  ? 


We  may  come  to  understand  it  better 
if  I  come  to  sketch  one  of  my  servants : 
she  came  "  well  recommended." 

I  would  rise  betimes  in  the  morning 
and  hasten  down-stairs  to  see  about 
breakfast.  8se  about  it,  indeed  I  Two 
sticks  would  be  feebly  smouldering 
under  a  hod  of  coal  in  the  range.  Koi 
even  the  tea-kettle  boiled.  Explana- 
tion :  "  fire  wouldn't  bum — was  up  be- 
fore daylight " — of  course. 

My  husband's  business  brooks  no  de- 
lay of  breakfast,  and  all  my  Yankee 
"  smartness  "  must  be  put  £oTxh  to  have 
the  meal  on  time.  Nothing  can  b9 
gained  here  by  scolding,  so  I  work.  My 
handmaid  stands  within  three  feet  of 
me,  motionless,  waiting  such  orders  is, 
"  Cut  the  bread,"  "  bring  the  butter," 
"  the  ice  water,"  &c,  A  special  message 
for  every  article !  I  cook  the  break£ul 
from  first  to  last,  and  sit  down  at  length 
with  a  red  face,  ringing  the  bell  every 
two  minutes  for  napkins,  spoons,  and 
other  natural  omissions. 

You  will  imagine  how  the  day  pro- 
gresses after  this,  and  how  much  assist- 
ance my  assistant  must  have  to  get 
through  the  multifarious  details  of 
modem  housework.  On  washing  and 
ironing  days,  I  do  nearly  all  the  other 
work,  for  it  tasks  her  entire  energies 
for  those  operations. 

We  dine  at  four ;  and  when  a  man  has 
eaten  nothing  between  breakfast  and 
that  hour,  punctuality  rises  into  a  very 
high  realm  of  duty.  I  keep  a  nervous 
eye  upon  the  kitchen — two  o'clock- 
three— Biddy  is  beating  about  the  kit- 
chen like  a  bat  in  the  dark — a  quarter 
past,  and  I  rush  down — at  four,  dinner 
and  I  are  hot. 

Biddy  knows  that  Missis  knows  how ! 
I  sometimes  wonder  how  things  really 
would  go,  if  I  were  a  Dora  ;  whether 
Biddy,  seeing  that  the    wheels    must 


BiDDT  Dbthboked. 


115 


stop  unless  she  applied  a  re- 
)le  shoulder,  would  do  so.  As  it 
servants  rarely  fail  to  act  upon 
covery  that  I  can  do  every  thing 
than  they  can ;  and  knowing 
rill  be  a  remedy  for  every  hitch, 
oke  along  without  plan  or  fore- 
it. 

tn  a  young  lady,  I  thought  the 
lion  of  servants  constantly  going 
»ome  and  vulgar;  but  since,  I 
ot  seldom  found  it  more  difficult 
z  about  Ruskin,  or  the  war  in 
than  to  make  my  moan  upon  the 
disappointing  condition  of  do- 
service,  or  to  slip  out  of  the 
to  see  if  Biddy  were  not  burning 
bread. 

for  the  most  part,  I  have  tried  to 
ny  peace,  and  did  not  even  tell 
esta  of  what  lay  hidden  under  the 
:loth  when  they  dined.  But  you 
enow  it,  for  it  is  one  of  the  best 
itions  of  the  need  of  change  in 
mestic  "  situation  "  I  can  offer, 
as  busy  preparing  for  a  supper- 
of  ten,  and  there  were  so  few 
my  girl  could  be  trusted  to  do 
every  thing  must  be  perfect,  that 
ads  were  over-fall.   But  I  thought 

thing,  anyhow :  "  You  can  put 
ivcs  in  the  table,"  said  L    "  Ma- 

I  remembered  I  had  not  had 
}n  for  this  operation  since  she 

"  Pull  the  table  open — so,"  said 
lying  my  own  strength ;  "  and 
et  those  boards  in  the  closet  and 
m  in." 

seemed  to  understand,  and  I  has- 
up-stairs  to  get  the  silver.  Pres- 
startlcd  by  loud  concussions,  I 
aying  back.  Too  late  I  she  had 
y  "  put  in  "  no  less  than  twenty 
with  the  back  of  the  axe  upon 
looth  sides  of  my  walnut  dlning- 

had  put  the  leaves  in  wrong  side 
f  course,  they  did  not  fit ;  and 
feet  swift  for  once,  she  had  run 
rought  the  axe  to  make  all  com- 
nd  comfortable. 

d  not  say  one  word.  I  stood  con- 
l  by  the  might  of  such  invincible 
iity! 


Of  course,  I  do  not  mean  to  say  all 
my  girls  have  been  as  imbecile  as  this ; 
but  for  the  most  part,  like  David  Cop- 
perfield*s  servants,  they  have  exhibited 
"  a  uniformity  of  failure  "  most  unlook- 
ed-for by  me,  who  thought  I  had  the 
material  at  command  to  make  my 
household  life  as  near  "  a  summer  isle 
of  Eden,"  and  as  good  for  myself. 

Possibly,  had  I  been  ignorant,  my 
servants  might  have  shown  more  ability 
and  care;  but  they  must  have  been 
entirely  different  beings  from  what  they 
are  to  have  made  the  home-life  of  my 
husband  and  myself  other  than  a  fail- 
ure, had  its  comfort  depended  upon 
them. 

No  price  could  buy  from  me  the 
practical  part  of  my  education  ;  no ; 
girls  may  come  and  girls  may  go,  but  I 
work  on  forever,  unless  a  better  state 
of  things  can  be  devised  ;  and  I  believe 
it  can. 

My  knowledge  of  work  has  stood  me 
in  right  good  stead ;  but  it  has  not 
dethroned  Biddy,  and  it  never  will.  I 
can  make  individuals  of  her  line  abdi- 
cate my  kitchen  when  they  become  un- 
bearable; but  as  American  housework 
is  now  organized,  nothing  can  take 
from  the  race  their  mission  to  deface 
and  destroy,  to  break  and  to  blunder. 

But  I  verily  believe  we  have  dug 
deep  enough  at  last  to  reach  the  root 
of  the  matter;  at  any  rate,  there  ap- 
pears some  prospect  of  the  theory  l^eing 
fairly  worked  out;  but  there  is  the 
usual  amount  of  tradition  and  prejudice 
to  encounter,  of  course. 

Among  these,  the  axiom  of  good 
housekeepers,  that  it  is  "shiftless"  to 
buy  bakers'  bread,  and  put  the  washing 
out,  is  the  most  formi<lablo  and  the 
least  .to  be  blamed  in  the  present  state 
of  those  arts. 

It  would  be  shiftless  exceedingly  for 
most  of  us  to  pay  a  dollar  a  dozen  for 
the  family  wash,  ranging  all  the  way 
from  six  to  two  dozen  pieces.  And 
who  desires  their  petition  for  daily 
bread  answered  in  the  form  of  the 
chippy,  alumy  stuff  furnished  by  two 
thirds  of  the  bakers  in  the  country  ? 

But  let  us  suppose  the  demand  for 


116 


FCTNAM^S  MaGAZIKB. 


[Jul, 


the  manufacture  of  bread  to  become 
as  general  and  to  proceed  from  as  high 
quarters  as  that  for  sewing-machines. 
How  long  would  it  be  before  the  results 
of  the  best  known  methods  of  bread- 
making  would  be  at  our  doors  ? 

Competition  and  the  exercise  of 
thought  and  skill,  always  consequent, 
would  be  a  matter  of  course. 

And  so  of  washing  and  ironing.  Is 
it  not  surprising,  that  when  the  making 
of  garments  has  been  brought  to  such 
a  degree  of  speed  and  perfection,  the 
art  of  the  laundress  then  should  be  in 
so  neglected  a  state  ?  As  long  as  there 
is  so  little  public  demand  for  this  work, 
it  will  always  be  so ;  but  suppose  it 
were  known  that  the  washing  of  every 
family  in  town  were  to  be  sent  out 
weekly.  Would  not  the  attention  of  a 
multitude  of  the  thousands  who  must 
work  or  starve  be  turned  to.  this  new 
source  of  profit?  Rival  laundries 
would  try  to  draw  custom  by  perfect- 
ing the  nicest  methods,  and,  for  that 
reason  and  their  own  profit,  would 
presently  find  out  ways  of  speed  and 
cheapness  now  unguessod.  It  seems  not 
absurd  to  believe  the  time  would  arrive 
when  the  uniform  perfection  of  our 
"  done-up  "  garments  would  be  greater 
than  now,  always  liable  as  they  are  to 
be  at  the  mercy  of  one  slatternly 
servant. 

And  with  the  like  demand,  you 
would  soon  find  one  of  the  army  of 
pastry-cooks  springing  up,  who  could 
make  you  as  good  a  cake  or  pie,  or 
mould  of  gelatine,  cornstarch,  tapioca, 
or  plum  pudding,  as  you  with  all  your 
fluster  and  fatigue  of  weighing,  measur- 
ing, and  baking  your  own  anxious 
faces  could  produce. 

We  will  suppose  waslung-day,  iron- 
ing-day, and  baking-day  all  purged 
from  the  calendar  of  the  week :  if  you 
employ  tvTO  servants,  is  it  not  fair  to 
suppose  one  could  do  the  remaining 
work? 

If  you  arc  not  invalid  with  some 
serious  ail,  would  it  be  so  very  impossi- 
ble to  do  without  any  at  all  ?  It  never 
can  be  done  with  the  amount  of  work 
now  in  our  homes,  and  there  is  no  use 


talking  about  that.  No  knowledge  of 
"housework  and  cooking"  will  give 
American  women  the  coarse  strength 
needful  for  the  perpetual  performance 
of  the  heavier  labors  of  the  house. 

But  lift  these  ofi",  and  then,  indeed, 
that  "Declaration  of  Independence" 
becomes  possible.  Servants  will  then 
find  that  they  can  be  and  will  be  dis- 
pensed with,  unless  they  amend  "  their 
ways  and  their  manners  "  forthwith. 

Suppose  you  pay  your  girl  a  hundred 
dollars  a-ycar:  she  must  eat  and  de- 
stroy at  least  two  hundred  more.  If  yoa 
pay  the  public  laundry  two  hundred 
a-year,  and  your  bread,  &c.,  costs  you 
fifty  dollars  more  than  if  made  at 
home,  will  you  have  lost  ? 

Think  of  it  I  no  more  of  those  for- 
lorn days,  when  Biddy  savagely  slops 
about  the  kitchen,  with  her  "b'iler" 
upon  the  front  of  the  range,  while  you 
wade  around  trying  to  get  a  poor 
dinner. 

I  look  forward  with  bright  expecta- 
tion to  the  time  when  thus,  and  thus 
alone,  Biddy  shall  be  dethroned;  for 
then  our  ladies,  and  their  own  fair 
"  girls,"  will  have  no  further  excuse  for 
deferring  their  own  active  reign.  The 
burdens  of  the  house  can  no  longer  be 
too  heavy  for  them.  They  need  no 
longer  shut  their  eyes  in  heart-sick  dis- 
couragement at  finding  the  trail  of  the 
serpent  of  slovenliness  over  all.  They 
need  not  keep  a  servant,  if  they  do  not 
choose;  or  need  not  intrust  her  with 
those  finer  labors  which  give  the  tone 
and  finish  to  all  housekeeping. 

There  will  no  longer,  I  repeat,  be 
excuse  for  them  to  confine  their  migra- 
tions from  bed  to  breakfast-table,  and 
thence  to  the  sofa :  the  work  will  net 
be,  as  it  now  too  truly  is, "  beyond  their 
strength."  When  they  have  occasion  to 
handle  the  broom,  they  need  not  do  it 
as  if  they  were  sweeping  every  illusion 
of  hope  from  the  path  of  life,  but  most 
labor  with  the  certainty  that  the  work 
will  be  "  done  up  "  directly.  May  the 
day  hasten  when  housekeepers,  young 
antl  old,  will  be  convinced  that  we  are 
hampering  and  wasting  our  domestic 
peace  by  persisting  in  labors  which  do 


1 


Tabus-Talk. 


117 


elong  to  the  home,  but  should  be 
le  callings  exclusively. 
3ellent  must  be  the  results  of  in- 
j  of  our  own  culinary  lore,  ex- 
t  (let  us  hope)  the  incoming  of 
binese ;  and  both  will  help  bring 


in  the  golden  years  of  peace.  But 
neyer  till  our  homes  cease  to  be  work- 
shops chafed  by  the  friction  of  endless 
toil,  will  they  rise  perfectly  to  their  true 
end  of  nurseries  of  a  Christian  nation, 
and  the  zest  and  delight  of  the  land. 


■•♦•- 


TABLE-TALK. 


s  of  the  London  journals  calls  for  a 
3e  on  "  Conversation  Openings ; " 
rk  from  which  diffident  men  may 
how  to  get  over  the  awkward 
that  follows  an  introdnction  be- 
.  strangers.  Conversatiou,  among 
3  who  have  any  thing  in  them,  is  a 
that  is  pretty  sure  to  go  off  safely 
once  fairly  fired,  but  the  first 
always  requires  effort,  and  some- 
skill.  At  an  old-fashioned  thanks- 
;  dinner,  for  instance,  such  as  more 
3  ate  on  the  eighteenth  of  November 
lan  on  any  previous  day  in  human 
),  who  has  not  observed  that  it  takes 
'  to  start  a  live  topic  than  to  carve 
:ey ;  althongb,  when  cover  is  once 
n,  in  either  case,  the  work  never 
till  it  is  well  done,  and  every  body 
tibers  only  at  parting  how  good  it 
sen. 

t  is  at  thL)  little  tabic,  around  which 
ve  to  talk.  Sometimes  the  com- 
is  all  in  one  poor  brain,  and  there 
lifferent  "  organs ''  or  tendencies 
s  any  chance  topic  among  them- 
,  after  the  fashion  described  by 
;e  Combo  in  one  of  his  Essays  on 
lology, — that  mental  science  of  for- 
ellers.  Then  there  is  no  want  of 
,  no  need  of  a  specious  opening ; 
!iat  man  but  is  always  enough  at 
nrith  himself  to  have  something  to 
;e  about  internally?  But  when 
s  drop  in,  the  trouble  comes.  Here 
ur  of  them  to-day  sitting  with  me ; 
L  I  call  Conservative,  Radical, 
ic,  and  Woman,  the  last  inclined, 
)t  abandoned  to  strong-mhidedness. 
are  not  accurate  descriptions,  but 
tters  C,  R.,  S.,  and  W.  answer  as 
3  any  for  initials ;  adding  E.  which 
>tand  for  Ego  the  reporter.    The 


want  I  feel  is  a  topic ;  after  greetings,  I 
therefore  remark  to  oil,  by  way  of  fish- 
ing for  one : 

E.  What  dull  times  the  newspapers 
have  had  for  a  month  past. 

S.  Yes,  that  is  wbat  makes  them 
interesting  to  sensible  men.  In  these 
times  of  no  news,  they  are  driven  to 
discuss  matters  of  lasting  interest,  and 
so  become  brilliant.  If  a  journal  is  still 
dull,  in  spite  of  the  dull  times,  the 
dulness  must  bo  innate  and  hopeless. 

W,  Can  any  thing  be  duller  than  the 
writing  of  shallow  men  on  deep  them^f 
I  dread  to  see  a  serious  subject  handled 
in  some  newspapers,  where  the  writers' 
heads  seem  to  run  pnre  ink  unmixed 
with  brains. 

H,  I  could  stand  the  dulness,  were  I 
sure  of  the  honesty.  But  why  do  not 
the  newspapers  ot  once  drive  Mr. 
Jenckes^s  Civil  Service  Bill  through 
Congress,  unless  it  be  that  they  are  as 
corrupt  as  the  managing  politicians — in 
fact,  are  with  them  ? 

S.  You  wrong  them  there.  They 
cannot  harp  on  one  thing  forever.  Most 
of  them  are  certainly  advocating  the 
Bill  after  a  fashion,  perhaps  not  wisely — 

0.  But  perhaps  too  well.  Have  yon 
considered  what  a  profound  change  this 
Bill  threatens  to  make  in  our  govern- 
ment? It  will  raise  up  a  class  of  pro- 
fessional office-holders;  besides  taking 
away  half  the  influence  and  dignity  of 
the  Congressmen,  in  their  patronage. 
Can  we  afford  to  weaken  Congress,  and 
make  membership  loss  desirable  there ; 
or  to  form  a  sort  of  aristocracy  by  putting 
a  permanent  set  of  men  in  civil  office  ? 

S,  We  can  certainly  afford  to  take 
away  oil  low  motives  fo^ee^ing  a  seat 
in  Congress ;  and  th&tjfoilj  would  only 


118 


Ptttxau^s  Magazine. 


[Jan, 


be  strengthened  by  abolishing  the  corse 
of  petty  bargain  and  sole  and  intrigue 
now  carried  on  in  wielding  this  patron- 
age. 

W.  A  terrible  aristocracy,  too,  a  few 
hundreds  of  clerks  will  be,  working 
seven  hours  a-day  for  a  thousand  or 
twelve  hundred  dollars  a-year;  and 
depending  for  their  bread  on  hard  work 
and  good  behavior. 

B,  Yes;  if  the  Bill  really  weakened 
Congress,  the  Executive  departments 
would  press  it  strongly;  if  it  really 
looked  to  an  aristocracy,  Congress  itself 
would  at  least  give  it  a  fair  hearing  and 
a  direct  vote.  But  unfortunately  it  is  a 
measure  which  no  one  man  seems  to 
have  more  interest  than  another  in 
adopting,  except  its  author,  to  whom  it 
will  bring  lasting  honor.  And  a  great 
many  men  have  an  interest,  or  think 
they  Lave,  against  it.  There  will  never 
bo  a  paid  lobby  for  it;  and  it  cannot 
pass,  unless  the  people,  whoso  Bill  it  is, 
resolve  themselves  into  a  sort  of  lobby 
of  the  wh'>le,  and  demand  it. 

E,  They  will  do  it,  if  petitions  are 
actively  circulated.  I  think  the  Bill  has 
a  good  chance  this  year.  It  is  sure  to 
be  a  law  before  many  years,  and,  once 
passed,  can  never  bo  repealed,  for  it  will 
at  once  make  the  government  cheaper 
and  more  useful,  and  will  help  obviously 
to  raise  the  public  morals. 

S.  How  sanguine  you  are  I  There  must 
be  a  certain  comfort  in  feeling  so  much 
faith  in  contrivances,  legislative  and 
other,  to  make  governments  and  men 
cheap  and  good. 

£,  Not  at  all :  it  is  not  a  contrivance  to 
make  men  good,  but  the  removal  of  con- 
trivances which  now  make  them  bad, 
that  I  commend  in  this  Bill.  The  present 
system  of  patronage  is  corrupting  to  all 
concerned. 

W,  Why  apologize  for  your  faith,  and 
explain  it  away  ?  Why  are  men  always 
ashamed  to  be  caught  believing,  especially 
in  anything  good  ?  For  my  part,  I  believe 
that  *'  contrivances/*  as  you  call  them, 
are  just  as  capable  of  improving  charac- 
ter as  of  harming  it ;  of  exciting  good 
motives  as  bad  ones.  Until  you  have 
people  in  p»'liti.'»  who  believe  this,  your 


"legislative  contrivances"  will  not  be 
worth  much. 

E,  The  propensity  to  "meddle  and 
muddle  "  is  not  exactly  womanly,  bails 
what  men  call  womanish.  When  women 
vote,  I  suppose  we  shall  have  acts  of 
Congress  to  make  all  mankind  virtnoas 
and  happy.  But  so  long  as  men  have 
the  social  organization  in  charge,  they 
will  cling  ever  more  to  the  let-alone  doc- 
trine. The  people  must  work  out  their 
own  life,  in  the  simplest  forms  possible. 

S.  Few  in  this  country  differ  from  yon 
in  the  theory.  But  the  trouble  is  to 
keep  upour  faith  in  it,  through  all  slips 
and  failures.  You  may  make  fun  of  the 
"  Imperialist,"  and  other  childish  ex- 
pressions of  distrust  in  our  institutions, 
but  how  does  your  doctrine  of  popular 
government  get  along  under  the  load  it 
has  to  carry,  in  the  election  frauds  in 
New  York  and  Brooklyn,  for  instance  t 
What  is  the  use  of  voting,  when  the  bal^ 
lot-boxes  are  "  stuffed  "  by  gangs  of  un- 
scrupulous men,  or  the  returns  manufao- 
tnred,  without  regard  to  the  votes  really 
cast? 

i?.  I  have  always  regarded  these  frauds 
as  scattered  and  local  matters,  which  will 
stir  the  public  conscience,  and  be  put 
down,  as  soon  as  they  become  really  im- 
portant. 

S,  The  public  conscience  is  more  pa- 
tient than  Balaam^s  ass,  and  says  not  a 
word,  under  blows  that  could  scarcely 
bo  more  terrible.  Do  you  know  that 
this  kind  of  cheating  is  growing  every 
year;  that  it  already  makes  voting  a 
mockery  in  these  two  great  cities,  and 
threatens  to  control  the  result  in  four  of 
the  largest  States,  should  they  be  closely 
contested,  in  the  next  election  for  Pres- 
ident? 

B.  It  is  a  cheap  accusation  for  either 
party  to  bring  against  the  other;  but 
who  has  any  proof  of  it  ? 

S,  I  have  proof  enough  to  put  it  be- 
yond reasonable  doubt  that  the  official 
retnrns  in  Now  York,  as  finally  made  up, 
are  the  result,  not  of  the  votes  of  the 
people,  but  of  tho  corrupt  bargains  of  a 
few  politicians. 

For  instance,  you  know :  he  is  a 

republican,   and    is    pf)p;!larly    said    to 


Table-Talk. 


119 


ig  a  ward,"  and  to  know  whatever 
it  worth  knowing  of  ^*  the  inside  of 
a."  His  oircle  of  associates  com- 
at  him  highly  on  the  vote  of  hb 
which  is  unexpectedly  favorable 
party.  I  asked  him  by  what  ezer- 
lie  was  able  to  do  so  well,  and  he 
36,  privately,  this:  "Why,  you  see, 
my  own  men  among  the  Tammany 
^ers  in  our  ward,  who  sold  the 
)  concern  ont  to  me.  I  got  a  list  of 
repeaters*  names,  and  of  Uio  districts 
ich  they  would  vote ;  and  so,  early 
morning,  I  just  brought  up  a  gang 
own  and  quietly  voted  on  all  the 
).  When  their  gnog  came,  it  was  too 
their  names  had  been  voted  on,  and 
tared  not  complain,  lest  their  fraud- 
registry  be  detected." 
lin,  in  several  election  districts, 
)  the  boards  of  canvassers  were 
op  from  both  parties,  the  returns 
the  result  of  mutual  bargain  and 
Thus,  in  one  place,  the  sole  Be- 
an canvasser  had  no  interest  in 
>cal  candidate,  but  wished  "  to  take 
>f  his  State  ticket."  But  his  Dem- 
c  associates  were  anxious  for  their 
oflBcers.  Accordingly,  they  were 
tted  to  "fix"  the  figures  for  all 
le  State  offices ;  then  the  Bepubli- 
ive  a  large  majority  for  his  own 
lates ;  and  did  not  blush  to  tell  me 
These  are  but  instances  out  of  seve- 
at  are  familiar  to  all  politicians  of 
York  city. 

Why  not  enforce  the  law  ? 
What  do  you  suppose  has  become 
)  scores  of  "  repeaters  "  caught  on 
3n-day  ?  What  of  the  canvassers, 
Doklyn,  who  were  proved  by  the 
ct  Attorney  to  have  forged  their 
IS?  There  is  no  court  in  these 
which  will  give  the  law  a  chance 
st  such  fellows ;  for  they  act  under* 
amcdiate  direction  of  the  men  who 
the  judges.  It  is  hard  enough,  at 
to  convict  of  such  a  crime ;  with 
^hole  political  power  of  the  city 
nost  of  the  judiciary  in  scaroely 
Ised  sympathy  with  the  rogues,  it 
possible. 

I  suppose,  then,  we  shall  have  to 
drifting  away,  with  public  morals 


corrupting  and  elections  losing  public 
confidence,  until  a  crisis  comes.  Let  a 
national  election  once  be  decided  by  such 
practices,  or  appear  to  have  been  so  de- 
cided, and  I  suppose  the  people  will  find 
a  way  to  stop  diem.  Men  who  would 
rather  fight  than  submit  to  a  usurper, 
would  probably  not  sit  quietly  under  a 
ruler  who  had  stolen  his  office. 

E.  No;  but  would  you  have  party 
strife  become  actual  war  ?  A  great  deal 
of  letting  alone  is  doubtless  a  very  good 
thing;  but  perhaps  there  may  be  too 
much  of  it.  Now,  I  have  a  pet  notion 
that  the  evil  may  be  cured,  not  by  com- 
plicated registry  laws,  and  multiplied 
penalties  which  will  never  be  enforced, 
but  in  the  simplest  way  imaginable ;  by 
making  every  fraud  of  the  kind  proclaim 
itself  to  the  world. 

C.  What  do  you  mean  ? 

E,  I  mean  that  the  root  of  the  trouble 
is  in  the  secret  ballot.  Suppose  each 
voter,  instead  of  putting  a  paper  into  a 
box,  had  to  speak  up  in  a  loud  voice,  in 
answer  to  his  name,  and  say  for  whom 
he  votes.  This  would  check  repeating 
by  making  it  very  dangerous.  Every 
suspected  voter  would  be  watched  by  a 
greater  number  of  men  than  now. 
There  would  be  a  motive  to  follow  him 
up  which  does  not  now  exist :  for  his  vote, 
being  on  record,  could  bo  cast  out,  and 
the  poll  corrected,  at  any  time,  while, 
now  that  tlie  voting  is  secret,  his  ballot 
cannot  be  tracked,  but  once  cast  b  in 
finally.  But,  best  of  all,  this  would  quite 
stop  the  forging  of  returns,  the  last  and 
favorite  way  of  cheating.  Around  each 
poll  would  be  a  number  of  citizens,  the 
agents  of  each  party,  who  would  keep 
their  private  registry  to  check  that  of 
the  canvassers,  and  false  returns  would 
be  as  impossible  as  they  are  in  nominat- 
ing conventions. 

C,  Very  fine,  indeed ;  but  yon  must  see 
objections  enough.  The  Constitution  of 
New  York  requires  all  elections  to  be  by 
ballot. 

R,  Yes,  but  the  Constitution  of  the 
United  States  gives  Congress  the  power 
to  regulate  the  form,  at  least  of  national 
elections. 

C,  That  may  be  true  ;  but  a  harder 


120 


Putnam's  Magazine. 


[Jan^ 


task  thaa  defining  a  Constitution  re- 
mains. How  will  you  change  the  ha- 
bits of  the  i)COple?  Right  or  wrong, 
they  cherish  tlie  ballot  as  a  national  in- 
stitution, and  will  be  slow  to  give  it  up. 

E.  Why  ?  It  is  of  no  real  value  in  this 
country.  Nobody's  vote  is  really  a  secret ; 
if  any  employer  were  disposed  to  drive 
his  men  to  vote  with  him,  he  could  com- 
pel them  to  show  their  ballots,  as  easily 
as  to  speak  out  under  his  dictation.  But 
such  compulsion  is  impossible  in  this 
country. 

S,  No,  it  is  not  impossible  in  any 
country,  but  least  of  all  where  wealth 
has  the  unchecked  authority  in  society 
and  politics  which  it  is  gaining  here. 
There  is  a  certain  instinct  among  the  peo- 
ple, confirmed  more  and  more  every 
year  by  what  they  hear  of  the  unavail- 
ing demand  of  the  British  laborer  for 
the  ballot,  which  tells  them  that  the  fran- 
chise is  not  worth  much,  if  it  cannot  be 
exercised  in  secret,  on  an  emergency. 
Remember  that  these  election  frauds  are 
really  dreaded  by  but  a  handful  of  the 
voters,  even  of  the  great  cities;  while 
all  of  four  millions  of  citizens  through- 
out the  land  know  what  a  delicious 
thing  it  is  to  "scratch''  a  candidate  or 
two,  on  occasion,  without  being  sus- 
pected. You  cannot  persuade  them  to 
give  it  up. 

E.  Well,  I  should  at  least  like  to  see  a 
fair  effort  made.  I  think  our  people  are 
not  cowards,  and  few  of  tlicm  really  care 
for  secrecy  in  this  matter.  Let  them  see 
the  advantages  of  publicity,  and  they 
will  accept  it  If  not,  we  shall  have  to 
try  Mr.  Wendell  Phillips's  panacea ;  he 
Insists  that  when  women  vote,  elections 
will  be  pure. 

C,  This  is  fortunately  no  longer  an 
open  question.  A  recent  Act  of  Parlia- 
ment, on  Municipal  Elections,  was  drawn 
np  so  carelessly  that,  with  no  such  in- 
tention, it  let  the  female  sex  through 
one  of  its  ambiguities ;  and  they  have 
just  been  voting  in  Nottingham.  It  was 
always  a  corrupt  place ;  a  sort  of  rotten 
borough,  famous  for  bribery.  But,  on 
this  occasion,  no  secret  was  made  of  the 
market  for  votes;  the  working- women 
evidently  finding  the  sale  of  them  the 


easiest  imaginable  way  to  get  a  good 
dinner — a  rare  luxury  for  them.  Many 
of  them  sold  their  votes  to  both  sides. 

W,  But  you  do  not  suppose  that  the 
bad  conduct  of  the  working-women  in 
Nottingham  proves  any  thing  against  the 
women  of  the  United  States  ? 

S,  It  at  least  disposes  of  the  romantie 
notion  that  the  mere  presence  of  women 
is  to  purify  politics.  The  only  proteo- 
tion  against  bribery  is  character  in  the 
voter ;  and  unless  women  have  a  higher 
sense  of  their  responsibility  to  society  in 
voting  than  men  have,  they  will  be  jml 
as  likely  to  sell  out  their  franchise. 
Surely  no  one  will  claim  that  they  have 
that  sense  now. 

E.  You  despair  of  any  cure  for  cheat- 
ing at  elections,  then  ? 

S,  I  despair  of  any  grand  stroke  of 
legislation,  by  which  this  is  to  bo  done, 
or  any  other  great  good  that  lies  in  ch«^ 
acter.  Public  opinion  is  the  essential  in^ 
stitution,  out  of  which  all  others  grow; 
and  the  only  men  that  are  likely  to  fight 
successfully  against  corruption  are  those 
who  keep  hammering  away  at  the  pub- 
lic mind,  quickening  its  conscience, 
awakening  its  indignation,  and  then  di- 
recting its  efforts  for  reform  into  the 
simplest  and  easiest  methods.  Tinker- 
ing with  forms  of  government  is  a  fash- 
ionable vice  of  the  day ;  but  in  a  repub- 
lican country  the  particular  forms  do 
not  really  matter  much.  The  essential 
thing  is  the  character  of  the  people ;  and 
the  government  can  never  be  much  betr 
ter  or  much  worse  than  that  is. 

E,  Your  opinion  of  the  French  peo- 
ple, then,  must  be  a  very  low  one  indeed ; 
for  they  have  repeatedly  tried  to  set  np 
a  popular  government,  but  it  always  de- 
generates rapidly  into  a  despotism ;  and, 
I  take  it,  that  is  the  very  worst  tendency 
*a  government  can  have.  Does  it  indi- 
cate that  the  French  are  the  worst  of 
people! 

S.  By  no  means.  They  are  far  behind 
the  English  or  Americans  in  political 
education,  and  especially  in  that  sense  for 
law  which  is  its  best  result  But  th^ 
are  on  the  road  to  its  attainment,  and 
have  a  good  foundation  for  it  in  their 
thorough  drill ;  for  it  is  not  in  their  army 


Tablb-Tale. 


121 


•nt  in  their  literatare  and  in  all 
led  action,  that  the  French  are  the 
illed  people  in  the  world.  Gon- 
»o,  how  far  ahead  they  are,  even 
itics,  of  every  nation  bat  two  or 
They  know  enough  really  to  de- 
tedom,  whioh  cannot  fairly  be  said 
f  the  Italians.  Whether  any  na- 
I  earth  knows  enough  not  only  to 
it,  bat  to  keep  it,  is  -as  yet  nn- 
• 

begin  to  have  hope  of  the  French, 
hey  elected  Rochefort,  from  Paris, 
Z)orp8  Legislatif.  It  shows  that  the 
rats  are  really  irreconcilable.  The 
or  cannot  spare  power  enough  to 
em.  He  must  give  up  all  he  has, 
t  merely  a  man,  before  they  will 
a  him.  Even  then,  I  believe, 
f  them  would  have  him  tried  for 
irders  of  December ;  and  they  are 

!liat  is  just  the  spirit  that  is 
>ning  France,  and  therefore  Eu- 
irith  a  social  chaos.  Admit  that 
»on   is  a  usurper — was    once    a 

a  murderer :  what  has  any  one 
vith  that,  if  he  acts  wisely  now, 
res  the  French  the  best  govern- 
ittainable?    Shall  mere  personal 

and  revenge  take  the  place  of 
lanship  ? 

es  die  off— scarcely  roverbcrnte 

ret ;  "wby  should  ill  keep  echoing  ill, 

oerer  let  our  ears  hiiTo  dono  \rith  noise ! " 

What!  Let  a  man  rule  a  great 
stand  forth  before  the  world  as 
if  and  spokesman,  whose  soul  and 
»  red  and  black  with  every  crime  ? 
not,  if  virtue  can  get  strength 
i  to  crush  him  I  It  is  bad  enough 
eople  to  bo  forced  to  endure  his 
)ut  their  supreme  degradation 
be  to  accept  it. 

t  seems  pretty  safe  to  predict  that  * 
ill  not  accept  it.  The  Emperor's 
,  promising  the  largest  liberty, 
en  received  with  enthusiasm  by 
rps  Legislatif,  which  is  the  French 
iss ;  and  a  very  French  Congress 
.  Ho  is  eloquent  as  well  as  pow- 
ind  in  France  both  eloquence  and 
go  farther  in  controlling  opinion 
ly  where  else.  But  he  really  made 
DL.  V. — 9 


no  important  concessions ;  not  a  tithe  of 
what  the  people  demand,  and  the  first 
discussions  are  likely  to  define  sharply 
the  antagonism  between  him  and  them. 

0,  Meanwhile  the  liberal  leaders  see 
that  there  may  be  danger  from  below  os 
well  as  from  above,  and  that  a  Paris  mob 
may  become  a  many-headed  tyrant,wor8e 
than  the  one  they  are  attacking.  When 
such  men  as  Bancel  and  Ganihetta  begin 
to  deprecate  revolution,  you  may  bo  sure 
that  shrewd  ambition  suspects  a  pretty 
obstinate  life  in  the  Empire  yet. 

W,  But  do  not  submit  to  bo  dazzled 
by  the  light  of  a  crown,  so  as  to  condone 
a  life  that  unites  Belial  and  Moloch.  I 
don't  like  cursing,  but  I  read  Swin- 
burne's cursing  sonnets  on  Napoleon  as 
meant  for  the  ruler,  not  for  the  man, 
and  so  get  along  with  them  as  well  as 
with  David's  cursing  Psalms.  Let  me 
read  you  one  of  them : 

"  Hath  ho  not  deeds  to  do  snd  days  to  seo 
Yet  ere  the  day  that  Is  to  seo  him  dead  7 
Beats  there  no  brain  yet  in  the  poIsoDons  h'^'vd, 
Throbs  there  no  treasoD  7  If  no  such  thing  there  bo, 
If  no  snoh  thought,  snrely  this  is  not  he. 
Look  to  the  hands  then  ;  ore  the  hands  not  red  7 
What  are  the  shadows  abont  this  man^s  bed  7 
Death,  was  not  this  the  cup-bearer  to  thee  7 
Nay,  let  him  live  then  till  in  this  life's  stead 

Even  ho  shall  pray  for  that  thou  host  to  give ; 
Till,  seeing  his  hopes  and  not  his  memories  flc<], 
Even  he  shall  oiy  upon  Ihco  a  bitter  cry, 
That  life  Is  worse  than  death  ;  then  lot  him  live. 
Till  death  seems  worse  than  life  ;  then  let  him 
die." 

S,  Bochefort  set  to  music ;  la  Lantcme 
lifted  into  the  mists  of  verse,  till  it  be- 
comes a  sham  star.  Sad  will  the  night 
be  in  which  it  becomes  tho  guiding  star 
of  France.  Ladies  may  be  excused  for 
bringing  moral  judgments  into  politics, 
but  men  and  nations  are  ruined  by  it. 
Either  religion  or  morality  is  sure  to 
degrade  and  corrupt  statesmanship,  or 
rather  to  destroy  it.  Church  politics  are 
always  the  worst  in  the  world,  and 
moral-sense  politics  not  far  behind  them. 
Government  will  not  bear  looking  at  in 
that  light ;  ambition  and  glory  look  shab- 
by in  it.  Byron  was  right  on  this  point, 
as  we  shall  all  agree : 

"  Wcro  things  but  only  called  by  their  right  name, 
Ctes.-ir  himself  would  be  ashamed  of  fame." 

£.  You  are  fond  of  Byron,  since  the 
hard  stories  about  him.     When  do  you 


123 


PuTNAM^s  Magazine. 


[Jib, 


find  timo  to  read  him  ?  And  what  sort 
of  books  do  you  koop-  at  hand,  to  pick 
up  in  odd  hours  ? 

S.  I  have  no  rule  about  it.  For  five 
years  I  carried  Tennyson  in  my  pocket ; 
tl^n  fell  back  on  Shakespeare  for  a  year 
or  two ;  then  to  Goethe.  But  of  late  my 
leisure  has  gone  to  books  of  the  hour, 
or  to  its  reviews,  magazines,  and  news- 
papers. 

C.  Every  body  txjlls  the  same  thing. 
Is  it  not  unfortunate  that  even  well-read 
men,  as  we  call  them,  are  so  miscella- 
neous in  this  ? 

S.  Not  at  all.  That  is  what  makes 
them  well-read.  System  in  study  U 
good,  but  system  in  general  reading  is  as 
nudesirable  as  it  is  impossible.  All  your 
manuals  and  formal  essays  about  read- 
ing make  a  capital  blunder  here.  A 
regular  training  in  a  special  line  is  neces- 
sary to  mental  efficiency,  as  it  is  to  every 
other  sort  of  efficiency,  and  a  good  writer 
or  thinker  or  speaker  must  have  it.  But 
out  of  his  line,  what  he  wants  is  intelli- 
g»nce ;  and  intclligcnco  never  came  yet 
by  system.  Read  every  thing ;  if  you 
can't  do  that,  at  least  read  a  variety. 

C,  But  docs  not  most  of  such  reading 
go  to  waste  ? 

S.  That  depends  on  what  you  mean 
by  waste.  Business  is  work ;  study  is 
the  hardest  kind  of  work ;  but  reading 
ought  to  be  recreation.  If  eating,  drink- 
ing, rest,  and  amusement  are  waste,  gen- 
eral reading  is  so.  It  is  the  mind's  great- 
est luxury,  and  ought  to  bo  just  the 
opposite  of  work,  and  is  so  in  precisely 
the  best  professional  workers. 

C.  But  there  you  run  against  Lord 
Coke,  Mr.  Warren,  Professor  Porter, 
and  every  other  adviser  of  authority. 
Besides,  how  can  there  bo  such  a  diff<T- 
ence  between  the  intellectual  occupations 
of  the  same  mind  ?  For  instance,  how 
shall  it  be  hard  work  for  a  reviewer  to 
study  up  Mr.  Lecky's  History  of  Eu- 
ropean Morals  for  review,  and  mere  play 
for  another  man  to  read  the  same  book, 
with  the  same  attention,  and  of  his  own 
curiosity  ? 

S.  Just  OS  a  game  of  chess  may  be 
professional  work  for  Staunton  or  An- 
derssvn,  while  you  and  I  find  rest  in  it. 


Systems  always  run  in  ruts,  howevw 
well  conceived  they  may  be.  The  thing 
to  avoid  in  reading  is  mere  ruts;  nai^ 
rowing  one's  interest  in  the  world  l^ 
taking  a  few  points  of  view,  a  few  lixi«i 
of  thonght,  instead  of  keeping  open  to 
all.  Intelligence  means  conimunioii 
with  the  intellectual  world  in  aU  its 
forms  of  activity.  Intelligence  meanf 
knowledge  that  is  wide  enough  to  afford 
sympathy  and  tolerance  to  every  form 
of  narrowness. 

C.  A  smattering  of  every  thing  is  then 
to  be  preferred  to  thorough  knowledge 
of  one  or  a  few  subjects  ? 

S.  No ;  but  no  reproach  is  easier  than 
'*  smattering."  What  does  it  mean  ?  li 
a  man  slights  his  proper  work,  and  full 
to  do  that  thoroughly,  he  is  justly  called 
a  smatterer.  So  it  is,  too,  if  he  blindly 
or  weakly  cuts  himself  off  from  the  few 
great  principles  which  underlie  every 
subject  of  reading,  and  deals  in  isolated 
fragments  of  knowledge.  The  genera] 
reader  could  not  help  doing  this  some 
ages  ago,  but  now  most  subjects  he  wiQ 
want  to  know  lie  in  clear  outline  in  the 
literature  of  the  clay  around  him.  He 
fixes  these  principles  in  his  mind  the 
more  by  every  bit  of  reading  he  really 
enjoys,  and  afterwards  reads  on  in  the 
light  of  them. 

W,  You  do  not  join  in  the  abus3  80 
many  lavish  on  the  rage  for  periodicals, 
which  are  supplanting  standard  books f 

S,  Not  at  all ;  the  fact  is  not  that  the 
taste  of  readers  is  lower,  but  that  car- 
rent  literature  is  better.  It  has  risen— 
not  all,  but  the  best  of  it— far  above  the 
taste  of  old  times ;  and  now  there  is  no 
one  who  cannot  always  find  in  it  some* 
thing  good  enough  for  him. 

ir.  This  is  comforting  doctrine  to 
most  of  us  desultory  readers.  But  **  the 
classics  "  lie  on  our  consciences  still. 

S,  Well,  we  hiid  Letter  throw  them 
off.  The  less  we  have  to  do  with  them^ 
except  as  inclination  leads  the  way,  the 
better.  The  golden  rule  is  to  follow 
one's  own  curiosity,  one's  own  interest, 
the  natural  stimulus ;  and  this  will  bring 
us  up  to  them  whenever  they  are  good 
for  us.  What  good  will  a  man  get  out 
of  Shakospenro,  who  forces  his  mind  to 


Table- Talk. 


123 


a  task?  Ho  wrote  to  amnse; 
\y  the  mind  in  search  of  aranse- 
lan  really  reach  his.  It  is  this 
ition  of  the  impertinent  idea  of 
id  responsibility  into  hoars  of  in- 
:al  enjoyment  that  destroys  all 
;y  in  our  culture.  Keep  it  for 
where  it  belongs  ;  and  at  other 
et  the  mind  live  and  grow,  ns  the 
ms,  "  at  its  own  sweet  will." 
ut  what  a  heathenish  notion  is 
[)an  a  mind  make  the  most  of  it- 
my  mood  but 

ever  In  my  great  Tngk master's  cj'c  " ! 

lot  a  man  live  always  under  the 
e  to  make  the  most  of  himself? 
o  man  over  made  the  most  of  him- 
Ihe  best  minds  are  but  the  frag- 
)f  the  plan  they  are  built  on — the 

of  what  they  might  have  been. 
0  lias  no  economies ;  intellectual 
)  least  of  all.  It  is  lavish  of  its 
ities ;  "  of  fifty  seeds,  it  often 
but  one  to  bear ;  "  and  to  hnsband 
ixiously  is  the  worst  mistake  of  all. 
7*0 w;  leave  the  mystery  of  wa«to 
'nturo  that  is  **  behind  the  veil ;  " 
joy  freedom.  Rely  on  it,  only  in 
lie  freedom  of  its  own  impulses 
ind  gather  the  best  power, 
his  were  good  talk  for  the  Middle 
tut  it  is  sowing  thistles  in  a  field 
OS  to  teach  such  doctrines  now. 
)  in  a  desultory  world,  and  in  a 
•  the  most  so  of  all ;  and  litera- 
t  best,  lies  around  us   in  little 

"What  grand  old  times  they  were 
rork  was  play ;  when  great  men 
•est  enough  in  what  they  had  to 

if  it  made  them  tired,  only  in- 
that  it  was  a  worthy  task,  and 
it  the  longer.  There  was  Milton, 
del  radical,  six  or  seven  genera- 
jo.    Almost  all  that  we  know  of 

is,  that  he  was  never  idle  for  a 

In  his  book  on  Education,  he 

fvn  a  plan  of  study  that  fills  every 

life,  and  in  the  midst  of  it  re- 
that  the  stndent,  in  a  few  odd 
will  easily  have  picked  up  the 
anguage.  Why  not  ?  A  man  of 
system  would  do  that  in  a  couple 
's,  while  undressing,  or  in  his 
But  study  is  unknown  now,  and 


the  world  of  mind,  instead  of  a  round 
globe  moving  in  a  majestic  orbit,  is  shat- 
tered into  a  train  of  telescopic  asteroid^, 
hard  to  find  and  little  worth  finding. 

7?.  What  will  not  blindness  conceal 
from  a  man  I  If  your  eyes  are  shut,  the 
sun  is  no  more  to  you  than  a  farthing 
dip.  But  all  this  grumbling  is  refuted 
by  one  fact,  which  is,  that  of  all  ages, 
this  is  the  age  of  scholarship,  of  the 
highest  as  well  as  of  the  most  diffused 
intelligence.  For  instance,  no  nation 
ever  before  could  boast  among  its  living 
men  seven  such  names  as  Gladstone, 
Bright,  Mill,  Baine,  Spencer,  Huxley,  and 
Tyndall ;  and  how  many  men  there  are, 
in  England  alone,  who  rank  near  them ! 
You  hold,  I  suppose,  that  when 

''Light  thail  spread,  and  man  be  iiker  man 
Through  all  the  circle  of  the  golden  year,*' 

it  will  be  by  dragging  down  the  great 
to  the  dead  level.  But  not  so  ;  it  is  only 
when  the  highest  are  still  struggling  up- 
ward that  the  whole  mass  of  society  is 
lifted. 

S,  Assertion  proves  neithcr's  position : 
and  much  is  to  be  said  a^iainst  both  of 
you.  There  is  certainly  room  for  two 
opposite  opinions  as  to  the  chance  great 
minds  have  for  the  best  culture  in 
American  society.  Do  Tocquevillo  was 
a  good  observer,  and  he  found  public 
opinion  in  our  democracy  a  most  watch- 
ful despot,  and  thought  there  was  less 
intellectual  freedom  hero  than  anywhere 
else.  Yet  somebody  has  snid — no  mutter 
who,  for  it  has  become  a  proverb— that 
"nothing  pays  in  America  like  heresy." 
"Which  is  right? 

TT.  I  don*t  think  this  a  contradic- 
tion. Society  is  a  tyrant  to  any  opinion 
that  conflicts  with  its  passions  or  conve- 
nience, but  is  tolerant  enoug'.i  otherwise. 
This  was  seen  when  Southern  sympa- 
thizers, so  respectable  before,  suddenly 
became  to  us  the  enemies  of  mankind,  in 
April,  18G1.  So  the  movement  for  ele- 
vating woman  has  been  bitter  received 
here  than  it  could  possibly  have  been  in 
any  other  country,  with  lees  bitterners 
and  less  ridicule.  Bnt  let  it  once  be- 
come an  immediate  practical  qr.cstion 
whether  women  f^hall  vote  or  not.  and 


124 


PuTNAM^s  Magazine. 


[j«. 


you  will  seo  passions  nearly  as  strong  as 
those  the  rebellion  roused. 

E,  Not  so,  madam,  if  one  may  take 
his  own  feelings  as  an  epitome  of  the  na- 
tion's— and  that  is  the  only  way  to  guess 
at  these  in  advance.  "We  all  felt  a  largo 
amount  of  compressed  indignation  against 
rebels  before  the  war  began,  but  we  have 
no  such  explosive  tendencies  toward 
you  and  your  ambitious  designs. 

W.  Yet  when  a  few  earnest  women  go 
to  a  medical  school  in  Philadelphia,  they 
are  stared  at  like  samples  of  the  gorilla 
tribe,  and  pursued  with  gibes  through 
the  streets,  by  the  men  of  science. 

R,  Yes ;  but  the  act  has  stirred  up  the 
whole  world  in  favor  of  them.  The  ca- 
ble report  of  it  in  Great  Britain  was  fol- 
lowed within  a  week  by  the  oflScial  invi- 
tation to  women  to  study  medicine  in 
the  University  of  Edinburgh.  Here  in 
New  York  public  opinion  is  strong 
against  excluding  them  from  the  schools, 
and  the  young  men  in  some  of  these  wel- 
come them. 

(7.  Strong,  but  unreasoning  and  un- 
reasonable. There  may  be  some  need 
that  women  who  act  as  nurses  shall 
learn  a  little  of  the  science  to  keep  them 
out  of  mischief;  but  the  notion  of  mak- 
ing practitioners  of  them  will  be  labelled 
"poison,"  and  laid  away,  in  another 
generation,  side  by  side  with  such  fancies 
of  this  age  as  tlie  (Ecumenical  Council 
and  the  Northwest  Passage. 

R,  You  seem  to  me  to  retire  a  century 
further  into  prejudice  every  ten  minutes. 
Thanks  to  free  discussion,  that  question 
is  settled;  and  nothing  is  needed  but 
time  to  educate  enough  women  for  the 
work,  when  you  will  see  men  driven  en- 
tirely from  thoso  branches  of  medical 
practice  which  they  ought  never  to  have 
entered. 

E,  Wo  must  all  at  least  agree  that,  so 
far,  women  seem  peculiarly  fit  for  med- 
ical practitioners,  and  tho  public  gener- 
ally are  now  ready  to  seo  them  undertake 
a  great  part  of  this  work,  and  to  trust 
them  in  it. 

C,  Well,  you  are  all  against  me  in  this, 
but  I  know  how  to  sot  you  at  odds. 
What  do  you  expect  will  become  of  the 
emancipated    blacks    in    the    Southern 


States?  If  the  "suppressed  sex"  cm 
now  take  tho  world  into  its  own  handi, 
what  is  to  be  done  for  the  suppressed 
race  ?    Don^t  all  speak  at  once  I 

S,  You  know  my  view.  The  happiest 
place  in  the  world  for  negroes  is  in  trop- 
ical islands,  such  as  tho  British  West  In- 
dies; yet  after  nearly  thirty  years  of 
freedom  there,  they  are  poorer  than  thoj 
were  the  day  they  were  emancipated,  and 
there  are  fewer  of  them.  Their  namben 
now  diminish  every  year.  I  see  no  other 
future  for  any  thoroughly  inferior  race 
that  comes  in  contact  with  ours  thm 
gradual  extermination.  It  is  well  for  tlie 
world  that  it  is  so. 

W,  You  often  talk  extravagantly, 
when  we  are  in  doubt  whether  you  meuk 
it  or  not ;  but  this  must  be  a  jest. 

S.  By  no  means.  Tho  hope  of  the 
world  is  in  the  possession  of  it  by  the 
best  races,  and  the  killing  out  of  weaker 
and  coarser  ones.  Anglo-Saxon  blood  b 
better  undiluted.  If  every  negro  en 
earth  should  die  to-day,  humanity  woold 
be  the  richer  for  it  tomorrow. 

E.  But  has  life  no  value  in  itself? 
Would  not  tho  world  be  poorer  by  mil- 
lions of  enjoying  lives  ? 

S.  Life  is  the  n^orest  trifle,  and  the 
weakness  of  this  ago  comes  from  the 
habit  of  looking  at  it  through  a  micro- 
scope. Every  body  magnifies  its  value, 
and  our  ears  aro  deafened  by  the  clamor 
and  twaddle  of  those  who  regard  life  as 
greater  than  its  ends.  The  war  taught 
us  for  a  while  that  it  is  better  to  kill  or 
be  killed  outriglit  than  to  live  or  let  live 
worthless  days ;  but  now  we  aro  forget- 
ting all  that,  and  tlic  old  sickly  snuffle 
about  the  gallows,  and  judicial  murders, 
and  the  infinite  value  of  life  and  the  sin  of 
war,  is  coming  back.  We  shall  get  over 
it  when  real  work  f:ices  us  aq:ain ;  and 
there  will  never  be  any  true  civilization 
until  "  the  individual  withers,  and  the 
world  is  more  and  moro '' — until,  that  is, 
each  man  regards  his  own  life,  and  his 
neighbor's,  too,  as  nothing  but  a  means 
to  the  general  good. 

(7.  So  you  would  murder  every  one 
who  seems  to  vou  useless? 

S.  I  would  do  away  with  maudlin  cx- 
a'jgoration,  and  not  protend  to  an  optim- 


TABLfi-TALE. 


1^ 


•  one  really  believes.  What  are 
icks  good  for?  They  are  idle, 
,  weak  ia  body,  passionate,  with 
half  organized ;  and  the  effort  nnd 
bringing  them  up  to  the  level  it 
:en  as  untold  ages  to  reach,  would 
\  back  for  centuries.  They  will  be 
>  drag  on  our  nation,  but  I  hope 
ill  die  out. 

rhe  author  of  our  *^  Sketches  in 
'  has  seen  them  tlirough  and 
i),  and  knows  better.  She  finds 
I  qualities  of  greatness,  and  thinks 
lay  yet  work  out  somewhere  a 
1  life,  worthy  to  compare  with 
L  They  have  soul,  affection,  de- 
music,  beyond  any  other  people, 
lack  of  wit 

et  she  has  not  mentioned  their 
t  resource  of  character.  It  is  that 
y  for  personal  allegiance,  that 
i  for  a  leader,  and  devotion  to  him 
hey  find  him,  which  distinguishes 
ibove  every  race.  This  quality 
ive  helped  enslave  them,  but  free- 
ill  purify  it  of  subserviency,  and 
.  a  rich  element  of  greatness.  It 
.  made  Paul  chief  of  Christians  in 
f;  it  is  what  made  the  age  of 
y  the  heroic  age  of  Europe.  The 
Saxon  race  is  wanting  in  it.  and 
txcelled  in  the  knightly  virtues, 
negroes  bring  back  this  lost  force 
vilization,  they  will  contribute 
I  share  of  one  people  to  forming 
Idea  Age. 

donH  know  how  that  may  be,  but 
10  less  right  to  life  and  its  Joys 
one  form  of  sknll  or  heel-  than 
: ;  and  do  not  care  to  ask  what  a 
wortli,  nor  give  him  (he  right  to 
same  of  me.  Let  him  make  the 
'  his  life ;  I  shall  try  to  make  the 
'  mine. 

trange  that  our  several  opinions 
actical  question  like  this,  which 
d  w^ith  politics  and  discussed  in 
iTspapers,  should  turn  on  the  view 
o  of  a  purely  scientific  qnestion, 
man's  origin  1  Now,  the  univer- 
ef  of  men  who  are  familiar  with 
st  researches  on  this  point  is,  that 
e  is  millions  of  years  old,  instead 
isands;   and  most  of  them   hold 


that  Darwin  is  nght  about  its  develop- 
ment  out  of  lower  forms.  Such  doctrine 
is  killing  humanitarianism  very  fast.  If 
natural  selection  has  made  men  out  of 
beasts,  then  scientific  selection,  which  is 
much  more  rapid  in  its  effects,  can  surely 
make  angels  out  of  men.  We  have  only 
to  preserve  the  children  of  the  wise  and 
good,  killing  off  all  the  rest,  and  Plato, 
Shakespeare,  Washington,  will  bo  the 
average  man  after  a  few  generations.  I 
suspect  that  **  anthropologists "  are 
pretty  generally  on  the  way  to  tljis  con- 
clusion, even  if  they  have  not  yet  a  clear 
view  of  it. 

TT.  Let  Darwinism  alone  for  the  pre- 
sent. We  agreed  to  write  down,  each  of 
na,what  we  regard  as  the  most  interesting 
event  of  the  month  of  November.  Are 
your  papers  all  ready  ?  Here  is  mine.  I 
say,  the  opening  of  the  Suez  Canal.  It  was 
a  splendid  triumph  of  energ}'  and  talent; 
a  magnificent  occasion,  when  sovereigns 
met,  with  trains  richly  dressed,  and  then 
parted  to  fill  Europe  with  gossip  ;  and  it 
is  a  sort  of  mystery  as  yet,  since  no  one 
can  guess  how  much  it  will  change  the 
course  of  commerce. 

C,  Good!  I  did  not  Uiink  so  much 
could  bo  said  for  a  paltry  ditch  in  the 
deserts  I  say,  Napoleon's  speech  when 
the  French  Ohambor  met  was  the  great 
event  of  the  month.  Think  of  civil 
order  in  France,  the  peace  of  all  Europe, 
waiting  on  his  lips ;  and  of  the  amazing 
mental  vigor  that  defied  imminent  revo- 
lution, and  gathered  around  him  to  pre- 
vent it  all  except  the  least  sane  of  his 
enemies.  Is  it  not  the  finest  victory  a 
single  effort  of  statesmanship  has  won  in 
our  times  ? 

E.  The  modern  Tiberius  has  certainly 
shown  a  flickering  in  his  ashes,  before 
they  go  out  and  blow  away ;  but  it  can- 
not last  long ;  and  it  is  laughable  to  call 
his  cunning  mixture  of  threats  and  pro- 
mises, statesmanship.  A  vastly  more 
interesting  event  was  the  report  of  Dr. 
Livingstone's  discovery  of  the  real  source 
and  length  of  the  river  Nile.  Only  think 
that  the  great  geographer,  Ptolemy,  who 
died  seventeen  centuries  ago,  told  the 
world  that  the  Nile  was  three  thousand 
miles  long;  that  his  authority  was  dis- 


186 


PxTTNAM^s  Magazine. 


[Jul, 


credited  for  ages,  because,  in  part,  of 
this  very  assertion;  and  that  now,  for 
the  first  time,  it  is  ascertained  that  ho 
was  right,  and  knew  more  of  the  most 
famous  river  in  the  world  than  all  gener- 
ations of  explorers. 

i?.  If  mere  discoveries  are  what  you 
want,  you  may  look  nearer  home.  To 
me,  the  wonderful  excavations  the  French 
have  just  made  in  Kome,  on  Mount 
Palatine,  whore  they  have  unearthed  the 
Cffisars'  palace,  and,  in  it,  a  new  cycle  of 
Roman  art,  or  the  curious  architectural 
paintings  just  discovered  in  Pompeii,  and 
examined  by  Mr.  Layard,  are  of  much 
more  interest  than  where  a  particular 
watershed  happens  to  cross  a  desert 
which  it  is  mere  madness  to  visit.  But 
if  it  is  an  event  really  suggestive  of 
interest  to  us,  men  and  women  of 
America,  to-day,  that  we  seek,  there  was 
nothing  in  the  month  to  rival  the  shoot- 
ing of  Mr.  A.  D.  Richardson  by  McFar- 
land,  and  his  subsequent  death.  This 
stirs  up  live  questions ;  what  the  laws 
ought  to  be,  for  the  protection  of  fam- 
ilies, for  divorce  and  remarriage ;  what 
circumstances,  if  any,  justify  private 
revenge;  and.  the  capital  punishment 
trouble,  too. 

0.  Yes,  and  more  than  all,  whether 
Christian  ministers  have  a  right  to  dis- 
regard law  and  public  opinion  on  the 
subject  of  the  marriage-tie,  in  obedience 
to  their  own  private  notions  of  senti- 
mental justice.  But  I  believe  that  there 
is  not  a  person  in  the  world,  who  is 
prominently  known  as  slighting  and  des- 
pising marriage,  who  is  not  also  an  earn- 
est advocate  of  **  woman's  rights."  The 
two  go  logically  and  practically  together. 

S,  Don't  begin  that  discussion  now, 
I  hoar  more  talk  of  Father  Ilyacinthe, 
the  pure  nn-l  beautiful  soul  who  is  about 
to  take  home  tht)  impression  thr.t  Amer- 
ica is  one  infinite  and  Protean  bore,  than 
about  the  social  questions  you  name, 
and  however  important  they  are,  I  think 
it  easy  to  find  more  interesting  topics  of 
tlie  month,  such  as  "Wendell  Phillips's 
new  lecture,  or  the  Card  iff  stone  forgery, 
or  the  Vandorbilt  brass  one— two  things 


which  have  sounded  the  depths  of  human 
impudence  and  measured  the  possibilities 
of  imposture. 

W,  But  what  was  the  event  of  greatest 
interest  to  you? 

8,  Oh,  beyond  doubt,  one  that  neither 
of  you  has  heard  of  at  all.  It  is  the 
trifling  fact,  just  published,  that  some 
scientific  plodders  have  at  last  devised  t 
plan  by  which  they  can  bring  up  the 
bottom  of  the  sea  from  great  depths; 
that  they  have  actually  brought  op  large 
amounts  of  earth  from  a  depth  of  nearly 
three  miles  in  the  Mediterranean;  and 
that  they  find  such  strange  things  in  it 
There,  in  absolute  and  eternal  darkness, 
and  in  a  cold  that  is  always  below  the 
freezing-point,  is  the  same  abundance  of 
life  as  near  the  surface  of  the  water,  and 
in  a  rich  variety  of  forms.  This  explodes 
a  dozen  old  notions  about  the  effects  of 
pressure,  of  darkness,  and  of  cold,  which 
had  made  us  suppose  those  depths  the 
most  utter  desolation.  But  stranger  than 
all,  they  find  that  the  deep  sea  is  eveiy- 
where  depositing  chalk ;  and  that  many 
creatures  living  in  its  bed  are  the  almort 
unchanged  descendants  of  those  found  in 
the  chalk-rocks  of  millions  of  ages  ago ; 
so  that  this  dredging  fairly  takes  us  baok 
into  the  geological  age  of  the  secondary 
rocks,  when  the  whole  earth  was  inhab- 
ited only  by  kinds  of  beings  that  have 
hitherto  been  supposed  to  have  disap- 
peared while  yet  the  sky  was  young. 
Suppose  half  of  this  to  bo  guess-work, 
and  disproved  on  closer  study;  yet  who 
can  tell  what  the  discovery  will  lead  to^ 
or  how  much  it  may  yet  help  us,  in  trac- 
ing the  past  history  and  present  state  of 
our  globe? 

B,  Wo  must  wait  a  hundred  years,  I 
suppose,  before  finally  deciding  which  of 
us  has  hit  on  the  event  of  most  lasting 
interest  to  the  world.  Is  it  not 
likely  that  all  have  missed  it,  and  that 
something  right  before  our  eyes,  but  to 
which  wo  are  blind,  will  hereafter  over- 
shadow all  these  ?  It  is  where  a  seed  is 
fown  to-day,  and  not  whore  the  light- 
ning strikes,  that  the  coining  ages  will 
find  a  tree. 


] 


LnXBATUBE* 


127 


LITERATURE— AT  HOME. 


—  There  are  periods  in  the  history  of  Art 
Literature  when  it  is  better  to  praise 
to  blame,  although  on  purely  abstract 
ids  it  would  be  more  just  to  blame  than 
lisc.  Wo  are  in  such  a  period  hero,  in 
i  to  the  making  of  Illustrated  Books, — 
t  in  which  we  cannot  be  said  to  csccl 
tut  one  in  which  we  promise  to  do  some- 
in  time.  It  is  of  recent  growth  among 
specially  in  the  dircclion  it  takes  at 
at — that  of  wood-engraving,  apparent- 
easy,  but  in  reality  a  very  difficult, 
of  art.  Year  after  year  our  publishers 
to  what  they  suppose  public  taste,  but 
r  they  have  produced  only  two  Dlus- 
1  Books  worthy  of  the  name — the  Art- 
Jdition  of  Irving*s  "  Sketch  Book,"  and 
^aimer's  "  Folk  Songs."  These  not 
justify  praise,  for  what  they  are,  but 
justify  us,  if  not  in  leniency  towards, 
encouragement  of,  later  and  less  suc- 
1  volumes  of  the  same  kind.  The  dls- 
)n  to  do  well  is  a  great  step  towards 
better,  and  if  our  artists  will  but  do  their 
as  our  publishers  are  trying  to  do 
,  we  shall  yet  be  proud  of  both.  As  it 
are  hopeful ;  for  while  no  work  of  the 
will  compare  throughout  with  the 
tch  Book,"  several  approach  it  in  some 
its,  while  all  are  superior,  as  art-work, 
last  year's  Ilollday  Books.  They  are 
or,  too,  as  Literature,  a  trifle,  perhaps, 
>ne  which  our  artists  and  publishers 
do  well  to  bear  in  mind  in  joining 
forces  hereafter,  since  it  is  just  this  trifle 
will  make  their  work  live,  if  it  is  to 
)cyond  the  day  that  called  it  forth, 
it  year,  for  instance,  Messrs.  Charles 
ler  &  Co.  published  an  illustrated  edi- 
)f  Dr.  Holland's  **  Kathrina,"  and  a 
)r  two  before  an  illustrated  edition  of 
mc  writer's  "  Bitter  Sweet,"  neither  of 
I,  in  our  judgment,  was  worthy  of  the 
This  year  Messrs.  Scribner  &  Ca 
h  the  Ladt/  Gcraldine^s  Courtship 
re.  Browning,  a  glowing  and  impas- 
l  narrative  which  will  bo  read  with 
;re  as  long  as  youth  shall  last,  and 
;  hearts  love.  It  is  faulty,  of  course, 
ill   Mrs.  Browning's   poetry,  but   ths 


faults  are  carried  off  bravely  by  the  msh 
and  tumult  of  her  verse,  which  is  often  as 
extravagant  as  that  of  Marlow,  beside  whom 
she  might  have  stood 

•*  Up  to  the  chin  in  the  Pierian  flood." 

But  whatever  its  poetical  demerits,  *'  Lady 
Geraldme's  Courtship "  Is  the  poem  above 
all  others  that  an  artist  would  select  for 
illustration,  on  account  of  its  landscapes, 
which  are  noble,  and  its  figures,  which 
are  elegant  and  high-bred  ;  in  other  words, 
on  account  of  its  picturesqueness.  It  was 
this  quality,  no  doubt,  which  recommended 
it  to  Mr.  Hennessey,  who  must  have  been 
glad,  after  escaping  the  inanities  of  "  Kath- 
rina," to  find  something  tangible  enough  for 
his  fancy  to  seize,  and  his  pencil  to  repre- 
sent. He  has  done  much  better  than  in 
"Kathrina," — in  fact, better  than  ever  before. 
We  cannot  exactly  say  that  he  is  penetrated 
by  the  spirit  of  the  poem,  but  he  has  caught 
as  much  of  it  as  we  could  expect,  when  we 
remember  his  characteristics  as  an  artist. 
The  bent  of  his  powers  is  towards  the  honpe- 
ly,  which  ho  is  apt  to  make  too  homely,  and 
towards  the  strange,  which  he  is  opt  to  make 
too  strange ;  but  as  strangeness  and  homeli- 
ness were  evidently  out  of  place  in  "  Lady 
Gcraldine's  Courtship,"  it  must  have  tasked 
hi»o  to  discard  them,  as  he  has  endeavored 
to  do.  His  ideal  of  Lady  Gcraldine  is  open 
to  the  objection  which  accompanies  all  his 
ideal  portraits  of  women — too  much  rotun- 
dity of  face,  and  too  much  plumptitude  ot 
form ;  but  he  overcomes  this  tendency  when 
ho  comes  to  the  minor  personages  of  the 
poem,  as  in  the  groups  on  pac^es  9  and  10;— 
each  a  glimpse  of  a  fashionable  party, — and, 
better  yet,  in  the  group  on  page  16.  Still 
more  elegant  is  the  garuen-sccne  on  page  19. 
All  these  have  a  high-bred,  English  air, 
thoroughly  in  keeping  with  the  story  and 
the  time.  Not  po  good  are  the  illustrations 
of  the  heroine,  who  is  not  so  much  a  lady, 
as  lady-like,  though  on  the  whole  quite  a 
presentable  you-ig  woman.  Nor  are  we 
much  taken  witli  her  poet-lover,  Bertram, 
with  whom  trouble  seems  to  agree,  since  he 
is  slim  on  page  13,  and  heavy  and  hii-sute 
en  pnge  43.     Fini  whatever  fr.r.U  wc  may, 


128 


PuTNAM^s  Magazine. 


[JflL, 


however,  with  single  drawings,  it  is  clear 
that  the  series  was  well  thought  out  before  it 
was  undertaken,  and  that  there  is  no  con- 
sciousness of  careless  work  on  Mr.  Hennes- 
sey's part.  Mr.  Linton  has  also  done  his  best, 
and  his  best  is  very  good  indeed.  Altogether 
there  is  a  great  deal  that  is  praiseworthy  in 
this  beautiful  edition  of  **  Lady  Geraldine's 
Courtship." 

Mr.  Whittier  is  the  most  American  of  our 
poets,  and  the  most  American  of  his  poems 
are  those  which  were  inspired  by  early  Amer- 
ican history  and  legend.  A  collection  of 
these  has  lately  been  published  by  Messrs. 
Fields,  Osgood  &  Co.,  under  the  title  of 
Ballads  of  New  England,  and  with  the  adorn- 
ment of  original  drawings,  which  are  as 
American  as  the  poems  they  illustrate.  There 
are  some  sixty  or  seventy  of  tliese  designs, 
by  four  or  five  of  the  younger  native  artists, 
as  Mr.  Harry  Fenn,  Mr.  Sol  Ey tinge,  Jr.,  Mr. 
Winslow  Homer,  Mr.  Alfred  Fredericks,  and 
Mr.  Granville  Perkins.  It  is  invidious  to 
draw  comparisons,  perhaps ;  nevertheless  we 
must  say  that  Mr.  Fenn  has  borne  away  the 
palm  from  all  his  brother  artists.  His  draw- 
ings are  about  thirty  in  number,  and  it  is  not 
too  much  to  say  that  all  are  excellent, — ^not 
equally  excellent,  of  course,  for  some  are 
mere  trifles,  but  all  are  good  of  their  kind, 
and  of  a  kind  that  is  not  common  here.  His 
forte  is  landscape,  and  seascape,  if  we  may 
invent  the  word,  a  walk  of  art  which  seems 
peculiarly  hb  own.  How  admirable,  for  ex- 
ample, is  the  little  drawing  which  heads  Mr. 
Whittier's  "  Telling  the  Bees,"  —  a  brook 
strewn  with  stepping-stones,  a  swelling  bank 
on  the  left,  and  a  slope  of  upland,  crowned 
with  a  farm-house  in  the  background. 
How  delicious  the  pines  on  Ramoth  Hill 
before  ^*  My  Playmate ; "  and  the  pond  scat- 
tered over  with  water-lilies  at  the  end  of 
the  same  poem.  How  lovely,  too,  the  blos- 
soming orchard  in  **  Skipper  Ireson's  Ride ; " 
the  glimpse  of  beaver-life,  and  the  forest- 
dam  in  **  Cobbler  Eeezar's  Vision  ;'*  the  ivied 
porch  in  "  Amy  Wentworth  ; "  the  bridge- 
tunnel,  the  drying  shad-nets,  and  the  knot 
of  fern  and  brake  in  "The  Countess;" 
the  green  ishinds  of  Casco  Bay  in  **  The 
Ranger ; "  and  the  shadowy  figure  which 
closes  "  The  CTiangeling,"  and  is  somehow 
suggestive  of  Berwick's  woodcuts.  There  is 
a  grace,  a  beauty,  a  finish  about  these  illus- 
trations of  Mr.  Fenn,  which  is  wortliy  of  very 
high  praise.  Of  the  figure-artists,  as  Mr.  £y- 
tinge  and  Mr.  Homer,  we  cannot  speak  so 
welL     Wc  have  seen  Mr.  Eytingc's  young 


women  before,  in  Dickens,  and  elsewhere; 
and  Mr.  Homer*s  boy  and  girl,  and  the  young 
person  opposite,  are  foreign  to  as,  being,  we 
judge,  native  only  to  Japan  and  the  repens 
thereabout.  Mr.  Barley,  who  has  drawn  Gob- 
bler Eeczar  twice  over,  is  what  he  was  ten 
years  ago^clever  but  mannered;  there  is  no 
growth  about  him,  and  no  great  excellence  m 
his  work.  It  would  have  to  be  more  indif- 
ferent than  it  is,  however,  to  detract  modi 
from  the  beauty  and  value  of  these  delightfU 
"  Ballads  of  New  England." 

Of  all  the  poems  modelled  on  Scbiner^ 

"  Casting  of  the  Bell,"  the  most  perfect  in  con- 
ception, and  the  most  poeUcal  in  execotioB, 
is  Mr.  Longfellow's  Building  of  the  8hip^ 
of  which  a  dainty  edition  is  published  by 
Messrs.  Fields,  Osgood  &  Ca  It  is  illnstnted 
by  Mr.  Hcnnessy,  and  Mr.  R.  S.  Gifibrd,  who 
each  pursues  a  'specialty  in  art  that  fits  him 
for  such  a  work  as  this,  the  sympathy  of  the 
one  expcndmg  itself  upon  the  common  in  fife 
and  character,  while  the  other  contents  bim- 
self  with  the  sea,  and  those  who  go  down  to 
the  sea  in  ships.  The  figures  fell,  of  course, 
to  Mr.  Hcnn&ssy,  and  as  they  bdong  to  a 
walk  of  life  within  his  knowledge^  they  are 
naturaUy  b(^ter  than  the  figures  in  ^Lady 
Geraldine's  Courtship,"  for  which  he  had  to 
depend  upon  his  fancy.  Pretending  to  be 
nothing  but  what  they  are — simple,  faitbftd 
copies  of  every-day  people — ^they  are  succe9* 
ful  and  effective.  We  have  seen  just  such  an 
old  salt  as  the  Master  in  the  ship-yard ;  joft 
such  a  manly  fellow  as 

•*  The  fiery  youth  who  was  to  be 
The  heir  of  his  dexterity ;  ** 

and  just  such  a  loveablo  New  England  girl  M 

lingers  under  the  vines  on  the  porch, 

"  Standing  before 
Her  father's  door," 

the  embodiment  of  simplicity,  sweetness,  and 
affection.  We  have  no  remembrance  of 
having  met  with  Mr.  Gifford  on  wood  before, 
but  we  shall  be  glad  to  meet  with  him  again, 
for  really  his  little  marines  ore  promising. 
They  are  various  in  their  character,  beginning 
with  a  goodly  vessel  ploughing  the  waves, 
and  ending  with  the  launch  of  the  poet's 
ship,  flowering  out  in  flags,  and  wafted  sea- 
ward with  shouts  of  cheer.  There  are  ships 
of  all  sorts  besides, — the  Great  Harry,  **  crank 
and  tall ; " — a  clipper,  or  something  like  it, 
with 

*'  the  Btrcse  of  the  blast 
Pressing  down  upon  sail  and  mast ; " 

strange  light  craft,  skimming  in  foreign  har- 
bors ;  and  two  visions  of  the  sea,  here  rolling 


LiTIBATUBB. 


129 


1688  and  storm,  there  sleeping  in  light 
the  Fortunate  Isles.  Happy  poet,  to 
ch  artists !    Happier  artists,  to  have 

M>etl 

rhon,  too,  tail  on,  O  Ship  of  Statel 
3all  on,  O  Union,  strong  and  great  I 
3amanitj  with  all  its  fears, 
^ith  all  the  hopes  of  future  years, 
[s  hsnging  breathless  on  thy  fatal  " 

Not  exactly  Art-worlcs  are  the  multi- 
children's  boolcs  which  are  now  being 
id  daily ;  but  as  children  ought  to  have 
ich  they  can  appreciate,  as  well  as 
Ilows  **of  a  larger  growth,**  these  may 
1  its  stead  until  they  are  old  enough 
er  things.    Let  us  see  what  some  of 
'.pemlia  are.    Here  is  Among  the  Trectj 
y  Lorimer,  a  beautiful  quarto,  pub- 
3y  Messrs.  Kurd  &  Houghton.    It  is 
to  classify  this  book,  but  it  may  take 
e,  we  suppose,  alongside  such  works 
.te*8   Selbome.    Whaterer  charm  it 
sists  in  its  delineations  of  country  life, 
descriptions  of  natural  objects,  trees, 
flowers,  birds,  and  the  like.    It  is  in 
a  of  a  Journal,  which  extends  over 
Joe  months  of  the  year,  the  portion 
i  being  the  wintry  months  of  sterility, 
r  Mrs.,  Lorimer  writes  like  one  who 
$n  brought  up  face  to  face  with  Nature, 
I  pursued  her  steps,  and  traced  out  her 
among  the  grasses  of  the  field,  along 
ning  brooks,  and  in  the  shadows  of  the 
A  little  less  Botany  would  have  given 
3  pleasure,  if  leas  information,  which 
3  say  ought  to  be  dearer  to  us  than  it 
e  illustrations  of  ^*  Among  the  Trees," 
ly  leaves  and  flowers,  with  an  ccca- 
laodscape, — ore  so  skillfully  drawn, 
carefully  printed,  as  to  nearly   be 
of  art — The  same  house  also  pub- 
')ame  Nature  andher  Three  DaughUn^ 
ted  from  the  French  of  Saintine ;  An 
'an  Family  in  Parte  ;  White  and  Red^ 
en  C.  Weeks;  and  Storiee  from  My 
by  the  author  of  *'  Dream-Children," 
Jeven  Little  People  and  their  Friends." 
)uld  say  that ''  Dame  Nature  "  was  an 
t  to  teach  children  some  of  the  myi- 
)f  the  world  we  live  in,  but  when  we 
I  score  of  works  with  the  some  generd 
hich  bored  ns  in  our  younger  years, 
ay  still  be  boring  young  folks  in  be- 
1    districts,  we  dislike   to   say  what 
so  alarming.      Let  ns  compromise, 
by  calling  *'  Dame  Natore  "  a  sort  of 
itory  in    which  children   are   taught 
things  it  is  well  for  them  to  know, 


they  do  not  exactf y  see  how,  but  delightfully 
enough.  The  French  have  a  talent  for  insin- 
uating knowledge  into  the  memory,  as  wit- 
ness Jean  Mac6*s  charming  book,—"  A  Mouth- 
ful of  Bread,"  and  this  equally  charming 
story  by  (he  author  of  **  Pksciolo."  It  is  il- 
lustrated, of  course,  and  by  some  French  ar- 
tist, who  is  a  perfect  master  of  his  croA.  Two 
of  the  illustrations — a  stork  feeding  before  a 
nurse  and  three  children,  and  a  country-girl 
boxing  the  ears  of  a  down  whom  she  has 
caught  robbing  birds*  nests,  arc  delicioualy 
spirited.  An  American  Family  in  Parte  is  a 
sort  of  Handbook  for  children,  of  which  Paris 
and  its  environs  are  the  subject.  They  are 
described  in  the  text,  through  which  runs  a 
slight  thread  of  story,  and  are  brought  before 
the  eye  in  some  fifty  or  sixty  drawings.  If  we 
cannot  all  go  to  Paris,  we  can  all  see  what  it  is 
like  by  looking  over  these  designs,  which  em* 
brace  all  its  famous  localities,  M^aarcs,  parks, 
gardens,  arches,  churches,  and  public  build* 
ings ;  which,  in  a  word,  transport  Paris  itself 
to  our  very  doors.  We  desire  to  call  particular 
attention  to  these  illustrations,  as  being  among 
the  best  of  the  kind  that  we  have  ever  seen. 
— *'  White  and  Red  "  is  a  child*s  story  of  Ufe 
and  adventure  among  the  Indians. — **  Stories 
from  My  Attic  **  is  a  graceful  and  tender  lit- 
tle book.  Mr.  Scudder,  its  author,  is  a  man 
of  delicate  genius,  wh6  in  these  ** Stories" 
somehow  reminds  us  of  Hans  Christian  An- 
dersen, **  the  master  of  us  all,"  as  Matthew 
Arnold  says  of  Saint-Beuvc. 

The  interest  which  men  of  genius  cre- 
ate in  the  minds  of  mankind  not  only  attaches 
to  their  persons  during  life,  but  in  time,  often 
before  their  death,  to  the  least  of  their  be- 
longings and  surroundings.  As  we  cannot 
all  know  them  personally — many  of  us,  in- 
deed, not  at  all — we  come  as  near  ns  we  can 
to  knowing  them  in  the  spirit,  by  the  posses- 
sion of  their  autographs  and  relics,  if  we 
can  obtam  them,  or  by  making  pilgrimages 
to  the  places  in  which  they  dwelt.  '*•  In  this 
old  cottage  Shakespeare  was  bom,"  we  think, 
and  the  thought  calls  up  a  liTcly  image  of 
the  man,  '*  clad  in  his  habit  as  he  lived.** 
"This  is  the  field  where  Bums  found  the 
daisy,"  we  say,  and  straight  there  is  a  vision 
of  the  inspired  peasant, 

"  Walking  In  glory  and  In  Joy 
Behind  his  plongh  upon  the  moantaln-aidSi'' 

They  have  vanished  from  among  us, — the 
poets  whom  we  love, — but,  like  the  mantle 
which  the  prophet  dropped  at  the  moment  he 
was  translated,  they  have  left  behind  them 
the  imperishable  heritage  of  their  memory. 


180 


PuTNAM^s  Magazine. 


[JaI^ 


We  are  not  largely  given  to  hero-worahip  in 
America,  and  what  little  we  hare  shown  hith- 
erto has  been  mostly  confined  to  those  who 
have  fought  our  battles.  When  we  shall 
have  lived  long  enough  as  a  people  to  have 
a  Literature,  we  may  possibly  be  grateful  to 
those  who  have  written  our  books.  We 
ought  to  bo  now,  for,  young  as  we  are,  we 
have  authors  who  are  worthy  of  lasting  re- 
membrance, as,  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  in  prose, 
and  William  Cullen  Bryant  in  poetry.  Mr. 
Bryant  stands,  it  b  generally  acknowledged, 
at  the  head  of  our  poets.  His  works  are  not 
sold,  we  imagine,  by  the  hundred  thousand,  as 
Mr.  Tuppcr's  arc,  nor  by  the  fifty  thousand,  as 
Dr.  Holland^s  are ;  but  they  reach  a  class  of 
readers  who  would  no  more  think  of  reading 
these  writers  than  they  would  of  going  to  in- 
fant-school a  second  time.  He  is  not  so  well- 
known,  perhaps,  as  certain  of  our  poets,  who 
may  be  seen  and  heard,  for  a  consideration, 
almost  any  evening  during  the  lecture  season, 
and  whose  cartes  de  visile  we  may  all  have  in 
our  albums,  if  we  happen  to  want  them. 
This  sort  of  cheap  popularity  has  not  befal- 
len Mr.  Bryant,  and  we  presume  that  its  ab- 
sence is  not  regretted  by  him,  for  a  man  of 
his  celebrity  can  afford  to  despise  it.  He  can- 
not afford  to  despise,  however,  the  spirit 
which  prompted  The  Bryant  Homestead- 
Book  (G.  P.  Putnam  k  Son),  the  work  of  one 
who  signs  herself  "  The  Idle  Scholar,"  which 
she  certainly  is  noty  so  far  as  Mr.  Bryant^s 
poetry  is  concerned.  It  b  a  handsome 
quarto  of  two  hundred  and  twenty-four  pages, 
written  in  fantastic  English,  and  runm'ng  over 
with  enthusiasm  for  the  poet^s  birth-place, 
the  scenery  by  which  it  is  surrounded,  and  the 
poetry  in  which  that  scenery  is  described,  or 
indicated.  If  charity  can  cover  a  multitude 
of  8in<),  enthusiasm  ought  to  cover  a  few 
faults,  which  result,  in  this  instance,  partly 
from  the  author's  inexperience,  and  partly 
from  her  attempting  to  do  too  much.  It  is 
not,  however,  as  literature  that  we  take  up 
'*  The  Bryant  Homestead-Book,"  but  rather 
aa  art,  though  we  have  omitted  to  say,  wo 
believe,  that  it  is  illustrated.  Mr.  John  A. 
Hows  is  the  artist  who  has  undertaken  the 
pleasant  task  of  representing  to  us  the  house 
in  which  Mr.  Bryant  was  born,  and  the  land- 
scapes amid  which  his  early  years  were 
passed,  and  a  better  artist  could  not  have 
been  found ;  for  if  Mr.  Hows  has  a  special- 
ty, it  is  drawing  forest  scenery.  There  are 
eighteen  of  his  designs  in  the  volume,  all  of 
which  arc  good,  the  largest  being  the  best 
First  we  have  a  full-page  illustration  of  the 


entrance  of  the  homestead-wood ;  then  the 
homestead  itself;  then  some  elms  and  mapki 
scattered  round  the  site  of  an  old  school* 
house ;  then  the  poet's  "  Rivulet,"  as  it  flowi 
by  the  homestead ;  and  lastly,  in  the  way  of 
full-page  designs,  the  Johnne  Brook  and  a 
ravine.  There  is  also  a  delicious  woodland 
vista;  a  superb  view  of  still  water  and  treei; 
a  dreamy  little  spring,  worthy  of  being  one 
of  the  wells  of  Castaly;  a  glimpse  of  the 
"  Rivulet,"  as  it  enters  a  wood ;  a  clump  of 
blackberry  blossoms ;  and  "  lis  de  solcil,"  a 
birth-month  flower.  We.  thank  Mr.  Howi 
for  these  drawings  of  his,  and  we  thank  Mr. 
Linton  for  his  share  in  them ;  he  has  fbr 
once  done  both  himself  and  his  artist  justice. 

The  Literature  of  Science  is  becoming 

very  attractive  of  late,  partly  because  scientific 
men  are  desirous  of  reaching  more  readen 
than  their  predecessors  were  content  vitb, 
and  partly  because  science  itself  interesti 
more  readers  than  of  old.  Writers  and  read- 
ers are  now  disposed  to  meet  each  other  half 
way,  the  one  being  willing  to  give  litcratme 
with  science,  and  the  other  to  take  science 
with  literature,  and  the  result  is  a  library  of 
instructive  works,  to  which  every  year  adds 
something.  The  addition  of  the  past  year  is 
A  Physician's  Problems^  by  Charles  Elam, 
M.  D.,  of  which  Messrs.  Fields,  Osgood  &  Cb. 
are  the  publishers.  At  the  risk  of  showing 
our  ignorance  of  celebrities  of  the  medical 
profession,  we  state  very  frankly  that  we 
don*t  know  who  Dr.  Elam  i?,  though  we  believe 
him  to  be  an  Englishman ;  but  he  will  always 
be  associated  in  our  minds,  hereafter,  with 
such  writers  as  Disraeli,  the  Elder.  What 
Disnicli  is  in  regard  to  the  profession  of  let* 
ters.  Dr.  Elam  is  in  regard  to  his  own  walk 
of  science,  with  the  exception  that  he  is  less 
gossipy,  and  more  profound.  Nevertheless, 
he  can  be  gossipy  on  occasion,  and  it  is  just 
this  faculty  of  his  which  draws  us  towards 
him;  we  may  not  be  able  to  judge  his 
speculations  and  deductions,  but  we  arc  cer- 
tainly able  to  judge  his  facts  and  his  anec- 
dotes. The  Essays  in  his  volume,  of  which 
there  are  seven,  arc  intended,  he  says,  as  a  con- 
tribution to  the  Natural  History  of  those  out- 
lying regions  of  Thought  and  Action,  whose 
domain  is  the  "dcbateable  ground"  of  Brain, 
Nerve,  and  Mind.  **  They  are  designed  also 
to  indicate  the  origin  and  mode  of  perpetua- 
tion of  those  varieties  of  organization,  intelli- 
gence, and  general  tendencies  towanls  vice  or 
virtue,  which  seem,  on  a  superficial  view,  to 
bo  so  irregularly  and  capriciously  developed 
and  distributed  in  families  and  amongst  man- 


] 


LXTSBJLTUBB. 


131 


Subsidiarily  they  point  to  causes  for 
ifinitely  varied  forms  of  disorders  of 
and  brain, — organic  and  fnuctional, — 
.'eper  and  more  recondite  than  thoso 
lUy  believed  in;— causes  that  are 
jr,  if  not  inextricably,  connected  with 
riginal  nature  on  the  one  band,  and  on 
ther  with  our  social  and  political  re- 
ons."  Perhaps  the  most  valuable  por- 
>f  Dr.  Elam^s  volume  is  the  first  two 
ed  pages,  which  are  devoted  to  **  Natural 
ige,"  '*  Degenerations  in  Man,"  and 
al  and  Criminal  Epidemics,"  though  he 
3  himself  whether  the  views  laid  down 
n  will  meet  with  general  acceptance  or 
val,  even  amongst  thoughtful  men.  In 
bapter  on  **  Natural  Heritage  **  he  dis- 
i  inherited  qualities,  and  in  Telation  to 
iminution  of  the  power  of  the  will 
lant  upon  drinking  and  opium-eating, 
^*  The  two  Colcridges,  father  and  son, 
^lify  this  point  most  strikingly;  the 
nras  an  opium-eater,  and  writes  of  him- 
lat,  not  only  in  reference  to  this  sensual 
^euce,  but  in  all  the  relations  of  his 
is  will  was  utterly  powerless.  Hartley 
dge  inherited  his  father's  necessity  for 
ant  (which  in  his  case  was  alcoholic), 
ith  it  bis  weakness  of  volition.  Even 
young,  his  brother  thus  writes  of  him : 
rtain  infirmity  of  will  had  already  shown 

His  sensibility  was  intense,  and  he 
'A  wherewithal  to  control  it.  He  could 
pen  a  letter  without  trembling.  He 
£  from  mental  pain;  he  was  beyond 
ire  impatient  of  constraint  •  •  •  He 
d,  as  U  were  uneonacioutiy^  to  slight 
ations,  slight  in  themselves,  and  slight 
1,  €ii  if  swai/ed  by  a  mechanical  impufte 
from  his  oicn  volition.  It  looked  like 
;anic  defect,  a  congenital  imperfection.* " 
,'ss  interesting  are  the  papers  headed, 
y  V.  Mind,"  **  Illusions  and  Hallucina- 
*  "  On  Somnambulism,"  and  "  Revery 
Lbstraction."  The  idea  which  largely 
lies  modem  science,  that  men  are 
'.t  to  general  laws  from  which  there  is 
:apc, — in  fact,  that  they  sometimes  be- 
mad together,  as  with  the  passion  for 
ig  in  the  sixteenth  century,  and  the 
n  for  speculation  in  the  seventeenth  and 
enth  centuries,  is  dwelt  upon  by  Dr. 
at  considerable  length,  and  illustrated 
umber  of  startling  facts.  That  there 
cthing  malign  surrounding  as  at  times, 
seem  true,  if  we  may  credit  this  story, 
must  close  our  extracts  fh>m,  and  our 
Its  upor,  "A  Physician's  Problems." 


**In  the  month  of  February,  1844,  850  men  ol 
the  8d  battalion  of  the  1st  Regiment  of  the 
Foreign  Legion  were  encamped  at  Sidi-bel 
Abb6s,  in  the  province  of  Oran.  A  soldier 
mutilated  himself  by  a  blow  upon  his  wrist 
with  the  lock  of  his  gun.  Thirteen  others 
inflicted  a  similar  injury  npon  themselves 
within  twenty  days.  None  of  these  men 
would  admit  that  the  mutiktions  were  volun- 
tary, but  all  affirmed  that  they  arose  from 
pure  accident  while  cleaning  their  arms.  It 
was  not  possible,  in  a  single  cnse,  to  discover 
a  plausible  motive  to  explain  so  strange  a 
circumstance.  The  commanding  officer, 
alarmed  at  this  singular  epidemic,  and  suppos- 
ing it  might  extend,  removed  the  camp  some 
eight  or  ten  leagues,  to  a  place  occupied  by 
the  10th  battalion  of  Chasseurs  ofViocennesi, 
commanded  by  M.  Boete.  The  astonish- 
ment of  the  officer  commanding  the  Foreign 
Legion  was  great  when  M.  Bocto  informed 
him  that  eight  of  his  men  hod  mutilntod  them- 
selves in  the  Fame  way,  and  nearly  at  the  same 
time.  The  commanding  officer  and  the 
surgeon  both  affirm  that  there  was  no  com- 
munication between  the  two  camps.  But 
even  supposing  that  a  conmiunication  had 
existed,  it  only  affords  another  example  of 
the  force  of  imitation." 

One  of  the  privileges  of  which  a  man  of 

genius  cannot  be  robbed  is  the  power  of  con- 
ferring some  of  his  own  celebrity  upon  his 
wife  i^d  children.  The  wives  and  cliilJren 
of  men  of  genius  may  not  be  more  beautiful 
or  more  talented  than  the  wives  and  children 
of  lesser  mortals,  but  wo  refuse  to  tliink  so 
as  long  as  we  can ;  for  if  they  are  not  the 
Rose,  they  arc  earth  which  the  Rose  has 
touched.  Martha  Blount  was  doubtless  a 
mercenary  young  person,  and  Jean  Armour 
an  ordinary  Scottish  lassie ;  but,  since  Pope 
loved  the  one,  and  Bums  the  other,  we  are 
curious  to  learn  all  that  can  be  learned  about 
them.  The  history  of  American  Literature 
is  yet  to  be  written,  but  when  it  comes  to 
be  written,  the  life  of  Xatlianiel  Hawthorne 
will  be  narrated  in  full,  and  with  details  which 
are  not  quite  proper  notv.  The  world,  (for 
Hawthorne  belongs  to  the  world,  more 
than  any  American  author,)  will  insist  upon 
knowing  who  he  was,  what  kind  of  man  he 
seemed  to  be,  and  who  and  what  were  his 
wife  and  children.  His  death  is  too  recent 
yet  to  allow  even  the  most  loving  curiosity 
to  be  gratified  in  regard  to  himself,  and  his 
**  hostages  to  fortune,"  as  Bacon  happily 
describes  a  man^s  wife  and  children.  But 
we  shall  know  aU,  when  the  time  comes 


182 


Pcthtam'b  Magazine. 


[Jan. 


Meanwhile,  if  wc  deaire  to  know  Bomething 
of  one  member  of  the  Hawthorne  family,  we 
can  do  so  by  readhig  N(tte8  on  England  and 
Haly^  a  Tolume  of  travel-memoranda,  by  Mrs. 
Hawthorne,  publlBhed  by  G.  P.  Putnam  & 
Soil  It  il^s  written,  she  tells  us  in  her  Pre- 
face, twelve  years  ago,  and  was  never  meant 
for  publication, — which  fact  is  in  its  favor, 
when  one  remembers  the  wretchedness  of 
many  similar  works,  whi(^h  were  meant  for 
publication,  and  which  are  published,  to  the 
weariness  of  their  readers.  As  England  and 
Italy  cover  a  good  deal  of  ground,  we  will 
state  here  that  Mrs.  Hawthome^s  journeys  in 
the  former  country  embraced  visits  to  Skipton 
Castle,  Bolton  Priory,  York  Minster,  Lincoln 
Cathedral,  Old  Boston  and  St.  Botolph'g,  Po- 
Cerboro  Cathedral,  and  Ncwstcad  Abbey, — 
not  forgetting 

''The  land  o^  cakes  and  britbor  Scots,** 

of  which  Bums  is  the  ruling  spirit.  She 
went  over  the  various  localities  consecrated 
by  the  genius  of  Bums,  as  well  as  Glasgow, 
Dumbarton,  Loch  Lomond  and  the  Bens, 
Invcrsnaid,  Loch  Katrine  aud  the  Trosachs, 
and  the  Bridge  of  Allan.  In  Italy,  she 
vibrated  between  Rome  and  Florence,  of 
which  cities,  and  their  works  of  art,  she 
writes  enthusiastically.  Mrs.  Hawthome^s 
criticisms  glow  with  the  taste  and  enthusiasm 
of  a  true  artist,  and  it  was  from  the  artistes 
point  of  view  that  she  found  Italy  most  in- 
teresting. The  happiest  pages  in  her  **  Notes  " 
are  those  which  are  devoted  to  Art,  and 
these  are  excellent,  indeed,  and  all  the  more 
so  because  they  were  not  written  with  the 
fear  of  the  public  before  her,  but  for  her 
own  reference,  and  to  give  home-friends  her 
whereabouts  and  thoughts  abroad.  Alto- 
gether these  "  Notes  "  of  Mrs.  nawthome*s 
are  as  charming  as  a  long,  friendly  talk,  the 
only  sad  thing  about  them  being,  that  he 
who  shared  them  with  her,  (dreaming  the 
while  of  his  incomparable  romance,  **The 
Marble  Faun,'^)  is  now,  alas !  merely 

"  One  of  tho  few  immortal  names 
That  were  not  born  to  die.*^ 

If  a  critic  could  be  as  certain  of  the 

justice  of  his  opinions  when  called  upon  to  ex- 
press them  in  regard  to  religious  questions,  as 
wheii  called  upon  to  express  them  in  regard 
to  literary  questions,  a  paragraph  would  be 
suiBcient  to  call  attention  to  J)i9courses  on 
Variow  Oecasiom^  by  the  Rev.  Father 
Hyacinthc,  of  which  a  translation,  by  Leonard 
Woolsey  Bacon,  has  been  published  by  G. 
P.  Putnam   k  Son.     But    unfortunately  no 


literary  critic  can  be  certahi  of  himself  oo^ 
side  the  domain  of  letters.  To  be  a  laymao 
is  disadvantage  enough,  in  the  case  of  fW> 
thcr  Hyacinthe ;  but  to  be  a  layman  and  a 
Protestant  is  to  proclaim  one*s  self  doubly 
unfitted  for  the  task  of  stating  the  difference 
between  him  and  the  Catholic  Churclu  So, 
at  least,  a  Catholic  would  think ;  and,  as  tbe 
good  Father  still  claims  to  be  a  Catholic,  we 
ought  not  to  judge  him  as  we  would  a  Pro- 
testant under  similar  circumstances.  We 
ought  not  to,  we  say,  in  fairness  to  the 
Church  which  he  has  lefl,  and  to  which  he 
yet  clings ;  but  when  we  come  to  think  over 
the  matter  and  make  up  our  minds,  it  is 
impossible  not  to  exercise  the  right  of  private 
judgment ;  in  other  words,  the  right  of  being 
a  Protestant,  and  a  layman.  In  ordinary 
circumstances  the  fact  of  a  pricst*s  being 
*'  under  the  ban  **  would  excite  but  little  atten- 
tion. But  when  the  circumstances  are  ex- 
traordinary, as  they  are  here,  wc  must  be 
more  or  less  than  men  if  we  are  not  moved 
by  the  action  of  the  Romish  Church  against 
Father  Hyacinthe.  It  is  the  old  story  <moe 
more, — the  struggle  between  the  priest,  and 
the  man ;  and  once  more  the  man  has 
triumphed, — at  least,  partially,  for  what  the 
end  will  be  we  will  not  predict  It  is  as  a 
Man  that  Father  Hyacinthe  interests  us, — ^a 
man  of  highly  devotional  character,  and 
singularly  earnest  spirit, — the  kind  of  man 
by  which  masses  of  men  are  drawn  to  good 
works,  and  by  which  the  next  world  is 
brought  nearer  and  nearer  to  this.  He  stood 
up  in  the  old  church  of  Notre-Dame,  in  the 
heart  of  profligate  Paris, 

**  And  spoke  as  wiili  ootborlty, 
And  not  as  do  tbe  scribes." 

He  was  the  most  popular  preacher  of  the 
time,  and  deservedly  so,  by  all  accounts,  in 
that  ho  was  not  a  mountebank,  but  a  gentle- 
man, and  above  all  a  Christian.  What,  then, 
brought  Father  Hyacinthe  into  disfavor  with 
his  superiors?  Merely  tliis — that  his  Chris- 
tianity was  too  large  to  be  imprisoned  within 
the  pale  of  the  Romish  Church.  He  deliv- 
ered a  speech  before  the  Peace  League,  at 
Paris,  on  the  10th  of  July  last,  in  which  he 
used  these  —  for  a  Catholic  —  remarkable 
words:  *'It  is  a  most  palpable  fact  that 
there  is  no  room  in  tbe  daylight  of  the  civil- 
ized world  except  for  these  three  religious 
communions,  —  Catholicism,  Protestantism, 
and  Judaism."  For  this  the  party  of  abso- 
lutism denounced  him,  declaring  that  he 
had  *' crucified  the  Catholic  Church  between 


.] 


CUBBENT  EyXBTS. 


188 


thieTes.**  The  speech  was  too  liberal 
le  latitude  in  which  it  was  delivered,  and 
ir  Hyacinthe  was  required  thenceforth 
rain  from  addressing  secular  assemblies, 
in  the  pulpit,  to  restrict  himself  to  the 
3  on  which  all  Catholics  were  agreed. 
!7hurch  laid  her  finger  upon  his  mouth 
nmand  silence ;  but,  like  Galileo,  whose 

was  unconquered,  though  his  flesh  was 
,  he  answered :  Epur  n  muove* 

the  speech  of  Father  Hyacinthe  Just 
■ed  to,  is  of  more  consequence  in  our 
IT  eyes  than  the  rest  of  his  *'  Discours- 
[to  which  we  refer  such  of  our  readers 
o  interested  in  theological  and  social 
ions,)  we  will  copy  a  paragraph,  with 
pint  of  which  we  heartily  concur :  **  In 
resent  age  of  the  world,  universal  and 
tual  peace  is  only  a  chimera.  In  the 
o  come  it  will  be  a  reality.     For  my 

I  have  always  believed — and  now,  in 
£sembly  of  my  brethren,  I  don't  mind 
g  the  secret — I  have  always  believed 
n  some  nearer  or  remoter  future,  man- 
would  come,  not  to  complete  perfection, 


which  does  not  belong  to  earth,  but  to  that 
relaUve  perfection  which  precedes  and  pre- 
pares for  heaven.  After  the  fall  of  Jerusa- 
lem and  Rome,  and  the  predicted  end  of  the 
ancient  world,  the  primitive  ChriBtians,  heirs 
of  the  promises  of  Jewbh  propheey,  did  not 
expect  immediately  the  beginning  of  the 
heavenly  and  eternal  state,  but  a  temporal 
reign  of  Jesus  Christ  and  his  saints,  a  regen- 
eration and  triumph  of  man  upon  earth.  I, 
also,  look  for  this  mysterious  millennium, 
about  which  our  errors  of  detail  cannot 
shake  the  deep,  unalterable  truth.  I  look  for 
it,  and  in  the  humble  but  faithful  measure 
of  my  powers,  I  strive  to  prepare  the  way. 
for  it.  I  believe  that  nations  as  well  as  indi- 
viduals shall  some  day  taste  the  fruit  of  uni- 
versal redemption  by  the  Son  of  God  made 
man.  I  believe  that  the  law  and  the  gospel 
shall  reign  over  this  whole  planet.  I  believe 
that  we — that  you  and  I — shall  sec  descendiug 
from  heaven  a  manhood  humbler  and  nobler, 
meeker  and  mightier,  purer  and  more  loving, 
in  a  word,  grander,  than  our  own.  *And  this 
man  shall  be  the  peace ! '    JSl  erit  ute  Pax^ 


LITERATURE,  SCIENCE,  AND  ART  ABROAD. 

XOSTHLT  ITOTES  PRSPARKD  FOB  PCTSAll'S  MAOAZXaB. 

[Oar  KoTKS  for  this  month  are  necessarily  deferred  nn^  the  next  number.] 


CURRENT  EVENTS. 

[OUB  BBCOBO  CLOSBI  DBCXMBBB  1.] 


I.   IN  GENERAL. 

vember  has  been  an  eventful  and  un- 
month,  furnishing  for  record  a  mingled 
)f  occurrences  of  good  and  bad  omen. 
B  most  significant  single  fact  of  the 
b  was  the  successful  formal  opening  of 
Suez  Canal.  This  is  an  age  of  gigantic 
[dual  enterprises ;  but  the  vast  under- 
g  of  M.  de  Lesseps  has  been  so  power- 
carried  onward  to  splendid  success 
St  a  tremendous  weight  of  political  and 
fial  indifiference  and  hostility,  not  to 
ion  the  immense  labor  of  ci^  eiq;ineer- 
&  to  stamp  him  a  really  great  man. 
leet  of  forty-five  steamers  has  passed 
;h  the  Canal  and  back  again,  including 
essels  of  the  French  Mestageriea  Imp^ 
of  2,400  tons  burthen  eaeh :  there  is 
cstion  Trhatever  that  the  canal  is  twenty 


feet  deep  throughout,  and  can  readily  be 
deepened  as  much  as  requisite.  Already  the 
opening  has  caused  a  fall  in  rates  of  freight 
between  Europe  and  Asia — a  single  fkct 
which  a  thousand  times  outweighs  the  Lon- 
don criticisms  on  the  sand  along  the  Canal, 
and  the  coral,  old  chariot  wheels,  spirits,  etc., 
in  the  bottom  of  the  Rod  Sea. 

Most  of  the  other  signs  of  the  month  are 
however  colored  with  trouble  or  the  fear  of 
it  The  course  of  the  French  Oppoution, 
rapidly  emboldened  by  the  illness  of  Napo- 
leon III.  and  the  perfectly  visible  slackening 
of  his  hand  upon  the  reins  of  government, 
points  directly  towards  another  revolution 
and  republic  at  the  earliest  possible  day. 

There  is  news  from  England  that  another 
rising  is  expected  in  Ireland,  and  that  it  is  in 
considoration  to  establish  martial  law  once 


184 


PUTNAM^S  MAGA23XB. 


[Jon. 


more  there,  and  strap  down  the  island  with 
a  military  strait-jacket. 

J^s  to  Spain,  she  is  still  twisted  and  shaken 
with  quarrels  over  her  empty  throne.  Why 
might  not  some  stern  and  heavy  Ez-Prcsident 
with  an  inflexible  policy,  sit  down  on  Spain 
and  Roconstnict  her — for  a  proper  consider- 
ation?  It  would  not  be  the  first  time — if 
Mr.  Nast  is  right — that  such  a  potentate 
would  wear  a  crown,  in  semblance  at  least. 
The  Spanish  deficit  for  1809  is  twenty- 
eight  million  dollars  in  gold,  and  she  must 
pay  out  to  Cuba  instead  of  as  usual  drawing 
largely  from  her.  And  the  war  in  Cuba  trails 
bloodily  and  feebly  along,  by  means  of  mur- 
der and  arson  rather  than  warfare,  showing 
that  neither  party  has  any  real  military 
strength.  There  is  a  growing  public  senti- 
ment in  the  United  States  in  favor  of 
recognizing  the  Cubans  ns  belligerents.  Four 
nations  have  done  so  already.  The  South 
Carolina  Legislature  has  called  on  Congress 
to  do  so ;  and  it  would  not  be  surprising  if 
the  deed  should  be  actually  done  before  these 
pages  reach  their  readers. 

Of  other  wars  in  the  world  little  can  be 
said.  The  Dalmatian  insurrection  against 
Austria  seems  to  amount  to  but  little,  and  if 
as  reported  it  is  one  of  Mazzini^s  plans,  noth- 
ing better  was  to  be  expected  of  it.  He  is 
made  for  a  plotter  of  failures.  The  Para- 
guayan war  still  lingers,  burning  in  embers  or 
little  more.  Apparently  Lopez  will  really 
fight  until  he  dies  or  runs  away  stark  alone. 
There  is  a  "  revolution  "  in  Venezuela.  In 
Hayti,  Salnave  seems  to  be  nearly  driven  out 
of  power,  the  rebels  against  him  having  got 
possession  of  most  of  his  land  and  sea  pos- 
sessions. In  that  event  there  will  simply  be 
another  African  General  President.  **  It's  of 
no  consequence." 

Within  the  Unit«>d  States  there  has  been  a 
state  of  what  may  bo  called  sociological 
nneuMiness  rather  than  real  trouble  of  any 
kind.  The  *' hard  but  honest"  policy  of  the 
Government  has  carried  gold  steadily  down- 
ward, until  it  sank  to  from  121  to  122.  At 
this  point  Secretary  Boutwell,  very  curious- 
ly, refused  to  eell  gold  at  the  price  ho 
had  himself  carried  it  to,  thus  condemning 
hii  own  policy.  The  result  was,  of  course, 
an  instant  upward  jump  in  gold,  and  a  feel- 
iii«];  of  unpleasant  uncertainty  as  to  the 
future  course  of  busincFS. 

Tln^ro  seems  to  be  dawning  upon  the 
country  anow,  a  question  that  has  more  than 
ont'i;  boen  fiiriou>lv  battled  over  already  :  that 
of  l!ii'  ISible  in  Publl',-  Sfh')o!s.     Tin-  no:.i;sn 


Catholics  of  Cincinnati,  with  the  help  of  a  part 
of  the  remainder  of  the  population,  bavt 
distinctly  demanded  that  the  Bible  shall  no 
longer  be  read  in  the  Public  Schools  of  that 
City.  The  local  question  is  not,  at  this 
writing,  decided.  But  it  is  really  a  national 
question,  and  the  Romanist  and  Protestant 
press  are  very  rapidly  taking  sides  upon  it 
Nor  is  the  mere  question  of  the  Bible  In 
Schools  the  real  one  at  issue.  This  is,  the 
existence  of  the  American  Common  School 
System,  upon  which  the  Romanists  are  thus 
making  a  false  attack.  The  real  assault  is  to 
be,  the  organization  of  Sectarian  instead  of 
Common  Schools.  There  is  too  much  svm- 
pathy  for  such  a  system  in  some  of  the  Pro- 
testant sects,  and  the  movement  is  a  dan- 
gerous one.  As  well  destroy  our  system  oi 
local  self-government  as  our  common  school 
system.  Apparently  the  best  groimd  to  take 
on  the  question  is,  to  concede  the  exclusion 
of  the  Bible  from  Schools,  to  make  up  for  it 
by  more  diligent  church  and  home  instruc- 
tion in  religion  and  the  Bible,  and  to  prep.iro 
to  meet  the  opponents  of  Common  Schools 
thus  divested,  as  direct  assailants  of  the  moral 
and  intellectual  essence  of  our  national 
strength,  prosperity,  and  happiness. 

The  Woman's  Suffrage  movement  lias  mido 
another  decided  step  in  advance  by  its  ClcvC" 
land  Convention,  and  the  organization,  in  the 
hands  of  what  may  be  ealled  the  moderate 
wing,  of  a  National  Association. 

In  formal  politics,  little  of  real  note  has 
taken  place.  lu  the  State  elections  of  the 
month,  the  vote  has  been  light,  and  the  Re- 
publican majorities,  on  the  whole,  maintaiiicd 
as  nearly  as  was  to  be  expected,  unless  New 
York  State  be  an  exception.  The  victory 
cf  the  Democrats  there  has  flung  the  whole 
goveiTunent,  both  of  the  State  and  city, 
helpless  into  the  hands  of  their  party,  and 
every  body  is  waiting  to  see  whether  they 
will  dare  repeal  the  excise  law  and  destroy 
the  Metropolitan  Commissions,  and  thus  leave 
the  city  to  the  uncontrolled  rule  of  rum  and 
rouglis,  as  of  old. 

There  has  been  a  rOv-Lut  visible  stimulus 
of  centripetul  tendencies  towards  the  United 
States  from  territory  just  without  it.  Nego- 
tiations have  been  going  on,  in  the  unconsti- 
tutional and  discreditable  darknci.^,  it  should 
bo  noted,  of  "  diplomacy,"  for  doing  some 
land-business  or  other  with  President  Baez, 
of  St.  Domingo.  There  is  an  increase  of  ac- 
tivity among  the  annexationists  of  Canada. 
The  Winnepeg  colonisti  have  driven  out  their 
British  govL-rnor,  and  ::r.'  ;h  nir\ii'J":i;^  a  sub- 


CuBBEXT  Stents. 


185 


local  independence.  As  these  seclud- 
1c  really  can  only  get  into  the  world 
of  the  United  States,  it  is  not  strange 
ty  should  gravitate  towards  us.  British 
i.i  again  has  for  the  second  time  pe- 
the  British  GoTcmment,  either  to  bo 
cm  the  outrageous  tax  of  over  $100 
acks)  per  year  per  soul  for  expenses 
aial  government,  or  else  to  be  dis- 
to  join  the  United  States.  These 
n  borderers  would  make  excellent 
.  As  for  the  Africans  of  St.  Domin- 
r  would  not  perceptibly  further  dilute 
ly-weakencd  average  of  voting  Intel- 
and  moralitv. 

II.   UNITED  STATES. 

2.  At  the  Massachusetts  State  eleo- 
laflin  (Republican)  is  reelected  over 
(Dera.)  and  Chamberlain  ("  Working- 
)  by  a  majority  of  9,80^  in  a  total  vote 
510. 

—  At  the  Wisconsin  State  election, 
Id  (Republican)  is  chosen  Governor 
1  majority. 

—  At  the  New  York  State  election, 
(Democrat)  is  chosen  Secretary  of 

J  a  majority  of  ^0,556  in  a  total  vote 
196,  which  is  268,554  less  than  last 
otal,  being  a  decrease  of  over  25  per 
The  other  Democratic  candidates  were 
)scn.  The  judiciary  clause  of  the  new 
onstitution  was  adopted  by  a  small 
y ;  the  rest  of  the  constitution  rejected 
rger  one. 

—  Elder  Hcman  Bangs,  of  the  N.  Y. 
onfercuce  of  the  Methodist  Episcopal 
,  dies  at  his  house  in  New  Haven.  Mr. 
was  born  at  Fairfield,  Conn.,  Apr.  16, 

removed  to  New  York  State  while 
;  was  a  pastor  and  elder  in  the  Mcth- 
hurch  for  about  half  a  century,  and  an 
ic,  successful,  and  influential  laborer  in 
;ation,  having,  during  bis  pastorate, 
id  some  10,000  persons  to  the  church. 

7.  Rear- Admiral  Charles  Stewart  dies 
home  at  Bordentown,  N.  J.,  aged  91. 
]  born  in  Philadelphia,  went  to  sea  as 
i-boy  at  13,  rose  to  be  captain  in  the 
tdia  trade,  in  1798  received  a  commis- 

licutcnant  in  the  U.  S.  Navy,  served 

hostilities  against  Tripoli  and  the 
rrancan  pirates,  in  1812  commanded 
iistellation,  in  1813  was  transferred  to 
msiiiiitiojij  with  whose  fame  and  namo 
ever  since  been  identified,  having,  like 

ship,  been  long  known  as  "Old  Iron- 


Nov.  10.  Major-Gcneral  John  E.  Wool 
dies  at  his  residence  in  Troy,  N.  Y.,  aged  86. 
lie  was  born  at  Xcwburgh ;  when  the  war  of 
1812  broke  out,  he  became  a  Captain  in  the 
18th  Infantry,  and  rose  rapidly  by  gallantry 
and  usjful  service,  becoming  a  brevet  Brig- 
adier-General in  1826.  His  services  during 
the  Mexican  war  and  at  the  opening  of  the 
Rebellion  were  of  great  importance.  He  was 
made  full  Major-General  in  May,  18G2  ;  and 
at  the  end  of  the  Rebellion  was  retired  fi*om 
active  service  and  has  since  lived  at  Troy. 

Nov.  11.  Robert  J.  Walker  dies  at  Wash- 
ington. He  was  bom  in  ISOl,  at  Xorthum' 
berland.  Pa. ;  became  a  lawyer  at  Pittsburg ; 
in  1826  removed  to  the  State  of  Mississippi ; 
was  a  prominent  and  infiucntiul  Democratic  po 
litician  during  Jackson*s  and  the  subsequent 
administrations ;  was  chosen  U.  S.  Senator  in 
1836  ;  was  Secretary  of  the  Treasury  under 
Polk,  and  one  of  the  Governors  of  Kansas 
under  Buchanan.  He  was  a  roan  of  very 
considerable  political  and  business  ability, 
and  of  immense  industry. 

Nov.  12.  Hon.  Amos  Kendall  dies  at  his 
home  in  Washington-  He  was  born  in  Dun- 
stable, Mass.,  Aug.  16,  1789;  studied  law, 
succeeded  ill ;  in  1816  became  a  Democratic 
politician  and  editor  at  Frankfort,  Ky. ;  was  an 
earnest  advocate  of  Gen.  Jackson's  nomina- 
tion, and  during  his  administration  was  in 
office  at  Washington.  He  was  Postmaster- 
General  from  1835  to  1840.  He  was  an  early 
believer  in  Morse's  telegraph,  and  rccei%'cd 
considerable  wealth  from  his  investments  in 
it. 

Nov.  12.  The  Old  and  New  School  Pres- 
byterian General  Assemblies,  in  session  at 
Pittsburg,  formally  consummate  their  re- 
union, with  profound  feeling  and  great  enthu- 
siasm. 

Nov.  16.  The  Legislature  of  Alaburaa  rati- 
fies, and  that  of  Tennessee  rejects,  the  Fif- 
teenth Amendment  to  the  Constitution. 

Nov.  24.  By  order  of  the  U.  S.  Govern- 
ment, the  thirty  gunboats  recently  built  for 
the  Spanish  Government,  of  which  fifteen  are 
about  ready  for  sea,  arc  libelled  at  the  docks 
in  New  York,  and  held  to  await  the  dcci^don 
of  an  Admiralty  Court  on  the  question 
whether  or  not  the  rules  of  international  law 
permit  their  delivery  to  Spain. 

Nov.  21.  A  convention  is  held  at  Cleveland 
to  organize  a  National  Woman's  Suffitige  As 
sociation.  It  contained  sixty-three  delegates, 
from  thirteen  States.  There  was  speaking  ; 
and  the  proposed  organization  w:is  effected. 
Rev.  II.  W.  Beechcr  being  chosen  President, 


186 


PuTNAM^s  Magazine. 


[Jan^  187QL 


with  a  proper  staff  of  Vice-Presidents,  etc. 
The  Corresponding  Secretary  is  Mrs.  Mjra 
Brad  well,  Chicago. 

Nov.  25.  Mr.  A.  D.  Richardson,  a  well-known 
newspaper  writer  and  author,  is  shot  in  the 
Tribune  Office  by  D.  McFarland,  in  conse- 
quence of  Mr.  Richardson^s  attachment  to 
McFarland's  divorced  (?)  wife.  This  is  the 
second  time  McFarland  has  shot  Richardson, 
who  lingers  a  few  days  and  ^es. 

Nov.  28.  Isaac  C.  Pray,  well  known  as  a 
literary  man  and  in  particular  as  a  dramatist 
and  dramatic  instructor,  dies  at  his  residence 
in  Xew  York,  in  his  66th  year. 

Dec.  1.  The  National  Debt  of  the  United 
States  has  been  decreased  during  November 
by  the  sum  of  87,571,454.13. 

III.   FOREIGN. 

Nov.  2.  Got.  McDougall,  of  Winnepeg 
Territory,  in  British  America,  is  to-day  es- 
corted over  the  border  of  his  jurisdiction  into 
Dakota  Territory  by  a  strong  force  of  French 
half-breed  settlers,  who  repudiate  their  pro- 
posed fuaon  with  "  the  Dominion,**  and  want 
a  colonial  independence,  subject  only  to  the 
Crown.  The  Governor  had  but  just  arrived 
to  assume  his  office. 

Nov.  4.  George  Pcabody  dies  at  his  resi- 
dence in  London.  lie  was  born  at  Danvers, 
Mass.,  in  1795 ;  was  a  clerk  and  merchant  at 
Danvers,  Thetford,  Vt.,  Ncwburyport,  George- 
town, D.  C,  and  Baltimore ;  in  1829  became 
the  head  of  the  house  of  Peabody,  Riggs  k 
Co.;  in  1837  removed  to  London,  and  in 
1841  went  into  the  banking  business,  in 
which  he  accumulated  great  wealth.  Mr. 
Peabody^s  public  charities  include  donations 
of  $500,000  for  a  public  libraiy  at  Baltimore  ; 
81,250,000  to  erect  comfortable  dwellings  for 
the  poor  in  Loudon ;  $1,000,000,  afterward 
considerably  increased,  as  a  fund  for  stimu- 
lating the  Southern  States  to  organize  good 
common  schools ;  and  some  smaller  ones. 

Nov.  6.  Henri  Rochcfort  returns  to  Paris 
from  his  exile  at  Brussels.  The  French  po- 
lice stopped  him  on  the  frontier,  but  by  or- 
der permitted  him  to  proceed,    lie  at  once 


set  about  addressing  the  people  as  a  candi>     ' 
date  for  the  Legislature. 

Nov.  17.  The  ceremonies  of  the  opcmag 
of  the  Suez  Canal  begin  with  a  blessing,  gh- 
en  by  Father  Bauer,  almoner  of  the  Emprea 
Eugenie.  The  Empress,  the  Emperor  of 
Austria,  the  Viceroy  of  Egypt,  the  Prineei 
of  Prussia  and  Holland,  many  dignitaries,  tad 
an  immense  crowd  of  other  spectators,  were 
present. 

Nov.  22.  At  the  supplementary  elections  for 
the  French  Legisbture,  Henri  Rochefort  wis 
chosen  from  the  First  Circumscription  of 
Paris. 

Nov.  23.  A  telegram  is  received  in  Ldtt« 
don  from  the  Governor  of  Bombay,  saying 
that  he  had  received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Living- 
stone, the  African  traveller,  dated  Ujiji,  May 
IS,  18G9.  Mr.  Livingstone  was  in  good 
health  and  spirits,  and  had  been  well  treated 
everywhere. 

The  French  Empress,  having  gone 

in  her  yacht  VAigle^  together  with  a  fleet  of 
44  other  steamers,  averaging  1000  tons  bitf- 
thcn,  through  the  Suez  Canal  and  back, 
reaches  Port  Said  to-day  on  her  return. 

Nov.  29.  Giulia  Grisi,  the  famous  Italin 
singer,  dies  at  Berlin,  aged  57. 

The  French  Legislature  sits,  and 

is  addressed  by  the  Emperor,  whose  speeob^ 
includes  observations  upon  the  recent  **e9>' 
cesses  of  the  pen  and  of  public  assemblagfii|^ 
a  declaration  that  France  wants  "  liberty  wlUt* 
order,**  the  speaker*s  personal  guarantee  oC-' 
order,  his  appeal  for  the  help  of  tbo  Lef^sli* 
ture  toward  granting  liberty,  an  ennmeratloft! 
of  certain  reforms  to  be  granted,  a  declan*' 
tion  that  the  condition  of  France  is  aatisfac- 
tury,  and  a  view  of  the  progress  of  the  age 
in  material  and  moral  achievement  The 
proposed  reforms,  the  Emperor  intimates,  are 
to  constitute,  on  the  whole,  *'  a  more  direct 
participation  of  the  nation  in  its  own  affdn," 
and  they  include,  among  other  items,  elec- 
tion of  municipal  officials  by  universal  Ba£> 
frago,  improved  primary  education,  cheaper 
Justice,  and  reduced  taxes.  The  French 
Opposition  is  not  satisfied  with  the  speech. 


Prano*8  New  Chromos. 

Wi  have  received  from  L.  Prang  k  Co.  specimens  of  some  of  their  latest  Chromos.  One 
of  them,  "  The  Birthplace  of  Whittier,**  by  Thos.  Hill,  represents  a  small  New  England 
homestead,  very  plain  and  simple,  surrounded  by  noble  trees,  with  winding  road  and  clear 
stream  in  the  foreground.  One  would  not  instinctively  recognise  it  as  the  ideal  home  of  the 
poet,  but  pcriiaps  it  is  a  fitting  dwelling-place  for  Whitticr*s  sturdy  genius. 

Another  of  these  chromos  is  a  brilliant  and  effective  "Sunset  on  the  Coast,**  after  Do 
Haas,  and  "  Lannchmg  of  the  Life-Boat,"  after  K.  Morcin,  with  animated  figures  and  rolling 

SCO. 

ThcdC  two  are  among  the  best  and  most  artistic  works  yet  proJuced  by  Mr.  Prang. 


UTNAM'S    MAGAZINE 


OP 


LITERATURE.   SCIENCE,   ART, 


AND 


NATIONAL  INTERESTS. 


YoL.  Y.— FEBRUAEY^ISTO.— No.   XXVI. 


A  WOMAN'S  RIGHT. 


n. 


PACL. 

Paul  had  come.    Without  being 
»u  would  have  known  the  fact,  by 
mgcd  atmosphere  of  the  house, 
strode  about  like,  a  king,  and  all 
Idren  were  afraid  of  him. 
)11  the  truth,  there  were  altogether 
ny  children  in  the  house  to  please 
tyal  youDg  gentleman.    Not  but 
6  had  8ome  fraternal  affection  for 
idividual  brother  and  sister,  but 
aggregate  they  were  troublesome, 
iny  young  ones." 
'  brought  more  or  loss  of  noise  and 
on  into  the  house,  and  his  princc- 
aved  order  and  quiet, 
r  numerous  wants  absorbed  much 
time  and  attention  of  his  mother, 
he  wished  to  appropriate  to  him- 

y  other  summer  when  ho  came 
le  found  a  new  baby  in  the  cradle 
IS  very  aggravating, 
portion  of  the  aggravation  was 
if  the  fact  that  each  newcomer 
d  the  amount  of  his  prospectire 
*,  Paul  had  never  acknowledged 
I  to  himself.  It  was  enough  that 
moyed  him  in  the  present ;  they 
noise,  they  were  in  the  way,  they 
ip  the  house,  which  the  young 


gcntlc'Jian  had  already  pronounced  '^a 
mean,  pinched-up  box." 

Paul  made  no  effort  to  hide  the  fact 
that  ho  was  dissatisfied  with  the  appear- 
ance of  his  home,  and  his  dissatisfaction 
was  an  afBiction  to  his  mother.  She  re- 
membered the  time  when  he  looked  upon 
the  family  sitting-room,  with  its  striped 
carpet  and  yellow  walls,  witli  great  com- 
placency, and  thought  it  a  very  lino  af- 
fair. That  was  before  he  went  to  Har- 
vard, or  had  seen  the  splendid  drawing- 
rooms  of  Beacon  street  and  of  Mjirlboro 
Hill.  Out  in  the  great  world  I»o  hal 
stepped  upon  the  i)lateaa  of  a  higher 
life,  a  life  of  leisure  and  ease,  a  life  of 
culture  and  of  graceful  repose.  It  was 
very  hard  for  him  to  step  down  again  to 
the  level  on  which  he  was  born.  lie  did 
it  very  unwillingly  and  very  ungraceful- 
ly. Ever  since  he  could  remember,  hk 
•mother  had  been  dnidging  and  saving, 
his  father  delving  and  making  money, 
lie  was  determined  to  do  neither.  Ho 
wanted  money  only  for  the  gratification 
that  it  would  purchase  ;  for  the  life  of 
lumry  and  splendor  which  were  unat- 
tainable without  it.  Each  year  tfte 
streets  of  Busyvillo  looked  narrower,  its 
houses  lower,  his  own  parental  domain 
smaller  than  the  year  before.    Settle  in 


tka  year  1880.  bf  O.  T.  rUTXAM  *  VOir,  la  tlMa«rk*a  Offlflc  of  tbt  DUtrirt  Covrt  of  the  V.  9.  far  tb«  Bosltum  Vlttrirt  cf  9  T 

OL.  Y.— 10 


188 


PuTNAM^s  Magazine. 


ffeb. 


Busyvillo!  Never.  The  ^vholo  king- 
dom of  Busyvillo  could  not  tempt  tlio 
ambition  of  this  joung  prince. 

On  tlie  afternoon  of  his  arrival,  after 
having  condescended  to  kiss  his  mother 
and  patronize  the  children,  Paul  saun- 
tered into  his  father's  shops.  Paul  liked 
to  saunter  through  the  shops,  looking  at 
the  work-people,  and  talking  with  them 
in  a  half  supercilious,  half  hail-fellow 
way ;  it  added  to  the  consciousness  of 
his  own  importance.  Especially  ho  en- 
joyed loungiug  in  tho  ''Girls'  Boom." 
More  than  any  place  in  tho  world,  there 
he  was  king.  To  a  company  of  young 
girls  shut  up  in  a  close  room,  to  ply  one 
monotonous  task  from  tho  beginning  of 
tho  year  to  its  close,  the  advent  of  a 
handsome,  polished  young  man  was  a 
very  pleasant  event.  It  must  have  been 
humiliating,  if  tliey  remembered  tho 
fact  that  outsido  of  that  shop  ho  never 
recognized  them ;  they  did  not  belong  to 
"his  set."  Tilly  Blano  and  tho  other 
Hiir  maidens  of  the  mansion  houses  did 
not  speak  with  shop-girls  in  the  street ; 
then  why  should  he,  the  petted  beau  for 
whom  tlicse  maidens  wero  ready  to  give 
their  fortunes  or  break  their  hearts? 
But  in  the  shop  I  Ah,  that  was  a  diiTer- 
cnt  matter.  Uere  no  king  amid  his 
court  could  be  more  graciously  conde- 
scending. Gay,  graceful,  debonair,  he 
loitered  through  the  long  room  at  his 
leisure,  chatting  with  all,  giving  a  smile 
to  one,  a  subtle  compliment  to  another, 
a  witty  sally  or  repartee  to  another, 
making  each  one  feel  that  ho  was  espe- 
cially pleased  with  her  individual  self, 
indeed,  that  she  was  the  object  of  his 
particular  admiration.  Thus  each  ono 
was  delighted  with  him. 

"Was  it  wonderful?  He  was  young 
and  handsome  and  rich,  with  a  charm 
of  manner  unwonted  among  tho  men  of 
tlioir  acquaintance.  They  were  young 
and  pretty  and  poor,  and  women.  TIius 
they  yielded  to  him  involunt^irily  the 
homage  of  smiles  and  blushes  and  elo- 
quent eyes.  It  was  very  pleasant  to 
Paul.  Nowhere  else  did  he  feel  so  posi- 
tively sure  of  his  imi>ortanco  and  power 
in  the  world  as  in  tlio  girls'  shop. 

He  felt  perfectly  secure  «'f  himself  in 


this  intoxicating  atmosphere;  felt  flore 
that  his  armor  of  pride  was  proof  against ' 
all  their  pretty  weapons.  *'Tbej  an 
none  of  them  my  style,"  ho  would  solfl- 
oquize.  *'The  mountain  girls  are  too 
rustic,  and  tho  town  girls  too  pert. 
Nearly  all  of  them  use  two  negatives  in 
a  sentence,  and  their  verbs  rarely  agree 
with  their  nominatives.  What  else  conld* 
be  expected  of  shop-girls?  But,  after 
all,  some  of  them  are  deuced  pretty,  and 
how  they  admire  7ne  1  How  delighted 
they  are  with  my  notice,  poor  things^ 
There's  Lucy  Day,  she  really  thinks  that 
I  am  serious,  and  will  call  upon  Ler  on 
Sunday  evening.  The  devil  I  I  am  go- 
ing to  see  Tilly  Blane,  of  course." 

On  this  afternoon,  he  liad  nearly  com-  ■ 
pleted  the  length  of  the  long  apartment; 
had  paused  in  his  leisurely  way  to  ex- 
change coquetries  with  every  fair  work- 
er, before  ho  discovered  Eirene  Vale 
standing  busy  at  work  beside  a  window, 
in  a  remote  corner  of  tho  apartment 
He  could  not  see  her  face,  yet  knew  Ler 
at  once  to  be  a  stranger.  A  "new 
hand"  always  ixissessed  a  degree  of 
interest  to  Paul,  yet  on  this  occasion  he 
forbore  to  manifest  it,  lest  he  might 
arouse  feelings  of  jealousy  in  the  heuts  ' 
of  others  of  his  fair  subjects.  Thus  be 
asked  no  questions,  seemed  as  if  he  did 
not  see  the  stran;5'er.  "Is  sho  pretty?" 
This  que-^tion  he  determined  to  answer 
for  hini'clf.  Fre>m  the  moment  of  his 
discovery,  he  thought  only  of  reaching 
the  spot  where  slie  stuo:l — it  was  gained 
at  last. 

»'  Miss ?  "  he  said,  with  a  mix- 
ture of  suavity  and  offrontery  which  he 
would  have  used  only  to  a  shop-girl  in 

his  own  father's  shop  ;  **3Iiss 1" 

hesitating  as  if  lie  knew  her  naTue,  yet 
could  not  that  instant  recall  it. 

Eirene  turned  her  face.  Tho  clear 
eyes  met  his  with  a  slmi)ie  l'>r)k  of  sur- 
prise. She  was  neither  frightentd  nor 
flattered.  The  innncent  face  expressed 
only  wonder  tiiat  an  utter  stranger 
should  accost  her  with  the  familiarity  of 
a  friend,  while  she  waited  for  the  young 
gentleman  to  conclude  his  sentence. 

*'  I  beg  your  pardon.    I  thouj:ht ." 


"  I  though 


but  the  utter  con- 


A  Woman's  Right. 


189 


of  the  yonth  prevented  hiin  from 
what  he  thought, 
conceited  hoy  of  the  world  stood 
d  before  the  guileless  look  of  a 
girl's  eyes.  Ho  was  totally  un- 
ed  for  such  a  look^  it  was  so  differ- 
in  the  one  he  had  antici[)ated.  He 
pectod  smiling  confusion,  blushing 
,  with  spontaneous  and  undisguised 
»tion  of  his  own  imperial  self, 
apparent  unconsciousness  of  his 
icenco,  this  utter  lack  of  sclt-con- 
less,  with  the  look  of  wonder  and 
f  in  a  pair  of  eyes — the  loveliest, 
oght,  that  he  had  ever  seen — was 
eh  for  Paul's  equanimity,  notwith- 
ig  the  largo  amount  of  his  self-i>os- 

• 

is  astonisliraent  he  saw  before  hira 
,  and  was  disgusted  that  he  had 
,  himself  to  bo  less  than  a  gentle- 

,      I  am  mistaken.      PardoA 

)r  the  third  time  stammered  our 
fited  Adonis,  as,  with  a  profound 
e  withdrew.  Ho  felt  an  impulse 
I  directly  out  of  the  shop.  He  was 
id  to  appearing  at  disadvantage. 
I  more  than  mortified  at  losing  his 
ssession,  and  that  to  a  shop  girl — 
0  had  never  blushed  before  the 
)S  of  Marlboi*o  Hill,  and  had  home 
t  flinching  the  full  blaze  of  the 
g-rooms  of  Beacon  street.  Yet 
is  confusion  he  did  not  forget  that 
»  of  his  fair  subjects  were  upon 
What  would  they  think?  What 
they  say,  if  they  saw  that  one  of 
wn  clais  had  the  power  to  cmbar- 
e  young  prince  and  send  him  in 
lerted  haste  from  their  presence  ? 
rould  be  indeed  a  fall  from  his 
osition. 
J  he  sauntered  (Town  the  other  side 

room  and  endeavored  to  chat  in 
•ntod  manner.  But  somehow  ho 
)  gaze  of  those  iimocont  eyes  still 
pon  him,  though  if  he  had  dared 
:,  he  would  have  seen  that  they 
►ent  steadfastly  upon  their  work, 
losement  of  flirting  had  suddenly 

its  zest.  He  found  himself  judg- 
se  buxom  beauties  by  a  new  stond- 
le  face  that  he  had  just  left  behind 


him.  How  coarse  their  voices  sounded, 
how  inane  their  words  seemed  now.  He 
was  thankful  when  he  came  to  the  end 
and  had  made  his  last  pretty  speech. 

He  went  out,  and  but  one  face  went 
with  him.  He  did  not  know  the  name 
of  its  possessor,  he  had  not  enquired. 
He  could  have  asked  the  question  care- 
lessly enough  to  have  gratified  an  idle 
curicsity.  But  it  was  not  idle  curiosity, 
it  was  interest  which  ho  felt.  Should 
he,  Paul  Mallane,  betray  interest  in  onto 
of  his  father's  shop-girls  ?  Oh,  no.  H© 
could  not  forget  so  far  his  high  position. 

"Mother  could  tell  mo,"  he  said  to 
himself  as  he  stepped  into  the  street. 
"  She  knows  every  girl  that  comes  and 
goes  from  these  shops.  But  sho  is  the 
last  person  on  earth  that  I  would  ask." 

Panl  was  too  well  aware  what  his 
mother  thought  of  his  visiting  the  shop*?. 

"It  is  undignified  and  beneath  you, 
Paul,"  sho  would  say,  "  to  lounge  away 
so  much  of  your  time  with  the  shop 
hands.  Besides,  it  is  dangeroiTS.  It  is 
very  pleasant,  I  know,  to  bewitch  tlio«e 
pretty  mountain  girls.  I  am  snro  you 
do,"  and  the  mother  would  lr)ok  with 
gratified  ])ride  upon  the  young,  handsome 
face.  "But  by-anrl-by  one  may  bewitch 
you.  I  know  you  tliink  not;  hut  yon 
don't  know  how  foolish  a  pretty  fnce 
might  make  even  you,  Paul,  with  all 
vonr  ambition." 

"Mother,  vou  need  not  w«'rrv  about 
me,"  the  young  mnn  would  say,  with  a 
conscious  air.  "  I  have  never  seen  a 
shop-girl  yet,  no,  nor  any  girl,  who  could 
make  mo  forget  what  is  duo  to  iny  posi- 
tion." 

After  his  promenade  throuL-h  tlie  sliops, 
Paul  had  intended  to  sliow  Ms  l^andsome 
face  and  air  his  immaculate  broaflclofh 
on  Main  street.  Ho  know  that  Tilly 
Blane  would  see  him  as  she  looked 
through  the  blinds  of  tho  squiro's  house, 
at  first  with  tager  hope,  and  then  with 
tearful  disappoint niojit,  as  ho,  tho  impe- 
rial Paul,  strode  past  in  sublime  nncon- 
pciousness  of  being  opposite  her  paternal 
mansion.  Ho  know  also  that  Abby  Ar- 
not  would  peep  through  the  blinds  of  tlio 
house  across  the  street,  and  as  sho 
watched  him  pass  by,  exclaim  with  a  toss 


140 


PuTXA3i's  Magazine. 


[Feb^ 


of  triumph:  "There!  Thcro  goes  Paul 
Mallane  I  lie  doesn't  even  look  toward 
Squire  Blnne's.  Talk  to  me  of  he  and 
TiDy  being  engaged." 

Ho  thought,  too,  how  old  Deacon  Nug- 
gett,  sitting  in  his  shop  door,  would  call 
out  as  ho  passed  by  :  "  Ah,  Paul  I  Paul 
Mallane,  ia  that  you  I  Well !  well !  how 
fine  yeVe  lookin'.  A  son  any  father 
might  be  proud  on.  Y'u'Jl  bo  in  Con- 
gress in  ton  years,  eh  ?  Paul  I  " 

But  when  he  rushed  forth  from  the 
factory  door,  Paul  had  forgotten  all  these 
anticipated  triumphs.  Ho  walked  straight 
across  the  street  to  the  white  lionso  under 
tlio  trees.  Ho  entered  it,  but  did  not  go 
into  the  family  sitting-room, .  where  ho 
knew  that  his  mother  sat  rocking  the 
baby.  Instead  ho  walked  into  the  prim 
parlor  and  threw  himself  down  upon  the 
stiff  high-backed  sofa.  Paul  was  dis- 
gusted with  himaelf  (a  most  unusual  state 
of  mind),  therefore  it  was  not  strange 
that  ho  soon  grew  equally  disgusted  with 
every  thing  that  he  beheld.  **  What  a 
shal>by,  shut-up  box  this  parlor  is,  any 
way,"  he  said  to  himself.  "Thero  is 
nothing  spacious,  nor  elegant,  nor  easy 
about  it.  And  yet  before  I  went  away 
from  Busy  ville  I  thought  it  splendid,  just 
as  mother  thinks  it  is  now.  The  pattern 
of  this  carpet  is  entirely  too  large  for  the 
room,  it  looks  as  if  it  was  crowding  the 
walls  back.  An<l  the  walls  are  too  low 
for  these  jrreat  pictures,  and  the  pictures 
are  in  dismal  taste.  Wasliington's  Death- 
bed ;  and  Calvin,  preaching  his  gloomy 
theolojiy ;  and  Grandmother  Bard  in  a 
frizzled  wig  looking  as  black  as  thunder. 
They  say  that  I  look  like  her  too,  and 

how  that  ccntre-tablo  h>oks,  with 

that  scjuarc  of  daguerreotypes  piled 
around  tile  astral  lamp.  That  is  Gracy's 
work.  If  there  U  no  ono  else,  I  will 
teach  her  how  to  take  a  little  of  the  slifl- 
ness  out  of  this  room.  She  should  fcc 
the  drawing-rooms  at  M^irlboro'  Hill ; 
then  she  would  know  how  to  arrange  a 
parlor.  But  to  make  an  elegant  room 
of  this  is  impossible,"  and  Paul  gazed 
about  with  an  expression  of  increased 
contempt.  "Dick  Presoott  expects  to 
come  hero,  too.  He  shan^t.  Ho  shanH 
see  this  parlor.    He  shifo't  see  ." 


What  ?  Paul  did  not  sco  fit  to  say.  lie 
threw  his  head  further  back,  fixed  his 
eyes  upon  the  ceiling,  and  as  the  ricb 
color  stained  his  cheek,  impatiently  ex- 
claimed :  "  I  am  an  ass." 

It  was  a  most  unwonted  state  of  mind 
which  could  make  the  young  prince  of 
the  hous^e  of  Mallane  declare  himself  to 
bo  *'an  ass." 

The  bell  rang  for  tea.  Paul  did  not 
stir.  "Let  those  children  get  seated 
with  their  confounded  clatter;"  saidthit 
amiablo  young  man,  with  eyes  still  fixed 
upon  the  ceiling.  When  the  shuffling 
of  little  foot  and  the  shouts  of  eager 
voices  had  subsided  a  little,  and  the  click 
of  tea-cups  and  the  tinkling  of  tea-spoons 
and  the  fragrance  of  tea  reached  his  nose 
and  ears  instead,  Paul  arose,  and,  half 
lazily,  half  ill-naturedly,  sauntered  forth.    ■ 

"  Ilere,  Paul,  here's  your  seat  by  me," 
said  Mrs.  Mallane,  as  turning  with  her 
most  benignant  molher-look,  she  saw 
Paul,  with  an  expression  of  annoyance 
and  embarrassment  upon  his  face,  standr 
ing  in  the  open  door.  When  ho  opened^ \ 
it,  a  pair  of  clear  eyes  looked  up  from  a  '. 
tea-cup.  The  young  fi\ce  whose  guileless- 
ness  ha<l  so  abashed  his  impertinence  in 
the  work-shop,  wearing  the  same  ex- 
pression, looked  up  to  his  from  the  home 
supper-table.  His  osloiiishment  at  see- 
ing it  there,  with  the  recollection  of  his 
behavior,  again  overcame  Paul's  self- 
possession.  II 0  stood  perfectly  still,  as 
if  ho  thouL'ht  there  was  no  seat  for  him 
at  the  table.  Xot  till  after  ho  had  taken 
the  place  jJrofTored  by  his  mother,  did 
Paul  become  conscious  that  ho  was  sit- 
ting on  the  same  side  with  tho  young 
stranger,  his  sister  Grace  between  theitti 
while  his  acoustoiniHl  8i\nt  opposite 
was  filh.'d  by  little  Jack.  Again  ho  was 
vexed.  Much  as  it  had  disconcerted 
him — strange  to  sny,  he  felt  tho  most 
insane  de>ire  to  look  on  the  face  agsiin. 

"  Mother  intended  that  I  sliould  not, 
and  so  seated  mo  here,''  he  thought, 
looking  full  upon  th;it  matron's  couutc- 
nance.  Tho  gray  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
him  with  a  penetrathig  gazo. 

"Will  you  take  tea,  Paul?"  was  all 
that  she  said. 

Paul  began  to  sip  his  tea  in  silence, 


A  Woman's  Right. 


141 


1  tlie  childn-in  began  to  stare  at 
ondering  if  this  could  be  onr  Paul 
vas  so 'silent;  when  saddeolj, 
g  his  forces,  he  commenced  rat- 
n  .in  his  old,  gay,  careless  manner, 
ras  his  usnal  vacation  talk,  all 
the  Prescotts  and  Applctons  and 
►ro  Hill;  the  distinguished  men 
autifol  women  whom  he  had  met. 
Jk  was  usually  very  interesting  to 
ohn  and  Tabitha  Mallane ;  to  the 
because  he  felt  a  genuine  interest 
persons  described ;  to  the  mother, 
9  it  gratified  her  ambition  to  know 
er  son  was  admitted  into  such 
ous  company. 

"6  had  been  a  grand  reunion  at 
idge  of  philosophers  and  poets  of 
inscendental  order.  Paul,  with  a 
bher .  young    bloods  of   the   law 

had  managed,  through  the  pres- 
Dick  Prescott,  to  gain  admittance, 
id  thus  caoght  a  glimpse  of  the 
J  and  seers.     Paul  had  seen  Tho- 

nd  Hawthorne ;  E and  H 

— ,  and  gave  brilliant  descriptions 

a  all.  "  L ,"  ho  said,  "  with  his 

irted  in  the  middle,  looks  as  much 
le   picture  of    Christ  as    ever." 

was  thinking  what  a  grand 
gentleman  this  must  be,  who  was 
jh  familiar  terms  with  the  great 
'  whom  she  had  read  all  her  life, 
horn  she  never  hoped  to  see; 
^18  last  remark  Eti*uck  her  sensi- 
»ul  like  blasphemy.  She  looked 
Dght  the  eyes  of  the  speaker  as 
umed  and  gazed  over  the  head 

sister  Grace.  Once  more  they 
iisconccrted  and  fell  before  the 
ike  glance.  Again  Paul  inwardly 
meed  himself  an  ass ;  but  turning 
I  his  mother,  he  ran  on  more 
usly  than  before ;  while  the  chil- 
licir  eyes  distended  with  wonder, 
eir  cheeks  distended  with  pie  and 
listened,  inwardly  exclaiming: 
fc  a  great  man  our  Paol  must  be." 

PAUL  AXD    BIS    MOTnSS. 

was  soon  dispatched.  Eating  in 
ew  England  household  was  mere- 
siness  afiTair,  and  as  such  dispatch- 
oon  as  podsible. 


The  ffisthetic  phase  of  tea- drinking, 
the  toying  with  tea-spoons,  the  lingering 
over  tea-cups  to  tell  pleasant  stories  of 
the  day,  Tabitha  Mallane  had  never 
learned.  To  give  her  family  enough  to 
eat,  to  have  them  eat  it  as  quickly  as 
possible,  and  to  have  her  table  cleared 
in  the  briefest  space  of  time  that  could 
be,  was  to  her  the  Alpha  and  Omega  of 
eating. 

Althongh  Paul  had  just  returned  and 
seemed  to  have  much  to  tell,  this  meal 
was  no  exception  to  others.  Indeed,  the 
atmosphere  of  hurry  seemed  more  posi- 
tive than  usual. 

Eirene  found  herself  swallowing  her 
tea  with  great  trepidation,  and  wonder- 
ing why  she  felt  that  there  was  not 
time  to  drink  it,  and  why  each  individ- 
ual there  was  doing  the  same,  as  rapidly 
as  possible. 

With  a  feeling  of  relief,  she  saw  Mr. 
Mallane  push  back  his  chair.  No  one 
had  introduced  her  to  Paul.  Nobody 
but  Mr.  Mallane  had  spoken  to  her 
through  the  meal.  No  one  seemed  to 
notice  her  as  she  walked  quietly  out  of 
the  room ;  yet  two  persons  at  the  table 
were  keenly  conscious  of  her  departure. 

"  Rene !   Rene  I    Poor  Mo "  cried 

out  the  parrot  as  she  opened  the  door  of 
her  little  cell.  At  the  sound  of  his 
name,  the  image  of  lank,  awkward,  yel- 
low-haired Moses  rose  before  her,  in 
contrast  to  the  handsome  young  stranger 
down-stairs. 

"  Strange  that  there  can  be  such  a 
difference  in  two,"  she  ejaculated  invol- 
untarily, as  taking  up  her  book,  she  sat 
down  on  a  low  stool  beside  tlio  window 
and  commenced  the  translation  of  .a 
French  exercise.  It  was  an  extract  from 
Bossuet :  ^^Quoique  Dieu  et  la  nature aient 
fait  tons  lea  homiius  kgaxix  en  lesfarmant 
(Vune  meme  honey  la  vaniU  humaine  ne 
pent  soyffrlr  cette  egalitey  "  Although 
God  and  Nature  have  made  all  men 
equal  in  forming  them  of  the  same  earth, 
human  vanity  cannot  bear  that  equality." 
She  paused,  the  pencil  poised  in  her  sus- 
pended hand.  A  young  manly  face  set 
in  dark  hair,  lit  with  dark  eyes,  seemed 
to  look  up  into  hers  from  the  page  before 
her.     *'  How  it  would  have  grieved  mo- 


142 


Putnam's  Magazine. 


IFeb, 


ther  to  hear  tlie  Saviour's  name  spoken 
with  sucli  indiflereuce,"  she  said  simply, 
murmuring  tlie  sentence  aloud  after  tlie 
manner  of  people  much  alone.  "  But  why 
should  I  think  of  it  ?  '^  she  continued, 
bending  her  eyes  onco  mofo  upon  the 
page,  and  resuming  her  task,  l^ut  tlio 
vagrant  tlioujjlit  refused  to  bo  called  back 
to  the  stuOy  of  French.  **Then  i^c  is 
Paul  of  whom  I  have  heard  so  much,'-  it 
whispered.  Sho  looked  up  from  her 
book,  out  upon  the  garden;  there  under 
the  old  cherry-tree,  on  the  gi'asa  was 
stretcheJ  tlie  same  Paul,  gazing  up  as  if 
he  saw  a  vision. 

There  he  wasl  and  sho  was  thinking 
of  him  I  This  consciousness  sent  the 
quick  blood  into  the  young  girl's  cheeks 
for  the  first  time. 

Paul  saw  it,  this  maiden-blush,  saw  ife 
as  the  first  recognition  of  his  own  prinoo- 
ly  self,  and  it  sent  a  new  thrill  into  his 
heart,  a  thrill  that  wont  into  his  dreams. 
For  a  number  of  moment=i  ho  hnd  boon 
gazing  without  interruption  on  this 
fair  pictnre  above  him ;  on  the  pure 
l)rofile  of  the  young  face  in  the  open 
window  within  its  frame  of  dark  vines. 
The  long  gaze  could  hardly  have  come 
to  a  more  delightful  term hiat ion  than 
this,  caused  by  the  uplifted  face,  the 
vivid  blush.  And  yet  he  felt  once  more 
ftbafllicd  that  he  had  been  di-covercd. 
He  arose  with  a  bow,  then  tlirew  him- 
self down  again  and  fixed  his  eyes  with 
a  look  of  profound  meditation  upon  tlio 
sky.  "  He  came  out  to  think,"  reflected 
Eirene,  and  that  she  might  not  seem  to 
intrude  upon  his  meditation,  she  inoved 
her  scat  from  the  window,  and  in  the 
interior  of  her  cell  once  more  invoked 
the  eloquence  of  Bossnot  to  assist  her  in 
studying  French. 

To  do  Paul  jnstice,  he  did  not  tl.row 
himself  ui)on  the  grass  for  the  purpose 
of  gazing  at  Kirene's  window;  he  came 
into  the  garden  solely  to  escape  his 
mother  and  himself.  The  i»retty  picture 
of  the  window  had  been  an  unanticijmt- 
ed  delight,  enjoyed  the  more  keenly  be- 
cause unexpected  and  stolen.  He  knew 
that  if  his  mother  could  have  foreseen 
this  pleasure,  he  would  never  have  on- 
joyed  it. 


Tabitha  Mallane  had  hastened  supper 
and  the  children  out  of  the  way,  in  or- 
der that  she  might  have  a  talk  with 
Paul. 

The  young  gentleman  would  have 
gladly  escaped,  but  ho  knew  that  it  wai 
useless  to  try  to  evade  his  mother;  he 
might  delay  it,  perhaps,  but  the  talk 
would  come. 

''  Sit  down,  Paul,''  she  s.-iid  as  she  seatp 
ed  her>elf  in  her  low  chair  and  began  to 
rock  the  cradle,  her  invariable  employ- 
ment when  she  had  >*  something  to  eay." 
"  What,  goi[)g  out  i  '*  "  How  uneasy  yon 
are.  You  will  have  plenty  of  time  left 
to  see  Tilly  lUane  if  vow  do  8it  a  little 
while  and  talk  with  your  mother." 

Then  sliO  began  to  question  him  oon- 
ccrning  his  studies  and  his  prpspeots  for 
being  graduated  with  honor.  "No 
mother's  boy  should  stand  before  him^" 
she  declared,  us  her  (juestions  wen 
promptly  and  favorably  answered.  Yet 
she  did  not  seem  satisfied,  and  began  to 
rock  the  cradle  violently  in  the  sileQca 

^MVhat  do  you  think  of  the  ncwbaod, 
Paul  ? "  she  asktd  abruptly. 

"  What  hand  ?  ^'  • 

''Why,  the  on-j  that  your  father  will 
have  eat  at  our  t:iMe.    Isn't  she  pretty!" 

''Pretty?  ra ther,"  answered  the 

young  gentleman,  witlj  the  imperturbable 
air  which  he  jdways  snmmoncd  to  his 
assistance  in  sutli  conversations  with  hia 
mother.  '*  You  uok  care  that  I  ahotild 
see  only  lialt'  of  her  face,  that  looked 
well  enough,"  he  continue*!. 

'•  lUit  what  o'o  you  ihiuk  of  her, 
Paul  ? " 

"Think  I  I  think  sho  is  dressed  like  a 
dud.  Can't  say  Iiow  she  would  look  in 
the  CDstuine  of  tlie  present  century." 

''  Don'l  try  to  evade.  Paul.  You  knov 
that  1  am  not  tiilkingijf  her  dress.  Whal 
do  you  think  of  the  ;:irl  i '' 

''  What  time  liave  I  Iiad  to  think  of 
her?"  ** Ten  minutes  at  supper." 

•'Half  the  afternoon,  Paul." 

"What  an  Meal   Why  sliould  I  think  ' 
of  he^  more  tlian   of  anv   otlier  shop 
hand  V 

"  ir//y,  Paul ."  The  girl's  fixcQ  answers 
that  question.  You  caTi't  deceive  me. 
1  saw  you  go  i:it.o  the  sh«>ps.    I  samr'yoa 


A  Woman's  RicnT. 


148 


Dack.  Sometbing  unasual  hap- 
:hero,  or  you  would  not  have  oome 
ut  yourself  in  that  dark  parlor, 
of  going  into  the  street.  Then, 
on  came  in  to  supper  and  saw  her 
at  the  table,  your  face  t«)ld  mo  of 
you  had  been  thinking." 
ther,  you  need  not  begin  to  hold 
over  fzi^,"  exclaimed  the  young 
agrily.  "  You  need  not  watch  me 
k  the  blinds,  when  I  go  out,  and 
;  eome  in.  I  am  not  one  of  your 
I  know  what  belongs  to  my  po- 

'  Paul  1  No  matter  what  his  an- 
e,  it  wa»  such  a  support  for  him 
back  upon  his  "  position." 
now  you,  Pnal,"  said  his  mother, 
;  forward,  eagerly,  rocking  the 
more  violently,  as  she  always  did 
ixcited.  "Because  I  know  you, 
you,  in  the  beginning,  against  this 
-stairs.  She  is  sly  and  deceitful, 
till  people  always  are.  She  in- 
to captivate  you  with  her  quiet 
lad  her  great  soft  eye?,  and  she 
iptivate  you  in  spite  of  all  your 
ind  all  your  ambition,  unless  yon 
your  guard.  Of  course,  my  son, 
ow  what  is  dae  to  your  position, 
ow  what  your  mother  expects  of 
>ut  it  will  be  hard  for  you  to  be 
»  your  knowledge  until  you  are 

ther,  who  under  heaven  is  this  girl 
•a  are  making  such  a  fuss  about?" 
ir  name  is  Vale.  Eirene  Vale, 
me  is  as  outlandish  as  her  family. 
nnes  from  a  shiftless,  poverty- 
a  set,  up  on  the  mountains.  Her 
whimpered  about  her  having  to 
*"ork,  and  so  your  father  took  a 
to  be  kind  to  the  girl.  You  know 
our  father's  notions  are?  They 
je  changed.  IIo  will  have  hjer 
She  is  a  nuisance.  I  hate  the 
f  her." 

leaned  back  in  the  rocking-chair, 
1,  and  then  began  to  whistle.  He 
t  as  fluent  upon  the  subject  of  the 
land  "  as  upon  his  favorite  topics 
Prcscntts,  and  Marlboro  Hill.  He 
thing  to  say ;  he  looked  bored  and 


"  Well,"  he  said  at  last,  in  a  careless 
tone,  "you  are  making  a  great  ado, 
and  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  what  for. 
You  say  that  this  girl  is  *  dy,  poverty- 
stricken,  and  a  nuisance.'  Do  you  think 
that  there  is  the  slightest  danger  of  my 
committing  myself  to  such  a  person  ?  " 
and  with  this  disclaimer  Paul  thrust  his 
hands  into  his  pockets,  sauntered  forth 
into  the  garden,  and  threw  hira-^elf 
down  under  the  old  cherry-tree. 

"  Mother  will  overdo  everything,"  ho 
snid  to  himself,  angrily.  She  ought  to 
know  more  of  human  nature  than 
to  think  such  talk  will  make  me  dis- 
like the  girl.  Why  did  not  she  let  her 
alone?  and  let  me  alone?  It  is  enough 
to  make  a  fellow  say  that  he  will 
make  love,  even  if  he  had  not  thought 
of  it  before.  Of  course,  there  is  every 
reason  why  I  should  never  commit  my- 
self to  one  in  her  position.  But  I  don't 
like  to  be  balked.  I  won't  be  balked, 
not  by  my  mother.  Why  didn't  she 
leave  me  to  my  reason  ?  Then  I  could 
have  taught  myself  to  have  looked  on 
this  £ice  without — well,  without  such  a 
flatter.    8ach  a  face  I " 

"Such  a  face!"  Surely.  As  Paul 
threw  his  head  back  to  look  up  into  the 
sky,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  it  in  the 
frame  of  vines  in  the  open  window  above 
him. 

What  was  it  in  this  face  which  so  held 
his  gaze  ?  It  was  not  its  youthful  love- 
liness alone,  Paul  was  used  to  beautiful 
faces.  It  did  not  please  his  senses  only, 
it  seemed  to  touch  his  soul,  it  rested,  it 
soothed,  it  satisfied.  What  a  contrast 
to  the  eager,  restless,  life-worn  face 
which  he  had  just  left.  The  worldly, 
selfish,  blas6  boy  gazed  on,  till  tlirough 
the  evening  air  something  of  tlio  serenity 
of  the  pure  young  brow  stole  down  to 
him.  As  he  gazed,  ho  felt  within  him 
the  promptinc^s  of  his  better  angel  telling 
him  that  with  such  a  face  to  light  his 
life,  purity  and  peace  would  be  possible 
even  to  him. 

Tabiiha  Mall  an  e  looked  out  of  the 
window,  saw  her  son,  then  walked  back 
to  the  cradle  and  rooked  it  as  if  she  were 
frantic.  Tiie  baby  must  have  thought 
so,  for  it  awoke  with  a  terrific  scream. 


144 


PcTXAM*8  Magazine. 


[Feb, 


which  instantly  brought  Paul  back  from 
Elysium,  and  made  him  say,  ^^  Curse  that 
child  I " 

Tabitha  Mallanc  did  know  Paul  bet- 
ter than  his  fatlicr  know  him;  better 
than  ho  know  hhnsclf.  When  she  said  : 
This  girPs  face  will  tako  the  heart  out  of 
our  Paul,  sho  spoke  from  the  depth. of 
lier  consciousness  of  his  nature.  IIo 
had  taken  this  nature  from  his  mother, 
he  was  like  her. 

Sho  remembered  her  own  impulsive 
youth,  when  even  interest  and  ambition 
went  dow^n  before  the  one,  importunate 
want  of  a  young,  passionate  heart  Well 
she  remembered  when  she  turned  from 
the  goodly  lands  and  the  pimply  face  of 
Benoni  Blane  to  marry  Jolm  IXollanc, 
though  all  Busyvillo  held  up  its  hands, 
rolled  up  its  eyes,  turned  up  its  nose  and 
exclaimed  in  wonder,  because  "  Tabitha 
Bard  looked  no  higher  than  a  journey- 
man worker,  and  he  a  Yorker." 

She  remomborcd  tlxo  struggling  years 
of  her  early  married  life,  when  Paul  was 
a  baby.  Sho  had  not  forgotten,  when 
sho  drew  him  through  the  village  streets 
in  his  little  wagon,  h«w  she  nsed  to 
meet  young  Squire  Blane's  pretty  wife 
with  the  infant  Tilly  in  a  fine  carriage. 

She  could  see  distinctly  now,  the  nod, 
half  condescending,  half  disdainful,  which 
the  young  beauty  would  throw  her  as 
the  carriage  rolled  on.  She  remembered 
iiow  she  n?ed  to  stand  in  the  dusty  street, 
with  the  handle  of  the  little  wagon  in 
her  hand,  gazing  afler  the  fine  phaeton, 
thinking  it  might  have  been  hers,  if  she 
had  only  been  willing  to  have  accepted 
with  it  the  pimply  face  of  Benoni  Blane. 

Sho  was  not  sorry.  Although  her 
jhare  in  the  old  homestead  was  long 
withheld  from  her  by  an  angry  mother ; 
although  she  had  borne  the  disgrace,  ter- 
rible in  New  England,  of  being  poor : 
slie  would  not  have  exchanged  John 
Mnlhme  for  ]>enoni  Blane  with  all  his 
possessions.  She  wanted  John  Mallano, 
butsho  wanted  the  equipage.the  mansion, 
and  the  honored  position  also.  "  1  viU 
liave  them,'^  she  oxchiinied,  gazing  after 
the  receding  carriage.  "The  day  will 
come  when  your  baby  will  bo  glad 
enough  of  the  notice  of  my  boy  ;  when 


you  won*t  toss  your  head  at  me  liko  that, 
Belinda  Blane." 

Tabitha  Mallane  had  divining  eya. 
They  foreread  tlie  future ;  her  prophecy 
was  fulfilled. 

The  poor  journeyman  worker  was  now 
one  of  the  wealthiest  mauufacturen  in 
Busyville.  His  opinions  carried  great 
weight  in  the  councils  of  the  church, 
and  in  ^'Town  meeting."  lie  had  re- 
flected great  credit  upon  Busyville  in  the 
State  legislature,  and  for  all  theie 
weighty  reasons,  Busyville  had  forgiven 
him  for  having  been  born  poor,  and  in 
another  State. 

Tabitha  Mallane's  handsome  bod,  the 
Harvard  student,  the  incipient  lawyer, 
the  prospective  member  of  Congrcttt,  the 
possible  President  of  the  United  8tatei^ 
all  in  all  considered,  was  the  fiaert 
^* catch"  in  Busyville.  There  wen 
young  men  there  with  purer  heart  a,  tad 
brains  quite  as  clever,  but  they  lacked 
the  money,  or  the  beauty,  or  the  grand, 
imperial  air  of  Paul.  Uo  assumed  to 
much  indilferenco  and  hauteur,  and  was 
withal  so  very  graceful  and  handaome^ 
that  there  was  not  a  girl  in  all  the  man- 
sion  houses  but  what  felt  flattered  whok 
he  condescended  to  bestow  hisattenticmf. 
All  thu)  was  a  misfortune  to  PauL  He 
stood  sorely  in  need  of  a  little  hnmllia- 
tion.  The  consciousness  of  Bopreme 
power  over  women  is  so  very  dangerons 
to  any  man.  His  mother's  great  anxiety 
came  from  the  fear  that  he  would  ndt 
make  the  most  of  his  advantages.  She 
was  so  afraid  that,  in  some  moment  of 
impulse  and  passion,  ho  would  do  pre- 
cisely as  she  did  once :  marry  for  lore 
without  asking  his  mother's  permission. 
She  had  never  repented  her  own  conne. 
AVhen  sho  looked  back  into  tlio  years,  she 
always  said :  *'  I  would  do  the  same  if  I 
were  to  live  my  life  over  again.  I  could 
never  love  another  man  as  I  love  John 
Mallane;  besides,  I  always  knew  that  lie 
would  die  rich.  It  is  very  dilTerent  with 
Paul.  He  could  never  work  and  wait  as  I 
have  done,  for  a  fortune.  He  was  made  to 
enjoy  and  to  spend  one.  Besides,  my  boj 
shall  never  drudge  and  sufier  what  I 
have,  in  struggling  up  to  prosperitj. 
He  must  marry  a  rich  wife.     If  wc  could 


A  Woman's  Right. 


145 


lim  oil  we  haye,  it  wonldn^t  be 

with  bis  taste  and  habits.     Ue 

that  wo  live  in  a  very  poor  way  " 

ere  the  poor  mother  would  sigh). 

hat  will  our  property  be,  divided 

:    eight?"    "One  eighth  I     What 

that  bo  to  our  Paul  ?    Of  course, 

1  settle  in  the  city.    Before  that 

at  marry  Tilly  Blaue.    She  is  long- 

giye  herself  and  all  that  she  has 

.  I  knew  that  she  would,  long  ago. 

a  Blane,  it*s  a  long  time  since  you 

your  head  at  me. 

Qd  now  that  girl  up-stairs  I    I  hate 
le  is  in  the  way." 

rriLLS— ITS   BKABMIXS  AXD  BU8TL>R8. 

* 

rviLLE  was  a  fair  type  of  a  small 
acturing  New  England  village. 
aukee  friends  caUed  it  "a  smart 
own."  It  was,  in  truth,  an  enter- 
^,  energetic,  money-getting  place, 
bin  a  limited  range  of  thought  and 
,  its  people  were  intelligent,  but 
of  life  was  yery  narrow.  Its  be- 
;  sin  was  littleness.  Its  factories, 
loohi,  its  churches,  its  houses,  its 
},  all  betrayed  this  tendency  toward 
.otion. 

ir  life  was  shoped  by  the  belief 
iusyville,  having  arrived  at  a  state 
>lute  perfection  generations  before, 
not  by  any  possibility  be  improved, 
lily  branches  which  had  struck  out 
ken  root  in  the  great  world,  some- 
strayed  back  and  informed  their 
d  on  the  parent  tree  that  Busyville 
)hind  the  times ;  information  which 
indred  resented  as  an  insult.  In 
>pinion,  any  knowledge  which  was 
10 wn  in  Busyville,  was  not 'worth 
ng.  In  their  old  Academy,  the 
la  of  study  had  not  varied  in  fifty 
Within  a  certain  range,  it  was 
ent ;  bat  it  never  advanced,  never 
larger.  To  its  denizens  Busyville 
lie  Eden  of  this  world.  To  haye 
)orn  in  another  town,  was  a  m»- 
e ;  to  have  been  bom  in  another 
7,  was  an  ineffiiceable  disgrace. 
9or  stranger,  the  lonely  foreigner 
lighted  here  to  look  for  work,  had 
y  time.  It  did  not  oconr  to  the 
women  who  sent  boxes  of  clothing 


to  the  Congoes,  and  sometimes  stinted 

themelves  to  help  support  the  mission- 
ary whom  thoy  bad  sent  to  civilize  the 

Hottentots,  that  there  might  be  mission- 
work  to  do  even  in  Christian  Busyville. 

There  vere  crowded  lanes  and  by-ways 
in  this  town  swarming  with  wUd,  ill- 
cared  for  children.  It  would  have  been 
a  mercy  to  have  clothed  and  cared  for 
them,  and  to  have  led  them  by.  the  hand 
into  the  commodious  Sabbath-schools 
filled  with  the  smiling,  singing  children 
of  the  church ;  but  the  women  devoted 
to  the  Congoes  had  no  time  left  for  little 
white  sinners  at  home.  In  close  cham- 
bers and  in  little  tencmenti,  lonely 
stranger-women  lived  out  tbeir  crushed 
existence ; — overtaxed,  sore-worn  wives 
and  mothers  whose  weary  tasks  wero 
never  done.  To  one  of  these  a  call  from 
a  prosperous  sister-woman— one  kindly 
expression  of  personal  interest,  would 
have  been  as  the  cup  of  cold  water  to 
one  of  Cbrist^s  thirsting  little  ones. 
Alas  I  it  was  rarely  profiercd.  The  lady 
absorbed  in  the  Hottentots  had  nothing 
left  for  the  ** common  woman"  who 
washed  her  husband's  shirts  and  mended 
her  many  children's  scanty  clothes  in 
the  shop  tenements  of  Busyville.  The 
bustling,  well-to-do  wives  of  Busyville 
wore  too  busy  with  their  societies,  and 
schools,  with  their  churches  and  houses, 
their  own  and  their  neighbors'  afEkirSi 
to  haye  either  time  or  capacity  left  to 
devote  to  "  outlandish  people." 

The  sin  of  being  a  stranger  in  Busy- 
ville was  never  more  keenly  felt  than  by 
the  newcomer  on  commencement  day  at 
the  Academy.  Then  the  daughters  of 
the  Busyville  Brahmins,  the  maidens  of 
the  mansion-houses,  the  bnxoni  beauties 
of  the  old  homesteads  proceeded  to  the 
seats  which  they  had  occupied  from  their 
earliest  recollection  and  proceeded  to 
pass  judgment  upon  all  aliens.  With 
supercilious  and  mocking  eyes  tliey 
measured  the  rustic  youths  and  maidens 
from  tlie  mountain -towns,  and  the  young 
strangers  from  other  States.  After  the 
first  session,  the  fair  Sanhedrim  met  in 
solemn  conclave  and  decided  whoso  out- 
ward aspect  entitled  them  to  be  *'  one  of  ^ 
ourselves." 


146 


PuTNUt^s  Magazine. 


[Feb, 


Woe  to  the  girl  who  "  looked  poor." 
TVoo  to  tlio  pale  student  whom  they  sas- 
pectod  of  having  emerged  from  one  of 
the  village  shops,  she   never   became ' 
"  one  of  ourselves." 

No  one  proffered  to  assist  her  in  the 
solution  of  Algebraic  problems.  No 
sweet  girl- voice  which  had  parsed  trium- 
phantly through  Paradise  Lost,  offered 
to  lend  her  through  pages  of  involved 
analyses.  She  watched  the  cliques  of 
pretty  girls  laughing  and  playing  under 
the  trees  at  recess,  or  looked  with  wist- 
ful eyes  as  they  recited  their  lessons  in 
groups  in  the  old  Laboratory, — ^but  no 
wcleomiiig  word  or  smile  ever  made  her 
feel  that  she  was  one  of  them.  She 
passed  in  and  out  of  the  long  halls  as 
alone  und  lonely  on  the  last  day  of  school 
OS  at  its  bcginniDg. 

The  lines  of  caste  wore  as  rigidly 
drawn  in  orthodox  Basyville,  as  in  Pagan 
India. 

One  had  to  probe  through  the  family 
soil  for  two  or  three  generations  to  ap- 
preciate duly  the  prerogatives  of  the 
Brahmin  order. 

Methuselah  Blane,  a  stout  and  unleti- 
tcred  yeoman  came  across  the  ocean, 
perhaps  in  the  Mayflower — the  Blanes 
say  tliat  ho  did.  For  a  few  pounds,  he 
bought  a  large  tract  of  land  in  the  new 
valley,  built  a  log-house  and  proceeded 
to  subdue  the  stones,  while  his  wife 
Mcliltabel  proceeded  to  subdue  the  tem- 
pers of  her  snub-nosed  boys  and  to  pre- 
pare them  by  a  course  of  rigorous  dis- 
cipline f  )r  a  life  of  vigorous  labor.  Me- 
thuselah and  Mehitabel  sleep  together  in 
one  grave,  in  the  old  graveyard,  beneath 
a  brown  tablet  from  which  time  has 
nearly  effaced  a  very  remarkable  epitaph. 
They  had  gone  back  to  dus>t^  and  tlieir 
snub-nosed  boys  were  gray-haired  men, 
before  Busyvillo  grew  into  existence. 
Tlion  the  land  of  the  "Blano  boys''  was. 
cut  into  village  lots;  at  last  the  iron  path 
of  the  rail-horso  was  laid  through  their 
domain ;  money  flowed  into  old  stock- 
ingi  till  t!icy  overflowed,  and  the  Blanes 
and  their  children  became  Brahmins  for- 
ever. 

Tlio  present  representative  of  the  race, 
Benoni  Blane,  was  a 'well-enough  man, 


with  a  brain  as  neutral-tinted  and  ai 
pimply  OS  his  complexion.  It  was  not 
easy  to  point  •  to  any  mischief  he  had 
done  in  the  world,  and  equally  dlfScait 
to  discover  any  good. 

Had  any  one  asked  a  good-natored 
Brahmin :  Why  does  Benoni  Blane  «taiid 
at  the  head  of  his  order  in  BusyriUef 
Is  he  of  large  public  spirit?  Has  he 
endowed  a  school  ?  IIos  he  founded  a 
library?  lias  he  assisted  poor  yoDag 
men  to  obtain  an  education?  Does  be 
support  missionaries  or  build  churches  ? 
Is  he  remarkable  for  talent,  cultore,  or 
piety  ? 

The  good-natured  Brahmin  would 
have  replied,  *^  No,  he  has  done  nrne  of 
these  thin^.  He  is  not  dLstingnished 
for  genius,  learning,  or  goodness.  Ben* 
oni  Blane  is  a  man  who  minds  his  own 
business,  he  is  descended  ftom  one  of  the 
first  settlers— and  the  Blanes  hare  al* 
ways  been  well  to  do." 

To  have  had  an  infinitesimal  portion 
of  your  being  brought  across  the  Atlantic 
by  a  remote  ancestor  in  the  MayJlow4ir — 
was,  of  course,  a  superlative  honor — it 
constituted  you  a  person  of  exalted  birth. 
But,  if  only  your  grandfather  sailed  OTcr 
the  ocean  in  a  fast-sailing  modem-built 
ship,  oh,  that  was  a  different  matter — a 
misfortune,  if  not  a  disgrace,  which  made . 
you  "  foreign,'*  if  not  outlandish. 

To  the  Brahmins,  by  natural  birth* 
right,  belonged  the  emoluments  and 
dignities  of  Busyville.  They  supplied 
the  town  with  professional  men ;  the 
lawyers,  doctors,  and  squires  were  all 
Brahmins.  The  clergymen  were  not 
equally  blessed.  Men  had  preached  in 
Busyville  whose  ancestors  did  not  sail 
to  this  country  in  the  Mayflojjccr ;  bnt 
they  did  not  preach  to  the  Brahmios. 
As  you  recognized  the  mansions  of  the 
Brahmins  by  thoir  venerable  gables, 
time-stained  wall«>,  and  the  deep  sliadow 
of  their  patriarcln^l  trees,  so  yon  knew 
the  ambitious  "  villas  "  of  tho  wealthy 
Bustlers  by  tbcir  stark,  staring  newness, 
by  their  tumorous  bay  windows,  astound- 
ing porticoes,  and  stunning  cupolas, 
threatening  the  frnil  fabrics  beneath  with 
constant  annihilation.  But  if  tliese  rich 
Bnstlers  did  not  know  the  vulgar  from 


A  Woman's  Right. 


147 


intifal,  they  had  ample  means  to 
9  their  children  to  higher  tastes. 
Dually  a  decayed  Brahmin  family 
bankful  to  sell  their  magnificent 
atives,  and  nncomfortahle  poverty 
V  money  and  a  now  domain,  even 
had  to  accept  witl^  it  a  new  name. 
1  such  recompense,  more  than  one 
'ahmin  concluded  .that  she  could 
to  ignore  the  ohsourity  of  her  hus- 
anoestry,  while  she  still  retained 
endid  memories  of  her  own  I  The 
y  Bustlers  who  thns  allied  them- 
pf  ith  the  "  first  people  "  invariably 
their  backs  upon  their  own  class, 
ted  their  eyes  and  aspirations  alike 
I  the  Brahmin?.  But  the  small 
•a,  never  rich,  always  comfortable, 
rore  perfectly  satisfied  to  remain 
rs  forever,  were  largely  in  majori- 
l  it  was  they  who  gave  to  Busy- 
s  peculiar; character  and  tone.  .On 
comer  stood  their  little  work- 
all  astir  with  the  hum  and  whirr 
chinery,  with  the  buzz  of  busy 
and  voices.  The  streets  were 
mth.  their  houses;  little  houses 
;  in  vivid  white  and  green — pretty 
boxes  "  in  which  they  flourished 
py  mediocrity. 

boys  and  girls  worked  together  in 
3p8 ;  made  love,  married,  and  then 
ludable  thrift,  made  haste  to  earn 
uild  one  of  these  habitations  for 
3lve8  and  their  children.  Thns  as 
ars  went  on,  little  streets  reached 
^er  the  meadows,  and  new  white 
were  set  in  parallel  rows,  blister- 
d  blinking  at  each  other  in  the  sun. 
louse,  as  it  stared,  behold  its  oonn- 
b  in  its  neighbor,  and  all  of  them 
in  their  smallness,  and  sameness, 
lug  comfort,  reflected  fairly  the 
;o  condition  and  character  of  their 
s.  The  matrons  of  these  boxes 
them  quite  large  enough  for  their 
unfibitions  and  emulations.  Whose 
should  be  paid  for  earliest ;  who . 
[  have  the  prettiest  garden,  the 
est  "  three-ply "  carpet,  the  most 
rful  ^^.  riz  cake,''  the  most  trans- 
it baby,  were  all  objects  dear  to 
learts,  and  to  them  worthy  of  all 
and  struggle.    To  see  all  the  fam- 


ily cotton  flying  on  the  clothes-lines  by 
breakfast  time  each  Monday  morning 
was  a  triumph,  whose  winning  called 
more  than  one  housewife  to  her  wash- 
tub  a' little  past  midnight.  Every  chore 
was  done,  and  she  working  for  the  shops 
and  rocking  baby,  before  it  was  time  for 
her  to  get  her  dinner.  In  the  long  After- 
noons, many  little  shiny- topped  baby 
wagons,  precisely  alike,  issued  from  the 
gates,  drawn  by  mother-hands.  These 
matrons  then  found  the  recreation  of 
their  day,  in  going  to  each  other's  hous- 
es, comparing  babies,  and  serving  to  each 
otl^er  delectable  dishes  of  small  gossip. 
Women  endowed  with  such  a  remark- 
able amount  ot  Now  England  "  faculty  " 
that  they  oould  dispatch  every  household 
affair  of*  their  own  in  one  fourth  of  the 
day,  necessarily  had  some  time  left  for 
the  affairs  of  their  neighbors. 

Socially,  the  Brahmins  and  Bustlers 
were  as  far  apart  as  if  they  lived  on 
separate  planets.  The  shop-girl  from 
her  window  watching  the  academy  girl 
pass  to  school,  mocked  her  dainty  airs, 
and  when  she  met  her  on  tlie  street  with 
"  I'm  as  good  as  you  are,"  toss  of  head, 
took  care  that  the  pretty  Brahmin  did 
not  have  more  than  hor  share  of  the 
sidewalk.  Meanwhile,  the  Bralimin 
averted  her  pretty  nose,  and  gathered  up 
her  delicate  robe?,  lest  they  should  be 
contaminated  by  the  touch  of  the  work- 
ing-frock of  "that  dreadful  shop-girl." 
Yet  both  of  these  were  American  maid- 
ens. Christian  maidens,  born  in  Now 
En  Inland  Busyville< 

The  Bustlers  and  the  Brahmins  rarely 
worshipped  God  together.  The  Brah- 
mins were  all  orthodox,  and  praised 
their  Maker  iu  a  proper  manner  in  an 
imposing  structure.  From  serene  heights 
they  looked  down  witli  [)ions  pity  or  dis- 
gust, according  to  their  dispositions,  on 
the  happy  Bustlers,  whoso  devotions 
they  deemed  of  an  unnecessary,  vocifer- 
ous, and  hysterical  character.  All  the 
time,  the  Bustlers  considered  themselves 
nob  only  sound  in  faith,  but  as  a  city  set 
upon  a  very  high  hill  in  the  spiritual 
kingdom,  with  light  enough  in  it  to  il- 
luminate the  entire  race.  With  holy 
triumph  they  referred  to  the  place  and 


148 


Putnam's  Magazine. 


[Febs 


tho  moment  where  they  "got  religion." 
With  warm  compassion  thoy  prayed  for 
tho  groping  Brahmins,  who  only  "  hoped 
that  they  had  a  hope."  And  for  no  one 
with  so  profonnd  an  unction  as  for  old 
Dr.  Drier,  the  Brahmin  divine,  the 
meekest  and  most  hlameless  of  men,  yet 
one  £o  utterly  undemonstrative  and  un- 
like themselves,  that  they  were  sure 
"  he  know'd  nuthin'  what  religion  wuz." 

Thuo,  the  Brahmins  ignored  the  Bus- 
tlers, and  the  Bustlers  alternately  envied 
and  pitied  the  Brahmins.  Each  pos- 
sessed qualities  which  the  others  lacked, 
which,  had  they  been  blended  together, 
would  have  made  a  more  harmonious 
type  of  manhood  and  of  womanhood. 
The  Brahmins  needed  the  stamina  and 
activity  of  the  Bustlers.  The  Bustlers 
lacked  the  refinement  and  capacity  for 
repose  which  crowned  the  Brahmins. 
But  there  could  be  no  exchange  of  gifts 
and  graces,  for  in  social  life  they  rarely 
met,  and  never  mingled.  Neither  class 
ever  knew  half  the  good  that  was  in  the 
other. 

Ilero  came  bounding  down  the  road  to 
meet  them.  Mary  Vale,  with  Win  on 
one  side  and  Pansy  on  the  other,  stood 
outside  of  the  gate.  Again  tlie  loose 
wheels  of  the  old  buggy  rattled,  and  for 
once  in  her  life  Muggins  hurried. 


Eireno  had  come  home,  had  come 
home  to  spend  Thanksgiving — what  joy 
there  was  in  the  dormer  cottage. 

A  month  had  wrought  a  great  change 
in  the  aspect  of  nature.  The  mnpjes 
had  dropped  all  their  scarlet  and  amber, 
and  stood  discrowned  in  the  wood.  A 
few  garnet  leaves  still  clung  to  tho  shel- 
tered boughs  of  the  oaks.  The  larches 
in  the  yard  still  w.aved  their  feathery 
plumes,  and  the  pines  on  the  hill  still 
swayed  their  evergreen  branches  with 
the  old  soughing  sound.  The  Engliifa 
ivy,  dappled  and  warm,  still  festooned 
the  brown  walls  and  dormer  windows; 
all  else  was  bleak  and  bare.  Files  of 
wind- whipped,  rain- beaten  leaves  filled 
the  hollows  of  tho  road.  The  mari- 
golds and  dahlias  had  ceased  to  pande 
their  splendor,  lying  prone  and  ragged 
upon  the  ground.  Even  the  crysan^e* 
mums  had  vanished,  and  now  smiled 
in  snug  boxes  in  the  sitting-room  win- 
dows. 

Bow  was  it  with  Eirene  ?  Had  she 
changed,  as  well  as  the  garden  ?  Do  we 
ever  come  back  from  the  world  to  any 
beloved  spot  just  tlie  being  tliat  we  left 
it? 

One  moment  in  her  mother^s  armiH- 
then  the  happy  little  company  followed 
Eirene  into  the  house. 


ViBonnA — Old  akd  New. 


U9 


VIRGINIA— OLD  AND  NEW. 


SJUULT  BIBTOBY. 


SB£  are  localities  which  history 
ature  combine  to  signalize  as  cen- 
K)ints  of  those  social  phenomena 
1  originate  and  control,  if  not  the 
acies  of  civilization,  at  least  the 
agencies  of  ciTic  deyelopment ; 
t  are  concentrated  and  fused  the 
onistic  forces  whereby  a  great 
lal  problem  is  worked  out ;  where 
are  bom,  opinions  conflict,  life 
>ps,  and  eyents  occur,  that  radi- 
influence  the  destiny  of  a  country 
»eople.  This  result  may  be  traced 
mate,  geographical  situation,  sta- 
oducts — facts  of  race  and  natural 

Such  a  region  is  the  State  of 
lia.  There  is  an  historical  signifi- 
and  prophetic  suggestion  in  her 
haying  been  originally  giyen,  in 
in  John  Smithes  chronicle  of  1629, 
the  British  possessions  in  North 
lea  and  that  of  Old  Dominion  in 
jliest  charter ;  for  then  and  now, 
^ds  resources  and  yaiiety  of 
ation,  she  was  eminently  represen- 

of  the  average  condition  and 
ies  of  liie  new  world — equally 
ed  from  the  bleakness  of  the 
.  and  the  sultriness  of  the  South, 
1  colonial  and  revolutionary  times, 
hing  the  largest  number  of  men 
!  characters  and  agency  moulded 
aspired  the  national  life.  On  her 
le  diverse  functions  of  planter  and 
r  coalesced ;  in  her  councils  the 
emphatic  development  of  political 
>n  found  expression^  ttom  her 
1  the  great  West  was  first  peo-* 

in  her  history  every  germ  of  our 
ry^g  prosperky  and  misfortune 
>e  discovered ;  on  her  rpH  are  the 
I  of  the  two  most  influential  rep- 
atives  of  the  two  great  parties 
.  have  shaped  American  legisla- 
and  in  her  eastern  and  western 
a,  the"  two  great  social  phases — 
gronial  and  democratic,  the  slave^ 


holding  and  industrial;  while  Law's 
most  eminent  votaries,  War's  noblest 
heroes,  the  proudest  gentry  and  the 
most  civilized  bondmen,  formed  a  com- 
munity wherein  all  the  characteristics 
of  our  country  found  the  best  average 
exposition,  and  those  of  our  ancestral 
land  the  most  tenacious  home;  and 
therefore  it  is  that  Virginia  historical, 
economical,  and  ethnological,  has  been 
and  is  the  representative  State. 

And  this  quite  as  much  from  her 
deficiencies  as  her  merits,  from  neglect 
as  culture ;  for  the  lapse  of  her  prosper- 
ity, after  the  Revolution,  and  its  tem- 
porary revival,  were  the  direct  conse- 
quences of  slavery:  to  the  original 
aristocratic  proclivities  of  a  portion  of 
her  colonists  ia  to  be  attributed  the 
fatal  indifierence  to  popular  education 
which  enabled  New  England,  with  such 
inferior  material  advantages,  to  build 
up  thriving  commonwealths.  ^^  I  thank 
God,"  wrote  Sir  William  Berkeley,  the 
governor,  to  the  King,  in  1641,  "there 
are  no  free  schools  or  printing."  Un- 
fortunately for  the  chivalric  ancestry 
claimed  by  the  "  first  families,"  as  the 
exceptional  origin  of  their  State,  the 
tracts  of  the  period,  through  which  the 
difierent  colonies  sought  emigrants  for 
their  respective  settlements— and  many 
of  which,  rare  as  they  have  become, 
may  now  be  consulted  in  the  coll  cctions 
of  literary  amateurs — show  that  while 
now  and  then  a  genuine  scion  of  nobility 
sought  to  reconstruct  a  cavalier's  fallen 
fortunes  on  the  banks  of  the  Potomac 
and  the  James,  with  him  came ''  worn- 
out  London  gentry,"  untitled  adventur- 
ers, outlaws,  and  convicts.  Enough, 
however,  of  good  blood  was  transfeired 
thither,  and  enough  of  English  pride 
and  prejudice,  Irish  bonhommie,  and 
Scotch  thrift  and  piety,  to  plant  on  the 
fresh  soil  every  Old-World  trait  and  ten- 
dency, from  the  traditions  of  primo- 
geniture to  the  rites  of  lavish  hospital- 


160 


Putnam's  Magazine. 


[FeU, 


ity,  from  Ibe  csclu^nivencss  of  manorial 
to  the  ftlycctncss  of  serf  life,  and  from 
tlie  zest  of  the  bunt  to  the  etiquette  of 
the  duello.  How  far  these  imported 
instincts  and  habitudes  modified  the 
character  of  the  landed  proprietors,  we, 
to  this  day,  clearly  behold,  in  the  mem- 
ories which  the  novelist  has  embod- 
ied, in  the  blind  conservatism  of  a  class 
upon  which  modern  science  and  social 
progress  have  made  no  impression,  and 
in  the  grounds,  portraits,  heraldic  tomb- 
sUmc^j  old  churches  and  yery  bricks 
which  Remind  the  traveller  so  vividly, 
and  often  with  i)athetic  eloquence,  of 
the  '*ould  countrie."  But  with  these 
legacies  of  the  past,  in  later  times, 
blended  mopo  popular  and  pervasive  ele- 
ments ;  the  Dutch  agriculturist  brought 
free  labor  into  the  mountain-district; 
on  the  seaboard  northern  traders  estab- 
lished a  mart ;  amid  the  woods  the 
Methodist  preacher  and  his  sable  flock 
ch.'inted  the  hymns  of  Wesley  within 
sij^'ht  of  the  temples  of  the  Establish- 
meuL;  avA  thus,  by  degrees,  Virginia 
\(}.*t  her  exclusive  manorial  dignity; 
dec:iy  settled  on  her  domains  to  which 
the  spirit  of  the  age  failed  to  penetrate; 
tndu.itriLil  enterprise  became  a  necessity, 
and  the  proud  and  thriftl6»s  aristocracy 
was  gradually  overlaid  or  superseded. 

TUti  earliest  Knglish  settlement  in 
Anirric*-:!,  Virginia  was  the  scene  of  the 
first  rcl>el lion— that  instigated  ngaiu?t 
U<:rk(;!i'y  by  the  colonii?ts  wlio  resented 
his  n  I'lLiiil  to  appoint  Bacon  as  their 
lea<l<T  against  savage  foes.  This  occur- 
red in  1GG7,  and  is  known  in  history  as 
Bacur;':;  Ut;lieIlion.  A  fonnidable  negro 
inuiiT(':lii)n  headed  !)y  Nat  Turner,  in 
Vi'n\j  h'i.4  lj(",:n  made  the  subject  of  one 
f)!'  J.iiiics'  novels.  No  chapter  of  politi- 
cal hi  tory  ili>^pl:iy.H  Furli  glowing  in- 
i::>n^i'.ti:ncioM  as  mark  the  chronicle  of 
Vir;ci"i'i  slatesninnship.  The  same  class 
of  pili!i('ia:is  who  protested  most  in- 
dijv'anlly  against  the  Hartford  Convcn- 
lioM  of  IHII  iiM  Irciisonable,  and  sustain- 
iil  I'll  .ichiil  Jai'ksoii  in  his  forcible 
n-pr*  .sion  of  Carolina  Nullifieation  in 
lH.:-\  most  n-adily  adoptccl  Calhoun's 
!(iji!ii  .;ii';il  ilognia  i>f  State  Right-*,  and 
baiiili'il  tlu'njMhv*  nmut  eagerly  t*  de- 


stroy the  life  of  tlie  nation,  when  the 
^  tariff  had  been  superseded  by  the  slav- 
ery conflict. 

In  1775,  a  Virginian  drafted  the  De- 
claration of  Independence ;  in  1787,  some 
of  her  political  IcAdcrs  tried  to  establish 
reserved  rights ;  in  1860  the  disunionists 
joined  the  Southern  Confederacy,  and 
many  of  them  desired  a  dictator ;  yet 
the  people  of  the  eastern  section  were  not 
unanimous  for  secession,  those  of  the 
western  were  totally  opposed  to  it ;  and 
a  loyal  convention  was  held  within  tha 
borders  of  the  State  while  she  was  in 
rebellion.  All  her  early  vicissitudes  and 
characteristics  have  become  provcrbialr- 
the  indefatigable  spirit  of  faction  in  the 
maxim  "  Old  Virginia  never  tires; "  the 
local  exclusivcness  in  the  significant 
monogram  F.  F.  V. ;  and  the  attachment 
of  the  negroes  in  their  plaintive  melody 
"  Carry  me  back  to  old  Virginny." 

No  part  of  the  United  States  has 
been  more  graphically  described  in  its 
early  colonial  and  subsequent  life  and 
aspect  as  Virginia ;  first  revealed  in 
literature  by  the  sketch  of  her  natnial 
history  from  Jefferson's  pen,  William 
Wirt  i)ictured  in  the  "  Letters  of  m  Brit- 
ish 6])y,"  with  a  finished  and  genial 
style,  some  of  her  most  interesting  feft> 
tures ;  and  the  family-life,  local  costoma, 
and  scenery  found  memorable  illustra- 
tion in  the  opening  chapters  of  Ining^a 
Life  of  Washington,  the  skctcfacs  of 
Paulding,  the  "  Swallow  Bam  "  of  Ken- 
nedy, "  Our  Cousin  Veronica  "  of  Hias 
Wormely,  and  the  "Virginians"  of 
Thackeray ;  while  the  "  Lake  of  the 
Dismal  Swamp  "  inspii*ed  one  of  Mooie^a 
few  American  melodies. 

There  is  Mount  Vernon,  and  Monti- 
collo,  and  Arlington  :  what  varied  mem- 
ories those  names  call  up !  Bat  these 
need  not  now  detain  us. 

AECENT  eTRUGGLU. 

Tlie  aristocratic  element  in  colonial 
Virginia  was  social  rather  than  civ- 
ic, and  with  its  pride  and  exclusive- 
ne:«s  mingled  thope  generous  senti- 
ments which,  according  to  the  benign 
law  of  compensation,  modify  the  most 
perverse  tendencies  of  our  nature.    Ao- 


ViBGunA — Old  axd  New. 


151 


igly,  th^  thrift  of  New  England,  so 
.blc  to  material  prosperity,  was. 
to  a  selfish  egotism  and  the  fam- 
d  personal  arrogance  of  the  Vir- 
i  with  warm  sympathies  and  lib- 
feelings.  "I  blush  for  my  own 
3,"  wrote  the  youthful  Channing, 

a  tutor  in  the  Randolph  family, 
n  I  compare  the  generous  confi- 

of  a  Virginian  with  the  selfish 
nee  of  a  Yankee ;  the  men  do  not 

the  friendship  and  feeling  of 
youfh ;  they  call  each  other  by 
[Hiristian  names."  Yet  the  future 
1  philosopher  who,  at  the  age  of 
ten,  thus  bore  testimony  to  the 
ric  superiority  he  found  '  at 
iond,  with  prophetic    emphasis, 

the  bane  of  all  that  was  hopefbl 
spiring  in  the  hospitable  commU'* 
.vhich  was  his  temporary  home. 
re  is  one  object  here,"  he  adds, 

always  depresses  me ;  it  is  slay- 
:his  would  prevent  me  from  ever 
ig  in  Virginia."  The  Northern 
^er,  however,  was  not  alone  in 
lizing  this  slow  poison    in    the 

politic  destined  to  work  such 
irelcss  evil  and  baffle  such  noble 
vities.  It  is  the  distinction  of 
lia  to  have  been,  of  all  States  with- 
3  Union,  that  in  which  this  dark 
sm  was  most  significantly  demon- 
d — first,  in  its  immediate  effects 
vital  prosperity,  then  in  its  worst 
te  as  an  inhuman  and  debasing  sys- 
rhcn  resorted  to  as  a  local  trade ; 
inally,  as  an  incongruous  element 
publican  nationality,  only  to  be 
iurown  through  the  sanguinary  d^ 
kion  of  civil  'War.  Nowhere  was 
I  more  frequently  or  from  more 
rious  lips  the  warning  cry  against 
tal  encroachments;  nowhere  be- 
more  evident  its  blasting  influence 

natural  resources  and  legitimate 
try ;  and  nowhere  were  its  deep 
degraded  stains  so  thoroughly 
3d  out  in  the  blood  of  its  votaries, 
ctims,  and  its  foes.  Occupying  a 
\\  place  between  the  bond  and  free 

regions  of  the  republic,  not  so 
itcly  dependent  upon  negro  scrvi- 
as  the  cotton-fields  furt]jier  South, 


and  with  the  example  of  a  more  just 
and  thriving  system  withiA  her  borders, 
the  statesmen  of  Virginia  early  saw  the 
danger  and  the  doom  lurking  in  an 
institution  so  essentially  at  variance 
with  the  principles  of  liberty  and  the 
laws  of  right.  Not  to  the  traveller's 
eyes  alone  was  the  blot  on  the  escutch- 
eon of  fhe  fair  State  painfully  evi- 
dent, as,  descending  from  the  Capitol 
hill  where  he  had  gazed  with  admira- 
tion upon  the  statue  of  Washington,  he 
paused  in  the  mart  with  horror  before 
the  block  of  the  slave-auctioneer.  A 
century  before,  the  assembly  of  Virginia 
protested  to  the  King  that  slavery  was 
alien  to  ^*  security  and  happinesB,** 
fraught  with  "destructive  influence,^' 
and  threatened  "  the  very  existence  of 
the  State ; "  Franklin  had  denounced  the 
inconsistency  of  the  people  in  maintain- 
ing laws  which  ^*  continue  a  trafilo 
whereby  hundreds  of  thousands  are 
dragged  into  jslavery  that  ia  entailed  on 
their  posterity ; "  this,  declared  Patrick 
Henry,  a  few  years  later,  "gives  a 
gloomy  prospect  to  future  times ;  "  when 
Jefiferson  in  the  Continental  Congress 
called  the  slave-trade  piracy,  he  was 
sustained  by  Pendleton;  and  the  for- 
mer, had  he  been  upheld  by  the  represen- 
tatives of  the  other  States,  in  1784,  would 
•have  relieved  the  whole  national  domain 
of  the  shame  and  the  sorrow ;  through 
the  influence  of  Virginia  and  her  sisters 
of  the  South,  in  1787,  Jefferson's  clause 
excluding  slavery  from  the  entire  north- 
west territory  was  restored.  In  the 
Legislature  of  the  State,  in  1773,  a  letter 
ftom  George  Mason  was  rend,  wherein 
he  solemnly  foretold  that  "  the  laws  of 
an  impartial  Providence  may  avenge 
our  injustice  upon  our  posterity."  Thus 
enlightened  by  the  testimony  of  facts 
and  the  pleadings  of  patriotism,  it 
seems,  in  the  retrospect,  as  if  Virginia 
had  earned  for  herself  the  destiny  of 
becoming  the  arena  where  this  great 
evil  should  find  at  once  its  dimaz,  its 
death-struggle,  and  its  cure.  The  war 
wherein  it  perished  was  initiated  by  the 
fanatical  challenge,  and  what  proved  the 
magnetic  martyrdom,  of  John  Brown ; 
and  every  mountain-top  became  an  altar 


152 


Pct^'am's  Magazine. 


[Feb, 


(H'eatlicd  witli  the  smoke  of  sacrifice, 
every  stream  a  font  for  the  baptism  of 
blood,  every  wood  a  grave  for  the  offer- 
ing up  of  victims  for  the  sin  of  genera- 
tions, and  every  valley  a  Valhalla  for 
the  champions  of  freedom  and  their 
implacable  foes.  Virginia,  the  cradle 
of  the  greatest  legalized  wrong  of  the 
nineteenth  century,  became  its  grave ; 
the  State  which  renewed  the  life  and 
prolonged  the  reign  of  shivery  was  its 
chosen  battle-field.  Although  the  tide 
of  war  set  in  various  directions,  and 
its  decisive  battles  took  place  in  other 
States,  the  most  ijcrmanent  point  of 
interest  and  the  best  recorded  phenom- 
ena of  the  struggle,  its  inception  and 
eventualities,  concentrated  in  Virginia ; 
and  the  liistory  of  the  Army  of  the 
Potomac  has  afforded  European  military 
critics  the  most  suggestive,  economical, 
and  hygienic  data  wherewith  to  esti- 
mate what  is  original  in  our  resources 
of  organization.  There  was  the  Capital 
of  the  Confederacy,  the  camp  of  the 
rebirllious  leader;  and,  although  the 
first  gun  was  fired  in  the  harbor  of 
Charleston,  the  earliest  land-battle  and 
the  final  surrender  occurred  within  the 
limits  of  the  Old  Dominion,  where  po- 
litical metaphysics  had  long  usurped 
the  sjihere  of  national  sentiment ;  and 
the  i)rcstigo  which  tobacco  culture,* 
abundant  and  available  land,  and  inex- 
pensive negroes,  for  a  few  decades,  ele- 
vated the  minority  with  a  chimerical 
prosperity,  was  logically  succeeded  by 
decadence  and  discomfort — colleges  in 
a  state  of  normal  decline,  a  limited 
high  degree  and  an  average  neglect  of 
education,  the  absence  of  a  middle  class, 
the  failure  of  the  old  direct  trade  with 
England,  and  the  gradual  dilapidation 
and  semi-barbarous  condition  of  proud 
domains  over  xfhich  pride  and  preju- 
dice blindly  hovered ;  and  the  pervert- 
ed doctrine  of  State  Rights  was  made  to 
uphold  a  system  which  political  econo- 
my, as  wqII  as  moral  sentiment,  demon- 
strated to  be  fatal  alike  to  civic  integ- 
rity and  pewonal  self-respect;  where 
Nature  protested  against  what  Law 
sanctioned  and  provincial  narrowness 
guarded,  until  the  essential  antagonism. 


both  social  and  political,  between  rigbt 
^and  wrong,  wisdom  and  folly,  fact  and 
speculation,  reached  a  fanatical  extreme 
and  brought  the  conflict  to  the  issue  of  ' 
war.  The  history  of  Vir^hia  includes, 
more  than .  that  of  any  other  State,  the 
history  of  slavery,  both  as  a  theory  of 
labor,  a  political  problem,  and  the.caiue 
of  civil  strife ;  and,  with  singular  em- 
phasis, contains  also  the  history  of  the 
process  whereby  it  was  prolonged^  and 
the  means  and  method  of  its  final  ove^ 
throw.  On  an  exhausted  soil  it  wcat 
out  in  agony ;  amid  the  mocking  echoes 
of  its  early  condemnation  its  dying  sigh 
was  breathed. 

In  the  historical  retrospect  of  some 
future  eloquent  annalist,  an  effective 
chapter  will  record  the  scenes  and  sio- 
rificcs  whereby  this  region,  where  fiuB- 
ily  pride,  caste  privileges,  manoritl 
prosperity,  and  subsequently  the  degra- 
dation and  decay  incident  to  bondage 
in  the  heart  of  a  democratic  common- 
wealth, became  the  battle-ground  where^ 
on  the  national  life,  through  a  vigilant 
and  murderous  ordeal,  was  purified  into 
"  victorious  clearness."  There  is  a  poet- 
ical justice  in  the  coincidence.  It  WM 
meet  that  Americans,  long  enervated  by 
material  prosperity  unsustnined  by  civic 
rectitude,  should  learn  the  art  of  war 
where  the  sins  of  peace  had  taken  deep- 
est root ;  that  where  Error  had  *^  writhed 
among  her  worshippers  "  Truth  should 
^'  rise  again  ;  "  that  where,  from  first  to 
last,  the  principles  of  liberty  and  law 
had  most  openly  confiicted,  they  should 
be  reconciled ;  and  that  the  scene  of 
the  expiation  should  be  identical  with 
that  of  the  wrong.  How  tragically 
picturesque  and  heroically  dramatic 
were  the  scenes  and  events  in  Virginia 
during  the  four  years  of  the  rebellion! 
The  first  ominous  blunders  which 
filled  the  land  with  dismay,  only  to 
usher  in  deliberate  preparation  and 
redeeming  discipline;  the  months 
weary,  wan,  and  wasteful,  when  so  many 
brave  and  patient  children  of  the  North, 
in  order  "  to  serve "  were  content  to 
"stand  and  wait;"  the  stationary 
camps  where,  during  long  winter  nights 
and  summer  days,  the  soldiers  of  Free- 


YiBGiNLA. — Old  and  New. 


158 


ilternately  rushed  off  on  raids  and 
watch  and  ward  in  monotonous 
^  the  bloody  conflict,  the  dreary 
dties,  the  gallant  deeds,  the  final 
y — these  and  their  perilous  epi- 
and  significant  details  of  expe- 
I,  adventure,  endurance,  and  doom, 

0  conunon  materials  of  history, 
obscure  hamlets,  the  old  tayems 
court-houses,  the  towns,  rivers, 
roads,  and  "  runs  "  of  Virginia  be- 
names  that  thrilled  the  hearts  of 
ms  with  triumph  or  agony,  and 
3W  inscribed  on  countless  graye- 
)  throughout  New  England  and 
Vest,  as  the  scenes  of  their  chil- 

1  martyrdom.  The  lonely  swamps 
[red  hordes  of  fugitives,  the  iso- 
turnpikes  rang  with  the  tread  of 
8,  the  woods  shadowed  the  sharp- 
er, the  earth  was  honeycombed 
rifle-pits  and  billowy  with  ram- 
;  leagues  of  forest  were  transform- 
bo  treeless  plains;  old  family  man- 
became   military   headquarters; 

Ls  made  the  dumb  air  articulate ; 
CO  warehouses  were  converted  into 
)risons ;  the  ground  shook  beneath 
rartiUery,  and  the  winds  were  laid 
e  echoes  of  cannon ;  rival  banners 
>d  in  the  dawn,  and  the  stars  look- 
)wn  on  myriads  of  fresh  graves ; 
rove,  familiar  only  with  the  sports- 
i  solitary  step,  was  a  hospital  where 
reds  of  pallid  sufferers  were  minis- 

to;  the  mournful  cadence  of  a 
hhynm,  the  quickly-uttered  x>aas- 

of  the  sentinel,  the  whistle  of  a 
t,  the  shrill  bugle-call  or  the  drum- 
rappel^  were  the  accustomed  soimds 
1  broke  on  the  soldier's  reverie; 
3  once  blithely  rose  and  sang  the 
Lsh  lark,  carrion  buzzards  darken- 
e  air ;  bivouack  and  battle  alter- 
l ;  bonfires  of  public  documents 
led  the  veteran,  and  the  smoke  of 
consolatory  pipe  rose  from  the 
hes.  The  scene  of  Comwallis'  sur- 
or,  which  gloriously  closed  the 
a  of  that  Revolution  that  made  the 
ists  free,  became  the  fortified  arena 
e,  for  weary  weeks,  native  citizens 
L  independent  republic  confronted 

other  with  the  wariness  and  im- 
VOL,  V — 11 


plements  of  organized  warfare.  (The 
campaign  and  the  skirmish  usurped  the 
place  of  sport  and  hospitality.  Libby 
and  Belle  Isle  were  names  that  rivaUed, 
in  inhuman  horror,  the  smoking  cavern 
of  Algiers  and  the  Black  Hole  of  Cal- 
cutta ;  tod  the  border-homes  *  of  loyal 
citizenship,  like  Hartinsburgh,  were 
taken  and  retaken  by  contending  forces 
throughout  the  war.  Fredericksburg, 
old,  vine-wreathed  and  aristocratic^ 
woke  up,  on  a  dreary  morning,  to'  re- 
sound with  the  shots,  cries,  and  scuffle 
of  a  raid ;  the  "  wilderness  *'  was  red- 
dened with  carnage;  in  the  morning 
mists  of  the  mountain-top,  hosts  met  in 
mortal  strife.  On  one  Sunday,  crowds 
watched,  eager-eyed,  the  leviathan  Mer- 
rimac  and  fiery  little  Monitor ;  and  on 
another,  the  leader  of  the  rebellion  stole 
forth  from  the  sanctuary  a  fugitive ;  in 
the  autumn  moonlight,  on  the  Rich- 
mond road,  fell  the  gallant  Dalghren, 
cut  off  in  his  chivalric  attempt  to  re- 
lease the  prisoners  whose  misery  he  had 
shared ;  f^om  Winchester  sped  Sheridan 
to  the  rescue;  aword  and  fire  laid  waste 
the  Shenandoah  Valley;  Culpepper, 
Spotsylvania,  Manassas,  Chantilly,  City 
Point,  Harper's  Fwry,  and  Hampton 
Roads,  the  Chickahominy,  Petersburg, 
here  a  ford,  there  a  mill,  now  a  railway 
station,  and  again  a  white  house ;  to-day 
a  swamp,  to-morrow  a  "  lick,"  bluff,  or 
"  S*P>''  became  the  rallying-point,  the 
refuge,  the  outpost,  the  beleaguered 
spot,  or  the  long  and  sanguinary  battle- 
ground ;  on  invisible  tongues  of  elec- 
tricity flashed  the  tidings  of  defeat  and 
victory  from  camp  to  capital,  the  list  of 
killed  and  wounded,  the  tale  of  strata- 
gem and  surprise,  of  individual  prow- 
ess, of  siege,  repulse,  capture,  spoliation, 
hopes  and  fears ;  and  thousands  of  dis- 
tant homes  were  brighlened  or  shadow- 
ed hour  by  hour,  and  thousands  of  fond 
hearts  vibrated  from  joy  to  despair,  and 

*  The  mostanthcntic  and  graphic  picture  of  the 
•tnuige  vidnltndes  and  remarkable  adrontoree  of 
this  border-war  has  been  executed  by  the  gifted 
and  genial  pen  and  pencil  of  Strothan— th«>  **  Porte 
Crayon  "  of  Harper's  Magazine,  wher«in  appeared 
a  specimen  of  this  unique  and  ehanning  chronicle, 
which  has  excited  a  wido  and  keen  desire  for  the 
complete  work. 


154 


PxnTNAM^s  Magazine. 


[F«lx, 


day  by  day,  according  to  the  **newB 
from  Virginia ; "  until,  at  last,  tUe  pro- 
longed capture  of  Richmond  and  the 
surrender  at  Appomattox  Court-house 
closed  the  momentous  struggle  which 
began  as  it  ended  on  the  '^  sacred  soil  *' 
of  the  "  Old  Dominion." 

HESOCRCES  ASD  FB0SPECT8. 

The  relentless  breath  of  war  has  laid 
her  local  pride  in  the  dust,  and  scatter- 
ed her  hereditary  relics ;  roofless  houses, 
denuded  chimney-stacks,  and  bridgeless 
streams  mark  the  passage  of  the  de- 
stroying angel ;  the  fair  hands  of  her 
belles  haye  grown  hard  with  toil  since 
the  household  duties  have  reyerted  from 
Ijond  to  free ;  the  souls  of  her  sons  are 
sullen  with  defc^it  and  peryerse  with 
the  sophistry  of  anti-national  theories ; 
where  Comwallis  surrendered,  Marshall 
pleaded,  Randolph  found  scope  for  his 
eccentric  egotism,  Washington  for  his 
phro  patriotism,  and  Henry  for  his 
thrilling  eloquence ;  where  Calhoun  was 
idolized  and  Jefferson  initiated  democ- 
racy ;  where  Lord  Dunmoro  tyrannized, 
Burr  was  tried  for  treason,  and  Dayis 
set  up  a  Confederacy,  with  slavery  for 
its  corner-stone;  where  Lord  Fairfax 
hunted,  and  John  Brown  was  hung; 
the  old  feudal  remnants  of  an  obsolete 
Htatc  of  society  have  disappeared,  the 
ancient  landmarks  are  removed,  land 
lias  changed  owners,  customs  are  super- 
sec  led,  and  a  transition  state  of  politi- 
cal, social,  and  economical  life  prevails, 
which  offers  the  noblest  opportunity,  by 
education  and  enterprise,  free  citizcn- 
Hhip  and  free  labor,  to  redeem  theorigi- 
niil  promise  and  secure  the  legitimate 
proHprrity  of  the  Old  Dominion. 

It  i»  aKserletl  by  keen  ol)servcrs  that 
iIm!  very  physiognomy  of  Virginians 
htii  lK:<'n  changed  by  the  war — that 
lln;  perpetual  vigilance,  anxiety,  and 
ranror  of  the  women  living  near  the 
lini'M,  have  given  a  more  decisive  cx- 
pre-t.-iion  to  the  (jye  and  firmer  set  to  the 
f:liin.  As  a  class,  those  who  have  taken 
fin  active  and  Hacrificial  part  in  the  con- 
tr:*t,  of  both  Hcxofl,  are  said  to  be  physi- 
cally improved  thereby.  Work  and  pri« 
valion  for  tl I (we enervated  by  self-indul- 


gence and  hardened  in  ease  by  aUvoy, 
if  they  have  the  strength  to  smriye  the 
ordeal,  strengthen  and  tone  not  only  the 
physique,  but  the  character ;  and  while 
bad  whiskey,  the  loss  of  property,  and 
chagrin  may  and  haye  led  many  to  dei> 
pairing  sloth  or  reckless  crime,  nobler 
natures  purified  by  sorrow,  and  died> , 
plined  by  adversity,  now  turn  to  woik ' 
and  wisdom,  with  renewed  energy  and 
holy  faith ;  these,  with  the  braye  eonb 
who  never  wandered  in  their  national 
fealty  during  the  long  conflict,  form 'a 
conservative  and  progressive  element  in 
the  future  of  Virginia. 

The  entente  eordiaU  which,  in  the  lait 
generation,  existed  between  Northen 
and  Southern  citizens  of  this  republic, 
had  its  origin  in  and  owed  its  contin- 
uance   to    social    causes.      Baratoga 
Springs  was  the  annual  rendezyona  of 
the  best  class  of  people  from  both  no- 
tions ;  and  the  free  and  frequent  inter- 
course  thus  secured,  led  to  mutual  en- 
terprises and  an  exchange  of  ho^itatt* 
ties  that  still  live  in  affectionate  tradi- 
tions. With  all  the  reyolutiona  in  medi- 
cal science,  as  the  knowledge  of  hygienic 
laws  has  extended,  the  proyisiona  of 
Nature  for  the  cure  or  alleviation  of 
disease  have  constantly  risen  in  homaa 
estimation,  from  faith  in  the  recupera- 
tive resources  of  physiological  laws  to 
the  scientific  use  of  mineral  watem    In 
every  country  the  latter  seem  to  eziit 
with  s|>ecial  reference  to  local  nceda; 
and  in  Europe  have  so  long  been  need 
under  wise  professional  direction,  aa  to 
have  become  the  regular  and  reliable 
means  of  a  salubrious  r^'gime.  Nowhere^ 
on  this  continent,  are  found  in  greater 
variety,  or  more  valuable  combination, 
these  health-giving  springs  than  in  the 
State  of  Virginia.  Tliose  most  frequent- 
ed are  but  a  moiety  of  those  as  yet 
unappreciated ;  diflSculty  of  accera,  im- 
perfect analysis,  and  the  impediments 
arising  from  a  state  of  war,  haye  hither- 
to prevented  these  benign  and  bounti- 
ful resources  from  attracting  the  num- 
bers and  attaining  the  fame  which  are 
their   legitimate  distinction.     But  we 
hazard  the  prediction,  that  in  the  future 
they  arc  destined  to  exert  a  healing  and 


] 


ViuGiNiA — Old  a.xd  New. 


Idb 


onizing  influence  far  beyond  mere 
Lcal  agency.  Accessible  in  three 
to  the  fever-worn  Louisianian  and 
heumatic  New  Englander,  situated 
e  midst  of  the  grandest  mountain- 
ry  and  an  invigorating  climate, 
will,  more  and  more,  bring  to- 
ir,  under  the  most  favorable  circum- 
es,  the  scattered  denizens  of  our  vast 
try,  and,  with  the  revival  of  indus- 
and  educational  interests  of  mu- 
importance,  weave  and  warm  those 
I  ties  which  are  the  most  auspicious 
of  national  faith  and  fusion. 
;  economical  question  of  wide  im- 
and  imminent  personal  interest  is 
occupying  thoughtful  and  patriotic 
ms.  It  relates  to  the  future  sub- 
ice  of  a  large  and  increasing  class, 

discouraged  by  the  overstocked 
il  professions,  and  the  excessive 
;ncy  to  commercial  enterprise,  re- 
ng  large  capital,  are  baffled  in  the 
fcion  of  emplojrment  and  perplexed 
to  solve  the  problem  of  self-sup- 

Reckleas  speculation  has  drifted 
sands  into  precarious  livelihoods; 
rious  habits  have  sapped  the  man- 
3  of  as  great  a  number ;  and  mean- 
the  expenses  of  life  have  increased, 
evident  to  the  least  reflecting,  that 
I  new  arena  for  industry,  some  fresh 
of  lucrative  work,  has  become  a 
necessity.  The  prejudice  against 
:  as  incompatible  with  social  reflne- 
;  and  republicaA  ambition,  is  a  sad 
equence  of  our  increased  extrava- 
e  and  perverse  culture.  And  yet, 
,te,  physical  development  and  ath- 
sports  have  been  more  generally 
;nized  as  the  essential  complement 
tellectual  training;  our  colleges  vie 

each  other  in  athletic  exercises.; 
ting  is  a  fashionable  amusement  of 
rich,  rowing  of  the  students,  and 
ball  among  the  artisans ;  "  muscu- 
[/hristianity "  is  a  current  phrase. 
yet,  when  the  hygienic  considera- 
\  thus  fostered  are  applied  to  a  reg- 
vocation,  our  young  men,  fi*om  false 
B  or  effeminate  habits,  shrink  from 
table  manual  toil  To  this,  how- 
,  many  of  them  must  come,  unless 
are  content  to  forfeit  independence 


and  rust  in  inactivity.  The  perpetua] 
influx  from  country  to  city,  and  the  pre- 
ference of  clerkships  to  agriculture, 
have  gone  to  the  extreme  of  rational 
limits.  The  prosperity  of  a  nation  con- 
sists in  a  due  relation  between  agricul- 
ture and  trade ;  the  former  is  the  re- 
source which  Nature  and  Society  unite 
in  designating  as  that  destined  to  re- 
store the  wholesome  balance  and  revive 
the  welfare  of  the  neyt  generation.  The 
laws  of  animal  as  well  as  political  econ- 
omy and  the  exigencies  of  life  here 
shown,  unite  to  this  result.  "NVhat  the 
country  needs  is  a  large  class  of  intelli- 
gent, enterprising,  and  educated  agri- 
culturists. The  benign  distinction  of 
our  country  is  the  abundance  and 
cheapness  of  land.  The  recent  experi- 
ence of  our  young  men  in  the  camp 
will  or  should  lead  to  a  new  apprecia- 
tion of  the  advantages  of  a  pursuit 
which  insures  the  healthful  exercise  of 
the  bodily  organs  and  free  exposure  to 
the  elements.  Moreover,  the  most  availa- 
ble remedy  for  the  baneful  passion  for 
gain  which  leads  so  mnny  to  abandon 
study,  when  their  academic  course  is 
over,  for  the  mart  and  the  exchange, 
and  which  is  the  most  demoralizing 
trait  and  tendency  of  our  national  life, 
is  to  be  found,  in  an  occupation  which 
leads,  by  auspicious  labor,  to  compe- 
tence ;  which  limits  desire  to  the  bounds 
of  comfort,  and  gives  scope  to  the 
most  lasting  and  tranquil  contentment. 
Where  a  genius  or  adaptation  for  me- 
chanical labor  exists,  it  should  be  de- 
veloped ;  and  to  this  end  scientific 
schools  are  now  affordinjr  every  facility ; 
but  the  cultivation  of  tlie  earth  is  evi- 
dently the  great  means  and  method  of 
recuperation  both  in  regard  to  fortune 
and  character;  and  tke  vast  regions 
opened  to  free  labor  by  the  war  seem 
providentially  to  await  this  grand  ex- 
periment, which  involves  moral  as  well 
as  physical  and  civic,  not  less  than 
financial,  results  of  national  interest. 

I  remember  an  American,  who  had 
sojourned  many  years  in  Europe,  and 
meditated  fondly  on  a  new  home  in  his 
own  country,  where  he  could  enjoy  such 
a  climate  as  habit  had  made  essential  to 


156 


PuTNAM^s  Magazine. 


[F6l^ 


comfort  and  a  social  independence  and 
tranquillity  unattainable  in  our  bust- 
ling and  ambitious  cities;  and  he 
declared,  as  the  result  of  the  most  care- 
ful inyestigation,  that,  in  the  State  of 
Virginia,  he  found  combined  more  of 
the  essentials  of  such  a  residence  than 
elsewhere  in  the  land.  He  thought  the 
temperature  and  ayerage  character  of 
the  soil  between  the  tide-water  of  the 
James  and  the  Blue  Kidge — the  Pied- 
mont region  so-called, — and  the  long, 
elevated  vales  of  rolling  country  of 
Central  Virginia,  offered  a  nearer  ap- 
proach to  the  best  features  of  middle 
and  part  of  southern  Europe,  in  natural 
qualities,  than  any  other  region  ;  and  he 
considered  the  life  of  a  country  gentle- 
man there  as  among  the  most  charming 
possibilities  awaiting  his  return.  But 
his  argument  gained  new  force  from  the 
variety  of  resources  within  the  limits 
of  the  State,  embracing  mountain,  val- 
ley, and  seashore,  the  comparatively 
little  known  eastern  and  the  rich  mead- 
ows of  the  central  region,  with  a  geo- 
logical structure  varying  from  the  ridges 
which  culminate  in  such  remarkable 
caves,  and  the  wonderful  natural  bridge, 
to  vast  tracts  of  alluvial  soil ;  all  these 
advantages  being  enhanced  by  the  geo- 
graphical position  and  the  mild  cli- 
mate— distinctions  which  have  been 
recognized  from  the  days  of  the  de- 
cision of  Pocahontas  to  those  of  the 
vacillation  of  McClellan  —  in  peace 
and  war,  to  savage  and  citizen— afford- 
ing a  temperate  sphere  between  the 
bleakness  of  the  country  settled  by  the 
Pilgrims  and  the  sultrincs3  of  that 
where  the  so-called  chivalry  found  their 
earliest  American  home. 

Although  the  latitude  of  Virginia 
indicates  a  moderate  climate,  and  its 
average  temperature  is  such,  the  great 
variety  of  surface  renders  the  local 
diversities,  in  this  respect,  so  marked  as 
to  afford  a  wide  range  of  choice  from 
scacoast  to  interior  and  from  plain  to 
mountain :  the  same  is  true  of  the  com- 
parative productiveness  of  the  soil  and 
its  adaptation  to  different  crops.  Wash- 
ington, who  not  only  carefully  observed 
but  methodically  noted  the  character 


of  land  and  the  quality  of  products  in 
his  journeys  through  the  country,  pro- 
nounced the  central  counties  of  Vir- 
ginia the  finest' in  the  United  States  for 
agriculture. 

Her  natural  wonders,  such  as  re- 
markable combinations  of  mountain- 
scenery,  the  Natural  Bridge,  Wier's 
Cave,  and  Hawk  s  Nest,  have  been  re- 
garded by  foreigners  as  onsurpaaied; 
while  the  intimate  and  continuous  rela- 
tion of  the  State  to  the  Nation  is  mani- 
fest in  the  fact  that  five  Preddenta  of 
the  latter  were  natives  of  the  former; 
two  the  great  leaders  of  the  Fedenl 
and  Democratic  parties,  one  the  author 
of  that  principle  of  our  foreign  policy 
which  has  guided  and  guarded  our  in- 
ternational intercourse,  and  is  known  as 
the  Monroe  Doctrine,  while  the  best 
history  of  the  Constitution  of  the 
United  States  is  conserved  and  illus- 
trated by  the  life  of  Madison. 

Experiment  has  proved  that  not  the 
fertile  valley  of  Virginia  alone  lewards 
intelligent  labor,  but  that  much  of  the 
most  unpromising  land  of  the  State, 
when  submitted  to  the  right  system  of 
cultivation,  is  singularly  productiye.  In 
many  cases  superficial  ploughing  has 
failed  to  develop  latent  qualities  of  soil ; 
in  others,  exhaustion  is  the  result  of  too 
continuous  to)>acco-planting ;  and  in 
still  more,  the  lack  of  manure.  Slave- 
labor  has  checked  the  best^  growth,  both 
of  crops  and  character,  by  improvident 
and  negligent  methods.  Not  many  years 
ago,  a  member  of  Congress  from  vrest- 
crn  New  York  purchased  a  considerable 
tract  of  sandy  and  pine-covered  land 
between  Alexandria  and  Orange  Court- 
House  at  ten  dollars  the  acre;  by  ju- 
dicious amelioration,  fruit  and  vegeta- 
ble farms,  with  a  thriving  settlement, 
transformed  the  region  into  a  flourish- 
ing domain,  which  increased  tenfold  in 
market  value.  Already  many  similar 
instances  have  occurred  since  the  war, 
and  they  will  be  indefinitely  multiplied 
by  wisely-directed  capital  and  indus- 
try. 

"  For  the  goodness  of  the  seate  and 
the  fertilcness  of  the  land,"  wrote  Rolfe, 
the  husband  of  Pocahontas,  to  King 


I 


ViBGixiA — Old  and  New. 


157 


}  in  1616,  Virginia  is  "  a  countrie 
>rtfay  of  good  report  as  can  be 
red  by  the  pen  of  the  best  writer." 
»m  the  facts  of  natural  history  re- 
d  in  Jefferson's  "Notes,"  to  the 
tics  gathered  by  the  latest  ex- 
r  of  the  "  sacred  soil,"  this  ancient 
dony  is  confirmed.  The  best  of 
deposits,  and  the  strata  of  iron 
38  containing  them ;  the  mines  of 
tiin,  tellurium,  lead,  platinum,  cin- 
',  plumbago,  manganese,  and  cop- 
the  quarries  of  rare  marbles,  gran- 
ilphur,  cobalt,  lime,  gypsum,  bitu- 
08  coal,  soap  and  grindstone,  have 
3d  fortunes  in  the  past,  and  with 
lew  scientific  facilities  for  working 
,  and  the  increased  means  of  trans- 
tion,  there  are  prolific  returns 
ing  intelligent  enterprise  and  free 
Indian  crucibles,  still  found,  in- 
s  how  early  some  of  their  resources 
improved ;  and  the  history  of  the 
8,  Waller,  Tread,  Ford,  and  other 
mines,  suggest  a  future  productive- 
Three  hundred  dollars  a-day  were 
ned  at  one  time  from  a  single 
ing-machine,  imperfectly  worked, 
«he  tellurium  mine  yielded  two 
red  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  in  a 
period.  But  it  is  the  Agricultural 
lets  and  prospects  that  offer  the 
t  inducement  to  emigration.  The 
wheat  and  maize  in  the  world  are 
rated  in  Virginia.  Along  the  James 
the  alluvial  deposits  form  the  best 
SCO  and  grain  country ;  and  while 
ibandoned  settlements  of  James- 
,  the  first  home  of  the  colonists, 
marked  by  an  old  church  and  pier, 
iuce  the  malarious  taint  that  drove 
the  early  settlers,  manor  houses 
y  two  centuries  old,  scattered  at 
intervals,  still  attest  the  primitive 
»rity  and  fertility,  which  proper 
lage  and  wise  industry  can  renew, 
soldiers  of  New  England  were  as- 
hed to  see  pine-forests  only  two 
back  from  these  old  river  settle- 
B,  which,  when  cleared  <md  plough- 
ill  afford  rich  grounds  for  the  cul- 
of  the  cereals.  Indeed,  miles  of 
nia  forest,  occupied  by  thousands 
ur  soldiers  for  years,  have  been 


opened  to  the  sun  and  to  the  eyes  of 
sagacious  agriculturists,  by  the  vicissi- 
tudes and  exigencies  of  the  war  for 
that  Union  which  thereabouts  so  long 
found  her  most  implacable  and  insidi- 
ous enemies.  All  the  European  escu- 
lents thrive  in  the  gardens  of  Virginia, 
and  her  meadows  are  lush  with  the 
most  valuable  grains  and  grasses.  The 
sandy  soil  around  Norfolk  is  the  most 
favorable  for  the  cultivation  of  early 
fhiits  and  vegetables  in  the  country, 
and  these  find  rapid  transit  and  a  ready 
market  in  the  Eastern  States :  already 
many  farmers  from  the  neighboring 
regions  'have  engaged  in  this  lucrative 
business.  The  elephantine  fossils  dis- 
covered in  the  strata,  the  variety  and 
curative  qualities  of  the  many  spas 
among  the  mountains,  the  magnificent 
varieties  of  trees,  the  distribution  of  the 
rivers,  the  antiquity  of  the  orchards,  the 
original  species  of  birds,  the  old  roads 
and  taverns  of  sparse  neighborhoods, 
the  very  tint  of  the  land,  red  with  iron, 
and  the  richness  of  the  timber,  oak, 
pine,  locust,  beach,  tulip,  and  sugar- 
maple,  are  normal  signs  of  a  country 
preeminently  supplied  by  nature  with 
the  resources  for  human  welfare.  And 
yet  thither  the  current  of  population 
has  rarely  tended.  The  reasons  for  this 
apparently  incongruous  fact  are  evi- 
dent Before  the  war,  slavery  and  its 
consequence  deterred  both  capitalist  and 
laborer  from  adventuring  in  a  region 
which  offered  such  an  inauspicious  con- 
trast to  the  free  and  fertile  domain  of 
the  great  West ;  then  it  was  generally 
understood  that  much  of  the  once  pro- 
lific soil,  like  the  tobacco-fields  around 
Fairfax  country,  was  exhausted ;  al- 
though it  should  also  be  remembered  it 
has  never  been  thoroughly  ploughed  and 
manured.  The  Quaker  colony  that  set- 
tled thirty  miles  from  Washington,  a 
few  years  ago,  prospered  on  their  farms 
until  driven  thence  by  the  war.  That 
confiict  has  left  so  many  bitter  memo- 
ries, that  now  the  best  class  of  emigrants 
shrink  from  exposing  their  families  to 
the  ill-will  of  an  alienated  neighbor- 
hood ;  and,  therefore,  we  find  five  thou- 
sand farms  sold  and  occupied,  within  a 


153 


Phtnam's  Magazine. 


[Feb^ 


few  months,  iu  Iowa,  which  insures  an 
addition  to  the  population  of  at  least 
twenty-five  hundred  souls,  while  do- 
mains in  Virginia  so  much  nearer  the 
great  harbors  and  northern  marts,  re- 
main often  in  the  reluctant  possession 
of  their  original  proprietors,  whose 
necessity  ia  ready  money,  and  whose 
paternal  acres  can,  in  many  instances, 
be  purchased  for  half  their  value.  As 
to  the  state  of  local  feeling,  which  is 
regarded  by  many  as  an  insuperable 
objection  to  settling  in  Virginia,  its 
immediate  influence  can  be,  in  no  small 
degree,  counteracted  by  grouping  east- 
em  or  western  families  around  a  com- 
mon centre,  thereby  insuring  them,  at 
first,  congenial  society  and  mutual  sup- 
port. Moreover,  we  have  long  been 
convinced  that  no  political  scheme  or 
machinery  can  reconcile  the  South; 
such  precautions  are  but  negative ;  the 
great  means  of  harmonizing  the  dis- 
cordant elements  of  our  national  life 
are  socicU;  it  is  by  companionships  that 
prejudice  is  undermined,  by  neighbor- 
hood that  the  kindliest  impulses  of  hu- 
manity are  awakened.  All  the  test-oaths 
in  the  world  are  not  as  effective  as  the 
personal  magnetism  of  character,  the 
magic  touch  of  fellowship,  the  bond 
of  common  interests,  and  the  influence 
of  iioMc  and  benign  example.  The 
process  may  be  long,  and  the  desired 
result  not  achieved  in  a  generation ;  but 
it  is.  the  true  road  to  patriotic  frater- 
nity ;  and  nowhere  arc  there  more  in- 
ducements to  initiate  the  magnanimous 
experiment  than  in  the  State  whose  soil 
and  climate  ofler  the  most  genial  scope 
to  northern  labor,  and  whose  versatile 
opinions  and  divergent  interests  yield 
the  most  hopeful  opportunity  for  the 
fusion  of  faith  which  breeds  national 
sympathy. 

A  rety  singular,  but,  on  the  whole, 
•napilcioiiB  diversity  of  opinion  is  mani- 
ftitod  by  the  leading  party-journals  of 
fhs  conn  try,  as  to  the  political  status 
■od  prospects  of  Virginia,  under  the 
mm  rSgirne :  time  alone  will  elucidate 
fhe  kient  &cts  of  the  case  and  the 
■Ctnil  relation  between  tbe  State  and 
HhaQeneral  Government.  Meanwhile,  if 


any  faith  is  to  be  given  to  the  new 
Go vemor^s  declared  sentiments  and  pup* 
poses,  we  have  reason  to  believe  that 
national  fealty,  based  on  enlightenment, 
will  redeem  the  fortunes  and  purify  the 
fame  of  the  Old  Dominion.  Govenor 
Walker,  in  his  speech  to  the  citizens  of 
Richmond,  observes: 

"  I  have  everywhere  told  the  people  the 
principles  which  would  guide  me  if  elected.  I 
hare  nothing  to  toko  back,  to  change,  or  XDodi- 
fy-^no,  not  one  jot  or  tittle.  I  am  doit,  at  I 
have  ever  been,  for  equal  and  exact  jnatioa  to 
all  men,  without  regard  to  race  or  color. 

"  Let  us  in  the  future  do  what  we  bare  in  a 
measure  failed  to  do  in  the  past,  and  what  is 
dictated  by  an  enlightened  Chriationity.  Let 
us  educate  these  people  until  they  rise  in  tbe 
scale  of  humanity  to  that  position  where  tfaey 
can  intelligently  exercise  the  righta  of  free- 
men. When  you  shall  have  done  this,  aiid> 
when  they  can  appreciate  and  comprehead 
those  rights  to  their  full  extent,  we  shall  oerer 
again  in  Virginia  have  to  pass  through  auch  a 
struggle  as  that  which  has  just  closed. 

"  Virginia  is  just  about  to  start  upon  a  new 
career,  glittering  like  the  morning  star,  full  of 
life  and  glory.  Uer  immense  resources  will  be 
developed;  her  great' lines  of  improvemeBt 
pushed  forward  to  completion  ;  and  a  tide  of 
immigration  will  ponr  iu  from  every  qoarter 
into  her  borders.  Then  she  will  become,  as 
she  has  hitherto  been,  tho  brightest  star  in  the 
galaxy  of  States." 

Another  reason  for  purchasing  land 
in  Virginia  for  purposes  of  agriculture 
and  settlement,  rather  than  in  the  West, 
is  the  amount  of  available  and  econom- 
ical labor  at  hand.  The  colored  peo- 
ple are  content  to  till  a  limited  amount 
of  ground  for  the  supi)ly  of  their  own 
wants  and  the  raising  of  poultry  and 
pigs ;  they  are  attached  to  the  soil,  and 
gladly  eke  out  subsistence  by  work  on 
the  farms  of  more  enterprising  land- 
o'^Tiers,  at  a  very  moderate  rate  of 
wages;  properly  treated  and  wisely 
directed,  they  are  most  useful  and  cheap 
farm-laborers.  Nowhere  in  the  world, 
perhaps, — taking  into  consideration  tbe 
means  of  transport  and  the  vicinity  of 
marts,  the  water-power  and  mineral 
wealth,  the  mills,  highways,  tempered 
climate,  ports,  canals,  railways,  schools, 
and  other  fruits  of  a  long-settled  coun- 
try',— ^nowhere  to-dsiy  is  land  so  cheap  as 
in    Virginia,    it    is  preeminently   tho 


1 


VntoisiA — Old  and  New. 


15« 


for  small  capitalists,  large  fami- 
»f  limited  means  and  industrious 
s.  Emigration  to  the  far  West  to 
class,  who  are  attached  by  habit 
e  comforts  and  culture  of  an  older 
zation,  inyolyes  many  priyations, 
I  and  domestic,  which  are  avoided 
e  Old  Dominion;  where  vicinity 
le  great  eastern  cities  and  all  the 
inces  of  long-inhabited  districts, 
many  desirable  resources  and  as- 
bions.  Of  course,  intelligent  and 
itiye  ability,  good  judgment  and 
Ight  spirit,  are  essential  to  the  suc- 
and  welfare  of  new  settlers,  there 
ewherc.  As  to  the  prevalent  fear 
apleasant  neighborhood  from  po- 
1  animosity,  we  accept  the  recent 
ance  of  a  well-iuformed  correspon- 

who  says  that 

I  Yirginift  the  great  body  of  the  people 
«  with  the  most  perfect  good  faith  the 
i  of  the  war  as  a  final,  conclusive,  and 
rsibl^  decision  of  the  issues  that  were 
ed,  and  that  no  one  among  us  is  so  wild 
Iman  as  to  indulge  the  thought  for  a 
nt  that  we  can  ever  ^sert  and  maintain 
isfally  oar  long'Chcrishcd  theory  of  the 
Itation  and  Government  of  the  United 
. — that  we  are  resolved  to  take  things  as 
xist  and  make  the  best  of  our  situation — 
herefore  we  welcome  as  neighbors  and 
s  all  respectable  men  and  their  familien 
ome  to  abide  permanently  with  us,  as  an 
element  in  oar  future  social,  business, 
oUtical  life." 

lere  is   one   section    of    Virginia 
e  the  exuberance    of  nature  has 
dy  triumphed  over  the  ravages  of 
and,  although  the  scene  of  con- 
raids,  and  again  and  again  deso- 
by  the  march  of  hostile  armies, 


now  presents  its  old  fertile  aspect  and 
peaceful  beauty.  It  is  the  luxuriant 
and  picturesque  valley  watered  by  the 
Shenandoah,  and  extending  for  two 
hundred  miles  with  an  average  breadth 
of  twenty  miles  between  the  Blue  Ridge 
and  the  Alleghanics.  Here  slavery  never 
found  a  congenial  domain ;  "it  is  dotted 
with  gentlcmen^s  country  seats,  and  the 
exigencies  of  their  position  induce  the 
land-owners  to  sell  on  terms  very  much 
below  the  intrinsic  worth  of  their  es- 
tates. Here  what  is  needed  is  a  respect- 
able and  industrious  population ;  not 
political  schemers,  but  honest  and  in- 
telligent citizens.  Of  all  regions  south 
of  the  Potomac,  this  seems  to  us  the 
one  most  favored  by  nature  and  circum- 
stances as  the  nucleus  of  patriotic  emi- 
gration, whence  healthful  and  hallowed 
influences  might  spread  through  an  alien- 
ated community;  where  beautiful  sce- 
nery, facilities  of  communication,  and 
one  of  the  finest  wheat-countries  in  the 
world,  with  the  opportunity  of  econom- 
ical and  productive  investments,  ofier 
the  most  desirable  attractions  for  a 
rural  home  and  the  most  assured  re- 
turns  for  moderate  labor.  Auspiciously 
occupied,  it  might  become,  indeed,  a 
happy  valley,  in  whose  ample  and  fruit- 
fill  bosom  local  jealousies  would  be 
nursed  to  sleep,  and  where  a  magnetic 
example  of  agricultural  prosperity,  do- 
mestic comfort,  and  national  sentiment, 
might  be  engendered  without  disturb- 
ance, and  gradually  permeate  and  re- 
deem not  only  the  baffled  industry,  but 
the  political  integrity,  of  the  Old  Do- 
minion. 


160 


Putnam's  Magazine. 


[PeD., 


THE  MAGIC  PALACE. 


In  the  year  1739  the  Empress  Anne, 
r.iece  of  Peter  the  Great,  reigned  in 
Russia.  He^  court  was  a  gay  one,  with 
the  kind  of  half-barbarous  splendor 
which  shone  in  the  palaces  of  the  czars 
at  that  period.  Tlie  brief  autumn  of 
those  extreme  northern  regions  was 
rapidly  passing  away,  and  while  states- 
men were  knitting  their  brows  over 
political  stratagems,  or  military  cam- 
paigns, for  the  new  year,  the  courtiers 
were  eagerly  planning  amusements  to 
enliven  the  heavy  gloom  of  the  long 
winter,  already  drawing  near.  Balls, 
masquerades,  concerts,  and  other  enter- 
tainments of  the  usual  courtly  routine, 
were  lightly  talked  over.  But  of  these 
the  proud  gallants  and  jewelled  dames 
were  very  weary.  Honest  labor  knows 
of  no  fatigue  eo  •  exhausting  as  the 
satiety  of  idle  pleasure.  Courtly  gaye- 
ties  often  become  exceedingly  dull  and 
wearisome— a  heavy  burden,  in  fact — to 
those  most  frequently  taking  part  in 
them.  There  was  a  cry  for  novelty. 
Something  original  was  needed  to  throw 
a  fresh  interest  into  the  usual  amuse- 
ments. Suddenly  a  most  brilliant  and 
novel  suggestion  was  made. 

"  Let  us  set  winter  at  defiance ! " 
exclaimed  the  noble  Alexis  Daniclo- 
witch  Tatischchew.  "Let  frost  and 
snow  and  ice  combine  to  build  a  Magic 
Palace  for  the  Autocrat  of  the  North  1 " 

The  suggestion  was  received  with 
acclamation.  The  plan  was  laid  before 
the  Empress.  She  graciously  smiled, 
and  declared  herself  charmed  with  the 
idea.  Lucky  Alexis!  The  Imperial 
Exchequer  was  ordered  to  provide  the 
necessary  funds,  and  the  work  began. 

Some  years  earlier,  in  the  year  1782, 
a  grand  military  spectacle,  on  an  impos- 
ing scale,  had  been  held,  during  the 
severest  Arosts  of  the  year,  on  the  Neva, 
then  covered  with  ice  several  feet  in 
thickness.  The  Empress  Anne  had 
held  a  review  of  a  military  corps  of 
thousands  of  men  on  the  river. 


On  that  occasion  a  large  fortress  of 
snow  and  ice  had  been  built,  attacked, 
and  defended,  according  to  r^^ular 
military  tactics;  artillery  had  been 
drawn  over  the  ice,  cannons  and  mor- 
tars of  heavy  calibre  had  been  dis- 
charged, and  the  vast  icy  field  held  film 
under  all  this  mockery  of  war.  It  wai 
now  proposed  to  build  the  Magic  Pttkoe 
of  Alexis  Danielowitch  in  the  stme 
way,  over  the  frozen  waters  of  the 
Neva. 

The  site  was  chosen,  and  the  wwk- 
men  began  their  labors.  The  purat 
and  most  transparent  ice  of  the  Nora 
was  chosen  for  the  quarry ;  large  blocks 
were  then  cut,  and  squared  by  mleand 
compass,  then  carved  with  omamental 
designs,  as  carefully  and  as  skilftQly  as 
if  they  had  been  so  much  marble.  £ce 
the  walls  had  been  raised  nuiny  feet^ 
however,  the  alarm  was  given ;  the  ioe 
beneath  had  cracked,  the  foundatioii 
was  breaking  away  I  The  noble  Alexis 
Tatischchew  threw  on  his  robes  of  fur, 
and  drove  to  the  spot  in  his  sledge.  He 
found  the  report  correct ;  the  Neva  re- 
fused to  bear  the  weight  of  his  palace. 
Tlie  fortress  of  1732  had  probably  been 
built  chiefly  of  snow.  The  difficulty 
was  laid  before  the  Empress.  She  or- 
dered her  new  palace  to  be  built  on  the 
land,  and  pointeil  out  a  spot  between 
her  winter-palace  and  the  admiralty, 
sufficiently  near  the  Neva  to  fiicilitate 
the  transportation  of  the  novel  build* 
ing-materiaL 

On  this  more  fiivorable  ground  the 
work  began  anew.  Still  greater  care 
was  taken  in  preparing  the  blocks  of 
ice,  which,  as  in  the  first  instance,  were 
all  quarried  from  the  Neva.  After  they 
had  been  cut  and  carved,  with  the 
greatest  accuracy,  each  block  was  raised 
by  crane  and  pulley.  At  the  very  mo- 
ment of  lowering  it  to  its  destined  posi- 
tion, a  small  quantity  of  water  was 
thrown  on  the  block  below.  The  pre- 
cise quantity  of  water  was  regulated  as , 


Thb  Magio  Palagb. 


161 


id  been  so  much  mortar ;  if  too 
^ere  used,  the  symmetry  of  the 
''oald  be  injared.  As  the  water 
he  different  rows  of  blocks  be- 
)  closely  connected  together,  that, 
;x)mpleted,  the  whole  building 
I  one  compact  mass,  looking  as 
2re  chiselled  entire  from  one  icy 
.  The  dimensions  of  this  palace 
>t  large ;  it  was  indeed  a  sort  of 
Vianon,  The  front  was  fifty  feet 
^h,  simple  in  character,  and 
L  into  seven  compartments  by 
v.  In  six  of  these  compartments 
rge  windows,  the  framework  of 
was  painted  to  imitate  green 
.  The  ice  took  the  paint  perfect- 
le  panes  were  thin  sheets  of  ice, 
iilly  smooth  and  transparent  as 
)8t  costly  glass.  The  central 
1  projected,  to  represent  a  door- 
irmounted  by  a  Roman  arch  and 
riate  architectural  ornaments, 
her  side  of  the  door  stood  a 
)f  ice,  on  a  high  pedestal,  and  in 
as  an  approach  of  several  stqpa. 
^parent  door  was  in  reality,  how- 
dt  another  and  a  larger  window, 
ith  the  floor.  An  ornamental 
ade  surmoimted  the  front,  with 
itectural  ornament  rising  in  the 

above  the  doorway  and  the 
r  on  either  side  of  it.  The  roof 
)ping,  and  marked  in  lines,  to 
nt  tiles;  there  were  also  chim- 
linice.  The  height  of  the  bnHd- 
B  twenty >one  feet ;  its  depth  was 
n  feet. 

the  palace  itself  was  not  the  only 
' ;  the  accessories  were  very  com- 
nd  aU  80  much  firost-^ork.  A 
me  balustrade,  apparently  of  mar- 
;h  statues  and  architectural  oma- 
completely  surrounded  the  pal- 
ing eighty-seven  feet  in  length, 
irty-six  in  width,  enclosing  a  sort 
len,  or  court,  with  two  handsome 
ys  in  the  rear.  It  was  throng 
^teways  that  the  building  waa 
ched.  Orange-trees,  neady  as 
( the  building,  bearing  fruit  and 
with  birds  on  the  branchei,  also 
i   the  court,  or  garden— tree, 

fruit,  leaf,  and  bird  being  all 


delicately  chiselled  out  of  the  same 
magic  marble  as  the  palace  itsel£ 

The  front  approadi  was  guarded  by 
six  cannons,  regularly  turned  and  bored ; 
they  stood  before  the  balustrade,  three 
on  either  side  of  the  doorway.  These 
were  also  of  ice.  They  were  of  the 
calibre  which  usually  receives  a  charge 
of  three  pounds  of  powder.  In  addi- 
tion to  these  cannons  there  was  also  a 
large  mortar,  on  each  side  of  the  en- 
trance, of  a  size  prepared  for  shells  of 
eighty  pounds.  In  advance  of  these 
mortars  stood  two  neatly-carved  dol- 
phins on  pedestals.  Sdll  £uther  in 
advance,  two  p3rramids,  nearly  as  high 
as  the  chimneys,  had  been  erected  on 
carved  pedestals.  Each  was  surmounted 
by  an  ornamental  globe,  and  had  an 
oval  window  in  the  centre. 

To  the  left  of  the  palace  stood  an 
elephant,  large  as  life ;  on  his  back  waa 
a  man  in  a  Persian  dress,  while  two 
similar  icy  figures,  one  bearing  a  lance, 
stood  near  the  animaL  Thus  it  was 
that  the  approach  to  the  Magic  Palace 
was  guarded  by  other  magic  wonders. 

Such  was  the  aspect  of  the  famous 
palace  of  ice,  when,  early  in  the  winter, 
the  ^press  and  her  Court  came  to 
admire  the  work  of  that  enchanter,  the 
noble  Alexis  Tatischchew.  The  Court 
itself  must  have  been  a  very  curious 
spectacle  to  foreign  eyes,  so  quaint  and 
so  gorgeous  were  the  peculiar  costumes 
collected  there  from  different  regic^s  of 
the  Empire.  In  no  other  country  of 
Europe  was  there  a  pomp  so  Asiatic  in 
lavish  display  of  gems  and  jewels,  of 
the  richest  frirs  and  the  costliest  manu- 
factures. The  effect  was  most  brilliant. 
The  palace  itself  shone  like  one  vast 
gem  of  opal,  so  perfect  was  the  trans- 
parency, and  so  peculiar  the  blue  tint 
of  the  frkbric.  Every  part  of  the  build- 
ing, the  statues,  the  dolphins,  the  ele- 
phant, every  leaf,  flower,  and  bird,  ay, 
the  solid  pyramids,  the  very  cannon, 
were  glittering  with  the  ever-changing 
brilliancy  of  the  many-colored  prism, 
with  its  crimson,  green,  golden  lights. 

As  the  Empress  approached,  wonders 
increased.  A  salute  was  fired  from  the 
icy  cannons,  and  the  mortars  threw  their 


162 


PUTNAH^S  MaOAZIKS. 


[Feb, 


sIicUs  high  in  the  uir!  Yes,  real  fire 
and  smoke  issaed  from  the  magical 
artillery  ;^  and  at  the  same  moment  the 
marble-like  elephant  threw  up  a  watery 
spray,  higher  than  the  roof  of  the  palace. 

The  enchanted  portal  opened,  and  the 
Empress  entered  a  handsome  vestibule, 
whence  appeared  a  lofty  room,  on  either 
side.  In  the  drawing-room  stood  a 
table,  apparently  of  marble,  supporting 
a  handsome  clock,  whose  icy  wheels, 
daintily  cut,  were  seen  beneath  the 
transparent  case.  Large  statues  filled 
the  comers  of  the  room.  Settees  and 
Bofas,  handsomely  carved,  stood  on 
either  side ;  nor  were  chairs,  footstools, 
and  other  smaller  pieces  of  flimiture 
wanting.  The  sleeping-room,  or  what 
appeared  such,  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  vestibule,  was  even  still  more  luxu- 
riantly furnished.  There  was  a  grand 
state  bedstead,  with  its  appropriate 
bed,  pillows,  counterpane,  and,  above 
all,  finely-woven  curtains,  apparently 
of  lace  I  There  was  a  dressing-table 
with  its  mirror,  and  many  nicknacks, 
jars  and  bottles  for  powders  and  per- 
fumes, with  cups  and  boxes  for  trinkets. 
This  table  was  supported  by  pretty  lit- 
tle caryatides.  On  the  right  was  an 
elegantly  carved  chimney-piece,  and  on 
the  hearth  were  laid  logs  of  wood, 
ready  to  kindle  I  Here  and  there 
wreaths  of  icy  flowers  hung  in  festoons. 

Conceive  the  delight  of  the  Empress 
and  her  Court  at  the  magical  beauty  of 
their  toy.  There  was  no  happier  man 
that  day  at  St.  Petersburgh  than  the  suc- 
cessful architect,  the  noble  Alexis  Ta- 
tischchcw.  And  still  the  enchantment 
increased.  At  her  arrival  the  Empress 
had  been  received  with  a  salute.  At 
her  departure  another  salute  was  fired, 
with  still  greater  eficct.  In  the  first 
instance  a  ball  of  hard  tow  had  been 
well  rammed  into  the  cannons ;  but  the 
imi}erial  lady  now  desired  that  iron 
balls  should  be  tried.  The  experiment 
was  made,  and  the  artillery  of  the  Magic 
Palace  was  actually  fired  with  a  charge 
of  powder  of  a  quarter  of  a  pound,  and 
with  iron  balls.  The  salute  was  entire- 
ly successful,  the  balls  piercing  a  strong 
plank  two  inches  thick,  at  a  distance 


of  sixty  paces;  and  tlie  cannons  re- 
mained uninjured. 

An  evening  visit  followed.  By  night 
the  enchantment  appeared  still  grettcn 
All  the  windows  were  illundnated  wifii 
colored  transparencies,  and  nothing  ooDld 
exceed  the  beautiful  efiects  of  the  ligiit 
which  filled  not  only  the  windows,  bat 
the  transparent  walls  of  the  bnildiag 
itself,  with  a  delicate,  pearly  glow,  enn 
more  beautiful  than  the  opal  tint  lij 
day.  The  pyramids  were  also  illumi- 
nated with  revolving  transparencieB  ft 
the  oval  windows.  The  elephant  mi 
now  seen  spouting  a  stream  of  buniiiig 
naphtha,  afire-like  spray,  high  in  the  air, 
while  a  man  concealed  within  the  hol- 
low body  of  the  creature,  by  blowing 
pipes,  succeeded  in  imitating  the  rati 
natural  to  the  animaL  Within  the 
palace  the  icy  candles,  smeared  with 
naptha,  were  lighted,  without  melting, 
and  the  icy  logs  in  the  fireplace  were 
kindled  in  the  same  way  I 

A  beautiful  moonlight  view,  on  stiU 
another  occasion,  was  most  charming; 
from  the  crystal-like  character  of  the 
palace,  and  its  garden,  reflecting  a  thou- 
sand silvery  rays.  Then  again,  ftesh 
falls  of  snow  gave  a  new  charm  to  the 
spectacle,  as  every  architectural  orna- 
ment, every  twig  and  leaf,  was  daintily 
marked  by  the  soft  feathery  flakes,  of  a 
white  even  more  pure  than  that  of  the 
ice  on  which  they  fell. 

Through  the  long  winter  of  Bt  F^ 
tersburgh,  from  January  to  the  equinoe* 
tial  days  of  March,  that  icy  wotfder 
stood  on  the  banks  of  the  Neva.  Be- 
fore April  it  had  vanished,  and  dift- 
appeored  again  in  the  bosom  of  the 
stream  from  whence  it  arose. 

We  are  not  told  at  what  cost  to  the 
treasury  this  dream  of  a  courtier  be- 
came a  reality, — 

*' Aaoone 
Of  crancMceiit  glory,  onoo  a  ttrcam, 
And  soon  to  glide  into  a  stream  again.** 

The  coldest  day  of  that  winter  at  8t 
Petersburgh  was  February  5th,  when 
the  thermometer  stood  at  80^  F.  be- 
low zero.  The  same  winter  was  very 
severe  throughout  Europe.  At  Lon- 
don the  mercury  fell  to  8®  below  zero. 


Ben. 


les 


BEN. 


CHAFTEB  I. 

1  It's  no  cloud."  Ben  tumbled 
bed  to  the  open  upper  bftlf  of 
or,  scanning  with  his  half-shut 
B  odd  saffron-colored  spot  in  the 
ia-line.  *'That  means  mischieC 
ti't  rightly  tell  till  the  sun's  up, 
m  just  step  down  to  the  beach 
what  the  Lattans  say  of  it.    It's 

st  curous ^"  dragging  on  the 

lored  corduroy  trousers  oyer  hia 
}  so  fast  that  they  split 
:,    now,    Ben — ^the    potatoes?" 
3d  Letty, 

\  jaw  felL    "  Oh  1  the  potatoes ! 
..    Potatoes."   He  tied  his  shoes, 
His  fingers  were  all  thumbs, 
nd  slow.    •*  Now,  "Titia,"  look- 
presently  with  decision,  "you 
['11  dig  them  potatoes.    I  told 
t  night,  the  job  was  two  weeks 
eady.    If  a  high  fall-tide  would 
t  would  swamp  the  field.  There's 
throwin'  them  continooally  in  my 
But  there's  Nancy  Cool,  she'll  be 
oneaay  at  the  sight  of  that 
mce.     Cool's   boat's   out   over 
ril  just  step  down  and  t^U  her 
mts  to  nothin'.    Hey  ?  " 
,  Ben.     Nan's  had  enough  of 
.    Time  enough  to-morrow  for 
Atoes." 

ever  put  off  dooty  till  to-morrow, 
'  said  Ben,  loftily,  and  went 
Dg  across  the  salt-meadow,  hia 
in  his  pocket,  hia  big,  red-shirted 
x)ming  into  bold  relief  against 
e-tinted  sky,  in  which  hung  the 
)ly-colored  blot.  It  was  so  slight 
er  that  a  landsman's  eye  would 
massed  it  unmarked;  only  theee 
len,  bred  to  find  a  meaning  in 
dnt  of  wind  or  wayc,  were  troo- 
id  puzzled  by  it ;  with  a  Tague 
f  coming  disaster, 
as  an  hour  or  two,  before  Ben 
>ack  to  dig  the  potatoes.    The 


field  was  half  a  mile  away ;  he  deter- 
mined to  take  Benjy,  and  make  a  day 
of  it.  "  We'd  better  hey'  our  dinner 
along,  mother?"  ho  said.  Then  the 
Bens,  big  and  little,  had  to  pack  the  tin 
bucket.  It  was  a  work  of  time,  espe- 
cially as  Bei^y  was  giving  an  account 
of  tJie  clam-bake  yesterday.  Lctitia, 
hearing  their  shouts  of  laujg^ter,  came 
in  and  perched  herself  on  the  table  to 
listen.  The  boy  had  all  of  his  father's 
broad  sense  of  f^ ;  the  shrewd,  twin- 
kling blue  eyes,  and  the  queer  quirks 
of  voice  in  telling  a  story,  that  made 
old  Ben  the  jolliest  company  on  the 
coast  They  were  having  too  good  a 
time  to  break  up  the  party  hastily,  when 
some  one  came  outside  to  ask  Ben's  help 
to  draw  a  seine. 

"  What  do  you  say,  Titia  ?  It's  poor 
old  Sanford." 

Letty  nodded. 

"But,  there's  that  digging,  now;" 
lingering  at  the  door.  8he  laughed, 
and  he  went  off  with  a  whoop  and  leap, 
like  a  school-boy  clear  of  his  task.  The 
potatoes  were  half  of  their  next  win- 
ter's support.  But  'Titia  was  not  an 
unreasonable  woman.  She  would  as 
soon  have  expected  to  see  a  tortoise 
come  galloping  down  the  road,  as  Ben 
go  about  his  forever-undone  work  like 
another  man.  For  herself,  though,  she 
was  as  brisk-limbed  a  little  body  as  she 
was  pretty.  By  noon  the  house  was 
shining  and  clean.  And  Letty,  in  her 
gingham  dress,  sat  sewing  on  the  porch, 
the  sun  glinting  on  her  coils  of  brown 
hair,  while  litUe  Susy  played  at  her  feet, 
her  blue  slip  looped  back  from  her  fat 
shoulders  with  a  bit  of  ribbon.  The 
sun  shone  warmly  on  the  porch  and 
square  patch  of  garden,  and  the  purple 
dahlias  and  crimson  prince's-feather, 
bordering  the  tomato-beds.  In  front 
of  the  garden  stretched  the  endless  line 
of  beach,  whore  Ben  and  a  group  of 


164 


PUTNAII'S  MaGAZCTB. 


[Feb, 


men  were  hauling  a  seine  out  of  the 
uncertain  yellow  surfl  Behind  Letty^s 
house  were  the  woods,  abandoned  to  the 
white  sand  and  charcoal-burners. 

The  picture  would  have  been  alto- 
gether still  and  bright  but  for  that 
cloud — which  was  no  doud.  It  had 
hardened  into  a  dull,  reddish  mass  just 
abore  the  horizon*  One  of  the  men 
said  that  it  looked  like  an  arm  and 
hand  stretched  out  threateningly.  Ben 
listened  uneasily  and,  turning  his  back 
on  it,  began  to  joke  louder  than  ever. 
Inland-bom  as  he  was,  since  the  day  he 
came  to  the  coast  a  boy,  he  had  been 
sucking  in  all  the  superstitions  and 
monstrous  fancies  of  the  fishermen  like 
a  dry  sponge  put  into  its  native  water ; 
just  as  naturally  as  he  had  taken  to  the 
sea  and  sea-craft,  until  he  was  made 
wrecking-master,  and  so  became  a  re- 
cognized leader  among  them.  He  had 
worked  his  way  up  till  he  was  owner 
of  the  Queeny  as  taut  a  little  schooner 
08  ever  pulled  her  way  through  salt 
water.  For  the  year  or  two  after  he 
lost  her,  he  fished,  crabbed,  toed  for 
clams,  any  thing  to  get  his  legs  wet. 
His  wife  used  to  wonder  if  he  had  fish's 
blood. 

The  Queen  was  down  on  the  beach 
now.  It  was  the  first  time  since  Ben 
lost  her  that  she  had  been  back  to  her 
old  mooring. 

**  Ton's  yer  boat,  Ben,"  said  Sanford. 
*'  She  run  in  an  hour  ago." 

Ben  raised  himself  from  the  pile  of 
fish  that  he  was  sorting. 

"Whew!"  he  said,  thrusting  his 
thumbs  leisurely  in  his  arm-holes  to 
look  at  her.  The  whistle  died  out 
dully. 

"  Noland's  got  a  new  jib  on  her." 

"Yes." 

**  I  never  heerd  how  yon  come  to  sell 
licr,  Ben,"  said  Landrey,  who  was  from 
the  other  side  of  the  bay. 

"  He  never  sold  her." 

"  rd  hev'  sold  Benjy  as  soon — almost," 
kicking  a  crab  back  into  the  water. 
"  Howsoever,  let's  get  on  with  the  haul." 

"Debt?"  asked  Landrey,  nodding 
toward  him. 

"  Ben  went  on  Cox's  papci 


"  He's  always  on  somebody^s  pi^Mr!^ 

"  So  the  Queen  went."  They  alwiji 
talked  of  Ben  before  him  as  if  he  wen 
a  log,  or  a  big  lump  of  good-natme. 
"  Then  Cox  turned  the  cold  shoulder 
on  him." 

"  Hillo,  now,  Sanford  I  You've  gone 
far  enough.  It  hurt  Joe  Cox  worw 
than  me,  I  dare  say,  to  see  Koland  steer 
that  boat  out  of  the  bay.  It's  only 
nateral  he'd  stand  off  wi^  me  ainee, 
with  this  onpleasantness  comin'  up  at 
the  sight  of  me." 

"Well,  it  was  only  the  fortune  of 
war,  Ben,"  cried  Landrey,  heartily, 
shouldering  a  basket  of  plaice. 

'•That's  so!  Fortune  of  war!  I 
believe  I'll  not  go  out  for  another  haul,' 
boys;  Fve  got  bushiess.  Goin',  Ben- 
jy ? "  as  the  boy  jumped  into  the  ivf* 
boat.  "  Get  in  before  dark.  Yer  moth- 
er, you  know."  He  went  off,  deartng 
the  beach  with  his  long  steps,  shoatiDg 
out,  now  and  then,  snatches  of  some 
old  catch.  Ben  was  known  everywheni 
by  the  perpetual  clatter  and  Am  he  en^ 
ried  with  him.  The  bom  coastmen 
have  a  curious  silence  imprened  on 
them;  never  sing  nor  whistle;  em 
laugh  under  their  breath. 

He  stopped  at  his  own  gate,  and 
hailed  Letty.  "  Come  down  the  beach 
a  bit,  mother,"  walking  a  little  ahead 
of  her  when  she  joined  him. 

"  Oh !  t^e  Queen  I "  cried  Letty,  wHh 
a  catch  in  her  breath  when  she  saw  it 
She  halted. 

"Yes.  Come  on.  I  thought  you'd 
like  to  see  what  Noland's  been  doin'to 
her.  I  would.  Hillo,  Noland !  You've 
put  a  clean  face  on  the  boat,  eh  f  " 

"  Yes.  Fact  is,  I  can't  afford  to  hold 
her.  She's  for  sale.  I  put  a  bit  of 
paint  on  to  freshen  her  up.  I  had  a  bid 
for  her  down  in  Baltimore." 

"  Then  she'll  go  off  from  this  bay  ?  " 
Ben  went  on  hurriedly  to  the  cabin. 
"  Letty  and  I  came  for  a  look  at  our  old 
quarters.  '  Letty  took  two  voyages  with 
mCj  you  know  ?  " 

Letty  followed.  It  was  a  snug  little 
closet  of  a  place.  In  that  comer  had 
been  her  bunk,  and  there  her  sewing* 
box.     Ben  had  taken  her  with  him 


Ben. 


165 


tenjy  was  born.    He  had  always 
.  doting  old  fellow,  in  his  queer 
She  ran  about,  crying,  "  Do  you 
ber  this,  or  that,  Ben?"     Ben 
L  He  remembered  it  bettef  than 
Dugh  he  was  busy  asking  Noland 
ttbe  were  held  in  Baltimore,  and 
that  blow  off  the  Hook, 
•ctor  Drouth  came  up  with  me 
16  Hook,^  Noland  said,  presently, 
somewhere's  aboard.^' 
outh  is,  eh  ?     Tou^d  better  run 
Lome,  mother.  Td  rather  you  were 
rs,  with  that  queer  look  in  the  sky. 
lo  you  make  of  that,  Noland  ? " 
ff  of  smoke  from  a  steamer.^' 
shook  his  head.     He  watched 
^o  up  the  beach,  and  then  turned 
f.    "  Where's  Drouth  ?    I  want  a 
with  him.    Ohl     WelL  Doc  I" 
;o  meet  the  hatohet-faced  man  in 
Rrho  came  from  the  stem, 
re  you  are,  Ben  I     Going  over 
id  boat  ?  " 
B.    I  don't  see  any  about  hero 

►.?»  They  dropped  these  few 
mechanically,  keeping  their  eyes 
n  each  other,  as  men  do  between 
lies  some  grave,  unnamed  secret 
hey  stood  leaning  oyer  the  deck 
I  little  yesael,  which  rocked  to 

0  on  the  gentle,  bright  swells, 
gftill  Koland  had  sauntered  up 
ich.  When  he  was  out  of  hear- 
ey  exchanged  a  few  sentences  in 

1  whisper. 

broke  out  at  last  aloud.    **  I  tell 
3C,  I  ken't  bring  myself  to  belieye 
seems  onreal  to  me.   There's  not 
ider  built  man  on  this  beach,*' 
g  his  broad  chest  with  his  fist 
u  know  how  long  the  disease  has 
»ld  of  you." 
nodded  in  silence, 
put  the  case  ftilly  before  Yan- 
there's  no  better  authority  In 
ork.    He  says  perfect  rest  and  a 
a-yoyage  is  your  only  duuMe." 
3II,  Tye  been  restin'  pretfy  much 
life."    Ben  could  not  he^  chnok- 
'^But  a  y'yage   is  impoBsible, 
before  the  mast" 
ith  shook   his  head.     ^  Worse 


than  nothing.  I  think  you  ought  to 
tell  your  wife.  The  end  might  come 
any  day." 

"  Letty  ?  No.  Tye  kept  it  from  her 
these  seyen  years.  I  ain't  a-goin'  to 
hurt  her  now."  He  bit  a  piece  fh>m  his 
plug  of  tobacco,  and  began  to  chew 
fiercely,  looking  moodily  down  into  ths 
water. 

"  If  the  Queen  was  yours  now ^^ 

*' There's  no  use  crying  oyer  spilt 
milk,  that  I  kin  see.    She's  not  mine." 

Drouth  waited  a  moment  *^  It  was 
the  old  Mijor  gaye  you  that  boat, 
wasn't  it)  Ben  ?  " 

'*  Htb.  Dunstable.  That's  an  ondecent 
name  the  boys  giye  her.  No.  I  made 
the  money  for  that  on  the  water.  She 
dealt  yery  liberal  with  me,  though.  I 
was  only  her  bound-boy  out  on  the 
frontier  there ;  and  when  she  brought 
me  here  and  saw  how  I  took  to  fishing 
and  the  water,  she  giye  me  my  inden- 
tures." He  hesitated ;  but  seeing  that 
Drouth  still  waited,  attentiye,  went  on. 
'*  When  I  married,  she  bought  the  houso 
and  two  acres  for  us." 

**  The  house  is  yours,  then  ?  or  Let- 
ty's,  in  case^any  thing  happens  ? " 

Bed  squirted  his  tobacco-juice  about 
him  for  a  minute  or  two.  '^  The  truth 
is,  Doc,  it's  gone.  There  1  There's  no 
use  of  a  word,  now  I  I  went  on  Jim 
Lattan's  paper  about  two  months  ago, 
and  that's  the  way  it  ended.  It  has  a 
trick  of  ending  that  way — with  me." 

''  You're  an  infernal  fool,  and  Dick 
Lattan  knows  it  I " 

''Dick  Lattan  never  played  a  man 
foul  in  his  life.  He  meant  to  pay  the 
bilL  I  reckon  Fd  do  it  agen  in  such  a 
case.  I  ken't  loaf  about  with  money  in 
my  pockets  while  the  boys  are  in  a  tight 
place." 

''Youll  loaf  in  your  grave  befbre 
long,  while  your  wife  will  starve." 

Ben  was  silent  a  minute,  and  then 
shook  himself,  like  a  dog  getting  rid 
of  an  unpleasant  wetting.  "It  will 
hardly  be  so  bad  as  that,  I  s'pose. 
^You're  going  up  to  the  village  ?  Fll 
stay  on  the  boat  till  Noland  comes 
back,"  stretching  himself  on  his  back 
'  on  a  pile  of  rope  and  staring  lazily  up 


166 


PuTNAM^s  Magazine. 


[Fek, 


at  the  peak,  as  if  lie  meant  to  make 
that  his  day^s  business.  If  he  intended 
to  hint  that  he  would  rather  be  alone, 
Drouth  did  not  choose  to  understand 
him. 

"  You've  known  the  Major — Mrs.  Dun- 
stable, all  your  life,  then  ? " 

''  She  took  me  before  I  remember ;  out 
of  the  poor-house  Pvo  heerd." 

"  There  are  some  queer  stories  afloat 
among  her  kinsfolks  here  about  her  life 
out  yonder.  Hey,  Ben?  A  childless 
widow's  apt  to  be  gay  ?  How  was  it  ? " 

"I  never heerd  them  stories," sharply. 
"  I  bid  Letty  never  come  to  me  with 
them.  The  Dunstables  ruled  the  roast 
in  that  country,  and  the  old  lady  used 
her  money  as  became  her.  She's  spent 
the  most  of  it  hunting  for  her  son.  She's 
crazy  on  that  p'int,  I  judge." 

"  You  think  he  neyer  was  stolen  by 
the  Indians,  then  f  " 

**  It's  onlikely.  The  child  wandered 
off,  Fve  heerd)  bein'  left  at  home  with  the 
servants.  It  was  two  weeks  before  his 
mother  came  back  to  make  proper 
search  for  him.  She's  never  been  the 
same  woman  since.  It  was  a  wild  coun- 
try then.  There's  a  dozen  things  jnight 
have  happened  to  him  without  lAamin' 
the  redskins." 

'*  It  has  been  a  monomania  with  her 
as  she  grew  old,  I  believe,"  said  Drouth, 
for  whom  the  subject  evidently  had 
some  peculiar  interest.  "When  her 
lovers  forsook  her,  I  reckon  she  went 
back  to  this  old  trouble  of  her  son. 
There  has  been  hardly  a  point  in  the 
West  which  she  or  her  agents  have  not 
visited.  Tve  been  one  of  them  for  a 
year  or  two.    Did  you  know  it  ? " 

"  I  heerd  so,"  indifferently. 

Drouth  leaned  over  him,  lowering  his 
voice.  "  I  meant  to  find  the  man  if  he 
were  alive,  Ben,  and  i'w  done  t«." 

Ben  started  upright.  "You  found 
him  I  A  real,  live  man?  But  you 
needn't  tell  me  that  he  ever  was  stolen 
by  the  redskins  I " 

"  Yes,  I  do." 

"  Well  I  /  always  said  that  story  was 
bosh  1 "  with  a  discontented  grunt. 
"  Hev'  you  told  her  yet  ? "  after  a  pause. 

"  No." 


"Hadn't  you  better  be  about  ll| 
then  ? " 

"You're  not  overly  civil,"  Drootl 
laughed,  but  jumped  aboard  the  scov 
that  lay  alongside,  and  put  ashore,  wUk 
Ben  watched  him  uneasily.  - 

"  She's  half  starved  herself  for  yetn 
to  save  for  that  son,"  he  said.  "  Itll  all 
go  to  him,  now.  Every  dollar  I  Tliere^ 
no  chance  there  for  Letty  and  the  young 
un."  He  had  not  known  before  bov 
much  he  depended  on  "  the  Majoi;*  it 
case,  as  the  doctors  threatened|  Itt 
should  die  suddenly.  He  had  beoi  so 
used  all  of  his  life  to  depend  on  som^ 
body  I  He  lay  pushing  his  foot  agafnil 
a  barrel,  telling  himself  that  one  of  tiMn 
days,  before  the  potatoes  were  diy, 
maybe,  or  this  big  run  of  blue  fish  nm 
over,  he  would  die. 

Die.  Lie  with  his  big,  strong  Up 
and  body  like  a  log  under  the  saal 
yonder,  while  Letty  and  the  childRa 
would  come  to  want.  And  he  nenr 
able  to  help  them. 

For  a  few  minutes  Ben  laymotioa- 
less,  his  jaws  tight  shut,  his  handi 
clasped  over  his  eyes.  Then  he  got  iqi 
"  God  help  us  I  Pll  go  dig  the  pota- 
toes," he  said.  But  the  bit  of  brig^ 
flag  at  the  peak  fluttered  that  monwat 
against  the  sky,  the  sail  flapped,  tiie 
surf  plashed  against  the  stem.  There 
was  meaning  in  this  to  Ben :  the  bott 
was  a  live  thing  to  him ;  he  knew  It; 
needed  it ;  he  clung  to  the  mast  more 
passionately  than  he  had  ever  done  to 
the  breast  of  the  woman  he  loved.  Ho 
looked  out  to  the  clear  violet  shadom 
of  the  sea-horizon.  If  Letty  were  dowB 
in  the  cabin  as  she  used  to  be,  and  be 
had  his  hand  on  the  wheel,  and  they 
could  sail  on  and  on  and  on  yonder  to 
flnd  life  for  him !  Leaving  death  on 
the  shore,  and  the  hatefhl  work,  even  to 
the  undug  potatoes.  Ben  sighed  tad 
looked  listlessly  about,  wondering  if  ho 
had  brought  his  spade  with  him.  **ni 
work  for  her  every  minute  that's  left,* 
he  said,  vehemently.  Noland  found 
him,  however,  an  hour  after,  splicing  a 
rope  of  the  main-sail. 

"  Hillo,  Ben  !  What  ails  you,  man  t 
You're  looking  peaked,  white  about  tho 


Ben. 


167 


thouglit  to-day.  *  Seen  any  blue 
si  ?  Lattan's  after  them." 
)  devil  he  is  I  Here^s  my  squid- 
my  pocket,  as  good  Inck  would 
1 "  and  he  was  off  with  a  leap 
bout  down  the  beach. 

CHAFTBB  n. 

7TH  had  paced  up  and  down  the 
for  an  hour  or  two,  before  the 
Y  appeared.    He  had  sent  her  a 
;  noon^  in  which  he  stated  the 
ct  that  her  son  was  foimd,  and 
for  an  interview.    He  wanted  to 
ore  of  the  reward  promised,  bnt 
ite  willing  to  be  spared  any  dis- 
emotion  on  her  part.    Bhc  was 
too  old,  he  flEuicied,  for  any  of 
eet  motherly  feelings  such   as 
)d  to  purer  women.  The  reform- 
rake,  when  every  other  excite- 
Mdled,  had  gone  back  to  this 
of  the  son  lost  thirty  years  ago, 
as  a  last  resource  for   stimu- 

3ver,  when  she  came,  her  unusual 
nd  subdued,  almost  awed  man- 
sded  him.  There  was  nothing 
imatic  hare.  He  pulled  a  log 
le  old  wreck  for  her  to  sit  down 

stood  beside  her.  She  was  a 
en-eyed  woman,  her  face  beaked 
3ird's ;  dressed  in  close-clinging 
x>mbazine ;  to-day,  too,  she  had 
I  the  tinge  of  rouge  on  her 
cheeks,  and  wore  her  own  gray 
rted  over  her  high,  narrow  foro- 
Something  held  her  hand  when 
lid  have  put  on  the  glossy  black 
)  usually  wore.  "My  son  shall 
as  I  am,"  she  thought,  and  laid 
n.  She  looked  in  the  glass  a 
t,  and  fancied  she  saw  there  the 
lelicate*  face  of  Mary  Dunstable 

years  ^o.  "I  wish  my  boy 
lave  seen  me  then  I"  she  said 

There  were  tears  in  the  cold 
Her  hands,  thin  as  bird's  daws, 
IS  she  hooked  her  dress  over  the 
$d  breast  on  which  her  baby  long 
d  lain.  One  could  not  believe 
IS  was  the  domineering  old  wom- 
^hom  the  men  gave  the  name  of 
[ajor."    When  she  was  seated  on 


the  beach,  she  waited  for  Drouth  to  tell 
his  story,  asking,  to  his  surprise,  but  few 
questions,  patiently  silent  even  when  he 
detailed  at  length  the  heavy  labor  and 
expense  which  the  search  had  entailed 
upon  him  and  his  agents.  His  story, 
when  sifted,  was  clear  enough.  The 
child,  a  boy  of  about  a  year  and  a  half 
old,  had  wandered  into  the  forest,  and 
been  found  and  secreted  by  some  Indian 
women,  in  order  to  revenge  some  injury 
which  the  Dunstablcs  had  done  to 
them.  It  was  doubtless  their  purpose 
to  restore  him  after  a  time ;  but,  fearing 
punishment,  they  had  carried  him  with 
them  in  their  next  move. 

"  And  after  that  ? " 

*'  After  that  your  son  shall  give  you 
his  own  history." 

She  looked  at  him  and  rose.  '^  You 
do  not  mean — you  did  not  bring  him 
with  you  ?  "  trying  to  speak  coolly. 

"  He  will  be  here  in  an  hour." 

At  that  she  walked  directly  away 
from  hiro,  and  stood  for  half  an  hour 
alone,  waiting,  down  on  the  sands. 
Drouth  knew  her  too  well  to  go  near  or 
disturb  her.  Besides,  there  was  some- 
thing in  the  lonely  shabby  figure  there 
by  the  wailing  sea,  waiting  this  life- 
long, deferred  fulfilment  of  Its  hope 
which  touched  him  despite  himself. 
To-day  she  was  not  the  woman  he  had 
known.  He  had  prepared  himself  with 
proof  upon  proof,  knowing  her  or- 
dinary morbid  suspicion  about  even 
trifles ;  but  she  had  received  this  vital 
story  without  a  question. 

"  Women  are  queer  animals,"  he  said. 
"  It's  all  the  woman  that  is  left  in  her, 
perhaps,  that  notion  about  her  boy." 
The  afternoon  was  growing  late;  the 
sun  threw  her  shadow,  long  and  black, 
upon  the  sand.  She  kept  her  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  marshes  through  which  the 
path  came  ;  but  so  far  there  was  not  a 
living  creature  in  sight,  except  two  or 
three  fishermen,  among  whom  was  Lat- 
tan  and  Ben,  squidding  for  mackerel  far 
up  the  beach.  When  the  time  had 
almost  arrived  for  her  son  to  come,- 
Drouth  went  closer  to  her. 

There  was  one  business-point  on  which 
he  wished  to  set  his  mind  at  rest.    "  I 


I 


168 


PUTNAM^S  MaGAZINB. 


[T*. 


conceive,  Mrs.  Dunstable,  that  when 
your  son  is  here,  and  you  are  convinced 
that  he  is  your  son,  my  responsibility  is 
at  an  end." 

She  hesitated.  ^*  I  do  not  understand 
you.-' 

"  I  mean  that  my  money  is  due,  in 
any  case.  No  matter  whether  the  result 
satisfies  you  or  not." 

^^  You  mean  that  I  will  be  disappoint- 
ed in  my  son  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  say  that,"  quickly.  "  But 
his  education  has  been  different  from 
yours,  necessarily." 

"  He  has  been  reared  as  a  half-breed  ? 
I  am  prepared  for  that."  After  awhile, 
recollecting  herself,  she  added.  "  As  to 
your  money,  of  course  you  have  earned 
it.    That  is  all  right." 

She  turned  again  quickly  to  watch 
the  path  through  the  marshes.  What 
manner  of  man  would  come  to  her  on 
it?  The  coarse,  rank  pride  of  the 
woman  was  alert  and  defiant.  There 
was  no  situation  in  life  in  which  she 
had  not  pictured  her  son ;  she  had  pre- 
pared herself  against  any  disappoint- 
ment. He  might  be  a  reckless  Bohe- 
mian in  New  York,  burning  brain  and 
body  away  with  bad  liquor ;  a  rough 
out  on  the  plains;  a  half- breed  with  his 
dirty  squaw.  But  under  whatever  dis- 
guise, the  old  Dunstable  courage  and 
hot  energy  would  be  there.  No  base 
training  could  quench  the  fire  in  that 
blood.  The  soul  in  him  would  leap  to 
meet  her  own  at  call,  vigorous  and 
conscious  of  its  right  to  mastery  over 
other  men. 

She  had  waited  many  years  for  this 
hour  of  triumph.  She  could  not  help 
turning  to  Drouth,  and  saying,  in  her 
usual  arrogant  tone,  "  I  set  myself  to 
do  this  thing  twenty  years  ago,  and 
now  I  have  succeeded,  in  spite  of  fate. 
If  there  is  any  God  in  the  world  strong- 
er than  a  strong  human  will,  I  have 
never  found  Him." 

Drouth  said  nothing.  They  were  all 
used  to  the  old  free-thinker's  boasting. 
She  was  her  own  God,  and  would  be  to 
the  end,  unless  she  could  set  up  this 
unknown  son  for  an  idol. 

"  How  soon  will  he  be  here  t " 


Drouth  glanced  at  his  watch.  **& 
ten  minutes."  He  walked  away  torn 
her.  Now  that  he  was  sure  of  his  pt|, 
he  felt  an  abated  interest  in  her.  Hs 
looked  at  Ben  yonder  with  tu  mm 
human  sympathy.  The  men  were  aqiiid* 
ding  for  mackerel,  Ben  leading.  Ab 
athlete  might  have  chosen  the  woik  to 
display  all  his  strength  and  gnm 
Drouth  had  enough  of  an  artistes  eje 
to  watch  Ben  with  pleasure.  Tlie  qjaid^ 
high-stepping  dash  into  the  edge  of  tht 
surf,  the  measured  whirl  of  the  line  nd 
glittering  lead  above  his  head ;  tliead- 
den  force  which  darted  it  beyond  til 
breakers  into  the  still  sea;  tiie  iImt 
backward  tread  up  the  bead^  dmwfm 
the  line  hand  over  hand,  at  the  cadef 
which  lay  the  lead  and  emptj  hoolL 
"Unlucky  Ben  I"  muttered  Jhootk 
"  Always  unlucky  I "  This  stalwart  IbI* 
low,  who  swung  his  line  in  tnoh  jsBf 
humor,  knowing  that  in  a  ftw  dayihi 
would  be  nothing  but  a  dumb  olijeit 
of  dismay  and  terror  to  even  his  nii^ 
and  child,  touched  Drouth  more  ttev 
he  could  tell.  ''  And  aU  fi>r  the  kek 
of  a  few  dollars  ?  This  woild's  »  q—f. 
botch,  anyhow."  He  walked  ilow^ 
back  to  Mrs.  Dunstable,  kiddng  fatly 
of  kelp  as  he  went  down  into  Hit 
foam. 

She  took  an  irresolute  st^  forward  10 
meet  him.  "  It's  more  than  ten  nift* 
utes."  Her  voice  was  unnatorally  I0V 
and  hard. 

"  He  is  coming  now." 

They  both  turned  to  the  manih|  a 
strip  of  which  ran  down  to  the  edge  of 
the  beach.  At  this  time  of  the  yearil 
was  a  field  of  brown  velvet  spikes  of 
the  salt  flags,  growing  shoulder  hi^ 
There  was  a  rustling  among  them  al^ig 
the  narrow  path.  "  It  is  your  son,**  slid 
Drouth,  drawing  back. 

She  stood  as  hard  and  lifeless  to  aj^ 
pearanoe  as  the  dead  log  at  her  het^ 
her  withered  hands  knit  togethery  tlis 
diamond  on  one  of  them  blaidng  in  the 
low  sunlight.  A  flock  of  wild  disk 
passed  by  silently  in  a  black  snake-like 
line  upon  the  edge  of  the  nearest  break* 
er ;  a  salt  air  rustled  the  flags,  and  then 
they  parted ;  and  Ben,  his  empty  lioe 


Bek. 


169 


d,  came  out  of  the  path  on  to  the 

drew  back  as. though  she  had 
tabbed. 

yt — that?^^  She  put  her  hands 
lindly  thrusting  him  out  of  sight. 
li  took  hold  of  her,  and  seated  her 

sand. 

lat  is  your  son,^^  ho  said,  shaking 
ittle  roughly.  In  a  nioment  she 
him  feebly  back. 

lat  is  Ben,  my  bound-boy ;  I  have 
I  him  all  my  life.    Where  is  my 

You  shall  not  deceive  me,  Dr. 
fci  f  "  in  her  old,  shrill,  imperious 

thought  you  would  ask  for  the 
before  we  were  done  with  it," 
pulling  out  his  bundle  of  affida- 
"  The  boy  was  abandoned  by  the 
IS  at  the  first  white  settlement ;  in 
r  or  two  found  his  way  to  the 
onse,  where  you  found  him.  If 
lot  all  you  ask  in  your  son,  that  is 
ffidr.  You  made  him  what  he  is." 
was  her  own  keen  self  now.  She 
1  the  papers  one  by  one,  scanning 
ine  by  line,  keeping  her  face  care- 
verted.  Drouth  noticed,  from  the 
of  the  man  down  in  the  surf. 
she  had  finished,  she  folded  them 
and  bound  them  with  the  India- 
strap.  "  I  will  siend  you  your 
to-morrow,  Dr.  Drouth,"  she  said, 
"You  deserve  it  for  your 
2e,      It   is     a    well-constructed 

)U  do  not  dare  to  say  that  you 
the  facts  I  "  hotly, 
t,  in  constructing  it,"  she  went 
.ng,  "  you  counted  too  much  on  a 
I's  blind  feeling.  Unfortunately, 
3  not  help  you,"  fixing  her  cool, 
5  eyes  on  his  face.  Drouth  knew, 
that  the  game  was  out  of  his 
She  had  put  up  the  barrier; 
rer  might  be  her  real  feeling,  it 
dden,  as  behind  a  rock, 
you  mean  to  disown  your  son  ?  " 
1  my  son  ?  Why  I  look  at  him 
lel"  The  haughty,  fine  smile 
ed  to  the  old  days  of  her  royalty 
ath  and  grace.  Drouth  was 
.  She  was  withered  and  shabby ; 
)!••  V. — 12 


Ben,  in  the  strength  of  manhood ;  he 
had  certain  noble  qualities,  too,  Drouth 
knew,  which  she  could  net  even  com- 
prehend ;  yet  the  gulf  was  undeniably 
great,  which  culture,  and  the  want  of 
it,  had  made  between  them.  So  great, 
it  seemed  impossible  that  the  same  flesh 
and  blood  stood  on  either  side  of  it.  , 

"  Whatever  he  is,  you  have  made 
him,"  doggedly.  "  I  wash  my  hands  of 
the  matter  now.  You  know  his  condi- 
tion. You  know  Vandyke's  opinion, 
that  a  quiet  sea-voyage  is  all  that  will 
save  him.  He  is  your  son,  Mrs.  Dun- 
stable, deny  it  as  you  choose.  His  life 
is  in  your  bands." 

"  What  value  is  that  man's  life  to  anv 
body  ?  I  wish  to  God  he  lay  dead  there 
upon  the  sand  I " 

"  You  will  do  nothing  for  him,  then  ? " 

"  Nothing."    She  passed  him  by,  go- 
ing up  the  marsh-patlu    "  She  knows 
he  is  her  son,"  thought  Drouth.    She 
had  always  been  used  to  treat  Ben  with 
the  lazy  good-humor  which  that  lazy, 
good-humored  fellow  drew  from  every 
body.    Now,  in  the  bitterness  of  her 
disappointment,  there  was  murder  in 
her  heart  for  him.   So  Drouth  believed, 
watching  her  hurry  up  toward  the  vil- 
lage for  her  horse  to  go  back  alone  to 
her  solitary  house  in  the  pine-woods. 
"  She's  lived  starving  up  there  half  her 
life  to  save  for  him,  and  now  she's  go- 
ing back  alone,  because  he  is  not  a  gen- 
tleman.    It's  her  cursed  pride."     He 
judged  her  as  he  would  a  disappointed 
man,  not  knowing  the  deeper  disap- 
pointment that  came  to  her  as  a  woman. 
He  could  not  see  her ;  she  waited  in  the 
cornfield  till  dusk,  watching  Letty,  busy 
making  ready  for  Ben's  supper.    She 
could  catch  glimpses  of  the  cheery  little 
woman  in  the  kitchen,  of  the  lighted 
table,  the  eteaming  pot  of  clam-«onp. 
Presently  Ben  came  lounging  up  to  the 
gate,   with    a    laughing,    bare-footed 
crowd ;   the  I^attans,  Noland,  and  the 
rest.    They  had  all  a  joke  for  Letty. 
When  they  were  gone,  Ben  sat  down, 
with  the  two  children  swarming  about 
him,  and  Letty  brought  him  hid  plate 
of  soup,  kissing  him  as  she  did  it — a 
reward  for  hi^  hard  day's  work  I 


170 


PcTNAM^B  Magazine. 


[Fek, 


It  all  seemed  nauseous  and  Tulgar  to 
ber;  yet,  there  itas  something  here 
which  had  never  come  into  her  own 
life.  '  As  she  turned  away,  she  had  her 
hand  tightly  pressed  on  her  narrow 
chest  God  only  knows  how  long  the 
aching  and  hunger  had  there  been  hid- 
den for  things  common  to  other  women 
as  the  air  they  breathed;  love,  the 
touch  of  children's  fingers.  She  had 
meant  when  her  son  came  to  her,  an 
absolute  stranger,  that  her  past  life 
should  bo  a  blank  to  him.  8he  would 
begin  anew ;  she  fancied  herself  an  ideal 
mother  to  him,  liberal,  tender,  loving. 
Ben  knew  her  in  the  tawdriest  undress 
of  her  daily  life ;  jeered  at  her  as  *^  the 
Major ''  with  his  fellow-boors  t 

She  untied  her  horse  from  the  h itch- 
ing-post, and  mounted  into  the  buggy. 
Her  road  skirted  the  beach.  There  was 
a  fore])oding  shadow  in  the  air.  The 
sea  thundered  ominously.  She  heard 
hasty  steps,  after  a  while,  behind  her  on 
the  solitary  road,  and  Ben  came  up  and 
stopped  the  horse. 

*'  Stay  with  us  to-night,  Mrs.  Dun- 
((table.  It's  miserable  lonely  out  in  the 
woods  yonder,  and  youVe  not  even  a 
dog  for  company.  Besides,  there's  a 
look  in  the  sky  to-night  that  none  of 
the  men  understand." 

She  looked  deliberately  into  the 
coarse,  pleasant  face  without  reply; 
then  she  quietly  drew  up  the  reins. 
^  Take  your  hand  away,"  she  said,  cold- 
ly, without  naming  him.  "  I  will  go 
homo  alone.** 

CHAFTER  III. 

Bex  watched  her  disappear  into  the 
gloomy  woods  with  a  tug  of  pity  at  his 
honest  heart.  He  had  seen  the  pale, 
soured  face  turn  once  or  twice  nervous- 
ly teward  him  as  she  went.  "  It's  mis- 
erable lonely  for  her,"  he  muttered,  as 
he  went  back  home.  The  strange  blot 
in  the  sky  had  spread  until  it  darkened 
the  whole  horizon,  and  there  was  a 
heavy,  pitchy  odor  in  the  air.  "It's 
my  belief  there's  a  monstrous  fire  to 
N' York,"  he  said  to  Cool,  who,  with  the 
other  men,  was  wandering  alnnit  uneas- 
ily.   "  Leastways,  there's^omcthin'  ter- 


rible out  o*  gear  somewhere.*'  He 
brought  Cool  and  Lattan  in  and  ihm 
shut  the  windows,  and  piled  ap  the 
blazing  drift-wood.  He  hid  'Titit'i 
sewing,  and  made  her  sit  idle  with  thfrn 
by  the  fire ;  he  begged  for  the  childzai 
to  stay  up  an  hour.  Letty  thought  ihe 
never  had  known  him  in  such  a  joHj, 
mad-cap  humor,  laughing  at  some  of' 
his  pranks  IDI  the  tears  came  into  her 
eyes.  Ben  felt,  as  he  generally  did  witk 
them  all  about  him,  there  never  was  a 
fellow  in  better  case  than  bimself.    If 

only .   He  could  not  forget  that  Idi 

time  was  short.  He  would  make  tiw 
best  of  it  while  it  lasted.  He  presNd 
the  apple-jack  on  Lattan,  and  treated 
him  with  unwonted  deference;  he  did 
not  want  Dick  to  think  he  had  bonw 
him  a  grudge  when  he  was  gone ;  he 
kept  them  all  up  till  ten  o'clock ;  there 
were  some  capital  stories  too  good  to  be 
lost,  and  very  soon — ^there  would  be 
nobody  to  tell  them.  When  they  were 
gone,  Ben  carried  the  children  to  bed, 
and  helped  TItia  undress  them. 

"  Dear  I  dear  I  I  have  not  put  in  a 
stitch  to-night !  "  she  cried.  *^  Bat  nch 
a  nice  time  as  it  has  been  1  There 
never  was  a  fellow  like  you,  Ben,"  pot* 
ting  her  arms  about  his  neck  aa  ibe 
stood  behind  him. 

"  Do  you  think  that,  little  woman  ? 
Fm  going  to  work  for  you  to-morrow. 
ni  work  ull  the  time  I  have  left;** 
and  with  this  flattering  salvo  laid  to  his 
heart  Ben  soon  slept  the  sleep  of  con- 
scious virtue. 

At  midnight  the  cry  came.  In  the  his- 
tory of  the  coast,  that  night  is  remember- 
ed as  set  apart,  lighted  with  its  peculiar 
horror.  Ben,  roused  by  a  tumult  of  voioea 
without,  and  choking  for  breath,  went 
to  the  door,  where  the  group  of  half- 
clothed  men  and  women  were  gathered 

"  What  is  it,  Lattan  ?  " 

"  God  knows !  The  sea  is  on  fire,  I 
think." 

In  any  emergency,  jolly  Ben  was  the 
cool-headed  leader  among  them.  He 
went  to  the  beach  and  came  back. 
"  No.  It  is  worse  for  us.  The  woods 
arc  burning  clear  up  to  the  Hook,  and 
the  fire  will  be  on  us  in  a  few  minutes.** 


Ben. 


171 


I  Bea  oyer-stated  it.  Tbore  was 
.  danger  in  store  for  tliem.  The 
was  detached  from  tho^xtensiye 
oods  that  ran  inland  by  salt- 
or  creeks.  Still,  it  was  no  slight 
apon  their  courage  to  find  them- 
trapped,  as  it  were,  in  this  com- 
ma The  long  drought  had  4efb 
oe-tracts  dry  as  tinder ;  the  fire 
len  slowly  stealing  down  to  them 
y.  It  had  reached  them  now. 
I  too  £ai  hack  for  the  villagers 
ingoish  the  separate  fiames ;  but 
f  stood  on  their  own  barren  neck 
d,  the  whole  horizon  burned  into 
Ad  virulent  heat;  volumes  of 
and  stench  rolled  down  upon 
uid  at  their  back  the  ocean  sent 
grappling  breakers  on  sand,  a 
-  hell  of  fire. 

f  quieted  the  terrified  women  and 
an  at  last,  and  collected  them  all 
er.  "  There's  nothin*  we  kin  do 
lit,'*  said  Ben. 

lere's  nothin'  it  can  bum  nigh 
added  Drouth,  *^but  Dolbeir^s 

^"    He  stopped,  glancing  at 

an  nearest  him  with  a  sudden, 
meaning.  Dolbeir's  woods  was  a 
of  pines  about  a  mile  square,  con- 
to'  the  main  forest  by  a  belt  of 
I.  There  was  but  one  house  in  it 
>od  (jk>d  I  Is  she  there  ?  *'  asked 
m  (Cool),  in  a,  whisper, 
nth  nodded, 
hat's  the  matter,  boys? ''  said  Ben, 

le  Major." 

three  men,  silent  and  pale,  moved 

one  impulse  to  a  point  down  the 

where  they  could  see  the  connect- 

ilt  of  swamp.    It  was  olraady  a 

le  of  fire. 

s  too  late,"  said  Drouth ;  and  after 

lent, "  Don't  let  the  womeirknow." 

in  we  do  nothing?"  Cool  said, 

k  strangely  altered  voice. 


n 


adding  quickly :  "  Don't  you 
The  fire  is  within  a  quarter  of  a 
f  her  house.  Before  a  man  could 
her,  this  woods  will  be  a  living 
He  could  not  but  remember  the 
id  pride  "  of  the  poor  old  woman ; 
tie  had  jeered  at  God,  and  left  her 


own  son  to  die  this  very  night.  With 
Drouth's  Calvinistic  belief,  it  seemed 
right  to  bim  that  the  Lord  should  thus 
terribly  have  laid  bare  His  red  right 
hand  in  vengeance.  A  lurid  light  sud- 
denly shot  up  into  the  sky.  By  it  they 
had  a  glimpse  of  the  house  standing 
black  and  solitary  in  the  hollow  of  the 
woods. 

"  Give  me  your  shirt,  Cool,"  said  Ben ; 
"  mine's  cotton,"  stripping  rapidly. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ? "  cried 
Drouth.  "  You  shall  not  go,  Ben  I  You 
are  mad." 

"  Stand  back.  Drouth."  He  strapped 
the  waist-belt,  drew  up  his  high  boots, 
carefully  stopping  every  entrance  for 
the  air.  Drouth  caught  his  arm,  forc- 
ing him  to  look  at  him. 

"  You  shall  hear  what  I  say.  If  you 
go,  you'll  never  come  back  alive." 

**  I  don't  believe  I  will.  But  I  can't 
stand  it.  Doc.  Don't  let  Letty  know 
that  Fve  gone." 

He  was  ready  now,  a  fur  cap  tied 
securely  down  over  his  jaws.  He 
stood  irresolutely  a  moment,  and  then 
muttering  to  Cool,  "I  can't  go  with- 
out a  word,"  crossed  over  to  where 
his  wife  stood  with  the  other  women, 
stooped  and  kissed  first  one  child  and 
then  the  other.  "Why,  Susy,  girl! 
you're  mighty  fond  of  old  dad,  that's  a 
fact,"  disengaging  her  clinging  arms 
slowly,  and  holding  the  sleepy  face  close 
to  his  own  a  minute.  "  Letty  I "  Sbe 
turned  her  white,  frightened  face.  "  Go 
into  the  house,  Letty.  Don't  you  wor- 
ry, little  woman.  Whatever  comes, 
don't  you  worry."  He  dared  not  kiss 
her,  for  fear  of  rousing  her  suspicion, 
but  he  held  her  hand  tigbt.  It  was  for 
the  last  time,  and  she  did  not  know  it ! 
"  The— the  Good  Man's  over  all ;  don't 
you  know,  Letty  ?  Now  go  in  with  the 
children."  He  took  her  to  the  house-door. 

"  Come  soon,  Ben."  He  did  not 
answer ;  but  be  only  stooped  and  kissed 
the  little,  freckled  face,  lifted  pleading- 
ly to  his.  Then  he  shut  the  door,  and 
came  back  to  Drouth. 

"  If  I  never  come  back.  Doc,"  he  said, 
steadily,  "  tell  her  how  it  was.  Tell  her 
how  short  my  time  was  anyjiow.    I  don't 


173 


Putnam's  Magazine. 


[FeK, 


think  I  can  do  any  thing  better  with 
it  than  this,"  He  seemed  to  be  deaf  to 
all  the  two  men  said.  Then  he  ran  into 
the  surf,  wetting  his  clothes  thorough- 
ly, dipping  a  cloth  to  put  over  his  face 
to  protect  him  from  the  smoke.  •  Wlien 
he  came  out  of  the  water,  there  was  a 
ring  of  the  usual  good-humored  chuckle 
in  his  voice.  "  Tve  a  notion  that  you're 
not  done  with  me  yet,"  nodding,  as  he 
started  toward  the  wood. 

Drouth  tried  to  say,  "  God  bless  you," 
bi;t  it  choked  in  his  throat.  Every  step 
of  the  way  was  known  to  Ben.  He 
thought  as  he  ran,  that  he  could  find  it 
in  the  darkest  night ;  but  he  had  not 
calculated  on  the  stilling  smoke  that 
rolled  in  volumes  in  his  face.  The  men, 
watching  him,  saw  him  stop  and  stagger 
once,  twice,  in  the  open  space  before  he 
rciiched  the  woods. 

The  swift,  black  figure,  running  in  the 
open  space,  suddenly  caught  the  sight 
of  the  villagers.  He  heard  the  far-off 
sliMUts  of  dismay  that  followed  him,  and 
a  moment  after  a  single  cry — a  woman's. 

•'Oh,  God!  Ben  I  Ben  I" 

lie  was  just  at  the  entrance  of  the 
T^'  lods.  They  saw  him  stop  one  instant, 
ii!:d  then,  without  turning  to  l()ok])ack, 
Lr.'  darted  tlirough  the  brushwood  and 
w:.^  lost  to  «ight.  A  few  m(mient3  af- 
trr,  he  hcftrd,  tlirough  all  the  other 
s.n:iids,the  sbaq),  regular  stroke  of  axes. 
**Thoy  are  cutting  down  the  sv.amp 
trees  to  help  me,"  he  thought.  *'  But 
il'^  too  late ;  the  fire  has  crossed  be- 
fore them."  Twice  he  lost  his  way. 
Tlie  familiar  sound  of  the  axc-Ktrokes 
v.:i3  lost.  Nothing  was  left  that  was  fn- 
nvIHar.  The  trees  in  the  lurid  light  put 
0:1  unnatural,  ghostly  shapcn ;  ovcr- 
h.  id  was  a  sea  of  rolling  clouds  (»n 
fi.  .> ;  billow  above  billow* ;  the  shaip 
crackle  of  the  burning  woods,  the  roar 
of  the  wind  through  the  ])i:ie.?,  and  the 
w  cfiil  beating  of  the  sea  upon  the  shore 
;  .  .wcred  each  other  in  hollow  thunders. 
T  »  Ben  it  seemed  as  if  that  great  and 
tti rible  day  of  the  Lord  had  come,  of 
w  hich  he  had  often  heard  in  the  back 
Rvat  of  the  little  Methodist  chapel, 
trembling  as  he  heard. 

There  was  a  field  before  the  house. 


The  woods  enclosed  house  and  fSdd 
completely,  as  in  a  horseshoe.  The  fire 
was  already  creeping  down  both  aidei, 
the  part  yet  untouched  being  tfait 
through  which  he  had  come.  The  sok 
chance  for  life  was  that  he  could  r^;aii 
his  path  before  the  fire  reached  it.  He 
crossed  tho  field,  entered  the  hooae; 
There  was  no  gay,  gallant  enthusiflfln, 
no  sense  of  derring-do  in  the  poor  fiahv- 
man ;  abject  terror  dragged  down  every 
heavy  step ;  with  every  breath  came  tlie 
thought  of  wife  and  children,  drawiog 
him  back ;  life  itself  had  grown  teniUy 
dear  lately  since  it  had  been  meaBorad 
out  to  him  in  such  niggardly  dose.  Yet 
he  took  his  life  in  his  hand  and  thiev 
it  down ;  a  manlier  man,  I  think,  in  his 
cowardice,  tlian  any  cavalier  of  old. 

The  house  was  vacant.  In  a  path  of 
the  desolate  little  garden  behind  it,  he 
found  tho  old  woman  lying  where  the 
had  fallen,  stifled  by  the  smoke  and 
senseless  from  terror.  Ben  lifted  htf 
without  a  word  and  turned  back.  Ss 
own  strength  was  giving  way ;  and  he 
had  wasted  time  irreparably  in  seaidl- 
ing  for  her.  The  fire  was  so  close  now 
that  the  currant-bushes  in  tho  garden 
were  already  singed  by  the  heat. 

Yet  he  might  reach  the  woods— ^ 

Through  the  dark  hall  again  and  out 
into  the  open  fields. 

Then,  he  laid  licr  down  and  stood 
quietly  beside  her.  It  was  too  late. 
The  pines  were  on  fire. 

A  moment  after,  Ben  pulled  out  his 
tobacco  and  began  to  chew  vehemently. 
Then  he  wandered  aimlessly  apart,  and 
stood  looking  up  into  the  uneasy  sea  of 
fire.  Death  was  near.  It  seemed  to  the 
ignorant  fisherman  that  he  stood  already 
alone  with  God.  Presently  liis  old  uns- 
tress came  up  and  laid  her  hand  on  his 
bhoulder. 

"  Is  there  no  chance  ? " 

He  looke<l  at  her  vacantly  and  shook 
his  head.  His  heart  was  with  Letty 
and  the  children.  She  saw  that  it  was. 
It  did  not  seem  to  matter  so  much  to 
her — this  sudden,  terrible  death  coming 
upon  her ;  the  passion,  the  hunger  which 
had  driven  her  almost  mad  for  yean 
mastered  all  others  at  the  last. 


Ben. 


173 


aon.  She  recognized  him  now. 
of  his  race  had  gone  to  meet  death 
obler  courage  ?  In  his  coarse,  un- 
m1  face  there  was  in  this  last  hour 
I  sweetness  and  simplicity.  It  was 
10  had  left  him  debased,  as  an- 
as an  animal.  Now,  he  held 
le  loyed  close  to  his  soul,  and  she, 
ler  own  child  beside  her,  would 
ne.  God  so  punished  her. 
God  whom  she  had  not  seen  in 
t  sunshine  and  sweet  airs  of  her 
rous  life,  she  thought  she  found 
vengeance  and  death.  So  blind 
Q. 

r  were  bound  in  by  a  ring  of  fire ; 
ad  drove  the  flame  in  jets  and 
ke-  snaky  tines  toward  them 
h  the  crisp  stubble.  Now  and 
t  long  intervals,  a  strange  green- 
it  conquered  the  red  glow,  and  a 
which  was  not  the  wind  or  sea 
I  them  both.  Ben  did  not  notice 
e  came  to  him  at  last  and  took 
nd.  He  was  so  like  his  father, 
ught  I  Now,  in  the  hopeless  peril 
tiour,  the  easy  jollity  had  slipped 
rom  his  face,  and  the  stem,  flue 
of  the  man  come  out  to  meet 
There  was  but  a  little  time  left 
The  hot  air  scorched  her  breath ; 
igs  contracted.  To  die  without 
man  being  to  care  for  her  I  She 
ik  hand  to  her  face, 
you  care  to  know  that  you  are 

It" 

looked  down  at  her.  It  seemed 
ST  matter  to  him  now ;  though,  it 
i,  a  faint  comical  fancy  came  to 
lat  if  he  were  going  to  live,  it 
be  a  most  disagreeable  possibil- 
[  douH  know  how  that  kin  be," 
r  away  again.  "  It's  onlikely." 
I  nothing  to  you  I  Yet  you  were 
Id  once  I " 

cry  of  the  old  woman  touched 

"You're   not   nothing   to  me. 

;alk  that  way,  Mrs.  Dunstable.  I 

lere  to  fetch  you.     But  as  for 

our  son Anyhow,  it's  all 

th  us  now  ! ''  He  clasped  his 
}ver  his  head  and  walked  away 
er,  unconscious  that  he  did  so. 
was  a  man,  and  it  was  hard  to 


stand  patient  while  he  was  burned  like 
a  rat  in  a  cage.  The  fire  cn'pt  closer, 
slowly.  The  house  behind  them  burned 
up  suddenly  into  a  vivid  glare.  The 
ground  grew  hot  under  their  feet.  She 
followed  him,  caught  his  hand  again. 

"  It's  coming." 

He  did  not  answer. 

"  You're  thinking  only  of  Letty  and . 
the  children  ? " 

"Naterally,"  with  a  queer,  pitiful 
chuckle. 

After  that  there  was  silence  between 
them. 

She  never  knew  how  long  a  time 
passed.  At  last  there  came  a  strange 
sound  which  had  been  heard  before 
over  the  roar  of  the  flames  and  the 
sea.  She  saw  Ben  lift  his  head  to 
listen.  There  was  a  blinding  flash-* 
another. 

He  turned  his  face  to  the  datkcn- 
ing  sky,  put  out  his  trembling  hand, 
stood  motionless  a  moment,  and  then 
threw  himself  with  a  cry  upon  the 
ground. 

"  Merciful  God  I  T/i€  rain  /  the  rain  !  " 

cnAPTER  rv. 

A  riiEsn,  cool  morning ;  the  sea  dark- 
green,  with  the  low  light  of  the  yet 
unrisen  sun  glancing  through  its  clear, 
broken  heights  and  hollows;  white 
gulls  flickering  here  and  there  along 
the  crest  of  the  shore-breaker ;  a  few 
black  porpoises  lazily  rolling  furtlicr 
out;  overhead,  drifts  of  pale  pink 
clouds,  and  off  to  the  East,  in  the  yet 
vacant  chamber  of  the  sun,  depth-upon 
depth  of  golden  mist.  Even  from  the 
sterile  sea-sand  Nature  drew  color  and 
life  those  autumn  days.  The  salt  etub^ 
ble  fields  were  turned  into  rich  bronze 
and  maroon  slopes ;  along  their  hedges 
of  holly  the  bay  bushes  thrust  out  their 
berries  white  as  with  hoar-frost;  the 
golden-rod  tossed  its  yellow  plumes,  the 
tiger-lilies  blazed  passionately  in  the 
dim  light,  while  here  and  there  a  pond 
of  fresh  water  lifted  its  cool  burden  of 
green  leaves  and  perfumed  white  cups. 
Letty  thought  the  village  never  looked 
so  bright  and  quiet  as  now,  when  she 
was  going  to  bid  it  good-by. 


174 


PrxNAM^s  ^Iagazine. 


[Fol^ 


For  the  Queen  was  to  sail  that  mom- 
ing,  Sho  was  anchored  off  shore,  and 
all  the  people  were  down  to  see  her  off, 
with  her  new  captain  and  crew.  The 
crew  were  all  from  the  village.  Tliere 
was  not  a  boy  there  who  had  not  tried 
for  this  chance  of  sailing  with  Captain 
Ben.  Everybody  now  made  a  sort  of 
gala-day  of  it :  how  could  they  help  it 
when  they  looked  at  Ben's  jolly  face,  or 
heard  his  tremendous,  boisterous  shouts? 
Any  stranger  coming  among  them  would 
only  have  seen  a  homely,  gaunt  fellow 
Fctting  out  on  a  trading  expedition  to 
Cuba  or  beyond.  They  could  not  know 
that  to  Ben  it  was  the  enchanted  voyage 
of  his  life ;  that  it  wa%  his  lost  youth  he 
sailed  to  find,  and  meant  to  bring  back 


again. 


He  ran  up  to  the  house  for  a  last 
word  With  his  mother,  who  stood  wait- 
ing at  the  door,  steadying  herself  with 
one  hand  on  little  Susy's  shoulder.  The 
night  of  the  fire  and  the  long  illness 
which  followed  had  broken  her  down 
l>eyond  help.  It  was  an  old,  white-hair- 
ed woman  who  waited  for  him,  chatter- 
ing with  little  Susy,  pleased  and  enger 
as  the  child.  In  those  long,  hclple?s 
days  of  sickness,  with  Ben  and  Lctty 
nursing  her,  a  great  change  liad  come 
upon  licr.  The  people,  who  were  never 
tired  bringing  her  new  home-brewed 
uiedicines,  hcrl>-teas,  and  savory  little 
dishes,  could  hardly  believe  that  the 
poor,  feeble  creature  was  the  hated  "  old 
Major." 

Perhaps,  coming  close  to  Death,  pIic 
had  come  close  al^oto  some  great  truth, 
but  dimly  guessed  by  us  in  the  heat  and 
worry  of  evcry-day  life. 

One  day,  sho  said,  looking  shrewdly 
up  into  Letty's  face:  "There's  some- 
thing in  your  herb- tea,  Letty,  w^liich  I 
never  found  in  any  wine  that  money 
could  buy." 

''  I  hope  it  will  cure  you,  mother,''  she 
^aid,  puzzled  to  know  what  sho  meant. 

"  It  has  cured  me,  child,''  gravely. 

Letty  jfrotted  secretly  a  good  deal 
i;bout  the  difference  between  them  and 
this  new-found  mother;  her  own  bad 
grammar,  Bon's  tobacco,  liis  everlasting 
noisy  hillos  and  lai^hs,  his  bare  red 


legs,  gave  her  many  an  anxious  hour. 
"  It's  very  rough  for  you  with  us,"  she 
ventured  one  day  to  say. 

"My  dear,"  said  the  old  woman, 
meaningly,  "  I  never  was  lovc<l  in  all 
my  life  before."  But  Lctty  noticed 
that  she  clung  most  to  Susy,  who  was  a 
gentle  little  thing,  and  dainty  and  old- 
fashioned  in  her  ways.  They  grew 
such  fast  friends,  indeed,  that  when  she 
had  bought  the  Queen  and  fitted  it  out 
for  Ben,  she  said,  "Take  Letty  with 
you,  my  son,  and  the  boy ;  but  leave  me 
Susy.  Don't  leave  mo  alone  again," 
with  sudden  terror  in  her  voice  "I 
will  not  need  her  long." 

It  was  settled,  therefore,  that  they 
should  keep  the  house  together  till  the 
QueuVs  return.  Tlie  old  child  was  JQSt 
as  eager  with  tlicir  plans  as  the  little 
one.  After  the  ship  had  sailed  that 
morning,  they  went  up  to  a  high  bead- 
land  to  watch  her  out  of  sight.  They 
could  see  the  men  waving  their  hats, 
and  Ben  with  Letty  standing  on  the 
bow,  beckoning  to  them. 

The  little  girl  choked  down  asoh 
"  When  they  come  back,"  she  said, 
cheerfully,  "  the  Qy/^cn  will  C03e  round 
that  point.  "Well  stand  just  here  to  loe 
it  come  in." 

"  You  will  Nta:id  here,  Si:sy." 

"So  win  you,  I  su'|)pcse,  grand- 
mother.   You  can  come  if  you  wilL" 

The  .'^ea-wir.d  blow  the  gray  hair 
a1}OUt  her  eves.  She  shaded  them  with 
her  hand,  Ftanding  silent  until  long 
after  the  man's  figure  on  deck  had 
faded  out  of  sight.  "  When  you  are  H 
old  as  I,'*  she  said  at  last,  "  you  will 
know  that  there  is  always  something 
which  we  would  have  had  in  life,  bat 
— which  ni'ver  came,— never  came. 
There  U  another  will  than  ours,  Susy. 
And  a  better,''  yhe  nndcd,  in  a  lower 
tona 

She  stood  looking  patiently  out  to 
the  wide  sea,  knowing  that  die  would 
never  see  her  «on  again. 

But  lazy  Ben  hjul  hi>.  hand  upon  the 
wheel  at  last,  and  Letty  was  by  his  side, 
and  in  the  eh  ar  light  they  Baile<l  hap- 
pily «>n  and  on  luid  on  t«>  meet  the  early 


morning. 


Tbial  by  Jubt. 


175 


TRIAL  BY  JURY. 


b  common  learning  Ijo  every  stu- 
)f  the  law  tliat  the  right  of  trial 
ly  was  guaranteed  by  the  great 
lead  of  English  liberty,  and  that 
eConstitation  of  the  United  States 
;be  constitutions  of  many,  if  not 
the  individual  states,  it  is  secured 
persoiiiB  charged  with  crime,  and 
very  large  class  of  civil  causes. 
le  origin  and  nature  of  the  insti- 
t,  with  its  practical  workings  as 
trument  in  the  administration  of 
!e,  are  not  generally  known  or 
ht  of  among  the  intelligent  and 
ttable  class  of  citizens  who  are 
ist  called  upon  to  sit  in  the  capac- 
jurors.  The  feeling  that  it  is  one 
I  most  effective  safeguards  against 
isions  of  centralized  powder,  to- 
r  with  a  rich  experience  of  its 
ry  influence  in  times  of  local  or  na- 
political  excitement  has  brought 
Briton  and  American  to  cling  to  it 
mcommon  tenacity.  'Hie  English- 
jid  American  have  thus  learned  to 
1  it  as  a  thing  too  sacred  to  be 
(fed  with,  and  hence,  to  view  every 
itioB  for  its  modification  with  the 
It  Jealousy. 

ve  regard  the  trial  by  jury  merely 
imUcal  institution,  it  undoubtedly 
'es  the  encomium  of  Dc  Tocqueville, 
speaking  of  it  in  that  character, 
^  He  who  pimishes  infinactions  of 
w  is  the  real  master  of  society, 
the  institution  of  the  jury  raises 
eoplo  itself,  or  at  least  a  class  of 
IS,  to  the  bench  of  judicial  au^ 
y.  The  institution  of  the  jury 
[uently  invests  the  people,  or  at 
that  class  of  citizens,  with  the 
ion  of  society.  .  .  .  The  system 
e  jury  as .  it  is  understood  in 
ca  appears  to  mc  to  be  as  direct 
rtromo  a  consequence  of  the  sovcr- 
'  of  the  people  as  universal  suf- 


frage. These  institutions  arc  two  instru- 
ments of  equal  power,  which  contribute 
to  the  supremacy  of  the  majority." 

We  repeat  that  this  high  praise  of 
trial  by  jury  as  a  i)olitical  safeguard  is 
just,  for  there  has  never  been  invented 
another  such  protection  of  the  life  and 
property  of  the  citizen  against  the  ser- 
vile judge  of  a  tyrannical  government. 
It  disposes  of  the  cause  of  the  x>atriot 
by  the  sympathetic  judgment  of  twelve 
of  his  peers.  They  know  the  wants, 
the  desires,  and  the  hox)es  of  the  masses ; 
they  partake  of  them,  and  guard  it  as 
you  will,  in  the  end  they  will  reflect  the 
popular  feeling.  Their  verdict  will  be 
the  verdict  of  the  populace. 

But  however  favorably  it  may  operate 
for  the  commonwealth  in  cases  of  great 
and  general  public  iaterest  (and  in  this 
category  we  may  include  all  prosecu- 
tions for  crime),  it  needs  no  argument 
to  show  that  neighborhood  prejudicoe 
and  sympathies  will  not  always,  nor 
ofkener  than  not,  qualify  jurors  to  make 
up  a  satisfactory  verdict  in  matters  of 
private  difference.  Indeed,  the  same 
susceptibility  which  renders  the  jury 
the  palladium  of  our  liberties  may  in  a 
majority  of  citU  causes  entirely  dis- 
qualify them  from  rendering  a  carefully- 
considered  and  thoroughly-impartial 
verdict. 

This  brings  us  to  our  main  puri>oi»e, 
namely,  to  point  out  Bonic  of  the  de- 
fects of  trial  by  jury  as  a  jiidicial  insti- 
tution. Upon  this  ground  the  distin- 
guished author,  whom  wc  hava  already 
quoted,  admits  that  its  utility  might 
fairly  be  contested.  Nevertheless,  he  is 
an  advocate  of  trial  by  jury  in  both 
civil  and  criminal  causes.  "For  my 
own  part,"  says  he,  "  I  had  rather  sub- 
mit the  decision  of  a  case  to  ignorant 
jurors  directed  by  a  skilful  judge,  than 
to  judges,  a  majority   of  whom  are 


176 


Putnam's  Magazine. 


[Feb^ 


imperfectly  acquainted  with  jurispru- 
(Icuce  and  with  the  laws/'  lie  would 
liave  better  expressed  the  preference  of 
a  very  large  number  of  American  law- 
yers, had  he  written :  "  I  would  rather 
submit  to  the  judgment  of  a  smglc  skil- 
ful judge,  in  a  citil  cause^  than  to  the 
verdict  of  twelve  ignorant  jurors,  who 
being  unaccustomed  to  the  application 
of  the  rules  of  evidence,  and  without 
experience  in  analyzing,  arranging,  and 
combining  masses  of  intricate  and  per- 
haps conflicting  testimony,  are  made  the 
victims  of  their  sympathy  and  impulse, 
and  moulded  by  the  skilful  advocate, 
as  clay  in  the  hands  of  the  potter." 

In  the  trial  of  civil  causes,  the  ol>jcc^ 
tion  to  a  single  judge  is  not  felt  to  be 
so  forcible  as  in  criminal  trials.  It  very 
rarely  happens  that  the  controversies  of 
private  individuals  arc  such  as  to  tempt 
the  integrity  of  the  judge  who  is  usual- 
ly a  discerning  man,  practiced  in  sifting 
the  true  (torn  the  false,  and  accustomed 
to  testing  the  rights  of  parties  by  the 
cold,  inflexible  standards  of  the  law. 
If  such  a  judge  may  "  direct "  or  con- 
trol the  verdict  of  a  jury,  there  is  no 
good  reason  why  ho  may  not  himself 
decide  tlie  cause  at  once  in  those  cases 
where  the  public  interest  is  not  at  stake. 
Nay,  there  are  apparent  many  reasons 
why  it  were  better  bo. 

1.  For  example,  jurors,  if  not  always 
ignorant,  are  at  least  generally  unaccus- 
tomed to  performing  judicial  functions, 
and  are  as  untrained  for  and  unskilled 
in  that  kind  of  labor  as  the  judge  who 
'* directs"  them  is  in  building  steam 
engines.  Now,  there  is  no  appropriate- 
ness in  taking  men  from  every  calling 
in  every  walk  of  life  to  perform,  "with- 
out previous  training,  one  of  the  most 
delicate  and  difflcult  functions  of  gov- 
CTnmcnt,^xcept  it  be,  as  we  have  before 
said,  in  those  cases  of  public  concern  in 
which  political  considerations  outweigh 
all  others.  Yet  it  is  often,  nay,  goner- 
ally,  done.  On  the  other  hand,  judges, 
if  not  always  skilfhl,  are  always  of  re- 
spectable standing  in  a  profession  which 
is  trained  in  the  study  and  practice  of 
the  law ;  and  they  are  not  seldom  men  of 
unsullied  honor  and  profound  sagacity. 


2.  Jurors  may  be,  and  often  are,  im- 
posed upon  and  misled  by  tho  artful 
sophistries  of  an  advocate,  if  be  be  » 
popular  favorite.  Judges  are  rarely 
deceived  by  the  tricks  of  the  trade 

3.  In  theory  of  law  jurors  are  judges 
of  fact  only ;  in  practice  they  are  many 
times  judges  of  both  law  and  fact,  re- 
ceiving the  charge  of  tho  court  with 
becoming  meekness,  and  then  dceidiiig 
according  to  their  own  notions  of  law 
and  right  This  is  especially  so  uk  civil 
causes,  where  the  government  or  a  great 
corporation  is  a  party  against  priTaftB 
individuals.  In  such  cases  it  is  often 
nearly  impossible  to  obtaiv  a  fair  and 
impartial  verdict.  Wo'  could  name  a 
county  where  a  railroad  company  was 
never  known  to  win  the  verdict,  no  mat- 
ter what  the  law  or  the  evidence  might 
be,  or  how  often  the  verdict  might  be 
set  aside,  or  judgments  reversed  by  the 
superior  tribunals;  and  railroad  ca.ses 
ore  of  common  occurrence  there.  Wc 
could  name  another  county  in  which 
verdicts  have  been  set  aside  and  judg- 
ments r^'erscd  by  the  higher  courts  no 
less  than  eight  times  in  a  single  case, 
and  still  the  popular  element  continues 
to  speak  through  tho  jury  against  the 
solemn  judgment  of  some  of  tho  purest 
and  best  men  on  the  bench.  Yet  this  is 
a  mere  civil  action  for  damages,  in 
which  the  public  have  no  interest  what- 
ever ;  but  there  is  a  popular  jealoo^  of 
corporations  to  be  gratified;  and  so, 
right  or  wrong,  the  verdict  is  always 
for  the  plaintiil'.  ouch  abuses  can  only 
become  frequent  under  the  jury-system, 
and  could  hardly  occur  with  any  judge 
who  has  any  professional  pride,  to  say 
nothing  of  honesty.  That  kind  of  con- 
tumacy amounts  to  a  species  of  nullifi- 
cation, and  any  judge  who  shoold  at- 
tempt it  and  persist  in  it  would  be 
speedily  impeached  and  removed. 

4.  Jurors  are  beyond  the  reach  of 
impeachment  because  their  office  ends 
with  the  finding  of  the  verdict.  Not 
only  so,  they  are  practically  beyond  the 
reach  of  ajiy  punishment  for  a  false  ver- 
dict. In  the  olden  times  a  writ  of 
attaint  lay  to  inquire  whether  a  jury  of 
twelve  men  gave  a  f.ili?c  verdict,  and  if 


1 


Fathsb  Htacisthx's  Prsdko£880B  at  Notbe-Damjb. 


177 


rand  jury  of  attaint  found  the  yer- 
;o  have  been  obtained  by  cormp- 
)f  the  jury,  the  Jurors  were  outlaw- 
d  made  forever  infamous  and  were 
punished  by  confiscation  and  im- 
amcnt  If  this  remedy  was  ever 
ted  in  this  country,  it  long  since 
nto  disuse.  Jurors  now  sit  and 
mine  the  rights  of  parties  without 
esponsibility  to  the  law  except  for 
ry  and  taking  bribes,  and  these 
;es,  and  particularly  the  first,  from 
^ery  nature  of  the  case  can  with 
alty,  and  only  at  rare  intervals,  be 
uitiated. 

ft  defiectB  which  have  been  enumer- 
and  they  are  not  all  that  could  be 
loned,  are  not  accidental,  but  ea- 
il  defects  of  the  system.  They  are 
ts  which  may  well  be  tolerated  in 
s  of  a  public  natora  for  the  sake 
curing  the  perpetual  sovereignly 
B  people;  but' which  in  the  triid 
ivate  suits  are  a  burdensome  and 
ing  eviL  ^  After  all,"  says  Black- 
,  **  it  must  bo  owne^y  that  the  best 
aostefiectual  method  to  pteierve 
xtend  the  trial  by  jury  in  practice, 
1  be  by  endeavoring  to  remove  all 
efects,  as  well  as  to  improve  the 
itages  incident  to  this  mode  of 
ry.  If  justice  is  not  done  to  the 
I  satisfaction  of  the  people  in  thia 


method  of  deciding  facts,  in  spite  of  all 
encomiums  and  panegyrics  on  trials  at 
the  common  law,  they  will  resort  in 
search  of  that  justice  to  another  tri- 
bunal; though  more  dilatory,  though 
more  expensive,  though  more  arbitrary 
in  its  jframe  and  constitution.  If  justice 
is  not  done  to  the  crown  by  the  verdict 
of  a  jury,  the  necessities  of  the  pubUc 
revenue  will  call  for  the  erection  (f 
summary  tribunals." 

It  remains*  to  be  noted  that  trials  of 
civil  causes  before  a  court  without  a 
jury  is  no  untried  experiment  even  in 
this  country  and  England.  The  im- 
mense commercial  and  international  in- 
terests which  are  adjusted  in  the  ad- 
miralty courts  are  not  less  wisely,  nor 
less  satisfactorily  determined  because 
they  are  decided  upon  without  the  in- 
tervention of  a  jury.  It  is  believed  that 
the  important  and  oftentimes  compli- 
cated cases  which  are  decided  in  chan- 
cery are  as  conscientiously  decided  upon 
the  facts  as  in  the  common  law  courts, 
and  even  more  impartially.  We  have 
never  heard  that  the  safety  of  our  po-* 
litical  rights  is  endangered  by  this  sin- 
gle judge  jurisdiction.  But  we  are  cer- 
tain that  it  is  a  frequent  remark  among 
lawyers  that  it  is  a  good  rule  to  submit 
a  righteous  cause  to  the  court,  au.l  to 
try  a  bad  one  Ixifore  a  jury. 


•»• 


FATHER  HYACINTHE'S  PREDECESSOR  AT  NOTRE-DAME. 


BBY  THING  IS  defined  by  its  anti- 
k  The  vivid  public  inlerest  life 
)  actual  moment  respecting  Father 
inthe  recalls  hia  brilliant  rival  and 
^  Father  F^liz.  Father  F^liz 
ded  Father  Hyacinthe  as  preacher 
otre-Dame.  He  represented  the 
me  Papal  interesl  in  the  Gallican 
h.  He  was  set  forth  by  this  inter- 
the  voice  most  capable  of  stem- 
the  tide  of  liberal  sentiment  on 
I,  partly  swelling  it,  partly  guid- 
^  but  chiefly  borne  by  it,  Father 
'daire  had  rode  into  hb  easy  and 
ificent  renown.  After  a  few  sea- 
>f  his  Configrences  at  Notre-Dame, 


attended  by  vast  congregations  of  the 
selectest  wit  and  wisdom  of  Paris,  Father 
Fdlix  yielded  his  place  again  to  Lacor- 
daire's  true  successor,  Father  Hyacinthe. 
Such  is  the  oscillating,  if  not  vacillat- 
ing, policy  with  which  Rome  essays  to 
stop  Time,  and  turn  the  wheels  of  Prog- 
ress backward. 

Father  Felix  enlisted  no  sympathy. 
But  the  absence  of  sympathy  only  en- 
hances the  splendor  of  his  intellectual 
triumph.  Rarely  has  any  arena  of  ora- 
torical gladiatorship  witnessed  feats  of 
strength  and  of  skill,  at  the  same  time 
so  barren  and  so  admirable.  The  cool- 
ness, and  the  poise,  and  the  confidence 


178 


PUTKAM^B  MaGAZCTB. 


[FA, 


of  power,  with  which  this  man  sallied 
out,  single-handed,  as  it  were,  against 
the  bristling  and  impenetrable  front  of 
€k>d's  embattled  providential  forces, 
would  have  been  sublime  audacity,  had 
he  himself  been  conscious  of  the  odds. 
As  it  was,  to  Protestant  eyes  it  seemed 
like  impudence,  saved,  however,  from 
grotesquencss,  by  the  marvellous  address 
of  ^he  champion. 

There  are  well-pronounced  varieties, 
— for  aught  I  know,  quite  endlessly 
numerous, — of  eflfects  that  may  be  pro- 
duced by  eloquence.  Here,  certainly, 
was  a  variety  which  to  my  experience 
was  novel.  It  may  not  be  devoid  of 
interest  to  the  reader  to  have  it  de- 
scribed. Let  me  describe  it  by  telling 
the  story  of  my  first  Sunday  morning 
at  Notre-Dame,  during  one  of  the  Lents 
when  Father  Felix  was  the  preacher 
there. 

The  hour  for  the  sermon  to  commence 
was  half-past  one.  I  went  before  twelve, 
and  not  too  soon.  At  twelve  the  best 
scat"  in  the  choir  of  the  church  were  all 
taken.  I  paid  a  charge  of  three  sous  at 
the  entrance  of  the  choir  for  a  seat  at 
my  choice.  I  wandered  up  and  down 
the  aisle  extemporized  between  the 
rows  of  chairs  already  occupied,  and 
finally  was  negotiating  with  a  police- 
man—omnipresent representative  of  the 
Government — ^for  the  privilege  of  a 
place  in  the  aisle,  when  that  space 
should  be  closed  up,  expecting  to  stand, 
an  hour,  till  then.  Unexpectedly,  and 
quite  out  of  precedent,  a  young  man 
near  by  beckoned  to  me,  and  gave  me  a 
chair  (which  he  had  sat  two  or  three 
hourt  to  reserve)  by  his  side.  I  tried  to 
repay  him  with  my  gratitude,  and  I 
succeeded,  for  he  volunteered,  as  we 
went  out,  to  keep  a  place  for  me  the 
following  Sunday.    I  engaged  it. 

This  young  mau,  a  student,  unlike  al- 
most all  his  fellows,  seemed  religious.  lie 
crossed  himself,  and  murmured  prayers, 
and  bowed,  and  chanted,  duringthe  mass 
preceding  the  sermon.  At  odd  spells, 
— I  ought  to  say,  not  exactly  teithin  the 
time  occupied  by  the  mass,  however, — 
he  told  me  how  the  Pire  F61ix  was  the 
most  eloquent  man  of  the  times ;  that 


be  was  superior  to  Father  Lacordaiie, 
just  deceased;  that  some  called  him  the 
Bossuet  of  the  nineteenth  century ;  that 
all  the  celebrities  of  journalism,  of 
philosophy,  of  letters  in  Paris,  were  in 
the  audience.  I  asked  him  if  he  was  a 
hearer  of  M.  8t.  Hilairo  at  the  Sorbomie. 
He  said  yes,  and  gratified  me,  and  con- 
finned  himself  in  my  good  opinions^  by , 
giving,  he  a  Catholic,  to  M.  St  Hilaize, 
a  Protestant,  just  that  character  of  ear- 
nestness and  of  suasion  which  I  had 
attributed  to  him  myselt 

That  vast  cathedral,  meantime,  filled 
itself  to  the  remotest  comer  of  its  lofty 
galleries — now  I  did  not  quite  lee 
exactly  that,  but  I  believe  it — ^while,  at 
intervals,  I  read  a  report,  bought  the 
day  before,  of  the  previous  sermon  of* 
Father  FC*lix.  I  found  it  so  ^Icndid, 
that  I  conjectured  it  might  have  been 
an  unusual  inspiration,  and  accordingly 
prepared  myself  to  "be  disappointed  in 
the  effort  of  the  day.  I  was  disappoint- 
ed, but  it  was  by  having  my  utmost 
expectations  surpassed. 

Father  F61ix  addressed  himself  to  the 
times,  and  did  not  beat  the  air.  His 
subject  for  the  season  was,  *'  The  Har- 
mony of  Reason  and  Faith.^  His  ser- 
mons were  polemics  against  Rational- 
ism, which  had  spoken  a  recent  and 
bold  word  through  M.  Renan,  and  been 
silenced  for  it  there,  at  the  CoUege  of 
France.  The  Church, — that  Chui!!^ 
which  claims  by  eminence,  nay,  exclii- 
sivelyj  to  be  the  piUar  and  ground  ^ 
the  truthj  hastened  officiously  to  the 
war.  Certainly  Father  Felix  was  no 
mean  champion.  And,  taking  that  day 
as  a  specimen,  he  spoke  for  Protestant- 
ism, as  well  as  for  Catholicism — better 
even.  I  can  easily  believe  that  the 
Truth  in  its  abstract,  intellectual  form, 
might  call  the  muster-roll  of  its  confes- 
sors, firom  beginning  to  end,  without 
getting  the  response  of  a  clearer-ringing 
voice  than  that  of  Father  Felix.  M. 
Bersier  had  told  roe  -he  was  a  Jesuit, 
and  a  thorough  one.  Surely  he  was  a 
thorough  one.  Such  adroit  adjustment 
to  time,  and  place,  and  public  temper — 
such  fencing,  with  logic  vivified  into 
rhetoric- -such  swift  and  infaUible  en- 


>.] 


Fatheb  Htac]:;tbe*8  Psxdecbsbob  at  Noi^e-Da^is. 


179 


Iter  of  the  precise  face  offered  by 
rerolyiDg  prism  of  the  qnestion  of 
lotur — such  perfect  blending  of  the 
of  the  world  with  the  son  of  the 
oh  in  that  seductive  deference  to 
nationalizing. spirit  of  the  age  and 
profound  obeisance  to  hierarchical 
ority — ^it  was  worthy  of  the  all- 
mpUshed  member  of  the  Society  of 

3. 

man  of  medium  statore,  not  forty 
}  old,  with  a  head  that  yon  would 
round,  and  a  rubicund  complexion, 
ch  appeared  Father  F61ix  to  me. 
sloquenoe  borrowed  little  firom  his 
)nal  appearance,  nor  did  his  per- 
I  appearance  at  any  time  seem 
ifigured  by  his  eloquence.  His 
3,  without  being  any  thing  eztra- 
lary,  was  sufficiently  musical,  and 
itself  in  clear  globules  of  pore 
onciation,  and  elastic  emphasis^  to 
farthest  recesses  of  that  pillared 
torium. 

oaring  him  preach  was  like  seeing  a 
crystallize.  His  matter  seemed 
net  with  some  spirit  of  life  that 
ed  it  into  perfect  forms.  Erery 
mce  was  a  formulated  thought,— 
lite,  clear,  sharp,  ultimate,— like  a 
baL  The  whole  discourse  was  a 
ering  mass  of  crystallization — ^like 
B  superb  mountains  of  crystal,  help- 
y  art  to  their  symmetry  of  aggre> 
)n,  which  they  show  you,  at  Paris, 
te  Oonsermtoire  des  ArU  et  MHien. 
may  be  thought,  firom  my  iUustra- 
of  the  crystallizing,  process,  that 
B  was  not  much  warmth  in  Father 
x*s  eloquence.  And  I  cannot  say 
there  was.  If  there  was  any,  it  was 
ncidental  evolution,  like  the  heat 
}h  kindles  during  an  energetic 
aical  action.  As  for  generous,  vital, 
onal  warmth,  according  to  my 
king,  there  was  none.  The  speak- 
weapon  was  a  lance  of  lightning, 
1,  rapid,  deadly.  There  was  no 
ider-burst.  The  blade  leaped  sod- 
y  to  its  mark,  in  silence,  and  |»Mr«ft2 
ways.  Not  an  aim  missed, 
r  course,  I  describe  the  effect  There 
\  passages  of  comparatively  sonorous 
amation;  bdt  the  somid'made  no 


part  of  the  impression  on  me.  It  was 
the  swift,  barbed  thought,  and  the 
arrowy  words. 

The  form  of  the  discourse  was  as 
perfect  as  a  type  of  nature.  It  was  tri- 
partite, and  completely,  exhaustively 
comprehensive  of  the  subject — ^which 
was,  for  the  day,  how  the  harmony  of 
Reason  and  Faith  is  destroyed : 

1st.  Either  by  the  absorption  of  Rea- 
son in  Faith ; 

2d.  Or  by  the  absorption  of  Faith  in 
Reason; 

8d.  Or  by  the  separation  of  Reason 
and  Faith. 

The  special  admirable  quality  of  the 
treatment  was  tU^nitioit,  sharp  as  a 
schoolman^s,  but  without  the  school- 
man's over-refinement.  If  thought  is 
distinction,  as  has  been  said,  then  here 
was  thought.  It  is  surprising  how  little 
remains  for  discussion,  after  terms  are 
defined.  The  orator  hardly  did  any 
thing  more  than  state  the  three  ways 
of  destroying  the  proper  harmony  of 
Reason  with  Faith — and  rested,  as  the 
lavryers  say.  After  stating  the  current 
Rariomdism,  the  whole  purport  of  which, 
quoting,  respectfhlly,  from  an  ^illus- 
trious Protestant,"  he  declared  to  be  the 
denial  of  the  Supernatural,  either  as 
existing  or  as  possible,  he  rose  into  a 
lofty  sphere  of  indignant  declamation, 
protesting,  in  the  name  of  humanity, 
that  the  Supernatural  docs  exist.  It  was 
as  splendid  as  any  thing  could  possibly 
he—iHthaut  the  awe4n9piTing  wrath  of  a 
pamonate  heart.  The  cold  fiash  of  his 
eloquence  lighted  the  place,  like  the 
heatless  fiame  of  the  white  Aurora 
Borealis.  The 'ice-fields  of  the  North 
Pole  throw  such  a  refiection  of  the  sun- 
shine which  they  freeze. 

As  the  orator  imjfalcd  Rationalism, 
shuddering  on  his  spear,  naked  and 
self-conscious, — unharmed,  save  by  a 
too  relentless  exposure, — ^his  unsym- 
pathizing  audience  could  not  repress  an 
audible  laugh— the  most  curious,  and 
most  worthy  of  analysis, -that  I  ever 
heard.  It  did  not  mean  amusement.  It 
did  not  mean  gratification.  It  did  not 
mean  applause.  It  meant  simply  the 
recognition  of  success,  without  emotion 


180 


PUTNAM^S  MAGAZmX. 


[FoL, 


of  any  hind  whatever.  It  was  almost 
C3rnical  on  both  sides. 

How  do  I  account  for  this  strange 
phenomenon — ^the  absence  of  tympaiky 
between  speaker  and  hearer — in  the 
midst  of  such  resplendent  oratory? 
Whether  it  was  subjective  or  not  with 
me~it  was,  in  part,  I  can  readily  be- 
lieve— I  felt  the  repellent  charm,  radiant 
around  that  white-robed  priest,  of  his 
Jesuitical  character.  He  stood  there 
insulated  entirely  from  the  electric 
touches  of  those  human  hearts,  by  the 
vitreous  non-conductors  of  his  eccle- 
siastlcism.  Itcpresentative  of  a  suspect- 
ed order,  priest,  celibate,  Jesuit — ^how 
solitary  he  was  I  I  could  have  pitied 
my  human  brother ;  but  in  the  pride  of 
schooled  and  imperial  intellect,  he  toant- 
cd  nothiug  that  the  heart  had  to  offer. 

You  felt,  rightly  or  wrongly,  that  the 
cleaving  words  he  spoke  were  spoken 
more  in  the  interest  of  church,  than  in 
the  interest  of  truth,  much  more  than 
in  the  interest  of  humanity.  You  wish- 
ed him  success  against  his  foe — for  it 
was  also  your  foe — but  you  did  not 
wish  him  the  success.  It  was  a  strange 
suspense  you  experienced  between  good 
emotions.  You  had  no  sympathy  for 
either  of  the  combatants ;  you  had  no 
positive  feeling  at  all ;  you  were  hostile 
toward  the  one,  and  you  could  not  be 
friendly  toward  the  other.  I  should 
have  said  that  your  only  positive  feel- 
ing was  a  disagreeable  one. 

Oh,  if  the  heart  of  Luther  could  have 
stormed  and  thundered  from  that  Olym- 
pus of  intellect  I  If  that  mute,  angry, 
lightning-tongued  sky  could  have  broken 
the  spell  that  kept  it  arid  I  If  it  could 
have  burst  in  sobs  of  passionate  rain  I 
Those  who  have  enjoyed  the  privilege 
of  hearing  Father*  Hy'acinthe  (torn  the 
same  place,  know  how  different  and  how 
much  more  grateful  and  more  fruitful  is 
the  effect  of  eloquence  when  the  heart  an- 
swers to  the  head  like  Jura  to  the  Alps. 
A  mute  tempest  of  cloud  and  lightning 
without  thunder  or  rain  is  the  symbol  of 
Father  Felix,  A  tropical  burst  of  show- 
er is  the  symbol  of  Father  Hyacinthe. 

Light  without  heat  was  Father  Felix's 
sermon  to  me  that  day.    No  translation 


is  possible  that  would  not  rob  it  of  that 
finish  of  form  which  was  a  capital  point 
of  its  effectiveness.  The  style  was  classic 
and  polished  to  the  last  degree.  There 
was  nothing  positive  in  the  sermon,  from 
first  to  last,  that  could  .offend  any  taste, 
religious,  literary,  or  philosophic.  It 
was  all  of  an  Attic  purity.  Except  the 
word  Catholicism,  used  instead  of  re- 
ligion, here  and  there,  there  was  abso- 
lutely not  a  suggestion  whichc  was  not 
trvly  catholic— that  is,  fit  for  the  adop- 
tion of  any  Christian,  No  hint  of  the 
Virgin,  as  is  common.  Pure,  supreme, 
exclusive  ascription  to  ChristH-in  the 
very  words  of  Paul,  and  in  every  thing 
Iwt  PauPs  inimitable  spirit.  He  closed 
by  declaiming  a  rhetorical  invocatioQ 
of  Christ — ^with  open  eyes,  and  oratoxifr 
gesture.  It  was  the  absolute  zero  in  tha 
temperature  of  his  discourse. 

I  have  perhaps  been  too  severe  as 
well  as  too  long.  I  have  hardly  been 
too  laudatory.  I  might  mention  that  it 
seemed  curious  to  see  the  preacher  sit 
down,  two  or  three  times,  as  if  it  was  a 
regular  convention  of  the  pnlpit — ^it  is, 
I  believe — when  the  auditory,  by  unan- 
imous consent,  proceeded  to  coughing, 
and  clearing  their  throats,  and  blowing 
their  noses.  Father  F61ix  took  no  text 

80  the  art  of  pulpir  eloquence— 4uch 
as  existed  in  the  French  Augustan  age, 
the  time  of  Louis  XIV.,  when  Bourda- 
loue,  and  Massillon,  and  Bossuet  preacfa^ 
ed  an  almost  perfectly  pure  gospel,  with 
a  perfectly  pure  diction — is  not  extinct 
in  France.  .There  is  something  exquis- 
itely fascinating  in  what  I  can  only  call 
the  accomplished  literary  politeness 
which  you  feel  to  be  present  and  domi* 
nant  in  such  discourse.  It  is  the  wis- 
dom of  God,  unable  to  recognize  itself 
in  the  disguise  of  the  wisdom  of  men. 
The  very  fidelity  of  the  preacher  seems 
to  become  but  his  graceful  deference  to 
the  proprieties  of  the  place  and  the 
theme.  How  one,  after  the  contentment 
of  the  mind  begins  to  cloy,  does  sigh 
for  a  moment  of  Paul  I  Even  now  wo 
are  all  of  us  holding  our  breath  to  see 
whether  Paul  has  not  perhaps  returned, 
for  at  least  a  moment,  in  the  person  of 
Father  Hyacinthe. 


).] 


OOKOSBNING  CqABLOTTE. 


181 


CONCERNING  CHARLOTTE. 

[coirriNCBD.l 


A  ISODXL  SCHOOL. 


OB  next  day^Ir.  Lauderdale  bro^^ght 
Albert  to  call  upon  Charlotte. 
Miss  Bombam  has  been  telling  Ail- 
about  your  model  school,"  said  he, 
d  we  have  come  to  ask  permisdon 
isit  it  this  afternoon.'^ 
From  what  I  hear,"  said  Ethelbert, 
9  plan  is  admirable,  and  realizes 
s  for  which  I  have  the  most  pro- 
d  sympathy.  Please  take  me  to  see 
•  school" 

The  plan  is  not  original,"  answered 
rlotte,  "  as  you  must  have  already 
eiyed  from  Margaret's  description. 
ye  tried  to  put  in  practice  the  theo- 
of  seyeral  eminent  thinkers,  only 
sionally  adding  a  detail  of  my  own. 
school  is  at  present  my  most  ram- 
;  bobby,  and  I  shall  be  only  too 
h  delighted  to  show  it  off  to  you." . 
larlotte  left  the  room  to  prepare  for 
walk.  When  she  returned,  she 
.d  Ethelbcrt  absorbed  in  contempla- 
of  a  yase  of  flowers  that  Gerald 
brought  fresh  that  morning.  As 
approached,  he  pulled  a  heliotrope 
I  the  bouquet,  and  examined  it 
itely. 

This  flower  reminds  me  of  your 
d,  Margaret  Bumham,"  he  ob- 
»d.  **  She  has  precisely  the  grnye 
;acy  and  patient  strength  which 
acterize  the  heliotrope." 
Ee  diyined  that,"  thought  Char- 
!,  *'  and  did  not  know  that  she  wore 
liotrope  in  her  hair  I "    Aloud  she 

• 
• 

WTien  you  know  her  better,  you 
add, — ^the  aromatic  fragrance  of 
re,  that  diffuses  itself  only  for  in- 
te  friends,  but  which  flilly  compen- 
I  the  absence  of  rich  coloring  of  the 


nor. 


i> 


'.  do  not  see  any  thing  so  interesting 
;argaret,"  obseryed  Mr.  Lauderdale. 


"  She  always  seems  to  me  as  cold  as  an 
icicle  and  stiff  as  a  ramrod." 

"And  always  wiU,"  returned  Char- 
lotte, coolly.  "  Heliotropes  are  a  little 
beyond  you,  my  dear  neighbor.  I  will 
make  you  a  bouquet  of  roses  and  lilies, 
with  hero  and  there  a  marigold." 

Mr;  Lauderdale  opened  his  lips  to 
protest  in  defence  of  his  own  penetra- 
tion, but  Charlotte  declined  to  listen, 
and  hurried  her  guests,  laughing,  out 
of  the  house. 

On  the  road,,  she  explained  to  Ethel- 
bert  the  circumstances  which  led  to 
founding  the  schooL  "Three  years 
ago,  when  I  first  came  of  age,  I  was 
exceedingly  bored  by  the  exhortations 
of  my  neighbors,  who  wanted  me  to 
found  a  ragged-school  or  an  orphan 
asylum,  or  perpetrate  some  other  benefit 
to  society.  I  had  no  objection  to  or- 
phans, and  rather  a  partiality  for  rags ; 
but  I  was  frightened  at  the  monotonous 
prospect  of  a  horde  of  crop-headed  chil- 
dren, in  blue  checked  aprons,  heaped' 
together  in  whitewashed  rooms  to  learn 
their  Catechism  and  duty  to  their  neigh- 
bors. Besides,  I  hated  philanthropy, 
and  reyoltcd  at  the  idea  of  taking  it  up 
as  an  occupation,  because  I  had  left 
school,  and  was  supposed  to  have  noth- 
ing to  do.  Distracted  between  preju- 
dices and  principles,  I  was  rapidly 
growing  morbid,  even  rabid,  when  a 
blessed  uncle  of  mine  happened  to  die, 
and  left  me  all  his  fortune,  including  a 
prosperous  farm.  As  my  bread  and 
butter  was  idready  amply  secured,  I  had 
no  personal  need  of  this  windfall,  and 
resolyed  to  devote  it  to  the  luxury  of 
having  my  own  way." 

"  Charlotte  calls  that  a  luxury,"  ob- 
served Mr.  Lauderdale.  "I  should 
rather  style  it  the  first  necessity  of  her 
existence." 

"It  is  the  first  necessity  of  every 


189 


PUTNAM^S  MagAZIKX. 


rF«bs 


existence  capable  of  having  a  way  of 
its  own,"  said  Ethelbert. 

"  "blT,  Allston,  accept  my  gratitude.  I 
am  a  bom  despot,  and,  I  believe,  found- 
ed this  school  in  order  to  have  a  king- 
dom to  rule  over.    With  the  cunning 
of  my  tribe,  I  veiled  my  inexorable 
purpose  in  honeyed  words.    I  collected 
my  philanthropic  neighbors,  and  pro- 
posed to  consecrate  the  entire  fortune 
of  my  uncle  to  the  evolution  of  their 
ideas.  In  exchange  for  so  considerable  a 
donation,  I  should  be  left  in  absolute  con- 
trol of  the  whole  concern.  Other  firiends 
of  the  cause  might  contribute  by  means 
of  annual  subscriptions,  and  whenever 
they  were  dissatis^ed  with  my  proceed- 
ings they  could  remonstrate  with  me, 
and  in  case  of  contumacy,  cut  off  their 
share  of  my  supplies.    But  I  trusted  to 
be  able  to  satisfy  them  so  completely, 
that  they  would  continue  their  cordial 
support  of  an  institution  which  would 
owe  its  existence  to  their  benevolent 
initiative.     It  was  dreadful  to  these 
good  people  to  resign  a  Board  of  Mana- 
gers, f^d  all  the  intrigues  and  cabals 
thereto  appertaining.  Nevdrthdess,  they 
agreed,  seeing  I  would  agree  to  noth- 
ing else ;  so  the  matter  was  left  in  my 
hands,  and  I  set  to  work.    The'  build- 
ings on  the  farm  were  enlarged  to  ac- 
conmiodate  three  hundred  children,  the 
number  actuaUy  living  there.    During 
the  year  of  preparation,  I  selected  my 
pupils  by  means  of  an  extensive  cor- 
respondence,  recruiting    them   chiefly 
among  the  poor  and  orphans,  but  secuiv 
ing  also  a  certain  number  of  well-to-do 
paying  scholars,  who,  I  need  not  assure 
you,  are  placed  on  precisely  the  same 
footing  as  the  rest. 

"  The  school  opened  well,  with  the 
full  three  hundred,  ranked  as  follows : 
twenty-flve  are  babies  under  a  year 
old ;  twenty-five  more  under  three  years ; 
fifty,  between  three  and  six ;  and  the 
remaining  two  hundred  firom  seven  to 
fourteen." 

*'  What  arc  the  reasons  for  this  classi- 
fication ? " 

"The  elder  two  hundred  work  the 
farm,  so  that  the  school  is  nearly  self- 
supporting,  and  I  could  not  afibrd  at 


^  first  to  have  too  many  little  ones.  But 
by-and-by  I  trust  that  the  nursery  will 
become  one  of  the  most  important  parts 
of  the  establishment." 

"  Wljy  did  you  receive  paying  schol- 
ars if  the  school  was  designed  for  char- 
itable purposes  ?  " 

**  But  it  was  71(7^,"  said  Charlotte  with 
great  energy ;  *-  and  I  was  determined 
to  j)revent  any  stigma  of  pauperism 
from  attaching  to  my  children.  I  did 
not  want  to  do  good,  or  to  be  good, 
but  simply  to  engage  in  the  most  na- 
tural and  charming  occupation  poesible 
to  human  beings.  Does  a .  child  oean 
to  be  interesting  because  it  has  not  had 
the  misfortune  to  be  bom  in  a  gutter  t  ^ 

Ethelbert  smiled  brightly, — his  smile 
was  always  pure  and  bright,  as  his  ymob 
was  pure  and  cool, — ^but  had  no  time  to 
answer,  for  at  this  moment  the  party 
arrived  at  the  gates  of  the  institutiaiiL 

It  had  not,  however,  in  the  least  the 
air  of  an  institution,  merely  of  a  Yetj 
large  rambling  farm-house.  The  build- 
ing was  shaded  by  great  walnut-trees, 
and  surrounded  by  grass  too  irregular  to 
be  called  a  lawn,  and  upon  which  a 
flock  of  geese  was  feeding.  The  path 
from  the  gate  was  narrow,  and  entirely 
devoid  of  trimness,  and  Mr.  Lauderdale 
proffered  his  usual  criticism  upon  its 
careless  condition. 

"  I  should  think,  Chartotte,"  he  oh- 
served,  ^*  you  would  be  ashamed  to  have 
left  your  school  so  long  a  time  without 
a  decent  avenue.  And  when  will  yon 
have  some  orderly  grass-plats  instead 
of  this  straggling  common  ?  " 

"Never,"  returned  Charlotte,  com- 
posedly. "  Being  happily  disencumber- 
ed of  a  Manager's  Board,  I  have  been 
able  to  avoid  all  useless  pomp  of  regu- 
larity and  magnificence.  It  is  wone 
than  thrown  away  upon  children,  for 
they  are  chilled,  and  crushed,  and  stifled 
by  it.  They  instinctively  crave  irregu- 
larity, even  disorder,  and  I  take  spedsl 
pains  to  satisfy  them,  for  I  remember 
my  own  childhood." 

"  I  think,"  said  Ethelbert,  "  that  half 
the  evils  in  the  world  arc  caused  be- 
cause people  forgot  their  childhood." 

"And  that  children  have  but  one 


>.] 


CosrcKBNi27o  Chablottb. 


188 


—that  of  the  imagination.  They 
nfinitely  more  intellectual  than  we 
and,  to  be  perfectly  happy,  need 
jng  bat  liberty  for  their  ideas, 
lout  such  liberty,  they  either  de- 
rate or  die." 

le  visitors  entered  the  nursery, 
lis  was  a  large,  semicircular  room, 
funded  by  a  dozen  smalls  ones, 
re  the  babies  slept  apart.  The  sun 
imed  cbeerftdly  through  the  broad 
lows,  mattresses  covered  the  floor, 
on  these  were  sprawling  twenty-five 
es,  entirely  naked,  and  rioting  in 
snjoyment  of  a  sun-bath. 
N'o  pains  are  spared  to  develop 
3  small  bodies,"  said  Charlotte — 
!;hs,  and  frictions,  and  carefully 
»ted  food,  and  varied  amusements, 
:h  they  find  chiefly  in  each  other^s 
;ty,  thus  saving  herculean  exertions 
;he  part  of  'nurses.  Twenty-flve 
es  are  infinitely  more  manageable, 
more  interesting,  than  one." 
ad.  she  went  in  among  the  young 
iren,  like  a  gardener  among  his 
er  crocus-bulbs. 

a  room  adjoining  the  kitchen,  a 
ber  of  children,  under  six  years  old, 
I  shelling  peas  and  beans,  and  some 
r  ones  scoured  knives.  From  the 
low,  the  visitors  saw  a  group  of 

and  girls  bringing  home  a  load  of 
berries  on  a  goat-wagon;  another 
ged  in  hoeing  com,  and  in  the 
on-house  appeared  some  blond 
is,  around  whom  fiutfcmd  a  doud 
ooing  pigeons,  eager  fot  the  com 
the  children  scattered  to  them, 
le    ample    kitchen  was   thronged 

chattering  assistants,  who,  under 
guidance  of  a  single  teacher,  pie- 
:\  their  own  dinners,  and  leaimed 

to  cook, — as  a  most  fascinating 
sement.  Charlotte  explained  that 
■ange  of  diet  was  extremely  varied, 
every  day  a  bill  o^  fare  was  posted 
le  dining-room,  from  which  each 
L  made  his  selection,  and  handed  a 
:en  order  to  the  kitchen  depart- 
;.  As  all  the  domestic  service  was 
»rmed  by  the  children,  they  were 
>erty  to  modify  it  at  pleasure,  and 

independent  groups  for  dining. 


not  only  in  the  common  hall,  but  in  any 
room  of  the  house,  or  suitable  comer 
of  the  grounds.  In  summer  the  dinner 
constituted  a  series  of  picnics,  amplified 
to  gorgeous  feasts  by  the  riotous  imagi- 
nations of  childhood. 

In  jthc  laundry,  the  washing  was  done 
by  machines,  but  the  ironing  was  en- 
trusted to  the  children. 

Still  another  suite  of  rooms  was 
devoted  to  handicrafts  of  various  kinds. 
Sewing  held  the  principal  place,  for  the 
children  made  their  own  clothes  on 
machines,  after  the  work  had  been  pre- 
pared for  them  by  teachers.  The  elder 
pupils  were  also  taught  hand-sewing. 
Carpentry,  shoemaking,  cabinetmaking, 
fiower-work,  &c.,  were  also  taught,  and 
the  trained  abilities  of  the  pupils  turned 
to  practical  account  for  the  necessities 
of  the  establishment. 

The  farm  was  devoted  to  the  culture  ' 
of  fruit  and  vegetables,  and  the  raising 
of  poultry  and  pigeons,  all  for  the  mar- 
ket as  well  as  home  consumption.  As 
many  cows  and  goats  were  kept  as  the 
children  could  conveniently  take  care 
of.  The  goats  were  useful,  not  only  for 
their  milk,  but  also  for  draught  instead 
of  horses,  the  various  farm-loads  being 
divided  up  among  innumerable  little 
wagons,  suited  to  their  capacity  and  to 
that  of  the  children. 

This  subdivision  of  labor,  and  the 
use  of  miniature  instruments  and  ap- 
paratus to  suit  the  Liliputian  workpeo- 
ple constituted  the  first  principle  in  the 
distribution  of  work.  By  this  means,  a 
multiplicity  of  small  forces  were  able 
to  accomplish  as  much,  and  as  efficient- 
ly, as  a  smaller  number  of  adult  persona. 

The  second  principle  conceracd  itself 
with  the  happiness  pf  the  workers,  and 
consisted  in  the  subdivision  of  time. 
No  child  was  expected  to  work  more 
than  an  hour  at  any  one  employment, 
and  being  t]:aincd  to  aptitude  in  a  great 
variety,  was  able  to  change  from  one  to 
another  many  times  during  the  day. 

In  obedience  to  the  third  principle,  or 
liberty  of  attraction,  all  the  children 
were  left  free  to  select  their  occupations 
according  to  their  tastes.  Every  morn- 
ing the  teachers  announced  the  ta^s 


184 


Putnam's  IAagazisz. 


IF«^ 


tbat  must  be  performed  that  day,  and 
various  lists  were  opened  on  which  the 
pupils  might  voluntarily  enroll  them- 
selves. In  the  rare  cases  when  the  work 
failed  to  attract  a  sufficient  number  of 
tastes,  there  were  always  a  sufficient 
number  of  volunteers,  who  ei^roUed 
themselves  from  motives  of  honor  and 
friendship,  and  devotion  to  the  public 
welfare. 

According  to  the  fourth  principle,  the 
children  were  initiated  into  the  divers 
manipulations  by  their  fellows,  just  a 
little  more  advanced  in  age  and  ability 
than  themselves  And  no  child  was 
taught  any  thing,  until,  mortified  by  his 
own  ignorance  and  awkwardness,  he 
had  himself  solicited  instmctioil. 

The  boys  and  girls  were  employed 
together,  and  in  all  kinds  of  work, 
domestic  and  agricultural.  The  boys 
learned  how  to  sew  and  cook,  the  girls 
how  to  dig  and  hoe. 

"  My  subscribers,"  observed  Charlotte,. 
"  mfido  a  great  fuss  over  this  item  of  the 
system,  which  is  as  essential  as  the  geese 
that  I  have  left  feeding*  on  the  lawn.  I 
don't  know  which  scandalized  them  the 
most,  tliat  bovs  should  work  the  sew- 
ing-machines,  or  that  girls  should  wheel 
potatoes.  But  I  wanted  to  uproot  cer- 
tain superstitions,  and  habituate  my 
children  to  see  no  distinction  in  work, 
but  that  between  physical  .and  mental, 
in  both  of  which  they  must  all  neces- 
sarily engage." 

"  What  is  the  use,"  said  Mr.  Lauder- 
dale, **  when  they  must  encounter  such 
distliictions  as  soon  as  they  enter  the 
world  ? " 

**  Perhaps  my  little  phalanx  will  do 
something  to  efface  them.  Perhaps  they 
will  have  learned  to  crave  the  social 
chann  that  is  experienced  when  two 
diffcrcQt  natures  are  engaged  in  the 
same  pursuit,  and  which  is  entirely  lost 
by  the  present  stupid  practice  of  shut- 
ting them  up  apart  on  account  of  their 
differences." 

The  visitors  now  entered  the  school- 
rooms. 

"  Prepare  yourself,"  said  Mr.  Lauder- 
dale to  Allston,  "  for  the  most  revolu- 
tionary system  of  instruction  that  you 


ever  heard  of.  Charlotte,  I  believe  joo 
will  be  afraid  to  teU  what  yon  teadi, 
and  above  all  what  you  don't  teach  to 
these  benighted  children." 

"  The  regular  course  of  instmctioii,' 
said  Charlotte,  '*  embraces  nothing  bot 
languages.  Children  who  manifest  any 
special  taste,  are  taught  drawing  and 
music;  the  latter  on  any  instnuaeBt 
they  may  select.  Each  child,  moreover, 
is  obliged  to  keep  aqpounts  of  the  woik 
in  which  he  is  engaged,  and  has  oppor- 
tunities of  earning  small  sums  of  moncjr 
for  his  own  profit,  and  in  these  tnuu- 
actions  he  learns  the  rudiments  of  arith- 
metic. He  is  taught  to  read  and  write 
his  own  language,  at  the  same  time,  tnd 
in  the  same  breath  that  he  learns  the 
vocabularies  of  a  half-a-dozen  othen. 
The  object  of  the  entire  system,  is  to  fflQ 
the  child's  mind  with  vivid  and  accnnte 
pictures.  He  is  taught  languages  as  t 
key  to  language,  both  because  this  con- 
stitutes the  natural  study  of  his  agf; 
and  that  for  which  he  has  especial  fi- 
cility,  and  because  in  language,  as  in  t 
mirror,  he  can  see  reflected  the  entire 
world,  that  he  is  not  yet  strong  enough 
to  explore.  He  studies  words  as  images, 
translates  them  as  much  as  possible  into 
picturesque  realities,  and  is  finally  taught 
to  use  them  as  signs,  when  his  mind  has 
become  saturated  with  their  real  sig- 
nificance. The  same  natural  significance 
and  picturesque  effect  is  sought  in  the 
syllables  and  the  letters,  and  the  ABC 
class  is  a  little  more  advanced  than  that 
which  is  first  taught  how  to  read.  You 
see  them  here  at  work." 

The  class  was  engaged  in  fiUing  up 
with  blocks  of  wood  a  gigantic  frame, 
which  represented  the  letter  B.  Nearir 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  was  needed  to 
complete  this  letter,  and  the  duration 
and  intensity  of  the  effort  involved, 
served  to  stamp  the  B  indelibly  on  the 
memory. 

**  We  aim,"  said  Charlotte,  "  to  pro- 
duce single  effects,  clear,  profoond,  and 
vivid,  rather  than  fHtter  away  the  time 
and  the  attention  by  repeated  hagglings 
and  nibblings  and  superficial  chips  of 
ideas." 

By  the  side  of  the  B,  one  of  the  pn- 


OOVCSBHIHO  CnAfiLOTTS. 


185 


>w  placed  a  pair  of  gntta  percha 

Uao  mounted   on  a  firame,  and 

)le  by  a  wire. 

x)noance   this  letter,"  said   the 

or  to  the  class ;  and  the  children 

id  out  the  sound  in  chorus. 

liat  pronounces  this  letter  ? '' 

le  lips." 

low  me  how." 

I  boy  pulled  the  wire,  the  great 

3ened  and  shut  like  the  statue  of 

Bacon,  and  the  rosy  mouths  of 

jldrcn  moved  in  unison. 

id  the  letter  B  is  therefore—  !  " 

labial  I "  cried  the  class. 

rlotte  explained  to  her  guests  that 

r  apparatus  was  brought  into  play 

.e  illustration  of  gutturals,  and 

s,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  alphabet 

passed  into  another  room,  where 

class  was  reciting. 

lU  me  about  the  word  vanish," 

le  teacher  to  the  boy  at  the  head 

I  class. 

miih,  ihcmouiVj  vantUy  tain,  treuire, 

iMomaiy  fanee^  root  Van  or  Fan, 

med  of  a  labial  and  a  liquid.  The 

shows  that  the  thing  is  mobile,  is 

ig  up  or  running  away,  the  liquid, 

t  has  dissolved  into  nothingness." 

low  me  how." 

the  table  in  front  of  the  class  was 

I  a  lump  of  brilliantly  blue  am- 

^  sulphate  of  copper.    The  pupil 

d  acid  on  the  mass,  and  it  dis- 

red  rapidly  before  the  delighted 

en. 

liat  is  the  German  for  vanish," 

the  teacher  of  the  next  pupil,a  girL 

erKhwindenj  like  ttoinkU^  like   a 

i^hich  passes  very  quickly." 

illustration,  the  child   swung  a 

ed  mirror  into  the  sunbeam  that 

led  through  the  window,  and  the 

\  clapped  their  hands  as  the  flit- 

ision  dazzled  their  eyes. 

tie  word  stamp,"  demanded  the 

ur  of  the  third  scholar. 

oot  sty — sto — stand,  stable,  stork, 

starnpfen^  Btehen,  stare,  itaoimos, 
1,  meaning  immobility,  fixity,  pre- 

by  a  sibilant  which  shows  how 
[ling  has  rushed  down  to  its  place, 
rocket,  I  suppose." 
roL,  V — 13 


"  Illustrate  this  root,"  said  the  teacher. 

The  entire  class  ^rang  to  their  feet, 
and  stamped  on  the  floor  so  vigorously 
that  Mr.  Lauderdale  put  his  hands  to 
his  ears,  and  Charlotte,  laughing,  led 
the  way  to  another  room. 

"  By  the  time  these  children  are  four- 
teen," she  said,  **  they  will  understand 
six  different  languages  well,  have  be- 
come familiar  with  a  multitude  of  facts, 
that  vulgar  superstition  relegates  to  pro- 
fessed scientific  courses,  and  be  in  pos- 
session of  trained,  flexible  intellects,  capa- 
ble of  rapidly  mastering  any  theme  to 
which  they  may  apply  themselves.  And 
the  teachers  of  the  national  schools  com- 
plain, that  after  five  years'  drilling,  their 
pupils  cannot  learn  how  to  read  and 
write  I" 

"  In  this  room,"  continued  Charlotte, 
^  the  children  re^nact  history." 

"  livery  one  knows,  that  in  ^ite  of 
all  the  parade  that  is  made  at  school 
about  t^hing  history  and  chronology, 
children  really  learn  nothing  but  a  few 
isolated  stories,  and  forget  the  rest. 
Leonidas  at  Thermopyln,  Alfired  burn- 
ing his  cakes,  Qeorge  Washington,  who 
couldn't  tell  a  lie,  this  constitutes  their 
budget  of  historical  information. 

"  Since  this  is  all  they  will  learn,  this  is 
all  I  attempt  to  teach  them ;  only,  by 
intensifying  each  scene,  I  am  able  to 
impress  upon  them  a  great  variety, 
without  risk  of  confusion.  I  tell  them 
stories,  and  they  act  them  out  after- 
wards, with  all  tiie  appropriate  scenery 
and  costumes,  and  some  of  the  money 
saved  from  the  lawn  is  expended  in  this 
necessary  luxury." 

Here  the  tc^u^her  approached,  and 
whispered  some  secret  communication. 

"  Ah  I "  exclaimed  Chariotte.  "  We 
have  now  a  case  in  point,  that  exactly 
illustrates  the  working  of  the  system. 
The  other  day  I  related  the  escape  of 
Queen  Mary  from  Lochleven  Castle,  and 
it  seems  that  the  children  who  sleep  in 
the  tower  have  been  refinacting  the 
story.  A  whole  party  of  them  ran  away 
last  night,  and  were  found  this  morning 
asleep  in  the  bam.  In  the  case  of  such 
escapades,  it  is  the  rule  to  imprison  the 
parties  concerned,  to  await  their  triill 


186 


Pdtnah^s  Maoazins. 


F*, 


before  me  and  their  fellows.  Madam, 
you  may  release  the  prisoners.*' 

The  teacher  opened  a  door  which  led 
into  a  small  room,  painted  like  a  dun- 
geon, and  lighted  by  narrow-grated 
windows.  Half-ardozen  boys  and  girls, 
between  nine  and  twelve  years  old,  filed 
out  solemnly  and  seated  themselyes  on 
the  trial  bench,  with  an  air  of  heroic 
dignity. 

'*  I  do  not  quite  understand  this  se- 
verity, this  dungeon,  in  a  system  of  lib- 
^y  and  attraction,*'  said  Ethelbcrt 

"It  is  the  counterpoise,"  answered 
Charlotte.  *'  The  intellect  is  developed 
by  attraction,  the  character  by  resis- 
tance. The  children  are  stimulated  to 
such  a  passionate  interest  in  ideas,  that 
they  are  prepared  to  dare  all  manner  of 
hardship  in  their  defence,  and  to  face 
the  dangers  which  they  must  hereafter 
encounter  in  real  life.  These  dangers 
result  from  the  adoption  of  false  ideas ; 
and  from  failure  to  win  the  approbation 
of  the  world  for  those  which  are  true. 
Since  the  dangers  are  real,  and  rooted  in 
the  nature  of  things,  it  is  just  that  the 
children  who  have  dared  to  originate 
new  ideas  should  bear  a  certain  amount 
of  anxiety  and  suspense,  before  the  ideas 
are  accepted.  They  must  learn  to  be 
lieroes  as  well  as  thinkers,  or  their 
thoughts  will  always  be  stifled  at  the 
T)irth," 

Turning  to  the  culprits,  Charlotte 
asked  in  a  grave  tone : 

"  Who  is  responsible  for  this  affair  ? " 

A  beautiful  boy  of  ten  years  old,  with 
large  steel-gray  eyes,  and  fair  curling 
hair,  rose  and  bowed. 

"  It  is  I,"  he  answered. 

"  And  who  are  you  ? " 

"  Lord  Douglas." 

"Very  good.  You  may  tell  your 
story." 

"  After  you  had  told  us  about  Queen 
Mary,  we  went  down  by  the  brook  to 
think  it  over.  The  more  we  thought, 
the  more  we  were  indignant  at  her  cap- 
tivity, and  the  more  we  were  determin- 
ed to  release  her.  She  sleeps  in  the  tower, 
you  know,  in  the  room  above  ours," 

"  Where  is  Queen  Mary  ?  " 

Lord  Douglas  beckoned  to  a   little 


girl,  somewhat  youngcr,l>ut  asbeautiftll 
as  himsel£  She  came  to  his  aide  timid- 
ly, but  confident  in  his  powers  of  p»»- 
tection. 

"  Just  look  at  her,"  said  Lord  Doug- 
las, with  the  quaint,  deliberate  admiii- 
tion  characteristic  of  boys  of  ton.  *^  See 
what  hair  she  has,  and  what  eyes  I  Ii 
it  possible  that  we  could  have  left  her' 
in  that  horrid  castle,  and  with  tint 
hateful  Lady  Murray  ?  We  should  hsfe 
been  pigs,  worse  than  the  followen  of 
Ulysses." 

"  There  is  some  truth  in  what  yoa 
say,"  observed  Charlotte. 

"I  should  think  there  was.  Well, 
we  plotted  together,  Ronald,  and  Hemy 
Seyton,  and  myself  and  before  sapper 
we  contrived  to  secretly  warn  Qneei 
Mary's  maids  of  honor,  the  girls  who 
sleep  in  the  same  room  with  her,  job 
know.  We  agreed  to  escape  the  same 
night,  and  at  supper  we  could  htid]| 
eat  for  thinking  about  it." 

"  I  did,"  interposed  «  chubby  little 
fellow,  "  because  I  was  not  sure  when 
we  should  have  another  chance." 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  returned  Lord  Doug- 
las, with  magnificent  scorn.  **  You  were 
only  the  page.  You  could  not  be  ex- 
pected to  feci  the  crisis  as  we  did. 

"  After  supper,  we  managed  to  grease 
the  bolts  of  the  front  door,  and  to  take 
a  wax  impression  of  the  keys.  We  were 
in  such  a  hurry  that  the  impresnon 
wasn't  very  good;  but  that  did  not 
matter  much,  since  the  keys  are  always 
left  in  the  door." 

"  Then  what  was  the  use  of  taking 
an  impression,"  asked  Mr.  Lauderdale. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  we  had  to,"  answered 
Lord  Douglas.  "  They  did,  yoa  know. 
Well,  while  we  did  that,  the  ladies  of 
honor  stole  the  costumes  £h)m  the  ward- 
robe,— and  I  take  pleasure  in  assuring 
you,"  said  the  little  Lord,  turning  to- 
ward his  feminine  eotifrhvs  with  a  sa- 
pcrb  gesture,  "  that  they  did  their  busi- 
ness admirably.  No  one  suspected  them, 
and  they  hid  the  costumes  under  the 
bed-clothes. 

"We  went  to  bed  at  nine.  I,  of 
course,  did  not  slee]),  but  the  other  boys 
slept  like  logs." 


1870.] 


OOXOSBNINO  CnASLOTTB. 


187 


'*  I  bet  I  did,^*  Baid  the  small  positiv- 
iaty  who  had  before  acknowledged  his 
matter-of-fact  supper.  "  Lord  Douglas 
had  talked  to  me  so  much,  I  was  dead 
beat  out  He^s  an  awful  fellow  when  ho 
once  get's  going.'' 

**  Well,"  said  Lord  Douglas,  waving 
his  hand  in  condescending  acceptance 
of  his  comrade's  yaluable  but  inferior 
qualities,  '4t  was  best  that  he  did  sleep, 
for  he  was  wide-awake  like  a  good-fel- 
low when  the  time  for  action  came. 

**  When  the  clock  struck  one,  I  roused 
the  bojs,  we  dressed,  and  crept  up 
stairs  to  knock  at  Queen  Mary's  door. 
Her  faithful  ladies  had  prepared  her,  and 
I  had  the  honor  of  taking  her  under  my 
special  protection." 

"He  is  always  real  good  to  me,"  inter- 
posed Queen  Mary,  gratefully. 

"  Madam,  it  is  my  duty,  and  my  privi- 
lege," said  Lord  Douglas,  bowing.  "  We 
stole  down  stairs  in  silence,  but  our 
hearts  beat  so  loudly  that  it  seemed  as  if 
every  one  must  hear  them." 

"  Oh,  I  was  terribly  frightened,"  said 
the  little  queen,  her  blue  eyes  dilating  at 
the  recollection  of  the  recent  peril. 

^'  That  was  quite  uatDral,  since  it  was 
she  alone  whose  life  was  in  danger  from 
her  wicked  enemies. 

"  We  had  no  difficulty  in  unbolting  the 
door  and  passing  out.  But  then  for  the 
first  time,"  •  .  and  the  boy  colored, 
hesitated,  and  oast  down  his  eyes  as  if 
overwhelmed  with  shame. 

''  What  was  the  matter  ?  "  aaked  Char- 
lotte. 

"Oh,  it  WHS  too  stupid  I  I  hardly 
dare  tell  you.  You  know  Lochleven 
Castle  was  on  an  island  surrounded  by 
water — and  they  brought  a  boat  close  up 
to  the  wall  so  that  Queen  Mary  stepped 
into  it  and  rowed  ofll" 

"  Very  true." 

"Well,  here  it  is  not  so  at  oil— and 
we  had  to  walk  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to 
reach  the  water  I" 

"  That  was  extremely  inaccurate,"  said 
Charlotte,  infusing  a  tone  of  displeasure 
into  her  voice  for  the  first  time.  "  I  am 
really  ashamed  that  you  could  have  un- 
dertaken to  escape  without  remembering 
this  insuperable  difficulty." 


"  So  am  I,"  said  Lord  Douglas,  quite 
subdued.  "But  at  that  moment  we 
could  not  retreat.  We  reached  the  lake, 
I  spread  my  cloak  on  the  ground  that 
Queen  Mary  might  step  from  it  to  the 
boat." 

"  Ob,  fur  ehame ! "  cried  the  listening 
cliildren.  "  That  was  Haleigh  with  Queen 
Elizabeth  I " 

Convinced  of  error  by  the  acclamation 
of  his  peers,  the  poor  little  lord  lost  all 
heart  His  gray  eyes  filled  with  tears — 
he  choked  back  his  sobs  with  difficulty. 

"  Ronald  may  finish,"  said  Charlotte, 
kindly. 

"There  is  not  much  more  to  say.  I 
could  have  told  the  whole  in  half  the 
time  that  he  has  been  at  it.  We  rowed 
across  the  pond — ^he  calls  it  a  lake,  and 
I  suppose  I  OQght  to,  but  it  sounds 
funny." 

"  Certainly  you  ought  to  call  it  a  lake," 
said  Charlotte.  "  How  could  Lochleven 
Castle  have  been  built  in  the  middle  of 
a  pond  ? " 

"Lake,  then.  When  we  got  to  the 
other  side,  we  didn't  know  what  to  do 
next.  Some  fellows  ought  to  have  como 
after  us,  and  that  would  have  been  splen- 
did. Lord  Douglas  said  we  must  find  an 
inn  where  Queen  Mary  might  re —  re—" 

"  Repose  I  "  interrupted  Lord  Douglas, 
indignantly. 

"Which  means  rest,"  continued  the 
other.  "  He  never  thought  about  us,  and 
we  were  all  as  tired  as  she  was." 

"  Clown  I  "  cried  Lord  Douglas,  with 
tragic  vehemence.  "  How  dare  you  speak 
of  your  petty  trials  in  comparison  with 
hers  I  A  dethroned  queen,  insulted, 
threatened  with  the  ecaffold,  stealing 
away  in  the  dead  of  night,  with  a  hand- 
ful of  faithful  followers  I  Think  how 
she  must  have  felt,  and  be  thankfdl  that 
you  were  permitted  to  share  her  suffer- 
ings!" 

"  Oh  yea,  I  felt  awfully,"  said  Queen 
Mary,  and  sighed.  "I  believe  I  was 
sleepy  too,  for  I  was  real  glad  when  we 
came  to  the  bam." 

"Lord  Douglas  said  that  it  was  an 
inn,"  continued  Ronald.  "Only  kept 
by  a  secret  friend  of  the  queen's." 

"A  ww»a?,"  corrected  Lord  Dougla?, 
with  emphasis. 


188 


PXJTSAM'B  MaOAZINX. 


[W^ 


^*So  we  climbed  up  the  ladder  and 
crept  into  the  hay,  and  prettj  soon  were 
all  fast  asleep.  I  belieye  Lord  DoDglaa 
watched  part  of  the  night.  Ile^s  a  true 
beat,  ni  say  that  for  him/' 

The  DoQglas  grasped  his  follower's 
hand.  "  I  didn^t  mean  to  be  rude  to  you 
jest  now,"  he  whispered.  '*I'll  give 
you  my  jackknife." 

"It  don't  cut,  ril  take  your  pencil 
instead,  if  you  like.  But  don't  be  in  a 
hurry.  Wait  till  to-morrow  to  think 
about  it." 

**  The  party  was  found  in  the  bam  this 
morning,"  said  the  teacher,  '*  and  I  sent 
them  all  to  the  dungeon  immediately." 

**Now,"  said  Charlotte,  '*we  must 
judge  this  matter.  You  have  noticed, 
children,  that  Bertram  has  been  guilty 
of  two  gross  inaccuracies.  What  docs 
ho  deserve  for  this  ? " 

**  Disgrace  1 "  cried  several  voices,  and 
Bertram  hung  his  head. 

"On  the  other  hand,  we  must  ac- 
knowledge that  he  has  shown  both  skill 
and  courage  in  realizing  the  history. 
Should  we  not  set  that  against  the  dis- 
grace ? " 

"  Yes  I  "  8:nd  tlie  children. 

"  On  account  of  tho  mbtakcs,  there- 
fore, we  will  count  the  affair  a  partial 
faihire,  and  I  wish  you  all  to  notice  that 
it  is  impossible  to  avoid  such  mistakes 
where  Uie  circumstances  are  so  very  dif- 
ferent, so  nobody  need  try  again  to  run 
a*A*ay  at  night.  I  slmll  certainly  consid- 
er it  a  total  failure  anotber  time.  In  re- 
gard to  Bertram,  however,  wo  will,  after 
noticing  tho  failures,  accord  him  an 
honor." 

"Agreed,"  hhouted  the  children. 

"Come  here,  Bertram."  Charlotte 
drew  tho  boy  toward  her,  and  imprint- 
ed a  grave  kiss  on  his  forehe:ui. 

"You  may  write  his  name  in  large  let- 
ters on  the  Board  of  Honors  this  even- 
ing," she  said  to  the  teacher,  "and  those 
of  his  companions  in  smaller  letters. 
Good-bye,  children." 

And  Charlotte  led  her  guests  away. 

"  Charlotte,  you  are  perfectly  crazy," 
said  Mr.  Lauderdale,  when  tbcy  had 
left  the  house.  "You  have  so  excited 
t!.o?o  children  that  they  will  all  be  tum- 


bling out  of  bed  for  the   next  fini- 
night." 

"  Not  at  all.  I  have  restrained  then 
by  pointing  out  an  imposmbility  in  tht 
nature  of  things,  the  only  kind  of  re- 
straint to  which  human  beings  can  snb- 
mit  with  dignity.  Should,  howeveri  an- 
other escapade  occur — which  is  extreiM- 
ly  improbable — I  shall  so  efTectatQf 
wither  it  as  a  total  failure^  that  no  OM 
will  dare  to  try  again,  for  fear  of  becom- 
ing the  laughing-stock  of  the  schooL" 


M4BOAXXT. 


That  same  afternoon,  Margaret 
seated  with  her  two  pupils  in  Mrs.  Laa* 
derdale's  handsome  school-room.  Tlie 
children  were  more  than  nsnallj  mde 
and  restive,  and  Margaret's  patienee 
more  than  usually  inefficacious.  Xbif 
were  grained  like  their  mother,  ani 
from  their  father  had  chiefly  inherited 
an  immense  capacity  for  self-indnlgeneei 
which,  deprived  of  his  grace,  showed 
greedy  and  coarse  enough.  The  digmlltf 
patience  of  a  shy,  shrinking  woman;  wai 
entirely  thrown  away  upon  such  natarefc 
They  needed  an  active,  bustling,  jolly, 
quick-tempered  person,  who  would  ocea- 
sionally  cuff  them  on  the  ears,  but  tell 
them  plenty  of  stories  afterwards  nd 
often  excuse  their  lessons.  Margaret's 
conscientious  determination  to  drive  into 
their  rebellious  little  heads,  the  stipulated 
amount  of  arithmetic  and  geography, 
only  irritated  them, — and  they  had  no 
scruple  in  venting  their  irritation 
against  a  perstm  who  never  scolded,  nor 
raised  her  voice,  nor  complained  about 
them.  They  might  have  lavished  bois- 
terous affection  upon  any  one  sufflcioitly 
boisterous  to  amuse  and  control  them  at 
the  same  time.  Margaret  could  do 
neither,  and  like  Mr.  Lauderdale  the 
children  found  their  governess  cold  and 
stiff  and  altogether  uninteresting.  She, 
keenly  alive  to  their  indifference,  and 
incessantly  reproaching  herself  for  it, 
was  herself  more  profoundly  irritated 
than  she  was  aware,  by  their  resem- 
blance to  their  mother.  This  resem- 
blance, or  rather  identity  of  nature,  like 
a  fatal  prophecy,  continually  paralyzed 
all  her  efforts  either  to  love  or  improve 
tho  children, — as  if  they  were  already 


CovcsamsQ  Cillblotts. 


188 


up,  and   hardened  into   coarse 

nnny,  sympathetic  natnres,  that 
ate  without  effort  all  the  bitter 
3  sweet  that  comes  in  their  waj, 
3g  the  sweet)  and  chan^ng  the 
to  mellowness,  persons  like  Mar- 
ure  often  incomprehensible.  And 
oyerbearinglj  snccessfol  people, 
gh  good-natnred  as  cabbages, — are 
towards  sach  glacial  incapacides. 
r  suspect  the  fountains  of  tender- 
nt  np  behind  these  batriers  of  ice, 
icate  talent  crippled  by  these  shj 
ries.  Mere  kindness  is  insufficient 
.  the  barriers,  or  to  set  the  proud 
ng  sonl  at  ease.  The  words  must 
letrating  as  well  as  bland,  the 
hy  careful,  profound, — or  both 
iected,  to  the  astonishment  and 
on  of  well-meaning  officiousness. 
»le  rarely  take  the  time  or  trouble 
xj  to  understand  characters, 
•refer  rather  to  regard  the  difficul- 
a  tacit  insult  to  themsQlves,  and 
suae  for  keeping  at  a  distance, 
rill  build  green-honses  for  exotic 
,  they  will  foster  early  violets  into 
with  lavished  cares.  But  souls, 
)  precious  than  heaths,  more  tend- 
I  violets, — are  reckoned  unworthy 
1  costly  pains ;  they  are  left  to 
unsheltered  on  biting  winter 
and  to  be  thrown  away  carer 
igiong  other  withered  refuse, 
aoe,^*  said  Margaret,  *^  You  do  not 
your  lesson  at  all.  You  must 
t  over  again.^' 
han't  do  it." 

^^aret,  without  farther  words, 
L  the  child  the  book.  Grace 
led  out  the  page,  tore  it  into  pieces, 
ughed  triumphantly  in  Margaret's 

)u  may  learn  the  next  lesson,  and 
liold  the  book  for  you,**  said  Mar* 
coldly. 

n  this  the  child  burst  into  a  storm 
rs,  and  threw  herself  upon  the 
where  she  lay  drumming  the 
with  the  heels  of  her  shoes.  The 
ummoned  the  mamma  to  inquire 
le  cause  of  the  not  unusual  dis- 
ce. 


"  Goodness  gracious,  Miss  BuruLam, 
you  are  letting  Grace  spoil  her  new  ton- 
dollar  shoes  in  that  manner  I  I  am 
astonished  that  you  have  not  yet  learned 
how  to  control  these  children.  You  will 
ruin  their  tempers." 

Grace,  feeling  that  her  cause  was  forti- 
fied by  parental  tenderness,  stopped 
kicking,  but  yelled  a  little  louder,  as  if  to 
prove  the  vicious  influence  that  the  gov- 
erness had  already  exercised  over  her 
angelic  disposition.  Margaret,  far  more 
deeply  chagrined  by  the  consciousness 
of  her  own  ill-success  than  Mrs.  Lauder- 
dale's words  could  make  her,  hesitated 
for  a  reply,  when  the  footman  entered 
the  room,  and  handed  her  a  pencilled 
note. 

"  He's  waiting,"  said  the  man,  Jerking 
his  finger  over  his  shoulder  in  a  free  and 
easy  manner  upon  which  he  would  not 
have  ventured  in  presence  of  Margaret 
alone.  But  the  servants  were  always 
less  respectful  to  her  when  Mrs.  Lauder- 
dale was  by. 

Margaret  glanced  at  the  note,  writ- 
ten in  a  foreign  language,  and  started 
up  hastily  to  leate  the  room. 

<*Stop  a  moment,  Miss  Bumham," 
interposed  her  employer ;  "  I  hope  you 
are  not  going  to  run  off  during  school- 
hours  in  this  harum-scarum  manner.  I 
pay  you  a  good  salary  to  teach  my  chil- 
dren, and  I  cannot  have  them  cheat t^ 
out  of  their  time." 

At  this  remark,  the  waiter  chuckled 
secretly  as  he  closed  tlie  door.  Margaret 
colored  for  a  moment,  and  then  turned 
as  white  as  steel. 

"You  are  right,  madam,"  she  an- 
swered in  a  low  voice,  "  I  should  wait, 
— and  of  course,  will  do  so.  I  only  re- 
gret that  you  felt  obliged  to  speak  so 
openly  before  the  servant  and  the  chil- 
dren." 

Had  Margaret  thrown  back  the  words 
into  Mrs.  Lauderdale's  face,  and  insisted 
upon  seeing  her  visitor,  the  goo<1  dame 
would  have  been  perfectly  satisfied.  A  ' 
five  minutes'  hearty  quarrel,  would  have 
opposed  no  obstacle  to  reconciliation  and 
concession  five  minutes  afterwards,  and 
the  atmosphere  wouTd  have  been  cleared 
np  by  the  storm. 


190 


PuTNAM*B  Magazine. 


[Feh, 


*^rm  a  regular  out-and-oater,"  Mrsi 
Landerdale  was  accastomed  to  saj.  *'  I 
baye  luy  word  quick  and  sharp  as  you 
please,  and  all  is  over.  Give  me  an 
honest  temper,  and  none  of  your  sneak- 
ing suUenness." 

But  the  dignity  that  refused  to  handy 
words,  and  that  could  afford  to  acknowl- 
edge an  error,  profoundly  annoyed  this 
honest  dume,  because  so  mysterious  and 
inexplicable.  Such  conduct  could  only 
be  the  cloak  for  some  concealed  imperti- 
nence. Margaret^s  immediate  submission 
had  removed  too  quickly  all  open  pre- 
text for  scolding, — but  the  unexpended 
displeasure  launched  itself  helter-skelter 
in  the  dark. 

"  And  who  is  this  *  He '  that  is  wait- 
ing? A  lover  under  the  rose,  Til  stake 
my  head.  I  think  it  is  high  time  I 
investigated  this  surreptitious  corres- 
pondence. Let  us  see  your  letter.  Miss 
Bumham." 

And  with  a  broad  laugh,  and  a  gesture 
intended  to  be  playful,  Mrs.  Lauderdale 
held  out  her  hand  to  snatch  the  little 
note.  But  Margaret  drew  back  and  put 
it  in  her  pocket. 

**  Excuse  me,''  she  said,  in  distinct,  cold 
tones,  "I  acknowledged  the  justice  of 
your  observation  that  I  should  not  allow 
my  own  affairs  to  interrupt  the  duties  I 
owe  to  you.  But  these  affairs  are  my 
own,  and  I  must  beg  leave  to  reserve  them 
exclusively  to  myself.''  Mrs.  Lauderdale 
fumed  a  little,  but  presently  withdrew, 
not  before  she  had  officially  excused 
Grace  from  a  repetition  of  the  lesson. 

'^  There  is  no  comfort  in  life,"  she  said 
to  herself, "  with  these  sly,  secretive  peo- 
ple. A  frank  outspoken  girl  I  could  love ; 
but  this  Margaret,  with  her  stealthy  obsti- 
nate ways,  is  like  a  cat  We  shall  never 
get  along  together." 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  did  not  do  herself 
more  than  Justice  in  asserting  that  she 
could  love  and  be  kind  to  a  person  more 
comprehensible  than  Margaret.  But 
moral  incompatibilities  constitute  obsta- 
cles to  the  best  intentions,  quite  as  insu- 
perable as  blindness,  or  deafness,  or  any 
other  physical  infirmity. 

As  soon  as  his  mother's  back  was 
turned,  Henry  Laudordrde  Junior  hurled 


his  arithmetic  up  to  the  ceiling,  whence 
it  fell— minus  the  cover. 

"  Hurrah !  I  bet  Miss  Barnham  got 
a  good  scolding  this  time  I "  he  cried,  ex- 
nltingly. 

^^  What  will  your  father  say  to  thk 
arithmetic  ? "  said  Margaret,  ignoring 
the  boyish  impertinence,  at  which  nev- 
ertheless she  quivered  inwardly.  ^'  It  ii 
the  third  you  have  spoiled  within  t 
month." 

"I'll  tell  him  you  threw  it  at  my 
head  because  I  did  not  know  my  sums." 

The  afternoon  wore  away  slowly,  the 
tasks  were  at  last  finished,  and  the  gov- 
emess  and  pupils  released,  to  the  infinite 
content  of  all  parties.  Margaret  widted 
with  tingling  impatience,  until  eveiy 
book  had  been  replaced,  and  the  desks 
rolled  back  to  precisely  the  requisite  an- 
gle,—an  operation  which  Henry  contrived 
to  prolong  for  a  full  quarter  of  an  hour. 
Pinally  every  thing  was  in  ofder^  the. 
children  dismbsed  to  their  reoreatioOi 
and  Margaret,  released,  sped  down  the 
avenue  to  the  park  gate. 

Under  the  hedge  in  the  road  was  sett- 
ed  a  man,  whose  face  and  hands  seemed 
to  belong  to  a  gentleman,  but  whoae 
coarse  ragged  clothes  rather  indicated 
a  common  tramp.  And  the  voice  in 
which  he  growled  at  Margaret  as  she 
approached,  was  that  of  a  gentlemm 
degenerated  into  a  tramp,  like  the  tooflt 
of  a  broken  grand  piano,  pitch^  Into 
the  lumber  room. 

"You  kept  me  waiting  long  enough  I" 
said  this  ngreoablo  personage. 

"I  could  not  help  it,  father,"  said 
Margaret,  uttering  the  last  word  with 
difficulty,  as  if  it  stuck  in  her  throat 
"  The  children's  lessons  were  not  finish- 
ed, and  I  could  not  leave  them." 

"  Well, — ^you've  brought  the  money,  I 
hope." 

"  All  I  have  f  )r  the  moment,"  and  she 
emptied  her  small  purse  into  his  ont- 
stretched  hand. 

"  Bah  I  That  is  not  worth  shaking  a 
sUck  at.  I  say,— its  a  shame  that  yoa 
did  not  stay  at  your  uncle's,  you  might 
have  managed  to  filch  me  much  more 
than  this." 

"  You  know  I  left  him,  becanse  be 


1 


OoirosBNiEro  Ohablotts. 


101 


de  me  to  have  anything  to  do  with 

Qst  like  your  romantio  nonsense.  It 
I  have  been  far  more  practical  both 
^nrself  andforme,  to  stay  and  pick 
le  drippings  from  his  fat  table.  He 
never  have  known  that  yon  met  me 
ind  then  by  cbance.*' 
Hiat  I  "  exclaimed  Margaret,  in  in- 
nt  amazement,  **  Yon  wonld  have 
id  me  to  cheat  the  man  who  nonr- 
me  with  his  bounty,  and  eat  at  his 
with  a  lie  on  my  lips  I  My.mother 
Lf  wonld  not  have  done  that  for  yon. 
0  not  suggest  such  infamy,  or  I  diall 

to  believe  that  you  are  " 

»  stopped  short.    Her  step-father 
ler  eyes  with  dogged  assurance, 
hat  I  am  what?    Guilty  of  the 

of  which  they  accuse  me?" 


»• 


es. 

7'ell,  suppose  I  am.  Would  you 
\  me  off  like  a  mangy  our,  as  all 
virtuous  friends  have  done  ?  " 
rgaret  placed  her  hand  on  her  bo- 
as if  to  seek  strength  and  inspira- 
>f  some  concealed  talisman. 
o,  no,^'  she  cried.  ^^  For  her  sake 
.  never  forsake  you  I " 
8  man  looked  at  her  a  moment  as  if 
ting  whether  or  no  to  permit  some 
s  to  pass  that  trembled  on  his  lips, 
ridently  decided  that  farther  ooiifi- 
i  was  at  the  time  inappropriate, 
hnt  his  jaws  hard  together,  as  if  to 
back  into  his  muddy  consciousness, 
9ver  might  be  trying  to  esci^. 
he  pulled  his  slouched  hat  over  his 
and  rose  to  go. 

'hese  clothes,"  said  Margaret  timid- 

)an  you  not  afford  to  wear  any  bet- 

I  will  send  you  some  more  money 

laughed   gmfiQy.     ''Thank  yon, 

I  dress  better  than  this  when  I  am 
me  and  receiving  company,  but  too 

toilette  would  be  rather  unhealthy 
^  vicinity."  He  strode  away,  nod- 
a  salutation,  in  which  an  ancient 

struggled   through    an   acquired 
mess   of  demeanor,  like  a  golden 
escaping  from  beneath  a  ftistian  cap. 
rgaret  watched  her  step^father  out 
;ht,  then  reentered  the  park.    Bat; 


instead  of  returning  to  the  house,  she 
sought  refuge  behind  a  lilac  bush,  where, 
unseen,  she  could  draw  from  her  bosom 
the  flat  locket  that  held  the  precious 
miniature  of  her  dead  mother. 

A  fair,  sweet  face,  with  low,  broad 
forehead  and  delicate  eyebrows  like 
Margaret's  own,  and  drooping  mouth, 
whose  settled  melancholy  relaxed  not  a 
line  of  the  forced  purpose  into  which  it 
had  been  composed.  An  heroic  but 
deadly  purpose,  to  which  her  life  had 
been  vainly  sacrificed,  the  endeavor  to 
rehabilitate  the  character  of  her  husband. 
In  him  she  bad  persistently  believed,  for 
him  she  had  expended  her  energy  and 
her  fortune.  Margaret  had  consented  to 
accept  her  faith,  Iklargaret  had  nursed 
her  in  the  long,  terrible  illness  that 
closed  her  clouded  life,  Margaret  had 
taken  np  as  a  sacred  heritage,  her  fiEuth 
in  a  man  whom  she  herself  disliked, 
and  had  continued  steadfastly  at  the  post 
where  her  dying  mother  had  left  her. 
Alone  in  the  world,  with  only  this  min- 
iature between  herself  and  dreariest  des- 
olation, often  this  frail  barrier  had 
proved  all-sufficient  But  to-day  Marga- 
ret was  depressed  by  the  consciousness 
of  failure  in  her  easier  duties,  depressed 
by  a  new  suspicion  of  unworthiness  in 
the  object  of  her  patient  fidelity,  and  the 
desolation  seemed  to  draw  nearer. 

The  soul  IS  less  exigent  than  we  sup- 
pose, and  often,  to  sustain  its  strength, 
needs  but  a  single  friendly  voice  that 
shall  say,  ''Thou  art  strong  I"  But 
when  the  voice  fails,  and  all  other  com- 
fort fails,  the  poor  soul  is  sometimes 
very  desolate.  As  Margaret  looked  at 
the  face  of  her  lost  mother,  tears  sprang 
to  her  eyes,  unaccustomed  sobs  choked 
her  throat  For  a  moment  the  pent  np 
longing  and  loneliness  must  have  its  way, 
and  Margaret,  crouched  behind  the  li- 
lac with  her  one  treasure  in  her  arms, 
broke  down  into  an  agony  of  weeping. 

Short  is  the  space  left  by  the  world 
for  indulgence  in  solitary  grief.  In  a  few 
minutes  Margaret  heard  the  gate  swing 
open,  and  the  voices  of  Lauderdale  and 
Allston  returning  from  their  walk.  She 
instantly  checked  her  sobbing,  but  not 
in  time,  for  Ethelbert  said. 


192 


PUTNAM^S  MaOAZINX. 


[Fffcs 


'^  I  thought  I  heard  some  one  crying 
just  now.    Who  can  it  be  ? " 

"  Oh,  it  is  probably  Grace,"  replied  the 
father  iDdiferently ;  *'  she  is  always  in 
some  kind  of  trouble."  And  Mr.  Lander- 
dale  walked  on.  He  was  quite  olive  to 
the  pathos  of  tears  in  books,  or  in  people 
for  whom  he  was  not  responsible.  But 
the  troubles  in  which  he  might  be  com- 
pelled to  interfere,  simply  annoyed  him, 
and  he  shirked  them  as  much  as  possible. 

Ethelbert  lingered  behind,  and  come 
directly  towards  Margaret^s  hidiug-plaoe, 
following  the  direction  of  the  sound  he 
had  heard.  Margaret  made  herself 
as  small  as  possible,  but,  as  Ethelbert 
passed  the  lilac,  she  saw  by  his  scarcely 
perceptible  start,  that  he  had  discovered 
her.  In  these  circumstances  an  awkward 
person  would  have  exclaimed  aloud; 
any  one  timid  or  indifferent  would  have 
withdrawn  at  once,  and  in  silence.  Eth- 
elbert did  neither.  Whatever  might  be 
the  cause  for  Margaret^s  grief,  she  had 
probably  cried  long  enough,  and  a  little 


diversion  could  not  fail  to  do  her  good. 
He  walked  straight  on  therefore,  towvd 
a  late  flowering  syrioga,  leiaorelj  oat 
off  a  spray,  turned  and  came  back  to 
Margaret. 

Her  habits  of  self-control  had  enabled 
her  to  recover  her  composure  daring  tiui 
little  interval,  and  as  Ethelbert  g^ 
preached  she  rose  to  meet  him. 

"  We  have  been  visiting  the  schod,** 
he  said  directly.  '*I  thank  yon  voiy 
much  for  telling  me  about  it." 

<^  I  ne«d  not  ask  if  you  were  pleased  t** 

*^I  was  delighted.  The  school  k 
charming,  and  completely  imbued  with 
the  imaginative  vitality  of  its  founder.* 

Then  he  described  the  viait,  and  the 
escapade  of  the  history  class.  HiafloeBt 
description  demanded  but  few  intezrni^ 
tions  from  Margaret.  He  talked  to  her, 
rather  than  with  her,  and  the  brigbt, 
kindly  speech  flrst  soothed,  then  intor- 
e.-^ted,  then  cheered  his  oompanion,  Jiut 
OS  he  probably  intended  that  it  ahodl 
do. 


•♦• 


THE  AFRICAN  EXODUS. 


BANTO  DOMINGO,   1869. 


**  And  God  laid  unto  Imel  In  thevisioDS  of  the  night :  *  JPear  not  logo  down  inl&  Efntpt^J^  I  «0 
thtn  inake  </  thet  a  great  people,*  *> 


AiiEBiOA  has  been  to  the  children  of 
AfHca  what  Egypt  was  to  the  children 
of  Israel,  a  land  of  bondage  in  which 
they  toiled  as  an  alien  and  despised 
race.  They  toiled,  hit  they  also  learned^ 
under  their  proud  masters  those  arts  of 
dyilizataon  which  converted  a  feeble 
and  ignorant  tribe  into  "  a  great  peo- 
ple," disciplined  to  productive  industry 
and  trained  to  habits  of  orderly  obe- 
dience. 

Wisely  or  unwisely  done,  rightly  or 
wrongly  accepted  by  the  dominant 
race,  African  slavery  has  ceased  in  the 
United  States ;  and  leaving  the  past  to 
bury  its  own  dead,  the  fhture  can  rec- 
ognize none  but  freemen  on  the  soil  of 
the  Union. 

But  this  change  in  the  political  status 
of  the  blacks  did  not  extinguish  the 


race.  It  still  exists  as  a  great  peoplo 
though  a  peculiar,  and  to  thoee  who 
will  insist  on  the  term,  an  alien  race. 

This  strange,  but  numeroua  people^ 
represent  an  industrial  power  of  four 
millions.  More  by  an  extra  million 
than  the  population  of  the  United 
States  when  they  defied  the  anna  of 
England,  and  made  themselves  a  ael^ 
governing  nation  in  1776. 

This  mighty  productive  power  otOl 
feels  the  shock  and  disoi^ganizatioB 
consequent  upon  the  sudden  change  of 
its  directing  forces ;  but  all  the  same,  it 
continues  alive  and  present  to  fttiliMusft 
by  so  much  the  industrial  energies  of 
the  country.  It  may  yield  less  for  fbe 
moment  than  it  produced  under  the 
intelligent  and  despotic  authority  of 
the  late  master-class;  but  it  ia  by  no 


Thb  AvBioia  £zoDna. 


193 


Lestroyed.  It  exists,  and  most 
oyed,  for  better  or  for  worse,  as 
iger  white  race  shall  be  wise  or 

ing  all  manner  of  ethical  side 
'e  will  keep  then  to  this  one 
id  undeniable  fact,  that  there 
I  the  United  States  a  peculiar 
epresenting  an  industrial  power 
millions ;  and  that  in  the  An- 
ire  are  about  two  millions  more 
same  race  whose  enorgiefr  are 
less  wastefull J  applied, 
he  thirty  millions  of  whites, 
lom  their  fhture  destinies  are  to 
I  an  extent  interwoven,  fancy 
I  nothing  to  them  or  their  chil- 
latcyer  may  become  of  their 
frecdmen?  I  use  the  term 
as  the  one  most  clearly,  fairly 
re  of  their  lineage  and  race 
ristica.  N^gro  is  a  word  of 
I  eyen  among  themseWes,  while 
1 "  defines  their  origin  firom  a 
id  magnificently  endowed  con- 
nd  declares  for  the  race  a  dis- 
ht  of  nationality  in  the  mother- 
n  adopting  that  name  and  title 
san  asserts  the  great  truth  that 
are  not  destitute  of  country 
tire,  and  that  he  is  the  lineal  and 
te  heir — whenever  he  chooses  to 
nd  assert  his  birthright— of  as 
noble  domains  as  any  the  sun 
ipon  in  all  the  borders  of  the 
orld. 

iy  some  of  the  best  and  bravest 
)ns  of  Africa  are  bearing  back 
osom  the  most  precious  gifts  of 
Lon.  They  take  to  her  the 
treasures  of  their  house  of 
I ;  as  Moses  and  his  brethren  of 
28  of  Israel  carried  back  to  the 
their  inheritance  the  arts  and 
of  their  Egyptian  mastersL  The 
the  loom,  the  foundry,  the. 
)wer,  aud  even  the  electric  tele- 
penetrating,  and  will  soon  per- 
irica  from  ocean  to  ocean.  The 
'  the  slave-trade  is  fordng  the 
ihiefs  of  Africa  into  new  and 
pefhl  relations  with  the  white 
ilong  their  coasts.  Missionaries 
)  and  civilization  are  traversing 


the  paths  formerly  monopolized  by  the 
slave-trading  cafilas,  and  commerce  is 
now  opening  profitable  markets  in 
broad  and  fertile  realms  in  the  interior 
of  Africa — ^noble  realms  which  were 
barely  known  by  name— and  only  as 
slave-producing  marts — to  the  last  gen- 
eration of  slave-buyers. 

In  those  beautifiU  regions  the  boldest 
and  best  instructed  of  the  liberated 
children  of  Africa  will  soon  build  up 
fiourishing  and  world-respected  States. 
They  may  well  be  of  such  vast  and 
welcome  utility  to  the  commerce  and 
manufactures  of  other  nations  that  it 
becomes  the  common  wish,  as  well  as 
the  common  interest  of  all  races  to  for- 
get prejudices  of  caste  and  color,  as  is 
happening  in  the  case  of  Japan. 

It  is  another  curious  parallel  between 
the  Hebrew  period  of  servitude  in 
Egypt  and  the  African  servitude  fcr  a 
like  period  of  four  hundred  years  in 
America,  that  the  Egyptians  entertained 
similar  prejudices  of  race  towards  their 
Hebrew  slaves.  The  native  servants  of 
Joseph's  household  would  not  sit  at  the 
table  with  Joseph's  brothers,  because 
the  Hebrews  (perhaps  as  aliens)  **  were 
an  abomination  to  the  Egyptians.''  High 
as  he  was  in  rank,  and  greatly  appre- 
ciated as  were  his  eminent  services  by 
the  King,  Joseph  felt  the  necessity  of 
having  a  separate  abiding  place  assign- 
ed to  his  kindred.  They  were  always 
held  as  an  alien  and  inferior  race  during 
their  long  and  severe  apprenticeship  to 
Egyptian  civilization.  They  were  forced 
to  learn  the  arts  and  the  habits  of  a  high- 
er order  of  civilization  under  the  heavy 
yoke  of  a  strange  people,  who  despised 
and  *'  hardly  entreated  them,"  because 
they  were  of  an  alien  race,  precisely  as 
the  Africans  have  served  and  suffered 
under  the  foreign  yoke  of  their  Ameri- 
can masters. 

The  Hebrew  and  African  slave  phases 
have  such  a  marvellous  correspondence 
even  to  the  sudden  mighty  and  irresisti- 
ble climax  of  emancipaUon,  that  one 
case  seems  like  a  prophetic  foreshadow- 
ing of  the  other,  and  the  crowning  act 
of  a  great  African  exodus  mU  le  an  «n- 
emidbU  condxuion. 


• 
194 


Putnam's  Maoazinb. 


[Fffcs 


The  children  of  Africa  will  not  con- 
sent to  remain  pariahs  and  aliens  in  a 
strange  land  when  a  great  empire  of 
their  own,  in  which  fertile  domains  in  a 
congenial  climate  and  thehighestronnds 
of  social  distinction,  and  the  most  ele- 
Tated  honors  of  political  rank  await 
their  acceptance  in  the  yast  realms  of 
the  mother-land.  They  mnst  and  will 
return  in  strong,  well-organized  bands 
to  take  and  to  keep,  to  snbdne  and  to 
govern  the  vast  empire  of  their  race. 

Two  causes,  both  of  them  harsh,  and 
to  the  human  understanding  striking 
revelations  of  Divine  Justice,  combined 
to  force  the  children  of  Israel  to  form 
themselves  into  the  compact  and  united 
nationality  which  God  had  promised 
they  should  become  in  Egypt.  One 
was  the  stem  divisions  of  race  and  caste 
which  compelled  the  despised  Hebrews 
to  remain  apart  an  alien  and  subjugated 
people.  This  national  system  of  scorn 
and  repression  kept  them  a  distinct 
people  with  well-defined  and  firmly- 
knit  ties  of  race  unity.  Had  they  been 
allowed  equal  citizenship  and  encour- 
aged to  contract  marriage  and  business 
intimacies  with  the  Egyptians,  they 
would  have  probably  meiged  their  na- 
tional peculiarities  into  the  larger  sea 
of  native  population,  and  melted  out 
of  history  as  a  separate  people.  With 
their  absorption  into  another  nationality 
would  have  also  passed  away  their  cher- 
ished traditions  and  expectations  of 
fhturc  empire  in  the  Land  of  Promise. 
Again,  the  parallel  is  complete.  Would 
the  children  of  Afirica  gird  up  their 
loins  to  recover  their  distant  inheritance 
and  leave  AiHca  to  blossom  in  prosper- 
ous beauty,  were  they  not  held  apart 
and  treated  as  aliens  in  the  land  of 
their  bondage?  No;  the  visible  and 
permanent  lines  of  race-demarcation  are 
also  the  signs  and  the  charter  for  a  dis- 
tinct and  independent  nationality  in 
that  ready  and  inviting  AfHca  of  which 
our  freedmen  are  the  lineal  heirs  and 
the  natural  sovereigns. 

The  second  condition  precedent  for  a 
robust  national  existence,  is  a  strong, 
hardy,  industrious  population,  able  to 
create  wealth  and  ready  to  defend  it ; 


and  such  a  people  was  moulded  fa 
Egypt,  as  afterwards  another  in  Amfld- 
ca,  out  of  the  hard  exigencies  of  maoj 
successive  generations  of  slavery. 

The  inflexible  prejudices  of  race  kepi 
each  of  these  marked  and  peculiar  bond- 
people  apart  fh>m  the  dominant  race  fa 
the  land  of  their  sojourn,  and  the  con- 
stant toils  of  many  successive  geneii^ 
tions  shaped  and  hardened  them  into 
an  industrious  and  disciplined  power. 
Meanwhile,  they  acquired  the  usefiil 
arts  and  the  moral  and  inteUeetnsl 
training  which  alone  could  raise  then 
to  the  dignity  of  a  self-governing  pow- 
er. So  prepared,  the  children  of  IbfmI 
went  up  firom  the  land  of  bondage  and 
established  a  great  nation.  So  pn* 
pared,  the  children  of  Africa  are  efM 
now  marshalling  their  hosts  for  a  miglity 
exodus.  Many,  in  numbers  probably  a 
large  majority,  will  rtoiain  where  tiMf 
were  bom ;  but  tens  of  thonsands  at 
this  day  preparing,  more  or  less  nneioB* 
sciously,  to  take  their  part  in  bufldipg 
up  a  new  empire  in  Africa. 

Another  remarkable  sequence  fa  tiie 
fact  that  in  Santo  Domingo,  at  the  spot 
on  which  the  first  cargo  of  slaves  fitn 
Africa  were  landed,  exists  a  regaiBr  or> 
ganization  of  the  '*  Children  of  Africa,* 
whose  aim  and  work  it  is  to  prepsio 
the  rising  generation  for  the  great  exo- 
dus of  their  race. 

It  was  the  fittest  point  of  departme 
for  the  returning  keels  of  the  instnicted 
and  disenthralled  Africans,  whose  ftehie, 
ignorant,  and  barbarous  ancestors  had 
traversed  the  same  ocean-track  hither 
ward,  as  bound,  suffering,  and  ill-treated 
slaves.  The  Training-School  of  Santo 
Domingo  was  formed  by  a  few  freed- 
men from  Baltimore,  under  the  friendly 
counsels  of  a  single  white  friend.  Hie 
Oovemment  gave  them  a  part  of  tlie 
walls  of  an  old  barrack  which  they 
have  fitted  up  after  a  fashion,  by  thi 
labor  of  their  own  hands  for  chapel  and 
school-house,  and  established  therein  a 
free  school.  The  Bible  Society  of  Now 
York  supplies  the  pupils  with  the  Scrip- 
tures for  their  Sunday  reading-classes ; 
and  the  most  interesting  publications  of 
the  Tract  Society,  furnished  gratfa  afao, 


Amebioan  RiXLWAT  Tbatsluno. 


195 


ly  proTided  the  eTening  schools 
Icome  books  for  the  young  and 
lis  grain  of  mustard-seed,  sown 
si  silence,  and  nurtured  by  the 
ded  kindness  of  societies  com- 
moet,  if  not  altogether,  of  whites 
i&thers  were  slaye-ownerB,  may 
td  expand  into  a  wide-branch- 


ing tree;  but  let  its  fruits  be  few  or 
many,  those  who  go  forth  firom  under  it 
will  assuredly  carry  back  to  the  mother- 
land the  most  precious  treasures  in  the 
gift  of  their  former  masters ;  the  Light 
of  Christian  Civilization  and  the  Love  of 
Indtutrial  Progress^  the  twin  pillars  of 
national  might. 


-M*- 


AMERICAN  RAILWAY  TRAVELLING. 

"  III  put  a  girdle  romxd  about  the  tnrttLV—Shaketpeart. 


aveller  from  foreign  lands,  whom 
3r  belonging  to  the  Cunard  or 
ich  line  has  brought  in  a  week 
ity  of  New  York,  finds  that  the 
ip  was  a  worthy  introduction  to 
country,  where  all  he  sees  is  as 
s  he  expected.  The  beautiful 
I  its  smiling  banks  and  countless 
lOUgh  not  as  magnificent  as  that 
Dor  as  gorgeous  in  coloring  and 
associations  as  that  of  Naples, 
even,  in  many  respects,  to  the 
Bom  in  its  eastern  splendor,  or 
"imly  imposing  harbor  of  Stock- 
ill  fills  him  with  delight,  and  the 
y  hum  of  the  great  city  rising 
jrond  the  forest  of  masts,  tells 
i  he  approaches  one  of  the  ceo- 
!ie  world's  commerce.  He  finds 
Iway  a  street  abounding  in  all 
I  of  enormous  wealth  and  bound- 
rity,  and  far  surpassing  in  both 
lest  thoroughfares  of  Paris  or 

Like  Enstem  bazaars,  devoted 
Q  ports  to  money  iostltutions,  in 
»  wholesale  houses,  and  again  to 
ble  retail  trade,  it  impresses  him 
Tcibly    and    favorably    by  its 

and  its  vast  surging  life,  in 
its  distressing  narrowness  and 
icioiis  mixture  of  marble  palaces 
etched  old  brick  houses,  and  of 
equipages,  fit  for  Hyde  Park  or 
^r,  with  unsightly  hacks  and  old- 
i  drays.  He  looks  with  wonder 
»per  part  of  the  city,  which  has 

and  regulated  itself  with  no 
m  to  direct  and  to  demolish,  and 
le  may  smile  at  finding  the  pal- 


atial mannons  of  ^'merchant  princes,^' 
presenting  their  narrow  fronts  with 
wearisome  uniformity  close  to  the  street, 
unconscious  of  perron  or  parte  cochire^ 
and  lacking  even  the  little  elbow-room 
eked  out  by  hnmbler  dwellings  in  a  tiny 
lawn  or  modest  fiower-gardcn,  ho  is  nat- 
urally struck  by  the  miles  and  miles  of 
wealth-bespeaking  Rows  and  Terraces, 
interpersed  with  costly  edifices  of  larger 
dimensions  and  almost  overwhelming 
splendor.  He  finds  in  the  Park  a  signal 
evidence  of  the  munificence  of  a  repub- 
lican community,  well  directed  and  em- 
inently useful,  with  a  prospect  of  future 
increase  proportionate  to  that  of  the  city, 
to  which  it  is  at  once  an  ornament,  an 
honor  and  a  health-givlDg  delight  In 
fine,  without  referring  to  the  higher,  in- 
tellectual enjoyments  which  he  meets  in 
this  the  genuine  capital  of  the  Union,  he 
cannot  fail  being  impressed  with  the 
material  grandeur  of  this  portion  of  the 
New  World,  and  he  begins  to  under- 
stand practically  the  marvellous  accounts 
of  American  wealth  or  American  energy, 
with  which  all  Europe  is  riDging.  A 
visit  to  the  gold-room,  makes  him  think 
less  of  the  Exchange  or  the  Bourse  than 
he  did  before,  and  nt  the  American  In- 
stitute Fair  in  the  colossal  rink,  he  finds 
proofs  of  inventive  genios  such  as  no 
nation  on  earth  has  yet  displayed.  He 
is  fully  satisfied  that  the  statements  he 
has  heard  at  home  were  not,  as  he  feared, 
exaggerated  by  patriotism  or  colored  by 
partiality,  and  he  is  naturally  desirous  to 
see  more  of  this  wonderful  country,  and 
full  of  expectation  of  what  he  will  see 


1S4 


PCT3>AM*S  MaGAZISB. 


[FA, 


on  Li5  72.7  to  the  politicd  capirol,  and  a 
little  levond,  to  tie  famous  Old  Domin- 
icn  r^-QOwrcd  in  English  history,  and  as 
grand  in  her  tra^c  humiliation  now  as 
she  was  in  her  fhll  power,  when  sbe 
gave  statesmen  and  presidents  to  the 
Union. 

His  anticipations  arc  to  be  sadly  dis- 
api>ointed.  He  finds  that  tlie  American, 
the  Xomad  of  civilization,  is  like  his 
brother  Komad,  the  Arab,  satisfied  if 
he  is  but  in  motion,  but  treats  all  other 
things,  including  comfort,  health,  and  life 
itself,  as  matters  of  comparative  indifier- 
ence. 

His  hack  carries  him  after  dinner 
down  an  indescribable,  dirty,  ill-paved 
street,  to  a  wooden  sbanty  near  the 
wharf.  The  driver  jumps  down,  rough- 
ly demanding  his  Doire,  before  he  deigns 
to  ox>en  the  door,  jerks  his  portmanteau 
from  the  foot-board  behind,  throws  it 
down  in  the  black  mud  and  vanishes. 
The  traveller  looks  instinctively  for  the 
Station.  He  is  on  his  way  from  New 
York,  the  Empire  city,  as  he  has  heard 
it  called  daily,  to  Washington  the  capi- 
tal of  the  United  States  of  America. 
This  is  the  great  thoroughfare  from  the 
North  to  the  South ;  the  one  great  line 
on  which  the  immense  travel  of  the  whole 
people  carries  daily  tens  of  thousands  in 
one  or  the  other  direction.  He  recalls 
the  superb  stations  of  great  European 
cities,  from  the  magnificent  d6barcad^ro 
of  the  Northern  Railway  of  France  t^) 
tlie  tiny  wood-carved  cottage  on  the 
Bergstrasse;  he  sees  in  his  mind  the 
vast  halls,  adorned  with  statues  and  fres- 
coes, througli  which  he  passed  in  Vi- 
enna before  he  entered  the  train  going 
Ea&t,  and  thinks,  perchance,  of  the  quaint 
but  spacious  houses  by  the  side  of  the 
railway  in  Egypt  with  their  niry  rooms 
and  rich  ornamentation;*. 

He  hoA  to  learn  that  travelling  means 
in  America  rushing  A-om  one  place  to 
another,  and  next  to  rushing,  pushing. 
The  lesson  is  at  hand,  for  as  he  stands  in 
the  deep  mud,  looking  disconsolately 
around  for  the  station,  or  an  obliging  offi- 
cial in  his  uniform  to  direct  his  steps,  he 
IS  rudely  jostled  on  all  sides,  his  luggage 
is  kicked  about,  his  umbrella  knocked 


over,  and  boys  yell  at  him,  Erenhg 
papers  7  and,  Bhick  yV  boots  ?  At  Lut 
he  sees  a  stream  of  people  entering  i 
little  wooden  shed ;  he  follows  them  ud 
finds  himself  in  a  dirty,  crowded  room, 
with  a  little  window  on  one  side,  whidi 
he  finds  out  is  the  ticket  oflSce.  H« 
purchases  his,  if  kind  friends  have  not 
saved  him  the  trouble,  by  procnring  one 
for  him  at  a  hotel,  and  luckily  finds  i 
porter  by  his  side,  whom  the  prospect  of 
a  handsome  gratuity  inclines  to  be  gn- 
cious.  By  his  aid,  he  makes  hu  wij 
through  an  almost  furious  crowd,  into 
another  sheO,  still  dirtier  and  meaner 
than  the  first,  where  he  is  literally  pelted 
with  huge  iron-bound  trunks ;  they  pan 
between  his  legs  threatening  to  upset 
him ;  they  knock  against  his  arms  and 
his  sides,  they  are  lifted  over  his  hod 
and  endanger  his  life.  Then  they  art 
thrown  pell-mell  on  a  platform,  and  in 
the  midst  of  this  infernal  din,  bewildered 
and  confused,  he  is  ruddy  sammonedHf 
an  Irishman  on  the  other  side:  Now 
then,  your  ticket  I  Then  comes  the  only 
drop  of  comfort  he  is  likely  to  have  on 
his  journey ;  he  receives  his  check  and 
is  relieved  of  all  care  for  his  Inggage  till 
he  arrives  at  his  hoteL  But  what  muit 
he  do  next  ?  How  he  wishes  fbr  one  of 
those  cozy  wtdting-rooms  for  first  claM 
passengers,  with  their  easy  chairs  and' 
sofas,  their  gay  decorations  and  bright 
window^i,  their  pleasant  companions  and 
obliging  officials  t  Ho  U  out  again  oo 
the  street,  in  imminent  danger  of  being 
run  over  by  street  cars  and  huge  vtnii 
by  hacks  dashing  up  and  drays  taraing 
suddenly  round ;  at  last  ho  asks  a  civil- 
looking  person,  who  answers  with  i 
stare  and  an  apparent  doubt  of  his  right 
to  bo  travelling  alone :  There^s  the 
ferry  I  He  enters  a  huge  wooden  build* 
ing,  into  which  men  aud  women,  drajs 
and  wagons,  whecl-barrows  and  luggage- 
crates  are  shoved  promiscuously,  till  he 
is  stopped  at  a  stile,  through  which  on^ 
one  person  can  pass,  and  where  of  conns 
is  tho  inevitablo  rush  and  the  nnfailing 
jam.  He  has  to  unbutton  his  coat  and 
to  show  his  ticket,  or  else  to  pay  a 
few  cents.  Ho  follows  the  crowd,  and 
seeing  the  chains  of  a  ferry-boat  before 


AiczBioiLN  Railway  Tbavbllcto. 


197 


i  goes  toward  them,  when  he  is 
a  stream  of  eager  people  rushing 
I  fairly  OTerwheltnitig  him.  And 
there  is  no  one  to  direct  him,  no 
ard  to  guide  him,  no  official  to  be 
ed.  A  new  wave  rushing  up 
le  ticket-office  at  last  seizes  him, 
I  drifts  helplessly  along,  across  a 
g  bridge,  into  a  long  narrow  pas- 
vhich  he  sees  marked,  Laiiics* 
and  nearly  out  again  at  the  other 
I  to  the  bow  of  the  vesseL 
ren  be  thanked  I  He  is  on  the 
oat,  and  for  a  few  minutes  enjoys 
icing  salt -air,  the  glorious  view 
the  bay  and  up  the  river,  and 
ill,  the  certainty  of  not  having  a 

elbows  stuck  into  his  side  and 
pressing  him  behind  till  he  near- 
»cates  those  before  him.  But  he 
;  much  time  to  recover;  he  hears 
king  of  chains,  a  winding  of 
^  and  firmly  grasping  his  nm- 
md  his  dressing  case,  he  is  once 
fted  off  his  feet  and  carried  help- 
Q  a  fearful  rush  over  the  boat, 
a  yawning  gulf  between  its  bow 
i  floating  bridge  on  shore,  and 

somewhat  cleaner  and  airier 
g,  half-filled  with  counters  offer- 
;it3  and  refreshments.  He  looks 
,  but  here  also  no  sign,  no  help ; 
t  follow  the  crowd,  and  to  his  in- 
lisgust,  he  is  once  more  stopped 
irrow,  crammed  passage,  to  obey 
rcely-uttered  summons:  Tickets  I 
he  finds  himself  in  what  he  may 
r  a  station,  if  he  chooses — an  im- 
structure,  filled  with  trains,  and 
dert  placards  are  hanging  on 
f  the  cars,  with  the  name  of  their 
tion  printed  in  large  letters.  De- 
grateful  for  the  first  item  of  in- 
.on  vouchsafed  him,  he  hurries — 
has  already  learned  to  rash  like 
-but  is  met  by  a  stern:  Next 
3  car  for  ladies  I  Oh,  the  bitter 
be  has  to  learn,  that  whatever  hii 
ank,  and  station  in  life  may  be, 
3re  but  a  man,  and  as  a  man  an 
'  animal,  who  is  not  safely  to  be 

with  ladies  I  Like  a  good  travel- 
>  does  not  grumble,  but  takes 
[IS  he  finds  them,  and  is  on  the 


point  of  entering  a  car,  when  he  hears  a 
stentorian  voice  from  the  farthest  end  of 
the  train  cry  out :  Sleeping  car,  gentle- 
men I 

He  has  heard  much  of  this  great 
American  invention,  and  has  been  ad- 
vised to  spare  his  strength  and  avoid 
unnecessary  fatigue  by  taking  a  berth 
and  sleeping  all  night.  He  walks  down, 
therefore,  into  the  utter  darkness,  from 
whence  the  voice  proceeds,  and  fiuds  a 
man,  lantern  in  hand,  selling  tickets  for 
berths  and  staterooms.  He  obtains  a 
ticket,  but  not  the  information  where  to 
find  his  berth,  and  at  hap-hazard  mounts 
a  platform  lcadir)g  to  a  peculiar-looking 
car.  It  is  locked.  He  starts  to  try  the 
other  end,  and  after  having  waded 
through  a  long  mud-puddle,  which  he 
could  not  see  in  the  deep  night  which 
reigns  in  this  part  of  the  building,  he  finds 
a  colored  servant  who  tells  him  to  walk 
in.  Here  also  utter  darkness  I  A  man 
with  a  lanteru  comes  and  enables  him  to 
read  the  letter  and  number  of  his  berth 
— ^but  it  turns  out  that  he  must  go  to 
another  car.  At  last  he  has  found  the 
place  and  admires  the  iogeouity  with 
which  the  seats  give  up  a  mattress,  pil- 
lows, blankets,  and  coverlets,  as  if  by 
magic,  and  a  very  comfortable-looking 
bed  is  improvised  in  a  few  minutes.  His 
watchful  eye,  however,  discovers  here 
also  the  sad  disproportion  between  out- 
ward splendor  and  real  comfort.  The 
woodwork  of  the  car  is  superb  in  its  va- 
riety of  material  and  excellence  of  finish ; 
heavy  damask  curtains  hang  from  rich 
gilt  cornices  and  the  Feats  are  covered 
with  costly  plush  or  velvet.  But  before 
he  has  become  well  at  home  in  the 
berths,  which  remind  him  uncomfort- 
ably of  his  state-room  on  the  steamer,  he 
is  once  more  imperatively  ordered  to 
show  his  ticket,  a  lantern  is  thrust  in 
his  eye  and  a  second  guard — ^perhaps  a 
detective  ? — inspects  him  as  if  he  were  a 
criminal.  His  neighbor  is  a  lady,  and 
he  hears  how  she  pleads  in  a  low  tone. 
But  the  conductor  opens  the  curtains 
unceremoniously,  and  tells  her  he  must 
see  his  passengers,  telling  her  as  a  half 
excuse  for  his  rudeness,  with  a  grim 
smile  of  delight  at  the  trick  and  his  own 


198 


Pdtnam^s  Maoazinb. 


(FA, 


sagacity,  that  he  has  bnt  Jast  before  dis- 
covered a  man,  who  had  ^  doubled  "  in 
on  another  passenger  and  tried  to  hide 
behind  him  under  the  blankets  in  order 
to  escape  paying  his  passage-money  I 
After  a  few  moments'  silence,  an  un- 
Incky  baby  lifts  up  its  voice  and  has  to 
be  very  audibly  persuaded  to  be  a  "  good 
child  "  by  an  offer  of  refreshment ;  then 
a  couple  of  politicians  enter  mto  a  loud 
and  warm  discussion  on  the  approach- 
ing election  in  their  State ;  a  poor  boy 
with  a  whooping-cough  starts  from  his 
couch  crying  in  his  sleep :  I  am  dying  I 
and  then  breaks  forib.  in  vehement 
spasms  of  coughing,  and  thus  it  keeps 
on,  hour  after  hour,  in  the  huge  barrack, 
where  some  forty  or  fifty  people  are 
packed  away,  with  nothing  but  thin 
partitions,  opened  at  the  top,  and  halP 
drawn  curtains,  to  separate  them  from 
each  other. 

The  traveller,  weary  of  having  so 
much  more  company  in  the  car  and  in 
his  little  berth  than  he  is  accustomed 
to,  hails  the  rising  of  the  sun,  as  he  ap- 
proaches the  ineffably  mean  surround- 
ings of  the  great  city.  Sterile  fields  al- 
ternate with  small  woods  of  scrub  pines ; 
huge  gullies  rend  the  red  soil  in  all  di- 
rections and  wretched  hovels  with  half- 
dad  negroes  meet  his  eye  everywhere. 
Afar  off  he  sees  the  magnificent  cupola 
of  the  Capitol  rise  pure  and  white  above 
the  low  mists,  and  his  heart  beats  high  at 
the  6ight  of  the  palace,  from  which  as  from 
the  heart  of  a  great  nation,  its  life's  blood 
pulsates  through  this  colossal  empire. 
But  he  looks  in  vain  for  smiling  kitchen 
gardens,  for  rows  of  pretty  cotti^es  and 
stately  country  mansions,  and  for  the 
low  but  cozy  houses  of  far-stretching 
suburbs  to  which  his  eye  hAd  been  used 
at  home.  A  few  wooden  sheds,  a  row 
of  black  men  and  boys  perched  on  a  rail 
fence  and  a  herd  of  pigs  wandering  in  per- 
fect happiness  through  heaps  of  garbage, 
are  all  the  indications  of  a  great  city  he 
beholds,  before  his  train  is  shoved  into  a 
dark  shed,  stops,  and  leaves  him  once 
more  to  his  own  iuspirations.  He  follows 
the  inevitable  rush  down  a  long  narrow 
pnssnge,  beset  on  all  sides  by  band- 
trucks,  wheelbarrows  and  dogs,  to  say 


nothing  of  impatient  elbows  and  n> 
wieldy  baskets,  that  leave  their  mnkii 
his  side,  tiU  he  is  poshed,  he  hmSj 
knows  how,  into  a  vast  boiling;  hai* 
some  enough  in  its  large  proportioiiiMl 
solid  structure;  but  utterly  h$n  irf 
deserted.  In  vain  does  he  inquire  of 
several  persons,  what  he  must  do; 
every  body  seems  to  be  in  a  deipentt 
state  of  hurry  and,  though  civil  eno^g^  ■ 
look  and  word,  to  have  no  tima  ftr 
answering  questions.  In  vain  doci  h 
look  for  the  book-stall  and  the 
ment  room,  which  he  has  come  to 
sider  an  indispensable  comfort  of  ntq 
railway-station  on  earth ;  in  vail  Iv 
the  uniformed  official  or  even  a  porttr 
with  his  badge,  to  whom  he  mi^toii 
for  information.  It  need  not  ba  pril 
with  what  feelings  of  admiratiialBr  thi 
independent  American,  who  needanof^ 
dance  and  no  help,  but  ia  "  ever  ana^ 
in  himself^*'  and  with  what  pt^  hi  )k 
own  "  foreign  helplessness^  he  apfwaifc 
es  the  doors;  but  all  hia  thougWWl 
feelings  are  drowned  in  an  inatentffa 
score  of  powerful  whips  thnut  tttndlf 
into  his  face,  while  a  Babel  of  nkm 
shouts  in  his  ears  a  perfect  torraitofa- 
intelligiblo  names. 

Happy  the  man  who  can  bare  tab  a 
cab  and  drive  at  ouce  to  Ms  hotel,  tt 
make  his  morning  ablutiona  and  eidcji 
breakfast  such  as  he  is  not  lika^toi^ 
remember  having  found  outside  of  Seol' 
land  I  He  will  feel  as  if  he  had  lodeei 
reached  the  desired  haven,  and  wSI,  kt 
some  time,  remain  in  happy  {gnocaiM 
of  the  strange  fact  that  Washlngtoo,  i 
large,  opulent  city  and  the  capital  of  tie 
Great  Republic,  the  residence  of  a  ^' 
merous  diplomdtio  corps  and  the  p(dli 
ical  SHU  of  the  whole  nation,  caoaotyit 
boast  of  a  first-class  hatel  I 

But  woe  is  him.  If  his  fate  carrieebia 
farther  on  tbe  great  high-road  fitntbe 
North  to  the  South  I  After  harlng  nn 
the  gauntlet  of  intolerable  rodeae* 
through  a  crowd  of  black  and  vhHt 
coachmen,  he  finds  himself  in  the  miUl* 
of  a  muddy  street,  cut  up  with  reilwej 
tracks,  in  constant  danger  of  beiog  na 
over  by  express-wngons  and  loggegt* 
vans,  and  surrounded  by  a  number  ol 


Ams&ioan  Railway  Tbatellzno. 


100 


rinking-Bhops,  crowded  even  at 
[)oar  with  thirstj  laborers  and 
L  He  lias  heard,  however,  and 
i  bj  experienoe  that  the  Amer- 
>  invariably  civil  and  ready  to  give 
lation ;  he  inqnires,  therefore,  of  a 
•by,  where  the  train  for  the  South 
i  receives  a  willing  answer,  ac- 
nied  by  a  dramatic  gesture  of  the 

Oan  it  really  be,  that  he  is  ex- 

to  run  after  that  little  horse-car, 

is  just  moving  off  through  slash 
ud,  and  seems  to  be  filled  to  its 
t,  capacity  with  passengers  of  every 
age,  and  color?    He  remembers 

he  is,  grasps  his  impediments  and 
ft  after  the  fast  retreating  car.  No 
^  hand  is  stretched  out  to  him ; 
nrord  of  information  is  vouchsafed, 

he  Jumps  on  the  platform  behind, 
not  help  smiling  grimly  at  his  un« 
d  agility,  and  wondering,  with  a 
enae  of  enjoyment  at  the  anoma- 
osition  in  which  he  finds  himself 
will  become  of  him  next?  He  is, 
irse,  duly  asked  for  his  ticket,  a 
onj  which  he  has  gone  through 
en  that  he  has  long  ceased  to 
lie  at  it,  and  marvels  again  to  see 
his,  the  great  train  to  the  South, 

leisurely  through  the  wide  streets 
city  and  condescendingly  picks  up 
I  down  stray  passengers  all  along 
ad.  At  last  he  reaches  a  wharf  on 
rer,  if  a  sand  hole,  half  filled  with 
nt  water,  and  a  few  rickety,  rot- 
sams  and  planks,  covered  with 
md  garbage,  deserve  that  name, 
wa  a  crowd  rush  onoe  more,  as  if 
lives  were  in  danger,  on  board  a 
lirty  steamboat,  where  he  is  ex- 
.  to  moke  his  way  through  piles  of 
ge,  under  horses'  heads  and  over 

babies^  and  bleating  sheep  to  the 
st  and  quietest  place  he  may  find. 
3r  a  while,  a  colored  man  will  oome 
ngiDg  a  huge  bell  before  his  fiice, 
3n  him  to  breakfast ;  but  with  this 
md  the  landing  on  Virginians  soil 
<  a  sad  period  in  his  travels,  which 
t^r  omitted  here,  for  the  same 

which  makes  us  turn  aside  when 
set  a  lady  whom  we  have  once 
1,  when  she  was  great  and  rich  in 


children  and  in  honor,  and  who  now  ap- 
pears before  us  in  sad  weeds,  oIodo  and 
with  downcast  eye,  but  still  so  grand 
and  so  noble  in  her  solitude  and  sorrow, 
that  we  feel  pity  would  be  out  of  place 
and'sympathy  superfluous. 

Is  American  travelling  really  a  pen- 
ance? Far  from  it.  The  railways  of 
the  republic  have  undeniable  advantages 
over  those  of  the  Old  World,  which  no 
experienced  traveller  will  foil  to  appre- 
ciate fblly.  The  manner  in  which  the 
cars  are  built,  the  system  of  chocking 
luggage  for  thousands  of  miles,  the  con- 
trol exercised  by  the  conductor,  and 
even  the  supply  of  ice-water,  and  the 
boy  with  papers  and  books,  are  points  of 
great  excellence.  But  American  rail- 
ways lack  as  yet  two  important  features, 
which  are  somewhat  valued  abroad: 
comfort  for  the  traveller  and  responsi- 
bility of  the  company's  officials. 

The  idea  of  comfort  is,  of  coarse,  a 
relative  one,  and  can,  therefore,  only 
cautiously  be  applied  to  a  general 
judgment  of  so  important  a  feature  in 
the  life  of  a  great  nation.  The  foreigner 
is  apt  to  imagine  comfort  to  mean  that 
he  may  find  on  the  train  which  he 
chooses  for  a  pleasure  excursion,  a  snug 
though  Bot  very  large  salon,  handsomely 
but  not  gorgeously  famished,  with  an 
abundance  of  luunges  and  easy-chairs, 
tables,  and  mirrors,  and  no  draught  and 
no  dust.  He  shows  his  ticket  when  he 
enters  the  car,  and  surrenders  it  when 
he  arrives  at  his  destination;  he  only 
sees  the  guard  when  he  wants  him  to 
render  him  a  service,  and  althongh  it  is 
done  for  a  consideration,  he  never  asks 
in  vain  for  information,  for  refreshments, 
or  for  special  f&vors.  His  wife  sita  down 
with  her  children  on  the  floor  around 
her ;  his  sister  takes  her  embroidery  or 
her  novel,  and  he  ensconces  himself  in 
an  anU'Cholr  near  the  large  window  to 
enjoy  the  scenery.  Other  groaps  occupy 
other  parts  of  the  little  salon,  and  enter 
into  a  friendly  chat  or  remain  as  far  apart 
as  if  they  were  in  another  train,  as  tiieir 
tastes  make  it  preferable.  Thus  they 
spend  a  few  hours  pleasantly  and  quietly, 
and  when  they  arrive  at  the  end  of  their 
journey,  they  are  fresh  and  fit  to  enter 


doo 


Putnam's  Maqazinb. 


rrek. 


any  room,  haviDg  encountered  no  cinders 
and  no  dust. 

The  American,  gregarions  by  nature 
and  by  education,  would  dislike  such  ex- 
olusiveness,  and  seeks  his  comfort  jn  the 
greatest  number  with  whom  he  can  as- 
sociate.    He  must  have  a  wandering 
caravanserai,  in  which  eighty  or  a  hun- 
dred persons  of  all  classes  and  colors  and 
ages  are  assembled  together,  and  where 
he  can  move  about  in  his  nenrous  rest- 
lessness  to   meet  friends,  to  make  ac- 
quaintances, and  to  see  new  faces  and 
new  phases  of  life.    He  loves  to  hear 
a   roar   of  voices   around   him,   with 
people   constantly   moving    from    seat 
to    seat,  or  up  and   down    the  long, 
narrow  passage   in  the   middle.      He 
would  not  like  to  sit  alone,  but  presses 
down  into  a  narrow,  double  seat,  where 
every  movement  brings  him  in  personal 
contact  with  his  neighbor  and  makes 
him  master  of  his  ease  and  comfort  for 
the  journey.    The  book  of  Job  comes 
into  prominence  once    more,    for    the 
American— even  the  fragile,  delicate  lady 
— submits  with  admirable  patience  to 
the  tyranny  which  such  close  proximity 
must  needs  produce ;  the  open  window, 
admitting  with  the  cold  draught  almost 
invariably  a  current  of  cinders  and  dust, 
the  half-filled  spittoon  with  its  nauseous 
contents,  the  restless  activity  and  the 
easy  familiarity  of  the  neighbor  are  all 
borne  in  silence  and  cheerful  submission. 
The  American  delights  in  the  length  of 
his  train  and  the  variety  of  its  contents: 
he  pays  a  visit  to  the  luggage-room  to 
inspect  trunks  and  boxes;  he  chats  with 
the  express  agent  and  looks  at  the  count- 
less parcels  he  has  under  his  charge,  from 
the  small  box  filled  with  precious  gold  to 
the  Newfoundland  dog  on  his  chain,  from 
the  bridal  bouquet  he  carries  to  one  sta- 
tion to  the  long,  narrow  box  which  lie 
has  to  deliver  at  the  next  cemetery.   lie 
spends  an  hour  in  the  smoking-room, 
where  "black  and  white  do  congregate," 
and  then  passes  from  car  to  car,  disre- 
garding the  danger  and  enjoying  the  in- 
tercourse with  several  hundred  of  his 
fellow-travellers. 

It  is  an  amusing  feature  in  the  history 
of  American  railways,  that  while  Austria 


and  other  foreign  countries  have  imitatii 
the  long,  doublcHseated  car — ^whidbii 
southern  regions  and  the  tropics,  widi 
its  cane  seats  and  backs,  and  large  gaim- 
oovered  windows,  is  the  perfection  cf 
comfort — America,  on  the  other  hand,  be- 
gins slowly  in  this  point  also  to  imitite 
the  Old  World  and  to  introdaoe  can  witk 
private  compartments.  The  tendemai 
of  American  pride  forbids  the  esUing 
them  by  their  right  names,  and  lieooe 
there  are  no  first-class  and  seoond-elM 
cars,  but  virtually  the  same  is 
plished  under  the  somewhat 
title  of  drawing-room  oars  and  iQTi» 
palace  cars.  Aside  from  the  enonncMi 
price,  these  new  cars  are  weU-armfil 
and  offer  every  comfort  which  vb  attilfr 
able  on  American  railways ;  th^  vt 
well  hung  and  go  easily;  the  little  con- 
partments  are  cozy  and  snng^j  fitted  19 
with  easy  seats,  large  windowi^  tables 
and  mirrors,  and  privacy  is  Beeared,if 
not  absolutely,  at  least  to  agreatdegfNi 
Perhaps  the  only  drawback  is  the  atts 
disregard  paid  here  also  to  the  uifotti- 
nate  single  gentleman,  who  does  BOt 
choose  to  engage  four  seats  at  onei 
There  is  no  axiom  truer  than  that,  ii 
travelling  in  America,  money  is  a  mafeUr 
of  little  consequence,  but  a  wife  so  iiidii> 
pensable,  that  a  well-known  poet  codtt 
give  his  trans-Atlantic  friend  the  candid 
advice :  If  you  really  want  to  travd  fx 
six  months  in  the  United  States,  you  hid 
bettor  marry,  steal,  or  borrow  a  wift^ 
than  go  alone. 

On  the  subject  of  responsibility  then 
can,  of  course,  be  no  such  difiference  of 
opinion  as  on  that  of  comfort  Nothiof 
can  exceed  the  thorough  defectiveneii 
of  the  American  railway  system  in  tlui 
respect,  and  the  consequences  are  0T«^ 
whelming  in  their  fatality.  From  the 
humblest  brakeman  to  the  president  of 
the  road,  the  officers  utterly  and  diaddn* 
fully  dbdaim  being  responsible  for  toy 
thing  to  any  body.  If  the  switobmsa 
has  forgotten  his  duty  and  hasteu  t 
number  of  souls  unprepared  into  etenu* 
ty ;  if  the  engineer  is  drunk  and  rons  in- 
to another  train,  producing  a  calandty 
that  sends  misery  to  a  thousand  homee; 
if  a  cashier  runs  away  and  ruins  all  the 


1 


American  Raxlwat  Tbayelld^o. 


201 


holderd,  or  a  president  speculates  in 
and  robs  bis  friends  of  millions — 

is  no  one  responsible  for  all  tbese 
»rs  and  crimes.  A  ladicrons  in- 
A,  illustrative  of  this  happy  exemp- 
»f  railway  officials,  occurred  a  few 
ago  in  a  Soathern  8tate.  An  nna- 
'  heavy  snowfall  had  obstructed  the 
( in  such  a  manner,  that  at  one  place 
ty  of  travellers  was  kept  for  a  week 
state  which  approached  starvation, 
nsde  even  the  man  who  was  then 
ed  the  richest  man  in  the  States 
)  that  mcmey  is  not  omnipotent, 
ler  train  was  blocked  up  before  an 
laable  deep  lane,  a  few  miles  from  a 
ol^,  the  capital  of  the  State,  where 
ands  were  anzioualy  awaiting  news 
the  North.  For  days  the  passengers 
od  with  that  nnsorpaased  patience 
1  is  one  of  the  national  virtues, 
ed  by  the  merry  sallies  of  a  gentle* 
whose  convivial  charms  are  well 
nbered  in  Liverpool  and  now  fully 
elated  at  a  watering-place  in  Cona- 
id  the  genius  of  a  great  actress,  now 
ore.    But  at  lost  they  began  to  suf- 

good  earnest,  and  one  of  the  pas- 
m,  bom  in  the  high  north  of  Europe, 
Dined  to  make  an  effort  to  establish 
mnioations  between  the  train  and 
ty.  He  started  on  foot,  and  in  the 
»  of  a  few  hours  reached  the  town 
3omparativ€t  case,  greatly  indignant 
le  i^amefal  neglect  which  alone 

explun  why  a  wealthy  railroad 
ration  should  have  left  a  number 
Bsengers  buried  in  snow  and  suffer- 
om  hunger  for  two  days  and  three 
I  at  a  distance  of  only  five  or  six 
.  One  of  the  first  persons  he  met 
he  Superintendent  of  the  road ;  he 

the  sitaation  of  the  unlucky  trav- 

known  to  him,  and  wai  promised 
in  extra  train  with  provisions  and 
hould  be  started  as  soon  as  possible, 
rben  he  urged  dispatch  and,  his  pa- 
)  giving  way,  expressed  himself 
what  strongly  on  the  sofl^erings  to 
I  they  had  been  exposed,  and  of 
1  his  increasing  faintness  made  him 
)ly  oooscions,  the  official  became 
ve  and  informed  him  that  he  was  a 
)man  and  would  ask  satiafnotion  for 

VOL.  v. — 14 


such  language  I  There  the  matter  ended 
for  the  present  When  the  train  had 
been  rescued,  which  was  the  work  of  a 
few  hours,  an  indignation  meeting  was 
proposed  in  the  concert-room  of  the  lead- 
ing hotel  at  that  place.  The  poor  for- 
eigner was  too  much  exhausted  to  attend, 
but  when  he  inquired  after  the  result  on 
the  following  day,  he  was  informed  that 
resolutions  had  been  passed,  proitiing  the 
officers  of  the  road  for  the  prompt  and 
efficient  aid  rendered  under  such  difficult 
circumstances.  How  far  this  was  the 
result  of  a  jolly  dinner,  where  the  cham- 
pagne flowed  in  streams,  given  by  the 
Superintendent  to  the  actress  and  her 
friends,  was  never  fully  ascertained. 

The  subject  of  irresponsibility  in  cases 
of  great  disasters  is  too  serious  for  a  mere 
gossip  on  American  ridlways.  Suffice  it 
to  say,  that  nothing  can  explain  the  reck- 
lessness of  railway  managers  and  the  want 
of  condign  punishment  for  gross  and  cul- 
pable negligence,  than  the  marvellous 
indifi^rence  to  human  life,  which  is  per- 
haps the  natural  efiect  of  republican  in- 
stitutions and  a  nomadic  life.  It  is  well 
known  that  the  mortality  of  children 
from  natural  causes  and  from  others,  is 
enormous  In  America,  and  yet  in  spite  of 
the  efforts  of  physicians,  the  admonitions 
of  bishops  and  great  divines,  and  the 
horror  every  now  and  then  expressed  by 
the  press,  the  newspapers  teem  with  ad- 
vertisements tending  to  increase  the  evti, 
and  mothers  ore  as  careless  as  ever  in  the 
management  of  children.  Accidents  by 
which  young  men  and  women  lose  their 
lives,  are  seen  in  every  Journal ;  now  it 
is  reckless  shooting  by  pistol  or  sporting 
gun,  and  now  a  coal-oil  explosion ;  thea- 
tres  burn,  engines  explode,  steamboats 
blow  up,  and  trains  collide;  the  world 
shudders — ^but  there  is  no  Bachel  •  to  ■ 
weep  because  they  are  not.  The  strange 
people,  so  noble  in  its  loftier  traits,  se 
grand  in  its  public  and  private  bonevo* 
lence,  are  in  too  great  a  hurry  to  stef 
the  perpetual  rush  for  the  sake  of  one 
who  drops  by  the  way-side,  and  a  week; 
a  day  after,  not  a  soul  thinks  of  the  ^*  ac- 
cident "  but  the  hundreds  whom  it  has 
reduced  to  misery  and  wretchednessk  The 
same  applies  to  minor  evils^    K  a  train 


-5.-CT 


before  h*  time  lo  szii  iLe  cnriM^er:  -  % 
c".>xiii«}CLi:iL  if  not  inaie.  Lad  ib*  o<(US- 

li'jurs  irhii  all  iu  EsecDdfin* 
acxAw.  cn*  b  ccmdoctcT  isiis  i^  sere-  s: 
yiinr  scotian.  a&d  csmes  roa  cc  for  ziiszt 
c  mile— liU  ocmipkiiits  are  rae;  iriih  rzi- 
iiioved  fiioe.  and  vocr  la-vT-cr  wiZ  icul 
roc  tliQ£  s  l&wsoit  iToiQd  l>e  ]cmc.  ex- 
jieiiHive.  BDd  rerx  uDoert&izL  This  nnier 
uiHrecwd  cif  the  reppDiiaiiiVitT  tt>  the 
]iiHi:ic  h  jiroLihLlj  mos:  marked  is  ib« 
cfiHe  cif  OTer^crc^ded  tndzis.  El!iewbe!« 
tiii  ]i8vnieut  made  for  a  uvken  15  hiejd  to 
iiiHiire  lui  e:;iUTaj«uL  a  seal  ezkd  trans- 
pirruiuuii  11'  die  deeirbd  pmia :  iLe  orO 
^uiicit  b  t«elier«d  ic*  fln#  fro:^  a  eccts^aA 
eiiiered  iixto  LenresD  life  ctcaxrazv  aad 
tLe  jiuweiwor^  and  ia  Zzirlaa3  as  les< 
lilt  ii::rter  i»  eLthied.  if  li*  cn«3T«arT  fail 
!'.■  tr.iiiTer  hhm  ai  fCT'-iatod  :o  lie  cad 
'.if  ia*  Jiciunrfj.  mO  L:.-e  a  o-Termce  at 
•-l^e'r  erveiiiM:  fcoi  ^:•  r«»?a-«-  ra  f^::::n. 
S-A  h\  'a.  Antrisa.  X-j  :  iL-iiiir  oi-Iira- 
'.i-.'i  it  fcUui»OTj*»iF&L  If  ibere  a:«  co 
:i»rut>  yjfz  oai  Ki2«d  IT",  aa-i  ar  :!»  XcrA 
•u>  ir>  u.e  •»'-ClL,  cc  tie  =>■>*:  fr^rsented 
r .  .->?►.  i-vi'^rs  c«f  -•L«*£tr*rs  mar  daflr 
■.♦*  hhi^z.  vt-eir.'-T  r-Liriinr  ap  ia  lie  mid- 
C-t  u:^.^  */  fxn.  Lojinj  oa  as  best  they 
taaj  t'^  '^xczTjun^r*.  tie  rioleat  joctliajr 
fad  r/'.'clAir  ^A>rz"%T  to  Aa^erieaa  rail- 
wtyt  uiiC  Ltrir  T*c:rrmr  to  pramMe 
isi  tut  i-',/:ifc<t.  A  fe-w  s*r.-Je3en  liriajf 
vs.  '/Le  vf  t-fe  sr^rfct  aies  leadi^c  into 
^•rtr  TvTJC  s-'/:  iviy  »--*  ^^refenied  the 
«y.»s:i;'fc2;,i'  '-LCl  vrzAfi  ii.%  Tae  «-iui  snfS- 
••V«:  ff'-^-Tii  Ilk'-  a  *jvi*'der».\le  s^an  of 
z^r^er  vj  ^fiTf^  a  0UCI71  aear  their 
^r^\*jj'iy/uyii^  y\je  £nft  tlrr-e  after  its 
',vr.;x»jjt  '.»wr  '.^  V  e  d'Cfcor*  p-irtiased 
i.i«  r>  c*!  t.u4  *as*-^  t'>e  trt'-  to  po  to 
ty»  2 :  i^vt  'i  •»«  f -i:  to  '.T^rrf  yaiiir.  arid 
JiKViarJ  'yf  tC'-  r:;r  tvrJLer  ctr  '^  calir.? 
r'Xrta  K/r:;evLer>-  Ls  aa  elder]  j  ^eiUe- 
j;.4fiof  ;-^:ri  jz/'/aI  ifA-i-di-.z.  ar.i  t-:rJei 
to  the  'rta^'V.  'y^^'iert.tlor;.  vit  rr/o- 
I^I lefl  toaiKEAd  f>f  biriera]  'vr.re  l-'jc  thos 
t/jexf^AC  h'uziVtM  \f»  ts  avivvr.  i  o-f  ff.Jrae. 
annojan'^^,  ar.'l  >4rr./yj#  ir;;-.*-*  v^  h"fr 
health,  which  in  a  \^:^^  riTf/f :'/-,*  v-iJMf.::!!- 
t:ori  miL'ht  l.ave  f>rov'rd  fatftL 

The  fiict  15.  th-il  uj'rtt  Aui'.ji'.iri  rail- 


IF*S 


-rajs  are  bailt  on  speculation,  and  for 
7r:>ft.  A  few  large  landovmera,  vba 
irifiiL  ibeir  lands  to  be  brought  into  ID•^ 
kec  appeal  to  some  capitalistic  who  Mek 
la  investment  for  their  fonda ;  thef  ei- 
:c-r  la:o  a  compact  and  the  railwaj  ii 
'I'zLi.  If  Googren  can  be  made  to  b^ 
Lere  ihat  some  public  benefit  majbedi- 
rlreu  firxs  the  enterprise,  so  mooh  Ihi* 
^eeer:  in  that  case  a  grant  of  polii 
i£ad5  25  zaade  and  the  undertaking  is  i^ 
rzTt.  and  eaormons  profits  certain.  Ihs 
r.->ad  i$  then  located  on  the  cheapfll 
l£z>55 :  the  se«uons  are  given  out  to  tki 
:o«-f«:  bidder,  who  lets  oat  his  contiMl 
T>  fcbnran^actors;  the  engineer  and  d 
ibe  ofScials  fonn  one  great  ■■jowitiw 
f:r  eanicg  lai^  saBa»  and  henea  thi 
cbeapert  and  meanest  material  k^. 
r 7<b^5  a:>d  dnjr  areepted  as  satisfinlax- 
Tie  vbNle  is  done  in  the  gretteat peal- 
lle  basse  asd  in  the  moat  iuiperfM 
rsaaaer:  a  rrwt  celebration  isheU,d^ 
zier»  aire  pren.  the  enteq;>rise,  ennK 
£ni  sfT-lH:  of  die  projeetora  is  ptaindli 
fiufcme  lenas.  and  ere  the  first  jsv  li 
r:ae.  ro:  a  few  lireshaTe  been  saaHwl 
TO  ibe  crea:  c^pecoiadon.  Bailwaj  eoa* 
ia:ne«s  of  tbe  Bniish  PtolianiflBt  mi 
coteries  a:  tbe  Pkris  Bourse  haft  ei^ 
cbifii's  plsj  before  them  in  uwiniiiiM 
with  tbe  praauc  **  rings  ^  of  Anwrif 
railwar  enterrrisea.  It  waa  during  tb 
la-^t  £e«s:on  of  tbe  Congreaa  that  aft^ 
c:o~>  5T<'c::l£:>r  who  was  alsoa  nNHte. 
cf  the  S:ar.:ei»  approached  a  ptirikpl 
vi>::or  xvitb  tbe  words :  I  have  tafan  t 
pxsi  co'trsct,  Govemw. — ^How  wM 
— FortT  m-llioas : — You  donH  asgr  •! 
we!\  I  think  I  can  tell  joa  how  M 
win  wort— Well  how  ?— Ton  will  ■*■ 
let  it  to  <^mebody  el«e  and  pocket  lA 
mills  ns  br  the  transacrion. — Wdl,  J* 
are  alK>T:i  rich:,  I  think  that  will  be  ifc* 
si:  in. 

n«:cce  on>  a  small  number  of 
leading  rail  war  a.  mainly  at  the  XoTth« 
fe;r  in  tie  Northwest  and  one  or  two 
Gc-orria,  are  real'v  well  builu 
p:iwerful  engine^,  well  ballasted 
nnd  cteel  rails.  Mo?t  of  the  others  won^ 
be  consi'lered  abroad  as  mere  mak^ 
sliifts.  danserons  in  t!!e  extreme  and  ^ 
Lorrar   to   paternal    goTermnents  lik^ 


Amsbioak  Railway  Tbaysllusto. 


208 


Germanjr.  Henoe  the  manjr 
iences  connected  with  American 
trayelling:  the  fearful  jolting 
ctive  and  worn-oat  rails,  badljr 
and  imperfectlj  secured;  the 
e  exhausting  constant  shaking 
ies  the  nerves  to  their  utmost 
»  a  hundred  miles  on  American 
lal  to  four  hundred  on  foreign 
point  of  fatigue ;  the  frequent 
I  to  take  in  water  and  wood, 
rly  unknown  on  the  great  ex- 
ns  of  Europe,  and  the  frequent 
arising  from  imperfections  of 
ing  material.  The  wonder  is 
r  they  can  be  so  patiently  en- 
Che  .Ajnerioan  boasts,  and  boasts 
the  marvellous  inyentive  genius 
ce,  and  points  with  legitimate 
the  number  of  patents  issued 
bid  yet  he  submits  to  seeing  his 
ipaired  by  breathing  the  im- 
t-filled  air  of  the  oars  for  hours 
t,  till  his  person  is  covered  from 
X)t  with  more  unoieanness  than 
I  journey  elsewhere  would  have 
ted ;  he  bears  being  rocked  and 
id  jolted  till  he  feels  every  bone 
ly  with  lore  consciousness,  nay, 
itks  his  life  behind  a  crazy  en- 
mere  wreck  of  a  car  and  on  a 
worn-out  rails  laid  on  loose 
He  must  be  moving,  moving, 
K>  time,  in  his  rush  through  the 
i  this  life,  to  weigh  the  chances 
ink  of  his  safety. 
80  much  indifference  to  life  is 
d,  culminating  in  unparalleled 
>n  the  battle-field  and  unhesi- 
30sare  while  saving  others,  it  is 
not  to  be  expected  that  much 
Id  be  bestowed  upon  the  minor 
in  travelling.  The  seats,  even 
m  the  forced  intimacy  which 
luce,  are  not  often  really  com- 
too  much  attention  being  given 
;  color  and  costly  omamenta- 
too  little  to  the  ease  of  the 
The  ventilation,  on  the  other 
admirable  and  far  superior  to 
;  attempted  abroad ;  tiie  same, 
itely,  cannot  be  said  for  the 
apparatus  commonly  in  use. 
iontinental  trains  employ  hot- 


water  compartments  under  foot,  which 
send  the  warm  air  upward  and  keep  the 
most  sensitive  part  of  the  human  body, 
the  feet,  comfortable,  American  railways 
prefer  two  huge  iron  stoves,  which  dif- 
Aise  an  intolerable  heat  in  their  immedi- 
ate neighborhood,  but  leave  the  more 
remote  parts  cold  and  admit  under  the 
seats  a  constant  current  of  icy  air.  The 
intense  heat  leads  impatient  traveller 
with  robust  health  to  open  the  window, 
and  the  less  vigorous  neighbor  has,  at 
best,  to  choose  between  being  roasted  on 
one  side  or  chilled  through  on  the  other 
side.  Nor  can  much  praise  be  bestowed 
upon  the  refreshment-rooms  met  with 
on  railways  generally,  though  great  im- 
provements have  of  late  been  made  on 
some  roads,  where  they  eqaal,  if  they  do 
not  surpass,  the  best  establishments  of 
the  kind  in  Europe— always  excepting 
the  French  buffet,  which  in  quality,  sa- 
vor, and  price  of  eatables  is  unmatched. 
But  on  tbe  generality  of  roads  the  pro- 
vision mad*  for  feeding  the  hungry  trav- 
eller is  simply  execrable,  nnd  well-deserv- 
ing that  a  Dickens  should  arise  with  a 
pen  powerfhl  enough  to  arouse  the  pa- 
tient American  to  a  fall  sense  of  the  ab- 
surdity of  the  prevailing  system.  As 
the  train  reaches  a  stopping-place,  chosen 
by  no  means  for  its  tuitableness  or  the 
merits  of  the  landlord,  but  generally  in 
the  interests  of  certain  members  of  the 
Ring,  a  number  of  large  bells  is  instantly 
set  in  motion  and  a  dozen  powerful 
voices  are  heard  shouting :  Dinner,  gen- 
tlemen, dinner !  Then  follows  the  cus- 
tomary rush  to  a  table,  on  which  a  lot 
of  dishes  have  been  standing  ready  so- 
long  that  they  are  cold ;  the  eager  trav- 
eller draws  up  as  many  as  he  can  reach, 
heaps  them  on  his  plate  and  works  away 
with  a  vigor  and  a  haste  as  if  it  was  a 
wager  who  could  eat  most  in  the  short- 
est time.  Often  before  he  has  finished, 
and  always  before  he  is  allowed  to  leave 
the  room,  ho  is  summoned  to  pay  the  ex- 
tortionate dollar  or  more,  which  is  the 
usual  price  of  every  meal,  however 
scant  it  may  have  been  and  however  lit- 
tle the  guest  may  have  been  able  to  con- 
sume. Hence  the  practical  American 
has  fallen  upon  the  evident  devico  of 


e04 


Putnam's  Magazine. 


ITA, 


travelling  Tvitli  bis  loncL-basket,  and 
many  hundred  meals  are  thus  taken  daily 
on  every  train,  which  travels  over  a 
long  distance.  How  far  cold  dishes  are 
injurious  to  health,  when  they  form  the 
only  food  for  several  days,  is  an  open 
qncstion ;  hut  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
wliat  may  be  the  loss  of  the  inn-keeper, 
is  the  gain  of  the  traveller ;  and  even  a 
scries  of  cold  lunches,  eateil  comfortably 
and  leisurely  in  the  cars,  must  be  vastly 
superior  to  hot  dishes,  snatched  hastily 
and  undigested.  The  perfection  of 
Anierictm  railway  travelling  in  this  re- 
spect is  found  on  that  greatest  of  roads 
known  to  the  world,  the  Pacific  Kail- 
road.  The  lucky  holder  of  a  through 
ticket  in  one  of  the  so-called  Pullman 
curjt,  who  find<  within  the  same  coach 
Ilia  seat  by  day  and  his  couch  by  night, 
aud  a  restaurant  where  ho  may  either 
pay  a  sum  of  money  for  all  his  meals 
during  the  journey,  or  order  each  time 
what  he  chooses,  has  a  rare  opportunity 
of  enjoying  the  luxury  of  tcavelling  in 
its  fullest  extent.  As  the  train  carries 
him  swiftly  along,  ho  sees  every  place 
of  civilization  unrolled  as  in  a  vast  pano- 
rama before  his  eye ;  here  in  the  East, 
the  large  city  with  all  the  evidences  of 
highest  culture  and  greatest  wealth; 
then  the  border-land,  wliero  the  new  set- 
tler and  the  squatter  bring  their  cheerful 
sacrifice  of  a  hard  life's  work  for  the 
benefit  of  the  coming  generation ;  next 
the  primeval  forest  and  the  boundless 
prairie,  with  an  abundance  of  animal 
life,  while  the  emigrant's  slow  oxen  and 
the  Indian's  shsggy  pony  eye  each  other 
suf^iiiciously  and  their  masfers  represent 
in  striking  contrast  the  dying  race  of  the 
owner  of  the  soil  and  the  undaunted  en- 
ergy of  the  usurper.  Then  he  catches  a 
glimpse  at  the  strange  proi>het's  home, 
who  rules  like  Mohammed  over  a  host 
of  deluded  beings,  which  ho  has  drawn 
to  him  across  the  vast  ocean  and  the 
groat  prairies  of  the  New  World  from 
the  very  centres  of  civilization  and  the 
remotest  comers  of  Europe.  Ho  rises 
from  his  comfortable  dinner  and  smokes 
his  oigar  as  he  climbs  the  Rocky  Moun* 
^|||HMiHl  their  weird  cafions  and  their 
^^^^^jtwd   heights,    and    when   ho 


awakes  again,  he  finds  himself  on  Ae 
Pacific  slope,  soon  to  see  the  GeMa 
Gate  opening  before  him  npon  the  tfB 
waters  of  another  ocean ! 

This  is,  however,  almost  the  only  roste 
on  which  the  novelty  of  the  ever-Tar^ig 
sights,  the  freshness  of  the  Boen«  ct 
which  tlie  Bedskin  and  the  HomHn 
enact  their  strange  dramas,  and  the  o* 
citement  of  crossing  a  vast  continent  froB 
ocean  to  ocean,  make  railway  travdlim 
a  real  pleasure.  Everywhere  else  It  hai 
become  a  mere  mechanical  contrinase 
to  devour  space  and  to  reaoh  a  gifn 
place  in  the  shortest  possible  time.  Ha 
country  abounds  in  beantifhl  soensfy, 
unsurpassed  in  loveliness  and  richnea  of 
coloring  by  any  thmg  known  abroai 
But  how  few  travellers  race  np  the  god- 
son, the  Oonnecticut,  the  Mohawk,  or 
the  Susquehanna,  with  any  purpose  of 
enjoying  the  beauties  of  nature  f  The 
West  and  the  South  have  again  thoir 
peculiar  charms,  surprising  to  the 
prepared  eye  of  the  foreigner,  who 
vels  at  the  beauty  of  a  city  like  Madison, 
or  the  picturesque  scenery  in  Westcfa 
Georgia ;  but  who  ever  thinks  of  tnTel- 
ing  there  for  enjoyment?  How  maiqr 
even  take  the  trouble  to  look  out  sad 
regale  themselves  with  the  rich  ftssK 
spread  out  before  their  eyes?  TIm 
American,  whose  homesteads  are  go- 
erally  chosen  with  a  careful  regard  to 
fine  views  and  handsome  surrooadinp^ 
and  whoso  excellence  in  landscape psiat- 
ing  is  well  established,  has  jet  but  little 
eye  for  scenery ;  he  is  too  much  hnrrfed, 
too  sedulously  bent  upon  business,  too 
full  of  care  and  speculation,  to  enjoy  in 
happy  leisure  the  rich  treasures  which 
his  country  holds  up  before  him  In 
matchless  exuberance.  Kor  docs  rail- 
way travelling  seem  to  have  made  him 
more  communicative  and  courteous  to 
his  neighbors.  The  stereotyped  Yankos 
with  his  indefatigable  questioning  is  do 
longer  to  be  found,  but  as  little  can  the 
social  gentleman  often  be  met  who  la 
the  old  stage-coach  would  kindly  render 
some  small  service  or  throw  out  some 
trifling  remarks  in  order  to  establish 
friendly  relations  and  show  his  benevo- 
lent sympathy  with  the  welfiEire  of  his 


1 


SSETCHES  IN   COLOB. 


206 


r-travellers.  The  coarteey,  which 
irlj  respected  a  cloak,  an  ambrella,* 
>ook  as  a  sign  that  a  seat  was  oo- 
3,  is  no  longer  observed  by  all,  and 
eary  traveller,  who  may  have  been 
;  by  his  friend^B  side  for  days  and 
3,  is  nnceremoniously  ousted  by  a 
dt-woman,  who  enters  at  some  way- 
n,  and  finding  him  absent  for  a 
int,  takes  his  seat  and  pleads  a 
I  privilege  in  refusing  to  give  way 
e  rightful  owner.  But  even  this 
ge  paid  to  the  sex,  and  hence,  one 
',  imagine,  of  as  little  value  as  the 
iment  of  the  elder  Biron,  who  was 
B  constant  in  his  love — to  the  sex, 
wly  passing  away,  and  ladies  may 
in  standing,  especially  in  the  street- 


cars of  krge  cities,  while  men  sit  coolly 
around  them,  and  think  not  of  rising. 
Is  this  the  effect  of  the  large  influx  of 
foreigners,  whose  views  of  the  respect 
due  to  the  fair  are  less  exaggerated  than 
those  of  the  American  ?  Or  has  the  war, 
as  some  will  have  it,  among  other  de- 
moralising cfifects,  caused  this  sad  loss 
of  former  courtesy  also  ?  It  is  certainly 
desirable  that  some  simple  code  of  rules 
for  railway-travelling  should  be  agreed 
upon,  by  which  such  matters  could  easily 
be  regulated,  and  the  eminent  good  sense 
and  practical  tact  of  the  American  hold 
out  a  fiedr  promise  that  this,  like  many 
other  delicate  points,  will  soon  be  ar- 
ranged by  a  silent  understanding  and 
mutual  concession. 


■•♦•■ 


SKETCHES  IN  COLOR. 


THIRD. 


were 

** •Ittiog  down  one  AfUroooa 

Upon  oar  parlor  rog ;  ^ 

fl  sat  the  merry  doctor ; 

**  Wltfa  n  r«rf  botry  qmrto 
And  n  TOTf  llTdy  bag;  " 

rith  some  army  blankets,  that  we 
sewing  together,  to  do  duty  as  ear- 
when  an  ambulance  stopped  in 
of  the  house,  swift  feet  passed  up 
eps  and  through  the  door  (we  were 
Arcadia  where  people  did  not  look 
fhmt  doors),  and  a  voice.  Just  the 
arifle  imperious  in  its  tone,  ordered 
^pnt  up  that  work,  and  get  our 
md  come  along  directly.'' 
nd  what  for,  pray  ?  "  we  asked ; 
rhat  doubtful  about  being  ordered 
^  our  house  in  such  unceremonious 
n. 

m  going  to  Slabtown,  and  I  want 
>  go  with  me." 

ut  we  can't  go  to-day.    We've  got 
'ork  to  finish,  and  — —  " 
h  I  yes,  yon  can.    Any  way,  yon 

for  the  doctor  has  lent  me  this 
ance  for  the  whole  afternoon,  and 
I  no  knowing  when  I  can  have  one 

Tou'll  never  have  a  better  chance 
Slabtown,  and  I  assure  yon,  you'll 
ry  if  you  miss  it." 


"  What  and  where  is  Skbtown  ? " 

"  The  greatest  curiosity  you  ever  saw ; 
there — I  won't  tell  you  another  word. 
If  you  choose  to  come,  I'll  tell  you  about 
it  on  the  way ;  if  not,  I  roust  go  at  once : 
for  if  I  delay,  it  will  moke  it  so  late  get- 
ting back." 

So  we  postponed  our  carpet  sewing, 
packed  ourselves  into  the  ambnlAnce, 
and  rattled  away  through  the  sleepy  old 
streets,  whose  only  occupant  was  the 
afternoon  sunshine,  which  danced 
through  the  deserted  gardens,  and  play- 
ed sucfi  undignified  pranks  with  the 
quaint,  venerable  houses,  that  it  was 
almost  enough  to  rouse  the  **  dead  and 
gone  "  owners  to  resent  the  liberty. 

"Have  you  been  to  the  freedmcn*s 
camp  down  by  the  depot  ? "  asked  our 
friend. 

We  had  not.  The  week  since  our 
arrival  had  been  fully  occupied  in  setting 
our  house  in  order,  and  we  had  been  no* 
where. 

"  Then  we'll  go  there  first ;  for  it's  a 
perfect  curiosity  to  see  them  as  they  first 
come  in.  William,  there'll  be  time  to 
stop  for  a  few  minutes  at  the  freedmen's 
camp,  won't  there? " 

*^  I'll  drive  a  little  faster  so  as  to  make 


206 


PUTNAM^S  MAGAZnnB. 


[r*. 


time,*'  responded  our  Jebn,  a  tall  Ver- 
monter  who  was  taking  Lis  first  look  at 
the  world,  outside  of  his  native  town; 
^'  I^d  like  to  go  there  myself,  it*s  every 
bit  as  good  as  goin'  to  the  minstrels. 
Of  all  croeturs  ever  the  Lord  made,  I 
dew  think  them  niggers  is  jest  the  queer- 
est" 

The  freedmen's  camp  consisted  of  a 
number  of  tents,  arranged  in  parallel 
rows,  in  which  the  colored  people,  who 
came  in  by  hundreds  from  the  country 
around,  were  accommodated  until  they 
could  find  work,  and  a  more  comfortable 
habitation.  We  saw  there,  what  we  had 
so  often  heard  of^  and  what  is  now  a 
thing  of  the  past ;  the  plantation  negro, 
witli  his  curious  talk,  his  childish  interest 
in  trifies,  and  his  omnipresent  banjo. 

There  was  an  immense  difference  in 
appearance  and  character  between  the 
field-hands  and  the  house-servants.  The 
former  can,  even  now,  after  so  long  a 
time  of  freedom,  be  recognized  at  a 
glance  by  their  walk.  They  invariably 
lift  their  feet  high,  and  take  long  strides, 
as  they  were  obliged  to  do  in  stepping 
over  the  corn-hills.  The  h  onse-ser vants 
held  themselves  at  an  Immeasurable  dis- 
tance above  the  field-hands,  and  would 
tell,  with  an  air  of  superiority  infinitely 
amuNng,  that  ^' (2^  nebbor  done  no  com- 
mon work,  dey  was  alius  roun'  do  house, 
Jes'  under  missis'  orders ; ''  their  social 
standing  being  settled,  in  their  own  esti- 
mation, as  nearly  as  I  could  make  out, 
by  the  fact  of  their  having  been,  or  hav* 
ing  not  been,  under  an  overseer. 

There  had  Just  been  a  large  arrival 
from  North  Carolina.  Many  of  them 
had  never  before  been  off  the  plantation 
where  they  were  born,  and  their  expres- 
sions of  wonder,  and  comments  upon 
wliat  was  new  and  strange  to  them, 
were  exceedingly  comical.  They  crowd- 
ed eagerly  round  to  see  "  dese  yer  north- 
em  ladies,"  who  were  to  them  the 
rcjiresentatives  of  freedom  and  every 
earthly  good.  They  commented  freely 
upon  our  appearance ;  and  their  remarks 
certainly  had  the  merit  of  frankness, 
whatever  else  they  lacked.  The  negro, 
many  of  his  educated  brethren, 
much  of  appearances;  and  fine 


clothes,  and  bright  colors,  are  the  jof 
*and  rejoicing  of  his  heart.  I  donH  knov 
whether  they  expected  to  see  na  droNd 
in  '^red,  white  and  blue,''  with  goUci 
diadems  on  our  heads,  and  waving  Ifai 
^*  star-spangled  banner,"  after  tbemaiUMr 
of  Miss  Columbia  in  the  pictures;  bii 
iJiey  were  evidently  disappointed.  "Dij 
ain't  dressed  up  much  fer  ter  go  i 
ridin',"  I  heard  one  say ;  while  anollHr 
remarked,  *^  Mighty  plain  lookin'  oah^ 
dey  comed  in.  Nebber  seed  ladies  ridb' 
like  dat  ar  'fore.  Ole  missus  had  a  ml 
hansum  cah'ge,  wouldn't  a  sot  h&  ftot 
into  dat  ar." 

Some  of  them  had  their  fires  made  oil 
of  doors,  and  were  baking  their  hot* 
cake,  chattering  and  laughing  the  whOe^ 
in  childish  eigoyment  of  their  new  Vik, 
with  its  unaccustomed  privilege  of  going 
hither  and  yon,  as  they  would ; — with 
not  a  thought  of  the  untried  world  ind 
the  doubtful  future  beyond  them;  while 
others,  particularly  the  old  oneSySttis 
the  tents,  in  apathetic  indiflforenoe  to 
every  thing  around  them,  apparently 
completely  stupefied,  at  being  transplsot* 
ed  from  the  old  accustomed  scenes,  to 
these,  so  new  and  strange. 

The  local  attachments  of  the  negro  sra 
very  strong.      The  breaking-up  of  old 
associations,  tho  leaving  familiar  soenei, 
is  like  a  death-blow  to  him ;  and  ihU, 
and  not  their  attachment  to  their  eld 
masters,  as  the  latter  triumphantly  claim, 
accounts,  I  tliink,  satisfactorily,  for  the 
fact  that  some  of  them  have  gone  back 
to  the  places  that  were  for  so  many  yean 
the  only  homes  they  knew.    They  return 
to  their  old  haunts,  as  a  bird  to  its  last 
year's  nest. 

Raising  the  flap  of  one  of  the  tents,  the 
most  extraordinary  spectacle  we  had 
ever  beheld,  met  oar  astonished  gaze. 
A  piece  of  carpeting  was  spread  on  the 
ground,  and  on  this,  sat,  Turk  fashion,  an 
enormously  fat  woman,  one  of  the  black* 
est  of  her  race,  dressed  in  an  exquisite 
light  blue  moire-antique,  short-sleeved, 
and  low-necked,  with  a  full  trimming 
of  point-lace  on  the  waist;  while  Arom 
the  re<l  and  yellow  handkerohief^  sadty 
in  need  of  washing,  that  bound  her  head, 
dci)endcd  three  superb  ostrich  feathers^ 


1870.] 


Skstchss  nr  Oolob. 


d07 


the  oolor  ezaotlj  matching  the  dress. 
Thej  bed  nndoabtedlj  formed  the  gala 
robe  and  headdress,  of  some  Sonthem 
dame,  who  had  abandoned  her  boose  in 
sndden  fHght  at  the  approach  of  the 
Yankees,  leaving  behind  every  thing  but 
the  most  necessary  articles,  to  be  appro- 
priated by  tiie  servants;  who  in  snch 
oaaea,  following  the  example  of  their 
imagined  prototypes,  "  spoiled  the  Egyp- 
tians.'' There  was  the  fiiintest  percepti- 
ble qniver  of  her  eyelids,  as  we  raised 
the  tent*flap,  bnt  in  no  other  way  did 
•he  manifest  the  slightest  conscioosness 
of  onr  presence ;  sitting  motionless,  with 
lidded  anna,  like  a  bronze  statne  of  some 
barbaric  qneen. 

Onr  Yermooter,  who  appeared  to  be 
enjoying  himself  as  mnoh  as  if  he  were 
witnessing  a  performance  of  his  favorite 
minstrels,  seeming  to  regard  the  whole 
thing  as  a  grand  national  spectacular  en- 
tertainment, suggested  that  *'if  we  were 
a-goin'  to  Slabtown,  it  was  abeont  time 
to  be  lookin'  that  way ;  "  so  we  tnmed 
oar  backs  nx>on  the  glories  of  the  moire- 
antique  and  ostrich  feathers,  and  followed 
for  a  while  the  windings  of  the  blue, 
beautiful  river,  over  a  road  that  had  once 
probably  been  good,  but  was  now  cut 
into  deep  ruts  by  the  heavy  goyernment 
wagons  and  artillery;  then  striking 
across  a  wild,  desert  country,  where  ev- 
ery trace  of  fence  and  house  was  oblit- 
erated—one wide-spread  ruin  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  reach — we  rode  for  a  mile 
or  two,  and  then  came  in  sight  of  what 
we  thought  was  a  fort,  until  our  guide 
announced : 

"  There's  Slabtown." 

"Where?" 

"  In  that  enclosure.  There  is  no  way 
of  driving  in,  so  we  shall  have  to  leave 
the  ambnlance  here  and  walk." 

1  have  no  idea  of  the  exact  area  cov- 
ered by  this  setdement,  but  it  contained 
between  two  and  three  thousand  colored 
people,  who  had  made  for  themselves  a 
home  here,  almost  in  the  wilderness. 
The  place  was  surrounded  by  a  strong 
and  very  high  fence,  with  a  broad  ditch 
outside,  spanned  at  intervals,  where  there 
were  gates  in  the  fence,  by  narrow  bridg- 
es.   I'here  seemed  to  have  been  a  defi- 


nite purpose  to  make  the  place  as  difficult 
of  access  as  possible.  The  width  of  the 
bridges  admitted  of  but  one  person  cross- 
ing at  a  time,  so  it  would  be  quite  easy 
to  resist  the  attack  of  even  a  large  force. 

Crossmg  one  of  the  bridges  and  enter- 
ing the  gate,  we  found  ourselves  in  a 
broad  street,  with  a  labyrinth  of  narrow- 
er ones  leading  from  it  in  every  direction. 
The  houses  were  built  of  logs  plastered 
with  mud — the  warmest  dwelling  ever 
invented — with  huge  mud  chimneys 
rising,  in  Southern  fashion,  from  the 
ground  on  the  outside.  Most  of  them 
looked  neat  and  comfortable,  and  I  did 
not  see  one  that  could  really  be  called 
dirty.  Some  of  them  had  porches 
over  the  doors,  with  side  lattices,  made 
of  rough  wood  with  the  bark  on,  ar- 
ranged in  pretty,  tasteful  patterns,  pre- 
cisely in  the  style  of  the  rustic  wood- 
work, for  which  our  city  cabinet-makers 
charge  so  enormously.  Slabtown  was 
in  the  height  of  the  fashion,  so  fkr  as 
wood-work  went,  and  might,  indeed, 
have  dictated  fashions  to  the  rest  of  the 
world,  for  I  have  never  seen  any  work 
of  the  kind  so  beautiful  as  these  rustic 
porches,  and  the  chairs  and  settees  that 
invited  one  to  rest  in  them. 

The  booses  stood  some  distance  apart, 
and  each  one  had  a  little  plot  of  ground 
attached,  where  the  owners  raised  com 
and  some  few  vegetables,  and  an  endoa* 
nre  where  they  kept  the  abomination  of 
the  Jews.  Corn  meal  is  the  necessary, 
and  bacon  the  luxury  of  the  black  man ; 
give  him  an  abundance  of  these,  and 
occasionally  some  fresh  fish,  and  he  asks 
nothing  more  of  gastronomy.  The 
women  did  all  the  work  in  the  cultivation 
of  the  gardens,  while  most  of  the  men 
found  work  in  the  town,  or  in  the  nu- 
merous camps  that  dotted  the  plain,  and 
lay  like  snow-wreaths  in  the  clefts  of  the 
hill-country  beyond. 

The  men  were  nearly  all  absent,  except 
a  few  old  ones,  who  sat  by  the  fire, 
smoking  their  pipes,  and  droning  to  one 
another  of  the  bygone  days,  "deshnokin' 
time,  an'  de  gran'  Christmas  at  ole  mas- 
sa's '' — more  real  to  them  now  than  these 
strange  new  days  upon  which  they  had 
fallen.    But  we  were  in  jast  the  best 


208 


PUTXTAH^B  MaQjLZINB. 


[Feb, 


timo  to  see  the  women,  for  the  Tnidday 
work  was  done,  and  it  was  not  yet  time 
to  prepare  the  hoe-cake  for  the  evening 
meal ;  so  most  of  them  were  ont  of  doors, 
on  the  porches  or  in  the  street,  refresh* 
ing  themselves  with  a  dish  of  gossip, 
after  the  manner  of  their  sisters,  white, 
black,  yellow,  or  copper-colored,  all  over 
the  world, — and  dressed  in  fashions  sach 
as  mortal  eyes  had  never  before  seen,  nor 
mortal  imaginations  conceived. 

One  woman  was  promenading  the  main 
street,  in  a  Torkey-red  skirt  and  a  sol- 
dier^s  light  bine  overcoat,  with  a  string 
of  glass  beads  carefully  spread  out  over 
her  shonldera,  that  not  one  of  them 
shonld  be  hidden.  Another  had  on  a 
rag-carpet  with  a  hole  cat  in  the  centre, 
through  which  her  head  appeared,  tiie 
comers  hanging  down  over  a  light,  deli- 
cate silk  skirt,  elaborately  trimmed  with 
velvet — ^part  of  ^^  ole  missus' ''  wardrobe, 
undoubtedly — and  on  her  head  a  man's 
old  straw  hat,  adorned  with  a  banch  of 
soiled  artificial  flowers.  Still  another 
wore  a  nondescript  garment,  of  which  it 
was  impossible  to  determine  the  original 
color  or  material,  so  many  shades  and 
qualities  mingled  in  the  patches;  and 
over  this  bundle  of  rags  was  displayed  a 
black  lace  mantilla,  while  the  smoke 
from  her  pipe  curled  upwards  around  a 
delicate  little  white  bonnet,  set  sideways 
over  her  very  dirty  turban. 

Scores  of  such  costumes  met  us  at  ev- 
ery turn.  But  notwithstanding  these 
half  childish,  half  barbarous  absurdities, 
there  was  much  to  be  hopeful  of  in  a 
people  who.  Just  released  from  slavery, 
acting  for  the  first  time  on  their  own 
responsibility,  like  a  child  taking  its  first 
steps  alone,  had  the  wit  to  plan,  the  en- 
ergy to  carry  out,  and  the  stability  to 
maintain,  an  undertaking  like  this  settle- 
ment. It  was  entirely  their  own  doings. 
They  had  oome  here,  one  by  one,  from 
the  freedmen's  oamp,  as  they  found  the 
means  of  support ;  had  built  their  houses, 
and  when  the  place  grew  to  nearly  its 
preaent  size,  enclosed  it  in  the  manner 
deaoribed. 

It  is  idle  to  talk,  after  such  an  exam- 
ple as  this,  of  the  inability  of  the  colored 
people  to  take  care  of  themselves.  They 


have  proved  conclusively  in  this,  and  in 
other  instances,  that  they  are  abandan^ 
ly  able.  They  can  do  it,  and,  if  throws 
upon  their  own  resources,  as  were  theai^ 
without  a  helping  hand,  thej  wUL  But 
my  experience  with  them  has  iavariab^ 
been,  that  if  any  help  is  given  then, 
they  cease  all  personal  exertion,  and  lit 
down  with  folded  handa,  to  wiut  fiir 
more.  Where  nothing  is  done  for  them, 
though  they  suflfer  at  first,  they  soon  de- 
velop into  energy  and  independenoe; 
but  if  you  do  anything  for  them,  joa 
must  do  everything.  Many  persons  it 
the  North  have  been  very  much  dii^ 
pointed  at  what  seemed  to  them  grot 
ingratitude  on  the  part  of  oolored  people 
for  whom  they  had  done  much;  bat  I 
do  not  think  it  is  so  mnoh  IngratitodBi 
as  a  manifestation  of  this  pecnliarify  of 
their  race.  Do  anything  at  all  for  them, 
and  from  that  moment  you  are  in  their 
eyes  laid  under  an  obligation  to  take  care 
of  them  for  the  rest  of  their  lives. 

This  settlement  was  an  independent 
one  in  every  respect.  They  had  some 
few  laws  and  regulations,  which  all 
bound  themselves  to  respect,  and  they 
maintained  their  own  store,  ohuroh,  doc- 
tor, and  minister.  The  latter  was  absent, 
but  we  saw  the  doctor.  He  looked  more 
like  an  Indian  than  a  Negro,  and  wm 
possessed  of  a  great  deal  of  natural  com- 
mon sense,  and  some  considerable  knowl- 
edge of  different  diseases  and  ihm  rem- 
edies, picked  up,  he  could  aoarcely  teD 
how ;  so  said  the  surgeon  of  a  hospital 
in  town,  who  occasionally  supplied  him 
with  a  few  of  the  simpler  medicines. 

We  visited  the  store,  and  found  the 
proprietor  stretched  out  on  the  tops  of 
some  barrels,  so  sound  asleep,  that  oor 
entrance  and  talkmg  did  not  wake  him. 
I  think  we  might  have  carried  off  hit 
whole  6t^)ck,  and  he  been  none  the 
wiser.  It  would  not  have  been  mudi 
to  carry,  for  all  that  was  visible  was  a 
cabbage,  three  smoked  herrings,  a  paper 
of  pins,  ditto  needles,  some  sticks  of 
candy,  half  a  dozen  pipes,  and  a  box  of 
the  peculiar  quality  of  tobacco,  dear  to 
the  negro  heart,  elegantly  denominated 
"  pig-tail." 

The  church  stood  in  the  centre  of  the 


Bkrohss  nr  Color. 


209 


HTonder  if  it  was  aocidental,  or 
nienoe,  or  whether  there  was 
idea,  in  making  the  paths 
hich  the  dally  life  was  trod- 
idiate  from  this  central  point 
d  faith.  It  was  bnilt  in  the 
on  as  the  houses,  of  logs  with 
left  on.  The  door  had  no 
iro  strips  of  leather  held  it, 
1  with  a  hole  in  it,  through 
ail  passed,  served  for  bolt  and 
)  square  openings  cut  for  win- 
re  unfilled  by  sash  or  glass; 
1  sunshine  entered  unchecked, 
>  mercy,  warm  and  life-giring 
re,  the  worshippers  sought 
lere  was  no  floor  save  the 
I,  and  the  seats  were  of  the 
id,— logs  set  upright,  with 
rds  laid  upon  them, 
pit  rose  like  a  piece  of  fiury 
mg  these  coarse  and  homely 
igs.  It  was  of  the  rustic  work 
hese  people  diralayed  so  much 
by  far  the  mosc  beautiful  spe- 
aye  ever  seen.  I  know  not 
outward  man  may  be,  but  a 
',  soul,  designed  what  was 
ut  there.  The  aspirations  of 
,  dumb  life,  breathed  them- 
in  that  dream  of  beauty.  On 
)  of  the  pulpit  an  evergreen 
ed,  and  an  ivy  twined  itself 
le  lattice  work  of  the  front ; 
lossy,  dark  green  of  the  leaves, 
I  with  the  dead  brown  of  the 
ere  was  both  faith  and  poetry 
iting  there  these  emblems  of 
y,  earnests  and  reminders  of 
lasting  spring,**  and  ^^  never- 
Bvers,*'  in  the  '*  land  beyond 

)r  building  made  wi:h  hands 
ited  me  as  did  that  little 
ith  its  bare  floor,  its  rough 
and  its  one  touching  attempt 
and  refinement.  I  have  been 
as  city  churches,  where  the 
hoir  sent  floods  of  melody 
isle,  and  nave,  and  transept, 
the  kneeling  coogr^^tion  as 
voice,  joined  in  the  solemn 
to  prayers,  that  through  ages 
re  carried  worshipping  hearts 


heavenward;  I  have  been  in  quiet 
country  meeting*houses,  where  the  sim- 
ple, old-fashioned  tunes  were  sung,  and 
the  good  man's  words  were  few  and 
plain  so  that  a  little  child  might  under- 
stand, and  the  green  boughs  waved 
against  the  windows  and  looked  loving- 
ly in,  as  longing  to  join  their  mute 
praise  with  that  of  the  worshippers ;  I 
have  sat  in  solemn  Quaker  assemblngesi, 
awed  almost  to  fear  by  the  deathlike 
silence;  in  earnest  Methodist  gather- 
ings, where  "  out  of  the  abundance  of 
the  heart,  the  mouth  speakoth ;  *'  I  have 
stood  under  cathedral  domes  of  the  old 
world,  where  opal  lights  i^ll  on  floor 
and  pillar,  from  pictured  windows,  the 
secret  of  whose  coloring  was  lost  long 
years  ago;  where  chisellings  from  the 
mighty  masters  of  the  past,  seemed  Ut- 
ing  things  save  for  their  silence ;  where 
the  organ  notes  drifted  up  through  arch 
and  dome,  and  dropped  their  liquid 
echoes  into  the  stillness;  where  light, 
and  color,  and  architecture,  and  music 
were  blended  into  one  perfect  whole,  so 
that  there  was  scarce  a  distinctive  re- 
cognition of  either,  only  the  conscious- 
ness of  an  atmosphere  of  beauty  that 
enwrapped  the  senses,  while  tho  soul 
sank  utterly  satiijtfied,  into  the  calm  of 
that  beatitude  of  harmony;  but  never 
through  all  these,  di«l  the  "  Our  Father  " 
come  home  to  me  with  such  fullness, 
and  distinctness  and  nearness,  as  id  that 
little  church  in  the  wilderness,  where 
the  "  poor  and  the  needy  "  of  an  out- 
cast race,  worshipped  the  God  of  their 
deliverance.  "Peace  be  within  thy 
walls,*'  and  the  blessing  of  the  **  God  of 
peace,"  upon  all  who  gather  there. 

We  had  become  bewildered  by  the 
maze  of  streets  through  which  we  had 
passed,  so  that  wo  were  obliged  to  ask 
for  a  guide  to  lead  us  to  the  one  by 
which  we  had  entered.  Seated  in  the 
ambulance  once  more,  our  friend  ask- 
ed : 

"William,  don't  you  think  we  might 
drive  round  by  the  colored  orphan  asy- 
lum, and  stop  there  for  a  few  minutes? " 

Our  Green  Mountain  friend  pulled  out 
a  watch,  that  might  have  come  over  in 
the   Mayflower,    and   been    originally 


810 


Pxrrsjjc'a  MAaAznrB. 


[Fel^ 


bought  by  the  poand,  and  looked  fix>m 
it  to  the  san  and  back  again,  as  if  trying 
to  disooyer  whether  that  Inminary  were 
going  to  set  in  accordance  with  it;  if 
not,  the  mistake  wonld  inevitably  be 
with  the  sun,  and  not  with  the  watch. 

^*  Wall,  I  dnnno ;  it's  the  longest  road, 
bnt  you  know  they  say,  *  the  longest 
way  round's  the  shortest  way  hum,'  and 
I  duuno  but  it'll  be  jes'  so,  for  that's  a 
better  road  than  the  one  we  come,  and 
I  kin  drive  faster." 

So  we  took  our  last  look  of  Slabtown, 
and  laid  away  pleasant  remembrances  of 
it  to  be  called  up  for  future  ex^oyment, 
regretting  only  that  we  could  not  change 
the  name  to  something  prettier  and 
more  expressive  of  its  character.  I  never 
could  decide  upon  a  satisfactory  reason 
for  the  fact,  that  almost  every  settle- 
ment of  colored  people  I  have  known 
anything  about,  has  been  called  Slab- 
town.  I  have  heard  of  at  least  a  dozen ; 
and  in  what  the  peculiar  appropriate- 
ness of  the  name  consists,  I  have  entire- 
ly failed  to  understand. 

The  orphan  asylum  was  in  a  confis- 
cated house,  furnished  by  the  govern- 
ment for  the  purpose.  It  stood  in  the 
centre  of  a  farm,  not  another  house  in 
sight;  and  here,  in  this  lonely  place, 
two  women  lived,  who,  walking  in  the 
footsteps  of  their  master,  had  left  home, 
and  friends,  and  ease,  and  comfort,  to 
gather  these  little  ones,  wandering  alone 
through  the  rough  paths  of  the  world, 
into  one  of  the  earthly  folds  of  the  Good 
Shepherd.  There  were  about  fifty  chil- 
dren, most  of  whom  had  been  brought 
there  by  soldiers,  who  had  picked  them 
up  from  the  roadside  on  their  march, 
where, — the.  little  feet  growing  weary, 
and  unable  to  keep  up  with  older, 
stronger  ones, — they  had  been  left  to 
die,  save  for  the  pitying  help  of  stranger 
hands ;  for  in  that  panic-stricken  flight, 
with  its  eager  haste,  its  only  half-assured 
hope,  its  backward  looks  of  terror,  it 
was  literally  true  that  ^  the  mother  for- 
got her  cbUd,"  and  had  no  ^*  compas- 


sion "  on  it,  when  its  weariness  made  it 
a  hindrance  to  her  progress;  and  leav* 
ing  it  to,  she  knew  not  what  fkte,  hast- 
ened, alone,  to  freedom. 

All  the  burden  of  providing  and  ear- 
ing for  these  children  in  every  way,  and 
teaching  them,  these  two  women  bore 
alone.  Once  a  week,  one  of  them  drove 
into  town,  ^ve  miles,  to  bny  needed 
articles,  and  get  their  mail,  and  this 
was  their  only  communication  with  the 
world;  their  nearest  neighbors  were 
bitter  enemies,  and  they  were  shut  up  to 
each  other  and  their  work.  And  so 
they  had  lived  for  months.  It  was  a 
wonderful  life,  in  its  self-abnegnation, 
its  entire  caving  up  of  everything  to 
which  our  nature  dings,  and  which  our 
habits  of  life  seem  to  make  necessary ; 
but,  "  verily  they  have  their  reward," 
largely  now,  for  the  satisfaction  of 
such  a  work  is  greater  than  can  be  im- 
derstood  by  those  who  have  never  earn- 
ed it  for  thenjselves;  and  completely, 
when,  having  Ted  this  little  flock  here, 
the  *^  well-done"  shall  be  said  to  them, 
at  the  great  ingathering  of  those,  who, 
"  inasmuch  as  they  have  done  it  to  the 
least  of  these,  have  done  it"  to  their 
Lord. 

Not  many  such  days  come  in  a  life- 
time, as  this,  whose  setting  we  watched 
on  our  homeward  way, — so  full,  so  sug- 
gestive, so  rich  in  new  experiences.  We 
could  not  tell  how  long  it  was  since  we 
hi^  laid  aside  our  work,  and  left  our 
house ;  we  seemed  to  have  been  rolling 
on  in  that  ambulance  for  weeks;  but, 
when  at  home  once  more,  we  took  up 
the  thread  of  our  daily  life,  it  wos  with 
a  new,  thankful  sense  of  its  dignity  and 
worthiness.  A  nation  had  been  ''  born 
in  a  day ;  "  and  to  us  was  given  a  little 
of  the  work  of  elevating,  and  teaching, 
and  helping  it  to  become  worthy  of  its 
fireedom.  Some  misgivings  had  clouded 
our  hopes  of  success  in  our  work,  but 
having  seen  what  we  had  that  day,  we 
gave  them  to  the  winds,  and  ^took 
courage." 


1870.]  Wdid  of  thb  SoimiLAirD.  211 


WIND  OF  THE  SOUTHLAND. 


Wind  of  the  Sonthland,  mnrmnriDg  under  moon, 

Thou  hast  the  stolen  soul  of  all  things  sweet — 

Sea-scents  that  languish  upon  idle  seas, 

Fumes  that  on  shadowy  shorelands  swoon  or  swell, 

Balm  hurnings,  and  hlown  languors  of  briery  blooms 

From  isles  beyond  a  thousand  brims  of  sea, 

Wind  of  the  Southland,  wand^ing  through  the  night ! 

n. 

Wind  of  the  Southland,  memory  burns  in  me, 
For  thou  hast  come  through  portals  of  the  Past. 
I  knew  thy  whisper  in  youth's  dreaming-time 
That  shrined  the  sweetest  weathers  of  the  world ; 
Thy  breathing  moves  like  a  forgotten  voice, 
And  thy  touch  thrills  like  a  remembered  hand, 
Wind  of  the  Southland,  tender  as  of  old. 

in. 

Wind  of  the  Southland,  singing  from  the  South, 
As  though  thou  led'st  a  revel  of  the  Junes 
Where  late  has  past  the  funeral  of  the  year, 
Our  wreaths  are  ruined,  and  our  nests  are  bare. 
There  lies  the  moulted  feather  on  sad  mould, 
But  here's  a  life  oulrising  clay  for  thee. 
Wind  of  the  Southland,  singing  from  the  South  I 

IV. 

Wind  of  the  Southland,  singing  ft*om  the  South, 

We  long  have  lost  all  music  of  our  own, 

Warm  thou  the  starry  heart  of  even  with  song. 

Waken  the  green  delaying  in  the  ground. 

And  call  the  leaf  that  slumbers  in  the  bnd, 

O  minstrel  of  the  prophecies  of  spring, 

Wind  of  the  Southland,  breathing  song  and  scent  t 

V. 

Wind  of  the  Southland,  wilt  thou  bring  my  broods 
That  flying  took  the  heart  of  my  desire 
And  left  me  fain  to  follow  and  find  rest  ? 
To-night  my  dream  discerns  returning  wings. 
And  hears  good  cheer  ring  out  of  alien  skies 
And  far  away — ^but  is  my  dream  a  dream. 
Wind  of  the  Southland,  wandering  our  ways? 


818 


FuTKAic's  Maoazinb. 


[Fel^ 


VI. 


Wind  of  the  Southland,  murmuring  under  moon, 
Thou  bringest  more  than  I  can  sing  or  say, 
And  comest  as  a  covenant  to  our  clime ; 
Mj  hopes  come  back  like  doves  from  o'er  the  sea. 
My  heart  forgets  the  winter-world  that  flies,     » 
Leans  o'er  its  fires,  and  nods  and  dreams  of  spring. 
Wind  of  the  Soathland,  singing  from  the  South  I 


■♦♦• 


TIIE  GREAT  GALE  AT  PA8SAMAQU0DDY. 


t .  ^ 


The  coast  of  Maine  has  become  the 
popular  resort  during  the  last  few  years, 
and  the  fame  of  Mt  Desert  has  spread 
far  and  wide,  till  thonsands  of  visitors 
havo  made  it  the  terminus  of  their  snm- 
nior  journey,  unconscious  that  there  is 
an  Ultima  Tliulo  beyond,  of  equal  pictn- 
resqueness  and  beauty. 

Passamaquoddy  Bay,  with  its  numer- 
ous islands,  and  rocky  cliffs,  its  sandy 
coves  and  wooded  shores,  possesses  a 
Avild  charm  of  its  own,  which  is  begin- 
ning to  force  its  way  to  notice,  and  al- 
ready tourista  are  beginning  to  make 
notes  of  it,  and  artists  to  suspect  its  fine 
possibilities  of  light  and  shade,  and  to 
recognize  the  warmth  and  power  of  its 
fine  red  tints  of  granite  and  sandstone, 
and  the  calm  beauty,  or  stormy  magnifi- 
cence of  its  wonderful  skies,  with  their 
strange  amber  and  purple  hues. 

The  purity  of  the  healthful  air,  and 
the  fresh  and  breezy  vigor  of  the  life  in 
tbese  quiet  neighborhoods,  having 
tempted  us  to  prolong  a  summer  vacation 
somewhat  fiur  into  the  fall,  it  chanced 
that  we  were  witnesses  of  a  superb  and 
terrible  gpeotade,  such  as  has  never  yet 
Vt^'V*  and  we  hope  may  never  again  be- 
ili  |h(|..lfcimili  TWtor  in  this  far-off  re- 

I  refer  to  the  storm  of 
jot  Oot  4th,  which  showed  it- 
^^^  Vpieh  ^UfRannt  forms  in  various 
^^^  \\  now  in  rain  and  (reshet,  and 
1^       I  vUent  wind,  and  furious  tern- 


•«^5 


L 


before,  when  all  Boston  was 
Jo  ffindersy  the  attention  of  some 
jprn  attracted  to  the  prediction 


of  Lieutenant  Saxby  of  the  Boyal  Navy, 
with  regard  to  another  gale,  to  whidi 
we  might  still  look  forward. 

This  j)rcdiGtion  bore  date  of  December 
21st  1868,  and  was  extracted  from  the 
London  Standard.    It  read  as  follows  :— 

^*  At  7  A-ir.  on  the  ensuing  6th  of  Oc- 
tober, the  moon  will  be  at  the  part  of 
her  orbit  which  is  nearest  the  earth; 
her  attraction  will  be  at  its  maximum 
force.  At  noon  the  moon  will  be  on  the 
earth's  equator,  a  circumstance  which 
never  occurs  without  marked  atmospheric 
disturbance.  At  2  p.m.  on  the  same  day, 
lines  drawn  from  the  earth's  centre  will 
cut  the  sun  and  moon  in  the  same  arc  of 
right  ascension.  The  moon's  attraction, 
and  the  sun's  will  therefore  be  acting  in 
the  same  direction.  In  other  words  the 
new  moon  will  be  on  the  earth's  equator 
when  in  perigee,  and  nothing  more 
threatening  of  high  tides  and  destructive 
win<]s  can  occur." 

In  the  September  blow,  we  had  stood 
a  pretty  fair  sliaking,  and  had  found  sev- 
eral trees  uprooted  in  the  morning, 
while  our  small  boats  were  piled  up  hel- 
ter-skelter on  the  beach  filled  with 
gravel  and  drift-wood,  and  banged  and 
bruised  by  fioating  logs  that  had  htmi- 
mered  and  buffeted  them  till  they  were 
much  the  worse  for  wear. 

The  daylight  showed  traces  of  a  re- 
markable tide,  the  grass  was  washed  flat 
for  many  feet  beyond  the  highest  water 
mark  above  the  beach  line,  and  half  a 
dozen  of  our  neighbors'  boats  had  gone 
ashore  on  the  opposite  point,  our  own 
yacht  having  barely  ridden  out  the  gale ; 


The  Gbeat  Oixb  at  Pabsahaquoddt. 


218 


ir  chimneys  stood  upright,  tho  roof 
)t  loosened,  and  we  oonld  read  with 
omplacency  which  characterizes  a 

review  of  his  neighbors'  calamity, 
olefal  acconnt  of  the  wild  work 

in  Boston  by  the  same  sonth- 
r. 

IS,  having  weathered  tho  stiffest 
)  remembered  by  the  oldest  inhab- 
we  believed  we  might  afford  to 
at  prognostications  of  evil  through 
ind,  even  from  an  officer  of  the 

Navy,  backed  by  each  astronomi- 
'oo£ei  as  Lieutenant  Sazby  had  at 
and. 

''ertholess  tho  prophecy  was  allnd- 
as  one  comments  on  Second  Ad- 
)rospects  of  universal  destruction, 
s  the  fifth  drew  near,  we  looked 
3  proof  of  the  fallacy  of  this  wam- 

be  added  to  the  many  records  of 
38nrd  presumption  of  man,  in  at- 
ing  to  calculate  the  disturbance  of 
ements. 

morning  of  October  4th  dawned 
nd  damp,  with  a  warm  wind  blow- 
rom    the  south-west    across    the 

Passamaquoddy  Bay,  ordinarily  a 

and  sunny  snrface  enough,  with 
mt  variety  of  billow  and  foam  to 
a  it  firom  tameness,  to  say  nothing 
mty-five  feet  of  tide  coming  and 

perpetually,  was  now  crested 
^hite-capped  waves,  which  gleamed 
b  the  varied  purple  and  green 
I  of  the  main  body  of  the  water, 
r  and  wide  tbe  commotion  extend- 
lie  small  craft  scudded  for  shelter, 
on  the  Bay  was  deserted,  but  for 
litary  steamboat  which  was  seen 
g  her  way  np  slowly  as  the  gloom 
nlng  fell. 

dusk  we  went  down  to  the  shore, 
de  was  about  an  hour  flood,  and 
ives  black  as  night  were  dashing 
>ray  against  the  crags,  and  rolling 
or  the  shingle  with  a  rush  and 
ihat  tossed  the  stones  in  air,  while 
«r  was  loud  and  booming  like 
f  the  sea,  instead  of  the  gentle 
»  which  we  are  accustomed. 

skipper  came  down  to  the  shore, 
led  Uie  moorings  of  his  large  sail- 
'hich  was  lying  in  the  cove  at  the 


foot  of  the  lawn,  fastened  by  tho  bow  to 
the  shore,  and  by  the  stern  lino  to  the 
remains  of  an  old  wharf  whose  solid 
foundations  had  stood  tbe  storms  of  half 
a  century. 

The  skipper  examined  the  double  bow- 
line knots  of  his  strong  lines,  shook  the 
tightly  furled  sails  to  see  if  all  was  fast 
straightened  the  centre-board,  and  saw 
that  tbe  side-stays  were  steady. 

"Is  she  secure?"  I  asked.  "She'll 
hold  if  the  wharf  holds,''  he  replied,  sen- 
tentiously,  as  he  gave  another  tug  at  the 
rope.  "  It  will  bo  a  fair  test,"  he  con- 
tinued, "but  it  stood  tho  great  gale,  and 
I  guess  it  will  hold  through  this." 

The  tide  came  in  rapidly,  the  wind 
had  increased,  and  was  one  of  the  kind 
you  can  lean  up  against,  and  now  the 
rain  began  to  fall,  first  in  mild  mist 
which  soon  changed  to  heavy  pattering 
storm. 

Passamaquoddy  Bay  being  one  of  the 
arms  of  the  great  Bay  of  Fundy,  receives 
the  influx  of  its  marvellous  tides,  the 
ordinary  run  being  from  twenty  to  thirty 
feet,  80  that  its  daily  ebb  and  flow  is  no 
small  circumstance ;  but  on  this  occasion 
with  the  sea  lashed  into  a  fhry  by  the 
rising  wind  which  blew  straight  on 
shore,  we  anticipated  something  uncom- 
mon ;  and  as  the  fast  falling  rain  drove 
us  to  the  house  for  shelter,  we  turned 
regretfully  to  take  one  last  look  at  the 
dark  seething  waves,  just  in  time  to  see 
a  boat  that  was  moored  to  a  buoy  in  the 
cove,  swamp,  and  go  under,  while  the  sea 
swept  over  her  with  its  resistless  force. 

As  we  reached  the  door  the  rain  came 
down  in  torrents,  driving  in  through 
closed  shutters  and  bolted  sash,  stream- 
ing in  rivulets  under  doors,  forcing  a 
passage  through  the  crevices  id  windows, 
and  pelting  through  the  roof  upon  the 
ceiling  below.  The  family  were  kept 
flying  for  two  hours  with  mops  and 
floor-cloths  and  towels,  to  keep  out  the 
flood,  after  which  the  deluge  somewhat 
abated,  though  the  wind  continued  ris- 
ing, howling  savagely  about  the  comers, 
with  a  hnman  malice  in  its  tones,  and  a 
positive  wail  of  spite  when  after  shaking 
the  strongly  barred  doors  and  windows 
for  a  while,  it  failed  to  foroe  an  entrance. 


214 


Putnam's  MAOAznrs. 


[FdlK, 


The  steady,  sqnare-bnilt  honse  rooked 
like  a  boat  on  the  wave,  the  cupola 
cracked,  the  shutters  were  lifted  from 
their  hinges  and  banged  ftirionslj.  One 
•  of  the  windows  blew  in  with  a  loud 
crash,  and  boards  and  blankets  were 
almost  insufficient  to  barricade  the  aper- 
ture. 

Above  the  raging  of  the  elements 
could  be  heard  the  sharp  sound  of  split- 
ting wood  as  the  tifees  outside  fell  before 
the  hurricane ;  the  wind  roared  in  the 
wide  chimneys,  and  fanned  the  dying 
omberstoaflcone;  and  now  anew  calam- 
ity threatened.  One  of  the  servants 
rushing  in  firom  the  kitchen  announced 
that  the  neighbor's  diimney  was  on  fire, 
and  on  looking  out,  the  sparks  large  and 
bright  were  whirling  in  the  air  directly 
toward  our  bam.  To  be  burned  out  on 
'  such  a  night  would  be  a  fearful  thing ; 
and  the  skipper  donning  overcoat  and 
goloshes,  marched  bravely  through  the 
storm  to  warn  Mr.  B.  of  his  danger. 

By  the  time  he  returned  the  rain  had 
abated,  almost  ceased,  but  the  tempest 
was  at  its  height,  and  even  his  stalwart 
and  athletic  form  could  with  difficulty 
maintain  a  foothold.  He  brought  dole- 
ful reports  of  prostrate  fences  and  brok- 
en gates,  but  tlie  darkness  concealed  the 
worst  damage. 

Soon,  Johnson,  the  skipper^s  man,  puts 
his  heiad  in  the  door. 

*'  If  yon  please,  sir,  the  boat  has  come 
ashore,  and  I  have  been  down  to  try  to 
save  her,  but  I  can't  do  anything;  and 
there  are  two  men  here  from  the  village, 
who  say  that  all  the  bams  are  down, 
and  that  they  have  been  about  saving 
people's  property  all  night  They  pick- 
ed up  one  woman  who  had  fiiinted  in 
the  road ;  her  barn  blew  down,  and  she 
thought  the  house  was  coming  after,  so 
she  ran  out  and  fell  with  the  fright" 

'^I  will  go  and  see,"  says  the  skipper, 
and  the  men  follow  him  to  the  beach. 

The  sky  is  clearing,  the  rain  has  ceas- 
ed. I  follow  them  down  the  bank. 
Storm-clouds  scud  across  the  horizon, 
above  them  the  stars  shine  out  clear  and 
stilL  It  is  nine  o'clock,  it  wants  an 
hour  to  high  water.  The  trees  on  the 
lawn  Lave  a  curiously  bent  and  twisted 


look,  two  or  three  are  split  from  top  to 
bottom,  the  groxmd  is  strewn  with  leaves 
and  branches  from  their  t>onghs.  We 
grope  our  way  to  the  shore,  but  before 
we  reach  the  end  of  the  grassy  sl<^ 
soiftething  heaves  and  surges  at  oor 
feet.  Black  as  midnight,  resistless  as 
fate,  the  sea  is  booming  in,  far  above  the 
sand,  above  the  bank,  nearly  up  to  the 
punt  which  has  been  hauled  fiar  up  npon 
the  grass.  The  tidal  wave  combs  over 
ten  feet  high,  the  spray  dashing  tut  high- 
er, sprinkles  our  faces.  The  wharf  has 
disappeared,  its  logs  and  timbers  an 
rolled  to  our  very  feet ;  the  white  foam 
gleaming  in  the  starlight  breaks  over  the 
summit  of  the  crag  on  which  its  high- 
est  beams  rested.  An  inky  yeast  of  sei^ 
weed  and  driftwood  seethes  against  tibe 
grass.  We  stand  high  up  on  a  kind  of 
battlement  of  turf,  usually  fkr  above  the 
highest  wave.  Now  the  cresting  billow 
breaking  into  foam  drenches  our  fore- 
heads, as  it  leaps  high  in  dr. 

The  boat,  broadside  to,  is  banging  up 
upon  the  rocks.  A  large  hemlock  log 
inside  her,  makes  her  unmanageable.  It 
is  hopeless  to  attempt  to  bring  her  in, 
the  most  that  can  be  done  is  to  save  the 
sails ;  one  of  the  men  springs  in  to  un- 
fasten them — as  he  does  so,  the  surf  eo* 
gulfs  him.  Boat  and  man  disappear 
in  the  raging  flood. 

There  is  a  breathless  pause,  then  the 
wave  recedes,  and  the  boy  scrambles 
dripping  to  the  shore. 

"She  went  to  pieces  tmder  me,"  he 
says,  as  be  shakes  himself. 

Bang  I  goes  the  keel  upon  the  cruel 
rock ;  she  is  breaking  up,  the  wreck 
floats  away  under  the  skipper's  eye. 
Pretty  soon  he  comes  up  the  bonk,  the 
men  bearing  the  wet  and  torn  sails  be- 
hind him,  like  trophies. 

"  There  is  not  enough  of  her  to  show 
she  ever  was  a  boat,"  he  says,  ruefully 
enough. 

The  tide  rolls  higher  and  higher,  the 
other  boats,  which  we  thought  were  out 
of  harm's  way,  have  to  be  moved  again ; 
the  surf  already  has  half  filled  the  punt, 
as  she  lies  high  upon  the  grass. 

Fassamoquocldy,  almost  always  tran- 
quil in  our  quiet  cove,  sheltered  by  two 


Ths  Great  Gals  at  PAsaAVAQuoDDY. 


215 


oare  and  thonders  like  the  At- 
The   Borf  is   equal   to   Gape 

3  climb  the  hill  to  the  hoase,  we 
impsee  of  trees  uprooted  in  the 
>  the  north  of  ns,  and  the  foot- 
aoro88  the  ravine  near  by,  with 
ig  oedar  supports,  undermined  bj 
ng  trees,  is  broken  in  two,  and 
«8  lie  scattered  far  and  wide, 
m  oVlock  I  went  down  alone  to 
re.  The  gale  had  nearly  subsided, 
'  was  over ;  the  tide  was  at  its 
but  its  raging  breakers  rolled 
m]j  on.  It  had  done  its  worst, 
cene  was  grand.  The  stormy  skj, 
g  into  rifts  of  clearness,  through 
shone  the  solemn  unchanging 
le  bent  forms  of  the  trees,  visible 
dim  and  uncertain  light,  their 
branchoB  still  vibrating,  and  their 
stirring  noiiilj ;  the  forms  of  rain 
iketcbed  in  the  obscurity,  the  up- 
boats,  overset  by  the  wind,  and 
;hty  wave  with  its  powerful  and 
voice,  swelling  and  heaving  be- 
^e  darkne&<},  formed  a  picture  at 
irful  and  magnificent 
;empest  has  passed  by,  the  gusts 
ainter  and  fainter,  now  they  are 
By  eleven  the  atmosphere  is 
lie  wind  lulled  to  rest.  It  is  hard 
ive  that  an  hour  before  we  were 
by  the  hurricane.  We  can  sleep 
rbed,  happily  unconscious  of  to- 
r's store  of  misery. 
ing  dawns  upon  a  scene  of  deso- 
Devastation  and  wreck  meet  the 
shore  and  sea.  Every  fence  is 
)  bams  are  down  or  unroofed,  the 
ys  look  like  those  of  a  bombarded 
From  a  tidy  New  England  vU- 
im  and  well  to  do,  ours  is  trans- 
into  a  Virginia  settlement,  tum- 
n  and  desolate. 

I  like  Petersburg  after  the  battle,'' 
■etumed  soldier. 

i  boat  is  in  sight ;  the  town  across 
r,  on  the  New  Brunswick  side, 
0  have  lost  half  its  warehouses, 
irly  all  its  wharves.  The  neigh- 
M>rt  dire  disaster  to  cattle  buried 
•uins  of  the  bams.  Two  men  of 
naintance  were  in  a  stable  when 


it  fell,  and  were  not  extricated  for  fifteen 
minutes,  but  were  both  unhurt. 

"I  have  lived  here  seventy  year," 
says  one  old  man,  "  and  I  never  see  the 
wind  blow  before ;  the  lost  gale  warn't 
nothin'  to  it,^'  and  he  points  dismally  to 
his  unroofed  bam  and  his  rows  of  up- 
rooted apple- trees. 

The  groves  are  the  saddest  sight 
Evergreens  and  birches  of  fifty  years' 
growth  lined  our  shores  for  miles, 
crowning  the  rocky  blu&  with  freshness 
and  beauty.  These  now  lie  uprooted 
and  broken ;  fir  upon  sprace,  silver-burch 
upon  pine,  in  mighty  winrows  of  a  gi- 
ant^s  mowing,  straight  through  from  sea 
to  clearing.  Scarcely  one  tree  of  con- 
siderable size  is  left  standing.  The  woods 
are  impassable  from  the  fallen  trunks. 
Great  firs  lie  snapped  short  off  at  the 
root,  where  the  ground  has  proved  too 
firm  to  allow  them  to  be  uprooted. 

In  New  Brnnsjviok,  where  the  foreat 
primeval  still  exists  in  patches,  in  fifty 
acres  of  original  growth,  only  three  trees 
are  left  standing;  while  the  second 
growth  being  more  pliable  has  suffered 
less,  though  fearfully  izgured. 

In  a  cemetery  at  St  Stephen,  N.  B.,  in 
the  centre  of  an  ancient  pine  forest,  the 
gardener  estimates  that  a  thousand  trees 
have  fallen.  Here,  hundreds  lie  pros- 
trate. Whatever  offered  a  surface  to  the 
wind  is  down.  It  is  a  piteous  spectacle, 
the  forest  laid  low,  the  growth  of  a  cen- 
tury destroyed  in  a  single  night  I  The 
loss  is  irreparable. 

The  day  brings  news  of  dire  disaster 
fdr  and  wide.  Pembroke,  Perry,  Calais 
all  have  suffered. 

Eastport,  being  exposed  to  the  full 
force  of  the  gale,  is  almost  a  ruin ;  its 
spires  lie  fiat,  its  wharves  are  gone, 
some  of  its  stores  are  washed  away,  the 
shipping  has  greatly  suffered.  One  new 
barque  going  out  of  St.  Andrews  to  seek 
a  harbor,  broke  in  two,  and  all  on  board 
perished.  The  damage  to  the  fishing  in- 
terest is  incalculable.  The  small  boats 
are  broken  to  pieces,  the  drying  houses, 
containing  nets,  lines,  and  cordage  are 
destroyed,  the  shores  are  strewn  with 
wrecks.  The  St.  John  papers  report 
one  hundred  and  forty  bocHes  washed 


«tt 


(Ffls 


mufjn  St  Gnad  Mexuxu  The  fteamcr 
y«v  York.  Irio^  sfc  acehor  sfc  Lobee,  in 
I»7iBart«r7't  Core,  wLidk  bftt  sIwati  been 
44Pt««nM?d  ft  Mf«  harbor,  parted  her  iron 
e«'o>«  Yi\ut  whipcord,  Tlte  fLoek  of  the 
«L';d  vaa  00  tremeodooa  that  the  whole 
or^/tr  deck  ftcrted,  and  the  Captain  is 
oi  opinion  t'lat  bad  tbe  mooringf  not 
f^iv^.n  vThj,  the  waUxm  with  all  the  pss- 
ttttgiHTi  would  hare  been  washed  orer- 
boani. 

Ill  this  town  a  hearj  nfter  was  blown 
from  a  fallen  bam,  and  driren  through 
tbe  wall  of  a  neighboriiig  honse,  as  if 
•hot  from  a  mortsr.  A  brick  honse  on 
a  hill,  in  an  exposed  position,  had  the 
gable  end  blown  in,  all  funr  of  the  chim- 
neys blown  down,  and  the  roof  torn  to 
pitcM,  A  bam  was  forced  six  feet  from 
its  foundations  and  onlj  kept  from  fUl- 
ing  down  into  the  gully  on  whose  edge 
it  WAS  bailty  by  tbe  support  of  the  trees 
growing  agiUnst  it.  A  vessel  on  the 
stocks  was  blown  bodily  eiglit  feet,  when 
it  fell,  and  crashed  the  frame  so  that  it 
cannot  be  used  in  rebuilding  it.  The 
gablo  end  of  a  new  store,  with  no  window 
in  it,  which  had  jnst  been  weather- 
boarded  and  painted,  was  driven  oom- 


fteeijis.  A  hogshead  loll  of  water  WIS 
fifted  quite  acroas  a  door-yard.  The 
chorch  spire  was  mored  two  feet,  and 
two  of  its  pinnades  carried  away. 

AtSL  ScepheDSf  N.  BL,  one  church  was 
utterly  destrajed  and  lies  a  shapeleasnrin. 
The  bell  tower  of  the  Episoc^Md  cfanreh 
fell,  baring  giren  fvvth  sereral  ominoas 
tolb  before  it  eame  crashing  down. 

It  is  needless  to  moltiply  instaaeea  of 
the  power  of  the  gale.  It  was  a  hnrri- 
cane  soch  as  thi§  region  haa  never  known. 
More  befitting  the  tropics  than  this  frigid 
section. 

The  people  bear  their  heavy  losMS 
with  singular  equanicdty.  There  la  no- 
body to  blame,  and  the  diaaater  ia  io 
general,  that  one  almoat  forgets  individ- 
ual diBtress  in  the  general  niisfortiiiii«i 

Tmly,  '^Of  a'  the  airU  the  wind  can 
blaw,'*  thb  has  been  the  most  uncanny, 
and  though  we  must  hope  it  has  blown 
somebody  good,  it  certainly  haa  broo^t 
ill  enough  for  one  neighborhood. 

To  cheer  our  drooping  spirits,  two 
more  gales  for  the  18th  and  28th  insts. 
are  pi'edicted ;  but  let  us  hope  that  the 
prophecies  ore  founded  on  less  secure 
groxmd  than  that  of  Lieutenant  Saxby. 


•»• 


\ 


THE  DEATH  BELL. 


A  nKFULOBNT  noon  filled  all  the  world 
with  Hplcndor.  The  little  clonds  in  these 
beautiful  heavens  looked  like  the  white 
shoulders  of  swiramors  in  a  lake  of  sap- 
]>liiro.  But  the  doorway  of  the  bell 
fuuudry  of  Broslau  was  low  and  arched, 
and  licro  the  sunbeams  halted,  as  if  they 
craved  no  commerce  with  the  darkness 
and  the  gloomy  vapors  pervading  tbe 
groat  vault  within.  Helena  stopped, 
too,  tnr  alie,  like  the  sunbeams,  seemed 
to  dread  familiftrity  with  those  ghastly 
slindows.  As  she  stood  in  the  archway, 
with  her  bright  yellow  hair  rippling 
down  over  her  crimson  mantilla,  one 
mx^Ui  have  thought  that  Aurora  had  re- 
turnod  at  noonday  to  chide  the  sun  for 
oonlldcating  all  her  dewdrops.  This 
oluirnung  girl  looked  down  eagerly  into 
tho  fou  ndry.     She  saw  the  great  furnace 


with  its  oornsoations  of  blue  flame,  and 
the  huge  caldron  wherein  the  molten 
metal  for  tho  new  bell  for  the  Magdalen 
church  lay  Bhimmering  like  a  lake  of 
gold ;  she  saw  the  rays  of  lurid  light 
darting  up  to  tbe  ceiling  of  the  vaoU 
and  clinging  to  all  the  beams  as  with 
bloody  hands ;  but  she  saw  no  living  soul 
within,  for  Reichert  the  founder  and  his 
artisans  had  gone  to  their  midday  meal ; 
and  the  embrjonlo  bell  was  apparently 
left  to  take  care  of  itself.  A  ahade  of 
disappointment  crossed  her  pretty  Ikee. 
"  I  thought  he  truly  would  have  waited,** 
ahe  said,  and  was  about  to  turn  away, 
when  a  voice  cried,  ^^  Helena,  thou  dear 
one,  I  am  here,"  and  presently  there 
emerged  in  the  twilight  of  the  archway, 
a  tall  and  handsome  youth,  who  ran  for- 
ward in  groat  joy,  and  seixed  the  maiden's 


1870.] 


The  Death  Bell. 


317 


hands,  and  exclmmed,  "  I  am  glad  thou 
art  come.  Thon  shalt  novr  descend  into 
this  black  paradise  of  surprises,  and  bo- 
hold  all  that  thoa  hast  been  curious  about 
so  long." 

'^I  thought,  Fritz,  that  thou  hadst 
left,"  she  replied. 

"Kay,"  said  he.  "How  should  I 
disappoint  mj  dear  one  who  wished  to 
see  our  preparations  for  casting  the  bell? 
Be  careful  in  passing  down  tliese  steps. 
Our  master  has  often  promised  to  have 
them  repaired ;  though,  for  my  part,  I 
had  rather  he  should  mend  his  temper 
than  the  steps.  Let  me  take  thy  hand. 
80 1  Thou  canst  not  see  the  way  ?  Ah, 
trnst  me ;  I  will  neither  falter  nor  mis- 
lead thee.  Kow  will  we  mount  this 
Iplatforin,  where  thou  canst  see  that 
which  will  one  day  sound  merrily  over 
Breslau." 

"  Oh,  how  beautiful,"  she  exclaimed ; 
bat,  a  slight  emotion  akin  to  a  shudder 
disturbed  her,  and  she  said,  '^  Perchance, 
Fritz,  this  bell  may  sound  notes  of  woe 
for  thee  or  fbr  me." 

At  her  feet  lay  the  lake  of  shining 
meral,  faintly  palpitating  in  the  intense 
heat.  One  could  almost  fancy  the  liquid 
was  pellucid,  so  clear  was  the  delusive 
shimmer  upon  its  surface.  Yet,  while 
there  was  no  visible  impulse  to  give  it 
motion,  there  were  evidences  of  some 
mysterious  yearnings  that  disturbed  it. 
Inexplicable  tremors,  faint  vibrations, 
at  if  responsive  to  harmonies  inaudible 
to  human  ears,  agitated  the  mass.  One 
might  <leteot  pulHations.  The  metal  was 
unable  to  tranquillize  itself  with  these 
fiery  raptures  penetrating  all  its  atoms. 
It  trembled  in  delicious  anguish.  It 
writhed  with  the  instinct  fbr  escaping 
as  a  brute  in  a  cage  writhes  against  the 
inexorable  bars.  It  beat  in  little  petu- 
lant ripples  upon  the  sides  of  the  caldron 
as  upon  a  shore.  It  wanted  to  utter  in 
waves  and  currents,  and  capricious  ed- 
dies the  delights  of  mobility ;  it  would  be- 
come fraternal  with  rolling  floods  of  lava ; 
it  would  unite  in  intention  with  tides, 
and  cataracts,  and  all  the  flowing  masses 
of  the  world.  It  murmured,  and  thrilled, 
and  purred,  and  uttered  little  soft  seduc- 
tive sighs.    Across  its  sur&ce  danced 

VOL.  V. — 15 


innumerable  sparkles,  solamandrine  flies, 
one  would  say ;  galaxies  of  emeralds, 
taking  to  themselves  wings,  could  not 
sparkle  more  brilliantly.  Now  and  then 
a  minute  fragment  of  scoria  was  shot  up 
from  the  depth  of  the  lake,  and  exploded 
in  tiny  meteoric  showers ;  while  round 
the  margin  flory  auroras  wore  streaminj^ 

"  It  is  beautiful,"  repeated  Helena. 

"  Ah,  many  a  handsome  face  hath  look- 
ed upon  it,^' said  Fritz,  ''but  none  so 
handsome  as  thine." 

'*What,  do  many  visitori*,  come  hitheit* 

"  Yes,  many  of  the  highborn  dames  of 
Brcslau  come  to  see  the  molten  metal 
for  the  belL  And  pretty  oiferiugs,  too, 
they  throw  into  the  caldron.  One  of 
them  threw  her  bracelets  all  sparkling 
with  gems  into  the  mass ;  others  have 
thrown  in  golden  crosses.  Yesterday  a 
lady  brought  a  great  silver  flagon. 
Some  of  the  rich  burghers*  wives  have 
brought  massive  *  silver  candlesticks. 
Many  have  thrown  in  rings  of  dazzling 
beauty;  I  would  I  could  ornament  thy 
taper  fingers  with  such  toys.  But  chief- 
est  of  all  that  I  grudged  to  this  dragon 
bell,  which  in  its  fiery  hunger  hath  swal- 
lowed so  much,  was  a  gold  necklaos 
given  by  the  Syndic's  daughter.  Oh,  it 
wnA  of  marvellous  beauty  and  radiance; 
and  as  I  saw  it  fly  from  her  hands  like  a 
shooting  star,  rest  a  moment  on  the  sur- 
face of  the  mct4al,  and  then  dissolve 
away  forever,  I  wished  some  gnome  had 
rescued  it  for  thee." 

"  Vox  not  tliyself  for  such  baubles,* 
returned  Helena.  "  The  flowers  thou 
gavest  me  last  evening  are  dearer  far  to 
me  than  Jewels,  for  thy  kisses  hover 
upon  the  petals  and  mix  with  the  per- 
fume. And  this  little  eornclian  cross  of 
thine— see,  I  wear  it  close  to  my  heart. 
Oould  I  treasure  it  more  lovingly  if  i% 
were  even  of  richer  make  ? " 

He  knew  not  how  to  conceal  his  pleas- 
ure at  these  words.  "  I  see — ^thou  art 
pretending  to  love  me,"  ho  said  with  a 
smile. 

"  And  dost  thou  never  pretend  to  lova 
me  ?  "  she  replied.  As  men  add  smiles 
to  their  love-Jests,  so  women  add  to 
theirs  a  tear.  Helena's  eyes  glistened  as 
sho  spoke. 


219 

1  of  bring- 

.*  frame  of 

led  back  the 

.)r  which  Rei- 

and  not  aprainst 

'  It  was  of  your 

-uk  the  life  of  au- 


.,  my  poor  inend,"  unfiworcd 
.aUieiif  who  was  a  good,  convcn- 
mao,  strangely  contrasted  {as  is 
the  cose  in  friendship)  wiUi  the 
Beiobert,  and  who  understood  no- 
;  of  tbosa  bold  arraignments  of 
•  and  forces,  *^Alas,  my  friend, 
;  in  this  sad  hour  that  joiir  fellow- 
haye  not  been  so  merciless  to  yon 
a  havo  been  to  yonrself.  Recollect 
yon  did  not  nso  to  control  your 
er.  Ton  were  too  hot,  too  hot. 
£  of  this,  and  try  to  be  humble  and 
ite ;  and  so  prepare  yourself  for  the 
oal  of  Heaven. 

/ontrite!  hnmblel    Jjetmohearno 
of  these  degrading  notions.  Know 

I  am  a  Man !  I  have  faculties  to 
a  part  in  the  world.    I  am  a  great 

I I  Should  I  renounce  these  Fover- 
powers  and  walk  as  an  apologist  for 
eing  before  sun  and  stars?  Nay, 
me  descend  to  the  fellowship  of 
iSj  and  like  the  ox  be  trained  for 
hter — "  ho  suddenly  stopped.  "  Ha, 
a  pang  I  To  that  event  I  am  in- 
brought  against  my  will," 

»n  Tallien  was  deeply  moved  by  this 
}nate  outburst,  but,  being  the  man 


--=;^  hful,   and    deserved 

lort's  response.     "To 
-*  risked  the  ruin  of  my 

Such  an  act,  I  repeat, 

aimed  Von  Tallien  in  a 
■k'procating  tone. 
..sjust.    The  world  has  too 
ese  inconsiderate  idlers,  who 
marring  the' works  of  others, 
them  should  leave  it.    When 
.0  done,  their  worst,  *  Oh,  if  was 
they  say — as  if  that  consoled  one. 
punished  all  offences  with  death, 
least,  would  thus  punish  an  injury 
work  of  art." 
**But  your  bell  was  found  perfect. 
Nothing  could  have  succeeded  better," 
said  Von  Tnlllen. 

"  Oh  I  misery,  I  know  it.  Failure 
would  have  been  the  vindication  of  all 
my  cares.  For,  indeed  with  what  secret 
fear  and  delight,  I  looked  forward  to 
that  casting  1  How  many  times  a  day 
I  ran  over  in  my  mind  every  precaution, 
every  expedient  that  might  ensure  suc- 
cess. By  night  my  dream,  by  day  my 
whole  employ  I  At  last,  every  thing  was 
ready.  The  crowning  moment  came, 
and  another,  a  meddlesome  servant, 
steps  in  and  defrauds  me  of  my  rightful 
triumph  as  an  ariist.  I  say,"  ho  cried, 
striking  his  fist  upon  the  table  where  his 
fetters  made  a  loud  jangling,  "  I  say,  it 
is  an  aflront  of  Fate." 

lie  sat  down,  and  covered  his  fac« 
with  his  hands.  Von  Tallien  was  con- 
fused jind  perplexed;  ho  knew  not  how 
to  deal  with  this  troubled  haughty  spirit 
The  silence  that  ensued  was  broken 
by  the  entrance  of  a  janitor  who  came 
to  announce  that  visitors  must  leave  the 
prison.  Von  Tallien  again  recommend- 
ed religious  ideas  to  his  friend.  ^'  Lot 
me  beseech  you,"  he  said,  "  by  the  love 


I 


220 


Putnam's  Maoazikb. 


IFafc, 


we  have  borne  one  another,  to  soften 
yoar  disposition.  Confess  that  yon  have 
done  wrong.  Confession  is  a  life-pre- 
server thrown  out  by  conscience  to  save 
the  sonl  from  drowning  is  the  gu]&  of 
selfishness.*' 

"  No  more  I  "  said  Beichert  imperious- 
ly. *^  Never  will  I  confess  that  man  can 
do  wrong  in  vindicating  his  honor- 
especially  the  artist  Let  it  pass.  We 
mnst  part.  Bat  still  before  yoa  go,  there 
is  a  request  which  I  would  have  you  con- 
vey to  my  tormentors.  Ask  them  to  have 
the  bell  secured  in  its  plaoe  in  the  Mag- 
dalen tower  this  n(||U^ihat  I  may  at 
least  hear  its  voice  before  I  die.  And 
henceforth  let  it  toll  at  the  death  of 
every  one  who  is  brought  to  such  an  end 
as  I  am.'' 

Yon  Tallien  promised  to  use  his  influ- 
ence with  the  council  for  these  objects, 
And  so  prepared  to  leave  his  unfortunate 
friend  for  ever.  He  was  unable*  to  re- 
press his  emotion,  and  parted  from  him 
in  a  paroxysm  of  j^rief. 

The  workmen  engaged  in  the  Magda- 
len tower  hurried  to  the  completion  of 
their  task,  bat  it  was  not  till  the  next 
day  that  the  work  was  accomplished — 
indeed,  the  bell  was  only  Just  fixed  as 
the  mournful  procession  left  the  prison. 
The  executioner,  the  priests,  the  ofiicers 
of  tiie  prison,  the  council  of  the  city,  in 
the  midst  of  them  the  prisoner  guarded 
by  two  soldiers,  moved 'along  through 
the  crowd,  and  reached  the  foot  of  the 
Rabeiistein,  ''  the  hill  of  death." 

Then  it  was  that  Beichert  heard  sweet 
and  melancholy  notes  pour  forth  from 


the  Magdalen  tower,  and  raising  hif 
eyes  saw  the  new  bell  swinging  like  t 
censer,  and  laden  with  sound  as  with  a 
perfame. 

The  spectators  spoke  to  each  other  of 
the  singular  circumstance  that  a  man 
.should  go  to  make  a  bell,  and  afterwardi 
hear  it  tolled  for  his  own  death*  A' 
creeping  terror  began  to  agitate  their 
souls,  lliey  thought  so  strange  an  ereot 
boded  evil  to  them.  Meanwhile  the  boU 
became  shriller  and  more  olamorona.  h 
•filled  all  the  air  with  passionate  appeak 
Sometimes  it  pleaded  for  pity,  eoma- 
times  it  shrieked  for  revenge,  then  It 
changed  to  doleful  lamentation-;  finally 
one  of  the  listeners  declared  that  Ita 
cadences  seemed  very  like  low  mookinf 
laughter. 

Beichert  heard  all  these  spunda.  fiSi 
heart  was  torn  with  contending  emo- 
tions; he  knew  not  himself,  nor  hit 
thoughts.  Indistinguishable  reveries 
whirled  together  in  a  vortex  of  pride^ 
shame,  agony,  and  regret.  "For  this  I 
labored,"  he  said.  Then  the  bell  seemed 
to  moan  of  remorse.  It  thrilled  him  to  the 
soul,  lie  thought  of  the  youth  he  had 
slain :  "  Ob,  thou  unhappy  boy,  I  pity 
thee,"  he  cried.  The  tears  gushed  into 
his  eyes,  and  poured  down  his  cheokSi 
The  people  seeing  his  lips  move  as  he  sat 
down  on  the  "  bloody  seat "  thought  he 
was  praying,  and  said  he  would  make  a 
good  end. 

The  executioner  lifted  his  sword.  A 
silence  fell  upon  the  lips  of  men  and  the 
hearts  of  women.  In  a  moment  all  was 
over. 


1870.] 


Thb  8tobt  of  Cbazt  Kabtha. 


221 


THE  STORY  OF  ORAZY  MARTHA .♦ 

[rROM  TQB    PROTBXgAI(  OF  JACQUB8  JASMIN.] 


[This  little  drama  commences  in  1798, 
at  Lafitte,  a  pretty  hamlet  situated  on 
the  banks  of  the  Lot,  near  Olairac,  and 
tenninates  in  1802.  At  this  last  period, 
Martha,  bereft  of  her  reason,  escaped 
from  tne  village,  and  was  often  after- 
wards seen  in  the  streets  of  Agen,  an 
object  of  public  pity,  begging  her  bread, 
and  flying  in  terror  from  the  children 
who  cried  out  after  her, — ^^Maltro,  un 
aauldat  I "  {Martha,  a  soldier  1)  The  au- 
thor confesses  that  more  than  all  others, 
in  his  childhood  he  pursued  poor  Martha 
with  his  sarcasms:  he  little  dreamed 
that  one  day  his  muse,  inspired  by  the 
wretched  lot  of  the  poor  idiot,  would 
owe  to  her  one  of  his  most  exquisite 
ereations.    Martha  died  in  1884.] 

I. 

Drawinp  the  Lot. — Two  di^ent  hearts, 
— The  Cards  neter  lie. — The  Con- 
Bcript-^Thc  Oath. 

'NjOT  far  from  the  banks  which  the 
pretty  little  river  Lot  bathes  with  the 
cool  kisses  of  its  transparent  waters, 
there  lies,  half  concealed  by  the  feather- 
ing elms,  a  small  cabin.  There,  on  a 
beantifbl  morning  in  April,  sat  a  young 
girl  deep  in  thought;  it  was  the  hour 
when  in  the  neighboring  town  of  Tou- 
neins,  a  band  of  robust  young  men  were 
awaking  in  suspense  the  result  of  the 
army  draft  which  was  to  decree  their 
fate.  For  this  the  young  girl  waited 
too.  With  uplifted  eyes,  she  breathed  a 
prayer  to  the  good  God:  then,  not 
knowing  what  to  do  with  herself  how 
to  contain  her  impatience,  she  sat  down ; 
she  got  up,  only  to  sit  down  again.  One 
might  see  that  she  was  in  an  agony  of 
BQspense;  the  ground  seemed  to  burn 
the  soles  of  her  feet.  What  did  it  all 
mean?  She  was  beautiful;  she  had 
every  thing  that  heart  could  wish ;  she 
possessed  a  combination  of  charms  not 
often  seen  in  this  lower  world, — delicate 
erect  figure,  very  white  skin,  black  hair, 
and,  with  these,  an  eye  as  blue  as  the 


sky  itself.  Iler  whole  appearance  was 
80  refined  thaii,  on  the  plains,  peasant  as 
she  was,  she  was  regarded  as  a  bom  lady 
by  her  peasant  companions.  And  well 
did  she  know  all  this,  for  beside  her  lit- 
tle bed  there  hung  a  bright  little  mirror. 
But  to-day  she  has  not  once  looked  into 
it.  Most  serious  matters  absorb  her 
thoughts ;  her  soul  is  strangely  stirred ; 
at  the  slightest  sound  she  changes  sud- 
denly from  marble  hue  to  violet. 

Some  one  enters ;  she  looks  up ;  it  is 
her  friend  and  neighbor,  Annette.  At 
the  first  glance  you  could  not  fail  to  see 
that  she  too  was  in  trouble,  but  at  a 
second,  you  would  say, — "it  is  very 
manifest  that  the  evil,  whatever  it  is, 
only  circles  around  her  heart,  and  does 
not  take  root  there." 

*^  You  are  happy,  Annette,"  said  Mar- 
tha, "  speak ;  have  the  lots  been  drawn  ? 
have  they  escaped  ?  is  Ad  free  ? " 

^'1  know  nothing  yet,"  replied  An- 
nette, "  but  take  courage,  my  dear ;  it  is 
already  noon,  we  shall  very  soon  know. 
Yon  tremble  like  a  jonquil,  your  face 
frightens  me.  Suppose  the.  lot  should 
fall  upon  Jacques,  and  he-  should  be 
obliged  to  go  away;  you  would  die, 
perhaps  ?  " 

"Ahl  I  cannot  tell  I  " 

"  Yon  are  wrong,  my  friend ;  die  I 
what  a  baby  you  are.  1  love  Joseph, 
if  he  has  to  go,  1  should  bo  sorry ;  I 
should  shed  a  few  tears ;  1  wotdd  wait 
for  his  return,  without  dying.  No  young 
man  ever  dies  for  a  girl ;  not  a  bit  of  it ; 
and  they  are  right.  There  b  truth  in 
the  couplet, — 

lly  lover  when  he  goes  amy 
Loees  Ikr  more  than  I  who  stay. 

A  truce  to  your  grief,  then.  Come,  if 
you  feel  equal  to  it,  let  us  try  our  Inok 
by  the  cards.  /  did  this  morning,  and 
it  all  came  out  right  for  me  {  so  it  will 
for  you.    See  how  calm  I  am ;  come,  to' 


*  See  **  Laat  of  the  Ttoi^JbadoiiZB,*'  in  Puduim't  Magasine  for  Ootober,  1800. 


f^ 


Pdivam'b  Maqazikk. 


[F«b, 


console  yon,  let  ns  see  what  the  lackj 
cards  will  say." 

So  the  huoyont  yonng  girl  makes  her 
friend  sit  down,  checks  for  a  moment 
her  own  wild  spirits,  graoefdUy  spreads 
a  small  piece  of  shining  taffeta,  and 
takes  the  cards  in  her  hands.  The  suf- 
fering heart  of  Martha  stops  for  a  season 
its  fierce  throhs;  she  gazes  with  eager 
eyes;  she  ceases  to  tremhle;  she  is  in- 
spired with  hope.  Then  hoth  girls,— the 
light-hearted  Annette  and  the  leving 
Martha,  repeat  together  the  well-known 
refrain, — 

**  Cards  so  betatifal  and  fklr, 
Ugbten  now  a  malden^i  care ; 
Kaava  of  olatM  and  Qaeon  of  love, 
To  oar  oanao  propitiooB  proTO.** 

One  after  another  the  cards  are  turned 
np,  placed  in  piles,  then  pat  together 
and  shafBed.  Out  them  three  times ;  it 
is  done.  Ah,  a  good  sign,  first  com.es  a 
king.  The  girls  are  a  perfect  picture — 
two  mouths  hreathless  and  speechless; 
four  eyes  smiling  and  yet  awe-struck, 
follow  closely  the  motion  of  the  fingers. 
Upon  the  lips  of  Martha  a  sweet  smile 
slowly  rests,  like  a  fairy  flower.  The 
queeif  of  hearts  is  turned  up ;  then  the 
knave  of  duhs.  If  now  no  hlack  malig- 
nant spade  appears,  Jacques  will  he 
saved.  Seven  spades  are  already  out ; 
only  one  remains  in  the  pack ;  there  is 
nothing  to  fear.  The  heautiful  dealer  is 
smiling,  is  Joking^^stop  1  like  a  grinning 
skull  cast  into  the  midst  of  a  festive 
crowd,  the  Queen  of  Spades  comes  up  to 
announce  dire  misfortune  I 

Hark  I  on  tha  highway,  the  noisy 
drum  strikes  in  like  a  mocking  laugh, 
mingled  with  the  strains  of  the  shrill 
fife,  and  wild  hursts  of  song.  It  is  easy 
to  gues^  that  these  are  the  happy  fellows 
who  have  escaped  the  draft ;  whom  the 
great  moloch  of  war,  with  a  lingering 
touch  of  pity  is  going  to  leave  to  the 
country.  Here  they  oonCie  in  two  long 
lines,  dancing,  leaping,  each  one  wearing 
in  his  hat  his  lucky  numher.  Soon  a 
crowd  of  mothers  gathers  around  them, 
many  weeping  for  joy,  and  some  for 
grief. 

AVhat  a  moment  for  the  two  young 
girls  whom  the  cards  have  just  smitten 


with  sorrow.  The  noisy  group  oomes 
nearer  still.  Martha,  wishing  to  put  an 
end  to  the  torturing  suspense,  flies  to  the 
little  window,  hut  immediately  recoils, 
utters  a  faint  cry,  and  falls  cold  and 
fainting  heside  Annette  who  is  herself 
*  shivering  with  fear.  The  cards  had  not 
deceived  them.  In  the  midst  of  the 
lucky  crowd  whose  lives,  are  saved  to 
their  country  stands  Jo$q>h,  Jaeqtm 
was  not  there;  he  had  drawn  ^'nnmber 
8." 

Two  weeks  pass,  and  the  light-hearted 
Annette  steps  out  at  the  threshold  of  tha 
flower-hedecked  church,  fast  married  to 
Joseph ;  while  in  the  house  of  moumiog^ 
Jacques,  the  unhappy  conscript,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes,  and  a  knapsack  on  his 
shoulders,  bids  farewell  to  his  betrothedi 
in  touching  words,  as  she  stands  ov<er* 
whelmed  with  grief.  *^  Martha,"  ho 
says,  '^they  compel  me  to  depart;  hap- 
piness deserts  us,  but  take'  ooorago; 
men  come  back  from  the  wars.  Yo* 
know  I  have  nothing,  no  father,  no 
mother;  I  have  only  you  to  love.  If 
Death  spares  my  life,  it  belongs  to  yon. 
Let  us  hope,  still  hope  for  the  happy  day 
when  I  shall  lead  yon  to  the  marriage 
altar  like  a  gift  of  love  flowers.'' 

n. 

A   Great    Sorrow,  —  Martha    mateh^ 
from     the    tomh.  —  The    hfrndscnm 
Girl-Merchant. — Jacques  mil  Jhid  d 
rival. 

The  beautiful  month  of  May,  whose 
new  birth  brings  universal  pleasure,  king 
of  all  the  months,  let  it  wear  the  orown, 
and  surround  itself  with  joys  I  The 
month  of  May  has  come  again.  Upon 
the  hill-side,  and  in  the  valleys,  happy 
hearts  imite  to  chant  its  praises;  it 
comes  softly  and  sweetly,  and,  like  light- 
ning it  is  gone.  But,  while  it  lasts, 
everywhere  is  heard  the  sound  of  melo- 
dious song ;  everywhere  you  behold  hap- 
py festive  groups  entwining  in  the  joy- 
ous dance. 

At  length  the  spring  is  past,  and  while 
its  pleasures  still  linger  in  the  groves  and 
fields,  in  yonder  little  cabin,  one  sweet 
and  lonely  voice  thus  moans  in  a  song  of 
sorrow:  "The  swallows  have  come 
back ;   up  there  are  my  two  in  their 


187a] 


Thb  Stoky  of  Okazt  Mastha. 


228 


nest ;  they  havo  not  been  parted  as  we 
have.  Now  they  flj  down ;  see,  I  can 
put  mj  hand  upon  them.  How  sleek 
and  pretty  they  are;  they  stilL  have 
upon  their  necks  the  ribbons  which 
Jacques  tied  there  on  my  last  birtliday, 
when  they  came  to  peck  from  our  united 
hands  the  little  golden  flies  we  had 
caught  for  them.  They  loved  Jacques. 
Theur  little  eyes  are  looking  for  him  just 
where  I  am  sitting.  Ah  I  you  may  cir- 
cle round  my  chair,  poor  birds,  but 
Jaeques  is  no  longer  here.  I  am  alone, 
without  a  friend,  weeping  for  him,  weary 
too,  for  the  friendship  of  tears  fktigues 
itself.  But  stay  with  me ;  I  will  do 
everything  to  njake  you  love  me.  Stay, 
dear  birds  that  Jacques  loved  ;  I  want  to 
talk  to  you  of  him.  They  seem  to  know 
how  their  presence  consoles  me.  They 
kin  each  other,  happy  little  things. 
EIm,  a  long  kiss;  your  joy  is  balm  to 
my  heart.  I  love  them,  for  they  are 
IMtfaful  to  me,  as  Jacques  also  is.  But 
ao  ond  kills  swallows;  men  only  kill 
eaeh  other.  Why  does  he  write  no 
moref  MonDUuf  who  knows  where 
he  is;  I  always  feel  as  if  some  one  is 
going  to  tell  me  that  he  is  dead.  I 
shudder;  that  terrible  fear  chokes  my 
heart.  Holy  Virgin,  take  it  away ;  the 
fbver  of  the  grave  is  burning  mo  up ; 
and  oh  I  good  Mother  of  God,  I  want  to 
live  if  Jacques  still  lives  1  Where  are 
you,  beautiful  swallows  ?  Ah,  my  grief 
has  been  too  noisy ;  I  have  frightened 
yoa  away.  Come  back,  and  bring  me 
happiness;.  I  will  mourn  more  softly. 
Stay  with  me,  birds  whom  Jacques 
loved,  for  I  mast  talk  to  you  of  him." 

Thus,  day  after  day,  mourned  the  or- 
phan girl  her  lover's  absence.  Her  old 
unde,  her  only  guardian,  beheld  her  sor- 
row, and  was  grieved.  She  saw  liim 
weeping,  and  dissembled  her  own  pain 
to  diase  away  hb  tears.  She  tried  to 
keep  her  troubles  hidden  Arom  the  world, 
that  frivolous,  heartless  world  which  is 
ready  to  find  evil  in  every  thing ;  which 
laughed  at  her  sorrows,  and  had  no 
sympathy  with  them.  At  length,  when 
All  Saints'  Day  came  round,  they  saw 
two  wax  candles  burning  for  the  dying, 
on  the  Virgin's  altar,  and  when   the 


priest  said:  *' Death  is  hovering  over 
the  couch  of  a  young  and  suffering  girl ; 
good  souls  pray  for  poor  Martha,''  every 
one  bent  his  head  in  shame,  and  out  of 
every  heart  came  tlie  Paters  bathed  in 
tears. 

But  she  will  not  die ;  it  was  the  dark 
hour  before  the  dawn.  Grim  Death 
may  fill  up  his  new-made  grave.  Iler 
uncle,  at  her  bedside,  lias  said  but  one 
word ;  it  sinks  into  her  heart.  Thai 
sweet  word  has  brought  her  back  to 
life;  she  is  saved !  The  fire  comes  back 
to  her  eye,  her  blood  begins  to  coarse 
again  nndcr  hor  white  skin.  Life  re- 
turns in  great  tidal  waves  of  lights 
"Everything  is  ready,  my  child,"  says 
her  smiling  uncle,  and  her  answer  is: 
"  Yes,  let  us  work,  let  us  work."  Then, 
to  the  astonishment  of  every  one,  Mar- 
tha requiokened,  lives  for  another  love, 
— the  love  of  money  /  She  craves  money, 
she  is  a  miser,  money  is  her  only  con- 
cern. She  would  coin  it  with  her  own 
blood.  Well,  hard  work  will  give  money 
to  every  brave  hand,  and  Martha's  hand 
is  more  than  brave. 

Under  the  rustic ,  archway,  who  is 
that  girl-merchant,  rousing  the  hamlet 
with  her  chatter  and  noise ;  who  is  buy-^ 
ing  and  selling  incessantly  f  That  i» 
Martha ;  how  every  one  praises  her,  so 
good,  so  complaisant,  so  charming.  Her 
buyers  increase  in  numbers  like  a  rotting- 
ba^l  of  snow.  Ya^torday  ahe  had  twen- 
ty, to-day  forty.  Gold  pours  down  upon 
her  little  arcade.  Thus  a  year  passes. 
Martha  is  happy  while  she  works,  for 
Jacques  is  not  dead.  No,  he  has  been 
seen  more  than  once  in  the  army.  Some- 
times when  the  report  of  a  battle  arrives, 
her  arm  drops,  and  her  eye  loses  its 
light ;  but  her  courage  soon  returns  if 
rumor  makes  ^o  mention  of  a  regiment 
which  is  always  in  her  thoughts. 

One  day  her  uncle  says  to  her-:  ^'  In 
order  to  attain  your  long  desired  happi- 
ness, yon  need  a  thousand  pistofes,  and' 
you  will  soon  have  them.  A  little  pile 
soon  becomes  large.  We  need  not  sdl 
the  cottage.  Look  at  your  money  box. 
With  the  proceeds  of  my  vineyard,  and 
what  you  have  already  earned,  yon  have 
already  more  than  half  the  sum.    Have- 


224 


Putnam'b  Maoazinb. 


[F«^ 


patience  for  six  moDths  more.  Why  I 
my  child,  happiness  costs  time  and  labor 
and  money.  Yon  have  nearly  three 
qaorters.  Finish  the  good  work  your- 
self. I  am  content ;  before  I  die  I  hope 
to  see  you  perfectly  happy. 

Alas,  the  poor  old  man  was  mistaken. 
Two  weeks  later,  death  closed  his  eyes, 
and  Martha  sat  in  the  churchyard,  weep- 
ing upon  his  grave.  There,  one  even- 
ing, she  was  heard  to  murmur :  "  My 
strength  is  exhausted ;  sainted  spirit  of 
my  loving  uncle,  I  can  wait  no  longer; 
forgive  me*,  the  good  priest  sanctions 
the  act ; "  and,  without  delay,  to  the  as- 
tonishment of  the  villagers,  furniture, 
shop,  house,  all  that  she  possesses  change 
hands.  She  sells  everything,  exoept  a 
gilded  cross,  and  the  rose-colored  dress 
with  little  blue  flowers  in  which  Jacques 
loved  to  see  her.  She  had  wanted  sil- 
ver, she  was  now  laden  with  gold ;  her 
thousand  pistoles  are  in  her  hand ;  but 
80  youDg  and  inexperienced  as  she  is, 
what  is  she  goiug  to  do  with  them? 
^^What  is  the  poor  child  going  to  do 
with  them,"  do  you  ask?  The  very 
thought  lacerates  my  heart.  She  goes 
out ;  she  seems,  as  she  leaved  her  little 
home,  an  impersouatiou  of  the  angel  of 
sorrow  slowly  rising  towards  happiness, 
which  is  begiuning  to  smile  upon  hor 
flight.  That  is  not  a  flash  of  lightning ; 
it  is  her  little  foot  which  with  lightning 
speed  spurns  the  path.  She  enters  the 
quiet  little  house,  where  sits  a  man  with 
hair  as  white  as  snow ;  it  is  the 
priest^  who  welcomes  her  with  an  aficc- 
tionate  air.  ^^Good  father,"  she  cries, 
falling  on  her  knees,  *^I  briog  you  my 
all.  Now  you  can  write  and  purchase 
his  freedom.  Don^t  tell  him  who  it  is 
that  buys  his  ransom ;  he  will  guess  it 
soon  enough.  Don't  even  mention  my 
name,  and  don't  tremble  for  me.  I  have 
strength  in  my  arm.  I  can  work  for  a 
living.  Good  father,  have  pity;  bring 
him  back  to  me  I 

III. 

The  Country  Prie9t,^The  Young  GirVs 
happineBB — JoMues  is  free, — Return 
ofJacqucM, —  Who  would  have  thought 

itf 

xl  LOVE  the  country  priest.    He  does 


not  need,  like  the  city  pastor,  in  order 
to  make  men  believe  in  the  good  Gk>d, 
or  the  wicked  devil,  to  exhaust  hit 
strength  in  proviiig,  with  the  book  open 
before  him,  that  there  is  a  Paradise  ai 
well  as  a  Hell.  Around  hlro  all  men  be- 
lieve ;  every  one  prays.  In  spite  of  this 
they  sin,  as  wo  all  do  everywhere.  Let 
him  however  but  elevate  his  cross,  and 
evil  bows  before  him;  the  new-bom 
sin  is  nipped  in  the  bud.  From  his 
every -day  seat,  the  wooden  bench,  noth- 
ing escapes  his  sight.  His  bell  driTei' 
far  off  the  hail  and  the  thunder,  ffit 
eyes  are  always  open  upon  his  flodr. 
The  sinner  evades  him:  he  knows  it, 
and  he  goes  in  search  of  the  sinner.  For 
offences  he  has  pardon,  for  grieft  a 
soothing  balm. .  His  name  is  on  every  lij^ 
a  blesi^  name;  the  valleys  resound 
with  it.  He  is  called,  in  each  heart,  the 
great  physician  for  trouble.  And  this 
is  the  reason  that  Martha  went  to  him 
with  hers,  and  found  a  balm.  '  But  ffdtaat  * 
the  obscure  centre  of  his  little  parish,  the 
man  of  God  was  far  better  able  to  de- 
tect Bin  and  drive  away  malignant 
thoughts,  than  to  find  the  nameless  sol- 
dier, in  the  heart  of  an  army,  who  had 
not  written  a  word  of  inquiry  or  infor- 
mation for  three  years,  especially  when, 
to  tiie  sound  of  cymbal,  trumpets  and 
cannon,  six  hundred  thousand  excited 
Frenchmen  were  proudly  marching  to. 
conquer  all  the  capitals  of  Europe.  They 
.shattered  all  obstructions,  they  put  to 
flight  all  who  stood  against  them,  and 
only  stopped  to  take  breath  upon  the 
foreign  soil,  that  they  might  go  on  to 
further  and  greater  conquests. 

It  id  true  that  during  the  past  spring 
Mart haV  uncle  had  written  often,  but  the 
army  had  just  then  made  a  triple  cam- 
paign ;  Jacques,  they  learned,  had  been 
transferred  to  another  regiment.  Some 
one  had  seen  him  in  Prussia;  another, 
elsewhere  in  Germany.  Nothing  defin- 
ite was  known  about  him.  He  had  no 
relatives,  for,  let  the  truth  be  tolJ,  the 
fine  fellow  had  no  parents.  He  had 
come  out  of  that  asylum  where  a  throng 
of  infants  live  upon  the  public  pity 
which  takes  the  place  of  a  mother.  As 
a  boy  he  had  been  long  searching  for 


1870.] 


Thx  Stoby  of  Obazt  Mabtba. 


2S5 


his  mother,  bat  never  oonld  find  her. 
He  had  an  ardent  desire  to  be  loved,  and 
as  he  knew  he  was  loved  at  Lafitle,  had 
it  not  been  for  the  war,  he  would  have 
lived  aad  died  there. 

And  now,  leaving  the  good  priest  to 
his  benevolent  task,  let  us  turn  aside 
into  a  very  humble  cottage,  where  poor 
Martha  is  hard  at  work.  What  a 
change  I  Yesterday  she  had  her  trctu- 
aeau  ;  there  was  gold  in  her  wardrobe. 
To-day  she  has  nothing  but  her  stool,  a 
thimble,  a  needle-case  and  a  spinning 
wheel.  She  spins  and  sews  incessantly. 
We  need  not  lament  that  she  is  tiring 
bar  fingers;  when  she  was  rich,  she 
wept ;  now  that  she  is  poor,  she  smiles 
eoautantly.  Jacques  will  be  saved  for  a 
laqg  and  happy  life ;  and  life,  liberty, 
enorythiDg  he  will  owe  to  her,  and  her 
alone.  IIow  he  will  love  her  I  and 
where  one  loves  and  is  loved,  poverty  is 
powerless.  How  happy  she  is ;  the  cup 
ef  Iwr  ftiture  is  crowned  with  honey ; 
already  has  her  heart  tasted  its  first, 
-  rich,  overflowing  drop.  Every  thing  is 
flowering  around  her.  Thus  she  works 
on  from  week  to  week,  sipping  drops  of 
honey  amid  waves  of  perfume.  Her  wheel 
whirls  witliout  ceasing,  and  hope  is  en- 
twining as  many  cloudless  days  in  the 
fatnre,  as  her  bobbin  spins  out-  armfals 
of  wool,  and  her  needle  makes  points  in 
the  cloth. 

Yon  may  be  sure  that  all  this  is  well 
known  in  the  meadow-lands.  All  the 
people  are  now  enlisted  in  her  cause. 
In  the  clear  nights  she  has  serenades, 
and  garlands  of  flowers  are  hung  npon 
her  di>or.  In  the  morning  the  girls 
come  with  loving  eyes  to  give  her  little 
presents  of  sympathy  and  esteem. 

One  Sunday  morning,  the  dear  old 
priest  comes  to  her  after  mass,  his  face 
beaming  with  joy,and  in  his  right  hand  an 
open  letter.  He  is  trembling,  but  more 
with  joy  than  with  age.  "My  daugh- 
ter,'* he  cries,  ^'  Heaven  has  blest  thee 
and  answered  my  prayers ;  I  have 
fonnd  him ;  he  was  in  Paris.  It  b  ac- 
complished; Jacques  is  free.  He  will 
be  here  next  Sunday,  and  be  baa  not  a 
suqiicion  of  your  part  in  this  matter. 
He  thinks  that  his  mother  has  at  last 


come  to  light;  that  she  is  rich  and  has 
purchased  his  freedom.  Let  him  come, 
and  when  be  knows  that  ho  owes  every 
thing  to  you,  how  much  you  have  done 
for  him,  he  will  love  you  more  than 
over,  more  than  any  one  except  God. 
My  dear  daughter,  the  day  of  your  re- 
ward is  about  to  dawn;  prepare  yonr 
heart  for  it.  Jacques  will  surely  come, 
and  when  that  happy  hour  arrives,  I 
want  to  be  near  you.  I  want  to  make 
him  understand,  in  the  presence  of  all 
the  people,  how  happy  he  ought  to  be  in 
being  loved  by  such  an  angel  as  yon.^ 
Wo  are  told  that  blest  spirit^  in  Paradise 
are  bathed  in  bliss  when  they  hear  the 
harmonies  of  heaven.  Such  is  the  joy 
of  Martha  as  these  words  sink  into  her 
heart. 

But  the  Sunday  has  arrived.  All  na- 
ture shines  in  green  and  gold  under  the 
beautiful  sun  of  June.  Crowds  are 
singing  everywhere.  It  is  a  double  festi- 
val for  nil.  The  clock  strikes  noon; 
leaving  the  holy  altar,  the  good  old 
priest  advances  wit)i  the  loving  pure- 
faced  girL  Her  eyelids  droop  over  her 
azure  eyes,  she  is  timid  and  speechless ; 
but  an  inner  voice  cries,  "happiness.*' 
The  crowd  gathers  around  her.  All  is 
grand ;  yon  would  say  that  the  whole 
country-side  is  awaiting  the  arrival  of  a 
great  lord.  Thus  marshalled,  they  go 
forth  from  tho  village,  and  with  laugh- 
ing joy  take  their  post  at  the  entrance 
of  the  highway. 

There  is  nothing  to  be  seen  in  it; 
nothing  at  the  far  end  of  that  road- 
furrow  j  nothing  but  the  shadows  check- 
ered by  the  sunlight.  Suddenly  a  small 
black  point  appears;  it  increases  in 
size,  it  moves,  it  is  a  man ;  two  men, 
two  soldiefs ;  the  latter,  it  is  he  I  How 
well  he  looks;  how  he  has  grown  in 
the  army  I  Both  continue  to  advance ; 
the  other, — who  is  he  ?  he  looks  like  a 
woman.  Ah,  it  is  a  woman ;  bow  pret- 
ty and  graceful  she  is,  dressed  like  a 
cantinUre,  A  woman  I  my  Gk)d  1  and 
with  Jacques?  where  can  she  be  going f 
Martha's  eyes  are  upon  her,  sad  aa  the 
eyes  of  the  dead.  Even  the  priest,  who 
escorts  her,  is  trembling  all  over.  The 
crowd  IB  dumb.    They  approach  still 


826 


Putnam's  Magaohx. 


P», 


nearer ;  now  they  are  only  twenty  paces 
of^  smiling  and  out  of  breath.  Bnt 
what  now  I  Jacques  has  suddenly  a 
look  of  pain ;  he  has  seen  Martha  I  *  *  * 
Trembling,  ashamed,  he  stops.  The 
priest  can  contain  himself  no  longer. 
With  the  strong,  full  voice  with  which 
he  confounds  the  sinner,  he  cries: 
"Jacques,  who  is  that  woman?''  and, 
like  a'  criminal,  lowering  his  head, 
Jacques  replies,  "Mine,  M.  le  Cur6, 
mine ;  I  am  married." 

.A  woman's  scream  is  heard;  the 
priest  returning  to  himself,  and  fright- 
ened for  Martiia,  "My  daughter,"  he 
said,  "Courage I  here  below  we  all 
must  suffer."  But  Martha  does  not  even 
ogh.  Everybody  looks  at  her;  they 
think  she  is  going  to  die.  She  does  not 
die,  she  even  seems  to  console  herself. 
She  curtseys  graciously  to  Jacques,  and 
then  bursts  out  into  a  wild  mad  laugh. 
Alas,  she  was  never  to  laugh  again  other- 
wise: the  poor  thing  is  mad.  At  the 
words  which  issued  from  the  lips  of  her 
unfaithful  lover,  the  poor  sufferer  had  at 
once  lost  her  reason  never  to  regain  it. 
When  Jacques  learned  all,  he  fled  the 


country.  They  say  that  mad  with  r- 
morse,  he  reentered  the  aimy,  and  like 
a  lost  spirit  weary  of  his  wretohed  exist- 
ence, he  flung  it  away  at  the  oannoD^ 
mouth.  Be  that  as  it  may,  what  is  Xn% 
alas,  too  true  I  is  that  Martha  escaped 
from  friendly  vigilance  one  night,  and 
ever  since,  for  thirty  years  past,  the  poor 
idiot  has  been  periodically  seen  in  our 
village  stretching  out  her  hands  for  our 
charity.  In  Agen,  people  said  as  dbt 
passed,  "Martha  hns  come  out  agaio; 
.she  must  be  hungry.^'  They 
nothing  about  her,  and  yet  every 
loved  her.  Only  the  children,  who  hcve 
no  pity  for  anything,  who  langh  at  aD 
that  is  sad,  would  cry  out,  "  MarAa^  • 
Boldier/^^  when  she,  with  a  mortal  fttr 
of  soldiers,  would  fly  at  the  sound. 

And  now  you  all  know  why  she  shud- 
dered at  these  words.  I,  who  ha?« 
screaiped  them  after  her  more  than  a 
hundred  times,  when  I  heard  the  toaeh- 
ing  story  of  her  life,  would  like  to'Mtlr' 
her  tattered  frock  with  kisses.  I  woold 
like  to  ask  her  pardon  on  my  knees.  I 
find  nothing  but  a  tomb.  ♦  »  ♦  ♦  I 
cover  it  with  flowers. 


•»• 


WEAPONS  FOR  COMBAT  WITH  FIRE. 


LiTTLB  attention  was  '  given,  until 
within  a  few  centuries,  to  the  improve- 
ment of  means  for  extinguishing  fires. 
In  the  ancient,  as  in  the  modem  cities  of 
the  Mediterranean,  buildings  were  usual- 
ly constructed  with  floors  of  earth, 
stone,- or  pottery,  and  witliout  the  ex- 
tensive use  of  wood,  either  in  interior 
or  exterior  decoration.  The  climate  be- 
ing mild,  it  was  rarely  necessolT'  to  heat 
the  rooms,  although  when  requisite  the 
object  was  accomplished  by  fires  that 
were  made  upon  the  bare  floors,  the 
coals  being  swept  out  immediately  before 
the  apartmmits  were  occupied.  Even  at 
the  present  day  there  are  no  flreplaces 
in  the  Vatican,  and  when  the  late 
Queen  of  Naples  sought  asylum  in  it, 
the  only  means  of  offering  her  a  warm 
reception  were  such  as  could  be  supplied 
by  foot-stoves.    Conditions  of  thb  sort 


rendered  accidental  fires  in  the  cities  of 
antiquity,  comparatively  rare.  A  large 
proportion  of  those  of  the  present  day 
originate  in  connection  with  the  improv- 
ed methods  now  customarily  employed 
in  heating  buildings.  Modem  distoveiy 
has  also  brought  in  the  train  of  its  bene- 
fits, nearly  all  the  materials  that  most 
commonly  occasion  conflagrations,  or 
increase  their  violence.  Friction-match- 
es, distilled  liquors,  kerosene,  illuminat- 
ing gas,  in  fact,  nearly  all  the  explosive 
and  inflammable  substances  of  ohemistry 
and  the  arts,  are  of  recent  birth.  Even 
the  distribution  of  metal  pipes  through- 
out modem  buildings,  by  serving  to  at- 
tract lightning,  increases  the  danger  of 
fire. 

There  is  evidence  that  the  ancients 
were  provided  with  some  contrivances 
for  extinguishing  flames,  although  witii 


Weapons  tob  Oombat  with  Fib&« 


227 


>al  reference  to  oocasions  where 

Gbs  employed  bj  an  adversary  in 

or   naval    engagements.     Fiery 

8  and  wbnt  was  known  as  ^*  Greek 
were  not  uncommon  in  ancient 

e.  The  germ  of  the  fire-engine 
to  have  been  a  two  cylinder  force- 
3on8traoted  in  Egypt  by  Gtesibius, 
ventor  of  the  clq)9ydra^  ratber 
ban  a  century  before  the  Christian 
The  dark  ages  did  not  prodace 
improvements.  ^^Instruments  of 
'  water  syringes,"  are  mention- 
tiie  records  of  Augsburg,  ▲.  d. 
i>at  the  modem  fire-engine  was 
)d  by  Ilautsch  of  Nuremberg.  A 
16  of  his  construction  was  desorib- 
G57,  as  consisting  of  a  water-cis- 
d  a  force-pump,  whereby  twenty- 
len  raised  a  eolamn  of  water  one 
1  diameter,  to  an  elevation  of 
(eet. 

9  commentators  think  an  instru- 
Ndled  the  ^^  ^oma,"  used  at  fires, 
ned  by  Pliny  and  Juvenal,  was  a 
f  grapple  fixed  upon  a  pole;  in 
he  ancestor  of  our  hook-and-lad- 
icems.  The  lineage  of  the  hose- 
01  be  definitely  traced.  Apollo- 
the  architect  of  Trijan's  bridge 
the  Danube,  suggested  attaching 
g  filled  with  water,  a  tube  formed 
intestines  of  an  ox.  During  fires 
WBB  to  be  forced  upward  through 
•e  by  subjecting  the  bag  to  pres- 
It  was  reserved  for  two  natives  of 
■dam,  each  having  the  same  name, 
jiderheide,  to  substitute  the  out- 
r  the  inside  of  the  animal  in  the 
Atore  of  hose.  Fifteen  and  a  half 
es  preceded  the  discovery  that 
)  nothing  like  leather.  Augustoa 
has  the  credit,  of  creating  a  fire 
oent.  It  consisted  of  seven  bands 
aen :  Two  divisions  of  the  city 
le  constituted  the  fire  district  for 
ind,  and  the  prefect  of  the  watch 
le  superintendent  of  the  entire 

Bid  the  helmet  ornamented  with 
e,  essential  to  the  costume  of  oar 
dies,  thence  originate  ? 
ial  regard  was  paid  during  the 
ages,  to  preventing  the  q)read  of 
lie  curfew  bell  was  the  offspring 


of  legislation  having  reference  to  this 
purpose.  Curfew  is  a  corruption,  of 
eouvre  feu,  and  refers  to  the  notice  thus 
given  after  sundown,  requiring  burning 
wood  or  turf  to  be  covered  with  ashes, 
in  order  to  prevent  accident  during  the 
hours  of  darkness.  Antiquated  enact- 
ments compelling  the  extinction  of  itU 
fires  on  shipboard  when  entering  port, 
remain  in  force  in  many  places  at  the 
present  time.  Marseilles  and  Bordeaux 
were  noted  for  the  stringency  of  such 
regulations.  Tet,  although  cold  meals 
have  thus  been  infiicted  for  hundreds  of 
years  upon  the  voyager  coming  thither 
by  sea,  the  precaution  did  not  avail  for 
the  exclusion  of  modern  occasions  of 
accident.  A  few  weeks  ago,  a  man 
standing  on  ttie  deck  of  a  vessel  used  to 
convey  naptha  or  kerosene,  having 
lighted  his  cigar,  dropped  a  burning 
match,  and  thereby  started  a  conflagra- 
tion that  consumed  property  valued  at 
not  less  than  a  million  of  dollars.  The 
earlier  reports  erroneously  stated  that 
the  fire  originated  in  a  barge  containing 
petroleum;  but  it  was  afterwards  ascer- 
tained that  the  vessel  laden  with  that  fluid 
was  the  only  one  that  floated  almost  un- 
harmed amid  that  scene  of  devastation. 
We  are  accustomed  to  regard  the  cities 
of  our  Western  States,  where  blocks  of 
wooden  buildings,  locally  denominated 
"frame  ranges,^'  come  into  existence  in 
ten  days  and  blaze  up  in  a  night,  as  the 
appropriate  territory  of  the  consuming 
element.  But  Teniseiski,  a  Russian  city 
of  40,000  inhabitants,  was  thus  destroy- 
ed during  the  present  year ;  and  a  town  in 
Hungary  called  Badosin,  burned  down 
in  less  than  an  hour.  In  the  latter 
instance,  twenty-one  children  perished  in 
the  flames,  one.  hundred  and  thirty 
buildings  were  consumed,  and  qnly  a 
church,  the  bishop's  palace,  and  five 
smaller  structures  remained  standing. 

There  can  be  no  doubt,  but  that  the 
long  immunity  from  serious  oonflagrik^. 
tions  enjoyed  in  many  parts  of  Europe^ 
should  be  enumerated  among  the  obstar 
cles  to  the  introduction  of  improvements 
in  machinery,  and  methods  for  extin- 
guishing Are.  The  primitive  arrange- 
ments there  in  nse,  offer  strong  points  of 


i 


d28 


Putnam's  Maoazins. 


[Wbt, 


contrast  with  the  enterprise  exhibited  in 
these  matters  in  this  country.  A  few 
water-batts  on  wheels  constitute  the  en- 
tire firo-apparatas  in  some  continental 
cities  of  not  inconsiderable  size  and  im- 
portance. An  American,  describing  the 
recent  destruction  of  the  Rojal  Theatre 
\a  Dresden,  thinks  that  the  inefficiency 
Isxliibited  on  that  occasion  would  have 
rendered  the  scene  an  ei\jojable  farce, 
had  there  not  been  imminent  danger  of 
an  irreparable  loss  to  art  in  the  proximi- 
ty of  the  famous  Z winger  gallery  of  pic- 
tures. With  us,  we  reiid  without  sur- 
prise of  elaborate  and  costly  preparations 
for  such  emergencies,  even  in  the  cities 
of  newly-settled  States.  Thus  in  St. 
Paul,  Minnesota,  a  iire-cistem  is  in  pro- 
cess of  excavation  in  the  sandstone  of 
the  river-bluff  that  will  have  a  capacity 
of  fifty  thousand  gallons. 

The  fire-engines  to  be  worked  by  hand, 
made  in  tliis  country,  surpassed  similar 
machines  elsewhere.  One  of  the  earliest, 
in  Pawtucket,  K.  I.,  sent  up  an  inch 
stream  vertically  one  hundred  and  eighty* 
four  feet,  while  at  the  same  time  employ- 
ed in  drawing  its  own  water.  More  ex- 
traordinary successes  have  been  attain- 
ed in  the  competitive  trials  that  once  dcr 
lighted  the  volunteer  firemen  of  our  large 
cities,  and  a  spurt  of  upwards  of  two 
hundred  feet  with  an  inch  and  a  quarter 
stream  is  named  among  the  results.  There 
never  was  a  finer  gymnastic  exercise  in- 
vented than  the  muscular  effort  called 
forth  by  the  brakes  of  a  New  York  en- 
gine ;  the  performances  on  some  of  those 
of  Western  construction,  where  the  men 
sat  at  their  work  and  went  through  some- 
thing like  rowing,  seemed  tame  in  com- 
parison. It  was  not  a  lazy  ambition  that 
incited  young  America  to  run  with  the 
machine.  Had  not  the  old  apparatus 
been  superseded,  it  might  have  attracted 
the  attention  of  the  Sorosis.  It  is  men- 
tioned among  the  incidents  of  a  recent 
fire  in  Brattleboro,  that  a  number  of  la- 
dies assisted  to  "  man  the  brakes,*'  and 
that  their  efforts  w^ere  crowned  with  un- 
equivocal success. 

The  buperior  excellence  of  steamers 

and  paid  fire-departments  was  admitted 
for  years    before  they  took  the  place 


of  the  old  system.  One  steamer  to 
about  fifteen  or  twenty  thousand  inhabi- 
tants is  said  to  be  the  average  require- 
ment in  those  cities  that  have  been  sup- 
plied. A  series  of  years  may  be  required 
to  demonstrate  by  statistics,  the  diminu- 
tion in  annual  losses  by  fire,  yet  there 
must  be  already  a  change  for  the  better 
wherever  the  new  machines  have  been 
introduced.  Steam  sufficient  for  work- 
ing is  obtained  while  they  ar^  drivu 
through  the  streets,  and  usually  witfah 
four  or  five  minutes  from  the  time  of  lig^ 
ing  the  fire  beneath  the  boilers.  Their  efr> 
pacity  for  fiinging  continuously  twebe 
or  fifteen  hundred  gallons  of  water  per 
minute  to  a  height  of  more  than  two 
hundred  feet,  while  at  the  same  time 
drawing  or  forcing  it  an  equal  distiBar 
through  hose,  should  afford  abundtDt 
means,  if  properly  applied,  to  quendli 
anything  short  of  the  final  conflagratioiL 

It  is  yet  too  soon  to  inquire  whether 
the  steam  fire-engine  will  itself  be  snpe^ 
seded  by  other  inventions.  There  is  a 
water-system  urged  as  a  substitute,  to  be 
used  wherever  there  is  a  fall  of  water  suf- 
ficient to  drive  a  force-pump  by  means  of 
a  turbine.  Orders  are  conveyed  by  tele- 
graph, and  water  having  an  extraordinary 
pressure,  is  directed  by  a  system  of  valves 
to  the  hydrants  nearest  the  fire.  In 
a  recent  experiment  in  Lockport,  N*.  Y., 
it  is  said  that  with  a  fall  of  nineteen  feet^ 
a  stream  was  thus  obtained  from  h  hy- 
drant, which,  after  passing  through  one 
hundred  feet  of  hose^  reached  in  nir  the 
height  of  one  hundi^ed  and  seventy-five 
feet  Water  is  certainly  the  natural  an- 
tagonist of  fire.  M.  Van  Marum,  in  Hol- 
land, has  shown  that  violent  confligra- 
tions  can  be  extinguished  with  sin^rulnriy 
small  quantities  of  water,  thrown  first 
upoii  those  parts  of  the  fire  that  are  near- 
est;  the  flames  being  so  followed  up  as 
to  wet  successively  each  portion  of  the 
burning  materials.  Combustion  ii-naUy 
ceases  upon  the  exclusion  of  air,  .in  I  this 
may  be  effected  either  by  wator,  nr  by 
certain  vapors,  or  gases,  steam  l»eing 
among  the  number,  whenever  it  i-  prac- 
ticable t<)  cover  tlierewith  the  subsi  ances 
that  are  being  coiisuined. 

A  firc-cxtinjjui-lnT  invented  '<     Greyl 


1 


Weapons  fob  Oombat  with  Fibb. 


9S9 


snccessfolljr  exhibited  about  one 
red  and  fifty  years  ago,  before  the 
>f  Poland  and  a  large  assemblage  of 
B  at  Dresden,  and 'its  secret  was  pur- 
d  for  a  large  sum  of  money.  In 
indf  it  was  known  as  the  *^  wator- 
•''  The  mode  of  use,  was  to  throw 
hole  contrivance  into  the  tpidst  of 
.  It  consisted  of  a  yessel  holding 
>  containing  within,  a  metallic  case 
with  gunpowder.  A  fuse  oom- 
oated  with  the  exterior.  Upon  ex- 
m.  in  a  room  or  close  building,  a  fire 
osually  extinguished  by  the  water 
icattered  in  every  direction ;  but  it 
in  extensive  conflagrations  not  en- 
1  by  roofs  or  walls.  A  chemist 
d  Godfrey  tried  medicating  the  wa- 
>ntained  in  it,  probably  using  sal- 
miac;  but  the  improvement  was 
lanifost. 

»  inventors  of  later  years- have  re- 
the  notion  of  substituting  for  plain 
',  certain  solutions,  the  chlorides 
tdly,  and  that  of  calcium  in  parti- 
seeming  to  assist  the  process.  It 
',  certain  that  such  solutions  might 
amage  goods  more  than  water.  At 
nt  soda  water,  containing  carbonic 
inder  pressure,  seems  to  be  among 
iTOiites.  A  sort  of  crucial  experi- 
was  made,  not  long  since,  in  the 
r  part  of  this  city,  the  test  being  the 
arative  time  required  for  the  extinc- 
>f  equal  quantities  of  similar  burn- 
aaterials  by  engines  of  the  same 
one  using  water,  and  the  other,  a 
bn  of  some  chemicals  known  only 
)  experimenter.  The  fires  were  ex- 
ished  simultaneously.  Since  then 
diibition  with  a  fire-annihilator  in 
mw  part  of  the  city  was  pronounc- 
raooess.  The  arrest  of  an  acciden- 
re  in  an  oil  refinery  in  Titusville, 
ind  of  another  in  a  hotel  in  St.  Paul, 
before  gaining  headway,  are  aecred- 
4>  such  machines. 

rge  fires,  fairly  under  way,  exhibit 
itensity  and  power  capable  of  do- 
ing and  sometimes  even  turning  into 
br  flames,  the  most  refractory  build- 
laterials.  It  has  been  observed  that 
walls  bend  and  crack  if  exposed  to 
n  one  side  and  water  on  the  other; 


iron  beams  and  uprights,  struck  when 
hot  by  jets  of  water,  have  been  known 
to  give  way  instantly ;  thereby  precipi* 
tatiog  disaster  more  quickly  than  timber 
supports.  During  one  of  the  great  fires 
of  San  Francisco,  it  was  noticed  that 
structares  o/  iron,  surrounded  by  fiames, 
suddenly  burned  up,  blazing  with  a  pe- 
culiar and  vivid  light ;  and  water  seem- 
ed rather  to  enhance  the  violence  of  their 
combustion.  Such  observations,  and  the 
use  of  steam  blasts  to  intensify  furnace 
heats,  have  suggested  a  theory  that  a 
dissociation  of  the  elements  of  water, 
possible  under  such  circumstances,  may 
increase  the  fire.  The  objection  to  this, 
is  the  probability  that  no  more  heat 
would  be  evolved  by  the  combustion  of 
the  elements,  than  would  be  required  to 
separate  them.  It  smacks  of  the  fallacy 
that  lies  at  the  bottom  of  the  ingenious 
endeavors  that  empty  the  purses  and 
wear  out  the  souls  of  men  who  hopQ  to 
construct  a  machine  to  demonstrate  ^^  per- 
petual motion.^'  A  singular  accident 
displaying  the  capacity  of 'iron  for  Sud- 
den igQition,  happening  in  the  laboratory 
of  the  Royal  Institution,  was  reported  by 
Dr.  Frankland  to  the  London  Chemical 
Society.  A  pressure  of  twenty-five  at- 
mospheres, applied  by  mechanical  means 
to  oxygen  gas,  caused  the  explosion  of  a 
cast-iron  gas  holder.  At  the  moment  of 
the  occurrence,  the  iron  took  fire,  pro- 
ducing a  ^ower  of  sparks.  The  broken 
fragments,  subseqaently  examined,  were 
found  blistered  and  oxidized  by  actual 
combustion,  and  half  an  inch  of  steel  was 
burned  ofi*,  of  a  connection  of  the  appar 
ratas.  That  the  heat  of  fiame  may  ac- 
complish similar  results  in  great  fires,  is 
indicated  by  scientific  investigations  re- 
sulting in  estimating  it  as  high  as  three 
or  four  thousand  degrees  Fahrenheit ;  and 
air  rushes  in  to  support  combustion  with 
such  extreme  violence,  that  frame  build- 
ings on  the  edge  of  a  large  fire  have  ap- 
peared to  leave  their  foundations,  moving 
in  mass,  as  if  sucked  into  the  vortex  of 
destruction. 

The  confusion  inevitably  attendant 
upon  large  fires,  occasions  a  necessity  for 
thor9ugh  organization  in  any  system  em- 
ployed for  their  extinction.     Throwing 


880 


Pxttnam's  Maoazine. 


[FA, 


mirrors  oat  of  windows  while  feather- 
beds  are  carefally  carried  down  stairs,  is 
the  familiar  illustration  of  the  condact 
of  people  nnosed  to  snch  emergencies. 
Last  October,  at  a  fire  in  Alton,  Illinois, 
a  grand  and  historic  elm  tree,  tlie  pride 
of  the  city,  was  endangered  by  the  flames. 
A  weli-known  German  resident,  sharing 
the  general  excitement  of  the  occasion, 
was  with  difficolty  prevented  in  an  en- 
deavor to  hew  down  the  ancient  land- 
mark with  an  axe,  in  order,  he  said,  to 
save  it  to  the  city. 

Various  local  affairs  affect  nnfovora- 
bly  the  efficiency  of  our  fire  organiza- 
tions. An  English  expert  has  lately 
attributed  most  of  our  existing  defects 
in  these  matters,  to  the  admixture  of 
political  interests,  which,  it  must  be  ad- 
mitted, cause  undesirable  entanglements 
in  some  localities.  There  was  a  state- 
ment recently  published  in  a  newspaper 
in  another  Stat^,  which,  if  true,  illus- 
trated* the  objectionable  results  of  such 
alliances.  To  put  it  in  a  condensed 
form,  there  was  believed  to  bo  an  inten- 
tion on  the  part  of  a  Common  Oonncil, 
to  appoint  an  engineer  for  a  steam  fire- 
engine  who  was  totally  ignorant  of  its 
construction  and  management,  but  was 
to  be  rewarded  with  that  position  for 
his  services  in  inflacncing  the  votes  of  a 
Hose  Company  in  favor  of  a  candidate 
for  local  office. 

Ti)e  question  whether  governmental 
system  or  private  enterprise  is  best 
adapted  to  controlling  the  means  of  ex- 
tingaishing  fire  is  differently  decided  in 
different  places.  In  New  Orleans,  the 
whole  business  is  in  charge  of  an  asso- 
ciation under  contract.  A  claim  for 
compensation  for  its  services  may  yet  be 
before  the  courfc*,  the  association  having 
sought  the  recovery  of  more  than  a  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars  by  attachment  up- 
on the  funds  of  that  city,  lodged  in 
bank  for  other  purposes.  The  London 
Fire  Brigade  has  grown  out  of  the 
combination  of  separate  establb^hmonts 
owned  by  the  different  Fire  Insurance 
Companies.  In  Paris,  the  business  is,  of 
course,  under  imperial  control ;  and  in 
most  European  countries,  fires  arc  affairs 
of  state,  with  which  the  people  do  not 


interfere.  It  is  a  matter  of  oorrent  be 
lief  that  in  Turkey,  the  piooa  HdmiI- 
man  fulds  his  hands  while  his  wcoMj 
possessions  are  being  consumed,  mere^ 
remarking,  "Great  is  Allah.*'  Wbut* 
ever  used  to  be  the  case,  at  present,  in 
Constantinople,  a  good-sized  gardoi- 
squirt  is  kept  in  the  public  baztar. 
When  fire  occurs,  certain  men  drop  their 
ordinary  occupation,  and  most  of  their 
clothing,  so  as  to  result  in  a  uniform 
not  entirely  unlike  that  of  our  first  pa- 
rents. Seizing  the  machine,  they  place 
it  on  a  hand-barrow  which  they  cany 
with  the  poles  on  their  shoulders,  and 
proceed  to  the  locality  where  the  prop- 
erty of  the  Faithful  is  undergoing  de- 
struction. In  at  least  one  of  the  Chi- 
nese treaty-ports,  the  entire  ^'focfitT 
marches  to  a  fire  preceded  by  a  band 
and  keeping  step  to  oriental  musio.  On 
arrival,  before  commencing  operatioBi, 
the  roll  is  called,  each  member  present 
answering  to  his  name.  The  subsequent 
duties  chiefly  consist  in  conveying  paib- 
ful  of  water  from  the  nearest  place  of 
supply. 

The  disastrous  losses  of  lifb  recently 
occasioned  by  fires,  have  called  forth 
various  suggestions  in  the  public  presi 
Upon  steam- vessels  there  can  be  no  ques- 
tion that  a  compulsory  training  of  the 
crew  by  a  daily  exercise  in  the  use  of 
suitable  apparatus  would  prove  of  effi- 
cient service  when  the  actual  emergency 
occurs.  On  the  *^  Stonewall  ^  a  bucket- 
ful of  water  would  have  extinguished 
the  fire,  if  applied  during  the  first  alarm ; 
but,  it  is  stated,  the  buckets,  if  there 
wore  any,  were  not  to  be  found  on  board 
of-  that  ill-fated  steamboat.  In  this 
city,  the  attachment  of  fire-escapes  to 
tenement-houses,  enforced  by  legal  en- 
actment, though  excellent  in  its  way,  is 
found  insufficient.  The  means  of  safe^ 
must  be  extended  to  buildings  of  a  dif- 
ferent class,  or  else  some  other  provision 
must  be  devised  to  protect  their  occu- 
pants. The  fatal  accidents  to  janitorB 
and  tlicir  families  have  painfully  demon- 
strated the  deficiency  of  existing  ar- 
rangements. Whatever  mode  of  relief 
is  adopted,  it  should  bo  applicable  to 
every  structure  used  as  a  habitation. 


1870.] 


Mt  Notion  abodt  the  Human  £ab. 


281 


The  Society  for  the  Protection  of  Life 
from  Fire  in  London,  an  association  sns- 
tained  by  private  sabscription,  has  saved, 
every  year  since  its  formation,  a  large 
nnmber  of  lives.  Its  portable  iirc-es- 
oapes,  kept  ready  in  various  parts  of  the 
city,  put  in  an  appearance  at  fires  as 
regularly  as  fire-engines.  This  alone, 
wonld  famish  business  enough  for  a 


large  benevolent  enterprise  in  this  city. 
Our  inventors  offer  many  improvements 
in  these  life-saving  contrivances.  If 
kind  hearts  find  a  reward  for  e^ort  and 
expenditure  in  the  prevention  of  cruelty 
to  animals,  surely. a  nobler  opportunity 
is  afforded  by  the  prospect  of  saving  hu- 
man beings  from  death  in  that  form 
which  is  most  abhorrent  to  our  nature. 


■•♦•- 


MY  NOTION  ABOUT  THE  HUMAN  EAR. 


Obbxbys,  I  do  not  say  hypothesis, 
mneh  less  theory,  but  notion.  Indeed, 
I  am  quite  willing,  if  you  prefer  it,  to 
■ay  vaticination  or  vagary,  for  I  am*  not 
ariintific  and  do  not  wish  to  be  misun- 
derstood, or  to  provoke  a  ccmtroversy 
with  Dr.  Draper  or  any  other  distin- 
gaished  physiologist. 

Obarles  Lamb  said  he  had  no  ear.  I 
have  not  only  an  ear,  but  a  notion  about 
it.  Lamb  meant  that  he  had  no  ear  for 
music,  and  proves  the  falsity  of  his  as- 
sertion by  his  rare  appreciation  of  old 
English  poetry,  and  by  some  not  very 
bad  verses  of  his  own.  My  eur  for  mu- 
alo,  particularly  sacred  music  and  jigs,  is. 
In  my  opinion,  a  very  good  ear;  but  that 
la  not  what  I  am  talking  about. 

By  ear,  I  mean  the  external  human 
ear.  Did  you  ever  look  a  long  time  at 
anybody's  ear?  Try  it,  some  idle  mo- 
ment, and  you  will  find  that  the  *^  volute 
to  the  human  capital,''  pleasing  enough 
at  first  sight,  becomes  after  a  while  a 
horrible,  an  appalling  feature.  The 
thing  is  so  senseles?,  so  unmeaning — or, 
rather,  the  meaning  of  all  those  curves, 
golfs,  prominences,  depressions,  ridges, 
and  lastly  that  frightful  shaft  or  tunnel 
*whioh  leads  into  the  very  brain  itself — 
the  meaning,  I  repeat,  of  all  these  is  so 
far  beyond  your  ken,  that  the  outward 
ear,  gazed  at  attentively  for  many  min- 
ntes,  becomes  an  awfbl  and  distracting 
thing. 

Yon  say  that  the  object  of  the  exter- 
nal ear  is  to  collect  the  vibrations  of  the 
atmosphere,  and  convey  them  to  the 
tympanum,  which  straightway  beats  an 
ahurm  to  the  soul  and  tells  him  to  get  up 


out  of  his  cerebral  bed,  and  go  to  the 
optic  window  and  see  what  that  noise  is 
about.  But  you  know  that  a  wind-sail, 
or  huge  cloth  funnel,  smooth  inside,  is 
the  best  thing  to  catch  the  air ;  and,  if 
you  had  had  the  making  of  the  external 
human  ear,  the  wind-sail  is  precisely  the 
model  which  you  in  your  wisdom  would 
have  selected.  Why,  then,  these  eleva- 
tions, sulci,  and  othor  irregularities  of  the 
human  ear,  to  say  nothing  of  those  great 
flaps,  which,  in  the  elephant,  seem  almost 
to  close  up'  the  meatus  auditoriust 
This,  and  othor  such  questions,  perplex 
you,  and  make  the  external  ear  fatiguing, 
to  say  the  least  of  it,  to  your  mind. 

As  for  the  internal  ear  beyond  the 
tympanum,  with  its  chain  of  little  bones, 
malleus^  incus,  os  orhiculare,  and  stapes; 
then  the  fenestra  otalisj  next  the  vesti- 
bule, next  again  that  strange  spiral  cavity 
called  the  cochlea,  with  its  wonderful 
cylindrical  cavities  or  tubes,  semi-circular 
in  form,  two  of  which  are  horizontal 
and  one  vertical,  and,  lastly,  that  mys* 
tenons,  liquid  within  them,  in  which  the 
fibrillm  of  the  auditory  nerve,  proceed- 
ing from  .the  fourth  veiUriolo  of  the 
brain,  ramifies  and  terminates — as  for 
this  internal  ear,  who  does  not  know 
that  it  is  infinitely  more  wonderful  and 
incomprehensible  than  the  oartilac^nous 
flap  outside.  The  doctors  are  complete- 
ly nonplussed  by  it.  It  is  easy  enough 
to  understand  how  the  vibrations  of  the 
tympanum,  occasioned  by  the  nndnla- 
tions  of  the  air,  may  be  transmitted 
through  the  little  bony  chain  Jost  men- 
tioned, to  the  fluid  in  the  seml-circnlar 
canals  of  the  vestibule,  and  thence  to  the 


289 


PUTNAM^fl  MAOAZnnE. 


pws 


little  dangling,  or,  rather,  floating  ends  of 
the  auditory  nerve ;  ^^  bat  any  farther  uses 
of  this  extraordinary  and  complicated 
mechanism,'*  tlie  physiologists  may  well 
say,  "are  utterly  beyond  our  knowl- 
edge." For  one  may  readily  see  with 
the  mind^s  eye  the  rayellings,  as  it  were, 
of  the  auditory  nerve  undulating  in 
unison  with  the  wavelets  of  the  strange 
liquid  in  which  they  float ;  but  how  and 
in  what  manner  the  undulations  of  these 
nerve-threads  become  what  we  call 
sound,  interpretable,  or  in  speech,  or  be- 
yond interpretation,  as  in  divinest  music, 
is  indeed  what  Tyndall  rightly  says  of  it, 
'^  unthinkable."  And  when  one  begins 
to  think  about  the  unthinkable,  the  sen- 
sation is  too  disagreeable  to  be  long 
borne.  We  will,  therefore,  get  back  to 
our  "notion,"  which  is  thinkable 
enough. 

How  I  came  by  my  notion,  which,  I 
flatter  myself  is  peculiarly  my  own — as 
much  so  almost  as  a  veritable  discovery 
in  the  domain  of  physics — is  not  at  all 
clear  to  me.  To  the  best  of  my  recollec- 
tion, it  .occurred  in  this  wise :  In  the 
year  1842,  there  lived  in  the  little  moun- 
tain city  of  L a  certain  Dr.  B — 7-, 

who  had  a  son  named  Tom,  who  was  a 
particular  friend  of  mine.  One  autumn 
afternoon — I  am  positive  as  to  the  time 
— ^I  went  to  pay  my  regular  daily  visit 
to  Tom.  Now,  Tom  was  lazy,  and  spent 
most  of  his  afternoons  in  his  father^s  of- 
fice, lying  at  full  length  on  the  sofa, 
flometimes  reading,  more  often  sleeping. 
Not  finding  Tom  at  his  accustomed  post, 
I  hunted  about  on  his  father^s   book- 

• 

shelves  for  something  to  beguile  the 
time  until  his  return,  and  it  so  happened 
that  my  hand  £q11  upon  an  elementary 
work  on  physiology.  This  book  I  bor- 
rowed and  never  returned — the  usual 
mode  of  literary  theft — ^ond  from  it,  in 
some  roundabout  way,  I  derived  my  no- 
tion; but  Tiow  precisely  I  cannot  toll. 
The  book,  together  with  many  otliers, 
was  stolen  in  turn  from  mo  many  years 
ago,  and  I  am  unable  to  refer  to  it  Of 
its  contents  I  remember  literally  noth- 
ing, except  a  picture  of  the  four  cardinal 
temperaments — sanguine,  bilious,  ner- 
vous, and  lymphatic.    There  may  have 


been  some  physiognonuoal  hints  thrown 
out  in  its  pages,  but  I  am  unable  tox*- 
call  any  one  of  them,  and  I  am  ¥07 
sure  that,  ameng  those  hints,  not  cm 
word  was  said  about  the  ear.  Neva^ 
theless,  I  am  willing  to  swear,  were  it 
necessary,  that  from  that  book  came  mj 
notion  about  the  human  ear;  not  an 
ill-defined  notion  either,  but  an  d  prwri 
dictum  of  the  "  pure  reason,''  sharp  in 
outline  and  disengaged  clearly  from  the 
very  first. 

But  what  is  this  wonderful  notiont 
I  will  not  keep  you  much  longer  in 
pense ;  but,  in  order  to  make  my 
ing  plainer,  one  or  two  preUmioaiy 
statements  are  necessary.  First:  then 
is  an  almost  infinite  variety  of  eani 
and  each  of  these  ears  accoidim 
to  the  well-known  physiological  law, 
that  "  form  indicates  function,"  has  a 
precise  though  as  yet  imperfeotly-asoer- 
toined  value  as  a  sign  or  indication  of 
character.  In  other  words,  the  eai^  n 
to  its  shape,  is  not  an  accidental,  p1l^ 
poseless,  and  unmeaning  appendage,  bnli 
in  common  with  the  features  of  the  Uob 
proper  (which,  being  more  mobile  and 
full  of  expression,  have  been  more  csie- 
fully  studied),  is  on  index  of  the  natural 
disposition,  and  as  accurate  an  index  si 
the  eye  or  the  mouth.  This  must  seem  an 
absurd  statement  to  any  but  the  expert 
in  the  study  of  ears,  if,  happily,  such  ex- 
port, beside  myself,  exists  in  the  IJnitad 
States.  Were  it  incumbent  on  mo  to 
defend  this  apparently  absurd  statement, 
I  might  refer  to  President  Barnard's 
Into  lecture  on  the  microscope,  in  wliick 
it  is  gravely  stated  that  the  entire  strao- 
tufe  and  habits  of  on  extinct  mammal  or 
saurian  may  be  rigorously  determined 
by  the  inspection  of  a  fragment  of  foosil 
bone  invisible  ^to  the  naked  eye.  That 
mysterious  vital  force,  which,  from  cells 
almost  identical  in  appearance,  develops 
this  into  the  oak  and  that  into  the  man,. 
must  of  necessity  have  the  power  to  so- 
ordinate  each  separate  molecule,  fixing 
by  inexorable  law  its  exact  place  in  the 
general  organism,  and  thus  and  tliusonly 
accomplishing  tho  great  work  of  distinet 
genera,  species,  and  individuals.  Viewed 
in  this  light,  no  part  of  the  body  is  with- 


Mt  Notion  about  the  Human  Ear. 


233 


sigDificaoce,  and  even  palmiatrj 
Uy  be  the  absurdity  which  we  have 
K^nstomed  to  think  it.  Ilence  I 
igain  that  the  ear  is  a  sign,  and 
rery  unimportant  one,  of  charac- 

nd:  in  proof  of  my  affirmation  I 
3  only  the  fact  which  has  been  cnr- 
m  time  immemorial ,  that  a  certain 
f  ear  is  deemed  indicative  of  a 

I  dis^posiiion.  This  nmy  be,  and 
ly  is,  in  many  instances,  a  popular 
;  bat  I  defy  you  to  look  attentive- 
man^s  little,  pinched  ear,  driven, 
ire,  into  the  head,  and  not  form  an 
rable  opinion  of  the  owner's  char- 
You  ore  forced,  by  infalliblo  in- 
)o  form  this  opinion ;  and  however 
be  "  correction  of  reason "  and 
sqnaintance  with  the  individnal 
tduce  you  to  accuse  yonrself  of 
generalization,    I,   for  my  part, 

II  give  my  voice  in  favor  of  in- 
as  against  reason,  and  contend 
le  mean-eared  man  is  mean  at 
f  and  will  forever  remain  mean, 
»  of  the  decorous  restraint  which 

has  imposed  upon  him.  At  all 
my  experience  in  ears  has  made 
Y  hopeless  of  those  to  whom  na- 
B  denied  well-shaped  external  or- 

bearing. 

now  you  are,  I  trust,  prepared  in 
lUre  to  receive  my  **  notion,"  so 
ritliheld  and  so  cautiously  ap- 
sd.    It  is  this :  the  external  human 

sign  or  mark  of  the  money-mak- 
irealth-8coumu1ating.(for  there  is 
etion  between  these  two)  faculty ; 
h  or  more  eo  than  the  **  organ  of 
iveness,"  so  called ;  for  I  am  no 
legist,  but  hold  with  Oliver  Wen- 
ilmes,  that  you  may  as  easily  tell 
>nnt  of  money  in  an  iron  safe  by 
ig  the  knobs,  as  tell  the  quantity 
Blity  of  a  man's  sense  by  feeling 
nps  on  his  head.  I  repeat,  the 
1  ear  is  a  mark  of  the  wealth-ac- 
ting faculty,  more  so  than  any 

internal  **  organs.''  I  ampre- 
» go  further,  and  to  say  that,  with- 
srtain  conformation  of  the  extern 

you  cannot  accumulate  and  re- 
»u  may  make  it)  money,  and  with 
L.  V. — 16 


that  conformation  you  cannot  help  ac- 
cumulating it. 

What  do  you  think  of  that? 

I  am  in  earnest. 

Do  rot  say  that  I  am  injuring  my  case 
by  the  extreme  position  which  I  have 
taken,  because  I  am  ready  and  willing  to 
declare,  not  that  the  ear  makes  money, 
any  more  than  the  eye  itsellsees,  but  that 
the  external  ear  is  as  truly  the  organ  of 
money-making  as  the  tye  is  the  organ  or 
instrument  of  vision.  If  this  statement 
be  preposterous,  all  the  better.  I  want  to 
make  a  d^ep  impression  upon  you.  But, 
before  you  throw  me  out  of  court,  lis- 
ten, not  to  my  argument,  (nobody  ar- 
gues a  "  notion  ")  but  to  what  I  have  to 
say — ^listen  attentively  and  considerately. 

Among  your  acquaintances  there  are 
one  or  more  rich  men,  and  each  of  these 
men  has,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  a  pair  of  ears, 
and  these  ears  are  or  should  be  in  good 
hearing  order.  By-the-by,  it  just  occurs 
to  me  that  I  never  knew  or  heard  of  a 
denf-mute  who  had  acquired  wealth — did 
you  ?  But  your  rich  acquaintances  must 
be  rich  in  a  particular  way.  If  he  has 
inherited  wealth  or  made  it  by  pome 
lucky  eovp  or  lottery-stroke,  he  will  not 
do.  Throw  him  out  of  the  account — his 
ear  is  of  no  value  in  this  important  in- 
vestigation. If  he  has  made  his  for- 
tune by  marriage,  or  had  the  advantage 
of  a  good  start  in  the  world,  or  has  been 
made  the  pet  of  some  moneyed  man,  and* 
accumulated  more  by  reason  of  stinginesa 
than  capacity,  cast  him  aside.  He  may 
have  the  right  sort  of  ear,  but  it  will  not 
answer  our  purpose.  But  if  he  be  charge^ 
able  with  none  of  these  defects,  and  if 
you  be  positively  certain  that  he  oom- 
menoed  life  with  nothing  or  next  to  notb> 
ing.  and,  in  utter  contempt  of  the  meU^ 
physical  exnihilo  nihil fit^  made  his.  waj 
up  in  the  world  mainly  by  hi»  own  sa- 
gacity, prudence,  and  indkistry,  and  ac- 
quired, not  a  competence,  not  a  paltry 
$60,000  or  $100,000,  bol;  a  really  large 
fortune,  then  study  his  ear.  Twenty  to 
one ;  nay,  fifty  to  one,  it  will  be  Just  the 
ear  wo  are  looking  for — the  ear  which 
predestines  its  owner  to  wealth.  What 
sort  of  an  ear  is  it,  though  ?  I  will  tell 
you  presently ;  but  I  would  be  very  muck 


234 


PuTNAii's  Magazine. 


[Feb, 


gratified  and  tho  strengtli  of  my  position 
woald  bo  very  much  enhanced  if  you 
would  put  down  the  magazine  at  this 
precise  point,  put  on  jour  hat  and  go  to 
your  rich  acquaintance  and,  by  permis- 
sion or  slyly,  examine  his  ear.  If  it  do 
not  correspond  to  my  description  pres- 
ently to  be  given,  then  you  may  call  me 
— no,  don't  call  me  a  liar — I  would  have 
to  resent  that — call  me  not  an  ear-sight- 
ed man. 

One  word  before  you  go.  When  I  said 
above  that  yonr  rich  man  must  have  ac- 
cumulated his  fortune  by  his  own  exer- 
tions and  not  another's — by  his  own  "  sa- 
gacity, prudence,"  &c. — ^you  said  to  your- 
self, **  that's  begging  the  whole  question  " 
—didn't  you?  You  admit  it.  Never 
mind,  now ;  I  will  meet  that  point  when 
you  come  back. 

Well  I  have  you  seen  your  man  ?  You 
have.  Were  his  ears  still  attached  to  his 
head?  They  were.  Both  of  them? 
Yes.  Were  they  in  good  hearing  order  ? 
You  didn't  inquire.    No  matter. 

Now,  that  rich  man's  ear  was  not  a 
little  l)ir.  of  a  contemptible  affair,  some- 
thing like  a  withered  interrogation  point, 
was  it  ?  No.  I  knew  it  was  not.  Nei- 
ther was  it  a  great  flap-ear,  like  an  ele- 
phant's or  a  hog's  ?  No.  It  did  not 
stand  out  from  the  head  like  the  ear  of 
tho  chinchilla — I  tliiuk  it  is  the  chin- 
chilla— did  it  ?  No.  It  did  not  slant 
backward  —  was  not  a  red,  inflamed, 
ripo-tomato  ear,  nor  a  thin,  skinny,  trans- 
lucent oar,  did  not  lack  the  scroll  on 
tho  outer  margin  and  look  as  though  it 
had  been  smoothed  out  with  a  flat-iron, 
aud  the  lobe  at  bottom,  in  which  the  ear- 
ring is  inserted,  was  not  wanting,  giving 
it  a  skimp,  cut- off  appearance?  To  all 
of  thcso  queries  you  give  a  negative  an- 
swer, as  I  felt  sure  you  would. 

Then  that  rich  man's  ear  must  have  been 
rather  a  fleshy,  large  ear ;  of  a  healthy, 
not  too  pale  color ;  not  slanted  backward, 
but  straight  up  and  down  ;  lying  close, 
but  not  t«»o  close  to  the  head ;  symmetri- 
cal arul  well-developed  in  all  of  its  parts, 
and  inclined  to  be  somewhat  hairy  as  pge 
advances.  Mark  you,  it  is  a  large  ear, 
but  not  a  lar^^o,  round  ear,  as  the  top  of 
a  blaokin^-box  clapped  to  tlie  side  of  the 


head  would  be.  No ;  it  is  a  longisli  m 
vertically,  and  more  of  an  ellipse  thm  a 
circle  in  shape.  Yet  it  is  not  a  narrow 
ear.  It  is  developed  equally  in  all  diiw- 
tions,  impresses  you  favorably  as  an  hon- 
est ear,  begets  confidence,  and  deserra 
it.  Such  an  ear,  I  dare  be  sworn,  yoo 
will  find  on  the  head  of  nine  oat  of  ten, 
nineteen  out  of  twenty,  yes,  fortj-mne 
out  of  fifty  men,  who,  from  poverty  ud 
obscurity  have  risen  to  opulence.  Om 
and  over  and  over  again,  I  have  look- 
ed at  the  ears  of  men  of  wealth,  tod  but 
in  a  single  instance,  that  of  a  gentlflmn 
in  Baltimore,  who  is  said  to  be  woitb 
throe  millions,  all  of  his  own  making, 
have  I  found  the  rule  to  faiL  Foruon 
than  twenty  years  I  have  prosecuted  my 
researches  into  tliis  new  and  interesting 
department  of — physiognomy,  sImU  1 
call  it  ?  and  each  year  and  every  ear  hii 
added  to  the  certitude  of  my  ^*  Ofitioo.'' 
I  have  talked  it  over  to  hundreds  of  peo- 
ple, have  verified  its  correctnera,  while 
in  the  act  of  broaching  it  (some  rich  man 
happening  to  pass  by  at  the  time),  and 
have  met  with  but  one  human  being  who 
ever  entertained  the  same  opinion.  How 
he  came  by  that  opinion,  or  how  long  be 
had  held  it,  he  could  not  tell.  He  was  a 
money-making  man  himself,  had  the  mo- 
ney-making ear,  believed  firmly  in  tbe 
nummicultural  property  of  the  large,  long- 
ish,  fiesliy  ear,  and  I  think  told  me  tbe 
truth.  Still,  I  have  every  right  to 
claim  the  discovery  as  my  own,  and  do 
claim  it. 

Now,  it  is  the  easiest  matter  4n  the 
world  to  ascertain  tho  value  of  this  claim 
of  mine.  A  wider  observation  may  prove 
it  to  be  all  nonsense.  Well,  I  want  to 
put  it  to  that  test  I  have  already  given 
an  exception ;  let  us  see  if  there  really 
be  a  rule  in  the  matter.  Help  roe.  If 
you  live  in  New  York,  there  are  Vander- 
hilt,  Stewart,  Drew,  Olafiin,  et  ali.  Ask 
them  to  allow  you  to  examine  their  ears. 
Do  it  anyway,  whether  they  allow  it  or 
not.;  Tlie  Astor  boys  won't  serve;  they 
didn't  make  their  money.  It  is  probnble, 
however,  that  they  have  inherited  large 
ears.  If  you  live  in  Boston — but  I  dout 
know  any  rich  man  )^  Bo>ton ;  nor,  for 
tho  matter  of  that,  an;  in  Philadelphia, 


1870.] 


Fine  Abts  of  Society — LETTER-WKrnNo. 


285 


Chicago,  San  FrancL^co,  or  elsewhere. 
Bat  there  are  plenty  of  them,  I  dare 
say,  in  each  of  these  cities,  and  you  know 
them  if  I  do  not ;  look  at  their  ears.  I 
have  never  seen  George  Peabodj,  but  I 
will  wager  my  repu^tion  or  any  thing 
elso  of  positive  worth,  that  he  has  tlic 
car  in  question.  I  saw  TV.  W.  Corcoran 
last  summer  at  tlie  White  Sulphur 
Springs  in  Virginia,  and  ho  had  the  iden- 
tical ear,  had  it  beautifully ;  and  I  would 
submit  his  to  a  candid  world  as  the  typ- 
ical rich  man^s  car. 

Why  the  ear,  more  than  the  nose,  the 
eje,  or  any  other  organ,  should  have  any 
thing  to  do  with  money -making,  I  donH 
know ;  but  I  am  sure  that  it  has,  and  so 
will  you  be  when  you  have  examined  as 
nuny  ears  as  I  have.  The  phrenologists 
jjaoe  the  organ  of  acquisitiveness  very 
neir  the  ear,  a  little  above  and  behind  it, 
if  I  am  not  mistaken,  but  I  have  very 
little  faith  in  phrenology.  This  I  know, 
or  rather  have  observed ;  the  well-devel- 
oped ear  is,  as  a  rule,  but  a  part  of  the 
well-developed  body,  such  as  money- 
making  men  generally  have.  A  deep 
chest,  ample  stomach,  stout  limbs,  large 
bones,  a  thick-set  figure,  a  round  head, 
broad  between  the  ears ;  these  are  often- 
est  the  marks  of  the  money-maker,  ac- 
cording to  my  ezperienoe,  and  the  ear 
piitakei  of  the  characteristics  of  the  gen- 


eral development.  But  note  this:  a 
man  may  have  all  of  the  above  marks  ex- 
cept the  oar :  rely  upon  it,  ho  will  never 
bo  very  rich.  Or  he  may  have  none  of 
the  above  marks ;  but  if  ho  have  the  ear, 
the  chances  are  that  he  will  get  rich.  The 
mental  traits  which  accompany  the  con- 
formation of  body  just  given,  are,  as  I 
have  intimated,  prudence,  sagacity,  en- 
nergy,  and  courage,  all  of  which,  of 
course,  are  requisite  to  the  money-mak- 
ing character.  Suppose — and  now  I  am 
about  to  meet  the  point  you  made  some 
time  ago— suppose  a  man  to  have  the 
aforesaid  prudence,  sagacity,  etc.,  what'a 
the  use  of  the  car  ? 

Why,  my  dear  fellow,  he  couldn't  have 
them  without  the  ear.  They  go  with  it 
inseparably.  It'  ho  had  them,  and  his 
ear  was  cut  off,  they  would  disappear. 
Absurd  1  No  such  thing.  I  tell  yon  that 
the  man  with  the  large,  longish,  fleshy, 
flat-lying  ear  is  predestined  to  make  mo- 
ney ;  and  whatsoever  qualities  of  mind 
are  requisite  to  the  fulfilment  of  that  pre- 
destination follow  as  a  matter  of  neces- 
sity. Then  the  shape  of  the  ear  deter- 
mines the  character  of  the  mind  ?  Well, 
yes ;  if  yon  will  push  me  to  extremes. 
But  what  I  say  and  stick  to,  is  this: 
men  who  make  large  fortunes,  as  a  rule, 
have  also  large  ear^.  JSee  if  they  have 
not. 


BREVITIES. 
Fink  Arts  of  Socibty. — ^V.  LrmR-WBrTrxa. 


•*  CoRBESPONDBNCEs,"  WTOto  Sydney 
Smith  in  an  impatient  humor,  "are 
like  small-clothes  before  the  day  of  sus- 
penders— ^it's  impossible  to  keep  them 
ttp.*^  That  there  is  a  great  deal  of 
tnith  in  this  remark  of  the  witty  Dean, 
nobody  will  deny,  for  mankind  may  lye 
diyided  into  two  great  classes,  good 
correspondents  and  bad.  Virtue  has 
one  fiftce,  but  vice  many ;  and  bad  cor- 
respondents afflict  us  in  such  a  multi- 
plicity of  ways  that  it  would  be  difli- 
cult  to  enumerate  them.  And,  as  it 
often  is  wi&  other  fcrma  of  wickedness, 


many  of  these  sins  originate  in  igno- 
rance. People  treat  letters  with  the 
most  shocking  levity,  and  absolutely 
look  upon  them  as  trifles  of  yery  little 
moment.  Your  good  correspondent,  on 
the  contrary,  holds  them  as  sacred  as  a 
bibliophile  does  his  books,  and  treats 
them  as  reverently.  He  replies  prompt- 
ly, not  with  rash  and  inconsiderate 
haste,  nor  after  so  long  an  interval  as 
to  allow  all  interest  in  the  correspond- 
ence to  cool ;  ho  answers  yonr  questions, 
and  responds  to  your  ideas.  He  never 
writes  like  a  book,  nor  with  a  view  to 


286 


PuTNAM^fl  Magazine. 


[Feb^ 


tli9  publication  of  his  "  Remains ; '' 
never  treats  you  to  an  undigested 
sketch  of  his  next  essay  for  the  "  Occi- 
dentul/*  beginning:  **ltly  dear  friend: 
The  theory  that  an  impression  is  irradiat- 
ed along  the  white  fibres  to  the  cerebrum 
and,"  etc.,  and  closing  with  "Yours 
truly."  Neither  does  he  entangle  you  in  a 
controversy  upon  theological  subjects,  or 
overwhelm  you  with  knowledge  valua- 
ble perhaps  to  him,  but  utterly  worth- 
less to  you«  He  never  bores  you  with 
petty  gossip  about  the  people  you  don^t 
know,  or  vexes  you  by  omitting  to 
communicate  interesting  intelligence 
concerning  your  particular  friends.  He 
neither  smothers  you  with  egotistical 
details,  nor  tantalizes  you  by  omitting 
to  speak  of  himself  altogether.  He  is 
equally  spiring  and  judicious  in  his 
praLse  and  his  blame,  and  administers 
either  when  necessary,  with  an  unflinch« 
ing  courage.  In  short,  to  bo  a  model 
correspondent,  one  most  be  a  model 
friend,  and  a  model  friend,  according  to 
Mr.  JBmerson^s  highest  ideal,  should  be 
able  to  dispense  with  corrcapondenoe 
oltogctlier.  At  the  rate  at  wbioh  we 
are  perfecting  our  telegraphic  ffunlitiea, 
business  correspondence  will  soon  be 
entirely  resigned  to  the  wires;  and 
friendship  and  business  withdrawn  from 
mail-duty,  what  would  be  left  but  love  t 
Lovers,  even  of  the  male  sex,  possess  in 
perfection  the  art  of  saying  nothing  in 
the  greatest  amount  of  words ;  penny- 
a-liners  and  Congressmen  arc  their  only 
rivals.  But  with  this  department  of 
letter-writing  Douglas  Jerrold  interferes 
when  he  says,  in  solemn  warning,  "  A 
man's  in  no  danger  as  long  as  he  talks 
his  love,  but  to  write  it,  is  to  impale 
himself  on  his  own  pot-hooks." 

Lctter-writingf  particularly  the  light- 
er kinds,  needs  a  delicacy  and  brilliancy 
of  touch  peculiarly  feminine,  and  this 
is  why  women  excel  as  correspondents, 
iind  are  especially  noted  for  Veloqueiiee 
Ja  UUet,  De  Quincey  declares  that  if 
you  desire  to  read  our  noble  language 
in  its  native  beauty,  picturesque  from 
its  idiomatic  propriety,  racy  in  its 
j)hraseology,  delicate  yet  sinewy  in  its 
composition,  you  must  break  open  the 


mail-bags  and  read  the  letters  in  ladies* 
handwriting.  Women  rarely  write  poor 
letters, — we  came  very  near  saying  that 
men  rarely  write  good  ones.  Certainly, 
letter-writing,  as  a  fine  art,  demands 
more  purely  feminine  qualities  than  any 
other.  A  thoroughly  good  letter  is 
neither  a  sermon  nor  an  essay ;  it  is  a 
written  conversation,  where  the  talker 
has  the  advantage  (or  the  disadvantage, 
as  you  choose)  of  having  all  the  talk  to 
himself.  Women  being  proyerbially 
fond  of  this  one-sided  discoune^  find 
themselves  at  ease  in  the  opportiuiity 
to  say  all  they  wish  without  the  poMO- 
bility  of  interruption.  Their  quick 
perceptions  and  lightness  of  touch  pxe> 
vent  them  from  becoming  bores,  their 
versatility  secures  variety  of  topiCi  ^nd 
their  wit  and  sprightliness  embeDiih 
the  page  with  a  thousand  airy  notbld|ji ' 
that  give  piquancy  and  zest  to  the  com- 
position.  And  when  it  comes  to  tbe 
note,  that  peculiarly  feminine  wespon, 
can  any  man  compete  with  themt  A 
man^s  note,  if  ever  he  try  his  hand  at 
that  elegant  trifle,  is  generally  HiodeUed 
upon  those  famous  compositioiis  pro- 
duced in  the  Bardell-Pickwick  osm; 
'*  My  dear  Mrs.  B. :  Chops  and  tomato 
sauce.  .Yours,  Pickwick.**  Wheire  it 
the  delicate  and  polished  grace  with 
which  an  elegant  and  coltirated  woma 
can  invest  even  such  a  homely  topic  as 
choi)s  and  tomato  sauce  t  She  can  oon- 
trive  to  throw  a  shade  of  sentiment  orv 
a  question  of  dinner,  and  elevate  a 
sauce  into  the  dignity  of  a  poetic  ad- 
junct. She  can  convey  an  exqniMte 
compliment  in  an  invitation  or  an  ac* 
ceptance,  and  even  has  the  skill 

"  From  such  a  »harp  and  waapiah  word  asHob 
To  pluck  tho  stlug.'" 

Of  course,  there  are  formal  notes  and 
even  letters,  which  are  not  letters  any 
more  than  backgamn^on  boards  and 
patent-office  reports  are  books.  And  as 
Charles  Lamb  thought  proper  to  make 
a  catalogue  of  those  books  which  are 
not  books,  so  would  we  willingly  com- 
pile a  list  of  letters  which  are  not  let- 
ters, and  which  cause  infinite  vexation 
of  spirit  when  an  unconscientious  post- 
man hands  them  in  as  such.    In  this 


Fine  Arts  of  Society — Lettek-Wbitixq. 


237 


f  the  accursed  should  be  includ- 
Degging-Ietters  of  every  descrip- 
.11  circulars  from  tradesmen  or 
9 ;  all  notices  of  meetings  to  be 
(1,  which  have  no  buBinecs  to 
L  00  fair  a  guiso ;  all  social  an- 
ncnts  of  whatever  character, 
deaths,  engagements,  or  mar- 
all  invitations  of  a  formal  de- 
n,  to  dreary  formal  entertain- 
all  prospectuses,  and  all  letters 

with  a  view  to  publication, 
re  it  must  be  observed,  that  of 
dodges  for  insinuating  a  horrid 
r  £act  down  the  throat  of  an 
]g  public,  that  of  the  newspaper 
the  most  odious  and  the  most 
rent;  and  one  learns  to  look 
i  at  a  long  column  commencing 
le  forms  of  a  letter,  like  a  shy 
rho  suspects  a  halter  behind  the 
oats. 

of  the  most  necessary  qualities 
"eally  good  letter,  is  expressed 
ly  the  French  word  abaiidon  than 
other.  Tou  must  throw  ypnr- 
4>  your  subject  without  reseN 

yonr  petty  insincerities,  youi 
ncial  hypocrisies  must  be  laid 
And  as  there  are  no  eyes  look- 
ron  from  the  fair  white  page  to 
raa  into  shy  reserve,  what  deli- 
Mifldences  one  can  make  under 
looan^ng  circumstances  t  Tou 
on  the  discretion  of  the  friend 
a  you  are  writing,  or  you  would 
,  him  or  her  your  friend, — why 
»uld  you  stickle  at  a  frank  word  ? 
ters  which  we  prize  most  are 
rhich  are  written  for  ourselves 
io  we  take  very  much  satisfiic- 
the  epistle  which  might  as  ap- 
»1y  be  addressed  to  Tom,  Dick, 
f  f    The  savor  which  gives  our 

letter  its  zest,  is  the  purely 
I  interest  it  contains,  the  fact  of 
,g  a  letter  which  could  by  no 
ity  have  been  written  by,<  or 
sd  to,  any  other  person ;  in  short, 
ridoality. 

this  trait  which  makes  oorre- 
i6cs  between  men  and  women  so 
OS.  Unless  the  correspondents 
arkably  unsentimental,  or  very 


strongly  interested  in  some  topic  which 
forms  the  subject  of  their  letters,  art, 
literature,  science,  or  whatever  it  may 
be,  there  will  be  always  a  gradual  slid- 
ing off  into  personalities.  A  discussion 
of  their  own  tastes,  their  own  peculiari- 
ties, their  own  fancies,  very  soon  leads 
into  a  still  more  animated  comparison 
of  sentiments  and  feelings,  and  once 
upon  these  quicksands,  the  end  is  not 
far  off,  for  as  the  French  proverb  most 
truly  says,  '*  Parler  d'amour,  c'est  faire 
Tamonr.^'  In  fact-,  some  cynics  declare 
that  there  are  but  two  kinds  of  letters 
possible  between  men  and  women,  busi- 
ness letters  and  love-letters.  But  these 
misanthropic  gentlemen  also  declare 
that  no  woman  can  write  a  note  of  one 
page,  or  dispense  with  that  almost  ob- 
solete adjunct,  the  postscript ;  both  of 
which  slanders  vie  in  falsity  with  the 
preceding  one.  Women  may  bo,  as 
Charles  Reads  says  they  are,  diaboli- 
cally angelically  subtle  in  the  art  of 
saying  something  that  expresses  one 
ounce  and  implies  ooe  hundredweight, 
but  they  are  equally  subtle  in  the  art 
of  cramming  that  unknown  quantity 
into  the  smallest  possible  compass. 
They  arc,  beyond  conception,  ski  if ul  in 
that  curious  phase  of  letter-writing, 
called  '*  writing  between  the  lines."  It 
is  tolerably  safe  to  take  for  gnmted  that 
a  woman's  letter  carries  its  meaning  in 
that  invisible  ink,  and  that  its  true 
dgniflcation  is  nowhere  expressed  in 
actual  words.  It  is  rather  an  unfortu- 
nate circumstance  for  the  sex  that  this 
little  peculiarity  is  inherent  in  their 
nature,  because,  to  quote  Reade  again, 
**  mankind,  thongii  not  wanting  in  in- 
telligmioo,  as  a  body,  have  one  intellec- 
tnal  defect — they  are  muddleheads.'' 
The  straight-going  arrows  of  the  femi- 
nine armory  are  apt  to  be  lost  among 
the  intricate  conyolutions  of  the  mas- 
culine brains.  We  have  seen  a  lover 
writhing  in  agony  over  a  letter  intended 
to  express  the  fondest  afEbction,  and  a 
deluded  youth  smlliAg  like  Malvolio, 
over  a  deadly  shaft  feathered  with  a 
seeming  compliment.  The  weaker  sex 
are  like  the  hare,  when  hard-pressed 
they  have  to  double.     Some  French 


i 


288 


PuTNAM^s  Magazine. 


[Feb. 


writer  tells  us  that  he  has  often  heard 
iren  speak  of  the  impossibility  of  un- 
(Icrstanding  women,  but  that  it  is  no 
•ireat  wonder,  seeing  that  women  do  all 
they  can  not  to  bo  understood. 
That  is  the  point,  Messieurs,  and  in 


analyzing  the  character  of  a  woman 
or  the  contents  of  her  letter,  what- 
ever may  bo  the  apparent  simplieitj 
of  either,  you  have  always  to  make  a 
large  allowance  for  an  unknown  qim- 
tityl 


Dreiuing. 


When  full  a  third  part  of  life  is  con- 
sumed in  sleep,  it  is  wonderful  how  lit- 
tle has  been  written,  and  how  little 
kEOwn,  about  this  half-way  state  be- 
tween life  and  death.  Not  even  the 
means  of  procuring  this  coveted  repose, 
of  securing  as  much  as  is  necessary  to 
snnity,  of  preventiug  the  nightwatches 
from  being  perverted  into  a  curse,  are 
commonly  understood.  People  toss 
about  restlessly  on  their  beds  after 
green  tea  or  coffee,  after  midnight  feast- 
ing, the  study  of  embarrassed  accounts, 
or  some  harrowing  news,  and  wonder 
T;hat  it  all  means.  A  long  walk  just 
before  retiring,  the  hearing  of  a  mono- 
tonous discourse,  the  nearness  of  falling 
water,  even  a  bowl  of  chocolate,  and 
sometimes  a  sponge-bath  will  change  all 
these  relations,  and  secure  that  rest 
which  his  pillow  of  hops  gave  to  Qeorge 
III.  A  cane  bolster  is  said  to  be  a  great 
help  to  somnolency.  One  eminent  mis- 
sionary used  to  repeat  the  Lord's  prayer 
till,  as  ho  said,  "  the  devil  of  restle8»- 
nc88  was  cast  out.*'  Erskine  knew  a 
man  cured  of  sleeplessness  by  dressing 
him  as  a  watchman,  and  putting  him  in 
a  sentry-box.  Brodie,  the  great  surgeon, 
used  to  tell  of  a  friend  of  his  reduced  by 
poverty  to  picking  stone  on  English 
roads,  who  reftised  every  offer  of  change 
of  circumstances  bcauae  of  the  splendid 
night's  sleep  he  now  enjoyed.  Boerhave 
procured  this  blessing  for  a  patient  by 
keeping  water  dropping  at  his  bedside. 
Generally,  an  easy  mind,  a  good  diges- 
tion, and  plenty  of  open-air  exercise 
will  save  one  from  ever  realizing  any 
tiling  like  what  Coleridge  describeil  to 
Cottle :  **  Night  is  my  hell :  sleep  my 
tormenting  angel.  Three  nights  out  of 
ft)ur  I  fall  asleep  struggling  to  be 
awake ;  and  frequent  night-screams  have 
made  me  a  nuisance.    Dreams  with  mo 


ai*c  no  shadows,  but  the  very  ^^^•ny't'r 
of  my  life." 

The  cause  of  sleep  was  imagined  to 
be  the  swelling  of  the  bloodyeaaeb  of 
the  brain ;  but  a  woman  who  had  her 
head  broken  proved  the  reverse.  Din>- 
ing  profound  sleep  her  brain  waa  fomid 
to  be  perfectly  motionless ;  and  in  oihtf 
animals  it  has  been  discovered  t^i^t^ 
sleep  the  veins  cease  to  be  awolleii,  and 
the  surface  of  the  brain  becomes  pale; 
when  the  animal  is  aroused  tho  blood 
is  seen  coursing  rapidly  through,  fldl 
veins. 

But,  we  would  speak  now  of  disiiiib- 
ed  sleep.  Dr.  Rush  said,  a  dream  was 
a  transient  paroxysm  of  delirium.  TbB 
cause  of  such  vagaries  of  the  imagln< 
tion  is  often  detected  easily,  having  fte- 
quently  some  relation  to  our  w^ing 
thoughts ;  or,  taking  the  hint  from  sur- 
rounding circumstances. 

Immediately  after  reading  Porchsi^ 
account  of  the  palace  of  Eubla  KhsB, 
Coleridge  dreamed  a  poem  of  two  hnB: 
dred  lines,  beginning  with 

'*  In  Xiinadn  did  KubU  Khsn 
A  stately  plaarare  dame  daerM^ 
Wberc  Alp  the  ntored  riv«r  nn 
Through  ortotiib  mciifiirdMS  to  BUBt 
Down  to  a  >iml««i  ten,** 

So  Dr.  Gregory  dreamed  of  walking 
up  Mount  Etna  because  of  a  bottle  of 
hot  water  at  his  feet,  and  another  time 
of  being  frozen  at  Hudson^s  Bay  be- 
cause the  bed-cover  had  fallen  oflU  Dr. 
Reid  believed  himself  scalped  by  In- 
dians because  of  a  blister  on  his  head. 
Professor  Upham  gives  the  case  of  an 
officer  in  the  Louisburg  expedition  of 
1758,  who  was  prompted  by  whispers 
during  slumber  to  believe  just  what  the 
people  around  him  chose ;  now  that  he 
was  fighting  a  duel,  now  that  he  was 
entering  into  a  fearful  battle,  now  that 


Dbkamiko. 


280 


»  close  upon  him  in  the 
ran  Trenok,  we  remember, 
;ed  in  his  staryed  dungeon 
of  the  lasurious  tables  of 
Edinburgh  gentleman  and 
id  been  excited  about  a 
ision,  and  then  were  inter- 
ilitary  drill  before  the  C4is- 
lot  strange  that  the  falling 
tongs  made  both  dream  un 
iyen,  troops  were  marching, 
'  had  begun. 

s     experience    of    Colonel 
i  a  theatre-critic  of  renown, 
>aghly  bravo  man,  rises  to 
in  illustration  of  this  point, 
ed  a  New  Hampshire  yil- 
tie  was  acquainted  with  but 
nily,  in  hope  of  laying  a 
I  was  reported  to  yieit  the 
iyard  every  midnight   Plao- 
'  on  a  tomb,  the  Colonel 
U  asleep ;  at  once  he  seem- 
king  into  the  grave,  a  sensa- 
by  the  dampness  of  the 
ich  he  reclined.    By-and-by 
ensible  of  a  female  in  white 
er  him,  with  an  aspect  of 
.    He  rose  up ;  she  retreat- 
followed  her  to  the  very 
friend's  hoiUM.    The  next 
ed  upon  the  family.    The 
later  wept  when   she   saw 
,  because  of  a  dream  the 
(ht  of  beholding  him  lying 
(id — a  dgn  of  his  approach- 
"Oh  no!"   he  replied; 
'  a  sign  that  she  had  been 
her  sleep  to  her   sister's 
needed   medical   care   at 
the  ghost  was  effectually 

.t  would  not  be  at  all  true 
the  mind  always  continues 
lioughts  during  sleep ;  that 
Is  up  any  thing  save  what 
passed.  Dr.  BushnelUs  fk- 
nnia  story  refhtes  such  a 
(position.  Captain  Yount 
with  a  dream  of  a  party  of 
erishing  of  cold  and  famine 
near  a  perpendicular  cliff 
me ;  they  were  endeavoring 
ree-tops  rising  out  of  deep 


gulfs  of  snow ;  the  distress  upon  their 
faces  was  distinctly  seen.  The  dream 
was  repeated^  In  the  morning,  the  im- 
pression was  so  strong  that  Tount  re- 
lated it  to  an  old  hunter,  who  recog- 
nized the  spot  at  once.  Bo  that,  in 
spite  of  ridicule,  they  organized  a  re- 
lief party,  and  with  mules,  blankets, 
and  provisions,  proceeded  to  the  spot, 
found  the  predicted  number  of  sufferers, 
and  brought  them  safely  to  California, 
where  some  of  them  still  do  live.  One 
would  like  to  know  if  this  brave  adven- 
turer had  not  been  hearing,  reading,  or 
telling  that  night  of  some  such  experi- 
ence, so  as  to  give  a  color  to  the  dream 
which  followed ;  if  his  imagination  had 
not  shaped  the  scenery ;  if  he  really  saw 
little  to  correspond  with  what  he  fore- 
told ;  and  if  his  final  report  is  scien- 
tifically exact. 

Hardly  anybody  knows  the  fact  that 
a  man  may  determine  his  own  dreams. 
Giron  de  Buzaringues  found  out  that, 
by  leaving  his  knees  uncovered,  he 
could  dream  of  travelling  in  a  dili- 
gence ;  by  keeping  the  back  of  his  head 
open  to  the  air,  he  dreamed  of  perform- 
ing a  religious  service  out  of  doors ;  by 
stripping  himself  of  all  clothes,  he  seem- 
ed to  be  parading  the  streets  in  utter 
nakedness. 

The  strangest  thing  to  most  persons 
is  that  hardly  any  time  is  consumed  in 
the  longest  dream,  because  the  imagina- 
tion disdains  all  outward  bonds.  la  a 
sleep  of  ten  minutes  one  of  Abercrom- 
bie's  friends  crossed  the  Atlantic  and 
returned ;  which  almost  equals  Moham- 
med's visit  to  Heaven,  while  his  pitcher 
was  falling  over.  Another  gentleman 
dreamed  of  enlisting,  deserting,  being 
condemned,  and  led  out  to  be  shot ;  all 
while  some  transient  noise  was  occurring 
in  the  next  chamber.  Bo  Macnish 
made  a  voyage  to  India,  remained  some 
days  in  Calcutta,  then  visited  Egypt, 
and  had  the  honor  of  an  interview  with 
Mehemet  Ali,  Cleopatra,  and  Baladin ; 
all  in  a  very  brief  slumber. 

The  study  of  these  phenomena  would 
be  as  simple  as  it  is  confessedly  delicate 
were  there  no  prophetic  character  about 
the  mind  in  this  state.    Borne  of  the 


uo 


PuTNAM^B  Magazine. 


\^^ 


discoveries  made  in  dreams  arc  as  hard 
to  explain  as  others  are  easy.  That 
young  Scotchman,  who  was  about  to 
lose  his  paternal  inheritance  because  a 
deed  could  nowhere  be  found,  might 
well  explain  it  to  the  increased  energy 
of  imagination,  acting  at  a  time  when 
nothing  outward  disturbed  its  range, 
that,  his  father  seemed  standing  by  his 
bedside  with  sweetly  sad  countenance, 
reminding  him  of  the  cover  of  the  hall- 
bible  in  which  he  had  placed  the  miss- 
ing document  for  safe  keeping.  During 
the  day-time,  his  imagination  was  too 
much  distracted  by  passing  sights  and 
sounds  to  secure  that  protracted  thought 
necessary  to  revive  all  the  past  of  his 
experience.  In  sleep,  his  mind  fastened 
upon  his  father's  counsels;  he  would 
seem  living  with  him  again ;  he  would 
show  him  once  more  where  his  princi- 
pal papers  were  placed,  and  so  bring 
back  to  him  the  document  on  which  a 
lawsuit  was  just  being  decided. 

The  teller  in  a  Glasgow  bank,  whose 
account  showed  a  deficiency  of  six 
pounds,  eight  months  after  recalled  an 
importunate  stammerer,  who  insisted  on 
being  paid  this  amount  out  of  regular 
order :  the  only  astonishing  thing  was 
that  so  long  a  time  should  have  elapsed 
before  the  dream  occurred.  Might  it 
not  be  that  such  a  vision  had  occurred 
earlier,  but  had  not  been  recalled  in 
waking  hours ;  as  only  a  small  propor- 
tion of  one^B  night-thoughts  are  ever 
remembered?  A  very  common  story 
ia  of  this  sort.  A  young  Scotch  lady 
was  in  love  with  an  officer  of  Sir  John 
Moore^s,  in  the  Peninsular  War.  Iler 
spirits  suffered  because  of  his  perpetual 
exposure ;  she  became  melancholy,  and 
believed  that  she  had  parted  with  her 
lover  forever.  Everything  was  done 
by  her  parents  to  restore  her  gaiety  in 
vain.  All  the  life  of  Edinburgh  could 
not  enliven  her  at  all.  Not  unnaturally, 
she  saw  her  lover  in  her  sleep  open  the 
curtains  of  her  bed  and  inform  her.  that 
he  had  been  slain  in  battle,  but  that  she 
must  not  lay  it  to  heart.  A  few  days 
after  she  was  dead.  The  night  of  the 
apparition  was  that  of  the  battle  of 
Corunna,  in  which  the  young  man  had 


perished.  Of  course,  the  ninety-mile 
times  in  every  hundred  where  the  event 
does  not  correspond  are  dismissed  and 
forgotten;  only  the  correHpondencei 
are  treasured  up,  and  made  the  gospd 
of  the  credulous. 

The  un  wisest  thing  of  all  is  to  at- 
tach a  superstitious  importance  to  cor 
dreams,  imagine  them  Bapematmal 
when  they  are  only  tokens  of  iU-health; 
or  desire  these  nocturnal  yiritationii 
which  often  tend  to  insanity.  The  book 
of  most  pretension  on  this  Babjeet,  the 
'*  Philosophy  of  Sleep,"  tells  of  a  womai 
who  was  driven  by  a  dream  into  sndi 
insanity  that  she  took  to  the  woodi, 
lived  there  for  seven  years,  until  a  itoim 
gave  occasion  for  her  capture,  when  afao 
gradually  recovered  her  right  adnd. 
Much  worse  cases  than  this  Scotch  one 
have  occurred.  At  Gardiner,  Maine^  a 
man  felt  prompted  in  sleep  to  bom  a 
neighboring  church,  and  murdor  a 
woman  against  whom  he  had  ione 
grudge.  The  last  crime  was  only  pre- 
vented by  the  arrest  which  followed  the 
first. 

The  case  of  Bernard  SchidmaiiSg  i^ 
lustratcs  the  fiimous  acquittal  of  the 
Maine  murderer  on  the  plea  of  somnam- 
bulism. Bernard  started  up  at  mid- 
night, seized  the  hatchet  which  he 
always  kept  near  him,  and  struck  at  a 
phantom  standing  by  his  bedside.  That 
blow  felled  his  wife.  She  died  the  next 
day.  But,  awful  as  the  result  was,  he 
was  not  consciously  guilty.  His  delu- 
sion bordered  on  insanity,  and  would 
ultimate  in  a  lunatic  asylum.  He  had 
believed  some  stranger  was  about  to 
attack  him  in  his  sleep. 

A  word  or  two  upon  somnambulism, 
which  is,  in  fact,  an  acted  dream.  A 
young  nobleman,  living  in  the  citadel 
of  Breslau,  was  seeu  by  his  brother  to 
rise  in  his  sleep,  w*rap  himself  in  a 
doak,  escape  by  the  window  to  the 
roof^  and  there  tear  open  a  magpie^s 
nest,  wrap  the  young  birds  up  and 
return,  place  the  birds  under  his  bed 
and  lie  down  again.  Of  course  he 
could  believe  nothing  of  what  had 
occurred  until  shown  the  birds  in  his 
cloak.    It  seems  to  us  nothing  but  a 


1870.] 


Tnv  Ohantiko  CnERUBS. 


241 


developed  dream,  the  imagination  real- 
izing its  visions  while  the  will  ceased 
its  control  over  the  body.  And  I  frank- 
ly grant  that  many  of  these  phenomena 
are  beyond  our  explanation  at  firescnt ; 
that  every  solution  leaves  in  the  dark 
as  much  as  it  explains ;  that  the  fatnro 
is  certain  to  give  ns  something  that 
might  be  decently  called  a  philosophy 
of  the  subject. 

We  close  with  the  remarkable  case 
given  by  the  Archbishop  of  Bordeaux  in 
the  "Methodical  Encyclopedia,^*  of  a 
young  priest  who  used  to  rise  in  his  sleep 
and  write  sermons,  read  them  aloud,  and 
make  corrections.  He  would  continue 
to  write  when  a  card  was  held  between 
hia  eyes  and  the  paper.  Nor  was  this 
writing  done  by  sight;   for,  a  blank 


sheet  being  substituted  for  his  sermon- 
^aper,  he  made  his  corrections  on  that 
exactly  where  they  should  have  been  in 
the  original  sheet.  More  than  that :  ho 
asked  for  certain  things,  and  under- 
stood only  the  replies  \n  hich  related  to 
these  thoughts.  Nor  did  he  remember 
anything  of  what  had  occurred  when 
he  awoke,  but  at  the  next  attack  lived 
over  this  second  life  exactly  as  be- 
fore. 

The  Chancellor  of  our  largest  Uni- 
versity has  recently  stated  in  public 
that  this  subject  required  an  attention 
it  had  nowhere  received ;  and  all  reflect- 
ing men  in  all  countries,  especially  in 
ours,  will  join  heartily  in  this  opinion ; 
the  present  essayist  hopes  to  help,  not 
hinder,  so  interesting  a  discussion. 


Tm  CnjosTiNG  CHsauBS. 


Mb.  Editor:  In  Mrs.  Hawthorne^s 
very  pleasant  record  of  travels,  recently 
published,  there  is  an  allusion  to  this 
beautiful  work  of  Mr.  Greenough,  in 
which  an  erroneous  impression  is  given 
as  to  its  origin.  It  is  but  an  act  of 
justice  to  the  memory  of  the  scnlptor  to 
remove  this  impression.  Without  touch- 
ing upon  the  point  of  the  originality  of 
Mr.  Groenongh^s  talent,  of  which  his 
later  works  must  be  the  best  test,  we 
merely  give  to-day  the  facts  connected 
with  the  group  of  the  Chanting  Chcrabs 
—which  must  always  possess  a  certain 
interest,  independently  of  its  beauty, 
having  been  one  of  the  very  earliest  of 
the  superior  works  of  American  sculp- 
ture. It  dates  from  forty  years  ago— a 
whole  era  in  American  art — and  espe- 
cially 80  in  sculpture.  The  winter  of 
1828  found  Mr.  Fenimore*  Cooper  in 
ilorence,  where  he  had  an  apartment 
in  the  Casa  Ricasoli,  and  the  few  Am- 
ericans then  pausing  for  any  length  of 
time  in  Florence,  generally  found  their 
way  to  his  rooms,  and  enjoyed  the  glow 
of  the  noble  wood-fires  he  delighted  iA 
bnUding  on  that  Italian  hearth.  Among 
these  was  Mr.  Iloratio  Greenough.  Mr. 
Cooper  soon  became  deeply  interested 
in  the  young  sculptor,  whose  high 
personal  character,  franknen,  upright- 


ness, and  generous  nature  won  the  en- 
tire respect  and  regard  of  his  older 
friend.  There  were  weeks  during  that 
twelvemonth  when  Mr.  Cooper  and 
Mr.  Greenough  were  the  only  Ameri- 
cans then  in  Florence.  They  were 
very  frequently  together. 

Mr.  Cooi>er  from  early  manhood  had 
always  felt  a  deep  interest  in  works  of 
art,  and  was  especially  anxious  that  the 
native  genius  which  he  knew  to  exist  in 
America  should  be  fairly  developed, 
both  in  painting  and  in  sculpture.  lie  had 
been  among  the  earliest  friends  of  Mr. 
Cole.  He  now  wished  that  the  young 
sculptor  should  attempt  something  more 
than  a  bust.  Among  those  grand  works 
of  art  which  throng  the  Italian  gallerieis 
and  have  been  the  delight  of  the  civilized 
world  for  nges,  is  tlie  Madonna  del 
Baldachino  of  Raphael,  now  in  tlio 
Pitti  Palace,  a  picture  which  would,  no 
doubt,  be  more  vaunted,  were  it  not  in 
the  same  collection  with  the  Madonna 
dclla  Seggiola.  Unlike  this  last,  with  its 
two  sublime  figures — said  to  have  been 
first  sketched  from  nature  on  the  head  of 
a  wine  cask,  in  a  Roman  vineyard— the 
Modonna  del  Baldachino  is  a  large 
picture,  giving  full  expression  to  a  varied 
devotional  spirit,  in  the  faces  and  figures 
of  saints,  angels,  and  cherubs.    At  the 


242 


PuTNAM^B  Magazine. 


[Fek, 


yerj  lowest  point  of  the  whole  piotare 
stand  two  loyely  little  cherabs,  chanting 
from  a  scroll  —  they  belong  to  the 
numerous  cherub  family  of  Raphael, 
unapproached  by  other  painters,  instinct 
with  a  supernatural  loTeliness  and  in- 
nocence, far  beyond  all  beauty  of  earthly 
childhood.  Knot  entirely  equal  to  those 
marvellous  cherubs  of  the  Dresden  Ma- 
donna, whose  heavenly  eyes  appear  to  re- 
flect the  mysteries  of  eternity,  the  wisdom 
ofan  ever-living  infancy — they  yet  belong 
to  the  same  choir.  At  one  of  his  earliest 
visits  to  the  gallery,  these  cherubs  at- 
tracted the  admiration  of  the  American 
traveller;  peculiarly  fond  of  children, 
doting  on  them  in  fact,  he  gradually  gave 
those  pictured  faces  something  of  the 
affection  belonging  to  the  living.  He 
never  went  to  the  gallery  without  greet- 
ing them,  without  pausing  before  them. 
They  were  his  delight  during  the  year 
he  passed  in  Florence.  On  one  occasion 
when  the  young  sculptor  accompanied 
him  to  the  gallery,  he  proposed  to  him 


to  .copy  these  lovely  children  in  mar- 
ble. 

Mr.  Greenough  was  much  pleased  with 
the  idea,  and  immediately  began  the 
work.  It  was,  therefore,  no  servile  dis- 
position to  copy  which  led  him  to  chisd 
this  group.  Ho  did  so  in  compliance 
with  the  earnest  wish  of  a  friend,  who 
became  the  purchaser  of  the  work.  The 
Chanting  Cherubs,  when  finbhed,  were 
sent  to  America,  where  they  were  ex- 
hibited for  the  benefit  of  Mr.  Green- 
ough ;  but  the  fact  that  they  were  copies 
in  marble,  of  a  work  of  Raphael,  was 
distinctly  stated  at  the  time,  as  giving 
something  of  additional  interest  to  the 
work.  To  accuse  the  sculptor  of  plag^ 
rism  on  these  grounds,  is  sorely  ui^ust 
Had  Mrs.  Hawthorne  been  aware  of 
these  facts,  the  paragraph  relating  to  the 
Chanting  Cherubs  would  no  doubt  have 
been  differently  worded,  and  the  only 
drawback  to  the  pleasure  of  reading 
her  charming  pages  would  have  been 
removed.  8.  F.  0. 


*»— 


HIALMAR  JARL. 

With  watchful  eyes  all  day  they  sailed  and  sailed. 

Out  of  the  sounding  North  the  currents  drew 
With  steady  flow.    At  eve  strange  voices  wailed, 

The  moon  rose  up ;  a  forest  stirred  and  blew ; 

And  straight  from  mists  trailed  by  on  either  hand. 

Stood  forth  a  phantom  land ! 

Under  the  stars  all  silent,  white,  and  chill, 
A  dew-exhaling  peak,  it  pierced  the  moon 

Threaded  with  smoke  of  cataract  and  rill; 
Heavy  with  sleep  and  solitude  forlorn. 

The  singing  surges  lapped  it  round  and  round 
With  slumbrous  pause  and  sound. 

A  silence  fell.    Then  one  said  softly,  '^  Lo  I 
The  burial  he  prayed  for  hath  been  won. 

Fold  by  his  ship^s  white  wings :  by  climes  of  snow. 
Or  palmy  capes  and  islands  of  the  sun, 

His  quest  is  ended,  and  for  evermore 
His  joumeyings  are  o'er." 

Upon  a  headland  height  they  carved  a  tomb ; 
Overhead  swept  on  the  marches  of  the  stars ; 


1870.] 


Tablx-Talk. 


248 


Under  their  feet,  through  dizzy  depths  of  gloom, 
They  heard  the  moan  of  tide-heleaguered  hars, 
And  marked  the  sea,  hy  moonlit  shoals  and  sands, 
Flash  np  her  jewelled  hands. 

And  low,  in  tones  like  reeds  hlown  overhead 
By  windy  flaws,  rang  ronnd  ahont  his  hier. 

They  sang  at  morn  the  service  for  the  dead, 

And  closed  his  eyes,  and  passed  and  left  him  here, 

With  royal  heard  swept  downward  on  his  hreost, 
And  hands  disposed  for  rest. 

They  sailed  away.    Ahont  the  hannted  shore 
Tlie  creeping  mists  again  their  cordon  drew, 

The  tronhled  wave  waxed  drowsy  as  before. 
The  passing  mnrmnrs  into  silence  grew. 

And  hoary  Pine,  and  Fir-tree  gnarled  and  gray, 
Since  that  forgotten  day, 

Above  the  skyward  battlements  of  stone, 

"Wliere,  side  by  side,  their  whispered  watch  they  hold, 
Throngh  shifting  years,  unreckoned  and  unknown. 

Have  seen  the  Summer's  Oriflamme  unrolled, 

And  heard  the  winter's  trumpets  challenge  back. 

From  cloud  and  stormy  rack ; 

But  to  the  Ohicftain's  sleep  no  waking  comes, 
Nor  human  footsteps  ever  seek  his  strand ; 

Lost  are  the  echoes  of  his  battle  drums ; 

Perished  his  fame  from  all  the  Norway  land ; 

Faded  the  storied  tumult  of  his  swords. 
And  pomp  of  nodding  lords. 


■♦M- 


TABLE-TALK. 


AH   AOI    or    DI800TBBT. 

— —  Dr.  Livingstone  has  been  heard 
from  again.  After  two  years  of  wander- 
ing in  the  heart  of  Africa,  there  is  some 
prospect  that  he  'will  come  back  to 
Christendom,  and  give  the  first  authen- 
tic account  of  the  interior  of  that  con- 
tinent. His  achievement,  in  discovering 
the  real  sources  of  ihei^ile — ^for  there 
is  little  doubt  that  his  conjpctnre  placing 
them  in  the  lakes  a' thousand  miles  south 
of  the  Equator,  has  been  confirmed  ere 
now — seems  to  crown  this  age  of  dis- 
covery ;  the  age  in  which  the  northern 
and  the  southern  seas  have  given  np 
their  secrets  to  science,  and  in  which 


the  depths  of  the  ocean  and  the  central 
wastes  of  both  continents,  the  atonic 
world  of  microscopic  life,  and  the  re- 
motest comers  of  space  from  which  light 
reaches  us,  have  alike  been  made  the 
scenes  of  «6uccessful  research.  Talk  of 
the  age  of  Henry  of  Portugal,  of  Colnm- 
bnSf  and  of  Cortez  I  No  knowledge  ob- 
tained by  them  can  be  compared  with 
the  discoveries  of  Darwin  and  Wallace ; 
no  conquests  achieved  by  them  with  the 
victories  over  nature  itself,  which  art  is 
now  announcing  every  year.  Pizarro 
himself  will  one  day  be  second  in  fame 
to  such  adventurers  as  build  some  of  our 
Pacific  railroads;  who  knew  how,  not 


944 


Putnam's  ^aoazinb. 


\r^ 


odIj  to  Bubdae  the  wilderness  and  to 
suppress  savages,  but  to  appropriate  to 
themselves  the  spoils  of  civilizatioii  also, 
and  to  make  the  great  markets  of  the 
world,  through  the  Paris  bourse  and  the 
Kew  York  stock  exchange,  tributary  to 
their  purses. 


mortal,  unless  he  be  a  special  student 
of  the  Byron  controversy,  or  of  Mrs. 
Stowe*s  own  state  of  mind. 

BAILWAT    IKVLATIOV. 

Railroads  are  certainly  the  fast- 


TBK   BTBOK    SCAXDAL. 


—  Mrs.  Harriet  Beecher  8 towels 
hook  with  its  queer  title,  "  Lady  Byron 
Vindicated,"  has  renewed  feebly  the  au- 
tumn table-talk  about  Lord  Byron,  which 
fascinated  so  many  people,  by  the  op- 
portunities it  gave  to  skilful  talkers  to 
beat  about  and  about  the  confines  of  uu- 
mentionable  crime,  without  quite  becom- 
ing-indecent or  rude.  But  the  earnest 
controversy  then  heard  cannot  occur 
again ;  liardly  a  voice  is  raised  to  pro- 
test against  the  general  verdict,  that 
Mrs.  Stowe  has  made  a  rash  charge 
which  she  cannot  prove.  Her  book  is  a 
loose,  inconsequent  summary  of  every 
thing  that  can  be  said  ugainst  Lord  By- 
ron ;  it  shows,  what  every  body  knew 
before,  thnt  he  was  the  most  unfaithful 
of  husbands  and  the  falsest  of  men.  But 
it  gives  no  good  reason  why  his  sister, 
Mrs.  Lei^h,  should  be  accused  of  crime 
and  her  memory  dishonored.  On  the 
contrary,  it  makes  it  certain  that  Lady 
Byron  herself  continued  to  love  and 
trust  Mrs.  Leigh  after  she  had  all  the 
evidence  against  her  that  slie  ever  ob- 
tained. It  was  not  new  knowledge,  but 
only  a  new  way  t»f  looking  at  the  case, 
that  led  Lady  Byron  afterward  to  re- 
gard Mrs.  Leigh  as  guilty  of  a  "deed 
without  a  name."  The  world  will  never 
believe  such  a  charge  on  the  inference 
of  an  outraged  woman^s  mind ;  and  the 
aitmost  Mrs.  Stowe  has  done  is  to  raise 
a  suspicion,  which  will  be  entertained 
or  rejected  according  to  the  reader's 
predisposition  or  prejudice.  But  few 
will  doubt  that  Mrs.  Stowe  has  hurt  her 
literary  reputation  by  a  most  illogical 
and  useless  piece  of  special  pleading; 
and  her  reputation  for  fairness,  by  de- 
manding a  suspension  of  public  opinion, 
on  the  ground  of  further  evidence  to 
come,  when  she  really  had  nothing  new 
to  offer.  Her  book,  meantime,  is  unut- 
terably dull ;  having  no  interest  for  any 


est  things  yet  devised.  They  have  filled 
the  world  for  the  last  year  with  the  noise 
of  their  explosions,  both  literal  and 
metaphorical ;  and  still  they  flourish  and 
spread.  In  the  United  States,  nearly 
eight  thousand  miles  of  new  track  were 
laid  in  1869 — the  anniversary  year  of  the 
steam-engine,  the  first  patent  of  which 
was  obtained  by  Watts  in  1769 — ^more 
than  twice  as  much  as  in  any  preced- 
ing year ;  and  the  projects  now  ofiered 
to  confiding  subscribers  for  stocks  and 
bonds  are  numberless.  The  amount  of 
capital  now  invested  in  them  every  month, 
in  New  York  State  alone,  far  exceeds 
the  entire  savings  of  the  people  of  the 
State  for  the  same  time.  This  cannot 
last  long,  of  course,  unless  the  entire 
capital  of  the  ^*  coming  man  "  is  to  con- 
sist of  railroad  tracks  and  locomotives, 
with  nothing  to  carry  on  them ;  but  it  is 
likely  to  continue  until  some  great  crash 
warns  people  off  firom  this  class  of  invest- 
ments ;  and  then  a  year  or  two  of  panic 
will  follow,  in  which  no  lines  will  be 
built,  and  no  projects  trusted. 


TRATELLIKO    VX    AMERICA. 


What  a  wonderful  change  would 

be  wrought,  if  one  tenth  of  the  capital 
now  flowing  into  roads  for  which  there 
is  at  present  no  demand,  were  devoted 
to  the  improvement  of  those  in  use !  Our 
cosmopolitan  contributor  gives  us  in  this 
number  a  lively  tirade  upon  American 
railway  travelling,  which  will  amuse  and 
interest  all  who  have  seen  the  European 
roads,  and  all  who  have  not.  It  is  com- 
mon for  our  patriotic  citizens,  when 
"  doing  "  the  continent,  to  enlarge  upon 
the  absurdities  of  the  European  system, 
and  to  paint  in  rose  color  the  comforts 
and  freedom  of  our  own.  Who  wants, 
they  fisk,  to  be  locked  into  a  close  little 
pen,  however  soltly  cushioned,  with  no 
means  of  alarming  his  guard,  even  in 
case  of  murder  or  of  fire,  with  his  luggage 
unchecked  and  in  danger  of  loss  at  every 
station,  and  only  knowing  that  when- 
ever the  door  is  opened  and  a  hat  touch- 


1870.] 


TablxTalc. 


245 


ed  to  hinif  his  ready  ahilliDg  or 
frano  is  expected?  Who  wants  to  be 
shat  into  an  nnventilated  oompartment, 
buried  for  the  journey  between  two  close 
neighbors,  on  a  triple  sofa,  with  his  knee? 
locked  between  those  of  a  strange  t6te- 
ik-t£te  besides  ?  And  what  shall  be  said 
of  the  wretched  little  hot-water  foot- 
heaters,  sparingly  furnished  to  first-class 
carriages  alone  in  the  coldest  weather, 
and  sometimes  forgotten  then,  in  com- 
parison with  the  well- warmed  well- ven- 
tilated American  car?  In  this,  they  tell 
you,  you  may  choose  your  neighbor 
among  a  score,  and  your  seat  near  the 
stove  or  far  from  it ;  in  that,  you  are 
helpless,  done-for,  with  no  doing  of  your 
owii,  and  must  submit  to  be  coupled  or 
isolated,  scalded  or  frozen,  or  more  com- 
monly simply  to  have  your  feet  burned 
while  your  whole  body  is  shivering,  at 
the  will  of  those  who  have  you  in  charge. 
Bnt  meet  the  same  traveller  just  after 
a  Journey  on  an  American  railway,  if  you 
want  to  see  the  same  facts  viewed  with- 
oat  the  enchantment  distance  lends.  Our 
critio  finds  ample  ground  for  grumbling, 
and  for  becoming  the  cause  of  grumbling 
in  others,  in  the  discourtesy  of  attend- 
ants on  our  roads,  and  the  intolerable  dis- 
comforts of  many  of  their  stations.  These 
two  features  are  peculiar  to  the  United 
States,  among  all  civilized  countries; 
and  go  far  to  destroy  the  repute  of  our 
whole  railway  system.  In  Europe,  the 
spirit  of  subordimition  is  everywhere,  no 
one  but  has  somebody  to  look  up  to,  and 
no  one  thinks  looking  up  a  disgrace. 
The  general  attitude  of  those  the  travel- 
ler meeta  la  that  of  waiting  to  do  him  a 
service.  Bnt  here,  those  who  are  em- 
ployed for  the  very  purpose  of  waiting, 
and  to  whom  that  is  the  business  of  life, 
despise  tboir  work  and  resent  any  ozpeo- 
tation  that  they  will  attend  to  it,  as  a 
personal  insult.  This  is  the  cause  of 
half  of  the  travellers'  miseries  here ;  and 
the  other  half  will  disappear  when  we 
have  smooth,  solid  road-beda,  and  com- 
fortable waiting-rooms. 

BAILWAT  RIADIlfO. 

— -—  Nothiog  distinguishes  railway 
travel  in  America  and  in  Europe  more 
strongly  than  the  an i venal  retdiiig  of 


books,  magazines,  and  newspapers  on  our 
roads.  The  European  is  generally  an 
idler  when  he  cannot  be  at  his  own  work, 
which  alone  he  has  been  trained  to  do ; 
the  American  has  a  passion  for  turning 
every  minute  to  account.  The  amount 
of  absolute  mental  vacancy,  per  head,  is 
doubtless  less  here  than  in  any  other 
nation.  Hence  our  railways  are  favorite 
marts  for  all  easy  reading;  and  every  wri- 
ter for  a  monthly  may  safely  reckon  that 
a  large  proportion  of  those  he  addresses 
will  be  reached  while  whirling  through 
space,  eighty  or  more  feet  per  second. 
At  such  times,  people  read  more  for 
occupation  and  less  for  profit  than  at 
others;  but  why  docs  not  this  large  de- 
mand for  agreeable  sketclios  of  life, 
"society  novels,"  and  the  like,  call  forth 
a  more  abundant  and  better  home  supply? 
The  best  English  stories  find  tlieir  way 
more  generally  in  this  country  than  at 
home ;  but  this  kind  of  literature  does 
not  seem  to  flourish  among  our  writers. 
It  is  an  open  secret  now,  that  an  origi- 
nal American  Magazine  can  more  easily 
obtain  any  thing  else,  high  or  low  in 
character,  than  a  good  story.  Is  it  not 
strange  that  in  a  nation  in  which  Aner- 
bach  and  Frey  tag,  Victor  Uugo,  Balzao, 
and  George  Sand,  Thackeray,  Dickens, 
Bulwer,  Keade,  and  Troll  ope,  find  nearly 
half  their  readers  and  half  their  fame, 
there  ahould  be  no  rivals  of  these  writ- 
ers? 

That  they  belong  to  a  class  of  men  of 
leisure,  who  stand  outside  of  life  and 
observe  it  as  critics  and  artists — a  class 
which  does  not  exist  here ;  that  our  life 
is  too  busy  and  makes  too  many  pressing 
demands  on  talent  for  minds  capable  of 
great  work  to  pursue  story-telling  with 
devotion,  is  an  imperfect  solution  of 
the  difficulty,  but  the  only  one  we  have. 
Tet  novels  are  a  product  of  the  times ; 
they  scarcely  belong  to  universal  litera- 
ture, which  rests  on  passions  and  powers 
that  arc  the  same  in  all  ages,  and  whidi 
alone  lives.  The  modem  novel  is  perhaps 
already  in  decay;  the  work  of  future 
mind,  that  in  which  American  genius  to 
come  will  reveal  itself,  is  of  another  or- 
der ;  and  certainly  nothing  can  be  in- 
ferred against  the  capacity  of  a  nation  for 


246 


PUTNAM^B  MAOAaNB. 


tF«fc, 


prodncing  a  great  literatare,  by  any  de* 
ficiency  ia  the  knack  of  nursing  a  read- 
er's cariosity  tbrongh  three  yolames, 
while  tying  and  nntying  the  knotted 
thread  of  a  romantic  amoar.  The  novel, 
as  a  novel,  is  far  below  the  level  of  great- 
ness ;  it  is  where  the  artist  is  more  than 
a  novelist,  and  protests  nobly  against 
social  tyrannies  and  saperstitions,  or  re- 
vives by  genius  forgotten  heroism,  or 
furnishes  a  touchstone  for  manliness  be- 
fore which  conventionalisms  wither, 
that  the  form  of  his  works  sinks  from 
sight,  and  the  crown  of  genius  is  won. 
Consuelo  and  Ivanhoe,  Romola  and  the 
Tale  of  Two  Cities  are  great,  not  as 
novels,  but  in  spite  of  the  form  of  nov- 
els, as  poems ;  and  when  the  titillations 
of  the  plot  cease  to  be  attractive,  will 
be  as  well  liked  as  now.  It  is  an  effe- 
minate apd  unheroic  age  that  reads  for 
these ;  but  who  reads  the  Iliad  or  Ham- 
let for  the  plot  ? 

UR.  LOWKLL'S  "  OATHIDRAL." 

We  have  plenty  of  works  in  which  the 
true  greatness  of  the  best  novels  has 
found  expression  in  other  forms.  In  De- 
cember, James  Russell  Lowell's  new 
poem,  "  The  Cathedral "  was  published  ; 
and  the  revised  and  unmutilated  version 
of  it,  which  forms  a  beautiful  little  volume 
of  itself,  is  a  noble  work  which  will  add 
much  to  his  fume.  It  is  in  a  larger  style 
than  any  of  his  earlier  writings ;  simple, 
massive,  memorable.  Students  of  Brown- 
ing's round-robin  epic,  **The  Ring  and 
the  Book,"  will  think  they  find  its  influ- 
ence in  passages,  cramming  them  with 
thought  at  the  expense  of  melody,  and 
cramping  eosy  words  in  hard  places,  un- 
der forms  of  syntax  they  never  knew  be- 
fore. Yet  these  roughnesses,  if  rough  at 
all,  are  set  deliciously ;  flies  made  jewels 
by  the  lucid  amber  tliot  flows  around 
them.  And  there  are  jewels,  too,  in  their 
own  right,  with  small  need  of  setting ; 
the  piece  is  studded  with  phrases  which 
are  pure  nuggets  of  beautiful  truth  ;  with 
those  happy  epithets  which  ore  at  once 
new,  and  yet  so  wedded  to  their  subjects 
in  the  veree  that  divorce  is  impossible ; 
more  than  all,  with  stray  thoughts,  such 
as  might  seem  wild  and  strange,  but  that 
they  have  here  naturally  flowered  into 


exquisite  expression  only  because  tbclr 
roots  lie  in  the  rich  past.    * 

TIKHTIOM*!  iriir  TOLUMB. 

But  the  roost  world-famous  poem  of 
the  year,  its  chief  literary  event  in- 
deed, was  the  new  volume  by  TennysoD, 
also  published  in  December,  completiog 
his  ''  Idylls  of  the  King."  These  new 
Idvlls,  which  are  reviewed  at  length 
elsewhere  in  this  number,  bad  been  in 
type,  it  is  said,  for  many  months,  under- 
going his  revision  in  the  proofs,  which 
has  been  given  to  small  purpose,  how- 
ever, if  the  London  edition  is  as  eareksB- 
ly  printed  as  the  American,  which  alcne 
we  have  seen ;  and  which  is  made  un- 
sightly by  many  errors,  and  in  one  place 
senseless  by  the  omission  of  a  word. 
How  much  of  the  poems  was  written 
many  years  ago,  we  cannot  teU ;  the 
"Northern  Farmer,  new  Style,"  has 
certainly  been  in  the  author's  hands  five 
or  six  years;  and  the  "Morte  d' Arthur," 
which  now  appears  as  a  part  of  the  last 
Idyll,  "The  Passing  of  Arthur,"  was 
published  in  1842.  Yet  the  reader  finds 
it  hard  to  believe  that  the  whole  of  this 
poem,  in  its  present  form,  was  written 
at  once ;  there  seems  to  be  a  joint,  skil- 
fully grooved  and  planed,  but  stiU  yisi- 
ble,  both  in  style  and  in  thought,  where 
the  old  familiar  text  begins  so  grandly : 

**8o  all  day  long  the  notee  of  battle  rolled 
Among  the  moantAlns  by  tbe  winter  Ma.** 

inrsxirjc  or  abt. 
Spain,  in  the  early  days  of  her 


decay,  **  sold  her  provinces  to  bny  pic- 
tures." She  is  in  straits  now  for  money, 
and  the  day  may  come  when  even  her 
pictures  will  be  sold,  to  keep  her  mlers 
from  destitution.  Yet  if  the  great  GW- 
leria  of  Madrid,  the  finest  in  the  world, 
were  sold  to-day,  there  is  no  eentnil 
organization  in  the  United  States  which 
could  be  relied  upon  to  enter  into  zeal- 
ous competition  for  its  stores.  If  any 
of  the  grand  assemblages  of  works  of 
art,  now  held  by  decrepit  and  pauper 
monarchs  in  the  Old  World,  were  brought 
to  the  auction  block,  it  would  be  a 
national  disgrace  to  the  richest  and  most 
growing  people  on  earth  not  to  obtain  a 
selection  from  them ;  but,  except  by 
individual  purchases,  to  adorn  private 


1870.] 


Tablb-Talc. 


247 


and  perishable  houses,  none  would  come 
to  ns.  We  do  not  want  Oongress  to  turn 
amateur  collector ;  were  there  no  stronger 
reasons,  a  glance  at  the  hideons  results 
of  its  patronage  of  art  hitherto,  as  shown 
in  the  Rotunda  of  the  Capitol,  would 
forbid  it ;  but  we  want  an  association  of 
wise  and  liberal  citizens,  which  will  build 
a  noble  gallery,  fit  to  receive  the  best 
paintings  and  scnlptnre  of  the  world; 
which  will  open  it,  at  all  times,  in  the 
heart  of  the  metropolis  of  America,  as  a 
school  for  the  taste  of  the  people ;  and 
which  will  be  ready  to  bring  into  if,  as 
opportunity  offers,  whatever  may  be 
produced  among  ns,  or  spared  from  the 
old  stores  of  tlie  Old  World,  of  the  "  art 
that  cannot  die." 

The  earnest  demand  for  such  a  gallery 
will  now  have  a  chance  to  supply  itself. 
The  Comtnittee  appointed  at  the  enthu- 
siastic meeting  of  November  2dd,  in  the 
Union  League  Club  Theatre,  have  been 
busily  at  work,  completing  their  plan 
for  an  organization,  and  enlisting  artistic 
taste  and  talent  in  their  enterprise ;  and 
the  public  will  have  an  opportunity, 
early  thiA  year,  to  take  an  active  part  in 
it.  The  Royal  Museum  in  Berlin,  the 
Glypothek  and  Pinacotbek  in  Munich, 
and  the  South  Kensington  Musenm  in 
London,  are  all  the  work  of  one  genera- 
tion ;  and  all  but  the  last,  of  communities 
which  do  not  approach  this  in  wealth 
or  in  general  activity  of  thought. 
Would  it  not  add  a  glory  to  our  country 
itself,  if  our  children  here  and  visitors 
fVom  all  parts  of  the  world  should  find 
in  New  York  an  artistic  centre  eqnal  to< 
any  of  thoni  ? 

TDB    OOrVCXL. 

That  most  preposterous  ana- 
chronism, the  CBcumencial  Council,  is  in 
session  at  Rome.  In  the  pomp  of  its  cere- 
monial and  the  solemnity  of  its  proceed- 
ings, it  is  a  parody  npon  the  last  ohnrch 
oonncil  which  claimed  to  bo  nniversal, 
that  of  Trent,  held  in  1645.  But  in  its 
relations  to  Christendom  at  large,  it 
hardly  rises  to  the  dignity  of  a  bnrlesqne 
upon  the  groat  historical  assembly  of  the 
sixteenth  century.  Pius  IX.  has  spent 
more  than  twenty  years  in  denouncing 
civilization  and  hama  i  progress ;  and 


these  eight  hundred  prelates  have  been 
called  together  to  enact  into  a  creed  for 
Christianity  all  his  absurd  ne;^ations  of 
whatever  is  good  and  hcipeful  in  modem 
society  and  life.  The  spectacle  of  the 
church  adopting  the  "syllabus"  or  sum- 
mary of  all  the  old  pope^s  fanatical 
letters,  as  doctrine,  is  too  pitiable  to  be 
merely  amusing.  If  they  go  further, 
and  declare  the  personal  infallibility  of 
the  weak  old  gentleman,  and  of  all  who 
may  hereafter  buy  or  burrow  their  way 
into  the  seat  he  holds,  they  will  place 
the  Roman  Church  of  to-day  intellectual- 
ly as  far  below  that  against  which 
Luther  contended,  as  that  was  morally 
below  the  standard  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment. The  three  tailors  of  Shoreditch, 
beginning  their  manifesto,  "  We,  the 
people  of  JEngland,"  are  the  only  parallel 
to  the  first  council  of  the  Vatican  assum- 
ing to  speak  for  the  Christianity  of  the 
nineteenth  century. 

Some  think  that,  unless  the  council 
proves  too  timid  to  register  the  decrees 
prepared  for  it,  the  Church  in  Europe 
will  split ;  and  a  large  part  of  the  French 
and  German  bishops,  with  their  fiocks, 
will  leave  it.  Doubtless  some  will  do 
so;  souls  as  truly  Christian  in  their 
simple  love  for  truth  as  Bisliop  Dupon- 
loup  and  Futher  Hyacinthe  cannot  sub- 
mit. But  with  Catholics  in  general,  the 
habit  of  obedience  is  doubtless  stronger 
than  any  definite  convictions.  The  worst 
of  it  is  that,  in  all  free  nations,  the 
adoption  of  the  syllabus  by  the  Council 
will  set  the  Church  in  direct  opposition 
to  the  fundamental  law.  For  instance, 
it  will  make  it  an  article  of  faith  with 
all  Catholics  that  tho  Church  has  the 
right  to  use  force,  to  impose  temporal 
punishments,  to  require  and  compel  all 
rulers  to  carry  out  her  sentences  of 
imprisonment,  torture,  or  death ;  that 
the  Pope  has  the  right  to  set  up  or  to 
depose  r'jlers  at  his  will,  to  give  away 
kingdoms  as  gifts,  to  excommunicate  and 
lay  under  an  interdict  whole  nations,  de- 
priving them  of  the  sacraments  essential 
to  salvation,  at  his  caprice;  that  the 
toleration  of  other  religions  is  wicked, 
and  that  modern  civilization  as  a  whole, 
including  political  freedom,  self-govern- 


348 


Putnam's  Magazinb. 


[Feb^ 


ment,  secnliir  education,  and  the  great 
scientific  moTement  of  the  haman  niiod, 
is  pernicious  and  abominable.  What  will 
then  bo  the  attitude  of  the  Catholics  in 
this  conntrj  towards  our  domestic  pol- 
itics? 

BOMAVI83C  IH  TBB   CMITBD  STATKS. 

Fortunately,  the  question   con- 


cerns the  nation  far  loss  than  it  does  the 
Catholics  themsekes.  The  liberties  of 
the  United  States  are  well  fixed;  the 
tide  of  our  society  is  one  which  Mrs. 
Pius-Partington's  broom  can  never 
sweep  back.  But  there  are  particular 
districts  in  which  the  bigoted  tools  of 
priestcraft  are  so  numerous,  and  the 
practices  of  parties  so  corrupt,  that  this 
Church  of  the  Middle  Ages  may  gain  an 
indirect  control,  almost  as  complete  as  if 
it  were  directly  established  by  law.  The 
manner  in  which  our  common-school 
system  is  now  attacked  by  Catholic  jour- 
nals, and  by  politicians  in  their  interest, 
suggests  that,  at  least  in  certain  cities  and 
States,  trouble  may  grow  out  of  the  ultra- 
montane fanaticism  of  the  Catholic 
Church.  The  question  whether  King 
James's  English  Bible  shall  bo  read  in  the 
public  schools  b  comparatively  a  trifle ;  but 
behind  its  agitation  a  strong  party  is  form- 
ing against  tlie  entire  State  system  of  poj)- 
nlar  education.  Hitherto  littJe  impression 
has  been  made  on  public  opinion,  which 
regards  the  common  schools  as  the  sacred 
church  of  liberty,  and  the  truths  they 
teach  as  its  creed.  But  are  there  no 
politicians  corrupt  enough  to  sell  out 
the  poor  man's  only  way  to  intellectual 
life,  if  they  can  get  in  exchange  a  larger 
lease  of  power  ?  There  are  indications 
already  that  a  storm  is  brewing  in  this 
quarter. 

LIDESALIBM  IK  XCBOPB. 

Outside  of  the  Council,  liberal 

doctrines  seem  to  flourish  in  Europe. 
xEngland  is  considering  the  Irish  land 
question  with  a  patient  fairness  and  kind- 
ness which  show  that  her  public  opinion 
grows  rapidly  wider  and  more  humane. 
The  Austrian  constitution  neems  to  gain 
consistency  and  strength  in  practice. 
Prussia  evidently  strives  more  for 
growth  and  less  for  acquisition  than 
hitherto.    And  in  Franco,  a  quiet  revo- 


lution was  wrought  in  December,  when 
the  Emperor  adopted  the  British  cona^- 
tutional  form  in  changing  his  ministry, 
such  as  may  involve  the  most  important 
results. 

THB  NBir  rBBHOB  MDIISTBT. 

M.  Emile  Ollivier,  to  whom  Na- 
poleon confided  the  formation  of  a  new 
Cabinet,  with  himself  as  prime-ministeri 
has,  as  all  agree,  a  clear  head,  great 
powers  of  persuasion,  unusual  tact  as  a 
political  manager,  and  a  strong  personal 
following  among  men  of  thought  and 
education.  He  made  his  fame  in  the 
opposition,  as  the  cautions  bnt  deter- 
mined foe  of  absolutism ;  and  was  long 
regarded  as  a  democrat.  But  for  seve- 
ral years  he  has  been  privately  the  Em- 
peror's friend,  in  certain  emergencies  his 
counsellor,  and  has  come  to  be  the  leader 
of  those  who  believe  in  **  Napoleon,  the 
well-intentitmed  "  of  Emile  de  Giradin, 
and  who  confidently  hope  to  see  the  em- 
pire gradually  grow  into  a  truly  free, 
constitutional  monarchy,  resembling  in 
its  best  features  that  of  England,  but 
more  bold,  more  scientific-,  and  better 
centralized.  His  enemies  call  him  timid, 
unprincipled,  and  a  trimmer ;  his  friends 
hail  him  as  the  savior  of  the  empire 
and  of  France,  the  reoonoiler  of  liberty 
and  order,  the  statesman  to  come  of  the 
century  who  is  to  eclipse  the  fame  of 
Cavour  and  Bismarck.  To  ns,  so  far 
away,  the  Napoleonic  dynasty  looks  like 
a  ship  going  to  pieces  in  a  raging  storm ; 
and  Ollivier's  task  is  to  rebuild  it,  out  of 
its  own  fragments,  while  the  sea  still 
rages.  But  then  impossibilities  are  only 
the  provocations  of  greatness ;  and  if 
the  new  architect  of  a  French  govern- 
ment is  so  great,  is  greater  than  any  of 
the  seven  or  eight  men  before  him,  from 
the  first  Napoleon  down,  who  have  dur- 
ing this  century  attacked  a  similar  pro- 
blem and  failed,  he  has  certainly  a 
chance  to  show  it. 

THB   WOBK  OP  C0JVQBB88. 

Congress  met  early  in  December 


with  a  world  of  work  before  it ;  but  show- 
ed no  disposition  to  do  anything  of  impor- 
tance. The  Christmas  recess  came,  with 
nothing  to  show  for  the  first  month  bnt 
a   resolution    denouncing    repudiation. 


1870.] 


Tadlb-Tale. 


249 


Bat  a  nnmbcr  of  Imiortant  docnments 
were  laid  before  it,  among  them  the  first 
message  of  President  Grant,  a  long  re- 
port from  Secretary  Boutwell,  and  a 
batch  of  interesting  diplomatic  corre- 
spondence on  the  Alabama  claims.  The 
President's  words  were  few  and  weighted 
heavily  with  strong  sense,  except  that  he 
showed  lamentable  ignorance  of  finance 
and  still  more  lamentable  nnconscions- 
ness  of  his  ignorance.  Yet  tlie  Secretary 
of  the  Treasury  himself  presents  a 
scheme,  utterly  inconsistent  with  the 
President's,  but  scarcely  more  tolerable. 
Some  of  the  British  Journals  call  it 
"idiotic;"  but  this  is  abusive.  It  is 
more  modest  to  say  that  it  appears  to  be 
impracticable  in  its  devices  and  fanatical 
in  its  anticipations. 

BITnniX  QVISTI02I8. 

' By  far  the  most  important  official 

paper  presented  to  Congress  was  the  re- 
port of  the  Special  Commissioner  of  the 
Revenue.  In  this  report,  the  work  of 
a  year  of  industrious  and  intelligent  ro- 
Bearch,  Mr.  Wells  discusses  the  material 
progress  of  the  nation  in  all  its  forms, 
conjectures  the  sum  of  its  wealth  as  a 
whole,  estimates  the  cost  of  the  war,  dis- 
cnsses  tlie  state  of  foreign  trade,  points 
out  the  injurious  effects  of  an  unsettled 
and  inflated  currency  on  the  distribution 
of  wealth,  and  reviews  in  minute  detail 
our  whole  system  of  national  taxation, 
exposing  its  blunders  and  excesses,  and 
advocating  an  elaborate  scheme  of  re- 
form. The  study  of  this  report  by  the 
people  will  be  a  sort  of  education  to 
them,  in  the  most  important  questions 
of  years  to  come. 

THB  TABXrr. 

The  best  part  of  the  report  and  that 

of  most  practical  import  just  now  is  the 
discussion  of  the  tariff.  The  facts  which 
Hr.  Wells  has  here  collected  and  arrayed 
80  lucidly  will  convince  every  fair  reader 
of  the  ruinous  effects  on  the  country  at 
large  of  heavy  da  ties  levied  in  the  interest 
of  a  class.  People  complain  of  the  heavy 
taxes,  bnt  the  real  burden  the  govern- 
ment imposes  on  the  people  is  not  in  its 
own  revenue,  but  in  that  collected,  un- 
der cover  of  its  taxes,  by  private  monop- 
olies. Were  our  public  burdens  limited 
VOL.  v. — 17 


to  the  actual  wants  of  the  public  treasury, 
they  would  be  the  lightest,  instcjid  of  the 
heaviest,  in  Christendom. 

Why,  then,  does  Mr.  Wells  not  say 

so  plainly  ?  Why  does  ho  not  announce 
the  general  law  which  his  facts  irresistibly 
prove,  that  a  tax  which  Is  "  protective  " 
is  necessarily  wrong  in  principle  and  per- 
nicious in  practice  ?  Instead  of  this,  he 
stops  half-way:  he  recommends  that 
the  plunder  voted  by  Congress  to  private 
interests  be  reduced  I  ^^  Reform  it  alto- 
gether." It  is  always  safer  to  put  a  re- 
form on  a  basis  of  sound  principle.  To 
ask  only  a  compromise  with  wrong  is  to 
sacrifice  the  right  at  the  start.  But  Mr. 
Wells  has  always  been  a  protectionist  ; 
only  by  the  honest  study  of  the  facts  has 
he  been  led  so  far  away  from  the  pet 
theories  of  his  early  life ;  and  honor  is 
due  him  for  the  simple  love  of  truth 
with  which  he  has  pursued  his  researches, 
and  for  the  manly  avowal  ho  makes  of 
their  results,  as  far  as  they  are  attained. 
The  time  cannot  be  distant,  if  he  con- 
tinues to  reflect  upon  the  subject,  when 
ho  will  follow  other  competent  and 
candid  inquirers  in  the  direct  advocacy  of 
free,  unrestricted  trade. 

THK  LOGIC  or  FRCI  TRADI. 

—  Free  trade  is  the  only  consistent 
doctrine  for  a  logician  or  a  statesman.  It 
stands  among  the  laws  ot  society  as  one 
of  those  simple,  direct^  universal  princi- 
ples whose  statement  is  their  demonstra- 
tion. It  has  never  yet  been  put  on  the 
defensive,  for  there  is  against  it  nothing 
but  apology  for  the  existence  of  interfer- 
ence. Nor  can  any  such  apology  be  do- 
vised  on  which  a  parallel  argument  can- 
not be  framed,  of  equal  strength,  in  favor 
of  ^^  a  paternal  government "  in  all  things, 
of  absolutism  and  of  slavery.  The  dis- 
tribution of  the  rewards  of  industry  is 
better  regulated  by*  the  natural  course  of 
competition  and  trade  than  it  can  possibly 
be  by  any  devices  of  rulers ;  and  the  pros- 
perity of  the  whole  mass  of  men  will  be 
greatest,  when  each  is  free  to  buy  what  he 
wants  and  to  sell  what  he  has,  where  he 
can  deal  most  to  his  own  advantage.  Who 
is  wiser  than  these  natural  laws,  which  lie 
in  the  constitution  of  society  ?  What  hu- 
man wisdom  is  great  enough  to  re-legis- 


260 


Putkjjc'b  Maoazinb. 


[FA, 


late  these  social  laws,  and  to  rearrange 
profits  ^d  prices,  not  according  to  the 
service  done  mankind  by  those  who  earn 
them,  bat  "  from  the  depths  of  their  in- 
ner consciousness  ?  '*  Yet  this  is  the  pro- 
tectionist's problem,  and  if  he  has  not 
the  omnipotence  and  omniscience  needed 
to  solve  it,  and  to  do  this  better  than 
the  architect  of  the  present  universe  has 
done  it,  he  is  merely  a  meddler  and  dis- 
turber. 

THX  OBOWTH  Or  CRIMB. 

These  economical  truths  have  oth- 
er aspects.  No  doubt  the  worst  feature 
in  the  times  is  the  growing  tolerance  of 
selfish  crime.  Robbery  of  the  govern- 
ment by  its  officers  and  by  tax-payers, 
robbery  of  corporations  by  their  mana- 
gers, and  of  the  public  by  corporations, 
and  all  forms  of  swindling,  large  and 
small,  are  now  more  rife  and  less  severely 
condemned  than  before  the  war.  This  is 
a  curious  instance  of  the  broad  effects  of 
a  legislative  blunder  on  popular  morality. 
The  Legal  Tender  Act  led  to  a  deprecia- 
tion of  the  currency;  tbis  made  debts 
profitable  and  speculation  universoL 
The  rewords  of  industry  were  no  longer 
distributed  according  to  the  value  of 
industry,  but  a  new  distribution  took 
place,  according  to  chance  or,  at  best, 
shrewd  foresight  Plodding  and  saving, 
the  economical  virtues,  fell  into  de- 
cay, while  rash  enterprise  or  reckless 
gambling  flourislied.  The  old-fashioned 
notion  that  wealth  is  honorable  only  as 
it  is  earned  by  services  done  to  mankind, 
has  died  out ;  and  the  broad  moral  distinc- 
tion between  such  wealth  and  that 
which  is  got  without  giving  any  equiva- 
lent, is  effaced.  Yet  this  distinction  is 
the  only  safe  guide  for  public  opinion ; 
honesty  and  dishonesty  are  rightly  es- 
timated only  in  a  community  where  mon- 
ey taken  from  otliors  without  compensa- 
tion is  a  disgrace  to  the  taker,  whether 
his  means  were  force  or  guile.  The  time 
has  been,  when  the  banditti  of  Wall 
Street  and  those  of  Southern  Italy  would 
have  shared  the  same  condemnation;  and 
it  will  come  again.  Meanwhile,  the  moral 
sense  of  the  nation  as  a  whole  has  been 
much  debased,  by  a  financial  folly  of  its 
legislators. 


MOBAL  irriOTt  or  bad  lavs. 


This  experience  ahowa  Low  inti- 
mately the  moral  culture  of  a  people  ii 
bound  up  with  its  material  condition;  n 
that  legislatioD,  meant  to  toooh  only  whit 
we  call  the  lower  interest,  always  affoeti 
the  higher.  Civilization  is  one  ;lif6aglobi 
of  crystal  in  which  the  amaUest  stain  or  ' 
fracture  tends  to  ruin  all.  The  day  hii- 
gone  by  when  economical  sdenoe  could 
be  studied  apart  from  social  science  ti 
a  whole,  when  what  have  been  otDcd 
^^the  laws  of  selfishness"  could  ber^ 
garded  as  other  than  a  branch  of  the 
laws  of  society.  Whatever  goes  to 
change  the  currents  of  wealth,  goes  to 
change  the  growth  of  souls ;  and  charM- 
ter,  tlie  aim,  the  summary,  and  the  tot 
of  all  civilization,  gathers  into  itMl( 
for  good  or  evil,  the  whole  history  if 
past  wisdom  and  folly.  Bat  it  is  chieflj 
by  financial  laws  that  governments,  in 
these  days  of  high  oi^anization,  work  up- 
on public  morals ;  and  it  is  quite  withia 
bounds  to  say  that  Congressi  by  tbs 
Legal  Tender  Act  alone,  has  occadoaed 
more  misery  than  all  the  public  chsritiei 
in  the  United  States  ever  relieved,  sad 
more  crime  than  all  the  courts  of  Chrii- 
tendom  ever  punished. 

Such    reflections  will  occur  to 

many  thoughtful  minds  in  studying  tbe 
report   of   Mr.  Wells.      It   is  a  plain 
business  document,  made  up  of  facts  and 
figures,  and  docs  not  enter   into  ths 
broader  considerations  of  public  morals 
and   national    character,  with   which^ 
however,     its     facts    are    insepsnbly 
linked.     This  is  as  it  should  bo;   th^ 
Commissioner's  work  is  done  when  hm 
has  shown  the  immediate  effects  of  our 
tax-laws  upon  industry  and  trade ;  bat 
his  statistical  summary  of  these  is  to  ths 
national  life  just  what  the  official  report 
of  a  general  after  a  great  battle,  giviog 
the  outline  of  his  movements,  and  the 
number  of  killed  and  wounded,  is  to  ths 
heroism  and  sacrifice  of  the  conflict,  the 
anguish  of  the  sufferers  upon  the  field, 
and  the  irreparable  desolation  left  in  a 
thousand  homes. 

THB  XEOX  VOSOFOLT. 

For  instance,  Mr.  Wells  shows 


that  iron,  the  chief  element  of  civilisa- 


LiTBSATUBB. 


251 


ctually  worth  io  gold,  about 
'  less  than  twenty-five  dollars 
irrency,  per  ton;  and  that  it 
ade  in  this  country,  with  a  fair 

open  oompetitioD  with  the 
»f  the  world.    But  we  have  a 

whose  object  is  to  prevent  this 
)n,  and  to  make  iron  sell  for 
1  it  is  worth.  This  law  has 
le  who  have  furnaces  a  prao- 
opolj,  for  a  long  series  of 
his  manufacture ;  so  that  they 
ived  a  far  higher  price  from 
ners  than  iron  has  commanded 
iviiized  nations.  This  tax  has 
le  treasury,  in  round  numbers, 
of  doUars  a  year;  it  has 
he  monopolists  ten  times  as 

addition  to  their  reasonable 
al  profits ;  but  how  much  has 
om  the  people  f 

W  IT  BBAOHU  Xmr  MAV. 

lis  is  a  question  which  no  man 
r.  There  is  not  an  article  used 
icturos,  in  tr^de,  or  in  the 
,  but  is  laid  under  tribute  by 
laker  of  machinery  and  tools, 
Is,  engines,  and  cars,  of  ploughs, 
lis,  and  spades,  of  houses,  glass, 
of  paper,  pens,  printing«pre»- 
ooks,  must  pay  more  for  his 
ial;  must  therefore  have  more 
ly  more  interest  npon  it,  and 
gher  profits,  because  of  this 
ry  workingman's  rent,  his  aze, 
is  loaf,  his  knife,  his  fire,  must 
not  to  the  United  States,  bnt 
i-master  of  Pennsylvania.  The 
is  tax  yields  to  the  monopo- 
ly is  thus  multiplied  in  a  thon- 
I,  and  enters  into  every  varied 
'  industry,  clogging  them  all, 
the  progress  of  invention,  nt- 
■oying  many  branches  of  busi- 


ness, robbing  the  laborer^s  home  of  its 
comforts  and  his  life  of  hope.  This  is 
but  one  of  many  such  taxes,  on  salt,  on 
copper,  on  lumber,  on  wood,  on  coal,  on 
dothing,  on  leather,  on  every  thing  of 
which  a  monopoly  can  be  maintained  by 
law,  all  of  which  are  levied  for  the 
avowed  purpose  of  *^  protecting  "  a  class 
at  the  expense  of  the  nation ;  and  which 
together  make  up  the  bulk  of  the  whole 
burden  which  is  exhausting  its  strength. 

MOKAL  STIL8  Or  BZOH  TABXm. 

—  The  moral  aspects  of  such  legisla- 
tion are  too  bold  to  escape  notice.  It  is 
all  false  upon  its  face ;  for  it  is  in  the 
form  of  revenue  laws ;  laws  which  pre- 
tend to  be  made  for  the  benefit  of  the 
national  treasury,  while  they  really  pay 
five  dollars  to  private  interests  for  one 
to  the  government.  It  helps  to  oblitei^ 
ate  all  moral  sense  of  the  sacredness  of 
property  and  of  the  rights  of  labor,  that 
wealth  is  obtained  more  speedily  and 
surely  by  a  vote  of  Congress  than  by 
industry  and  prudence.  It  makefi  legis- 
lation itself  suspected,  if  not  corrupt, 
by  setting  before  its  authors  enormous 
pecuniary  intereste,  hanging  upon  a 
single  word.  It  breaks  down  commer- 
cial integrity,  by  provoking  evasions  of 
law,  smuggling,  and  bribery.  An  hone«t 
revenue  law,  which  shall  aim  simply  to 
supply  the  wants  of  the  treasury,  at  the 
least  cost  to  the  people,  is  the  prime 
condition  of  a  reform  in  public  morals. 
The  glory  of  England  to-day  is  the  pu- 
rity of  her  financial  administration,  in  all 
its  branches  ^  a  purity  beyond  that  found 
in  any  other  nation,  and  which  belongs 
mainly  to  this  generation,  being  un- 
questionably due,  in  a  very  great  meas- 
ure, to  the  revolution  which  put  an  end 
to  monopc^es  sustained  by  tax-laws, 
only  twenty  years  ago. 


LITERATUEE— AT  HOME. 


ever  poet  did  his  best  to  per- 
If  in  his  art,  as,  first,  by  think- 
18  themes  before  writing  about 
3ond,  by  devoting  his  noblest 
»  the  writing ;  and,  third,  by 
is  manuscripts  more  than  the 
period,  it  is  Alfired  Tennyson. 


Whatever  faults  may  be  laid  to  his 
charge,  the  grave  fault  of  hasty  thinking 
and  careless  writing  is  not  among  the 
number.  He  has  always  done  his  best, 
not  merely  his  best  for  the  day,  or  the 
year,  but  his  best  for  life.  We  are  re- 
minded of  this  whenever  we  take  up 


252 


TxrrsAM'a  Magazc^e. 


[?«*, 


the  l^te  edhbns  of  hid  collected  worlis, 
wLere  we  continually  meet  with  changes 
cf  text,  »3ie  of  which  are  certainly  for 
tie  better,  wLOe  ethers  are  as  certainly 
tcT  the  worse.  Bat,  good  or  bad,  there 
they  Rtacd,  as  the  poet's  last  expression 
cf  Lir::se!f  and  his  genins.  It  b  nearly 
forty  years  since  the  attention  of  Tennv- 
8-:n  was  tiimed  to  the  Arthur  legends, 
ail  he  has  not  done  with  tbem  yet.  or 
hiis  done  with  them  so  recently  that  they 
mcs:  still  be  Tital  in  his  mind.  Th€ 
Lady  of  Shalottj  a  toy's  attempt  to 
hAndie  one  cf  these  legends^  was  pab- 
l:*hed  in  his  second  volume,  issued  in 
1^32;  and  now.  in  the  year  of  grace, 
1870.  we  have  Th€  Holy  Grail  and  Other 
Po^Tra  (Fields,  Osgood  &  Co.),  the  perfect 
work  of  the  man,  and  the  last,  we  im ag- 
io e,  of  his  Arthurian  epics,  or  Idylls,  as 
he  prefers  to  call  them.  Strictly  speak- 
ing, there  are  but  two  new  idylls  in  the 
volume,  "  The  Holy  Grail,"  and  *'  Pelleas 
and  Ettarre ; "  for  "  The  Coming  of  Ar- 
tiior"  we  must  regard  as  a  prologue  to 
what  follows  here,  and  in  '*The  Idylls 
of  the  King ;  "  while  **  The  Passing  of 
Arthur"  answers  for  the  necessary  epi- 
logue. A  considerable  portion  of  the 
latter  is  old,  ns  the  reader  will  discover, 
figuring  in  **  The  Epic,"  which  dates  as 
far  back,  in  print,  as  1843.  If  we  could 
suppose  ourselves  to  be  writing  in  1833, 
it  would  be  our  duty  to  say  something 
of  *'The  Lady  of  Shalott;"  or,  if  we 
could  suppose  ourselves  to  be  writing 
ten  years  later,  it  would  be  onr  duty  to 
eay  something  of  "  The  Epic."  But  tlio 
"forward-flowing  tide  of  time"  will 
not  flow  back  with  us,  as  with  the  poet, 
in  his  Recollections  of  the  Arabian 
Nights^  60  we  shall  say  nothing  of  either ; 
for  what  would  have  been  a  duty  then, 
would  bo  merely  a  pleasure  now — a 
pknsuro  wo  can  no  more  afford  ourselves 
in  Tennyson's  case  than  in  Shakespeare's 
or  Milton's.  We  will  not  dwell,  there- 
fore, upon  these  fresh  Arthurian  idylls, 
further  than  to  say  that  they  are  fully 
wortiiy  of  thoso  which  preceded  them. 
If  we  have  any  criticism  at  all  to  make, 
it  U  that  the  sulitance  is  not  quite  so 
rich,  the  action  so  rememborable,  but 
tho  form  is  as  perfect  as  ever.    It  is  no 


prdse  to  say  this,  however,  for  this  1i 
the  one  thing  above  all  others  we  are 
sure  to  find  in  Tennyson.  His  woik* 
manship— his  art  is  perfect,  more  perfeet; 
if  there  can  be  degrees  of  perfecti<n, 
than  the  art  of  any  other  English  poet, 
living  or  dead.  Of  the  minor  pieces  only 
The  Xortherii  Farmer^Ncw  Style^  lit 
Either  Pantheism,  Flower  in  theCrannid 
Wall,  and  77ie  Golden  Supper  are  new. 
'*The  Northern  Farmer"  is  not  n 
striking  as  his  elder  brother  of  tire 
same  name ;  ^*  The  Higher  Pantheism,** 
is  a  brief  and  inadequate  treatment 
of  a  large  subject;  and  ^^The  Qolden 
Supper  *'  is  not  what  we  have  a  right  to 
expect  from  Tennyson,  who  ought  to  be 
above  writing,  or  printing,  fragments 
now.  *•  Flower  in  the  Crannied  Wall,* 
should  never  have  seen  the  light,  or, 
seeing  it  once,  should  have  been  allowed 
to  pass  out  of  sight,  with 

**  I  flood  oo  ft  tower  in  tbe  wet^ 

If  it  be  parodied,  as  it  probably  wiU  be^ 
a  very  natural  rhyme  to  "  crannies  "  wil 
at  once  suggest  itself  to  the  pazo* 
dists. 

In  Mr.  Gerald  Massey's  Tale  ^ 

Eternity  (Fields,  Osgood  &  Co.),  there 
are  eighty-two  i>oems,  if  we  have  ooonted 
them  correctly,  or  over  seven  times  M 
many  as  in  Tennyson's  new  volume.  If 
quantity  stood  for  quality,  Mr.  Hassey 
ought  to  be  seven  times  as  great  a  poet 
as  Tennyson,  or,  say,  at  least  a  Shakee- 
pcare,  Milton,  and  Wordsworth  in  oneii 
As  quantity,  however,  does  not  stand  for 
quality,  Mr.  Massey  is  merely  what  he  i% 
viz.,  a  voluminous,  not  to  say  multi- 
tudinous, versifier.  When  he  first  v^ 
peared  it  was  the  fashion  to  praise  him, 
and  to  hope  good  things  from  him  in  the 
future.  It  was  the  fashion  to  praise  him 
because  he  had  raised  himself  fbom  quite 
a  low  station  in  life,  as  they  regard  it  in 
England,  to  a  place  among  men  of  let- 
ters, or  among  those  whom  it  sometimes 
pleases  us  to  consider  such.  We  respect 
Mr.  Massey  for  what  he  has  made  him- 
self, as  wo  do  all  self-made  men ;  but  we 
realize  in  his  case,  as  in  most  similar 
coses,  that  the  self-made  man  is  generally 
a  half-made  man.  For  what  he  was 
and  is,  ho  will  not  compare  vrith  Bums^ 


LlTEBATUBE. 


258 


field,  or  poor  Jolin  Olaro,  most 
and  most  delicious  of  raral 
[r.  Massey's  early  poetry  was 
h  like  Mr.  Alexander  Smithes 
\rjy  except  that  it  was  lavaria- 
en  in  worse  taste,  which  is 
levere  judgment  to  pass  on  it, 
recall  the  very  had  taste  ex- 
t  every  page  of  The  Life  Drama. 
X)  say,  Mr.  Massey^s  yerse  was 
B  and  a  splutter  of  rich,  lush 
if  instead  of  waitiog  until  his 
)re  out  of  the  shell  and  fledged, 
ucontinently  hroken  the  eggs 
itaioed  them,  and  whipped  the 
into  a  yellow,  frothy  syllahuh. 
»assed  on,  he  learned  to  make 
akes,  which  were  acceptable, 
se,  to  the  lovers  of  such  light 
lero  are  pretty  things  in  The 
'Babe  Chrutobely  and  in  Craig- 
9tle.  And  there  are  pretty 
"  A  Tale  of  Eternity  "—if  wo 
[y  remember  where  they  are. 
le,  which  stands  as  a  motto  to 
iemoriam : " 

DCS  who  are  worthiest  of  oar  lore 

«]flo  worthiest  above. 

I  his  place  in  glory  now, 

ike  ours  to  reach  and  wreathe  bla  brow : 

fbwera  we  plaot  apon  his  tomb, 

Uh  tears  to  make  them  breathe  and  bloom. 

ioal  that  was  so  long  thy  ward, 

a  orer  thee,  thine  Angel-Ooard : 

w  moam*st  abore  hia  dost  so  dear, 

'  Comforter  draws  smiling  near. 

ear  Mend,  oar  Dores  of  Earth  bat  rise, 

sd  Into  Birds  of  Paradise." 

»  pretty  things,  too,  in  ITymns 

*  LyricSy  which  are  noticeable 
of  simple,  natural  reflection, 

ne  devotional  spirit  The  vol- 
10  advance  upon  the  earlier 
Mr.  Massey.  It  is  written 
it  with  more  soberness,  and 
)r  violations  of  good  taste.  Its 
'eot  is  a  want  of  substance, 
not  enough  sense  behind  the 

*  the  sense  is  so  commonplace 
Aves  no  mark  in  the  memory 
words  are  no  longer  before  the 
)  poem  washes  out  another,  as 
ole  were  ripples  of  spray  on  a 
hey  glitter,  and  are  gone.  "  A 
Dternity  "  will  never  reach  its 
n. 


Indifferent  as  American  Litera- 
ture is,  there  was  once  a  time,  nor  was 
it  so  very  long  ago,  either,  when  it  must 
have  been  a  weariness  to  the  soul.  So, 
at  least,  we  judge  from  the  flotsam  and 
jetsam  which  the  waves  of  the  present 
are  occasionally  casting  up  at  our  foet. 
Two  such  wrecked  ventures  are  The 
Poeme  of  Emma  C,  Embury^  (Hurd  & 
Houghton)  and  Titania's  Banquet^  Pic- 
turee  of  Women,  and  other  BoemSy  by 
George  Hill  (D.  Appleton  &  Co.).  We 
have  no  wish  to  speak  with  disrespect 
of  either  of  these  writers,  for  the  first 
is  dead,  while  the  last  must  be  well 
along  in  the  vale  of  years.  We  remem- 
ber Mrs.  Embury  as  a  contributor  to  the 
magazines  of  thirty  years  ago,  at  which 
time,  and  possibly  a  little  earlier,  she 
was  not  inaptly  styled  "  The  Hemans  of 
America."  So  remarks  the  writer  of 
the  Preface  to  the  volume,  in  charming 
unconsciousness  that  a  comparison  with 
Mrs.  Hemans  has  long  since  lost  what- 
ever little  value  it  may  have  had  once. 
As  nobody  reads  Mrs.  Hemans  now, 
so  for  as  we  are  aware,  it  is  not  likely 
that  many  will  read  her  American  coun- 
terpart. The  ladies  were  alike,  if  we 
may  trust  our  recollections,  in  that  the 
strong  point  of  both  was  the  doipestio 
afiections,  and  unlike  in  that  Mrs.  He- 
mans was  a  spirited  rhetorician,  which 
Mrs.  Embury  was  not.  We  can  recall 
*'  The  Pilgrim  Fathers,"  "  Oasabianca," 
"  Leaves  have  their  time  to  fall,"  and 
"Flowers,  bring  flowers,"  but,  though 
we  have  just  laid  down  Mrs.  Embury's 
poems,  they  are  gone  from  us  utterly, — 

"  Gone  like  a  wind  that  blew 
A  thoasand  years  ago." 

It  is  a  handsome  volume  of  S68  pages, 
and  if  one  is  making  a  collection  of 
American  Poetry,  it  will  look  well  in  the 
collection.  So  will  also  Mr.  Hill's  little 
book,  which  purports  to  be  a  third  edi- 
tion, revised  and  enlarged.  It  differs 
materially  from  the  first  and  second 
editions,  ftatore  bibliographers  may  like 
to  know,  but  wherein  we  cannot  inform 
them,  since  we  have  not  been  able  to 
persuade  ourselves  to  let  Mr.  Hill  be  our 
usher  to  "  Titania's  Banquet."  We  have 
likewise  declined  to  see  many  of  his 


S54 


PuTSAM^s  ILkeAzxars. 


t?A, 


"Pictures  of  WomeiL"  "The  Rnins 
of  Athens  "  are  not  so  poetic  now,  as 
fortj  or  fifty  yesrs  ago,  when  Oamphell 
and  Byron  were  eneonraging  the  Greeks 
in  their  stmggleswith  the  hated  Mos- 
lem; nor  do  we  think  much  of  **  Son- 
nets'* constmcted  in  defiance  of  all 
rales.  Here  is  a  specimen  of  one,  which 
recalls  what  Halleck  (in  whose  memory 
it  was  written)  was  fond  of  quoting  from 
Burns,  about  Uie  awkward  sqnad  firing 
over  his  grave : 

**  The  earth  that  beapt  thj  relica,  Hallcek,  wb«re 
Mo  nama  mora  fluaad  aapalahral  abaft  aball  bear, 
Full  maaj  a  imfrim-bafd  from  many  a  shore 
Shall  weed  to  greet,  till  time  shall  be  no  more ; 
The  spot,  heneeforth  to  gentas  erer  dear. 
Shall  f  ladly  hall,  nor  quit  withoat  a  tear ; 
Borne  strain  of  thj  imperishable  lyre 
Recall,  and  ere  relaetaat  he  retire. 
Exclaim,  *  In  thee,  O  Fame^  lamented  aoo  I 
A  thoQsand  poeCa  we  haTe  kiat  in  one.*** 

A  sonnet,  quotha  I  It  b  such  a  sonnet 
as  Bottom  would  have  written  after  he 
was  *^  translated." 

It  must  he  humiliating  for  the 

literary  guild  to  reflect  that  in  a  few 
years  the  greater  part  of  their  number 
will  only  live  in  the  pages  of  biographi- 
cal and  bibliographical  dictionaries,  and 
that  of  the  remainder  the  greater  part 
will  only  go  down  to  posterity  in  ex- 
tracts. If  there  was  any  certainty  that 
the  extracts  would  be  made  from  their 
best  works,  and  would  include  the  best 
things  therein,  they  might  be  consoled 
for  the  oblivion  which  had  overtaken 
the  rest ;  but  unfortunately  there  is  no 
such  certainty,  the  rule  being  that  the 
majority  of  writers  are  represented  at 
their  worst.  If  the  reader  doubt  this 
fact  as  regards  the  English  Poets,  he 
should  turn  to  Percy  and  Ellis,  and  note 
what  they  quote  from  the  singers  of  the 
age  of  Elizabeth,  and  the  days  of  James 
and  Charles  the  First,  and  then  read 
ftomc  of  Uio  authors  quoted,  if  possible, 
in  the  original  editions,  and  see  if  they 
do  not  generally  rise  in  his  estimation. 
Once  an  author  is  quoted  from,  he  is 
done  for;  for  your  ordinary  compiler 
follows  his  fellows  as  sheep  follow  their 
leader, 

**  Thorough  bash,  tborongh  brhr.*^ 

It  is  sad  for  a  poet  to  know  that  nine 
tenths  of  his  work  must  perish  ;  but  to 


know  that  the  one  tenth  which  senrirci 
is  unworthy  of  him,  is  to  be  fa^ond 
withoat  the  hope  of  redress.  We  an 
led  to  these  reflections  by  Eten%ng$  tfttt 
the  Sacred  PoeUj  by  the  author  of  "F«i- 
tival  of  Song,"  "  SaUui  for  the  Solitaiy," 
etc^  a  handsome  volume,  of  whidi 
Messrs.  A.  D.  F.  Randolph  di  Oa  an 
the  publishers.  To  say  that  it  is  net 
interesting  would  be  untrue,  and  to  117 
that  it  is  not  disappdnting  would  be 
equally  untrue ;  the  fault  b^og  that  Itii 
interesting,  as  regards  the  amoant  aid 
variety  of  information  in  it,  and  diMp- 
pointing,  as  regards  its  eriiioisiiis  lad 
many  of  its  selections.  The  oompilflr  Si 
evidently  a  man  of  old-feshioned  ftntai 
and  sympathies,  who  has  read  mneh, 
digested  a  little,  and  who  reliee  ipon 
authorities  for  his  opinions.  The  oail 
of  mind  implied  by  these  habits  is  mwdb 
one  for  certain  literary  purposes,  hot  it 
cannot  be  depended  upon  when  thoroog^ 
research  and  acute  criticism  are  de- 
manded. We  have  found  much  that  wv 
valuable  in  the  shape  of  material  In  thMS 
"Evenings,^'  but  not  much  that  was  MV 
to  us,  except  in  literatures  with  whIdi 
we  are  unfamiliar.  Of  the  last  fife 
Evenings,  which  embrace  the  laored 
poets  of  England  and  America,  we  are 
perhaps  somewhat  competent  to  speak, 
having  gone  over  the  ground  to  a  eertain 
extent  ourselves,  and  these  have  fre- 
quently disappointed  us.  We  doubt  the 
authorship  of  some  of  the  poems  quoted, 
and  more  than  doubt  the  oorreotness  of 
the  text  of  others.  A  poem  00  page 
233,  commencing 
^  Blae,  O  mj  sool,  with  tbj  dealiM  to  btcraa,** 

is  ascribed  to  Haleigh,  but  on  what  au- 
thority we  are  not  told.  In  the  first 
place,  it  is  not  iocloded  in  any  edition  of 
Raleigh,  with  which  we  are  acquainted; 
in  the  second  place,  no  edition  of  Ra- 
leigh can  be  trusted  implicitly;  in 
the  third  place,  if  there  is  any  such 
thing  as  internal  evidence,  it  is  entirely 
aj?ainst  Raleigh,  whose  verse,  so  far-4M 
it  has  been  authenticated,  is  harsh  and 
fantastic,  rather  than  harmonious  and 
natural.  Internal  evidence  is  against 
Chaucer's  having  written  in  such  modem 
diction  as  this : 


LiTBBATUBX. 


29S 


n  the  erowd,  and  be  to  vlitne  true, 
nt  with  what  tboa  bMt,tboagb  It  be  small ; 
d  brings  bate :  nor  lofty  tboagbta  pnmue ; 
JO  cllinbe  bigb,  endangers  many  a  f«lL** 

e  241,  we  find  these  linos : 

"  All  most  to  tbelr  cold  graves ; 
I  rellgloos  aetlons  of  the  jast 

tn  death,  and  blossom  In  tbcdost^* 


e  254,  we  have  the  last  stanza  of 
^8  groat  dirge,  which  conclndes, 

"All  hesds most oome 
To  the  cold  tomb: 
N1I7  the  aetlons  of  the  Jast 
umU  sweet,  sod  blossom  In  the  dast  1  ** 

ot  carions  that  the  man  who 
this,  could  not  see  that  there  was 
log  wrong  in  the  other  quotation  ? 
t  not  still  more  cnrions  that  the 
d  last  lines  of  this  noble  poem 
be  incorrectly  given  f  If  we  may 
ir  memory  as  against  the  text  be- 
Shirley  wrote, 

The  glories  of  oar  blood  and  state,** 

of  ^'' birth  and  state,"  and  "  bios- 
)heir  dust,"  instead  uf  ^^  the  dust." 
the  most  beautiful  of  Sbirley^s 
pieces  copied  on  the  same  page, 
I  follows : 

lark  I  how  chimes  the  passing  bell  I 
hera^s  no  mnslo  to  a  knell : 
.11  the  other  sonnds  we  hear 
latter,  and  bat  cheat  the  ear. 
Ui  doth  pat  OS  still  In  mind 
"hat  o«r  flesh  mast  be  resigned ; 
Jid,  a  general  silence  made, 
*&•  world  be  maflled  In  a  shade. 
>rpbeaa*  hite,  as  poets  tell, 
fm  bat  a  moral  of  this  beU.*" 

the  compiler  found  this  we  know 

it  in  a  copy  of  Shirley's  "  Poems," 

the  date  of  1646,  instead  of  the 

adading  lines  just  quoted,  wo 

'  He  that  on  bis  plUow  lies, 
Tear-ombslined  before  be  dies, 
Oarrie^  like  a  sheep,  hl«  life. 
To  meet  the  saeriflcer's  knife, 
And  for  Eternity  Is  prest, 
Bad  bell-wotber  to  the  rest** 

by  no  moans  satisfied  with  the 
which  the  early  English  Poets 
resented,  but  as  tastes  differ  we 
the  compiler  of  these  **  Even- 
as  as  good  a  right  to  his  prefer- 
s  wo  have  to  ours.  Ue  has  no 
owevcr,  to  change  the  measures 
snihors,  as  he  does  perpetually, 


and  to  such  an  extent,  that  we  some- 
times fail  to  recognize  onr  old  favorites. 
Here  is  the  beginning  of  a  poem  of  Ha- 
bington*s : 

^  When  I  aorTey  the  bright  eelestial  sphere 
80  rich  with  Jewels  hung  that  night 
Doth  like  an  Ethlop  bride  appear, 
Mjsonl  her  wings  doth  spread,  and  beaTenwnrd  flies. 

The  Ahnlght7*s  mysteries  to  read 
In  the  large  Tolume  of  the  skies  I** 

This  should  stand  as  follows : 

**  When  I  survey  the  bright 
Celestial  sphere,**  etc, 

the  six  lines  quoted  being  really  eight 
lines  re-arranged,  apparently  to  save 
space.  Pope's  "Universal  Prayer"  is 
tolerably  well  known ;  but  it  is  not  easy 
to  recognize  it  in  such  lines  as  these : 

''Thou  Great  First  Oaase,  least  understood  I  who  all 
my  sense  confined 
To  know  bat  this,  that  Tboa  art  good,  and  that 
myself  am  blind.** 

It  is  still  more  difHcult  to  recognize 
Cowper's  "  Castaway  "  in  this : 

**No  poet  wept  him ;  bat  the  page  of  narraUre  sin- 
cere, 
That  telle  hla  name,  h|a  worth,  his  ago.  Is  wet  with 
Anson's  tear, 
And  tears,  by  bards  or  heroes  shed 
Alike  Immortalize  the  dead.** 

Uow  this  extract  from  Bethnno  should 
be  corrected,  or  how  it  can  be  read,  as 
it  stands,  will  probably  puzzle  many : 

'* I  am  alone;  and  yet  In  the  still  solitude  there  Is  a 
rash 
Around   me  as  were  met  a  erowd   of  Tlewleis 
wings ;  I  hear  a  gush 
Of  uttered  barmonlea,— heaven  meeting  earth, 
Making  It  to  rejoloe  with  holy  mirth.** 

We  are  not  familiar  with  the  poem,  but 
it  probably  stands  in  the  original, 

'*  I  am  alone :  and  yet 
In  the  still  solitude  there  Is  a  rush 

Aronnd  me,  as  were  root 
A  erowd  of  Tlewless  wings;  I  hear  a  gush,**  etc. 

Nothing  can  be  said  in  defence  of  such 
liberties  as  these,  which  are  multiplied 
indefinitely,  and  are  so  unpardonable, 
that  we  close  the  book  lest  we  should 
be  unjust  to  its  merits,  which  are  con- 
siderable, of  Uieir  kind,  though  the  kind 
is  not  one  which  will  conmiend  it  to 
scholai's. 

If  theology  were  our  forte,  wo 

should  probably  not  make  the  confession 
that  we  do  in  regard  to  The  lAfe  of  Jo^ 
seph  Addison  Alexander,  D,  D,  (Scrib- 
uer  &  Co.),  viz, — that  we  had  no  idea 


256 


PUTNiJf'B  IfAOAZIKB. 


[Feb, 


that  America  bad  prodaced  so  profound 
A  scholar.  We  are  not  in  the  hahit  of 
reading  the  Lives  of  divines,  however 
eminent,  but  we  liave  read  this  "  Life  " 
through,  and  when  we  say  that  it  is  in 
two  bulky  volumes  of  upwards  of  five 
hundred  pages  each,  the  reader  may 
suppose  tliat  the  pleasure  of  it  exceeded 
the  labor.  Dr.  Alexander  was  every 
way  a  remarkable  man  (we  might  say 
the  most  remarkable  man  in  the  country, 
if  Mr.  Martin  Ohuzzlewit  had  not  antici- 
pated us  in  the  expression),  and  the  most 
remarkable  thing  about  him ,  was  his 
talent  for  learning  languages,  of  which 
he  probably  knew  more  than  any  linguist 
of  his  time.  As  soon  as  he  was  able  to 
understand  the  meaning  of  English 
words,  he  began  to  study  Latin ;  at  six, 
or  thereabouts,  ho  began  to  study  He- 
brew, and  a  little  later,  Arabic  and  Per- 
sian. He  read  every  thing  that  came  in 
his  way,  and  wrote  largely  from  boy- 
hood, both  in  prose  and  verso,  and  with 
astonishing  fluency  and  clearness.  He 
seems  to  have  found,  or  made,  a  royal 
road  to  knowledge,  and  to  the  last  day 
of  his  life  it  was  open  to  his  eager  and 
unwearied  spirit.  He  was  'once  asked 
by  one  of  his  acquaintances  how  many 
languages  he  know,  and  he  answered, 
*'  I  have  a  smattering  of  several.''  His  bi- 
ographer, Henry  Gorrington  Alexander, 
gives  a  list  of  them,  and  it  amounts  to 
twenty-four,  including  Syriac,  Ethiopic, 
Chinese,  Malay,  and  Coptic.  He  was 
unique  among  modern  scholars  for 
ihe  ease  with  which  ho  used  his  extra- 
ordinary learning,  which  sat  upon  him 
and  his  work  *^ as  lightly  as  a  flower." 
Dr.  Beach  Jones  remarked  this  fact  in  a 
letter  to  Dr.  Alexander's  biographer, 
chiefly  in  reference  to  his  expositions  of 
the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  and  tho  Gos* 
pels  of  Mark  and  Matthew.  ^^  Scholars 
can  see  in  every  part  of  these  commen- 
taries proofs  of  amazing  erudition,  as 
well  as  of  the  profoundest  and  nicest 
scholarship;  and  even  unprofessional 
readers  become  convinced  that  the  au- 
thor must  have  possessed  vast  resonrces. 
Yet  it  would  bo  difficult  to  point  to  any 
similar  production  where  so  much  learn- 
ing is  presupposed  and   implied,    and 


where  so  little  is  displayed.  "We  bare 
the  ripest  fruits  of  consummate  8Ghola^ 
ship,  bat  no  parade  of  the  means  aod 
process  by  which  they  were  reprodocei 
One  of  the  first  scholars  and  greateit 
minds  in  this  country  was  onoe  contrtrtp 
ing  the  commentaries  of  Profeasor  Alex- 
ander with  those  of  another  diatingaished 
professor  in  the  same  department,  and 
illustrated  the  difiTerence  by  the  follow- 
ing expressive  figure :    '  When has 

done  his  work,  you  find  yourself  np  to 
your  knees  in  shavings.  When  Dr.  A 
has  finished  his,  you  don't  see  a  chip.'  * 
Not  the  least  astonishing  thing  ^x»t 
the  great  scholar  was  his  mastery  of 
nonsense,  of  which  we  haye  several 
specimens  in  his  '^  Life."  One,  written 
in  his  youth,  is  made  up  of  words  whidi 
were  to  be  found  in  Webster^s  Dictionr 
ary,  and  a  carious  medley  it  is.  Another, 
written  in  manhood,  was  in  the  form 
of  a  magazine  for  children.  It  was 
mostly  made  up  of  stories,  of  which  the 
following  extract  from  *^  Don  Patrick: 
A  Romance  of  Terra  del  Ftiego,"  is  not 
a  bad  example :  **  On  the  summit  of  the 
Amazon,  above  the  green  fields  which 
are  watered  by  the  Hecla  and  its  trib* 
utary  streams,  there  stood  in  ancient 
times  a  fortified  sirocco!  Fh>m  its 
frowning  entablature  the  martial  can- 
zonet, as  he  paced  to  and  fro  with  his 
easel  on  his  shoulder,  could  behold  the 
verdant  glaciers  of  Owhyhee,  and  occa- 
sionally catch  the  dying  echo  of  some 
distant  mal  di  testa^  as  it  died  away 
among  the  capsules  of  the  lofty  prarieiL 
Here  the  youthful  Masorites  were  wont 
to  angle  for  the  aloe  and  the  centipede, 
the  choicest  dainties  of  a  Gentian's  ta- 
ble ;  while  above  them,  in  the  logarithms 
of  St.  Cbroline,  an  extenuated  monkey 
of  the  order  of  Sangamon,  wearing  his 
rosary  of  snow-white  azure,  chanted  the 
solemn  replevin  of  the  Vandal  Church. 
In  this  romantic  spot,  before  the  days 
of  Salamanca,  or  perhaps  while  she  was 
reigning,  lived  an  aged  Virtuoso,  who 
could  trace  his  cosmogony  to  Upas  the 
Valerian,  through  many  generations  of 
illustrious  Flamiogoos."  Bon  Ganltier 
was  good  at  this  kind  of  writing,  as  the 
"  Ballads "  testify,  particularly  the  imi- 


LlTKBATUBS. 


257 


of  Tom  Moore,  with  its  superb 

bdUn  and  kftlpae  bsTo  gone  to  their  rest;  ** 

on  Ganltier  was  a  mere  bungler 
Dr.  Alexander,  who  adds  another 
many  confirmations  of  the  truth 
proverb, 

**  A  little  noDionse  now  and  then 
la  raliabed  by  the  wiaeat  men.** 

-  Three  documents  of  signal  im- 
ce  have  appeared  within  a  few 
8,  in  the  interest  of  the  liberal 
in  the  Roman  Catholic  Ohnrch. 
"st  is  the  protest  of  Father  Hya- 
— the  greatest  of  living  Roman 
io  preachers.  The  second  is  the 
pastoral  of  Dapanlonp,  Bishop  of 
8,  be  von  d  comparison  the  ablest 
E'rencn  bishops,  in  which  he  shows 
sparing  argument  the  inezpedi- 
f  declaring  the  Infallibility  of  the 
0  be  a  dogma  of  faith.  The  third 
Fope  and  the  Council,  bj  Janns 
U  Brothers). 

chief  part  of  the  book  is  occupied 
.  direct  and  most  overwhehning 
not  on  the  expediency  of  enunci- 
he  doctrine  of  Infallibility,  but  on 
7  doctrine  itself.  It  is  the  work 
Oman  Oathollc  theologian  of  Ger- 
whose  name  is  withheld  from 
ition.  But  no  Protestant  author 
bur  knowledge  has  struck  at  this 
Boch  trenchant  blows,  or  brought 
discussion  a  more  ample  equip- 
f  historical  learning.  He  shows  the 
system  of  papal  absolutism  to  have 
lilt  exclusively  upon  a  long  series 
lerato  forgeries  of  historical  doou- 

And  although  there  is  nothing 
ecclesiastico-historical  scholars  in 
^monstration,  it  is  put  with  new 
edstible  force  in  this  volume,  and 
is  from  a  source  which  gives  it 
id  momentous  significance.  This 
and  Dupanloup^s  pastoral  are 
3Dts  of  a  sort  to  commit  the  lib- 
^man  Catholic  party  irrevocably 

with  the  "infallibilists."  They 
MUtions  from  which  there  can  be 
ig  back,  but  in  which,  in  case  the 
acy  of  the  Jesuit  faction  is  sue- 
,  and  the  definition  of  infallibility 
ired  in  the  council,  they  most 


stand  inter-exelusoe — which  is  Latin  fur 
"  out  in  the  cold." 

It  looks  to  us  as  if  the  unflinching 
boldness  with  which  these  liberals  have 
encountered  the  arrogance  of  their  ultra- 
montane antagonists,  would  be  success- 
ful. To  be  sure,  the  latter  have  pledged 
themselves  just  as  irrevocably  in  favor  of 
infallibility  as  the  liberals  have  pledged 
themselves  against  it  They  have  dis- 
tinctly declared  that  the  Church  cannot 
get  along  without  it,  just  as  the  liberals 
have  demonstrated  that  the  Church  can* 
not  possibly  get  along  witli  it.  Rather 
than  pronounce  a  decision  which  would 
be  tantamount  to  the  condemnation  of 
one  or  the  other  of  these  powerful  par- 
ties, we  incline  to  the  conviction  that 
the  (Ecumenical  Council,  with  the  cau- 
tiousness common  to  delegated  bodies, 
will  fall  into  somctliing  like  the  position 
of  the  outside  world,  which  is  disposed 
to  agree  with  both  of  thenu 

Priest  and  Nun,  by  Mrs.  Julia 

McNair  Wright  (Phila.  Crittenden  & 
MoKinney),  is  a  **  sensational  story,^' 
designed  to  create  the  impression  that 
Roman  Catholic  clergymen  are  generally 
worse  than  their  Protestant  brethren; 
that  convents  are  prisons  in  which  the 
daughters  of  our  first  families  are  kid- 
napped and  immured  in  spite  of  Habeas 
Corpus ;  that  **  the  dungeons  under  the 
Cathedral "  are  commonly  used  for  the 
incarceration  of  offenders  against  the 
Church  ;  and  that  the  servant-girl  of  the 
period  is  ordinarily  implicated  in  a  foul 
and  dark  conspiracy  to  destroy  the  liber- 
ties of  our  beloved  country,  and  to  get 
the  babies  of  America  baptized  on  the  sly. 
We  have  our  misgivings  about  the  eflfec- 
tiveness  of  this  method  of  training  the 
youths  of  America 

**  Early  to  fly  the  Babylonian  woo/* 

inasmuch  as  some  of  the  most  eminent 
recent  converts  to  Romanism  have,  ac- 
cording to  their  own  confession,  been 
brought  up  under  this  very  regimen. 
Bnt  if  this  metliod  is  still  to  be  pursued, 
the  book  before  us  is  perhaps  as  good  for 
it  as  any  thing  since  the  *^  Awful  Disclo- 
sures'' of  Maria  Monk.  The  degree  of 
literary  ability  of  the  book  is  wortliy  of 
the  class  of  literature  to  which  it  belongs. 


8S8 


PuTKAx^B  Haoahkb. 


PMl, 


LITERATURE,  SCIENCE,  AND  ART  ABROAD. 

XOVTHLT  H0TK8  PBBPAKID  FOB  PUTHAM^B  VAOACIH. 


The  neccsfflity  of  preparing  these  notes 

nearly  a  month  in  advance  of  their  publica- 
tion, prevents  us  from  giving  all  the  announce- 
ments of  the  vrinter  season  in  England  and 
on  the  Continent;  but  the  indications,  as 
we  write,  are  that  there  will  be  no  falling  off 
in  the  literary  productiveness  of  our  foreign 
friends.  All  departments  of  authorship  are 
already  well  represented :  history,  biography, 
criticism,  fiction,  will  receive  many  additions 
— few  of  them,  perliaps,  of  very  special  im- 
portance, but  also  few  which  have  not  a  suf* 
fioient  reason  for  existence.  In  spite  of  the 
inondation  of  novels,  and  the  ever-increasing 
grotesquenesa  of  their  titles,  the  taste  for 
graver  ii'orks,  especially  of  science,  theology, 
and  history,  when  not  too  technically  handled, 
seems  to  be  steadily  iucreaslng.  There  is 
no  doubt  that  the  average  quality  of  literary 
performance  has  improved — indeed,  it  was 
probably  never  higher  than  at  present  But 
out  of  the  mass  of  books  which  exhibit  con- 
siderable skill  in  statement,  the  number 
which  give  evidence  of  proportioned  and 
weU-considered  design,  still  remains  fiBW. 
This  is  principally  true  of  the  English  litera- 
ture of  to-day.  In  France,  there  is  so  much 
excellence  in  both  these  respects,  that  it  has 
grown  slightly  monotonous;  while  in  Ger- 
many we  have  labor,  research,  sentiment, 
theories  innumerable,  but,  with  a  few  excep- 
tions, a  general  carelessness  in  regard  to 
literary  workmanship. 

Our  design,  in  these  monthly  notes,  is 

to  chronicle  whatever  in  Foreign  Literature, 
Art,  or  Discovery  may  possess  an  interest  for 
the  American  reader.  A  complete  resum6  of 
such  intelligence  would  clium  much  more 
space  than  the  character  of  this  Magazine 
wHl  allow,  and  would  embrace  much  matter, 
important  only  to  a  limited  class.  Moreover, 
literary  or  artistic  events  of  marked  promi- 
nence are  so  generally  discussed  by  the  daily 
and  weekly  press,  that,  in  many  instances, 
the  interest  in  them  is  already  obsolete  before 
they  could  appear  in  a  monthly  periodical 
We  have  preferred  to  collect,  chiefly,  the 
material  which  has  not  been  thus  exhausted, 
and  which,  therefore,  is  likely  to  retain  a 
certain  freshness  for  our  readers.  This  is 
less  possible  in  English  than  in  German  ond 


French  literature.  The  fidd  is  large  enoig^ 
for  many  gleaners,  and  if  we  now  and  thn 
pick  up  poppies  and  "aziire  cyaneB**  Instead 
of  ears,  there  are  those  to  whom  color  is  is 
necessary  as  bread. 

A  work  which  ought  to  be  Tcqr 

oharmmg  is  the  life  of  Mary  Rnstell  Mitfbxd, 
**  related  in  a  series  of  Letters  to  bar 
Friends;"  by  the  Rev.  A.  G.  L^Estraofe. 
The  annonncement  contains  a  list  of  the 
distinguished  contemporaries  whom  she  knev, 
or  knew  of  through  friends, — ^two  hundred 
in  number.  The  poets  ooivnence  with 
Cowper  and  end  with  Tennyson.  Any  one 
who  had  the  fortune  to  see  IGss  MItford  h 
her  cottage  at  Swallowfield,  and  to  bear  her 
delightful  talk  of  old  days  and  old  scensi, 
would  be  slow  to  consent  that  snch  a  ran 
and  eventful  personal  histoij  should  be  kiiti 
If  Mr.  L'Estrange  has  given,  as  the  this 
would  indicate.  Miss  Mitford's  life  in  her  owi 
language,  we  may  count  en  a  sure  and  en- 
usual  pleasure. 

—  Among  the  announcements  of  new 
works  on  theological  subjects  are:  "The 
Church  and  the  Age ;  *'  "  Ecclesia,  a  Seriei 
of  Essays ;  "  **  History  of  Religious  Tboa^ 
in  England,**  by  the  Rev.  John  Hnnt; 
**  The  Peace  of  God,"  by  the  Archdeacon  of 
Tork,  and  **  fireside  Homilies,'*  by  Dean 
Alford.  Of  a  more  strictly  historical  charto* 
ter  are  **  Heroes  of  Hebrew  History,**  by  the 
Bishop  of  Oxford,  and  a  translation  of  Fres- 
sensd^s  **  Early  Years  of  Christianity.*'  In 
Germany,  Dr.  Diestel,  Professor  of  Theology 
at  Jena,  has  just  published  a  "History of 
the  Old  Testament  hi  the  Christian  Chureh" 
—a  work  which  has  not  yet  been  performed, 
notwithstanding  that  the  original  theological 
publications  in  Germany  average  ,;C/)Cem  Atm- 
dredatmuaUyi  There  could  bo  no  stronger 
evidence  of  the  existence  of  very  grave  and 
important  undercurrents  of  thought  and 
speculation  in  the  religious  world  than  is 
furnished  by  the  large  and  increasing  number 
of  works  of  this  class.  And  perhaps  nothing 
could  better  illustrate  the  advancing  civilin- 
tion  of  the  race  than  the  diiferenee  in  tone 
and  temper  and  tolerant  intelligence  between 
the  religious  writings  of  to-day  and  those  of  a 
century  or  two  ago. 


Notes  on  Fobuon  Lttsbatube,  bto. 


25d 


,  Stratmaxm,  of  Kelfeld,  the  antbor 
lonary  of  Old  English,*'  haa  com- 
le  publication  of  Shakespeare, 
exact  reading  and  spelling  of  the 
IS,  with  the  later  variations.  He 
rcre  upon  the  modem  critics  for 
ary  changee,  and  in  many  instances 
is  retention  of  the  original  text, 
is  knowledge  of  the  English  of 
re*8  day.  The  devotion  and  pa- 
be  many  accomplished  students  of 
•e  in  Gxsrmany  is  hardly  likely  to 
sd  in  the  poet*s  own  country, 
is  quite  impossible  to  keep  pace 
reductions  of  the  English  novelists, 
ik  brings  us  a  fresh  flood  of  an- 
its.  We  notice,  however,  thebegin- 
dight  change  in  the  style  of  titles, 
still :  **  Too  Bright  to  Last,"  "  Not 
d  *•  Only  Herself,**  but  "  M.  or  N.** 
tendency  toward  condensation, 
rn  to  realistic  simplicity  is  hinted 
rtha  Planebarke.** 
le  Moffonn  fUr  du  Literatur  ds9 
translates  large  portions  of  Mr. 
le  on  "  Monks  and  Nuns  in  France,** 
published  in  Puinam'i  Magazine^ 
er. 

lolph  Strodtmann,  in  translating 
m,  Tennyson*s  *K]Sharge  of  the  Light 
has  allowed  himself  a  singular  lib- 
able  to  find  rhymes  enough  for 
red  (bccKb  hunderly  which  certainly 
rme — verwundert\  he  has  increased 
r  to  one  thousand — tautend^  which 
leveral  rhymes  I  The  heroism  of 
ited  charge  is  thereby  diminished 
•ty  per  cent  I 

long  the  recent  additions  to  the 
literature  is  a  collection  of  letters 
In  the  Ural  and  the  Altai,**  written 
Idt  to  Count  Cancrin,  the  Rusdan 
'  Finance,  during  the  journey  of 
'  to  Siberia,  in  1829.  The  person- 
e  of  this  journey  was  never  written 
Idl,  hence  the  correspondence  sup- 
sing  link  in  the  story  of  his  travels. 
American  War  Pictures :  Sketches 
ears  1861-66,  by  Otto  Hcnalnger,** 
\  of  a  work  recentiy  published  in 
rhe  author  served  under  Blenker 
and  gives  lively  descriptions  of 
I  in  which  ho  was  engaged.  His 
rcver,  is  filled  with  complaints 
)  American  generals  and  the  Amer- 
e  for  their  failure — as  he  affirms — 
y  reoogi^ze  the  services  of  the 
>ops. 


-*->  Since  the  celebration  of  Humboldt's 
hundredth  birth-day,  no  less  than  eight  bio- 
graphies of  him  have  been  published  in  Ger- 
many. 

Mathilde   Wesendonck,    of  Zurich, 

Switzerland,  has  written  a  tragedy  embody- 
ing the  story  of  Chidrun^  one  of  the  medie- 
val epics  of  Germany.  The  performance  was 
much  more  successful  than  that  of  Richard 
Wagner's  opera  of  **  Rheingold  **  —  an  at- 
tempt to  revive  the  same  kind  of  material. 

On  the  6th  of  September,  the  fifHcth 

anniversary  of  Hans  Christian  Andersen's 
arrival  at  Copenhagen  was  there  celebrated. 
The  author  received  the  grand  cross  of  the 
order  of  Dannebrog. 

The  industry  and  seal  of  the  German 

Egyptologists,  and  the  extent  to  which  they 
have  enriched  our  knowledge  of  tiie  old 
Egyptian  civilization,  are  not  yet  generally 
known.  The  latest  contribution  in  this  field 
is  Dr.  Dfimichen's  report  of  his  researches  in 
1868.  He  was  attached  to  the  astronomical 
expedition  sent  to  observe  the  total  eclipse 
of  that  year  in  Aden,  his  special  duty  being 
the  examination  of  the  oldest  Egyptian  m<m- 
uments— a  task  for  which  he  was  prepared 
by  years  of  philological  and  arclueological 
studies,  ms  work  is  devoted  principally  to 
an  account  of  the  nautical  achievements  of 
the  Egyptians,  and  to  a  farther  explanation 
of  Hartmann*s  zoological  figures,  taken  from 
the  monuments.  He  traces  back  the  history 
of  Egyptian  commerce  to  the  period  of  the 
Fourth  Dynasty,  about  2,500  b.  c,  and 
thereby  fVimishes  additional  evidence  of  the 
great  influence  of  Egypt  upon  the  civilization 
of  the  ancient  world.  The  representations 
of  animals,  during  the  period  extending  from 
1,700  to  8,000  B.  c.  are  said  to  be  so  cor- 
rectly given  that  their  zoological  classifica- 
tion may  be  made  without  any  difficulty. 

"  English  Essays  **  is  the  title  of  a 

book  just  published  in  Hamburg.  It  is  a 
collection  of  eleven  papers  in  the  English 
language,  chosen,  apparently,  more  from  the 
interest  which  they  possess  for  German 
readers,  than  from  their  intrinsic  literary 
excellence.  Among  them  are  a  paper  on 
"  Humboldt,'*  by  Harriet  Martineau ;  others 
on  "  Chariotte  Bronte"  and  "Nuremberg," 
from  the  North  American  Review  ;  and  Mrs. 
Stowe*s  "  True  (?)  Story  of  Lady  Byron." 

The   extent  of  musical  culture  in 

Germany  may  be  guessed  from  the  fact  that 
two  new  encyclopedias,  devoted  specially  to 
music,  are  now  in  the  course  of  publication 
there.    The  first,  which  appears  in  Berlin,  is 


260 


PUTHAM^B  MaOAZDR. 


[Fcls 


entitled  **Miiiical  CkttTenatioiiB  Lexicon." 
The  editor  is  Hernuum  Mendel,  Aasisted  by  ft 
committee  of  the  Compoeera'  Assodfttion  of 
Berlin.  The  other,  ft  **  Hind^exicon  of  If  n- 
Bie,**  bj  Dr.  Osctr  Paul,  is  published  in  Leip- 
xig.  The  perte  which  have  appeared,  ex- 
tending from  A  to  Br^  contain  already  2,500 
artidesl 

^»-  Frederick  Spielbagen,  Um  author  of 
*'  Problematic  Natnree,"  has  i4>peared  as  a 
reader  in  Berlin.  Being  a  gentleman  of  re- 
fined and  agreeable  presence,  with  a  full, 
rich,  well-modulated  voice,  he  seems  to  have 
made  a  yery  faTorable  impression  upon  his 
andiences.  His  reading  is  based  upon  that 
of  Dickens,  being  selected  passages — espe- 
dally  those  which  possess  dramatic  effect — 
from  his  own  novelSb  The  literary  journals 
hail  his  appesumnce  as  "  the  restoration  of  a 
neglected  arL" 

Brockhans,  in  Leipzig,  is  at  present 

occupied  with  the  publication  of  four  series 
of  German  dasdcs,  which,  when  completed, 
will  present  an  unbroken  collection  of  all 
the  reprcscntatiye  works  of  German  liter- 
ature, from  the  days  of  the  Niebelungen-Lied 
to  the  present  time.  The  eight  volumes  of 
the  *'  Clasdcs  of  the  Middhs  Ages,**  which 
have  already  appeared,  include  Walther  von 
dcr  Vogelweide,  the  Gudrun,  Niebelungen, 
Tri8tan«  and  Parzival ;  then  follow  the 
**  Poets  of  the  Sixteenth  Century,"  of  which 
three  volumes  of  songs  and  plays  have  ap- 
peared. Other  volumes  will  give  us  Fischart, 
Hans  Sachs,  Mamer,  &c.  The  third  series, 
"  Poets  of  the  Seventeenth  Century,"  com- 
mences with  Paul  flemming,  after  which 
Opitz  and  Friedrich  von  Logau  foUow ;  while 
the  **  Poets  of  the  Eighteenth  and  Nine- 
teenth Centuries"  will  complete  the  list. 
The  collection  will  be  completed  in  the 
course  of  a  year  or  two. 


▲RT. 

The  Countess  of  Flanders,  uster-in- 

law  to  the  King  of  Belgium,  is  sud  to  possess 
a  remarkable  talent  for  etching.  She  is  now 
employed  in  producing  a  series  of  designs, 
illustrating  Do  Maistre*s  *'  Voyage  autour  de 
ma  cbambre.** 

The    first   living   Italian    architect, 

Luigi  PoUettl,  died  recently  in  Baveno,  on 
Lago  Haggiore,  whither  he  bad  gone  to  su- 
perintend the  quarrying  of  columns  of  red 
granite  for  the  portico  of  the  Basilica  of 
San  Paolo,  in  Rome.  He  was  seventy-seven 
years  old,  and  a  native  of  Modcna. 


—  ¥adame  Jeridian,  the  famous  Danldi 
artist^  has,  it  is  said,  received  a  cammirtift 
from  the  Sultan  to  pidnt  some  of  the  besit 
ties  of  his  harem;. 

—  The  German  journal,  UAer  Lndiad 
MttT^  has  ft  portrait  of  Leutze,  with  a  foil 
and  appreciative  biography,  and  an  engrav- 
ing of  his  picture  of  the  '*  First  Mass  of 
Marie  Stuart" 

A  caigo  of  ancient  seulptore  and 

architectural  fragments,  from  Ephesos  Saidii 
and  other  places  in  Asia  Minor,  is  on  its 
way  to  London. 

— —  A  committee  at  Bolton,  in  EsgJsnd, 
to  decide  upon  a  monument  to  be  erected 
there,  have  passed  a  resoluUon  dedaiing  thst 
they  will  accept  the  model  which  can  be 
erected  at  the  least  expense ! 

— —  Dr.  Adolf  Stahr,  in  his  recent  work, 
''  A  Winter  in  Rome,'*  thus  speaks  of  Ifr. 
Story's  sculpture :  **  Here,  in  the  realm  of 
historic-national  art,  he  appears  as  anendie- 
ly  new  creative  power,  and  thereby  he  hii 
opened  to  the  plastic  artist  a  new  field,  which 
promises  rich  results  to  his  hand  and  thi 
hands  of  his  successful  followers.  On  b^ 
holding  the  Cleopatra,  the  Libyan  Sibyl,  the 
Dalila,  whereto  a  Judith,  a  Saul,  and  a  Media 
brooding  revenge  must  be  added,  one  fedi, 
as  a  spectator  who  saw  these  statues  with  ui 
expressed  it :  '  as  if  one  breathed  an  sir  of 
new  life  and  hope  for  the  further  develop* 
ment  of  plastic  art'  And  it  is  certainly  a 
significant  circumstance  that  this  fresh,  vital 
direction  has  been  given  by  a  son  of  the 
youngest  civilized  race  —  a  son  of  Amer- 


» 


ica. 

— »  A  monument  of  an  enUrely  original 
character  is  to  be  givf  n  to  the  Austrian  au- 
thor, Adalbert  Stiftcr.  The  scene  of  one  of 
his  most  charming  stories,  dcr  Hockmaid'—\B 
in  t^c  mountains  of  Bohemia.  Near  the  spot 
there  is  a  rocky  rampart  some  twelve  hmi- 
drcd  feet  in  height,  visible  for  a  distanet 
of  twenty  or  thirty  miles  in  every  direction. 
It  is  proposed  to  chisel  the  author's  name  on 
this  rock,  in  Ictteis  of  such  size  that,  when 
gilded,  they  shall  shine  far  and  wide  over  the 
land.  If  our  rocks  must  be  lettered,  we 
should  much  prefer  to  see  **Brvnnt,"  **  Hal- 
leek"  and  *' Irving"  on  the  Palisades,  in- 
stead of  S.  T.  1860  X,  and  ether  kindred 
abominations. 

Two  new  and  wcU-dcserved  monu- 
ments to  poets  have  just  been  completed. 
That  of  Count  Platen,  in  Syracuse,  Sicily, 
was  solemnly  dedicated  on  the  25th  of  Octo- 
ber last,  in  the  presence  of  the  Sicilian  offi- 


NOTBS  ON  FOBBION  LiTBBATUBS,  ETC. 


261 


an  immense  crowd  of  people.  The 
Hafiz  and  Theocritus  were  present- 
ee days  later)  the  monument  to 
raa  unveiled,  in  the  poet^s  own  gar> 
;usess,  near  Coburg.  Dr.  Teropeltey 
;  German  poet— dcliyered  the  ora- 
l  a  song  of  R&ckert,  for  which 
1  composed  the  music,  closed  the 

m  of  $1 6,000  has  already  been  sub- 
•  the  Schiller  monument  in  Vienna, 
\^  fifth  city  which  hi(8  thus  honored 
I  memory.  The  Sehiller^/tungy 
1  commemoration  of  the  hundredth 
ry  of  his  birth-day,  and  now  possess- 
tal  of  $250,000,  has  just  granted  a 
n  of  600  thalers  a  year  to  the  old 
oet,  Earl  Ton  Holtei,  one  of  800 
Darl  Beck,  one  of  300  to  Alexander 
.  one  of  100  thalers  to  Fr&ulein  Ton 
le  last  remaining  grandchild  of  the 
aor. 

tie  European  journals  stato  that 
I IX.  intends  to  erect  an  equestrian 
the  Emperor  Constantino  in  Rome, 
f  the  sword,  he  will  hold  in  his 
archment  scroll,  representing  the 
decree  upon  which  the  Popes  base 
poral  power.  As  the  authenticity 
decree  has  been  doubted  by  the 
,  the  question  will  probably  be  con- 
ittled  by  its  monumental  represen- 
)ronze. 

le  German  Art-Journal,  in  its  no- 
le  International  Art-Exposition  at 
CTOtes  a  chapter  to  **  American  and 
funters.*'  The  critic  first  declares 
mericans  have  **  only  very  recently 
d  to  the  list  of  those  nations  which 
'orks  of  art,'*  and  then  complaoent- 
b:  "Indeed,  so  far  as  the  native 
I  are  concerned,  their  artistic  fac- 
an  to  be  quite  feebly  developed, 
suppressed  by  the  prevailing  ten- 
he  American  mind  toward  politics 
ercial  speculations."  (!)  ^  Among 
can  pictures,  we  only  find  three  or 
al  Americans,  the  other  being  from 
of  emigrated  Germans.  The  form- 
le  names  of  Follngsby  and  Healy. 
ilj  say  of  them  that  the  landscapes 
srei,  but  still  better  than  the  figmre- 
The  **  German  Americans,**  whom 
notices,  are  Bierstadt  and  KauiT- 
f  ^e  former  he  only  says  that  his 
I  the  Rocky  Mountains  **  is  almost 
otion  of  his  ** Sierra  Nevada*'— 
i  silver-gray,  blurred  base  of  color, 


the  same  specific  green  in  the  foreground.** 
Mr.  Kauffhiann*s  "Indians  tearing  up  the 
Rails  of  the  Pacific  Road  *'  he  pronounces  to 
be  a  mistaken  subject,  "  belonging  to  poetry 
and  not  to  paintUig,  because  it  deals  with 
the  Abstract  Terrible.**  We  are  bound  to 
say,  however,  that  this  is  not  a  fair  specimen 
of  either  German  art-knowledge  or  art-critic- 
ism, although  it  appears  in  the  journal  which 
professes  to  represent  both. 

There  are  at  present  In  Dusseldorf, 

including  professors  and  students,  two  hun- 
dred artists.  The  value  of  the  pictures  which 
they  pamted,  during  the  year  1869,  is  esti- 
mated at  860,000  thalers,  of  which  sum  up- 
ward of  60,000  thalers  were  paid  by  Ameri- 
can purchasers.  Many  of  the  Diisseldorf 
artists  are  occupied  entirely  in  supplying  the 
foreign  demand  for  their  works,  scarcely  any 
of  which  remain  in  Germany. 


BCIXNCB,   STATISTICS,    EZPLO&ATIONS,   ETC. 

— —  The  prise  of  20,000  francs,  offered 
by  the  Marquis  d*Orchcs  for  the  simplest 
practical  method  of  ascertaining  the  exist- 
ence of  death  in  the  human  body,  has  been 
awarded  to  Dr.  Canidre,  of  the  south  of 
France.  His  plan  is  to  place  the  body  in  a 
dark  room  and  hold  up  one  of  the  hands  in 
front  of  a  lamp.  If  the  edges  of  the  fingers 
are  8emi4ransparent,  with  a  slight  red  tinge, 
there  is  still  life :  if  they  are  hard  and  dark 
to  the  edge,  like  those  of  a  hand  of  marble, 
death  is  certain. 

The   general  idea  that  pins  are  a 

modem  invention  proves  to  be  false.  M. 
Marictte  has  discovered  a  number  of  them  in 
the  chambers  of  Memphis,  and  a  box  con- 
taining twenty-five  specimens  has  recently 
been  added  to  the  Museum  of  the  Louvre. 

— — >  The  German  papers  give  an  account 
of  the  efforts  of  Madame  Hirschfeldt,  a  na- 
tive of  Holstein,  to  extend  the  field  of  female 
labor.  She  went  to  Philadelphia,  in  1867,  for 
the  purpose  of  studying  dentistry,  but  found, 
to  her  surprise,  that  the  members  of  the 
profession  opposed  her  design.  After  much 
difficulty,  she  found  a  single  dentist  willing  to 
give  her  instruction :  for  two  years  she  stu- 
died faithfully,  and  finally,  in  Februaij  last, 
graduated  successfully  and  received  a  diplo- 
ma. On  returning  to  Beriin,  the  Russian 
Government  decided  that  it  had  no  right  to 
deny  her  permission  to  practise  her  profes- 
sion, and  she  has  aooordio^y  established 
herself  in  that  city. 

——Baron  voa  DQckg  oommunioates  to 


9^^i^im    Uii  ivwi    tr.'JM  S3M9t 

^V>9UUt  ^47  9t^  M«(   h^MA  4^  'j^im.  yr 

if,  «A/^JMr  4*t^,  L^r  W,iA  UMUj  mti^sn  'A  %, 

Utff^t,  fiU'A  4rff:«|«4  fA  Rof/p*  «t  m  tin*  vtMB 

•#»/|    tU    Ffiv««)«f»  MHi»  tmthtA  to    the 

A  tit*ifn  tt^uinrkM^An  AUcftrtrj^  Ustli- 
ff^ftsf,  t//  Om  «'fvflixiiti/ifi  f^  ih«  homftn  race 
Mi,  «  virrf  r^fft'fUi  |i«H4<l,  to  announced  by 
M ,  yiftu^nUf  In  (h«  liMt  nMmbfsr  of  th«  >i(<nw< 
//1»«  /;#«i«  M*md^,  iiw\fr  Um  tlU^  of:  ^An 
AttUi  MUl/rrl/i  r'/m|K»li  tri  drtttn^,*'  lie  givoi 
« il«iMrfl|»t}f;fi  of  ih<f  litirie'l  towM  reoentlj 
'Dw'/vcfiMl  ffi  i)m  UUnrln  of  Hcntorin  and 
Tlf^rMlA,  lytii^  Ml'ld  by  nMu,  in  the  Oredan 
Ar«'lilf««l«({0,  Ifnrf,  under  a  layer  of  Tolcaa- 
lfi  liifN,  n\niy  (tv*i  tUn*]!^  Iiuman  haMtationi, 
it¥M  wUnUiiit\  Hiiddifily  hy  an  eruption  and 


mtOutntoL 

htiacip  to  a  pen>i 

twMMkfnutd  sPEia 

of  metal  aid  ibe 

other  itoDe  impSenacasa 

jond  the  dnlizatiaB  cf  ]^V7<» 

that  other  reoiaisf  of  tbe 

aa  of  Pboni2< 

the  iqiper  iwfaee  at  ihe  xbh 

preaentaoQ — ebovs  thu  the 

bare  taken  place  at 

We  maj  avame,  m  iaet,  that 

carriea  a  considerable  degne  i 

farther  into  the  past  than  anr 

which  we  poaeesa.    Farther 

a  careful    geological    examu 


iBlands  will,  no  doubt,  (aniidi 
dencc  of  a  more  podtiye 


CURRENT  EVENTS. 


[our  aiCOBO   CLOBB0  JAHUABT  1.] 


1.    IN    OKNKIlAr. 


Titir.  nlMiilMi'niil  (tvonlN  of  December  wcro 
fi*w,  iiikI  tioiiii  of  Ilium  of  Ntarlllng  iutcroflt. 

Ill  Kiirn|Mi,  ilin  nuMl  proiniiiont  occurrcnoe 
(tr  tlio  titoiilli  wiM  ilio  mo<*tlng  of  the  G'^cu- 
moiiinil  (^)iiiii'll  at  Uonio;  a  vaHt  body  of 
clergy,  (Mlftmilily  ut((*Hng  tlio  voice  of  the 
Romnii  ('hiiit>li  hi  oonmillAtloni  but  in  fact 
mMt  CAiitiiniHly  hi«lil  wnilor  Hofo  rcHtnilnt  and 
ffovcmmont  by  tlio  Holy  S«c,  which  in  Italy 
— in  Rome  ItmOf— cnti,  boUor  tlian  in  any 
«k«r  plaoo  on  oarth,  pn>vonl  t?i«^  wrong  thing 
^^  being  »aJd^  ni„|  onnnn  tho  ultcranco  of 
rj  n«ht  thing.  Tho  ipuvitlon  of  onaotlng 
^'  «=^  wtide  of  fAith  Iho  hithorto  ^loubtful 
t^  of  the  InfalhbiHty  of  tho  Popo,  in  that 
c.iT^rn"'^^  ™'**^  •ttouiloii  oulw.lo  f>f  tho 
^     Maay  rcporu  aro  nlloai  uln.ut  It. 


though  in  fact  it  is  not  known  whether  it  hu 
so  much  as  been  mentioned  m  the  GoooL 
For  tho  rest,  the  utterance  of  the  Pope  dar- 
ing the  last  year  or  two,  as  well  aa  at  the 
opening  of  the  Council,  show  that  its  f«l 
purpose  is  to  strengthen  the  Roman  CathoBe 
Church  against  apprehended  colUaiona  wilk 
the  spirit  of  tho  age,  by  preyenting  aay 
chango  in  doctrine  or  practice,  when  eoch  as 
may  intensify  the  centralization  of  the  Romiili 
hierarchy,  and  thus  increase  the  power  of 
the  Pope. 

There  is  a  now  ministry  in  France,  whfdi 
is  called  a  liberal  one,  and  which  some  be- 
lioTo  to  mark  the  end  of  the  irresponsible 
reign  of  *Napolcon  III.  Indeed,  it  may  be  so, 
for  M.  Ollivior,  the  chief  of  the  new  adminis- 
tration, avowedly  entertains  views  which 
look  like  a  doctrine  of  advancing  freedom 


OUBBKST  EVBHTB. 


d68 


rushing  into  revolution.  He  is  for 
il  Empire.'*  The  French  Bepubli- 
a  to  hold  off  from  him,  but  French 
ms  are  not  practical  men ;  the  ac- 
ment  of  the  utmost  practicable  good 
eal  of  working  statesmanahip ;  and 
ty  the  friends  of  progress  should 
success. 

has  been  a  ministerial  cri«s  in  Italy 
the  changes  in  the  Italian  govem- 
)m  to  mean  nothing  more  than  the 
•f  politicians;  and  meanwhile  the 
of  Italy  is  reported  to  prosper — 
its  industrial  and  social  state. 
ir  to  the  East,  there  is  little  to  note. 
I  that  the  Sultan  of  Turkey,  having 
d  in  causing  his  too  powerful  vassal, 
roy  of  Egypt  (they  call  him  the 
of  late,  which  means  in  English,  we 
ibout  the  same  as  the  Mohegan  title 
r  **  Mugwump  **),  to  stop  gathering 
and  arming  land  forces,  has  now 
irily  commanded  him  to  give  up  his 
■oncUids.  At  this  writing,  the  Yice- 
iwer  is  not  known.  But  even  the 
must  be  offensive,  and  must  stimu- 
desires  of  the  Egyptian  ruler  for  in* 
ice. 

lez  Canal  is  now  reported  navigable 
:1s  drawing  24  feet.  But  Mr.  Ash- 
English  yachtsman,  having  sounded 
throughout,  asserts  that  not  over 
an  be  carried  through  it.  It  is  re* 
lat  the  very  first  merchant  ship  that 
trough  was  wrecked  in  the  Red  Sea. 
nd,  they  are  furbishing  up  aU  their 
kade-runners  to  put  on  the  Suez 
d  building  new  light-draught  steam- 
e  ironclads. 

■Imafa^n  insurrectiou  against  Austria 
put  down. 

;land  a  measure  has  been  introduced 
liament  which  contributes  one  stef) 
he  advance  of  civilized  international 
advocated  by  the  United  States,  in 
•n  to  the  absolute  code  hitherto  up- 
iie  monarchies.  This  is  a  bill  for  a 
snnit  British  subjects  to  divest  them- 
wili  of  their  nationality.  It  will  be 
ed  that  it  was  the  insolent  denial  of 
ibility  of  such  a  thing,  which  the 
Jleged  in  enforcing  their  '^  right  of 
and  in  consequence  of  which  the 
812  was  fought.  It  is  better  how- 
confess  a  wrong  fifty-eight  years  late, 
atalL 

B  Western  Continent,  outside  of  the 
>tate6,  the  feeble  half-alive  wars  of 


Latin  and  African  races  continue  to  smoulder. 
The  Count  d*£u  is  said  to  have  occupied 
Lopez*  remote  stronghold  of  San  Estanilao, 
but  Lopez  has  fled  once  more.  In  Hayti  the 
rebellion  against  Salnave  appears  to  be  en- 
tirely successful,  and  General  Nissage  Saget 
appears  to  be  the  ruler  for  the  time  being. 
In  Cuba,  matters  remain  as  heretofore,  both 
as  to  the  small  facts  of  the  actual  campaign- 
ing, and  the  gigantic  statements  put  forth  on 
both  sides  about  them.  On  one  hand,  the 
Spanish  authorities  circulate  a  large  ingenious 
lie,  that  the  insurrection  is  ended,  and  the 
Cuban  junta  in  New  York  have  formally  re- 
signed their  enterprise  by  a  signed  paper, 
which  the  junta  indignantly  deny.  On  the 
other  hand,  in  the  Cuban  interest,  is  circulat- 
ed a  large  ingenious  "  report,**  that  President 
Grant  and  Congress  are  at  once  to  reoognue 
the  belligerency  of  the  Cubans,  which  the 
Spaniards  indignantly  deny. 

Lastly;  the  little  ** Winnipeg  war,**  far 
up  in  the  Arctic  distance  of  Rupert's  Land, 
is  thus  far  victoriously  maintained  by  the 
revolters,  who  have  put  forth  a  declaration 
of  independence.  This  is  romaricable  for 
its  disavowing  any  connection  with  Canada, 
for  claiming  entire  local  authority,  and  for 
not  containing  any  assertion  of  loyalty  to 
the  British  crown.  And  when  it  is  remem- 
bered that  the  British  colonists  in  British 
Columbia  have  actually  petitioned  our  Gov- 
ernment to  procure  their  annexation,  things 
really  look  as  if  there  might  be  an'  incor 
poration  into  our  nation,  of  a  slice  of  the 
.southwestern  part  of  British  America.  Cer- 
tainly, that  territory  is  of  no  real  value  to 
England,  nor  to  any  nation  whatever,  unless 
to  us. 

Within  the  United  States,  the  closing 
month  of  the  year  passed  off  with  extreme 
quietness.  Congress  met,  and  although  it 
concluded  no  important  business,  yet  it  pen- 
etrated further  toward  the  same  than  is 
usual  before  the  holidays.  Political  phenom- 
ena have  been  few ;  the  chief  facts  in  this 
department  being  the  deciding  of  Alconi*s 
election  (Rep.)  in  Mississippi  over  Dent  (Con- 
serv.),  and  Davis*s  (Rep.)  in  Texas  over 
£bmilton  (Conserv.) ;  the  former  by  a  con- 
siderable, and  the  latter  by  a  small  majority. 
In  sociology,  there  has  been  a  lull,  from  a 
pause  in  the  series  of  feminine  conventions. 
In  business,  there  has  been  nothing  to 
notice,  except  that  the  failures  have  been 
rather  uncommonly  few,  while  at  the  same 
time  business  has  been  dull  and  money 
tight. 


S64 


PUTKAM'S  MAOAZDkX. 


[Feb.,  1870. 


Thus  ends  the  year  1869 ;  a  year,  on  the 
whole,  remarkable  for  its  many  signs  of 
mental,  social,  and  indostrial  activity  and 
progress,  and  for  Tictories  of  peace  rather 
than  war ;  a  prosperous  and  good  year. 

IL    THE  UXITED  STATES. 

Dec.  8.  A  body  of  600  United  States 
troops  protects  a  force  of  revenue  oflScers  in 
an  attack  on  a  stronghold  of  illegal  dbtU- 
leries,  close  to  the  Nary  Yard  at  Brooklyn. 
A  considerable  number  of  stills  and  much 
liquor  were  seized,  amid  the  bitterest 
curses  and  threats,  but  the  troops  were  too 
strong  for  any  demonstrations,  except  a  few 
stone  throwing?,  etc. 

Dec.  4.  Treasurer  Spinner  calculates  that, 
at  the  present  rate,  the  national  dcht  will  be 
paid  off  in  thirteen  years. 

Dec.  6.  The  second  session  of  the  41st 
Congress  begins. 

Dec.  10.  The  thirty  gunboats  built  and 
armed  at  New  York  and  Mystic,  Ct.,  for 
the  Spanish  Goyemroent,  to  be  used  ogainst 
Cuba,  are  to-day  released  from  legal  pro- 
ceedings by  the  United  States  Government, 
as  not  violating  the  laws  of  neutrality. 

Dec.  16.  A  Mr.  Mungen,  a  Democratic 
member  of  Congress  from  Ohio,  reads  in  the 
House  of  Representatives  a  speech  arguing 
in  favor  of  repudiating  the  public  debt.  The 
consequence,  however,  was  the  prompt  pas- 
sage (?)  by  tiie  House,  with  only  one  vote  to 
the  contrary  (Jones,  of  Kentucky),  decbively 
repudiating  repudiation  as  **  unworthy  the 
honor  and  good  name  of  the  nation." 

Dec.  23.  Frederick  S.  Cozzens  dies,  at  his 
residence  in  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.,  aged  fifty-one. 
Mr.  Cozzens  was  bom  in  New  York,  and  was 
duriug  most  of  his  life  a  merchant ;  but  hav- 
ing much  talent  as  a  writer  and  a  genuine  love 
of  literature,  he  often  wrote  for  leading  maga- 
zines. Some  of  his  contributions  to  the  Knick- 
erbocker were  printed  in  1851,  in  a  volume 
entitled  "  Prismatics,  by  Richard  Uaywarde.** 
His  best  known  work,  however,  was  "The 
Sparrowgrass  Papers,*'  which  ensured  him  a 
high  place  among  American  humorous  wri- 
ters. These  papers  were  first  contributed  to 
this  Magazine,  and  were  issued  in  a  volume 
in  1S56.  Mr.  Cozzens  also  published  a  vol- 
ume of  travels  in  Nova  Scotia,  called  **  Aca- 
dia ; "  and  a  third  volume  of  light  essays,  en- 
titled "  The  Sayings  of  Dr.  Bushwhacker." 
He  issued  for  a  time  a  little  periodical  called 
»*  The  Wine  Press,*'  chiefly  occupied  with  the 
affairs  of  the  wine  business,  in  which  he  was 
employed.     Mr.  Cozzens  was  a  gentleman 


of  mudi  excellence  of  character,  and  a  genU 
friend  and  companion. 

Dec.  24.  Hon.  Edwin  M.  Stanton  dies  sud- 
denly at  his  reudence  in  Washington,  a  fiev 
days  after  having  been  nominated  and  con- 
firmed as  a  Judge  of  the  Supreme  Court  of 
the  United  States.  He  was  bom  at  Steuboi- 
ville,  Ohio,  in  December,  1816  ;  began  to 
practice  law  at  Cadiz,  Ohio,  in  1838;  re- 
moved to  Pittsburg  soon  after;  and  aboaft 
twenty  years  afterward,  his  practice  having 
become  mostly  confined  to  heavy  cases  b^ 
fore  the  United  States  Supreme  Court,  he  n- 
moved  to  Washington.  In  December,  I860; 
he  became  Mr.  Buchanan's  Attorney  General, 
and  his  public  services  as  Secretary  of  War 
since  that  time  are  too  prominent  a  portioB 
of  the  history  of  his  country  to  require  even 
a  recapitulation  here.  Those  services  werc^ 
however,  apparently  essential  to  the  destn^ 
tion  of  the  Rebellion.  Mr.  Stanton  tiK»> 
oughly  broke  down  his  comatitntion  by  Ik 
labor  during  the  war,  and  not  having  been 
able  to  lay  up  any  part  of  his  salary,  he  died 
much  the  poorer  for  having  hdd  office.  It 
is  understood  that  $100,000  is  sabeeribed  by 
admirers  and  friends  as  a  testimonial  of  it- 
spect  for  the  dead,  and  for  the  support  of  hii 
family.  The  manner  of  his  death  showed 
how  completely  his  vital  powers  were  ex* 
haustcd  ;  it  was  from  "  congestion  of  the 
heart ;  *'  /.  e.,  muscular  inability  of  that  organ 
to  exert  the  force  necessary  to  mainfAJn  the 
circulation. 

Dec.  30.  A  petition  is  presented  to  Preri- 
dent  Grant  from  a  number  of  influential  citi- 
zens of  British  Columbia,  requesting  the  Gcf> 
emment  of  the  United  States  to  take  any 
opportunity  that  may  offer  to  induce  Great 
Britain  to  consent  to  the  annexation  of  BrtV 
ish  Columbia  to  this  country. 

III.   FOItSIOX. 

Dec.  9.  The  Roman  Catholic  (Ecumenioil 
(Universal)  Council,  so  called,  meets  at  Rome. 
The  title  should,  however,  in  strictness  not  be 
used,  as  the  Greek,  Armenian,  and  other  Ori- 
ental Churches  do  not  take  part  in  it,  not  to 
mention  Protestant  Christendom.  The  ses- 
sions open  with  about  500  members ;  some- 
what less  than  1,000  in  all  are  to  be  pit- 
sent 

Dec.  28.  The  French  Ministry  resigm^ 
and  M.  Emile  Ollivicr  is  requested  by  the 
Emperor  to  form  a  new  ministry.  This  oc- 
currence is  reckoned  by  many  the  end  of 
*'  personal  government  **  in  France,  and  the 
bcginoing  of  a  r6gime  of  real  freedom. 


PUTNAM'S    MAGAZINE 


OF 


LITERATURE,   SCIENCE,   ART, 


AND 


NATIONAL  INTERESTS. 


Vol.  v.— MAKCE— 1870.— No.   XXVII. 


THE  BEAR  HUNT :  A  SKETCH  OF  LIFE  IN  SWEDEN. 


TRAVSLATBD  FROM  THE  MBS.  OF  OUR  SWIDISn  COVTRIDCTOR. 


"Papa  bsljb  a  great  - Englisli  lord, 
next  in  rank  to  tho  king,  is  coming  here/' 
said  tbo  Idnsman's  wife  to  her  beloved 
daaghters, 

**  Is  the  king  coming  ?  "  exclaimed  four 
young  ladies  with  one  voice,  as  they 
nuihed  down-stairs  and,  with  a  hurrah, 
borst  intb  their  father's  ofBce  to  hear 
the  marvellous  news  from  his  own  lips. 

'^  No;  a  lord,  girls.  Hang  it,  if  I  know 
what  *lord^  means  in  Swedish!  The 
Govemor,  that  arrant  miser,  who,  with 
all  his  high  salary  and  palatial  residence, 
oa&aot  give  his  high-born  gnest  a  hunt- 
ing party  at  his  own  expense,  on  his  own 
hills,  must  send  this  lord  of  princely  blood 
and  kingly  wealth  to  our  forests  and 
recommend  him  and  his  train  to  the  hos- 
pitality of  oar  poor  people  I  Here  am  I 
ordered  to  summon  from  one  to  two  thou- 
sand men  to  come  to  a  bear  bant  which 
will  last  veveral  days.  And  what  is  it  all 
for  ?  Only  the  amusement  of  a  foreigner  I " 
So  saying,  with  a  kick,  ho  sent  the  chains 
and  handcuffs  that  lay  under  the  table, 
flying  into  the  middle  of  the  room. 

'^  Qood  heavens,  husband  I  "  oried  the 
laosman's  wife,  scared  out  of  her  wits 
by  his  violent  demonstrations.  "Do  not 
talk  so  about  your  superiors,  who  have 
been  appointed  by  the  grace  of  His  Maj- 


esty the  King  to  take  care  of  his  faithful 
subjects.  Consider  what  advantage  yon 
may  derive  by  coming  in  contact  with 
men  who  have  the  power  in  their  hands. 
Who  knows  but  that  you  may  attract 
attention  on  this  occasion,  and  somo  fine 
day  be  promoted  to  *  Kronofogdo '  and 
even  be  made  Knight  of  the  Yasa  order  ? 
And,"  whispering  *•  who  knows  but  what 
the  lord  may  be  unmarried  and  may 
have  travelled  from  his  distant  country 
to  find  a  fair  wife  in  one  of  old  Sweden's 
maidens  :  perhaps  he  will  yet  be  son-in- 
law  to  a  poor  liiusman  1 " 

"How  women  will  talk,"  exclaimed 
the  liinsman,  out  of  patience.  "I}ow 
can  such  a  foolish  thought  enter  your 
head,  my  good  wife  ?  What  nonsense, 
my  girl  becoming  tho  wife  of  a  lord,  ho, 
ha,  ha !  " 

This  put  an  end  to  the  mother's  **  who 
knows,"  and  she  left  the  room  with  her 
daughters,  while  her  bad-tempered,  un- 
reasonable husband  wrote  the  orders  for 
the  bear  hunt. 

*'  Papa  is  in  an  ill  humcr  to-day,  he  is 
getting  old,  and  the  duties  of  his  office 
grow  too  heavy  for  him,"  said  the  ISns- 
man*3  wife;  "so  we  will  go  out  of  his 
way,  my  daughters,  and  when  coffee 
hour  arrives,  we  will  pay  a  visit  to  our 


la  dM  TMr  Un,  br  O.  r.  ruraiAM  *  lOir,  \u  <b«  atrk**  OCw  •:  th*  OUtrlet  Coart  of  tliv  V.  8.  tor  th*  SmAwb  Ptotrlal  ot  V.  Y. 

VOL.  V. — 18 


260 


PuTKAii^s  Magazine. 


llfarah, 


neighbors  and  let  them  Lave  a  taste  of 
onr  great  news,  by  way  of  sweetening  the 
coffee. 

That  day  was  one  of  those  tedious  days 
on  which  time  will  not  move  the  hands 
of  the  dial.  Xo  matter  how  often  the 
ladies  looked  at  the  big  clock  in  the  hall, 
coffee  hoar  was  still  far  distant.  But  the 
maid-servant  conceived  the  brilliant  idea, 
for  her  own  sake  as  well  as  theirs,  of 
takinjr  time  by  the  forelock,  and  secretly 
moved  the  hands  of  the  dial  a  little  more 
than  once  round  the  circle;  this  sent 
them  all  off  in  a  hurry. 

When  tljo  lansman's  sleigh  with  jing- 
ling bells  dashed  up  the  parish  yard  and 
the  steaming  horses  halted  in  front  of 
the  parson's  door,  both  prost  and  prost- 
inna  (minister  and  minister's  wife)  start- 
ed up  from  their  after-dinner  nap  and 
looked  at  each  other  in  amazement. 
"  Who  cen  come  at  such  an  hour  ?  "  said 
the  prost.  "  Perhaps  some  one  is  dying 
and  wants  your  assistance,"  said  the 
prostinna,  half  asleep  and  scarcely  know- 
ing what  she  said.  But  tlie  prost  pushed 
his  wig  from  his  left  ear  over  the  right, 
and  hurried  out  to  help  the  ladies  from 
the  sleigl}  and  heartily  bade  them  wel- 
come, according  to  the  good  old  custom. 

The  moment  the  lunsman's  wife  en- 
tered the  hall,  the  first  thing  that  met 
her  gaze  was  the  big  hand  of  the  great 
clock  pointing  to  one.  She  almost  fainted 
away  at  the  discovery  that  she  had  come 
an  hour  too  soon,  two  o'clock  being  the 
earliest  possible  time  for  a  coffee  visit,  ac- 
•oi;0ing  to  Swedish  etiquette.  In  order  to 
account  for  this  unheard-of  breach  of 
good  manners,  she  began  at  once  to  tell 
the  wonderful  news  that  a  foreign  lord 
was  coming  to  their  little  rustic  village, 
which  astounding  information  so  com- 
pletely bewildered  the  prostinna's  mind 
that  she  sat  down  on  the  sofa,  at  theright 
of  her  guest;  there  was  a  mistake,  and  a 
parson's  wife  too ! 

The  prost  broke  out  into  lamentations 
over  the  depravity  of  our  times,  that  re- 
quired the  badly-p.iid  ministers  of  the 
gospel  to  keep  open  house  and  entertain 
travelling  foreigners ;  and  he  assured  his 
hearers  that,  if  it  were  not  for  the  good 
cause,  no  man  in  the  country  would  think 


of  becoming  a  clergyman.  Bat  his  wifb 
sat  lost  in  deep  thought,  remembering 
she  had  read  a  romance  in  her  jonng 
days,  in  which  a  young  and  handaome 
lord,  of  unbounded  wealth,  had  gone  into 
the  forest  to  hunt  the  wild  boar,  and, 
losing  his  way,  had  met  a  beautiful  young 
maiden,  daughter  of  a  poor  clergyman, 
whom  he  married. 

The  fresh  and  rosy  daughters  of  the 
Iiouse,  equal  in  number  to  the  stars  in 
the  great  dipper, had  been  well  instnusted 
in  religion  by  their  father,  and  they  knew 
the  Bible  by  heart.  They,  in  their  torn, 
thought  of  the  handsome  and  Tirtaoos 
Joseph  with  his  wondrous  dreams,  how 
the  sheaves  of  his  brothers  were  bowmg 
down  before  him.  Each  saw  in  her  in- 
nocent soul's  eje  how  the  other  six  sit- 
ters were  bowing  to  her,  in  reverence 
and  admiration,  to  the  lady  decked  with 
jewels  and  pearls,  who  in  such  haste  had 
left  the  sisterly  constellation. 

At  last  the  coffee  was  finbhed  and  the 
cups  were  removed  and  the  prost  sent  for 
his  colleague*  [vicar]  and  the  sexton,  that 
they  also  might  learn  the  extraordinary 
news.  After  they  had  been  offered  sonae 
refreshments,  which  consisted  of  a  gloa 
of  cold  water  for  the  colleagne,  and  a 
pinch  of  snuff  for  the  sexton,  he  oarefuUy 
broke  the  great  news  to  them  and  aaked 
them,  whether  they  did  not  share  their 
superior's  views,  that  this  bear  hunt  was 
a  sinful  undertaking,  against  which  the 
clergy  ought  to  protest  from  the  pnlpii. 
He  concluded  by  saying,  that  he  had 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  he  shonid 
warn  the  people  in  the  church  on  Sanday 
next^  that  he  would  not  be  responsible 
for  the  salvation  of  the  souls  of  such 
from  his  parish  as  should  risk  their  li 
in  such  sinful  proceedings. 

The  sexton  declared  that  his  reverence 
was  indisputably  in  the  right  then  as 
ever.  The  colleague,  however,  was  of 
different  opinion,  and  held  that  homing 
beasts  of  prey,  ordered  by  the  authori- 
ties, was  something  with  which  the 
clergy  had  nothing  whatever  to  do,  and 
that  "  bears  "  abounded  altogether  too 
much  in  the  country,   and  that  thej 

*  A  collcnguo  (Hko  the  English  curato  or  riear) 
receives  about  one  fifth  of  the  pastor's  inooms. 


1870.] 


The  Beab  Hunt:  A  Sketch  of  Life  in  Sweden. 


267 


needed  the  help  of  foreigners  to  hunt 
them  down. 

"Brother  talks  like  a  schoolboy," 
interrapted  tlie  pastor,  somewhat  ex- 
cited, "and  ought  never  to  have  thought 
of  becoming  a  pastor;  free-thinkers  like 
yon,  are  wolves  among  a  flock  of  dearly- 
bought  sheep.'' 

A  colleague's  position  in  Sweden  is 
never  enviable,  and  with  such  a  superior 
as  this  prost,  it  was  next  to  unbearable. 
The  colleague  had,  at  the  university,  been 
what  18  called  there  a  "  gay  spirit,"  who, 
by  virtue  of  his  love  for  merry  company 
and  a  fine  voice,  had  become  an  "  ofverlig- 
gane,"  who  stays  longer  than  the  usual 
time  at  the  university.  At  last  he  had 
yielded  to  the  wishes  of  his  old  mother, 
and  become  a  minister,  much  against  his 
indination.  But  what  more  than  any 
iUng  else  turned  the  scales  against  him,  in 
that  house  with  seven  daughters,  was,  that 
he  had  committed  the  misdemeanor  of  en- 
gaging himself  to  a  lady  in  another  family. 

The  prostinna,  as  soon  as  she  heard 
the  high  words  spoken  in  the  adjoining 
room,  assured  her  friend  that  the  col- 
league, with  his  spirit  of  contradiction, 
woald  surely  kill  his  superior.  "  And, 
dear  friend,"  she  said,  ^^  he  eats  like  a 
raven,  he  never  dips  his  bread  in  the 
coffee ;  he  sends  his  linen  to  the  city  to 
be  washed,  we  can't  do  it  well  enough  : 
lie  keeps  the  newspaper  all  to  himself." 
In  the  same  strain  she  admitted  that  ho 
was  careful  about  fire,  never  slept  with 
his  candle  burning,  took  care  that  they 
had  game  every  Monday,  plnyed  chess 
with  his  superior,  and  four-handed  with 
the  girls;  when  he  preached,  the  church 
wonld  be  so  crowded  tlmt  many  had  to 
Btand  outside.  But,  as  she  had  said,  the 
man  liad  his  great  faults ;  and  then  he 
had  engaged  himself  to  marry,  when  he 
could  not  earn  bread  enough  to  feed  a 
wife.  Before  the  friends  separated,  the 
subjects  of  baking,  brewing  and  cooking, 
all  important  to  a  Swedish  housewife, 
wore  thoroughly  discussed. 

Wliile  the  merry  little  daughter  of  the 
Unsman  had  driven  her  mother  to  the 
parsonage,  Iledda,  the  eldest  daughter, 
flew  over  the  crisp  and  sparkling  snow 
to  the  Baroness. 


This  was  the  only  family  of  nobility 
in  the  whole  neighborhood.  Where 
they  came  from,  or  what  they  intended 
to  do,  was  the  stereotyped  question  of 
the  viHuge,  the  first  year  after  their 
arrival.  The  cordial,  unsophisticated 
social  intercourse  of  the  viliugers  seemed 
to  be  disturbed  by  the  presence  of  the 
highborn  aristocratic  family,  which  acted 
like  a  damper  upon  their  mirthfolness ; 
and  every  one  had  an  uncomfortable 
feeling  of  subordination  and  suspected 
the  great  people  of  ridiculing  their 
simple  country  ways.  At  last  they 
threw  off  the  yoke,  and  conchided  they 
would  not  care  about  their  sayings,  and 
the  former  gay  spirit  returned,  and  they 
had  their  old-fashioned  dinners,  suppers, 
and  tlieir  land  and  water  parties  as  be- 
fore the  arrival  of  these  great  folks. 

While  Hedda  was  divesting  herself  of 
her  heavy  fur  cloak  in  the  hall,  the 
sound  of  high  words  reached  her  ears, 
coming  from  the  boudoir  of  the  Baron- 
ess. Like  a  true  Eve's  daughter,  she 
could  not  resist  the  temptation  of  peep- 
ing through  the  key-hole,  and  she  quick- 
ly understood  that  the  contest  was  about 
the  all-important  question,  whose  ^Hrce 
of  ancestors  "  was  the  older.  She  saw 
the  Baroness  seated  upon  her  gilt  sofa, 
like  a  queen  upon  her  throne,  with  the 
book  of  heraldry  on  a  divan-table  open 
before  her.  She  had  the  word  and  cut 
his  tree  right  and  loft.  The  Baron,  with 
heavy  drops  of  perspiration  on  his  brow, 
measured  the  floor  with  rapid  steps, 
now  and  then  stopping  in  front  of  his 
wife  so  high  up  in  her  ancestral  tree, 
and  tried  to  quiet  her  by  pointing  out 
how  clear  it  was  that  his  family  tree  was 
the  oldest  in  Sweden.  But  the  Baroness 
would  not  conifcnt  to  such  humiliation, 
for  she  knew  that  the  founder  of  her 
family  came  direct  from  Odin  himself, 
and  had  a  deer^s  head  in  his  escutcheon, 
and  her  mother's  family  had  a  half-moon 
in  theirs. 

At  this  point  Hedda  entered.  She 
disburdened  herself  of  her  heavy  news. 
"Parole  dUionneur!"  exclaimed  the 
Baron,  when  she  had  finished  her  story, 
"  I  verily  believe  that  the  end  of  tlie 
nobility  and  the  world's  end  has  oome  1 


868 


Putnam's  Maoazins. 


\UBXch, 


These  are  extraordinary  times  we  llye 
in !  Here  am  I,  one  of  the  country's 
noblemen,  and  know  nothing,  while  one 
of  the  king's  confidential  friends  writes 
to  a  country  jnstioe  of  the  peace  to  ask 
him  to  entertain  one  of  my  equals !  " 

Hedda,  immensely  frightened  at  tlio 
Baron's  anger,  meekly  said  that  it  surely 
was  not  her  father's  intention  to  keep 
the  lord  as  a  guest  in  his  house,  being 
convinced  that  so  distinguished  a  man, 
accustomed  to  liTc  in  a  handsome  palace, 
would  not  bo  satisfied  to  stay  in  a  cot- 
tage so  humble  as  theirs. 

And  Hedda  departed ;  but  her  sugges- 
tion that  the  lord  was  accustomed  to 
live  in  a  ^and  palace  weighed  heavily 
on  the  nlind  of  the  baronial  couple,  and 
they  deeply  regretted  their  straitened 
circumstances  and  unspacious  home. 

The  Baron's  parents  had  at  his  birth 
read  in  the  stars,  that  this  their  son 
should  one  day  come  to  do  great  deeds. 
After  the  regular  course  at  the  military 
Academy  was  gone  through  with,  ho 
was  enrolled  in  Svea's  Guard  as  sub- 
lieutenant. At  a  court-ball  he  fell  in 
love  with  a  bright  star,  the  brightest  in 
the  palace;  through  the  grace  of  the 
king,  he  received  the  title  of  Kojal 
Ohamberlain,  with  the  honor  and  posi- 
tion belonging  to  that  office,  and  soon 
afterward  ho  married.  The  dowry  of 
the  lady  of  his  heart  consisted  only  of  a 
handsome  face  and  a  row  of  great  fore- 
fathers. Not  very  long  after  the  mar- 
riage, jealousy  began  to  torment  the 
young  husband,  and  a  duel  with  his 
superior  ensued.  He  asked  for  and  re- 
ceived his  discharge  and  went  to  the 
continent,  lived  in  great  style,  and  tlien 
returned  to  his  fatherland  in  compara- 
tive poverty.  When  he  found  that  his 
former  friends  gave  him  the  cold  shoul- 
der, he  showed  them  the  same  civility. 
To  make  sure  of  the  undivided  attich- 
ment  of  his  better  half,  who  yet  was 
uncommonly  liandsome,  lie  deemed  it 
more  prudent  to  remove  from  the  capi- 
tal to  this  secluded  village,  where  the 
reader  has  made  his  acquaintance.  Here 
he  rented  an  undcr-officer's  homestead. 
The  house,  according  to  law,  consisted  of 
two  large  rooms,   with  two  adjoining 


bedrooms.  When  the  Baron  took 
possession,  he  raised  the  doors  and  win- 
dows, changed  one  room  into  a  sakn, 
one  of  the  bedrooms  inco  a  library,  etc. 
He  now  contemplated  a  greater  task:  to 
transform  this  simple  dwelling  into  a 
castle,  fitted  for  the  reception  of  a  lord. 
To  accomplish  this,  trees  were  to  be 
planted  all  around  the  house,  and  a  to  ver 
constructed  with  pine-tree  branches,  on 
which  colored  lanterns  were  to  hang, 
and  over  the  hall-door  he  intended  to 
fiEisten  a  deer's  head  with  far-spreading 
antlers.  Thus  he  hoped  to  palm  off  hii 
dwelling-place  for  a  rural  hunting  castle. 

Leaving  the  Baron,  we  will  follow  the 
Irmsman's  two  other  daughters,  as  they 
skate  over  the  frozen  lake  to  the  iroa- 
works. 

"  Well,  I  declare,  what  will  the  world 
hear  next  ?  "  exclaimed  tho  snperinten- 
4ent*s  wife,  clasping  her  hands  in  sheer 
astonishment,  when  she  had  heard  from 
her  dear  neighbors  what  great  folks 
were  to  visit  their  neighborhood.  Bat 
before  they  could  talk  the  matter  over 
more  fully,  orders  were  sent  to  the 
kitchen  to  have  the  cofieo-pot  put  on 
tho  fire  with  tho  utmost  dispatol),  at  the 
same  time  giving  the  servants  their  fhire 
of  tho  news  that  an  '^  English  lord  was 
coming." 

"  Ah,  dear,  good  sugar-gold  Madame, 
may  we  wait  upon  tho  table  ? "  cried  all 
the  girls. 

**  May  I  also  be  there  ? "  came  a  voice 
from  the  dairy  room,  where  a  young 
student,  the  superintendent's  brother, 
from  Worraland,  wjis  helping  the  dairj- 
maid  to  churn  butter.  ^*If  a  lord  is 
coming,  there  shall  be  dancing  in  the 
Wermland  style,"  cried  the  youth,  tak- 
ing hold  of  his  sister-in-law  and  waltzing 
right  into  tho  parlor,  and  back  again  to 
the  kitchen,  where  ho  gave  a  lesson  to 
tho  maids  in  dancing  the  Wermland 
polka. 

And  before  the  sun  had  reachofl  the 
horizon  that  short  winter  day,  the  neira 
of  tlie  great  man's  arrival  had  spread 
over  the  neighborhood. 

Toward  evening  tho  old  mail-woman, 
who  brought  tho  letters  from  the  city, 
came,  and  never  was  tho  poor  old  soul 


1870.] 


Thb  Bbab  Ilnirr:  A  Srstoh  of  Lifb  in  Swbdex. 


260 


welcomed  so  heartily  as  on  that  evea- 
ing. 

She  had  great  news  to  tell,  and  she 
told  who  the  great  personage  was  that 
was  coming  among  them,  she  had  it  di- 
rect from  the  city  folks :  it  was  an  am- 
bassador sent  from  England  expres-ly  to 
see  how  the  poor  people  in  Sweden  were 
faring;  his  lackey  had  already  arrived, 
carrying  a  big  sackful  of  gold,  for  the 
people,  which  he  gave  in  charge  of  the 
Lands-hOfding. 

"  Where  there  is  smoke,  there  is  fire," 
thought  the  superintendent,  and  he  sent 
messengers  to  the  prominent  men  in  the 
county  to  hold  a  meeting  at  his  Iiouso  the 
next  day,  whore  the  following  resola- 
tioDS  were  adopted: 

Mrat — That  every  man  should  hold 
himself  in  readiness  for  the  great  hunt. 

JSecand — Every  one  that  had  a  home 
■honld  clean  it  and  put  it  in  order  as  for 
A  holiday,  a{id  have  a  comfortable  spare 
bed  made  up,  and  the  table  set  with  ihe 
best  things  in  the  house,  so  that  the  lord, 
if  he  so  chose,  might  enter  any  house 
and  be  welcome.  The  lord  might  find 
many  poor  houses  in  Dalsland,  but  none 
that  was  not  opened  wide  to  offer  him 
ho^ipitality. 

The  purse  puzzled  them.  Was  it  the 
lord's  intention  to  give  a  great  festival 
after  the  dose  of  the  hunt  ?  They  re- 
solved to  send  the  student  to  the  city  to 
aee  what  he  could  learn  from  the  Lands- 
hOfding  about  the  treasure. 

At  four  o'clock  the  next  morning,  this 
worthy  set  out  on  his  journey,  singing 
like  a  skylark,  awakening  the  eoho  in  the 
snrroanding  mount!iin8. 

Arrived  in  the  city,  he  repaired  at  once 
to  the  Lands- hofding's  palace,  where  he 
did  not  find  the  expected  lackey,  but  the 
lord's  friend  Mr.  Lloyd,  who  was  almost 
choked  with  laughter  when  the  student 
related  the  wild  stories  that  went  the 
rounds  in  the  country  about  him  and 
Lord  Elsbury.  They  cnme  to  an  under- 
standing that  the  student  should  make 
the  host  at  the  festivity  the  lord  intend- 
ed to  give  to  the  peasants  after  the  hunt, 
at  the  lord's  expense. 

The  student  came  dancing  down  the 
great  marble  stairs,  with  a  well*filled 


purse.  He  was  so  much  elated  and  excited 
with  the  prospect  of  acting  host  at  the 
carousal,  that  he  vowed  he  would  em- 
brace the  first  living  being  that  came  in 
his  way  alter  leaving  the  house,  man, 
woman,  or  beast.  Fortune,  who  always 
favors  the  brave,  managed  it  so  that, 
while  he  was  turning  the  corner,  the 
handsomest  woman  in  the  city  ran  into 
his  wide-open  arms.  She  uttered  a 
shriek  as  if  stabbed  to  the  heai-t,  and  the 
people  thought  she  would  die,  or  do  the 
next  best  tiling,  faint ;  but  she  did  not 
give  herself  time  to  do  either,  and  ran 
home  Qs  fast  as  her  little  feet  would  carry 
her.  As  soon  as  her  breath  would  allow 
it,  she  hastened  to  tell  her  beloved  hus- 
band, how  fouUy  she  had  been  assailed, 
but  how  bravely  she  had  defended  her- 
self, and  the  happy  husband  went  at 
once  into  the  store  and  presented  her 
with  a  magnificent  silk  dresit. 

Of  course,  the  news  of  this  unheard-of 
scandal,  a  man  embracing  a  woman  in 
broad  sunlight,  ran  like  wild- fire  through 
the  city.  The  women  came  together  in 
a  convention  nnd  resolved  never  hereaf- 
ter to  go  out  in  the  streets  alone  and  un- 
protected, and  then  hurried  en  masse  to 
the  house  of  the  intended  victim,  to 
learn  all  the  particulars  of  this  shocking 
case  of  ruffianism  never  dreamed  of  in 
their  quiet  little  ciry,  and  all  along  the 
way  th**/  would  cast  ely  glances  about 
them,  in  hopes  of  catching  a  glimpse  of 
the  unprincipled  ro'^UQ. 

Tlie  injured  husband,  who  was  at  once 
one  of  the  highest  magistrates  of  the 
city  and  its  principal  storekeeper,  de- 
manded of  his  brotiiers  in  office  tliat  the 
culprit  should  be  tried  and  executed  on 
the  ppot  by  lynch-law. 

But  who  should  enter  the  ofloeatthis 
moment,  but  the  criminal  himself. 

"  Your  very  obedient  servant,  gentle- 
men, your  very  obedient  servant,  my 
dear  aldermun  and  merchant,  I  have 
come  to  make  a  bargain  with  you."  So 
saying,  he  took  a  chair  and  seated  himself 
quite  unconcernedly  among  his  judges. 

So  much  impudence  dumbfounded 
these  honest  burghers ;  they  looked  at 
each  other,  clenching  their  fists,  each  ex- 
pecting the  other  to  move. 


270 


PnTVAM^B  Magazinx. 


fMirah, 


But  without  waiting  for  an  answer  the 
stadent  resnmed :  "  If  s  a  bargain  in  hard 
cash  to  bnj  as  much  of  your  oldest  and 
best  spirits  as  it  will  take  to  make  a  thou- 
sand men  feci  happj,  not  counting  the 
women  and  children/' 

This  speech  had  an  immense  effect ;  it 
loosened  the  clenched  fists  at  once,  and 
the  knitted  brows  grew  smooth. 

**  Bat  before  wo  discnss  this  important 
affair  any  further,  let  me  beg  your  par- 
don, Mr.  Alderman/* 

And  he  ezplnined  the  affair,  how  ho 
had  made  a  vow  to  embrace  the  first  liv- 
ing being  that  he  should  meet  in  the 
street,  man,  women,  or  beast.  "  And," 
exclaimed  the  young  rogue,  "I  thank 
my  lucky  stars  for  sending  such  an  angel 
to  my  arms ;  I  shudder  when  I  think 
what  might  have  happened.  But  how 
my  lips  came  to  touch  that  angePs 
cheeks,  I  am  at  loss  to  account  for.*' 

This  the  twenty-four  summors'-old  wife 
of  the  alderman  of  fifty  winters  had  for- 
gotten to  mention.  "  But  enongli,"  added 
the  student,  "  we  are  good  friends  now, 
nnd  I  invite  you  all,  gentlemen,  to  drink 
a  glass  of  champagne  with  me  to  the 
health  of  that  angel,  her  husband,  and  the 
happy  termination  of  this  affair;  "  where- 
upon they  all  shook  hands  and  laughed 
heartily  at  the  good  joke,  except  the  al- 
derman, who  did  not  laugh. 

A  familiar  proverb  says :  "  Youth  and 
wisdom  do  rarely  keep  company."  While 
going  to  the  hotel,  the  student  met  seve- 
ral teamsters  and  told  them  that  there 
was  a  load  to  bo  carried  from  the 
storekeeper's  to  the  ironworks,  and  he 
wished  them  to  fetch  it  and  deliver  it  at 
the  works. 

When  the  student  had  had  enough  of 
the  party  at  the  hotel  and  thought  that 
it  w^as  time  to  return  to  his  homo,  he 
went  first  to  the  alderman's  store  to  see 
if  the  spirits  had  been  loaded  and  were 
fairly  on  the  way.  But  what  a  scene  did 
he  behold  I  The  teamsters  were  engaged 
in  a  free  fight  with  fists  and  whips,  about 
who  should  carry  the  whiskey ;  for  as  he 
had  named  no  one  especially,  each  one 
.claimed  that  he  was  meant  to  have  it, 
and  earn  this  extra  shilling. 

The  student  knew  what  people  he  had 


to  deal  with ;  and  he  knew  tho  danger  of 
irritating  these  half  savage  teamsteti^ 
who  form  a  peculiar  class  of  the  popnl** 
tion  in  Sweden.  From  their  early  yoath 
their  only  occupation  consisted  in  driv- 
ing their  teams  between  the  minea,  the 
famaces,  and  the  shipping-places.  The 
rough  climate,  the  hard  life  they  lead, 
have  made  them  almost  as  feelingleis  as 
the  iron  they  carry  on  their  wagons.  It 
is  an  old  law  among  them,  never  to  torn 
out  of  the  road  for  any  one,  except  the 
king  of  Sweden  or  the  postillion ;  eveiy 
one  else  has  to  turn  for  them,  which  is 
often  a  Tory  difficult  thing  to  do,the  roads 
being  narrow  or  fiUed  with  drift-snow. 
They  move  in  caravans  of  fifty  to  one 
hundred  horses,  and  they  may  be  heard 
a  great  way  off  by  the  peculiar  soand 
the  bar-iron  makes,  in  the  cold  northttn 
winter,  with  tlio  thermometer  far  bdow 
zero.  It  is  with  any  thing  but  a  fieeUog 
of  comfort  that  the  lonely  traveller  meeto 
these  caravans.  He  is  compelled  to  drirs 
into  tho  deepest  snowbank  and  wait  sob- 
missively  until  the  whole  procession  bti 
])as$eO,  they  moving  not  one  inch  to  the 
bide.  Woo  to  him  who  should  dare  to 
grumble  or  oppose  thorn  in  this  their  tra- 
ditional right;  should  ho  reach  his  home 
with  one  bone  unbroken,  he  might  thank 
his  good  fortune. 

The  student  compromised  the  matter 
in  this  way,  that  each  of  the  teamsters 
should  receive  one  rix- thaler,  and  that 
those  that  had  no  cask  to  carry,  should 
pick  up  the  foot- travellers  they  might 
meet  on  the  road,  on  their  way  home. 
This  was  received  with  a  shout;  and  in 
less  than  no  time  the  spirits  were  on  the 
wagons,  and  off  drove  the  caravan,  with 
the  merry  student  at  the  head,  singing  a 
song  improvised  by  himself  at  the  spar 
of  tho  moment : 

*'  What  happy  lifo  yon^ro  leading, 

Yon  boys  that  plow  the  snow, 
Who  carry  on  your  wog  »ns 

What  ourcA  all  human  woe. 
Arrack,  gin,  and  whiskey, 

Make  each  a  merry  punohf 
And  each  ono  has  a  mniden 

A  rosebad  in  a  bunch. 
And  now  we're  drawing  homeward 

The  great  lord*8  health  to  diiok. 
And  with  the  buxom  lasses 

We  tteamlni;  glassoj  clink  !" 


Ths  Beab  Hunt  :  A  Sketch  of  Life  js  Sweden. 


271 


ill  be  d-^— d  if  he  don't  sing  like 
and  makes  verses  like  a  prince/^ 
ed  the  leader  of  the  caravan,  a 
1  shaggy-looking  teamster,  "  and 
f  8,  a  hurrah  for  the  poem-maker  I " 
rrah  was  heard  all  around  through 
mtains ;  the  drivers  throwing  it  to 
>,  and  the  echo  back  to  the  drivers, 
ink  you,  boys,  thank  you  friends 
irades  upon  life's  heavy  road." 
?hole  county  was  moving  as  if 
ig  for  a  great  event.  Incredible 
.y  sound,  even  in  the  almshouse 
tions  were  made  for  the  festivity ; 
vomen  put  in  order  their  Sunday 
that  they  might  appear  dressed 
best.  "  Nobody  knows  which 
hare  may  run,"  said  the  old  wo- 
d  "  lay  the  trap  behind  the  fire- 
is  an  old  Swedish  proverb ;  and 
the  thoughts  of  old  father  Storm, 
sides  eight  other  invalids,  had 
I  in  the  almshouse ;  and  out  he 

>  beg  some  candles,  a  luxury 
sen  in  that  house ;  for  the  only 
8y  have  in  the  long  winter  even- 
sists  of  the  light  from  the  wood 
rns  in  the  fireplace.  Storm  had 
)  his  mind,  that  while  the  lord 
iting  in  the  furest,  a  candle  should 
on  the  table  in  the  almshouse. 

.  was  an  old  soldier  who  had  serv- 
:ing  and  his  country  faithfully  for 
ITS,  He  had  lost  one  leg  in  the 
,  and  as  a  compensation  the  king 
country  gave  him  a  pension  of 
1  a  half  dollars  a  year.    In  the 

>  which  he  belonged  he  held  the 
'*  churchpoker,"  whose  business 

>  wake  up  such  good  Christians  as 
t  sleep  during  the  service.  He 
dm  a  slight  punch  with  a  long 
i  for  this  service  he  received  a 
oats  a  year  and  at  Christmas  a 
ye-bread  and  a  candle  from  every 

Besides  all  this,  he  had  free 

the  almshouse.    And  our  inva- 

ed  himself  in  his  best,  put  on  his 

mr  le  merite  on  his  breast,  and 

tted  off  to  the  village,  to  beg  for 

I 

rst  visit  was  to  the  church-war- 

rather  to  his  wife, 

>oks  everywhere  as  if  Christmas 


was  coming  again,  and  therefore  old 
Storm  is  out  on  his  feet,"  suid  he,  stamp- 
ing his  wooden  leg  to  the  floor  so  that 
the  windows  shook ;  this  he  did  to  indi- 
cate that  he  wanted  to  be  listened  to. 
He  commenced  with  telling  his  story,  as 
he  was  wont  to  do  at  Christmas,  when 
he  came  to  receive  his  rye-bread  and  his 
candle.  He  had  helped,  he  said,  to  tear 
the  crown  off  Bonaparte's  head,  just 
when  he  was  ready  to  swallow  Leipzif, 
but  before  he  did  so,  he  had  marclied  on 
Stockholm,  to  help  Gustavus  Adolphus 
IV.  from  his  throne.  These  giant  deeds 
had  always  inspired  Mrs.  Churchwarden 
with  reverence,  and  although  nbt  very 
prone  to  give,  she  gave  to  old  Storm,  and 
thus  it  was  now  he  received  his  candle 
and  a  little  balsam  to  warm  his  old  body. 

At  last  came  the  much  talked  of  day, 
on  which  they  should  see  a  living  "  lord." 

Paterfamilias  was  as  quick  on  his  feet, 
as  he  was  on  the  day  when  he  pat  the 
"  brideslippers  "  on  his  feet.  Once  more 
inspecting  the  cherished  gun  to  see  that 
all  was  right,  he  told  grandfather  to 
smoke  the  best  tobacco,  and  recommend- 
ing the  house  and  yard  to  God's  care,  he 
took  leave  of  his  beloved  wife,  and  gen- 
tly pushed  back  his  boy  who  clung  to  his 
coat-sleeve  and  wanted  to  be  taken  to 
the  bear  hunt.  Poor  boy,  how  he  wish- 
ed that  he  could  be  put  upon  a  stretoU- 
bench  and  stretched  and  stretched,  until 
he  should  become  as  big  as  papa,  that 
very  minute  I  All  night  the  people  came 
pouring  into  the  wide  yard  at  the  f  jrge, 
in  order  to  be  in  time  for  the  call  the 
following  morning.  Not  a  man  was 
missing  at  the  roll-call,  every  one  was 
there  to  be  present  at  the  great  bear 
hunt  on  their  mountains. 

Stanygernfars  presented  a  lively  ap- 
pearance on  that  clear  moonlight  winter 
morning ;  the  men,  with  hoar  frost  in 
their  beards,  roses  upon  their  frost-beaten 
cheeks,  and  manly  courage  in  their  eyes, 
were  formed  in  a  line,  to  await  the  order 
to  move.  And  then  came  the  lord. 
He  stepped  out  on  the  baloony,  dressed 
in  a  simple  hunting-coat  suited  to  the  cli- 
mate. Off  went  all  the  hats  and  caps  from 
the  heads  of  their  owners  in  an  instant. 
The  lord  put  his  hand  upon  his  breast, 


272 


PuTNAM^s  Magazine. 


[Mardi, 


Bpoke  a  few  words,  which,  of  ooaree, 
were  not  understood  bjr  Iiis  audience,  but 
which  his  countryman,  Mr.  Lloyd,  trans- 
lated for  them. 

A  thundering  hurrah  rnng  through  the 
air,  and  then  all  the  caps  had  an  airing. 
But  was  it  the  words  spoken  by  the 
lord  that  had  called  forth  that  wonder- 
ful enthusiasm  ?  At  the  same  moment  a 
tall  figure,  clothed  in  the  fur  of  wild 
beasts,  came  sliding  down  the  mountain: 
this  was  **  Old  Olle,"  Swedijn's  greatest 
bear-hunter.  Although  Feventy  years  old, 
this  old  man  came  a  distance  of  one 
hundred  and  eighty  miles  upon  his  snow- 
shoes,  'with  all  the  fire  of  youth,  in 
order  to  see  face  to  face  the  man 
that  came  to  intrude  upon  liis  profession. 

When  tliis  bear- hunter  of  seventy 
years  was  introduced  to  the  lord,  the 
latter  was  kind  enough  to  say,  that  he 
deemed  it  a  great  honor  to  meet  with 
Buch  a  man  as  he,  and  Olle  replied  to  his 
greeting,  that  as  the  lord  had  come  such 
a  great  dietanco  to  hunt  in  tlic>o  forests, 
he  had  wished  to  show  him  the  attention 
of  partaking  for  once  in  his  life  in  a 
general  bear-hunt.  He  siiid  lie  lad  killed 
one  hundred  and  seventeen  hears  since 
his  twelfth  year,  but  always  met  the 
beast  breast  to  breast,  with  no  other 
companion  but  his  faithful  dog  which 
ho  had  trained  himself. 

And  now  the  signal  was  given,  and 
the  procession  begau  to  move  toward  the 
mountains.  When  they  h.id  penetrated 
far  enough  they  halted,  and  each  man 
had  his  place  assigned.  '^  IluIIet  '^ — the 
division  of  the  hunters  that  stands  still 
— wns  posted  on  the  right,  and  "  drefact " 
—the  division  which  moves  forward  to- 
ward the  hull — received  its  position  on 
the  left.  Tiiere  was  only  about  one 
yard^s  distance  between  the  hull  and 
the"dref." 

During  the  first  three  or  four  hours, 
lack  did  not  seem  to  favor  tliem,  and  Olle 
prop,  sed  that  they  should  take  a  ^^  nep- 
ptagare  ^'  *  and  they  all  drank  the  health 
of  Diana. 

That  helped,  and  the  hounds  soon  got 
en  old  rheumatic  '^  Nalle  "  (bear)  on  his 
l^ga,  who,  yet  half  asleep,  stumbled  right 

*  A  dnogbt  fh>m  tho  bottle. 


upon  the  lord,  who,  with  a  well-direotod 
shot,  killed  him.  With  hurrahs,  the  ban* 
ters  drank  the  first  death-"  knaeppoL" 
Old  Olle  disapproved  such  loud  demon- 
strations, as  he  thought  it  incompatibk 
with  a  hunter^s  dignity,  besides  belDg 
very  imprudent,  as  it  might  wake  the 
sleeping  bears.  As  he  knew  that  there 
were  several  lairs  among  these  rooks,  he' 
entreated  them  to  keep  quiet. 

But  the  experienced  old  man's  warning 
came  too  late,  for  suddenly  a  huge  bear 
came  running  forth,  loudly  growling, 
followed  by  hu  mate;  he  was  evideotiy 
very  angry  at  having  been  disturbed  in 
his  dreams.  When  the  female  bear  saw 
what  was  going  on,  she  returned  quickly 
to  her  lodge,  which  was  in  a  chasm, 
covered  with  rotting  tree-trunks.  8ha 
went  for  the  defence  of  her  young  onv 
in  case  of  an  attack,  and  well  she  pro- 
tected them,  for  they  only  got  them  by 
stepping  over  her  dead  body.  These 
young  unes,  two  in  number,  abimt  a  year 
old,  were  caught  alive  and  sent  to  the 
furnaces  on  tho  lord's  account,  who 
wished  to  take  them  home. 

The  male,  who  was  a  cunning  beast, 
managed  to  got  dutsido  the  ring,  and  sev* 
oral  shots  were  fired  at  him  without  do- 
ing any  harm.  But  the  leaders  of  the 
"skallyang"  were  prepared  for  his 
dodges,  and  soon  had  the  fellow  ^^holm* 
ed  "  (enclosed).  Tho  hounds  brought 
him  to  bay,  and  a  few  balls  stretched 
him  on  the  ground.  The  next  day  the 
hunt  was  more  successful,  and  five  deed 
bears  told  the  tale.  A  sad  aoddent^ 
however,  marred  the  ploMSure  of  that 
day.  It  was  toward  twilight  when  Mr. 
Lloyd  caught  sight  of  a  bear;  he  fired 
and  missed,  but  hit  one  of  tho  drivers, 
who,  in  disobedience  to  the  strictest  or- 
ders had  crossed  tho  line,  in  order  to  give 
a  draught  from  his  yet  filled  bottle  to  a 
friend  in  tho  opposite  line ;  ho  fell  to  the 
ground  a  dead  man. 

The  Swedish  law  sentenced  Lloyd  to 
pay  a  fine  of  about  twenty-five  dollars  in 
gold,  but  he  wns  generous  enough  to  give 
of  his  free  will  fifty  dollars  annually  to 
the  widow  of  the  unfortunate  man. 

Tho  accident  had  thrown  a  damper 
upon  the  whole  enterprise,  and  it  was 


Thb  Bkab  Huirr :  A  Seetoh  of  Life  ik  Swedbit. 


278 


to  retarn  the  next  morning  to 
t.  The  men  who  had  been  en- 
the  hunt,  were  discharged  with 
f  thanks    of   the  leaders,  and 

come  the  next  day  to  the  iron 

join  in  the  festival  which  the 
led  to  give  them, 
dent  had  remained  at  home  to 
atters  for  the  ftjstivity.  It  was 
illiant  affair,  and  all  the  women 
ren,  yonng  and  old,  rich  and 
9  invited  to  be  present.  No 
itiful  site  could  have  been  cho- 
the  little  island  lake,  with  its 
d  surface,  enclosed  by  high 
red  with  evergreen  trees. 
Isbury,  wlio  had^  from  the  mo- 
made  his  appearance  among 
m-hearted  people,  conquered 

with  his  simple  unostentatious 
had,  however,  an  overbear- 
•nsequential  servant,  who  went 
ibout  the  place  in  his  silver- 
hunting  dress,  as  if  he  were 

hiin:<elf.  He  looked  with 
ontempt  upon  the  preparations 
1  ball  on  the  ice ;  he  thought 
was  badly  cooked,  the  air 
y  cold,  and  the  people  notiiing 
egged  donkeys,  who  did  not 
'  to  speak  English, 
dent  had  occasion  to  find  out 
nng  sister- in-law  was  a  pearl  of 
,  as  bright  as  calcium  light, 
t  to  wear  a  white  cap.*  She 
lived  the  brilliant  idea  to  send 
•gallooned  gentleman  to  the 
13  she  thought  they  were  all 
i  to  each  other, 
rant  was  told  that  he  was  to 
louse  where  his  master  proba- 

pass  the  night,  and  to  make 
the  Baron  should  remain  in 
of  the  real  position  of  the  new- 
ey  ordered  the  deaf-and-dumb 
I  to  drive  him  to  the  hunting- 
i  the  superintendent's  sleigh, 

the  finest  horses,  they  dis- 
le  lackey  to  the  Baron^s  house. 
)  elegant  sleigh  approaching, 

and  his  Baroness  thought  of 
It  the  Lord  had  got  tired  of 
mpany  and  sought  to  find  re- 

rn  ^y  the  stadants  Id  UpMku 


fuge  in  the  refined  atmosphere  of  the 
house  of  his  equal. 

Uow  unfortunate,  that  he  had  never 
thought  of  studying  the  English  lan- 
guoge  I  This  would  debar  him  from  very 
confidential  talk  with  his  noble  guest 
They  did  not  find  that  polish  and  the 
refined  manners  in  their  visitor,  that 
they  had  been  led  to  expect  from  his 
position  ;  but  they  kindly  attributed  that 
to  the  catarrh  from  which  he  was  suffer- 
ing. However,  they  bestowed  upon  him 
all  the  attention  that  his  position  de- 
manded and  that  they  were  able  to 
give.  Yet  with  all  this  amiability 
and  desire  to  entertain  their  guest,  it 
would  have  been  a  very  difiScuIt  mat- 
ter, had  not  the  illustrious  foreigner 
fortunately  shown  such  invincible  incli- 
nation for  sleepii)g.  *^  That  comes  of  such 
foolish  exposure  as  a  bear  hunt,"  said 
the  Baron.  "  Poor  gentleman,"  said  the 
Baroness,  "  he  is  worn  out  with  fatigue." 

The  next  day  they  hnd  made  up  their 
mind  to  drive  to  the  lake,  and  see  how 
the  people  would  amuse  themselves. 
The  Baroness  folr  her  pride  mounting 
to  her  he:id  when  she  had  the  English 
lord  at  her  side—the  Baron  drove  in 
person — and  she  pictured  to  herself  how 
every  one  would  stare  at  them,  and  envy 
her  good  fortune.  It  would  make  quite 
a  sensation  in  that  dull  neighborhood. 
And  a  sensation  they  did  cre:ite. 

Not  one  of  the  many  guests  that  had 
arrived  before  tliem  had  dared  to  drive 
on  the  ice,  for  fear  of  marring  the  beau- 
tifully polished  mirror  of  the  lake ;  they 
alighted  on  shore  and  walked  through 
the  triumphal  arch  built  of  evergreens. 
The  Baron,  however,  took  no  heed  of 
snoli  trifles  and  drove  rigiit  through  the 
arch  upon  the  ice  with  his  prancing 
horses,  to  the  student's  great  vexation. 

"  There  they  come  I  "  shouted  the 
women  and  children,  when  the  first 
sound  of  the  bngle  announced  the  arrival 
of  the  hunting-party. 

Four  of  the  tallest  men  were  posted 
as  guards  at  the  triumphal  arch,  dressed 
in  green,  with  high  bear-skin  caps  on 
their  heads.  Near  them  stood  a  hand- 
barrow  covered  with  red  bags,  upon 
which  they  intended  to  seat  the  **  bear- 


274 


PuTKAM'B  M1.0AZXKB. 


\Jin^ 


king "  (best  shot).  Of  course,  the  lord 
was  declared  bear-king,  and,  with  voci- 
ferous hurrahing,  they  carried  him  all 
around  the  place  of  festivity,  followed 
by  the  hunters  in  procession. 

Scarcely  had  the  pseudo-Lord  caught 
sight  of  his  master,  when  he  precipitate- 
ly left  the  honorable  scat  at  the  side  of 
the  Baroness,  following,  like  a  faithful 
dog,  at  the  heels  of  his  master,  to  the 
unspeakable  surprise  of  the  baronial 
couple.  But  how  great  was  their  horror 
and  dismay,  when  at  this  momept  the 
arch  rogue  of  a  student  stepped  up  to 
the  Baron  and,  in  the  name  of  the  super- 
intendent, thanked  him  for  the  extraor- 
dinary kindness  they  had  shown  the 
lord^s  lackey,  in  bringing  him  here  in 
their  own  sleigh  I  Of  course,  the  Bar- 
oness could  do  nothing  better  than  faint, 
under  such  circumstances ;  the  Baron, 
not  over  alarmed  about  his  better  hairs 
critical  situation,  gave  his  horses  the 
whip,  and  tliey  flew  with  their  precious 
load  like  a  whirlwind  over  the  polished 
surface  on  their  way  homeward,  follow- 
ed by  the  shouts  of  the  excited  multitude. 
The  festival  was  pronounced  a  complete 
success  by  the  connoisseurs,  favored  as 
it  was  by  a  calm  and  moonlight  sky,  and 
many  compliments  did  the  student  re- 
ceive. A  hundred  tar-barrels  were  burn* 
ing  on  the  surrounding  hilltops.  A  stand 
was  erected  for  a  band  of  musicians  from 
the  city,  and  refreshments  were  served 
to  the  peop'c. 

Ilere  and  there  stood  large  tubs,  orna- 


mented with  evergreens,  which  contuh 
od  punch,  wine,  or  bryla,*  in  demyohoi; 
the  last-named  drink,  which  was  in  t 
large  bowl,  was  set  fire  to  the  momot 
the  lord  arrived  at  the  stand,  throwing 
a  pale-blue  glimmer  on  the  faces  of  the 
curious  crowd.  Thus  the  people  celf> 
bratcd  a  real  northern  Bacchanal.  Af- 
ter the  glasses  were  filled  the  bear-kinp*! 
licalth  was  proposed,  to  which  the  now 
dethroned  king  answered  in  a  few  wordi 
of  thanks,  proposing  in  his  torn  tk 
health  of  all  the  ladies.  At  the  doH^ 
the  lord  thanked  the  Swedish  peopk 
for  their  hospitality,  and  after  stngisgn 
old  Swedish  drinking  song,  the  pe^ 
began  to  disperse,  leaving  the  field  toaau 
bear,  that  might  like  to  hold  a  fiincnl 
feast  over  their  murdered  oomradeii 

Thou  ancient  Swedlah  land. 
Whose  cnttom  standt  anchanged, 
That  wine  and  oheer  go  hand  in  httd 
With  itrength  and  fortitude. 
And  to  the  lesaon  gladly  bound. 
Drink  out,  drink  ont ! 
The  warrior  bears  the  meny  aound 
Ponr  in  1  pour  in  1 

For  conrage  glree  the  ■paricUng  nine 
When  neat  he  forms  in  battle-IlDe. 

Though  Svea^t  eone  Uhdtj 
Hare  changed  the  horn  to  glan, 
For  hat  now  palace  gay. 
And  fS&te  for  good  old  feast. 
Our  drinks  we  haTe  tttan  oldsn  tlmc^ 
GaiHr  1  gatAr  I 

We  shout  our  father's  drinking  itiynes, 
GntSr  I  gutur  I 

And  drink  as  they,  in  every  bowl, 
The  stianger*s  welcome,  heart  sad  tool  I 


*  A  drink  prepared  <tf  oognao,  raliins, 

spicei. ' 


SOHOOL  D1.TB  AT  THB  Ba^BBD  HeABT. 


275 


SCHOOL  DAYS  AT  THE  SACRED  HEART. 


cestry  was  New  England  Puri- 
Qoakor.  I  became  a  papil  at 
ed  Heart  only  toward  the  close 
2I100I  life,  spent,  for  the  greater 
New  England  public  schools  and 
nt  seminaries.  The  event  fol- 
>  dosel J  npon  my  baptism  that  I 
my  convent  surroundings  with 
locustomed  eyes.  How  forlorn 
it  rainy  afternoon  in  May,  so  raw 
&ry  that  the  blossomed  apple- 
>ked  all  out  of  heart,  when  I 
a  carriage  that  had  brought  me 
nvent,  rattling  away  down  the 
ards  the  porter's  lodge,  on  its 
he  city,  and  I  sat  shaking  in  the 
waiting  my  reception  and  inspec- 
a  formidable  being  of  a  species 
trange  to  me  I 

*om  was  comfortably  furnished ; 
^all  were  devotional  pictures, 
>us  specimens  of  pupils'  handi- 
t  the  piano  a  tall,  pale,  sweet- 
1  with  red  hair,  in  a  uniform  of 
e,  with  broad  azure  ribbon,  its 
ivily  fringed  with  gold,  passing 
I  shoulder,  and  knotted  at  the 
the  other  side,  practised  vigor- 
:h  never  the  lifLlng  of  a  cnrious 
oward  me,  and  in  the  hall  out- 
portress,  a  stout  florid  Irish wo- 
^hom  I  was  as  frightened  as  if 
been  the  Superior  herself,  was 
about  the  removal  qf  my  trunk 
biges,  moving  softly  shod,  but 
iderous  tread. 

some  little  time  to  wait  before 
appeared  to  take  me  in  charge, 
ewhat  recovered  from  my  first 
was  staring  my  intensest  at  the 
be  indefatigable  musician's  head, 
ed  to  force  her  to  look  round  at 
a  a  soft  voice  said:  "This is 
pupil,  Mrs.  — 's  god-child  I  Wel- 
the  Sacred  Heart  I  "  and  I  tum- 
1  a  slender,  black-draped  figure 
le,  two  cordial  hands  stretched 
e,  and  pleasant  black  eyes  beam- 


ing at  me  from  a  face  fairly  dazzling  in  its 
whiteness.  I  rose,  gave  my  hands  to  the 
warm  light  grasp,  and  said  (very  proud 
of  the  new  baptismal  part  of  my  name), 
"  Yes,  it  is  Mary  Aloysia  Elliott,  and  I 

left  0 yesterday."    "Mary  Aloysia  ? 

Why,  that  is  Ma  Mhe^s  own  name  I  we 
must  tell  her  about  that,"  and  after  a 
few  inquiries  as  to  my  journey,  my  need 
of  refreshment,  etc.,  I  was  taken  to  the 
chapel,  to  offer  a  thanksgiving  for  my 
safe  arrival,  and  thence  to  the  "  Vestry," 
where  I  was  left  to  assist  at  the  unpack- 
ing of  my  wardrobe,  and  to  be  duly  in- 
structed in  the  routine  of  toilette  arrange- 
ments in  my  new  home.  "  Vestry,"  has 
to  Protestant  ears  a  wonderfully  eccle- 
siastical significance,  but  at  the  Sacred 
Heart  it  is  only  a  pupil's  translation  of 
the  French  appellation  Yeitiaire^  ward- 
robe, or  dressing  room.  It  was  a  great 
room  lined  with  deep  shelves  partitioned 
off  into  squares — a  sort  of  honey-comb 
pressed  flat  to  the  walls.  These  squares 
were  numbered  and  filled  with  clothing, 
and  at  a  huge  table  two  or  three  nuns 
were  busy  assorting  piles  of  garments 
from  the  monstrous  baskets  just  come 
from  the  laundry.  To  one  of  them  my 
conductress  had  spoken  before  leaving 
me,  and  after  a  little  she  came  to  me, — a 
large,  brown,  fine-looking  French  wo- 
man, yankee  capability  in  every  motion 
and  feature.  Briskly  she  addressed  me : 
"  Voru  venez  cTarriver,  TCest-ce  pas  f  Voiei 
'Totre  malle.  La  eUf^  $*il  tons  plaM^^^ 
but  brief  as  this  was  I  could  only  stare 
and  smile  helplessly.  Yet  had  I  not  been 
reckoned  a  capital  French  scholar?  Had 
such  thrilling  sentences  as  "  No,  sir,  I 
have  neither  the  asses'  hay,  nor  the  tai- 
lor's golden  button,  but  I  have  the  wood- 
en hammer  and  silver  candlesticks  of  the 
shoemaker,"  any  terrors  for  me  ?  Had  I 
not  floated  lightly  down  Corinne  on  the 
ever-swelling  torrent  of  Oswald's  tears? 
Did  I  ever  trip  in  s^en  aUer^  or  i^asseairy  or 
hesitate  between  de  and  d  ?   But  this  tiny 


276 


Putnam's  MioAziirK. 


IMn^ 


•*  flow 
Of  Iser  roIUng  rapidly,^ 

confounded  me  quite.  My  qaestioner  di- 
vining Uie  cause  of  my  embarrassmentf 
with  a  swift "  Ici^  ma  »aur,^^  summoned 
an  interpreter,  and  in  another  moment 
the  key  was  in  its  ward  in  the  trunk,  the 
nun  on  her  knees  before  it  carefully  lift- 
ing out  my  various  belongings  and  des- 
patching them  to  two  liigh  compartments 
accessible  only  by  a  tall  etop-ladder — a 
prospect  I  contemplated  rather  ruefully. 
"When  tliis  readjustment  h:id  been  duly  ef- 
fected, and  I  Iiad  been  told  through  the 
interpreting  sister  that  I  should  be  al- 
lowed to  make  two  visits  per  week  to  the 
vestry^  on  Wednesday  and  Saturday  af- 
ternoonh  ,  that  on  each  of  these  days  I 
should  bo  expected  to  select  such  and 
such  garments;  that  on  Sundays  and 
Thursdays  a  uniform  was  worn,  which  I 
must  forthwith  procure,  for  summer  a 
pink  skirt  with  a  white  body :  the  two 
or  three  lower  strata  of  my  trunk  were 
to  be  considered.  Tije-e  were  books, 
mainly;  school-books  and  a  carefully  se- 
lected treasure  of  mi^collaneoas  reading. 
Madame  shook  her  head,  rose,  locked  the 
trunk,  and  dropped  the  key  in  her  pock- 
et "But  I  must  have  i^y  books,*'  I 
oxpostuhite<l  to  the  English-speaking  sis- 
ter. "  All  bctoks  brought  here  are  exam- 
ined," she  returned,  **  bnt  you  will  have 
them  in  a  few  days;  though  if  there  are 
any  that  Mtidame  Johns  thinks  better 
not  read  here,  they  will  be  put  away 
in  your  trunk,  which  you  won't  see  again 
until  vou  go  home." 

Here  came  an  interruption ;  my  masi- 
cal  acquaintance  of  the  parlor.  **  Sister," 
she  said,  **  Madame  Bartol  says  I  am  to 
take  the  young  lady  to  our  dormitory, 
show  her  her  alcove,  and  then  find  a 
place  for  her  in  the  refectory.  Are  you 
ready  now,"  turning  to  me.  "I  am  Ho- 
nor Morgan,  if  you  please." 

"And  I  am  Mary  Elliott.  Yes,  quite 
ready." 

"  Sister,  you'll  bring  her  things,  won't 
you  ?  Kate  Gaynor's  bed,  you  know," 
and  Honor  took  my  hand  and  led  me  out 
of  the  room.  Down-stairs  and  along 
corridors  wo  went,  past  several  dormito- 
ries that  Honor  named,  till,  finally,  we 


reached  the  one  where  I  was  biUstei 
A  long  light  room,  not  bright  on  bj 
dismal  first  day,  bnt  charming  whenftA 
of  sunshine,  French  windows  at  athv 
end,  opening  upon  a  superb  Tieir  of  i 
grand  river,  and  on  the  quieter  seenatf 
the  convent^s  back — the  hill  with  atii^ 
chapel,  shrubberies  old  trees,  win&g 
paths,  and  a  great  garden,  gay  io  i^ 
mer  and  autumn  with  a  profusion  of  fltv- 
crs.    A  little  font  for  holy  water  his| 
beside  the  door ;  high  up  between  tki 
windows  was  a  statue  of  the  BleMi 
Virgin,  with  flowers  and  candles  hdm 
it.    Down  either  side  of  the  room,  pMi* 
titions  reaching  mid-way  to  the  edU^^ 
formed  alcoves  large  enough  to  hold  • 
single  bed,  chair,  and  washstand.  WUfti 
curtains  were  looped  in  front  of  the  al- 
coves, the  beds  were  dressed  in  wUti^ 
bright  velvet  mats  lay  in  front  of  ceoh, 
and  a  l(»ng  strip  of  carpet  covered  As 
space   between    the   rows    of  aleiyvii 
Elsewhere  the  floor  was  bare,  painted  • 
soft  cream  color,  shining  with  Tanid^ 
and  SA'eet  as  a  nut  with   cloinliiw' 
My  own  little  niche  was  pointed  ooti  and 
then  wo  sat  down  upon  my  bed  and  aik- 
ed  and  answered  each  other  a  good  muj 
questions.     The  personal  unes  ora,  I 
inquired  concerning  the  difference  intke 
costume  of  the  nuns;  the  robe  of  lOM 
consisting  of  black  dress  with  cape&B* 
ing  to  the  waist,  a  silver  cross  npoo  tbt 
breast,  a  linen  close-fitting  cap  with  vny 
wide  fluted  tarletan  border  enclosing  Un 
face  ray-wise,  and  a  thin  long  blaok  veil 
falling  over  the  shoulders ;  while  thea^ 
tire  of  the  others  was  much  coarser,  the 
capo  was  a  small  shawl,  the  reil,  thick, 
and  much  reduced  in  size,  and  tlie  cap  bar- 
derlcss,  with  an  odd  plaited  little  viaai; 
Honor  told  me  that  the  Order  indadcd 
two  classes  of  nuns,  the  teachers,  Lidici 
as  they  are  called,  and  the  lay  sisteta. 
The  latter  perform  the  menial  labor  d 
the  convents,  and  have  Oitmmonly  been 
servants,  or  are  from  the  quite  uneduca- 
ted class.    The  first  dress  was  thatwora 
by  the  Ladios,  and  was,  said  Honor,  the 
dress  long  ago  worn  by  widows  in  Franoep 
"  For  you  know,  I  suppose,"  she  went 
on,    "  that  the  Order   was  established 
there,  in  the  dark  days  following  the 


SoBooL  Dayb  at  the  Saobxd  Hbabt. 


277 


f  Terror,  by  Madame  Baras  un- 
care  of  tb^  Jesuits,  wbo  oonld 
called  Jesuits  cberi,  but  were 
of  the  Faith,  and  Fathers  of  the 
leart.  In  order  not  to  draw  at- 
to  their  fir^it  little  coinmuuitj, 
ies  wore  the  widow's  dress  of 
'iod,  though  I  believe  then  the 
as  of  heavy  silk,  and  the  caps 
or  three  of  tlie  fluted  borders ; 
ourse  thoy  changed  such  matters 
&3  they  could  on  account  of  holy 
But  the  J^<lies  don't  all  wear 
only  those  who  are  *  professed,' 
made  vows  for  life.  A  postu- 
bere  three  months  before  she 
ny  vow,  or  changes  lier  dress ; 
is  a  novice,  »nd  her  veil  is  white, 
nd  of  two  years  she  takes  the 
il,  though  her  vows  are  not  yet 
1  after  five  more,  if  she  still  per- 
and  the  good  Mothers  are  satis- 
4>  her  vocation,  the  profession 
B  made,  and  then  the  cross  is  as- 
ieven  to  eight  years  after  her  en- 

you  say  *  Madam,'  addressing 
of  the  Ladies  ?  " 

always." 

this  blue  ribbon  you  wear,"  I 

ching  it,  "  what  does  this  mean, 

,  it  means  that  those  who  wear 
ve  a  good  many  pleasant  little 
do :  to  take  care  of  new-comers, 
■self,  and  see  that  they  don't  feel 
1  and  forlorn ;  to  beg  favors  of 
lers ;  to  be  a  sort  of  confidential 
inisters  and  general  pourers  of  oil 
>led  waters.  They  are  ribbons 
r,  are  gained  by  general  award, 
re  are  several  grades — 1st,  2d, 

Each  class-room  has  a  different 
id  we  have  to  look  pretty  strait- 
r  ways,  I  can  tell  you.    It's  a 

reproach  after  an  ofTonoe   to 
hy,  she's  a  Ribbon.*  " 
a  great  bell   sounded  from  be- 

i'g  supper,"  Faid  Honor,  starting 
)w  we'll  go  down  to  the  foot  of 
rs   and    slip  into  place  as  the 
march  by." 
ere  in  time  to  see  them  all,  the 


little  ones,  almost  babies,  coming  first, 
their  teacher  marching  backward  before 
them.  Then,  in  perfect  silence,  class- 
room after  class-room,  till  the  great  girls 
of  the  first  cours  ended  the  procession, 
and  amoDg  these  we  had  taken  places. 
A  great  low  room  was  the  refectory,  with 
tables  runniug  around  and  across  it,  back- 
less benches  for  seats,  mid-way  of  the 
hall  a  very  high  Reader's  seat,  and  in  one 
corner  a  square  buttry-window  through 
which  food  was  passed.  Kear  this  win-; 
dow  a  group  of  sisters  waited  to  serve, 
and  very  spruce  they  looked  in  their 
white  linen  bib-aprons,  and  white  sleeves 
drawn  over  their  black  ones.  One  or 
two  Ladies  were  in  the  room,  one  of  the 
scholars  repeated  the  BenediciU,  we  took 
our  seats,  were  served,  and  not  till  then 
did  a  little  bell  tinkle  to  denote  that 
silence  was  over ;  and  from  two  hundred 
mouths  burst  a  torrent  of  sound  that 
seemed  as  if  it  could  never  again  be 
stayed. 

Perhaps  here  I  had  better  anticipate 
somewhat  of  after-knowledge,  and  then 
we  shall  not  need  to  descend  the  dark 
staircase  to  the  refectory  again.  We 
always  marched  to  and  from  meals  in 
silence.  At  breakfast  if  we  could  not 
speak  French,  closed  lips  were  our  por- 
tion; and  didn't  we  hurry  to  unseal 
them  I  Absurd  enough  were  the  first 
attempts,  but  blunders  were  so  common 
that  nobody  laughed.  At  dinner,  si* 
lence,  and  a  Reader  in  the  chair ;  first, 
In  Komine  Domini  Nostri^  devotionol 
reading,  generally  a  brief  portion  of  a 
Saint's  Life;  then  a  sufiSciently  unex- 
citing continued  tale.  A  bad  business 
I  believe  some  of  the  youthful  critics 
thought  these  readings,  so  broken  were 
they  by  clatter  of  table  equipage  and 
demands  for  service,  and  occasionally  so 
unpleasant  by  reason  of  some  detailed 
mortification  of  flesh  or  sense,  that  sun- 
dry undisciplined  stomachs  would  rebel 
in  nausea. 

At  supper  we  chatted  to  our  hearts' 
content  in  English,  and  what  gay  suppers 
they  were,  to  be  sure  I  Now  and  then, 
when  the  whole  school  had  been  at  fault 
or  when  the  ofiTendera,  in  a  turbulent 
march  down-stairs,  could  not  be  dctec- 


278 


Putnam's  Maoaons. 


Ptak. 


ted,  we  were  all  kept  in  silence,  part  or 
the  whole  of  a  meal,  and  I  know  no  small 
penance  was  ever  so  dreaded.  Our  hreak- 
fasts  were  plain,  no  cooking,  because 
every  one  in  the  house  went  to  Mass ; 
thick  bread  and  butter,  and  chocolate, 
coffee,  tea,  warm  milk  and  cold  milk  at 
pleasure.  I  suppose  the  coffee,  tea,  etc., 
were  put  in  the  pots  over  night,  for  one 
morning  a  huge  cockroach  came  whirling 
from  the  coffee-pot  spout  into  my  cup, 
greatly  to  tlie  dismay  of  the  good  sister 
who  was  serving. 

At  dinner  we  began  with  soup ;  tlien 
meat,  two  vegetables,  a  wedge  of  bread, 
and  a  nice  dessert  No  butter,  save  on 
Fridays  and  abstinence  days.  Our  meat 
was  in  funny  blocks,  nearly  boneless,  and 
though  it  was  good,  wo  didn^t  always 
know  whether  we  had  beef  or  mutton. 

It  was  served  from  great  pans,  and 
once  a  French  girl  beside  me  got  a  broil- 
ed spring  chicken  as  her  portion  of  beef. 
It  had  been  oooked  for  a  parlor  boarder, 
and  was  such  a  fine  brown  that  nobody 
noticed  it  among  the  beef.  After  dinner 
tbe  fortunate  eater  of  the  prize  sent 
her  compliments  to  la  saur  cuitinUre  ; 
this  was  too  much ;  "  Oh^  la  eoquine  !  " 
cried  the  justly-irate  sister,  ^^jlgurez-voua 
qu'elle  a  mangee  mon  poulet  tans  dire 
un  mot !  " 

At  four  P.M.  we  had  gouter — an  apple, 
or  any  fruit  in  season,  a  piece  of  ginger- 
bread, a  slice  of  bread  and  syrup. 

At  supper,  two  hot  dishes,  bread  and 
butter,  tea,  chocolate,  and  milk. 

The  food  was  always  abundant  and 
good,  but  wo  were  never  allowed  to  eat 
a  mouthful  save  at  meal -times,  and  any 
box  or  basket  of  home-sent  "  goodies  " 
must  be  sent  to  the  store-room,  whence  it 
appeared  beside  one^s  plate  at  meals  so 
long  as  the  contents  lasted;  and  as  these 
were  dispensed  with  lavish  hand  as  far 
OS  they  would  go,  no  one  was  made  ill  by 
an  over  supply.  The  thoughtfulne?s  of 
my  own  home  people  usually  took  tlieform 
of  fruit,  and  one  unlucky  great  b&^ket  of 
superb  bnrtletts  arrived  in  the  September 
Ember  week.  There  are  three  fasting 
days  in  which,  of  course,  we  would  not 
take  dainties,  and  those  over,  sister  Kelly 
pitifully  took  me  to  the  store-room  and 


displayed  a  shelf-full)  of  the  toothMm 
beauties,  "  all  mnshmolly ''  as  she  vh 
pleased  to  call  it.  That  iroc  a  strobl 
An  uncx)mmonly  flavorless  breakfait  w« 
that  at  our  table  tbat  morning,  and  dstv 
Kelly's  doleful,  sympathizing  loob 
wouldn't  suffer  us  to  forget  onr  woe. 

Some  of  the  gourmands  among  us  who 
were  sufiSciently  well  furnished  witt 
pocket-money,  had  always  at  breakfasta 
supper  a  private  supply  of  Bologna  sn- 
sage,  sardines,  or  guava  jelly ;  but  tk 
custom  was  frowned  upon,  and  hasiiiMi 
been  abolished,  I  believe. 

Every  pupil  carried  her  own  table  d- 
ver — two  forks,  knives,  spoons,  nipUBi 
ring,  and  silver  cup.     At  the  oloteof 


each  meal  tiny  basins  of  hot  water 
handed  about,  with  towels^  and  wi 
washed  our  knives,  forks,  and  ^oom^ 
then  rolled  them  in  our  napkins,  dipptd 
the  ring  over,  clapped  the  cup  oi  tht 
end  of  the  roll,  and  voUd  !  the  "cover" 
was  all  ready  ior  the  next  meal.  Atni^ 
we  used  to  see  a  large  clothes-baAit 
piled  with  these  "  covers  "  going  up-«taiii 
to  the  Treasury  between  two  stout-amud 
sisters,  and  we  often  talked  of  the  woa- 
derful  courage  Madame  Conway  wbo 
slept  there  must  possess. 

There  w^ere  four  class-rooms,  or  eom^ 
as  they  were  called, —  the  first,  secoad, 
third,  and  fourth,  the  fourth  being  the 
baby  couTB^  little  creatures  from  four  to 
seven  years  old. 

The  desks  were  ranged  against  tbfl 
walls  BO  that  no  one  suffered  distrac- 
tion save  from  an  either-hand  neighbor; 
and  at  those  desks  great  part  of  onr 
school-life  was  spent:  we  studied  there; 
kneeling  before  them  we  said  onr  pnj- 
ers  morning  and  evening,  and  recited 
the  rosary;  sitting  at  them  we  assisted 
at  lectures ;  or  standing  received  repri- 
mands, commands,  visitors;  indeed,  »• 
frequent  was  the  order,  **  To  your  desk- 
places  !  "  that  an  impetuous  Kibbon  de- 
clared we  should  take  off  our  aprons 
and  go  to  Ueaven  in  our  "desk-places I" 

Perhaps  a  day's  routiuo  will  give  the 
clearest  idea  of  our  life. 

We  rise,  let  us  say,  at  six.  At  that 
hour  the  Lady  who  has  charge  of  the  dor- 
mitory and  sleeps  within  it,  walks  down 


School  Days  at  thb  Saobed  Bkabt. 


270 


the  alcoves  ringing  a  small  bell, 
g  then  a  brief  prayer  to  which 
ikoning  scholars  respond.  Tho 
proceeds  in  silence  broken  only 
voiced  requests  to  the  sister  in 
to  render  assistance.  The  toi- 
mpleted,  the  beds  are  made,  the 
;8  a  signal  for  the  looping  away 
una  in  front  of  the  alcoves,  then 
klcove^B  entrance  each  pnpil  sta- 
rself,  open  dressing-box  in  hand. 
1  thd  lines  the  teacher  passes 
inspecting  each  pupil  from  head 
A  fnowzy  head,  a  dragging  shoe* 
<  rent,  neglected  nails  or  combs 
ashes,  are  divined,  almost,  so 
the  whole ;  bat  such  discipline 
>cts  its  end,  and  any  exception  to 
Jdincss  after  a  few  weeks*  expe- 
f  it  is  very  rare, 
is  time  a  great  bell  rings  in  the 

below,  leading  from  school- 
>  chapel,  and  quietly  the  dormi- 
re  vacated  and  the  eours  filled, 
rth  Murg,  the  babies,  sleep  on 
bed  for  a  while,  for  they  do  not 
it  mass,  and  have  only  to  be  got 
I  season  for  breakfast. 
ftve  prayers,  one  of  the  more  ex- 

pupils  being  chosen  to  repeat 
loh  week ;  then  rising  we  tie  on 
9,  long  scarfs  of  black  or  white 
)  white  for  holidays),  take  our 
>ookd  and  march  out  by  twos,  to 
e  other  divii^ions  in  the  corridor, 
the  Mistress-General  is  in  wait- 
see  that  all  is  in  order  due — no 
the  line,  no  tall  girl  slipped  away 
IT  matched-in-height  partner  to 
ith  a  beloved  but  ^ort  friend, 
)trically  a^usted  veil. 
f  pretty  sight  is  that  of  the  pupils* 
)  into  chapel  of  a  summer  morn- 
)  fresh  air  stirring  the  curtains  in 
1  windows  below ;  the  sunshine 

through  those  in  the  gallery 
1  long  slanting  bars  filled  with 
OS  golden  dust,  down  among  the 
irm  hues  of  wall,  pillar,  carving, 
rement;  the  white  caps  of  the 
.otted  about  in  the  galleries ;  the 
I  figures  of  the  Ladies  in  the  high 
oircling  the  church.  The  sombre 
Ige  of  this  **  ro6e«bud  garden  of 


girls"  is  "pious  Barney  "the  gardener 
and  servitor  at  mass,  so  profoundly 
prostrate  in  devotion  upon  the  altar  steps 
that  his  full,  stiffly-starched  alb  is  turned 
over  his  head  like  a  caricatured  ruff;  by- 
and-by  he  will  raise  himself  slowly  to 
the  perpendicular,  with  many  an  awk- 
ward twitch  reduce  the  rebellious  gar- 
ment to  propriety  thereby  disclosing  a 
face  all  shining  and  purple-red  from  his 
position  and  confusion,  and  two  or  three 
giddy-pates  will  have  much  ado  with 
twitching  mouths,  and  will  glance  in  any 
direction  rather  than  toward  the  Sur^ 
veillanU  kneeling  near;  then  the  double 
lines  of  girls,  "  dark,  bright,  and  fair," 
coming  slowly  up  the  broad  aisle  through 
the  bars  of  light  and  shadow  to  the  sanc- 
tuary railing,  bending  lowly  there  the 
veiled  heads,  then  separating  to  go  down 
the  side-aisles  to  their  places. 

And,  mass  over,  I  can  hear  at  this  mo-' 
ment  the  sweet,  faltering  voice  of  the 
French  Mother  of  Novices,  reciting  the 
little  prayer  the  Religious  of  the  Sacred 
Heart  offer  for  the  conversion  of  all  Our 
Lord's  children :  "  Grftce,  grace,  6  mon 
Dieu,  pour  taut  d'dmes  qui  se  perdent 
chaque  jour  autour  de  nous  I  GrAce,  b 
mon  Dieu  I  Voyez  le  d6mon  qui  s'^lance 
de  Tablme,  courant  d  d'horribles  con- 
quotes;  il  excite  sa  troupe  infernale,  11 
s'6crie :  *  des  Ames  I  des  toes  I  Volons  k 
la  perte  des  toes  I '  Et  les  Ames  tombent 
comme  les  feuilles  de  Tautomne  dans  le 
gouffre  6ternel. 

"Et  nous  aussi,  6monDieu,  nous  crions: 
des  toes  I  des  toes!  11  nous  fant  des 
Ames  pour  payer  votre  amour  I  pour  ao- 
quitter  les  dettes  de  reconnaissance. 
Nous  vous  les  demandons  par  les  plaies 
de  J^us,  notre  Sauveur  et  notre  Epouz. 
Oes  plaies  adorables  orient  vers  vous 
comme  autant  de  benches  ^loquentes: 
*  GrAce,  grAce,  6  mon  P^re !  GrAce  pour 
des  coupables  qui  sont  le  prix  de  mon 
sang!  donnez-moi  ces  Ames  qui  m'ont 
cout6  si  cher  I '  O  mon  Dieu,  les  refuse- 
rez-vous  A  votre  Fils  ?  Nous  vous  les  de- 
mandons aveclui,  parlui,  pour  votre  plus 
grande  gloire  et  par  Tintercession  do 
Marie.    Ainsi  soit  il." 

We  return  to  the  class-room,  veils  and 
prayer-books  are  placed  in  the  desks,  and 


280 


PUTNAH^B  ICAaAZZNB. 


[MmA, 


we  descend  to  breakfast.  After  break- 
fast, recreation,  perhaps  a  walk,  a  teacher 
with  as  at  recreation,  as  at  anj  and  all 
other  times.  Then  follow  study  and 
recitation  hours.  At  recitation,  the 
classes  are  arranged  in  parallelograms, 
or  long  ovals,  the  teacher  at  one  end. 
She  comes  to  class  to  find  every  thing 
arranged,  her  pupils  standing  quietly ; 
they  kneel,  and  she  repeats  an  invocation 
to  the  Holy  Spirit,  Vent,  SancU  Spiritus, 
etc.,  the  class  responding.  Rising, 
teacher  and  pupils  courtesy  profoundly 
to  each  other,  then,  at  a  little  signal  from 
a  hand-bell,  all  seat  themselves. 

Lessons  are  concluded  by  a  short  pray- 
er to  the  Blessed  Virgin,  again  the  re- 
ciprocal salute,  and  a  wordless  dispersion. 
In  midmorning,  there  is  a  brief  conver- 
sation interval,  then  lessons  till  dinner. 
At  twelve,  the  Angelus  sounds,  within 
the  house  and  without  every  occupation 
ceases,  and  upon  the  knees  prayers  and 
responses  are  repeated. 

Dinner,  tlien  a  long  walk  in  the  beau- 
tiful grounds  containing  many  acres. 
We  have  one  or  two  teacliers  with  us, 
and  perhaps  we  encounter  the  community 
of  nuns  who  also  walk  at  this  time,  and 
who  are  as  gay  as  we  are,  and  well-nigh 
as  noisy.  And  before  we  go  in,  some  of 
us  love  to  linger  a  moment  at  the  railing 
of  a  little  green  mound,  where  under  tall 
evergreens  the  deceased  Religious  of  the 
Sacred  Heart  have  laid  their  hardly-en- 
treated bodies  down  in  a  common  grave 
to  await  the  day  when,  the  serge  put  off, 
they  will  follow,  in  shining  raiments,  the 
Lamb,  wheresoever  he  goeth.  De  pro- 
fundis  clamati  we  say  for  the  souls 
that  are  gone,  and  not  saddened,  but 
helped,  we  turn  to  our  busy  life  again. 

After  the  walk,  sewing.  This  includes 
all  kinds  of  plain  and  fancy  work,  and 
most  artistic  mending,  and  this  depart- 
ment has  a  special  mistress  in  the  two 
upper  cours. 

Wo  had  a  downright  and  most  un- 
ciy'ole-ablo  French  lady  of  the  severest 
possible  notions  of  Art. 

Alas  for  the  ravelled-out  laborious 
eJ^ffs-cTosuvre  of  the  knitting  and  crochet- 
ing I 

I  call  her  to  mind,  and  fancy  myself 


back  again,  sulkily  ripping  a  nearlj-eo» 
pletod  chemise  whose  fells  exceeded  Ur 
ideal  by  a  bairns  breadth  I  Every  mmlk 
we  competed  for  the  prize  of  pl^  wv* 
ing — our  work  pillow-cases  genenllr, 
and  much  of  the  sewing  was  dainly 
enough  for  a  fairy *8  troussoao. 

Then  the  laborious  marking  in  red  eol- 
ton.    Ink  ?  one  dared  not  mentioD  it  I 

And  mending  days — how  fast  tbij 
whisked  around.  Up  from  the  laoodij 
oame  the  great  basket  of  artidei  to  bi 
repaired.  It  was  placed  in  the  ceotra  of 
the  floor,  Madame  took  her»8taod  beiidi 
it,  and  a  '^Ribbon  '^  lifted  and  descriM 
the  articles,  calling  the  name  if  it 
decipherable,  leaving  it  to  our  codi 
ces  if  it  were  not.  And  wasn^t  it  heroie  to 
claim  a  stocking  with  a  hole  to  pat  0110% 
head  through,  or  some  garment  with  • 
most  unprincipled  zigzag,  frayed  test 
So  I  think  to  this  day,  and  a  Yirtooai 
glow  steals  through  my  breast  as  I  if- 
flect — but  no  matter  I 

During  sewing  wo  were  allowed  a  bitf' 
hour^s  speech,  then  silence  and  readn^ 
a  French  tale. 

GoUter  and  lessons  fill  np  the  tei 
untU  supper.    After  supper,  recreadw, 
our  happiest  time  of  the  whole  dv> 
The  great  bare  class-rooms  ring  with  ia- 
nocent  gayety ;  if  the  mistress  who  pn- 
sides  is  a  favorite,   the    pupils  doitsr 
around  her  as  bees  around  their  queca; 
knots  of  dear  friends  here  and  thcva 
snatch  a  few  sweet  minutes  together, 
feeling  just  guilt  enough  (for  oliqnes  in 
discouraged  here)  to  add  zest  to  thor 
happiness ;  there  are  promenaders  in  the 
corridor ;   groups   of   eager    musioiaBi 
in  the  music  rooms;    the  baby  eown 
is  marshalled    up  to  bed;  and  np  the 
stairs  after  them,  if  it  has  been  a  whok 
or  half-holiday,  two  sisters  carry  a  basktt 
of  f  aunting  dollies ;  the  whole  hive  is 
in  a  pleasant  ferment,  yet  out  of  it  sU 
veiled  pupils  are  constantly  seeking  the 
quiet  chapel.    How  lovely  and  peaceful 
it  is  there  at  this  hour  I     The  lumps  of 
the  sanctuary  just  enlighten  the  dimness ; 
the  flowers  on  the  altars  keep  themselves 
in  mind  thougli  unseen,by  their  perfume; 
figures  of  nuns  and  pupils  are  kneeling 
here  and  there,  or  going  and  coming 


School  Days  at  ths  Saobsd  Heabt. 


281 


movement;  this  world  fades 
i  all  its  griefs  and  distractions, 
ivo  dim  glimpses  of  the  Hea- 
ls our  home ;  and  the  hricf, 
►rayerful  tarry  is  the  crown 
aarded,  happy  day.  Again 
bell  rings,  the  papils  gather  in 
ective  rooms,  and  in  each  a 
s  religions  instmction  is  given, 
having  liberty  to  question  as 
e. 

follow,  and  when  the  time 
the  Examen^  Madame  Johns, 
ost  given  the  instruction  in  the 
\  and  who  is  mistress  of  the 
indies,  steps  forward  into  the 
the  room,  and  asks  the  ques- 
ler  own  wonderfully  pathetic 
Did  I  give  my  heart  to  God 
roke  ?  Did  I  rise  promptly  ?  at- 
f  decently  ?  Did  I  assist  at  Mass 
ly  prayers  with  attention  and 
Have  I  kept  silence  in  the 
,  at  study,  in  class,  going  to 
?  Have  I  been  jealous  of  the 
s  of  others?  Have  I  spoken 
>ly?  improperly?  against  the 
ave  I  criticized  my  neighbor  ? 
led  in  order,  economy  ?  Have 
reful  to  render  to  others  that 
>nged  to  them  ?  Have  I  spoken 
conceal  my  faults,  or  for  any 
«ivo?''  And  other  questions 
ore  especially  to  a  school-girl's 
I  temptations.  What  agonies 
dnred  in  the  solemn  hush  of 
rTi'from  the  performances  of  a 
3  Protestant  kneeling  beside 
was  not  in  the  least  malicious 
f  bad,  but  never  was  such  a 
iin!  While  Madame  Johns' 
ered  hers,  she  would  accuse 
idibly  of  the  most  monstrous 
the  most  absurd  nothings,  then 
see  groan  and  strike  her  breast 
inding  and  most  dismal  peni* 
I  Madame  Johns'  ear  caught 
unusual,  and  she  stepped  near- 
g  could  be  more  serious  and 
I  than  this  tricksy  sprite's  air, 
mfortnuato  fellow-pupils  with- 
were  convulsed  with  tortures 
0ed  laughter, 
rayers,  to  the  dormitories  in 

v.— 19 


unbroken  silence.^  The  curtains  are 
dropped  before  the  alcoves,  the  little 
white  beds  are  soon  tenanted,  the  Lady 
in  charge  repeats  *^  Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus 
and  Immaculate  Heart  of  Mary  "  and  ^*  I 
give  you  my  heart  1 "  the  pupils  respond, 
the  lights  are  extinguished,  and  by  nine 
o'clock  profound  stillness  reigns. 

A  Lady  and  a  lay  Sister  sleep  in  each 
dormitory,  and  neither  by  night  nor  day, 
from  entrance  within,  to  departure  from, 
the  convent,  are  the  scholars  ever  left 
alone.  No  communication  with  the  day- 
pupils  is  permitted,  no  books  or  periodi- 
cals are  read  without  examination. 

As  an  instance  of  this  watchfulness,  I 
remember  that,  during  a  vacation  too 
short  to  permit  some  of  us  to  seek  our 
distant  homes,  a  number  of  the  older 
ones,  finding  the  time  hang  heavily,  de- 
voted two  or  three  hours  daily  to  card- 
playing.  On  several  occasions,  the  Su- 
perior passing  had  seen  us  so  engaged, 
and  at  last  she  made  a  pleasant  protest 
against  such  absorption.  We  excused 
ourselves,  alleging  that  we  had  read 
everything,  nothing  to  do,  etc,  and 
presently  thereafter  a  great  armful  of  pa- 
pers arrived  with  Madam 's  com- 
pliments to  the  young  ladies.  Something 
claiming  our  attention  then,  we  had  only 
time  to  glance  nt  our  literature,  but  we 
noticed  a  half-dozen  or  so  copies  of  the 
New  York  Times  with  woodcuts  of  Dr. 
Burdell  and  Mrs.  Cunningham,  and  fuU^ 
accounts  of  the  tragedy. 

Some  hours  afterward,  the  Sister  who  - 
had  brought  them  returned  to  say  that 
Ma  Mere  desired  to  know  if  the  young - 
ladies  had  read  the  Now  York  papers  at 
all,  and  would  we  kindly  return  them  to 
her  at  once  as  Father  B.  desired  to  look 
through  them  for  some  reference..  No 
more  daily  papers  were  sent  us,  and  we 
were  sure  that  Madame  la  Superieure 
had  accidentally  heard  what  was  in- those 
papers  placed  in  our  hands,  and,  horri- 
fied, had  devised  a  pretext  for  their  in- 
stant removal 

With  the  vigilance  that  is  exercised,  I 
believe  it  would  be  utterly  impossible 
for  any  secretly  depraved  child  who 
might  g^n  entrance  to  find  an  oppor* 
tunity  to  corrupt  others. 


282 


PUTKAM^B  MAGAZnnL 


Pte* 


It  may  be  said  th*  the  innocence  of 
convont-bred  girls  is  the  innocence  of 
ignorance,  Mrhicb  cannot  endure  once 
that  peaceful  shelter  is  left  for  the  world, 
and  that  they  are  thns  poorly  fitted  to 
encounter  temptation. 

It  is  trae  that  they  are  nnfainiliar  with 
mnny  aspects  of  sin ;  do  not  know  that 
under  such  forms  it  exists  at  all ;  but  lioly 
purity  in  thought,  word,  and  deed,  has 
been  so  constantly  and  carefully  incul- 
cated that,  even  when  the  pupil  is  non- 
Catholic,  and  is  without  the  safeguards 
of  the  daily  Eiameit,  and  of  frequenting 
the  Sacrament  of  Penance,  I  think  the 
whole  habit  of  the  life  for  so  many  form- 
ing years,  and  the  horror  of  sins  against 
the  lily  among  virtues,  are  not  lightly 
lost. 

There  were  in  my  day,  as  always, 
many  Protestants  among  the  scholars. 

Many  from  families  high  in  place  and 
power;  many  the  children  of  professional 
people  who,  lending  public  lives,  would 
know  their  lambs  securely  folded  ;  many 
part  or  whole  orphans,and  these  last  with 
orphans  of  Oatholic  parentage,  made  up 
that  bnby  cours  whose  presence  was  so 
strangely  touching  and  pretty  amongst 
us.  One  round,  dimpled  creature  I  re- 
call, the  child  of  a  Protestant  missionary 
in  China.  She  was  not  more  than  four 
years  old,  and  w^as  sent  all  the  long  way 
in  company  with  her  Chinese  nurse  of 
nine  or  ten,  in  the  care  of  strangers.  I 
think  the  captain^s  wife  brought  her  to 
the  convent,  and  a  great  pet  the  little 
thing  became.  The  nurse,  too,  stayed 
several  months,  and  a  droll  figure  she 
was  with  turned-up  slippers,  odd  silk 
tunics  and  trousers,  and  long  braided 
tails  of  hair,  with  sewing-silk  plaited  in 
at  the  ends  to  give  the  requisite  fashion- 
able length. 

To  all  the  general  religious  observan- 
ees  of  the  house  the  Protestants  are  re- 
quired to  conform :  to  attend  mass  and 
vespers,  general  religious  instructions,  to 
be  present  at  night  and  morning  prayers, 
and  nothing  like  disrespect  of  manner 
would  be  suffered.  But  nothing  was 
more  common  than  to  see  them  mingled 
with  the  Catholics  in  special  devotions 
where  their  presence  was  not  a  duty,  or 


to  see  one  quietly  putting  on  her  -nil  it 
recreation  to  steal  off  to  the  oh^d  (or 
solitary  prayer. 

If  I  am  asked  if  they  are  inflaenoedii 
favor  of  Catholicism,  I  answer,  most  as- 
suredly. Yes.  Not  directly,  if  stipolitioi 
to  such  effect  has  been  made ;  bat  indi- 
rectly in  every  way.  The  tender  tittle 
customs  and  practices  of  every  hour,  tht* 
beliefs  of  their  comrades,  the  lives  of 
teachers  revered  and  passionately  knd, 
the  whole  atmosphere  of  a  Beligioai 
House — all  combine  to  form  an  indinrt 
influence  as  impossible  to  gnard  agiiut 
as  difficult  afterward  to  connteracL 

Indeed,  for  the  honor  of  hnman  ai- 
ture  and  the  youthful  heart,  one  eoaU 
not  wish  it  otherwise. 

One  of  my  own  dearest  friends  at  thi 
Sacred  Heart  was  a  stanch,  beUigennl 
Unitarian,  from  New  England — a  0A 
of  fine  intellect,  of  noble,  heroic  stri^ 
and  conscientious  to  the  last  dBgraSt 
We  belonged  to  that  reprobated  tMig; 
"a  set,"  "a  clique."    There  were  five: 
a  beautiful,  highly -accomplished  Spaniiii 
girl,  from  Caraccas;   a  sensitive,  high* 
spirited  Bnltimorean,  of  Irish  descent* 
both  these  '^Bibbons,"  and  fervent  Oith* 
olics ;  a  predestined  belle  from  New  Or- 
leans, a  Catholic,  but    an  indifferent, 
cold,  sarc.istic,  worldly  creatnre,  (ibe 
told  mo  that  when  she  went  out  for  the 
holidays  she  said  her  prayers  at  night 
because  she  dared  not  omit  them,  bnt  in 
the  morning — oh  I  well,  in  the  daytime 
she  could  take  care  of  herself);  the  two 
Yankees — Unitarian    and    Convert    I 
don't  think  wo  wished  to  be  rebellions; 
but  how  to  help  loving  each  other,  con- 
triving little  plots  to  walk  together,  or 
finding  ourselves  in  a  group  tho  instant 
recreation-bell  struck  ?    We  never  ooald 
he^p  it.     But  I   was  hopeless  of  my 
Yankee  girl — a  Unitarian  she  would  st^ 
I  was  very  sure.    So  pngnacions  and 
thorny  she  was!    The  tilings  she  s«d 
to  me  about  underhand,  managing  Cath- 
olic  ways.    Catholic    mendacity,    dirty 
saints,  childish  customs,  and  what  she 
was  pleased  to  term  the  greasy  devoUon 
of  tho  scapular  I    But  before  my  school 
life  was  ended,  I  had  the  Joy  of  seeing 
her  baptized,  make  her  First  Communion, 


1870.] 


School  Days  at  the  Saosed  Hsabt. 


288 


and  she  wears  now  the  habit  and  black 
vdl  of  a  Beligious  of  the  Sacred  Ileart, 
and  a  fervent  and  happy  nun  these 
clothe. 

Most  of  the  pupils  make  their  First 
Gommnnion  at  the  convent.  For  months 
in  advance,  thej  strive  to  conquer  all 
their  little  naughtinesses  that  they  may 
bo  judged  worthy  to  be  of  the  number 
chosen  for  that  year.  Several  weeks 
before  the  festival  chosen  for  their  com- 
munion, tliey  receive  special  religious  in- 
Btrnction  as  a  class,  and  have  special  de- 
votional exercises.  The  last  three  days 
are  spent  in  Retreat  —  a  time  wholly 
given  up  to  spiritual  exorcises.  They 
are  sequestered  from  the  other  pupils, 
and  every  hour  has  its  appointed  exer- 
cise— meditation,  spiritual  reading,  pray- 
ers, and  preparation  for  a  general  con- 
fession. Silence  is  kept ;  and  if  the 
attention  be  not  otherwise  required, 
some  charitable  work  busies  the  hands. 
The  great  day  itself  is  made  as  festal 
and  beautiful  as  possible  to  them.  All 
beg  their  prayers,  nuns  and  pupils; 
everybody  embraces  them  when  they 
come  from  the  chapel ;  any  possible 
favors  tliey  ask  are  granted.  There  is  a 
grand  breakfast,  and  toward  its  close 
they  go  floating  about  in  their  white, 
soft  draperies  and  veils,  distributing 
slices  of  the  great  cakes  sent  or  brought 
by  happy  home-friends  —  for  the  day 
tbey  are  queens  regnant. 

Most  of  the  pupil  communicants  ap- 
proached the  lioly  table  monthly,  and 
at  the  great  festivals,  others  fortnight- 
ly; a  few  weekly.  The  priest  who  said 
mass  each  morning  never  heard  confes- 
sions in  the  house.  Our  confessors  were 
priests;  one  cnme  for  us,  another  for  the 
nuns.  Amusing  things  occurred  some- 
times. I  remember  with  what  horror  I 
saw  a  list  of  things  I  wished  to  recall  in 
confession  drop  from  my  prayer-book, 
where  I  was  kneeling  in  the  gallery,  and 
float  down  into  the  Ladies'  stalls,  where 
we  never  went.  Another  was  in  simi- 
lar tribulation  :  "  Oh,  I've  lost  my  sins, 
and  somebody  '11  find  them  I  What  shall 
I  do  ?  '*  One  little  thing,  of  tender  years, 
was  secretly  much  troubled  in  conscience 
because  she  had  said,  after  emerging 


from  the  conjpssional,  that  the  Father 
smelt  badly.  "^This  crime  was  so  enor- 
mous that  she  felt  it  her  terrible  duty 
to  confess  it.  Accordingly,  she  began : 
"  Father,  I  accuse  myself  of  having  said, 
after  I  went  to  confession  the  last  time, 
that  you— smelt  bad."  "  What  did  the 
Father  say?"  inquired  the  person  to 
whom  this  was  afterward  detailed. 
"  Why,  he  didn't  say  any  thing.  I  think 
he  laughed  ;  and  then, '  Go  on  I  Go  on  I' " 

There  are- several  religious  societies 
among  the  scholars — Children  of  the  In- 
fant Jesus;  of  St.  Aloysius;  the  Oon- 
gregation  of  the  Holy  Angels ;  and  the 
Children  of  Mary.  Each  society  has  for 
badge  a  silver  medal,  worn  on  ribbon  of 
a  distinctive  color.  The  president  is  a 
Religious ;  and  the  two  societies  of  older 
pupils-^those  of  the  Holy  Angels,  and 
Children  of  Mary — have  their  nicely-ap- 
pointed chapels.  Wonderful  agents  for 
good  are  these  societies.  The  devotion 
of  the  little  children  for  their  patron, 
the  Infant  Jesus,  was  very  great;  and 
almost  always  it  was  quite  enough  to 
say  to  any  refractory,  **Do  you  think 
the  Holy  Child  Jesus  will  own  such  a 
naughty  little  sister  ?  "  for  instant  sub- 
mission to  follow.  In  the  weekly  meet- 
ings, the  president  points  out  faults  of 
individual  members,  and  encourages  to 
new  struggle  —  always  a  definite  end, 
and  the  way  mapped  out. 

The  Children  of  Mary  may  be  called 
the  nuns'  staff.  They  lead  in  devotional 
exercises ;  set  on  foot  good  works ;  must 
be  without  reproach ;  devote  themselves 
to  new-comers,  to  the  neglected ;  deny 
self  for  any  unpleasant  duty,  from  de- 
livering a  speech  to  the  archbishop,  to 
sitting  an  hour  iu  the  infirmary  with 
the  most  uncongenial  of  sick  scholars. 

Simplicity,  simplicity  from  first  to  last, 
is  the  quality  insisted  upon  by  the  good 
nuns ;  simplicity  in  the  sense  of  perfect 
oandor  and  ingenuousness. 

Never  in  any  other  school  have  I  seen 
simple  goodness  take  the  rank  or  possess 
the  influence  it  does  here.  There  is 
great  admiration  of  genius  and  talents, 
but  either  gift  unallied  with  piety  seems 
characterless  and  powerless — ^is  outside 
of  the  school  life  and  world. 


284 


PuTNAM^B  Magazine. 


pCareh, 


The  system  of  instructions  differs  some- 
what from  that  pnrsned  in  Protestant 
schools.  Less  prominence  is  given  to 
mathematics ;  I  never  heard  there  of  a 
Greek  lesson,  and  the  class  in  Latin 
was  exceedingly  small,  and  not  always 
maintained.  History  was  a  strong  point; 
the  critical  study  of  the  English  language 
another ;  some  of  the  natural  sciences, 
the  modern  languages,  and  music  were 
most  carefully  taught. 

Much  of  our  teaching  was  oral,  and 
great  use  was  made  of  abstracts,  reviews, 
dictations. 

"Withal  our  life  was  not  all  devotion  or 
work ;  we  played  heartily,  and  as  much 
as  we  needed.  And  one  has  to  spend 
much  time  in  silence  to  know  how  eigoy- 
able  simple  speech  is.  We  had  picnics 
in  the  grounds,  games  of  all  sorts,  half- 
days  and  whole  days  of  conge^  which  we 
commonly  celebrated  by  an  uproarious 
hide-and-seek,  or  cache-cache^  as  we 
called  it,  through  the  whole  convent  from 
cellar  to  cupola.  Teachers  joined,  we 
stopped  the  sisters  in  their  work,  the 
fracas  was  terrific.  In  these  at-will  ram- 
pages no  trap-doors,  or  dungeons,  or 
tortured  creatures,  or  skeletons,  or  dark 
secrets  of  whatever  sort  came  to  light, 
nothing  more  terrific  than  a  skull,  which, 
together  with  a  crown  of  thorns,  some 
enterprising  spirit  beheld  upon  a  bed  in 
one  of  the  Ladies'  cells.  An  incredible 
statement  this,  I  know,  but  I  must  report 
after  my  own  knowledge.  And,  in 
another  convent,  doubtless — 

On  great  occasions,  and  in  winter, 
when  we  could  be  less  out  of  doors,  we 
amused  ourselves  with  dramatic  per- 
formances. We  played  little  French 
comedies  usually,  though  now  and  then, 
when  the  time  or  events  demanded  ex- 
traordinary magnificence,  two  or  throe 
clever  wielders  of  the  pen  would  be  sot 
at  work  to  concoct  something  fresh,  suit- 
able and  English.  A  ruthless  tragedy 
was  the  ordinary  result,  full  of  persecuted 
Christians,  martyrdoms,  traditions  in  ac- 
tion. The  scene  lay  in  Greece  or  Rome, 
that  we  mightn't  have  too  much  trouble 
with  our  male  costimies,  the  parts  all 
grandiose  leading  ones,  and  written 
straight  at  the  sundry  prominent  artlstee. 


And  what  immense  favor  it  foand,  to  be 
sure,  when  the  author  read  it  to  the  as- 
sembled troupe  locked  up  in  a  dormitory  I 

The  writer  hereof  well  remembers 
having  the  key  turned  upon  the  Spanish 
member  of  her  clique  and  herself  in  one 
of  the  community  rooms  by  our  idolized 
Madame  Johns  who  desired  that  an  ora- 
tion and  a  song  should  be  prodaced  in  a 
given  time.  Solitary  confinement  wocdd 
have  been  better,  for  we  chattered  like 
magpies,  good-gracious-ed  each  other 
over  our  hard  fortune  till  Madame  com- 
ing back  was  disgusted  to  find  only  a 
very  lame  opening  of  an  addreaa,  and  the 
first  two  lines  of  two  verses  of  the 
song;  the  miserable  author  stranded  * 
hopelessly  high  and  dry  thereon. 

But  the  devising  costume  and  scenery, 
that  was  the  delightful  business  I  Oar 
leader  here  was  invariably  the  Italian 
choir-mistress.  She  arranged  moae, 
drilled  musicians,  knew  exactly  what  wis 
to  be  done  in  the  way  of  dress,  and  pos- 
sessed the  greatest  fertility  of  resonroe 
and  audacity  of  device.  But  obeying  her 
behest  cost  me  once  a  most  miserable 
afternoon.  Curtains,  lace  curtains,  were 
wanted  for  some  stage  arrangements. 

"Madame  Laynez  has  them,^'  sud 
Madame  Rolando ;  "Mary,  go  and  ask  for 
them,  please." 

^'Bnt  she  is  at  work  in  the  Sanctu- 
ary," I  objected. 

"  Very  well.  You  go  up-stairs  and  ring 
her  bell,  wait  there,  and  she  will  come.*' 

In  the  excitement  of  the  work  I  started, 
but  before  I  got  up-stairs  I  wished  to 
creep  through  a  knot-hole.  Madame  Lay- 
nez was  a  Spaniard,  of  very  imposing  pre- 
sence, and  fabulous  her  ante-conventual 
wealth  and  state,  according  to  the  roman- 
tic ones.  She  was  Sacristine,  consequent- 
ly her  work  isolated  her  entirely  from 
communication  with  the  pupils.  No  one 
ever  rang  that  bell  save  the  nuns ;  each 
had  her  number  of  strokes.  I  knew  Ma- 
dame Laynez  was  busy  in  the  church,  and 
what*  would  she  say  to  me?  Falter- 
ingly,  I  rang  four  strokes,  I  think  it  was, 
and  then  how  I  longed  to  run  away  I 
Presently  she  came,  hurriedly,  and  look- 
ing in  a  surprised  way  on  every  side  for 
the  Religious  who  had  summoned  her. 


School  Days  at  ths  Saobbd  Heabt. 


286 


le  comprehended  that  it  was 
irbo  had  rung,  she  looked 
d^my  errand  stated,  indignant, 
pense  Madame  Rolando  ?  Jo 
islesrideaax,  moi  I  *^  and  with- 
r  word  she  turned  and  left  me 
erlj.  I  believe  I  sneaked 
the  chapel  gallery  and  cried, 
on  my  descent,  Madam  Rolan- 
[y  inquired  if  I  had  been  trav- 
woes  burst  forth  in  very  vivid 
Never  did  I  meddle  again 
ans*  bell. 

c,  in  a  paper  like  this  I  refer 
nunity  of  nans  only  as  the  re- 
touched our  youthful,  secular 
ow  dearly  we  loved  them,  and 
or  of  story,  mystery,  and  ro- 
re  was  in  our  surroundings, 
legends  of  the  house  I  What 
)  figures,  tool  There  was 
ilando,  brilliant  and  gay — in- 
!n,  bat  with  great  flashing  eyes 
nt  lips  that  made  yon  forget 
matures.  She  was  one  of  the 
i — was  it  not?  Their  convent 
'in,  and  they  escaped  in  dis- 

and  one  other  were  sent  to 

"  Droll  frights  we  were,"  said 

h  our  short  hair,  clothes  not 

is,  rolled  up  on  deck  in  gay 

0  sea-sick  bundles  of  misery.^' 
itleman  on  board  labored  ear- 
in  them  from  the  error  of  their 
rays,  making  them  long  ha- 
ding grandly,  each  time,  with 

"  They  did  not  know  his 
"  Here  comes  Mr.  Fiat  lux  I  " 
3  each  other  as  he  daily  hove 
i  bore  down  upon  them, 
card  Madame  R.  relate  her  ex- 
'  the  Armenian  forms  in  olfer- 
crifice  of  the  Mass.  Madame 
Uants  one  morning  that  two 
monks  were  to  celebrate  Mass 
ent.  It  was  her  doty  to  keep 
in  order,  and  to  signal  them  to 
f  etc^,  at  the  proper  places, 

1  they  do  from  the  Latin  cere- 
[adame  herself  did  not  know 
,  but  trusted  to  divine  them 
)agh.  But  things  went  veiy 
and  then  there  was  a  long 


period  in  which  the  two  Fathers  went 
groping  almost  on  their  hands  and  knees 
round  the  sanctuary,  up  and  down  the 
altar  steps,  behind  the  altar,  behaving 
altogether  so  grotesquely  that  there  be- 
gan to  be  ebullition  among  the  scholars. 
"  I  frowned  at  them  my  savagest,''  went 
on  Madame,  "  then  buried  my  face  quick- 
ly in  my  hands,  to  hide  how  nearly  set 
oflf  I  was  myself.  I  kept  them  getting  up 
and  getting  down,  and  was  terribly  exer- 
cised with  it  all,  and  then  was  told  after- 
ward by  the  Fathers  that  it  was  nearly  all 
wrong ;  that  we  stood  up  when  we  should 
have  knelt,  and  knelt  when  we  should 
have  sat  down,  and  that  the  queer  grop- 
ings  which  nearly  made  us  disgrace  our 
selves,  but  through  which  we  had  hum- 
bly staid  on  our  knees,  were  not  at  all 
part  of  the  service,  but  a  search  for  a 
dropped  knife  which  they  use  in  separat- 
ing the  wafer  I  ** 

Then  there  was  the  librarian  of  the 
French  library — a  middle-aged  French 
lady,  with  manners  courtly  d  touts  «- 
preuvf.  She  had  been  a  nun  many  years, 
and  had  quite  old-world  ideas  even  for 
that  conservative  plaoe,  a  convent  But 
how  thoroughly  good  she  was,  with  a 
real  French,  gentle,  sentimental  piety. 
Her  life  was  more  sedentary  than  the 
others^  and  I  suppose  her  habit  lasted  a 
long  time,  and  though  the  serge  had  been 
an  unworthy  purchase,  and  was  turned 
quite  green,  still  she  wore  it  for  holy 
poverty ^s  sake,  and  when  she  came  down 
to  preside  at  an  out-door  recreation  in 
the  strong  sunsbinc,she  was  absurdly  like 
a  dull  old  fly,  so  rusty  were  the  hues, 
and  yet  with  glancing  prismatic  lights. 

Another  French  nun  there  was  very 
beautiful,  quite  young,  yet  already  wear- 
ing her  silver  cross.  It  was  her  mis- 
fortune to  be  too  charming ;  everywhere 
the  pupils  raved  over  her,  so  that  her  life 
was  almost  a  constant  journey,  with  short 
sojourn  in  one  House  after  another  of 
the  Order. 

It  was  curious  that  almost  none  of  the 
French  nuns  ever  learned  to  speak  Eng« 
liflh.  Some  of  them  had  been  in  Ameri- 
ca many  years,  yet  knew  but  a  few  com- 
monest words. 

Among  the  Sisters  there  was  she  whom 


286 


PuTVAM^s  Magazine. 


[Mtrch, 


we  called  the  Garden  Sister;  a  Canadian, 
I  believe,  and  worked  constantly  in  the 
garden.  Wliat  a  robust  figure  it  was ! 
tlio  skin  like  leather,  and  brown  as  nuts, 
her  white  visor  in  effective  contrast  to 
her  tint,  and  her  coal-black  eyes. 

Anotlier  little  Canadian  was  my  favor- 
ite, one  brimming  over  with  mischief. 

The  privilege  was  accorded  me  of 
taking  every  morning  my  accustomed 
cold  bath.  The  bath-rooms,  six  or  seven 
in  number,  were  partitioned  off  from 
small  rooms  in  which  were  pianos  for 
practising,  the  partitions  not  reaching  to 
the  ceiling.  The  piano-rooms  it  was  Sister 
Gardou's  duty  to  sweep  every  morning, 
and  she  was  generally  about  this  work 
when  I  took  my  bath.  One  morning  I 
heard  her  come  in,  place  her  broom 
against  my  bath-door  and  go  out  again, 
lustnntly  I  opened  the  door,  took  in  the 
broom,  locked  the  door,  and  went  on 
with  my  bath.  Presently  she  came  back, 
looked  about,  **^ii  est-ce  queje  Vai  mis  f  " 
I  heard  her  mutter,  and  then  there  was 
silence.  A  little  rustle  at  the  top  of  my 
partition  attracted  me,  and  there  ap- 
peared a  ruddy  hand  and  arm,  and  in- 


stantly in  the  water  beside  me  descend- 
ed, plump,  a  little  kitten  biasing  and 
clawing  vigorously.  Then  and  there  i 
screaming,  dripping  exodus  was  mode. 
I  gathered  up  the  hideous  little  victim, 
and  opening  the  door  to  push  it  out  aod 
deliver  Sister  a  philippic  upon  her  inhu- 
manity, I  found  her  doubled  up  in  silent 
laughter  on  the  piano,  and  was  quite  di«- 
armed.  I  laughed,  we  were  friends, "  iat- 
over  after,"  and  many  an  enviable  crusty 
end  of  the  loaf  did  I  owe  to  her  in  soe* 
ceeding  breakfasts  I 

Dear  old  days  I  beguiling  me  on  tnd 
on  till  all  patience  should  end,  but  not 
my  reminiscences.  « 

Tis  true  we  were  controlled;  wen 
hedged  about  by  many  rules ;  were  chU- 
dren,  and  not  Girls  of  the  Period ;  obe- 
dience, humility,  suavity,  patience,  SL 
Francis  of  Sales's  ^^  little  virtues"  wen 
impressed  upon  us ;  we  were  profoondly 
reverential  toward  our  teftobers;  tlie 
whole  atmosphere  we  breathed  had  a 
strong  unworldly,  supernatural  elementi 
but  it  did  not  seem  foreign  to  us,  and  in 
it  we  throve  as  perhaps  never  sinoe  in 
body,  heart,  and  soul. 


-•♦♦- 


BROWLER'S  DEFALCATION. 


Wb  always  used  to  pity  Browlor  on 
account  of  his  three  sisters ;  though  I  do 
not  suppose  he  would  have  cared  much 
what  we  thought,  even  if  he  knew. 

But  it  was  really  comical  to  us  fel- 
lows to  see  the  way  he  toted  those  three 
old  girls  around.  Ho  was  great  for  lec- 
tures ;  and  because  ho  scribbled  a  little 
for  the  papers,  plenty  of  tickets  came  to 
him  with  compliments.  You  might  see 
them  almost  any  night,  at  about  eight, 
marching  in  a  solid  phalanx,  the  two 
oldest  arm-in-arm  in  front,  with  Brow- 
ler  and  the  youngest  bringing  up  the 
rear.  All  four  of  them  wore  spectacles, 
and  kept  a  perfect  step ;  and  little  Brow- 
ler,  being  rather  short,  was  obliged  to 
stretch  a  great  deal  to  keep  up  the 
stride. 

It  was  fun,  too,  to  see  the  way  ho 


glowered  around  at  the  men  who  woi 
past;  and  he  would  make  nothing  d 
stopping  tho  whole  cavalcade  and  gif* 
ing  some  poor  fellow  a  lecture  on  dr 
vility,  if  ho  fancied  ho  paid  too  warm 
attention  to  the  ladies.  And  such  t  ng* 
marole  it  was,  too.  Baxter  said  be  goi 
it  from  one  of  Canning^s  speeclies^  ind 
learned  it  by  heart ;  but  I  never  could 
find  it. 

Suddenly  we  found  out,  one  day,  tbil 
none  of  us  ever  visited  Browler,  or 
knew  where  he  lived.  We  could  teQ 
pretty  near  the  quarter  he  came  from 
mornings,  but  he  used  to  slip  awsy 
from  us  at  night,  in  a  way  that  seemed 
mysterious,  now  that  we  noticed  it. 
Baxter,  who  is  our  policy-derk,  said  he 
believed  he  lived  in  a  sewer  somewhere, 
on  account  of  the  musty  smell  be  used 


1870.] 


Browleb^s  Defalcation. 


287 


to  have  about  his  clothes,  and  his 
shriveled-Qp  skiD,  which  Baxter  said, 
came  from  being  in  the  water  so  much. 
Bat,  of  course,  wo  did  not  think  this 
was  a  fact. 

However,  we  commenced  to  have  an 
eye  on  Browler's  movements,  as  there 
wonld  be  a  reward  coming  to  us,  if  we 
found  him  out  in  any  rascality;  and  wo 
vowed  that  no  pity  for  his  three  sisters 
tboald  prevent  us  from  exposing  him  to 
the  world,  if  we  unearthed  him.  lie 
had  s  mean  way  of  eating  his  hmch  be- 
hind his  ledgers,  though  we  found  out  it 
was  nothing  but  a  cracker  and  an  apple; 
bat  some  day  he  might  be  pretending  to 
take  his  lunch  and  really  be  altering 
■ome  figures,  and  so  we  determined  to 
keep  a  strict  watch. 

About  this  time,  a  young  fellow  was 
broaght  into  the  office  by  the  president, 
and  introduced  to  us  lower  clerks  by  the 
same  of  O'Neil.  He  was  a  handsome 
one,  and  looked  so  much  the  gentleman, 
that  all  of  as  were  afraid  to  speak  with 
him  at  first,  though  he  presently  turned 
ont  to  be  quite  social  and  civil. 

He  told  UB  right  off,  as  though  he 
meant  we  should  understand  it,  that  he 
didn't  know  any  thing  about  work,  and 
that  he  had  been  used  to  slaves  in  the 
South,  bat  that  the  war  had  made  him 
poor ;  bat  he  said  he  could  whistle  and 
box  beautifully,  and  we  might  take  it 
ont  in  that  if  we  liked.  We  all  laughed, 
and  we  struck  up  a  friendship  directly. 

That  day,  at  about  ten,  when  we  were 
all  busy  and  still  as  death,  we  heard 
0*Neil  sing  out, 

^  Hallo  I  I  say.  Van  Ooit,  is  that 
yon  f  " 

We  all  looked  around,  and  there  was 
O^Neil,  looking  at  Browler,  quite  pale  in 
the  face. 

**  Yes,"  said  Browler,  keeping  his  red 
face  down  and  writing  away  like  mad, 
«*  Here  I  am." 

We  fellows  stared  like  owb  to  hear 
the  old  gentleman  called  Van  Goit,  and 
to  see  how  it  afiected  him.  Baxter  eyed 
the  two  like  a  hawk,  but  managed  to 
give  as  a  look  that  said,  "  How  are  the 
innocent  apples  and  bread  now,  eh?" 
O'Neil  stood  for  a  minute,  looking  as 


evil  as  a  thunder-cloud,  and  then  walked 
slowly  over  to  old  Browler's  desk  and 
stood^ beside  him,  fiddling  with  his  watch* 
chain  all  the  while.  We  did  not  lot  a  move 
or  sign  escape  as.  Browler  pretended  to 
be  trying  his  pen  on  his  thumb-nail,  and 
tried  hard  to  appear  unconcerned;  but 
he  could  not  get  rid  of  the  fiush  in  his 
face  and  his  hanging  head.  O^Neil 
leaned  his  shoulder  against  the  desk, 
and  looked  down  very  cool  but  very 
fierce  at  Browler,  who  was  a  little  be- 
low him,  and  said  something  to  him  in 
a  very  low  voice,  so  low  that  we  could 
not  catch  a  syllable.  Browler  answered 
him  in  the  same  mean,  underhanded 
style  that  was  a  piece  of  the  rest  of  his 
actions  lately.  They  talked  some  min- 
utes this  way,  then  suddenly  Browler 
broke  out : 

"It  will  only  make  a  heap  of  mis- 
chief, sir." 

"That's  exactly  what  I  want  to 
make,"  said  O^Neil,  turning  away.  "  *An 
eye  for  an  eye,  and  a  tooth  for  a  tooth ' 
say  I."  lie  made  a  few  stops,  as  if  he 
were  going  back  to  the  private  offices, 
when  Browler  scrambled  off  his  stool 
and  touched  his  coat-sleeve  verv  har- 
riedly,  but  very  gently. 

"Don't,  for  God's  sake,"  says  he, 
trembling  like  an  aspen. 

"For  who's  sake?" 

"For  my  sisters'  sake,"  stammered 
Browler,  much  cut  up. 

"  You  mean  your  income's  sake,"  re- 
torted O'Neil.  "  You  mean  yonr  com- 
fort, your  miserable  salary." 

Browler  said  nothing,  but  held  his  bald 
head  down  farther  than  ever.  They 
were  both  silent  for  a  moment.  O'Neil, 
scowling,  and  drumming  his  foot  on  the 
fioor,  and  Browler  very  meek  and 
qnieK  Then  O'Neil  walked  him  off  to 
the  window,  and  leaned  down  and  spoke 
in  his  ear  very  quickly  and  in  a  sharp, 
decided  tone ;  but  was  very  careful  not 
to  let  us  hear.  Then  he  turned  about 
and  came  back  to  bis  desk,  with  his 
hands  deep  in  his  pockets,  and  fell  to 
staring  at  his  inkstand  without  a  word 
to  any  of  us. 

Here  was  mystery  for  us  I  We  were 
not  at  all  surprised  that  Browler  had 


288 


Putnam's  Maaazinb. 


[Hnvb, 


committed  some  act  of  treachery  or 
blood-thirsty  violence,  for  we  had  long 
been  certain  that  a  man  of  his  peculiar 
skull  and  features  would  hesitate  at 
nothing  when  once  fully  aroused;  but 
that  O^Neil  did  not  brain  him  with  a 
ruler,  at  once,  completely  puzzled  us. 
Baxter  said  he  expected  every  instant 
that  O'Neil  would  use  the  bowie-knife 
which  he  had  concealed  between  his 
shoulders,  and  the  reason  that  he  did 
not,  was,  probably,  because  it  was  not 
shai*p  enough  for  Browler^s  tough  skin. 
Baxter  pointed  out  the  bowie-knife  to 
us,  it  making  some  irregular  bunches  in 
O^Neil's  coat  behind;  and  when  some- 
body hinted  it  might  be  only  a  patent- 
suspender,  Baxter  told  him,  with  a  hor- 
rid sneer,  that  he  had  better  go  and  ask, 
and  then  come  back  alive,  if  he  thought 
he  could. 

Many  were  the  theories  we  hatched 
regarding  this  mystification.  One  fol- 
low went  directly  over  to  Browler's 
side,  all  on  account  of  the  old  man^s 
downcast  looks,  and  the  furtive,  meek 
way  he  had  of  watching  O'Neil's  slight- 
est movement.  O^Neil  himself  did  not 
say  a  word  to  us,  but  stalked  off  home 
two  hours  before  he  had  a  right  to  go, 
leaving  ns  four  in  an  agony  of  curiosity 
and  suspicion.  We  worked  ourselves  to 
such  a  pitch,  that  had  Baxter  but  given 
us  the  word,  we  would  have  denounced 
Browlcr  to  the  police  and  had  him  in 
the  station-house  in  twenty  minutes; 
but  Baxter  advised  us,  in  a  whisper,  to 
let  the  plot  ripen,  and  then  crush  it  at 
•ne  fell  swoop ;  to  which  we  slowly  as- 
sented, grasping  hands  over  our  lunch- 
baskets  to  demonstrate  our  unity. 

On  going  gloomily  and  sternly  bnck 
to  my  policy-book,  I  found  a  bit  of  pa- 
per between  the  leaves  addressed  to 
me,  and  marked  ^*  confidential,"  and  ran 
thus:  "Dear  Smythe  —  would  you  do 
me  the  great  kindness  to  call  on  me  at 
No.  100  Cockloft  street,  at  eight  this 
evening  ?  Yours,  in  trouble,  David 
Browler." 

I  looked  over  at  him,  and  he  was 
watching  me  anxiously  over  his  pen- 
rack.  I  was  indignant  that  ho  should 
try  to  drag  me  into  his  rascality,  and  I 


nothing  but  a  boy ;  and  so  I  tore  tlie  \A 
of  paper  to  flinders,  and  flung  them  « 
tl)^  floor  with  as  much  contempt  as  I 
could  get  into  my  motions.  His  Bp 
trembled  just  like  a  crying  baby's;  and 
his  eye  drooped  under  mine,  and  he 
went  to  work  again. 

Ten  minutes  after,  I  was  consoious  of 
being  a  cruel  brut«.  People  are  alwagn 
very  civil  and  kind  to  a  man  who  is  to 
be  hung,  and  why  should  not  I  try  to  be 
obliging  to  a  man  who  certainly  de- 
served it?  I  determined  to  aeoommo- 
date  Browler.  To  get  him  to  imdtf- 
stand  this,  I  was  obliged  to  wait  imtQ 
the  other  fellows  had  gone,  and  I  thea 
slipped  around  and  whispered  awer  the 
top  of  his  desk  as  If  Baxter  waa  on^y  a 
yiurd  off — and  it  surprised  me  to  am 
how  very  kind  I  could  apeak  to  the 
hoary  old  villain  after  all. 

"  111  come,  Browler,"  said  I. 

He  lifted  his  head  up  quickly,  and  i^ 
peared  very  much  pleased. 

"  You'll  do  me  a  great  kindnesBi  if  pm 
will,  Smythe." 

"  Shall  I  fetch  any  thing? '» 

*'  No,  thank  you — eight,  abarp." 

With  that  I  went  away.  Although  I 
knew  Baxter  and  the  others  would  he 
awfully*enraged  if  they  got  an  inkBag 
of  what  I  was  about,  and  althoogh  I  was 
positive  that  old  Browler  waa  endeavor- 
ing to  get  me  into  some  hangman'toacrapQ^ 
yet  when  I  found  out  that  I  coald  do  a 
great  favor  for  him  I  thought  of  tho 
many  holidays  and  advance  aalariea  I 
had  wheedled  him  out  of.  Besides  that, 
he  was  not  so  much  sly  and  deceitful  in 
getting  me  to  visit  him  as  he  was  beg- 
ging and  asking,  and  I  began  rather  to 
fancy  the  idea  of  a  little  diplomacy;  es- 
pecially as  I  should  flnd  out  what  thia 
was  all  about. 

Although  I  had  never  been  there  be- 
fore, I  had  but  little  trouble  in  finding 
Cockloft  street.  It  might  have  been  a 
quiet  sunny  place  in  the  day-time,  at  any 
rate  it  was  sober  and  dark  enough  in 
the  night.  The  houses  were  like  men'a 
stocks,  eminently  old-fashioned  and  high* 
ly  respectable.  I  also  found  Browler 
easily,  and  he  shook  my  hand  cordiallj 
and  dragged  me  into  his  sitting-room. 


1870.] 


Bbowler's  Defaloatioh. 


289 


Tvith  a  jovialitj  that  I  never  supposed  bo 
was  capable  of.  It  looked  very  strange 
to  me  to  see  his  glasses  and  bald  head 
any  where  but  in  the  office,  and  that 
coupled  with  wondering  how  a  man 
could  be  80  pleasant  and  affable  and  a 
deeply-dyed  villain  at  the  same  time, 
made  me  feel  a  little  ill  at  ease.  !N'or 
was  this  at  all  banished  by  the  solemn 
entrance  in  single  file  of  Browler^s  three 
thin  spectacled  relatives. 

"Mr.  Smythe,"  saidBrowler,  bowing, 
"  allow  mo  to  introduce  my  sisters,  Miss 
Amabel,  Hiss  Belinda,  and  Miss  Cora. 
Alphabetical  order  you  observe,  A.  B.  C, 
while  I  dose  up  with  D-David;  a  pretty 
idea  of  my  honored  father^s  who  set  out 
to  finish  the  alphabet,  but  my  mother  in- 
terfered by  dying  and  my  father  quench- 
ed all  hope  by  following  suit  two  months 
after."  I  bowed  three  times  successive- 
Ijy  and  the  three  thin  sisters  smiled  re- 
provingly at  Browler,  who  set  chairs  for 


After  some  trifling  interruptions,  in- 
cluding a  dish  of  pippins,  a  jug  of  cider, 
and  a  general  overhauling  of  the  com- 
mon enemy,  an  open-fire,  Browler  pro- 
ceeded to  business,  placing  himself  in 
firont  of  the  semicircle  wo  formed,  with 
his  ten  fingers  spread  out  in  a  fan-like 
and  explanatory  manner.  The  three 
ilaters  tnrned  their  close  attention  to 
ihelr  brother^s  boots,  and  prepared  to 
llaten  elosely. 

•*llr.  Smythe,"  said  Browler,  delibe- 
rate! j,  *'  what  I  say  shall  bo  very  concise 
and  ii  in  a  measure  an  autobiography." 
He  paused  an  instant,  and  pressed  his  lips 
togetlier.  I  simply  bowed,  while  the 
three  sisters  gave  an  adjusting  rustle  of 
their  skirta. 

^'  Some  years  ago,  in  the  far  South, 
there  was  an  exceedingly  wealthy  firm 
doing  business  in  cotton  and  rice,  by  the 
name  of  O'Neil  &  Oo.,  the  head  of  the 
firm  being  the  parent  of  tbe  young 
man  who  entered  our  place  to-day. 
Onr  head  office  was  not  a  very  large  one, 
and  I  was  the  only  book-keeper.  I  had 
been  brought  up  in  their  employ,  and 
one  of  the  results  of  my  twenty  years^ 
ateady  labor  was  a  deep  attachment  for 
the  principal,  Mr.  O'Xeil.    In  spite  of 


tills,  and  my  ordinary  sense  of  honor  and 
duty,  I  became  wbat  peoplo  called  an 
unmitigated  scoundrel."  Here  another 
rustle  occurred,  and  to  my  disgust,  an  un- 
doubted smile  gathered  upon  the  lips  of 
the  Mephistophiles-Browler.  *'  This 
wickedness  extended  through  a  period  of 
several  years,  and  was  known  to  two  per- 
sons, though  they  were  not  in  collusion. 
Business  was  carried  on,  on  an  unsound 
basis  but  without  contraction,  until  the 
10th  of  December  nine  years  ago.  On 
that  day,  finding  concealment  no  longer 
possible,  I  drew  a  forged  check  for  twelve 
hundred  dollars  and  fled  North." 

^'  We  instigated  the  last  act,  I  mean 
the  forgery,"  said  Miss  Amabel  to  me. 

"  You?  you  three  gi—  ladies?  "  said  I. 

"  I  confess  that  they  did,"  said  Brow- 
ler, quietly,  as  if  ho  were  mentioning 
their  subscription  to  a  race-cup. 

I  stared  rather  blankly  at  the  four 
pairs  of  spectacles  which  were  trained 
on  my  devoted  face,  and  at  the  four  sin- 
hardened  visages,  which  were  as  cnira  as 
if  the  only  crime  they  knew  of  was  an 
excessive  amiability.  "  The  hue  and  cry 
after  me  was  something  frightful,"  con- 
tinued Browler,  *'  but  it  was  unsuccess- 
ful. I  came  to  this  city,  obtained  my 
present  situation,  nnd  under  the  name  of 
Browler  have  been  a  happ;  'man,  but  still 
a  robber — an  undoubted  and  confessed 
robber." 

The  threo  ladies  were  still  as  qnict 
and  demure  as  possible,  while  Browler 
made  the  lost  reiteration  with  an  elasti- 
city that  nearly  approached  a  tone  of 
triumph. 

"  The  papers  credited  me  with  a  de- 
falcation amounting  to  a  quarter  of  a  mil- 
lion, though  it  was  really  not  so  large. 
The  misappropriation  was  effected  by 
surreptitious  advances  obtained  on  pro- 
ducts under  storage,  and  the  replacement 
by  forged  notes  of  checks  intended  for 
the  liquidation  of  claims.  All  was  skil- 
fully and  neatly  done,  and  the  springing 
of  the  trap  found  me  in  possession  of 
sufficient  funds  for  my  expenses,  hey, 
girls?" 

*'  Quite  a  plenty,"  said  Miss  Amabel. 

'*  Yes  indeed,  quite  enough,"  rejoined 
Miss  Belinda. 


890 


Putnam's  Mjlqause, 


[Ifardi, 


"Certainly,"  added  Miss  Cora. 

What  sort  of  people  I  had  fallen  among 
I  did  not  know,  but  a  sensation  of  fear 
crept  over  mo  as  I  realized  that  they 
would  not  consider  the  cutting  of  my 
throat  in  any  more  serious  light  than 
the  cutting  of  a  dress.  Those  cold-blood- 
ed staring  glasses,  the  prim  slate-colored 
dresses,  the  thin  checks,  were  to  my  mind 
exemplars  of  a  systematic  cruelty  and 
villainy,  that  to  fly  from  was  no  coward- 
ice. 

"  Mr.  Browler,"  said  I,  hastily  spring- 
ing up. 

"  One  moment,  Mr.  Smythe,  I  beg  of 
yon ;  '*  ho  touched  me  on  the  shoulder 
with  his  odious  white  hand,  and  I  sat 
down  again. 

"My  irregularity  was  the  final  act 
which  disclosed  the  position  of  affairs, 
and  the  total  failure  of  the  house  instant- 
ly followed.  The  crash  was  felt  far  and 
wide.  They  rushed  through  the  Bank- 
ruptcy court  and  paid  forty- two  cents. 
The  war  broke  out,  Mr.  O^Neil  became 
separated  from  his  beloved  family,  and 
finding  himself  without  power  to  reach 
them,  hit  upon  the  idea  of  making  money 
out  of  the  war.  This  was  done,  I  have 
reason  to  believe,  on  an  article  called 
burlaps,  which  the  Government  made 
extensive  use  oL  Ton  know  that  I  have 
been  discovered  by  a  singular  accident, 
and  I  wish  to  place  myself  in  communi- 
cation with  Mr,  O'Neil,  who  is  now  two 
hundred  miles  off,  and  who  by  the  way  is 
stiU  totally  lost  to  his  family,  wishing  to 
get  arrangements  for  settlement  with  his 
creditors  completed,  before  making  the 
happy  disclosure  to  his  family." 

"But  where  is  the  money  you  st — 
you — all — hum — " 

"  Stole,  that's  it." 

"  Gone  mostly  for  kickshaws," — ^this 
from  Miss  Amabel. 

"  Wines  and  horses,"  said  Miss  Belin- 
da. 

"  Ormolu  clocks,  Turkey  carpets,  ar- 
ticles of  vertu,"  rejoined  Miss  Cora,  al- 
lowing her  glasses  to  roam  about  the 
room. 

"General  debauchery,  my  dears," said 
Browler,  coughing  behind  his  hand. 

"  Yes,"   they    answered    in  concert, 


turning  their  glasses  full  upon  me,  **  gen- 
eral debauchery." 

"  Mr.  Browler,"  said  I,  getting  up,  be- 
ing unwilling  if  not  afraid  to  trust  myself 
with  people  whose  only  merit  was  tbdr 
possible  lunacy,  "  I  understand  that  yot 
wish  me  to  take  a  message  to  Mr. 
O'NeU." 

"  Tes,  Mr.  Smythe,  I  am  not  atliberfy 
to  go  into  explanations,  but  merely  as- 
sure you  that  if  you  will  kindly  doio^ 
you  will  be  serving  the  interests  of  hon- 
esty and  not  rascality." 

"Tes,"  said  the  chorus,  "onr  obligs- 
tion  will  be  very  great." 

"I  will  go  on  condition  tliat  your 
brother  will  give  his  word  of  honor  as  a 
gentleman  and  a  book-keeper,  that  be 
will  not  run  off  before  I  can  return.*^  I 
said  this  with  the  dignity  of  a  fellow  of 
principle  who  was  holding  asoom^  ofcr 
iniquity.  The  promise  was  given  wttk 
acclamation,  and  Browler  wrong  nqr 
hand,  which  liberty  I  tolerated  loftily.  Hs 
gave  me  my  directions  and  a  partiqg 
bumper  of  cider,  which,  coming  framtm 
iniquitous  hands  of  Belinda,  and  iNtak 
mulled  by  a  thief's  hot  poksr,  umi^ 
strangled  me  to  death. 

Assured  of  my  absence  being  satis&o- 
torily  accounted  for  at  the  ofi^oe,  I  leftli 
the  midst  of  thanks  and  blesrinpa,  for  ay 
two  days'  trip.  What  would  Baxter havt 
called  me  ?  How  miserable  would  I  hara 
felt,  had  he  turned  up  on  that  wretched 
ride.  The  vision  of  his  contempt  made 
me  very  uncomfortable,  and  I  reproached 
myself  that  I  had  fallen  so  low  as  to  be 
the  emissary  of  a  black-leg. 

This  was  Thursday  night ;  I  could  ar- 
rive at  my  destination,  complete  my  ob- 
ject, and  be  sgain  at  the  ofiico  on  Satur- 
day noon.  I  was  sorry  at  not  being  able 
to  be  on  the  ground  to  watch  the  pn^ 
gress  of  affairs,  but  consoled  myself  at 
being  admitted  above  Baxter  to  the 
secret  of  the  matter,  unhallowed  tliongb 
it  was.  Of  the  three  women  I  had  the 
meanest  opinion ;  that  Browler  could 
cheat  was  an  evident  thing,  but  that  hit 
three  sisters  should  tolerate  his  knavery 
and  reap  the  advantage  so  coolly,  was 
not  punishable  on  enrth.  I  found  Mr. 
O'Neil,  who  was  conducting  his  opera* 


Bbowlbb^s  Dsfaloatiov. 


801 


ider  the  name  of  Townsond,  be- 
lugar-reduerj,  and  be  turned  out 
a  tall,  gentlemanlj  gray-haired 
it  who  received  me  with  a  trifle 
ess  and  saspicion.  Bat  I  bad  no 
Dentioned  the  name  of  Van  Coit 
bisper,  than  be  seized  my  band 
8t  into  tears,  instead  of  flying  off 
arozysm  of  fnry  as  I  fnlly  expect- 
rould. 

S3  my  soul  I  and  so  yon  know  the 
lan?  yon  know  where  be  lives? 
direct  me  to  bim  V^ 
>  know  bim,  sir,  but  I  also  know 
ipalns,  Jonathan  Wild,  Warren 
8,  Jack  Sheppard,  and  Ross,'' said 
'.    He  looked  at  me  curiously  for, 
Dt,  while  I,  ruffled  with  indigna- 
ced  back  at  bim. 
1  so  you  don't  know — ^," 
I  (2o  know  that  be  is  a  defaulter, 
nous  vulture,  a  stupendous  Uriah 

m  bim  I  "  said  be,  half  thought- 
three  sisters  are  also  well,  and 
9  try  their  hands  again  at  similar 
B,*'  I  added,  by  way  of  sarcasm. 
m  my  sunl,  sir,  I  hope  thej  may 
lare  tlie  requirement,  but  long 
^  pluck,  ingenuity,  and  sympa- 
There  was  no  understanding  all 
d  I  gave  it  up  in  disgust. 
rned,  and  wished  myself  back  at 
oe  again,  with  Baxter  and  the  rest, 
of  being  a  go-between  of  a  set  of 
id  knaves. 

iked  some  other  foolish  questions, 
mswered  them  in  a  like  manner. 
)med  very  much  agitated  all 
I  our  conversation,  a  fact  I  could 
counted  for,  bad  be  exulted  at  the 
t  of  the  capture  of  old  Browler, 
icb  in  view  of  bis  apparent  liking 
',  man  was  to  me  inexplicable, 
I  gave  it  up. 

us  very  civil,  though,  and  gave  me 
ing  dinner,  with  claret,  and  a  box 
eatre  afterward,  which  put  me 
1  terms  with  all  but  bis  brains, 
lid  be  would  follow  mo  to  town 
it  up  Yau  Coit  instantly,  and  all 
t>e  right.  I  tlierefore  posted  back 
sity  at  twelve  P.  M.,  on  Friday, 


and  entered  the  office  at  ten  A.  M., 
Saturday. 

There  was  an  awful  row  directly. 
Baxter  gave  me  credit  for  more  wicked- 
ness than  I  ever  knew  of,  and  it  was  not 
until  I  threatened  to  whip  off  my  jacket 
that  be  became  bearable. 

Where  was  Browler  ? 

^  Arrested  I  Put  in  the  station-house 
Thursday  night" 

"  Good  gracious,  who  did  that?  " 

"  I  did,"  said  O'Neil,  swinging  himself 
around  on  bis  stool.  "  Do  you  object, 
bey  ? " 

'*No,  be  deserved  it,  and  bis  sisters 
too." 

"  You're  a  fellow  of  sense;  all  the  rest 
set  me  down  for  a  stupid.  If  a  man  is  not 
to  be  punished  for  robbing  you  of  bouse, 
home,  father,  property,  and  making  yon 
go  to  work  in  sncb  a  confounded  stable 
as  this  is,  I  should  like  to  know  it  I " 

Although  I  appeared  very  just  and 
stern,  I  must  say,  I  was  a  little  sorry  for 
the  old  fellow  after  all.  It  would  come 
bard  on  bim  in  his  old  age  to  be  put  to 
breaking  stones,  and  all  that.  Baxter 
said  that  he  heard  that  they  bad  to  put 
five  bullets  into  bim  before  be  gave  in  to 
the  officers.  He  and  bis  sisters  barricaded ' 
the  dining-room  doors  and  windows,  and 
laid  in  a  stock  of  Oolt's  revolvers,  and 
they  only  brought  them  to  terms  by 
squirting  chloroform  through  the  key- 
bole. 

O'Neil  was  very  savage  against  bim, 
and  vowed  be  would  push  bim  to  the 
wall,  and  would  put  on  every  screw  the 
law  would  allow  bim  to.  He  was  very 
rough  on  Browler's  sisters,  too.  He  said 
they  doubtless  instigated  the  whole  plot, 
and  harped  on  their  brother  so  that  they 
finally  badgered  bim  into  gratifying  their 
selfishness.  He  said  he  always  bated 
their  way  of  sneaking  about  town  at 
home,  with  their  drab  dresses  and  the 
pots  of  two-penny  jelly  and  gruel  for  the 
poor  folks.  They  pretended  to  talk  well, 
and  know  a  great  deal,  and  used  to  be  so 
confoundedly  philanthropic,  always  np 
to  libraries,  and  cooperative  wasb-bonses 
and  that  sort  of  thing.  He  managed  to 
get  up  quite  a  feeling  among  us  in  spite 
of  the  sympathy  we  felt  for  his  prisoner. 


293 


FlTTKAli'B  HaOAZIKE. 


PIM, 


and  when  he  described  the  poverty  his 
family  was  brought  to  through  the  ras- 
cality of  Browler,  we  swore  to  stand  by 
him  to  prevent  any  rescue  that  might  be 
attempted  by  ronghs  who  might  be  hired 
by  Browler's  sisters. 

When  we  got  out  of  CNeil's  hearing, 
though,  we  could  not  help  slipping  back 
again.  Even  Baxter  was  not  quite  so 
hard  on  him.  And  when  we  looked  at 
Ills  vacant  desk,  and  closed  inkstand,  and 
remembered  how  gentle  ho  always  was 
with  ns  and  our  blunders,  and  how  he 
would  oftentimes  stand  between  us  and 
the  officers  for  any  blame  that  rightly 
belonged  to  us,  and  how  blind  he  used 
to  be  to  our  cntting^up,  we  could  not 
help  thinking  that  we  had  no  cause  of 
spito  agiunst  him,  for  he  never  was  any 
thing  but  kind  and  obliging  to  ns.  If 
his  shining  old  bald  head  ever  bobbed  up 
at  any  thing  we  did,  it  would  only  be  to 
wag  once  or  twice,  but  never  a  harsh 
word  came  from  him.  He  never  used  to 
make  us  pay  for  postage  stamps,  and  if 
his  monthly  balance  came  out  within 
twenty-four  hours  (as  it  did  about  once 
in  ten),  he  used  to  stand  us  a  bottle  of 
claret,  which  we  used  to  drink  standing, 
out  of  paper  cornucopias. 

After  we  got  pretty  blue  fey  talking  it 
over,  Browler's  friend  boldly  proposed 
we  shonld  visit  him  at  the  station-house. 
This  was  pretty  emphatic,  and  we  were 
all  silent,  but  Baxter  said  we  had  better 
do  it,  as  it  would  be  our  only  chance  of 
telling  him  what  we  thought  of  him 
and  his  villainy.  Then  something  was 
said  about  carrying  some  chicken  and 
Rhine  wine,  and  Baxter  assented  on  the 
ground  that  it  would  be  an  additional 
punishment,  as  it  would  remind  him 
what  his  knavery  had  deprived  him  of. 

I  had  not  told  O'Ncil  that  I  knew  the 
whereabouts  of  his  father,  or  in  fact  any 
thing  about  him  whatever,  as  I  did  not 
know  how  Browler  might  like  it,  and  as 
it  could  not  affect  O^Neil  to  wait  a  little. 
We  did  not  ask  him  to  go  with  ns  to  see 
Browlor,  of  course,  as  it  would  only 
make  it  more  duagreeable  all  around. 

We  provided  ourselves  with  a  permit 
from  the  deputy  sheriff,  and  with  trem- 
bling legs  and  thumping  hearts  sat  down 


in  a  row  on  the  edge  of  the  w^ting-rm 
sofa,  to  have  onrselvea  aanoanoed  to 
Browler,  who  Ihey  said  was  in  NOi  U 

*'  The  worst  one  in  the  whole  hom^' 
said  Baxter,  under  his  breath.  "M 
where  they  put  the  violent  ones.  TImj 
probably  have  got  him  shackled  to  tbe 
wall,  with  his  arms  and  legs  sttetobad 
out  spread-eagle,  they  call  it.** 

I  never  knew  a  fellow  of  Beventeea 
to  know  as  much  as  Baxter  did. 

**  If  I  were  an  officer  here,  I  thiok  I 
would  try  the  water  punishment.  Two 
quarts  would  make  Browler  tell  wbm 
the  money  is, — ^he's  got  such  a  fine  UU 
head." 

To  this  we  made  no  r^oinder,  v» 
were  all  too  busy  staring  at  the  loqg 
rows  of  clubs  and  pistols  hung  up  agilHl 
the  wall,  and  wondering  if  Bromlm 
would  be  kind  to  ns. 

'^  HeMl  be  very  much  emaciated,*^  wlui- 
pered  Baxter,  ^*  and  yoa  must  not  In 
frightened  at  his  eyes  nor  his  thin  hndi^ 
for  he^s  probably  well  into  the  priioa 
fever  by  this  time." 

Poor  Browler.  The  vision  of  his  nf* 
faring  was  vividly  before  ns,  and  thi 
memory  of  our  hard  words  aboot  ISm 
came  strong  upon  us  as  we  gazed  throi|b 
the  open  door,  at  tJie  long  white-wiaM 
corridor  with  its  row  of  black  iron-gntid 
doors.  We  four  trembling  little  wreteb- 
es,  or  at  least  three  of  us,  wonld  hsfi 
given  worlds  to  have  known  that  wehafl 
fought  O^Neil  instead  of  backing  him 
up. 

Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  a  deadfQenoe, 
a  laugh  came  from  somewhere  downthit 
long  dismal  passage.  It  was  Browler, 
for  we  recognised  his  voice  in  spite  of  As 
hollow,  ringing  reverberations.  We  look- 
ed at  one  another  in  terror,  and  more 
than  half  inclined  to  put  off  out  the  doer 
into  the  street  and  leave  the  prisoner  to 
his  own  reflections. 

*'I  told  you  so,"  muttered  Baxter,  as 
soon  as  his  teeth  stopped  chattering. 
**  He  probably  imagines  himself  in  the 
office,  and  that  they've  raised  his  salary." 

Before  we  had  time  to  master  enough 
courage  to  run,  a  turnkey  entered  and 
beckoned  to  us  to  follow  him.  Half 
choked  and  half  scared  we  did  so,  and 


Bbowlsb's  Dbtaloatxon. 


208 


1  along  over  the  stone  pavement 
tread  anything  bat  firm  and  even, 
m't  yon  feel  a  little  spooney, 
d  ?  "  wluq>ered  Baxter. 
8,'*  taid  I,  *'  have  you  got  a  pocket- 
irohief?'' 

»,  I  want  it  myself." 
»w,  then,  yonngsters,"  said  the 
who  looked  rather  pleasant,  *^  hur- 
and  get  through."  He  pushed 
le  solid  iron  door  and  we  filed  in, 
the  last 

tiere^s  Smythe  ? "  I  heard  a  voice 
dl  pushed  forward,  and  we  all 
tnpefied  with  amazement  at  what 
r.  Instead  of  being  chained,  half- 
[,  and  bleeding  from  bullet-holes, 
wall,  and  being  sick  and  raving 
there  was  old  Browler  sitting 
I  and  hearty  behind  a  dinner-table, 
ided  by  his  three  spectacled  sisters 
i&g  at  us  good-humoredly.  We 
it  sheepishly  forward  and  gave  a 
and  shaking,  hiding  our  chicken 
line  wine  behind  us. 
iDy  young  Smythe,"  cried  the  old 
*M8  it  all  right? " 
1^  sir,  he'll  be  here  to-day."  Then 
ras  great  confusion,  Browler  giv- 
I  three  sisters  a  hug  all  around, 
Baarter  and  the  fellows  glared  at 
iirild  beasts,  for  I  had  given  them 
eretand  my  absence  had  been  on 
n  Irasiness,  and  it  had  really  tran- 
that  I  was  a  traitor  after  all. 
iKrald  like  to  know,  Mr.  Browler," 
aster  defiantly,  stepping  forward 
Blog  him,  ''whether  you  ran  off 
'KTeirs  father's  money  or  not?  If 
■Dy  did,  why,  we  won't  stay,  and 
Ij  came  because  we  thopght  you 
be  ndserable.  But  it  seems  to  me 
yon  can  carry  on  this  style  with 
thing  on  your  conscience,  you  can 
tig  well  enough  without  our  sym- 
>r  grub." 

18  just  like  Baxter  to  say  that. 
he  four  spectacles  broke  ou^  into 
m  of  laughter,  while  we  all  looked 
18  thunder.  Presently  Browler 
I  a  little,  and  leaned  forward  on 
ickles  on  the  table. 
ys,  you  are  very  kind  to  me  in- 
Indeed,  I  cannot  tell  yon  exactly 


how  I  stand  just  now,  but  I  and  my  sis- 
ters thank  you  from  tlie  bottom  of  our 
hearts,  and  we  assure  you  that  your  sym- 
pathy is  NOT  misplaced." 

At  this  instant  the  turnkey  entered, 
and  whispered  to  Browler,  who  nodded 
quickly,  and  then  whispered  to  his  sisters, 
who  immediately  began  to  fidget  with 
their  hats  and  gloves  and  to  look  very 
much  cut  up. 

Presently  somebody  came  along  the 
corridor,  and  pushed  open  the  door. 

•*  Dear  old  Van  1 " 

Then  came  such  a  tempest  of  embraces, 
exclamations,  hand-shakings,  tears  and  all 
that  stuff,  which  Baxter  declared  after- 
wards made  him  sick,  but  I  know  it 
made  him  cry  with  the  rest  of  us.  It 
was  a  long  while  before  any  thing  like 
sense  was  restored,  and  then  Browler 
discovered  us  sitting  all  huddled  up  in 
the  corner,  with  the  confounded  jugs  of 
Rhine  wine  between  our  legs.  He  whis- 
pered to  Mr.  O'Neil,  who  looked  at  us  and 
then  shut  the  door. 

"  Boys,"  said  he,  very  kindly  and  pleas- 
antly, "  Mr.  Van  Coit  or  Mr.  Browler, 
has  long  been  known  to  you,  but  much 
longer  to  me.  Latterly  he  has  been  in 
the  character  of  a  defaulter  and  robber 
to  a  few  people  in  this  city,  but  is  known 
as  such  all  through  the  South,  where  he 
made  his  extensive  theft."  Here  he 
bowed  to  Browler,  who  bowed  back 
again. 

'^  I  have  been  known  in  the  South  as 
an  upright  but  sadly  unfortunate  mer- 
chant, who  was  ruined  by  the  machina- 
tions of  his  principal  clerk.  Now  I 
briefly  say,  that  I  am  the  criminal  and 
Mr.  Van  Coit  the .  innocent  man.  I  was 
the  forger,  the  wrong-doer,  and  I  thought 
my  operations  were  unknown  to  any  but 
myself,  but  was  mistaken.  Van  Coit 
knew  me ;  Van  Coit  imagined  I  had  all  to 
lose  if  I  was  discovered,  and  by  the  ear- 
nest entreaties  of  his  brave  sisters  he  did 
steal  a  comparatively  small  sum  and  fled, 
leaving  a  letter  for  me  explaining  his  con- 
duct, and  solemnly  assuring  mo  that  all 
hopes  of  discovering  him  would  be  use- 
less. The  stoi*m  broke.  I  remained  passive 
and  let  it  ferment  and  settle  as  it  would. 
The  odium  was  heaped  on  Van  Coit^  and 


894 


Putnam's  Maoazctk. 


filing 


I  escaped.  I  settled  aocordiDg  to  law, 
and  have  since  been  able  to  re-make  my 
broken  fortunes,  Jnst  as  the  savior  of  my 
name  is  discovered  and  thrown  into  jail 
for  a  crime  ho  never  committed.  He  sends 
for  me,  having  kept  track  of  roe,  and 
here  I  am,  beginning  to  rectify  the  infam- 
ous yet  generous  error  of  his  reputa- 
tion, by  setting  him  right  with  those 
who  will  bo  the  happiest  to  know  the 
truth." 

We  all  made  a  dash  for  old  Browler 
and  his  sisters,  vowing  as  loud  as  our 
thick  voices  would  let  us  that  we  knew 
all  along  that  he  was  shamming,  and 
begging  he  would  forgive  us.    lie  was 


guilty  of  a  little  dampness  and  liii  thm 
sisters  of  a  great  deal. 

Tdung  O^Neil  was  verj  penita^  \4 
Browler  told  him  he  did  Jnst  lighti  oi 
was  pretty  smart  at  ittoo,  and  they  wen 
great  chums  after  they  got  settled  tffk, 
Mr.  O'Neil  settled  up  dollar  for  doDvi 
aod  took  Browler  in  as  even  partner. 

They  said  Van  Coit  got  u  perftect  ofi* 
tion  when  he  went  Sooth,  andbisiiiCai 
married  off  with  a  vengeance.  BtzUr 
says  he  believes  it  was  a  regolar  pot^ 
job  all  around,  but  be  only  standi  Iqr 
that  as  a  bluff,  as  Baxter's  stoek  ii  av> 
fully  low  with  us  fellows  since  the  bit 
lets  and  shackles. 


•♦• 


BABEL  m  OUR  MIDST. 


Not  merely  do  men  express  their 
thoughts  in  different  languages  and 
dialects,  and  in  different  styles  of  using 
the  same  words,  but  every  class  of  so- 
ciety and  every  occupation,  profession, 
and  study  has,  to  some  extent,  its  pecu- 
liar phraseology.  An  intelligent  per- 
son, unfamiliar  with  the  dictionaries  of 
the  doctors,  might  attend  a  meeting  of 
the  Academy  of  Medicine  and  receive 
but  little  more  idea  of  what  was  in- 
tended to  be  conveyed  by  the  speakers, 
than  if  they  had  been  talking  in  un- 
meaning jargon.  Professor  Agassiz,  in 
his  popular  lectures  before  intelligent 
audiences,  is  obliged  to  stop  at  almost 
every  other  sentence,  to  explain  the 
meaning  of  some  of  the  most  simple 
and  general  terms  of  science,  and  is 
even  then  very  imperfectly  understood, 
except  by  the  small  number  who  are 
familiar  with  the  subjects  of  which  he 
treats.  Tct  I  presume  that  professors 
to  whom  Agassiz  is  as  easy  as  the 
primer  book,  would  find  themselves 
troubled  to  understand  the  language 
employed  by  a  professional  sporting- 
reporter  in  de8cril)ing  a  horse-race,  or, 
at  all  events,  a  prize-fight. 

I  propose  here  to  illustrate,  as  briefly 
and  entertainingly  as  possible,  some  of 
these  class-dialects.  The  hard  words 
of  science,  of  course,  become  more  fa- 


miliar after  the  study  of  Latin  isd 
Qreek.  In  an  essay  on  the  ^  Claaies  ii 
Education,"  Prof.  B.  N.  Martin,  of  fk 
University  of  New  York,  says : 

"  It  is  truly  one  of  the  mamb  of 
Divine  Providence  that,  amid  the  wUe 
diversities  of  speech  in  modem  Chrif* 
tcndom,  these  two  noble  langnagsi  of 
antiquity  should  have  come  down  to  v 
as  the  common  heritage  of  the  nstioM; 
if  not  to  serve  for  the  pencnnl  iBlBfr 
course  of  scientific  men,  jret  to  sm^ 
to  science  the  descriptive  tennsofiii 
elegant  nomenclature." 

"Without  partaking  of  the  enthnrism 
of  this  writer,  we  must  nndooMsdly 
admit  that  the  classical  languages  hai« 
served  the  good  purpose  of  Tdierng 
science  of  the  curse  of  Babel,  and  tho 
knowledge  of  them,  aside  from  Its  pri- 
mary importance  in  the  study  of  modm 
tongues,  has  become  necessary  to  Hn 
scientific  student.     This  use  of  GiMk 
and  Latin,  however,  carries  with  it  one 
disadvantage  which  we  cannot  onf- 
look.     It  renders  scientific  discQsdoos 
and  dissertations  unintelligible  to  st 
most  every  person  who  has  not  reodTsd 
a  college  education.  The  popular  reader 
is  excessively  disgusted  with  these  hard 
names.    He  sees  nothing  *<  elegant "  in 
them,  and  would  not  share  the  admins 
tion  with  which  it  is  related  how  Agas- 


1870.] 


Babel  in  otJB  MmsT. 


295 


Biz,  being  requested,  at  a  meeting  of  the 
British  Association  for  the  Advance- 
meut  of  Science  and  Art,  to  name  a 
strange  organism  discoyered  by  Hugh 
HlUer  in  the  Old  Red  Sandstone,  and 
finding  that  it  was  a  fish,  and  that  its 
two  fins  projected  at  right  angles  from 
its  body,  like  the  pinions  of  a  bird, 
gave  it  the  name  of  PUrichthys,  from 
the  Greek  words  signifying  wing  and 
fiah.  The  name  PteHcMhys  would  sug- 
gest to  the  uncultivated  mind  a  much 
more  formidable  creature  than  a  wing- 
ed fish.  The  ordinary  reader  would  not 
peruse  with  the  most  pleasing  emotions 
the  following  description  of  the  vert^a 
trom.  Owen,  which  is  quoted  by  Pro- 
fisssor  Martin  as  a  model  of  elegant, 
precise,  and  lucid  expression : 

*'  It  consists,  in  its  typical  complete- 
ness,  of  the  following  parts  or  elements : 
a  body,  or  centrum  ;  two  neurapophyses^ 
two  parapophyaes^  two  pleurapaphyses^ 
two  hcemapophyseSy  a  neural  spine,  and  a 
hcamal  spine.  These,  being  usually  de- 
Teloped  from  distinct  and. independent 
centres,  I  have  termed  autogenaiu  ele- 
ments. Other  parts,  more  properly  call- 
ed '  processes,'  which  shoot  out  as  con- 
tinaations  from  some  of  the  preceding 
elements,  are  termed  exogenous;  e.  g., 
the  diapophyses  or  ^  upper  transverse  pro- 
OQSses,^  and  the  eygapophyses  or  the 
'oblique'  or  *  articular'  processes  of 
human  anatomy." 

The  ordinary,  unclassical  reader  is 
surprised  to  know  that  infusum  eamia 
5ff5uZ»,  is  beef-tea,  jusculum  puUinumy 
chicken  broth,  gdatina  rthesuB^  currant 
jelly ;  and  to  see  after  hops,  in  paren- 
thesisy  humulua  lupulus^  and  after  cab- 
bage, traseiea  oleraeea.  Beading  the 
lucubrations  of  the  entomologist  in  his 
agricultural  book,  he  is  edified  to  learn 
that  '*  Oryptus  inquisitor,  a  small  yel- 
low-banded ichneumon  fly,  destroys  the 
Thyridopteryx  ephemer<rformiSy  or  bas- 
ket-worm, which  is  so  destructive  to 
cedar  and  shade-trees  in  the  middle 
States ; "  and  that ''  the  Calandra  (Sitcph- 
ilus)  oryza,  or  rice- weevil,  is  destroyed 
by  lUeropoTUS  graminieolaJ^ 

He  can  hardly  credit  the  assertion 
that  an  oyster  is  an  acephalous  mollus- 
cous bividve  of  the  genus  Mtm  /  that 


meerschaum  is  a  hydrated  magnesian 
silicate  found  in  serpentine  veins  in 
various  parts  of  Europe ;  and  that  a  boil 
is  actually  a  circumscribed  subcutaneous 
inflammation,  suppurating  with  a  cen- 
tral core — a  furunculus.  He  would 
not  appreciate  the  verbal  felicity  of  the 
doctor  of  divinity,  who,  in  ringing  the 
changes  on  "  He  that  hath  ears  to  hear, 
let  him  hear,^'  said,  "  He  that  is  accessi- 
ble to  auricular  vibration,  let  him  not 
close  the  gates  of  his  tympani." 

He  would  not  obtain  a  very  vivid 
idea,  perhaps,  from  the  following  sen- 
tence of  Dr.  O.  W.  Holmes,  who,  telling 
how  the  photographer  brings  out  the 
features  on  the  plate  by  washing  it  with 
sulphate  of  iron  and  hyposulphato  of 
soda,  thus  prettily  mingles  mythology 
and  science : 

'^Then  we  replace  the  slide  in  the 
shield,  draw  this  out  of  the  camera,  and 
carry  it  back  into  the  shadowy  realm 
where  Cocytus  flows  in  black  nitrate  of 
silver  and  Acheron  stagnates  in  the 
pool  of  hyposulphate,  and  invisible 
ghosts,  trooping  down  from  the  world 
of  day,  cross  a  Styx  of  dissolved  sul- 
phate of  iron,  and  appear  before  the 
Rhadamanthus  of  that  lurid  Hades  I " 

A  fish-woman  was  silenced  by  the 
word  h3^otenuse  applied  as  an  epithet, 
and  many  persons  who  would  have  no 
objection  to  bleeding  would  receive  a 
proposition  to  phlebotomize  them  with 
much  alarm. 

The  language  of  the  men  of  medicine 
is  a  fearful  concoction  of  sesquipeda^ 
lean  words,  numbered  by  thousands. 
Ho  was  a  mere  novice  who  spoke  of  "  a 
severe  contusion  of  the  integuments 
under  the  left  orbit,  with  great  extrava- 
sation of  blood  and  ecchymosis  in  the 
surrounding  cellular  tissue,  which  was 
in  a  Humefied  state;'"  meaning  a 
black  eye ;  and  an  anatomical  work  for 
children,  teaching  after  the  manner  of 
Mother  Goo^^'s  Melodies,  tells  that, 

f 

**  Th^bia  and  fltmla, 

J^/tiore,  unite,  near  rotnla, 
^At  knee,  with  long  os  fomoriB, 

Wtioee  analogue  is  hnmenu.** 

"  Now,"  says  a  critic,  "  for  the  tarsal, 
metatarsal,  and  phalangeal  bones  of  the 
feet  The  os  sacrum,  the  ilium,  and  the 


296 


FUTNAM^B  MaOAZINS. 


[Mazdi, 


pubic  arch  ought  to  rhyme  nicely.  We 
would  suggest  the  Alexandrine  metre 
for  the  ribs,  sternum,  and  the  vertebrse. 
Anapaestic  would  do  for  the  o$  hyoides^ 
maxillary,  malar,  temporal,  occipital, 
parietal,  and  frontal.  A  few  iambics 
might  do  for  the  sphenoid,  ethmoid, 
vomer,  and  nasal ;  but  the  pisiform  and 
the  acutiform  and  the  carpal  bones 
generally,  with  the  metacarpal  and  the 
phalangial  of  the  upper  extremities,  had 
better  be  given  in  prose." 

A  young  girl  looking  over  her  book 
of  Botany  for  the  first  time,  expecting, 
mayhap,  to  find  there  a  poetical  lan- 
guage suitable  to  treat  of  flowers  and 
foliage,  is  a  little  bewildered  in  reading 
of  plants  as  dichotomous,  pcntagy- 
nous,  papilionaceous,  foliaceous,  legu- 
minous, endogenous,  acryptogamous, 
&c.,  as  well  as  of  acotyledonoua,  mo- 
nocotyledonous,  dicotyledonous,  and 
polycotyledonous  plants. 

She  wonderingly  reads  in  detail  a 
description,  for  instance,  of  the  striped 
violet : 

"  Smooth  stem,  oblique,  branching, 
angular  leaves,  roundish,  ovate,  sub- 
acuminate,  comate-dentatc,  sometimes 
sub-pubescent;  petioles  long;  stipules 
large,  oblong  lanceolate,  dentate-cilia te ; 
peduncles  quadrangular ;  bracts  linear, 
rather  large;  segments  of  the  calyx 
lanceolate,  acuminate,  ciliate,  cmarginate 
behind,  petals  entire,  upper  one  marked 
with  a  few  blue  lines,  naked,  smooth, 
sometimes  a  little  villose,  lateral  ones 
bearded,  lower  one  occasionally  a  little 
villose;  spur  sub-porrccted ;  stigma 
pubescent  behind." 

Having  glanced  over  so  much,  she 
has  only  gathered  a  few  verbal  pebbles 
on  the  shores  of  Botany.  She  gets  over 
this  in  time,  and  masters  all  the  abstruse 
studies.  When  she  has  eaten  enough  at 
table,  she  remarks  that  gastronomical 
satiety  admonishes  her  that  she  has 
arrived  at  the  ultimate  of  deglutition 
consistent  with  the  code  of  JEsculapius ; 
and  she  calls  her  thimble  a  diminutive 
orgenteous,  truncated  cone,  convex  on 
its  summit  and  semipcrforateil  with 
symmetrical  indentations. 

The  medical  authorities  describe 
plants  after  a  somewhat  similar  form, 
but  in  different  laugua-re.  F"or  instance : 


"Blood  root  (Sojtguinaria  Oanadoh 
sis)  is  acrid,  emetic,  with  narcotic  and 
stimulant  properties,  expectorant,  sudo- 
rific, alterative,  emmenagogue,  escharot- 
ic,  and  errhine,  according  to  the  way  In 
which  it  is  used.  Its  eecharotic  actioB 
renders  it  beneficial  when  Applied  io 
hypochondriasis. 

"Prickly  ash  (XanthoxyJum  Frun- 
neum)  is  stimulant,  toniCy  aIteratiYe,aiid 
sialogogue,  producing  beat  in  the  stom- 
ach, arterial  excitement,  and  *  teaden^ 
to  diaphoresis." 

The  use  of  unfamiliar  words  sobm 
times  leads  to  unexpected  misandat- 
standings,  as  when  a  physician,  pre- 
scribing syrup  of  bncktbom,  wrote  his 
prescription  according  to  the  nsiisl 
abbreviation  of  Rhamnm  CatharHem^ 
"  Syr.  jRham.  Caty  The  lady  paticot 
reading  this  with  astonishment  snd 
anger,  declared  that  she  would  not  tsks 
a  syrup  of  ram  cats  for  any  body  undsr 
heaven. 

It  has  been  a  humorous  fkncy  of  vsri- 
ous  writers  to  indite  burlesque  poems 
or  essays  in  the  peculiar  language  of 
some  profession  or  occupation.  Thm 
the  chemist  writes  his  yalentiiie  as  fiAr 
lows: 

<*  I  loro  ihce,  Mary,  and  thoa  IotmI  ne. 
Car  mutual  flame  la  like  the  afflidly 
That  doth  exist  between  tvo  aiao^lo  boJM. 
I  am  Potoaaium  to  thy  oxygen ; 
*Ti>  little  that  the  holy  mair  a^  toy 
Shall  shortly  make  us  one.    That  unity 
In,  after  all,  but  metaphysical. 
Ob  I  ^ould  that  I,  my  Mary,  were  an  add— 
A  living  acid ;  thou  an  alkali 
Endowed  with   human  eenaa;   thal^  bnnpH 

together, 
Wc  both  might  coaleeoe  into  one  salt* 
One  homogeneous  crystal.    Oh,  that  thou 
Wert  carbon,  and  myself  were  hydrogen  1 
We  would  unite  to  form  olcfiant  gas. 
Of  common  coal,  or  naphtha.    Would  to  heaTA 
That  I  were  phosphoras,  and  thou  wcrt  lime 
And  wo  of  lime  compoecd  a  phofphnnt  1 
rd  be  content  to  bo  sulphuric  acid 
So  that  thou  mightst  be  soda.    In  that  ease, 
We   abould   be    Glauber's    salt      Wert  thoi 

magnesia 
Instead.  we*d  form  the  salt  that*s  namcl  fha 

rpsom. 
Conldst  thou  poUssia  be^  I  aquafortis. 
Our  happy  union  uhould  thit  lompound  form, 
Nitrate  of  Potaah— otherwise  Saltpetret 
And  thus,  our  several  nsitures  sweetlr  blent. 
We'd  live  and  love  together,  until  death 
Should  dccompo50  this  fleshly  Toitium  Qud, 
Leaving  our  souls  to  all  eternity 
Amnlg-unatevI !    Sweet,  thy  name  is  Briggs, 
And  mine  is  Johnson.  Wherefore  should  not  «f 
Agree  to  flonn  a  Johniwnatc  of  l^ggs  7  ** 


1870.] 


Babel  in  oub  Midst. 


297 


The  following  also  is  interesting : 

"  Here  lietb  to  digest,  macerate,  and 
amalgamate  with  clay,  in  balneo  arenae, 
stratum  superstratum,  the  residuum, 
terra  damnata,  and  caput  mortuum  of  a 
Chemist.  A  man  who  in  his  earthly 
laboratory  pursued  various  processes  to 
obtain  the  Arcanum  Vitce,  or  the  Secret 
to  Live ;  also  the  Aurum  VitcBj  or  the 
art  of  getting,  not  making,  gold.  All 
chemist-like,  he  saw  all  his  labor  and 
projection,  as  mercury  in  the  fire,  evapo- 
rated in  fame.  When  he  dissolved  to 
his  first  principles,  he  departed  as  poor 
as  the  last  drops  of  an  alembic.  Though 
fond  of  novelty,  he  carefully  avoided 
the  fermentation,  effervescence,  and  de- 
crepitation of  this  life.  Full  seventy 
years  his  exalted  essence  was  hermeti- 
cally sealed  in  its  terrene  matrass ;  but 
the  radical  moisture  being  exhausted, 
the  Elixii^Yitse  spent,  and  exsiccated  to 
a  cuticle,  he  could  not  suspend  longer 
in  his  vehicle;  but  precipitated  ^• 
datim  per  campanam,  to  his  origmal 
dust.  May  the  light  above,  more  re- 
splendent than  Bolognian  phosphorus, 
preserve  him  from  the  athanor,  empyre- 
nma,  and  reverberatory  furnace  of  the 
other  world,  depurate  him  from  the 
finces  and  scoria  of  this ;  highly  rectify 
and  Yolatilizo  his  ethereal  spirit ;  bring 
it  saf^y  out  of  the  crucible  of  earthly 
trial,  and  place  it  in  a  proper  recipient 
among  the  elect  of  the  Flowers  of  Ben- 
jamin; never  to  be  saturated  till  the 
general  resuscitation,  deflagration,  cal- 
cination, and  sublimation  of  all  things." 

The  anatomist  is  represented  as  writ- 
ing at  considerable  length  to  his  Dulci- 
nea,  describing  the  charms  visible  to  his 
educated  eye,  as 

*'  Oh«  Bweet  is  thy  Toico,  as  it  sighingly  swells 
Vtom  the  daintily  qoivering  chords  rocales. 
Or  tings  in  clear  tones  through  the  echoing  cells, 
Of  the  antram,  the  ethmoid,  and  sinus  fron- 
talesl"*  • 

I  have  sometimes  wondered  what 
proportion  of  a  daily  newspaper  is  com- 
pletely understood  by  the  average  read- 
er. A  young  man  from  New  England, 
of  whom  his  parents  boast  that  he  has 
a  ^'  first-rate  eddication,"  and  who  may 
have  kept  district  school,  on  finding 
himself  transferred  to  the  city,  and 
looking  over  the  columns  of  a  first-class 
journal,  is  surprised  to  find  how  much 
in  it,  written  apparently  in  the  English 
language,  is  unintelligible  to  him. 
vou  V. — 20 


I  have  shown  that  it  would  not  be 
surprising  if  he  did  not  fully  compre- 
hend the  reports  of  scientific  lectures, 
or  the  testimony  of  medical  men  in  a 
post-mortem  examination.  But  he 
would  find  that  the  theatrical  critic,  the 
art  critic,  the  writers  on  military  tactics, 
mechanics,  agriculture,  fashions,  real- 
estate,  stocks,  and  on  the  weather, 
had  each  a  curious  slang  of  his  own. 
Ho  would  find  hard  words  and  idio- 
matic expressions  in  the  reports  of 
church  ceremonies,  masonic  rites,  col- 
lege commencements,  and  legislative 
proceedings.  Queer  words  and  signs 
would  often  puzzle  him  even  among  the 
advertisements. 

Under  the  heading  of  the  turf,  I 
think  it  probable  that  our  friend  would 
be  greatly  mystified.  He  reads  of  a 
'*  hurdle-race,  handicap  for  aU  ages  for 
$500,  of  which  $100  to  second  horse, 
two  miles  over  four  fiight  of  hurdles, 
weights  to  be  accepted  by  ten  o^clock, 
A.  M."  For  this  race  '*  Jackson  enters 
ch.  f.  Shrimp,  aged,  164,  straw  and 
black  cap.  Jones  enters  blk.  m.  Eel, 
aged,  140,  scarlef 

He  is  surprised  at  an  apparently  pro- 
fane description  of  an  animal  in  a  gen- 
tleman's stud : 

*^  Consolation,  br.  m.  foaled  1859,  got 
by  imp.  Consternation,  dam  by  dam  of 
the  famous  Lady  Thorn  by  Gano  son 
of  American  Eclipse,  grandam  by  Po^ 
tomac ;  a  rangy  blood-like  mare.  Has 
a  colt  foal  by  her  side." 

The  following  graphic  description  of 
a  race  is  a  dead  letter  to  him : 

^^  Bfceepstdkes  far  two-year-olds.  This 
was  a  mile  heat  $100  each,  half  forfeit 
$400  added ;  usual  penalty  for  winner. 
The  starters  were  Inverness,  by  Macca- 
roni  out  of  Elfrida  by  Faugn-a-Balla^h. 
The  Nun,  by  Lexington  out  of  Novice, 
Rapture  by  Lapidist  out  of  Parachute, 
and  Tasmania  by  Australian  out  of 
Mattie  Gros  by  Lexington.  Rapture 
and  Tasmania  were  greatly  fancied,  the 
others  sold  low.  Closing  prices  at  the 
pools,  Tasmania,  $800,  Rapture,  $280, 
Inverness,  $100,  and  The  Nun,  $90. 

*'  Tha  liac€,  Maccaroni  filly  made  the 
running  at  a  good  steady  pace,  the  Fa- 
vorite second.  Rapture  third,  and  The 
Nun  pulled  away  behind.   At  the  bluff 


308 


Putnam's  Magazins. 


CUAitih, 


bend  the  first  three  were  nose  and  taiL 
The  Maccaroni  filly  went  raking  away 
and  on  the  sweep  of  the  lower  turn  led 
Tasmania  three  lengths,  Rapture  three 
more  behind  her,  and  The  Nun  three 
more  in  the  rear.  Before  they  reached 
the  head  of  the  stretch,  Tasmania  died 
away  to  nothing.  In  the  straight, 
"  Jim  "  (the  jockey)  let  The  Nun  out, 
and  she  passed  Tasmania  and  Rapture, 
but  could  not  close  with  Inverness,  who 
won  easily  by  four  lengths.  Time, 
1.49;." 

An  "  American  gentleman,"  addicted 
to  the  noble  sports  of  the  Turf,  has 
been  reported  as  describing  a  young 
lady  dancing  at  a  ball,  dressed  in  corn- 
colored  silk  with  roses  in  her  hair,  and 
accompanied  by  a  young  man  with 
auburn  locks,  in  the  following  terms : 

"That's  a  thoroughbred  filly  there, 
yellow  harness  and  red  gearing  above. 
A  ^ood  stepper  and  plenty  of  style  and 
action.  Well-groomed,  shows  well  in 
the  shoulder ;  picks  up  her  hoofs  pret- 
tily, rd  back  her  against  the  ucid, 
even  weights  and  no  shecnanigan  fur 
money.  The  old  folks  jockey  her  a 
little,  they  say,  but  they  have  to  keep  a 
tight  rein  on  her  or  she'd  bolt.  Prances 
well,  but  plunges  and  kicks  over  the 
traces  a  little.  They  say  she's  matched 
to  go  double  with  that  sorrel-top. 
They'd  make  a  powerful  team." 

Max  Mailer  in  one  of  his  lectures 
refers  to  class  dialects  as  illustrated  in 
the  difference  between  the  language 
used  by  shepherds,  sportsmen,  soldiers, 
and  farmers,  and  adds : 

"I  suppose  there  are  few  persons 
here  present  who  could  tell  the  exact 
meaning  of  a  horse's  poll,  crest,  withers, 
dock,  hamstring,  cannon,  pastern,  coro- 
net, arms,  jowl,  and  muzzle." 

In  a  description  by  a  midshipman  of 
his  experiences  on  a  boat,  which  was 
terribly  tossed  by  the  sea  during  the 
South  American  earthquake,  ho  reads 
such  sentences  as : 

"  I  descended  from  the  poop  to  the 
spar-deck  on  the  starboard,  but  a  wave 
sweeping  the  ship,  took  me  first  against 
the  ship-bulwarks,  barely  escaping  a 
port,  then  against  the  cabin  bulkhead. 
.  .  .  Soon  after,  the  foremast  went  by 
the  board,  and  the  maintopmast  fol- 
lowed.   Fearing  that  the  mizzcn  would 


go  also,  the  boat's  crew  and  I  huddled 
on  the  poop  deck,  holding  on  to  the 
backstays.  I  fortunately  foand  a  sniaD 
piece  of  rope,  what  is  called  rattlhig 
stuff,  with  which  I  lashed  myself  to  the 
royal  backstay.  The  ship  was  canted  to 
starboard,  so  wo  all  kept  to  port.^ 

While  this  is  remarkably  intereetiiig 
to  some,  it  is  scarcely  so  to  a  ooimtry 
schoolmaster,  not  familiar  with  Many- 
att's  works.  Every  man  for  his  own 
idiom.  A  lawyer  asked  an  old  salt  on 
the  witness-stand  whether  he  was  so- 
quainted  with  the  plaintiff  and  defend- 
ant. "  I  don't  know  the  drift  of  tliem 
words,"  said  Jack.  ^  A  pretty  fellow  for 
a  witness,  not  to  know  what  plaintiff 
and  defendant  mean,"  said  the  lawyer. 
By-and-by,  to  a  question  as  to  when 
the  occurrence  the  Court  was  connder- 
ing  happened,  the  sailor  answered: 
"  Abaft  the  binnacle."  "  Where  is  that  ? " 
asked  the  counsel.  "A  pretty  £fXkm 
for  a  lawyer  I "  replied  the  sailor;  ^not 
to  know  what  abaft  the  binnacle meins I" 

At  another  time,  two  recently-manied 
couples  were  on  board  a  train  of  em. 
One  of  the  men  said :  **  My  love,  I  am 
about  to  step  out  for  a  few  moments  for 
refreshments.  Do  not  be  alarmed  while 
I  am  gone."  The  other,  who  was  s 
sailor,  expressed  the  same  idea  as  fol- 
lows :  "  I  say,  wifey,  I'm  going  ashon 
to  wet  my  whistle.  Don't  tnmble  OTer- 
board ! " 

An  account  of  the  figures  of  the  co- 
tillion, described  in  nautical  tenne, 
were  found  among  the  papers  of  tht 
facetious  Admiral  Sir  Joseph  Yorker 
The  following  is  the  third  figure : 

^'  Heave  ahead  and  pass  your  adver- 
sary yard-arm  and  yard-arm;  rq;ain 
your  berth  on  the  other  tack  in  the 
same  order;  take  your  station  with  toot 
partner  in  line ;  back  and  fill,  fall  on 
your  heel,  and  bring  up  with  your  part- 
ner. She  then  manoeuvres,  heaves  all 
aback,  shoots  ahead  again,  and  pays  off 
alongside  you.  Then  make  sail  in  com- 
pany with  her  till  nearly  astern  of  the 
other  line;  make  a  stem-board,  and 
cast  her  off  to  shift  for  herself ;  regain 
your  place  by  the  best  means  in  your 
power,  and  let  go  your  anchor." 

In  the  Ship  Kemsha  reads  much  simi* 
lar  to  the  following : 


1870.] 


Babel  is  oub  Midst. 


290 


"  Steamer  Sherman,  Henry,  New  Or- 
leans, August  22d,  and  Southwest  Pass 
23d,  at  4  F.  H.,  with  mdse  and  passen- 
gers to  Samuel  Stevens ;  27th,  latitude 
32**  52',  longitude  77°  08',  signalized  a 
Dutch  bark  showing  Nos.  7349,  third 
distinguishing  pendant,  bound  North." 

Not  being  engaged  in  speculations,  ho 
is  profoundly  indifferent  to  the  money 
column  and  the  operations  of  bulls 
and  bears.  He  cares  nothing  about 
longs,  or  shorts,  or  corners,  or  cliques, 
or  cliqued  stocks,  or  watered  stocks,  or 
balances  at  the  Clearing  House,  or  bank 
contraction,  or  subsidy  loans,  or  subven- 
tioDS,  or  net  earnings,  or  how  67'8  were 
in  sharo  demand  to  coyer  shorts ;  nor 
how  Northwestern  preferred  is  oversold, 
nor  how  Erie  certificates  issued  at  a  cer- 
tain time  were  pronounced  a  good  de- 
liyery ;  nor  how  heavy  operators  were 
carrying  stocks,  or  outside  holders  real- 
izing, nor  how  loans  were  made  flat  at 
three  to  ^ye  per  cent,  for  carrying,  nor 
how  Sterling  Exchange  was  active  at 
quotations,  London,  sixty  days,  109 J  ; 
London,  sight,  110;  Paris,  long,  5.15, 
Paris  short,  5.12^.  But  if  it  should 
ever  happen  to  him  to  go  into  the  Stock 
Exchange  during  an  exciting  day,  and 
witness  the  wild  gestures  and  hear  the 
unintelligible  and  inarticulate  cries  of 
its  members,  he  would  suppose  himself 
In  a  community  not  only  speaking  a 
barbarous  language,  but  either  mad  or 
caTage  besides. 

I  do  not  know  a  department  of  the 
newspaper  in  which  more  extraordinary 
snags  are  drawn  from  the  "  well  of  Eng- 
lish undefiled,''  and  the  meaning  of 
words  is  left  more  exclusively  to  the 
depraved  imagination  of  the  reader 
than  in  the  article  on  the  markets.  In 
looking  over  this  column,  one  is  struck 
with  the  great  discrimination  which  is 
required  not  to  speak  of  cheese  as  ex- 
hibiting more  life,  of  butter  as  strong, 
of  dead  hogs  as  lively,  of  hay  as  heavy, 
of  pig-lead  as  brisk,  of  feathers  as  un- 
settled, of  bristles  as  stiff,  of  hops  as  on 
the  rise,  of  tea  as  weak,  of  diy  cod  as 
fairly  active,  of  rat-traps  as  closing 
firm,  of  old  fowls  as  going  off  slow,  of 
molasses  as  having  a  disposition  to  re- 


main on  the  hands  of  holders,  and  of 
whiskey  as  having  a  downward  ten- 
dency. Even  in  less  noticeable  combi- 
nations it  sounds  curiously  to  read  that 
beeswax  is  active,  that  sole-leather  is 
drooping,  that  smoked  beef  is  dull,  that 
mess  beef  is  quiet,  that  shingles  are 
variable,  that  twine  is  easier,  and  that 
ashes  are  quoted  nominal. 

The  lawyers  have  a  rigmarole  of  their 
own  which  crops  out  more  or  less  in 
the  law  reports.  It  is  a  slang  utterly 
different  from  the  common  language  of 
conversation  or  of  books,  having  its 
own  peculiar  terms,  its  own  pet  Latin 
phrases,  and  its  own  extraordinary 
transpositions  and  repetitions  of  com- 
mon words.  Into  the  intricacies  of  this 
dialect  it  is  not  necessary  that  we  should 
enter.  How  funnily  it  appears  applied 
to  other  than  its  own  legitimate  sub- 
jects may  bo  seen  from  the  lawyer's  Ode 
to  Spring,  commencing : 

"  Whereas  on  sandry  boughs  and  spraTS 
Now  divers  birds  are  heard  to  sing, 


And  simdry  flowers  their  heads  nporaii 
Kow  therefore  hail,  thoa  coming  Spring  I 

The  birds  aforesaid,  happy  pairs  I 
Love  'midst  the  aforesaid  boughs  enshrioet 

In  household  nests,  tbemselTos,  their  heirs, 
Administrators,  and  assigns.** 

In  reading  the  architectural  criti- 
cisms, while  possibly,  though  not  prob 
ably,  our  friend  may  know  the  differ- 
ence between  the  Doric  and  the  renaiss- 
ance, he  is  very  uncertain  as  to  the 
general  appearance  and  effect  of  flying 
buttresses,  of  oblique  truncated  cones, 
of  architraves  and  friezes,  of  fasdas  and 
pilasters,  of  corbelling,  mouldings  and 
volutes,  of  trefoils,  quatrefoils,  and 
rosaces,  of  gl3^hs,  interglyphs,  semi- 
glyphs,  triglyphs  and  metopes,  of  the 
parabolus  and  the  propyleum,  the  stylo- 
bate  and  the  entablature,  of  caryatic  fig- 
ures, horizontal  consoles,  and  the  hypo- 
trachelium ;  and  he  is  not  much  edified 
when  he  is  informed  that  in  the  Acro- 
polis of  Athens  the  caryatides  stand  on 
a  stereobatic  dado  placed  on  the  stylo- 
bate. 

He  is  even  troubled  to  understand  a 
dissertation  on  so  simple  and  excellent 
a  science  as  Phrenology,  or  a  catalogue 
of  the  developments  and  propensities 


800 


Putnam's  Magazine. 


[March, 


which  protrude  from  the  cranium  of 
some  distinguished  gentleman.  He 
would  scarcely  be  able  to  point  out  the 
organ  of  Philoprogenitiyeness,  though 
informed  that  when  that  organ  and 
Inhabitiyeness  are  smali,  Philoprogeni- 
tiyeness assumes  a  sharpened  appearance 
running  horizontally  between  the  two 
lobes  of  Adhesiyeness ;  and  he  cannot 
understand  why  a  man  with  large  Ali- 
mentiyeness  and  large  Approbatiyeness 
and  Ideality  will  be  formal  and  cere- 
monious when  eating  his  Christmas 
dinner,  though  solemnly  assured  by 
competeAt  phrenological  authority  that 
such  is  the  case. 

The  following,  to  the  best  of  my 
knowledge  and  belief^  is  the  phreno- 
logical character,  furnished  by  a  *'  relia- 
ble contraband,"  of  the  distinguished 
Gufify  Bumpus,  of  Hilton  Head : 

'*  Berry  'markble  hed,  dis  nigger. 
His  ognyzashun  indket  great  sublimity 
and  pumposity.  Tcmp^ment  sanguine- 
lymfatic  wid  a  sprinklin'  ob  ncrbus- 
billus.  Mazin  deyellup  ob  de  heel, 
diktif  ob  running  away.  Great  power 
for  good  or  eyil,  speshelly  de  last. 
Hard  head,  diktif  ob  pockylyptic  ten- 
dency. Berry  heaby  on  spirituality. 
Benry  comprehensiye  nigger,  speshelly 
flzzikul,  diktif  passion  for  com-cakel. 
Ambitious  and  enterprizin' nigger.  Thoo- 
siastik  deyellup  ob  beneyyluncc,  dikitif 
ob  deep  feelin'  fur  all  God's  creeturs 
as  is  fit  to  eat— chickens  in  'ticular. 
Constitution  like  his  natrully  farms  out 
his  life  into  fixed  condishuns ;  he  hab 
mazin  determination  and  will-power, 
whateber  he  steal  he  hold  on  to  him. 
Markable  fact  'bout  dis  nigger  he  don^t 
like  to  be  'posed  on,  berry  much  giyen 
to  habin'  his  own  way.  Great  destruo- 
tiyeness  and  executiyeness — execute  his 
breffus  and  dinner  berry  quick. 

Dis  nigger  is  natrully  so  cons'tuted 
dat  ef  he  had  chilem  hc^d  tink  good 
deal  ob  'em,  proyidin'  de  atomic  flow 
ob  de  particles  ob  his  system  was  reg'lar 
in  a  spiral  direction  from  his  heels  to 
his  hed.  Oderwise  it  would  be  diktif 
ob  some  centricities.  His  hed  ob  de 
swayin'  kind,  l)erry  bombastikul^^at 
is  to  say — mebby  you  know  what  I 
mean — ^I  dono — neb  mind.  Plenty  'lec- 
tricity,  stand  up  'gainst  opposition  if 
'taint  too  heaby,  be  berry  'sessful  in 
any  t'ing  he  work  berry  hard  at.  More 
powerful  dan  strong,  owin'  to  deyellop 
ob  digestiye  yigor. 


Speakin'  ob  dis  nigger  prismatically, 
he  de  best  type  ob  de  true  nigger  leber 
see.  Ef  his  brane  was  big  as  a  dimyjon 
dar'd  be  berry  few  sich  niggers." 

An  article  of  gossip  or  reyiew  may 
find  its  way  into  the  daily  paper  on  the 
recondite  theme  of  Herald^.  The  jar- 
gon of  this  art  requires  a  dicti6nary  to 
itself.  They  who  inyented  it  must  haye 
been  yery  much  in  want  of  someiliing 
of  practical  utility  to  do.  Our  reader 
does  not  recciye  much  instructioii  from 
descriptions  of  coats-of-arms,  such  as : 

<<  Argent,  a  cheyeron  gules,  fretty  or 
between  three  delyes  or  billets,  sable." 

"  Party  per  pale  indented,  ermine  and 
sable,  a  cheyeron  gules,  fretty  or." 

*^  Ermine,  a  fesse,  gules,  fk^etty  or 
between  two  hawks." 

He  may  master  the  words  ''  or  "  and 
"argent"  and  some  of  the  names  of 
color.  He  may  haye  a  glimmer  of 
pleasure  in  learning  that  some  ancient 
enthusiast  in  armorial  bearings  en- 
dowed all  the  prominent  characters  of 
Old  Testament  history  with  shields  and 
emblazoned  deyices,  giying  Jubal,  the 
inyentor  of  tents,  "  Vert,  a  tent  argent" 
(a  white  tent  in  a  green  field).  Jubal, 
the  primeyal  musician,  "  Azure,  a  harp, 
or,  on  a  chief  argent  three  rests  gules;" 
Tubal  Cain,  "  Sable,  a  hammer  azgent, 
crowned,  or ; "  Naamah,  the  inyentreH 
of  weaying,  "  In  a  lozenge  gules,  a  card- 
ing-comb  argent ; "  and  Samson,  "  Giilei 
a  lion  couchant  or,  within  an  orle  a^ 
gent,  sem^e  of  bees  sable."  He  may  be 
amused  to  know  that  Michael  Drayton, 
the  poet,  bore  these  singular  arms: 
^^  Azure  gutt6  d'eau  (the  drops  of  Heli- 
con !)  a  Pegasus  current  in  bend  argent 
CreU,  Mercury's  winged  cap  amidst 
sunbeams  proper." 

But  the  deeper  intricacies  of  Heraldij 
foreyer  remain  mysteries  to  the  geneial 
reader. 

The  sporting  column  is  a  terrible 
ordeal  to  an  "  unprofessional "  person. 
A  simple  report  of  a  sportiye  encounter 
with  fists  in  which  some  **  game  "  indi- 
yidual  anxious  for  the  Belt  moimted 
the  ladder  of  fame  from  the  area  of  the 
prize  ring  by  a  certain  number  ©f 
"  rounds,"  tells  us  that  the  combatants 


1870.] 


Babbl  in  ovr  Mn>8T. 


801 


stmclc  each  other  with  xnawlcys  and 
bunches  of  fives  upon  the  head,  the  nut, 
the  cone,  the  conk,  the  canister,  the 
noddle,  the  mug,  the  knowledge-box; 
the  nose,  the  sneezer,  the  snorer,  the 
snuffer,  the  snuff-traj,  the  nozzle,  the 
mazzard ;  the  eyes,  the  ogles,  the  optics, 
the  peepers ;  the  mouth,  the  kisser,  the 
whistler,  the  oration-trap ;  drawing  the 
blood,  the  claret,  the  ruby,  the  crimson, 
the  home-brewed,  the  gravy;  and  in 
several  instances  knocking  the  unfortu- 
nate knocker  off  his  pins,  his  pegs,  his 
stumps  and  his  foundation,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  boring,  fibbing  and  sending  him 
to  grass. 

A  young  gentleman,  who,  in  the  time 
of  the  excitement  over  the  prize-fight 
between  Hcenan  and  Sayers,  temporarily 
relinquished  his  theological  studies,  it 
is  said,  and  crossed  the  Atlantic  to  wit- 
ness it,  wrote  the  following  letter  to  the 
young  lady  of  his  affections  in  New 
York: 

Ben  CAVirr's,  St.  Mastin^b  L\!VE,  / 
LoKDOX,  April  20,  1860.  \ 

Deabest  EiDf  a  :  Tour  last  reached 
me  on  the  day  after  the  mill  [1] — bless- 
ings on  the  darling  bunch  of  fives  [2] 
that  scribbled  it.  I  kissed  the  sig- 
nature again  and  again,  for  the  sake  of 
the  dear  little  daddle  [2]  that  will  one 
day  make  me  the  happiest  buffer  [3J 

g>ing.    How  shall  I  describe  my  feel- 
gs  on  reading  it  ?     If  our  glorious 
Benida  had  administered  an  auctioneer 

E4]  on  my  knowledge-box  [5]  I  couldn't 
lave  been  more  completely  grassed  [6]. 
TeaiB  came  into  my  peepers  [7]  as  I 
devoured  those  lines  of  love  and  tender- 
ness, as  eagerly  as  ever  milling-cove  [81 
in  training  walked  into  [9]  his  raw  bee^ 
steak.  A  boy  might  have  fioored  me 
bv  a  tap  over  the  suuffer-tra^  [10]  with 
his  little  finger.  And  the  sight  of  the 
photograph  of  your  lovely  mug  [111 
almost  overpowered  me  I  How  well  I 
recall  each  feature  I — those  ogles  [12], 
blue  as  the  midsummer  sky — that  conk 
[18J,  with  its  delicate  aqu&ine  curve — 
that  rosy-lipped  tatcr-trap  [14] — those 
ivories  [16],  whiter  than  the  whitest 
pearl — that  fair  skin,  where  the  claret 
[16]  mantles  and  blushes.  Again  and 
again  did  I  press  the  counterfeit  present- 
ment to  my  kisser  [17],  wishing  that 
the  dear  original  were  present,  her  nut 
[18]  reclining  lovingly  ou  my  bread- 


( 


basket  [19]— her  oration-trap  [20]  mur- 
muring words  of  endearment  in  my  lugs 
[21],  her  mawley  [22]  clasped  in  the 
nipper  [28]  of  her  adorer. 

Ah^  Emma  I  Love  has  got  my  pimply 
24]  in  chancery  [25],  and  is  fibbing 
26]  away  mercilessly,  giving  me  no  end 
of  nasty  'uns  [27] ;  the  pepper  [28]  I 
endure  from  him  is  past  telling — ^he 
may  go  in  and  finish  me  any  day.  He 
has  it  all  his  own  way ;  I  can't  counter 
[29]  on  his  nob  [80],  or  do  any  thing  but 
take  my  punishment.  And  I  don't  care 
how  soon  the  sponge  is  thrown  up  in 
token  of  victory. 

Yours  eternally, 

_♦ 

The  reader  will  see  that  it  was  found 
necessary  to  append  a  small  glossary  to 
render  this  letter  intelligible. 

In  a  report  of  a  Base-Ball  match  our 
country  cousin  learns  that  on  the  pre- 
vious day  the  following  occurred : 

Pearce  opened  the  ball  for  the  Atlan- 
tics,  sending  it  hotly  on  to  Welters'  leg, 
whence  it  bounded  to  Flanley,  who 
threw  it  to  first,  cutting  off  Pearce. 
Smith  suffered  from  Devyr's  fielding  to 
first.  Start  hit  a  fair  ball  inside  the  left 
foul  line,  and  made  his  run  by  stealing 
in.  Chapman  struck  out.  Welters 
opened  for  the  Mutuals  and  sent  his 
ball  to  Pearce,  nearly  taking  Devyr's 
legs  off  as  he  was  going  to  third.  The 
ball  being  a  hot  one,  Pearce  failed  to 
hold  it ;  Swandell's  hit  to  centre  field 
cleared  the  bases ;  but,  as  the  next  three 
strikers  were  fielded  out  in  a  hurry,  he 
was  left.  Zettlein  was  fouled  out  on 
next  pitched  ball.  ...  On  the  second 
innings.  Hunt  opened  play  and  sent  a 
shooter  to  right  field.  Wolters  sent 
Hunt  home,  and  he  in  turn  was  carried 
around  by  McMahon.  The  latter  was 
left,  as  the  following  strikers  went  out 
The  New  Yorkers  were  blanked  for 
their  share,  Jewett  alone  reaching  base. 
.  .  .  Devyr  sent  a  good  one  to  Fergu- 
son, who  took  it  well,  but  threw  it  too 
high  for  Start  to  hold.  Up  to  this  time 
there  had  not  been  a  fiy-catch  in  the 
game,  the  hitting  being  swift-grounders. 
In  the  sixth  inmng  there  was  bad  field- 
ing, Chapman  and  McDonald  both  drop- 


Face.  [1£1  £ve8.  113]  >fose.  [Hi  IConth. 
Tcoth.  [IGJlllood.  117]  Mouth.  [18]  U«d. 
Breast.  [20]  Mouth.  [Jt]  Ear.  [22]  Hand. 
Hand.  (2Q  Head.  [25 J  Head  under  left  ann. 
Administering  blown.  r27J  Severe  blova.  [28] 
lion  of  a  dJ  " 


[29]  Itedprocatior 


>low.    [30]  Head. 


"1 
151 

19] 

26] 
Do. 


PmiAM'fl  VifiAfTOK. 


[March, 


ping  f!j  bftZli,  and  Smith  and  Start  each 
mnmng.'^ 

JUl  thifl  13  93  clear  as  mud  to  the  in- 

teUlgect  reader  who  nercr  played  base- 
balL  An  account  of  a  billiard-match 
would  also  be  senseless  to  one  unac- 
quainted with  the  game.  Then  there  is 
the  mild  slang  of  the  poker  player,  who 
talks  about  **  seeing  it "  and  '*  going  it 
better,"  and  "calling"  and  '^strad- 
dling "  and  "  covering  "  and  '•  winning 
the  pot ; "  and  the  policy-player,  who 
sees  something  very  pleasing  in  "a 
straight  gig  *'  and  *••  4-11-44 ;  '^  and  the 
iaro-player,  who  knows  how  to  "  copper 
an  ace,"  and  to  whom  ''chips"  are' 
articles  of  vast  significance. 

**  And  fo  J*  gambler  ptajB  his  way 
Unto  Orim  Death  his  gatei, 
And  Ijing  down  a  little  irtiile 
For  ye  final  *  tramp  *  he  waits.** 

The  distinction  between  the  language 
of  sentiment  and  of  card-playing  is 
shown  in  the  song  of  a  person  on  ship- 
board, with  loTC  and  poker  on  the 
tadn,  commencing ; 

•<  8ad  waa  our  parting,  and  my  tad  heart 
8cm  sadly  sighs  lor  thee; 

(Til  take  three  eards,  Mr.  Dealer), 
As  I  glide  <yerthe  moonlit  sea. 
And  the  moon*s  fweet  rays  sets  the  sea  abloie 
With  a  Uan  that  pointa  to  thee 

(I  straddle— it  takes  ten  to  come  in) 
As  I  fly  o'er  the  deep  blue  sea 
dweet  xephyn  play  o'er  our  loamy  way. 
And  they  waft  my  sighs  to  thco 

(1  see  that  and  go  fifteen  better) 
As  I  float  o*er  the  deep  bloe  sea. 
Then  weep  not,  dearest,  this  fond  heart 
Still  wildly  worships  thee, 

(FTe  got  an  aoe  ftill— the  pot's  mine !) 
As  I  ride  this  glorious  sea.^ 

Here  is  John  and  Julia's  chess  prob- 
lem. John  to  move  and  mate  in  two 
moves: 

**  John  moved  his  arm  round  Julia's  neck. 
She  moves  one  square,  and  whispers— check ; 
IIo  nothing  daunted,  moTOS  right  straight 
His  lips  to  hers,  and  calls  out—*  mate  I '" 

The  young  schoolmaster  from  New 
England  should  not  attempt  to  master 
any  metaphysical  article  unless  he  has 
been  through  a  regular  course  of  read- 
ing. His  first  step  should  be  to  thor- 
oughly familiarize  himself  with  the 
words  objective  and  subjective  and  their 
dcriyatiycB.  An  English  religious  jour- 
nal in  a  criticism  of  a  theological  work, 
said: 


'^Glancing  at  the  table  of  oonteniB 
of  the  volume  before  us,  we  feel  no  eI^ 
ration  of  our  expectations  when  we 
read  chapters  first,  second,  and  third: 
"  Grace  Objectively  Considered ; '  chap- 
ters fourth  and  fifth :  '*  Grace  Subjec- 
tively Considered.-'  We  remark  inter- 
jectively  that,  viewed  objectivdv,  sudi 
terms  are  adjectively  to  be  described  as 
the  offspring  of  a  theology  whidi  is 
treated  most  rejectively  by  all  sonnd 
divines,  and  is  only  received  by  thoee 
whose  minds  are  comparatively  bewil- 
dered, and  are  therefore  trajectivdy 
impelled  into  admiration  of  a  jaigon 
which,  speaking  conjectively,  was  in- 
vented projectively  to  propagate  injeo- 
tively  a  philosophy  which  woidd  act 
disjectively  to  the  Gospel  of  Christ 
Resubjectively  we  remark  that  we  an 
often  dejectively  impressed  with  the 
mischief  which,  subjectively,  such  bar- 
barisms work  to  the  simplicity  of  our 
faith;  we  countcr-projectively  exhort 
all  men  to  treat  *  objectively,'  *  subjec- 
tively,' and  all  such  rubbifui,  in  the 
style  known  as  *  ejectivcly.' " 

Without  wishing  to  give  the  impres- 
sion that  the  words  objective  and  sub- 
jective are  necessarily  wicked,  as  is 
hinted  by  the  writer  quoted,  I  may  say 
that  I  think  they  are  sometimes  used  a 
little  too  frequently.  I  once  counted 
over  one  hundred  repetitions  of  them 
in  a  single  newspaper  article. 

Our  student  will  next  learn  about 
the  vital  principle,  totality,  solidarity, 
equilibration,  relativity,  external  unity, 
dificrentiation,  integration,  organisoi, 
retroaction,  panegenesis,  universology, 
'the  unknowable,  sociological  lam, 
physiological  units,  the  gospel  of  os- 
mosis, &c.,  will  conceive  a  great  con- 
tempt for  the  anthorpomorphists,  and 
will  distinctly  understand  that  we  an 
all  *^  the  dynamical  children  of  correla- 
tion."   "  Yes,"  says  the  Hartford  lady 

in  "  The  Case  of  George  Dedlow : 

*'  Yes,  I  comprehend.  The  fractional 
entities  are  embraced  in  the  unity  of 
the  solitary  Ego.  Life,"  she  added,  ^  is 
the  garnered  condensation  of  objective 
impressions;  and,  as  the  objective  is 
the  remote  father  of  the  subjective,  so 
must  individuality,  which  is  but  focus- 
sed  subjectivity,  suffer  and  fade  when 
the  sensation  lenses,  by  which  the  rays 
of  impression  arc  condensed,  become 
destroyed." 


1870.] 


Babel  in  oxjb  Mid6t. 


808 


Our  schoolmaster  may  then  pass  to 
the  transcendental  and  spiritaal,  and 
haying  posted  himself  as  to  progression, 
affinities,  trance-states,  cycles,  spheres, 
missions,  symbols,  intelligences,  and 
Idndred  spirits,  may  enter  into  the  eter- 
nal harmonics  of  Andrew  Jackson  Davis, 
and  learn  from  his  "  Stellar  Key  to  the 
Summer  LandJ'  Here,  as  it  were,  amid 
"the  magnificent  simplicities  of  na- 
ture "  and  "  the  central  unities  of  truth," 
he  may  perceiye  with  delight  that "  the 
odylic  light  of  amorphous  bodies  is  a 
kind  of  feeble  external  and  internal 
glow,  somewhat  similar  to  phosphores- 
cence ; "  that  the  atmosphere  is  **  the 
purifying  laboratory  through  which 
flow  the  effects  of  Ideas,  Principles, 
Laws,  Essences,  and  Ethics,"  that  the 
measureless  systems  of  stars  and  suns 
**  which  roll,  and  swim,  and  eddy,  and 
waltz  about  in  their  harmonial  circles, 
ihine  upon  landscapes  more  beautiful 
and  into  eyes  more  divine  than  ours ; " 
and  that  '^  it  is  now  conceded  even  by 
the  anthropomorphists  and  other  un- 
progressivc  religionists,  that  instead  of 
the  earth  being  at  the  centre  of  God's 
uniyerse  and  instead  of  the  doings  and 
omissions  of  its  denizens  being  the 
chief  concern  and  perpetual  misery  of 
the  entire  Trinity,  our  sun  and  its  plan- 
etq  belong  to  the  Milky  Way  not  only, 
but  that  the  Milky  Way  itself  is  merely 
one  community  of  suns  and  planets  of 
an  infinitude  of  similar  systems  and 
communities  that  float  and  sing  the 
■ongs  of  Harmony  in  the  celestial  atmo- 
sphere of  the  Univercoelum  !  "  Here, 
cyen  "  in  the  very  vortex  of  the  Uni- 
yercoelmn"  and  amid  "the  solemn 
depths  of  the  infinitudes,"  he  may  wit- 
ness the  "  revolutions  of  the  cosmical 
ether,"  and  "  hold  communication  with 
the  Lythylli."  Happy  indeed  is  he  to 
know  that  "  the  cosmogonies  of  illimit- 
able space  are  fast  coming  into  popular 
education  1 "    Bays  Byron : 

<*  Ob,  ye  immortal  gods,  wliat  is  theogony  7 
Oh,  thou  too  mortal  mnn,  what  is  philanthropy? 
Oh,  world  that  was  and  is,  what  is  coonogony  7 
Some  peoplo  have  accused  me  of  misanthropy, 
And  yet  I  know  no  more  than  the  mahogany 


That  forms  this  desk,  of  what  they  mean— lycan- 

thropy 
I  comprehend,  for  without  transformation 
Men  become  wolyes  on  any  slight  occoasin." 

Yet  every  study,  from  cosmology 
down  to  cookery,  has  its  own  peculiar 
methods  of  expression. 

All  this  our  friend  may  find  in  his 
newspaper.  But  even  in  the  composing- 
room,  where  the  paper  is  printed,  there 
prevails  another  dialect  which  scarcely 
ever  gets  into  its  columns,  and  of  which 
I  may  give  an  example  in  a  humorous 
form.  The  following  instructions  from 
the  foreman  of  the  printers  would  be 
quite  intelligible.  Of  course,  double 
meanings  would  not  generally  occur, 
though  it  would  be  quite  possible  for 
them  to  do  so. 

"John,"  says  the  foreman,  as  he  is 
looking  over  the  copy  and  proofs  for 
the  morning  paper, "  have  *  The  Chinese 
Wall '  set  up  first,  and  then  finish  the 
*  Robbery'  you  began  this  morning. 
Then  you  can  run  *  The  Opera  BoufiTe.^ 
Kill  *  Forrest '  and  let  *  Booth '  lie  over. 
You'll  find  *  Forrest '  on  the  first  galley. 
Give  out  *  Our  Army  Rations,'  double- 
leaded.  See  the  copy  of  Powers' 
♦Greek  Slave,'  and  put  a  Nonpareil 
full-face  lower-case  head  to  it,  with  sub- 
heads in  small  caps.  Distribute  ♦The 
Cholera ; '  get  that  pi  out  of  the  way, 
and  give  the  devil  directions  how  to 
dispose  of  the  dead  matter.  I  guess 
you  can  use  *  Soothing  Syrup '  in  the 
morning's  paper,  but  *  The  Taxes '  will 
have  to  be  cut  down.  Give  mo  a  proof 
of  *  Darwin's  Development  Theory.'  We 
want  about  three  sticks  to  fill  out  the 
inside  form." 

Every  reader  will  remember  the  epitaph 
which  Franklin  wrote  for  himself  while 
a  journeyman  printer,  or  we  would 
quote  it. 

The  following  was  written  as  an  epi- 
taph on  Mr.  John  Childs,  former  Pru- 
dent of  the  Philadelphia  Typographical 
Society : 

<*Hi3  last  fbrm  is  locked-up  in  Eternity's  ohase^ 
Ilis  composition's  corrected  above, 
His  proof  was  not  fiml  nor  imperfect  hii  ease. 
Say  the  angels  of  Omniscient  Lore.** 


804 


PUTHAH^B  MAeAZOB. 


[Maid, 


SKETCHES  IN  OOLOE. 


FOXJBTH. 


TnxBE  came  into  our  Sanday-school, 
one  bright  spring  morning,  a  party  of 
strangers ;  nothing  very  uncommon,  for 
we  had  many  visitors.  Bnt  these  in- 
terested ns  more  than  nsnal;  for  one 
wore  a  generaVs  star  upon  his  shoulder, 
and  the  sleeve  that  should  have  held  the 
strong  right  arm  hung  empty  by  his 
dde.  Ah !  those  empty  sleeves.  What 
volumes  of  pathetic  meaning  speak  from 
their  mute  helplessness.  How  they  re- 
call the  days  of  darkness,  the  long  strug- 
gle, the  fears,  the  agonies,  the  bleediog 
hearts,  the  desolated  homes,  the  final 
triumph,  —  purchased,  how?  By  the 
pride  and  vigor  of  our  country's  man- 
hood, offered  up  in  blood  and  fire,  for 
the  cause  of  truth  and  freedom,  on  the 
altar  of  their  country.  Bow  reverently 
before  that  empty  sleeve.  It  belongs  to 
a  hero,  and  a  mu*tyr. 

The  school  closed,  and  the  visitors  de- 
parted, our  superintendent  asked : 

"  Do  you  kuow  who  that  was  ? " 

"No.    Who?" 

"  General  Howard.  He  is  on  his  way 
to  Eichmond,  to  organize  the  Freed- 
men's  Bureau.  He  is  going  to  address 
the  colored  people  to-night  at  Old  Billy's 
church ;  don't  you  want  to  go  ? " 

Of  course  we  did.  So  the  evening 
found  us  struggliug  in  the  crowd  around 
the  door  of  the  house  where  Old  Billy 
dispensed  instruction  and  exhortation 
to  his  flock.  He  was  possessed  of 
great  natural  abilities,  and  considerable 
shrewdness  and  originality,  though  to- 
tally uneducated,  and  was  held  in  great 
honor  among  his  people ;  so  there  was 
"  gathering  from  near  and  from  far,"  to 
the  Sunday  evening  services,  when  he 
administered  reproof,  instruction,  warn- 
ing or  encouragement,  according  to  his 
Judgment  of  the  needs  of  his  hearers, 
uid  in  his  own  peculiar  style. 

We  were  too  late  for  the  opening  ser- 
vices; General  Howard  was  beginning 


his  address  as  we  entered*  He  spoke  to 
the  people  for  half  an  hour,  as,  I  believe, 
they  had  never  been  spoken  to  before; 
of  the  privileges,  the  duties,  and  the 
possibilities  of  their  new  life.  Simply, 
so  that  the  youngest  might  understand; 
kindly,  as  friend  to  friend;  frankly,  ai 
man  to  man ;  earnestly,  as  *'  one  having 
authority"  to  those  who  so  greatly 
needed  counsel  and  instruction.  Many 
of  them,  as  yet,  realized  nothing  of  their 
freedom,  save  the  right  to  go  hither  and 
thither  as  they  would,  and  to  wear  the 
"same  kind  of  clothes  that  white  folks 
wear; "  but  I  think  the  words  of  trotfa 
and  soberness  they  heard  that  nighty 
must  have  brought  some,  at  least,  to  a 
truer  understanding  of  the  soleomity  of 
life,  and  the  dignity  of  self-help. 

The  address  over,  the  oongregatioa 
rose  and  sang  the  doxology,  and  Gtenenl 
Howard  and  his  party  left  the  ohoroh. 
Then  the  exercises  proceeded  as  nsnaL 
Billy  announced  his  text.  I  have  for- 
gotten chapter  and  verse,  but  almoit 
any  thing  would  answer  the  purpose,  be> 
ing  sure  to  fit  some  one  of  the  nnmer- 
ous  subjects  embraced  in  that  disooorae^ 
which  went  entirely  through  the  Bible, 
from  the  Oreation  to  the  last  chapter  of 
Eevelation.  In  the  course  of  hia  re- 
marks, he  stated  some  facts  concerning 
the  transgression,  and  consequent  pun- 
ishment, of  Adam  and  Eve,  which  have 
not  I  think,  been  brought  to  light  by 
the  researches  of  any  commentator. 

*^Eve  was  jes'  like  all  de  women; 
dey's  sich  hard-headed  creeturs,  dat 
when  dey  gits  dor  minds  sot,  you  can't 
nebber  'suade  dem  outcn  it.  So  when  Eve 
done  made  up  her  mind  to  eat  dat  ar  ap- 
ple, she'd  ha'  ate  it,  ef  de  angel  Gabr'el 
had  ben  a  stan'in'  right  dar.  But  Adam 
wouldn't  nebber  ha'  ate  it  'tall  ef  Eve 
hadn't  'suaded  him ;  an'  jes'  as  ho  was 
swallerin'  de  fus'  piece,  he  felt  mighty 
sorry,  an'  he  tried  to  spit  it  out ;  but  it 


Skstohbs  in  Oolob. 


805 


gone  too  far  down ;  an'  Eve,  she 
im  not  to  make  a  fool  ob  hisself, 
ts'  eat  de  res\  So  be  done  eat  it 
i'  yer  knows,  my  broddren,  what 
ter  him  den;  how  he  got  druv 
de  garden,  an'  'bleeged  ter  work 
libin'.  De  women  ongbter  work ; 
« ;  fer  ef  it  hadn't  a  ben  for  Eve, 
luldn't  none  on  ns  ha'  ben  'bleeged 
rk  'tall." 

I  sisters  sat  in  '*  solemn  silence 
inder  this  portion  of  the  discourse ; 
ie  brethren  manifested  their  ap- 
tion  audibly. 

I  sermon  was  divided  and  sub- 
^,  and  extended  to  such  a  length 
)ld  Billy's  warmest  admirers   be- 

>  show  signs  of  weariness  before 
ose.  There  was  considerable  rest- 
ss,  and  going  out,  among  the  young 
lear  the  door ;  and  annoyed  by  it, 
at  last  paused  in  his  discourse,  and 
ised  them  : 

on  folks  in  de  back  ob  de  church, 
At  ar  goin'  out  an'  comin'  in.  It's 
idecent,  'sturbin'  de  meetin'  dat  ar 
ef  yer  wants  ter  go  out,  go  out — 
ay  out,  too ;  but  ef  yer  wants  ter 
In,  stay  in,  an'  'have  yerselves. 

>  yer  tinks  ^s  yer  'scourse  's  too 
too  many  heads  ter  it ;  but  ef  I'm 
jd  ter  make  forty  chaws  ob  a  grain 
e,  'tain't  none  ob  your  business — 
me  ob  yer  ain't  got  teeth  'nuff  ter 
don." 

last,  with  an  exhortation  to  his 
n  to  join  the  multitude  that  were 
tg  from  "  de  Norf  pole,  an*  from  de 
pole,  an'  from  de  Eas'  pole,  an' 
le  Wes'  pole,  an'  shovin'  right  'long 
de  kingdom,"  the  sermon  dosed, 
followed  a  prayer;  the  congrega- 
meeling,  and  repeating,  as  is  their 
)Dt  QUfltom,  each  sentence  after  the 
ter — a  somewhat  noisy  exercise, 
act  calculated  to  promote  devo- 
.  feelings.  The  colored  people  never 
dice  in  their  petitions ;  each  x>er8on 
m  of  persons  for  whom  a  blessing 
dred,  is  mentioned  by  name.  So 
&e  prayer  proceeded : 

*(  Qod  bre«8  de  President." 

the  congregation  chanted  in  oho- 


"God 

»*God 
CAorM»— "Qod 

"God 
CAorur-"  Qod 

"God 
Chonu—**  God 

"God 
CAorus— "God 


breM  de  IVetident.** 
breea  de  CongroM." 
breif  de  CongreM.** 
broM  de  Army.*' 
broM  de  Army.** 
breaa  de  Mftjor-Gen^alfl.^ 

bresfl  de  Mi^oi'-^^^^^*'^!**'* 
broM  do  Brlg'dler-Gen'alB.** 
breea  de  BrigMier-Gen'ali.*' 


And  so  on,  through  every  grade  of 
the  service ;  first  and  second  lieutenants 
being  mentioned  separately,  down  to 
corporals.    Then, 

"  God  bresi  Gcn'al  Howard.'* 
CAoriM— "  God  brett  Gen'ftl  Howard." 

**  An'  do*  he  loes  an  arm," 
Chonu^**  An*  do'  he  Iom  au  arm," 

"  May  he  fin'  it  in  Heaben." 
Charu»—*^  May  he  fln*  it  in  Heaben." 

The  prayer  threatened  to  be  as  long 
as  the  sermon,  for  Billy  remembered 
everybody,  calling  them  by  name,  until 
it  seemed  as  if  he  must  need  a  Directory 
to  help  him  through.  But  it  was  finish- 
ed at  last,  and  he  came  down  from  the 
pulpit,  and  stood  within  the  railing. 
Then  began  one  of  those  scenes,  which, 
when  read  of,  seem  the  exaggerations 
of  a  disordered  imag^tion ;  and  when 
witnessed,  leave  an  impression  like  the 
memory  of  some  horrid  nightmare — so 
wild  is  the  torrent  of  excitement,  that, 
sweeping  away  reason  and  sense,  tosses 
men  and  women  upon  its  waves,  ming- 
ling the  words  of  religion  with  the 
bowlings  of  wild  beasts,  and  the  ravings 
of  madmen. 

The  leader,  on  these  occasions,  usually 
starts  a  hymn,  in  which  the  congregation 
join.  Sometimes  all  sing  together; 
sometimes  the  leader  and  the  congrega- 
tion sing  alternate  lines ;  and  again,  he 
sings  the  verse  throughout,  the  congre- 
gation only  giving  the  chorus.  In  the 
pauses  between  the  hymns,  some  brother 
or  sister  give  their  **  experience, "  al- 
ways talking  in  a  scream,  and  as  if  cry- 
ing ;  a  natural  tone  of  voice  not  being 
considered  suitable  for  such  occasions; 
while  the  others  clap  their  hands,  stamp, 
and  shout,  "yes,  yes;"  "dat's  so;" 
"  praise  de  Lord ; "  and  the  moment  the 
speaker  pauses,  some  voice  starts  a  hymn, 
the  leading  sentiment  of  which  harmo- 
nizes with  what  has  just  been  said. 
Their  quickness  in  finding  hymns  appro- 
priate to  the  different  phases  of  expe- 


806 


PirrarAii's  MAeiznrB. 


DiuA, 


rience,  and  expressions  of  feeling  is  some- 
thing wondorful. 

Two  or  three  hymns  are  nsnally  snng, 
before  they  get  warmed  np  to  the  talking. 
The  first  one  was,  as  is  almost  invariably 
the  case  in  negro  meetings,  "When  I 
can  read  my  title  clear."  Tliis  seems  to 
be  their  chief  favorite ;  I  have  heard  it 
sang  six  times  in  the  course  of  an  even- 
ing, to  different  tnnes.  Simultaneously 
with  the  first  note  ot  tlie  hymn,  began 
a  tapping  of  feet  by  the  whole  congre- 
gation, gradually  increasing  to  a  stamp 
as  the  exercises  proceeded,  until  tlie 
noise  was  deafening ;  and  as  the  excite- 
ment increased,  one  and  another  would 
spring  from  their  seats,  and  jump  up  and 
down,  uttering  shriek  after  shriek ;  while 
firom  all  parts  of  the  house  came  cries  of, 
"Hallelujah ;  "  "  Glory  to  God ;  "  "  Jes' 
now  Lord,  come  jes'  now ;  "  "  Amen ;  " 
and  occasionally  a  prolonged,  shrill 
whoop,  like  nothing  earthly,  unless  it  bo 
some  savage  war-cry.  At  the  close  of 
the  first  liymn,  without  a  mementos 
pause,  they  struck  into  another;  a 
strange,  wild  tune,  the  words  of  which 
we  could  not  distinguish,  except  in  the 
chorus: 

*'  Oh  I  I  wonts  you  to  tote  de  young  lambs  in  your 
bosom, 
And  carry  de  ole  sheep  aloDg.** 

Then  in  strange  contrast  to  this,  came  the 
most  beautiful  melody  the  negroes 
have — one  of  the  most  beautiful,  I  think, 
in  the  world — a  chant,  carried  by  full, 
deep  bass  voices ;  the  liquid  soprano  of 
the  melody  wandering  through  and 
above  it,  now  rising  in  triumphant  swell, 
now  falling  in  softened  cadence,  with 
tbe  words, 

"  John  saw,  John  saw, 
John  saw  do  holy  angels, 
Sittiu'  by  de  golden  altar. 
SIttin*  by  de  golden  altar,  ehlllens, 
Slit! n^  by  de  golden  altar,  ohillens. 
John  paw,  John  saw, 
John  saw  de  holy  angels, 
Blttiu'  by  de  golden  altar.'* 

At  tho  close  of  this  hymn  there  was  a 
pause,  and  a  woman  rose  and  begun, 
"  My  dear  brudilron  and  sisters,  I  feel,  I 

feel,  I  feel," then,  apparently  unable 

to  find  words,  she  burst  into  a  hymn,  in 
which  the  others  joined. 


"  m  tell  yon  what  de  Lord  done  f«r 
Lord  come  an*  water  Zion ; 
He  tuk  my  feet  from  de  miry  day ; 

Lord  come  down. 
Come  down  Lord  an*  water  29on, 
Come  along  down.** 
"  He  sot  my  feet  upon  de  rook ; 
Lord  come  an'  water  ZIon ; 
An'  gib  me  DaTld*8  golden  harp ; 

Lord  come  down. 
Come  down  Lord  an'  water  Zion, 
Come  along  down." 

Another  sister  followed,  who  after  a 
lengthy  expression  of  her  feelings,  doMd 
by  saying : 

"  I  goes  ter  some  churches,  an'  I  seea 
all  de  folks  sottin*  quiet  an'  still,  like  dej 
danno  what  de  Holy  Sperit  am.  Bat  I 
fin's  in  my  Bible,  that  when  a  man  or  a 
'ooman  gets  full  ob  de  Holy  Bperit,  cf 
dey  should  hoP  dar  peace,  de  stoiMi 
would  cry  out ;  an'  ef  de  power  ob  God 
can  make  de  stones  cry  out,  how  can  it 
help  makin'  us  poor  oreeturs  ciy  outi 
who  feels  ter  praise  Him  fer  His  merqy. 
Kot  mako  a  noise!  Why  we  malm  a 
noise  'bout  ebery  ting  else ;  butd^UDi 
us  we  mustn't  make  no  noise  ter  piain 
do  Lord.  I  don't  want  no  aioh  'ligioii  m» 
dat  ar.  I  wants  ter  go  ter  Heab^  in  da 
good  ole  way.  An'  my  bmddroi  an' 
sisters,  I  wants  yer  all  ter  pray  fer  ma^ 
dat  when  I  gits  ter  Hcaben  I  wont  iieb> 
ber  come  back  'gain." 

As  she  took  her  seat,  tho  congregation, 
as  by  one  impulse  sang : 

"  Oh  I  de  way  ter  Hcaben  is  a  good  ole  wbj; 
Oh  I  de  way  ter  Heaben  is  a  right  olo  way ; 
Oh  I  do  good  ole  way  Is  de  right  ole  way; 
Oh  I  I  wants  ter  go  ter  Heaben  In  de  good  die 
way." 

Several  of  the  sisters  spoke,  all  doaiiig 
with  the  same  words :  ^^I  hopes  yerU 
all  pray  fer  me,  dat  when  I  gits  to  Hea- 
ben, I  wont  nebber  come  back,"  The 
women,  by  the  way,  go  upon  the  prloei* 
plo  of  "early  and  often,"  in  speaking, 
and  frequently  in  these  meetings,  mon<^ 
olize  the  greater  part  of  tho  time.  It  was 
some  time  before  any  of  the  brethren  had 
a  change ;  at  last,  one,  seizing  an  oppo^ 
tunify,  exhorted  every  one  to 

"  Git  on  board  de  ship  ob  Zion,  an' 
take  yer  anchor  wid  yer.  Dar's  two 
kiu^s  ob  anchors,  my  fren's,  dar's  a  ked- 
gin'  anchor,  an'  dar's  a  bower  anchor.*' 
(A  voice  from  the  crowd,  **  Yes,  Lord, 


SKSTOnSS  IN  OOLOB. 


ao7 


'n  bofe  on  'em.'*)  Take  yer  an- 
'  git  on  board  de  ebip  ob  ZioD. 
oard  dat  ole  black  steamer,  fer 
ulin'  on,  an'  she^ll  git  safe  froo  de 
I  ob  Jerdan,  an'  rnn  jam  up  agin 
ob  Hcaben,  an'  Ian'  ns  all  safe ; 
i  march  up  de  golden  streets  to 
ob  life,  singin'  Hallelajah,  Jeru- 

from  the  hundreds  of  voices, 
full,  rich  swell  of,  "  Roll,  Jordan 
•  as  they  pronounce  it, — **Jer- 

Dg  Jesus  sittin'  on  de  tree  ob  life, 

Boll,  Jerdan,  roll, 
br*cl  sittin^  on  do  tree  ob  life, 

Watchin  Jerdan,  roll. 
•es  slttin*  on  de  tree  ob  life. 

Boll,  Jordan,  roll, 
jah  sittin'  on  de  tree  ob  life, 

"Watchin'  Jordan,  roll/' 

through  Bible  IBistory,  till  pro- 
d  apostles,  in  successive  verses, 
Bred  on  the  "  tree  of  Life."  To 
pany,  they  join  their  own  friends, 
dead,  it  matters  not : 

[y  fader  sittin'  on  de  true  ob  life, 

Boll,  Jerdan,  roll, 
\j  mndder  sittin*  on  do  tree  ob  life, 

Watchin'  Jerdan,  roll. 
y  sister  sittin'  on  de  tree  ob  life, 

Boll,  Jordan,  roll, 
J  bmdder  sittin'  on  de  tree  ob  life, 

Watchin'  Jerdan,  rolL" 

r  others  for  whom  they  entertain 
respect  or  affection,    this  part 
iccording  to  feelings  and  circum- 
Now  they  sang : 

e  Lincoln  sittin'  on  do  tree  ob  life. 

Boll,  Jerdan,  roll ; 
I'l  Howard  sittin'  on  de  tree  ob  life, 

Watchin'  Jerdan,  rolL»» 

nt  Uirough  with  most  of  the 
and  prominent  men  known  as 
snds;  finally,  having  deposited 
;tler  on  the  "  tree  of  Life,"  to 
Jordan  roll,"  —  a  somewhat 
riUon,  I  thought,  for  that  versa- 
leman, — they  came  to  a  pause, 
e  in  the  audience  seized  the  op- 
r  to  start  a  hymn.  Apparently, 
out  of  order,  for  he  had  not  got 
a  line,  when  old  Billy  inter- 
im: 

t  yer  start  dat  ar  fer  ?  Dat  ain't 
*alJ.  Don't  yer  start  nuffin'  on'y 
dlls  yer." 


Then  he  proceeded  to  "  reform  de  brud- 
dren  an'  sistern,  dat  sis  Sally  Tolliver 
done  'ceasded  "  (they  never  say  a  person 
is  dead,  alway  she  "  done  'ceasded"),  "  dis 
ebenin  at  fo'  'clock,  an'  her  funeral  will 
be  preach'  in  our  place  of  wasshup  on 
Chuseday  (Tuesday)  ebenin.  Sis  Sally, 
as  you  all  know,  war  a  good  'ooman,  an' 
she  bab  gone  whar  sickness  an'  sorrer  am 
no  mo',  an'  whar  dey  don't  die  no  mo'. 
Sing  now,  all  sing,  *  Jesus  said  He 
wouldn't  die  no  mo'." 

Then  we  heard  that  hymn,  the  strang- 
est, wildest,  most  meaningless  of  all  that 
the  negroes  sing,  and  at  the  Qame  time, 
the  one  which  seems  to  excite  them  the 
most  powerfully,  not  so  much  I  imagine, 
by  the  words,  as  the  music,  which  is  ut- 
terly indescribable,  almost  unearthly 
with  its  sudden  changes,  each  one  usher- 
ed in,  by  a  long  quavering  shriek. 

"  Jesns  said  He  wouldn't  die  no  roo'. 

Said  He  wouldn't  die  no  mo*. 
So  my  dear  chillens  don'  jw  fear. 
Said  He  wouldn't  die  no  mo'. 

**  De  Lord  tole  Moses  what  ter  do. 
Said  He  wouldn't  die  no  mo.', 
Lead  de  ebillen  ob  Isr'el  firoo', 
Said  He  wouldn't  die  no  mo*. 
C^oriM— Jesus  said  He  wouldn't  die  no  mo', 
Said  He  wouldn't  die  no  mo\ 

«  Come  'long  Moses,  don'  git  loa', 
Said  He  wouldn't  die  no  mo', 
rn  keep  yer  fh>m  de  beat  an'  fros', 
Said  Ho  wouldn't  die  no  mo'. 
Chortu — Jesus  said  He  wouldn't  die  no  mo*. 

**  Oit  'long  Moses,  don'  fear  ter  go. 
Said  He  wouldn't  die  no  mo', 
De  Lord  '11  guide  yer  heel  an'  toe. 
Said  He  wouldn't  die  no  mo'. 

CA«ru«— Jesus  said  Ho  wouldn't  die  no  mo*. 

"  What  shoes  are  dose  dat  yer  do  wearT 
Said  Ho  wouldn't  die  no  mo'. 
So  I  can  walk  upon  de  air, 
Said  He  wouldn't  die  no  mo'. 
Chorut-^eBXia  said  Ho  wouldn't  die  no  mo'. 

**  My  shoes  are  washed  in  Jesus'  blood. 
Said  He  wouldn't  dio  no  mo'. 
An'  I  am  trabbellin'  home  ter  God, 
Said  He  wouldxTt  die  no  mo'. ' 
Chorus— J^UB  said  He  wouldn't  die  no  mo*, 
Said  He  wouldn't  die  no  mo'. 
So  my  dear  chillens  don*  yer  fear. 
Said  He  wouldn't  die  no  mo'.'' 

During  the  singing  of  this  hymn,  the 
excitement,  which  had  been  gradually 
increasing  with  each  change  in  the  exer- 
cises, reached  its  height.  Men  stamped, 
groaned,  shouted,  clapped  their  bands ; 


808 


Ptttvak^b  Maoazihs. 


\MMtA, 


women  shrieked  and  sobbed,  two  or 
three  tore  off  their  bonnets  and  threw 
them  across  the  charch,  trampled  their 
shawls  under  foot,  and  sprang  into  the 
air,  it  seemed  almost  to  their  own  height, 
again  and  ogain,  until  thej  fell  exhaust- 
ed, and  were  carried  to  one  side,  where 
thej  laj  stiff  and  rigid  like  the  dead. 
No  OLe  paid  them  any  farther  attention, 
but  wilder  grew  the  excitement,  louder 
the  shrieks,  more  violent  the  stamping ; 
while  through  and  above  it  all,— over 
and  over  again, — each  time  faster  and 
louder, —  rose  the  refrain,  "  Jesus  said 
He  wouldn't  die  no  mo'  I  " 

A  fog  seemed  to  fill  the  church ;  the 
lights  burned  dimlj,  the  fur  was  close, 
almost  to  suffocation ;  an  invisible  pow- 
er seemed  to  hold  us  in  its  iron  grasp ; 
the  excitement  was  working  upon  us 
also,  and  sent  the  blood  surging  in 
wild  torrents  to  the  brain,  that  reeled  in 
darkened  terror  under  the  shock.  A  few 
moments  more,  and  I  think  we  should 
have  shrieked  in  unison  with  the  crowd. 

We  worked  our  way  through  the 
struggling  mass,  sometimes  pushed  and 
beaten  back,  by  those  who,  with  set  eye- 
balls and  rigid  faces, — dead,  for  the 
time,  to  things  external, — were  not 
conscious  what  they  did.  With  the 
first  breath  of  cool  night  air  upon  our 
faces,  the  excitement  vanished ;  but  the 
str^n  upon  the  nervous  system  had  been 
too  great,  for  it  to  recover  at  once  its 
usufij  tone.  More  than  one  of  the  party 
leaned  against  the  wall,  and  burst  into 
hysterical  tears ;  even  strong  men  were 
shaken,  and  stood  trembling  and  ex- 
hausted. 

It  has  been  much  the  custom  to  look 
upon  the  excitement  of  these  meetings, 
and  its  effects,  as  an  amusing,  serio-com- 
ic exhibition;  bat  there  is  more  than 
comic  or  amusing,  there  is  something  of 
the  terrible,  in  a  power  that  makes  itself 
felt,  alike  by  impressionable  ignorance, 
and, — though  not  so  quickly,  as  surely, 
—by  the  self-control  and  poise  of  char- 
acter, the  natural  outgrowth  of  enlight- 
enment, education,  and  knowledge  of  the 
truth.  It  is  a  humiliating  admission, 
that  the  physical  in  great  measure  dom- 
inates the  mental,  but  it  is  true.   Nerves 


of  steel,  and  an  iron  wDl,  might  pM 
through  such  scenes  unmoved ;  I  ounot 
believe  it  possible  of  any  nature  cast  ii 
the  common  mould  of  our  humanity. 

The  distinctive  features  of  negro  hjn- 
nology,  are  gradually  disappearing,  and 
with  another  generation  will  probably 
be  obliterated  entirely.  The  cause  iior 
this,  lies  in  the  education  of  the  yoimgv 
people.  With  increasing  knowledge^ 
comes  growing  appreciation  of  fitaoi 
and  propriety,  in  ^is,  as  in  everytUqg 
else ;  and  already  they  have  learned  t» 
ridicule  the  extravagant  preaching,  fts 
meaningless  hymns,  and  the  noisy  sing- 
ing  of  their  elders.  Not  perhaps,  as  ye^ 
to  any  great  extent  in  the  countey; 
changes  come  always  more  slowly  thcn^ 
but  in  the  cities,  the  young  l>eo^  ' 
have,  in  many  eases,  taken  the  matte 
into  their  own  hands,  formed  chdi% 
adopted  the  hymns  and  tunes  in  use  is 
the  white  churches,  and  strangers  who 
go  with  the  expectation  of  sometUng 
novel  and  curious,  are  disappointed  tf 
having  only  ordinary  church  music. 

A  collection  of  negro  hymns,  will,  a 
few  years  hence,  be  one  of  the  "  Cnri- 
osities  of  Literature."  A  fmitful  qim- 
tion  for  the  antiquarian  will  be,  when 
and  how  did  they  originate  ?  Were  they 
composed  as  a  whole,  with  deliberate 
arrangement  and  definite  meaning,  or 
are  they  fragments,  caught  here  and 
there,  and  pieced  into  mosaic,  hap-ha»> 
ard  as  they  come  ?  Take,  for  instance, 
this: 

"Hooked  lOBlde  ob  Heabcn, 
An'  dar  I  saw  King  Jesua  a  coniin\ 
Wid  a  vhlto  a  cator  nappen  tied  'roan*  he  vai% 
2I0M8  an*  chillen  wld  do  Lamb." 


Was  this  the  original  wording  and 
rangement  ?  If  so,  what  visions  or  ideas 
could  they  have  been,  that  thus  fitly 
phrased  themselves.  We  questioned 
several  of  the  colored  people  as  to  the 
meaning  of  "  cater  nnppen,^^  but  received 
no  further  explanation  than,  "  Why, 
dat*s  jes'  in  de  hymn." 

Some  of  our  old  familiar  hymns,  they 
alter  in  most  ludicrous  fashion.  The 
lines 

**  Then  while  yo  hear  my  beart-stxinga  break. 
How  sweet  my  moment!  rull,*> 


1870.] 


Sketches  in  Oolos. 


809 


thej  render, 

**Tbeii  while  ye  hear  my  heart-itringt  break, 
And  tee  my  eytbaiU  roUJ** 

Watts  and  Nowton  would  never  recog* 
nize  tbeir  prodactions  throngh  Uie  trans- 
formations thcj  have  undergone  at  tbe 
bands  of  ibeir  colored  admirers. 

A  hymn  that  is  a  particular  favorite, 
they  will  sing  several  times  in  the  course 
of  a  service,  each  time  to  a  different 
tone;  and  tbe  same  with  tunes;  tbcy 
will  sometimes  sing  three  or  four  hymns 
in  SQCcesslon,  to  a  tune  that  especially 
pleases  them.  It  frequently  happens  in 
■noh  cases,  tbat  tbe  hymn. and  tbe  tune 
will  be  in  different  metres ;  a  long  metre 
hjmn  will  go  stumbling  over  a  short 
metre  tune,  or  a  hymn  in  short  metre 
will  bo  swallowed  up  by  a  tune  twice  as 
long  as  itself.  In  the  latter  case  the 
words  are  stretched,  and  ''drag  their 
dow  length  along "  over  half  a  dozen 
notes,  while  in  the  former  they  rush 
along  with  a  hop,  skip  and  jump,  tbat 
ftirly  takes  one^s  breath  away,  and  tbat 
oonstitutes  one  of  tbe  wonders  of  vocal- 
iam. 

The  colored  people  scarcely  ever  sing 
a  hymn  without  a  chorus,  their  favorite 
being,  ''Shall  we  know  each  other 
there?''  This  they  sing  with  almost 
everything,  sometimes  in  rather  startling 
association,  as, 

■*  Filing  ta  a  \stilf  of  dark  deipair,— 
rjtova— Shall  we  know  each  other, 

Shall  wo  know  each  oiber  thcrt  7  '* 

Or. 

*Haik  from  tho  tombs  a  dolefnl  sound,— 
Ckoms— Shall  we  know  each  other  there  7  " 

Or  this,  which  is  one  of  the  most  popu- 
lar: 

**  Hell  is  a  dark  an*  a  drcfful  aflhlr, 
An*  ef  I  war  a  sinner  I  wouldnH  go  dar,— 
C3t3rtt«-— Shall  we  know  each  other  then?** 

And  they  moke  almost  all  their  hymns 
into  this  kind  of  patchwork,  without  ap- 
parently, tbe  slightest  perception  of  any 
incongruity  in  the  sentiments  thus  joined 
together. 

The  question  is  frequently  asked  of 
teachers  of  freedmcn, — that  is,  it  is  so 
fSar  a  question  that  it  terminates  in  a 
mark  of  interrogation,  but  is  really  an 
affirmation  with  an  upward  inflexion,  to 
which  an  assent  is  expected  as  a  matter 


of  course ; — **  You  find  them  a  univer- 
sally religious  people,  do  you  not?"  I 
know  tbat  the  answer,  according  with 
the  honest  belief,  is  generally — "  Yes," 
and  I  know  tliat  I  shall  place  myself  in  a 
small  and  unpopular  minority  by  an- 
swering, "  No  ;  "  yet,  in  reviewing  my 
observations  and  experience,  that  is  the 
only  answer  I  can  truthfully  give. 

Before  going  among  tbe  freedmcn,  I 
held  in  common  with  others,  the  idea  that 
they  were  naturally  religious,  and  tbat 
there  was  both  reality  and  depth  in  their 
religous  life.  "  Perfect  through  suffer- 
ing,'* "purified  in  tbe  fires,"  wxjre  in 
our  minds;  and  we  judged  tbat  they 
who  bad  so  greatly  suflTercd  must  needs 
be  thereby  greatly  purified,  and  raised -to 
a  higher  plane  of  religious  life,  than  we 
had  attained.  It  seemed  tliat  those  over 
whose  beads  "all  tbe  waves  and  the 
billows  "  of  sorrow  bad  closed  in  over- 
whelming flood,  must  have  laid  firm 
bold  upon  the  only  anchor  that  could 
sustain  them ;  tbat  those  whose  very 
souls  were  scorched  by  tho  "  fiery  trial " 
tbat  tried  them,  must  have  drank  deep 
draughts  of  tbe  "  Water  of  Life,"  to 
soothe  their  agony ;  that  they,  who  could 
call  nothing  on  earth  their  own,  must 
have  laid  up  for  themselves  abundant 
treasures  in  Heaven.  And  so  thinking, 
we  forgot  that  faith  is  bom  of  knowl- 
edge, and  tbat  this  was  withheld  from 
them ;  we  forgot  tbat  their  inability  to 
read  made  tbe  truths  and  teachings  of  the 
Bible  a  dead  letter  to  most  of  them ; 
tbat  tbe  only  instruction  they  received 
was  from  men,  ignorant  as  tbemselves, 
who  jumbled  together  words  and  phrases 
only  half  caught  and  not  at  all  under- 
stood, in  one  mass  of  senseless  jargon ; 
and  that  all  their  ideas  of  religion  were 
gathered  in  noisy  meetings,  where  thoae 
who  shouted  tbe  loudest  and  jumped  the 
highest,  were  tho  best  Christians. 

Our  sympathy  overruled  our  judg- 
ment, and  led  us  into  a  great  mistake  in 
our  work.  In  everything  else  we  strove 
to  teach  and  elevate  the  freedmen ;  in 
this,  most  important  of  all,  we  sat  hum- 
bly down  to  be  learners  instead  of 
teachers.  Tbe  managers  of  the  societies 
had  the  same  idea,  and  frequently,  when 


8ia 


PUTKJLK^B  HaQAZJSE, 


PM, 


teachers  lamented  the  loss  of  ehnroh 
privileges,  would  say,  "Why,  you  can 
go  to  the  colored  churches  can  yon 
not? "never,  apparently,  suspecting  that 
there  might  bo  any  lack  of  food,  mental 
or  spiritual.  It  was  a  mistake  born  of 
reverence  and  humility,  but  nevertheless 
a  mistake,  and  one  that  cannot  now  be 
remedied;  for  the  moulding  stage  of 
freedom,  when  these  people  were  as  wax 
In  our  hands,  has  passed.  By  our  pres- 
ence and  silence  we  sanctioned  their  ex- 
travagances; and  tliey  stand  now  self- 
confident,  proof  against  remonstrance 
and  instruction. 

The  question,  "Are  the  colored  people 
truly  and  deeply  religious?"  resolves 
itself  into  several  other  questions,  which, 
considered  separately,  answer  this,  I 
think,  conclusively. 

Can  an  ignorant  religion  ever  be  a 
high  type  of  religion?  Many  of  these 
people  are  undoubtedly  sincere ;  but  the 
minority  of  them  were  Ignorant  as 
heathens  of  the  objects  and  foundation 
of  our  faith.  As  one  proof  of  this,  I  never 
met  one  of  the  freedmen,  no  matter  what 
their  life  and  character,  who  did  not 
claim  to  be  a  Christian,  hoping  to  "meet 
de  face  ob  Heaben  in  peace."  Other 
teachers,  who  have  been  much  among 
them,  have  found  it  the  same,  and  one 
of  the  most  discouraging  features  in  at- 
tempting to  make  any  impression  upon 
them.  Opposition  may  in  time  be  over- 
come ;  smiling  acquiescence  is  almost 
hopeless.  Easy  assurance  is  the  perfect 
fruit  of  utter  ignorance,  and  one  of  its 
sorest  proofs. 

"Is  noisy  excitement  a  proof  of  re- 
ligions feeling?  "  Yet  this  is  almost  the 
only  way  in  which  the  religion  of  the 
colored  people  manifests  itself.  It  is 
very  easy  to  stamp  and  groan,  and  shout 
glory ;  not  so  easy  to  learn  understand- 
ingly  what  glory  means,  and  the  way  to 
obtain  a  "  good  hope  "  of  it.  It  is  easy 
to  call,  "jes'  now,  Lord,  come  jes' 
now,"  without  the  slightest  idea  of  how 
the  Lord  they  call  upon,  docs  really 
come,  and  dwell  in  the  believing  heart. 
It  is  easy  to  do  and  say  almost  any  thing 
in  the  excitement  of  a  crowd,  and  what 
is  so  said  and  done,  cannot  be  taken  as 


the  genuine  feeling  of  the  heart,  nor  a 
any  proof  of  the  life.  The  ohildreB  it 
our  schools  would  tell  us  Bometimei: 
"Betty,  or  Milly,  or  Tom,  done  gd 
'ligion  las'  night ; " — that  is,  they  w«b 
so  worked  upon  by  the  exciteDOt 
around  them,  that  they  screamed  nd 
stamped  (having  the  power  they  call  \t\ 
until  worn  out,  they  were  carried  hons 
exhausted  and  fainting.  Bat  that  wai 
religion  as  they  understood  it,  and  then 
children  had  got  it. 

Is  the  habitual  use  of  religions  expnt- 
sions,  a  proof  of  real  religion  f  Tbi 
colored  people  constantly  use  each  ex- 
pressions, and  this,  I  think,  more  thai 
any  thing  else,  misled  those  who  wRi 
unaccustomed  to  them.  But  it  will  be 
asked.  Are  not  such  expressions  prompt- 
ed by  religious  feeling?  Generally,  I 
think  not.  Why  do  they  use  thai, 
then  ?  From  habit.  A  person  may  not 
be  the  least  a  hypocrite,  and  yet  on 
such  expressions  without  thonght  or 
meaning.  I  have  heard  children  on 
their  way  to  school  say,  "  I  ain*t  liti 
dis  mornin',  bress  de  Lord ;  ^'  or  bojiil 
play,  "  I  didn't  loss  dat  ar  marble,  tank 
do  Lord  for  dat"  What  prompts  thoa 
expressions?  They  repeat  what  they 
hear  their  elders  say,  and  these  agun, 
speak  after  the  fashion  of  their  people. 

Is  regular  attendance  at  church,  proof 
of  religious  feeling?  Not  genenlly 
among  the  colored  people.  It  mnst  be 
remembered  that  religious  meedngi 
were  the  only  change  their  life  in 
slavery  afforded ;  in  fact,  their  one 
amusement.  What  wonder  that  they 
flocked  to  them ;  and  that  the  pent-np 
feelings  and  emotions,  found  here,  the 
expression  that  was  denied  elsewhere. 
But  they  go  to  the  evening  xneetingi^ 
stamp,  shout,  have  the  "power"  and 
"  get  religion,"  and  the  next  day  fight, 
and  swear  and  steal,  as  they  did  before, 
without  apparently  the  slightest  recol- 
lection of  last  night^s  excitement;  and 
at  the  nest  evening  meeting,  they  will 
go  through  the  same  exercise,  with  pre- 
cisely the  same  results. 

But,  it  is  asked,  are  there  no  Christians 
among  them  ?  Undoubtedly.  There  are 
many  who  seem  to  have  been  directly 


1870.] 


Is  Death  Painful? 


811 


taught  of  God,  and  who  show  the  fruits 
of  that  teaching  in  their  lives;  but  I 
have  invariably  found  them  among  the 
quieter  ones.  Said  an  old  woman,  one 
of  the  "poor  of  this  world,  rich  in 
feith : " 

"  Honey,  I  don't  say  dat  ar  ain't  all 
riglit,  but  I  can't  feel  ter  do  it.  I  used 
ter  do  it,  an'  I  ra'ally  b'lisbed  it  was  do 
Holy  Sperit  movin'  me ;  but  one  day  I 
war  in  a  heap  o'  trouble,  'peared  like 
nufSn'  didn't  gib  mo  no  comfort,  an'  I 
prayed  to  do  Lord  to  comfort  mo  his- 
•elf;  an'  'peared  like  sufhn'  spoke  right 
in  my  heart,  soft  an'  quiet  liko,  an'  I 
!membered  how  do  Lord  war  not  in  do 
whirlwind,  nor  in  do  storm,  but  in  do 
•atill,  small  voice ; '  an'  I  knowcd  dat  of 
He  spoke  ter  us  wid  a  still  voice,  lie 
want  us  ter  speak  ter  Him  do  same  way. 
80|  honey,  scnce  dat  ar  time  I  nebber 
feeled  ono  bit  like  hollerin'  or  stampin'." 

And  50 1  have  almost  invariably  found 
it  witli  those  who  were  Christians  in 
heart  and  life,  as  well  as  in  profession. 

One  strong  argument  against  tlie  idea 
of  natural  religious  feeling  in  the  colored 
people,  is  the  fact,  that  as  they  becomo 
educated,  it  generally  decreases.  Tho 
reaction  from  excitement  to  indifforence, 
is  natural  and  sure,  and  as  the  circum- 
stances of  their  lives  change  this  feeling 
Is  weakened.  Those  who  have  been  al- 
ways or  for  many  years  free,  manifest 


little  of  such  disposition.  It  is  a  fact, 
painful  but  undeniable,  that  among  tho 
best  educated  of  tho  colored  poople, 
thcro  is  a  strong  tendency  to  infidelity, 
which  is,  in  a  measure,  forced  on  them 
by  circumstances.  A  highly  educated 
colored  woman  said,  not  long  since,  in 
answer  to  ono  who  remonstrated  with 
her  on  her  neglect  of  religious  services: 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  believe  in 
anything  or  not.  So  far  as  I  hear  any- 
thing about  religion,  I  don't  see  much  to 
believe  in.  If  I  went  to  church,  I  might; 
but  I  am  shut  out  from  that.  I  won't 
go  to  tho  colored  churches,  for  I'm  only 
disgusted  with  bad  grammar  and  worse 
pronunciation,  and  their  horrible  ab- 
surdities ;  I  can't  go  to  your  churches, 
for  if  I  am  admitted  at  all,  I  am  put 
away  off  in  a  dark  corner,  out  of  reach 
of  everybody,  as  if  I  were  some  unclean 
tiling,  and  I  will  not  voluntai-ily  place 
myself  in  such  a  position." 

There  are  many  in  the  same  case,  with 
tho  same  bitter  feelings,  standing  on 
the  verge  of  infidelity. 

"  Am  I  my  brothcr*a  keeper  ? " 

Perhaps  not.  Nevertheless,  the  ques- 
tion may  be  asked  ono  day,  when  shades 
of  distinction  are  invisiblo  in  tho  light 
of  eternity — by  what  right  we  shut  out 
any  human  being,  from  participation  in 
the  knowledge  of  that  truth,  that  was  to 
be  preached  to  "  all  men,  ovcrywhero." 


*♦• 


IB   DEATH   PAINFUL? 


Teob  moment  of  dying — ^that  point 
of  time  when  the  spirit  leaves  the  body 
— has  almost  universally  been  regarded 
as  one  of  intense  horror.  Even  those 
who  have  the  brightest  anticipations 
with  reference  to  a  Aiturc  cj^istence,  con- 
sider death  a  fiery  trial  first  to  be  ex- 
perienced. Tho  most  encouraging  of 
spiritaol  advisers  have  words  of  cheer 
siter  tho  river  is  crossed,  but  none  to 
support  in  the  act  of  crossing.  So  even 
Virgil  tells  of  tho  delightful  Elysian 
fields  for  the  spirits  of  the  blest,  but 
does  not  palliate  the  horrors  of  the  Sty- 
gian river,  the  leaky  boat,  the  ill-man- 


nered Charon,  and  the  snarling  Cerbe- 
rus, which  must  first  be  met.  Bunyan, 
after  permitting  his  pilgrims  to  take 
their  ease  in  the  laud  of  Beulah,  allows 
even  tho  most  favored  of  them  to  expe- 
rience some  difficulty  in  fording  the 
stream  to  tho  mansions  of  happiness 
What  a  sea  of  trouble  ho  would  expect 
some  renegade  pilgrim  from  Vanity  Fair 
to  flounder  through,  he  has  left  us  to 
conjecture.  The  agony  of  death,  the 
horrors  of  dying,  arc  regarded  as  ortho- 
dox comparisons  when  we  wish  to  illus- 
trate something  superlatively  horrible. 
Wo  sometimes  hear  a  person,  and  ono 


818 


PimrAx's  Magazxsk. 


[iM 


who,  possibly,  has  receiTcd  a  medical 
education,  in  descanting  upon  some  in- 
atance  of  intense  suffering,  as  if  exhal- 
ing the  aroma  of  the  concentrated  es- 
sence of  all  wisdom,  gravely  compare 
the  torture  experienced  with  the  pain 
of  death,  supposing  nothing  more  could 
be  asked  to  cap  the  climax  of  seycrity. 

Such  has  been  the  popxilar  conviction. 
H  now,  there  is  no  just  ground  for  it— 
if,  on  the  contrary,  there  is  reason  to 
believe  that  the  opposite  is  true — ^that 
dying  usually  is  as  painless  and  physi- 
cally as  pleasant  as  sinking  into  a  sleep, 
let  us,  for  the  sake  of  nervous  and 
aflfrighted  humanity,  seek  for  the  evi- 
dence of  it,  and  derive  from  it  whatever 
consolation  we  can.  As  we  all  must 
make  the  experiment,  let  us,  if  we  can, 
00  fortify  our  minds  by  investigation, 
that  we  shall  not  "  go,  like  the  cowed 
slave,  scourged  to  his  dungeon,"  but  so 
that,  unscourged,  and  satisfied  that  there 
is  really  no  dungeon,  we  shall  truly  *'lie 
down  to  pleasant  dreams." 

The  question  arises.  How  did  the 
popular  impression,  that  death  is  physi- 
cally painful,  originate?  Perhaps,  as 
one  of  the  constituents  producing  that 
instinctive  dread  of  death  which  exists 
with  animals  of  a  lower  as  well  as  a 
higher  order,  it  was  intended  by  nature 
to  preserve  the  species,  by  preventing  a 
reckless  exposure  to  destruction.  If 
this  is  the  case,  the  object  of  nature  is 
accomplished  when  suffering  prevents 
the  commission  of  those  injuries  which 
lead  to  death.  Nothing  is  gained  in 
any  individual  case  by  keeping  up  the 
pain  after  death  is  certain,  and  the  act 
of  dying  actually  has  commenced ;  and 
as  nature  does  nothing  more  than  is 
absolutely  necessary  to  accomplish  her 
ends,  we  ^ay  infer  that  pain  ceases 
when  it  becomes  useless.  We  deter 
others  from  the  commission  of  similar 
crimes ;  a  mistaken  belief  that  there  is 
physical  suffering  at  the  moment  of 
death,  is  just  as  effectual  as  a  well- 
grounded  one.  But  it  is  more  probable 
that  the  belief  we  speak  of  is  produced 
by  witnessing  the  phenomena  that  occur 
in  the  act  of  dying,  and  giving  them  an 
incorrect  interpretation.     In  order  to 


point  out  popular  miiitakeii,  we 
notice  what  these  pbenomeiui  are,  vbil 
they  have  been  supposed  to  indici^ 
and  what  is  their  true  significatioB. 

The  modes  of  dying  are  Tsrioos;  hot 
there  are  classical  cases,  one  of  whidk 
may  be  taken  as  a  type  of  alL  Fbr 
convenience,  the  period  firom  oomphfei 
health  to  the  moment  of  death  can  bi 
divided  into  different  stages.  The  flat 
is  that  in  which  the  disease,  or  who- 
ever wastes  the  vital  powers^  is  actiTdf 
at  work.  This  stage  Taries  in  lengA. 
In  chronic  disease,  it  Is  a  period  p» 
haps  of  years;  in  acute,  of  days  or 
weeks ;  but,  in  both,  it  is  the  period  cf 
entire  consciousness,  and  a  morlidlj 
acute  perception  of  the  sensation  cf 
pain«  In  tMs  stage,  suffering  Is  oAb 
such  a  prominent  characteristic  as  almoil 
to  render  the  disease  itself  of  a  secoadp 
ary  importance.  It  is  the  period  of 
struggle  between  nature  and  her  antag- 
onist, and  continues  until  It  Is  dfddfld 
which  is  to  win«  It  is  not  a  djiag 
stage,  but  is  preliminary  and  t^Tfiii*^^ 
to  death,  unless  in  those  cases  of  n^ 
den  death,  where  the  difTerent  aUigw 
axe  condensed  in  the  single  crash  wldA 
annihilates  at  the  instant.  In  the  nfr 
ond  stage,  nature  is  yielding  iip  ihs 
struggle  with  her  enemy,  who  is  wnr 
sure  of  success.  The  patient  lies  thor- 
oughly exhausted  with  struggling,  with 
consciousness  and  sensation  perhaps  yel 
present,  perhaps  gone — ^but,  at  leart^ 
going ;  if  conscious  at  all,  unwilling  to 
be  disturbed  or  aroused.  The  counte- 
nance now  loses  the  expression  it  has 
worn  through  life,  or  that  of  sufferii^ 
which  it  has  assumed  during  the  di^ 
ease,  and  that  ominous,  indescribabk 
look  of  vacuity  appears,  once  seen  never 
to  be  forgotten,  which  assures  specta- 
tors that  death  is  at  hand,  and  leads  to 
the  significant  and  forcible,  if  not  giaoe- 
fbl  expression,  that  "  he  has  been  stmck 
with  death."  Bathed  with  perspira- 
tion, with  pinched  features,  relaxed 
jaw,  frequent  and  gasping  breath,  rqnd 
and  weak  pulse,  the  victim  lies,  if  con- 
scious and  strong  enough  to  answer  a 
question,  complaining  no  longer  of 
pairiy  but  of  being  '^  tired."    Conscioiia* 


1870.] 


Is  Death  pAiNTULf 


818 


ness  gradaally  disappears,  and  it  may 
be  that  breathing  ceases  so  impercepti- 
bly that  no  one  can  tell  the  precise  mo- 
ment. 

'*  Wt  thoQglit  her  dying  while  sho  slept, 
And  sleeping  when  she  died/' 

Or  it  may  be  that,  just  before  the  lost 
breath,  there  are  other  phenomena  which 
we  will  suppose  to  constitute  a  third 
stage,  when,  with  a  violent,  convulsiye 
movement  of  the  frame,  contortions  of 
the  comitenance,  and  apparently  a  dcf^ 
perate  struggle  for  breath,  the  scene 
doses. 

Bach  are,  most  frequently,  the  phe- 
nomena of  dying.  We  must  interpret 
them  ourselves,  for  the  victim  never  re- 
tnnis  to  assist  us.  It  is  true,  we  have 
heard  of  a  certain  executioner  in  France, 
in  accordance  with  a  previous  arrange- 
ment made  with  his  victim,  calling 
loudly  in  the  ear  of  the  head  just  sev- 
ered from  the  body  to  give  some  sign 
if  any  suffering  were  experienced ;  but 
the  head,  perhaps  from  modesty  as  to 
answering  for  the  trunk  in  its  new  rela- 
tion, made  no  reply.  Another  rudely 
atmck  the  face  of  a  lady  of  rank  just 
bdieaded  by  the  guillotine.  It  is  said 
that  a  blush  of  indignation  overspread 
tiie  HBatures ;  but  inasmuch  as  a  blush 
iroold  probably  be  produced  by  an  ac- 
oeiemted  action  of  the  heart,  and  as  the 
heart  at  that  time  had  no  connection 
with  the  head  or  face,  unfortunately  for 
the  romance  of  the  story,  it  can  hardly 
betnie. 

Now,  in  those  cases  where  the  breath- 
ing ends  so  imperceptibly  that  we  can 
hardly  be  certain  that  it  has  ended  at 
ally  there  certainly  can  bo  nothing  to 
Itanuah  ground  for  the  popular  impres- 
sion that  the  moment  of  dying  is  one 
of  physical  suffering.  But  it  is  not 
fftrange  that  one  unacquainted  with  the 
nature  and  cause  of  convulsions,  and 
their  effects  under  different  circum- 
stances, after  witnessing  the  quiet  and 
ease  of  the  dying  person  just  before 
death,  and  then,  at  the  moment  of 
death,  noticing  the  truly  unnatural  and 
horrifying  contortions  of  the  counte- 
nance and  convulsions  of  the  body, 
ahoold  immediately  suppose  that  they 
VOL.  V — 21 


were  an  evidence  of  extreme  suffering. 
He  could  hardly  be  made  to  believe  that 
the  patient  knew  nothing  of  them,  and 
suffered  no  pain. 
But  wc  must  remember  that 

"  It  is  as  natural  to  die,  as  to  be  born ;  '* 

that  there  must  be  phenomena  of  some 
kind  at  death,  as  there  are  even  when 
one  falls  asleep ;  that  there  is  d  priori 
no  more  reason  to  expect  pain  in  one 
case  than  in  the  other ;  that  the  convul- 
sions that  occur  at  death  are  no  evi- 
dence of  suffering  then,  unless  they  are 
at  other  times  such  an  evidence.  But 
they  are  not.  In  epilepsy,  wo  often  see 
the  most  horrible  convulsions  persisting 
for  hours,  and  the  patient,  recovering, 
invariably  professes  unconsciousness  of 
all  that  has  occurred.  In  some  other 
cases,  where  there  is  consciousness,  there 
is  no  pain,  excepting  the  feeling  of  ex- 
haustion from  the  violence  of  the  exer- 
tion. Convulsions  are  simply  the  loss 
of  control,  f^om  any  cause  whatever, 
which  the  will  possesses  over  the  numer- 
ous nerves — the  telegraph  wires  run- 
ning to  all  parts  of  the  body  to  call  the 
muscles  into  action.  When,  from  any 
cause,  the  mind — the  telegraphic  opera- 
tor, seated  at  the  great  central  battery, 
t£e  brain — Closes  its  control,  then  at 
once  the  most  absurd  messages  are  seat 
with  the  greatest  rapidity  to  all  parts 
of  the  body ;  the  most  grotesque  muscu- 
lar movements  occur  in  response ;  con- 
vulsions and  contortions  ensue,  which 
bear  the  same  relation  to  movements 
under  control  of  the  will  that  the  vagsr 
ries  of  a  maniac  bear  to  the  thoughts 
of  a  well-balanced  mind.  If,  as  is  gen- 
erally the  cose,  consciousness  has  been 
absent  during  these  convulsions,  when 
it  returns,  and  the  will  recovers  its  ac- 
customed control,  never  is  the  mind 
aware  of  the  commotion  that  has  oc- 
curred during  its  absence,  and  never  has 
there  been  experienced  the  slightest  sen- 
sation of  pain.  What  is  more  natural, 
in  view  of  these  facts,  than  to  suppose 
that  the  convulsions  and  contortions 
which  sometimes  occur  at  the  moment 
of  death  are  not  the  result  or  an  evi- 
dence of  suffering,  but  simply  the  an- 
nouncement of  the  fact  that  the  mind 


8U 


PUTNAM^B  MaOAZIKE. 


[MM, 


has  finally  deserted  its  seat  of  control 
at  the  nervous  centre,  and  that  with  it 
have  gone,  as  always  before,  sensation 
and  consciousness ;  and  that,  as  a  con- 
sequence, the  nerves  are  acting  with 
their  wonted  dL<«order  for  the  last  time  ? 
If  never  before  in  such  commotion  has 
there  been  any  sufifering,  is  it  natural  to 
suppose  that,  in  the  convulsion  of  death, 
there  is  any  evidence  of  it  ? 

Still  another  ground  for  the  belief 
that  these  convulsions  are  not  an  evi- 
dence of  pain,  is  the  iad  that  similar 
musculardnovements  can  be  reproduced 
after  the  patient  is  absolutely  and  un- 
mistakably dead.  The  agent  to  be  used 
is  that  invisible  force,  galvanism,  be- 
tween which  and  the  nervous  power 
there  are  many  striking  points  of  simi- 
larity. The  late  Professor  Oilman,  of 
the  College  of  Physicians  and  Surgeons, 
used  to  relate  to  his  medical  class  that, 
when  experiments  with  this  agent  were 
first  attempted,  he,  with  some  of  his 
medical  brethren,  having  met  with  the 
good  fortune  of  obtaining  a  subject 
fresh  from  the  gallows,  proceeded  to 
experiment.  They  succeeded  beyond 
their  most  sanguine  expectations.  Such 
vigorous  and  surprising  movements  of 
the  limbs  and  the  muscles  of  the  face 
occurred,  that,  for  a  time,  the  resurrec- 
tion was  considered  an  accomplished 
fact,  and  the  interest  in  the  experiment, 
in  a  scientific  point  of  view,  was  giving 
way  before  the  question,  requiring  more 
innnediate  consideration,  as  to  what 
methods  might  be  taken  to  enable  so 
lively  a  subject  to  escape  the  process 
of  rendering  satisfaction  to  the  demands 
of  justice  a  second  time.  It  was  soon 
discovered,  however,  that  the  majesty 
of  the  law  had  been  fully  vindicated. 

Professor  D ,  of  the  same  school, 

would  occasionsdly  edify  his  class  by 
experiments  upon  animals,  illustrating 
the  same  principle.  A  decapitated  frog 
would  be  presented,  sitting  firm  and 
erect,  with  all  the  dignity  that  could  be 
presented  by  a  frog  without  a  head.  A 
slight  shock  from  the  conducting  wire, 
and  the  animal  would  leap  with  as  much 
agility  and  graceful  precision  as  he  ever 
could  have  exhibited  in  his  native  pud- 


dle in  his  season  of  most  buoyant  heiMi; 
and  he  would  descend  in  position  i^ 
propriate  for  the  renewal  of  his  efibcti. 
Certainly,  refiex  movements  of  thischn^ 
acter,  which  can  be  made  to  occur  after 
death,  ought  not  to  be  regarded  u  n 
evidence  either  of  consciousnesB  or  m^ 
sation  when  they  occur  at  the  monwit 
of  death.  * 

Another  occasion  for  the  belief  tint 
the  dying  moment  is  a  painful  ooB,  k 
the  fact  that  pain  is  the  prominent  dm" 
acteristic  of  the  first  stage,  and  is  ahuMt 
always  preliminary  to  death.  Ai,  li 
disease,  the  pain  is  acute,  and  m  deifli 
is  regarded  simply  as  the  culminatki 
of  disease,  so  the  moment  of  deatli  k 
considered  the  period  of  the  dimaz  of 
pain. 

But  if  we  find  that  pain  has  a  nsefnl 
object  to  serve,  and  that  that  object  b 
accomplished  before' deatli  ocean,  iiBflC 
the  inference  a  proper  one  that  safMag 
then  ceases?    The  object  of  pa&a  ii 
purely  benevolent — to  warn  us  of  dii- 
ger,  and  to  force  us  to  take  measueitD 
avert  it.    If  there  is  any  exception  to 
the  rule,  it  is  comprehended  in  the  eanb 
pronounced   upon   woman.      Withont 
pain  to  direct  attention  to  the  fkct,  half 
of  our  diseases  would  be  undetected; 
and  without  it  to  force  us  to  take  mty 
which  is  the  great  antidote,  many  men 
of  them  would  go  on  to  a  fatal  tenni* 
nation.    It  is  the  burglar-alarm  to  mm 
us  when  our  premises  are  invadedT  Ik 
is  not  an  essential  of  disease,  nor  one  of 
the  elements  of  danger,  as  is  so  often 
thought;  but  its  duty  is,  to  give  tiie 
signal  so  long  as  danger  exists.    It  dis- 
appears simultaneously  with  the  tennl> 
nation  of  the  disease.     It  sometimei 
disappears  while  the  disease  continaei| 
but  then  its  departure  is  ominous  of 
evil.    It  has  gone,  not  because  it  hat 
accomplished  its  object,  but  bccanae  it 
has  failed  to  do  so.    The  disease  liti 
triumphed  in  some  particular  part,  and 
death  of  that  portion  is  occurring,  and 
sufiering  ceases  because  it  can  no  longer 
be  of  use.    Have  we  not  a  right  to  rea- 
son that,  as  it  is  in  a  part,  so  it  will  be 
in  the  whole  ?    Is  it  not  likely,  rcaaon* 
ing^from  analogy,  that   all    suffering 


1870.] 


Is  DsATn  Painful? 


815 


should  cease  when  it  is  certain  that 
death  of  the  whole  must  take  place? 
Perhaps  this  cessation  of  suffering  takes 
place  only  a  few  moments  before  death, 
too  late  for  any  signal  to  that  effect 
from  the  patient ;  but  that  it  ollcn  docs 
occur,  we  know  from  the  grateful  con- 
fession of  many  a  sufferer ;  and  is  it  not 
contrary  to  all  reason  to  suppose  that, 
after  it  once  has  ceased,  it  will  make  a 
useless  onset  again  at  the  very  last  mo- 
ment ? 

Reasons  such  as  these  are  certainly  a 
Boffieient  reply  to  merely  a  popular  pre- 
judice, of  long  standing  though  it  may 
baye  been.  But  facts  also  tend  to  con- 
Arm  the  position  that  has  been  taken. 

An  instance  coming  under  the  per- 
ionftl  observation  of  the  writer  is  to  the 

point.     B ,  a  clerk  in  a  store  in  New 

Haven,  informed  one  of  his  brethren  be- 
liind  the  counter  that  he  intended  to  go 
ia  the  cellar  and  hang  himself,  and  ac- 
cordingly started.  His  friend,  after  a 
short  time,  had  occasion  also  to  de- 
scend, as  B well  knew  would  bo  the 


;  and,  to  bis  surprise,  found  the 
unfortunate  clerk  suspended  by  the 
neck,  and  apparently  dead.  To  cut  the 
rope  and  convey  him  to  the  counter 
above,  was  the  work  of  only  a  few  mo- 
ments. There,  after  the  vigorous  manip- 
ulations of  physicians  for  about  twenty 
minutes,  he  revived,  but  was  informed 
hf  his  medical  attendants  that  three 
minutes  longer  in  the  peculiar  position 
in  which  he  had  been  found,  would  have 
terminated  his  period  of  service  with 
his  employers.  After  he  had  sufficient- 
ly recovered,  he  told  his  tale,  and  with 
enough  of  the  fear  of  death,  just  es- 
caped, before  his  eyes,  to  ensure  its  ve- 
racity. He  had  no  intention  of  com- 
mitthig  suicide,  but,  with  the  noose 
about  the  chin,  while  standing  upon  an 
almost  invisible  support,  he  intended, 
as  a  grim  joke,  to  present  the  appear- 
ance of  hanging  to  the  clerk  who  was 
shortly  to  descend  to  the  cellar.  Un- 
fortunately for  hu  plan,  the  support  on 
which  he  was  standing  fell  from  be- 
neath his  feet,  the  noose  slipped  below 
thef  chin,  and  he  actually  was  suspend- 
ed by  the  neck.    Now  comes  that  which 


may  be  of  interest  by  way  of  argument. 
At  first  he  experienced  decided  discom- 
fort from  the  pressure  of  the  rope,  and 
a  difficulty  of  breathing ;  but  soon  all 
pain  cither  ceased,  or  was  unnoticed  in 
his  efforts  to  escape.  He  first  attempt- 
ed to  lift  himself  by  grasping  the  rops 
above  his  head,  but  failed.  Thinking 
of  a  pair  of  scissors  in  his  vest-pocket, 
he  next  attempted  to  cut  the  rope ;  but, 
while  working  vigorously  in  this  way, 
his  vision  failed,  his  grasp  upon  the  cut- 
ting instrument  relaxed,  and  he  heard 
it  drop  to  the  floor,  and  consciousness 
was  gone,  until  it  returned  as  he  was 
lying  upon  the  counter.  Here  we  have 
the  unvarnished  tale  of  one  who,  to  all 
practical  purposes,  had  experienced  the 
delights  of  hanging.  It  can  be  assumed 
that  he  never  would  have  experienced 
more  pain  if  he  had  remained  hanging 
until  dead ;  for  sensation  and  conscious- 
ness had  gone,  and,  as  their  disappear- 
ance depended  on  a  certain  condition 
produced  by  the  pressure  of  the  rope,  it 
is  fair  to  presume  that  they  would  have 
remained  absent  so  long  as  that  pressure 
continued.  His  pain  was  not  gpreat,  and 
by  no  means  the  imagined  pain  of  the 
dying  moment,  for  that  moment  did  not 
occur;  and  it  actually  decreased  and 
disappeared  as  death  was  approaching. 
The  contortions  and  convulsions  which 
are  supposed  to  indicate  such  horrible 
suffering,  and  which  he  may  have  been 
the  subject  of  before  he  was  discovered, 
took  place,  if  at  all,  only  after  his  loss 
of  consciousness ;  for  he  controlled  the 
movements  of  the  muscles  of  the  arm 
up  to  that  time.  That  which,  to  the 
spectator,  would  have  appeared  t  e  time 
of  greatest  torture,  was  to  him  a  period 
of  complete  oblivion. 

In  many  instances,  persons  have  been 
recovered  from  drowning  who  have  re- 
mained in  the  water  after  all  conscious- 
ness was  gone,  and  so  long  that  hours 
may  have  elapsed  before  any  sign  of  life 
could  be  discovered.  They  invariably 
tell  the  same  tale.  They  say  that  the 
sense  of  danger,  the  instinctive  dread 
of  death,  the  first  fe«jlings  of  suffoca^ 
tion,  are  not  pleasant ;  but  they  do  not 
expatiate  at  a  1  upon  tie  great  pain  even 


816 


PcrarAM^s  MAOAzorx. 


[Kink, 


of  tlieee  pzeliminary  phenomena.    This 
sUge  passes  by,  and  then  comes  another 
period,  when,  instead  of  the  hoirora 
they  are  expected  to  rchite  of  the  ap- 
proach of  death,  they  only  tell  of  the 
scenes  of  their  bygone  life  passing  in 
rapid  review,  wiUi  vivid  distinctness, 
before  their  mental  vision— of  the  ex- 
perience of  years  crowded,  as  it  were, 
in  a  few  moments,  so  as  completely  to 
absorb  their  attention.    They  speak  of 
delightful  visions,  beautiful  phantasms, 
and  musical  murmuring  sounds;  and 
these  fascinations  are  the  last  of  their 
recollections,  until  the  rough  methods 
of  restoring  consciousness  remind  them 
of  the  fact  that  they  are  still  in  a  world 
of  trouble.    Now,  who  can  pretend  that 
they  have  not  experienced  all  that  is  to 
be  met  with  in  the  act  of  dying  t    It  is 
not  only  improbable,  but  impossible, 
that  it  should  be  otherwise.    That  stage 
of  semi-consciousness,  of  loss  of  sensa- 
tion, of  dreamy  review,  of  beautiful 
visions,  results  from  a  certain  condition 
of  the  brain — a  congestion,  perhaps— 
which  always  occurs,  and  must  occur, 
in  cases  in  which  oxygen  is  not  supplied 
to  the  lungs;  and  therefore,  in  every 
case  of  death  by  suffocation,  in  what- 
ever form.    As  the  cause  continues  and 
increases  in  intensity,  so  must  tbe  effect 
As  the  air  is  more  and  more  entirely  ex- 
cluded from  the  lungs,  so  must  tbe  loss 
■  of  sensation  and  consciousness  become 
more  and  more  complete,  until  both  are 
gone ;  and  they  can  never  return  so  long 
as  the  cause  of  their  removal  remains  at 
work. 

Buch,  then,  are  not  the  pains,  but  the 
pleasures,  of  dying.  The  pain,  we  as- 
sume to  be  preliminary  to  death,  and 
mostly  the  constituent  of  what  has  been 
called  the  first  stage.  It  may  be  pro- 
duced by  the  tedious  wasting  of  the 
chronic,  or  the  fierce  onset  of  the  acute 
disease,  by  the  bullet,  the  knife,  or  the 
rope. 

**  Many  aro  tho  ways  that  load 
To  his  grim  oavc.  all  dismal ;  yet  to  the  soiiso 
More  terrible  at  tho  entranco  than  \rithin.»' 

But  when  nature  begins  to  yield  the 
struggle  with  her  antagonist,  then  we 
assume  tliat  pain    negina  to    subside. 


This  pmod  we  call  the  second  sftagi^ 
and,  short  though  it  may  be,  we  siiidbi 
that  it  exists,  and,  in  it,  little  or  so 
pain.    Now  the  brain,  eiliier  deprived 
of  its  wonted  supply  of  blood,  or  fln^ 
nished  with  blood  poisonoiis  Cor  wist 
of  air,  aUows  sensation  to  become  bliol* 
ed,  and,  not  equal  to  the  task  of  cob- 
nected  thought,  originates  those  ddin- 
ous  fancies  which  furnish  the  deti^ 
of  opium-eating  and  intoxication.  lUi 
may  be  said  with  truth,  for  the  phj^ 
cal  effects  of  opium,  alcohol,  and  cUi^ 
roform,  upon  the  brain,  are  the  ssme  m 
those  produced  by  suffocation.    Li  all 
these  cases,  oxygen  is  deficient  in  thi 
blood.    In  this  stage  of  semi-delirini 
occur  occasionally  those  bright  jmam 
of  angels  and  of  spirits  of  depsztsd 
friends,  and  those  sounds  of  sweet  mo- 
sic  from  which  surrounding  friends  an 
wont  to  solace  themselves  with  brig^ 
hopes  for  the  departed.    In  certain  tos- 
peraments  the  visions  are  of  an  oppiH 
site  character,  as  is  also  sometimes  tht 
case  in  intoxication  from  other  csiiica. 
In  this  stage,  the  dying  person  appesv 
to  be  rapidly  sinking,  for  the  most  psit 
unconscious  of  his  surroundings,  u- 
wilUng  to  be  aroused  from  his  deH^i^ 
ful  trance,  but  exhibiting  by  his  ooan- 
tenance  but  little  of  what  is  passing  is 
his  mind.    In  the  third  stage,  if  it  oc- 
curs, we  assume  that  consciousness  and 
sensation  are  entirely  gone ;   that  tha 
convulsions    are    only   the    automatie 
movements  of  an  animal  organintion 
after  its  spiritual  occupant  has  left,  and 
that,  therefore,  the  act  of  dying  is  not 
painful. 

A  story  is  told  of  a  certain  crimiosl 
who  had  experienced  all  the  legal  for- 
malities of  a  death  upon  the  gallows. 
He  had  been  suspended  by  the  neck, 
and  was  pronounced  dead  in  due  form 
by  the  physicians.  His  apparently  in- 
animate body  found  its  way,  as  is  some- 
times the  case,  to  a  neighboring  dissect- 
ing-room. There,  in  the  midst  of  in- 
cijnent  anatomists  and  future  smgeons, 
stimulated  by  the  first  few  pricks  of  the 
scalpel,  to  their  utter  surprise  and  in- 
dignation, he  returned  to  life.  His 
subsequent  conduct  might  be  regaided 


1870.] 


Ib  DsATn  Painful? 


817 


as  peculiar  under  the  circumstances. 
Instead  of  expressing  delight  at  his 
resurrection,  as  might  have  been  expect- 
ed, he  poured  a  shower  of  imprecations  ^ 
on  the  heads  of  those  surrounding  him 
for  arousing  him  ftom  such  a  pleasant 
trance  as  he  had  experienced.  This  an- 
ecdote may  serve  as  an  illustration  of 
some  things  that  have  been  said,  though 
its  truth  is  not  vouched  for.  In  respect 
to  credibility,  it  may  be  classified  with 
another,  which  relates  how  Peter  the 
Great  sailed  across  the  Dead  Sea  in  a 
lead  coffin,  carrying  his  head  under  his 
amu  The  man  evidently  had  never 
been  dead ;  for,  judging  from  his  pro- 
fimity,  and  what  we  knew  of  his  ante- 
cedents, the  temperature  of  his  post- 
mortem abode  would  have  been  such  as 
to  have  made  the  cooler  atmosphere  of 
s  dissecting-room  highly  desirable. 

Leaving  the  anecdote  just  related  out 
of  consideration,  we  infer,  fVom  all  that 
has  been  said,  that  the  convulsive  efforts 
of  the  criminal  undergoing  execution 
on  the  gallows,  upon  which  newspaper 
reporters  dilate  as  an  evidence  of  ex- 
treme suffering  and  as  an  argument 
against  capital  punishment,  and  from 
which  the  spectators  estimate  the  pre- 
ciie  amount  of  torture  the  victim  is  un- 
dergoing, take  place  either  when  the 
poor  wretch  is  in  a  complete  oblivion 
of  all  his  surroundings,  or  in  that  state 
of  delirious  dreaming  and  freedom  from 
sensation  which  would  make  the  idea 
of  "dancing  upon  a  tight  rope"  not 
entiieiy  incompatible  with  his  mental 
condition.  The  shock  of  the  sudden 
drop,  in  ordinary  cases  of  death  upon 
the  gallows,  is  probably  severe  enough 
to  stupefy  the  victim ;  and  insensibility 
from  this  cause  occupies  the  first  stage, 
otherwise  one  of  sensation  and  con- 
adousness.  Before  sensibility  has  had 
time  to  return,  he  is  in  the  second 
stage,  the  period  of  visions  and  hollu- 
doation,  and  this  is  all  he  experiences, 
whatever  convulsions  his  frame  may  bo 
undergoing.  These  convulsions  do  not 
occur,  if  a  certain  portion  of  the  spinal 
cord  near  the  base  of  the  brain  is  in- 
jured— if  that,  which  is  popularly  sup- 
posed to  be  fracture  of  the  neck,  takes 


place.  When  this  occurs,  all  motion  is 
prevented,  and  the  man  not  only  dies, 
but  the  muscles  are  deprived  of  the 
power  of  giving  any  indication  of  what 
is  going  on,  or  any  evidence  of  suffer- 
ing, if  we  suppose  convulsive  move- 
ments indicate  suffering.  The  class  of 
a  certain  professor  already  mentioned 
have  often  witnessed  the  surprising  pre- 
cision and  celerity  with  which  he  thrusts 
his  sharp  steel  point  to  the  vital  por- 
tion of  the  spinal  cord,  in  physiological 
experiments  upon  some  of  the  canine 
tribe.  The  animal  would  hardly  have 
time  for  a  squeak,  but  would  be  motion- 
less and  dead,  apparently,  without  dy- 
ing. Mr.  Bergh  would  have  been  de- 
lighted to  discover  that  so  sudden  a 
death  was  possible ;  as  would  perhaps 
also  be  any  unfortunate  dog  who, 
chained  to  the  leg  of  the  professorial 
table,  was  awaiting  his  turn  to  become 
the  victim  to  science. 

It  is  likely  that  that  process,  not  of 
dying,  but  of  approaching  death,  is 
most  painful  which  most  prolongs  the 
first  stage,  in  which  nature  is  struggling 
to  maintain  her  foothold.  Therefore 
that  which  has  long  been  regarded  as  a 
fact,  is  indeed  true,  that  crucifixion  is 
one  of  the  most  painful  modes  by  which 
death  can  be  produced;  for  the  first 
stage,  which,  in  this  method,  is  one  of 
excruciating  pain,  is  very  much  pro- 
longed. 

A  favorite  mode  of  committing  sui- 
cide in  France,  is  to  go  to  sleep  in  a 
small  room  having  no  means  of  ventila- 
tion, in  which  there  is  a  fire  of  slowly- 
burning  charcoaL  The  air  gradually 
becomes  so  impure  that  it  cannot  fhr- 
nish  the  lungs  with  the  amount  of  oxy- 
gen requisite  to  support  life,  and  death 
occurs  as  from  suffocation ;  but  so  grad- 
ual is  the  process,  that  any  discomfort 
the  victim  may  experience  is  not  suffi- 
cient to  waken  him,  and  the  dreams  of 
death  become  commingled  with  those 
of  a  sleep  which  never  terminates. 

It  is  when  nature  is  struggling  to  re- 
sist the  approach  of  death  that  there  is 
pain.    In  death  from  old  age  there  is, 
no  such  struggle.     Nature  yields,  be- 
cause the  time  to  do  so  has  come.    The 


818 


PunriiM'B  MiaAziKx. 


[K«A 


machine  has  been  actually  ivom  oat, 
and  it  is  not  necessary  to  rudely  break 
it  by  yiolence.  There  is,  then,  no  first 
stage,  unless  the  whole  period  of  life 
may  be  so  called ;  but  the  dreamy,  quiet, 
second  stage  creeps  oyer  the  aged  per- 
son, and,  without  any  appearance  of 
pain,  he  sinks  to  his  rest  As  affording 
some  countenance  to  what  we  have  at- 
tempted to  prove,  we  are  glad  to  quote 
the'Vords  of  an  eminent  medical  author 
and  teacher  of  Edinburgh,  Dr.  W.  Ait- 
ken  :  **  Death  by  extreme  old  age  may 
be  considered,  in  many  instances,  as  the 
desirable  end  of  a  long-continued,  and, 
perhaps,  a  dreary  journey.  The  sufferer 
appears  to  fall  asleep,  as  he  might  do 
after  severe  fatigue.  The  long  and 
weary  journey  of  life  is  thus  often 
brought  to  a  close  with  little  apparent 
derangement  of  the  ordinary  mental 
powers;  the  final  scene  is  often  brief, 
and  the  phenomena  of  dying  are  almost 
imperceptible.  The  senses  fail  as  if 
sleep  were  about  to  supervene ;  the  per- 
ceptions become  gradually  more  and 
more  obtuse,  and,  by  degrees,  the  aged 
man  seems  to  pass  into  his  final  slum- 
ber. We  scarce  can  tell  the  precise  in- 
stant at  which  the  solemn  change  from 
life  to  death  has  been  completed.  Sen- 
sation fails  first,  then  voluntary  motion ; 
but  the  powers  of  involuntary  muscular 
contraction,  under  the  excitement  of 
some  external  stimulus,  may  continue 
for  some  time  longer  to  be  freely  ex- 
pressed. The  blood  generally  ceases 
first  to  be  propelled  to  the  extremities. 
The  pulsations  of  the  heart  become  less 
and  less  efficient.  The  blood  fails  to 
complete  its  circuit,  so  that  the  feet  and 
hands  become  cold  as  the  blood  leaves 
them,  and  the  decline  of  temperature 
gradually  advances  to  the  central  parts. 


Thus  far  the  act  of  dying  seems  to  Ik 
as  painless  as  fiedling  asleep ;  and  thm 
who  have  recovered  after  apparent  dettli 
from  drowning,  and  alter  sensation  bi 
been  totally  lost,  assert  that  they  hen 
experienced  no  pain.  What  is  caM 
significantly  the  agonf/  of  deaths  mj 
therefore  be  presumed  to  be  purely  ti- 
tomatic,  and  therefore  unfelt  The 
mind,  doubtless,  at  that  solenm  mo- 
ment, may  be  absorbed  with  that  is- 
stantaneous  review  of  impressions  madi 
upon  the  brain  in  bygone  times,  and 
which  are  said  to  present  themsdfei 
with  such  overwhelming  power,  viri^ 
ness,  and  force,  that,  in  Uie  words  of 
Montaigne,  'we  appear  to  lose,  iritt 
little  anxiety,  the  consciousness  of  1^ 
and  of  ourselves.^  At  such  a  time,  Utt 
vivid  impressions  of  a  life  well  qMst 
must  constitute  that  eutluauuia^ 
that  happy  death — to  bo  desired  ly 
all." 

« <  You  shall  go  home  directly.  Lb 
Fevre,'  said  my  uncle  Toby,  *to  nj 
house,  and  weUl  send  for  a  doctor  to 
see  what's  the  matter,  and  we^I  have  n 
apothecary,  and  the  corporal  shall  Im 
your  nurse ;  and  1*11  be  your  servant,  Lb 
Fevre.'    ♦    ♦    ♦ 

"  The  blood  and  spirits  of  Le  Fene, 
which  were  waxing  cold  and  slow  with- 
in him,  and  were  retreating  to  their  lart 
citadel,  the  heart,  rallied  back ;  the  film 
forsook  his  eyes  for  a  moment ;  he 
looked  up  wishfully  in  my  uncle  Toby^ 
face,  then  cast  a  look  upon  his  boy— 
and  that  ligament,  fine  as  it  was,  was 
never  broken. 

"  Nature  instantly  ebbed  again ;  the 
film  returned  to  its  place;  the  poise 
fiuttered — stopped — ^went  on — ^throbbed 
— stopped  again — ^movcd— stopped^ 
shall  I  go  on  ?    Ko." 


1870.1 


OOKOBBNIKO  CnABLOTTS. 


819 


CONCERNING  CHARLOTTE. 


[OOVTIKaCD.] 


KTHCLBCST  ASD  CnASLOTTE. 


Aftbb  the  visit  to  the  school,  Ethelhert 
oame  frequently  to  see  Charlotte,  some- 
times with  the  Landerdales,  sometimes 
^ith  Margaret,  sometimes  alone.  They 
talked  endlessly  together,  anywhere, 
everywhere,  in  the  house  or  the  garden, 
on  the  piazza,  on  the  lawn,  in  any  place 
that  their  floating  fancies  rooted,  and 
nrhich  these  soon  covered  with  pleasant 
•blooms.  One  day  Charlotte  led  Ethel- 
bert  to  her  heech  grove. 
.  *'  The  beech  is  ray  favorite  tree,"  she 
Mid,  **  it  rominds  me  of  a  man  at  once 
Btrong  and  flexible,  polished  and  natve." 

"  The  beech  is  too  refined  for  a  man," 
returned  Ethelhert ;  "  only  in  women 
ever  occurs  that  rare  union  of  free,  un- 
eonscions  strength,  and  exquisite  delicacy 
of  texture." 

*'  The  union  is  certainly  rare.  Women 
are  always  either  too  strong  or  too  fee- 
ble." 

**  How  is  it  possible  to  be  too  strong  ? " 

**•  Nothing  easier,"  persisted  Charlotte, 
with  a  touch  of  the  perversity  that  al- 
ways eminently  distinguished  her.  "  "Wo- 
men's strength  should  be  as  well  covered 
aa  their  bones.  The  appearance  of  either 
oo  the  surface  is  extremely  ungraceful 
and  anbecoming." 

""Women  always  malign  their  own 
aez,"  observed  Ethelhert,  with  a  puzzled 
idr.    "  I  cannot  imagine  why." 

Charlotte  looked  at  him  ^^ideways  for 
a  second,  and  then  changed  the  conver- 
ntion. 

*'  I  have  been  advised  many  times  to 
fell  some  of  my  beeches,  but  I  cannot 
do  it.  It  cuts  me  to  the  heart  to  kill  a 
tree." 

"  Oh,  you  are  right,"  exclaimed  Ethel- 
bert,  "  you  cannot  tell  how  much  they 
may  suffer." 

**  Ah  I  now  you  go  too  far.  I  have  no 
ides  that  the  trees  feel  anything.' ' 

"  Certainly  they  do.    They  are  living 


beingSf  and  who  lives,  feels,  enjoys,  and 
suffers.  They  do  not  speak  to  us,  they 
are  too  dignified  to  complain  aloud,  but 
they  look  at  us  reproachfully  astheyfall, 
like  the  eyes  of  dumb  deer,  stricken  by 
the  hunter." 

"  You  have  learned  to  understand  the 
trees,  then  ? " 

"  I  dare  not  say  that,  but  I  recognize 
a  peculiar  pleasure  in  conversing  with 
these  dumb  creatures,  whose  thoughts 
we  must  first  divine,  and  afterward  de- 
fend. Brazen  lungs  and  fluent  lips  can 
take  care  of  themselves,  and  are  therefore 
much  Yess  interesting." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Allston,"  exclaimed  Char- 
lotte, laughing,  **  you  talk  too  much  your- 
self to  have  a  right  to  despise  talkative 
people." 

**  Despise  them  I  No,  indeed, — only  I 
do  not  attempt  to  take  care  of  them. 
We  must  devote  our  tongues  to  the  ser- 
vice of  delicate  natures,  who  hesitate  to 
speak  for  themselves." 

"  You  wish  to  do  that,  therefore  yon 
think  you  like  it  the  best.  Are  your 
tastes  always  in  such  convenient  accord 
with  your  duties  ?  " 

"  I  confess  I  cannot  imagine  myself 
seeing  that  one  thing  is  right  and  best, 
and  seriously  wishing  another." 

"Do  your  ideas  convert  your  senti- 
ments, or  your  sentiments  sophisticate 
your  ideas  ? " 

"Neither,"  returned  Ethelhert,  a  little 
impatiently,  "  I  do  not  understand  such 
anarchic  divisions  in  the  nature  of  the 
same  person.  I,  like  every  one  else,  am 
attracted  toward  one  thing  or  another, 
the  whole  of  me, — ^not  one  part  this  way 
and  another  that.  What  I  believe,  I 
liice ;  what  I  like  I  believe,  I  desire,  I 
work  for.  Why,  it  is  self-evident,  it  is 
impossible  to  do  otherwise." 

"  You  are  as  single-natnred  as  a  dia- 
mond," thought  Charlotte.  Bnt^  aloud, 
she  rallied  Ethelbert  on  the  facility  of. 


390 


Futkax'b  MAGAsars. 


[M^ 


bis  virtne,  until  he  forcibly  obanged  tbe 
subject  of  conversation. 

Gerald,  who  also  came  frequently  to 
see  Charlotte,  did  not  fail  to  notice 
Etbelbert's  visits. 

*'  You  seem  to  see  a  good  deal  of  All- 
ston,"  he  observed,  one  day,  with  an  air 
of  extreme  nonchalance. 

Charlotte  yawned  befiire  replying, 
then  answered  in  a  lifeless  tone,  ^^  Tcs,  he 
comes  here  a  good  deal.  He  prefers  my 
green-house  to  Mrs.  Lauderdale's.'* 

"  I  wish  you  would  make  him  a  pres- 
ent of  your  green-house,  and  let  him 
carry  it  away  with  him.  I  will  give  you 
another." 

**  Mr.  Allston  docs  not  expect  to  leave 
at  present.  He  is  quite  domiciled  at  the 
Lauderdales', — even  Madame  is  charmed 
with  him.  I  believe  he  will  stay  there 
and  finish  his  book." 

"  Bat  the  green-house  might  be  an  in- 
ducement to  him  to  go  away." 

"  Gerald,"  said  Charlotte  icily,  "  I  will 
thank  you  not  to  dispose  of  my  green- 
house, or  of  any  thing  else  belonging  to 
me.  I  believe  you  said  you  expected  to 
ride  down  the  Crofton  road  this  afler- 
noon ;  I  will  trouble  you  to  leave  a  letter 
for  me  on  the  woy,  and  if  you  will  ex- 
cuse me,  I  will  write  it  now." 

Gerald  disposed  of,  Charlotte  bent 
her  steps  toward  her  neighbor's  hospita 
ble  mansion.  On  the  avenue  she  met 
Grace  Lauderdale,  carrying  a  remark- 
ably ugly  doll  in  her  arms.  The  imp 
that  generally  possessed  the  child, 
seemed  to-day  to  be  chained,  or  rather 
softened ;  she  lavished  on  the  doll  many 
tender  caresses. 

*^I  thought  you  meant  to  throw  that 
doll  away  ? "  said  Charlotte. 

"  So  I  did.  But  Mr.  Allston  told  me 
that  if  I  had  a  little  girl  who  was  ugly 
and  broken-nosed  like  this  one,  I  should 
want  to  love  her  all  the  more  because 
other  people  might  neglect  her.  He  said 
[  should  comfort  my  doll  for  her  ugli- 
ness, and  not  throw  her  away.  I  do  love 
her  now, — ^better  than  the  crying  baby." 

Charlotte  found  Mrs.  Lauderdale  seat- 
ed with  her  guest  in  the  summer  parlor, 
near  the  open  French  window.  She 
paused  on  the  piazza. 


"It  has  been  said,"  ahe  obscmd, 
"  that  the  human  race  is  not  yet  nfi- 
ciently  advanced  to  carry  on  a  oonfH*- 
sation  between  three  persons.*' 

**•  But  we  always  flatter  ouraelvef  tibit 
we  are  exceptions  to  such  general  mle%* 
said  Ethelbert,  rising  to  let  Charktti 
pass  and  receive  Mrs.  Landerdale^s  gnet- 
ing. 

''  Charlotte,"  cried  tbe  good  lady,  ii 
her  usual  audible  tones;  ^^yon  alva|i 
come  just  in  time.  You  will  help  m 
scold  Mr.  Allston  ;  and  aa  yon  have  mon 
gift  of  the  gab  than  I  have,  perhaps  yw 
may  convince  him." 

''  What  is  the  matter  7  Has  Mr.  All> 
ston  been  robbing  the  hen-rooat! " 

'' I  wish  he  had.  But  that  is  jost  fti 
trouble.  I  cannot  get  him  to  eat  eiKNigii, 
and  I  know  it  annoys  Mr.  Lauderdtk 
If  he  does  not  have  enough  to  eat  it 
home,  that  is  no  reason  why  he  sheoU 
starve  in  the  midst  of  abundanoe.^ 

Charlotte   colored  furiously  at  tUi 
speech,  and  looked  at  the  floor,  to 
meeting  Ethelbert's  eyes.    But  he 
ed  to  be  not  in  the  least  disconcerted. 

"Mrs.  Lauderdale  overwhelms 
with  her  kindness,"  said  Ethelbert,  in 
his  sincere,  cordial  voice.  ^^  My  appe- 
tite would  be  prodigious  indeed,  if  it 
could  respond  to  all  the  appeals  of  her 
bountiful  table.  There  is  a  great  difih^ 
ence  in  the  amount  of  food  required  bj 
different  constitutions." 

Mrs.  Lauderdale  opened  her  month 
for  an  energetic  reply,  when  a  servant 
summoned  her  away  on  some  domestio 
business. 

"Are  you  under  a  vow?"  asked 
Charlotte,  when  she  and  Ethelbert  were 
left  alone. 

Ho  looked  at  her  askance,  with  that 
naive  shyness  so  often  seen  in  horses, 
and  so  seldom  in  men.  Charlotte,  em- 
boldened, persisted  further, 

^*  I  begin  to  believe  that  you  are.  I 
wish  you  would  toll  mo  what  it  is.  I  will 
not  betray  you." 

"  Vow  is  too  dignified ;  too  absolute  a 
term.  Bufr  I  acknowledge  that,  some 
time  ago,  I  made  a  certain  resolution, 
which  I  have  kept  until  it  bos  grown 
rather  difficult  to  break." 


OONOBBNINO  OhABLOTTB. 


891 


hat  is  it? '' 

hesitated  again  a  moment,  then 
red :  ^^  Mrs.  Lauderdale*8  surmise, 
1  wide  of  the  truth  at  present,  is 
t  as  regards  a  certain  period  in  the 
At  one  time  I  did  not  have  enough 
and  the  circnmstances  made  snch 
pression  npon  me,  that  I  resolved 
brth  never  to  eat  a  meal  without 
ling  its  equivalent  to  another  per- 
Owing  to  the  narrowness  of  mj 
,  this  resolution  obliged  me  for 
lime  to  live  with  considerable  frn- 
;  and  even  now,  though  I  have  all 
I  necessary,  I  could  not  afford  to 
Apicius  for  two.  Besides,  habit 
adered  an  abundance  of  rich  food 
disagreeable  to  me,  a  fact  that  mj 
lostess  cannot  understand.    That 

1 !  *'  repeated  Charlotte.  She  con- 
1  Ethelbert^s  stoicism  scarcely  less 
[  than  his  theory  about  trees; 
;  a  certain  stage  of  our  relations 
tber  people,  nothing  is  so  delicious 
iS  their  absurdities, 
elbert,  apparently  relieved  that 
)tt6  did  not  extend  her  inquiries, 
reposed  a  walk,  to  which  she  read- 
wnted,  and  allowed  herself  to  be 
I  away  to  impersonal  topics.  Aa 
merged  from  the  park,  she  ob- 

bat  you  said  Jast  now,  reminds 
a  sentence  I  read  the  other  day  in 
•ook." 

i  I  *'  said  Ethelbert,  in  a  tone  of 
inaffeoted  indifference  as  would 
effectually  repelled  most  people 
l^ng  further.  But  nothing  ever 
d  Charlotte  when  she  was  once 
led  in  the  pursuit  of  an  idea.  She 
aed  to  talk  about  the  book,  and 
iiBminine  tact  to  insinuate  praise 
ppreoiation  so  skilfully,  that  the 
[thor  was  pleased  and  warmed  in 
^f  himself.  When  he  had  begun 
I  freely,  Charlotte  said, 
le  of  tl^e  chapters  that  interested 
I  moat,  is  that  where  you  describe 
tsations  of  a  starving  man.  Is  your 
it  based  npon  a  personal  experi- 


n 


1) 


"When  was  that?" 

"  During  the  first  months  of  my  exile, 
I  remember  that  I  once  passed  three 
days  without  food." 

"  Horrible  I    What  did  you  do  ? " 

"  I  was  very  hungry." 

"Of  coarse;  but  what  did  you  dot 
People  don't  sit  still  and  starve." 

"  That  depends.  I  believe,  I  came  very 
near  doing  so.  I  know  I  passed  the 
first  day  in  cudgelling  my  brains  to  hit 
upon  a  scheme  for  getting  work  and 
food.  The  second,  I  began  to  suffer  from 
the  abstinence,  and  it  occurred  to  roe  I 
could  best  employ  my  time  by  recording 
the  sensations  experienced  in  so  novel  a 
situation.  The  third  day,  I  suppose  my 
head  must  have  been  affected ;  for  I  be- 
came perfectly  apathetic  to  my  fate,  and 
even  loathed  the  thought  of  food.  I  re- 
member my  astonishment  when  I  dis- 
covered how  quickly  the  habit  of  eating, 
and  oven  of  living,  could  be  broken  up." 

"What  saved  you?" 

"A  tract  missionary,  making  his 
rounds  in  the  house,  knocked  at  my  door. 
He  must  have  been  accustomed  to  deal 
with  people  in  extremities,  for,  as  he 
handed  me  one  of  his  little  pamphlets, 
he  asked  me  if  I  had  been  out  of  woric 
for  a  long  time.  I  explained  to  him  the 
position,  though  with  some  difficulty,  for 
my  head  swam,  and  I  had  an  absurd  idea 
all  the  time  I  talked,  that  I  was  discuss- 
ing the  merits  of  the  sermon  he  had 
givefn  me.  The  missionary  was  a  kind 
man,  and  expressed  a  concern  that  great- 
ly surprised  me,  who  had  forgotten  all 
concern  for  myself.  He  proposed  that 
I  should  accept  a  position  just  left  vacant, 
as  assistant  tract  vieitor,  and  which  com- 
manded a  small  monthly  stipend.  I  de- 
clined this  friendly  offer, 

"*I  fully  appreciate  your  kindness,'  I 
said,  *  and  sympathize  with  your  efforts 
to  enlighten  people  according  to  your 
belief.  But  I  must  frankly  confess  that 
it  is  not  mine,  and  I  cannot  consent  to 
earn  my  bread  by  working  for  ideas  in 
which  I  do  not  believe.* 

**  *  I  kno  w,you  foreigners  never  believe 
anything,'  he  answered,  '  and  that  is  one 
reason  I  want  you  to  take  this  place. 
By  engaging  in  the  work,  you  wiU  bt* 


m 


8d3 


POTNiJi'S  MaOAZIHI. 


PtaA, 


come  gently  converted  before  yoa  are 
aware  of  it/ 

"  I  naturally  insisted,  however,  that 
conversion  must  take  place  first. 

"  *  But  you  will  starve  I '  exclaimed  the 
missionary. 

**  To  this  I  had  nothing  to  say,  and  so 
said  nothing.  The  good  raan  stood  look- 
ing at  me  for  several  minutes  in  great 
perplexity,  while  I  was  impolite  enough 
to  sit  down  myself,  for  I  was  really  too 
faint  to  stand.    At  lost  he  said, 

''*This  is  outrageous  I  A  man  must 
eat  his  dinner,  whatever  happens.  Gome 
home  with  me.^ 

"I  went;  my  friend  had  a  wife  and  four 
children,  to  be  fed  and  clothed  out  of  a 
colporteur's  salary.  We  ate  herrings 
and  dry  bread  for  dinner,  which  I  should 
have  enjoyed  supremely,  had  it  not 
seemed  to  me  that  my  host  and  his  wife 
ate  less  than  they  needed,  so  as  to  leave 
more  for  the  children  and  myself.'* 

"  Where  did  you  dine  the  next  day?  " 
..  "At  the  same  table,  but  this  time  I 
paid  my  board.  For  the  colporteur, 
finding  that  I  was  still  obstinate  on  the 
missionary  question,  contrived  to  procure 
me  a  place  as  porter  in  a  bookstore." 

Charlotte  glanced  at  Ethelbort's  hands. 

^^  Yon  did  not  stay  long  in  that  posi- 
tion ? " 

"  No  ;  I  was  soon  engaged  as  foreign 
correspondent,  and  from  that  time  every 
thing  went  smoothly  enough.  I  contin- 
ued to  board  in  the  family  of  my  preser- 
ver, and  we  became  most  excellent 
friends.  I  know  he  secretly  counted  np- 
on  my  conversion,  up  to  the  day  I  left, 
and  I  always  feel  an  odd  sort  of  remorse, 
that  I  was  unable  to  requite  the  great 
kindness  of  the  good  man  with  the  sin- 
gle reward  he  desired  so  fervently." 

They  had  reached  a  cross-road  in  their 
walk,  and  just  as  Ethelbert  ceased  speak- 
ing, a  boy  ruRhed  down  the  hill  and  ran 
up  to  them,  crying,  and  volubly  entreat- 
ing assistance.  Ethelbert  laid  his  hand 
on  the  shaggy  head, 

"What  is  the  matter?  Do  not  be 
frightened,  we  will  help  you." 

"The wagon — the  horses — the  driver 
—drunk,"  sobbed  the  child,  jerking  out 
his  information  with  heaving  breast. 


**I  will  go  back  with  700,**  said  Ettiel- 
bert, ''  yoa  will  excuse  me  ? ''  be  added 
to  Charlotte. 

Now,  Charlotte's  instincts  all  tended 
to  hurry  her  also  to  the  scene  of  dimteri 
But  on  this  occasion  she  was  consdon 
that  the  pleasure  of  helping  Ethelbeit 
would  decidedly  predominate  over  tbi 
pleasure  of  helping  the  people  in  ^itrai^ 
and  of  this  consciousness  she  was  nodi 
ashamed.  The  ostrich-like  impolw 
which  teaches  women  to  conceal  wbal- 
ever  is  nearest  to  them,  from  the  beGcf 
that  it  is  on  that  account  most  appanst 
to  others,  intervened  thereforei  and  i» 
posed  passivity. 

"I  will  wait  for  you  here,"  answered 
Charlotte,  and  as  Ethelbert  walked  aw^y, 
tormented  herself  to  decide  whether  or 
no  he  had  seemed  surprised  at  her  indii^ 
ference. 

Seated  on  a  well-shaded  stone  by  the 
roadside,  Charlotte  had  plenty  of  tfnw 
to  reflect  over  the  story  she  had  jut 
heard,  and  upon  which  all  her  thougjhti 
concentrated  themselves,  in  complete 
oblivion  of  the  neighboring  catastn^pbei 

There  is  a  monotonous  theory  •£* 
tremely  current  in  modem  novdfl,  se- 
cording  to  which  love  in  women  de- 
pends exclusively  upon  the  reoognitioa 
of  superior  force,  by  which  they  deliglit 
to  acknowledge  themselves  mastered. 
This  theory  is  a  sort  of  refined  suUima* 
tion  of  the  history  of  William  the  God* 
queror,  who  is  said  to  have  succeeded  la 
his  wooing  by  dint  of  vigorous  fistiouft) 
administered  to  his  coy  beloved.  like 
many  other  theories,  it  chiefly  errs  ia 
being  too  exclusive.  A  person's  loving 
constitutes  the  most  powerful  ezpresnon 
of  the  predominant  bias  of  his  character. 
It  is  determined,  not  only  by  his  roling 
taste,  but  by  the  opportunity  offSered  is 
exercise  his  ruling  energies  and  oapad- 
ties.  People  who  like  to  be  taken  care 
of,  love  those  whom  they  instinetiv^ 
feel  to  be  the  best  suited  for  the  purpose. 
But  strength  craves,  as  its  first  necessity, 
the  opportunity  to  afford  protection, 
and  strong  people,  whether  men  or  wo- 
men, may  bo  irresistibly  attracted  to 
loving  a  person  whom  they  feel  them- 
selves particularly  able  to  protect. 


] 


OOVOXBKIKG  OhABLOTTE. 


8d8 


Bre  is  a  certain  matrimonial  oombi- 
n,  not  nnfreqaentlj  observed,  and 
1  occasions  perhaps  the  happiest  of 
orage  marriages.  In  this  the  wife, 
ions  of  groat  intellectual  inferiority 
ir  husband,  is  equal)/  conscious  of 
ior  ability  in  practical  affairs,  of 
3,  therefore,  she  wisely  assumes  the 
ol.  She  has  the  greatest  faith  in 
'alue  of  her  husband *s  eloquence, 
ot  the  least  in  that  of  his  theories, 
larefully  prevents  their  application 
mmon  life.  She  listens  to  his  poems 
)  sermons,  with  contented  lack  of 
rehension,  but  her  solid  reliance  is 
d  on  the  glass  of  mulled  wine  to  be 
I  after  the  preaching,  or  the  well- 
led  blankets  that  shall  receive  the  ez- 
ed  scholar,  fallen  from  soaring  mid- 
meditations.  Repeated  experience 
convinced  her  that  the  material, 
li  constitutes  her  province,  is  the 
)a8e  and  substance  of  the  ideal  in 
i  her  husband^s  intellect  is  absorbed, 
curious  double  contradiction,  she 
'theless  continues  to  idealize  the 
rial  that  she  manages  in  the  interests 
ve,  and  to  despise  the  unpractical 
Aes  which  fills  her  heart  with  glory 
ever  she  thinks  of  her  husband, 
it  is  the  business  of  her  life,  to  save, 
>k  after,  to  protect.  Not  she,  "  a 
the  oak  has  shaken  off,'^  but  rather 
rdy  barn,  over  which,  by  a  happy 
)6,  has  grown  a  dark-green  ivy. 
is  Bimple  conception  of  things  may 
larged  by  successive  scales  of  char- 
,  but  it  will  often  be  found  where 
expected,  the  snug  nucleus  of  the 
exalted  wifely  affection.  The 
nesses  or  caprices  of  women  may 
them  in  a  hundred  directions  ;  but 
strength,  as  soon  as  developed,  al- 
always  tends  toward  the  primitive 
mal  instinct,  the  most  profound  ele< 
of  their  natures.  To  them,  there- 
protection  means  cherishing,  foster* 
irith  brooding  individual  care,  such 
a  deep-bosomed  Oeres  bestowed  on 
ihildren  she  met  during  her  long 
lerings  after  Proserpine, 
is  was  the  nucleus  of  Gharlotte^s 
jfhts,  repeated  many  times  in  exactly 
words: 


*^  What  a  pleasure  it  would  be,  to  pro- 
vide such  a  man  with  plenty  to  eat  for 
all  the  rest  of  his  life  1 " 

Around  this  nucleus  presently  cluster- 
ed a  host  of  ideas,  wishes,  whims,  fancies, 
dreaming  over  which  Charlotte  beguiled 
an  hour  agreeably  enough.  But  then 
she  began  to  grow  impatient  for  Ethel- 
berths  return.  She  waited  yet  a  while 
longer,  and  finally  walked  off  in  a  fit  of 
indignation. 

*^  He  might  at  least  have  sent  me  word 
that  he  should  not  come  back  this  aide 
of  midnight,"  she  grumbled. 

It  had  been  agreed  that  Charlotte 
should  take  tea  that  evening  with  Mrs. 
Lauderdale.  But  when  she  reached  the 
house,  she  found  that  the  hostess  and  her 
husband  had  gone  out  to  drive,  and  had 
left  a  message  begging  her  to  make  her- 
self at  home  as  usual.  The  intimacy  of 
the  relations  between  the  neighbors 
quite  justified  such  easy  arrangements, 
and  Charlotte,  in  her  present  disturbed 
mood,  was  glad  enough  to  be  alone.  She 
settled  herself  in  the  drawing-room,  at 
the  window  that  looked  down  the  ave- 
nue, and  professed  to  read,  but  the  leaves 
of  the  book  remained  unturned,  uncut. 

It  was  nearly  sunset  when  Eihelbert 
made  his  appearance.  Charlotte  espied 
him  £eu:  down  the  avenue,  and  noticed 
that  he  had  taken  off  his  coat,  and  that 
his  head  was  bound  up  in  a  handkerchief. 
At  some  distance  from  the  house,  he 
stopped,  took  off  the  handkerchief,  and 
wiped  his  forehead  carefally,  as  if  to  re- 
move traces  of  blood,  then  crossed  the 
lawn  to  avoid  the  drawing-room  window, 
and  entered  the  house  by  a  tide  door. 

The  dusk  had  begun  to  fall  when 
Ethelbert  finally  came  into  the  parlor, 
where  Charlotte  still  sat  alone.  He 
bowed  when  he  saw  her,  but  instead 
of  speaking,  carried  a  book  to  the  oppo- 
site window,  and  began  to  read  by  the 
fading  light.  Charlotte,  much  piqued 
at  this  behavior,  waited  to  hear  some 
account  of  the  accident,  or  explanation 
of  Ethelbert^s  lengthened  absence ;  but 
as  neither  were  volunteered,  she  asked 
the  question : 

"Did  you  succeed  in  helping  the 
people  out  of  their  difSoultiea  t " 


S 


824 


Pdtnak's  Maoazihb. 


[Und, 


"Yes;  I  believe  it  is  all  right  now.^ 

Another  silence. 

"  You  stayed  a  long  time." 

<*I  know  it  Bnc  it  was  absolatelj 
necessarj.'' 

^*  If  Gerald  had  been  in  yonr  place, 
Mr.  Allston/^  said  Charlotte,  peUishlj, 
*'he  would  have  been  overwhelmed 
with  remorse  that  he  had  left  me  to 
walk  home  alone." 

**  Oh,  I  think  not.  You  know  you 
were  perfectly  able  to  do  so ;  while  that 
poor  woman  was  quite  helpless." 

Charlotte  made  no  farther  attempt  to 
continue  this  conversatioo,  but  presently 
left  the  room  and  hunted  for  Margaret 
To  tell  the  truth,  she  felt  rather  lonely, 
and  the  twilight  had  become  hateful  to 
her. 

"  "Well,  your  Mr.  Allston  is  at  least  in- 
sufferably rude,"  she  exclaimed.  "He 
leaves  me  in  the  middle  of  the  road  in 
the  most  cavalier  fashion,  and  then 
never  vouchsafes  an  explanation,  not  to 
speak  of  an  apology." 

"  Why,"  said  Margaret,  surprised, 
**  don't  you  know  what  detained  him  ?  " 

'*  He  has  not  condescended  to  tell  me 
a  word.  For  all  I  know,  he  has  been 
piping  to  Mr.  Fenton's  lame  shepherdess. 
He  said  the  woman  was  helpless." 

"  It  is  because  he  has  done  so  much 
that  he  says  nothing  about  it.  It  seems 
that  a  man  was  bringiDg  his  sick  wife 
from  Reading,  to  consult  a  physician 
here.  The  driver  drank  at  all  the  tav- 
erns on  the  road,  until  he  became  com- 
pletely intoxicated,  and  frightened  his 
horses,  who  ran  away  and  overset  the 
wagon  in  a  ditch.  The  woman  fainted, 
her  husband  trying  to  extricate  her 
from  the  wagon,  was  attacked  by  the 
driver  in  a  drunken  fury,  and  the  two 
men  were  fighting  desperately  when 
Mr.  Allston  came  up.  He  succeeded  in 
drawing  off  the  aggressor — ^though  not 
before  he  himself  had  received  a  wound 
in  the  forehead  from  the  fellow's  knife. 
He  then  assisted  to  right  the  wagon,  and 
to  carry  the  woman  to  the  nearest  farm- 
house. The  poor  husband,  relieved  from 
his  first  alainn,  was  then  in  despair,  be- 
cause his  new  coat,  in  which  he  expected 
to  call  upon  the  doctor,  was  torn  and 


covered  with  mud.  Mr.  AlktoB  took 
off  his  own,  and  gave  it  to  him  to  keep 
as  long  as  he  had  need  of  it  He  migiii 
return  it,  ho  said,  when  he  was  ready 
to  go  home." 
"How  did  you  hear  all  this? " 
"  One  of  the  men-servants  here  hap- 
pened to  pass  the  spot  Just  as  the  fl^ 
was  over,  and  took  charge  of  the  drmik- 
en  bully.  This  was  fortunate;  for  Mr. 
Allston  is  not  very  strong,  and  mi^ 
have  been  vanquidbed  in  a  prolonged 
encounter." 

<*I  think  he  might  have  told  nw^" 
said  Charlotte.  *^  He  might  have  know* 
that  I  should  have  been  interested*" 

"I  can,  however,  well  tmderttmi 
why  he  did  not  Are  yoa  not  golaf 
down-stairs  t" 

"  Yes ;  if  you  will  come  with  me." 
Charlotte  stole  into  the  drawing-rooa 
behind  Margaret,  half  afraid  to  encoun- 
ter Ethelbert  again.  But  the  dusk  bid 
vanished,  the  Louderdales  had  retunud, 
the  room  was  blazing  with  light, — tad 
Ethelbert  engaged  in  hot  discuBsion  wilh 
his  host  concerning  the  emanoipatioB 
of  the  Russian  serfs,  and  the  new  ezpt- 
dition  to  the  North  Pole. 

AK    KCLAIBCI88B1IIXT. 

The  ripe  July  days  received  each  hii 
bounty  at  the  hands  of  generous  Hme^ 
and  departed,  laden  with  unspeakaUo 
riches;  August  succeeded  in  the  wealthy 
summer,  and  skies,  slumberous  with  pikd 
illumined  clouds  and  golden  hazes,  that 
hushed  the  world  in  a  warm  trance,  re- 
placed the  unshadowed  brightness  of 
July. 

Human  beings  move  and  grow  with 
the  summer.  Hnppy  would  it  he  aft 
times,  if  they  could  be  placed  aide  by 
side,  with  tlie  certainty  of  remaining  in 
the  same  indifferent  tranquillity  at  the 
end  of  months  and  years.  But  they  are  , 
too  active,  too  living,  these  troublesome 
human  natures — they  push  forth  rooti^ 
like  seeds  cast  into  a  nourisliing  soil,— 
and  in  a  week,  in  a  day,  may  become 
identified  for  life  or  death  with  the  spot 
of  ground  upon  which  they  have  been 
thrown  by  accident  or  ill  fortune  or 
caprice. 


] 


OOVOBBHINO  OhABLOTTB. 


lave  no  intention  of  describing  in 
er  detail  the  life  led  bj  Charlotte 
jrerald,  and  Ethelbert  and  Marga- 
I  hasten  hy  these  weeks  of  ri- 
g  summer,  as  through  a  fragrant 
toward  the  goal  to  which  it  leads 
;ly.  Goal,  however,  entirely  ig- 
[  b3*  the  onwary  travellers  at  the 
3nt  that  they  were  first  allnred  into 
inding  pleasantnesses. 
:e  one  afternoon,  Gerald  and  Ethel- 
x>ok  tea  with  Charlotte ;  and  after- 
the  three  sat  together  in  the  twi- 
watching  the  slow  arrival  of  the 
as  they  climbed,  one  by  one,  into 
eep  heavens.  Gerald,  as  was  often 
abit  in  the  twilight,  amnsed  him- 
it  the  piano,  touching  the  keys  so 
y  that  the  strain,  but  half  evoked, 
away  at  the  moment.  Charlotte 
ithelbert,  in  the  bay  window,  talk- 
many  things,  of  books,  and  finally 
it  strange  book,  Richter*s  Tltan« 
a  reading  Bichter,"  said  Charlotte, 
elieve  it  is  necessary  to  forget  all 
lerations  of  ordinary  morality, 
sase  with  which  the  hero  of  Titan 
9  from  one  of  those  unfortunate 
m  to  another,  would  be  perfectly 
;ing  but  for  the  unconsciousoess  of 
athor.  It  never  occurs  to  him  that 
is  any  thing  reprehensible  in  such 
K>phio  indifierence,  or  such  facile 
ability  to  circumstances." 
lichter  states  facts,  and  does  not 
m  himself  about  their  moral.  All 
ienoe  teaches  that  the  complete  ab- 
ion  of  one  person's  life  in  that  of 
er  is,  fortunately,  very  exceptional, 
the  most  profound  griefs  may  be 
d,  and  even  forgotten,  and  that  a 
n  who  continues  to  live  after  the 
if  an  old  love,  may  be  quite  capable 
[uite  worthy  of  a  new.  It  is  only 
and  girls  who  imagine  that  an  en- 
life  can  be  expended  at  a  single 


w 


r. 

am  glad  when  you  say  that,^  said 
otte,  rather  shyly ;  ^^  because  I  have 
been  ashamed  of  a  secret  conscions- 
tbat  I  myself  could  never  be  so 
ntrated  as  poetical  theories  deem 
sary.  Do  you  know,  much  as  I 
)  the  hero  of  Titan,  I  am  not  sure 


that,  in  his  place  I  should  not  hare  acted 
in  precisely  the  same  manner  f  But  I  am 
much  ashamed  to  feel  so.'* 

'^  Ashamed  to  know  that  you  never 
would  die  of  a  broken  heart  ?  That  you 
have  sufficient  force  and  vitality  to  re- 
new your  life  after  any  disaster  ?  Really 
I  should  consider  that  a  great  cause  for 
congratulation." 

^^  Only  that  such  a  nature  secures  its 
happiness  somewhat  at  the  expense  of 
its  dignity  and  depth.  I  often  compare 
myself  to  a  river  that  has  acquired 
breadth  by  overflowing  the  meadows  on 
either  side,  but  is  extremely  shallow  to 
the  line  and  plummet.'* 

"0  Charlotte,"  cried  Gerald,  aban- 
doning the  piano,  and  running  to  the 
window ;  *'  do  not  say  that  you  are  shal- 
low 1  That  pains  me  too  much  I  I  can- 
not belieye  that  it  is  true." 

'^  Shallowness  and  depth,"  said  Ethel- 
bert, "  are  relative  terms.  On  the  mea- 
dow, the  river  is  indeed  shallower  than 
itself  in  its  own  place ;  but  there  it  may 
be  infinitely  deeper  than  many  narrow 
streams,  shut  up  immovably  between  ad- 
amantine walls  that  prevent  expanse." 

Charlotte  felt  grateful  toward  Ethel- 
bert, and  proportionately  cold  to  Gerald, 
who  had  not  been  ingenious  enough  to 
give  this  turn  to  her  metaphor.  He, 
however,  was  also  relieved  by  the  ex- 
planation. 

"  That  is  exactly  true,"  he  exclaimed. 
^*  And  the  streams  between  adamantine 
walls  represent  such  people  as  Margaret 
Burnham." 

^^  She  seems  indeed  to  have  been  re- 
pressed all  her  life,"  observed  Ethelbert. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Charlotte,  "  and 
perhaps  never  more  than  now.  The 
Lauderdales  don't  understand  her,  the 
children  hate  her, — nobody  in  the  house 
loves  her, — and  she  freezes  in  an  atmo- 
sphere at  once  averse  and  chilly." 

Ethelbert  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  walk- 
ed back  and  forth  a  few  steps,  as  was  his 
fashion  when  excited.  A  new  idea 
seemed  to  sway  him,  body  and  soul. 

"  Now,  how  can  any  one  look  at  Mar- 
garet Burnham  and  not  love  her,"  he  ex- 
claimed, vehemently. 

A  keen  pain  shot  through  Ohariotto't 


J 


826 


PUTErAlt's  If iiOAZIKX. 


[MlRh, 


heart.  Sbe  looked  at  Ethelbert's  face, 
aniinated  vfith  indignatioD,  bat  open  and 
cool.  No  secret  stmggled  for  conceal- 
ment or  expression,  no  passion  cloaked 
itself  in  friendly  words. 

"  He  docs  not  love  her,"  said  Obar- 
lotte  to  herself,  after  a  mementos  Jealous 
scrutiny.  "  But  that  would  not  prevent 
him  from  marrying  her." 

"  But  that  would  not  prevent  him  from 
marrying  her." 

These  words  rang  through  Charlotte^s 
brain  after  her  visitors  were  gone,  and 
deafened  her  as  by  some  harsh  metallic 
clanging.  She  went  down  into  the  gar- 
den, and  paced  restlessly  in  the  dusk. 
But  the  words,  instead  of  being  dead- 
ened by  the  physical  exercise,  acquired 
fresh  vitality  every  moment,  and  writhed 
viciously,  like  snakes  warmed  at  the  fire. 
Presently  they  had  gnawed  away  inuu- 
mernble  coverlids  in  which  a  secret  lay 
concealed  even  from  Gharlotte^s  own 
consciousness, — and  which,  bare  and 
bold,  now  looked  straight  up  into  her 
eyes,  and  forcibly  claimed  recognition. 

Charlotte  knew  then,  fully  and  irre- 
coverably, that  she  loved  Ethelbert. 

The  first  moment  of  this  new  knowl- 
edge, she  was  thoroughly  frightened. 
She  put  her  fingers  in  her  ears,  as  if  to 
shut  out  the  intruding  assertion,  and  ran 
so  violently  along  the  garden  path,  as  to 
arrest  all  thinking.  But  as  soon  as  she 
stopped,  cut  of  breath,  the  assertion  re- 
appeared, like  the  face  of  a  drowned 
man,  when  the  tronblcd  waters  have 
calmed  themselves. 

Charlotte  did  not  in  the  least  doubt 
thiit  it  would  be  a  good  thing  for  Ethel- 
bert to  marry  Margaret.  She  pictured 
to  herself— as  she  imagined  that  Ethel- 
bert might  be  doing  at  that  very  mo- 
ir.e:;t — how  Margaret's  pale  life  would 
brighten  with  rosy  color,  embraced  by 
his  delicate  tenderness,  how  all  the  tedi- 
ous years  of  her  youth  would  be  forgot- 
ten in  the  safe  happiness  that  for  the 
first  time  would  be  her  portion.  Neitlier 
would  Ethelbert  be  sacrificed.  Instead 
of  the  factory-girl  predicted  by  Mr. 
Lauderdale,  he  would  be  matched  wiih 
a  refined,  delicate,  intelligent  woman, 
capable  of  appreciating  him,  of  second- 


ing him  in  all  his  labors,  of  calling  ibIo 
play  some  of  the  noblest  facoltlea  of  bit 
nature.  Charlotte  felt  that  the  very  tf> 
finence  of  her  own  life  subtly  repelled 
Ethelbert  from  herself.  lie  hadsofev 
things  to  give,  that  he  was  corelnl  not 
to  waste  his  love  where  it  would  not  bt 
needed.  He  reserved  himself  for  the 
solitary,  the  dumb  creatares,  whose 
thoughts  he  must  first  divine  and  after* 
ward  defend.  With  him,  love  was  tt 
opportunity  for  exercising  his  predomi- 
nant energies,  it  was  less  love  than  lov- 
ing. He  resembled  Charlotte  in  hii 
fashion  of  reasoning  in  this  matter,  in 
the  fact  of  reasoning,  and  in  the  min- 
ner  in  which  he  had  hitherto  conformed 
his  life  to  his  theory.  And  both  then 
reasonable  people,  at  this  moment,  stiD 
further  acted  in  subtle  unison,  iaasmodi 
as  both  unconsciouslf  left  Margaret*^ 
personality  out  of  their  calcnlationa. 

Charlotte  did  not  envy  Margaret  b^ 
canse  Ethelbert  would  marry  her.  Sbe 
pitied,  almost  despised  her  for  accepti&g 
— as  she  never  doubted  that  Margaret 
would  do — an  even  portion  from  Ethel- 
bert's  universal  bounty. 

"  It  is  himself  that  /  want,"  said  Cha- 
lotte,  distinctly  facing  the  thought  thit 
had  at  first  terrified  her.  *^Not  Ik 
kindness,  nor  his  esteem,  nor  even  bie 
loving.  I  would  want  him  to  love  me 
in  spite  of  himself,  as  Gerald  does.  Be 
spends  his  powers  for  the  world  aslibv-  ■ 
ally,  and  with  as  little  efiTort,  as  a  Idn^ 
almoner  dispenses  tlie  treasury  of  the 
king.  But  I  would  not  stand  in  the 
crowd  and  be  blcfsed,  though  he  should 
rain  gold  pieces  upon  me.  It  is  Jost 
because  his  nature  is  so  large  and  over- 
flows on  every  side,  that  I  have  this 
strong  desire  to  concentrate  it,  tike  the 
rays  of  the  sun  in  a  burning-glass.  Mar- 
garet will  never  do  that." 

And  she  exulted  over  the  conviction,  ' 
exulted  over  a  sudden  consciousness  of 
power  that,  for  a  moment,  drowned  out 
of  sight  the  conclusions  at  which  her 
reason  had  correctly  arrived.  A  red-red 
rose  leaned  over  the  garden  walk,  and 
glowed  through  the  dusk.  Charlotte 
clasped  its  thorny  stem,  and  pressed  her 
lips  to  its  passionate  heart. 


CoNOKBNiiro  Chablottb. 


8d7 


086,  dear  rose/'  she  whispered; 
ne  your  secret,  and  I  will  tell  yon 

the  rose  said  never  a  word. 
/  the  strong  can  afford  to  be  gen- 
Only  the  saccessful  can  resign 
ctory.  In  the  sadden  npleaping 
t  inward  exultation,  Charlotte  felt 
le  bnd  conquered  the  object  of  her 

and  was,  for  the  moment,  com- 
''  satisfied.  It  mattered  little  whe- 
r  no  Ethelbert  loved  her,  he  could 
ler;    and  the  certainty  that  he 

strenuously  exert  himself  to  avoid 
80,  only  increased  the  secret  sense 
imph.  And  she  felt  quite  willing 
ifice  tlie  lesser  good  to  Margaret, 
solved  even  to  further  Etbelbert^s 
le,  which,  in  truth,  she  had  cor- 
divined. 

etuous  natures  are  often  capable 
-sacrifice,  provided  that  the  occa- 
3  urgent,  and  that  the  circum- 
3  remain  red-hot  up  to  the  very 
it  of  consummation.  But  patience, 

are  intolerable  to  them.  Could 
»tte  have  maiTied  Ethelbert  and 
ret  on  the  spot,  she  would  have 
so  witfa»ut  hesitation.  But  it  was 
»ry  to  await  the  slow  evolution 
nts,  dependent  upon  other  wills 
ler  own.  By  an  illusion  common 
iginative  people,  she  already  fdt 
II  force  of  the  suspense  that  she 
V  she  should  be  obliged  to  feel. 
16  oould  not  consent  to  bear.  The 

must  be  decided,  abruptly,  at 

she  must  know  exactly  Ethel- 
intentions  in  regard  to  Margaret, 

obt4un  this  knowledge  she  pres- 
levised  a  scheme, 
rlotte  possessed  an  odd,  rudimen- 
ste  for  intrigue,  that  had  remained 
sloped  simply  becanse  she  had 
I  had  her  own  way  so  completely, 
le  had  never  been  obliged  to  re- 
>  artifice  in  the  attainment  of  her 

On  this  occasion,  however,  when 
broe  was  unavailable,  manoeuvre 
lately  suggested  itself;  and  the 
-omantio  and  far-fetched  was  pre- 


cisely that  best  suited  to  Charlotte^a 
present  restless  mood. 

She  resolved  to  give  a  masquerade 
party,  and  to  assume  a  disguise  in  which 
Ethelbert  should  mistake  her  for  Mar- 
garet, and  talk  to  her  under  that  im- 
pression. She  and  Margaret  were  just 
the  same  height,  and  Ethelbert  had 
acknowledged  himself  always  unable 
to  distinguish  people  apart  by  their 
voices.  And  Charlotte,  remembering 
Ethel  berths  shyness  in  all  personal  ex- 
pression of  himself,  believed  that  he 
would  be  whimsically  encouraged,  by  the 
supposed  Margaret's  disguise,  to  speak  to 
her  with  more  freedom  and  intimacy  than 
he  had  done  hitherto.  Margaret  should 
lose  nothing,  for  all  would  be  faithfully 
repeated  to  her  afterward.  But,  as  a 
compensation  for  the  happiness  that  she 
was  hereafter  to  enjoy  at  Charlotte^s 
expense,  the  latter  determined  to  inter- 
cept the  one  pleasure  of  Ethelbert^s  first 
words,  and  drain  their  sweetness,  even 
though  nothing  but  husks  should  be  left 
for  the  person  for  whom  they  were  in- 
tended. 

That  there  was  any  thing  dishonorable 
in  such  a  proceeding,  any  indelicacy  in 
listening  to  the  speech  sacred  to  one 
woman  alone,  any  danger  of  compro- 
mising Margaret  by  such  unwarranted 
proxy — such  ideas  never  entered  Ohar- 
lotte^s  head.  She  was  so  absolute  and 
wilful  in  her  resolutions,  so  much  accus- 
tomed to  carry  out  plans  over  all  ex- 
ternal obstacles,  that,  in  their  absence, 
internal  scruples  never  suggested  them- 
selves— at  least  during  the  first  flush  of 
a  newly-imagined  project.  Besides,  it  is 
possible  that,  under  all  the  esteem  and 
affection  she  really  entertained  for  Mar- 
garet, lay  that  little  grain  of  contempt 
we  are  so  apt  to  feel  for  people  to  whom 
we  mean  to  be  very  kind.  Margaret — 
Ethelbert  himself,  so  for  as  his  inde- 
pendent personality  was  concerned  — 
were  both  swept  down  the  current  of 
the  dominant  will,  that  always  embodied 
any  passion  once  sprung  to  life  in  Ohar- 
lotte^s  nature. 


[OOHOLVSIOa  IV  XBZT  inTMBIS.] 


PdTVAX'B  JiABAZSSU, 


IIM, 


OUR    TRIP    TO    EGYPT 

AB  OUB8T8  OF  THE  YICBBOY.* 


When  we  weighed  anchor  at  Mar- 
seilles, we  counted  one  hundred  and  fifty 
individuals,  collected  from  all  parts  of 
the  ciyilized  world,  bound  to  Egypt  as 
guests  of  its  hospitable  Eh^divc.  Every 
one  was  in  the  best  spirits,  as  jolly 
as  it  is  possible  to  be  on  a  holiday 
excursion,  with  all  the  expenses  paid, 
fed  upon  game  and  trufiles,  on  old 
wines  and  pale  ale  at  discretion,  with- 
out the  necessity  of  spending  a  centime 
from  one's  private  purse.  A  gentle 
animation  warmed  each  group  of  the 
society;  each  showed  himself  to  his 
greatest  advantage,  morally  and  physi* 
cally,  wearing  his  newest  clothes,  and 
indulging  his  most  genial  humor.  Be- 
sides the  one  hundred  and  fifty  men  of 
all  ages  that  formed  the  bulk  of  the 
passengers,  were  five  ladies,  among 
them  one  quite  young,  who  even  at 
Paris  would  have  been  called  charming. 
Blond  and  Protestant,  wearing  in  her 
head-dress  two  immense  feathers  that 
floated  on  the  wind,  she  discussed,  with 
more  piquancy  than  logic,  doctrines  on 
the  immortality  of  the  soul,  explaining 
that,  after  death,  some  of  us  would  jour- 
ney to  the  moon,  some  to  the  stars,  some 
to  the  planets,  as  Jupiter  and  Venus. 
The  only  other  dame  whose  beauty 
could  vie  with  that  of  the  fair  Protest- 
ant, remained  in  seclusion,  veiled  and 
buried  in  the  depths  of  a  sea-chair. 
The  doctor,  however,  had  no  reason  for 
uneasiness  in  regard  to  her  health. 

It  happened  that,  at  table,  I  found 
myself  placed  next  to  this  important 
personage — the  ship's  doctor — ^who 
conversed  with  the  utmost  affability  on 
a  variety  of  subjects,  Hindoos,  Chinese, 
and,  above  all,  Japanese  women,  whom 


he  admired  almost  a?  much  as  the  ft- 
risians.  He  became  aufiidently  ooi- 
fidential  to  initiate  me  at  length  nto 
his  system  of  medicine,  which  may  In 
resumed  in  this  axiom :  ^  Above  aO,  M 
constipation  I " 

Many  of  the  young  men  among  fb 
passengers  were  superb,  dreeaed  tnm, 
head  to  foot  in  ruby-colored  Telvet  «r. 
scarlet  flannel,  with  brilliant  featbenk 
their  Tyrolese  hats.  But  during  tht 
first  general  conversation  among  tki 
fellow-travellers,  every  one  else  VH 
thrown  into  the  shade  by  the  discoroj 
amongst  us  of  the  Ex-Minister  Doraj, 
who  had  chosen  a  moment  of  eHfoEoed 
idleness  to  run  down  to  Egypt  and  look 
up  the  question  of  the  canal.  He  be- 
came the  lion  of  the  steamer,  and  at 
table  the  captain  placed  him  at  Ua 
right  hand,  and  the  beautifi^l  ProtesUBl 
at  his  left.  A  poor  little  numpbacM 
dame, — ^Dutch,  and  painfully  dresaei 
in  red  satin, — ^had  dared  to  install  htf* 
self  in  this  place  of  honor,  but  wn 
speedily  bidden  to  a  lower  seat  by  th» 
lackey  in  waiting.  Poor  little  honp- 
back  I  How  willingly  would  I  half 
rendered  her  some  service  I 

The  brilliant  and  joyous  day  yielded 
place  to  a  night  of  inexpressible  Idv- 
liness,  and  I  remained  for  hours  in  the 
stem  of  the  vessel,  gazing  into  ^ 
depths  of  sea  and  sky.    Above  a  valt 
hemicircle  of  clouds  dione  a  little  crei- 
cent  moon,  fading  into  her  last  quarter, 
and  like  a  luminous  summit  to  an  ini' 
mense   pyramid  of  shade.     Over  iho 
waves  she  traced  a  path  of  trembling 
light,  in  which  the  foam  glistened  likp 
the  million   spider-webs  that  cover  s^ 
field  in  autumn  and  are  illumined  hf 


*  The  Editor  of  Putnam's  Magazine  bod  the  honor  of  rccciying  the  KhC-diTo^s  polite  inritAtioB  to 
**  assist "  him  in  opening  the  Hues  Canal.  Unable  to  attend  personally,  vfe  sent  one  of  our  contnlmton 
as  a  representative  of  the  Magazine  :  and  his  picturesque  norrotiTO  of  his  adventures  la  now 
to  our  readers. 


OuB  Tbip  to  Egypt. 


829 


ng  son.  A  yonog  roan  who  had 
L  with  me  in  the  train  to  Mar- 
liscovered   me  in  my  musing 
and  we  talked  together  of 
things,  as  befitted  the  solemn 
of  the  night.     I  felt  a  keen 
in  perceiving  that  this  youth 
really  to  enjoy  life.    This  gene- 
worth  more  than  ours:  when 
young  we  were  suffering  pro- 
over   the  "suffering   of  the 
we  expended  ourselves  in  ad- 
i  of  suicide,  consumption,  and 
lathedrals  I 

lext  morning  we  coasted  Sar- 
id  as  we  neared  Caprera  all  the 
ished  on  deck,  looking  with  all 
for  the  home  of  Garibaldi. 
Q  solemn  ceremony  of  breakfast 
yed  half  an  hour,  until  the  last 
of  the  hero's  white  dwelling 
have  disappeared  behind  the 

umie  day  was  the  beginning  of 
for  us  holiday  travellers.    As 
id  Messina  the  breeze  freshened, 
proportion,  our  faces  length- 
nd    much    grumbling    arose 
>ur  host,  the  Khedive,  who  had 
to  insert  seasickness  in  the  pro- 
of emotions  we  were  expected 
ience.    Talking,  flirting,  medi- 
lancing,  all  occupation  was  bu&- 
snd  all  energies  concentrated 
5  effort  to  preserve  one's  equili- 
n  the  rolling  deck, — and  the 
jy  bolus  in  one's  rolling  stom- 
pale  old  Sim  floated  languidly 
a  gray  sky,  letting  fall  here 
re  a  few  steely  rays  upon  the 
f  indigo.     Three  mortal  days 
hts,  tasting  the  vicissitude  of 
things,  did  we  do  heavy  pen- 
the  delights  of  the  first  part  of 
ige.    But  finally,  when  human 
was  wearing  threadbare,  the 
ackened,the  wind  fell,  the  hori- 
deepened  into  the  level  coast 
t,  and  our  woe-begone  pleasure- 
Ited  to  recruit  its  forces  in  the 
/Alexandria.    Yes,  the  East  had 
before  us  out  of  the  Mediter- 
-palm-trees,  mosques,  palaces, 
's  Pillar,  and,  most  unexpected 
..  v.— 22 


to  our  eyes,  a  multitude  of  windmills. 
At  some  distance  from  the  city  we  de- 
scried a  residence  of  the  Eh^ive,  with 
high  architectural  pretensions,  borrowed 
at  once  from  Hindoo  and  Moorish  art ; 
a  gloomy  pleasure  house,  however, 
built  on  the  naked  rock,  in  the  midst 
of  sand,  without  a  figment  ^of  tree  or 
shade  or  green  thing  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. A  cabin  under  a  palm-tree  would 
have  been  infinitely  more  cheerful. 

The  captain  gave  us  two  hours  and  a 
half  to  visit  the  city.  Hardly  had  we 
come  to  anchor,  than  our  steamer  was 
surrounded  by  a  swarm  of  boats  and 
yawls  of  every  description  to  carry  off 
the  passengers — the  Lilliputian  fieet, 
managed  by  a  swarm  of  natives,  strug- 
gling, shoving,  screaming,  swearing,  in 
a  dozen  incomprehensible  jargons.  I 
resigned  myself  a  prey  to  three  Arabs 
who  carried  me  off  in  their  boat  and,  in 
a  few  minutes,  had  landed  me  in  another 
world.  Had  I  disembarked  in  Jupiter 
or  Saturn  j^hould  not  have  been  more 
astonished.  I  had  expected  something 
new,  but  nothing  half  as  fantastic  as 
the  confufdon  of  types,  faces,  and  cos- 
tumes into  the  midst  of  which  I  had 
been  suddenly  thrown.  Greeks  in 
abundance,  Malays,  Lascars,  Italians, 
English,  French,  and  negroes  of  every 
shade  and  variety,  from  Nubia,  from 
Abyssinia,  from  Soudan — what  do  I 
say?  there  were  faces  of  monkeys, 
camels,  tigers,  cats ;  heads  woolly  and 
heads  shaved ;  long  thin  legs  perched 
like  stilts  upon  great  fiat  feet;  fig- 
ures half-naked,  and  figpires  veiled, 
all  ages,  colors,  and  sexes.  At  first 
sight  the  women  appeared  like  the 
strange  and  mysterious  incarnation  of 
the  East,  wrapped  in  their  black  man- 
tles, with  two  black  veils,  one  on  the 
forehead,  the  other  over  the  mouth,  and 
fastened  around  the  head  by  a  cop- 
per spring.  Between  the  veils  gl^med 
two  black  eyes,  surrounded  by  their 
circle  of  paint.  These  veiled  figures 
passed,  enveloped  in  night,  like  an  In- 
carnation of  Sin.  They  were  not,  how- 
ever, more  beautiful  for  being  veiled; 
on  this  point  the  one  hundred  and  fifty 
passengers  of  the  Ouieniw  were  nnani- 


OuB  Tbip  to  Egypt. 


881 


)rizon.  The  Port  was  saluting 
al  of  VAigUy  steamer  of  the 
Eugenie.  The  Peluze^  a  great 
ckct  belonging  to  the  Express 
^,  and  which  carried  the  Ad- 
ive  Council  of  the  Canal,  was 
jily  received,  and  finally  our 
with  the  guests  of  the  Viceroy, 
ites  were  given  by  the  fleet 
d  in  the  harbor,  composed  of 
nrar  from  all  parts  of  Europe, 
1-furnished  with  gunpowder, 
ributing  its  part  to  the  horrible 
How  many  commercial  and 
citizens  were  enchanted  with 
sy  and  warlike  demonstrations 
Inconsistency  sufficiently  con- 
to  the  nature  of  human  be- 
j  race  of  great  children  I  To 
jvcr,  the  presence  of  these  men- 
•uilt  for  destruction  and  exter- 
,  was  disagreeable  and  impor- 
I  was  humiliated  by  the  salu- 
these  brute  beasts,  obliged  at 
ndcr  homage  to  a  great  work 
J,  which,  nevertheless,  they 
3  satirize  with  their  yelpings, 
the  firing  had  ceased,  and  our 
>rains  were  left  in  peace  to 
le  impressions  of  the  new  scene 
ich  we  were  entered,  we  found 
lely  animated.  The  whole  fleet 
srated  with  festal  flags,  and 
asels,  in  addition,  with  long 
colored  handkerchiefs,  exposed 
gging  for  the  homely  purpose 
J,  but  transfigured  in  the  Ori- 
illght  to  brilliant  embroidery, 
nd  thither  flitted  boats,  whose 
airs  of  oars  rose  and  fell  with 
us  precision,  and  who  skimmed 
water  Uke  gigantic  spiders, 
ing  now  some  tall  Prussian 
low  some  Hussar  of  the  Em- 
th  long 'floating  plume.  And 
with  the  splashing  of  oars  and 
of  waves  around  the  vessePs 
me  to  the  ear  vague  melodies 
•y  the  bands  of  German  musi- 
d  the  chanting  of  the  sailors  as 
ed  themselves  with  the  manoBU- 
ident  to  coming  into  port, 
lotonous  cadence  of  the  chant* 
jested  the  whistling  of  wind  in 


the  rigging.  One  man  conducted  the 
theme,  the  rest  joined  in  the  chorus.  I 
listened  religiously,  trying  to  under- 
stand their  words,  which  I  finally  de- 
ciphered as  follows : 

Solo— The  captain  will  give  the  lailon  something 

to  drink. 
TcTTX— Hall  I  halt  I  halo ! 

Port  Said  is  a  city  like  those  in  the 
Far  West,  that  rise  out  of  the  prairie  in 
a  night.  Only  it  had  arisen,  not  in  the 
restless  West,  habituated  to  such  sud- 
den developments,  but  in  the  immova- 
ble East,  in  the  desert,  or  rather  in  the 
sea ;  for  at  Port  Said  even  the  soil  upon 
which  the  city  is  built  has  been  made 
new  for  the  occasion.  The  immense 
lagoons  of  Hanzaloh  that  communicate 
with  the  Mediterranean  had  been  chosen 
as  the  beginning  of  the  canal,  and  at 
this  extremity  it  was  necessary  to  hol- 
low out  a  port  in  the  sea.  The  mud 
and  sand  excavated  by  the  dredges 
were  thrown  back  into  the  lake,  an 
island  thus  formed  and  gradually  en- 
larged, piles  driven  down,  planks  built 
upon  the  piles,  gradually  the  wood  re- 
placed by  brick,  and  now  the  brick  by 
stone.  StonQ  houses,  however,  belong 
exclusively  to  the  European  quarter; 
the  Arab  inhabitants  simply  cross  green 
boughs  upon  sticks,  and  over  the  brush- 
wood spread,  or  do  not  spread,  a  layer 
of  mortar.  Some  habitations,  yet  more 
simple,  consist  of  mats  stretched  upon 
four  cords,  forming  walls,  floor,  and 
roof.  The  European  quarter  is  laid  out 
in  blocks  of  blackened  houses,  quite 
destitute  of  cither  style  or  ornament, 
whose  architecture  lias  but  a  single  aim, 
to  observe  the  strictest  economy  of  ma- 
terials. The  streets  arc  broad,  laid  out 
at  right  angles,  made  of  gray  sand, 
burning  in  the  sun,  blinding  at  mid- 
day, and  in  which  the  pedestrian  sinks 
anklc-dcep  at  each  step.  Light  carts 
are  constructed  especially  for  circula- 
tion in  these  streets,  with  wheels  con- 
sisting of  broad  cylinders  of  sheet  iron, 
that  glide  over  the  sand  like  snowshoes 
over  snow.  The  signs  over  the  shops 
betrayed  the  struggle  between  the  Qreek 
and  French  element.  Every  thing  offi- 
cial at  Port  Said  is  French,  as  well  as  all 


383 


PUTNAX^S  MaOAZINS. 


\)tM^ 


productive  trades,  whether  material  or 
intellectual.  But  the  prettiest  stores  are 
Greek;  Greek  are  the  taverns,  Greek 
the  houses  of  prostltutiou,  and  the  little 
colporteurs  who  busy  themselves  in  cir- 
culating obscene  photographs.  Land  is 
very  dear;  a  simple  store  in  a  good 
situation  rents  for  1,200  francs  a-year. 
The  Company  that  owns  the  land  sells 
it  at  higher  and  higher  prices,  and  at 
best  the  sale  is  only  negotiated  for  a 
term  of  ten  years,  the  expense  of  build- 
ing being,  moreover,  chargeable  to  the 
purchaser.  It  is  doubtful  whether  the 
profits  of  business  will  justify  the  enor- 
mous outlay  now  demanded,  and  the 
storekeepers  are  already  looking  for- 
ward to  several  years  of  great  financial 
difficulties,  now  that  the  canal  is  fin- 
ished, the  laborers  are  leaving,  and  the 
transit  is  not  yet  commenced.  Times 
are  sadly  changed  since  the  days  when 
certain  workmen  in  metals  were  receiv- 
ing fifty  francs  a-day,  and  disbursing  in 
proportion;  and  during  the  transition 
period,  from  small  investments  and 
extraordinary  profits  to  the  ordinary 
level  of  honest  busiuess,  every  one  suf- 
ers :  the  customer  from  the  high  prices, 
the  merchant  from  the  slack  trade. 

Between  the  European  and  Arab 
quarter  stands  a  Catholic  chapel,  con- 
taining a  confessional  reduced  to  its 
most  simple  expression :  on  armchair 
for  the  priest,  a  chair  for  the  penitent, 
and  between  the  two  a  simple  plank 
pierced  by  a  hole. 

Close  by  is  the  hospital,  directed  by 
a  doctor  who  is  at  the  same  time  Consul 
of  England,  of  Sweden,  and  of  Italy. 
Behind  the  chapel  and  hospital  extends 
a  garden,  a  real  curiosity  at  Port  Said. 
It  is  only  three  years  old ;  but  the  care- 
fully watered  trees  and  shrubs  are  in 
quite  a  thriving  condition.  In  their 
shade,  the  single  cool  comer  in  the 
Port,  fiit  about  nmnerous  birds,  too  sure 
of  their  social  position  to  be  in  the  least 
fHghtened  by  the  approach  of  a  stran- 
ger. 

I  noticed,  in  passing,  an  Arab 
school,  that  serves  at  the  same  time  as 
grocery  and  haberdashery  store.  The 
master,  who  hal   a  handsome,  melan- 


choly face,  was  standing  at  the  windoi^ 
holding  a  candle  for  a  costomeTiVhi 
came  to  negotiate  for  his  material  al 
not  his  intellectual  wares.  The  caadb 
was  not  tallow,  but  of  the  best  qoaUty; 
for  to  this  country,  recently  opened  to 
our  civilization,  nothing  will  be  aoeqfir 
ed  less  perfect  than  parafi^e. 

Farther  on,  a  military  camp,  tibe  wt 
age  of  all  other  military  camps.  Andflfr 
ther  still,  on  the  limits  between  dviBn* 
tion  and  the  desert  were  erected  8ome1)» 
racks,  rather  gayly  ornamented.    That 
were  the  habitations  of  the  vivandiln 
of  the  regiment,  who  lounged  befbii 
the  open  doors,  outrageously  painted, 
with  crowns  of  artificial  flowers  on  thai 
heads,  frightfully  ugly,  but  enchaiilid 
to  be  stared  at  like  curious  wild  beiito 
by  these  fine  Western  gentlemen  turn 
London   and   Paris   and    Berlin  and 
Vienna.   Whoso  replies  to  any  obaemr 
tion  of  these  dames,  is  obliged,  by  the 
code  of  Egyptian   politeness,  to  oftr 
them  haksheesh.  Circulating  among  tiicee 
fentastic  groups,  and  planting  himadl^ 
with  an  air  naive  and  determined,  to 
regard  each  beauty  through  his  cno^ 
mous  spectacles,  came  a  Professor,  wko 
hailed  from  Zurich  or  Upsala,  and  irho 
was  evidently  in  utter  constematum  it 
the  company  in  which  he  found  him- 
self.   "  Can  it  be  possible,''  exclaimed 
every  gesture  of  his  uplifted  handi^ 
"that  His  Highness  the  Kh6diTepe^ 
mits  this  exhibition  of  immoral  ib* 
males ! "    The  good  man  was  the  mod 
grotesque  figure  imaginable,  with  aa 
enormous  black   hat   sheltered   by  a 
parasol,  and    covering    a  long   head, 
dressed  in  frock-coat  and  black  wsisi- 
coat,  with  his  thin  legs  thrust  into 
great    yellow    hunting    boots.  .   "Bill 
Monsieur,^'  observed  some  bystander  in 
reply  to  his    shocked   remonstrances, 
"  the  Khi^dive  has  nothing  to  do  with 
these  wives  of  the  soldiers ;  and  if  there 
is  any  thing  out  of  place  here,  it  is  the 
presence     of    a    man    like    yourselfl'' 
"  Quite  true,"  replied  the  good  Profes- 
sor with  amiable  candor,  and  stretching 
his  yellow  boots,  he  speedily  escaped 
from  the  vicious  circle,  and  disappetfed 
on  the  horizon. 


I 


OuB  Tbip  to  Egypt. 


888 


ollowed  the  worthy  Professor's 
pie,  and,  passing  by  half  a  dozen 
)  on  the  extreme  suburbs  of  the 

I  advanced  in  the  sand  upon 
urrow  tongue  of  land  which  sepa- 
the  great  lake  Menzaleh  from  the 
;erranean.  On  and  still  further 
wandered,  happy  to  escape  for  a 
(nt  far  from  emperors  and  em- 
is,  from    uniforms  and  Tyrolesc 

I  hunted  on  the  shore  for  sea- 

,  disturbing  innumerable  crabs  and 

creatures  of  the  sand  of  whose 

al  history  I  was  still  more  igno- 

I  mused,  now  upon  the  fate  of  the 
lohs,  now  upon  the  little  ones  that 
left  beyond  the  sea,  and  so  mus- 
[  reached  a  sheltered  comer  far 
'^ed  from  the  odious  cannon  boom- 
and  plunging  into  the  yellow 
I,  enjoyed  the  most  delicious  bath 
had  that  year.  Afterward,  saun- 
;  on  the  beach,  I  espied  an  object 
'.  took  at  first  for  an  inmiense  car- 
as  it  was  in  effect,  but  that  of  a 
,  more  than  six  feet  long,  thrown 
r  the  waves,  and  apparently  hay- 
ost  yielded  its  uncouth  soul  to 
i.  I  looked  at  the  monster:  I 
ired  the  width  of  its  jaws,  the 
I  of  its  teeth,  the  thickness  of  my 
;  and  I  felt  that  henceforward  I 
never,  with  peace  of  mind,  take  a 
)n  the  menaced  coast  of  I^pt. 
ring  this  time,  while  I  was  en- 
I  in  solitary  reverie  over  ancient 
ties,  and  over  the  sharks,  holo- 
8,  and  mollusks  that  had  survived 
rain,  the  entire  population  of  Port 
fas  turning  out  to  feast  their  eyes 
9  Procession  of  Sovereigns.  One 
;  say  with  Isaiah,  *^The  depths 
beneath  thee  are  moved  out  to 
tliee  at  thy  coming  I  *'  For  how 
the  procession  fail  to  justify  the 
ar  excitement  ?  At  the  head 
led  a  splendid  drum-migor,  bran- 
g  a  large  scimitar,  with  a  mien  as 
>us  as  if  he  meant  to  cut  off  all 
sads  at  Port  Said  with  a  single 

After  him,  the  Elh^dive  and  the 
388,  Madame  Eugenie  Bonaparte, 
fracious  Sovereign  could  boast  a 
8  greater  than  that  of  Madame 


Bdcamier,  for  not  only  the  little  boys  in 
the  street  turned  round  to  look  at  her, 
but  the  butchers,  eager  to  see,  pressed 
close  to  her  chariot-wheels,  their  heads 
surmounted  by  baskets  of  raw  meat. 
Next  in  order  came  the  Emperor  of 
Austria,  then  the  Prince  of  Prussia,  the 
Prince  and  Princess  of  Holland ;  finally, 
a  little  princeling  of  Hesse,  who  was 
deemed  decidedly  presumptuous  to 
have  intruded  himself  upon  such  noble 
company.  Bringing  up  the  rear,  a  mass 
of  uniforms  embroidered  with  gold  and 
silver, — ^plumes,  crests,  decorations,  the 
entire  turn-out  of  official  parade  and 
flourish. 

On  the  sandy  beach,  between  the  sea, 
the  city,  and  two  stagnant  marshes,  as 
far  as  possible  from  the  canal  that  was 
to  receive  the  benediction,  had  been 
erected  raised  platforms.  The  largest 
was  for  the  Highnesses  and  their  official 
households,  admirals,  generals,  chamber- 
lains, valets,  commanders  and  colonels 
innumerable.  On  the  left  a  crowd  of 
uniforms  from  all  the  navies  of  the 
world,  on  the  right  a  crowd  of  monks, 
Copts,  Lazarlsts,  Jesuits  of  all  kinds 
thronged  around  the  Empress,  while 
behind  her  rose  a  growing  hedge  of 
court-dames  in  blue  and  young  girls  in 
pink.  Opposite  the  official  dais  had 
been  built  two  scaffoldings,  one  for  the 
Mussulman  clergy  and  one  for  the 
Catholic— significant  toleration,  which, 
like  that  of  the  Roman  Pantheon  for 
the  gods  it  honored,  seemed  to  presage 
the  near  dissolution  of  both.  The  trib- 
unes of  the  two  religions  were  exactly 
the  same  from  an  architectural  point  of 
view,  the  same  height,  same  disposition, 
same  exterior  decoration ;  but  that  on 
the  left,  the  Mussulman,  was  only  pro- 
vided with  a  kind  of  sentry-box  made 
of  green  trellis- work,  while  the  Catho- 
lic platform  was  crowded  with  its  great 
altar,  its  great  candlesticks  of  gold  or 
of  Ruolz  metal,  its  long  wax  tapers,  and 
swinging  incense  vessels.  By  the  Mo- 
hammedan prayer-tower  stood  only  five 
priests,  whose  robes  in  unison  formed 
prismatic  colors, — ^red,  green,  black,  vio- 
let, light  blue.  But  the  Catholics  were 
in  masses   before   their   altar,  abb^s, 


884 


PCTNAM^S  llAGAnKS. 


PbnK 


priests,  monks,  choir-boys.  The  Patri- 
arch of  Alexandria  officiated,  having 
been  slyly  delegated  by  the  entire  eorpt 
eccUinastiquej  in  the  place  of  his  fortu- 
nate rival  ttie  Pope  of  Rome.  The 
religions  of  the  East  and  the  West, 
Mohammedanism  and.  Catholicism,  had 
met  face  to  face,  as  if  to  measure  each 
other's  strength,  at  least  in  parade ;  and 
witnesses  assembled  from  the  two  worlds 
had  come  together  to  judge  the  per- 
formance. 

The  Mussulman  opened  the  ceremo- 
nies, in  virtue  of  the  courtesy  accorded 
to  the  religion  actually  in  possession  of 
the  locality.  The  youngest  priest  or 
Fokke  mounted  the  narrow  green  sen- 
try-box, raised  his  eyes  and  arms  to 
heaven,  and  pronounced  his  prayer  in  a 
strong  slow  voice,  and  with  monotonous 
cadence : 

"  Allah  I  Bestow  Thy  benediction 
upon  Europe,  who,  as  Thou  seest,  has 
come  among  us  to-day.  Bestow  Thy 
benediction  upon  the  enterprise  which 
promises  to  enrich  our  poor  nation. 
Bestow  Thy  benediction  upon  our  mas- 
ter and  father  Ismail,  who  has  presided 
over  these  great  labors.  Bestow  Thy 
benediction  upon  all  peoples.  And  we 
prostrate  ourselves  at  Thy  feet,  O 
Allah ! " 

This  was  all.  The  Pokkd  quitted  his 
tower,  and  regained  his  seat.  His  prayer 
was  translated  for  me  by  a  banker  from 
Damascus. 

It  was  now  the  turn  of  the  Catholics. 
Protected  by  a  grenadier  leaning  on  his 
gun,  the  chaplain  of  the  Empress  ad- 
vanced, robed  in  violet,  and  with  a  vio- 
let cap  on  his  head.  This  chaplain  is 
the  famous  Bauer,  an  Abb6  who  now 
exacts  the  title  of  Monsigneur,  although 
originally  an  Hungarian  Jew.  In  1848 
he  was  Revolutionist,  and  with  a  troop 
of  students  pronounced  the  proclama- 
tion against  Mcttcmich,  and  bivouacked 
under  arms  in  the  University  of  Vienna. 
But  for  other  times,  other  principles. 
Driven  from  the  country  by  the  reac- 
tion, the  little  Bauer  took  refuge  in 
France,  where  it  was  speedily  evident 
on  which  side  lay  the  chances  of  suc- 
cess, renown,  influence,  and  profit.  Con- 


versions from  Judaism  to 
are  extremely  rare ;  it  is  therefore  poai- 
ble  to  make  them  extremely  profitilile, 
and  to  turn  to  the  best  accomit  thi 
baptism,  the  godfathers,  and  abore  il 
the  godmothers.  The  interesting  cob* 
vert  was  presented  at  Court,  chained 
the  Empress,  and  became  the  abb6of 
dames,  the  confessor  of  beUea^  ani 
author  of  a  volume  advertised  all  onr 
Paris  under  the  title,  "  Art  by  which  t 
fashionable  Lady  may  continue  to  fin 
in  the  Christian  Religion.^ 

This  was  the  personage  upon  whoa 
devolved  the  honor  of  representing  tbi 
Christian  religion  in  the  face  of  aasem- 
bled  Europe,  Asia,  and  Africa. 

The  chaplain  treated  us  to  a  loag 
discourse,  liberal,  extremely  liberal, 
commonplace,  and  flowery.  With  all 
the  grace  of  a  hairdresser,  with  all  tin 
elegance  of  a  perfumer,  he  poured  out  a 
few  drops  of  Eau  de  Cologne  upon  the 
sacred  confluence  of  the  Atlantic,  the 
Mediterranean,  and  the  Indian  OoMn. 
And  the  sonorous  harangue  that  enaoed 
seemed  modelled  upon  the  Albmn  Pros- 
pectus, A  Picturesque  Voycige  <Knm  tk 
Isthmus  of  8uez^  hy  Marino  Fatdam, 

"At  last  is  completed  the  greii 
achievement  of  the  nineteenth  centmy, 
the  eternal  honor  of  Ferdinand  de  Le»> 
seps.  The  barrier  which  separated  the 
East  from  the  West  has  been  o▼e^ 
thrown;  and  ships  from  all  natiOM 
float  gracefully  upon  the  canal  whidi 
has  united  two  seas,  asd  which  cansti- 
tutes  the  grand  preface  to  a  new  his- 
toric epoch  all  of  peace.  The  histo- 
rian's pen  will  recount  what  immense 
obstacles  Ferdinand  de  Lesscps  has  van* 
quished  to  attain  his  end ;  by  what 
vicissitudes  his  energetic  soul  has  beea 
tried ;  by  what  incessant  labor  he  has 
succeeded  in  accomplishing  his  mission. 

"Ferdinand  dc  Lcsseps  is  a  great 
man,  at  least  as  great  as  Christopher 
Columbus,  ....  and  the  Kh6dive 
is  the  greatest  of  Khedives,  .  .  .  . 
and  the  Empress  is  the  incarnation 
of  the  genius  of  France;  she  has 
all  the  graces,  all  the  beauties,  all  the 
virtues."  And  the  Empress,  robed  in  a 
dress  of  silver  gray,  with  violet  lustresi 


OuB  Tbip  to  Egypt. 


835 


tier  eyes  modestly  upon  a  bosom 
iamond  cross  only  imperfectly 
1  from  view.  "  And  the  Em- 
Austria  is  the  most  noble  and 

of  princes."  And  his  Apos- 
jesty,  robed  in  white,  red,  and 
;h  intensely  green  feathers,  like 
aelancholy  parrot,  bowed  mod- 
t  seemed  somewhat  ill  at  ease, 
is  he  was  on  each  side  by  the 
natives  of  the  two  Powers  who 
ino  and  Sadowa  had  given  him 
energetic  dressing.  And  Bauer 
Qg :  "  The  Kh6dive  is  the  great- 
l  Kh6dives."  But  the  Khedive 
.ady  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the 
ng  completely  worn  out  with 
^e  of  preparations  that  had 
I  him  night  and  day ;  organi- 
f/J^,  superintendence  of  his 
interior  administration  of  his 
1^  negotiation  of  foreign  poli- 
'he  exhausted  Khedive  snored 
;orum  and  dignity,  and  the  flu- 
or  was  obliged  to  pass  on  to 
upon  the  Prince  of  Prussia,  the 
ind  Princess  of  Holland,  and 
e  little  Princeling  of  Hesse, 
d  the  eulogies  en  masse  for  the 
and  employes  engaged  in  the 
tion  of  the  canal— eulogies  that 
1  in  widening  circles  of  dimin- 
>rce  until  they  threatened   to 

the  entire  world,  except  per- 
3  St.  Simonieux.  I  am  not  sure 
n  they  were  excluded  from  this 
;  of  universal  charity  and  ad- 
i;  for  the  mass  of  verbiage, 
3,  and  adulations  began  to  give 
rtigo  ;  my  head  grew  confused, 

sang  as  in  a  fit  of  seasickness, 
wandered  from  the  gesticulator 
:  satin^  past  the  glittering  bayo- 
gmbled  to  give  authority  to  the 
r  of  Jesus  Christ,  along  the  slen- 
mns  supporting  the  chapel,  and 
shield  on  which  was  emblazoned 
istlan  cross,  and  on  high,  proba- 
some  negligence  of  the  decora- 
minating  in  a  golden  crescent, 

of  the  victory  of  Islam.  I  was 
at  the  conjunction,  and,  turning 

the  Mussulman  prayer-stand, 
)d  the  priests,  majestic  and  dig- 


nified, with  eyes  fixed  upon  Monsigneur, 
and  listening  to  him  with  an  air  of 
tranquil  contempt  which  did  one  good 
to  see.  Leaving  far  behind  the  murmur 
of  the  orator^s  voice  and  the  murmuring 
presence  of  the  human  crowd  that  re- 
ceived his  words,  I  plunged  my  own 
eyes  and  soul  into  the  deep  skies,  to 
breathe  a  clearer  and  more  serene  atmo- 
sphere. A  thousand  floating  colors, 
rose,  violet,  blue,  topaz,  emerald,  seen 
by  transparence  against  the  immense 
azure,  illumined  by  the  setting  sun, 
swayed  to  and  fro  by  the  gentlest 
breeze,  shifted  into  multitudinous  un- 
dulations, like  the  play  of  tints  on  a 
prism  dispersing  a  ray  of  white  light. 
Never  had  I  seen  any  thing  so  beautiful. 
In  this  moment  the  Orient  was  revealed 
to  me,  the  Mystery  unveiled.  I  felt  the 
emotion  that  is  aroused  by  the  most 
tender  and  intimate  strains  in  the  music 
of  Mozart  and  Beethoven,  by  all  that  is 
sweetest  in  the  human  soul,  or  most 
mysterious  in  Nature.  Ah  I  such  rare 
moments  are  well  worth  a  lifetime  of 
ordinary  days  1 

How  long  lasted  my  reverie  I  know 
not.  I  was  aroused  from  it  by  the  noisy 
applause  which  honored  the  conclusion 
of  Monsigneur-s  oration,  and  by  the  Te 
,  Deum  chanted  by  the  Bishop  of  Alex- 
andria to  the  accompaniment  of  music 
and  the  firing  of  cannon.  The  crowd, 
giving  way,  pushed  me  from  my  place, 
and  I  fell  out  of  fantastic  dreams  into 
the  very  arms  of  Science,  as  represented 
by  the  great  Egyptologist  Brugsch, 
whom  I  fortunately  encountered.  He 
immediately  began  to  discourse  to  me 
with  enthusiasm  upon  the  religious  and 
philosophic  doctrines  of  the  people  of 
Fellahs,  as  they  were  held  three  or  four 
thousand  years  ago.  He  left  me  with 
the  conviction  that  human  history  needs 
to  be  entirely  rewritten,  and  that  sooner 
or  later  we  shall  arrive  at  results  that 
will  rival  the  discoveries  of  geology. 

The  next  performance  on  the  pro- 
graumie  was  the  voyage  up  the  newly- 
opened  canal,  that  should  at  once  de- 
monstrate its  capacities,  and  consecrate 
all  future  voyages  of  tra£Sc  or  pleasure 
by  this  initial  Procession  of  Sovereigns, 


386 


PUTNAM^B  MAOA2INK. 


[Mmk, 


The  embarkation  at  Port  Said  took 
place  the  morning  after  the  F6te  of  the 
Benediction.  Grave  difficulties  imme- 
diately arose,  engendered  by  the  conflict 
between  sentiment  (of  propriety)  and 
expediency.  This  latter  suggested  that 
on  these  untried  waters,  the  road  should 
be  opened  by  an  advance  guard  of 
small  vessels,  who  should  clear  the  way, 
and  bear  the  first  brunt  of  any  imfore- 
seen  obstacles  that  might  be  encounter- 
ed. Bat,  on  the  other  hand,  sentiment 
had  decided  that  the  van,  as  place  of 
honor,  should  be  accorded  to  the  great 
personages.  But  for  great  personages 
are  needed  great  ships,  and  for  the  cele- 
bration of  an  enterprise  eminently  pa- 
cific, great  cannon  arc  indispensable. 
Consequently  L'Aigle,  with  its  precious 
freight  of  the  Empress  and  her  suite, 
must  absolutely  lead  the  way. 

"He  who  would  thrive,"  says  the 
proverb,  "  must  rise  at  five ;  but  he  who 
has  thriven,  may  lie  till  seven." 

The  Empress,  feeling  possibly  that 
her  most  prosperous  days  had  been  ac- 
complished, if  not  passed,  permitted 
herself  to  sleep  late  into  the  morning, 
to  recruit  energies  exhausted  by  Mon- 
signcur's  oration  an d  compliments.  The 
Imperial femmea  de  ehambre  waited  for 
the  Empress,  and  the  entire  squadron 
awaited  orders  from  the  Imperial /^m- 
mes  de  ehambre.  Profiting  by  this  lull  in 
the  movements  of  the  Powers  above  me, 
I  sauntered  about,  following  a  vagrant 
fancy,  imtil  its  leisure  caprices  were 
put  to  fiight  by  a  precipitate  movement 
that  arose  among  the  ships  scattered  in 
the  harbor  and  among  their  passengers 
scattered  on  land.  I  myself  was  politely 
captured  and  ordered  to  make  ready  for 
transportation  on  the  Peluze^  in  an  hour 
at  furthest.  The  Guienne  was  to  be  left 
behind,  as  unwieldy  from  its  great 
breadth,  forty  feet  from  one  paddle-box 
to  the  other. 

"Now  was  saddling  in  hot  haste," 
barring  the  saddles,  as  our  Irish  breth- 
ren would  say.  Now  could  the  light- 
hearted  proprietor  of  a  single  portable 
valise  look  down,  from  heights  of  serene 
tranquillity,  upon  the  opulent  possessors 
of  many  trunks,  who  with  distracted 


minds  sought  here  their  watches,  thm 
the  best  dresses  of  Madame  1a  MarqidM^ 
now  a  medallion  of  honor  foigottai  on 
a  uniform,  now  perchance  a  locket,  kft 
behind  with  a  forgotten  vest  TVi 
moment  of  conf^on,  intercalated  ii 
the  orderly  programme,  did  not  dii* 
please  me ;  on  the  contrary,  I  am  con- 
vinced that  a  touch  of  the  Unibresea 
and  the  Incalculable  is  absolutely: 
sary  to  gi^e  the  sparkle  to  the 
wine  of  enjoyment. 

At  eleven  o'clock    we   entered  Ite 
canal,  the  newly-developed  artery  tiitt 
should  presently  complete  the  circula- 
tion of  the  world,  and  approach  to  uA 
other,  by  thousands  of  miles,  India  and 
Germany,  China  and  England,  Japta 
and  France.    I  was  surprised  to  ftaA 
the  canal  so  broad — ^three  hundred  feet 
everywhere.    The  regulation  depth  u 
twenty-four,  but  unfortunately  il  has 
not  yet  been  possible  to  attain  this 
throughout,  at  least  up  to  the  date  of 
the  Inauguration,  which  really  ahoidd 
have  been  deferred  till  January,  to  hare 
all  things  ready.    The  evening  before 
our  departure,  the  dredges  were  still  at 
work  with  feverish  activity,  and  firom 
time  to  time  we  encountered  one  of 
these  formidable   machines  that  had 
been  engaged  in  piling  high  upon  th» 
banks  of  the  canal  the  sand  scooped  up 
from  its  deepening  bed.    Our  immensa 
steamer,  three  hundred  and  fifteen  feet 
long,  made  its  way  easily  throng  the 
'water ;  its  screw  threw  up  no  sand,  and 
the  banks  of  the  canal,  cleared  without 
a  brush,  remained  undisturbed  by  the 
paddle-wheels ;  all,  circumstances  glad- 
dening to  the  hearts  of  the  shareholden 
on  board  our  steamer. 

Wc  traversed  the  Lake  Menzalehy 
which,  as  noticed  above,  constitutes  the 
beginning  of  the  canal.  On  each  side 
the  excavated  sand  has  been  beaten  into 
canal- walks,  and  on  the  right  has  been 
laid  a  subterranean  pipe  of  fresh  water 
(O  Herodotus,  thy  skepticism  is  put  to 
shame,  and  Cambyses  outrivalled  I)  and 
a  telegraph  line  erected.  On  the  left  the 
outline  of  the  lake  is  extremely  irregu- 
lar, and  beyond  appears  the  desert,  with 
its  monotony  of  reddish-yellow  sand. 


OuB  Tbip  to  Egypt. 


887 


tie  horizon  and  the  canal,  the 
;he  sand  dispute  each  other's 
here  and  there  we  descried 
of  swamps  and  islands,  effects 
according  to  one  skilful  en- 
sal  existences,  according  to 
3t  less  skilful.  Heal  or  not, 
;d  the  long-expected  desert 
Y  interest;  many  among  us, 
nindful  of  the  grim  punish- 
irred  in  childhood,  when  we 
s  exact  route  taken  by  the 
r  Israel  in  their  journey  across 
region.  If  they  could  only 
«d  for  the  Opening  of  the 

by  the  level  desert,  the  shal- 
peopled  with  great  flocks  of 
I  flamingoes,  the  sacred  Ibis 
we  reached  El  Eantara,  stop- 
I  for  caravans  half  way  be- 
rt  Said  and  Ismaila.  The 
I  in  grand /e^  for  the  passing 
ugural  Fleet,  and  our  arrival 
ed  with  hurrahs  and  firing. 
1  stood  an  inscription  of  let^ 

feet  high,  built  of  boughs 
ith  palm-leaves,  and  reading, 
il,  the  City  of  El  Kantara." 
Bd  the  placards  at  the  Palais 
tatre,  brought  upon  the  stage 
3  a  change  of  locality,  without 
ie  of  change  of  scene.  Ob- 
i  the  city  of  El  Elantara  is 
A,  present  but  a  handful  of 

hills;  but  like  some  other 
A  in  the  prime  of  youth,  it 
^tions. 

set    of  sun  we   passed  El 

rocky  ledge  impossible  to 
i  which  has  cost  the  Com- 
le  millions  of  francs.  We 
)usly ;  no  accident  had  occur- 

and  we  foresaw  none.  The 
n  reached  its  height  when  we 
I  firing  of  cannon  at  Ismaila, 
tounced  the  arrival  of  the  first 
3ls  with  their  cargo  of  great 
8.  The  Pehuse^  however,  was 
L  in  rank,  and  each  vessel  was 

from  the  preceding  by  an 
r  ten  minutes. 

K)n  rose ;  we  glided  between 
vails  of  El  Guirc  at  the  rate 


of  ten  knots  an  hour.  The  air  was 
balmy,  the  night  magnificent ;  the  vessel 
seemed  to  fioat  between  two  floods  of 
L'ght,  pouring  from  lake  and  sky.  Be- 
fore us,  hardly  two  miles  off,  the  white 
line  of  Ismaila  interrupted  the  horizon ; 
stationed  along  the  banks,  the  illumi- 
nated vessels  were  brilliant  as  groups 
of  stars ;  and  high  in  the  heavens  rose 
the  glowing  rockets  to  fall  away  in  a 
rain  of  gold  and  many-colored  fire. 
Only  a  few  months,  a  few  days,  and  we 
had  landed  in  a  desert,  or  at  least  a 
swamp,  the  habitation  of  jackals  and 
howling  hyenas.  To-day,  the  fleets  of 
Europe  cast  anchor  before  a  town 
sprung  up  in  a  night,  destined  to  be 
the  Venice  of  the  Orient,  one  of  the 
greatest  bazars  of  the  world.  The 
imagination,  dazzled,  sought  refuge  in 
the  Arabian  Nights'  tales,  there  only 
finding  a  precedent  for  such  magic 
transformation. 

Was  it  credible?  At  this  very  mo- 
ment, at  this  culmination  of  our  enthu- 
siasm, of  our  expansive  faith  in  the 
possibilities  of  human  genius,  an  ig- 
nbble  catastrophe  arrested  our  flights 
and  reduced  to  impotence  ourlcarian 
wings.  We  ran  agroimd !  Not  in  the 
canal,  not  at  the  dangerous  bend  by  El 
Guirc,  not  at  the  entrance  of  the  port, 
but  in  the  harbor  itself,  at  the  very 
gates  of  Ismaila  thrown  open  to  receive 
us.  O  shameful  chance  I  O  capricious 
fortune !  In  vain  the  pfficers  of  the 
steamer  denied  the  fact,  in  vain  they 
shifted  passengers  from  stem  to  stern 
and  stem  to  stem  again,  in  vain  the 
great  engine  snorted  with  rage,  and 
struggled  manfully  to  get  free.  We 
were  planted,  and  suffered  the  humilia- 
tion of  being  overtaken  by  the  steamer 
in  the  rear,  tired  of  awaiting  our  march. 
"  Can  I  pass  you  ? "  demanded  one  after 
another.  "  No  I  "  was  the  frank  reply ; 
and  thereupon  the  little  wretches  slip- 
ped by  coolly  at  our  right  and  left,  just 
as  if  we  had  given  them  permission. 
We  were  left  to  pass  the  night  at  an- 
chor, to  extend  ourselves  upon  deck,  or 
wherever  we  could  And  sleeping  room ; 
and  some  among  us  to  console  onr 
wounded  feelings  by  swearing  at  the 


838 


PUTNAM^S  MaOAZINB. 


[Mm*. 


Company.  One  unhappy  wight  ven- 
tured to  thrust  himself  into  the  discus- 
sions of  a  group  of  engineers,  and  to 
affirm  that  the  curves  of  the  canal  were 
made  with  too  short  a  radius.  "  Mon- 
sieur, are  you  an  engineer?"  inquired 
one  of  the  men  of  science.  **I  have 
not  that  honor."  "  Then,  sir,  you  had 
better  not  talk  of  things  that  you  know 
nothing  about."  The  intruder  was  si- 
lent for  a  moment,  but  presently  drew 
out  his  card  and  threw  it  upon  the 
table.  "  I  will  maintain,"  he  repeated, 
wherever  any  one  may  please,  that  the 
Company  of  the  canal  lias  traced  at 
least  one  curve  of  much  too  short  ra- 
dius." The  challenge  was  not  taken  up. 

That  same  evening  a  passenger  came 
aboard,  in  a  boat,  to  find  a  trunk  that 
he  had  left  in  the  morning. 

"  Monsieur,"  cried  the  cook,  encoun- 
tering him,  "  I  have  orders  to  tell  you 
that  henceforward  we  furnish  meals  to 
no  one  but  our  own  passengers." 

"  Who  has  given  you  this  order  ?  " 

"  I,"  said  the  captain,  coming  forward 
like  a  personage  in  the  History  of  Cock 
Hobin.  "  AVe  can  IVimish  no  more  meals 
to  the  passengers  of  the  Guimney 

"  Monsieur,  you  are  an  honor  to 
French  hospitality,"  replied  the  other, 
turning  on  hi^hcel. 

I  mention  these  trifling  incidents,  be- 
cause, like  the  insignificant  details  in  a 
portrait,  they  are  necessary  to  make  the 
picture  lifelike.  To  speak  only  of  great 
events,  and  the  emotions  appropriately 
experienced  in  connection  with  them, 
is  to  paint  ourselves  finer  than  nature. 
Let  us  rather  avow,  since  it  is  the  truth, 
that,  even  on  the  most  imposing  occa- 
sions, our  souls  are  very  easily  ruffled 
by  the  merest  trifles.  We  have  per- 
petual need  to  remember  the  antique 
warning  of  Pythagoras,  "Don't  pare 
your  nails  at  a  sacrifice." 

Ismaila,  situated  at  the  angle  of  the 
canal,  halfway  between  Port  Said  on 
the  Mediterranean  and  Suez  on  the  Red 
Sea,  and  connected  with  Cairo  by  a  rail- 
road, was  to  be  honored  that  night  with 
a  ball,  as  Port  Said  had  been  by  the 
ceremony  of  the  Benediction,  and  Suez 
would  be   later,  by   still    other  fetes. 


These  latter,  our  malidoiu  dadny— 
but  we  will  not  anticipate.  Paasenga 
of  the  Ouienne^  passengers  proper  of 
the  Fduze,  we  all  scrambled  ashove 
early  in  the  morning,  to  surrey  the 
premises  and  prepare  for  the  evening 
festivities.  On  shore,  my  bile  WM 
greatly  roused  by  coming  acroai  t 
Frenchman  engaged  in  Tigormuly  1^- 
ing  about  him  with  a  whip  upon  tbe 
naked  shoulders  of  Arabs  in  his  vicin- 
ity. A  little  further  on,  a  Qerman,  ii 
a  perfect  fuiy  of  rage,  and  with  a  fol- 
ley  of  oaths,  was  stamping  on  the  backs 
of  some  half  a  dozen  natives,  on  ac- 
count of  some  difficulty  about  hii  log- 
gage.  Little  as  I  care  about  sentinMBii 
of  nationality,  I  experienced  a  pecnlitr 
indignation  at  this  spectacle— of  men, 
beaten  on  the  soil  of  their  own  fatho- 
land,  by  intruders  come  firom  over  the 
sea.  I  recollected  the  analogous  histoiy 
of  Exodus,  "Then  Moses  smote  the 
Egyptian."  Poor  Fellah  I  Thywronp 
began  to  render  thee  sacred  in  my  ejei 
I  thought  of  all  thou  hadst  endured  for 
so  many  centuries — ^thou  and  thy  camd, 
companion  of  thy  misfortunes,  both  lo 
sober,  patient,  melancholy,  resigned  )— 
and  it  was  not  without  a  feeling  of 
shame  and  uneasiness  that  I  reflected 
upon  all  thou  hast  had  to  suffer,  in 
order  to  fill  the  glass  of  champagne  of 
which  I  had  been  drinking— or  tboie 
which  would  be  poured  out  in  profii- 
sion  at  the  ball  wliich  thy  master  tbii 
evening  was  about  to  offer  to  us  in  thi 
desert ! 

The  ball  was  to  take  place  in  a  palioe 
that  the  Viceroy  had  built  in  the  space 
of  six  months,  and  which  was  to  be 
finished  that  day,  at  noon  precisely. 
Its  rooms  had  been  fitted  up  for  the 
guests,  with  beds  and  other  furniture, 
imported  from  Europe  for  the  occasion. 
It  was  impossible  to  calculate  what  had 
been  the  expense  of  this  palace ;  built 
of  carved  stone,  filled  with  mirrors  and 
gilded  sofas — the  whole  improvised  for 
the  royal  picnic  in  the  midst  of  the 
desert.     But  it  is  known  that  the  bill 
of  the  upholsterer  for  furnishing  the 
Empress'  apartment  alone  amounted  to 
1,200,000   francs.      In  the  palace,  of 


OuB  Tbip  to  Egypt. 


889 


were  only  received  the  guests 

distinction ;  we  lesser  fry  were 
odatcd  at  the  few  hotels  of  the 
lough  still  at  the  expense  of  the 
3— -most  fortunately  for  us,  for 
udcrs  were  fleeced  at  a  fearful 
lying  ten   francs  for  a  simple 

thirty  for  the  privilege  of  rest- 
couple  of  hours  at  a  hotel  to 
»ut  without  eating  any  thing, 
nysclf,  I  was  installed  with  a 
of  companions  in  a  tent,  fur- 
vith  a  mat,  washstand,  mattress, 
id  blanket ;  all  clean  and  fresh, 
'  the  first  time.  Near  our  tent 
ther  immense  one,  arranged  as  a 
lall,  and  capable  of  seating  and 

a  thousand  persons  at  once, 
jte  was  enormous.  My  own  re- 
st the  Khedive  fifty  francs,  and 
>rth  about  fifty  sous ;  but  I  felt 

and  contented.  Getting  po*- 
)f  some  bread,  cheese,  dates,  and 
J  of  wine,  I  provisioned  my  in- 
md  awaited  events  with  tran- 

on,  under  a  sun  that  was  raising 
ling  to  a  temperature  of  white 
lought  the  Park  of  Ismaila,  con- 
of  a  few  shrubs  surrounding  a 
I.  The  water  was  yellow  and 
>ut  it  was  real  water — and  in 
rid  zone  a  pool  under  the  sha- 
a  few  leaves  is  an  inexhaustible 
lent  to  the  eye.  Every  one  ad- 
ae  vigor  of  the  vegetation ;  these 
planted  in  the  sand  only  three 
50,  had  already  grown  six  feet, 
•e  still  growing. 

sudden,  the  crowd  precipitates 
a  new  direction.  I  follow,  and 
eyes  gazing  on  a  cavalcade  that 
lashing  round  the  comer.  The 
I  of  France,  in  a  yellow  riding- 
md  mounted  on  a  dromedary, 
ing  by  at  full  galop,  followed 
ng  train  of  horsemen  and  wav- 
mes.  The  impression  produced 
IT  grave  Arabian  hosts  by  this 
e  was  somewhat  similar  to  that 
re  might  have  at  Paris  on  seeing 
;en  of  Sweden  and  Princess  of 
Iressed  like  circus-riders,  moimt- 
flery  velocipedes,  ai:d  dashing 


headlong  into  the  barracks  of  the  Cent- 
Gardes.  All  Arabian  ideas  concerning 
the  decorum  and  virtue  of  European 
women,  and  the  good  sense  of  the 
French  Empress,  were  utterly  put  to 
flight. 

Young  ladies  in  blue,  rose,  and  violet, 
cantered  gayly  along  the  "  Rotten  Row  " 
of  Ismaila ;  and  at  their  side,  cavaliers 
in  the  most  fantastic  costumes.  From 
the  heads  of  some  floated  veils  of  all 
colors;  some  wore  frock-coats,  and 
thrust  their  pantaloons  into  top-boots ; 
others  were  dressed  in  breeches  and 
crimson  stockings.  One  dandy  sported 
a  tuft  of  scarlet  feathers  sprinkled  with 
drops  of  dew  that  flashed  in  the  sun- 
light ;  nankeen  riding-coats  jostled  cos- 
tumes of  garnet-colored  velvet.  The 
pleasurers  were  on  foot  or  in  carriages, 
mounted  on  asses,  horses,  dromedaries 
— what  not.  In  the  midst  of  this  har- 
lequin turn-out  of  cockneys,  fools,  and 
Joneses,  Browns,  and  Robinsons,  in  a 
delirium  for  the  picturesque,  ran  the 
donkey-drivers,  half-naked,  with  their 
black  legs,  and  others,  stalwart  fellows 
in  shirt-sleeves  or  blue  blowses;  and, 
intersecting  all,  in  sharp,  repelling  lines, 
an  irregular  squadron  from  the  desert, 
assembled  Fellahs — warriors  of  neigh- 
boring tribes,  some  mounted  on  small 
horses  which  they  guided  with  the  left 
hand,  while  in  the  right  they  held  a 
slender  gun;  others  perched  high  on 
yellow  dromedaries,  obedient  to  reins 
of  red  wool. 

It  was  said  that,  to  behold  this  spec- 
tacle, had  come  together  Arabs  from 
Nedjid,  Bedouins  from  the  Libyan  des- 
ert, Syrians  from  Liban  and  from  Da- 
mascus. The  East  and  the  West  had 
met  at  a  rendezvous ;  each  paraded  it- 
self before  the  other,  and  certainly  were 
suflSciently  mystified  with  the  other's 
appearance.  "  What  a  curious  wretch  I " 
cried  the  West,  aloud.  "And  what  a 
ridiculous  madman  I  '^  observed  the 
East,  in  an  audible  aside. 

At  nine  o'clock,  in  duty  bound  as 
guest  of  the  Khedive,  I  presented  my- 
self at  the  dcor  of  the  palace  ball-room, 
which  was  already  full  of  a  brilliant 
company.    Never  in  my  life  had  I  seen 


SM 


[H^ 


80  many  iml/orms  bespattered  with 
gold,  silTer,  bndd,  and  embroidery; 
with  plmnes,  ribbons,  stars,  and  crosses. 
ETery  one,  like  the  sitters  to  Ifiss  La 
Crery  in  Nicholas  Nickleby,  had  man- 
aged to  throst  his  head  through  a  mili- 
tary gilt  collar,  firom  which  dangled 
some  kind  of  decoration.  I  was  not 
accustomed  to  such  society,  and  was  far 
from  feeling  at  my  ease.  I  held  myself 
in  profile  rather  than  full  face,  and  will-^ 
ingly  pelded  my  place  when  any  ac- 
quaintance appeared  to  draw  me  on  one 
side.  The  coup  d'osil  was,  bowever, 
fine ;  the  rooms  were  entirely  gilded — 
too  much  so,  in  fact ;  but  the  gilding 
was  probably  necessary  to  hide  many 
imperfections  in  the  hasty  carpentry. 
It  was  marvellous,  when  one  remem- 
bered that,  a  hundred  days  ago,  in  the 
place  occupied  by  these  dames,  liber- 
ally dieoUeUet,  and  adorned  by  their 
finest  diamonds — in  the  room  of  these 
divans,  sofas,  lustres,  chandeliers — the 
solitary  traveller  would  have  plunged 
his  foot  into  barren  sand.  Ck)8t,  thirty 
millions. 

I  would  notice,  in  passing,  that  the 
prettiest  thing  in  the  exhibition  was  a 
parterre  of  tropical  flowers — so  beauti- 
fully made,  that  it  was  necessary  to 
touch  and  smell  them  to  recognize  that 
they  were  artificial.  This  bagatelle 
contributed  40,000  francs  to  the  ex- 
penses of  the  entertainment. 

The  heat  became  stifling.  I  was 
much  hustled  about  in  the  crowd,  and 
much  tried  in  spirit  by  the  efforts  to 
avoid  treading  upon  the  long  trains 
that  undulated  aroimd  me.  At  the  end 
of  an  hour,  my  consciehce  assured  mo 
that  I  had  done  justice  to  the  Kh6dive*s 
invitation,  and  that  I  might  withdraw. 
I  stemmed  the  rising  torrent  of  new 
arrivals ;  I  heeded  not  the  illuminations 
that  paled  the  moon ;  like  a  swimmer 
panting  for  breath,  I  struck  out  vigor- 
ously for  shore,  and,  in  a  few  bold 
strokes,  regained  the  desert  and  free- 
dom. 

It  is,  therefore,  impossible  for  me  to 
relate  the  splendors  of  the  supper,  nor 
how  the  Kh6dive,  and  the  Empress  and 
the  Emperor  of  Austria,  and  the  Prince 


and  Princeas  of  Pnuna,  luspt 
selves  apart  all  the  evening  in  a  prinli 
drawing-room  in  the  garden,  and  al^ 
showed  themselves  to  the  emfanndeni 
crowd  for  a  few  momenta.  iDsdnedf^ 
ly  foreseeing  this  disappointmcBti  I 
evaded  it  by  my  own  timely  withdiivil 
firom  the  precincts  of  exclusive  roydtj; 
and  walked  over  to  the  Arab  eocaaf- 
ment.  I  was  attracted  thither  hj  fte 
noise  and  the  music,  and  by  the — to  w 
— fimtastic  novelty  of  this  new 
of  my  Oriental  Night.  Aroimd 
coal  braziers  crouched  strange  figun^ 
chattering  in  incomprehensible  diakidi^ 
screaming  and  gesticulating  as  if  tiKf 
hardly  understood  themselves  -WUti 
and  black  forms  glided  fit>m  tim6  ti 
time  across  the  bands  of  light  ladiatiag 
from  the  flrea,  and  lost  themsdvcs  ii 
the  surrounding  darkness.  I  pleised 
myself  with  watching  them,  with  hmaf 
myself  in  a  Babel  of  people  and  toogoei; 
now  lighting,  in  my  wanderings,  i^oa 
a  group  of  Bedouin  musicians ;  anoo, 
some  Spanish  gypsies,  chanting  ain 
familiar  to  me  in  Cadiz ;  further,  a 
troop  of  female  native  singers,  liddj 
dressed,  under  a  tent,  enclosed  in  a  loit 
of  cage  of  pink  gauze,  like  so  msaj 
parrots ;  now  smoking,  now  singiDg  in- 
dolently to  the  accompaniment  of  i 
drum.  Not  far  from  the  road  wMd 
led  to  the  port,  I  came  upon  a  yet  mon 
singular  scene.  A  numerous  crowd  I0^ 
rounded  a  building,  closed,  and  Kjppt- 
rently  inaccessible.  Toward  the  roof 
a  few  boards  had  been  knocked  awaj, 
and  the  space  had  been  covered  OTff 
with  muslin,  from  behind  which  floatod 
women's  voices  in  lazy  modulations,  far 
above  the  heads  of  the  ecstatic  crowd. 

From  this  crowd  presently  separated 
himself  a  European  of  some  kind,  tall, 
fair-haired,  with  bold,  blue  eyes.  To 
the  keeper  of  a  neighboring  restaurant 
he  addressed  the  question  that  evident- 
ly burned  on  the  lips  of  all  the  assem- 
bly besieging  the  prison-house : 

"Monsieur,  could  you  inform  me 
where  are  to  be  found  the  dancing- 
girls  f  I  have  been  told  that  two  hun- 
dred almas  should  be  somewhere  in  this 
neighborhood." 


OiTB  Tbip  to  Egypt. 


841 


lere  is  not  so  much  as  half  a  one. 
were,  in  fact,  to  haye  been  here, 
kt  the  last  moment,  the  Viceroy 
ed  his  mind,  and  shut  them  up 
IT  of  accidents." 

ad  what  is  the  reason  that  these 
g-girls  are  shut  up  in  this  species 
Qjon  ? " 

le  reason  is  simple  enough.  The 
etiji  sailors,  who  are  here  in  num- 
are  so  brutal  that  no  Bedouin 
Q  is  safe  in  their  vicinity." 
as  about  to  continue  my  walk 
two  personages,  evidently  Sheikhs 
their  bearing  and  dignity,  came 
:d  and  invited  the  blue-eyed 
er  and  myself  to  drink  coffee 
hem  in  the  restaurant.  I  accept- 
th  pleasure,  but  my  companion 
f  declined,  as  if  he  considered  his 
y  insulted  by  the  proposition.  In 
(7e  bad  hardly  entered,  than  he 

to  grumble,  then  scold,  finally 
I  had  followed  my  hosf  s  ex- 
,  and  sat  down  cross-legged ;  but 
mpanion  immediately  called  for 
,  and  swore  furiously  at  their  ab- 
replying  in  a  voice  of  thunder  to 
did  apologies  of  the  Sheikhs, 
ice  I  you  set  of  rascals,  or  I  will 
your  jaws  with  my  cane  I "  which 
urished  in  their  faces.  **I  have 
a  Mexico.  I  know  how  to  deal 
avages,"  and  he  raged  and  swore 
)resBion8  that  I  would  not  sully 
n  to  transcribe.  In  the  mean  time 
was  served;  the  barbarian  grab- 
is  cup,  and  at  first  swallowed 
it  tasting ;  then,  gradually  molli- 
$11  into  silence.  I  drank  my  own 
rose,  made  a  profound  reverence 

Arab  hosts,  accorded  the  least 
le  recognition  to  the  European, 
ent  my  steps  homeward,  vexed 
lortified.  The  night  was  far  ad- 
1,  but  its  beauty  seemed  suddenly 
at  I  felt  ashamed  to  encounter 
lore  hospitable  Arabs,  and,  curl- 
chilled,  crept  under  the  folds  of 
Qt,  and  courted  the  sleep  which 
ang  time  refused  to  come  to  my 

s  ended,  for  me,  the  strange  and 
id  fete  of  Ismaila. 


The  departure  from  Ismaila  for  Suez 
was  even  more  difficult  to  effect  than 
had  been  that  from  Port  Said  to  Ismaila. 
I  hardly  know  whether  my  unassisted 
energies  would  have  sufficed  to  find 
means  of  transportation  amidst  the  gen- 
eral scrabble  for  this  same  necessary 
luxury.    But  my  good  fortune  led  me 

to  my  friend  and  fellow-traveller,  S , 

who,  laying  hold  of  some  high  Egyp- 
tian ftmctionary,  explained  to  him  that 
we  were  not  insignificant  penny-a-liners, 
but  journalists  of  much  influence  and 
importance,  and  that  he  must  abso- 
lutely find  us  berths  somewhere.  The 
functionary,  much  impressed  by  this 
statement,  and  the  energy  with  which 
it  was  made,  gave  us  an  order  for  trans- 
port on  the  man-of-war  JSenaar,  It  de- 
volved upon  us  to  hire  a  boat  and  hunt 
up  the  Senaar  among  the  vessels  of  the 
harbor,  to  board  her  boldly,  and  to 
send  in  our  order  to  the  Admiral.  The 
latter  took  time  to  consider ;  then,  un- 
able to  do  any  thing  else  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, agreed  to  take  us  as  passen- 
gers only,  without  giving  us  any  thing 
to  eat  during  the  voyage.  This  crafty 
reply  was  perhaps  intended  to  settle  the 
question  against,  us,  as  decisively  as 
Portia's  permission  to  toko  the  pound 
of  flesh  without  the  blood.  If  so,  our 
wily  Admiral  was  disappointed,  for  wo 
instantly  closed  the  bargain  on  his  own 
terms. 

The  Benaar^  as  an  Egyptian  vessel, 
was  compelled  by  etiquette  to  yield 
place  to  the  European  steamers,  and  we 
were  consequently  left  far  behind  in 
the  convoy.  The  Pelmet  "  bark-rigged 
with  curses  dark,"  led  the  way,  as  be- 
fore. 

While  awaiting  our  departure,  hun- 
ger began  to  gnaw  at  our  vitals.  Quite 
a  number  of  others  had  been  received  on 

the  same  terms  as  S and  myself, 

and  the  prospect  of  famine  among  so 
many  became  alarming.  The  prospec- 
tive misfortune  multiplied  in  import- 
ance with  each  possible  victim.  In  this 
strait,  my  energetic  Yankee  friend,  who 
had  not  even  breakfasted,  and  who  had 
been  lashed  up  to  excitement  by  seeing 
a  passenger  dining  off  beans,  S ,  I 


848 


PuTNAM^s  Magazine. 


[Hanh, 


say,  was  penetrated  by  a  bright  idea. 
Anchored  near  us  in  the  harbor  lay  a 
vessel  from  Marseilles,  the  Touarez^  that 
a  company  of  twenty^four  gentlemen, 
with  their  wives,  had  hired  for  a  pleas- 
ure excursion,  which  should  include 
the  inaugural  fete  at  Ismaila,  and  visits 
to  Smyrna,  Constantinople,  Athens,  and 
the  principal  cities  of  Italy.  Such  a 
scheme  could  only  have  occurred  to 
people  of  education  and  ideas.  To  this 
vessel  S ,  accompanied  by  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  Chamber  of  Commerce  at 
Birmingham,  had  himself  rowed ;  and, 
introduced  to  the  tourists,  drew  up  a 
moving  account  of  our  situation.  He 
depicted  the  prospect  of  a  fast  for  forty- 
eight  hours,  and,  to  avert  such  unpleas- 
ant calamity,  entreated  the  gentlemen 
to  cede  to  us  some  provisions.  This 
they  most  graciously  consented  to  do, 
observing  that,  although  they  had  only 
brought  with  them  the  provisions  re- 
quired by  their  own  party,  no  hesita- 
tion was  possible  in  the  presence  of  such 
urgent  necessities  as  ours.  They  fur- 
nished us  liberally  with  biscuits,  ancho- 
vies, tongue,  cheese,  and  a  whole  box 
of  Bordeaux  wine,  and  then  utterly  re- 
fused payment  in  exchange  for  their 
courtesy.  May  their  good  action  meet 
elsewhere  the  reward  that  we  were  un- 
able to  oflfer  them ! 

I  must  add  that,  the  next  day,  al- 
though entirely  contrary  to  the  stipula- 
tions, the  Admiral  ordered  our  party  to 
be  served  with  a  capital  little  dinner. 
To  him  that  hath,  shall  always  be  given 
more  abundantly. 

We  sojourned  forty-five  hours  on 
board  the  Senaar^  which  performed  the 
voyage  tranquilly,  comfortably,  without 
hurrying  itself,  quite  in  the  Oriental 
fiishion.  Possibly  on  this  account  no 
accident  happened  to  us,  but  over  and 
over  again  we  were  obliged  to  stop  in 
obedience  to  a  signal  from  the  steamer 
that  preceded  us.  And  each  time,  in 
answer  to  our  inquiries  as  to  the  cause 
of  the  obstruction,  came  back  the  same 
answer,  "  It  is  the  Pelme  !  it  is  the  Pe- 
luze  1 "  Decidedly  the  great  vessel  was 
overweighted  with  the  greatness  it  car- 
ried on  board.    And  it  seemed  all  the 


more  probable  that  its  unwieldiness 
owing  to  ita  moral,  rather  than  phyn- 
cal,  tonnage,  from  the  fact  that  tha  Et 
Badredh^  belonging  to  the  company 
Azizeh,  a  vessel  at  least  as  large  as  tl» 
Peluze^  went  through  without  the  least 
accident. 

The  voyage,  until  we  reached  the 
Bitter  Lakes,  was  not  yery  interesting 
The  canal  passes  between  high  hilki 
which  shut  out  even  the  view  of  the 
desert;  and  it  was  with  eyes  fieitigaed 
by  long  monotony  that  we  greeted  theae 
lakes,  bordered  with  verdure — ^latdy 
pestiferous  marshes,  but  in  which  the 
Red  Sea  has  just  been  compelled  to 
pour  1000  millions  of  cubic  metres  of 
water.  The  shores  are  low ;  and  be- 
yond lie  the  yellow  sands  diversified 
with  violet  shadows  of  the  flying  clonda 
Above  the  near,  low  hills,  those  of  Qe- 
nefie,  rises  a  second  range,  the  moun- 
tains of  Attakka,  in  long  lines,  calm, 
solemn,  majestic,  like  an  immense  tem- 
ple, overhanging  the  Red  Sea. 

With  frequently-renewed    apprehea- 
sions,  that,  happily,  each  time  the  result 
failed  to  justify,  we  passed  the  various 
critical  junctures  on  our  route,  like  the 
travellers  in  Pilgrim's  Progress,  or  the 
Prince  making  his  way  to  the  Palace  of 
the  Sleeping  Beauty — ^past   Serapeum, 
past  Chalauf,  we  entered  triumphantly 
into  the  great  lagoon  at  the  termination 
of  the  canal,  and  came  to  anchor  three 
or  four  miles  above  Suez.    There  vrc 
heard  the  booming  of  cannon  that  an- 
nounced  the   conclusion  of   the  fite^ 
which  we  had  just  missed,  as  before  we 
had  missed  the  first /t7<j  at  Ismaila.    To 
console  ourselves,  we  left  the  steamer's 
deck,  and  climbed  the  veritable  hiUs 
formed  by  the  sand  excavated  from  the 
canal,  and  piled  high  upon  its  banks — 
constituting  an  exact  mould  of  the  ex- 
cavation, and  well  calculated  to  stupefy 
the  imagination  with  the  measure  thus 
afforded   of  the    work    accomplished. 
Had  I  not  thus  taken  its  measure,  I 
should  have  had  no  adequate  idea  of 
the  immensity  of  this  work. 

Sunday  morning,  in  the  blaze  of  a 
magnificent  sun,  we  enter — ^the  last  of 
the  fleet — into  the  harbor  of  Suez.    The 


A  Wouah'b  Wilss. 


84S 


was  simple  and  grand.  On  the 
the  Atakka  range — a  formidable 
red  streaked  with  white — a  sort 
ttcnse  citadel,  with  great  pyramids 
it  ions  and  buttresses.  At  its  feet, 
one  of  the  future  capitals  of  the 

perhaps;  to-day,  a  huddle  of 

ificant  little  houses.    Opposite,  in 

•orous  distance,  stands    out  Mt. 

On  the  left,  the  Desert.    Under 

lep  blue  azure  skies  we  float  upon 

extent  of  green  sea.  We  are  at 
f  the  centres  of  the  world,  be- 

Europe,  Asia,  and  Africa.  A 
(7ork  has  just  been  accomplished ; 
ors  our  generation,  and  will  make 


an  era  in  the  history  of  the  world.  No 
importunate  noise  of  cannon,  as  at  Port 
Said,  only  a  solemn  silence  and  a  flood 
of  dazzling  light.  It  was  grand  and 
appropriate.  The  eye  roamed  freely 
through  the  vast  space;  vast  regions 
opened  themselves  to  thought ;  the.  soul 
pierced  far  into  the  future. 

*  >ii  *  * 

Thus  I  mused  in  gorgeous  dreams 
of  the  future,  while  the  locomotive  that 
carried  me  from  Suez  tore  through  the 
yellow  sand,  flying  toward  the  rich 
valley  of  the  Nile,  toward  Cairo,  plant- 
ed with  minarets  and  ^urroimded  by 
palm-trees. 


•♦• 


A  WOMAN'S  WILES. 

Like  a  tiny  flower  she  bloomed  in  the  pleasant  eventide. 

With  a  dewdrop  on  her  petals  lightly  prest, 
Till  her  sweetness  and  her  fragrance  his  wandering  sensed  spied, 

And  ho  plucked  the  flower  and  wore  it  on  his  breast. 

Like  a  babbling  brook  she  ran  with  her  laughter  aad  her  mirth, 

Full  of  happy  talk  of  far-off  sunny  lands ; 
Bringing  rest  and  sweet  content  to  the  dried  and  panting  earth. 

Till  he  stooped  and  in  her  laved  his  weary  hands. 

Dke  a  tender  song  she  swept  through  the  chambers  of  his  brain. 

Dimly  haunting  him  with  beauty  as  she  fled, 
With  a  ravishing  sweet  sound  and  a  melancholy  strain. 

Till  he  learned  the  song  and  bore  it  in  his  head. 

'Neath  the  glowing  noonday  suns,  like  rose-leaves  soft  and  sweet 

Floating  gently  through  the  heavy  summer  air. 
Lifted  she  each  golden  curl,  scattered  blossoms  at  his  feet. 

Till  ho  bound  the  sunnj  chaplet  in  his  hair. 

'Mid  the  glories  of  the  dark,  'mid  cloud-glooms  rare  and  strange. 
Like  a  star  she  gleamed  athwart  the  deepest  night ; 

His  soul  reached  forth  and  placed  her  on  his  forehead's  haughty  range, 
And  he  stood  retrieved,  transfigured  by  her  light 


Yet,  when  day  by  day  had  gone,  and  had  brought  to  her  no  rest. 
When  each  dear  device  had  vainly  sought  to  win, 

like  a  little  dove  she  beat  'gainst  the  portals  of  his  breast, 
Till  he  opened  his  great  heart  and  took  her  in. 


844 


Putztah's  Magazibe. 


Ptol, 


A  WOMAN^S  RIGHT, 


IIL 


GOIirO  BOSCE. 


Eybry  thing  was  bright  for  ThanksgiT- 
ing.  The  white  curtains  were  newlj 
hung,  branches  of  laurel  and  hoUj, 
bright  with  scarlet  berries,  garnished 
mantel  and  pictures;  little  Sir  Don, 
the  canary,  was  trilling  a  throat- 
breaking  welcoftie  amid  a  bower  of 
greenery,  while  his  wife,  as  she 
could  not  sing,  went  plunging  into  her 
glass  bath-tub  for  joy.  Out  from  the 
pantry  issued  a  compound  of  savory 
odors,  in  which  an  epicure  could  have 
detected  the  aroma  of  roast  fowls,  of 
mince  and  pumpkin  pies,  and  spice- cakes. 

"What  have  you  brought  for  me? 
Have  you  brought  me  the  new  frock? 
I've  waited  and  waited !  "  cried  the  ex- 
cited Pansy,  her  nervous  little  fingers 
already  trying  to  open  Eirene's  satchel. 

"Is  that  all  you've  wanted?  How 
selfish  you  are,"  said  Win,  in  a  stern  tone 
of  reproof;  "  I  should  think  that  you'd 
want  to  see  Rone." 

"  I  do  want  to  see  her  as  much  as  you 
do,  Mister  Win.  But  she  promised  me  a 
frock.  You  want  to  see  what  she  has 
brouglit  you  ;  I  know  you  do." 

"No,  I  don't  want  Rene  to  spend  a 
cent  for  me.  It's  bad  enough  that  she 
has  had  to  go  away  and  work,  without 
spending  her  earnings  for  us,  Pansy." 

"  But  I  must  spend  something  for  you, 
— see  what  I  have  brought  you  I "  said 
Eirene,  her  face  all  flushed  with  happi- 
ness, as  she  took  a  little  key  from  her 
pocket  and  unlocked  the  satchel,  taking 
out  first  a  red,  rotund  volume.  "  See, 
Win,  this  is  the  bpok  you  wanted  so 
much,  *  Washington  and  his  Generals.' " 

Win's  dark  eyes  kindled.  He  did, 
want  this  book  so  very  much  1  Could  he 
find  fault  if  his  sister  had  spent  her 
money  to  gratify  this  desire  of  his  heart? 
"  O  Eirene  I  some  time  I  "  Ho  did  not 
finish  the  sentence,  but  he   thought— 


"  Some  time  I  will  repay  her,  she  alwaji 
remembers  me." 

Pansy  had  commenced  to  poot.  Whf 
should  any  body  be  remembered  bete 
tliis  little  princess  ? 

Win  had  a  book  I  Where  was  bcr 
blue  dress  ?  "  She  didn't  believe  she  bil 
any,  there !  " 

"  You  promised,  you  did  I  "  cried  thi 
child  with  a  passionate  sob. 

"  Yes,  and  liere  it  is,"  said  Eirene 
"See,  haven't  I  brought  you  a  pretty 
frock?" 

Like  a  rainbow  through  a  shower 
looked  forth  the  glittering  eyesof  tht 
child.  Pansy  had  never  bad  HMdi  i 
dress,  had  never  seen  one  even  half  to 
lovely ;  it  was  merino,  blue  as  the  sky. 

"Azure  and  amber.  See,  roothsr," 
said  the  happy  Eirene,  as  she  laid  a  soft 
fold  of  the  fabric  against  the  gold  of  tb* 
child's  hair.  "What  a  lovely  oontrvtl 
Oh,  I  must  stay  at  home  long  enon^  to 
make  it  for  you.  Pansy ;  "  and  with  ao 
impulse  of  love,  she  threw  her  artm 
around  her  sister  and  kissed  her. 

The  mother's  impulse  had  been  to  fet 
the  teakettle  in  the  polished  stove,  ^ 
draw  out  the  table  and  cover  it  with  her 
whitest  cloth ;  and  when  Eirene  looked 
around,  she  was  already  setting  some  of 
the  viands  which  her  loving  hands  had 
compounded  for  her  absent  child,  while 
she  thought  of  the  coming  of  the  most 
joyful  of  all  Thanksgiving  days. 

Just  then,  Lowell  Vale  having  paid 
his  last  necessary  attention  to  Mng^n^ 
came  in  to  behold  his  happy  household 
group. 

"See,  father!  see  my  new  dresi! 
Rene  brought  it  to  me,"  cried  the  exult* 
ant  Pansy,  as,  wrapped  in  the  blue  me* 
rino,  she  stood  perched  on  tip-toe  upon  a 
chair,  surveying  herself  in  the  lookiDg- 
glass. 

The  father's  eyes  grew  misty  as  he  took 


1870.] 


A  Woman's  Right. 


846 


the  gifts  into  his  hands  one  by  one — the 
blue  dress,  the  red  book — and  then  look- 
ed from  one  child  to  the  other.  ^'  Kene 
earned  these  for  you,"  he  said;  "will 
Pansy  ever  earn  any  thing  for  Rene  ?  " 

Pansy  had  not  thonght  of  that.  "I 
can't  work ;  Rene  c^;?,"  was  the  little 
beanty's  conclnsive  reply. 

It  seemed  a  rich  compensation  for 
separation  and  absence — the  dear  home- 
Mi  pper  that  came  after.  To  hear  her 
mother  say,  as  she  set  some  delicate  dish 
before  her,  "I  made  this  for  you; "  to 
be  the  object  of  so  much  tender  solici- 
tude, of  so  many  loving  looks  and  words, 
brought  tears  into  Eireno's  eyes.  It 
made  her  remember  the  last  four  weeks 
of  her  life,  in  which  she  had  sat  a  scarce- 
ly tolerated  presence  at  the  dismal  table 
ef  strangers. 

She  knew  that  she  had  felt  strangely 
lonely  at  that  table.  But  the  neglect 
and  unkindncss  which  she  had  received, 
came  to  her  now  as  a  positive  thought 
for  the  first  time,  forced  into  her  mind 
by  contrast  to  all  this  home-love.  The 
Woved  child,  the  unloved  stranger — she' 
knew^  now,  what  it  was  to  be  both. 

^'  Oh,  it  is  so  pleasant  to  bo  at  home 
once  more  I ''  she  said  with  overflowing 
eyes,  "  Not  but  what  I  have  had  every 
thing  necessary  at  Mr.  Mallane'^,  but  it 
is  not  like  being  with  you  all  at  home, 
you  know." 

She  forbore  to  complain ;  she  did  not 
floy  once  that  she  had  been  lonesome,  or 
homesick.  In  answer  to  all  her  mother's 
anxioos  inquiries,  she  said  that  she  had 
had  every  thing  that  she  had  needed.  She 
had  a  comfortable  room.  The  Mallanes 
were  good  people.  It  was  better  for 
her  to  be  with  the  family,  because  out 
of  the  shop,  she  had  no  one  to  disturb 
her  in  her  studies.  It  would  be  quite 
different  at  the  boarding-house,  the  girls 
were  very  gay  and  noisy.  She  did  not 
find  her  work  hard;  indeed,  she  was 
perfectly  satisfied. 

Thus  she  silenced  every  misgiving  of 
her  mother's  heart,  and  no  shadow  fell 
on  the  happy  supper  of  Thanksgiving  eve. 

"Tell  me  about  the  children," ■  said 
Pansy,  with  her  pretty  lisp.    '*  Is  Grace 
liallane  so  pretty?    Has  she  very  fine 
VOL.  V. — 23 


frocks  ?  Any  finer  than  mine  ? "  And 
the  dimpled  hand  smoothed  fondly  tho 
blue  merino,  which  she  had  laid  within 
arm's  reach,  before  sitting  down  to  her 
supper. 

Then  Eirene  told  her  sister  every 
pleasant  tiling  that  she  could  remember 
about  Grace  Mallane,  and  all  the  "  chil- 
dren,"— save  one.  Siie  scarcely  men- 
tioned Paul.  She  did  not  know  why, 
but  it  did  not  seem  easy  to  talk  of  him ; 
perhaps  because  he  was  not  at  all  a  child. 

How  long  they  lingered  around  the 
little  table  I  At  last  Eirene,  with  won- 
dronsly  smiling  eye?,  took  from  her 
pocket  her  little  purse,  and  poured  its 
contents  upon  the  table. 

"It  is  not  much,  but  there  will  be 
n^ore  another  month.  I  could  not  come 
home  for  the  first  time,  without  bringing 
Win  and  Pansy  something.  But  I  intend 
to  be  very  saving ;  and  if  you  are  pros- 
pered, father,  tho  old  place  will  be 
saved." 

"  But  what  have  you  bought  for  your- 
self, child? "  asked  the  mother,  with  the 
suggestion  of  tears  in  her  voice. 

"  Nothing,"  said  Eirene.  "  I  have  not 
needed  any  thing." 

"We  thank  God  for  our  child," said- 
Lowell  Vale,  as  soon  as  ho  could  com- 
mand his  voice ;  "  but  wo  cannot  take  all ' 
your  earnings,  Eirene.  What  you  do 
not  need,  put  in  the  bank  at  Busy  ville. 
Another  year's  crops  such  as  this  year 
has  brought  us,  and  Hillside  will  be 
saved.  If  not, — for  your  mother's  sake, 
and  your's  and  the  children's — that  we 
may  not  lose  our  home»  we  must  take 
.  what  you  have  saved ;  but  not  unless  we 
must  If  not,  it  wiU  pay  for  you  at  the 
academy  at  Busyville.  You  can  go  to 
school  a  long  time,  Eirene." 

Eirene  seeing  that  it  was  hard  for 
either  father  or  mother  to  talk  about 
money,  slipped  out  of  the  room  to  look 
for  Win.  She  proceeded  to  the  old  barn, 
within  which  she  had  seen  him  vanish  a 
few  moments  before. 

It  was  chilly  without,  but  as  she 
opened  tho  door,  tlie  air  within  seemed 
wan ''-and  sweet  with  the  smothered 
fragrance  floating  out  from  piles  of 
olovery  hay.    As  she  entered,  old  Bios- 


846 


PUTNAM^S  MaGAZINS. 


[IIM, 


Bom  and  young  Daisy,  wlio  stood  quietly 
waiting  to  be  milked,  robbed  their  noses 
against  her  hand,  and  Muggins,  in  her 
stall,  looiced  up  and  whinnied  a  welcome 
over  her  hnlf-caten  oats.  Eirene  climbed 
up  above  the  great  mounds  of  hay  into 
the  loft !  She  knew  Win's  haunts ; 
knew  that  after  the  November  rain  and 
damp  had  fallen  on  the  beloved  woods, 
his  chosen  Eonctuary  was  this  little 
chamber  in  the  loft.  It  had  one  window 
looking  out  upon  the  west;  upon  the 
great  hills  of  amethyst,  behind  which  the 
sun  went  down.  Against  the  rough 
boards  hung  Win's  rifle  and  all  the  ac- 
coutrements of  hunting.  On  the  other 
side,  some  hanging  shelves,  neatly  cov- 
ered with  paper,  were  filled  with  Win's 
books — more  relics  of  the  Yale  library. 
And  here,  with  the  pale  late  rays  of  the 
November  sun  falling  on  his  dark  hair, 
with  Hero  by  his  side,  stretched  upon 
some  fresh  hay,  lay  Win,  devouring  with 
his  eyes  "  Washington  and  his  Generals." 
He  started  half  abashed,  half  delighted, 
as  he  saw  his  sister  Eirene's  face,  her 
loving  wistful  eyes.  But  Win  wns  not 
demonstrative;  he  was  strangely  shy 
and  reticent,  even  with  those  whom  he 
know  and  loved  the  best.  The  love 
which  he  felt  for  his  sister,  Eirene,  was 
nearly  blended  with  worship.  She  was 
finer  and  lovelier  to  him  than  any  other 
being  in  the  world.  Ho  would  sit  and 
gaze  on  her  with  a  strange  mixed  feeling 
of  awe,  admiration,  and  love,  which 
could  not  bo  expressed  in  language.  It 
was  the  involuntary  reverence  for  wo- 
manhood, bom  of  the  unconscious  man- 
hood stirring  in  the  boy's  heart. 

"  Hero,  will  you  take  up  all  the  room 
when  you  see  who  has  come?"  ho  said 
to  his  dog,  as  he  jumped  up  and  made 
room  for  Eirene  on  the  hay  by  his  side. 
When  she  was  seated  he  opened  his  new 
book,  then  looking  up,  said  abruptly, 

"Rene,  do  you  think  that  there  will 
ever  be  another  war  in  this  country  ? " 

"  Why,  Win,  how  can  there  be  ?  Why 
do  you  think  of  such  a  thing  ? " 

"  Because  I  would  rather  be  a  soldier 
than  any  thing  else  in  the  world.'' 

"Oh,  Win,  how  could  I  live  and  think 
of  you  suffering  all  that  a  soldier  must  I 


I  was  reading  the  other  day  whik  Ai 
soldiers  suffered  in  tho  Crimea,  audi 
thanked  God  when  I  thought  thai  then 
never  could  be  war  in  this  couotiy. 
Enghind  will  never  trouble  us  igun 
Franco  likes  us.  Who  else  could  figbt 
this  country?" 

"  We  may  fight  each  other,  some  time^ 
Eirene.  I  never  should  have  thought  of 
such  a  thing,  but  the  other  day  I  fond 
among  the  old  books,  a  pamphlet  with 
the  great  speeches  which  Webster  nd 
Hayne  made  in  the  Senate,  in  1830— be- 
fore we  were  born.  I  read  them  throng 
and  learned  an  extract  from  each  for  i 
declamation  in  school.  There  are  se^ 
tences  in  them  which  keep  riogim 
through  my  mind.  Do  you  want  to  hett 
them,  Rene  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  his  sister,  with  a  deep  in- 
terest  kindling  through  her  eyes. 

The  boy  arose,  and  with  all  a  boy^ 
unction  of  feeling — and  less  than  moil 
boys'  stiffness  of  dcclamation-^with  t 
rich  voice  that  made  the  old  bam  riog^ 
he  exclaimed : 

"Good God!  Mr. President, has itcome 
to  this?  Do  gentlemen  estimate  the 
value  of  the  Union  at  so  low  a  price, 
that  they  will  not  even  make  one  effort 
to  bind  the  States  together  with  the 
cords  of  affection  ?  And  has  it  come  to 
this?  Is  this  the  spirit  in  which  this 
government  is  to  bo  administered?  If 
so,  let  me  tell  you,  gentlemen,  the  Beeds 
of  dissolution  are  already  sown,  and  oar 
children  will  reap  the  bitter  fruits." 

"Now  shall  I  recite  Webster's  an- 
swer?" asked  the  excited  boy.  And 
Eirene  answered  "  yes,"  gazing  on  him 
as  if  she  saw  him  in  a  dream,  when  he 
onco  more  exclaimed: 

"  I  have  not  allowed  myself.  Sir,  to 
look  beyond  the  Union  to  see  what  mijht 
be  hidden  in  the  dark  recesses  behind. 
I  have  not  coolly  weighed  the  chances  of 
preserving  liberty,  when  the  bonds  that 
unite  us  together  shall  be  broken  asan- 
dcr.    I  have  not  accustomed  myself  to 
hang  over  tho  precipice  of  disunion,  to 
see  whether  with  my  short  sight  1  can 
fathom  the  depth  of  tho  abyss  below. 

"  While  the  Union  lasts,  we  have  high, 
exciting,    gratifying    prospects    spread 


A  Woman's  Bight. 


847 


ore  us,  for  us  and  our  children. 
.  that,  I  seek  not  to  penetrate 
1.    God  grant  my  vision  never 
opened  on  what  lies  behind, 
en  my  eyes  shall  be  turned  to 

for  the  last  time,  the  sun  in 
,  may  I  not  see  him  shining  on 
Dken  and  dishonored  fragments 
30  plorious  Union  ;  on  States  dis- 
,  discordant,  belligerent ;  on  a 
nt  Avith  civil  feuds,  or  drenched 
be  with  fraternal  blood! 

their  last  feeble  and  lingering 
rather,  behold  the  gorgeous  en- 

the  Republic,  now  known  and 
1  throughout  the  earth — still  full 
Ivanced,  its  arms  and  trophies 
ng  in  their  original  lustre,  not  a 
erased  or  polluted,  nor  a  single 
jcured — ^bearing  for  its  motto  no 
iserablo  interrogatory  as,  WTiat  is 
worth  f  Nor  those  other  words 
]sion  and  folly  —  Liberty  first, 
ion  afterwards;  but  everywhere 
all  over  in  characters  of  living 
izing  on  all  its  ample  folds,  as  they 
er  the  sea  and  over  the  land,  and 
f  wind  under  the  whole  heavens, 
ther  sentiment,  true  to  every 
an  heart — Liberty  and  Union, 
d  forever,  one  and  inseparable !  " 
w  you  feel  all  this,"  said  Eirene, 
sat  down,  with  the  perspiration 
face  and  a  scarlet  spot  on  his 
"  I  have  never  thouj^ht  of  any 
i  things.  All  that  I  have  thought 
country  ^s,  that  it  is  beautiful, 
eat,  and  free,  and  must  always 

as  it    is    now  —  only  growing 

• 

b  I  have  thought  a  great  deal 
rou,  Win,  and  about  your  future 
vant  you  to  go  to  college.  I  want 
study  a  profession,  and  be  happy 
cessful.  I  am  going  to  help  you : 
der  than  you,  you  know." 
ene,  I  don't  want  you  to  help  me. 
boy,  and  onght  to  bo  able  to  help 
But  I  have  heard  father  say 

Vale  has  been  successful  for  gen- 
9.    I  don't  know  whether  I  could 

in  the  world  any  better  than 
)r  not;  but  I  know  that  I  could 
idier,  and  fight  for  my  country." 


**  But,  Win,  if  the  great  words  which 
you  have  just  spoken  should  come  true, 
you  would  have  to  fight  against  your 
own  countrymen.  TJiat  would  bo  dread- 
ful." 

"  My  own  countrymen  ?  They  would 
not  be  my  own  countrymen  if  they  had 
broken  the  Union.  I  think  it  would  be 
splendid  to  fight  for  thaV* 

"  I  hope  it  will  never  need  your  life, 
Win.  You  have  been  reading  *  Wash- 
ington and  his  Generals '  till  you  want 
to  be  a  hero.  You  can  be  heroic  without 
a  war." 

"Rene,  you  think  that  the  Union  will 
never  come  to  an  end,"  said  Win,  still 
pervaded  by  Webster  and  Hayne. 
"Don't  you  remember,  in  the  histories 
that  we  read  last  winter,  each  one  of  the 
old  republics  had  something  in  it  which 
destroyed  it  ? " 

"  Yes ;  but  they  were  heathen  repub- 
lics.   This  is  a  Christian  nation,  Win." 

*'  Yes,  I  suppose  it  is,"  said  Win,  du- 
biously. "  But  it  don't  seem  to  me  very 
Christian.  Its  great  men  are  fighting 
all  the  time,  I  should  think  by  the  newa- 
papers.  The  South  has  grown  rich  and 
saucy  living  on  negroes ;  and  the  North 
has  grown  rich  and  greedy  on  manufac- 
tures and  trade.  We  arc  down  on  the 
South  for  its  Slavery ;  and  the  South  is 
down  on  us  for  our  Tariff.  We  pity  the 
ignorant  Southerners,  and  they  despise 
us  peddling  Yankees;  and  we'll  come 
to  a  fight  some  day,  or  I  don't  under- 
stand what  I  read." 

"Don't  you  think  that  we  are  too 
young  to  understand  these  great  ques- 
tions, or  to  tell  what  is  going  to  happen? 
If  this  country  is  ever  to  be  torn  by  war, 
I  don't  want  to  think  of  it  till  I  must. 
Let  us  talk  of  something  cheerful.  Win." 

"  I  don't  want  to  make  you  feel  bad, 
Rene,  and  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what 
will  happen  to  the  country.  But  the 
only  thing  I  feel  sure  of  is,  that  some 
day  I  shall  be  a  soldier." 

There  was  a  strange  commingling  of 
incredulity  and  sorrow  in  Eirene's  gaze 
as  Win  uttered  these  words. 

The  possibility  of  Win's  being  a  sol-  ' 
dier  had  never  entered  her  mind.    She 
did  not  believe  that  he  would  ever  be 


848 


PuTNAii's  MAaAzonc 


OUifk 


one,  yet  the  mere  snggestioii  was 
enough  to  fill  her  eyes  with  a  brooding 
sadness. 

As  they  sat,  gazing  upon  each  other, 
they  looked  strangely  alike — this  boy 
and  girL  Win's  forehead  was  brown, 
his  cheeks  bronzed  by  exposure ;  while 
Eirene's  low  brow  was  white,  and  on  her 
cheek  trembled  the  delicate  bloom  of  the 
blush-rose.  But  both  had  the  same  wavy 
hair  of  nutty -brown,  touched  with  gold, 
and  the  same  mouth,  in  whose  exquisite 
curves  trembled  all  the  sensibility,  the 
purity  of  an  entire  race.  Their  eyes,  too, 
were  as  the  eyes  of  one  face  —  in  their 
oneness  of  expression  consisted  the  re- 
markable Ukeness  which  each  bore  to  the 
other.  They  were  the  Vale  eyes,  of  a 
limpid  brown,  winsome  and  winning. 
They  were  not  melancholy  eyes,  for  they 
overflowed  with  light — not  with  the 
light  which  exults  and  triumphs,  but 
rather  that  which  hopes  and  believes— 
the  light  which  kindles  the  eyes  of  mar- 
tyrs and  of  saints.  They  were  not  rest- 
less, anxious  eyes,  they  were  serene  in 
their  very  wistfulness,  yet  they  had  a 
deep,  far  gaze,  an  if  looking  on  toward 
something  distant,  for  some  joy  that 
they  had  missed,  or  for  some  treasure 
which  they  had  never  found ;  not  that 
these  young  lives  wore  consdous  of  any 
such  longing,  but  their  eyes  reflected 
the  souls  of  their  ancestors.  It  was  as 
if  Aubrey  and  Alice,  and  Lowell  and 
Mary  Vale,  were  all  looking  out  from 
the  eyes  of  these  children.  They  were 
sealed  with  the  family  soul,  they  were 
signs  of  the  family  fate.  Superlative 
eyes,  suflfiiscd  with  soft  sunshine,  they 
still  suggested  sadness  rather  than  smiles. 
In  their  deep  lovingness  they  drew  hearts 
toward  them  like  magnets,  yet  in  their 
too  deep  tenderness  you  read  the  pro- 
phecy of  tearSj  not  of  triumph. 

As  they  sat,  the  setting  sun  sent  his 
last  rays  above  the  hills.  They  poured 
through  the  little  window  of  the  barn, 
and  covered  the  children  sitting  upon 
the  hay  with  glory.  Through  the  chinks 
of  the  loose  boards  they  floated  in,  and 
for  a  moment  seemed  suspended  in  the 
form  of  a  cross  over  their  heads.  "Was 
it  the  augury  of  destiny? 


TWO    OB  CMS. 

That  same  sunset  which  made  the 
old  barn-loft  glitter  like  the  chamber  of 
a  palace,  lit  up  the  venerable  walls  and 
windows  of  old  Harvard  just  as  two 
young  men  met  in  one  of  the  innmIM^ 
able  walks  which  intersect  each  other  ii 
the  grounds  of  the  University. 

"  WeU,  old  boy,  you  have  come  at  last," 
said  one,  as  he  switched  the  sleeve  of 
the  other  with  a  rattan  cane ;  he  was  i 
small,  fashionably-dressed,  hUuS  yonm 
man.    "Justin?" 

"Yes,  in  the  last  train,^'  answered 
Paul  Mallane,  who,  from  his  altitude  of 
six  feet,  looked  down  upon  his  inagnif- 
icant  companion,  as  handsome  and  at 
nonchalant  as  ever. 

"Why  didn't  you  stay  up-coontry all 
winter,  and  be  done  with  it?  Yoa hare 
stayed  so  deuced  long  I  have  made  op 
my  mind  that  something  has  been  to 
pay.  Come,  now!  Why  haven't  yoa 
been  in  more  of  a  d — ^1  of  a  hurry  I " 

"I  thought  rd  stay  and  help  my 
Governor  take  inventories  and  cast  lOr 
counts." 

"  A  likely  story  I  You've  been  toaclh 
ed,  I  know.  Nothing  but  a  girl  oooU 
have  kept  you  so  lung  in  a  town  that  yoa 
curse.  And  the  term  commenced,  and 
all  your  chums  eating  nice  little  sap- 
pers, and  enjoying  all  sorts  of  nicelittk 
pleasures.  V\\  swear  tliat  nothing  hot  a 
girl  conld  have  kept  you  from  us  a  whole 
month." 

"Pshaw,  Dick,  I  am  not  always chaa* 
ing  a  girl's  shadow,  because  you  are. 
You  don't  believe,  tlscn,  that  I  have 
turned  dutiful  son,  and  have  been  post- 
ing my  father's  books  ? " 

"Not  I.  Come,  my  boy,  you  may 
just  as  well  own  up  first  as  last.  Yon 
want  ray  advice;  yon  know  you  do. 
Who  is  it?  Not  pretty  TiUy?  She'd 
never  wake  you  up.  Come,  now  I" 
And  the  wise  old-young  man  slipped 
his  arm  into  Paul's,  and  they  sauntered 
on  toward  the  colleges. 

"You  are  a  bore,  Dick  Proscott,  yet  I 
suppose  that  I  do  need  your  advice,"  said 
Paul,  in  a  half  annoyed,  half  impatient 
tone.  "  I  want  you  to  suppose  a  case. 
Suppose  you  sliould  meet  a  young  lady, 


1870.] 


A  Woman's  Rigiit. 


840 


to  you  exquisitely  lovely,  not  handsome 
in  just  the  ilesb-and-blood  sense,  but  in 
figure,  in  coloring,  in  expression,  and  in 
manners  to  you  perfectly  lovely  " — here 
Paul  paused  as  if  he  were  interrupted. 

"  I  have  it ;  *  to  you  perfectly  lovely ! ' 
Go  on,  I  am  supposing  the  case,"  said 
Dick,  • 

"  Well,  suppose  you  should  meet  her 
in  a  place,  and  in  company  utterly  at 
variance  with  her  nature,  in  the  midst 
of  a  crowd  of  ignorant,  noisy  girls.  Sup- 
pose that  you  should  meet  her  in 

well,  in  your  father's  shop:  what  would 
yon  do?'* 

Dick  Prescott  broke  into  a  loud 
laugh.  "Prince  Mallano,"  he  said,  "I 
did  not  think  that  you  could  be  such  a 
spooney." 

**I  don't  know  why  you  should  call 
tne  a  spooney,"  Paul  replied,  angrily; 
**I  have  only  asked  you  to  suppose  a 
case." 

"  Suppose  a  case  ?  I  can't  suppose  any 
such  case.  I  can  suppose  a  perfect  lady, 
and  a  perfect  beauty;  but  I  can't  sup- 
pose her  at  work  in  a  shop  in  the  midst 
of  a  pack  of  noisy,  ignorant  girls.  It's 
all  in  your  eye,  Prince.  She  is  just  like 
all  the  rest,  only  yon  are  touched." 

"  Touched  I  by  heaven,  I  am  touched, " 
exclaimed  Paul,  in  a  passion.  'Tve 
never  been  in  love  in  my  life — although 
Fve  tried  to  be,  hard  enough.  I  am  not 
in  love  now;  but  I  am  haunted  by  a 
face.  Her  eyes  follow  mo  wherever  I 
go.  If  I  have  a  mean  thought  it  seems 
as  if  she  saw  it,  and  the  pure  face  makes 
me  ashamed  and  uncomfortable; — but 
only  uncomfortable  when  I  feel  that  I 
am  mean  and  unworthy.  No  woman's 
fiice  ever  made  me  feel  so  before.  I 
can't  get  rid  of  the  look  in  her  eyes. 
Bat  then  I  have  not  tried  very  hard.  I 
am  willing  to  own  up,  I  have  stayed  in 
Bnsyvillo  a  whole  month,  just  to  look 
at  it." 

"  Do  you  think  mo  verdant  enough  to 
believe  that  f  "  asked  Dick.  **  You  have 
made  love,  and  proposed  an  elopement,  I 
will  bet  my  head." 

"  Then  you  will  lose  it.  I  spoke  to  her 
the  first  day  I  went  into  the  shops,  but  it 
was  before  I  saw  her  face.    I  wanted  to 


see  what  she  was  like.  She  turned  and 
looked,  and  her  surprise  and  her  face 
made  mo  so  ashamed  of  my  impertinence 
that  I  never  more  than  bowed  to  her 
afterwards.  You  may  laugh  if  you 
please ;  I  am  telling  the  truth.  As  we 
were  situated  I  could  not  meet  her  as  I 
did  other  ladies ;  and  I  would  not,  in- 
deed I  could  not,  talk  to  her  as  I  did  to 
the  rest  of  the  shop-girls." 

*'  Well,  Prince,  I  never  expected  to  see 
you  so  far  gone.  That's  all  I  have  to 
say.    What  do  you  propose  to  do?  " 

"That's  just  it.  What  am  I  to  do? 
To  me  she  is  a  lady  ;  to  every  body  else 
she  is  a  shop-girl.  I  don't  go  with  shop- 
girls, I  can't  go  with  her;  it  would 
drive  my  mother  mad.  Besides,  I  can't 
afford  it  I  am  not  an  only  son,  like 
you,  Dick.  I  shall  only  have  an  eighth 
of  my  Governor's  money ;  and  he  is  not 
a  millionaire,  like  your  parental  relative. 
I  am  not  going  to  begin  life  in  any 
shabby  way ;  I  must  marry  either  posi- 
tion or  a  fortune  when  I  do  marry.  Con- 
found it !  I  can  never  propose  to  this  lit- 
tle girl,  if  I  want  to.  Not  that  I  am  at 
all  sure  that  I  shall  ever  want  to,  bnt 
it  maddens  me  to  think  that  I  can't,  if  I 
do.  One  thing  I  never  could  bear — that 
is,  to  be  balked." 

"Mallane,  you  talk  like  an  idiot.  I 
never  before  suspected  you  of  being 
such  a  fool,"  said  Dick.  "  You  can't  pro- 
pose to  this  belle  of  the  shops,  of  course 
you  can't.  Of  course  you  don't  want  to ; 
you  wouldn't  if  you  could.  You  are  only 
mad  at  the  fact  that  you  can't,  that's 
all.  You  cannot  perpetrate  matrimony, 
but  you  can  amuse  yourself  that's 
enough  better.  You  can  make  her  be- 
lieve that  you  are  going  to  marry  her ; 
the  excitement  of  such  fun  will  be  worth 
a  dozen  weddings.  When  yon  are  tired 
of  it,  leave  her  (she  will  get  over  it),  and 
take  somebody  el«e.  If  you  married 
her — think  of  it  I  you'd  have  to  stare  at 
her  at  least  three  hundred  and  sixty-five 
times  a-year  for  the  rest  of  your  life,  no 
matter  how  much  she  bored  you.  Take 
my  advice — amuse  yourself,  my  boy.  I'd 
like  to  know  what  tbe  d — ^1  is  to  pay 
that  I  have  to  exhort  Prince  Mallane  to 
amuse  himself.    It  is  the  first  time." 


860 


PUTKAH^S  MA6AZi:nE. 


Pta*^ 


"  Dick  Prescott,  I  feel  as  if  I  coald 
knock  you  down.  You  fLow  that  you 
know  nothing  of  my  case,  when  you 
name  her  in  sucli  connections.  Yet,  I 
suppose  I  shoukl  have  talked  just  the 
same  a  month  ago.  I  have  amused  my- 
self, and  perhaps  I  may  again.  But  it 
would  be  easier  for  me  to  cut  off  my  hand 
than  to  trifle  with  this  girl.  She  seems 
so  lifted  above  all  evil,  that  I  feel  ashamed 
of  myself  every  time  I  come  into  her 
presence.  I  feel  like  an  inferior  being,  I 
do  I  You  may  lauph  if  you  want  to, 
but  I  am  inferior,  and  so  are  you.  When 
we  think  of  all  the  disgraceful  things 
that  we  have  done,  we  ought  to  stand 
abashed  in  the  presence  of  such  purity. 
Yet  you  dare  ask  mo  to  amuse  myself  I 
Trifle  with  her  I  No;  I  never  saw  a 
lady  at  Marlboro  Hill,  nor  anywhere  else, 
that  I  would  treat  with  more  considera- 
tion. I  used  to  think  that  I  could  talk 
agreeably  to  women.  I  can,  can't  I? 
But  this  innocent  girl  has  taken  a 
little  of  the  vanity  out  of  me.  I  have 
not  the  slightest  reason  to  suppose  that 
she  even  admires  me.  The  flattery 
which  I  deal  out  to  other  girls  of  her 
condition,  would  serve  me  no  purpose 
with  her.  I  should  stammer  and  forget 
all  my  fine  speeches,  the  moment  I  looked 
in  her  eyes.'' 

"  Mallane,  I  told  you  you  were  touch- 
ed. I  knew  that ;  but,  by  Jupiter  I  you 
are  clear  gone.  You  are  dead  in  love. 
You  rave  like  a  madman,"  replied  Dick 
Prescott,  as  ho  looked  up  into  his  chum's 
face  with  a  surprised  and  quizzical  ex- 
pression. "  I  think  you  are  past  my  ad- 
vice, but  ril  give  it;  you  may  do  as  you 
please  about  taking  it." 

"  I  am  aware  of  that,"  answered  Paul 
haughtily.  "  You  can't  give  advice 
where  you  can't  even  suppose  a  case. 
Every  word  you  say  only  convinces  me 
the  more,  that  you  have  no  concei)tion 
of  the  loveliness  and  purity  of  the  one 
that  I  have  tried  to  describe  to  you." 

"  Oh,  your  loveliness  and  purity  be 
hanged  1  Your  sentiment  don't  go  down 
with  me,  Prince.  I  know  too  much  of 
the  world  and  of  women.  You  are  snppy. 
You  betray  the  fact  that  you  are  from  the 
rural  districts.   After  all  my  instruction*, 


you  haven't  learned  the  world,  MalliBe, 
nor  women.  Let  me  tell  yon  again,  tbcj 
are  all  alike.  There  was  never  one  Bioce 
Eve  that  could  not  be  reached  by  flit* 
tery.  You  have  let  this  little  plebeian  m 
that  you  are  smitten.  She  has  been  nsioi 
her  power,  by  making  you  feel  that  j« 
musf  get  down  upon  your  kneesL  But 
don't  tell  7724;  that  she  can't  be  flatteredl 
A  smaller  quantity  and  finer  quality  she 
may  demand,  I  admit.  But  all  yon  want 
is  tact  and  insight,  to  administer  to  ber 
case  and  be  master  of  the  situation. 
You  need  not  tell  her  so  outright ;  there 
are  a  thousand  ways  by  which  yoa  ctn 
make  her  believe  that  yon  think  ber  the 
loveliest  of  her  sex.  Make  her  feel  that 
you  remember  her.  In  short,  make 
yourself  necessary  to  her,  and  then  show 
her  that  you  are  perfectly  able  to  lire 
without  her.  And  Paul,  my  boy,  the 
game  is  yours." 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for 
your  instructions,  although  I  have  hetrf 
them  all  several  times  before,  and  th^ 
don't  apply  in  this  case,"  said  Paul  cdd- 
ly.  "  I  have  made  all  your  movei  and 
won  my  game  more  than  once.  Thiy 
might  vfm  all  other  women,  but  they 
won't  her.  No  sham  will  live  in  her 
presence.  Any  thing  short  of  utter  sin- 
cerity, would  shrink  before  the  truth  in 
those  eyes.  I  sha'n't  do  a  thing  Ihrt 
you've  told  me." 

"  Very  well,  then,  don't  come  to  me 
again  for  advice.  You  are  as  unreason- 
able as  a  donkey.  The  trouble  is,  it  is 
a  foregone  thing.  You  are  in  love  al- 
ready, and  won't  listen  to  common  sense 
till  you  are  out  of  it." 

"  No,  I  am  not  in  love,  and  I  don't  in- 
tend to  make  love.  I  have  made  up  my 
mind  not  to  tike  any  advantage  of  this 
girl,  never  to  arouse  any  hopes  ia  ber 
life,  that  my  position  will  not  allow  me 
to  fulfil,  even  allowing  that  I  could  teach 
her  to  like  me ;  and  I  am  not  sure  of 
that,"  added  Paul,  with  a  strange  touch 
of  humility.  "  I  will  do  her  justice,  antl 
all  the  more  because  she  is  so  poor, — ^but 
I  am  not  in  love  with  her ;  I  want  you 
to  understand  that,  Dick." 

**  Oh,  no,  you  are  not  at  all  in  love.    I 
understand  that.    But  do  you  know  how 


1870.] 


AMERIOAyS — AND  80MS  OF  TUEIB  OhABA.CTERISTICS. 


851 


many  times  you  Lavo  contradicted  your- 
Belf  since  you  commenced  to  talk  about 
this  girl  ? " 

**No,  and  I  don't  care.  I  only  know 
that  I  have  told  the  truth.    She — " 

"  There !  dou't  begin  to  enumerate  her 


perfections  again,  Prince,  or  we  shall 
never  get  out  of  this  yard.  I  am  going 
to  Marlboro.    Will  you  go,  too  ?  " 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  Paul,  "I  am 
going  to  my  room ;"  and  he  set  his  face 


toward  Cambridge. 


•♦•- 


AMERICANS— AND  S03IE  OF  THEIR  CHARACTERISTICS. 


The  physical  development  of  the 
American  is  a  type  quite  as  distinct  as 
his  intellectual  development.  It  forms  a 
highly  individualized  portrait  in  the 
gallery  of  the  world's  faces.  The  trav- 
€jller  does  not  need  to  examine  the  dress 
of  the  Scotchman  or  of  the  Italian  to 
determine  his  habitat ;  and  the  phydque 
of  the  American  is  not  less  indicative 
of  his  nationality. 

Let  me  inquire,  first,  What  is  the 
American-Caucasian  type  ?  and  sec- 
ond. What  causes  have  produced  it  ? 

One  characteristic  of  the  American 
physique  is  the  dominance  of  the  bony 
over  the  muscular  and  glandular  sys- 
tems. The  American  is  tJiin^  as  com- 
pared with  the  European  of  equal  stat- 
Dre.  The  British  are  the  bulkiest  of 
the  European  Aryan  races,  the  French 
the  lightest,  yet  they  are  heavier,  pro- 
portionally, as  the  statistics  of  armies 
show,  than  ourselves.  Even  the  Italians, 
who  owing  to  poverty  arc  the  most  un- 
derfed of  all  civilized  nations,  are  obese 
in  contrast  ^vith  the  average  American. 

2.  There  is  an  especial  frequency  of 
the  cerebral  or  nervous  temperament 
among  Americans.  The  physical  fea- 
tures of  tills  temperament — ^the  large 
and  active  brain,  the  diminutive  lower 
jaw  and  slender  neck,  the  fair  or  pale 
complexion  and  light  hair,  are  especial- 
ly observable  in  the  United  States.  In 
Great  Britain  the  ratio  of  dark-haired 
and  dark-complexioned  persons  to  those 
of  the  light  or  auburn  typo  is  not  less 
than  five  to  one.  In  America,  from 
what  statistics  and  observations  I  have 
been  able  to  gather  on  this  subject,  it  is 
not  more  than  three  to  one.  The  blonde 
complexions  are  noticeably  more  fre- 


quent among  us  than  in  the  parent 
country. 

8.  There  is  in  America  an  exquisite  de- 
velopment, though  but  for  a  limited 
period  in  the  case  of  each  individual, 
of  the  beauty  of  the  female  face.  This 
has  been  somewhat  exaggerated  by  par- 
tial observers ;  but  the  fact  is  unques- 
tionable. Especial  beauty  has  not  been 
claimed  for  American  men ;  but  the 
beauty  of  American  women  is  admitted 
throughout  Europe.  It  is,  however,  too 
often  a  beauty  of  the  face  rather  than 
of  the  figure  ;  and,  based  upon  a  nerv- 
ous and  insucculent  physical  organiza- 
tion, it  seldom  survives  the  period  of 
early  youth.  Maternity  is  nearly  always 
fatal  to  it.  Marriage,  in  our  country, 
more  frequently  withdraws  the  wife 
from  society  than,  as  in  Europe,  intro- 
duces her  to  a  larger  and  more  genial 
enjoyment  of  the  world.  Distinctly 
reversing  the  normal  social  relation,  we 
too  often  rank  the  maiden,  in  social 
consideration,  above  the  wife ;  and  for 
this  reason  even  marriage  too  often 
proves  to  be  a  sombre  cloud  that 
quenches  the  morning-beam  of  the 
American  girPs  beauty.  Except  in  our 
most  cultured  circles,  the  married  wom- 
an, however  young,  loses  a  certain  de- 
gree of  social  value  after  the  honey- 
moon is  spent.  The  comparative  isola- 
tion and  the  peculiarly  harassing  cares 
of  American  domestic  life  tell  the  more 
speedily  upon  the  delicate  beauty  which 
was  lately  so  brilliant ;  and  the  evanes- 
cent charm  that  had  invested  the  un- 
married girl  does  not  survive  her  trans- 
formation into  a  sallow  and  anxious 
wife.  American  maidens,  not  American 
matrons,  have  established  our  national 


869 


PUTNAIC^S  HaOAZIKB. 


[Mil* 


repatation  for  beauty.  Their  blooming 
reign  is  brief.  A  librarian  in  one  of  our 
most  popular  public  libraries,  "who  has 
long  enjoyed  the  opportunity  of  observ- 
ing, from  year  to  year,  great  numbers 
of  the  same  faces  among  the  lady-reacl- 
ers,  estimates  the  average  duration  of 
this  fragile  loveliness  at  less  than  three 
years.-  He  assures  me  that  the  young 
woman  who  appears  in  the  perfect 
bloom  of  physical  beauty  to-day  will, 
especially  if  she  should  marry  within 
that  period,  generally  lose,  before  its 
close,  nearly  all  that  had  made  her  face 
especially  attractive  at  its  beginning, 
and  then  appear,  not  three,  but  six, 
eight,  or  ten  years  older.  The  European 
woman,  on  the  contrary,  increases  her 
social  consideration  by  marriage,  and 
expects  to  lose  nothing  of  her  personal 
charm.  It  is  in  Germany,  France,  or 
England,  not  in  America,  that  we  look 
for  the  queens  of  society  among  women 
of  advanced  age,  for  those  highly  vital- 
ized and  magnetic  feminine  natures  that 
retain  their  power  to  please  in  apparent 
defiance  of  the  course  of  years — that 
grace  society  and  command  the  sin- 
cerest  homage  at  the  age  of  seventy. 

4.  The  American  physique,  though 
wiry,  alert,  and  full  of  nerve-power,  is 
not  well  lubricated ;  has  an  insufficient 
fund  of  animal  life ;  is  not  thoroughly 
charged  with  that  intrinsic  vitality 
which  generally  underlies  the  finest 
mental  and  spiritual  development.  Let 
us  bear  to  hear  the  truth  in  this  matter. 
It  is  a  mistake  to  regard  a  lusty  physi- 
cal growth  as  undesirable.  A  great 
mind  is  connected,  much  more  frequent- 
ly than  is  generally  supposed,  with  a 
great  body.  A  thousand  men  of  char- 
acter and  talent  will  weigh  more  and 
stand  higher  in  feet  and  inches,  than  a 
thousand  common  men  taken  at  ran- 
dom from  the  street.  The  body  of  the 
American  is,  as  yet,  too  slight  and  arid ; 
it  has  not  a  suflicient  physical  basis  of 
protoplasm  and  of  muscular  cells.  It  is 
an  insucculent  physique.  It  resembles 
an  herb  that  has  lately  been  transplant- 
ed, rather  than  the  lush  and  luxuriant 
growths  that  spring  up  and  bourgeon 
in  their  native  soil. 


I  will  not  here  discuss  whether  en- 
tain  advantages  may  not  inhere  in  fbk 
type   of    organization;      but,   having 
briefly  defined  its  defects,  will  past  to 
the  second  and  main  branch  of  the  sab- 
jcct,   and   inquire  into  some   of  the 
causes    which   have    produced   these 
defects. 

1.   The  first  cause  of  what  I  hare 
called  the  American   phyncal  ingtuem" 
lence  is  to  be  found  in  the  circnmwtmoe 
that  w^e  arc  a  race  of  immigrants.    Tlae 
American  bears  no  relation  of  develof^ 
nient  to  the  continent  he  inhabits.    He 
is  not  its  original,  own  growth ;  he  if  a 
transplanted  germ  or  cutting.    But  the 
process  of  transplantation  is  easentiaUy 
hurtful,  for  the  time,  to  any  growing 
organization ;  and  this  is  equally  tiw 
whether  the  new  soil  be  better  or  poonr 
than  the  old  one;  whether  it  beaplint; 
an  animal,  or  a  colony  that  snfien  de- 
racination.    In  either  case  there  it  tbe 
same  disturbance  of  established  fane- 
tions  and  relations,  and  the  same  con- 
sequent check  to  growth  by  the  diT«<- 
sion,  for  a  time,  of  developmental  forcci 
to  the  lower  function  of  merely  svf 
taining  life.    Transplanting  is  equally 
severe  a  shock  to  either  human  or  vege- 
table growth.    A  colonizing  coimtiy— 
and  such  is  ours  to-day,  as  I  am  tbonk 
to  show,  even  in  its  oldest  regions— is,  to   • 
pursue  the  figure,  the  strict  analogue  of 
a  horticulturist's  nursery.      The   new 
organisms   find    themselves    unrooted, 
unshaded,  strangers  in  the  soil  and  cli- 
mate ;   and  however  well  adapted  the 
soil  and  the  climate  may  be  to  their 
final  development,  it  must  necessarily 
be  long  before   they  can  fully    avafl 
themselves  of  the  new  conditions^  and 
exchange  the  pallid  hues  and  sickly 
growth  of  an  imperfect  nutrition  for 
the  splendid  stamina  and  succulence  of 
a  deeply-rooted  life. 

I  have  said  that  Americans  are,  not 
merely  that  they  or  their  ancestors  hoH 
leaif  a  migrating  nation.  Though  we 
define  the  American  citizen  as  one 
born  upon  American  ground,  we  must 
remember  that  the  process  of  colonial 
assimilation  is  secular;  and  that  one, 
two,  or  three  generations  may  fail  to 


AliXmOAKS — AND  60UB  OF  THEIB  ChABACTEBIBTICB. 


858 


mmigrant  nation  completely 
I  conditions  of  soil,  climate, 
barbarism,  which  he  encoun- 
t  a  change  from  the  Qerman 
the  British  meadows,  that 
ihed  with  the  pencil  rather 
the  plough,"  to  the  Western 
3ut  this  is  not  all.  The 
K)m  citizen  is  still  essentially 
t.  He  is  hardly  less  a  wan- 
istinct  and  by  habit,  even  in 

cities,  than  his  ancestors 
the  Western  wildernesses 
penetrated  by  the  pioneers, 
their  little  clearings,  gather- 
them  a  few  of  the  comforts 
.  life,  and  then  moved  on- 
the  depths  of  the  forest,  to 
srocess  as  long  as  their  rest- 
lonld  last. 

ligration  of  the  Americans 
sast  constantly  westward," 
ancis  Liebcr,  "is  a  circum- 
hich  the  history  of  no  other 
rds  a  parallel."  Precisely 
onding  process,  however,  is 

on  among  us.  The  same! 
pirit  displays  itself  in  the 
ange  of  domicile  which  is  a 
ic  feature  of  American  city- 
llier  people  in  the  world  are 
IS  ourselves  by  the  spirit  of 
)  other  civilized  people  re- 
>rt  a  time,  whether  in  town 
,  in  a  particular  home  or 
Biness.  "  Moving-day  "  is  a 
ic  institution  of  America, 
keeping  Scotch  and  English 
)ur  local  impermanence  as  a 
ability  in  the  national  char- 

• 

New  England,  indeed,  does 
don  seem  to  have  stricken  its 
[  deeply  into  the  soiL  The 
has  really  made  himself 
it  home  in  his  country.  New 
fe  has  a  local  flavor,  has  de- 
type.  Tet  cmigpration  from 
nd  is  large  and  constant. 
America  may  be  compared, 
.  the  "  AlkaU  Plats  "  of  its 
West,  and  the  reactions  of 
ion  to  a  strong  acid  poured 
ise.    The  result  is  a  secular 


effervescence ;  and  the  tossing,  boiling, 
surging  solution  of  humanity  will  not 
come  to  rest  until  the  chemic  harmony 
shall  be  complete,  and  the  turbid  mix- 
ture, throwing  down  its  precipitates, 
shall  clarify  itself  and  become  the 
elixir  of  national  life  and  growth. 

But  other  causes  remain  to  be  pointed 
out  for  our  national  characteristics. 
Transplantation  accounts  for  a  part  of 
them ;  but  a  nation  or  an  individual 
soon  recovers  from  the  shock  of  trans- 
plantation, provided  that  the  new  soil 
be  fitting.  How  docs  it  happen  that 
the  American  physique  remains  fitted 
less  for  those  long  and  systematic  exer- 
tions that  insure  triumph  by  persist- 
ence, whether  in  the  strife  of  intellect 
or  of  muscle,  the  competitions  of  sci- 
ence or  of  a  boat-race,  than  for  the 
intense  but  transient  efforts  which  char- 
acterize so  much  of  our  success?  Is 
there  any  intrinsic  defect  in  the  country 
or  the  climate  which  we  inhabit  ? 

Europe  has,  after  the  slow  evolution 
of  thousands  of  centuries,  produced  Eu- 
ropeans and  European  institutions  as 
its  resultant  crop  :  as  the  vine  produces 
grapes,  as  the  palm-tree  dates,  so  the 
old-world  continents  have  borne,  and 
still  bear,  not  barbarians  or  savages,  but 
their  wonderful  fruit  of  arts,  religions, 
sciences,  and  men.  The  Vatican,  the 
music  of  Beethoven,  the  piety  of  Savo- 
narola, the  ineffable  cathedrals,  Titian, 
Columbus,  Eepler,  Dante,  Shakespeare, 
all  these  are  the  natural  production  and 
outgrowth  of  Europe.  America  itself, 
its  discovery  and  civilization,  is  an  Eu- 
ropean achievement. 

What  was  the  natural  production, 
outgrowth,  and  achievement  of  America 
at  the  time  when  Europe  had  done 
these  things  ? 

It  was  a  red  Indian — the  North 
American  savage.  This  was  all  that  the 
unaided  forces  of  the  virgin  continent 
had  accomplished.  The  science,  culture, 
character  that  have  since  been  developed 
here  are  late  exotica — ^have  been  trans- 
planted hither  from  other  fields. 

This  comparative  backwardness  in 
natural  development  may  be  partially 
explained  by  a  vast  difference  in  the 


854 


FUTKAH^B  MaGAZIBB. 


[Maif^ 


antiquity  of  the  so-called  "old"  and 
"  new  "  worlds.  The  nations  that  have 
the  start  by  thousands  of  years  will, 
other  conditions  of  development  being 
equal,  appear  first,  in  any  given  time,  in 
the  human  race.  But,  setting  aside  the 
inquiry  into  tlie  comparative  ages  of 
the  Eastern  and  the  Western  nation, 
let  us  ask  whether  there  is  not  also  an 
immense  diflerence  in  the  conditions  of 
development,  whether  climatic  or  other, 
^at  respectively  inhere  in  Europe  and 
America.  Is  tlicre  no  other  present 
drawback  than  that  of  youth  to  Ameri- 
can civilization  ? 

Buckle,  in  his  "  History  of  Civiliza- 
tion," cuumcrates  four  agencies  by 
which  the  development  of  the  human 
race  is  most  powerfully  affected.  They 
are  Climate,  Food, 'Soil,  and  the  Qenend 
Aspect  of  Nature  as  determining  na- 
tions either  toward  scientific  progress 
or  toward  superstition.  Of  these  agen- 
cies, the  first  is  probably  the  more 
important,  whether  as  a  developing  or 
a  repressing  agency.  The  eastern  slopes 
of  all  the  continents  and  islands  in  the 
northern  hemisphere  are  colder  than  the 
western ;  but  the  western  slopes  of 
Korth  America,  which,  in  their  southern 
regions,  are  suflSciently  warm  for  the 
highest  fertility,  arc  deficient  in  irriga- 
tion. No  part,  therefore,  of  the  North 
American  continent  presents  the  most 
favorable  physical  conditions  for  a  high 
spontaneous  development  of  mankind. 
The  causes  which  produce  the  severity 
of  the  climates  of  the  eastern  continen- 
tal slopes  are  not  fully  understood.  One 
of  them,  however,  which  is  mainly  in- 
fluential in  determining  the  climate  of 
our  own  Atlantic  sea-board,  is  well 
known.  It  is  the  privative  influence  of 
that  vast  oceanic  current  which  bears 
the  warmth  of  the  equatorial  stream 
post  our  shores  instead  of  to  them,  and 
discharges  it  upon  the  coasts  of  north- 
cm  Europe.  The  American  may  well 
regard  the  Gulf-Stream  as  the  most  stu- 
pendous robbery  of  the  planet.  The 
Gulf-Stream  runs  away  with  our  cli- 
mate. It  is  a  telluric  larceny.  It  an- 
nually throws  the  fruits  of  the  West 
Indies  upon  the  coasts  of  Norway ;  and 


it  bears  to   those  far  shores  the  nA 
fund  of  solar  heat  that,  absorbed  k 
the  intertropical  Atlantic,  and  ponied 
through  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  and  tlie 
Carribbean  Sea,  we  might  regard  as  cm 
own  rightful  possession.    It  has  robbed 
America  to  pay  Europe;   for  whfleit 
has  postponed  the  possibilities  of  oor 
highest  civilization,  it  has  hastened,  hj 
many  thousands  of  years,  the  devekp- 
ment  of  European    nations.     Its  ifr 
fluence  is  a  chief  cause  of  the  difierenee 
between  the  Parthenon  and  the  Indiai 
wigwam,  between  "  Black  Hawk  "  asd 
Martin  Luther,  between  the  "  Shaken '' 
and  Father  Hyacinthe ;  for  its  influence^ 
through  its  effect  upon  our  dimate,]! 
still  actively  unfavorable,  though  rb- 
dered  partially  inoperative  by  the  com* 
teracting  skill  of  scientific  agricnlton. 
But  the  fact  remains,  that  theclimateof 
the  larger  part  of  the  United  States,  with 
its  fierce  extremes  of  cold  and  of  het^ 
and  its  temperatures  often  ranging  ins 
single  day  over  an  interval  much  gnifr> 
er  than  that  which  indicates  the  aTe^ 
age    difference    between    summer  and 
winter  heat,  is  in  general  unfavorable  to 
the  best  growth  of  man.    The  length 
and    severity  of  the  winters  unduly 
shortens    the    period    of    agricaltonl 
labor,  while  the  severity  of  the  sam> 
mers  is  such  that  men  drop  dead  of 
sunstroke  by  scores  in  a  single  daj,  in 
our  larger  cities.    It  need  not,  howerer, 
discourage   those  who  believe  that  t 
splendid  future  is  opening  to  Americtt 
growth,  to  know  the  historic  fact  that 
no  nation,  in  any  part  of  the  globe,  hii 
ever  attained,  by  its  own  efforts,  the 
highest  civilization    in    a    climate  eo 
severe    as    ours.     The  civilization  of 
Sweden  and  of  Norway,  which  might 
at  first  glance  seem  an  exception  to  this 
rule,  is  mainly  exotic.     Climate,  how- 
ever, has  exerted  upon  these  two  Mr 
tions  a  most  singular  inlluence.    ^*In 
the  two  southern  countries"  (Spain  and 
Portugal),  says  Buckle,  "  labor  is  inte^ 
rupted  by  the  heat,  by  the  dryness  of 
the  weather,  and    by  the  consequent 
state  of  the  soil.    In  the  two  northern 
countries"  (Sweden  and  Norway),  *'tbe 
same  effect  is  produced  by  the  severity 


1870.J 


AmEBIOANB — AND  60ME  OF  TIIEIB  OnASACTEBISTIOS. 


855 


of  the  winter  and  the  shortness  of  the 
days.  The  consequence  is  that  these 
four  nations,  though  so  different  in 
other  respects,  are  all  remarkable  for  a 
certain  instability  and  fickleness  of 
character;  presenting  a  striking  con- 
trast to  the  more  regular  and  settled 
habits  which  arc  established  in  coun- 
tries whose  climate  subjects  the  work- 
ing-classes to  fewer  interruptions,  and 
imposes  on  them  the  necessity  of  a  more 
constant  and  unremitting  employment." 
(Hist  of  Civilization,  N.  Y.,  i.  82.)  In 
this  passage  wc  muy  sec  the  explanation 
of  the  restless  instability  which  I  have 
described  as  characterizing  the  Ameri- 
can temperament.^' 

The  course  of  human  improyemcnt 
gives  us,  however,  means  by  which 
deficiency  or  excess  in  the  conditions 
offered  by  nature  may  be  remedied. 
Science  improves  the  soil  and  oven  the 
dimate ;  it  introduces  new  methods  of 
caltivation,  propagation,  and  labor; 
and  it  carries  out  to  perfection  the  idea 
at  which  Nature  herself  seems,  however 
feebly  and  incompletely,  to  aim  in  the 
physical  geography  of  the  continents. 

The  American  climate,  then,  acting  at 
once  directly  upon  the  frame  of  its  rest- 
less denizen,  and  indirectly  through  the 
qualities  of  the  food  which  he  cultivates 
and  of  the  industries  which  he  pursues 
under  its  influence,  is  a  powerful  agent 
in  producing  tbe  peculiar  type  of  de- 
velopment which  I  have  called  ''the 
American  physique."  One  might  fancy 
the  observations  of  those  travellers  to 
be  true,  who  declare  that  the  American 
is  slowly  assimilating  himself  to  the  type 
of  the  aboriginal  North  American  In- 
dian. The  high  cheek-bones  of  the  In- 
dian, his  lank  muscular  form  and  long 
fingers,  and  his  straight  hair,  are  gradu* 
ally  reproducing  themselves,  they  say, 
among  the  inheritors  of  his  domain. 
There  is  doubtless  a  germ  of  truth  in 
this  remark.  The  American  and  his 
descendants  are  exposed  to  many  of  the 
same  influences  that  created  the  Indian. 
They  eat  his  maize,  they  hunt  his  game, 
they  live  in  his  climate,  and  draw  their 
nourishment  from  the  same  soil.  They 
fed  by  the  same  juices  of  the  planet. 


It  would  not  be  singular  should  many 
of  his  characteristics  appear  among  us 
after  a  few  generations  had  been  sub- 
jected to  these  influences.  I  have  occa- 
sionally seen  American  faces  which  bore 
an  unquestionable  resemblance  to  the 
Indian  type.  But  influences  far  stronger 
and  more  determinant  than  any  of  those 
which  we  have  inherited  from  the  sav- 
age are  now  acting  upon  us  as  a  civil- 
ized nation.  There  is  no  danger  of  any 
marked  retrogression  in  the  direction 
of  our  wild  predecessors. 

The  influence  of  climate  upon  the 
American  physique  is  a  subject  too 
extensive  for  the  limits  of  the  present 
article.  But  it  is  to  this  and  to  kindred 
influences,  rather  than  to  any  original 
dificrence,  that  we  are  to  ascribe  our 
present  status,  whether  physical  or 
mental.  J.  S.  Mill  says :  '*  Of  all  vulgar 
modes  of  escaping  from  the  considera- 
tion of  the  effect  of  social  and  moral 
influences  on  the  human  mind,  the  most 
vulgar  is  that  of  attributing  the  diversi- 
ties of  conduct  and  of  character  to  in- 
herent natural  differences."  (Principles 
of  Political  Economy,  i.  890.)  The  law 
that  all  things  yield  to  influence,  are 
the  product  of  their  environment,  are 
themselves  organized  and  moved  by 
definite  forces,  is  invariable. 

Tbe  last  instance  of  this  law  tliat  I 
am  about  to  jiresent,  as  bearing  upon 
the  subject  in  hand,  is  the  influence  of 
diet  upon  the  American  physique. 

8.  The  insucculence  of  the  American 
physique  is  largely  due  to  the  fact  that 
the  American  uses  so  little  liquid  food. 
The  principal  forms  in  which  liquid 
food  is  consumed  by  civilized  nations 
are  the  following :  Soup,  malt  liquors, 
wines,  tea,  coffee,  and  milk.  I  have 
classed  malt  liquors  and  wines  among 
aliments,  not  because  they  are  slightly 
nutritious,  nor  yet  because  they  arrest 
the  transformation  of  tissue,  and  so 
supply,  to  a  limited  depfree,  the  place 
of  food;  but  because  by  their  bulk 
they  supply  the  watery  constituents  of 
the  body. 

Of  tLcse  six  forms  of  aliment,  the 
first  is  the  most  important,  whether 
considereu'^jj^rinsically  as  a  nutriment, 


856 


PuTNAH^s  Magazine. 


[llan^ 


or  with  reference  to  the  number  of 
human  beings  who  habitually  use  it. 
The  characteristic  European  dish  is 
soup ;  that  is  to  say,  a  larger  number 
of  Europeans  make  this  a  leading 
article  of  diet  than  any  other  article 
but  bread,  the  use  of  which  is  not  pe- 
culiar to  Europe.  A  large  majority  of 
the  French,  the  Germans,  the  Italians, 
and  a  large  proportion  of  the  English, 
are  accustomed  to  the  daily  use  of  some 
form  of  nutritious  soup ;  while  among 
the  Americans,  as  a  people,  it  might  be 
said  that  soup  is  almost  unknown.  Only 
among  a  small  proportion  of  the  resi- 
dents of  our  cities  is  soup  a  frequent 
article  of  diet.  In  the  country,  and 
among  the  poorer  city-population,  it  is 
scarcely  ever  used. 

The  Englishman  of  the  poorer  classes, 
who  comparatiyely  seldom  eats  soup, 
makes  up  his  complement  of  liquid 
food  by  the  use  of  ale  or  porter ;  the 
German,  similarly  circumstanced,  drinks 
beer ;  the  Italian  light  wines ;  but  the 
American  depends  for  stimulus  upon 
distilled  spirits,  which  contain  a  large 
amount  of  alcohol  in  a  very  small  bulk. 
Waiving  the  question  of  the  greater  or 
less  pemiciousness  of  these  more  potent 
stimuli,  it  remains  evident  that  they  do 
not  supply  to  the  system  the  element 
which  forms  nearly  ninety-five  per  cent, 
of  the  malt  Uquors  and  the  mild  wines 
that  are  so  abundantly  consumed  in 
Europe.     In   a  word,  the   American 


physique  is  not  well  teatered.  The  cqii> 
sumption  of  coffee,  tea,  and  milk  is  not 
materially  greater  in  America  than  in 
Europe;  the  consumption  of  soup,  mitt 
liquors,  and  light  wines  may  be  esti- 
mated at  seventy-five  per  cent  less  that 
there.  If  we  estimate  the  dietetic  actle 
of  the  European  to  be  composed,  <m  the 
average,  of  two  parts  of  liquid  to  ooe 
of  solid  aliment,  that  of  the  Americn 
will  present  a  nearly  equal  amoimt  <tf 
each  form  of  food.  In  other  words,  tki 
European  consumes  tieiee  a%  muA  lifM 
food  as  the  American.  In  this  Act  it 
may  find  an  influence  which  has  tendeil 
powerfully  to  produce  our  thin  uA 
arid  physique.  Recurring  to  the  %Qit 
of  vegetable  growth,  we  may  regard  t]ie 
American  type  of  development,  imdff 
the  three  aspects  which  I  have  praeal- 
ed,  as  an  exotic  tree  that  has  BufrerBd,aid 
still  suffers,  1.  from  frequent  and  ineeih 
sont  transplantations;  2.  from  theij{|^ 
ors  of  an  inclement  climate;  and  1 
from  an  insufficiency  of  moistore  la 
its  soiL 

The  remedies  for  these  unfkvonbfe 
influences  are  simple^  They  are,  1.  tbft 
appreciation  and  the  cultivation,  vbm% 
all  classes  of  our  citizens,  of  the  mflfid 
spirit ;  3.  the  material  development  of 
the  country  by  means  of  the  most  in- 
proved  scientific  processes ;  and  8.  the 
popularization,  through  an  improred 
euisiM,  of  an  abundant  liquid  allnm- 
tation. 


\ 


\ 


Thx  ^Subysntbd''  Ohuboh. 


857 


HE  "SUBVENTED"  CHURCH  AND  THE  CmCUMVENTED 

CHURCHES. 


I  many  excellences  of  the  grayer 
berer  sort,  we  have  sometimes 
i  in  the  Catholic  World  traces 
ifirmity  common  to  yery  intense 
ersialists — an  incapacity  for  un- 
ding  the  positions  of  other  peo- 
>  this  we  set  down  the  misnomer 
;le  article  in  its  January  number, 
iw  of  our  account  of  "  The  Un- 
hed  Church."  The  Catholic 
describes  our  article  as  "Put- 
Defence  "  of  the  former  article 
I  "Our  Established  Church;" 
}  it  is  obyious  to  any  reader  not 
1  to  a  morbid  sensitiyeness  by 

wearing  life  of  controyersy  as 
rid  leads,  that  we  made  no  de- 
t  all  against  the  WorW^  criti- 
mt  surrendered  without  parley, 
epted  its  corrections  of  fact  with 
iry  humility,  and  confessed  that 
t  article,  though  not  exactly  false, 

least  ".inopportune,"  for  the 
'  the  Church ;  and  that  amounts 
t  the  same  thing,  as  the  case  of 
Dupanloup  abundantly  shows.' 
lo  not  pretend  to  disguise  that  it 
agreeable  to  us,  after  our  calmly 
:al  statement  of  the  progress  of 
Jiolic  Church  in  the  affection 
ofidence  of  the  Goyemment  of 
.te  and  City  of  New  York,  and 
d  congratulations  on  its  haying 

at  the  substantial  adyantages 
lors  of  an  Established  Church — 
ourselyes  so  angrily  snubbed  by 
>st  authoritatiye  organ  of  the 
,  a  journal  which,  eyer  since  the 
rom  the  Holy  Father  to  Mr. 
,  we  had  constantly  regarded  aa 
ing  a  sort  of  delegated  infalli- 

But  what  else  could  a  merely 
magazine  do,  hut  surrender  and 
Our  Article  on  The  UneMb- 
Ohurehy  first,  demonstrated  the 
1  of  our  former  Article  to  be 
lier   a  mistake;  then,  showed. 


with  a  careful  use  of  figures,  how  much 
it  was  unestablished,  and  how  much 
more  4t  would  require  in  the  way  of 
annual  subsidies  to  put  it  into  a  posi- 
tion eyen  of  equitable  toleration ;  final- 
^7)  S^y^  ^^  exhibit  of  how  (as  the 
Catholic  World  puts  it)  the  Church  is 
after  all  a  good  deal  better  than  estab- 
lished in  New  York.  We  fondly  hoped 
that  our  recantation  would  haye  been 
more  than  satis&ctory;  that  it  would 
haye  been  commended  to  Father  Hya- 
cinthe  for  his  study  and  imitation,  and 
that  we  should  haye  been  receiyed 
again  to  the  bosom  of  our  ecclesiastical 
neighbor  as  haying  "  laudably  submit- 
ted ourselyes."  Imagine  our  chagrin 
and  disappointment  at  finding  in  the 
Catholic  World  of  January  tibe  sour, 
ungracious,  unforgiying  little  half-dozen 
of  pages  which  utterly  rejects  our  Act 
of  Submission  as  "  Putnam's  Defence  " 
(forsooth)  and  affects  to  find  it  only  an 
aggrayation  of  the  first  offence  I 

Happily,  wo  find  that  the  questions 
of  fact  between  us  and  the  Catholio 
World  are  now  reduced  to  only  one; 
and  we  are  resolyed  that  this  shall  not 
stand  between  us  and  reconciliation.  It 
charges  that  the  statement  quoted  by 
us  in  a  foot-note  on  page  702,  as  from 
the  Report  of  the  Comptroller  of  the 
State  of  New  York  for  1866,  is  a 
forgery. 

Now,  we  cannot  haye  any  controyersy 
with  the  Catholic  World  on  this  question; 
positiycly  we  cannot.  Why  should  such 
unseemly  wranglings  be  carried  on,  under 
the  yery  eyes  of  Protestants  and  In- 
fidels ?  We  would  rather  recant  a  hun- 
dred times.  If  there  is  to  be  any  con- 
troyersy it  must  be  not  with  us,  but 
with  the  Nno  York  Obaerver^  from  which 
the  document  was  deriyed.  That  jour- 
nal shows  sometimes  an  animosity 
against  the  Catholic  Church  with  which 
we  profess  no  sympathy.  But  then  it  is 


868 


PoTNAM^B  Magazine. 


[Mm*. 


nndoubtedly  responsible ;  and  however 
often  it  may  publisli  false  and  injurious 
statements,  it  rarely  refuses  to  retract 
them,  when  duly  pressed  with  adequate 
eyidence  and  threats  of  a  libel-suit. 

It  is  of  trifling  consequence  to  the 
subject  of  the — what  shall  we  say  ?— the 
Subsidized  Church  ...  no ;  subsidy  is 
not  the  expression  of  the  Catholic 
World,  it  prefers  to  speak  of  the  aubveji' 
tions  that  have  been  granted  to  the 
Catholic  Church ;  let  us  say,  then,  the 
Subvcnted  Church,  which  will  happily 
distinguish  it  from  the  various  Circum- 
vented Churches.  It  is  of  trifling  con- 
sequence, we  say,  to  the  subject  of  the 
Subvented  Church  whether  or  not  we 
have  in  this  particular  case  been  im- 
posed upon  with  a  forged  quotation 
from  the  Comptroller's  Report.  But  we 
venture,  at  the  risk  of  displeasing  our 
ecclesiastical  superiors  again,  to  suggest 
that  it  is  a  pretty  grave  business  for  the 
Catholic  World  to  concede  that  any  such 
little  irregularities  of  origin  ought  to 
discredit  documents  which  we  have 
cited  to  prove  that  the  Catholic  Church 
of  New  York  is  entitled  by  established 
precedent  to  large  annual  subventions 
from  the  public  treasury.  If,  in  these 
secular  pages,  we  might  speak  as  Catho- 
lics, we  should  say  that  we  have  no 
right  to  look  so  squeamishly  into  the 
authenticity  of  documents  relied  on  to 
establish  such  very  important  points. 
What,  we  would  like  to  know,  is  to 
become  of  the  temporalities,  not  only  in 
New  York  but  in  the  very  States  of  the 
Holy  See  itself,  if  the  documents  under 
which  they  are  claimed  are  going  to  be 
looked  into  in  this  fashion  ?  We  think 
of  Janus,  and  shudder !  The  Catholic 
World  itself  will  not  deny  that  the 
extract  from  the  Comptroller's  Report 
is  every  whit  as  authentic  as  the  Decre- 
tals of  Isidore  and  the  Donation  of  Cou- 
dtantine.  With  what  sort  of  face  can 
we  claim  the  temporal  sovereignty  at 
Rome  on  the  strength  of  the  latter,  and 
yet  admit  that  a  like  paltry  defect  in 
the  record  of  the  Donation  of  the 
Assembly  can  weaken  the  force  of  our 
claim  of  precedent  for  renewed  subven- 
Lbany  ? 


The  fact  is  (and  we  do  not  see  why  it 
should  not  come  out)  that  since  Fatiiff 
Hecker  and  his  Grace  the  Archbishop 
left  for  the  (Ecumenical  Council,  tlie 
Catholic  World  has  been  getting  to  bei 
very  unsafe  guardian  of  the  great  intff- 
ests  of  religion  and  of  the  Subveofted 
Church  of  the  State  of  New  York.  Lib 
the  mice  in  the  proverb,  it  seemi  to 
take  advantage  of  its  relief  from  an* 
tomary  surveillance  to  play  perilous  aad 
fantastic  tricks  which  may  result  ii 
frustrating  plans  most  dear  to  fte 
Catholic  heart.  To  what  purpose,  ire 
ask,  are  the  Archbishop,  and  the  bish- 
ops, and  Father  Hecker  at  the  feet  of 
the  Holy  Father  at  Rome,  consultiog 
for  the  complete  triumph  of  "  religkna 
liberty"  as  they  understand  it,  whib 
here  the  fast  young  Phaetons  tint 
have  taken  the  reins  from  Apollo,  an 
endangering  the  very  principles  <m 
which  the  secular  sovereignty  of  Hhft 
Holy  Father  is  established  ?  We  sab' 
mitted  meekly  to  the  rebuke  of  the 
Catholic  World  when  it  was  run  by  t 
General  of  an  Order  with  an  aatograph 
letter  from  the  Pope.  It  was  "  an  cxed- 
lent  oil,  and  it  did  not  break  our  head." 
But  when  we  are  contradicted  and  tmU 
ted  by  some  of  the  little  Paulists,  who 
are  getting  into  a  muddle  all  the  v- 
rangements  that  were  going  on  so  well 
for  the  annual  subvention  of  the  CathO" 
lie  Church  and  Ibe  abolition  of  the 
Common  Schools,  that  is  a  diffocnt 
matter,  and  we  warn  the  young  gentle- 
men that  it  is  not  safe.  Well,  well ;  as 
things  seem  to  be  going,  our  superiors 
will  not  be  detained  a  great  while  long- 
er from  their  flock,  and  when  they  re- 
turn we  shall  soon  get  things  settled 
down  on  the  infallible  principles  of  the 
Syllabus,  and  have  some  chance  of  get- 
ting the  Spanish  system  of  religious 
liberty  and  universal  educarion  com- 
fortably established  in  this  benighted 
and  infldel  country. 

Meanwhile,  the  Catholic  World  may 
sec,  as  one  of  the  unfortunate  conse- 
quences which  its  misguided  course  has 
assisted  to  provoke,  the  following  table, 
which  may  be  all  true,  and  probably  is; 
but  which  was  prepared  in  no  favorablf 


The  "Subvekted"  CnuBcn. 


850 


toward  the  Subvented  Church, 
hich  contains  a  sort  of  facts 
me  have  been  censured  for  bring- 
the  notice  of  the  general  public, 
titled : 

J  of  Moneys  toted  from  th^  Public 
nf  of  the  City  of  New  York  for 
in  Institutions  in  1869. 

I  Catholic, $412»0C2  26 

ant  Episcopal, 29,335  09 

f, 14,-10l  49 

leddhitch), 12.630  80 

terian, 8,363  44 

:, 2.7CO  34 

list  Episcopal, 3,073  63 

a  Evangel ical, 3,027  24 

aneooB 44,08^  12 

Total, .* $528,742  47 

lave  given  above  only  the  aggre- 
The  document  undoubtedly  is 
led  with  the  evil  intent  of  rous- 
!  circumvented  churches  to  a  vain 
Qd  envy  against  the  Subvented 
I.  "Were  it  not  for  the  wrong- 
perversity  of  the  CatholiG  Worldy 
it  be  equally  effective  as  a  proud 
;  of  the  controlling  power  to 
the  Church  of  New  York  has 
'  attained,  and  the  truly  religious 
uristian — nay,  Catholic — spirit  of 
ite  and  City  Governments, 
thing,  however,  in  the  "  Report 
ommittee  of  the  Union  League,^' 
ch  this  table  is  appended,  we  feel 
to  correct  The  Committee,  after 
ting  the  value  of  gifts  of  real 
Trom  the  City  Government  to  Our 
ited  Church   at  $3,200,000,  re- 

)w  if  the  other  religious  sects 
ach  treated  by  our  city  govern- 


ment with  like  liberality,  the  city  of 
New  York  would  in  a  few  years  become 
the  very  paradise  of  religious  corpora- 
tions :  for  they  would  have  absorbed 
into  their  dead  hands  (Mortmain),  either 
by  donation  or  taxation,  all  the  estate, 
real  and  personal,  in  this  city.^' 

We  regard  this  as  perfectly  gratui- 
tous, not  to  say  wanton,  misconception 
of  the  policy  of  our  city  government. 
When,  we  beg  to  be  informed,  has  it 
shown  any  disposition  to  "  treat  other 
religious  sects  with  like  liberality?"' 
The  very  table  appended  to  tl^  Report 
shows  how  groundless  the  alarm  it 
raises.  There  are  reasons  obvious  to 
every  mind  why  other  religious  sects 
should  not  bo  wholly  omitted  in  such 
disbursements  c)f  public  money.  But 
there  has  never  been  any  needless  waftto 
in  this  direction.  As  for  the  claims  of 
Our  Subvented  Church,  there  is  no  such 
formidable  vagueness  about  them  as  the 
Report  insinuates.  They  have  been  dis- 
tinctly estimated  by  the  Catholic  World 
at  about  ten  times  as  much  as  it  has 
already  received ;  that  is,  that  it  has  a 
claim,  on  the  old  account,  for  about 
thirty-two  millions  of  dollars'  worth  of 
real  estate  from  the  city  government; 
which  is  very  far  short  of  the  whole 
value  of  all  the  property  in  New  York. 
Of  course,  the  exigencies  and  claims  of 
the  Church  must  be  expected  to  grow 
with  the  wealth  and  ability  of  the  city 
and  State ;  but  that  these  claims  should 
grow  to  any  thing  like  the  extent  of 
absorbing  **  all  the  estate,  real  and  per- 
sonal, in  the  city  "  seems  to  us  extreme- 
ly improbable,  at  least  for  a  very  long 
time  to  come. 


890 


PUTK AM's  HA.OAZIHB. 


PWb. 


TABLE-TALK. 


OLD  OLAIUa  TAUSrO  KIW  8HAPB. 

SoMB  of  US  thought  when  the  Claren- 
doa-Johnson  Treaty  was  exploded  bj 
Mr.  Samner,  with  the  vote  of  the  Senate 
to  emphasize  his  voice,  that  Brother  Jo- 
nathan appeared  in  a  rather  undignified 
attitude.  England  wished  to  paj  actual, 
proved  ^femage  done  by  her ;  but  we  said, 
No,  you  hurt  our  feelings  besides,  and 
must  pay  for  that.  "  He  not  only  shot 
my  dog,"  says  the  plaintiff,  "  but,  may  it 
please  your  honor,  he  made  mouths  at 
mv  wife."  When  sentiment  creeps  into 
law  and  courts  it  runs  to  drivel,  and  wo 
just  suspected  that  we  might  bo  making 
ourselves  a  little  ridiculous.  But  M. 
Rolin-Jacquemyns,  of  Ghent,  one  of  the 
ablest  publicists  of  Europe,  now  insists 
that,  in  the  main  point,  Mr.  Sumner  was 
right.  It  is  all  very  well  for  the  British 
to  say  that  the  proclamation  of  neutral- 
ity was  "  an  act  of  national  sovereignty," 
but  whiit  of  that?  So  would  a  repeal 
of  the  neutrality  laws  be  an  act  of  sover- 
eignty, though  done  in  order  to  clear  the 
way  for  privateers  and  pirates.  But 
none  the  less  would  the  injured  nation 
be  justified  in  demanding  redress  for  it. 
In  this  case  we  have,  not  the  mere 
repeal  of  a  law  which  directly  concerns 
none  but  citizens,  but  a  proclamation 
aimed  at  the  relations  between  our  gov- 
ernment and  its  subjects, — as  it  were 
striking  an  attitude  toward  us.  There 
are  other  symptoms  that  the  public 
opinion  of  Europe  is  coming  nearer  to 
the  American  view  on  this  question. 

England  will   adopt   the   same 

view  sooner  or  later.  She  has  far  more 
nt  stake  than  we,  in  preventing  Alabanias 
from  finding  sanction  in  public  law.  She 
has  five  wars  while  we  have  one,  and  if 
the  revolt  of  Vancouver's  Island,  or  of  a 
corner  of  the  Puiyaub,  is  to  justify  our 
corsairs  in  plundering  her  EastJndiamen, 
who  will  get  the  worst  of  it?  Yet  such 
is  the  law  of  nations,  as  she  now  seems 
timidly  and  haltingly  to  defend  it    Let 


us  wait  coolly  and  patiently,  while  ^ 
grows  eager  to  settle  the  case  on  o« 
own  terms.  The  relations  of  plaiotff 
and  defendant  will  soon  be  amusingly  n* 
versed,  and  she  will  press  those  she  hii 
wronged  to  accept  fall  reparaUoo.  let 
that  Mr.  Sumner^s  dream  of  apokgf 
and  half  the  cost  of  the  war  will  be  lU- 
fiUcd— but  then  it  is  to  be  remembmd 
that  he  has  had  his  rhetorioal  rev«m8^ 
and  is  that  not  pniceless  ? 


THB  XATIOSIAL  rUTAXCBS. 

Mr.  Sumner  appeared  in  a 


and  useful  character  in  January,  wheok 
introduced  his  bDl  for  reforming  the  ea^ 
rency  and  the  public  debt.  He  nuide,ii 
its  behalf,  one  of  his  best  speeches,  in- 
pressive,  compact,  and  broad.  Then  ii 
statesmanship  of  a  high  order  in  his  n* 
solute  advocacy  of  an  immediate  retoit 
to  specie  payment,  of  a  large  redaotionof 
taxation,  and  of  funding  the  debt  ata  po^ 
sible  market  rate ;  instead  of  Mr.  Boat- 
welPs  plan  of  offering  at  once  consolh 
dated  Utopian  four  and  a  half  per  ceoti 
at  par  in  gold,  while  our  six  per  cents  in 
worth  only  ninety-three,  and  of  cnishiqg 
the  people,  by  the  present  tax  laws,  to 
pay  off  the  debt,  thus  robbing  the  nft* 
tional  industries  of  their  nest-eggs. 
The  Secretary  of  the  Treasury  has  earn- 
ed honor  and  public  forbearance  by  faisoh 
ergy  and  honesty,  but  there  are  limiti  t» 
the  patience  people  have  under  an  igno- 
rant policy  obstinately  administered,  and 
there  are  problems  in  finance  which  mere 
honesty  without  laborious  intelligenoe 
cannot  solve. 


DOWX  WITB  TBS  TAXK8. 


The  "Washington    conspiracy  to 

keep  up  taxation  to  the  present  standard, 
in  order  that  the  iron,  steel,  copper,  salt 
and  lumber  monopolies  may  not  have  to 
give  up  any  of  their  "  protection,"  b  fast 
breaking  down.  The  people  throughout 
the  country  cry  for  relief,  and  from  this 


I 


Tablx-Tal^. 


861 


ess,  or  from  another  elected  Dcxt 
in  in  its  place,  they  "will  probably 
Mr.  Dawes  has  helped  this  move- 
by  showing  the  extravagance  of 
)f  the  Departments  in  their  demands 
propriations  this  year.  Nearly  five 
as  much  money  is  wanted  for  pub- 
lildiDgs,  as  was  voted  in  the  last 
)f  Mr.  Johnson :  and  every  depart- 
under  General  Grant  asks  for  a 
increase  in  its  current  expenses 
even  that  wasteful  and  corrupt 
except  the  Attorney-General's, 
'oar  seems  to  be  unfashionable  in 
ys  in  everything  else ;  and  the  ex- 
;ant  Senate,  no  wonder,  thinks  him 
\Q  be  made  a  judge.  The  Republi- 
Hongressmen  from  Philadelphia, 
3  their  protectionist  habits,  want 
Dvernment  to  spend  four  or  five 
us  of  dollars  in  building  a  new 
p^ard  on  League  Island,  in  order  to 
ect"  the  ascendency  of  the  party 
t  city.  The  people  at  large,  how- 
still  think  that  a  triumph  even  of 
)rinciples  is  dear  at  any  price,  if  it 
\  bought  at  all.  Besides,  we  want 
DDey ;  it  is  enough,  applied  to  re- 
g  taxes,  to  put  iron  and  wool  on 
'ee  list)  and  so  to  cheapen  rent, 
ig,  and  travel,  to  the  whole  na- 

AWTSXMSVTB. 

-The  culture  of  a  people  finds 
tteristio  expression  in  their  amuse- 
,  and  by  amusements  do  not  under- 
go theatres  and  the  circus  chiefly : 
the  theatres  in  the  land  would  not 
ne  in  five  hundred  of  the  people 
r,  and  ninety-five  per  cent,  of  the 
never  saw  a  play.  Yet  everybody 
me  sport,  whether  chess  or  base- 
ancing  or  charades,  "  coasting"  or 
minstrels.  The  highest  branch  of 
b  of  amusement  is  the  quiet,  health- 
d  profitable  entertainment  of  the 
circle.  A  careful  examination  of  the 
id  trade  of  the  inventors  and  man- 
rers  of  games,  for  the  last  holiday 
,  would  convince  any  one  that  a 
ew  game  is  as  hard  to  invent  as  a 
ew  motive  power.  Croquet  was  the 
erable  novelty  in  its  kind,  but  does 
IT  condensation  into  parlor  limits. 
OL.  T. — 24 


Billiards  are  the  best  of  indoor  games  for 
the  sedentary ;  bagatelle  is  an  imperfect 
substitute.  Whist  and  chess  are  perfect 
for  those  who  need  bodily  repose  and  ner- 
vous stimulus ;  being  cheap  and  compact. 

But  these  are  all  imported.    The 

national  game  of  the  United  States  is 
not  yet  discovered.  Our  people  are  the 
reading  people  of  the  world,  and  their 
evening  amusement  must  needs  be  instruc- 
tive, literary,  as  well  as  defiant  of  routine, 
reverent  toward  sensitive  feelings,  digni- 
fied in  tone,  infinitely  varied  iu  expression. 
As  the  art  of  general  conversation  has 
been  lost  to  civilized  man,  in  crossing 
the  Atlantic,  every  coterie  of  friends 
even  at  a  dinner- table,  splinters  into  twos 
or  threes ;  unless  some  common  purpose 
is  set  before  all ;  but  when  this  is  kept  in 
view,  the  inventiveness  of  the  national 
mind  is  such  that  the  right  entertain- 
ment comes  up  spontaneously.  Perhaps 
the  best  game  for  an  American  circle  is  to 
choose  a  director  of  amusements  for  an 
hour  with  authority  to  require  obedience, 
and  then  to  hold  him  responsible  for 
lively  and  varied  suggestions. 

BKIDXNO  OIBCLBS. 

The  reading  propensity  is  grati- 
fied socially  in  many  places  by  what  are 
called  "reading  circles."  The  plan  of 
them,  like  so  many  other  good  things, 
comes  from  Brooklyn,  where  it  has  work- 
ed well  for  many  years.  The  members 
of  a  circle,  ten  to  thirty  in  number,  make 
up  a  common  purse  in  lively  publishing 
times,  say  in  October,  contributing  from 
five  to  twenty  dollars  each,  buy  a  judi- 
cious selection  of  new  books,  and  then 
meet  every  week  or  fortnight  to  distri- 
bute them  anew,  until  each  member  has 
had  a  chance  to  read  every  book.  When 
the  long  winter  evenings  are  gone,  the 
books  are  distributed  by  lot ;  or  better, 
perhaps,  sold  at  a  merry  auction,  over 
punch  or  pickled  oysters,  to  the  highest 
bidders  among  the  members;  and  the 
purchase  money  is  a  good  nest-egg  for 
the  next  year's  treasury.  In  practice, 
all  turns  on  the  management ;  especially 
on  the  taste  and  judgment  used  in  mak- 
ing the  list  Let  these  be  good ;  and  the 
system  will  build  up  the  intelligence  of  a 
circle  of  fEunjlies  with  surprising  sncceM. 


862 


Putnam's  Maoacnb. 


Pte*. 


Of  -coarse,  some  of  tbe  best  magazines 
ought  to  be  inclnded  ia  tbe  seleotion.  K 
anj  founders  of  sacb  a  circle  wish  tbe 
help  of  the  Editors  of  this  Magazine  in 
choosing  their  books,  it  will  be  given  to 
them  cheerfollj,  on  application  by  letter. 

LITTLSMiaSBS  OP  0RITI0I8X. 

Minute  verbal  criticism  is  perilous 

work  for  those  who  are  not  trained  well 
to  it.  No  position  is  more  ludicrous, 
whether  in  life  or  in  letters,  than  his  who 
folminates  fierce  censures  which  fall 
back  upon  himselfl  Dean  Alford  learned 
this  to  his  cost,  when  he,  one  of  the 
most  careless  of  writers,  held  himself  up 
as  a  teacher  of  the  "  Queen's  English." 
That  fiercest  of  precisians,  Mr.  G.  W. 
Moon,  showed  that  roanj  of  the  Dean's 
canons  are  wrong,  and  that  his  own  book 
is  thicklj  sprinkled  with  violations  of  the 
rest.  This  recent  and  amnsing  impale- 
ment of  a  great  ecclesiastical  dignitary 
on  the  points  he  had  so  diligently  sharp- 
ened for  others  ought  to  have  been  a 
warning  to  all  his  tribe. 

UTSRABT  SniOIDBB. 

—  But  other  writers  are  ambitious, 
it  seems,  for  a  place  beside  him  in  the 
grammatical  pillory.  Several  elaborate 
essays  have  lately  appeared,  devoted  to 
the  correction  or  ridicole  of  the  literary 
sifis  of  popular  writers,  or  to  pointing 
out  the  artistic  excellence  of  which 
language  is  capable — ^themselves  written 
in  the  most  surprising  of  dialects.  One 
such  article,  indeed,  is  before  us,  in  a 
periodical  of  the  very  highest  pretension, 
which  attempts  «  formal  classification  of 
**  the  prominent  faults  "  common  in  the 
use  of  language ;  and  makes  eight  classes, 
two  of  which  consist  of  errors  commit- 
ted, and  the  rest  of  the  persons  commit- 
ting them.  Lb  would  foe  a  fair  logical 
parallel  to  its  scheme,  if  we  should  divide 
the  fine  arts  into — 1.  Arts  of  expression ; 
2.  Painters ;  8.  Works  ia  stone,  stucco, 
and  language ;  and  4.  Persons  who  live 
in  houses.  And  for  the  style  of  this  trea- 
tise on  style,  it  is  only  explicable  by  sup- 
posing that  its  design  is  to  illustrate  all 
the  faults  it  censures,  and  so  to  sacrifice 
the  author  to  the  cause.  It  deserves,  in  a 
soit  of  inverted  sense,  the  splendid  eu- 


logy given  by  the  poet  Dryden  to  tiie 
Greek  critic  Longinus: 

"  Whose  own  example  itrengiheiie  aU  liielrai^ 
And  is  himself  the  greet  snblime  he  dnnm? 

—^  Rats  and  mice  are  '^  small  deo^" 
and  elaborate  nicety  in  the  use  of  w<ndi 
is  not  always  a  mark  of  high  genius  and 
of  a  noble  literature.  It  was  probably  bj 
first  confounding  the  wearisome  yerboritj 
of  such  unintelligent  critics  with  tfat 
great  study  of  language,  that  the  eloqiMK 
blunderer.  Buskin,  was  led  to  denomw 
philology  as  '*  without  doubt,  the  moit 
contemptible  of  the  sciences."  But  tftt 
intelligent  study  even  of  little  points  is 
grammar  and  the  use  of  words  has  • 
humble  place  in  the  science  of  langoage. 
as  one  of  its  least  departments;  sad 
another  in  literature,  as  one  of  its  bt^ 
riers  against  barbarism ;  and  to  write 
down  any  true  part  of  science  or  litm- 
ture  ^' contemptible"  is  merely  to  a^ 
that  the  writer^s  culture  is  too  narrow  to 
appreciate  it.  Shakespeare  violatod 
granmiar,  indeed ;  and  probably  did  ool 
steal  deer;  but  deer-stealing  and  M 
grammar  are  both  faults,  whether  he  did 
or  not,  and  no  one  will  come  nearer  to 
Shakespeare  by  adopting  them. 

ISriLLUILITT. 

'  The  Pope,  or,  in  Jesuit  language, 

the  *'  vice-God,"  has  not  yet  prodaimed 
himself  the  mouth-piece  for  tiie  laws  of 
the  universe.  '^  Janus  "  and  other  learn- 
ed Catholics  know  too  much  of  former 
disputes  on  matters  of  faith  between 
Popes  and  the  Ohurch  assembled  in  gen- 
eral Councils.  If  the  Church,  in  eadi 
case,  was  right,  how  can  it  now  saj  that 
the  Pope  was  infallible?  But  if  the 
Council  was  wrong,  then  what  authority 
has  it  in  ^^  defining  "  new  doctrine  now, 
such  as  a  man^s  infallibility?  The  di- 
lemma is  awkward.  It  has  been  met,  in 
true  papal  style,  by  putting  '^Janus^and 
similar  works  in  the  "Index  "  of  booki, 
to  read,  own,  circulate,  or  defend  which, 
ipio  facto  cuts  off  a  man  from  church  fel- 
lowship in  this  life,  and  consigns  him  to 
eternal  misery  hereafter.  But  this  splen- 
did advertisement,  given  gratis  to  one  of 
the  ablest  controversial  writings  of  tbo 
age,  does  not  annihilate  what  the  Pope 


] 


Tabli-Talk. 


sea 


>ne,  in  claiming  to  be  infallible,  and 
Uing  a  coancil  to  prop  np  his  claim  I 
couDsellors  can  add  wisdom  to  om- 
Qce,  or  aathoritj  to  infallibility? 
Jaim,  by  its  very  nature,  stands  or 
lone ;  and  the  consistent  course  is 
e  Pope  to  assert  his  own  divine  at- 
ee — since  the  assertion,  not  the  ez- 
of  them,  seems  to  be  the  main 
with  the  Catholic  world. 

-  What  atheory  of  life  it  is  that 
s  the  possibility  of  a  divine  oracle, 
s  open  for  consultation,  always 
to  utter  infallible  truth !  To  us, 
ise  restless  days  of  struggle,  when 
¥orld  is  one  great  conflict  for 
ledge,  wrestling  grimly  for  each 
1  it  conquers  from  the  unknown,  it 

like  a  glimpse  of  another  world, 
ich  the  law  of  life  is  rest,  not  labor ; 
ment,  not  pursuit.  But  that  strange 

is  bnt  the  infancy  of  our  own ;  for 
nly  to  the  in&nt  mind  that  achieve- 
are  final,  belief  absolnte,  and  rest 
)nsnmmation  of  happiness.  In  a 
'  civilization,  everything  gained  is 
«pping-stone  to  higher  things ; " 
Iie&  are  held  subject  to  revision 
broader  knowledge ;  and  the  fu- 
3  a  perpetual  warfare,  glorified  in 
irospect  of  perpetual  triumphs. 
vo  conceptions  of  life  are  opposites, 
be  Pope  is  the  representative  of 
tonpt  to  give  the  former  a  new 
of  existence,  after  its  natural  ca- 
I  ended.  Bomanism,  at  least  in  the 
>f  nltramontanism — and  the  object 
.Council  is  to  identify  the  two-— is 
^digious  effort  to  put  full-grown 
andom  back  into  swaddling- 
8;  nor  is  it  strange  that  the  giants 
Y  limbs  cannot  be  forced  into  the 
of  babyhood. 

nr  ▲  ooiryBHT. 

-  A  curious  illustration  of  this  will 
nd  in  the  present  number,  in  an 
idug  article  by  a  Catholic,  telling 
iperience  as  a  pupil  in  the  convent 
I  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  on  the  upper 
i  this  island.  She  shows,  all  the 
slearly  for  not  designing  it,  how  the 
itant  girls  in  such  schools  are  anr- 
ed  with  infinences  which  tend,  not 
LVince  their  minds  of  the  Catholic 


creed,  but  to  mould  their  souls  to  Cath- 
olic obedience.  Except  in  a  few  rare  in- 
tellects, trained  to  close  thinking,  the 
arguments  which  abstractly  sustain  be- 
liefs are  of  little  consequence,  as  com- 
pared with  the  mould  in  which  the  dis- 
positions are  cast  by  habit  and  asso- 
ciation. It  is  not  reasoning  that  makes 
Catholics ;  it  is  not  often  reasoning  that 
unmakes  them.  But  take  a  tender,  im- 
pressive heart,  while  young;  surround 
it  with  imposing  altars  and  services  of 
devotion,  and  with  associates  who  wor- 
ship unthinkingly,  and  it  must  be  one  of 
rare  independence  if  it  ever  learns  free 
thought.  Most  of  such  pupils  would  be 
made  slaves  of  any  superstition,  how- 
ever gross ;  but  the  grand  traditions  of 
the  Catholic  church  and  the  unquestion- 
ed goodness  it  has  often  produced,  give  it 
peculiar  facility  in  the  work.  Parents 
who  want  their  children  to  be  taken  out 
of  this  century,  with  its  questionings  and 
its  intellectual  strifes  and  triumphs,  and 
set  down  in  an  age  of  undoubting  sub- 
mission and  narrow,  traditional  culture, 
cannot  do  better  than  to  send  them  to 
such  schools.  All  such  parents  will  ad- 
vocate State  grants  of  money  to  sectarian 
schools,  or  will  even  smile  at  the  efforts 
of  the  Catholics  to  overthrow  our  com- 
mon school  system  entirely,  in  order  that 
sectarian  and  theological  education  may 
be  generaL 

But  to  him  who  knows  what  the  glory 
of  the  human  race  really  is ;  who  *'  would 
not  give  his  free  thought  for  a  throne ;  '^ 
who  sees  that  skepticism,  not  authority, 
is  the  foundation  of  all  high  mental  cul- 
ture, and  that  an  infallible  teacher  of 
truth,  were  such  possible,  would  be 
the  worst  enemy  of  man,  and  would 
paralyze  his  energies  and  destroy  hie 
hopes  of  progress:  to  him  the  CathoUc 
ideal  of  life  is  horrible,  and,  in  these 
days,  certain  to  be  rejected  of  men.  He 
is  gratefhl  forever  that,  if  to  the  angels 
is  given  the  truth,  to  him  is  given  the 
greater  search  for  truth;  and  thi^  he 
knows  it  nobler  to  die  re^essly  seeking 
it,  than  to  live  stagnant  in  its  enjoyment 
*'  The  oracles  are  dumb ; "  ages  ago, 

"  AU  tbe  falw  gpdt,  with  a  ery, 
Rendered  up  tneir  detty ;  *> 

and  the  poor  parody  upon  Apollo  that 


864 


PuTNAM^s  Magazhtb. 


[Mardi, 


now  matters  over  beads  aod  relics  in  the 
Vatican  may  as  well  follow  tbem. 

**  Drop  thy  gray  ohln  on  thy  knee, 
O  thoa  palsied  mystery  1 

For  Pan  is  dead." 

OnUXOH  ASO  STITB  IN  PINKBTLTIVIA. 

But "  every  man  has  a  pope  with- 


in him,''  as  one  of  the  early  Oalvinists, 
striving  to  express  his  abhorrence  of  in- 
nate depravity,  nsed  to  say ;  and  devotion 
to  any  set  of  dogmas  seems  to  drive 
others  than  bishops  of  Home  practically 
to  claim  infallibility.  Pope  Sbarswood, 
of  Pennsylvania,  has  issued  a  Bull  in 
the  form  of  a  legal  opiniou,  from  the  Su- 
preme Court  of  that  State,  that  since 
Ohristianity  is  the  foundation  of  its  free 
institutions,  therefore  a  bequest  to  an 
infidel  charitable  institution  is  void  I  It 
would  be  much  nearer  to  true  premises 
and  sound  logic  to  say  that,  since  univer- 
sal suffrage  is  the  foundation  of  our  in- 
stitutions, therefore  no  property  shall  be 
held  by  any  one  who  thinks  that  it  ought 
to  be  restricted.  But  such  law  would 
not  commend  itself  even  to  Judge  Shars- 
wood.  Who  shall  define  infidelity?  Oa- 
thoHcs  apply  the  name  to  Protestantism ; 
Episcopalians  to  Unitarianism;  Unitarians 
to  Spiritualism ;  followers  of  Agassiz  to 
Darwinism;  and  so  on — shall  the  right 
of  each  class  to  hold  property  be  deter- 
mined by  the  accident  of  a  Judge's  reli- 
gious creed  ?  If  so,  each  sect  will  be  a 
political  faction :  or  else  Christians  will 
organize  themselves  into  one  party,  and 
unbelievers  into  another,  and  contest 
judicial  elections.  But  there  never  yet 
was  a  direct  struggle  of  creeds  for  poli- 
tical supremacy  that  did  not  end  in  war 
or  anarchy.  It  is  perilous  ground  that 
a  judiciary  or  a  legislature  is  on,  when 
it  permits  the  laws  to  take  any  cogni- 
zance whatever  of  religious  belief;  but 
if  Judge  Sharswood's  decision  is  law, 
the  established  church  in  Pennsylvania  is 
the  religious  persuasion  of  its  Supremo 
Court  for  the  time  being. 

THM  8UKS  OIVII.  riSTITAL. 

Maga  went  to  Suez  by  proxy,  at 


Surely  there  was  something  very  signifi- 
cant in  the  religious  exercises  of  the 
opening  ^^benediction,"  when  Moham- 
medan and  Catholic,  the  religion  of  the 
Red  Sea  and  that  of  the  Hediterraneiii, 
flowed  into  one.  Thus  Bomanism, 
while  at  its  centre  rising  into  more  pre- 
sumptuous isolation  than  ever,  fuses  iti 
skirts  more  and  more  with  its  old  ao- 
tagonists,  all  around  the  world.  Bot 
read  the  story,  and  leam  there,  too,  hov 
the  sublimest  conception  of  genius  ii 
dwarfed  and  dusted  by  the  contact-Hiot 
so  much  with  everyday  life,  as  witb 
Kings  and  Empresses,  fStes  and  oelebnr 
tions. 

OLIMATM  AXD  OITILISITTOIT. 

These  are  the  days  in  which  mea 


the  £[h6dive's  kind  invitation,  and  had 
a  jolly  though  varied  "  time,"  as  will 
appear  at  length  from  the  .lively  record 
of  it  in  Bom^,.Qf  the  foregoing  pages. 


undertake  to  account  for  every  thing; 
and  it  is  quite  the  fashion  now  to  as- 
sume, if  all  other  explanations  fail  for 
any  fact,  that  it  is  to  be  referred  to  Mir. 
Darwin's  theory  of  natural  selectim. 
Mr.  Jevons,  the  statistician,  writes  It 
Nature  to  show  that  this  theory  explttu 
why  the  cream  of  civilization  is  alinji 
found  in  temperate  zones;  but  he  fUb 
to  observe  that  the  centre  of  culton^ 
which  started  on  or  near  the  Eqoatoi^ 
seems  to  have  moved  steadily  further 
and  further  from  it,  with  the  advandog 
centuries.  A  plausible  argument  mi^ 
be  made  in  favor  of  the  proposition,  tbit 
human  progress  consists  in  growing 
adaptation  to  colder  climates,  and  thit 
the  capital  of  the  Grolden  Age  will  be  it 
the  North  Polo!  The  westward  *' coarse 
of  empire  "  is  still  more  obvious ;  and 
would  sustain  the  theory,  for  instance, 
that  emigrants  towards  the  setting  su 
lengthen  their  days  by  the  movement, 
and  so  do  more  work  than  station- 
ary nations,  and  accumulate  more 
power. 

HVMAlf  BSPEOOUCnON. 

Other  Darwinitcs  are  at  woA 

devising  plans  for  the  practical  utUizt- 
tion  of  the  "  origin  of  species  "  doctrine, 
by  applying  it  to  the  improvement  of 
the  human  race.  Permit  none  but  the 
best  sx>ecimens  of  man  to  produce  thdr 
jkind ;  and  wed  them  by  the  most  per- 
fect rules  of  scientific  adaptation;  in* 


Table-Tale. 


866 


ing  into  the  family-relation  all  the 
t  expressions  and  considerations 
adorn  the  lips  and  the  mind  of 
)g-fancier  or  the  horse-breeder; 
afore  many  generations,  we  shall 
a  higher  development  and  cultnre 
las  yet  been  dreamed  of!  Let  it 
bnt  how  obvious  it  is  to  him  who 
Darwin-mad,  that,  under  any  such 
zation  of  society  as  this,  progress 
cease  to  be  an  object,  because  life 
^ould  no  longer  be  worth  having  I 
ver  is  beautiful  in  our  civilization 
leful  in  its  fature  is  bound  up,  on 
side,  with  the  great  central  fact 
arsenal  affection  is  commonly  the 
f  marriage ;  and  we  cannot  ima- 
lat  fact  done  away,  without  deso- 
the  world. 

perhaps  our  scientific  socialists 
)t  half  in  earnest;  and  do  not 
mean  that  love  shall  only  be  made 
re  of  Darwin,  and  that  a  compart- 
**  points  "  in  pedigrees  shall  take 
icc  of  courtship.  Perhaps  it  is 
)  suggesting  a  new  basis  for  the 
)f  the  future  that  we  must  under- 
them:  something  different  from 
>m-out  notions  of  chivalrio  love, 
in  our  money-seeking  days  seem 
if  not  tawdry  fancies.  Who  is  to 
the  first  romance  of  natural  or 
al  selection ;  and  to  give  artistic 
don  to  the  beauty  and  necessity 
Dpling  on  love  and  duty  together, 
»king  *'  affinities,"  not  by  impulse, 
ccording  to  the  great  laws  by 
new  and  improved  varieties  of 
od  are  to  be  produced  ?  The 
who  has  so  well  reconstructed 
Btone  age "  in  a  novel  for  the 
ists  might  do  as  much  for  the 
lysiologists,  since  it  ought  to  be  as 
» look  forward  a  million  of  years 
kward.  But  by  the  time  their 
8  fulfilled,  and  the  age  arrives  in 
not  implements,  but  hearts  are 
of  stone,  our  descendants  will 
968  be  as  far  improved  from  us  as 
» from  the  head  of  our  great  fam- 
e  '* anthropoid  ape"  who  is  the 
of  us  all  I  And  they  will  wonder 
prejudices  in  favor  of  love,  and 
tie  race  got  rid  of  them,  as  we 


wonder  what  has  become  of  our   an- 
cestors' tails. 


UNITBB8AL    DUPLIOITT. 


^—  Science  has  much  more  definite 
information  to  give  on  the  present  nature 
of  man  than  on  his  origin  or  destiny.  The 
physiologist,  Lerebouillet,  was  studying 
recently  the  embryology  of  fishes.  In 
watching  the  development  of  the  eggs 
he  observed  that  occasionally  two  germs 
appeared  in  one  of  them,  just  as  some- 
times two  yelks  occur  in  a  hen's  egg. 
Each  of  these  twin-germs  usually  grew 
into  a  fish;  but  in  some  instances,  he 
saw  the  two  unite,  and  merge  into  a 
single  fish,  sometimes  with  two  heads, 
or  with  two  tails,  or  with  a  double 
spine.  But  sometimes  a  germ  showed 
signs  of  twofold  development,  and  part- 
ly formed  two  embryonic  heads;  and 
then  these  coalesced  entirely,  the  one 
half  of  each  disappeared,  and  an  ordi- 
nary and  single  fish  was  the  result. 

This  marvellous  observation  suggests 
that  what  we  call  individuality  may  real- 
ly be  a  profound  duplicity.  If  some 
fishes  are  dual,  why  not  all?  If  some 
vertebrates  are  so,  why  not  all,  includ- 
ing man?  The  parts  of  the  body  in  all 
vertebrate  animals  are  in  duplicate,  the 
two  sides  corresponding  in  wonderful 
symmetry.  Doubtless  the  human  germ, 
which  passes  at  its  origin  through  a  fish- 
like period,  is  as  capable  of  division  as 
the  fish  germ ;  and  many  a  one  is  per- 
haps, at  some  time,  divided,  partly  or 
wholly,  and  strives  for  development  into 
two  beings.  There  is  a  living  gurl  with 
two  heads,  or  rather  two  girls  with  one 
body,  on  exhibition  in  this  country 
now ;  and  is  not  every  man  in  reality  a 
condensed  pair  of  Siamese  twins  ?  Elec- 
trical experimenters  on  the  muscles  make 
a  man  laugh  on  one  side  of  his  face,  while 
he  is  weeping  on  the  other.  Surgeons 
know  that  when  one  side  only  of  the  brain 
is  injured,  the  mental  powers  are  often 
unimpaired.  Physicians  to  the  insane, 
seeing  the  alternations  of  sanity  and  lu- 
nacy common  in  the  early  stages  of  men- 
tal disease,  are  almost  driven  to  believe 
that  either  half  of  the  head  may  go  crazy 
without  the  other.  Students  of  the  ever- 
lasting controversy  about  the  *'  possessed 


860 


Putnam's  Magazzhs. 


{¥»^ 


of  devils  "  may  easily  oonstruot  a  theory 
of  the  two  sides  of  the  braiD,  eaoh  partly 
independent  in  acting  and  in  receiviDg 
impressions,  whioh  will  account  for  most 
of  the  pnzzling  fstcts  on  record.  And  then, 
if  any  man  must  have  his  double,  how 
much  better  to  keep  him  wrapped  in  the 
same  skin,  merged,  as  it  were,  in  the  pro- 
per self^  rather  than  wandering  at  large 


in  a  world  of  confusion,  halving  the  re- 
wards of  his  labor  and  multiplying  tlM 
embarrassment  of  his  Bonq>€6 !  He  who 
made  '^  The  Comedy  of  EnrorB  "  shooU 
be  here  to  work  up  this  sitoation ;  hot 
there  is  consolation  for  his  absence^  if 
the  author  of ''  The  Tale  of  Two  Citiei'* 
or  the  author  of  ^^  My  Double  and  Hov 
he  Undid  Me  '*  wUl  nndertake  the  worL 


■•♦»■ 


THE  nJAD  IN  ENGLISH. 


A  HOTABLi  event  in  the  literary  world 
is  the  appearance,  on  the  same  day 
with  this  number  of  our  Magazine,  of 
^'  The  Iliad  of  Homer,  translated  into 
English  blank  verse  by  William  CuUen 
Bryant,  Volume  L,*'  containing  Homer's 
first  twelve  books.  The  time  has  not 
yet  come  to  review  it  critically,  nor  to 
determine  how  far  it  is  to  mark,  in  the 
literature  of  this  century,  such  an  era  as 
Chapman's  translation  of  Homer,  or  as 
Pope's,  made  each  in  its  own  age.  Let 
ns  even  grant  that  thought  is  now  too 
diversified  and  too  aggressive  to  be  so 
profoundly  infiuenced  as  it  once  was  by 
the  revival  of  an  old-world  epic ;  yet 
the  fact  remains  that,  of  all  who  have 
ever  attempted  to  reproduce  in  En^ish 
the  chief  poem  mankind  possesses,  our 
present  translator  is  the  most  truly 
poetic  in  his  own  endowments,  the  most 
elevated  above  what  is  artificial  in 
thought  and  affected  in  style,  the  most 
in  sympathy,  in  his  own  writings,  with 
the  noble  simplicity  of  Homer.  We 
have  therefore  reason  to  expect  from 
him  better  means  than  the  English 
reader  has  hitherto  possessed,  of  read- 
ing, feeling,  and  understanding  the 
Iliad. 

It  is  the  standing  challenge  of  the  crit- 
ics to  the  poets,  to  translate  Homer. 
But  they  often  demand  what  is  im- 
possible ;  and  their  victims  make  them 
great  sport  by  striving  for  it.  One 
translator  aims  to  write  just  the  poem 
which  Homer  would  write,  if  now 
with  us ;  as  useful  a  standard  as  a  gen- 
eral's, who  should  be  guided  by  the 


inquiry  how  Agamemnon  would  him 
planned  the  attack  on  Frederickibiiy. 
Nor  does  Professor  Blackie  mend  tiM 
matter,  by  declaring  the  true  qoestum  to 
be  what  the  Hiad  would  have  been,  if 
the  ancient  Greeks  had  spoken  modiera 
English.  It  were  as  wise  to  ask  whit  it 
would  have   been,  had   they  knovn 
nitro*glycerine    bombs    and   Danrm^ 
Origin  of  Species.     Modem  So^idk 
could  not  be  the  speech  of  any  but  tiM 
people  that  has  produced  it     To  n- 
write  the  Iliad,  so  as  to  affect  readen  is 
the  original  affected  the  throngs  of 
Greeks  at  Olympia,  is  the  modest  hope 
of  another  translator,  who   does  iiot 
seem  to  see  that  he  must  first  convert 
this  age  to  implidt  faith  in  the  Qieek 
mythology,  and  fill  us  all  with  psn* 
hellenic  patriotism.     Professor  Azwdd 
would  teach  the  translator  to  ^  repro- 
duce the  effect  of  Homer,^  too,  but  only 
the  effect  which  the  original  now  pro- 
duces on  scholars ;  and  this  is  perhipi 
the  very  worst  advice  ever  given.    Fir 
scholars  familiar  with  the  original  ooold 
not  endure  a  version  not  minutely  ac- 
curate, and  minute  accuracy  will  surdy 
choke  epic  fiow  and  fire. 

But  it  is  in  the  metres  they  have 
adopted  that  nearly  all  recent  trans- 
lators have  been  entangled  and  tripped 
up  by  their  theories.  The  outlines  of 
this  subject  are  seemingly  plain  enough, 
but  very  able  and  scholarly  men  have 
contrived  to  miss  them,  so  that  they 
deserve  a  brief  statement  here.  The 
Greek  hexameters  run  on  continuously ; 
they  flow  Areely  into  one  another ;  Uie 


1870.} 


Thb  Iuad  is  Evolibh. 


867 


metre  puts  no  limits  upon  the  senti- 
ment, neither  confining  nor  stretching 
it ;  the  position  of  the  principal  pause 
varies  widely,  giving  varied  expression 
to  the  verse;  yet  each  line  is  under 
strict  metrical  laws,  which  give  it  a 
marked  form  that  can  never  be  con- 
founded with  prose.  Now  there  is  but 
one  metre  in  English  which  can  be  made 
to  resemble  the  Greek  heroic  verse  tol- 
erably in  all  these  particulars.  Rhym- 
ing couplets  or  stanzas  break  up  the 
great  current  into  eddies.  They  are 
always  overloaded  with  mere  filling,  or 
else  they  curdle  into  epigrams.  All  our 
ballad  metres  are  irregular,  loose,  des- 
titute of  dignity,  and,  in  spite  of  their 
freedom,  they  run  into  a  sing-song 
monotony  in  a  long  poem.  Our  pseudo- 
hexameters,  measured  off  by  accents, 
resemble  Greek  heroics  just  as  conversa- 
tion resembles  music;  the  one  sole 
metrical  element  of  the  hexameter,  the 
varied  intermixture  of  long  and  short 
syllables,  is  wanting  in  them.  They 
are  not  in  harmony  with  the  prevailiug 
movement  of  our  language,  which  is 
iambic,  and  not  dactylic,  and  is  barren 
of  spondees.  And  as  written  by  their 
strongest  defenders,  they  are  merely 
prose  run  mad, — except  that,  printed 
continuously  and  without  initial  capi- 
tals, many  pages  of  them  would  pass 
readily  for  sane  and  solid  prose  and 
never  be  suspected  of  any  disguise. 
The  one  metro  left  to  claim  kindred 
with  the  Greek  hexameter  is  our  heroic 
blank  verse ;  a  .poor  enough  representa- 
tive, in  some  respects,  but  by  far  our 
best.  Prosincss  is  its  danger,  but  not 
necessarily  its  doom. 

Since  this  point  is  so  much  contro- 
verted, it  demands  an  illustration.  Let 
UB  take  the  strongest  possible  case 
against  our  heroic  verse,  as  handled  by 
Mr.  Bryant.  Here  is  a  passage  from  the 
third  book  of  the  Iliad,  translated  by 
Dr.  Hawtrey,  and  published  by  him, 
apart  firom  the  context,  as  a  vindication 
of  the  powers  of  hexameter  verse.  It  is 
not  only  the  best  Dr.  Hawtrey  can  do, 
but  Professor  Arnold,  in  advocating  the 
English  hexameter,  says :  '*  It  is  the  one 
version  of  any  part  of  the  Iliad  which 


in  some  degree  reproduces  for  me  the 
original  effect  of  Homer ;  it  is  the  best, 
and  it  is  in  hexameters.*^  Helen  is  on 
the  walls  of  Troy,  with  the  old  King, 
Priam,  and  points  out  one  after  another 
the  princes  of  the  Greeks  upon  the  field 
below ;  she  adds : 

**  *  Clearly  the  ro«t  I  bohold  of  tho  dark-eyed  ions 

of  Acbala; 
Known  to  me  well  are  the  faces  of  all ;  their 

names  I  remember ; 
Two,  two  only  remain  whom  I  see  not  among  the 

commanders, 
Castor  fleet  in  the  car,— Folydenkes  brare  with 

the  ccstnSf— 
Own  dear  brethren  of  mine ;— one  parent  loved  iu 

as  infanta. 
Are  they  not  hero  In  the  host,  from  the  shorea  of 

loved  Lacedamon  7 
Or,  though  they  came  with  the  rest  in  shliw  that 

bound  through  the  waters. 
Dare  they  not  enter  the  fight  or  stand  in  tho  coun- 
cil of  heroes, 
All  for  fear  of  the  shame  and  the  taunts  my  crime 

has  awakened  t  * 
**  So  said  she ;  they  long  since  in  eorth^s  soft  arms 

were  reposing, 
There  in  their  own  dear  land,  their  fatherland, 

LacodsDmon." 

It  would  not  be  fair,  perhaps,  to  lay 
to  the  poor  hexameter's  charge  the  most 
unhomeric,  or  rather,  in  this  case,  anti- 
homeric  conceit  about  "reposing**  in 
"  Earth's  soft  arms,**  which  is  inserted 
into  the  last  line  but  one.  The  metre 
has  sins  enough  of  its  own,  and  it  must 
surely  be  a  broad  definition  of  verse 
which  will  include  that  line,  or  any  of 
the  three  preceding.  Here  is  Mr.  Bry- 
ant's version  of  the  same  passage : 

"  *I  could  point  out  and  name  the  other  chiefs 
Of  the  dork-eyed  Achsians.    Two  alone. 
Princes  among  their  people,  ara  not  seen, — 
Co^or  the  fearless  horseman,  and  the  skilled 
In  boxing,  PoUnz,— twins  ;  one  mother  bore 
Both  at  one  birth  with  me.    Did  they  not  come 
Rrom  pleasant  Lacednmon  to  tho  war  f 
Or,  having  crossed  the  deep  in  their  good  shipa, 
Bhunthcy  to  fight  among  the  valiant  ones 
Of  Oreece,  becaURC  of  my  reproach  and  shame  f* 

**  She  spake ;  but  tliey  already  lay  In  earth 
In  Laoedasmon,  their  donr  native  land.** 

There  is  one  obvious  error  here; 
Homer's  Helen  does  not  say  ^^one 
mother  bore  both  at  one  birth  with 
me,"  but  only  that  the  same  mother  was 
hers  and  theirs.  The  notion  that  Helen 
was  of  the  same  birth  with  Castor  and 
Pollux  first  appears  in  a  late  pseudo- 
Homeric  hymn.  Yet  in  spite  of  this 
oversight,  hardly  to  be  matched  else- 


368 


PCTNJLH*8  MaOAZU^R. 


[Hsrdi, 


where  iu  Mr.  Bryant's  work,  this  ver- 
sion is  sorely  fioj*  more  accurate,  as  a 
whole,  than  the  former  one ;  a  far  more 
perfect  representation  of  the  original. 
It  is  not  merely  better  poetry  in  itself, 
but  incomparably  better  as  a  translation 
from  Homer.  Yet  the  hexametriaU  pat 
this  passage  forward  as  tlieir  picked 
and  champion  piece  of  work ;  while  it 
would  be  easy  to  find  a  hundred  others 
which  Mr.  Bryant  has  rendered  more 
admirably. 

Again,  let  us  bring  all  sides  of  this 
metrical  controversy  to  book  on  a  sin- 
gle line.  The  Grecian  commanders  anx- 
iously await  tidings  of  Ulysses  and  Dio- 
mcde,  who  have  gone  to  make  a  night 
raid  on  the  tents  of  Rhesus.  Nestor 
suddenly  tells  them  that  he  hears 
horses'  feet  in  the  distance,  and  hopes 
it  may  be  his  friends  returning.  One 
beautiful  Greek  line  (x.  535)  says : 

**  A  Bound  of  avitt-footod  horses  strikes  my  ears." 

This   is    exact,  but    the    Greek   is 
poetry,  and  our  English  is  bald  prose. 
How  do  the  translators  give  life  to  tho 
line  ?    Let  us  look  into  some  of  them. 
Old  Chapman  has  it : 

"  Methinks  about  mine  ears 
The  sounds  of  running  horses  beat ;  ** 

which  is  not  Chapman's  worst,  but  is 
scarcely  better  than  prose.  Pope  makes 
a  couplet  of  the  line : 

•(  Methinks  the  noise  of  trampling  steeds  I  hear, 
Thickening  this  way,  and  gathering  on  my  ear ; " 

which  is  in  keeping  with  the  general 
tone  of  Pope's  rhymed  poem,  but  the 
first  line  has  an  awkward  inversion  for- 
eign to  Homer's  directness,  while  the 
second  line  is  mere  filling,  put  in  for 
the  sake  of  the  rhyme.  Cowpcr,  so 
famous  for  accuracy  and  dulness,  says  * 

^  The  echoing  sound  of  hoo&  alarms  my  car ; " 

which  is  worse  still ;  for  it  introduces 
two  ideas,  of  which  Homer  knows  noth- 
ing, the  echo  and  the  alarm,  the  first  of 
which  is  merely  impertinent,  while  the 
second  is  false  in  tone,  Nestor's  impulse 
being  not  apprehension  but  hope. 

Nor  do  the  more  recent  translators 
succeed  much  better.  Blackie,  for  in- 
stance, has  it : 

'  There  smites  my  car  the  tramp  full  near  of  nim- 
ble-footed i 


where  the  jingle  is  unpleasant,  apart 
from  the  false  addition,  "near,"  nid 
of  a  sound  so  remote  that  only  Nesto^ 
sharp  hearing  could  perceive  it  at  alL 
But  this  is  again  a  sin  of  rhyme. 

Norgate  does  as  well  here  as  d» 
where  with  his  "  dramatic  verse : " 

*  There  strikes  upon  my  em 
A  clatt'ring  noise  of  nimUe-fiMted  horses ;  * 

though  Homer's  Nestor  was  in  too 
much  haste  to  say  whether  the  noiie 
'*  clattered  "  or  not.  Simcox  ia  ndthcr 
better  nor  worse  than  most  of  the  tmt' 
lators,  who  try  to  measure  off  Qmk 
hexameters  by  English  accents.  He 
makes  this  one  of  our  line : 

'*  Now  to  my  hearing  comes  the  tramp  of  iwi^ 
\,  ^  footed  horses  ; " 

which  is  merely  diluted  prose. 

Mr.  P.  W.  Newman,  however,  the  bat 

thinker  and  most  accomplished  sdiolir 

who  has  given  us  an  Iliad  since  Popa^ 

makes,  as  usual,  so  here  the  worst  woik 

of  all  translators : 

**  My  ears  do  quiver  with  the  tramp  of  irimMi 
footed  horses.** 

Surely    it   was    Bottom,   not   Nestoi^ 
who  was  so  "  translated  "  as  to  be  en- 
titled to  "  quivering  ears  I  " 
Earl  Derby  has  it  thus : 

*"  Methinks 
The  sound  of  horses,  hurrying,  strikes  my  car ;" 

and  this,  except  the  superfluous  '^  me- 
thinks," is  exact  and  only  halts  a  littk. 
Mr.  Bryant's  translation  of  the  line  ia 
question  is  this : 

"  The  trampling  of  swift  steeds  is  in  ny  cos;* 

This  is  as  direct  and  as  idiomatic  ai 
the  Greek ;  it  is  literal  enough  for  % 
school  boy's  recitation ;  and  ezpreflns, 
in  a  manner  worthy  of  Homer,  and  not 
unlike  Homer,  the  very  attitude  of  Nes- 
tor's mind  while  speaking. 

Wo  might  better  have  taken  for  ihii 
comparison  a  longer  passage  had  m 
room  for  the  citations,  but  a  line  k 
enough  to  show  at  least  how  so  msny 
have  failed,  if  not  so  clearly  how  weU 
one  has  succeeded.  To  show  this  we 
must  drop  the  other  translators,  and 
look,  for  a  little,  to  Mr.  Bryant  alone; 
assured  that,  if  he  fail  us,  our  chance  of 
an  English  Homer  is  small.  Let  as  turn 
to  a  few  passages  of  high,  but  varied 


The  Iliad  in  Enoush. 


860 


!  in  the  original,  and  see  bow 
itor  bos  done  bis  work, 
lest  Chryses,  whose  daughter 
jeized  by  the  Greeks,  is  grimly 
vbcn  he  applies  to  Agamem- 
^rmission  to  ransom  her.  The 
irs  him  to  go  : 

^ed  man  la  foar  obeyed 
e,  and  in  silence  walked  apart, 
any-Bonnding  ocean-side, 
ly  he  prayed  the  monareh-god, 
sn-halred  Lntona^s  son  : — 
thou  bearer  of  the  silver  bow 
Bt  Chryia,  and  the  holy  isle 
I  art  lord  in  Teucdos, 
B  I  if  I  over  helped  to  deck 
I  temple,  if  I  ever  burned 
;ar  the  fat  thighs  of  goata 
0,  grant  my  prayer,  and  let  thy  shafts 
a  the  Greeks  the  tears  I  shed.* 
he  supplicating,  and  to  him  ^k 

alio  hearkened.    Down  he  came,    ^^ 
the  summit  of  the  Olympian  mount, 
heart ;  his  shoulders  bore  the  bow 
quiver  ;  there  the  arrows  rang 
oulders  of  the  angry  god, 
tved.    He  came  as  comes  tne  night, 
from  the  ships  aloof,  sent  forth 
errible.was  heard  the  clang 
lendent  bow.    At  first  he  smote 
nd  the  swift  dogs,  and  then  on  man 
le  deadly  arrow.    All  around 
Qore  the  fluent  funeral  plles.^* 

owing  seems  to  ns  a  very  bap- 
ng  of  a  few  remarkable  lines 
r(Mt87): 

the  Argive  youths,  that  whole  day 

tase  the  god  ;  they  chanted  forth 
LB  to  the  archer  of  the  skies. 

0  the  strain,  and  his  stem  mood 

d.    When,  at  length,  the  sun  went 

la  fell,  they  gave  themsolveato  deep 
istenings  of  their  ships,  and  when 
e  roey-flngered  Dawn,  the  child 
they  retamed  to  the  great  host 
tans.    PhoBbuB  deigned  to  send 
feeze ;  at  once  they  reared  the  mast 
the  white  sails ;  the  canvas  swelled 
ind,  and  hoarsely  round  the  keel 
.ves  murmured  as  the  ship  flew  on. 
ntting  through  the  sea  her  way. 
ey  reached  the  great  Achaianhost, 
leir  veBsel  high  upon  the  diore 
ands,  and  underneath  its  sides 
long  beams  to  prop  the  keel,    and 
t 
emselves  among  the  tents  and  shipflL** 

»eks  have  fallen  into  desx>ond- 

1  into  panic;  Hector  advises 

on  to  gather  and  enconrage 

k  ii.)  : 

no  time  in  prattle,  nor  delay 
pointed  by  the  gods,  but  lend 


The  heralds  of  the  Achoians,  brazen-mailed, 
To  call  the  ]>eople  to  the  fleet,  while  we 
Pass  in  a  body  through  their  vast  array 
And  wake  the  martial  spirit  in  their  breasts.* 

''  He  spake,  and  Agamemnon,  king  of  men. 
Followed  the  counse}.    Instantly  he  bade 
The  loud-voiced  herald  summon  to  the  war 
The  long-haired  Arglveti.    At  the  call  they  eamo^ 
Quickly  they  came  together,  and  the  kings, 
Nurslings  of  Jupiter,  who  stood  beside 
Atrides,  hastened  through  the  crowd  to  form 
The  army  into  ranks.    Among  them  walked 
The  blue-eyed  Pallas,  bearing  on  her  arm 
The  priceless  flsgis,  ever  fair  and  new, 
And  undeoaylng  ;  from  its  edge  there  hung 
A  hundred  golden  fringes,  fairly  wrought, 
And  every  Aringe  might  buy  a  hecatomb. 
With  this  and  fierce,  defiant  looks  she  passed 
Through  all  the  Achaian  host,  and  made  their 

hearts 
Impatient  for  the  march  and  strong  to  endure 
The  combat  without  pause, — for  now  the  war 
Seemed  to  them  dearer  than  the  wished  return, 
In  their  good  galleys,  to  the  land  they  loved. 

**  As  when  a  foreat  on  the  mountain-top 
Is  in  a  blaze  with  the  devouring  flame  . 
And  shines  afar,  so,  while  the  warriors  marched. 
The  brightness  of  their  burnished  weapons  flasheid 
On  every  side  and  upward  to  the  sky. 

^  And  as  when  water-fowl  of  many  tribe»— 
Qeese,  cranes,  and  long*necked  Bwwns    disport 

themselvec 
In  Asia's  fields  beside  Cayster's  streams, 
And  to  and  fh>  they  fiy  with  screams,  and  Utfitt, 
Flock  after  fiook,  and  all  the  fields  resound ; 
Or  as  when  files  in  swarming  myriads  haunt 
The  herdsman^s  stalls  in  spring'time,  when  new 

milk 
Has  filled  the  pailB,— in  such  vast  multitudes 
Mustered  the  long-haired  Greeks  upon  the  plain, 
Impatient  to  destroy  the  Trojan  race. 

"  Then,  as  the  goatherds,  when  their  mingled 
fiocks 
Are  in  the  postures,  know  and  set  apart 
Each  hlB  own  scattered  charge,  so  did  the  ohiel^ 
Moving  among  them,  marshal  each  his  men. 
There  walked  King  Agamemnon,  like  to  Jove 
In  eye  and  forehead,  with  the  loins  of  Mors, 
And  ample  cheat  like  him  who  rules  the  sea. 
And  as  a  bull  amid  the  homdd  herd 
Stands  eminent  and  nobler  than  the  rest, 
So  Jove  to  Agamemnon  on  that  day 
Oave  to  support  the  chiefs  in  port  and  mien.*— 

Homer  is  never  more  amazing  In  his 
power  over  the  reader  than  in  bis  de- 
scriptions of  the  rush  or  rage  or  terror 
or  flight  of  hnge  masses  of  men.  Anoth- 
er passage  of  the  kind,  still  more  im- 
pressive than  the  last,  is  that  in  the 
fourth  book,  where  the  two  armies  meet 
for  the  first  time  on  the  battle-field. 
Diomedo  has  just  spoken ;  and,  as  Mr. 
Bryant  has  it, 

**  He  spake,  and  f>om  hia  cHariot  leaped  to  earth 
All  armed ;  the  mail  upon  the  monarch's  breMt 
Bang  terribly  as  he  marched  swiftly  on. 
The  boldest  might  have  heard  that  sound  with 
fear. 


870 


PdTNjOC's  MAOAZDn. 


Ptoi, 


"  As  when  the  ocean-blllowi,  wave  on  wave, 
Are  pushed  along  to  the  resounding  shore 
Before  the  weatem  wind,  and  first  the  sorga 
Uplifts  itself,  and  then  against  the  land 
Dashes  and  roars,  and  ronnd  the  headland  peaks 
T(M8es  on  high  and  sponts  its  foam  aiu, 
Bo  moved  the  serried  phalanxes  of  Greeoe 
To  battle,  file  snooeedlng  file,  eaoh  ohief 
Giving  command  to  his  own  troops ;  the  rest 
Marched  noiseleasly :  you  might  have  thought  no 

voice 
Was  in  the  breasts  of  all  that  mighty  throng, 
So  sileDtly  they  all  obeyed  their  ehiefii, 
Their  showy  armor  gUtteiing  as  they  moved 
In  firm  array.    But,  as  the  numerous  flock 
Of  some  rich  man,  while  the  white  milk  is  drawn 
Within  his  sheepfdld,  hear  the  plaintive  call 
Of  their  own  lambs,  and  bleat  IncessaDtly,— 
Such  clamors  fh)m  the  mighty  Trojan  host 
Arose ;  nor  was  the  war-cry  one,  nor  one 
The  voice,  but  words  of  mingled  languages, 
For  they  were  called  from  many  dlfltoent  dimee. 
These  Mars  encouraged  to  the  fight ;  but  those 
The  blue-eyed  Pallas.    Terror  too  was  there. 
And  Fright,  and  Strife  that  rages  unappeased,— 
Sister  and  comrade  of  man^slaylng  Mars, — 
Who  rises  small  at  first,  but  grows,  and  lifts 
Her  head  to  heaven  and  walks  upon  the  earth. 
She,  striding  through  the  crowd  and  heightening 
The  mutual  rancor,  flung  into  the  midst 
Contention,  source  of  bale  to  all  alike. 

"  And  now,  when  mot  the  armies  in  the  fidd, 
The  ox-hide  dilelds  encountered,  and  the  Bj>earB, 
And  might  of  warriors  maUed  in  brass ;  then 

clashed 
The  bossy  bucklers,  and  the  battle*  din 
Was  loud;   then  rose  the  mingled  shouts  and 

groans 
Of  those  who  slow  and  those  who  fell ;  the  earth 
Ban  with  their  blood.    As  when  the  winter  streams 
Rush  down  the  mountain-sides,  and  fill,  below, 
With  their  swift  waters,  poured  from  gushing 

springs, 
Some  hollow  vale,  the  shepherd  on  the  heights 
Hears  the  far  roar, — such  was  the  mingled  din 
That  rose  fh)m  the  great  armies  when  they  met.** 

The  familiar  accoant  of  the  parting  of 
Hector  and  Andromache,  in  the  sixth 
hook,  is  translated  with  a  straightfor- 
ward fidelity  to  the  manly  tenderness  of 
the  ori^oal,  which  conld  he  fairly  repre- 
sented only  hy  an  extract  heyond  oar 
limits.  But  the  manner  in  which  the  hat- 
tie  in  the  eighth  hook  is  decided  must  he 
quoted,  if  only  to  call  attention  to  the  ex- 
quisitely simple  transition  from  the  ac- 
tion of  Zeus  to  the  effect  on  the  comhat- 
antSy  which  is  so  well  preserved  in  Mr. 
Bryant's  rendering : 

**  Kow  in  their  tents  the  long-haired  Greeks  had 
shared 
A  hasty  raeal,  and  girded  on  their  arms. 
The  Trojnns,  also,  In  their  city  armed 
Themselves  for  war,  as  eager  for  the  fight, 
Though  fewer ;  for  a  hard  necessity 
Forosd  them  to  combat  for  their  little  onea 
wives.    They  set  thu  cliy<-portaIs  wide, 


And  forth  the  people  iaiued,  foot  and  bona 

Together,  and  a  mighty  din  aroae. 

And  now,  when  boat  met  host,  their  sUeMs  wl 

spears 
Were  mingled  in  disorder ;  men  of  mli^t 
Encountered,  cssed  in  mail,  and  baeUeri  tUtAd 
Their  bosses ;  loud  the  damor:  eriea  of  pain 
And  boastAil  shouts  aroae  ftom  thoae  who  M 
And  those  who  slew,  and  earth  waa  drandiadvlft 

blood. 
«*  While  yet  *t  was  morning,  and  the  holy  Uill 
Of  day  grow  bright,  the  men  of  both  thfO  hoili 
Were  smitten  and  were  slain ;  but  whan  tbtsa 
Stood  high  m  middle  heaven,  the  All-IMb«lMk 
His  golden  scales,  and  in  them  laid  Che  ftles 
Which  bring  the  sleep  of  death, —the  Ikte  of  tboi 
Who  tamed  the  aYoJansteeda,  nod  thoae  iiIm>— ^ 

red 
For  Greece  in  brazen  armor.    By  tha  midst 
He  held  the  balance,  and,  behold,  the  ftta 
Of  Greece  in  that  day*s  fight  sank  down  nlfl 
It  touched  the  nourishing  earth,  while  thrt  tf 

Troy 
^te  and  flew  upward  toward  the  spadoos  hs»> 

en. 
With  that  the  Godhead  thundered  tanlbly 
From  Ida*s  height,  and  sent  his  Ughinlnp  dowi 
Among  the  Achaian  army.    They  beheld 
In  mote  amasement  and  grew  pale  with  ten, 

**  Then  neither  dared  Idomenena  remain, 
Nor  Agamemnon,  on  the  ground,  nor  attijtA 
The  chieftains  AJax,  ministers  of  Mara." 

The  closing  lines  of  the  eighth  book 
are  famous  for  their  intrinsic  hean^,  aii 
the  merits  of  various  versiona  of  tbeoi, 
as  of  a  test  passage,  have  been  diaepiJ 
at  length  hy  critics.  The  poet  laoreito 
of  England,  responded,  a  few  years  igo^ 
to  an  unfortunate  challenge  by  Frotoor 
Arnold,  in  his  essay  ^'On  TranalatiDg 
Homer,"  and  published  a  tranahtioB 
of  them,  as  nearly  perfect  as  any  wotk 
of  man.  With  this  familiar  gem  by  lb. 
Tennyson,  there  is  certainly  no  venioa 
in  our  language  that  will  bear  fiomptfi- 
son,  except  this  of  Mr.  Bryant : 

**  So  Hector  spake,  and  all  the  Trojan  host 
Applauded ;  fh>m  the  yoke  forthwith  they  loostl 
The  sweaty  steeds,  and  bound  them  to  the  esn 
With  halters  *,  to  the  town  they  sent  in  hasts 
For  oxen  and  the  fallings  of  the  flock, 
And  to  their  homos  for  bread  and  pleasant  viBl> 

**  So,   high  in  hope,  they  sat  the  whole  ai^ 
through 
In  warlike  lines,  and  many  watch-fires  biased. 
As  when  in  heaven  the  stars  look  brightly  fOtik 
Round  the  clear-shining  moon,  whiie  not  a  brssn 
Stirs  in  the  depths  of  air,  and  all  the  stars 
Are  seen,  and  gladness  fills  tho  ehrpherd'i  hsszt, 
60  many  fires  in  sight  of  Illnm  blatod, 
Lit  by  the  sons  of  Troy,  between  the  dilpa 
And  eddying  Xanthos  :  on  the  plain  there  shoDS 
A  thousand  ;  fifty  ns'arrlors  by  each  fire 
Sat  in  Its  light.    Their  steeds  beside  the  ear»- 
Champing  their  oatd  and   their  white  bariqr— 

stood, 
And  waited  for  tho  golden  mom  to  rise." 


LlTEBATUBX. 


871 


36  onr  citationswith  one  passage 
re  of  the  achievements  of  a 
one  which,  besides  its  great 
poetry,  is  curiously  illustrative 
irit  of  ancient  warfare ;  and  in 
hile  there  is  room  for  criticism 
,  the  tone  of  the  original  seems 
lave  been  caught  by  Mr.  Bryant 
previous  translator. 

Pisander  and  Hlppoloohns 
hed,— brave  warrion  l>oth,  and  sons 
QtimaohOB,  the  chief  who  took 
Ich  giflfl  from  Paris,  and  refused 
rrojans  render  Helen  back 
red  Menelaos.    Hia  twn  eons, 
>  car,  and  reigning  their  fleet  steeda, 
;rcepted  :  they  let  fall 
Idered  roinf,  dismayed,  as,  lion-like, 
I  came ;  and,  cowering,  thns  they  pray- 
as  alire,  Atrldes,  and  accept 
■ansom,  for  Antimaohos 
Is  halls  large  treasures,— brass  and  gold, 
VTonght  steel ;  and  he  will  send,  from 

gifts  when  he  shall  bear  that  we 
alire  and  at  the  Grecian  fleet, 
then  yonr  lather  is  Antimachus, 
vho  in  a  Trojsn  cooncil  ooce 
hat  Menelans,  whom  we  sent 
ith  Ulysses  the  divine, 
return  to  Oreece,  bat  sniTer  death, 
must  answer  for  yonr  father's  goilt.' 
:e  the  king,  and,  striking  with  his  spear 
breast,  he  dashed  him  ftom  the  car. 
le  gronnd  he  Isy.    Hippolochns 
vn  and  met  the  sword.    Atrides  lopped 
snd  drave  the  weapon  throogh  his  neck, 
he  head  to  roll  among  the  crowd. 


And  then  he  left  the  dead,  and  roshed  to  where 
The  ranks  were  in  disordtf ;  with  him  went 
Hts  well-armed  Greeks :  there  they  who  fought 

on  foot 
Blaoghtered  the  flying  foot ;  the  horsemen  there 
Clove  horsemen  down;   the  coursers^  trampling 

feet 
Raised  the  thick  dnst  to  shadow  all  the  plain ; 
While  Agsmemnon  cheered  the  Achaians  on. 
And  chased  and  slew  the  foe.    As  when  a  Are 
Seizes  a  thick-grown  forest,  and  the  wind 
Drives  It  along  in  eddies,  while  the  trunks 
Fall  with  the  boughs  amid  devoaring  flames. 
So  fell  the  flying  Trojans  by  the  hand 
Of  Agamemnon.    Many  hlgh-maned  steeds 
Dragged  noisily  tboir  empty  cars  among 
The  ranks  of  battle,  never  more  to  bear 
Their  charioteers,  who  lay  upon  the  earth 
The  vulture's  feast,  a  sorrow  to  their  wives. 
**  But  Jove  beyond  the  encountering  arms,  the 

dust. 
The  eamage,  and  the  bloodshed  snd  the  dtn 
Bore  Hector,  while  Atrides  in  pursuit 
Was  loudly  cheering  the  Achaians  on. 
Meantime  the  Trojans  fled  across  the  plain 
Toward  the  wild  flg-tree  growing  near  the  tomb 
Of  ancient  Bus,  son  of  Dardanus,— 
Eager  to  reach  the  town ;  and  still  the  son 
Of  Atreus  followed,  shooting,  and  with  hands 
Blood-stained  and  dust-begrimed.  And  when  they 

reached 
The  Scssan  portals  and  the  beechen  tree, 
They  halted,  waiting  for  the  rear,  like  beeves 
Chased  panting  by  a  lion  who  hss  come 
At  midnight  on  them,  and  has  put  the  herd 
To  flight,  and  one  of  them  to  oertaln  death,— 
Whose  neck  he  breaks  with  his  strong  teeth  and 

then 
Devours  the  entrails,  lapping  up  the  blood. 
Thus  did  Atrides  Agamemnon  chase 
The  Trojans ;  still  he  slew  the  hindmost  •  still 
They  fled  before  him.** 


-•♦♦- 


LITERATURE— AT  HOME. 


^BXT  to  anecdotes  of  men  of 
vrhich  we  consider  the  most 
dng  of  all  kinds  of  gossip,  are 
18  of  men  of  kindred  professions, 
iw,  Physic,  and  Divinity.  Quite 
f  might  be  got  together,  of 
hese  should  be  the  specialty. 
"3,  Jeafireson,  for  instance,  an 
UtterateuTy  who  sometimes  con- 
)  to  novel-writing,  has  compiled 
)k  about  Lawyers,''  and  "A 
>oat  Doctora ; "  and  Mr.  Edwin 
Hood,  another  English  UtUra- 
no  note,  has  manufactured, 
PUeh&rs,  and  TrumpeU  ;  LeetureB 
oeation  of  the  PreacheTy  of  which 
ad  series  has  lately  been  pub- 


lished by  Mr.  M.  W.  Dodd.  It  ia  not  so 
readable  as  Mr.  Jeaffireson's  books, 
partly  because  Mr.  Hood,  who  is  a  min- 
ister, writes  from  a  ministerial  point  of 
view,  and  partly  because  the  materials 
are  not  so  abundant.  It  is  rather  solenm 
reading,  on  the  whole,  as  may  be  infer- 
red from  the  subjects  of  the  lectures, 
which  are  on  *'  The  Pulpits  of  our  Age 
and  Times;"  "On  Arrangement  of 
Texts  by  Division;"  "Concerning 
Written  and  Extemporary  Sermons;" 
"  On  Effective  Preaching  and  the  Foun- 
dations of  Legitimate  Success;"  and 
"  On  the  Mental  Tools  and  Apparatus 
Needful  for  the  Pulpit."  There  are, 
however,  good  things  scattered  through 


tn 


[MM, 


the  gnre  portioiu  of  it,  and  tlie  best 
axe  ftoecdotes  of  the  clergj.     Here  is 
one :  A  Sonday-school  teacher  examin- 
ing his  okas,  asked,  ^  Who  was  Eatj- 
chns?*'     ^*A  joong  man  who  heard 
Paul  preach,  and  falling  down,  was 
taken  op  d^.'*    "  And  from  the  cir- 
ciniiftanees     what    do    we     learn  ?  ^ 
"^  Please,  sir,  that  ministers  should  not 
preach  long  sermons."    Another  recalls 
the  anecdote  of  the  scholar  who  re- 
fused, on  his  deathbed,  to  listen  to  the 
priest  who  was  declaiming  to  him  about 
the  bliss  of  Paradise,  because  he  spoke 
such  execrable  Latin  I     It  is  to  this 
effect,  in  the  rather  inelegant  language 
of  Mr.  Hood:  "When,  in  a  Turkish 
mosque,  one  with  a  yery  harsh  yoice 
was  reading  the  Koran  in  a  loud  tone, 
a  good  and  holy  Mollah  went  to  him 
and  said :  <  What  is  your  monthly  sti^ 
pcnd  ? '    And  he  answered,  *  Nothing.' 
Then  said  he,  *Why  give  thyself  so 
much  trouble  ? '    And  he  said, '  I  am 
reading  for    the  sake  of  God.'     The 
good  and  holy  Mollah    replied,  'For 
God's  sake  do  not  read;   for  if  you 
enumerate  after  this  manner,  thou  wilt 
cast  a  shade  over  the  glory  of  ortho- 
doxy.' "    Among  apt  texts,  of   which 
there  are  plenty  of  anecdotes  extant,  we 
remember  none  better  than   the  one 
which  James  the  First,  of  England,  and 
Sixth  of  Scotland,  heard  on  his  arrival 
in  London:   *' James  L  and  Sixth,  a 
doubl&iminded  man,  is  unstable  in  all 
his  ways."    Concerning  Young's  Night 
ThoughtSy  which  he  considers  as  fine  a 
piece  of  declamation  as  any  thing  in  the 
language,  Mr.  Hood  relates  an  anecdote 
of  Dr.  13cattie :  "  I  used  to  devour  his 
*  Night  Thoughts,'  with  a  satisfaction 
not  unlike  that  which,  in  my  younger 
years,  I  have  found  in  walking  alone  in 
a  churchyard,  or  on  a  wild  mountain 
by  the  moon  at  midnight.     When   I 
first  read  Young,  my  heart  was  broke 
to  think  of  the  poor  man's  afflictions*. 
Afterward  I  took  into  my  head,  that 
whore  there  was  so  much  lamentation, 
there  could  not  be  excessive  suffering, 
and  I  could  not  help  applying  to  him, 
Bometimos,  those  lines  of  a  song : 

'  Bolieva  mo,  the  Shoplioxtl  but  fvigiu 
IIo*s  wretebod,  to  show  ho  hns  wit.* 


On  talking  with  some  of  Dr.  To«q^ 
friends,  in  Eogiand,  I  bare  since  taid 
that  my  conjectures    were    li^lit,  %x 
that  while   he    was   compoong    the 
'Night   Thoughts^*  he  was  really  » 
cheerful  as  any  man.^   Mr.  Hood  mi^ 
have  added,  on  his  own  account,  thit 
there  was  no  reason  why  Young  should 
not  have  been  cheerAil,  as  he  hid  bo 
heart  to  speak  of^  and  was  waooeaM 
beyond  his  deserts.    One  of  the  rep- 
resentative  preachers,    of    whom  liL 
Hood  writes  with  admiration,  is  tk 
Rev.  F.  W.  Robertson,  of  whose  Amm^ 
which  was  attended  by  Jews,  Unit^ 
rians,  Roman  Catholics,  Quakers,  and 
Churchmen,  he  says,  that  it  adds  waa^ 
thing  to  the  pathos  of  that  procemi 
to  know,  how  among  the  followen  mi 
one  remarkable  lady,  wending  her  wi{j 
on  foot — Lady  Byron — who  would  ost 
go  in   her  carriage ;  '*  unworthy,"  • 
she  said,  *'  to  ride  after  such  remsioL'* 
This  action  on  the  part  of  her  ladjihip 
may  have  been  as  admirable  as  Hl 
Hood  seems  to  think;    but  judging 
from  our  present  view  of  her  chanflfaf, 
it  was  more  nearly  related  to  what  tiM 
poet  calls  the  devil's  darling  sin, — 

"  The  pride  that  apee  homilitj.'* 

It  is  a  pity  that  a  writer  irtis 

has  successfully  opened  a  new  vein  h 
letters,  should  not  know  when  it  ii 
worked  out ;  but  must  needs  go  on  sfk- 
ing  sand,  and  breaking  quartz,  fort 
few  grains  of  the  shining  ore.    Sndi  t 
one  is  Miss  Manning,  who,  twenty  yein 
ago,  delighted  the  world  with  **Tlie 
Maiden    and   Married   Life    of  Msiy 
Powell ; "  and  has  since  been  ddi^it- 
ing  herself  (we  trust  so,  at  least,  flinoe 
other  delight  is  out  of  the  question) 
with  a  succession  of  similar  works— il 
the  rate  of  one  or  two  a-year — eich 
weaker  than  its  predecessor,  the  last 
being  The  SpanUih  Barber  (M.  W.  Dodd), 
of  which  we  can  only  say  that  it  may 
be  very  nice  reading  for  children  of  a 
pious  turn  of  mind ;  but  is  not  of  much 
consequence  to  any  body  else.    We  an 
sorry  to  say  this ;  for  we  have  the  pleas- 
antest  memories  of  "  Mary  Powell "  and 
"  The  Household  of  Sir  Thomas  More,*' 
and  the  belief  that  a  stirring  as  well 


] 


LiTEBATUBB. 


878 


teresting  story  might  be  written 
;  the  circulation  of  the  Bible  in 
L  We  know  what  Borrow  made 
e  Bobject  in  his  well-known  work ; 
tien  there  are  writers— and  writers. 
Manning  should  have  remained 
Dted  with  her  early  laurels,  for  she 
thering  very  poor  substitutes  for 
now. 

—  The  success,  in  this  country,  of 
rk  like  Froude's  EUtcry  of  Eng- 
[Scribner  &  Co.)  is  indicative  of  a 
r  class  of  cultivated  readers  than 
n  other  literary  facts  would  lead 
believe,  and  its  reprint  in  cheaper 
than  the  original  issue  is  a  sign 
;hiB  publishers  at  least  are  of  the 
oih  that  the  class  can  be  readily 
jed.  We  note  the  fact  with  pleas- 
7hich  is  not  diminished  because  it 
kes  of  the  nature  of  wonder,  first 
io  many  Americans  should  to-day 
terested  in  the  history  of  the  Eng- 
of  Henry  the  Eighth,  Mary,  and 
beth ;  and,  second,  that  they  should 
lling  to  accept  a  history  as  lengthy 
•.  Fronde's.  From  the  fall  of  Wol- 
>  the  death  of  Elizabeth  was  con- 
ibly  less  than  a  hundred  years, 
while  we  admit  the  period  to  have 
an  important  one,  we  cannot  but 
:  that  justice  might  have  been  done 
in  less  than  a  dozen  volumes.  If 
ry  is  to  be  written  at  this  rate 
Iter,  we  must  either  confine  our* 
I  exclusively  to  reading  the  history 
me  one  country,  or  reign,  or  give 
16  reading  of  history  altogether ; 
hat  with  the  newspapers  we  must 
the  novels  we  all  skim  over,  and 
)oems  we  ought  to  look  at,  there 
36  no  leisure  left  tor  it.  For  this 
Bular  "  History  "  of  Mr.  Fronde's, 
ibly  rather  than  brilliantly  written, 
n  as  fair  a  spirit  as  we  could  ex- 
when  we  remember  that  the  object 
r.  Fronde,  or  one  of  his  objects,  was 
liabiUtate  the  memory  of  Henry 
Sghth.  Whether  or  no  he  has  suc- 
)d  in  this,  will  probably  be  decided 
is  readers  according  to  the  particu- 
das  with  which  they  take  up  his 
«  For  ourselves  we  think  that  he 
dcoeeded,  for  the  simple  reason  that 


his  Henry  the  Eighth  is  not  a  monster, 
but  a  man ;  not  a  faultless  man,  by  any 
means,  but  with  all  his  faults,  a  man. 
It  is  Mr.  Fronde's  belief  that  "some 
natural  explanation  can  usually  be  given 
of  the  actions  of  human  beings  without 
supposing  them  to  have  been  possessed 
by  extraordinary  wickedness,"  and  he 
gives  Henry  the  Eighth  the  benefit  of 
tills  belief,  fortifying  it  with  a  greater 
array  of  historical  documents  than  were 
ever  before  brought  to  bear  upon  hia 
life  and  career.  The  substance  of  his 
opinion  in  regard  to  the  King's  charac- 
ter is  as  follows :  "  It  is  certain  that  if, 
as  I  said,  he  had  died  before  the  di- 
vorce was  mooted,  Henry  VHI.,  like 
that  Roman  Emperor  said  by  Tacitus 
to  have  been  consensu  omnium  dignus 
imperii  nisi  imperassety  would  have  been 
considered  by  posterity  as  formed  by 
Providence  for  the  conduct  of  the  Re- 
formation, and  his  loss  would  have 
been  deplored  as  a  perpetual  calamity. 
We  must  allow  him,  therefore,  the  bene- 
fit of  his  past  career,  and  be  careful  to 
remember  it  when  interpreting  his  later 
actions.  Not  many  men  would  have 
borne  themselves  with  the  same  integ- 
rity; but  the  circumstances  of  those 
trials  had  not  tested  the  true  defects  in 
his  moral  constitution.  Like  all  princes 
of  the  Plantagenet  blood,  he  was  a  per- 
son  of  most  intense  and  imperioua  wilL 
His  impulses,  in  general  nobly  directed, 
had  never  known  contradiction:  and 
late  in  life,  when  his  character  was 
formed,  he  was  forced  into  collision 
with  difficulties  with  which  the  experi- 
ence of  discipline  had  not  fitted  him  to 
contend.  Education  had  done  much 
for  him ;  but  his  nature  required  more 
correction  than  his  position  had  per- 
mitted, whilst  unbroken  prosperity  and 
early  independence  of  control  had  been 
his  most  serious  misfortune.  He  had 
capacity,  if  his  training  had  been  equal 
to  it,  to  be  one  of  the  greatest  of  men. 
With  all  his  faults  about  him,  he  was 
still  perhaps  the  greatest  of  his  contem- 
poraries ;  and  the  man  best  able  of  all 
living  Englishmen  to  govern  England 
had  been  set  to  do  it  by  the  conditions 
of  his   birth."     The   reprint  of  Mr. 


874 


Putnam's  Maoazzhs. 


[Manila 


Fronde's  '*  History  of  England "  is  in 
monthly  installments  of  two  volumes, 
the  lat^  ending  with  the  sixth  volume, 
which  closes  with  the  death  of  Queen 
Mary.  Typographically  it  is  but  little 
inferior  to  the  original  edition,  and  is 
so  cheap,  in  comparison  with  the  ma- 
jority of  such  works,  as  to  have  attract- 
ed considerable  attention  in  England. 

If  Fiction,  which  was  never  be- 
fore so  abundant  in  our  literature,  and 
seldom  before  so  worthless,  is  not  des« 
tined  to  extinction,  it  must,  we  think, 
soon  have  an  infusion  of  fresher  and 
healthier  blood  from  other  countries. 
'We  have  no  reason  to  believe  that 
France  will  supply  it-,  though  it  might, 
if  George  Band  would  only  write  up  to 
the  best  that  is  in  her;  as  Germany 
might,  if  Auerbach  and  Spielhagen 
were  only  as  popular  here  as  they  de- 
serve to  be ;  and  as  Norway  certainly 
might,  if  Bjomstjemo  Bjomson  could 
only  impart  to  our  novelists  some  of  his 
sympathetic  and  profound  insight  into 
nature.  The  translation  of  his  ^^  Ame  " 
ought  to  have  been  an  event  in  the  his- 
tory of  English  and  American  Action,  as 
it  was  in  the  memory  of  some  of  its  read- 
ers, and  as  the  translation  of  his  Happy 
Boy  (Sever,  Francis  &  Co.)is  now  in  ours. 
It  is  a  trifle,  judged  by  the  present 
standard  of  plot  and  elaboration  of 
character,  but  it  is  such  a  trifle  as  only 
a  man  of  genius  could  have  produced. 
What  distinguishes  Bjomson  beyond 
any  writer  of  his  class  with  whom  wo 
are  familiar,  is  his  intuitive  knowledge 
of  youth  and  its  sweetest  emotions,  his 
knowledge  of  the  heart  in  the  first  flush 
of  virginal  love.  It  was  that  which 
made  *'  Ame "  so  delightful,  and  it  is 
that  which  makes  *'  The  Happy  Boy '' 
so  enchanting.  It  has  no  plot  to  speak 
of,  being  a  few  pages  fVom  the  life-his- 
tory of  a  peasant  lad,  and  a  maiden  of 
better  birth,  who  grew  up  together  as 
children,  who  found  themselves  loving 
each  other,  and  who,  after  a  few  ob- 
stacles, were  married.  This  is  all  there 
is  of  it ;  but  then  how  exquisite  this  is, 
as  Bjomson  has  handled  it,  and  how 
lifelike  are  his  characters,  any  pne  of 
whom,  and  there  are  six,  would  add  to 


the  reputation  of  any  living  novdBii 
^*  The  Happy  Boy  "  is  as  perfect  <tf  Mi 
kind  as  the  idyls  of  Tennyson,  beii^ 
in  &ct,  a  little  prose-idyl  of  peamt 
life  in  Norway. 

From  Mr.  John  Neal  we  have  t 

brisk  little  volume  entitled  Great  J^pi- 
terie%  and  Little  PlaguMy  of  which  Hsmx 
Roberts  Brothers  are  the  publishers.  It 
is  mainly  about  children,  conoendng 
whom  Mr.  Keal  rattles  away  in  flie 
highest  spirits,  which  we  share  widi 
him  before  we  g^t  through.  A  portin 
of  the  book,  "  Children — ^what  are  thcj 
good  for?"  appeared  in  the  Atlaotie 
Souvenir  '*  about  forty  years  ago,  bdos 
which  time  Mr.  Neal  seems  to  hm 
been  a  diligent  reader  of  all  sorts  of 
magazines  and  newspapers,  for  the  yoBS 
pose  of  adding  to  his  stock  of  childiA 
ana.  And  really  the  number  of  good 
things  he  has  collected  is  surpiifligL 
They  take  up  at  least  two  thirds  of  ids 
book,  and  are  arranged  under  the  held 
of  "  Pickings  and  Stealings,''  a  headiiig 
which  exactly  suits  their  character.  We 
meet,  of  course,  with  stories  that  wo 
were  familiar  with,  but  they  are  none 
the  less  welcome  on  that  account ;  Ibr 
when  we  are  in  the  mood  for  residing 
jokes,  the  old  are  as  good  as  the  nevr. 
We  commend  Idr.  Neal's  omnium  gA 
erum  to  the  lovers  of  light  reading,  u 
the  very  thing  to  while  away  an  idle 
hour. 

Ths  Sunset  Landy  or  the  Cheat 

Pacific  ShpCy  by  Rev.  John  Todd,  DJX, 
should  be  added  to  recent  works  on 
California.  It  is  not  so  interesting  to 
us,  as  an  ardent  Califomian  would 
doubtless  flnd  it,  but  it  is  a  clever  little 
book,  covering  a  good  deal  of  ground. 
Mr.  Todd  writes  with  an  enthumam 
we  have  faith  in,  since  it  is  fortified 
with  facts,  in  the  first  place,  and  tem- 
perately expressed,  in  the  second  place. 
The  only  exception  to  this  statement  is 
the  concluding  paragraph  of  the  A|h 
pendix,  in  which  Mr.  Todd  has  allowed 
himself  to  write  rapturously  of  Pull- 
man's sleeping  cars,  of  which  he  says : 
'*  Nothing  can  exceed  them,  unless  Pull- 
man should  excel  himself."  He  also 
adds,  concerning  Pullman:   <<He  is  a 


LiTBRATDBE. 


875 


benefactor,  notwithstanding  be 
it  profitable  for  himself."  For- 
public,  and  still  more  fortunate 
kni 

If  writers  of  a  certain  sort  have 
)  years  disturbed  the  minds  of 
\  of  the  Bible,  writers  of  another 
,ve  added  largely  to  their  enjoy- 
Whether  it  is  wise  for  the  aver- 
kder  to  interest  himself  in  Bibli- 
deism,  admits  of  a  donbt,  which 
not  exist,  so  far  as  Biblical 
idge  is  concerned.  As  regards 
1  History,  for  example,  our  fath- 
,d  the  Bible  without  thinking 
ibout  it.  They  read  the  proph- 
Isaiah  that  Babylon  should  be 
i  possession  of  the  bittern,  with- 
dng  themselves  what  the  bittern 
*  what  the  unicorn,  the  horn  of 
was  in  David's  mind  when  he 
of  the  uplifting  of  his  own. 
vere  content  to  know  that  Solo- 
>mpared  his  beloved  to  the  roe, 
•ung  hart  upon  the  mountains  of 
md  that  the  conies  were  but  a 
folk,  that  made  their  homes  in 
ks.  The  sacred  character  of  the 
may  have  had  something  to  do 
leir  want  of  curiosity  concerning 
il  allusions,  but  the  lack  of  any 
ike  real  knowledge  at  the  time 
ts  for  it  much  better.  Why  cul- 
a  curiosity  there  was  no  means 
tifying?  We  have  changed  all 
Lthin  the  last  fifty  or  one  hundred 
md  so  thoroughly  that  if  a  reader 
ignorant  of  Biblical  History,  it 
his  misfortune,  but  his  fault.  He 
tect  this  faultf  at  least  as  regards 
[atural  History  of  the  Bible,  by 
I  to  Bible  AnimaUj  a  handsome 
,  of  upward  of  seven  hundred 
by  the  Rev.  J.  Q.  Wood,  an  Eng- 
iter  who  has  made  Natural  His- 
speciality,  and  who  writes  about 
lia  instance  eon  amore,  and  with 
388  which  leaves  nothing  to  be 
L  His  work,  in  his  own  words, 
description  of  every  living  crea- 
entioned  in  the  Scriptures,  firom 
(6  to* the  coral,''  and  it  is  not 
lis,  which  is  much,  but  it  is  also 
b  gillery  filled  with  portraita  of 


these  creatures,  an  illustrated  Zoological 
Garden,  or  Jdtrdin  dea  PlanUij  or  what- 
ever may  be  the  most  famous  Museum 
of  Natural  History.  There  are  one  hun- 
dred illustrations  in  the  work,  drawn 
on  wood  by  good  English  artists,  who 
have  made  the  living  animals  their 
model,  while  the  accessory  details  have 
been  either  obtained  from  Egyptian  or 
Assyrian  monuments,  firom  actual  speci- 
mens, or  from  the  photographs  and 
drawings  of  the  latest  travellers.  Of 
these  illustrations  we  can  honestly  say, 
what  we  cannot  of  much  of  the  woocl 
engraving-  of  the  day,  that  they  are 
exceedingly  well  done ;  the  larger  ones, 
of  which  there  are  twenty-four,  com- 
paring fiivorably  with  the  best  work  of 
the  best  kind  in  the  Holiday  Books  of 
the  past  season.  If  we  have  not  read 
"  Bible  Animals  "  so  thoroughly  as  we 
could  wish,  we  have  read  enough  to  see 
that  it  i9  very  carefully  written ;  that  it 
abounds  in  curious  as  well  as  interest- 
ing information ;  ^and  that  it  fills  a 
place  hitherto  unoccupied  in  what  may 
be  called  Biblical  Eiiowledge. 

From  Messrs.  Sever,  Frknois  &  Oo. 

we  have  received  the  following  new  edi- 
tions of  the  Book  qfPraue,  by  Roundell 
Palmer,  and  The  Sunday  Booh  of  Poetry, 
by  0.  F.  Alexander,  two  dainty  little 
volumes  of  sacred  verse,  which  are  wor- 
thy of  the  favor  with  which  they  have 
been  received.  They  are  of  English 
origin,  the  editor  of  ihe  first,  Sir  Roun« 
dell  Palmer,  being  a  well-known  member 
of  the  bar,  who  was  Inspector-General 
under  Lord  Palmerston,  and  Attorney- 
General  under  Lord  John  Russell,  while 
the  editor  of  the  last.  Miss  or  Mrs.  Ce- 
cil Francis  Alexander,  has  acquired  con- 
siderable reputation  as  a  writer  of  hymns. 
Both  have  done  their  work  well ;  the 
gentleman  most 'thoroughly,  the  lady 
most  agreeably.  In  the  matter  of  schol- 
arship we  know  of  no  collection  of  sa- 
cred verses  superior  to  '*  The  Book  of 
Praise ;"  as  regards  the  taste  displayed, 
opinions  m^y  differ.  Wo  do  not  think 
very  highly  ourselves  of  Sir  Roundell 
Palmer's  judgment,  as  shown  in  his  ae- 
lections,  though  we  admit  that  the  hym- 
nologistd  whom  he  has  presaed  into  his 


876 


PuTNAlt's  KaGAZIKK. 


Pi««*. 


service  are  qnite  as  mnoh  in  fault  as  he. 
Uaving  a  wider  range  of  subjects  to  choose 
from  than  was  allowed  him,  we  could 
have  predicted  in  advance  that  **  The 
Sunday  Book  of  Poetry,"  would  have 
been  the  most  enjoyable  of  the  two.  It 
is  a  very  good  collection,  indeed,  and  it 
might  have  been  made  better,  if  the  early 
"Rnglii^h  poets  had  been  drawn  upon  more 
largely.  As  it  is,  we  find  poems  here 
which  we  do  not  recall  in  similar  collec- 
tions, and  they  add  to  the  permanent 
value  of  the  work.  Such  are  the 
"  Hymn  to  the  Nativity,"  and  the  "Epi- 
taph upon  Waaland  and  Wife,"  by  Rich- 
ard Grashaw ;  "  Obrist^s  Ascension,"  by 
Henry  ]^oore  whom  we  take  to  be  Hen- 
ry Moore,  the  Platonist,  and  Henry 
Vaughan^s  *•  Peace."  Vaughan,  as  a  sa- 
cred poet,  leaves  Herbert  an  unmeasura- 
ble  distance  behind  him,  and  of  all  that 
Vaughan  wrote,  nothing  is  more  exqui- 
site than  the  opening  of  this  solemn 
lyric: 

«  My  soul,  there  is  a  eoontrj, 

Afar  beyond  the  stars, 
Whore  stands  a  -winged  sentry 

All  skilAil  in  the  wars. 

From  Herbert  we  have,  of  course, 
"  Sweet  day,  so  cool,  so  calm,  so  bright," 
and  *'  The  Resurrection,"  the  first  stanza 
of  which  is  perfect : 

**  I  got  me  flowers  to  strew  Thy  way  ; 
I  got  me  boughs  off  many  a  tree  ; 
But  Thou  wast  up  by  break  of  day, 
And  biought^itt  Thy  sweets    along  with 
Thee." 

Cowley  is  ill  represented  by  the  extract 
from  his  noble  Ode,  "  In  the  Garden," 
which  ought  certainly  to  have  been 
given  entire ;  nor  has  Wallace  hod  jus- 
tice done  his  talents  by  the  poem  on 
Youth  and  Age,  which  contains  the 
couplet  by  wldoh  ho  is  best  remembered, 

''The  soul's  dark  oottage,batterod  and  decayed. 
Lets  in  new  light  through  chinks  that  time 
has  made.*' 

It  may  be  questioned,  whether  it  is 
ever  in  good  taste  for  the  editors  of  such 
collections  as  this  to  quote  their  own 
productions ;  but  waiving  the  question  of 
taste,  we  are  glad  that  the  editor  of  ^*  The 
Sunday  Book  of  Poetry  "  has  so  good  a 
record  to  show  as  in  the  last  poei  i  in  the 
collection,  which  we  copy,  in  thd  belief 


that  her  poetry  is  as  little  known  to  on 
readers  as  to  ourselves. 

THE  CREATIOS. 
All  things  bright  and  beautifU, 

All  things  great  and  small. 
All  things  rare  and  'wonderfol. 

The  Lord  God  made  them  aU. 

Each  lltUa  flower  that  opens, 

Each  little  bird  that  aingi, 
liti  made  their  glowing  colors, 

lie*  made  their  tiny  wings. 

The  rich  man  in  his  eastlOi 

The  poor  man  at  his  gate, 
God  made  them,  high  or  lowly. 

And  ordered  their  estate. 

The  purple-headed  mountain. 

The  river  running  by. 
The  sunset,  and  the  morning 

That  brightens  up  the  sky  ; 

The  oold  wind  in  the  winter, 

The  pleasant  summer  sun. 
The  ripe  fruits  in  the  garden,^ 

Ue  made  than  erery  one. ' 

The  tall  trees  In  the  greenwood. 
The  meadows  where  we  play. 

The  rushes  by  the  water 
We  gather  every  day; 

no  gave  us  eyes  to  see  them. 
And  lips  that  we  might  tell 

Uow  great  is  God  Almighty, 
Who  has  made  all  things  well  1 

A  pretty  little  volume  is  Love  Smgi 
and  Other  Poeme^  by  Mary  Ainge  Tk 
Yero,  which  sees  the  light  through  the 
Fifth  Avenue  Publishing  Company.  We 
don^t  know  who  Miss  De  Vera  is,  M 
she  has  a  poetical  name,  and,  if  we  naj 
judge  by  the  talent  shown  here,  shewiD 
one  day  make  it  better  known.  Her 
verses  are  unpretending,  whioh  is  a  good 
sign  in  this  age  of  pretence,  and  it  is  wo- 
manly throughout,  the  womanliness  be- 
ing of  the  good,  old-fashioned,  lovaUe 
sort.  It  is  strongest  in  the  region  of  the 
affections,  which  ard  not  so  much  culti- 
vated as  in  post  times,  and  there  Is  a 
grace  about  its  warmtb,  which  is  qoito 
unusual  in  the  first  volumes  of  younf 
poets.  Faults  there  are,  of  course,  but 
they  are  not  very  bad  ones,  being  for  the 
most  part  the  results  of  womanly  care- 
lessness in  rhythms.  This  little  lyre,  Ibr 
example,  is  good  for  the  same  reaaoo 
that  IIerrick*s  Tritles  are  good,  becanse 
there  is  not  a  word  too  much  or  too 
little  in  them. 

AT  THE  FERRY, 
Not  a  kiss— not  a  tear- 
Not  even  so  much 


1870.] 


Notes  on  Foreign  Litksatubb,  eto. 


877 


Am  an  uttered  word, 
— JSotatouch  t 

Oh,  the  passion,  tho  pain, 

80  eold]y  to  part  1 
But  I  gave  yon  one  look, 

— And  my  heart. 

Yon  will  pardon  me  then, 

And  you  understand 
That  my  soul  is  yours, 

— Not  my  hand. 

There  are  indications  of  power  here 
and  there,  as  in  the  first  part  of  ^*  Bequi- 
esoat  in  Pace :" 

•♦  God  receive  his  soul  I— Amen. 

Close  and  seal  the  wide,  dark  eye:^, 
Where  death's  awful  shadow  lies  - 
Sight  will  never  dawn  again  : 
No  more  Unru  to  w<ep^ 
No  more  watch  to  keep. 
Nothing  but  tndUaa  tletp  I  '* 


Quite  as  good,  and  more  evenly  written, 
is  ^*  Faith  Trembling,^'  whose  last  two 
stanzas  mnst  close  our  brief  notice  of 
Miss  De  Vere's  volume : 

**  If  I  were  only  made 

Patient,  and  calm,  and  pure,  as  angels  are, 
I  had  not  been  so  doubtful— sore  afraid 

Of  sin  and  care  ; 
It  would  seem  sweet  and  good 

To  bear  the  heavy  cross  that  martyrs  take, 
The  passion  and  the  praise  of  womanhood. 

For  my  Lord's  sake. 

**  But  strong,  and  fair,  and  young, 

I  dread  my  glowing  limbs— my  heart  of  fire, 
My  soul  that  trembles  like  a  harp  foXL  Strang 

To  keen  desire  I 
Oh,  wild  and  idle  words  1 

Will  God's  large  charity  and  patience  be 
Given  unto  butterflies  and  singing  birdi, 

And  not  to  me!" 


LITERATURE,  SCIENiOE,  AND  ART  ABROAD. 

XOSTHLT  HOTKt  PRBPARBO  rOB  PUTMAll'fl  MAOAXMB. 


8bnob  Maspero  contributes  to  The  Acadt- 
tmf  a  very  interesting  account  of  a  drama  in 
the  Qoichua  language — the  ancient  tongue 
of  Peru — a  Spanish  translation  of  which  has 
JQSt  been  published  in  Lima.  The  title  is 
**  OUinta ;  or  the  severity  of  a  Father  and 
the  Clemency  of  a  King."  Markham,  Tscbu- 
di,  and  other  travellers  in  Peru  have  already 
given  UB  valuable  specimens  of  the  Quichua 
fiterature,  chiefly  of  a  lyrical  or  pastoral 
ehaneter ;  but  this  drama  of  Ollanta,  if  it 
can  be  proved  to  be  a  genuine  literary  relic 
of  the  times  of  the  Incas,  possesses  a  greater 
faiteresi  than  any  thing  which  has  yet  been 
discovered.  Sefior  Maspero,  however,  is  of 
the  opinion  that  it  was  written  after  the  Ckm- 
qnest— possibly,  indeed,  so  late  as  the  last 
century,  by  a  certain  Yaldcz  de  Sicnanl  He 
ilndfl  the  characters  shadowy  and  dimly 
sketched,  and  the  pictures  of  Peruvian  life 
such  as  would  bo  derived  from  tradition, 
iither  .than  personal  knowledge,  in  the 
anthor.  On  the  other  hand,  he  admits  that 
the  Quichua  in  which  it  is  written  is  of  re- 
markable purity,  showing  no.  evidence  of  that 
corruption  which  canje  upon  the  language 
with  the  Spanish  invasion.  We  quote  the 
following  little  song,  sung  by  a  chorus  of 
jonng  ^Is,  as  a  specimen  of  a  work  which 
has  a  great  literary  interest,  whatever  may 
bare  been  its  origin : 

**0  Urdi,  forhear  to  pick  away— The  eropa  of  my 
prineeM ;— Eat  not  thua— The  maiao  which 
ia her  ibodi— Ay  1  tuyal  taya ! 

••Tha  fruit  la  mow-whit*— The  blada  is  ttadtr— 

TOL.   T. — 25 


And,  till  now,  unsoUed;— But  I  fear  your 

perching  on  it— Ay  I  tuya  I  tuya  I 
••Your  wings  will  lout,— Tour  talona  will  I  tear; 

—Beware  1  I  will  entrap  you— And  cage  you 

closely.— Ay  1  tuyal  tuya! 
**  Thus  will  I  treat  you— If  you  eat  hut  a  grain  1— 

Thus  will  I  treat  you— If  a  grain  is  lost  !— 

Ayl  tuyal  tuyal" 

The   1,041st  volume  of  Tauchnitz* 

"  British  Authors,"  is  the  "  Doubtful  Phys 
of  William  Shakespeare,*'  with  an  introduc- 
tion and  notes  by  Max  Moltke.  Out  of  the 
fifteen  plays,  which  have  been  partially  as- 
cribed to  Shakespeare,  the  following  six  have 
been  selected :  '*  King  Edward  m. ;  Thomas 
Lord  Cromwell ;  Locrine ;  A  Yorkshire  Trag- 
edy; The  London  Prodigal  and  The  Birth 
of  Merlin."  Moltke's  view  is  that  each  of 
these  plays  bear  unmlstakeable  evidence  of 
Shakespeare's  hand.  The  same  author  has 
just  issued  a  popular  edition  of  selected 
plays — eighteen  in  number — in  a  cheap  form. 
Of  the  German  version  in  a  single  volume, 
published  not  long  since,  16,000  copies  have 
already  been  sold. 

There  seems  to  be  no  possibility  of 

glutting  the  fiction  market.  All  the  acknowl- 
edged masters  in  the  field,  in  England,  France 
and  Germany,  are  still  active,  and  tiie  host 
of  their  nameless  imitators  seems  to  increase 
day  by  day.  The  advertising  columns  of  the 
London  literary  journals  are  still  crowded 
with  announcements  of:  "  Forgotten  by  the 
World,"  "  What  her  Face  said,"  "  The  Duke's 
Honor,"  "Beneath  theWTieels,"  "The  Bu- 


878 


PCTNAll's  MaGAZZSB. 


[M«4, 


onet'fl  Sunbeam,"  **  Strong  Hands  and  Stead- 
fast Hearts/'  &c.;  &c.,  each  of  which,  we 
presume,  will  ran  its  course  in  the  circulating 
libraries,  and  then  disappear  from  the  mem- 
ories of  its  readers.  In  France  the  usual 
steady  supply  continues,  although  very  few 
romances  have  risen  above  the  general  ele- 
gant level  of  performance.  About^s  "  Ach- 
med  le  FellaJi^^  (written,  apparently,  at  the 
instigation  of  the  "Kh6dive")  attracted  a 
little  attention,  thanks  to  the  Suez  Canal ; 
but  George  Sand's  **  Pierre  qui  Rotdt "  seems 
to  have  produced  little  or  no  impresuon. 
German  fiction,  however,  is  beginning  to 
receive  some  notice  in  France.  M.  R6n6- 
Taillandier,  in  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes^ 
discusses  Auerbach,  Schilcking,  Spielhagen, 
and  Hermann  Grimm  with  an  appreciative 
knowledge  of  their  works,  and  it  is  possible 
that  the  German  school,  so  long  in  the  back- 
ground, will  henceforth  take  a  good  compara- 
tive rank. 

-^—  In  Germany,  the  authors  are  devoting 
themselves  more  and  more  to  public  readings 
and  lectures.  They  find  that  the  effect  of  a 
successful  public  appearance  is  not  only  to 
increase  their  moderate  literary  incomes  by 
the  direct  returns,  but  also  through  the  in- 
creased sale  of  their  works.  Wilhelm  Jor- 
dan has  thus  already  achieved  a  second  edi- 
tion of  his  **  Nibelungcn,"  while  Spielhagen's 
marked  success  will  certainly  not  injure  the 
prospects  of  his  next  work.  The  last  novel 
of  much  importance  in  Germany  is  Roden- 
berg's  "  By  the  Grace  of  God :  a  Romance 
of  the  Days  of  Cromwell,"  which  has  just 
appeared,  in  five  volumes.  Among  the  char- 
acters are  Charles  I.,  the  Duke  of  Bucking- 
ham, Cromwell,  and  Milton.  The  work  is 
pronounced  by  a  competent  German  critic  to 
be  ^*  one  of  the  most  important  achievements 
of  our  day,  in  the  field  of  historical  romance." 

Eight  nc^r  volumes  of  dramatic  poetry 

have  appeared  in  Germany  since  our  last  re- 
port ;  but  not  one  of  them  (so  far  as  we  can 
judge  deserves  any  particuUr  notice. 

Titus  Tobler,  of  St.  Gall,  Switzerland, 

who  is  called  *^  The  Nestor  of  Palestinolo- 
gists ! "  has  republished  the  Latin  text  of 
three  narratives  of  travel  in  the  Holy  Land, 
in  the  fourth,  fifth,  and  sixth  centuries.  The 
first,  apparently  genuine,  was  written  by  a 
nameless  pilgrim ;  the  second,  also  authentic, 
by  St.  Paula  of  Rome,  and  the  thurd  by  a 
certain  Theodore.  The  narratives,  although 
fragmentary,  possess  a  certain  value  for  theo- 
logical students.  Williams  &  Norgate  issue 
the  work  in  London. 


Another  of  Michclet*8  series  of  dero^ 

sentimental,  fantastic,  philosophical  volnwi 
has  just  appeared  in  Paris.  Having  i^Thrntfil 
L* Amour  and  La  Femme^  he  now  tani  to 
**  Ko9  FiU  "  (Our  Sons).  His  woriL  U  deiotoi 
especially  to  the  methods  of  edocatioafK 
boys.  He  gives  an  account  of  the  thim 
educational  systems  which  hare  prernle^ 
from  the  Middle  Ages  to  the  days  of  FhI» 
lozzi,  criticizes  them  keenly  and  intelHgendf, 
and  then  promulgates  his  own  personal  tk> 
ory  of  what  education  should  be.  Like  lb 
former  works,  this  volume  is  written  ftooL  m 
intensely  personal,  Parisian  stand-point,  ai 
to  know  the  exact  value  of  his  ideas  oil 
must  know  the  kind  of  boys  with  whom  ht 
is  familiar. 

The    literary    remains    of  Honzidi 

Heine,  edited  by  Adolf  Strodtmann,  have  it 
last  appeared  in  Hamburg.  The  new  pool 
in  unrliymed  trochaics,  of  which  mentioii  ktf 
already  been  made,  proves  to  be  a  namlift 
of  Ponce  de  Leon  and  his  adventuM  ii 
Iflorida.  Its  Utle  is  '*  Bimini  "—the  iniM«r 
a  fabulous  island,  which  an  Indian  womaa  d^ 
scribes  to  the  Spanish  explorer,  and  whid  te 
thenceforth  consumes  his  days  in  leddi^ 
The  volume  also  contains  a  number  of  dwl 
lyrics,  dating  from  various  periods  of  tlis 
poet^s  life,  some  sweet  and  graceful,  odm 
satirical,  and  not  a  few  almost  too  coazse  ki 
the  popular  taste.  Meyerbeer,  Henregfa,  nd 
the  city  of  Berlin  receive  their  share  of 
abuse.  While  these  remains  will  add  mlb- 
ing  to  Heine's  fame  as  a  poet,  they  hare 
value  as  further  illustrations  of  his  charuter 
and  life. 

The  plan  of  a  more  or  less  oomplete 

future  union  of  the  English-speaking  Datkns 
of  the  world,  indirectly  hinted  at  by  Sr 
Charies  Dilke  in  his  *'  Greater  Britam,"  and 
openly  announced  by  Mr.  Lewis  (formoly  (tf 
the  Spectator)  is  discussed  in  some  of  the 
German  journals  as  an  American  Idea.  Of 
course,  they  have  at  once  found  an  approfnW 
ate  name  for  the  idea — *^  Pan-Britoniam." 

The  Rev.  Henry  Ward  Beecher^s  •»■ 

mons  have  appeared  in  Berlin,  in  a  GemnB 
translation  by  the  Rev.  Henri  Tollin.  The 
Rev.  Dr.  Lisco  writes  of  them :  "  I  had  hoped 
that  the  depth  and  spirit,  the  lofty  poetie 
graces  and  the  moral  earnestness,  wiUi  which 
Beecher  proclaims  evangelical  truth,  might 
win  him  friends  in  Germany  as  in  America, 
and  further  the  growth  of  that  genuine  luetj, 
which,  among  us,  is  struggling  to  give  the 
Church  a  new  form.  The  reception  of  these 
sermons  by  the  public,  and  many  personal 


1870.] 


OuEKENT  Events. 


879 


asBuranccs,  have  given  me  the  certainty  that 
my  hope  was  not  vain." 

M.  Raspail,  the  Deputy  from  Lyons, 

has  published,  in  the  Paris  Reforme^  an 
article  about  the  kst  days  of  Rousseau,  and 
hifl  death,  some  circumstances  connected  with 
which  have  never  been  fully  explained.  M. 
Baspail  endeavors  to  prove  that  Thcrese, 
Bousseau^s  wife  or  mistress,  was  instigated 
by  tho  Jesuits  to  compass  his  death. 

A  second  volume  of  **  English  Es- 
says "  (in  the  English  language)  is  announced 
in  Hamburg.  It  will  contain  papers  upon 
Peel,  Brougham,  Garrick,  and  Bismarck,  and 
the  following  from  American  sources :  **  Bar- 
on Steuben,"  **  Indian  Superstitions,"  and 
**  Yankee  Humor." 

— ^—  Germany  has  lost  two  of  her  oldest 
and  best-known  publishers.  Sauerlandcr,  in 
Frankfurt,  the  last  representative  of  the 
period  when  that  city  occupied  an  important 
place  in  the  book-trade,  died  in  November, 
at  tho  age  of  eighty-one.  He  was  for  many 
jesrs  tho  publisher  of  Riickcrt,  and,  more 
recently,  of  Otto  von  Horn.  The  publisher 
Yieweg,  of  Brunswick,  who  died  about  the 
nme  Ume,  was  the  son  of  the  founder  of  the 
house,  which  has  been  in  existence  eighty- 
five  years.  Its  specialty  is  philology  and 
natural  science. 

Signor   Angelo    de    Gubematis,  an 

Italian  Sanskrit  scholar,  has  just  published,  in 
Turin,  a  dramatic  trilogy,  entitled  11  Re  Nala 
(King  Nala).  It  is  the  old  Indian  story  of 
Kal  and  Damayanti,  which  has  already  been 
ased  by  RUckert  and  other  poets,  and  the 
work  18  chiefly  remarkable  as  almost  the  first 


attempt  by  an  Italian  author  to  naturalize  the 
material  of  the  Sanskrit  literature. 

Still  i^nother  English  book  about  the 

United  States  I  Smith,  Elder  k  Co.,  London, 
announce  ^*  Transatlantic  Sketches  in  the 
West  Indies,  South  America,  Canada,  and  tho 
tJnited  States;  by  Greville  John  Chester." 
In  Cliapmau  k  Hallos  list  we  find  :  *'  Ameri- 
can Society,  by  G.  M.  Towle,  U.  S.  Consul  at 
Bradford,"  and  '*  Sketches  of  Life  and  Sport 
in  Southeastern  Africa,"  by  Charles  Hamil- 
ton." The  "  Religious  Opinions  of  the  Rev. 
Chauncey  Hare  Townsend  "  are  also  to  appear 
shortly. 

Madame  Olympo  Audouard*s  work  on 

America  is  called  Le  Far  WeBt^ — a  title 
which  reminds  one  of  Madame  Busque'a 
SpecialUe  de  Pumpkin  Pie^  She  finds  the 
Americans  sadly  deficient  in  artistic  taste, 
which,  considering  that  it  is  the  latest  result 
of  civilization,  she  should  not  have  expected 
to  find  in  Le  Far  West. 

The  Saturday  Revicio  bestows  high 

praise  on  Count  de  Gobineau*a  **  History  of 
the  Persians,"  which  has  recently  been  pub- 
lished by  Plon,  in  Paris,  in  two  large  octavo 
volumes.  The  author  spent  many  years  at 
Teheran,  and  is  thoroughly  familiar  with  tho 
Persian  language  and  literature.  His  history 
extends  from  the  earliest  period  to  the  ago 
of  the  Sassanides.  It  is  based  upon  the  lat- 
est discoveries,  and  embodies  all  the  leading 
results  obtained  by  archaeologists,  gramma- 
rians and  critics.  One  peculiarity  of  Count 
de  Gobineau^s  work  is,  that  he  makes  use  of 
the  native  Persian  no  less  than  the  Greek 
authorities. 


CURRENT  EVENTS. 

[OUB  BBCOBO  CLOSES  rBBRTJAST  1.] 


I.  SCMMART. 


Thb  first  month  of  the  new  year  has  been 
a  month  of  stir,  excitement,  and  repressed 
troubles;  this  complexion  of  affairs  being 
most  distinctly  visible  in  Europe,  where  tho 
surface  of  affairs  heaves  and  pitches  without 
breaking  up,  like  a  theatrical  ocean  above 
the  vigorous  thrusts  of  its  invisible  water 
■pirits. 

The  great  Roman  Catholic  council  at  Rome 
is  still  in  session,  having  veiled  its  real  oper- 
ations under  a  curtain  of  secrecy  that  might 
madden  an  American  reporter.  It  has, 
moreover,  entered  into  the  bonds  of  a  parlia- 
mentary code,  so  complex,  stiff",  and  repres- 


sive, as  to  make  its  actual  progress  extremely 
slow ;  and  it  is  reported  with  great  show  of 
probability,  that  this  whole  extraneous  ma- 
chinery has  been  so  adjusted  that  the  entire 
operations  of  the  Council  are  helplessly  with- 
in the  control  of  the  Pope.  As  the  Council 
seems  to  have  been  called  mainly  for  the 
purpose  of  decreeing  the  Pope*s  individual 
official  infallibility,  and  as  even  now  there  is 
a  visible  resolute  opposition  to  this  extreme 
dogma,  a  suffltient  reason  can  be  dis- 
cerned for  all  this  care.  The  French  and 
Germnn  bishops,  notably,  are  strongly  op- 
posed to  the  new  dogma ;  while,  curiously 
enough,  the  English  and  American  onee-^ 


880 


Putnam's  Magazisb. 


[Miwk. 


ing,  la  tho  proper  and  hopeful  remedy  for 
UDsatiaikctory  industrial  conditions. 

The  other  sign  of  the  times  includes  two 
facts,  which  tell  their  own  story  of  move- 
ment in  public  opinion :  a  colored  man,  Mr. 
Reyel,  has  entered  the  United  States  Senate 
as  Senator  from  Mississippi;  and  a  colored 
man,  Mr.  J.  J.  Wright,  was  on  January  1st 
chosen  one  of  the  Justices  of  the  Supreme 
Court  of  the  State  of  South  Carolina. 

We  proceed  to  the  catalogue  of  such  oc- 
currences as  require  a  chronological  place  in 
our  monthly  record. 

iL  vnrrxD  states. 

Jan.  3.  Mrs.  Dr.  Charlotte  Lozier  dies  at 
her  home  in  New  York,  aged  twenty-five. 
Mrs.  Lozier  was  one  of  the  pioneer  female 
medical  students  in  New  York,  was  an  able 
and  successful  physician,  and  an  ardent  and 
efficient  friend  of  all  efforts  at  real  reform. 
She  imdoubtedly  died  in  part  from  the  results 
of  excessive  toil  in  her  various  occupations. 

Jan.  5.  Hon.  William  L.  Goggiu  dies  at 
Richmond,  Ya.,  aged  sixty-three.  He  was  a 
native  of  Bedford  County,  Va.,  a  lawyer  by 
profession,  a  Whig  politician.  Congressman 
1839-47,  defeated  for  Governor  of  Virginia 
by  John  Letcher  in  1859,  and  since  that  time 
has  been  a  lawyer  and  planter. 

Jan.  13.  A  Report  to  the  Union  League 
Club  on  the  use  of  public  money  for  sectarian 
purposes,  shows  that  New  York  City  has 
given  to  the  Roman  Catholics  within  a  few 
years  $3,200,000  worth  of  valuable  real 
estate,  and  that  the  same  city  is  giving  to 
sectarian  schools,  over  $500,000  a-year,  of 
which  the  Roman  Catholic  Schools  alone 
receive  over  $400,000. 

Jan.  14.  Hon.  Charles  Durkec,  Governor 
of  Utah,  dies  In  Omaha.  He  was  bom  at 
Royalton,  Yt.,  1807 ;  was  an  early  settler  in 
Wisconsin,  and  member  of  its  first  Legisla- 
ture ;  Congressman  in  1850  and  1852,  Sena- 
tor from  1855  to  1860,  and  was  Governor  of 
Utah  from  1865  to  bis  death. 

Jan.  17.  Alexander  Anderson,  M.D.,  wide- 
ly known  as  tho  father  of  wood  engraving  in 
America,  dies  at  the  house  of  his  son-in-law. 
Dr.  E.  Lewis,  in  Jersey  City,  in  his  ninety, 
fifth  year. 

Jan.  23.  Henry  Placide,  a  veteran  and 
favorite  American  actor,  though  some  years 
retired  from  the  stage,  dies  at  his  residence 
at  Babylon,  L.  L,  aged  seventy. 

Jan.  24.  Prince  Arthur,  a  son  of  Queen 
Victoria,  on  a  trip  to  the  United  States,  visits 
Congress  and  President  Grant 


Jan.  26.  The  British  funeral  fleet,  wiA 
the  body  of  Mr.  Geoi^  Pcabody,  reacbci 
Portland.  Great  preparations  are  made  fat 
ceremonies  at  that  city,  from  which  the  re- 
mains are  to  be  taken  to  South  Danvo!^ 
Mass.,  his  native  place,  where  he  is  to  be 
buried. 

Feb.  1.  The  Public  Debt  of  the  United 
States  has  decreased  during  January,  1870; 
by  the  sum  of  $3,933,664.89. 

in.  Foasxcni. 

Jan.  4.  The  Spanish  Government  having 
received  a  decisive  refusal  from  the  njA 
family  of  Italy  to  permit  the  Duke  of  Genoa 
to  be  a  candidate  for  the  Spanish  throne^  tbi 
Spanish  Ministers  all  resign. 

Jan.  9.  Major-Gencral  Sir  George  Dt 
Lacy  Evans,  a  veteran  and  disUngoiAei 
officer  of  the  British  army,  dies  in  Loodti, 
aged  eighty-three.  He  had  been  in  fifkaa 
great  battles  in  Asia,  Europe,^d  Amsaca; 
was  one  of  Wellington's  officers  in  Spm.  ad 
at  Waterloo,  and  served  in  the  Crimea. 

Jan.  10.  Sylvain  Salnave,  President  of 
the  Haytian  Republic,  having  been  diim 
from  Fort  National,  where  he  took  lefiigeot 
the  capture  of  Port-au-Prince,  and  bifipB 
been  captured  with  a  few  troops  in  themooi* 
tains,  is  to-day  court-martialed  and  shot  Bi 
is  succeeded  by  General  Nissage  Siget^  tlM 
leader  of  the  rising  against  him. 

Jan.  10.  A  violent  attack  having  ben 
made  on  Prince  Pierro  Bonaparte  by  Bod^ 
fort's  paper,  the  Jfarteillaise^  MM.  de  FoD> 
vielle  and  Victor  Koir,  two  of  the  editoi^ 
went  to  the  Prince's  house  to  challenge  bin 
to  fight  with  another  of  the  editors,  X. 
Grousset,  in  accordance  with  a  sort  of  d»> 
fiance  from  the  Prince.  During  the  interfkff 
the  Prince  shoots  Noir,  Idlling  him  wr 
stantly. 

Jan.  12.  Victor  Noir  is  buried,  betng 
attended  by  a  vast  and  excited  concoone  d 
citizens.  A  strong  force  of  troops  is  oM 
out,  but  there  is  no  outbreak.  The  vfaoll 
edition  of  the  Maraeillaite  for  the  day  ^ 
seized  for  alleged  unlawful  articles  on  tbi 
subject. 

Jan.  19.  Traupmann,  who  murdered  tbi 
whole  of  the  Elnck  family,  is  guillotined  ia 
Paris. 

Jan.  19.  A  strike  of  10,000  workmei 
takes  place  at  the  great  works  at  Creuzot  in 
France,  belonging  to  a  firm  of  which  Presi- 
dent Schneider  of  the  French  LegislatiTe 
Assembly  is  the  head ;  and  troops  are  sent  to 
prevent  any  tumult. 


870.  PuBUSHSBB*  Note.  888 


EDITORIAL  ANNOUNCEMENT. 

The  Pablishers  of  Putnam's  Magazine  are  extremely  gratified  at  beiDg  able  to 
innonnce  to  its  readers,  that 

Mb.  Pakkx  Godwin, 

br  manj  years  editor  of  the  New  York  Evening  Fost^  has  consented  to  assame  the 
'esponsible  editorship  of  this  periodical,  beginnlDg  with  the  number  for  April. 

It  has  hitherto,  as  is  well  known,  been  in  the  hands  of  the  senior  publisher,  Mr. 
GS-.  P.  Putnam,  who  finds  that  the  increasing  demands  of  his  other  engagements  do 
lot  allow  him  to  devote  to  it  that  kind  and  degree  of  attention  which  the  nature 
3f  the  occupation  requires.  He  is  therefore  happy  to  relinquish  the  charge  to  one 
irho  has  had  such  an  ample  experience  in  editorial  management,  who  is  so  gene- 
rally known  as  a  writer  of  force  and  ability,  and  whose  former  contributions  to  the 
First  Series  of  Putnam's  Monthly  gave  it  a  large  part  of  its  reputation  and  success. 

Mr.  Godwin  will  bo  assisted  by  the  several  gentlemen  who  have  hitherto  kiudly 
Itnt  us  their  aid,  and  will  draw  around  him,  besides,  other  gentlemen  of  talent  and 
ndture,  whose  cooperation,  we  are  assured,  will  give  a  new  impulse  to  the 
iestinies,  and  a  new  elevation  to  the  character,  of  the  Magazine. 

Having  withdrawn  from  all  other  active  professional  labors,  in  order  to  complete 
his  History  of  France,  Mr.  Godwin  will  be  enabled  to  devote  his  almost  undivided 
energy  and  care  to  this  new  enterprise,  to  which  we  need  hardly  tell  the  public  he 
irill  be  certain  to  impart  additional  vigor,  concentration,  and  individuality.  At 
Qie  same  time,  the  Publishers  hope,  by  the  larger  opportunity  that  they  will  now 
baye  of  attending  to  its  material  interests,  to  render  it  more  universally  known^ 
ind  more  and  more  worthy  of  popular  acceptance.  G.  P.  Putnam  &  Son. 


Note  bt  Mb.  Godwin. 


PUTNAMS  MAGAZINE  has  already  attained  a  position  so  secure,  that  it  re- 
mainsfor  the  new  management  to  promise  merely  to  carry  forward  the  work  so  auspi- 
(uoosly  begun.  The  aim  of  its  proprietors  from  the  beginning  has  been  to  make  it 
a  periodical  worthy  of  our  American  literature,  abd  particularly  worthy  of  the  great 
metropolitan  city  in  which  it  is  published.  Our  intention  is,  to  give  a  *'  foroe,  oon- 
oentration,  and  individuality,"  as  the  publishers  say  above,  to  that  generous  and 
noble  purpose. 

American  literature  has  reached  a  maturity  in  which  it  tries  to  speak  for  itself; 
and  ]New  York,  the  great  central  city  in  all  other  respects,  must  be  made  the  central 
dty  in  this  respect.  We  need  no  longer  go  abroad  for  our  inspiration  or  our  writers : 
the  days  of  provincial  vassalage  are  past ;  and  as  in  politics  we  are  independent,  as 
in  anr  social  bearing  we  have  struck  out  a  new  path,  so  in  letters  we  must  give 
more  and  more  evidence  of  a  fresh,  original,  spontaneous,  characteristic  life.  The  lata 
OTents  of  our  national  history,  which  evinced  so  stupendous  an  energy  in  the  na- 
tional mind  and  heart,  must  be  translated  into  speech,  and  come  forth  as  genial 
and  peaceful  arts.  The  splendid  outbursts  of  intellect  that  followed  the  impulses 
of  the  Persian  war  in  Greece,  or  the  crusading  zeal  of  the  church  in  France, 
or  the  struggle  of  the  city  republics  in  Italy,  ought  to  be  paralleled  here,  where  a 
grander  theatre  has  ^ven  scope  for  a  grander  development  of  the  human  forces. 


384  PnTNAii^B  Magaztnb.  [Maroh,  1870. 

New  York  Otty,  in  which  the  wealth,  the  trade,  the  enterprise  of  the  entiri 
oontinent  comes  to  a  head,  should  also  furnish  ao  organ  for  the  best  intellectual  at> 
piratioD  and  achievement.  It  should  bring  together  and  reflect  whatever  is  nxNt 
vital  and  peculiar  in  the  whole  country.  We  admit  that,  what  Paris  is  to  Franec^ 
what  London  is  to  Groat  Britain,  New  York  can  never  be  to  the  United  StateS)  nor 
is  it  desirable  that  it  should  be,  owing  to  our  more  diffusive  and  democratic  meth- 
ods ;  but  we  see  no  reason  whj  New  York,  supported  by  the  vast  resooroes  of  tbe 
interior,  should  not  rival  any  foreign  city,  not  only  in  the  manificence  of  its  profi* 
sions  for  scholarship,  but  in  its  literary  and  artistic  activity. 

In  Politics,  while  we  shall  sedulously  avoid  the  small  topics  of  party  debate,  w% 
shall  all  the  more  earnestly  strive  to  give  philosophic  breadth,  dignity,  and  maofi- 
ness  to  political  discussion.  Holding,  with  an  intensity  of  conviction  that  it  woold 
not  be  easy  to  express,  the  distinctive  American  principle  that  the  single  and  snprenw 
function  of  all  government  is  Justice,  or  tbe  equality  of  rights  among  men,  we  shiO 
endeavor  to  enforce  it  with  all  our  strength ;  and,  as  a  necessary  oonsequenoe,  to 
expose  and  overwhelm,  without  mincing  words,  the  many  fearful  and  o^ov 
corruptions  by  which  that  sacred  principle  is  still  defeated.  The  venality  of  mach 
of  our  legislation,  and  the  shameless  imbecility  and  oppressiveness  of  many  of  oir 
schemes  of  taxation,  cannot  be  too  vehemently  opposed. 

So,  in  regard  to  religious  questions,  we  shall  keep  clear  of  all  topics  of  nm 
sectarian  controversy,  of  all  points  of  dogma  or  discipline  that  may  be  still  in  dk- 
pute  between  the  different  denominations  of  Christians ;  but  the  essential  aad 
catholic  principles  of  Ohristionity, — ^the  highest  truths,  in  our  conviction,  yet  dis- 
closed to  mankind, — are  susceptible  of  application  to  all  human  relat^ons^  to  lO 
subjects  tbat  concern  the  welfare  and  progress  of  society ;  and  one  of  onr  prindpd 
aims  shall  be  to  apply  these  principles  practically,  so  as  to  bring,  to  the  extent  of 
our  influence,  public  and  private  life  into  a  complete  and  willing  acoord  will 
the  sublime  morality  of  the  gospels.  TVe  shall  claim  for  ourselves  and  exercise  tlM 
ntniost  freedom  within  these  limits,  without,  wo  trust,  giving  offenoe  to  those  who 
may  not  always  think  as  we  do. 

At  the  same  time  we  sliall  not  forgot  that  the  proper  function  of  a  Maga&Mii 
to  amuse  as  well  as  to  instruct,  or,  rather,  is  to  instruct  by  means  of  amusemaiit; 
and  we  hope  to  gather,  therefore,  out  of  the  intellectual  life  and  culture  of  then- 
public,  criticisms,  sketches,  tales,  poems,  etc.,  that  shall  be  an  adequate  exprenka 
of  our  now  conditions  and  our  abounding  vitality.  This,  we  are  told,  is  the  impoi- 
sible  part  of  magazine  editorship :  our  best  mind,  it  is  said,  turns  itself  toward  pn^ 
tical  pursuits :  Pacific  Hoilroads  are  our  epics,  and  the  ring  of  hammers  and  anTih 
our  lyrics :  while  the  finer  arts — the  arts  in  which  all  that  is  grand  and  bentiftl 
and  subtle  in  a  nation's  genius  is  embodied — are  left  to  certain  ^^  delicate  nobodieii" 
as  one  of  our  cynical  friends  phrases  it,  who  are  without  positive  personality,  aad 
confess  to  no  higher  inspiration  than  that  of  bread- winning  for  the  moment 

If  such  were  our  notions  we  should  despair,  not  only  of  our  literature,  but  of  1i* 
Republic  itself;  for  literature  is  but  the  outflowing  of  the  national  heart,  and  since  w« 
have  given  of  late  such  ample  evidence  that  our  heart  is  not  dead,  we  need  coto^ 
tain  no  fears  of  the  answering  capacities  of  the  head.  The  flowers  and  fruits  of 
genius  will  come  in  their  own  way  and  time,  if  wo  who  set  ourselves  to  watch  fiff 
them  are  not  too  dull  to  recognize  their  coming,  or  too  inhospitable  to  teodir 
them  a  generous  welcome  when  they  arrive.  P  G. 


PUTNAM'S    MAGAZINE 


OP 


LITERATURE,   SCIENCE,   ART. 


AND 


NATIONAL  INTERESTS. 


Vol.  Y.— APRIL— 1870.— No.   XXVIII. 


AMERICAN  DRESS. 

De  kUederen  tnaken  den  man.    (**  Clothes  mako  the  man.'*) — Dtttou  FnovuRB. 


It  is  a  very  common  and  a  very  erro- 
neous impression,  that  railways,  steam- 
era,  and  telegraphs  have  reduced  the 
world  to  outward  and  inward  uniform- 
ity. Appearances,  it  is  true,  seem  to 
fiiYor  the  assertion.  In  the  salons  of 
the  upper  ten  thousand,  one  and  the 
tame  costume  is  seen  from  the  Ural 
Mountain  to  the  mouth  of  the  Tajo, 
and  the  guests  at  a  rout  in  the  West 
End  might  appear  at  a  ball  at  Macao 
without  requiring  a  change  of  dress. 
The  *'  glass  of  fashion  ^'  at  the  Champs 
Elys^es  passes  unobserved  at  Buyuk- 
dere,  and  the  dress  made  by  Mmes. 
Delphine  and  Ruelle  in  the  Rue  Gaillon 
is  sure  to  please  at  Rio,  and  to  be  *^  the 
correct  thing ''  at  Melbourne. 

But  appearances  are  deceitful,  and  the 
seeming  uniformity  exists  only  on  the 
surface.  The  fact  is,  that  broad  differ- 
ences have  vanished,  and  the  distinctions 
have  become  nicer,  finer,  and  more  in- 
dividual. The  superficial  observer  could 
not  fail  to  notice,  in  former  days,  the 
variety  of  costumes  in  the  Swiss  can- 
tons, and  at  a  glance  discern  the  very 
town  from  which  the  piiTerario  came, 
who  played  his  abominable  bagpipe 
under  the  windows  of  his  Roman  hotel 
at  Christmas.    But  since  men  have  be- 


come too  lazy  to  go  to  a  tailor,  and 
prefer  buying  their  clothes  at  a  slop- 
shop— since  women  have  bowed  down 
before  that  hideous  golden  calf,  the 
Demi-Monde,  and  consent  to  bear  its 
meretricious  livery — the  national  and 
even  the  provincial  costume  has  become 
a  thing  of  the  past ;  but  all  the  greater 
is  now  the  importance  of  the  individual 
costume. 

The  observant  traveller  will  not 
fail  to  recall  in  many  a  quiet  town 
of  the  midland  counties  a  number  of 
sturdy  Englishmen,  with  independence 
enough  to  wear  what  their  fatlierswore 
before  them,  and  thus  to  prove  them- 
selves men  of  pluck  as  well  as  of  a 
strongly-marked  character.  It  is  only 
the  man  without  character  who  looks 
like  every  body  else.  A  real  indi- 
viduality never  fails  to  show  itself  in 
the  outward  form  also,  and  the  Dutch 
proverb,  quoted  above,  ought  more 
truthfully  to  be  read  backward :  "  Man 
makes  the  clothcs.^^  England  still  has 
not  only  its  orthodox  Quaker  with  his 
simple  garb  in  spotless  tidiness,  but  also 
the  ruddy  farmer  in  his  cutaway  and 
topboots;  the  former  officer  with  his 
high  stock  and  close-buttoned  frogged 
coat,  and  the  fine  old  gentlemen  in  silk 


■tand,  ia  tka  rear  1270.  br  O.  r.  TVTSXU  at  BOir,  IB  ibaCltrk'i  OQm  of  th«  Dtttrirt  C*nrt  of  tha  V.  8.  r«r  tb«  a«Btk*n  DUtrl«t*r  V.  T. 

VOL.  V. — 26 


886 


PUTNAII^S  MAaAZINK. 


[Apm, 


stockings  and  a  soupQon  of  powder. 
The  square-cut  collar  betrays  the  clergy- 
man CTen  among  dissenters,  and  the 
habita6  at  TattersalPs,  from  the  sporting 
duke  to  the  diminutive  jockey,  affects 
his  ^'  horsy  "  dress ;  the  bishop  still  ap- 
pears at  dinner  with  his  quaint  silk 
apron,  so  much  admired  and  so  faith- 
fully copied  by  American  bishops  after 
the  Lambeth  Conference,  and  the  Uni- 
versity man  still  adheres  to  his  insignia, 
from  the  crimson  gown  with  its  gold 
lace  which  adorns  the  doctor-in-law,  to 
the  modest  black  gown  worn  by  the 
deputy-assistant  beadle.  Even  the  fair 
venture  still,  and  with  well-earned  suc- 
cess, upon  some  variety  of  costume. 
The  chambermaid  knows  too  well  how 
becoming  her  cap  and  bright  ribbons 
are  to  discard  them  as  a  ^^  badge  of 
servitude ; "  the  archery  field  and  the 
croquet  ground  make  a  welcome  excuse 
for  special  cuts  and  colors ;  and  even 
the  garden  costume,  with  its  broad  hat, 
huge  overall,  and  stout  gauntlets  can  be 
readily  made  into  a  bewitching  dis- 
guise. Quiet  cathedral  towns  and  re- 
mote nooks  and  corners  in  Wales  or  the 
Northern  Riding  furnish  the  painter 
with  delightful  bits  of  quaint,  old-fash- 
ioned costumes,  and  poor  old  Ireland  is 
absolutely  picturesque  in  the  coquettish 
skill  and  the  absurd  fun  which  appear 
in  the  dress  of  her  sons  and  daughters. 
And  who  has  ever  been  forced  to 
spend  a  day  in  a  provincial  town  of 
France  without  finding  ample  food  for 
his  mind  in  the  infinite  variety  of  strik- 
ing contrasts  and  of  delicate  shades 
which  he  must  have  noticed  there  in 
the  dress  of  the  good  people?  It  is 
only  Madame  the  Prefect's  wife,  and 
some  great  and  noble  lady  of  the  neigh- 
borhood, who  dare  display  the  fashions 
of  the  capital ;  every  body  else  econo- 
mizes too  much  to  change  dresses  and 
bonnets  and  caps  of  a  sudden :  they 
have  to  be  altered  and  made  over  again 
more  than  once,  and  in  the  mean  while 
the  town  presents  the  fashions  of  every 
year  for  nearly  a  generation.  There  the 
cue  may  still  be  seen  to  hang  down 
many  a  yet  unbent  neck ;  there  bonnets 
the  coal-scuttle  order,  ndttens  of 


Maltese  lace,  and  low-hcelcd  shoes  are 
still  considered  respectable,  and  a  dioi 
of  Swiss  muslin  with  a  rose  in  the  hair 
is  full-dress  for  the  richest  man's  dau^ 
ter. 

Or  an  hour  spent  at  the  door  ef 
the  cathedral  of  Siena  will  bring  the 
observer  a  rich  harvest  of  quaint  and 
beautiful  costumes,  from  the  old  Conte 
in  his  peagreen  dress-coat  and  nankea 
trousers,  who  leads  the  Contessa  bj  the 
tips  of  her  fingers  across  the  high  step- 
ping-stones,  very  proud  of  her  black- 
lace  veil,  the  only  covering  of  her  head, 
her  short,  balloon-shaped  dress  of  yel- 
low satin  adorned  with  crimson  em- 
broidery, and  her  prayer-book  and  &■ 
alike  inlaid  with  costly  family-Jewell^  to 
the  crowd  of  contadinc  in  their  beaoti- 
fUl  and  brilliant  national  costume. 

Or  a  trip  of  a  few  hours  on  a  tifcii 
little  iron  steamer  lands  you  on  the 
wharves  of  Stockholm,  where  all  tiw 
power  and  charm  of  a  French  coot 
have  not  yet  been   able  to  strip  fbt 
.  native  of  his  plain  but  handsome  gaib; 
and  the  man  from  Dal ccarlia  still ^ocitt 
in  the  coat  and  hat  which  his  fiUhen 
wore  several  centuries  ago,  when  tha 
great  Yasa  hid  in  their  loyal  itXiejt 
A  day's  journey  on  the  famous  railinQik' 
which  filled  the  coffers  of  the  Balfr 
morean  contractor  with  millions  and 
the  minds   of   Russian  officials  witk 
amazement  at  a  shrewdness  saperiorto^ 
their  own,  will  carry  you  to  the  fay 
heart  of  the  *'  Coming  Man's "  enpin 
and  surround  you  with  novel  Bceaflt 
and  still  more  novel  costumes.    Oe 
mujik  in   his    blue  blouse,  with  ft* 
leather  belt,  his  trousers  stuffed  in  M* 
boots  of  "  Russia  "  leather,  his  broid 
flat  cap,  and  the  immense  auburn  beai^ 
kissing  the  hem  of  your  coat ;  and  th* 
rich  banker's  wife  in  her  jewelled  heai^ 
dress,  licr  oddly  cut  bodice  and  V 
thick  layei*s  of  rouge— are  so  utteiV 
different  from  all  yuu  have  seen  else* 
where,  that  you  no  Icmger  think  of  th^ 
uniform  mankind  is  said  to  wear. 

But  above  all,  if  you  follow  in  the 
track  of  the  still  fair  Empress,  who,  s 
few  months  ago,  accomplished  her  deli- 
cate Eastern  mission,  and  take  a  chair 


Amsrican  Duess. 


38? 


sbekich  at  Cairo,  you  will  see  a 
ir  surpassing  any  masked  ball 
r  attended,  in  variety  of  cos- 
d  richness  of  coloring.  **  Black 
nd  white,  red  spirits  and  gray, 
mingle,  mingle,"  and  every  race 
arth,  save  our  new  friend,  John 
in,  has  its  representatives  on  this 
•  stage.  The  men  of  the  Bible, 
bian  Nights,  and  the  pictured 
f  the  Pharaohs,  appear  here  in 
I  blood  ;  that  young  girl,  with 
-eared  pitcher  on  her  head,  is 
•a  all  over  with  her  lascivious, 
shaped  eyes,  her  low  forehead 
h  nose,  and  her  luscious,  iftvell- 
;  that  tall,  lithe  Nubian  with 
id  carriage  and  noble  features  is 
'  than  Aladdin's  head-steward ; 
;  veiled  figure  on  the  brisk  little 
with  the  babe  in  her  arms,  rest- 
lile  in  the  shade  of  the  broad 
e  branches,  is  the  Flight  into 
IS  you  read  it  in  Holy  Writ. 

Old  World  is  thus  as  yet  far 
ng  literally  uniform  in  mind  or 
,  it  is  different    in  the  New 

Here  the  most  distressing  mo- 
prevails,  and  even  the  few  na- 
aits  of  former  years  have  long 
lappeared.  The  time  was,  when 
rgia  gentleman  was  familiarly 
ted,  and  not  unfrequently  firm- 
red  by  credulous  foreign  ere,  to 

a  collar  and  a  pair  of  spurs ; 
le  American  citizen  considered 
uty  to  appear  at  breakfast  in 
ling  costume,  and  his  travelling 
consisted  of  a  suit  of  black 
»th  and  a  black  satin  waistcoat, 
typical  Yankee  with  his  short, 
ousers,  his  ill-fitting  coat,  his 
L  bat,  and  the  traditional  re- 
md  bowie-knife,  now  survives 
the  illustrations  of  Punch  and 
d  of  a  Carlyle.  If  we  except 
ous  chin-beard  still  affected  by 
ominent  men— fully  deserving 
liar  name  of  goatee^ — and  a 
J  for  the  brightest  of  colors  in 
which  steadily  increases  with 
igrce  southward,  there  is  noth- 
in  our  day  to  distinguish  the 
ill  bred  American  from  the  well 


or  ill  bred  Frenchman  or  English- 
man. 

There  are  many  causes  to  which  this 
distressing  monotony  in  costume  may 
be  ascribed.  The  States  never  had  a 
national  costume  of  their  own,  such  as 
the  countries  of  the  Old  World  possess- 
ed from  time  immemorial,  but  follo^ved 
the  fashions  prevailing  in  England,  as 
they  preserved  her  language  and  her 
laws.  It  is  true,  several  millions  of 
Europeans  have  since  come  over,  and 
generally  men  from  the  very  classes 
which  at  home  still  adhered  to  a  pecu- 
liar garb,  like  the  Irish  cotter  and  the 
German  or  Norwegian  peasant.  But 
the  overwhelming  power  of  absorption, 
which  characterizes  the  ruling  race, 
speedily  transformed  the  newcomers  in 
this  aspect  also,  and  the  latter  laid 
aside  their  hereditary  costume  with 
their  hereditary  language,  habits,  and 
convictions.  They  felt  naturally  dis- 
posed to  avoid  exciting  public  atten- 
tion as  foreigners;  they  preferred  na- 
turally to  comply  with  the  prevailing 
fashion  and — to  economize;  for  under 
the  circumstances  it  would  have  been 
as  expensive  as  troublesome  to  import 
tailors  of  their  own,  and  to  have  their 
clothes  made  of  the  peculiar  cut  and 
the  old-fashioned  material  to  which  they 
were  accustomed  in  their  native  land. 

Even  more  powerfully,  perhaps,  were 
they  affected  by  the  levelling  spirit  of 
the  Republic.  They  soon  succumbed  to 
the  contagious  desire  of  all  citizens  to 
be  "  as  good  as  any  body  else,"  and 
readily  found  that  this  equality  was 
most  easily  accomplished  in  dress.  In 
a  land  where  the  Prince  of  Ncuwied's 
stage-driver  could  tell  him  :  "  I  am  the 
gentleman  that  is  going  to  drive  you  I  " 
and  where  Biddy,  fresh  from  her  hovel 
in  Tipperary,  instantly  blooms  forth  as 
a  lady,  who  may  possibly  think  of  help- 
ing your  wife  in  the  kitchen,  all  must 
at  least  dress  as  gentlemen  and  ladies. 
Even  the  poor  blacks  are  said  to  be 
affected  by  this  malady :  the  men  spend 
every  dollar  they  earn,  instead  of  put- 
ting it  into  a  savings  bank  to  provide 
for  a  rainy  day,  on-  fine  cbthes  to  play 
the  gentleman,  aad  the  womm  uafEu 


888 


POTNAM^S  MaOAZISTS. 


[AprO, 


9% 


tortures — ^like  their  white  prototypes — 
by  squeezing  their  huge  feet  with  the 
projecting  heel  of  their  race  into  the 
smallest  shoes  they  can  wear,  and  by 
forcing  their  woolly  hair  to  cling,  as 
smoothly  as  it  will  lie,  to  their  low 
foreheads,  and  to  match  the  gigantic 
chignons  of  soft  silk  or  rougher  tow, 
which  look  exquisitely  odd  on  the  crisp 
curls.  When  the  Sons  of  Ham,  a 
masonic  club  of  colored  men,  recently 
paraded  the  streets  of  a  Southern  city, 
with  a  banner  on  which  their  emblem, 
a  colossal  ham  (of  bacon),  was  blazoned 
forth,  there  was  not  one  of  the  mem- 
bers dressed  otherwise  than  in  a  full 
suit  of  broadcloth ;  and  when  afterward 
the  floor  of  their  hall  gave  way  under 
the  excessive  energy  with  which  the 
whole  company  engaged  in  the  noble 
game  of  Shoo-Fly — whatever  that  may 
mean — the  injury  done  to  costly  dresses 
was  computed  at  thousands  of  dol- 
lars. 

Unfortunately,  here  also  the  tendency 
of  republican  institutions  to  level 
downward,  at  least  as  mudi  as  up- 
ward, has  not  failed  to  show  its  effects. 
Men  in  the  so-called  higher  classes  dress 
with  a  slovenliness,  and  an  utter  dis- 
regard to  comfort  as  well  as  to  comeli- 
ness, which  is  astonishing  to  the  for- 
eigner. If  questioned  on  the  subject, 
they  reply,  more  Americano,  by  a  ques- 
tion :  Why  should  they  do  otherwise  ? 
Where  the  warehouse-porter  dresses  in 
all  points  like  the  millionaire  in  the 
counting-room,  and  where  the  maid 
claims  the  right  to  wear  the  best  robes 
of  her  mistress,  whenever  she  desires  it, 
there  is  no  longer  any  incentive  for 
dressing  really  well  and  with  special 
care.  Even  the  slight  peculiarities 
which  mark  the  gentleman  in  England 
and  on  the  Continent,  the  careful  choice 
of  well-matched  colors,  the  plain  but 
becoming  cut  of  the  clothes  to  suit  the 
stout  or  the  thin  man,  and  the  cold  or 
the  warm  season,  and  above  all  the  fine- 
ness and  spotless  purity  of  the  linen, 
are  rarely  noticed  in  American  society. 
All  such  special  care  bestowed  upon 

tters  of  dress  would  excite  attention 
might  become  an  impediment  in 


courting  popularity.  The  faToritetof 
the  people,  the  rulers  of  the  nation,  m 
all  of  them  more  or  less  self-made  men; 
they  have  been  sitting  cross-legged  on 
the  tailor's  bench  or  they  have  been 
fiatboatmen  on  the  Mississippi,  or  car- 
ried loads  of  wood  into  town ;  ondbov- 
ever  little  this  may  interfere  with  tbe 
development  of  stem  integrity,  brilliaot 
genius,  and  matchless  valor,  it  prodooci 
outward  results  very  different  fim 
those  which  are  caused  by  careful  tnia- 
ing  in  childhood  and  hereditary  good- 
breeding.  The  American  citizen  mat 
not  dress  better,  even  if  he  hare  tbe 
tastc*and  the  leisure  to  do  so,  than  the 
idol  of  a  nation  or  the  victorious  dud- 
tain. 

The  *'  clothing-store  *'  is  every  nua^ 
tailor,  and  the   supply,  manufactnnd 
by  the  hundred  thousand,  is  sent  fim 
the  great  trade-centres  to  every  put 
of  the  Union.    The  man  who  from  tbi 
Hub  of  tlie  Universe  directs  the  in- 
tellectual  life  of   the   nation,  dieMi 
exactly  like  the  Nevada  miner  in  Ui 
meeting-house  costume,  and  the  iooo^ 
rigible  rebel  of  Georgia  cannot  be  dir 
tinguished  from  the  loyal  clerk  ia  iSbb 
Departments  at   Washington,  nor  the 
pious  divine  from  the  blatant  MonnoB 
in  the  City  of  the  Saints. 

Young  men,  of  course,  arc  capable  tf 
the  folly  of  dressing  in  European  8t|li: 
they  have  their  morning  and  thdrdbH 
ner  costume ;  they  dress  for  the  coontiy 
and  for  the  opera, — as  long  as  their  tii- 
lors*  bills  are  paid  from  the  paterul 
purse  or  Cupid  spurs  them  on  and  they 
move  in  *'  the  bloom  of  young  desw 
and  purple  light  of  love."     Bat  the 
change  ia  as  distressing  as  it  is  suddciT 
when  the  motive  is   withdrawn.    S^o 
sooner  has  Young  Uopeful  cstablieh^^ 
himself  in  business  or  brought  a  Btt*" 
tress  to  his  **  princely  mansion,"  th*" 
all  such  trilling  attention  to  dress eo^ 
outward  appearance  is  forgotten,  9f» 
he  sinks  without  a  sigh  into  thevitf^ 
army  of  citizen?*,  who  all   think  tsA 
dress  and  act   alike.      Henceforth  be 
loses    his    individuality.       The    wisp 
rarely  absent    from  L»)rd  Palmerston^ 
lips,  the  white  cravat  of  Guizot,  and  the 


Amsbioan  Dress. 


889 


"  three  hairs  "  of  Bismarck,  are 
tile  interest  to  him  as  the  little 
I  the  gray  greatcoat  of  Napo- 
cl  the  scrupulously  correct  cos- 
f  the  Iron  Duke ;  and  yet  these 
ritics  are  held  by  some  not  to  be 
uninteresting  and  unmeaning, 
the  traveller  on  his  weary  way 
1  the  Union  sighs  for  some 
of  costume !  How  he  loathes 
ailing  black  coat  and  tall  hat ! 
jrlasting  costume,  varied  at  best 
'  more  or  less  beard,  meets  him ' 
ountingroom  and  at  the  horse- 
the  political  barbecue  and  in 
ilpits  out  of  ten  ;  the  gambler 
his  faro-table  sits  there  in  dress- 
d  "  beaver,"  as  national  custom 
and  so  does  the  judge  on  his 
dresscoat  and  '*  beaver  "  travel 
vded  stages  in  outlying  tcrrito- 
d  follow  the  plough  in  ancient 
sads.  It  is  said  that  political 
I  did  for  a  time  at  least  hold  out 
Lope  that  there  might  arise  a 
of  costume :  the  northern  Boys 
loved  to  sec  themselves  dressed 
!,  and  appeared  in  square-toed 
ad  regular  dresscoats  on  solemn 
Ds,  while  the  3fen  in  Gray  pre- 
the  Confederate  color,  abhorred 
toes,  and  indulged,  for  the  sake 
)Bition  mainly,  in  vast  frockcoats 
g  down  to  the  feet.  Two  such 
es  have  become  almost  histori- 
he  leader,  who  maintained  his 
so  long  against  immensely  su- 
numbers  and  gross  imbecility 
councils  of  his  Chief,  has  be- 
tndeared  to  the  Southerner  in 
ay  citizen's  dress,  which  liar- 
3  BO  well  with  the  placid,  lofty 
3  and  the  silvery  hair  and  beard, 
tier  is  the  stereotype  bridegroom 
Southwest :  patent-leather  boots, 
broadcloth  from  head  to  foot, 
&t  overflowing  skirts,  white  satin 
th  a  superb  diamond  pin  in  the 
dered  and  frilled  bosom,  and — a 
paper-collar. 

list  bo  added,  however,  that  if 
lerican  shows  in  his  dress  neither 
able  taste  nor  strongly-marked 
ter,  he  is  on  the  other  hand  in- 


finitely superior  to  the  European,  en 
maaae,  in  point  of  cleanliness  and  abun- 
dance of  clothing.  The  foreigner  may 
rarely  meet  with  a  really  well-dressed 
gentleman,  but  he  will  still  more  rarely 
come  in  contact  with  that  untidiness 
which  instinctively  recalls  the  tiny 
basins  and  miniature  pitchers  of  the 
water-abhorring  German  or  the  discol- 
ored hands  of  many  a  Frenchman,  who 
is  evidently  not  "  well  off  for  soap." 
And,  better  still,  he  will  see  no  rags  in 
the  States.  This  is  not  merely  the 
effect  of  the  facility  with  which  em- 
ployment is  found  and  good  wages  are 
obtained,  but  also  of  the  self-respect 
which  republican  institutions  develop 
in  every  citizen.  Every  man  feels  that 
he  has  a  voice  in  the  affairs  of  his  coun- 
try, and  that  he  is  therefore  sure  to  be 
respected  in  proportion  as  he<:ommand8 
the  respect  of  others.  This  conscious- 
ness of  his  own  rights  and  his  power, 
this  court  which  is  paid  him  by  every 
candidate  for  office,  from  the  aspirant  to 
the  White  House  down  to  the  ambitious 
town-sergeant,  and  the  certainty  that 
there  is  no  social  barrier  in  his  way  to 
the  highest  place  in  the  land, — all  these 
give  him  a  sense  of  his  own  dignity, 
which  instinctively  seeks  utterance  in  a 
becoming  dress  and  a  more  or  less  dig- 
nified carriage. 

Even  the  poor  blacks,  who  alone  in 
the  Union  share  with  the  children  of 
newly-arrived  immigrants  the  sad  privi- 
lege of  **  waving  the  tattered  ensign  of 
Rag  Fair,"  begin  to  show  that  their  des- 
titution was  only  a  temporary  effect  of 
the  sudden  withdrawal  of  all  the  props 
by  which  they  had  heretofore  been  sup- 
ported. Men  and  women  who  had  grown 
old  in  a  condition,  which,  if  it  brought 
them  servitude,  also  provided  for  all 
their  necessities,  could  not  all  at  once 
learn  to  think  of  their  wants,  much 
less  to  find  the  means  to  supply  them 
by  steady  work  and  a  careful  hus- 
banding of  their  earnings.  Far  less 
intoxicated  with  their  newly-won  free- 
dom than  the  boastful  French  of  the 
last  century,  they  excited  the  marvel 
of  their  former  masters  as  well  as  of 
their   disinterested  deliverers    by    the 


890 


PUTXAM^S  MAaAZINS. 


[April, 


unexpected  moderation  and  self-control 
which  they  exhibited.  NeTcrtheless, 
they  wanted  naturally  to  enjoy  their 
new  privileges,  to  **  nealizc,"  as  Ameri- 
cana say,  their  liberty ;  and  how  could 
they  do  thia  more  pleasingly  than  by 
idling,  where  they  had  been  forced  to 
labor,  and  by  moving  from  town  to 
town,  where  they  had  been  glebas  ad- 
scripti  f  Idleness  and  vagrancy  brought 
their  unfailing  consequences — poverty 
and  sickness,  and  hence  the  rags.  But 
let  him  who  would  throw  the  first 
stone,  remember  the  so-called  Dutch  of 
Pennsylvania,  German  emigrants,  who, 
having  at  home  been  compelled  to  send 
their  children  to  school  and  to  attend 
church  on  Sundays,  enjoyed,  as  the  first 
and  sweetest  fruit  of  their  new  liberty, 
the  right  to  let  their  children  grow  up 
in  utter  ignorance,  and  to  abjure  the 
God  of  their  forefathers  and  the  faith 
of  their  Luther  I  Very  different  indeed 
has  been  the  conduct  of  the  freedmen, 
and  if  the  traveller  cannot  help  smiling 
with  grim  sympathy  at  the  grotesque 
appearance  of  Sambo  in  his  holiday 
costume  and  of  Dinah  in  the  faded 
finery  of  her  former  mistress,  both  of 
them  cruelly  embarrassed  by  the  un- 
wonted restraint  on  their  limbs,  he  can 
still  less  fail  to  admire  the  neatness  and 
even  the  propriety  of  their  children  at 
the  Freed  men's  Schools.  They  are  well 
dressed,  in  good,  substantial  clothes ; 
and  if  both  boys  and  girls  show  a  little 
more  tendency  to  ape  their  elders  than 
is  common  to  all  children,  allowance 
must  be  made  for  the  peculiarities  of 
their  race. 

If  it  is  true  that  there  is  but  one  step 
from  the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous,  the 
reverse  also  must  hold  good ;  and  thus 
it  may  not  be  improper  to  pass  from 
the  lowest  in  the  social  scale  of  Ameri- 
can society  at  once  to  the  very  highest, 
the  lady  par  excellence,  "With  a  Sorosis 
sitting  in  solemn  council  in  nearly 
every  large  city,  with  meetings  discus- 
siag  "Women's  Rights  in  every  State, 
and  the  fear  of  Lord  Byron's  Nemesis 
before  our  eyes,  the  dangers  attending  a 
discussion  of  ladies^  dresses  seem  almost 
appalling.     But  as    the  most  zealous 


among  the  defenders  of  their  sex  look 
with  unutterable  horror  upon  the  Tani- 
ties  of  their  weak  sisters,  who  still  lore 
such  abominable  idols  as  homes  and 
husbands,  and  prefer  the  costume  of 
mythical  Mrs.  Bloomer  and  bashful  Dt 
Walker,  we  shall  at  all  events  escape 
"  treading  upon  their  dresses." 

The  American  lady  dresses  well,  but 
too  much.  Like  a  reigning  beauty,  who 
has  during  a  slight  indisposition  tcd- 
tured  to  put  on  a  mere  soup^n  of 
rouge,  and  then  been  led  to  add  more 
and  more,  till  she  rivals  the  painted 
damsels  of  Russia,  the  fair  ladies  of  the 
States  have  increased  the  richness  of 
their  dress,  till  at  times  good  taste  is 
fairly  alarmed.     She  will  occaaional)y 
appear  at  breakfast  in  heavy  silk  robes 
and  abundant  jewelry  ;  she  goea  shop 
ping  through  the  ineffably  dirty  streeli 
of  New  York  in  full  dinner  costiuM; 
she  appears  at  a  picnic  near  Saiatogi 
or  Niagara  Falls  in  white  tulle  and  dia- 
monds, and  at  a  wedding  nothing  kfl 
than  uncut  white  velvet,  pointlace  lehf 
and  all  the  jewels  of  the  Green  Yaolt  ia 
Dresden  are  considered  sufficient   Tke 
young  miss  in  her  first  teens,  never  sees 
in  company  in  France,  and  in  England 
appearing,  outside  of  the  nursery,  only 
in  short  frocks  and  gypsy  hats,  hePB 
assumes  the  full-dress  of  the  lady,weus 
Cashmere  shawls  and  diamond  ling^ 
and  appears  at  school  in  a  costmae 
which  would  do  honor  to  Hyde  Put 
The  fresh,  rosy  girl  in  the  simple  wlote 
gown  with  a    few  flowers    from  the 
greenhouse  in  her  hair,  and  only  !*• 
markable  becau  o  fulfilling  the  tiw* 
laws  of  a  good  French  toilet,  to  bcW* 
gantie,  lien  chausse^f  and  hieii  coiffee^li^^ 
charms  the  traveller  not  only  in  htt*^" 
blcr  homes  but  alike  in  many  a  prinodj 
chateau  in  France  or  at  the  countiy* 
house  of  a  British  peer,  is  almost  cntif^ 
ly  unknown  in  America.     But  perhaps 
sadder  still,  because  of  its  baneful  eflfeC^ 
on  society,  is  the  absence  of  the  elderly 
lady  in  her  simple  but  elegant  costume^ 
her  wcll-i)rcscrvcd  charms  discreetly  set 
off  by  a  judicious  choice  of  rich  mat*' 
rials  and  costly  jewelry,  in  quiet,  pleat' 
ing  harmony  with  her  fair  though  pale 


Ahbbioan  Dbsss. 


891 


nd  her  silver-streaked  hair.  As 
J  belongs  exclusively  to  Young 
ca,  the  matron  is  not  expected  to 
e ;  Uncle  Sam's  daughter  requires 
3ort  but  the  young  man  of  her 

;  and  his  son  does  not  care  to  be 
0  the  mother,  who  has  nothing  to 

her  child's  selection  of  a  partner 
e.  The  foreigner  looks  in  vain 
le  stately  British  matron  in  her 
ler  silk,  with  the  still  blooming 
3  and  the  rich  roundness  of  form, 

kindly  smile  and  eyes  beaming 
\rarm  sympathy  lend  such  a  charm 
jlish  society ;  he  misses  the  French 
mother  with  her  white  hair  and 
[ed  face,  whose  piercing  black 
nd  eloquent  lips  still  hold  their 
)y  the  side  of  the  youngest  and 

;  whose  presence  and  active  share 
?  conversation,  so  far  from  ob- 
ing  only  increase  the  merriment, 
f  in  no  other  way,  by  contrast, 
36  the  attractions  of  daughters 
*anddaughters. 

ore  has  endowed  the  American 
rith  a  profusion  of  rich  gifts,  far 
i  their  less  favored  sisters  abroad, 
[y  great  beauties  are  comparative- 
j  — and  even  on  this  point  the  di- 
^  of  taste  may  lead  to  a  difference 
nion — the  majority  of  women  are 
lian  merely  fair.  They  are  almost 
it  exception  delicately  made,  and 

rospect  very  different  from  the 

type  of  the  English  girl  of  the 
,  with  her  ruddy  color,  her  full 
and  her  deep,  masculine  voice, 
ill  more  different  from  the  heavy, 
dr  German  girl,  who  combines  so 
Hlously  an  immense  amount  of 
lentality  with  an  unlimited  appe- 
The  neck  and  the  extremities  are 
mly  so  small,  that  European  es- 
iments  have  to  make  collars, 
,  and  shoes,  especially  for  the 
can  market,  certain  sizes  of  these 
irticles  being  utterly  unsalable  in 
B,  Hence,  when  the  American 
aches  her  national  heaven,  Paris, 
IS  been  for  a  few  weeks  in  the 

of  French  artists,  she  is  simply 
don.  She  outshines  the  Parisian 
'  own  privileged  ground.  Elderly 


men  will  remember  a  fair  New  York 
beauty,  who  visited  Paris  when  the 
Emperor  was  still  President,  and  the 
furore  her  exquisite  toilettes  created, 
whenever  she  appeared  at  the  opera,  at 
the  Elys^e,  or  at  the  Bois.  Younger 
men  need  not  be  reminded  of  the  recent 
rivalry  between  one  of  their  beautiful 
countrywomen  and  the  brilliant  Metter- 
nich,  and  the  desperate  but  futile  efforts 
made  by  the  great  arbiter  of  fashion  to 
wrest  the  crown  of  victory  from  her 
hands.  Combining  great  natural  ad- 
vantages in  beauty  and  grace  with  ad- 
mirable taste  and  an  almost  instinctive 
perception  of  the  becoming,  American 
women  abroad  very  easily  outstrip  all 
competitors  in  the  art  of  dressing. 

All  the  more  is  it  to  be  regretted 
that  their  taste  at  home  has  been  vitia- 
ted by  fierce  competition,  so  as  to  make 
them  prefer  richness  of  texture,  bright- 
ness, of  color,  and  often  simple  costli- 
ness, to  what  is  handsome  in  itself  or 
becoming  in  individual  cases.  From 
the  days  of  Mile.  Victorine,  Parisian 
modistes  have  had  their  show-rooms 
for  their  country-women,  another  for 
English  ladies,  and  still  another  for 
transatlantic  visitors :  in  the  first  an 
seen  things  pretty  and  elegant,  but 
cheap ;  in  the  second,  marvellous  struc- 
tures, specially  designed  to  please  the 
peculiar  taste  of  Miladi;  and  in  the 
third,  the  most  expensive  articles,  the 
most  gorgeous  costumes.  But  worse 
still  is  behind.  When  the  great  New 
York  milliner  performs  her  semi-annual 
pilgrimage  to  the  Mecca  of  fashion,  she 
knows  full  well  how  happily  the  inter- 
ests of  her  purse  agree  with  the  taste 
of  her  customers,  and  she  selects  only 
the  most  striking  and  most  expensive 
of  novelties.  These,  and  these  only— 
often  worn  by  none  but  the  demi- 
monde, but  endorsed  by  the  prestige 
of  her  name— become  the  fashion,  and 
the  American  ladies,  to  their  great  in- 
jury, forego  the  immense  variety  of  less 
showy  and  less  costly  articles  of  dress, 
which  enable  the  Frenchwoman,  in  her 
judicious  selection  of  what  is  really 
pretty  and  becoming  to  her  size,  color, 
and  character,  to  appear  always  to  great 


892 


Putnam's  Maoazike. 


[April, 


advantage  at  very  little  expense.  And 
if  this  is  the  penalty  paid  by  the  fash- 
ionable lady  of  New  York  and  New 
Orleans — where  alone  fashions  are  di- 
rectly imported — sad  is  the  fate  of  the 
American  lady  in  the  remoter  inland 
towns.  Never  was  there  known  in  his- 
tory such  abject  slavery  to  fashion ;  not 
even  in  the  saddest  days  of  Germany, 
"when  she  was  Frenchified  from  the 
courts  of  her  forty  odd  princes  down 
to  the  humblest  home  of  the  little 
green-grocer.  If  Flora  McFl i  msey  wears 
crimson  gloves,  the  ex^idemic  spreads 
like  wildfire,  and  in  a  few  weeks  every 
lady,  from  Maine  to  Texas  and  from 
the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific,  has  bloody 
hands.  If  Mme.  La  Mode  proclaims 
the  crinoline  defunct,  the  dresses  col- 
lapse instantly  all  over  the  Union,  and 
present  marvellous  shapes  in  the  insane 
desire  to  obey  the  edict  before  the  new- 
ly-devised substitute  can  be  procured. 
As  every  woman  is  a  lady— as  Biddy, 
the  Irish  maid,  dresses  as  nearly  as  she 
can  like  her  mistress,  and  even  Dinah, 
the  scullion,  now  has  entered  the  lists — 
the  trade  in  fashions  is  brisk  beyond  all 
conception.  The  example  of  New  York 
is  followed  by  the  groat  milliners  in  the 
large  cities  of  each  State;  from  these 
centres  the  smaller  towns  are  supplied, 
and  thanks  to  the  matchless  facility  of 
travelling,  and  of  conveying  goods  to 
vast  distances  by  means  of  Express 
agencies,  the  last  novelty  reaches  the 
most  remote  regions  in  an  incredibly 
short  time.  The  traveller  can  hardly 
overtake  them,  and  is  pretty  sure  to  find 
the  farmer^s  wife  in  the  Far  "West  in  a 
costume  he  has  seen  in  Broadway,  and 
to  meet  the  last  style  of  a  bonnet  that 
came  over  in  the  same  vessel  with  him 
in  every  shop- window  throughout  the 
land.  At  least  he  will  recognize  a  faint 
resemblance ;  for  the  exaggeration  in- 
creases with  the  distance  fVom  New 
York,  the  great  metropolis  of  the 
Union;  and  the  short  dress,  which 
nearly  touched  the  mud-defiled  pave- 
ment of  the  city,  has  shrunk  up  above 
the  bo»t-tops  by  the  time  it  has  reached 
the  South,  while  the  little  rosebud  in 
the  coquet tUh  hat  has  bloomed  forth 


into  a  colossal  bouquet,  glowing  in  afl 
the  colors  of  the  rainbow. 

But  the  sad  effects  of  this  univeial 
and  almost  slavish  submission  to  U* 
ion  are  not  limited  to  the  injury  don 
to  taste  and  propriety ;  they  go  moA 
farther  and  do  more  fatal  damage,   ii 
economy  is  an  almost  unknown  virtat 
in  this  land  of  plenty,  so  that  even  i* 
five  years'  war  could  not  teach  it,  tke 
good  people  of  the  South  and  tbeir 
women  dress  as  richly  and  brilllintly 
now  as  ever.    No  one  thinks  of  W6» 
ing  last  season's  finery,  or  taming  • 
half-worn  dress  to  make  it  serve  a  IM> 
ond  year.    To  be  suspected  of  being 
too  poor  to  buy  new  articles  of  dam 
for  every  one  of  the  four  seasons  of  tbi 
year,  would  be  a  misfortune ;  but  to 
have  to  wear  old-fashioned  thing8-4liift 
horror  could  not  possibly  be  bone  I 
And  yet  there  are  hard-hearted  fathoi 
and  brutal  husbands  who  will  not— p» 
haps  cannot — afford  the  enormous  oo^ 
lay,  and  the  result  is  that  the  pootuy 
damsel  stays  away  from  church,  or  nuv- 
ries  the  first  man  who  ofifers^  merdf 
that  she  may  have  the  means  of  dn» 
ing  well ;  while  the  discontented  idk 
finds  a  pretext  to  visit  another  Static 
where  generous  laws  and  a  whole-souleci 
judge  grant  her  a  divorce,  so  that  the 
may  marry  a  ricJtcr  husband    Whit 
matters  it  that  blood  is  shed  in  con»- 
qucnce,  that  murder  is  committed,  and 
disgrace  covers  her  and  her  childnnf 
She  finds  renowned  divines  wilfiogto 
sanction  the  fearful  act,  she  is  support* 
ed  and  praised  by  her  sisters  "iniol- 
cmn  council  assembled,"  and  fiunovi 
authors  use  her  name  to  fill  religion 
papers  with  rapturous  eulogies  on  Fb* 
Lovel 

This  extravagant  fondness  for  faS^ 
ionable  and   expensive   dress  has,  o^ 
course,  its  happy  cficcts  also,  accordi^^ 
to  the  same  theory  which  makes  tl^* 
French  Emperor   order  his  guests  ^ 
Versailles  or  Compii^gne  to  make  fi#^ 
"  toilettes "  a-day,  that  trade  may  \^ 
benefited,  and  induces  powerful  poteiv^ 
tates  in  Germany  graciously  to  patron^ 
ize  gambling-saloons,  that  the  pooro^^ 
their  miniature  realm  may  be  supported 


Ahebioan  Dbess. 


898 


iign  visitors.    Millions  flow  into 
iasury  of  the  United  States  from 
^h  duties  imposed  upon  cilks  and 
a  Stewart  grows  rich  in  almost 
large    city,  and   builds    marble 
3  from  the  profits  ho  makes  on 
le  of  what  here  is  called  dry- 
and  opulent  milliners  drive  their 
•US  in  the  Park  or  on  the  shell- 
There  is  not  a  village  of  a  few 
nd  inhabitants  that  could  not  at 
supply  the  means  of  dressing  a 
1  a  style  fit  for  Piccadilly  or  the 
)8  Elys^es;  and  what  in  Europe 
largely  the  exclusive  property  of 
gh-born  and  wealthy,  is  here,  in 
spublican  style,  within  reach  of 
3ne  who  is  willing  to  spend  a  few 
i — fbr  there  seems  never  to  be  a 
3n  as  to  the  ability.    This  pro- 
two  pleasing  results.    In  the  first 
American  women,  throughout  the 
and  breadth  of  the  land,  are  in- 
^  better  dressed  than  their  sisters 
:ope.    Go  to  the  smallest  inland 
-go  to  country-seats  remote  from 
J  and  stage-line — go  even  to  the 
'  States,  where  civilization  in  its 
(t  type  comes  still  in  immediate 
t  witii  savage  life,  and  everywhere 
ill  find  persons  well  dressed  and 
g  unmistakable  ladies.    The  slen- 
:are,  no  doubt,  sets  off  the  simple 
the  small  hand  instinctively  seeks 
B  gloves,  and  the  pretty  foot  de- 
\  a  small,  well- fitting  boot;  but 
IS  always  more  or  less  taste  to  be 
1  the  choice  of  the  colors  and  the 
the  dl^ss.    The  bold  mixture  of 
so  fatal  to  the  attractions  of  £ng- 
irls,  the  pinched  look  produced 
d  habitual  rigorous  economy  of 
m  ladies,  and  the  careless  sloven- 
80  often  seen  in  Italian  women, 
«ly  found  in  America.    The  facili- 
ad  cheap  rates  of  travelling  en- 
ilmost  every  girl  in  the  land  to 
:he  larger  cities  occasionally,  and 
(servant  eye  and  quick  wit  enable 
K>n  to  find  out  what  is  the  pre- 
g  style,  and  to  acquire  a  general 
>f  what  is  suitable  and  what  is 
ling.    The  thorough-bred  provin- 
ir,  which  is  such  a  constant  source 


of  amusement  to  the  traveller  in  the  Old 
World,  hardly  exists  in  the  States ;  and 
the  inmate  of  a  log-cabin  in  the  territo- 
ries often  looks  as  well  dressed  and  as 
aristocratic  in  bearing  as  many  a  high 
and  noble  lady  abroad. 

Hence,  also,  the  almost  marvellous 
facility  with  which  the  American  lady 
adapts  herself  to  foreign  habits  and 
foreign  styles  of  dress.  Many  a  fair 
daughter  of  this  favored  land  was  bom 
in  a  humble  cottage,  sent  to  a  public 
school,  and  compelled  to  earn  her  liveli- 
hood by  the  work  of  her  hand  or  the 
teaching  of  children.  She  may  have 
married,  when  she  was  quite  yoimg  and 
unused  to  the  ways  of  the  world,  an 
industrious  mechanic,  a  modest  school- 
master, or  a  youthful  barrister.  She  has 
risen  with  her  husband  from  step  to 
step,  rarely  seeing  the  world,  till  one  fine 
day  she  awakes  to  find  herself  the  wife 
of  a  Foreign  Minister.  She  crosses  the 
ocean,  she  appears  at  court,  she  mingles 
with  the  highest  in  the  land,  and  as 
there  is  not  a  trace  of  awkwardness  in 
her  manner,  so  her  dress  is  in  perfect 
keeping  with  her  new  station  in  life, 
and  she  wears  her  unwonted  splendor 
with  the  same  simple  ease  and  perfect 
grace  which  in  Europe  are  deemed  the 
precious  prerogative  of  the  high-bom« 
Nor  must  the  revcra  de  la  mSdaiUe  be 
forgotten.  The  sudden  rise  is  not  more 
frequent  than  the  sudden  fall ;  the  am- 
bassador is  recalled  by  a  new  President, 
the  millionaire  sees  his  wealth  take 
wings  in  a  day  of  panic  in  Wall-street, 
the  owner  of  thousands  of  slaves  is  left 
penniless  by  a  President's  proclamation, 
and  the  wife  has  to  lay  aside  her  splen- 
dor, and  to  exchange  her  velvets  and  her 
diamonds  for  simple  calicoes  and  mod- 
est ribbons. 

But,  with  the  same  innate  dignity 
and  outward  grace,  she  remains  the 
lady  still  in  her  homely  dress,  and  gives 
to  the  cheapest  materials  and  plainest 
forms  a  charm  which  neither  poverty 
nor  seclusion  from  the  great  world 
can  ever  efiace.  This  rare  gift  of 
the  American  lady  was  most  signally 
exhibited  during  the  late  civil  war, 
when  the  Southern  States  were  for  five 


804 


Putnam's  Maoazzxb. 


[Art 


years  almost  hermetically  closed  to  the 
outer  world,  and  the  ladies  of  the  South 
were  compelled,  from  destitution  as 
well  as  from  sheer  ignorance  of  foreign 
fashions,  to  dress  as  well  as  they  could. 
And  yet  English  travellers  and  Conti- 
nental officers,  who  saw  them  during 
that  time,  bear  uniform  witness  to  the 
unmistakable  caeh€t  of  good-breeding 
which  they  knew  to  impress  upon  toi- 
lettes, which  under  all  other  circum- 
stances would  haye  appeared  most  odd 
and  extraordinary.  There  was  some- 
thing indescribably  touching,  we  are 
told,  in  the  homely,  unadorned  costume 
in  which  ladies  reared  in  luxury,  and 
even  Bx>lendor,  would  welcome  British 
lords  and  French  princes  in  bare  rooms ; 
their  calicoes  were  worn  with  a  distinc- 
tion, and  their  homespun  fitted  with  an 
elegance,  which  made  them  only  the 
more  attractive,  and  reminded  the  visit- 
ors that  the  carpets  had  been  transform- 
ed into  blankets,  and  the  silk  curtains 
into  coverlids,  while  the  fair  owners 
spent  their  days  in  nursing  the  wound- 
ed and  working  for  the  ill-clad  soldiers 
in  the  field. 

Since  the  war,  however,  the  tendency 
to  extravagance  which  has  taken  pos- 
session of  the  American  people  has  not 
failed  to  afioct  the  fair  sex  also,  and 
naturally  shows  itself  most  in  the  injury 
it  has  done  to  tlicir  native  good  taste. 
Still,  there  is  a  very  perceptible  differ- 
ence in  this  rcsi)ect  also,  between  the 
dress  of  the  North  and  the  South,  the 
East  and  the  West.  As  all  the  levelling 
power  of  repul  »licanism  has  never  yet 
succeeded  in  totally  efiacing  the  differ- 
ences which  climate,  soil,  and  occupa- 
tion produce  in  men's  sjwech  and  man- 
ner, so  fashion  also  has  to  bend,  hon  gre 
mul  fjn'^  to  the  same  influences.  The 
down-eastern  girl,  strong  in  her  well- 
trainctl  mind  and  almost  masculine  in- 
dependence, is  apt  to  affect  stem  sim- 
plicity in  dress;  she  eschews  bright 
colors  and  ornate  fashions ;  she  wears 
itout  shoes,  thick  water-proofs,  and 
loves  to  cut  her  hair  short.    New  York 


is  far  more  cosmopolitan,  representiii, 
in  countless  varieties  of  dress,  the  wqb- 
derful    mixture   of    nationalitiea  thik 
make  up  her  population,  and  beariag^ 
like  a  true  metropolis,  no  fliiitiDCtzn 
mark  of  her  own*.     Very  different,  it 
deed,  is,  in  this  respect,  the  southen- 
most  city.  New  Orleans,  where  ladis 
dress  in  genuine  French  style,  hkvai% 
Paris  fashions  imported  directly,  and 
copying  them  with  matchless  tasto  ind 
brilliant  success.   As  the  traveller  mabi 
his  way  from  New  York  southward,  ki 
notices,  not  without  an  occasional  flub 
of  amusement,  how  the  sober  colon  of 
the  North  gradually  give  way  to  brighl' 
er  shades ;  how  fioimces  grow  in  nvB' 
ber  and   bows  in   size;    how  flown 
begin  to  abound  in  the  hair  and  « 
hat  and  bonnet,  and  a  slight  tendeaq 
to  exaggeration  becomes  more  and  mm 
visible,  tempered  and  restrained  ftm 
running  into  extremes  only  by  adiiii» 
ble  good  taste.    If  he  travels  westwvd^ 
a  similar  change  will  attract  his  attn* 
tion  ;  but  here  it  is  a  growing  fondatfi 
for  the  richest  stufis  and  the  mort  o- 
pensive  jewelry,  till  he  meets  the  mil' 
em  belle,  still  in  her  teens,  but  bSiitj 
bending  under  the  weight  of  the  heny 
silk  of  her  dreas  and  the  number  aid 
size  of  her  diamonds. 

Take  it  all  in  all,  the  Americana  dm 
remarkably  well — far  better,  as  a  peo- 
ple, than  any  other  nation  on  cattb.  & 
is  true,  the  number  of  men  and  wonn 
who  can  be  said  to  dress  really  toy 
well,  is  but  small ;  but,  what  isof  iiv 
greater  importance,  when  we  endetfOf 
to  read  the  character  of  a  people  in  to 
outward  appearance,  the  number  of 
do>vnright  ill-dressed  persons  is  still 
smaller ;  and  the  immense  majority  shov, 
by  the  happy  jusU  milieu  which  they 
observe  in  all  matters  concerning  dre«» 
that  the  Americans  prove  hero  also  tW 
good  taste,  sound  jndgment,  and  leg?**" 
mate  self-respect,  which,  applied  to 
subjects  of  higher  importance,  W^ 
made  them  the  leading  nation  of  ** 
world. 


A  QtTXSN  07  BOOIBTT. 


895 


A  QUEEN  OF  SOCIETY. 


rsG  of  1865 ;  parlor  of  a  "  palatial 
3n  "  in  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York ; 
t,  Mr.  Jonas  Talmadge,  the  fa- 
broker,  and  his  daughter  Ger- 
;  on  the  wall,  full-length  portrait 

deceased  Mrs.  Talmadge. 
outhful  poet,  violently  and  hope- 
in  lore  with  Gertrude,  had  celo- 
[  her  in  the  Home  Journal  as  the 
en  of  the  Lilies."  The  title  was 
ed  by  her  marvellously  fair  and 
K)mplexion,  and  by  the  grace  and 
lity  of  a  figure  which  seemed  as 
caught  its  movements  from  the 
s.  Her  expression,  moreover, 
gh  vitrified  and  clouded  by  the 

a  girl  of  fashionable  society,  still 
ed  traces  of  an  original  tender- 
id  candor  such  as  might  please 
je  of  the  Heavenly  Gardener, 
Log  for  the  perfect  purity  of  hia 

L  «ny  poetess  fallen  in  love  with 
Jmadge,  she  might  have  sonneted 
18  the  King  of  the  Bullfrogs, 
broad-backed,  and  clumsy,  his 
>erant  eyes  set  in  yellowish  rings, 
andiced  complexion  inclining  to 
sh  bronze,  his  action  torpid,  and 
ice  a  croak,  it  seemed  as  if  noth- 
3ie  necessary  to  his  happiness  but 
die.  A  Frenchman  might  have 
■rcQsed  who  should  have  hunted 
or  his  short  legs.  A  Brobdinag 
I  TTOuld  have  stoned  him  at  sight. 
}  frog  had  his  puddle ;  it  was  the 
ixchangc.  All  through  the  war 
I  been  diving  into  it  with  gran- 
aplashings,  and  coming  out  of  it 
with  treasure.  But  since  the 
it  had  in  a  measure  dried  up 
the  sun  of  public  prosperity,  and 
Talmadge  wa^  no  longer  a  suc- 
land  festive  bullfrog.  We  must 
to  consider  him  from  a  comic 
of  view ;  we  must  drape  him  in 
blime  habiliments  of  misfortune ; 
ist  hail  him  as  a  figure  of  tragedy. 


"  Has  Mr.  Widdleton  been  here  late- 
ly ?  "  he  inquired  of  hLs  daughter. 

There  was  a  curious  contrast  between 
his  look  and  his  tone,  for  while  he  man- 
aged to  swell  himself  into  a  port  of 
fierce  determination,  his  croak  bolted 
forth  with  a  decrepit  stammer.  He 
knew  that  he  was  entering  upon  a  sub- 
ject unpleasant  to  his  daughter;  he 
was  proud  of  her,  excessively  proud  of 
her,  and  so  far  fond  of  her  as  to  be  a 
little  afraid  of  her ;  yet  he  felt  that  it 
was  his  duty  to  bring  her  to  her  senses 
as  to  this  Widdleton  business. 

"  Mr.  Widdleton  was  here  last  even- 
ing," responded  the  Queen  of  the  Lilies 
with  a  calmness  which  showed  that  she 
cared  little  for  her  father's  bloatings  of 
anger. 

"  And  how  comes  on  that  arrange- 
ment between  you  and  him  ? "  added 
the  King  of  the  Bullfrogs,  after  clearing 
his  puffy  and  tremulous  throat. 

"  How  dreadfully  you  speak  of  such 
things,  papa  I  As  if  they  were  specu- 
lations !  Well,  I  gave  Mr.  Widdleton 
an  answer.    I  told  him  to  go." 

"  I  thought  so,"  responded  the  broker 
in  a  croak  which  was  like  a  groan.  "  I'd 
'a  risked  five  thousand  on  it.  That's 
the  way  you  go  on.  That  makes  the 
tenth — or  the  twentieth.  And  this  one 
is  worth  half  a  million— and  a  devilish 
good  feller,  too— a  business-like  feller. 
I  don't  see  why  he  ain't  up  to  par — and 
a  big  premium." 

"  I  dare  say  he  may  be  with  people 
who  want  him,"  yawned  Gertrude. 
"But  I  can't  bring  myself  to  want 
him." 

Mr.  Talmadge  took  several  short-leg- 
ged jumps  about  the  room,  and  then 
resumed  with  a  solemnity  which  was 
almost  impressive :  "  Look  here,  Gerty  I 
I  must  give  you  a  serious  talk.  You've 
been  living  for  yourself.  You've  had  a 
good  time.  Now  I  want  you  to  con- 
sider TM.  I  want  help — yes,  by  thundei 


896 


PUTXAM^S  HaOAZIKK. 


[kfH, 


— ^help  1  If  I  don't  get  help  from  some- 
where. Tin  gone.  If  you  won't  marry  a 
rich  feller,  who  could  give  me  a  haul 
over  this  rough  spot,  by  thunder  I  don't 
know  how  I'm  to  get  over  it.  We  spent 
forty  thousimd  dollars  last  year.  We 
two.  And  all  for  you.  All  to  get 
among  the  Westervclts  and  Van  Leers, 
and  to  try  to  get  among  the  Effing- 
stoucs  and  KDickcrbockers.  I  don't 
care  for  those  people.  I  don't  want  to 
know  the  Westervclts.  But  you  do, 
and  we  spent  forty  thousand  for  it,  and 
we  know^  'em.  And  now  you  won't  help 
me  when  I  need  it." 

He  had  meant  to  storm,  but  he  had 
only  been  able  to  implore.  He  was  so 
fond  and  proud  of  her  that  she  had  the 
upper  hand  of  him,  and  he  could  not 
suy  an  angry  word  to  her,  at  least  not 
yet.  He  now  watched  her  eagerly,  hop- 
ing that  she  would  agree  to  marry  some 
rich  fellow  (no  matter  what  one)  and  so 
save  her  father  from  ruin. 

Women  of  society  know  so  little  of 
business  that  they  cannot  even  imagine 
its  difficulties  and  impossibilities.  It  is 
useless  to  threaten  them  with  bank- 
ruptcy; they  will  not  understand  the 
word  until  they  have  felt  the  fact ;  they 
always  believe  that  the  man  of  the 
family  can  somehow  raise  what  money 
is  needed  for  luxury.  A  beiog  of  this 
superhuman  caste  once  said  to  her  hus- 
band, when  he  complained  of  a  lack  of 
funds:  "Why,  New  York  is  full  of 
banks ! " 

"Papa,"  replied  the  Queen  of  the 
Lilies,  after  giving  her  father  a  glance 
of  celestial  surprise  and  sympathy,  "  I 
am  sorry  that  you  are  troubled.  But 
don't  look  so  gloomy  over  it.  Things 
always  come  right  again." 

"  You  can  make  them  come  right 
again,"  pleaded  the  desperate  parent. 

"  Oh  no ! "  she  smiled.  "  I  can't  marry 
Mr.  Widdleton.  7%7t  is  quite  out  of 
the  question." 

Of  course  it  was ;  she  had  never  done 
the  slightest  thing  that  she  did  not 
want  to  do  ;  how  then  could  she  sacri- 
fcc  herself  for  life  to  avert  a  danger 
which  she  could  not  conceive  ?  It  was 
natural  that  she  should  put  aside  such 


a  proposition  with  a  blond  and  gnaU 
scorn. 

"  Then,  by 1  I  may  as  wcllbok 

and  be  done  with  it,"  roared  Jodu'M    ! 
madge,  driven  to  loud  rage  by  hisd^ 
spair  and  by  the  indifference  with  wU 
his  daughter  treated  it. 

And  break  he  did,  with  the  expedi- 
tion and  vigor  which  were  his  buaoM 
characteristics,  riling  the  whole  gold- 
exchange  puddle  with  his  banknipt^ 
Within  a  week  of  this  interview,  G» 
trude  Talmadge  sat  in  a  house  whkk 
had  been  sold,  amid  furniture  whki 
was  shortly  to  be  dispersed  by  the  «» 
tioneer's  hammer,  that  great  scattov 
of  fashionable  glories. 

She  does  not  looked  crushed  by  m 
fortune,  she  has  not  had  time  to  ralia  I 
what  bankruptcy  means ;  moreoTerkr  : 
father  has  stormed  a  great  deal,  udn 
kept  her  mind  occupied.  Bat  she  bi 
woeful  forebodings;  no  more  danliqg 
toilettes,  and  no  more  party  trinmphi; 
perhaps  no  more  flattering  comt^^ 
and  acceptable  offers.  The  sphere  of 
the  Westervclts  is  prob.ibly  lost,  mi 
the  sphere  of  the  Effingstoncs  forew 
unattainable.  The  promise  that  blow 
ed  in  her  past  only  renders  more  iilol* 
erable  the  arid  failure  of  her  faUm,  A 
Girl  of  the  Period,  without  IBM?, 
without  aristocracy  of  birth,  and  vift- 
out  any  kind  of  talent  which  can  wm 
her  of  a  career ;  a  girl  downed  eilj 
with  extravagant  tastes,  with  paadomti 
aspirations  and  with  uncultured  ekfe^ 
ness,  what  can  she  look  forward  to  ii 
life  but  disappointment  and  miseiy  I 

It  was  under  these  circumstances  tint 
she  received  the  extraordinary  oftrof 
that  strange,  that  inscrutable,  thtt  il- 
most  incredible  being,  Mr.  Heller.  In 
the  sinister  and  decisive  moment  of 
which  we  speak  he  is  with  her  iloMj 
awaiting  her  answer.     With  his  wwl 
sardonic  smile  on  his  indescribable  to 
he  paces  the  room  from  end  to  eiA 
from  corner  to  c%mer,  first  hither  99^ 
then  thither,  the  most  restless  and  ^^ 
bile  of  creatures,  a  type  of  the  ullcc^ 
tain,  the  unaccountable,  the  fearfU"^ 
mysterious. 

She  has  had  many  offers — her  wJ^^ 


A  QnXKK  OF  SOOISTT. 


897 


rould  not  serve  to  count  them — 
3rly  men  and  handsome  young 

sent  away  as  unworthy.  But 
an  ofifer  unlike  those :  such  an 
QO  girl  of  her  acquaintance  had 
eived,  such  an  offer  as  she  had 
oped,  nor  feared.  To  decide 
she  must  think  this  world  over, 
i  next;    must  weigh    the  one 

the  other;  must  choose  be- 
lem. 

ouSf  yes  supernatural,  as  this 
med,  she  had  at  once  believed  in 
rity  and  actuality.  When  Mr. 
ad  said  to  lier,  "  I  will  assure 
omplete  worldly  success,  on  the 
•nditions,^*  she  had  not  doubted 
lity  to  fulfil  his  stupendous 
,  nor  his  right  to  demand  the 
us  payment.  Tes,  vague  as 
s  words,  she  had  apprehended 
lity  and  eternity  of  his  meaning, 
led  gloom  of  his  gaze,  the  sup- 
bitterness  of  his  smile,  the  sep- 
profundity  of  his  voice,  were  all- 
lensive  aud  convincing.  No  hu- 
ing,  however  frivolous  or  how- 
eptical,  to  whom  Mr.  Heller 
sake  this  proposition,  could  for 
nt  question  his  meaning  or  his 

ng  forward  in  her  seat,  her  dim- 
in  resting  upon  hor  trembling 
er  anxious  eyes  wandering  from 
>  figure  of  the  carpet,  Gertrude 
d  long  and  in  silence. 
Heller,"  she  at  last  said,  "I 

if  you  think  it  strange  that  I 

n 

• 

s,**  responded  that  rolling  bass 
rhich  no  one,  having  once  heard 
forgot.  "  The  advantages  are  as 
and  immediate  as  life ;  the  dis- 
igea  are  as  uncertain  and  distant 
ity.  You  have  but  to  balance 
>Q  know  against  what  you  do 
w.» 

at  I  wonder  at  is  that  I  should 
to  refuse,"  she  sighed. 
1  yet  it  is  an  immense  tempta- 
he  resumed,  as  if  arguing  with 
in  favor  of  acceptance.  "My 
aparcd  with  what  I  have  wished 
,has  been  a  failure.    I  have  had 


money,  but  too  little.  I  have  had  a 
career,  but  not  brilliant  enough.  I 
have  had  offers,  but  too  few.  I  never 
have  been  able  to  know  the  highest 
society  of  New  York.  If  I  had  gone  to 
Paris,  I  could  not  have  got  an  invitar 
tion  to  Compiegne.  And  now  I  must 
lose  even  mediocrity.  I  must,  I  sup- 
pose, live  in  a  boarding-house,  aud  cut 
over  old  dresses." 

Mr.  Heller  smiled.  He  was  accustom- 
ed to  hear  human  beings  excuse  and 
justify  themselves  for  dallying  with  his 
temptations.  It  was  such  an  old  com- 
edy with  him  that  he  no  longer  laugh- 
ed barbarically  and  obstreperously  over 
it,  and  his  smile  was  the  gentlest,  the 
most  courteous  expression  of  amuse- 
ment conceivable,  seemingly  a  mere 
flicker  of  sympathetic  good-nature. 

After  a  short  silence  Gertrude  added : 
'^  It  is  singular  I  I  have  heard  of  this 
offer  being  made  to  men,  but  never  be- 
fore of  its  being  made  to  women." 

"This  is  the  era  of  your  sex,"  he 
bowed.  "  Formerly  woman  came  with 
the  man.  Now  that  she  is  independent, 
I  must  deal  directly  with  her." 

Let  us  pause  for  an  instant  to  note 
the  contrast — a  contrast  as  of  day  and 
night — between  these  two.  Gertrude, 
exquisitely  delicate,  a  lily  just  tinged 
with  rose,  her  eyes  of  heavenly  blue, 
her  hair  of  sunlit  gold,  seems  like  a 
child  of  the  dawn.  She  has  been  in 
society  several  years,  and  still  she  looks 
innocent,  looks  almost  child-like.  One 
thing  is  old,  and  that  is  her  expression : 
it  is  glittering,  hard,  and  cold  with  too 
much  experience;  she  is  obviously  a 
Girl  of  the  Period.  Yet,  compared  with 
Mr.  Heller,  she  seems  one  of  Fra  An- 
gelico^a  seraphs. 

Those  who  during  the  war  frequent- 
ed the  society  of  the  Gildersleeves  and 
Westervelts  must  have  met  this  myste- 
rious personage.  Tall,  full-chested,  and 
broad-shouldered,  yet  as  lithe  in  his 
movements  as  a  cat  and  as  noiseless  as 
a  ghost,  he  appeared  to  be  an  incredible 
union  of  force  and  of  subtlety,  remind* 
ing  you  at  once  of  the  world  of  matter 
in  its  most  vigorous  projection,  and  of 
the  spiritual  world  in  its  most  impon- 


898 


PlTTNAM^a   MAeiZINB. 


[Art 


derable  mystery.  His  face  was  strange- 
ly dark  in  this  respect,  that  you  did  not 
think  of  it  as  being  naturally  so,  nor 
yet  as  being  bronzed  by  sunburn,  but 
that  you  were  tempted  to  call  it  smoky. 

It  was  an  amazing  countenance  both 
in  feature  and  in  expression;  it  was 
remarkable  and  yet  it  was  indescriba- 
ble ;  it  roused  scrutiny  and  yet  it  might 
not  be  remembered  ;  an  hour  after  you 
had  wondered  at  it  you  could  not  recall 
it.  It  was  young  and  it  was  old;  it 
had  the  freshness  of  stalwart  life,  and 
it  had  the  mystery  of  antiquity;  it 
changed  in  a  moment  from  a  face  of  to- 
day to  a  face  which  might  have  watch- 
ed the  centuries  before  the  deluge. 

Of  this  strange  being^s  history  Ger- 
trude knew  little  more  than  that  he  had 
been  the  intimate  of  the  famous  Senator 
Gildcrsleeve,  that  he  had  been  engaged 
in  no  one  knew  what  dark  and  wicked 
intrigues  of  the  civil  war,  and  that  vain 
efforts  had  been  made  to  arrest  him,  or 
at  least  to  drive  him  from  the  country. 
That  noted  belle,  Miss  Genevieve  Wes- 
torvelt,  a  woman  of  high  moral  feeling 
and  superior  intelligence,  had  warned 
her  against  him  as  a  person  whom  it 
was  not  wholesome  to  know.  But  Ger- 
trude, finding  life  flat  and  unsatisfac- 
tory, craved  the  pleasures  of  novelty 
and  danger,  and  secured  the  acquaint- 
ance of  Mr.  Heller. 

When  the  girl  again  spoke,  it  was 
with  a  pallid  check  and  a  gasp  for 
breath. 

"  Mr.  Ileller,  I  accept  your  offer,"  she 
said.  "I  take  all  that  you  can  give, 
and  I  will  pay  the  price." 

**  Thank  you,"  he  bowed  and  smiled. 
No  antics  of  unearthly  joy ;  he  was  too 
well  bred  for  such  demonstrations; 
every  body  admitted  that  Mr.  Heller 
was  a  "  perfect  gentleman." 

"  Before  night  you  sliall  hear  of  my 
action  in  your  behalf^"  he  added.  "  My 
channing  benefactor  and  ally,  good- 
morning." 

The  good  news  predicted  by  this  tre- 
mendous auxiliary  reached  Gertrude 
wliile  she  was  still  in  a  state  of  stupor 
over  her  terrible  bargain.  Her  father 
came  home  to  dinner  an  hour  earlier 


than  usual,  and  in  a  flurry  of  jofvm 
excitement.  This  clown  of  a  tnge^, 
this  gross  materialist  unconscious  of  thi 
spiritualities  of  life,  coarsely  jested  uA 
clumsily  disported  himself  in  an  vubl- 
pccted  shower  of  gold,  without  gaai> 
ing  the  woeful  sacrifice  by  if^hich  it  bid 
been  secured. 

"  Hurray  I "  shouted  the  dull  woiid> 
ling.  "  Tour  stock  is  up.  Going  it  a 
premium  I  Two  hundred  per  cent  1  i 
thousand  per  cent.  I  " 

"  What  is  it  ? "  asked  Gertrude,  wA 
the  cheerless  triumph  of  a  criminal  wht 
counts  his  gold  while  he  listens  fortht 
footsteps  of  the  sheriff. 

'*  Your  mother^s  estate  1  bowis^  to 
something  at  last  1  The  PennsylTuii 
land  is  oil — solid  oil.  Offer  of  tvt 
hundred  thousand  for  it.  Fm  going  ci 
there.  They  don*t  get  Jonas  Talmidgl 
to  sell  with  his  eyes  shut.  May  bi 
worth  millions." 

Gertrude's  lips  curled  with  the  iiMt 
cal  smile  of  hardening  despair  as  Ai 
answered,  *'  Then  I  need  not  many  Kb 
Widdleton." 

''  Widdleton  be  hanged  I  "*  cried  Ai 
King  of  the  Bullfrogs,  leajuag  pif^ 
about  the  room. 

''Nor  sell  the  Airniture,"  contimd 
the  girl,  with  a  satire  which  cut  hf 
own  soul. 

"Let  it  go,"  responded  the 
prehending  father.  "  Well  have 
lot — from  Paris.    A  new  house,  too^  h^ 
thunder  1    I  hope  you'll  let  me  lin  U* 
it.    Ho  hoi" 

"I  have  lived  in  your  houses. 
sides,  I  shall  need  you." 

"  Seems  to  me  you're  mighty  cool  i 
your  good  fortune,"  he  said,  staring  at 
her.  "  It  sent  me  almost  mad.  I  tdl 
you,  when  I  first  read  this  letter,  I 
thought  I  should  have  a  stroke.  I  had 
to  sit  down  on  a  step  and  catch  my 
breath." 

Even  now  his  face  was  of  a  greenish 
purple,  while  his  flabby  throat  fluttered 
tremulously,  as  if  he  must  cruak  or 
burst.  We  all  remember  how  certaia 
petroleum  foiiunes  blazed  up  suddenly 
into  splendor.  Before  long  Gertrude 
had  sold  lands  for  a  million,  besides 


A  QnxBN  or  Socnrrr. 


809 


rhat  shortly  gave  her  an  in- 
[uarter  of  a  million.  During 
criod  another  million  came 
IS  the  harvest  of  multitudi- 
^  acres  which  lay  upon  the 
I  projected  Pacific  railroad, 
patent  in  which  her  father 
ed  her  moneyed  property, 
had  thus  far  produced  noth- 
>enscs,  abruptly  poured  into 
expected  treasures.  Mean- 
ever  and  indefatigable  girl, 
ojhcT  talent  and  her  tireless 
become  a  queen  of  fashion, 
illy  equal  to  her  good  for- 
iging  all  her  powers  to  bear 
umstances,  she  has  ascended 
y  which  almost  rivals  the 
ince  of  aristocratic  Europe, 
at  the  gigantic  sumptuous- 
^ustan  Rome.    Let  us  look 

home,  one  of  the  grandest 
:k,  the  stories  twenty  feet  in 
front  a  precipice  of  stone, 
or,  sixty  feet  in  length  and 
»readth,  would  be  held  to 
in  Italy,  that  land  of  archi- 
geness,  the  grandiose  title 
The  carpet  is  a  tapestry  of 
Qjres,  glossy  with  silk  and 
rith  gold  thread.  The  fres- 
walls  and  ceiling  are  copies 
'orks  of  Titian,  Tintoretto, 

Veronese.  Marbles  and 
m  the  size  of  life  down  to 
res,  but  all  of  exquisite  de- 
orkmanship,  and  nearly  all 
le  models,  glisten  in  profu- 
tables  and  stands  are  of 
or  agate,  or  jasper,  or  of 
mosaic,  or  of  ebony  and 
I  with  metal.  The  gas-fix- 
enormous  candelabrum,  the 
of  an  eminent  Parisian  art- 
L  of  the  nineteenth  century. 
:ems  of  art  are  well  com- 
ling  is  out  of  place,  nothing 
othing  startling ;  the  result 
proportioned  aud  finished 
preasion. 

dst  of  the  creation  sits  the 
mpbant  in  spirit,  but  jaded 
She  has  devoted  herself  to 
tion  of  her  parlor,  as  a  poet 


devotes  himself  to  his  poem,  or  a  sculp- 
tor to  his  group.  The  anxiety,  the 
mental  effort,  of  selecting,  of  arranging, 
of  uniting,  has  worn  upon  her  body  and 
made  her  spirit  predominant.  You 
may  denounce  her  as  a  slave  of  fashion, 
but  you  are  obliged  to  admit  that  she 
is  an  artist ;  you  can  sec  it  in  her  work, 
and  you  can  see  it  in  her  face.  The 
people  who  earn  money  are  apt  to  ac* 
cuse  those  who  merely  lavish  it  of  never 
using  their  brains.  But  it  requires  some 
intellect  and  even  some  imagination  to 
be  a  mighty  spendthrift.  What  could  a 
"  poor  white  "  do  with  a  million,  after 
he  had  used  a  few  hundreds  of  it  in 
buying  whiskey,  tobacco,  dogs,  aud  a 
rifie  ?  Gertrude  Talmadge  has  collected 
objects  of  art  and  of  vertu^  such  as  she 
lately  knew  nothing  of,  except  by  read- 
ing 1  It  was  in  "  Le  C<msin  Pom  "  of 
Balzac  that  she  found  the  hint  which 
led  her  to  write  to  Paris  and  obtain  at 
an  enormous  price  the  only  Watteau 
ever  brought  to  the  United  States. 

And  more :   Gertrude  has  imagined 
what  she  did  not  know  existed ;  she  has 
been  obliged  to  seek  her  ideal  before 
she  could  purchase  it;   she  has   been 
tempted  by  false  similitudes  and   has 
resisted  the  temptation;   she  has  per- 
severed in  her  search  until  she  deserved 
discovery.    The  drawing  of  the  check 
which  paid  for  the  prize  was  a  mere 
triviality  at  the  close  of  the  real  labor. 
The  same  in  dress.  That  combination 
of  lines  and  colors  which  drapes  her — 
that  eombination  which  is  the  fashion, 
but  which  is  also  higher  than  the  fash- 
ion—she herself  devised  it,  overlooked 
its  £ftbrication,  brought  it  to  perfection. 
In  the  fashionable  sphere  she  is  already 
recognized  as  a  leading  intellect.    The 
dressmakers  of  New  York  take  notes 
from  her,  as  lawyers  take  notes  from  an 
accomplished  jurist.  The  ladies  of  New 
York  look  upon  her  as  a  rival  from 
whom  it  is  necessary  to  learn  how  to 
conquer. 

We,  the  grave  ones  and  utilitarians  of 
the  earth,  call  this  species  of  intellectual 
activity  trivial ;  but  it  is  trivial  only  in 
that  its  ends  are  slight  compared  with 
its  means, — in  that  the  result  does  not 


400 


Pcttnam'b  Maoazinb. 


[Ai4 


justify  the  cost.  We  charge  it  with 
inanity  because,  after  the  expenditure 
of  many  thousands,  society  is  morally 
no  whit  higher  than  before;  because 
the  only  object  clearly  attained  is  the 
satisfaction  of  a  single  individual's 
moderate  esthetic  capacities  and  im- 
moderate vanity.  But  there  accusation 
ends;  we  find  in  superb  expenditure 
something  more  than  lolly ;  mental  ac- 
tion there  certainly  is,  and  in  no  trivial 
amount. 

And  then  the  pleasure  I  Observe  that 
extravagance  is  a  putting  forth  of  force. 
It  is  probable  that  all  the  greater  joys 
of  life  consist  in  using  the  potencies 
which  exist  within  us,  or  which  fortune 
has  placed  under  our  hands.  Loving, 
creating,  destroying,  hoarding,  dissipate 
ing,  the  satisfactions  of  the  good  man 
and  the  bad,  of  the  artist  and  the  con- 
queror, of  the  miser  and  the  spend- 
thrift, all  or  nearly  all  derive  from  the 
display  of  power.  To  some  natures, 
the  mere  lavishing  of  money,  without 
ulterior  object,  is  an  activity  which 
brings  unquestionable  and  keen  enjoy- 
ment. 

'*  You  make  wealth  fascinating,*'  said 
Hr.  Heller  to  Gertrude,  during  one  of 
his  frequent  visits.  *^  You  increase  its 
power  of  temptation.  You  are  worthy 
of  possessing  it.*' 

**  Stay  with  us  to  dinner,"  she  replied. 
'*  You  shall  see  the  best  that  I  can  do." 

Presently  guests  began  to  arrive,  and 
soon  a  party  of  fifteen  had  assembled. 
*  Among  them  3Ir.  Ilcller  noticed  two  of 
the  young  Effingstones  and  the  eldest 
son  of  the  Knickerbockers  of  the  North 
River.  After  his  silent,  sardonic  fashion 
ho  amused  himself  with  the  not  quite 
concealed  glances  of  satisfaction  which 
Gertrude  cast  at  these  stars  of  a  galaxy 
which  had  until  lately  seemed  beyond 
her  furthest  cycle  of  revolution. 

The  repast  was  sumptuous.  The  ser- 
vice dazzled  with  gold  and  silver,  crys- 
tals and  porcelain.  The  viands,  if  they 
would  not  have  contented  Brillat  Sava- 
rin,  were  at  least  admirable  in  a  coun- 
try whose  cuuiine  is  no  more  perfected 
than  its  art  and  literature.  The  wines 
were  Champagne,  Hockheimer,  Hermi- 


tage, Tokai,  the  richest  of  Sherriei  mk 
the  most  delicate  of  BordeaoXi  Thi 
scent  of  the  meats  was  drowned  iitii 
perfume  of  the  rarest  flowers. 

The  conversation  was  suited  to  ttii 
luxury.  Not  a  word  was  breathed 
which  hinted  of  labor,  whether  phjaoi 
or  mental.  There  was  a  long  diwniMiai 
among  the  ladies  regarding  cmb 
cloaks,  and  another  among  the  gad^ 
men  as  to  the  tying  of  crayats.  Tli 
jeuneue  doree  of  a  democracy  seemed  It 
know  nothing  of  democratic  indutiMi  < 
and  responsibilities.  A  person  ipb  j 
should  have  mentioned  trade,  or  paUk 
affairs,  or  science,  would  have  beet  | 
stared  at  as  an  eccentric.  , 

Mr.  Heller,  that  apostle  of  decsdcM^' 
that  enemy  of  whatever  eXevateitki 
human  race,  wits  entirely  content  ilk 
his  company.  His  sardonic  smile  boOK 
cd  until  it  seemed  to  illumine  with  m 
infernal  radiance  the  flushed  fimiflil 
sparkling  eyes  of  those   youths  af 
maidens  as  they  drank  deeper  and  deif 
er  of  the  luscious  wines  and  HMidi  i 
bird-like  babble  of  the  convemtioiL  Bi 
surveyed  with  almost  enthnsiirtiufA 
pathy  a  slender  and  beardless  ^tiifi 
who  in  his  eagerness  to  propose  a 
sprang  into  his  chair,  and  conld 
ly  be  restrained  from   monntiof  ftl 
table. 

''Good I"  murmured  Mr.  Hdki^k' 
that  hollow  bass  which  seemed  to 
from  under  earth,  as  if  it  were  the 
of  caverns  or  of  graves.    "  Ftw  it 
telle  /    When  all  mankind  readM  ttii 
point,  we  shall  have  oitr  millenniOL* 

After  the  party  had  separated  ll 
congratulated  the  youthful  hoetcMfli 
the  success  of  her  entertainment 

''  You  have  entered  the  Effingitotf 
cbcle,"  he  added  with  a  flattering  bov. 
''  I  take  it  for  granted  that  yon  ftodtt^ 
paradise." 

^'  I  am  getting  tired  of  cheap  eoB* 
quests,"  she  answered,  with  somethbfK 
like  a  sigh. 

Mr.  Heller  turned  away  to  sm3e;  fc^ 
although  the  look  and  tone  of  ulai^ 
were  nothing  new  to  him ;  although 
had  heard  and  seen  them  in  all  the 
people  whom  he  had  aided,  nererth^* 


A  Queen  op  Society. 


401 


i  not  cease  to  afford  him 

want  more  wealth?"  he 
SVhat  is  it  that  you  want  ? " 
1st  what  I  haven't  got,"  she 
ic  language  and  with  the 
spoiled  child, 
seek  it,"  said  Mr.  Heller, 
all  men  and  all  women  are 
i  the  business  of  the  human 

!  shall  visit  Paris,"  she  ob- 
running  over  New  York  in 
1  pronouncing  it  a  sucked 

place  I "  responded  Heller, 
thusiasm  as  he  was  capable 
:  upon  Paris  with  almost 
itisfaction,  especially  since 
f  the  present  Emperor  and 
Tou  will  sec  me  there.    Au 

ray  out  of  the  house  he 
Qd  found  Jonas  Talmadge. 
of  Gertrude  had  not  been 
^e^t^ude'8  dinner-party.  A 
Idles  of  gold  certificates,  a 
I  whole  moral  and  intellec- 
aation  smclled  of  the  fens 
le,  must  of  course  be  un- 
tn  assemblage  which  knew 
but  fashion.  He  had  been 
>  his  smoking-room  in  the 
id  there  he  still  was  at  mid- 
ig  over  the  day-books  and 
ch  were  all  that  remained 
fortune. 

[eiler  I "  he  grunted.  "  Come 
cosy.  Take  one  of  these 
jity  cents  a-piece,  my  dear 
<  I  call  premium  smoking. 
iiTB,  hey?  How  was  the 
)oii't  sec  the  beat  of  it 
!kon.  And  the  company, 
stones  and  Knickerbockers, 
nd.  Well,  my  daughter 
ort.  She  invites  'em,  and 
I  don't  care  for  'em. 
line  with.  I  prefer  my  lit- 
re, a  chop  or  two,  a  glass 
ad  a  dgar.^ 

tanding  his  gratulation  over 
r'B  wealth  and  social  success, 
L  a  little  as  he  thought  that 
—27 


he  had  not  been  considered  fine  enough 
for  her  company,  and  had  received  a 
gentle  hint  that  he  would  find  it  more 
agreeable  to  dine  alone.  Presently,  how- 
ever, soothed  by  Heller's  compliments 
and  felicitations,  he  resumed  his  brag- 
gadocio. 

"  After  all,  the  main  pleasure  in  such 
things  is  to  know  that  you  can  pay  for 
'cm,"  he  said.  "  And  I  can  pay,  Heller. 
If  I  can't  do  any  thing  else,  I  can  make 
money.  There  ain't  many  men  of  my 
ago  who've  piled  up  such  a  fortune. 
All  that  you  see  in  this  house  springs 
out  of  this  head,  sir,  and  not  a  bald 
spot  on  it  yet.  An^  time  that  you  want 
assistance,  Heller,  I'll  put  my  name  to 
your  paper." 

The  unspeakable  creator  looked  at 
his  bragging  creature  with  an  inscruta- 
ble smile. 

**  You  have  recovered  from  your  late 
embarrassment  with  surprising  rapid- 
ity," was  his  cruel  comment. 

"  Oh — hang  it  1  yes,"  growled  Tal- 
madge, not  pleased  to  be  reminded  of 
his  bankruptcy.  "That  was  a  mere 
accident.  Not  my  fault.  Some  con- 
founded swindlers  fetched  me  on  my 
knees  for  once.  I  was  up  again  in  a 
minute." 

Heller  merely  glanced  with  scornful 
indifference  over  a  mental  and  moral 
interior  similar  to  many  which  he  had 
studied  before.  Wo  will  venture  to 
state  in  several  tiresome  sentences  a  small 
part  of  what  he  saw  in  an  instant.  Tal^ 
madge  was  wretched  over  the  fact  that 
he  had  failed,  and  that  he  was  now  rich 
only  in  his  daughter's  wealth.  A  busi- 
ness man  prides  himself  on  making 
money;  it  is  his  vanity,  his  point  of 
honor,  his  supreme  success.  When  he 
fails  to  show  a  handtome  balance-sheet 
at  the  end  of  the  year,  or  even  to  win 
the  best  siae  of  a  single  bargain,  he  is 
cruelly  mortified.  He  ii3  as  much  hum- 
bled as  an  author  whose  book  will  not 
sell,  or  a  painter  whose  canvas  at  the 
academy  attracts  no  gazers,  or  a  soldier 
w^hosc  services  obtain  no  promotion. 
His  overreachings  spring  quite  as  much 
from  his  desire  to  appear  an  able  opera- 
tor as  fcom  his  avidity  after  the  ma- 


402 


Putnam's  Magazixe. 


u 


terial  results  of  forttmate  operations. 
Vanity  is  as  strong  a  motive  of  action 
with  him  as  greed.  Of  course,  how- 
ever, the  two  sentiments,  by  long  work- 
ing together,  have  produced  a  habit  of 
life,  which  is,  after  all,  his  most  persis- 
tent force. 

From  the  point  of  view  established 
by  these  facts  we  can  see  the  whole 
sordid  interior  of  Jonas  Talmadge's 
wretchedness,  as  he  sits  in  the  lap  of 
his  daughter's  luxury  and  studies  the 
ledger  of  his  own  bankruptcy.  We  can 
understand  too  the  sarcasm  of  the 
words  with  which  Mr.  Heller  took  his 
departure. 

*'  Mr.  Talmadge,  may  you  always  be 
as  fortunate  as  you  have  been,"  bowed 
this  master  tormentor. 

Gertrude,  taking  her  father  with  her, 
went  to  Paris.  The  parent,  who  had 
always  spoiled  his  child,  was  now  her 
humble  worshipper,  her  steward,  butler, 
and  courier.  Her  wealth  supported  him, 
and  her  brilliance  dazzled  him.  For 
Gertrude  had  become  clever ;  her  easy 
domination  of  society  had  made  her  at 
ease  in  it ;  she  could  put  forth  in  it  all 
the  native  power  of  her  intellect ;  she 
was  famed  as  one  of  the  wittiest  girls 
in  New  York. 

It  was  a  life  of  the  Thousand-and- 
One  Nights  which  she  led  at  Paris. 
Out  of  the  showers  of  gold  which  con- 
tinually descended  upon  her  from  un- 
expected clouds  she  fashioned  sceneries 
and  dramas  of  luxury  which  dazzled 
even  the  modem  Sybaris.  At  a  court 
reception  the  Emperor  pointed  her  out 
to  the  Empress,  and  whispered  (as  the 
words  were  reported  by  a  newspaper 
correspondent),  "  There  is  a  new  grace 
for  our  Olympus." 

"  You  must  not  leave  us,"  said  Eu- 
genie, when  Gertrude  was  presented. 
"  It  would  impoverish  Paris." 

This  goddess  of  the  extrava;?ant 
could  appreciate  the  reckless  expendi- 
ture implied  by  the  girl's  dress,  and 
could  suit  her  flattery  to  the  character 
of  its  object. 

*'Your  Majesty  may  consider  me  a 
subject,"  replied  Gertrude,  without 
hesitation,  and   stranger  still,  without 


emotion.  Even  the  compliiDeBi 
an  Empress,  of  that  regal  mil 
who  dictates  fashions  for  all  m 
lands,  could  not  shake  the  uoh 
self-possession  of  this  satiated 
jaded  spirit. 

When  the  Emperor  in  his  torni 
to  her,  she  actually  failed  to  a 
what  he  said,  and  responded  it 
dom.  Her  attention  was  eeaitd 
absorbed  by  the  apparition  of  (hm 
to  her  was  greater  than  Napoleon,- 
before  whom  her  spirit  quailed  ai 
spirit  of  a  murderer  quails  befon 
remembrance  of  his  crime,— <Hie 
was  her  autocrat  in  this  life,  and,  u 
feared,  in  another.  Among  the  c 
tiers  stood  ^Ir.  Heller,  his  dxakf 
gloomy  eyes  fixed  with  an  air  of 
satisfaction  upon  her  face,  as  if  he  i 
peering  into  her  soul  and  finding  t 
no  content. 

Presently  he  approached  herandj 
mured,  "  How  is  it  that  jon  m» 
happy  ?  How  is  it  that  I  csa  I 
fulfil  the  desires  of  a  hnmaa  Id 
What  more  do  you  want  ?  " 

She  gave  him  a  glance  whSdi'Mi 
to  say.  Why  do  yon  torment  imU 
my  time  ?  Then  she  answeredi  vS 
pettish  frivolity  which  indicsW 
pcration,  "  I  want  to  go  to  Ooi^ 
1  want  to  be  the  favored  gnsal  fta 

''  You  will  be  invited,"  he  pmaH 
''  You  shall  be  the  Empreas*  pet  - 
that  do  ? " 

"  I  will  see,"  she  answered. 

At  Compidgne,  surrounded  I9 
perial  splendors  and  flatteriea,  dia 
him  again. 

''  Still  unsatisfied  ?  "  ho  maOm 
soon  as  he  had  looked  into  har< 
"Is  there  any  thing  else?  "Wl^J 
marry  one  of  these  titles  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  love  any  one,"  she  n§ 
bitterly.    "  I  think  that  I  would  ^ 
resign  my  wealth,  if  I  could  only 
any  one,  even  a  barber." 

"Ah I"    exclaimed    Mr.    Hell«i 
something  like  anger.    "I  cannot j 
you  the   treasures  of  the  souL 
what  I  have." 

"  Let  nie  alone,  then,"  she  said,  t 
ing  sullenly  away  from  him. 


A  Queen  of  Societt. 


403 


id  of  leaving  her,  after  his  usual 
rate  fashion,  Mr.  Heller  followed 
continued  the  dialogue. 
Lould  be  glad  to  have  you  tell 
isely  what  you  want,"  he  insist- 
Ispirations  after  the  infinite  are 
You  cannot  conceive  the  un- 
and  therefore  you  cannot  ask  for 
ke  a  plain  demand,  in  words 
ou  yourself  can  comprehend,  and 
je  whether  it  can  be  granted." 
ve  me  entirely  to  myself.  That 
emand.  Leave  me." 
nnot,"  responded  this  incarnate 
}.  "  I  am  your  guardian.  It  is 
r  to  supervise  your  fate.  I  am 
I  bound  by  our  bargain  as  you." 
n  release  me  from  it,"  she  im- 

.11  not.  And  if  I  would,  I  could 
y  the  laws  of  my  being  it  is 
ble." 

p.  Holler  left  Gertrude,  the  girFs 
net  him  with  a  chuckle  of, 
I'e  do  ?  How  does  my  daughter 
youf  " 

erb.  The  type  of  success." 
;  so,"  grinned  Jonas.  "  Well, 
all  that  there  is  in  money.  I 
,  Heller,  that  money  is  the  great 
power  of  this  life.  But,  allow- 
all  that,  there's  lots  left  of  her. 
mind  I  Should  like  to  see  the 
)  that  could  be  too  much  for 

ihould  I,"  smiled  Mr.  Heller  as 
)d  and  glided  away. 
Dde  could  not  escape  her  horri- 
irdian's  oversight.  At  Com- 
and  after  she  had  left  it  in  dis- 
Mthersoever  she  wandered  in 
I  search  after  happiness,  she  was 
»meet  him  from  time  to  time, 
uudous  that  she  should  be  satis- 
rays  asking,  ^'  What  more  ?  " 
ife  became  simply  a  continuous 
rom  Mr.  Heller.  Her  father, 
devoted  to  her,  finally  divined 
tchedness,  and  in  part  the  cause 

L  are  tormented  by  that  sooty- 
low,"  said  he.  "  Why  don't  you 
a  the  sack,  and  have  done  with 


"  Oh,  if  I  could  get  rid  of  him ! " 
groaned  Gertrude. 

"  I'll  start  him,"  croaked  Talmadge, 
blackening  with  indignation. 

"But "     stammered     the     girl. 

"  There  are  reasons.  I  am  under  obliga- 
tions. My  best  investments  were  made 
under  his  direction." 

"  Oh  I "  exclaimed  the  veteran  broker, 
stricken  with  sudden  respect  for  Heller. 
"  If  that's  so,  perhaps  we'd  better  put 
up  with  him,  at  least  for  awhile.  We 
may  want  him  hereafter." 

At  the  word  hereafter  Gertrude  shud- 
dered, but  she  made  no  other  comment, 
and  the  scene  ended  there. 

For  some  time  Jonas  Talmadge  was 
very  civil  to  Heller.  How  should  an 
old  business  man  lack  in  consideration 
for  a  person  who  had  both  the  wisdom 
and  the  goodness  to  indicate  first-class 
investments  ? 

But  Gertrude's  health  failed;  her 
father  grew  anxious  over  her  pale  cheek 
and  listless  manner ;  moreover  he  felt 
that  Mr.  Heller's  persistent  familiarity 
was  insolent. 

"  Sir,  ain't  you  following  up  my 
daughter  pretty  close  ?  "  he  broke  out, 
after  a  dinner  highly  seasoned  with 
sherry.  "  I  think  you  are,  and  I  want 
you  to  quit  it." 

"  My  responsibilities  toward  her  are 
greater  than  yours,"  replied  the  sombre 
Enigma.  *^  Let  me  advise  you,  as  you 
value  what  you  have,  not  to  meddle 
with  what  I  have." 

"  ril  attend  to  your  case,  sir,"  retorted 
Jonas,  changing  from  a  bullfrog  to  a 
toad  and  looking  poisonous. 

This  scene  occurred  in  Vienna.  Among 
those  who  fjrequented  the  hotel  which 
the  Talmadges  had  rented  was  a  young 
Austrian  nobleman,  a  man  about  town, 
gambler  and  duellist,  Count  Yon  Hoff. 
At  Gertrude's  next  reception  Talmadge 
took  this  courtly  royster  aside  and 
whispered,  "  Count,  you  shoot,  hey  t " 

«<  Very  goot,"  smiled  the  Count,  after 
a  tranquil  gaze  of  interrogation. 

"  And  you're  in  debt.  Count  t " 

"Very  much;  ein  huntret  touaan 
francs,"  admitted  the  youth  with  a 
cheerM  laugh. 


404 


Putnam's  Magazzrb. 


[Am, 


"  ril  pay  the  debts  and  give  you  a 
check  for  another  hundred  thousand,'* 
pursued  Talmadge.  "  All  I  want  is  one 
good  shoot.    Understand  ?  " 

"  Yah— yes.    Who  ?  " 

«  Heller." 

"  Sacrament  I  "  exclaimed  the  Count 
with  a  start  of  dismay. 

"Make  the  whole  thing  three  hun- 
dred thousand,"  urged  Talmadge. 
"  Come,  you  don't  make  that  every  day 
at  faro." 

"  Veil— m  try,"  assented  Von  Hoff, 
after  a  struggle  with  some  vague  alarm. 
"  Let  it  regomment  me  to  Mecs  Dalmig." 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  affirmed  Jonas.  "  She 
shall  hear  of  it.  You'll  find  it  all  right. 
Go  in." 

There  was  a  duel.  Somehow  or  other 
(the  circumstances  of  the  provocation 
remained  a  secret)  Von  Hoff  contrived 
to  bring  Heller  upon  the  field  of  honor. 
The  contrast  of  bearing  between  the 
two  adversaries  was  extraordinary.  The 
Count,  though  brave  as  a  lion,  though 
tried  in  a  score  or  so  of  duels,  was  as 
pale  as  death.  Mr.  Heller,  as  calm  as 
Buddha,  had  a  tranquil  smile  on  his 
immemorial  face,  and  did  not  even  look 
at  his  antagonist. 

Three  shots  were  discharged.  Each 
time  Von  Hoff  raised  his  weapon  de- 
liberately, took  careAil  aim,  and  missed. 
After  each  shot  Heller  bowed  courteous- 
ly, but  with  an  ironical  smile,  and  fired 
in  the  air. 

"I  shoot  no  more,"  stammered  the 
Count,  walking  away  trembling  and 
presently  falling  in  a  fit. 

Heller  now  turned  to  Talmadge,  a 
witness  of  the  encounter,  and  whisper- 
ed :  "  You  owe  this  boy  three  hundred 
thousand  francs.    Pay  him." 

The  stupefied  broker,  shrinking  be- 
fore the  fearful  dusky  eye  which  was 
fixed  on  his,  drew  from  his  pocket  a 
check  which  he  had  not  meant  to  de- 
liver except  in  quite  another  issue  of 
the  contest,  and  placed  it  in  the  hand 
of  the  Count  as  he  struggled  back  to 
consciousness.  The  next  day  Von  Hoff 
cancelled  all  his  debts  with  religious 
strictness,  and,  dropping  his  evil  com- 
panions, went  on  a  tour  to  Rome  and 


the  Holy  Land.  Talmadge  drove  hA 
to  his  sumptuous  hotel,  so  honiblj 
afraid  of  Heller  that,  when  the  btts 
called  on  him,  he  not  only  received  flie 
visit,  but  mumbled  some  vague  excosea. 

"Make  no  apologies,"  replied  tli 
bland  Horror.  "  I  am  the  must  cbanii' 
ble  creature  in  the  universe.  I  nenr 
expect  people  to  do  what  is  cdU 
right,  and  I  therefore  am  never  tsofff 
when  t&ey  do  what  is  called  wnm^ 
Your  conduct  in  this  matter,  and  m- 
deed  your  whole  life,  my  dear  (aa^ 
has  my  highest  approbation.^ 

From  this  time  forward  neither  Til* 
madge  nor  his  daughter  tried  to  mi 
Heller.  With  the  automatic  calnmoi 
of  despair  the  girl  received  his  vUl^ 
followed  his  suggestions  as  tohereooai 
of  life,  and  accepted  his  fatal  hvKk 
In  one  respect,  however,  she  ooald  at 
obey  him ;  she  could  not  be  hsppj^m 
even  look  happy.  Her 
wrought  little  by  little  a 
change  in  her  expression;  stfll 
ful  in  form,  features,  and  oompWli^ 
she  had  the  air  of  a  fallen  s^iifc 

"  I  am  growing  so  wicked,"  liiijCI 
observed  with  a  bitter  smile,  ^'fhliftlUl^ 
beginning  to  show  in  my  faioei  Fvlfr 
dcr  any  one  wishes  to  come  nearai%9 
can  say  a  flattering  thing  to  me.  li^ 
to  look  at  myself." 

Meantime  she  was  living  ia 
fabulous  luxury.  No  Ruasiaii  or 
garian  noble  had  ever  amand 
Viennese  with  a  prodigality  like 
of  this  family  of  democratic  | 
Their  extravagance  made  them  cd^ 
britics;  people  were  as  amdow  tl 
see  them  as  if  they  were  the  BioMa 
Twins,  or  Tom  Thumb  and  his  nUM 
even  the  staid  pride  of  the  Amtaiv 
nobility  caught  the  contagion  of  edlr 
osity;  the  grandest  grandees  virflli 
the  Talmadgeb  and  received  the  1^ 
madges.  Qertrude,  the  unhappW 
woman  in  Vienna,  was  socially  tiA 
most  successful  woman  in  Vienna. 

"What  do  you  complain  oft"  to- 
quired  Mr.  Heller,  after  a  glance  into 
her  hopeless  eyes.  "  No  other  Americtt 
girl  ever  had  such  triumphs.  Witk 
Estcrhazys  and  Bourbons  in  your  par- 


A  QCBSN  OF  SOOISTY. 


405 


^ht  to  be  the  happiest  of 

Lnd  you  glare  at  me  as  if  I 

ny." 

ish  I  never  had  met  you," 

rtrude.    "I  wish  I  were  a 

in  New  York." 

ihance  of  your  being  poor," 

onnentor.     "  It  is  my  duty, 

>  the  terms  of  our  bargain, 

rich." 

k  horrible  mockery.  Her 
become  a  burden  and  tor- 
;  not  indeed  in  itself,  for  it 
lightfhl  to  lavish  money; 
(fays,  was  this  fearful  Hcl- 
rt  of  her  daily  and  future 
BO  the  wealth  was  a  horror. 

assured  of  its  continuance, 

a  blessing. 

a  Chinese  proverb  which 
;  1b  the  use  of  gaining  the 

mandarin,  unless  you  can 
Nir  native  village  ?  "  After 
if  dreary  triumph  amid  the 
Buropean  society,  it  seemed 
that  she  might  find  some 
exhibiting  to  old  acquaint- 
phies  which  she  had  won 
In  eitablishing  among  them 
rhich  had  once  been  dis- 

»  great  mansion  in  Fifth 
flowed  with  splendid  gaye- 
ne  success  seemed  perfect ; 
ones  and  Knickerbockers 
dllers  were  conquered;  it 

not  to  bow  where  Ester- 
rlo£b  had  set  the  example. 
f  there  may  be  in  becom- 
;  where  one  has  been  the 
e  had  it. 

e  would  have  had  it,  but 
6.  There  is  such  a  thing 
tm  baying  the  universe  too 
e  presence  of  every  one  of 
fbe  midst  of  every  one  of 
B,  the  thought  occurred  to 
tihifl  Mr.  Heller  must  be 
imes  she  was  crazy  to  live 
iscape  him ;  at  other  times 
y  to  die  because  life  was  a 
nil$  she  have  been  amply 

death  was  annihilation,  it 
hat  she  would  have  hasted 


to  it  by  violence,  as  to  a  city  of  ref- 
uge. 

She  was  in  this  state,  a  miserable 
queen  of  society,  an  empress  crowned 
with  thorns,  when  she  was  found  by 
Mr.  Heller  on  his  return  from  Paris. 

"  Still  in  trouble  ? "  he  said,  with 
that  terrible  smile  of  his,  a  suppressed 
writhing  of  anxiety,  disappointment, 
cruelty,  and  scorn.  "Tour  face  tells 
me  that  things  are  still  going  wrong,  in 
your  estimation.  Is  there  a  peak  of 
ambition  which  you  cannot  scale  ?  If 
so,  point  it  out  to  me,  and  you  shall  be 
on  its  summit." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  ask  of  you,"  she 
sighed.  "  I  know  that  you  will  not  dis- 
solve our  horrible  agreement.  There  is 
nothing  else  that  I  desire." 

"You  are  a  small  creature,"  he  re- 
plied. "  The  splendors  of  earth  are  by 
no  means  exhausted ;  and  you  have  not 
yet  begun  to  demand  its  powers.  Do 
you  never  desire  to  do  mischief?  It  is 
time  that  you  found  satisfaction  in  vic- 
timizing your  kind.  They  are  a  con- 
temptible race,  these  human  beings. 
Crush  them,  trample  upon  them,  make 
them  miserable." 

'^Ahl  that  was  not  in  the  bond," 
replied  Gertrude,  with  something  like 
pleasure. 

Anxious  now  to  do  in  every  thing,  as 
far  as  possible,  the  opposite  of  what 
Mr.  Heller  desired,  she  resolved  to  de- 
vote herself  to  the  happiness  of  her 
race;  and,  to  the  intense  vexation  of 
her  father,  she  put  a  sudden  end  to  her 
gayeties,  and  passed  her  time  in  labors 
of  charity. 

'*  Confounded  nonsense  I "  was  the 
comment  which  Jonas  Talmadge  min- 
gled with  the  blessing  of  widows  and 
the  thanks  of  orphans.  "  I  can  under- 
stand investing,  and  I  can  understand 
spending,  but  I  don't  see  the  sense  of 
giving." 

Notwithstanding  her  industry  of 
mercy,  Gertrude  felt  that  her  fate  still 
claimed  her,  following  her  from  garret 
to  garret  of  the  wretched,  and  whisper- 
ing in  every  sordid  hovel,  "You  are 
mine."  In  vain  she  invoked  the  aid  of 
clergymen;    in   vain  she  sought  the 


406 


PUTNAM^B  MaOAZINB. 


[A 


shelter  of  sanctuaries.  A  horrible  look- 
ing for  of  judgment  was  foreyer  in  her 
eyes,  discoyering  no  pathway  for  her 
feet  but  one  which  descended  into  im- 
penetrable gloom.  She  was  wasted  al- 
most to  a  skeleton,  although  her  form 
was  still  exquisitely  graceful  and  her 
face  beautiful. 

At  last,  when  she  was  driven  almost 
mad  by  this  expectation  and  attendance 
of  horror,  there  came  to  her  wearied 
soul  a  vision  which  appeared  to  promise 
relief.  Walking  out  on  one  of  her 
rounds  of  charity,  she  saw  a  church- 
door  open,  and  the  thought  occurred 
to  her  to  enter  the  holy  precinct  and 
rest  her  weary  fVame.  Sinking  upon  a 
humble  seat  in  one  comer  of  the  build- 
ing, she  fell  asleep. 

She  was  awakened,  or  seemed  to  be 
awakened,  by  a  great  light ;  and  turn- 
ing toward  it,  or  seeming  to  do  so,  she 
beheld  an  angel  sitting  by  a  sepulchre. 
His  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her  in  sorrow 
and  pity ;  he  pointed  to  the  door  of  the 
tomb,  half  open,  disclosing  some  shroud- 
ed majesty ;  from  his  lips  came  words,  a 
revelation  of  hope,  a  direction  of  safe- 
ty :  "  Do  like  Him.  Die  for  the  rescue 
of  others.  In  such  death  there  is  salva- 
tion." 

As  she  started  to  throw  herself  at  his 
feet,  the  visionary  solemnity  vanished. 

Leaving  the  church,  she  walked  slow- 
ly homeward  in  such  deep  meditation 
that  she  hardly  perceived  that  it  was 
dusk,  and  that  the  wretched  by*street 
which  she  had  taken  was  nearly  desert- 
ed. She  was  reflecting  upon  the  mes- 
sage which  she  had  received,  not  doubt- 
ing its  unearthly  origin  and  its  author- 
ity, and  only  desiring  an  opportunity 
for  some  salvatory  sacrifice,  when  she 
heard  the  curses  and  tramplings  of  a 
violent  struggle. 

Turning  a  comer,  she  discovered  two 
city  roughs  engaged  in  a  deadly  con- 
test, one  of  them  pressing  the  other  by 


the  throat  against  a  wall,  and  holdii 
knife  raised  to  strike ;  the  threifti 
man,  bloated  with  long  habits  of  dn 
enness,  and  his  face,  terror-stridca 
it  was,  distorted  with  evil  paaaii 
the  two  forming  a  group  of  hid 
misery  and  ferocity  and  vice.  It  oc 
red  to  Gertrude,  with  the  swiftnen 
power  of  a  revelation,  thai  it  wonli 
Christ-like  to  die  for  this  besfciil 
being,  the  incarnation  of  degn 
wickedness,  the  type  of  a  faUeo  i 
Uttering  a  shriek  of  self-devotiioi^ 
threw  herself  before  him  and  ma 
the  knife  in  her  breast. 

With  a  curse  of  rage  and  honor 
murderer  dropped  his  bloody  na 
and  fied.  The  other,  cornng  tbo 
bmtal  astonishment,  lifted  Ctatll 
with  his  soiled  hands  and  called  kl 
for  help. 

A  figure  appeared;  it  was  in  tM 
ness  of  a  man,  tall,  swarthy,  and  ai 
nine ;  there  was  something  ia  itiri 
seemed  to  ally  it  to  the  sombicMH 
the  hour  and  the  sayagenen  tf 
scene ;  there  was  what  lemindMlMi 
the  title,  A  Prince  of  Darkness;  ifti 
Mr.  Heller.  He  bent  over  it»^iii 
recoiled  from  her ;  he  seemed  toli 
at  a  glance  that  she  was  no  kqgvl 
his  demoniacal  face  writiied  iMi  i 
appointment.  Looking  angiilylilllpi 
dying  eyes,  as  they  closed  witt  m 
pression  of  inefiable  sweetoees  nfM\ 
he  muttered,  *' Escaped  I"  andpM 
onward, 

A  month  later,  when  Jonas  IUm 
had  begun  to  recover  from  tbe  dh 
of  his  daughter's  death,  he  was  a  kl 
rupt.  That  phenomena}  fortOM^vl 
had  arisen  so  suddenly  and  to  Ml 
overshadowing  height,  Uke  •&  il 
stealing  out  of  his  braaen 
towering  to  the  sky,  retained 
into  the  fantastic  mystery 
sent  it  forth,  as  a  shattered 
reenters  into  ocean. 


408 


Ptjtnam'b  Maqazihb. 


[Art 


seated  herself  in  a  solitary  comer  of  the 
empty  conservatory,  saw  Ethelbcrt  com- 
ing toward  her. 

Charlotte  always  possessed  a  strong 
magnetic  perception  of  the  mental  con- 
ditions of  the  people  in  whose  presence 
she  found  herself.  This  faculty,  sharp- 
ened by  her  acute  personal  interest  in 
Ethelbert,  now  conveyed  to  her  such  a 
clairvoyant  impression  of  his  confidence 
in  her  identity  with  Margaret,  that  her 
consciousness  seemed  to  double  itself, 
m  order  t<^  respond  truthfully  to  Ethel- 
bert's  supposition.  She  seemed  to  her- 
self to  be  at  once  Charlotte  and  Mar- 
garet, and  even  some  indififerent  third 
person,  looking  on  and  criticizing  the 
minutest  detail.  This  third  person  now 
noticed  that  Ethelbcrt  seated  himself  by 
lier  side  too  quietly  to  evince  any  eager 
pleasure  at  meeting  her — ^rather  with 
an  air  of  relief  over  his  escape  from  the 
medley  crowd.  lie  seemed  at  case,  at 
home,  as  nearly  assured  as  was  compati- 
ble with  the  exquisite  courtesy  ingrain- 
ed in  his  nature. 

Charlotte  remembered — as  if  it  were 
very  long  ago — the  marked  awakened 
attention  with  which  Ethelbert  always 
greeted  her,  as  if  each  time  he  expected 
to  find  something  new. 

"  He  must  have  become  very  intimate 
with  Margaret,  to  believe  that  he  has 
already  exhausted  her  possibilities,"  she 
thought.    Aloud  she  said : 

"  Are  you  already  tired  of  the  juas- 
querade,  Mr.  Allston  ? " 

"A  little.  Fortunately,  Charlotte 
was  so  kind  as  io  discover  herself  to 
me,  and  tell  me  where  I  could  find  you. 
She  thought  that  we  might  both  be 
feeling  rather  lonely  in  this  crowd  of 
strangers.  Charlotte  is  always  thinking 
about  the  wants  of  other  people.  I  am 
very  glad  that  you  have  such  a  gener- 
ous, bountiful  nature  for  a  friend." 

Charlotte  colored  behind  her  mask 
with  the  naive  pleasure  of  a  child  who 
hears  itself  praised.  But  the  next  mo- 
ment, in  her  consciousness  as  Margaret, 
she  felt  nettled  by  this  remark. 

"He  is  too  kind,"  she  thought 
"  Nothing  but  the  fineness  of  his  nature 
prevents  him  from  being  supercilious." 


'<  Tes,  Charlotte  is  kind,"  ahe  re^ 
aloud.  "But  I  hope  that  you  did  Ml 
trouble  yourself  to  find  me  simply  « 
her  recommendation*" 

"  I  accepted  her  suggestion  with  Ai 
more  gratitude  because  I  bad  a  qMeid 
message  to  deliver  to  you,  and  I  dioidd 
never  have  discovered  you  by  myBdt* 

"  A  message  from  whom  ?  " 

"  From  that  lady  about  whom  I  qnki 
to  you  the  other  day.  As  far  as  abeli 
concerned,  the  affair  is  settled.  Tk 
position  is  yours,  if  you  like  to  aonfk 
it," 

"  And  I  shall  owe  it  to  your  fiiaifll 
intervention?  Can  I  ever  suflkiei^f 
thank  you  ? " 

"  Why  should  you  thank  me  at  il 
for  ministering  so  efiectively  to  mj  ovi 
selfish  enjoyment  ?  You  cannot  imag^  , 
the  pleasure  I  have  had  in  airaogiig 
this  little  matter  for  you.  And  I  ra^f 
think  you  might  be  most  pleaau^f 
situated  in  this  family.  The  father  nd 
mother  are  admirable  people,  the  ddl- 
dren  docile  and  intelligent,  and — a  sab- 
ordinate  but  still  legitimate  considen- 
tion — the  salary  is  very  good." 

"  I  <^  sure  I  can  rely  upon  your  rep- 
resentation. Have  you  appointed  ibj 
day  for  me  to  meet  your  friends  ?  " 

"Yes;  Thursday  next,  if  yoS  tre 
willing.  But  are  you  quite  decided  to 
accept  ? " 

"It  is,  of  course,  impossible  to  d»> 
cide  finally  until  after  Thursday.  Bat 
at  this  moment  I  know  of  nothing  to 
prevent  mc.    Do  you  ?  " 

Ethelbcrt,  usually  so  alert  in  hisxe- 
plies,  was  now  silcnt^nd  busied  him- 
self in  breaking  off  a  8£ray  of  the 
honeysuckle  that  invaded  th^vwindow. 
Charlotte  waited  a  minute  or  tv^o,  and 
then  repeated  the  question.  ^ 

"Yes,"  answered  Ethelbert.  *'-0r, 
rather,  I  was  thinking  of  something  hj 
which  I  wished  that  you  might  be  pre* 
vented." 

"  From  benefiting  by  the  advantages 
you  have  taken  such  pains  to  secure  for 
me  ?    That  is  rather  illogical." 

"  But  it  is  I  that  am  about  to  propose 
the  hindrance;  so,  of  course,  I  was 
anxious  that  you  should  be  in  a  po- 


.] 


CoKOBBNiNo  Charlotte. 


409 


a  which  left  you  perfectly  free  to 
se." 

Tou  are  generous." 
Should  you  call  a  man  generous 
»ly  because  he  was  not  brute  enough 
ike  an  unfair  advantage  of  a  wom- 
and  persuade  her  to  become  his 
,  in  order  to  escape  from  some  tcm- 
ry  inconvenience  of  position  ?  " 
[  should  call  him  extremely  proud 
Qsisting  upon  a  love  offered  to  him- 
alone,  and  freed  from  the  faintost 
e  of  gratitude  or  suspicion  of 
dly  interest." 

;hdbert  looked  up  startled. 
Plt)udl"  he  repeated.  The  idea 
evidently  quite  new  to  him. 
VTell,"  he  resumed  presently,  "we 
poor  creatures  at  best,  and  it  is 
r  safe  to  explore  too  deeply  into 
motives  of  our  conduct,  especially 
D  of  which  we  are  unconscious.  The 
itial  is  that  I  have  left  you  free  to 

IMP*' 

Between  what  ? " 

Between  Mrs.  Holbein  and  myself." 
[  did  not  know  that  you  were  in 
L  of  a  governess." 

I  am  not.    But  I  am  in  need  of  a 

n    . 

m 

Oh!"  said  Charlotte,  coldly,  but 
r  from  her  consciousness  as  Marga- 

[  may  he  presumptuous,"  continued 
albert,  recovering  his  habitual  rapid- 
>f  diction,  "  in  asking  you  to  share 
id  as  arduous  as  mine.    I  can  offer 

neither  riches  nor  social  position ; 
a  only  inflict  upon  you  the  troubles 
n  obscure,  struggling  exile.  But  I 
k  both  of  us  have  learned  how 
h  the  harshness  of  all  material  an- 
inoes  may  bo  softened  by  the  love 

sincere  sympathy  of  two  persons 
>  thoroughly  understand  and  apprc- 
»  each  other.    Dear  Margaret,  you 

make  me  very  happy  if  you  will 
lent  to  be  my  wife." 
B  leaneil  toward  her  with  the  same 
ying  gesture  that  Charlotte  had  no- 
d  the  first  evening  he  talked  with 
garet.     But   his   voice  was   clear 

untroubled  as  usual — his  face  un- 
oged ;   the   spray   of  honeysuckle 


swaying  at  the  window  in  the  evening 
breeze  not  more  passionless  than  he. 

"Dear  fnend,"  said  Charlotte,  "I 
thank  you  for  your  words.  They  are 
new  to  me,  and  I  must  think  over  them 
before  I  can  reply.  You  have  been  so 
generous  in  providing  me,  if  necessary, 
with  a  way  of  escape  from  you,  that  I 
am  sure  you  will  not  now  hurry  me  for 
an  answer." 

A  secret  scorn  vibrated  under  the 
words,  but  so  far  below  the  surface  that 
Ethclbert  did  not  perceive  it.  He  an- 
swered cordially : 

"Assuredly  not.  I  trust  you  com- 
pletely, as  I  hope  one  day  you  will  trust 
me,  Margaret." 

He  rose,  and  Charlotte  rose  also. 

"  Farewell,  then,  for  the  present,"  he 
said,  and  extended  his  hand.  Charlotte 
gave  him  her  own;  he  held  it  for  a 
moment,  and  looked  at  her  as  if  to  ask 
permission  to  kiss  it.  A  mad  desire 
leaped  up  into  Charlotte^s  heart,  and 
drove  Margaret  entirely  out  of  her  con- 
sciousness. 

"  It  is  the  only  time,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, and  remained  motionless.  Ethel- 
bert  bent  over  the  imprisoned  hand, 
and  his  lips  pressed  it  for  a  moment — 
as  lightly  as  a  snowflake. 

"  I  wonder  if  he  always  kisses  like 
that!"  thought  Charlotte.  Ethclbert 
was  already  gone,  and  she  remained 
alone  in  the  empty  conservatory. 

Whether  minutes  or  hours  passed,  as 
she  stood  rooted  by  the  window,  Char- 
lotte knew  not.  But  at  length  she  was 
aroused  by  the  hasty  entrance  of  a 
young  man  dressed  as  a  harlequin,  who 
walked  directly  towards  her  without 
seeming  to  see  her.  He  tore  off  his 
mask  with  a  gesture  of  profound  impa- 
tience, threw  it  on  the  floor,  and  trod 
on  it.  Charlotte,  who  had  already 
dropped  her  own,  recognized  Qerald. 
He  started  as  he  met  her  eyes. 

"  You  here  I "  ^sho  exclaimed,  in  the 
r61e  of  courteous  hostess.  "  You  should 
be  yonder  amusing  yourself." 

And  she  pointed  to  the  folding-door 
of  the  conservatory,  where,  as  if  set  in 
a  frame,  appeared  the  gorgeous  tableau 
of  the  swimming  crowd,  bobbing,  ges- 


410 


PUTNAH^B  MaQAZINB. 


[Apia, 


ticulatiiig,  merry-making  at  theii  hard- 
est. 

"Pshaw,"  said  Gerald,  " it  is  Hke  the 
gibbering  of  things  without  life." 

She  saw  him  absorbed  in  an  inward 
passion  so  intense,  that  all  things  else 
became  empty  and  lifeless  in  compari- 
son. She  understood  this,  because  to 
herself,  at  the  moment,  Gerald  seemed 
as  faint  and  far  away  as  did  the  mur- 
muring maskers  to  him.  She  dissimu- 
lated, as  women  do  and  can  and 
must. 

"  You  are  polite,  sir,  to  speak  of  my 
grand  masquerade  so  contemptuously. 
I  assure  you  that  it  will  be  recorded  in 
the  annals  of  the  town  as  the  most  bril- 
liant event  of  local  history." 

Gerald  dashed  aside  her  words  as  a 
man  who  stems  a  torrent  pushes  apart 
the  slight  willow  branches  that  oppose 
liis  progress. 

**  Oh,  Charlotte,  I  am  sick — sick  to 
death — of  this  idle  mummery.  I  have 
been  a  boy,  a  child,  long  enough;  it 
seems  to  mo  as  if  all  my  life  had  been 
just  like  this  masquerade — as  empty, 
unreal,  and  meaningless.  To-night  the 
scfdes  have  fallen  from  my  eyes ;  I  know 
myself  to  be  a  man,  and  cannot  trifle 
any  longer.  To-day,  to-night,  this  mo- 
ment, I  must  finish  the  suspense  that  is 
frittering  my  soul  away.  Tell  me,  once 
for  all,  that  you  love  me  or  hate  me ; 
receive  me,  or  cast  me  off  forever." 

Unlucky  Gerald  I  Had  he  come  the 
next  day,  or  week,  or  month,  he  might 
have  won  his  cause.  But  the  moment 
that  accident  had  chosen  for  him  was 
fatal.  All  the  passion  that  trembled  in 
his  voice  and  fired  his  eyes  affected 
Charlotte  as  little  as  the  teazing  of  a 
fly  against  a  barred  window-pane.  She 
answered  impatiently : 

**  If  you  are  tired  of  waiting,  go ;  I 
have  been  frank  enough,  it  seems  to  me, 
and  it  is  not  my  fault  that  you  have 
chosen  to  prolong  the  suspense.  Cut  it 
this  moment,  if  it  please  you,  and  with 
a  sharp  knife." 

Gerald  drew  back,  dropping  his  arms 
helplessly,  as  if  suddenly  paralyzed. 
Charlotte^s  heart  smote  her  when  she 
saw  him  so  hurt  and  grieved,  yet  always 


nnresentful.  She  remembered  all  lui 
goodness  and  sweetness  to  her,  Ids  m- 
alterable  patience;  she  cried  Teaaat- 
fully: 

"Oh,  Gerald,  forgiye  me;  I  hardly 
know  what  I  am  saying.  I  am  in  tno- 
ble  to-night,  and  do  not  see  clear." 

He  forgot  himself  instantly  in  vanb- 
tj  for  her. 

"  You  in  trouble  ?  I  thought  tint 
was  impossible.  Dearest,  what  is  the 
matter  ? " 

"  Is  it  not  enough  that  I  have  hurt 
you — that  I  must  hurt  and  disappoint 
you  after  all  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Gerald,  sorrowfully;  "job 
do  not  love  me  enough  to  be  sony  ikit 
you  do  not  love  me." 

It  was  true ;  it  is  always  true.  LofB 
rarely  knows  remorse  for  the  sin  of  not 
loving.  Yet  of  what  other  mn  Is  Love 
capable  ? 

Charlotte  leaned  her  cheek  on  her 
hand  and  contemplated  Ghsrald  wiitftil- 
ly,  almost  tenderly.  The  look  remed 
his  hope  in  spite  of  the  certainty  of  hii 
knowledge.  He  threw  himself  at  ha 
feet,  and  poured  out  his  whole  soul  in 
one  last  passionate  prayer. 

"  Oh,  darling,  dearest  life  of  my  life, 
take  back  your  words  before  they  kill 
me.  It  is  too  terrible  to  believe  that 
you  do  not  love  me,  w^hen  all  that  is  in 
me  has  gone  over  to  you,  and  become 
yours  so  entirely.  Why,  to  me  flie 
whole  world  has  been  dissolved,  and 
there  is  nothing  left  but  you.  If  joa 
told  me  to  walk  into  a  red-hot  furnace, 
I  should  go,  and  never  feel  the  flamcBb 
You  cannot  send  me  away  firom  you, 
because  all  that  I  am  is  bound  up  in 
you.  You  must  die  yourself,  to  get  rid 
of  me." 

"  Then  may  it  please  God  that  I  die," 
said  Charlotte.  "And  God  knows  at 
this  moment  I  am  so  wretched  that 
death  alone  seems  a  little  sweet." 

Gerald  rose,  and  faced  her  for  the  last 
time.  His  arms  were  clasped  tightly 
over  his  breast,  as  if  to  force  down  hia 
violently  throbbing  heart ;  his  eyes  met 
hers.  They  looked  each  other  through 
and  through,  but  across  a  gulf  that 
yawned  blackly  between  them.     For 


1870.] 


OoNCEBKiKa  Ohablottb. 


411 


the  first  time  in  their  liyes  their  lips 
uttered  a  word  in  concert. 

"  FareweU  I " 

Gerald  waved  his  hand,  and  disap- 
peared in  the  darkness  of  the  garden. 
Charlotte  replaced  her  mask,  and  sought 
Margaret  in  the  ball-room. 

"  Mr.  Allston  has  bored  me  to  death," 
she  said,  "and  the  night-flowering  cc- 
reus  under  the  window  has  given  mc  a 
deadly  headache.  I  shall  go  to  bed, 
and  leave  you  to  play  the  hostess.  You 
know  how,  a  great  deal  better  than  L" 

"  Oh,  nonsense  1 " 

"Yes,  because,  if  you  were  in  my 
place  at  this  moment,  you  would  stay 
here  and  continue  to  be  agreeable  in 
spite  of  the  most  racking  pain.  I  am 
more  self-indulgent,  and  less  used  to 
pain.  I  do  not  know  how  to  bear  it 
Qood-night" 

OniBLOTTB  AKD  MAROASST. 

Haigaret^s   school-hours  finished  at 
iliiee  o^clock.     At  ten  minutes   past 
three,  Charlotte   entered   the   school 
room,  and  found  her  friend  alone. 

**How  is  your  headache  9"  asked 
Hazgaret. 

^Better.  I  slept  as  if  I  had  been 
dxowned  under  fifty  fathom  of  uncon- 
■etooBneeB,  and  the  sleep  drugged  my 
bndn  like  opium.'' 

^  Allow  me  to  congratulate  you  on 
ilie  saccess  of  your  party." 

^I  shall  allow  no  such  thing.  You 
know  yery  well  that  is  not  what  I  have 
oome  to  talk  about." 

^  I  am  waiting  to  hear  you  tell  me." 

'^Ala  honns  heure  !  You  are  such  a 
consnmmate  little  diplomate,  I  was  not 
■ore  that  you  would  acknowledge  your 
oiwn  penetration.  I  have  come  to  talk 
to  yoa  about  ^Ir.  Allston." 

**  Who  bored  you  so  much  last  night  ?" 

'^Exactly.  He  supposed  me  to  be 
yoQ,  and  asked  me  to  marry  him." 

Margaret  looked  straight  out  of  the 
-window,  and  answered  not  a  word. 

^Should  you  like  to  hear  how  he 
add  it  f" 

^  Ab  you  please,"  said  Margaret,  with- 
out turning  round. 

Charlotte  drew  a  chair  into  the  mid- 


dle of  the  room  and  sat  down  in  it, 
with  her  back  to  Margaret. 

^^  Do  not  look  at  me,  and  I  will  tell 
you  all." 

And  thereupon  she  repeated,  word 
for  word,  the  conversation  of  the  last 
evening — only  omitting  Ethelbert's  pre- 
liminary remark  about  herself.  When 
she  had  finished,  she  waited  to  hear 
what  Margaret  would  say, 

"What  an  excellent  memory  you 
have,  Charlotte,"  observed  Margaret. 

Charlotte  jumped  up  from  her  chair, 
and,  running  to  Margaret,  laid  her 
hands  on  her  shoulders  and  shook  her 
violently. 

"  Xou  abominable  little  thing  I  Here 
have  I  been  occupying  myself  in  the 
most  masterly  manner  with  an  afiair 
that  intimately  concerns  you,  and  you 
do  not  even  thank  me  1 " 

"You  know  I  did  not  ask  you  to 
trouble  yourself  with  it,"  answered 
Margaret^  quietly. 

Charlotte  examined  the  face  of  her 
friend,  and  the  more  she  looked  at  her, 
the  more  she  was  foiled  and  baffled. 
Margaret,  by  the  simple  force  and  dig- 
nity of  reticence,  seemed  to  have  es- 
caped her,  and  to  have  reached  some 
inaccessible  superiority,  before  which 
Charlotte  felt  herself  miserably  small 
and  inadequate. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  say  to  Mr. 
Allston  ? "  she  asked,  after  a  moment's 
silence. 

"  I  have  not  yet  made  up  my  mind." 

"  And  how  long  before  you  arrive  at 
a  decision  ? " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Will  you  tell  me  when  you  do  ?  " 

"  How  can  you  help  knowing  ? " 

"  Margaret,  are  you  angry  with  me  f " 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Margaret,  gently 
smoothing  Charlotte's  hand.  "What 
have  you  done,  that  I  should  be  angry 
with  you  ? " 

Charlotte  looked  at  her  again,  doubt- 
fhlly,  kissed  her  forehead,  and  left  the 
room,  much  perplexed  in  her  own  mind. 

She  crossed  the  dining-room  and  sum- 
mer parlors,  and  came  to  the  wide  hall 
that  ran  through  the  middle  of  the 
house.    The  August  day  was  intensely 


412 


Putnam's  Magazine. 


[April, 


hot,  and  the  haU-door  stood  wide  open. 
Charlotte  looked  out  upon  the  sultry 
valley  and  the  dusty  road  that  climbed 
the  hill  in  the  distance.  The  air  was 
motionless  with  the  heat,  the  trees  dry 
and  drooping,  the  grass  parched  like 
the  lips  of  a  fever-patient,  and  a  white 
haze  thickened  the  glowing  atmosphere. 

Certain  natures  are  oppressed  or 
frightened  by  these  tigerish,  African 
days.  Others,  though  not  in  the  least 
tropical  themselves,  are  fiercely  exulted 
by  their  tropical  intensity.  Charlotte 
paused  in  the  shade,  and  filled  her  eyes 
with  the  burning  landscape,  and  prayed 
neither  for  coolness  nor  rain. 

She  had  not  stood  there  many  min- 
utes, whed  she  perceived  Ethelbert  com- 
ing across  the  lawn.  He  entered  the 
hall  abruptly,  without  seeming  to  no- 
tice Charlotte;  and  she  saw  that  his 
face  was  deadly  white,  and  he  walked 
unsteadily,  as  if  in  danger  of  falling. 

'*  Mr.  AJlston,  what  is  the  mutter  with 
you  ?  "  cried  Charlotte,  in  vague  alarm. 

"  I  believe  I  am  sunstruck,"  answered 
Ethelbert,  quietly.  He  staggered  to- 
ward the  sofa,  sat  down,  and  imme- 
diately fainted  away. 

Charlotte  rushed  across  the  hall, 
reached  Mr.  Lauderdale's  library,  knock- 
ed, burst  open  the  door  without  wait- 
ing for  an  answer,  and  jerked  out  a 
summons  for  assistance,  as  if  she  had 
thrown  the  words  in  the  face  of  the 
startled  gentleman. 

^*Mr.  Allston  is  sunstruck.  He  has 
fainted.    Go  to  him  directly." 

"  How  I  when  I  where  ! "  exclaimed 
Lauderdale,  rising. 

"In  the  hall,"  answered  Charlotte. 
And  without  waiting  further,  she  turned 
and  ran  out  of  the  house,  across  the 
lawn,  through  the  gate  to  her  own 
grounds,  and  never  slackened  speed 
until  she  found  herself  in  her  bed- 
room, where  she  closed  and  bolted  the 
door.  One  would  have  thought  she 
was  pursued  by  a  fiend,  of  whoso  temp- 
tation she  was  terribly  afraid. 

Once  safe  under  lock  and  key,  Char- 
lotte could  not  pluck  up  the  courage  to 
emerge  from  her  place  of  refuge.  She 
ordered  the  servants  to  deny  all  visit- 


ors ;  she  would  have  forgotten  to  at 
and  drink,  had  not  they,  knowing  bow 
to  deal  with  the  savage  moods  that  it 
rare  intervals  possessed  their  mistiWi 
brought  her  food  of  their  own  accozd. 

She  passed  hours  in  pacing  her  room, 
like  a  wild  animal  confined  in  a  cage; 
then,  exhausted,  she  threw  herself  on 
the  bed,  and  slept  heavily.  The  son 
sank  behind  the  cloudless  horizon ;  the 
harvest-moon  lavished  floods  of  light, 
and  retreated  again  before  a  new  dawn; 
another  day  climbed  to  high  noon, 
panted,  and  slept ;  and  so  the  hesvem 
and  earth  renewed  themselves  mnny 
times,  while  Charlotte  remained  still  t 
prisoner,  bound  by  the  tension  of  bodj 
and  soul  that  relaxed  not  for  a  moment 

Hacked  by  anxiety  for  news  conceni' 
ing  Ethelbert,  it  never  occurred  to  her 
to  be  astonished  that  the  Landerdeles 
sent  her  no  word;  still  less  did  she 
dream  of  making  inquiries  herself  (X 
recollect  that  this  negligence  might  be 
resented  by  her  neighbors.  All  pas- 
sion, be  it  love  or  genius — which  is  an- 
other form  of  love — ^is  so  supreme,  domi- 
nant, sufScient  to  itself,  that  it  ignores 
external  circumstances  simply  became 
they  are  external,  and  hence  as  far  awij 
as  the  circumference  of  the  earth  from 
a  man  standing  at  the  centre.  It  is 
naive,  unreasonable,  contradictory,  from 
the  very  essence  of  its  nature. 

Indifferent  to  the  divisions  of  night 
and  day — for  often  she  kept  vigils  at 
moonlit  midnights,  and  often  slept 
through  burning  noons — Charlotte  bad 
no  idea  how  much  secular  time  bad 
elapsed  since  the  day  of  Ethelbert's  afr 
cident.  That  one  event  towered  abofe 
the  level  of  all  past  memory,  like  the 
hulk  of  a  shipwrecked  vessel  cast  up 
high  and  dry  upon  the  land.  And 
Ethelbert's  white  face,  as  she  had  last 
seen  it,  remained  constantly  before  her 
eyes  in  deadly  distinctness,  like  the  face 
of  a  man  who  had  escaped  the  storm 
and  appeared  upon  the  deck  of  the  ves- 
sel, isolated  from  his  fellows  and  firom 
all  other  men. 

One  afternoon — it  was  the  seventh 
day — Charlotte  stood  at  a  window  that 
commanded  a  view  of  Mrs,  Lauderdalc^a 


OONCEBNING  OlIABLOTTE. 


418 


Al  winding  path  jiist  emerged 
;ht,  passed  under  a  beautiful 
lestnut  tree,  and  then  disap- 
Mr.  Lauderdale  had  placed  a 
ench  against  the  horse-chestnut, 
ays  brought  thither  his  favorite 
Now,  as  Charlotte  fixed  her 
sently  on  this  comer,  she  saw 
lople  emerge  from  the  shrubbery 
t  themselves  on  the  bench.  It 
jy  to  recognize  Margaret,  Lau- 
and  Ethelbert,  the  latter  lean- 
his  host^s  arm,  and  walking 
like  a  man  just  recovered  from 
3  illness.  Lauderdale  talked  a 
hile,  and  then  went  off,  leaving 
rt  and  Margaret  alone.  Char- 
lelt  at  the  window  and  watched 
r  greedily.  Perhaps  she  alone 
ave  divined  whether  they  were 
1  lovers,  or  friends,  or  simple 
tances.  They  seemed  at  their 
home,  at  rest  in  one  another's 
and  talked  in  low,  quiet  tones, 
itinaously,  as  if  the  words  and 
s  flamed  from  a  full,  untroubled 
9d  by  springs  that  would  not 
odry. 

\a  Margaret,  rather  than  Ethel- 
at  Charlotte  devoured  with  her 
She  had  been  under  the  same 
ith  him  during  all  his  illness ; 
w  whether  he  had  suffered,  and 
she  knew  if  he  had  been  in  dan- 
he  had  touched  upon  death, 
aembered  how  she  herself  had 
•m  the  temptation  to  press  her 
o  Ethelbert's  unconscious  head, 
nn  him  back  to  life;  and  she 
oabted  that  Margaret  had  been 
ar  to  him  in  these  latter  days. 
ly  she  saw  Ethelbert  shiver,  and 
et  lift  a  comer  of  the  shawl  that 
ret  the  bench  and  hand  it  to 
at  he  might  wrap  himself  more 
• 
ate  her  I ''  said  Charlotte,  yehe- 

Love  is  cruel— cmel  at  core  I  It 
tihe  sun,  whose  outer  atmosphere 
s  warmth,  geniality,  friendship ; 
L080  pierces  to  the  centre,  falls, 
imed  to  cinders  by  the  deyour- 

8l 


All  thought  of  Margaret  was  swept 
entirely  out  of  Charlotte^s  conscious- 
ness, possessed  as  that  was  by  the  sin- 
gle desire  to  sec,  to  be  near  to  Ethel- 
bert though  but  for  a  moment.  Blind- 
ly following  the  impulse,  Charlotte 
sprang  to  her  feet,  rushed  from  the 
room,  and  sped  directly  toward  the 
horse-chestnut  on  her  neighbor's  lawn. 
She  did  not  forget,  however,  to  smooth 
her  hurried  pace  before  coming  in  sight, 
and  to  calmly  return  the  greeting  with 
which  Ethelbert  and  Margaret  rose  at 
her  approach. 

*^This  is  a  charming  little  nook," 
said  Ethelbert.  *'  I  have  not  been  here 
before,  or,  at  least,  it  seems  to  me  as  if 
to-day  I  appreciated  it  for  the  first 
time."  His  eyes  rested  on  Margaret  for 
a  moment  as  he  spoke. 

"I  remember,  however,"  said  Char- 
lotte, "  that  I  have  seen  you  come  here 
to  read  the  papers  containing  news  from 
Paraguay.  I  am  not  astonished  that 
you  are  obliged  to  discuss  such  exciting 
interests  in  solitude." 

'^I  am  glad  you  mentioned  Para- 
guay," returned  Ethelbert ;  "  it  reminds 
me  of  a  curious  story  I  have  been  wait- 
ing to  tell  you." 

"  You  might  have  told  Margaret,  if 
you  were  in  need  of  a  sympathetic  au- 
ditor." 

'^  Oh,"  said  Margaret,  laughing,  and 
frankly  at  her  ease  as  Charlotte  had 
rarely  seen  her ;  ^^  I  confess  that  I  am 
not  much  interested  in  the  affairs  of 
Paraguay.  My  curiosity  is  not  nearly 
so  extensive  as  yours." 

"  What  is  the  story  1 "  asked  Char- 
lotte. 

Ethelbert  was  about  to  speak,  when 
Mrs.  Lauderdale  bustled  up,  fiounced 
and  fiustered  as  usuaL  At  seeing  Char- 
lotte she  exclaimed  loudly : 

'^  Bless  my  heart.  Miss  Chariotte  I  I 
should  think  it  was  about  time  you 
made  yoiur  appearance.  Here's  Mr. 
Allston  been  at  death's  door,  and  you 
never  so  much  as  sent  a  servant  to  in- 
quire after  him.  I  shouldn't  wonder, 
now,  if  you  had  forgotten  all  ordinary 
civilities,  and  had  not  even  asked  him 
how  he  did." 


414 


Putnam's  Magazine. 


[Al«i 


"Miss  Charlotte  is  never  obliged  to 
have  recourse  to  ordinary  civilities," 
said  Ethelbert,  smiling  brightly. 

"  So  it  appears,"  continued  Mrs.  Lau- 
derdale, who  was  suffering  from  the 
heat,  and  consequently  well  disposed  to 
boil  over  a  little  steam  upon  her  neigh- 
bors. "My  dear  Charlotte,  do  you 
know  that  it  is  five  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon, and  you  have  come  out  of  doors 
in  your  dressing-gown  ?  And  just  look 
at  your  hair  I  It  is  as  tumbled  as  though 
you  had  slept  in  it.  Margaret,  what 
have  you  been  thinking  about,  not  to 
tell  Charlotte  what  a  guy  she  was? 
Pretty  treacherous  friendship,  that  I " 

Poor  Charlotte  I  Hitherto  left  in 
blissful  ignorance  of  her  blunder  by 
the  refined  tact  of  her  friends,  she  was 
recalled  to  its  consciousness  rudely 
enough  by  Mrs.  Lauderdale's  words. 
In  a  woman,  nothing  more  surely  indi- 
cates profound  inward  trouble  than  for- 
getfulness  of  her  toilette  and  personal 
appearance.  She  is  revealed  disman- 
tled, disarmed,  like  a  city  whose  senti- 
nels have  been  recalled  from  the  outer 
walls  in  the  confusion  of  a  popular  re- 
volt. Charlotte  looked  down  at  her 
dress,  and  mechanically  carried  her  hand 
to  her  tangled  hair.  Feeling  keenly 
the  real  significance  of  her  disarray,  she 
believed  that  it  must  be  equally  patent 
to  all  eyes.  She  saw  herself  disgraced 
before  the  world,  before  Margaret,  be- 
fore Ethelbert ;  her  nerves,  strained  by 
long  tension,  could  not  bear  the  sharp 
blow  of  mortification ;  she  colored  furi- 
ously, covered  her  face  with  her  hands, 
and  burst  into  tears. 

Nobody  had  ever  seen  Charlotte  cry, 
and  every  one  was  struck  with  conster- 
nation. Margaret  went  up  to  her  imme- 
diately, and  encircled  her  with  a  friend- 
ly, protecting  arm. 

"  Charlotte  is  not  well,"  she  said. 
"  Perhaps  Mr.  Allston  would  be  kind 
enough  to  fetch  a  glass  of  water  from 
the  house."  And  as  he  rose  she  add- 
ed, in  a  low  voice,  "  Do  not  return." 

Ethelbert  understood,  and  walked 
Mrs.  Lauderdale  away,  much  to  that 
good  lady's  astonishment. 

Charlotte,  finding  herself  alone  with 


Margaret,  clung  to  her,  sobbing  lib  t 
child — or,  rather,  as  children  never  flob^ 
ignorant  of  the  strange  woes  that  nnk 
them  outside  of  Paradise.  And  sweet 
Margaret  soothed  her  friend,  lea  b; 
words  than  by  those  inarticulate  cir» 
es  of  which  the  soul  in  trouble  is  mon 
greedy  than  of  profoundeet  wisdom. 

"Oh,  Margaret,"  whispered  Ohir 
lotte,  "  what  have  I  done  I  What  do 
you  and  Mr.  Allston  think  of  me!" 

"  And  Mrs.  Lauderdale  ?  ^  said  Ha- 
garet,  playfully. 

"What  do  I  care  about  her!  Whit 
do  you  think  ?  " 

"  I  think  that  Charlotte  foigot  to 
brush  her  hair  this  morning  when  Ai 
got  up  out  of  bed." 

"  I  have  not  been  to  bed  for  a  week,* 
said  Charlotte,  abruptly. 

Margaret  showed  no  surpiise.  Only 
vulgar  people  ever  do. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  she  asked,  quietly. 

"  I  do  not  know.  It  seems  to  me  M 
if  I  had  been  insane,  and  now  wm 
dying." 

"You  are  so  unused  to  tean  that 
they  tiro  you  out." 

Charlotte  was  lying  with  her  head  on 
Margarets  bosom,  and  her  eyes  doeed. 
She  spoke  now  dreamily,  without  opefr 
ing  them. 

"  How  do  people  feel  who  ciy  all  the 
time  ? " 

"  I  doubt  if  there  be  any  audi  pe^ 


?j 


son. 

"Those  in  whose  hearts  the  teui 
stand  all  the  time  ? " 

"  While  the  tears  are  there,  the  heut 
is  kept  cool  and  fresh.  Sometimeii 
however,  the  tears  dry,  and  then  theie 
is  a  terrible  desert" 

"  Then  it  is  best  that  the  tears  staod 
all  the  time  in  my  heart,"  said  Oha^ 
lottc,  with  a  curious,  wistful  persifltr 
ence. 

"  No,  indeed ;  you  are  made  for  sun- 
shine, and  it  will  follow  you." 

"  Margaret,  if  I  told  you  that  I  hated 
you,  what  would  you  say  ?  " 

"  That  you  misunderstood  me." 

"  Dear  friend,  I  love  you.  Kiss  me, 
Margaret.  I  will  go  home  and  sleep. 
Tell  Mrs.  Lauderdale  I  will  put  on  a 


1870.] 


OoNOESNiNo  Charlotte. 


415 


new  sprigged  muslin  to  receive her 

footman,  the  next  time  he  brings  me 
peaches.'' 

nxRB  XMDrm  the  piest  lksson. 

The  next  morning  Charlotte  dressed 
herself  rationally,  and  went  down-stairs 
to  breakfast.  She  was,  for  the  moment, 
in  possession  of  such  peace  as  often 
comes  after  a  violent  storm.  Peace  that 
sometimes  signalizes  the  permanent  rc- 
tnm  of  sunshine,  quite  as  often  is  but 
a  deceitful  lueur,  surrounded  by  clouds 
in  the  future  as  in  the  past,  like  the 
moments  of  half-light  which  gleam  in 
the  midst  of  long,  drencliing  rains. 
"Why  not,  however,  enjoy  such  instants 
of  treacherous  repose  ?  The  longest 
day  of  fair  weather  is  preceded  and  fol- 
lowed by  storms — and  neither  do  they 
outlast  their  appointed  limits. 

Toward  the  middle  of  the  forenoon, 
Charlotte  was  summoned  to  the  parlor 
to  meet  a  guest.  Recognizing  Mr.  All- 
ston,  she  paused  on  the  threshold  of  the 
door,  with  her  bands  behind  her,  like  a 
nanghty  child  that  expects  to  be  scold- 
ed. Ethelbert  came  for\^'ard  eagerly  to 
greet  her. 

'*  This  time  Mrs.  Lauderdale  has  been 
kind  enough  to  entrust  me  with  the 
peaches ; "  and  he  handed  her  a  mag- 
nificent basket  filled  with  the  lovely 
fhiit. 

Nature  is  provided  with  an  infini- 
tude of  resources  for  our  benefit,  which 
we  commonly  ignore.  Among  the  pret- 
tiest is  the  cheery  influence  she  so  often 
is  able  to  exert  througli  the  mediiun  of 
ripe  fruit.  The  color,  the  fragrance, 
the  luscious  suggestion  of  mellowing 
sunshine — all  these  act  on  the  senses 
like  wine  on  the  blood.  Charlotte  was 
subtle,  sensitive  to  such  impressions, 
and,  absurd  as  it  may  seem,  her  embar- 
rassment at  meeting  Ethelbert  after  the 
scene  of  yesterday  melted  entirely  away 
in  the  warm  glow  of  the  peaches.  She 
ran  for  plates  and  knives ;  she  drew  a 
little  table  between  herself  and  Ethel- 
bert, and  presently  the  two  were  safely 
established  on  a  little  islet  of  coziness, 
beyond  which  Charlotte  refused  to  look. 

"Are  you  well,  now?"   she  asked, 


after    some    nimbling    discussion    on 
peaches  and  Paraguay. 

"Oh,  I  think  so, — thanks  to  ^Irs. 
Lauderdale's  kindness." 

"  How  did  you  get  sunstruck  ? " 

"You  knew  it,  then?"  said  Ethel- 
bert, with  an  air  of  curious  astonish- 
ment. 

"  I  was  in  the  hall  when  you  returned 
from  your  walk.  You  told  me  what 
had  happened,  and  immediately  fainted 
away." 

"  I  knew  it  I  "  exclaimed  Ethelbert. 
"  I  was  sure  that  I  had  seen  you  at  that 
moment.  In  the  delirium  which  fol- 
lowed, you  were  continually  before  me 
— sometimes  jis  in  life,  sometimes  mag- 
nified to  gigantic  proportions.  But  it 
was  always  you— no  one  but  you.  My 
mind  must  have  become  saturated  with 
you  before  it  went  to  sleep." 

Charlotte  trembled  inwardly. 

"What  visions  did  you  have  about 
me  ? " 

A  curious  smile  floated  to  the  surface 
of  Ethelbert's  eyes,  like  the  embodi- 
ment of  a  pleasant  recollection.  lie 
shaded  his  forehead  with  his  hand,  as 
if  he  would  prevent  the  recollection 
from  escaping. 

"You  always  disjKjlled  the  visions 
which  tormented  me.  Sometimes  there 
were  masses  of  cloudy  fiends,  twisting, 
squirming,  shrieking  in  a  horrible  pan- 
demonium. Presently  a  space  cleared 
in  the  blackest  cloud,  and  I  saw  you, 
and  inunediately  the  fiends  disappeared. 
Sometimes  it  was  an  ocean  of  waves, 
black,  and  violet,  and  cruel  green,  that 
stormed  upon  one  another.  Then  one, 
more  vast  than  the  rest,  swept  upward 
and  did  not  fall ;  its  flank  was  glassy 
and  clear,  and  under  the  water  appeared 
your  face.  Again,  the  whole  world 
seemed  to  be  dissolved  in  liquid  fire;- 
the  floods  writhed  like  serpents,  and  I 
heard  the  biasing  of  hot  streams,  until 
a  red  flame  paled  to  amber,  clear  like 
the  sky  at  sunset,  and  you  were  in  the 
midst  of  the  clearness.  I  think  you 
must  have  a  remarkably  harmonious 
organization,  to  have  been  always  asso- 
ciated with  the  calm  that  followed  con- 
fusion." 


416 


Ptjtnam's  Maoazinb. 


[Ajd, 


"  Only  with  the  calm  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  had  one  dream  quite  differ- 
ent, and  still  more  remarkable.  I  was 
lost  in  a  frightful  desert,  surrounded 
everjrwhero  by  rocks  and  sand,  glaring, 
barren,  lifeless.  I  was  parched  with 
thirst,  and  all  my  faculties  seemed  dried 
up  in  the  universal  desolation.  Sud- 
denly you  appeared  in  the  desert.  I 
had  never  seen  you  so  radiant,  and  you 
seemed  to  irradiate  life  on  every  side. 
The  rocks  over  which  you  passed 
clothed  themselves  with  moss;  from 
the  sand  upon  which  your  eyes  rested 
gushed  forth  fountains ;  in  a  few  min- 
utes the  wilderness  had  been  changed 
to  a  garden.  You  laid  your  finger  upon 
my  lips,  and  the  fever  and  thirst  van- 
ished. I  was  a  new  man,  rescued  from 
the  death  that  menaced  me.  The  vis- 
ion fled.  I  fell  asleep,  and  awoke  re- 
freshed and  in  my  right  mind.  "Was  it 
not  strange  that  I  should  dream  so 
much  about  you  ? " 

"Very.  I  wonder  that  you  did  not 
rather  dream  about  Margaret." 

"  So  do  I,"  returned  Ethelbert,  with 
perfect  sincerity;  "but  I  suppose,  be- 
cause you  were  the  last  person  I  saw 
before  losing  consciousness,  your  image 
remained  stamped  on  my  brain,  to  fol- 
low all  the  fantasies  of  the  delirium." 

"  What  induced  you  to  walk  on  such 
a  hot  day  ?  You  deserve  to  have  been 
sunstruck." 

"It  was  absolutely  necessary.  You 
know,  I  am  in  constant  correspondence 

with  my  friends  in  X ,  for  whom  I 

have  been  actively  at  work  since  my 
exile.  I  am  not  afraid  to  tell  you  that 
our  long  preparations  for  a  revolt  are  at 
last  drawing  to  a  close.  My  friends  are 
now  only  awaiting  the  arrival  of  a  large 
sum  of  money  that  I  have  collected.  I 
wont  to  Reading  the  other  day,  to  send 
word  tliat  this  money  was  on  hand,  and 
would  be  forwarded  by  the  first  oppor- 
tunity. By  accident  I  missed  the  train, 
and  could  get  no  carriage,  so  I  walked 
to  Reading  and  back.  Under  ordinary 
circumstances  I  should  have  thought 
nothing  of  thirty  miles ;  but  on  that 
broiling  day  it  proved  a  little  too  much, 
greatly  to  my  shame   and  confusion. 


That  is  the  whole  history,  since  yoo  m 
so  kind  as  to  ask  for  it.'' 

"  Shall  you  take  the  money  yomidf 
to  X ? " 

"  I  cannot.  I  am  perfectly  known  to 
the  police,  with  whom  I  have  alreidj 
had  several  encounters.  I  should  Ik 
seized  on  the  frontier,  packed  offtotlK 
mines,  and,  what  is  of  infinitely  grata 
importance,  the  money  and  p^MB 
would  be  confiscated." 

"  Who  is  going,  then  ?  " 

"  I  am  greatly  troubled  to  know.  1^ 
fellow-exiles  are  nearly  all  in  the  sum 
category  as  myself.  Miserable  outlavi 
that  we  are  I  Hunted  slaves,  skulkng 
over  the  face  of  the  earth,  like  the  vOot 
criminals,  because  we  have  refbaed  to 
participate  in  triumphant  crime!  de- 
spised for  our  loyalty,  dishonored  fif 
our  honor,  disgraced  for  tho  devotioB 
of  our  livts  to  Liberty  !  " 

"  And  when  your  cause  is  won,"  sud 
Charlotte,  "  you  will  have  gained  bat 
little,  after  all." 

"  No,  no;  no  I "  cried  Ethelbert,  pM- 
sionately.  "  You  shall  not  say  thil 
You  shall  not  destroy  the  faith  whidk 
is  our  only  consolation.  Our  ideal  k 
too  worthy,  too  pure,  too  high  to  dfr' 
ceive  us.  Think,  it  is  all  that  we  biTCi 
this  dream  of  our  Republic  I  Oh,  if 
you  knew  the  souls  that  have  poured 
themselves  out  in  its  service;  if  yon 
knew  the  riches  of  heart  and  brain  that 
have  been  lavished ;  the  enthnsiasin,tlie 
heroism,  the  sacred  passion  that  eibebai 
accepted — our  divine  goddess,  our  lib- 
erty I  Do  you  suppose  she  would  cheit 
us  ?  Do  you  suppose  she  would  hta 
and  encourage  us  with  such  strong 
assurances,  if  she  did  not  mean  to  re- 
deem her  promise  one  day  ?  " 

"  The  day  may  be  very  far  off." 

"  We  can  wait  for  it.  And  wo  would 
not  exchange  our  waiting,  our  longing 
our  despair,  for  the  satined  content  of 
all  the  rest  of  the  world." 

Swept  upward  by  the  current  of  thdr 
talk,  they  had  both  risen  from  the  table. 
Charlotte  leaned  against  the  marble 
mantel-piece;  Ethelbert  stood  absorb- 
ed, illumined,  rapt  in  the  vision  of  the 
ideal.    Charlotte  broke  the  silence. 


^870.] 


CONCEBNINQ  ChARLOXTE. 


417 


**•  Could  a  woman  fulfil  this  mission 
toX ?" 

"^  Better  than  any  one  else,  especially 
if  she  were  a  stranger  in  the  country." 

**  Why  do  you  not  send  Margaret  ? " 

"  Margaret  1"  echoed  Ethelbert,  in 
an  accent  of  extreme  surprise.  '^  She 
is  too  delicate  for  such  a  rude  undertak- 
ing. Not  for  worlds  would  I  expose 
her  to  the  fatigues  and  annoyances  and 
possible  perils  of  the  journey.  It  is  my 
business  to  take  care  of  her — ^not  to 
make  use  of  her." 

"  Will  you  make  use  of  me  ? " 

«  How  ?  " 

"Will  you  trust  me  to  carry  the 
money  ?  '* 

Ethelbert  bounded  forward  as  im- 
petnously  as  if  he  would  have  thrown 
himself  at  her  feet. 

"  Dearest  woman  I  I  dared  not  ask 
ity  bnt  I  have  dared  to  hope  for  this 
generous  courage.  Forgive  my  au- 
dadty.  It  seemed  so  natural  to  look  to 
yon  for  help." 

Charlotte  extended  her  hand  frank- 
ly. Ethelbert  seized  it  with  infinitely 
more  fervor  than  he  had,  unknowingly, 
Idased  it  the  evening  of  the  masque- 
nd&  How  strong  women  are  at  such 
moments  I  And  the  world  calls  them 
weak! 

"I  am  extremely  flattered  by  your 
oonfldence,"  said  Charlotte.  '*  I  will 
set  out  to-morrow — ^to-night.  Give  me 
my  instrnctions." 

"^  The  journey  is  long^  much  of  the 
load  tmtravelled,  barbarous." 

*'  I  am  fond  of  adventure,  and  have 
never  had  enough." 

"  Ton  will  experience  great  difiiculty 
in  communicating  with  my  correspond- 
ents, without  exciting  suspicion  against 
yourself." 

"  What  does  that  matter  ? " 

**  You  may  be  arrested  as  an  accom- 
plice— imprisoned.  Good  heavens  I 
even  sent  to  the  mines  yourself  I " 

''You  know  well  enough  that  the 
danger  is  infinitely  less  for  me  tKan  for 
yon ;  what  remains,  serves  to  add  zest 
to  the  afiiedr.  Listen,  sir:  I  am  capa- 
ble of  this.  I  am  worthy  of  your  con- 
fidence. I  can  be  a  mate  for  your  hero- 
VOL.  V. — 28 


ism.  I  brush  away  these  difficulties  like 
cobwebs.  I  am  here,  at  the  heart  of  the 
matter.  Speak  to  me  of  that,  and  of 
that  only." 

She  stood  erect  before  him.  She 
swept  her  arm  with  such  a  superb  ges- 
ture as  the  soul  in  its  sublime  moments 
employs  to  quicken  the  sluggish  body. 
Ethelbert,  who  had  never  doubted,  be- 
lieved, accepted,  and,  without  further 
hesitation,  plunged  into  the  details  of 
the  explanation  and  the  instructions. 

He  was  right  to  trust  Charlotte.  Yet 
his  faith  might  have  been  somewhat 
staggered,  had  he  looked  back  in  the 
parlor  five  minutes  after  he  left  it ;  for 
he  would  have  seen  her  dancing  up  and 
down  the  roi^m,  like  a  girl  let  loose  from 
school,  and  exclaiming, 

"  Then — he  does  not  think  me  quite  a 
fool  because  I  cried  yesterday  !  " 

•  •  •  •  • 

At  four  o'clock  that  afternoon  Eth- 
elbert returned  with  the  papers,  the 
money-box,  the  letters.  At  five  Char- 
lotte, accompanied  by  a  single  maid- 
servant, left  the  town. 

•  •  •  •  • 

The  expedition  occupied  three  weeks. 
At  the  beginning  of  the  fourth,  Char- 
lotte returned,  successful.  She  stopped 
the  carriage  at  Mrs.  Lauderdale's  gate ; 
she  sped  up  the  avenue,  and  met  Mar- 
garet, who  exclaimed  with  pleasure  at 
seeing  her.  Charlotte  returned  her 
friendly  greeting  briefly  enough,  but 
laid  her  hands  on  her  shoulders,  and 
looked  down  into  her  reticent  eyes. 

"Margaret,  are  you  going  to  marry 
Mr.  Allston  ? " 

Margaret  hesitated  a  moment,  not 
from  embarrassment,  but  as  if  to  gather 
into  her  words  all  her  still  content. 

"  I  think  I  shall,  Charlotte."  x 

Charlotte  loosened  her  grasp  abru]^ 
ly  and  walked  on.  Margaret  called  ajin. 
her :  ,pirit 

"Where  are  you  going,  u^ix>d- 
fiaend  ? " 

"  To  the  lake."  sombre 

The  avenue,  laid  out  by  Mr.  stoutly, 
dale's  unerring  taste,  wound  the  high 
the  beautiful  grounds,  anc^^e  passed  the 
well-disposed  artificiaJ^  and  are  well  up 


418 


PCTNAM^S   MaOAZINB. 


[i 


leaned  over  the  water,  but  Charlotte 
avoided  their  lax  sentimentality,  and 
sought  some  beeches  further  on.  There 
she  heard  Ethelbert^s  voice  calling  in 
an  excited  tone,  such  as  she  had.  never 
believed  possible  with  him : 

^*  She  ha6  come  1  Where  is  she  ? 
Quick,  tell  me,  that  I  may  go  to  her  I " 

"  By  the  lake,"  answered  Margaret. 

The  next  moment  Charlotte  saw  £th- 
elbert  coming  as  swiftly  toward  her  as 
if  he  were  literally  upborne  on  the  cur- 
rent of  his  impetuous  desire,  which  at 
last  had  become  too  strong  for  his  con- 
trol Watching  his  approach,  Charlotte 
felt  her  whole  nature  rapt  into  a  single 
longing — a  longing  to  draw  Ethelbert 
irresistibly  toward  herself,  across  all 
distances,  all  duties,  all  barriers.  At 
that  moment,  friendliness,  Margaret, 
honor,  were  blotted  out  in  void  space ; 
it  seemed  to  her  as  if  nothing  remained 
in  the  world  except  herself  and  Ethel- 
bert 

Morality  has  good  reason  to  be  afiraid 
of  Love ;  for  Love,  in  its  supreme  self- 
assertion,  tramples  all  laws  under  its 
feet,  and  the  first  sin  comes  into  the 
soul,  as  into  the  world,  with  the  first 
love. 

The  seconds  dilated  themselves  as  in 
a  dream,  so  that  hours  seemed  to  elapse 
before  Ethelbert  reached  her  side.  He 
extended  his  hands,  and  grasped  hers ; 
he  laid  hold  of  her  more  profoundly 
with  his  awakened  eyes. 

"  At  last  —  you  here  —  safe  !  Oh,  I 
have  suffered  agonies  during  your  ab- 
sence. I  imagined  all  sorts  of  evil  that 
might  have  be&llen  you.  Why  did  you 
not  write  to  me  1 " 

"  I  did  not  think  of  it,"  answered 


Charlotte,  simply;  ^'and,  beaidea, 
did  not  ask  me." 

"  I  know  I  I  was  a  fool ;  I  foig 
But  I  did  not  imagine  how  tern) 
would  be  when  you  were  gone." 

'^  I  had  no  idea  you  were  so  na 
Margaret  should  have  calmed  your 
apprehensions  for  my  safety." 

Ethelbert  put  up  his  hand  tolui 
head,  as  if  seeking  to  recall  wofb 
that  he  had  forgotten.  He  brodii 
eyes,  and  brushed  the  eager  VxA 
of  them.  When  Charlotte  loofa 
him  again,  his  face  had  resinM 
usual  bright  serenity. 

"  Tell  me  about  your  jooniey. 
you  suffered— have  you  been  la 
ger?     What  have  you   donef    ! 
greedy  for  the  minutest  detail." 

Charlotte  conmienced  her  nan 
and  rendered  a  satisfiictory  and 
cious  report  of  her  proceedingL 
she  finished,  she  leaned  over  the  i 
and  buried  her  eyes  in  its  depflu 
foot  slipped  on  the  bank ;  dab  1 
have  fallen,  had  not  Ethelbert  f| 
forward  and  caught  her  in  Ui  i 
Ho  shuddered  violently,  and  xetn 
almost  at  the  oajne  miHnent  dt 
touched  her.    Something  lea|^  ^ 
to  his  face ;  he  forced  it  bade,  vm 
ly;  it  returned.    Chaiiotte  belMU 
vision  accomplished:   this  widi^ 
nature  concentrated  into  flame^  ite 
out  of  its  calm,  forgetful  of  ite  di 
forget fVQ  of  every  thing  but  lui; 
moment  of  her  triumph  had  com 
woman^s  greatest  triumph— aha  M 
spired  a  great  soul  with  passiao. 
"  I  love  you,"  said  Ethelbeil 
At  the  same  moment  CharioCIa 
Margaret  coming  down  the 


sum 

went 

word  t 

would  I 

tunity.     . 
and  could 
to  Heading 
circumstanct 
nothing  of  tl 
broiling  day  it  p* 
greatly  to  my  ahai* 


A  K7GHT  ON  TUB  MISSISSIPPI. 


419 


A  NIGHT  ON  THE  MISSISSEPPL 


the  morniog  of  tho  Slst  day  of 
iber,  1868,  it  was  reported  to  the 
anding  officers  of  Fort  Pillow 
:here  was  a  trading-boat  on  the 
isippi  riyer  above  Osceola,  largely 
fing  the  Confederate  soldiers  and 
las,  then  swanning  in  that  region, 
urtides  contraband  of  war. 
ras  a  part  of  the  duty  of  the  gar- 
at  Fort  Pillow  to  guard  against 
(licit  trade.    Although  all  traffic 

the  Mississippi  had  been  inter- 
im except  such  as  might  be  special- 
mitted  by  the  agents  of  the  Gov- 
nt,  there  were  not  wanting  adycn- 
,  who,  for  the  sake  of  the  large 
promised,  took  the  risk  of  smug- 

88  daring  fellows,  having  placed 
goods  in  small  boats  or  skiffs, 
choose  a  dark  night  and  quietly 
iown  the  river,  passing  the  guards 
atteriea  at  Oairo  and  Columbus ; 
taiejhad  a  clear  space  for  their 
ion  of  one  hundred  and  thirty 
fNaa  Columbus  to  Fort  Pillow, 
pdod,  save  by  a  few  patrolling 
■ti  and  occasional  scouting  par- 
Theie  eluded,  when  far  enough 
thflj  would  pull  off  into  some 
«  bayou,  or  small  tributary  to  the 
dppi  and  there  dispose  of  their 
at  enormous  prices, 
nifhstanding  the  vigilance  of  the 
left  to  guard  the  rear,  as  the 
of  the  West  pushed  their  column 
r  to  the  South,  there  were  left 
I  numerous  companies  of  partisan 
%f  guerillas,  and  outlaws,  and  Con- 
»  soldiers  at  home  recruiting  and 
mg  supplies.  These  were  con- 
y  prowling  about  West  Tennessee 
jlumsas;  and  all  these,  besides 
s  in  sympathy  with  the  rebellion, 
9  the  aiders,  abettors,  and  patrons 
smugglers.  Though  these  law- 
XB  were  occasionally  caught,  and 
7  punished,  the  smuggling  was 


continued  with  varied  success  until  the 
close  of  the  war. 

The  report,  which  came  well  accredit- 
ed to  Port  Pillow,  placed  the  offenders 
in  a  slough,  on  the  Arkansas  side,  at  a 
point  five  miles  above  Osceola  and 
twenty  miles  above  Port  Pillow. 

Lieutenant  Edward  Alexander,  of  the 
Fifty-Second  Indiana  Volunteers,  com- 
manding the  provost-guard,  was  order- 
ed to  proceed  at  once,  with  a  sufficient 
detachment  from  his  command,  to  the 
designated  point,  and  look  after  the 
reported  transgressors. 

Eight  men  were  soon  detailed  and 
supplied  with  forty  rounds  of  cartridges 
each,  and  rations  for  one  day  only,  as 
they  expected  to  return  that  evening. 

The  men  fall  in  and  stand,  in  four 
files,  ready  for  the  command.  They 
have  been  selected  for  their  work,  and 
you  will  look  long  before  you  find  an 
equal  number  finer  in  appearance,  or 
more  soldierly  in  bearing.  They  are  all 
young,  strong,  and  brave ;  and  yet  are 
ranked  as  veterans  in  the  service.  The 
Lieutenant,  stepping  in  front,  gives  the 
command,  and  they  move  off^  marching 
with  steady,  measured  tramp  to  the 
river.  Here  they  quickly  embark  in  a 
yawl,  which,  with  four  well-manned  oars, 
shoots  rapidly  up  the  river  despite  the 
strong  current  against  it 

The  day  was  warm  and  cloudy,  with  a 
slight  mist,  and  a  dense  fog,  rising  fiK)m 
the  river,  rolled  back  over  its  banks,  en- 
veloping every  thing  in  gloom.  Such 
days  are  common  to  the  great  river  at 
this  season  of  the  year,  and  in  their 
dreary  darkness  there  is  a  kind  of  pain- 
ful stillness  that  weighs  upon  the  spirit 
and  fills  the  heart  with  dismal  forebod- 
ings. 

Nothing  daunted  by  their  sombre 
surroundings,  the  men  pull  stoutly. 
They  shoot  out  fit>m  under  the  high 
blufb  of  Fort  Pillow ;  have  passed  1^ 
mouth  of  Cane  Creek,  and  are  well  up 


420 


Putnam's  Maoazins. 


Wi, 


with  Flower  Island,  that  looks  down 
upon  them  drearily  enough,  its  solitary 
home  and  dilapidated  fence  in  front 
scarcely  discemiblo  in  the  bed  of  fog. 
On  glides  the  boat,  along  the  winding 
thread  of  the  river,  through  the  thick 
forests  that  line  the  banks  on  either 
side,  and  reach  out  as  far  as  the  eye  can 
see.  On  the  Tennessee  shore  the  land 
is  low,  and  the  thrifty  young  timber, 
mostly  Cottonwood,  stands  so  thick  that 
the  eye  can  penetrate  but  a  short  dis- 
tance; while  on  the  Arkansas  side  a 
bank,  twenty  feet  high,  rises  perpendic- 
ularly from  the  water,  and  the  rich  soil 
above  is  overgrown  with  mammoth  for- 
est-trees that  might  have  withstood  the 
tempests  of  centuries,  and  now  reach 
their  arms  far  out  and  up  toward  the 
clouds  that  gather  thick  above  them. 
The  dark,  towering  trees,  and  the  clouds 
hanging  ominously  high  above  their 
heads,  seem  to  stand  off  as  if  each  were 
defiant  of  the  other.  The  wind  moan- 
ing through  the  stripped  and  bare 
branches  gives  additional  dreariness  to 
the  dull,  dark  day.  The  river  is  clear 
of  islands,  except  an  occasional  sand- 
bar that  rises  gradually  out  of  its  bosom 
and  swells  up  to  a  height  of  several 
feet  with  considerable  width,  and  then 
stretching  away  up  the  river,  grows  less 
and  breaks  off  with  a  sudden  jog,  or 
again  gradually  disappears  under  the 
surface  of  the  water. 

The  journey  is  half  performed,  and 
the  yawl  is  passing  a  bar  larger  than  iU 
neighbors,  which  stretches  away,  a  dis- 
tance of  a  mile,  to  where  a  thick  clump 
of  trees  covers  its  head.  This  is  known 
to  navigators  of  the  river  as  **  Bulletin 
Tow-Head."  The  men  pass  it  coolly, 
little  dreaming  of  the  fate  that  awaits 
them  there,  on  their  return. 

This  passed,  they  come  in  sight  of  the 
village  of  Osceola,  standing  out  in  its  lit- 
tle clearing  on  the  western  bank.  A  few 
scattering  houses,  mostly  of  logs,  all 
look  dingy  and  dirty,  and  it  will  hardly 
pass  for  the  capital  of  Mississippi  Coun- 
ty, Arkansas,  until  you  find  the  huge, 
misshapen  loghousc  a  few  rods  from 
the  river,  and  learn  that  it  is  the  Court- 
House,  and  that  twenty  yards  removed 


stands  the  jail,  built  of  logs  also,  Ink 
neater,  more  substantial,  and  almiMta 
large,  as  the  Court-House. 

It  is  related  that,  before  the  mi^ik  ■ 
denizens  of  the  village  and  vicinity  woe 
wont  to  collect  daily  in  these  pnlGe 
buildings,  and  play  cards  and  dxnk 
whiskey ;  the  aristocratic  claas  ilvqi 
occupying  the  jail,  as  the  more  tm- 
fortable. 

Our  party  tarry  here  but  a  short  ^m, 
and  reembarking,  push  off^  and  poHai 
up  the  river.  Another  long  iMel 
around  a  long  bend,  and  the  dengniliei 
point  is  reached.  The  day  was  ftr 
spent  before  the  Lieutenant  hadcofr 
pleted  his  search,  and  was  retdjti 
return.  Captain  E.  D.  Leizore^  aa  o- 
perienced  river-man,  joined  the  Uet 
tenant's  command  on  re^mbazking  fer 
the  fort. 

The  men  are  tired,  and  the  can  swl^ 
listlessly  over  the  waters,  while  the nriS 
current  drives  the  boat  rapidly  don 
the  river.  The  gloom  of  the  monkg 
had  gradually  deepened  during  thste 
and  the  mist  had  changed  into  asteidl 
rain.  Osceola  is  reached  and  paBsed.  Ih 
day  is  wearing  away  and  growii^^jpQI 
and  more  stormy.  The  river  isTayfldl, 
and  the  wind,  now  blowing  a  stiff  gil% 
catches  the  yawl  and  hastens  it  Ibnnid 
over  the  waste  of  waters.  The  wild 
rises  still  higher,  the  air  grows  ooldfli 
the  rain  turns  to  snow  and  falls  in  gmft 
white  flakes,  obscuring  the  view  of  tts 
helmsman.  Night  is  coming  on.  The 
boat  leaps  forward  with  the  waves;  it 
this  rate  two  hours  will  land  it  at  till 
fort.  But  the  yawl  is  becoming  iiiiiMi> 
agcablc ;  the  wind  and  waves  conABsd 
with  the  men  for  the  mastery.  Dufc- 
ness  now  adds  to  the  perplexity,  ai  it 
settles  deep  and  heavy  around  thestn^ 
gling  oarsmen.  The  party  are  still  mn 
miles  from  the  fort ;  they  are  wet,tind, 
and  cold — arc  tossed  and  driven  by  tin 
elements  and  hemmed  in  by  the  night 

What  is  to  be  done  f  It  is  propoied 
to  abandon  the  yawl.  What  thflnt 
There  is  no  human  habitation  for  milfli 
around.  The  party  is  in  the  midst  of  a 
vast  wilderness  of  waters  that  extendi 
far  out  over  the  marshes  and  lowlands 


870.] 


A  Night  on  thb  Mississippi. 


421 


of  the  Tennessee  side,  and  away  across 
"Vratward  to  the  dense  forests  of  Arkan- 
•afly  that  give  no  show  of  hospitality, 
tmt,  with  dim  outline,  stand  out  against 
Ishe  sky,  dark,  wild,  and  cheerless. 

The  darkness  thickens;  the  light, 
now  faded  out  of  the  sky,  lingers  but 
along  the  surface  of  the  river, 
through  the  gloom,  the  men 
the  outline  of  a  sandbar,  near  at 
liand,  by  its  snowy  cap,  that  gleams  out 
ft  white  streak  along  the  middle  of  the 
mighty  river.  The  wind,  roaring  from 
the  thick  growth  of  cottoi^ood  on  the 
Tennessee  shore,  forces  the  yawl  rapidly 
toward  the  bar.  The  men  strain  every 
nerve  to  clear  it,  but  in  vain.  The  boat 
■IzikeB  the  bar  far  down  toward  the 
point,  and  the  waves  carry  it  high  upon 
the  land. 

There  is  no  use  in  contending  with 

the  elements;  the  boat  is  abandoned, 

end  the  men  set  out  to  walk  up  the  bar, 

'    lioping  to  find  on  the  higher  ground 

;^    driftwood  to  make  a  fire.  Having  gone 

■r  aeaxiy  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  they  come 

Vpon  the  stump  and  roots  of  an  old 

tMe^    half  buried   in   the   sand,   and 

■mmd  which  vegetation  had  grown  up 

Ae  eimimer  before. 

The  grass  and  weeds  are  gathered, 
the  roots  broken  up,  as  well  as  the 
will  permit,  and  an  effort  is 
to  kindle  a  fire.    But  every  thing 
fsnftnrated  with  water  and  refuses  to 
Inn.     Captain  Leizure  thinks  of  his 
ijeipeteack,  which  contains  his  under- 
tiofliing.    Immediately  this  is  opened, 
and  one  after  another  the  articles  taken 
onti  torn  in  shreds,  and  the  burning 
match  applied;   and  though  some  of 
theae  bum,  they  fail  to  ignite  the  ma- 
terials gathered  for  the  fire. 

At  length,  when  every  means  has 
been  exhausted  without  avail,  the  men 
turn  back  to  the  boat,  as  the  last  hope. 
To  remain  on  this  bleak  island  otv 
nighty  without  fir^,  in  the  cold,  which 
ia  already  severe  and  rapidly  growing 
more  so,  would  be  certain  death. 

The  boat  can  only  be  made  available 
by  taking  it  up  and  carrying  it  across 
the  bar,  whence  the  wind  and  waves 
will  take  it  to  the  Arkansas  shore.  It  is 


quickly  carried  across  the  bar,  and 
launched  into  the  water  on  the  other 
side,  which  is  found  too  shallow  to 
float  it  The  Lieutenant  sends  three 
men  with  Captain  Leizure  to  drag  the 
boat  out  into  deep  water,  where  all  may 
embark ;  but  just  as  the  boat  is  wcU 
afloat,  a  power  Ail  gust  of  wind  strikes 
it,  and  shooting  out  from  under  the 
hands  of  the  men,  it  rushes  away 
into  the  darkness  with  the  waves.  Cap- 
tain Leizure  and  one  of  the  men  have 
jumped  in  and  are  whirled  away  from 
the  other  two,  who  are  left  standing 
with  the  oars  in  their  hands.  The  Cap- 
tain and  his  companion  resign  them- 
selves to  their  £&te,  being  totally  unable 
to  return. 

The  men  in  the  boat,  whirled  sud- 
denly off",  hear  the  shouts  of  their  luck- 
less comrades,  until  the  voices  are 
drowned  in  the  noise  of  the  storm ;  and 
then  they  see  the  flash  and  hear  the 
report  of  a  discharged  musket ;  it  was 
a  signal-gun. 

The  boat  sweeps  madly  on — ^whero  to 
touch,  or  when  ?  It  is  at  the  mercy  of 
the  angry  elements ;  it  may  be  cast  on 
another  bar  from  which  there  can  be  no 
escape,  or  suddenly  capsized,  and  the 
men  may  find  a  grave  at  the  bottom  of 
the  restless  river.  But  in  another  mo- 
ment it  strikes  the  shore.  The  waves 
dash  over  it.  The  water  freezes  as  it 
falls.  The  soldier  is  frozen  to  his  seat, 
and,  benumbed  with  cold,  he  refuses  to 
rise.  His  gun  lies  frozen  into  the  ice 
formed  on  the  water  in  the  boat,  and 
there  it  will  remain  untouched.  The 
tried  and  faithful  companion  of  years  is 
now  no  longer  wanted  to  defend  a  life 
too  far  gone  to  be  held  worth  the  pre- 
serving. 

With  great  diflSculty  Captain  Leizure 
succeeds  in  arousing  his  companion, 
and  after  long  search  and  effort  climbs 
up  the  steep  bank  with  him,  and  into 
the  woods.  And  now,  if  a  fire  can  be 
kindled  they  are  saved,  otherwise  they 
perish.  The  brave  soldier  who  has  faced 
the  cannon,  and  braved  the  hardships 
of  nearly  three  years'  campaigning, 
sinks  under  the  intense  cold,  and  begs 
to  be  let  alone  to  die.    But  the  daunt- 


422 


Putnam's  Magazine. 


[^ 


less  Captain  works  the  harder  to  keep 
him  up.  A  large  log  is  found,  and 
twigs  and  chunks  of  wood  are  heaped 
against  it  for  a  fire ;  but  they  have  been 
wet  through,  and  are  now  covered  with 
ice.  They  have  only  two  matches. 
Their  clothes  have  been  thoroughly 
drenched,  and  are  even  frozen  stifle 
Captain  IJcizure  takes  from  his  breast- 
pocket a  large  leathern  pocketbook, 
and  finds  that  the  papers  it  contains  are 
dry.  They  are  bonds  and  notes  of  the 
value  of  many  thousands  of  dollars — ^no 
matter  how  many ;  it  is  a  question  of 
life  or  death.  The  papers  are  ready  for 
the  match.  It  is  struck,  but  it  misses 
fire.  The  two  lives  now  depend  upon 
the  one  remaining  match.  It  is  struck, 
and,  God  bo  praised  I  it  bums,  the 
paper  catches,  then  the  twigs ;  the  fire 
is  made ;  the  men  are  saved. 

Leaving  them  by  their  growing  fire, 
let  us  glance  into  the  hotel  at  Fort  Pil- 
low. The  commander  of  the  garrison 
has  given  a  supper,  and  the  largo  din- 
ing-hall  is  filled  with  happy  people; 
brave  officers,  respectable  citizens,  and 
charming  women. 

It  is  the  farewell  of  loyal  hearts  to 
the  year  that  gave  freedom  to  the 
slave — that  brought  the  first  real  suc- 
cess to  our  arms— that  gave  us  Yicks- 
burg,  Gettysburg,  and  Missionary 
Ridge — that  had  brought  promise  of 
the  rebellion's  overthrow. 

The  perils  and  escapes,  the  achieve- 
ments and  hopes,  the  rewards  and 
promises  of  the  closing  and  of  the  com- 
ing year  are  earnestly  and  eloquently 
discussed ;  and  so  the  old  year  goes  out, 
carrying  with  it  the  blessing  of  the  loyal 
millions,  and  the  new  year  steps  in. 

The  party  breaks  up,  and  we  walk 
out  into  the  cold,  dark  night.  The 
thermometer  is  now  seven  degrees  be- 
low zero. 

"  Captain,  have  Lieutenant  Alexander 
and  his  men  reported  ?  "  asks  the  Post- 
Commander,  Colonel  Wolfe,  as  he  draws 
my  arm  in  his,  and  we  walk  away  to 
our  quarters. 

"  Not  yet,"  is  my  reply. 

"  What  can  have  become  of  them  ? " 
ho  rejoins.    "  I  fear  for  their  safety  if 


they  are  out  this  dreadfbl  night"  hai 
well  you  may,  my  bravB  Colonel;  Sr 
even  now,  as  we  walk,  where  aretlcjl 

Left  standing  on  the  bar,  the  boi 
gone,  with  no  hope,  nor  even  poidilitj 
of  its  returning,  the  Lieutenant  ndtt 
men  determine  to  go  back  up  to  tti 
higher  ground  and  try  onoe  more  fbri 
fire.  But  in  this  they  are  doomed  to  i 
second  failure. 

Their  matches  all  exhausted,  and  the 
cold  winds  howling  about  them,  tten 
is  but  one  hope  left :  that  by 
motion  they  may  keep  alive  till 
ing  comes  and  brings  relief. 

A  beat  is  chosen,  and  there  iSbm 
veteran  soldiers  pace  up  and  dowatib 
space  of  one  hundred  yards  thnngk 
the  long,  dreary  hours  of  that  ntt 
night.  The  snow  is  already 
inches  deep  and  still  falling.  n»  > 
stant  tramping  of  the  men  wean  it  eff 
the  beat.  And  still  they  walk  wbkSj 
on.  At  eleven  o'clock  the  cold  k  ifr 
tense ;  the  snow  has  ceased  to  fidl,  nd 
being  caught  up  by  the  winds  swecffa^ 
over  the  bar,  is  whirled  into  gM 
drifts.  Every  thing  is  now 
Still  back  and  forth,  along  the 
path,  plod  the  jaded  men. 

It  is  an  hour  later.  One  of  the : 
overcome  with  fatigue  and  cold,  nib 
down  in  his  tracks,  and  falls  to  the 
ground,  dead.  His  comrades  go  to  Ua, 
take  him  up,  chafe  his  limbs,  hmlfae 
into  his  nostrils,  and  strive  in  evetywif 
to  recall  him  to  life ;  but  it  is  innln; 
tho  spirit  that  animated  the  fallen  body 
has  gone  to  Him  who  gave  it. 

The  young  Lieutenant,  whose  hrarerx 
had  made  him  conspicuous  on  the  bit- 
tic-field,  then  turned  to  his  men,  and 
standing  a  moment  in  silence,  thinking, 
doubtless,  of  the   kind    mother  vbo 
dwelt  fur  away  to  the  North,  and  who 
might  at  that  very  moment  be  praying 
God's  blessing  on  her  dashing  boy,  ad* 
dressed  his  last  words  to  the  men  en- 
trusted to  his  conmiand,  saying :  "  Boyi, 
there  is  no  use  striving  any  longer;  it  ii 
now  only  about  midnight,  and  one  of 
our  number  is  already  frozen  to  det^ 
We  cannot  hold  out  till  morning;  there 
is  no  hope,  we  must  all  die." 


A  Night  on  tub  Mississippi. 


423 


in,  stepping  aside,  he  drew  the 
3f  his  great-coat  about  his  head 
aid  down.  The  snow  blew  over 
)ut  he  knew  it  not ;  ho  was  asleep, 
others  follow  his  example;  their 
depart  with  the  departure  of  the 

year.  The  new  year  comes,  and 
t  the  clouds  break  away,  and  the 

Star  shines  out 

ded  by  its  light,  the  four  remain- 
les  walk  up  the  bar ;  but  scarcely 
Jiey  set  out,  when  one  poor  fellow 
3r8  and  falU  dead,  only  a  few 
from  his  frx>zen  comrades.     The 

three  are  tired,  benumbed,  dis- 
med,  yet  still  they  follow  the  star 
I  guides  them  to  life.  It  leads 
over  a  mile  of  bleak  desert,  across 
k  slough,  and  into  a  thick  wood 

bead  of  the  island.  This  shelters 
from  the  cutting  wind  until  mom- 
awns  ;  and  peering  out  from  the 
isas  shore,  they  descry  a  house, 
!?hich  presently  issues  a  man ;  it 
)r  Lea,  a  well  known  Union  man. 
Gittract  his  attention,  and,  crossing 
m  in  a  skiff,  he  takes  them  to  his 
.  And  now,  although  they  have 
.7  Buffered  untold  agonies,  thtir 
JigB  have  only  begun. 
» in  the  house,  they  sink  insensi- 
I  the  floor.  The  good  host  and 
s  do  all  they  can  for  the  poor  fel- 
but  it  avails  little.    They  are  far 

life  hangs  by  a  slender  thread, 
I  may  snap  at  any  moment, 
i  thermometer  is  now  eight  do- 
below  zero,  and  eyery  thing  with- 
freezing  still.  All  about  Fort  Pil- 
lere  are  signs  of  life.  The  smoke 
'ling  in  white  colunms  over  the 
lade  chimneys  of  the  little  huts 

barracks;  the  guard  has  been 
3d,  and  the  men  are  coming  in 
;he  outposts,  benumbed  with  cold, 
1  some  cases  with  their  fingers  and 
x>si-bitten ;  the  soldiers  dodge  in 
at  of  their  quarters  busied  about 
loming  work;  messengers  and 
ies  hurry  rapidly  oyer  the  snow- 
i  hills ;  and  yonder,  at  post  head- 
srs,  the  color-sergeant  commits  the 
>  the  halliards  and  sends  it  to  its 
to  the  top  of  the  tall  staff,  and 


there,  high  up  in  the  clear  sky,  in  the 
bright  light  of  the  new-bom  year, 

<*  Hash  its  brood  ribbons  of  lily  and  rose." 

The  men  draw  close  around  the  fires, 
and  talk  of  last  night's  cold.  Frost 
flics  in  the  air,  and  great  cakes  of  ice 
are  floating  in  the  river. 

Still  there  are  no  tidings  of  the  Lieu- 
tenant and  his  men.  About  noon  Cap- 
tain Leizure  and  his  companion,  worn 
and  stupefied,  having  made  their  way, 
from  the  fire  where  we  last  saw  them, 
to  a  house  nearly  opposite  the  fort, 
cross  the  river  in  a  skiff  and  report  to 
tho  ofilcers.  The  post-surgeon,  Dr,  J. 
"W.  Martin,  is  at  once  summoned,  and  a 
party  got  ready  to  search  for  the  ill- 
fated  ones  who  come  not  back.  Cap- 
tain Leizure,  though  almost  exhausted 
from  the  previous  night's  exposure,  vol- 
unteers to  go  as  a  guide. 

In  about  two  hours  the  steamer  Dtiie 
of  Argyle  heaves  in  sight,  beating  her 
way  slowly  up  against  the  strong  cur- 
rent and  running  ice.  The  party  board 
her,  and  she  pushes  on  up  the  river. 
She  comes  in  sight  of  the  fatal  bar  just 
as  the  sun  is  setting  in  the  red  West. 
She  is  made  fast  on  the  Tennessee  shore, 
and  the  boats  are  lowered  as  the  twi- 
light deepens  into  night.  Tho  ther- 
mometer is  below  zero;  every  thing 
around  is  freezing,  except  the  mighty 
river,  whose  current  sweeps  on,  beting 
on  its  bosom  the  masses  of  ice  that 
gather  as  they  go.  The  deck-hands  re- 
Aise  to  man  the  boats,  until  a  file  of  sol- 
diers, with  loaded  muskets,  is  brought 
up  to  enforce  the  officer's  commands. 

Landed  upon  the  island,  and  aided  by 
the  light  of  a  lantern,  they  soon  discover 
the  tracks  of  the  mifortunate  men  who 
had  landed  there  twenty-four  hours 
before. 

Hopes  are  entertained  for  their  safety. 
We  follow  the  trail,  and  presently  come 
upon  a  cartridge-box,  half  buried  in 
the  snow  and  ice,  the  belt  cut  with  a 
knife.  Our  hearts  sink ;  the  fate  of  one 
poor  man  is  told.  One  life  must  have 
been  despaired  of,  when,  with  bands 
too  numb  to  unbuckle  the  belt,  it  was 
cut,  and  the  cartridge-box  fell  flrom  the 
body  of  a  soldier  in  the  enemy's  country. 


424 


PCTKAM-S  MaGAZOTB. 


[April, 


With  sad  hearts  we  follow  up  the 
track.  Now  we  see  the  well-paced 
beat,  and  piled  at  intervals  along  it  we 
find  the  half-<;oyered  and  frozen  bodies 
of  the  lost  Lieutenant  and  three  of  his 
men.  A  little  further  removed  to  the 
north,  on  the  crust  of  ice,  lies  stretched 
upon  his  back  another,  who  has  met  his 
last  enemy ;  his  face  is  pole  and  rigid, 
and  his  eyes,  wide  open,  are  seemingly 
fixed  upon  tJie  stars  that  twinkle  over- 
head and  give  back  his  bright,  cold, 
comfortless  look. 

"Well,  we  can  do  no  good  for  these, 
and  the  others  have  shared  the  same 
fate,  unless  a  kindlier  fortune  has  taken 
them  out  of  the  cold  ere  this.  To 
remain  longer  on  this  cold,  barren  spot 
would  be  to  add  to  the  number  of  the 
dead.  So  the  search  is  abandoned  for 
the  night,  and  we  turn  for  the  steamer. 
But  who  will  steer  the  boat  ?  the  helms- 
man who  brought  it  over  is  so  overcome 
by  the  cold  that  he  cannot  guide  it 
back.  Wlio  will  take  his  place ?  "I 
will,"  said  Captain  Leizure,  and  step- 
ping aft,  took  the  helm.  The  boat 
glides  away.  It  is  over  a  mile  to  the 
steamer,  and  it  will  take  many  a  stroke 
tx>  carry  us  to  her.  The  oars  are  vigor- 
ously plied,  and  on  goes  our  little  boat, 
Captain  Leizure  holding  her  steady  on 
her  course. 

The  running  ice  must  be  avoided, 
and  the  current   taken  advantage  of; 


but  this  is  donCv  for  a  master-hand  li  it 
the  helm. 

The  breath  freezes  as  it  escapei  ibt 
nostrils ;  the  stoutest  must  yield  to  te 
cold  if  we  are  out  long;  but  ercfj 
stroke  of  the  oars  brings  ns  nearer  tlie 
steamer.  Here  we  are  at  last  Ibe 
yawl  strikes  the  bow  of  the  Bteamer 
with  ajar,  and  Captain  Leizure  iaOs  it 
our  feet,  insensible.  Wo  take  him  j% 
lift  him  on  to  the  deck,  and  cany  faiB 
thence  into  the  cabin.  The  suigecm  ad- 
ministers restoratives,  applies  the  prop- 
er remedies,  and  soon  he  is  revividi 
and  the  life  which  had  been  so  noblj 
given  to  others  is  brought  back  to  III 
possessor. 

The  next  day  the  search  was  vmemd, 
and  the  three  living  men  traced  up  tolb. 
Lea's,  where  we  have  already  seentiun. 

Physicians  waited  upon  them ;  efoy 
care  and  attention,  that  conld  be,ivii 
bestowed  upon  them ;  amputation,  of 
both  feet  and  hands,  was  found  iiee» 
sary,  and  performed  on  two  of  ihm, 
who,  after  undergoing  inexprenbte 
agonies  for  a  short  time,  died ;  wbik 
the  third,  James  Hendrixson,  after  a 
long  and  painful  illness,  recoTOvd,  lad 
lived  to  serve  his  country  yet  ImogK, 

The  frozen  corpses  of  the  Lieotenak 
and  the  four  men  were  taken  to  Foil 
Pillow,  placed  in  coffins,  and  sent  homa 
Such  were  the  horrors  of  one  night  on 
the  Mississippi. 


•♦• 


INSECT-LIFE  IN  WINTER. 


While  exploring  the  heights  of 
Mont  Blanc,  far  above  the  line  of  per- 
petual snow,  M.  do  Saussure  found  a 
butterfly  soaring  on  tlie  wing,  over  gla- 
ciers, where  the  lummergeyer  and  the 
chamois  have  their  haunts.  It  is  amaz- 
ing to  think  of  a  creature  so  frail,  and 
so  delicate,  fluttering  over  those  Alpine 
heights,  far  away  troqa  the  meadows 
and  gardens  in  which  it  delights.  We 
should  imagine  that  in  a  region  so  for- 
eign to  its  nature,  in  a  climate  so  severe 
and  trying  even  to  man,  the  butterfly 
would  instantly  fold  its  painted  wings. 


droop,  and  die.   But  other  Alpine  tiST- 
ellcrs  tell  the  same  tale.    And  Axetio 
navigators  report  that  wandering  but- 
terflies have  been  found  amid  the  snoirt 
of  the  extreme  northern  latitudes  of  this 
continent.     In  these  last  instances  the 
little  creatures  must  have  been  bom  of 
an  Arctic  parentage,  the  tiny  eggs  must 
have  been  laid,  the  cocoons  spun,  and  the 
butterflies  first  emerged  into  the  light  in 
the  frigid  zone.     There  are,  it  seems, 
Esquimaux  butterflies,  as  well  as  Esqui- 
maux bears  and  whales. 
This  fact  is  but  one  of  very  many  proofii 


1870.] 


Imbkot-Life  in  Winteb. 


425 


of  a  remarkable  tenacity  of  life  in  tho 
insect-world,  under  some  circumstances  a 
Tery  remarkable  power  of  endurance 
when  exposed  to  cold.*  If  daily  expe- 
rience did  not  prove  to  us  the  contrary, 
we  should  naturally  suppose  that  of  the 
myriads  of  insects  swarming  in  the 
fields  and  gardens,  during  our  warm 
American  summers,  none  could  surviye 
tho  cold  winters  of  the  same  latitudes ; 
that  aU  must  inevitably  perish  beneath 
a  deluge  of  snow;  that  none  could 
endure  the  severity-  of  frosts  which 
penetrate  many  inches  below  the  sod. 
Who  would  believe  it  credible — if  not 
already  familiar  with  the  fact — ^that  the 
gnat,  the  firefly,  the  dragonfly,  the  tiny 
led  spider,  the  ladybird,  the  bee,  the 
ant,  aye,  the  butterfly  too,  in  some  of  it^j 
ipecies,  could  survive  a  degree  of  cold 
beneath  which  men  have  often  perish- 
ed f  Yet  such  is  the  truth — one  of  the 
very  many  truths  stranger  than  fiction. 
If  we  look  from  our  windows  to-day, 
we  see  the  whole  earth  covered  with 
now ;  the  sharpest  eye  cannot  discover 
one  of  the  myriads  of  last  summer's 
insect-people.  If  we  remove  the  snow, 
we  find  the  earth  frost-bound  to  a  con- 
sistency that  no  spade  can  loosen,  which 
most  bo  quarried,  like  the  rock,  with 
the  sharpest  and  heaviest  tools.  And 
jet  beneath  that  snow,  in  the  very  heart 
of  the  frost-bound  sod,  beneath  the 
bark  of  trees  now  perchance  glazed 
with  ice,  lie  the  whole  tiny  people  tor- 
pid in  a  death-like  sleep,  but  still  living, 
still  endowed  with  every  faculty,  every 
sense,  every  instinct  safe  and  uninjured, 
all  to  awaken  again  to  the  fulness  of 
life  and  activity  with  the  first  warm 
breath  of  spring.  This  tenacity  of  life, 
when  exposed  to  severe  cold,  becomes 
still  more  remarkable  in  the  insect- 
tribes,  when  we  remember  that  it  is 
their  nature  to  love  warmth,  and  that 
to  a  certain  degree  they  are  very  sensi- 
tiye.to  cold.  During  the  warmest  sum- 
mer days  they  arc  all  life  and  activity, 
eagerly  plying  their  tasks,  if  they  be- 
long to  the  notable  tribes,  like  the  bee 

*  We  have  seen  live  fleaa  ninning  through  the 
air-holes  in  glacier-Ice  at  aome  of  the  highest 
points  on  the  Swiss  mountains.^— Eutob. 


and  the  ant,  or  happy  in  idle  enjoy- 
ment, like  the  dancing  gnat,  or  the  rov- 
ing butterfly.  Let  a  chilly  day  visit  us 
in  summer,  as  may  well  happen  with 
our  fickle  climate;  the  insect-world 
droops,  and  flies  away  to  its  own  secret 
haunts,  there  to  await  a  warmer  hour. 
What  a  dificrence  the  first  sharp  frost 
will  make  in  their  numbers  !  We  may 
walk  over  a  pathway  crowded  visibly, 
the  day  before,  with  grasshoppers,  ants, 
crickets,  and  but  a  few  of  the  bravest 
and  boldest  will  be  found  there  to-day. 
And  yet,  while  feeling  the  cold,  while 
sensitive  to  its  influence,  while  delight- 
ing in  the  warmth,  the  more  conmion 
tribes  are  all  endowed  with  this  won- 
derful power  of  endurance  in  their  tor- 
pid winter  state.  Many  individuals,  no 
doubt,  perish,  else  all  the  different  fam- 
ilies would  be  as  numerous  here,  in  the 
temperate  zone,  as  they  are  in  the  trop- 
ics, where  the  throngs  of  these  lone 
creatures  become  a  great  annoyance. 

But  the  most  remarkable  proof  of 
this  power  of  enduring  cold  is  found  in 
the  fact  that,  occasionally,  a  few  insects 
belonging  to  countries  almost  tropical 
will  not  only  survive  a  very  striking 
change  of  climate  to  more  northern 
latitudes,  but  actually  form  colonies, 
thrive,  and  increase  there.  A  no- 
table instance  of  this  has  occurred  in 
France.  Many  readers  must  be  already 
aware  that  there  is  an  insect  of  for- 
midable character,  found  in  tropical  re- 
gions, called  the  white  ant — the  ter- 
mites of  naturalists.  Wonders  are  told 
of  these  termites,  and  the  more  we  in- 
quire into  their  history,  the  more  sur- 
prised we  are.  They  are  found,  as 
slightly  different  species,  in  Asia,  Africa, 
America,  and  Europe.  The  most  won- 
derful of  all  are  the  termites  of  the  in- 
terior of  Africa,  whose  dwellings  are  the 
pyramids  of  the  insect- world ;  amaz- 
ing indeed  when  we  consider  the  size  of 
the  creature  who  builds  them.  Trav- 
ellers tell  us  of  nests  more  than  twenty 
feet  In  height,  with  galleries  below  the 
surface  to  the  same  depth,  and  filling  a 
space  of  a  hundred  feet  in  circumfer- 
ence t  The  walls  of  these  pyramids  are 
made  of  clay,  nearly  as  hard  as  stone ; 


426 


PXTTNAH^S  'M.A.QAZXSK, 


[April, 


quite  as  hard,  it  is  said,  as  tbe  cheaper 
bricks  ascd  m  our  own  dwellings.    The 
form  is  a  cluster  of  conical  spires,  the 
highest  in  the  centre,  others  lower  in 
eleyatioD,  grown  around  it.     So  strong 
are  the  walls  that  the  wild  hunters  ha- 
bitually climb  them,  to  take  an  observa- 
tion of  the  surrounding  country ;  and 
the  buffalo,  that  heavy,  unwieldy  crea- 
ture, makes  use  of  them  for  the  same 
purpose,  taking  them,  probably,  for  so 
many  rocks.    The  surface  of  these  nests 
is  often  covered  with  fine  edible  mush- 
rooms, and  the  natives  eat  the  insects 
themselves,  considering  them  a    very 
great  delicacy.    Some  apricot  jam  was, 
on  a  certain  occasion,  offered  to    an 
African  chief  by  an  English  traveller. 
It  was  good,  he  said,  but  not  so  good 
as  a  handful  of  white  ants.    Lions  and 
tigers  are  frequently  found  in  these  de- 
serted termite  villages.  The  food  of  these 
insects  is  chiefly  of  a  vegetable  charac- 
ter, especially  woody  fibres ;  but  if  hun- 
gry they  will  eat  almost  any  thing.  They 
are  indeed  most  formidable  enemies  to 
man    and  his  works,  in  their  native 
haunts,  from  their  vast  swarms,  their 
voracity,  and  their  treacherous,  covert 
ways  of  working.   So  numerous  are  the 
swarms  issuing  from  their  nests  at  the 
time  when  the  winged  brood  is  first 
hatched,  that  the  air  in  the  vicinity 
seems  filled  with  dense  white  snow- 
flakes.    Efforts  have  been  made  to  con- 
fine them  to  their  nests  by  building  fires 
about  them;  but  so  eager  are  they  to 
reach  the  outer  world,  that  they  will 
rush  through  the  flames  to  obtain  their 
object.    If  many  perish  in  the  attempt, 
innumerable   throngs  succeed    in    the 
effort.    They  work  most  treacherously 
under  cover,  feeding  on  the  core  and 
heart  of  things,  but  always  leaving  a 
thin  deceptive  outer  shell   untouched. 
In  this  way  they  carry  on  their  secret 
ravages  unsuspected,  until  accident  re- 
veals their  presence. 

Some  years  since  a  few  of  these  terri- 
ble insects  were  observed  at  la  Rochelle, 
on  the  eastern  coast  of  France,  brought 
there,  no  doubt,  by  some  vessel  just  ar- 
rived from  a  tropical  port.  One  might 
naturally  suppose  that  the  first  cold 


winter — and  the  winters  of  that  part  of 
France  are  often  decidedly  cold— woold 
utterly  destroy  these  fragile  tropicil  in- 
vaders.   Such  has  not  been  the  resoh. 
They  have  not  only  survived  the  odd, 
but  they  have  actually  increased  to  such 
an  extent  as  seriously  to  alarm  the  in- 
habitants.   Vigorous  efforts  have  been 
made  to  exterminate  them,  but,  as  yet, 
without  success.     They  have  aheady 
committed  very  serious  ravages.    Odd- 
ly enough,  like  other  inyaders,  tiny 
have  taken  possession  of   the  public 
buildings  of  la  Rochelle ;  the  Hotel  of 
the  Pr6fet  is  their  headquarters.    Hen, 
like  other   invaders,  they  have  made 
themselves  completely  at  home.    The 
conquest  has  been  complete.    From  the 
attics  to  the  cellars  they  are  masters  of 
the  position.   The  ceiling  of  a  bedroom 
was  repaired ;  the  day  after  the  wozk- 
man  left,  covered  galleries,  made  by  the 
enemy,  were  discovered,  dropping  from 
the  ceiling  like  stalactites.   Similar  gal- 
leries were  found  in  the  cellars,  diop- 
ping  half-way  from  the  ceiling  to  the 
floor ;   others,  running  along  the  walk 
beneath  the  plaster,  were  traced  trom 
the  foundation  to  the  roof  of  the  build- 
ing.   These  stalactite  galleries,  looking 
somewhat  like  inverted  nests,  have  also 
been  found  in  the  cellars  of  adjoining 
houses,  reaching  from  the  ceiling  to  the 
floor.  Occasionally,  horizontal  galleries, 
like  suspension  bridges,  are  thrown  out 
to  reach  some  object  desirable  for  food, 
or  for  shelter.    Trees,  in  the  garden  of 
the    Pr6fecture,  which  appeared  out- 
wardly sound,  on  examination  proved 
to    be    entirely    gutted    to    the   very 
branches  I    The  stakes  of  fences  were 
devoured  in  the  same  way.    If  a  plank 
was  left  one  night  on  a  bed,  the  next 
morning  the  insects  were  found  to  have 
made  a  lodgment  within  its  fibres^    A 
large  beam  was  so  entirely  eaten  away 
that  nothing  remains  of  it  but  a  thiu 
outer  shell,  scarcely  more    substantial 
than  a  shaving.    The  legs  of  tables,  the 
sides  of  boxes,  are  devoured  in   the 
same  insidious  way.     No  wonder  the 
good  people  are  very  seriously  alarm- 
ed at  the  inroads  of  these  creatures. 
Corrosive  sublimate  is  said  to  be  the 


1870.] 


Madbid,  fbom  Noon  till  Hidkioht. 


427 


only  protection  for  any  wooden  sub- 
stance, and  one  that  is  not  always  suc- 
cessful. 

One  day  a  document  from  the  pub- 
lic archives  was  wanted.  The  box  con- 
taining it  was  opened;  all  looked  as 
usual ;  piles  of  neatly  folded  papers  ap- 
peared undisturbed  in  regular  order 
within ;  but  the  moment  a  hand  was 
laid  on  the  outer  sheet,  the  whole  pile 
crumbled  away  to  dust  t  All  was  hol- 
low; a  mere  shell  had  been  left,  as 


usual,  on  the  tap,  and  at  the  sides.  And 
such,  on  examination,  proved  to  be  the 
condition  of  other  boxes,  in  which  the 
public  archives  had  been  stored.  It  is 
only  too  clear  to  the  invaded  Rochel- 
tons,  that  the  terrible  white  ants  have 
lost  nothing  of  their  national  activity 
and  voracity  and  treachery,  by  change 
to  a  colder  climate.  They  work,  in 
France,  surrounded  by  snow  and  ice, 
which  in  the  native  haimts  of  their 
tribe  are  entirely  unknown. 


••> 


MADRID,  FROM  NOON  TILL  MIDNIGHT. 


Madbid  long  ago  fell  into  the  lazy 
habit  of  lengthening  its  days  by  thiev- 
ing from  the  night ;  and  as  late  vigils 
are  not  usually  begetfal  of  early  matins, 
the  city  is  slow  and  stupid  about  wak- 
ing. The  workers  are  stirring  be- 
times ;  but  the  drones,  who  seem  to  far 
outnumber  them,  and  who,  after  the 
way  of  drones,  take  upon  themselves 
the  biggest  share  of  the  buzzing,  begin 
their  day  leisurely  by  sipping  tiny  cups 
-«f  thick,  scalding,  flavorless  chocolate- 
paste  eked  out  by  shiny  hard-coated 
rolls  of  surprising  angularity  and  meali- 
ness. Later  comes  breakfast,  in  the 
guise  of  a  very  early  dinner  at  the  good 
old  Puritan  hour  of  noon  or  in  its  neigh- 
borhood, and  get^  the  day  fairly  on 
foot. 

Like  Hamlet,  the  city  has  a  heart  of 
hearts,  the  Puerta  del  Sol,  the  once  fa- 
mous Sun-Gate  that  baked  and  steamed 
in  the  down-falling  summer  noon  and 
the  up-risiDg  glint  of  the  hot  sand  be- 
fore it.  But  the  Gate  is  gone,  the  city 
crept  past  it  into  the  glint  and  glare 
and  wrapped  it  lovingly  about,  and 
now  the  old  poetic  title,  breathing  of 
Cid  and  Moor,  misnames  an  unevenly 
open  space  in  the  exact  centre  of  to- 
day's Madrid.  Great  arteries  of  streets, 
ten  in  number,  strike  outward  trom  the 
mean  little  fountain  in  its  middle,  and 
through  them  the  city's  life  throbs 
ceaselessly  into  and  out  of  the  Puerta. 
It  is  a  good  place  to  begin  a  stroll 


from;  suppose  we  wander  thither, 
reaching  it  in  time  to  hear  a  dozen 
clanging  strokes  on  the  big  air-hung 
bell  that  caps  a  four-faced  clock  on  its 
southern  side. 

Just  the  place  for  a  coup  tPitat,  it 
seems,  and  such  has  more  than  seldom 
been  its  mission.  Spain's  history  has 
been  often  written  on  the  trap-block 
pavement  of  the  Puerta  in  the  same 
dull,  clotted  ink  that  has  recorded 
human  ambition  and  feud  since  man 
was.  The  last  entry  on  this  page  was 
on  the  29th  of  September,  a  year  ago, 
when  troops  and  people  struck  hands 
for  freedom,  and  won  it.  When  will 
be  the  next  writing  ?  No  one  knows, 
but  hearsa3rs  and  guesses  are  rife  enough. 

Bustle,  whir,  and  buzz  on  every  side ! 
Gay  shops  and  noisy  crowds  on  nine  of 
the  ten  narrow  blocks  that  hem  the 
Puerta;  on  the  tenth  the  stone-trim- 
med, red  brick  f^ont  of  the  Gtobema- 
cion,  a  sort  of  City  Hall,  looms  over  a 
noisier  throng  than  the  rest,  that  seethes 
like  an  open  Stock  Board  when  gold  is 
unstable  and  Erie  heady.  This  may  be 
termed  the  News  Exchange.  Liberty 
enough  of  speech  and  press  is  here  to 
satiate  the  most  exacting.  Photo- 
graphic caricatures  of  the  late  sove- 
reign, Dofia  Isabel  of  inglorious  mem- 
ory, are  abundant ;  and  as  if  to  height- 
en their  e£fect,  we  find  a  fresh  broadside 
selling  sluggishly — a  cent's  worth  of 
Proclamation  from  the  same  gradous 


428 


PuTNAM^s  Magazine. 


[Apia, 


lady  to  those  whom  she  is  pleased  to 
call  her  loving  subjects.  A  score  or 
two  of  waspish  sheets,  of  the  sort  that 
sting  for  the  sake  of  stinging,  are  on 
sale  everywhere,  and  we  stop  for  a 
moment  to  glance  at  their,  coarse  but 
not  badly-drawn  woodcuts.  Some  have 
but  just  emerged  from  the  recent 
squelching  they  suffered  when  the  Prov- 
inces were  in  arms  for  Republicanism, 
and  the  personal  guarantees  of  the  Con- 
stitution were  for  a  time  suspended. 
But  the  people  have  got  back  their 
rights,  the  press  is  free  again,  and  the 
petty  swarm,  embittered  and  embolden- 
ed, buzzes  spitefully  about  Prim  and 
his  boy-pet  the  Duke  of  Genoa.  We 
buy  one,  giving  therefor  two  or  three 
rough  Moorish  copper  coins,  not  stamp- 
ed but  cast  in  moulds,  and  halt  to  look 
in  languid  amusement  at  its  outlined 
cartoon  showing  Olozaga — ^the  Spanish 
Ambassador  in  Paris,  commonly  known 
as  the  king-hunter,  from  his  continued 
efforts  to  find  a  roynl  scion  willing  to 
be  a  candidate  for  the  Spanish  throne — 
gravely  presenting  to  his  mistress  Spain 
a  chattering  monkey,  on  a  huge  salver. 
We  crumple  it  in  our  pockets,  and  pass 
on. 

What  becomes  of  all  the  wax-matches 
sold  in  the  Puerta  ?  At  every  step  we 
find  great  trays  laden  with  gayly  orna- 
mented sliding  boxes  of  brown-tipped 
tapers  that  sell  for  a  trifle  more  than 
one  of  our  nicJcel  cents ;  at  every  step 
we  hear  the  pleasant  crackle  that  her- 
alds the  lighting  of  a  fresh  cigarette ; 
and  yet  the  pavement  is  not  drifted 
with  the  refuse  ends.  How  do  these 
brawny,  thick-ankled  women  balance 
themselves  on  their  tiny  donkeys,  no 
bigger  than  Saint  Bernard  dogs,  their 
clumsy  feet  dangling  in  one  of  the 
empty  twin  panniers  that  sway  nervously 
as  the  sturdy  little  brutes  trot  across  the 
square?  Why  does  that  stout  mata- 
dor, with  skin-tight  trowsers  and  waist- 
long  velvet  jacket,  sport  such  an  absurd 
little  pigtail  no  thicker  than  a  quill, 
that  sprouts  out  of  the  closely-cropped 
black  stubble  on  the  back  of  his  head 
and  trickles  down  inside  his  collar? 
Why  do  all  these  men  go  about  in  this 


pleasant  glow  of  late  autumn,  with 
huge  brown  cloaks  dangling  to  thdr 
ankles  and  a  heavy  fold  of  them  swept 
over  throat  and  mouth  and  pendant 
from  the  shoulder,  while  a  bit  of  gandj 
plush  lining  turns  outward  to  rdiere 
the  monotony  of  color  ?  Can  they  reaDy 
be  cold  as  they  walk  thus  shiveringlj, 
as  though  in  search  of  Sir  John  Frank- 
lin ?  Why  do  these  nurses,  baby-laden, 
wear  such  glaring  skirts  of  scarlet  and 
gold,  and  have  such  curious  sliding 
hatchways  of  red  cloth  built  into  their 
ample  corsets  ?  How  does  all  thia  folk 
find  time  to  congregate  daily,  and  aU 
day,  in  this  gateless  Gate  of  the  Son, 
seeking  only  to  hear  and  tell  of  some 
new  thing,  like  a  certain  throng  that 
filled  Mars  Hill  some  eighteen  hundnd 
years  ago  ?  These  and  a  host  of  kin* 
dred  queries  come  dreamily  and  go 
almost  without  response,  while  we  drift 
slowly  around  the  Puerta  and  out  of  It 
at  its  western  end. 

We  arc  in  the  Calle  Mayor,  the  Main 
Street,  the  Broadway  of  Phillp*s  time. 
An  old  street  it  is,  not  much  altered 
since  Torquemada's  red-robed  heretics 
were  led  in  solemn  procession  up  ita 
shadowy  straitness  to  the  Plasa  omt 
by,  there  to  seal  their  belief^  or  dis- 
belief, in  one  supreme  Act  of  Faith. 
How  strangely  apt  was  the  name  given 
to  what  was  once  the  crowning  gloxy 
of  Homers  wonderful  power,  though 
now  it  shines  luridly  down  throngh  aU 
these  years  as  its  deadliest  wrong! 
Truly  an  Act  of  Faith,  of  a  Faith  that 
triumphed  over  the  fiames. 

We  turn  aside  under  one  of  the  over- 
hanging rows  of  gloomy  arches  that  jot 
into  the  street,  awkwardly  narrowing  it 
to  half  its  width  by  their  abrupt  sali- 
ence, and  pass  up  a  fiight  of  well-trod- 
den stone-steps,  worn  perchance  by 
older  heretics  than  we,  into  the  Pliia 
Mayor  of  such  dark  memories.  It  is  do 
longer  known  by  its  old  name,  for  with 
September's  Revolution  many  a  street 
and  square  was  christened  again  to  blot 
out  bygone  history  and  mark  the  era 
of  liberty.  A  few  glaring  sign-boards, 
that  almost  seem  to  smell  of  paint  they 
look  so  fresh,  announce  that  it  is  now 


1870.] 


Madbid,  fbom  Noon  till  Midnioht. 


429 


the  Place  of  the  Constitution.  We 
walk  about  its  low-hung  colonnades 
and  cross  beneath  the  larger  arches  that 
open  from  the  neighboring  streets,  and 
halt  on  the  side  opposite  to  where  we 
entered  to  look  up  to  the  windows 
from  which  the  King  and  court  once 
smiled  down  on  the  crowds  and  the 
flames.  We  think  of  a  picture  in  the 
Museum  here,  showing  the  square  as  it 
then  was  in  the  enacting  of  such  a 
drama,  and  as  we  look  the  trees  in  it 
grow  down  into  nothing,  a  great  scaf- 
fold rises,  soldiers  and  monks  throng 
it,  and  a  strange  odor  of  burning  be- 
comes singularly  real.  But  as  these 
thoughts  come  they  fade,  and  afler  all 
we  are  only  standing  in  a  dingy  space, 
walled  about  by  monotonous  houses 
borne  on  arches,  while  at  our  side  is  a 
Blouchy  old  woman  roasting  chestnuts. 
Nothing  more. 

What  comes  next?  The  street  of 
Toledo  is  not  very  far  o£f-^a  gay  bazaar 
in  perennial  bloom.  Suppose  we  stroll 
thither,  for  the  day  is  hardly  yet  begun. 
As  we  pass  we  notice  the  stuccoed 
house-fronts  specked  with  pockmarks 
and  dimples,  where  a  lively  musketry- 
flre  took  eflfect  one  day  when  barricades 
blocked  the  streets  and  each  balcony 
hdd  its  marksman.  Such  signs  are 
common  here  and  hardly  worth  notice. 

The  first  idea  of  this  old  street,  that 
points  southward  to  Toledo,  is  that  it 
is  a  kingdom  of  shreds  and  patches, 
and  it  is  apt  to  be  the  last  and  perma- 
nent one.  The  marvellous  and  many- 
colored  mendings  worn  by  the  mule- 
teers and  porters  and  such-like  lazy 
vermin  of  a  great  city  are  here  explain- 
ed, for  in  each  doorway  and  window 
hang  swelling  bunches  of  cloth-scraps, 
like  knotted  sheaves  of  poverty's  glean- 
ing, while  herds  of  women  and  not  a 
few  men  are  at  work  patching  and 
mending  garments  that  would  long 
since  have  been  given  up  as  hopeless  iu 
any  land  but  Spain.  They  look  up  and 
eye  us  askance;  our  clothes  are  too 
whole  for  this  region  whose  aristocracy 
of  thrifty  unthrift  is  distinguished  by 
the  amazing  but  unheraldic  quarterings 
of  the  coats  its  members  bear. 


Over  the  way  is  a  curiosity  shop 
worthy  of  little  Nell's  grandfather. 
We  cross  the  street  and  enter ;  the  pro- 
prietor shambles  forward,  scents  our 
foreign  birth  in  an  instant,  and  attrib- 
utes to  us  the  possession  of  imtold  mil- 
lions. We  look  around  the  cramped 
shop.  A  quaint  dagger  attracts  us — a 
foot  or  so  in  length,  with  a  wavy  out- 
line and  a  keen  edge,  just  the  thing  to 
wriggle  about  in  a  Frenchman  in  ac- 
cordance with  kind  old  Marshal  Suwa- 
roPs  humane  instructions.  A  deep 
groove  courses  down  each  side  in  a 
snaky  way,  fading  an  inch  or  so  from 
the  point,  and  in  it  certain  rudely 
stamped  letters  are  carelessly  stranded. 
We  read  "  Haimundo  Ortilla,"  and  turn- 
ing the  blade  over  we  find  "Toledo, 
1«48."  The  handle  is  grimy  and  intri- 
cately carved.  Altogether  the  dagger 
tempts  us,  and  seems  flavorous  of  love 
and  jealousy  and  death  in  some  far- 
away time  under  the  hot  sun  of  Anda- 
lusia. 

What  is  its  cost,  we  ask,  in  as  lan- 
guid a  tone  as  we  can  feign.  The  little 
eyes  of  the  shopkeeper  peer  at  us  with 
an  assured  conviction  as  to  our  millions, 
and  a  price  is  unhesitatingly  named  ex- 
ceeding by  about  four  times  its  actual 
or  possible  worth.  We  demur  mildly. 
Our  trader  forthwith  becomes  as  one 
possessed  by  the  demon  of  oratory,  and 
we  wonder  amusedly  at  the  boundless 
wealth  of  Castilian  gesture  and  the  in- 
finite modulations  in  energy  and  per- 
suasiveness of  which  the  Castilian  voice 
is  capable.  We  are  inflexible,  and,  lay- 
ing down  the  coveted  treasure,  we 
make  for  the  door.  A  f^h  burst  of 
eloquence  turns  us  about;  will  the 
sellor  name  his  own  price  f  We  do  so, 
and  the  yellow  eye-whites  heave  up- 
ward in  horror.  Does  the  sellor  know 
that  his  offer,  if  accepted,  would  entail 
starvation  on  at  least  four  persons? 
Does  his  grace  know  that  we  have  a 
family  ?  Incontinently,  his  wife  is  sum- 
moned, a  pretty,  full-throated  brunette 
many  shades  too  good  for  him,  leading 
a  bullet-headed  boy,  who  seems  to  have 
stepped  out  of  one  of  Murillo's  can- 
vases, minus  his  melon-rind.     She  in- 


430 


PUTKAJf'B  MaGAZXKB. 


[Apd, 


yokes  Pnrisima  Maria,  whose  festival  is 
near  at  hand,  and  grows  ecstatic  over 
the  flamboyant  blade.  We  once  more 
set  our  faces  as  though  to  depart,  Iniife- 
less  as  we  came.  A  reduction  of  about 
a  real  and  a  half  arrests  us,  and  we  arc 
treated  to  a  fresh  burst  of  rapture,  this 
time  anent  the  handle.  In  view  of  the 
shortness  of  life  and  the  mobility  of  a 
Spaniard's  larynx,  we  feel  that  this 
kind  of  thing  has  got  to  stop.  We 
name  our  price  again,  and  manage  to 
get  half  outside  the  door,  when  the 
enemy  wavers,  and  we  are  recalled. 
More  gush,  and  a  tremulous  appeal  to 
know  the  sefior's  highest  offer.  Wo  re- 
peat it  sternly,  and  are  met  half-way  in 
broken  accents.  We  face  about  and 
this  time  reach  the  street,  deaf  to  a 
dual  cry  that  is  snipped  in  two  by  the 
closing  door.  We  get,  it  may  be,  three 
or  four  houses  distant,  when  the  senor^s 
coat  is  gently  twitched  by  small  and 
not  over-clean  fingers,  and  we  find  that 
little  Bullet-head  has  been  sent  out 
with  a  flag  of  truce.  Surrender  at  dis- 
cretion! We  return,  brutally  cut  all 
further  parley  short  by  ringing  a  doub- 
loon on  the  counter,  receive  our  change, 
pocket  our  trophy  in  its  envelope  of 
soiled  newspaper, — ^Madrid's  universal 
wrapping  medium, — and  depart  happy. 
Next  day  we  learn  that  we  have  not 
only  been  egregiously  cheated  in  our 
dagger,  but  are  furthermore  poorer  to 
the  extent  of  a  counterfeit  half-dollar. 

We  seek  a  cab,  and  have  to  walk  far 
to  find  one,  for  the  riding  population 
lives  otherwhere  than  in  the  Calle  de 
Toledo.  We  take  our  cab  by  the  hour ; 
a  little  tin  flagon  a  rod,  announcing  the 
vehicle  as  to  bo  let,  is  lowered  out  of 
sight,  and  a  brisk  clock,  that  peeps  in 
at  the  front  window,  starts  merrily 
from  noon  which  it  marks  when  in  re- 
pose, on  its  laudable  mission  of  getting 
through  an  hour  in  fifty  minutes  or 
thereabouts.  We  are  driven  to  the  Le- 
gation—our own,  of  course. 

It  is  in  a  stuccoed  house,  frescoed  in  a 
gaudy  pink  pattern  as  though  travesty- 
ing wall-paper,  set  modestly  back  from 
the  street  behind  a  little  garden  with  a 
very  small  three-story  fountain  in  its 


middle.  In  front  is  the  Paseo,  Madrid^ 
circumscribing  drive  and  promenade. 
Hard  by  is  a  great  fountain  seen  tbffoo^ 
the  almost  leafless  tree-branches,  shov- 
ing a  stalwart  Neptune  balanced  on  tk 
ridge  of  a  giant  marble  shell,  an  ingn- 
ions  conchological  cross  between  a  bi- 
valve and  a  univalve,  like  a  blending  of 
oyster  and  periwinkle,  armed  with  pad- 
dle-wheels. To  this  are  harnessed  two 
fish-tailed  horses,  splashing  in  a  heap  of 
marble  foam.  B^ond  ns,  above  tiie 
trees,  stretches  the  red  roof  of  the  lb- 
seum,  that  guards  Murillo's  matchlfw 
"  Conception." 

The  national  arms  above  the  door 
look  home-like  and  inviting  as  we  enter. 
So  do  the  offices  of  the  Legation  whm 
we  reach  them,  and  George  Washingtoa 
smiles  a  bland  welcome  down  upon  ni 
from  ten  feet  of  canvas.  Some  one  rite 
writing  in  an  inner  room,  and  as  m 
approach  he  looks  up.  We  see  a  oon- 
pact,  squarely  moulded  head ;  a  mas 
of  glossy  black  hair,  through  whidi 
wander  a  few  threads  of  white  coming 
before  their  time ;  a  wide,  rounded  foie- 
head ;  eyes,  too  gray  to  be  blue  and  too 
blue  to  bo  gray,  that  show  with  a  steely 
glint  under  their  solid  brows ;  a  tfifek 
wiry  moustache  half  hiding  a  month 
that  marks  fimmess  in  every  curve,  and 
a  fair,  clean-shaven  chin  that  matchei 
well  with  the  lips  and  face  above  it  A 
pair  of  crutches  leans  against  the  desk 
by  his  side ;  and  glancing  involuntarily 
downward,  we  see  that  the  right  leg  has 
been  severed  half-way  above  the  knee. 
No  ribbon  flaunts  at  his  button-hole,  no 
cross  dangles  on  his  breast,  and  none  is 
needed.  The  mutilated  limb  and  the 
crutches  on  which  he  leans  as  he  rises 
and  advances  to  meet  us  are  more  elo- 
quent insignia  than  any  that  kings  cre- 
ate. 

He  greets  us  and  resumes  his  writing. 
Around  us  are  the  usual  fittings  of  a 
Legation, — desks  plentiftilly  littered, 
shelves  well  piled  with  sets  of  Congres- 
sional documents,  about  as  much  han- 
dled as  those  old-time  standards  which 
no  gentleman's  library  should  be  with- 
out, and  other  shelves  guarding  the 
bound  archives.    We  take  down  one  of 


1870.] 


Madrid,  from  Noon  till  Midnight. 


481 


these  sober  green  yolumes  and  open  it 
reverently.  It  is  nearly  full ;  and  page 
after  page  shows  the  same  unyaried  and 
luxurious  elegance  of  chirography  in 
which  genial  Geoffrey  Crayon  indulged 
in  the  good  old  days  of  quill-pens  and 
easy-going  haste.  Talk  of  the  Lost 
Arts — ^tho  script  of  forty  years  ago  is 
one  of  them — ^the  fair  round  hand,  not 
over-large  but  legible  as  a  family  Bible, 
whose  lines  course  across  the  unruled 
page  in  such  unswerving  parallelism 
that  the  big  office-ruler  looks  almost 
crooked  when  laid  along  them.  As  wo 
rustle  over  the  broad  leaves  I  tell  of 
how  Irving's  memory  yet  lingers  iu 
Madrid,  and  how  the  older  English- 
epeaking  residents  love  to  talk  of  the 
good  man^s  simple  life  and  kindly  ways, 
that  made  all  the  world  his  friend. 

To-day  is  a  slack  day ;  business  is  nUy 
or  thereabouts.  Nobody  wants  postage 
stami^s,  nobody  writes  for  an  autograph, 
no  Castilian,  for  a  wonder,  has  treated 
us  to  three  or  four  pages  of  most  rheto- 
rical mendicity,  nothing  doing,  in  fact, 
except  the  quick  scratching  of  the  pen 
in  the  other  room,  that  whispers  omi- 
nously of  a  brisk  time  to-monrow  to 
catch  the  Cunard  mail.  It  is  a  sin  to 
squander  this  sunshine  by  idling  in- 
doors ;  let  us  stroll  awhile  in  the  park. 
We  dismiss  our  patient  cabby,  cross  the 
wide  street,  pass  by  Neptune  on  his 
paddled  marvel,  skirt  the  railed  enclos- 
ure of  a  great  sham  of  an  obelisk  built 
of  a  dozen  blocks  of  stone,  go  up  an 
easy  hill,  and  so  reach  the  Buen  Retiro 
gardens.  All  city-parks  are  much  alike, 
as  a  general  thing,  but  here  in  Madrid 
our  accustomed  broad  reaches  of  drive 
and  sleepy  sinuosities  of  lakelet  are 
wanting.  To  be  sure  there  is  a  huge, 
oblong,  stone-walled  holeful  of  water, 
the  Gran  Estanque,  whose  name  we  apt- 
ly cramp  into  one  syllable  and  call  ihe 
Tank.  In  its  middle  is  a  tiny  steamer 
rigged  as  if  for  ocean-work,  and  round 
about  it  a  few  young  Madridefios  are 
rowing  with  an  infinite  waste  of  vigor ; 
their  oar-blades  now  high  outlifled  and 
now  severely  crab-caught  in  some  won- 
drous depth ;  struggling  slowly  along, 
and  seemingly  as  well  versed  in  oars- 


manship as  Saharan  camel-drivers  might 
be. 

The  best  guides  through  a  popular 
garden  are  the  nurses.  I  single  out  a 
chubby,  bright-eyed  little  being,  full  of 
sunshine  as  a  June  morning,  and  over- 
weighted by  a  stout  toddler  in  her  full- 
rounded  arms.  We  follow  her,  on  the 
sly,  up  a  long  mall.  She  leads,  of 
course,  to  the  animals,  and  we  land  in 
a  very  small  zoological  garden  of  one- 
elephant-power.  A  vicious  looking 
beast  is  this  last  as  he  sways  rhythmi- 
cally on  his  gouty  pins  and  leisurely 
twists  slender  hay-wisps  which  he  some- 
how puts  into  himself  endwise.  He  is 
quite  an  accomplished  matador,  and  so 
a  hero  of  this  bull-killing  folk,  who  love 
to  tell  of  his  last  appearance  in  the 
ring ;  how  he  held  his  ground  in  the 
centre,  facing  about  to  meet  each  at- 
tack ;  how  the  bull,  maddened  by  gay 
barbs  that  flapped  cruelly  on  his  broad 
shoulders,  charged  at  him  with  lowered 
head  and  sharp  horns  like  lances  in 
rest ;  how  the  one  great  tusk  (the  other 
was  snapped  off  long  ago)  and  rigid 
trunk,  lifted  high  in  air,  came  down  on 
the  bull's  bleeding  back,  stopping  him 
midway  in  his  course;  and  how  they 
forced  him  to  the  ground,  so  slowly  in 
appearance  that  seconds  seemed  to 
lengthen  into  minutes  while  the  lesser 
brute  sank,  inch  by  inqji  a%  it  were, 
untU  he  lay,  crushed  and  dead.  In  this 
way  these  seven  or  eight  tons  of  slug- 
gish pachydermatous  shrewdness  press- 
ed the  life  out  of  four  bulls  in  less  than 
half  an  hour,  when  the  sport  palled  by 
reason  of  monotony,  the  conqueror  was 
led  out,  unscratched,  in  phlegmatic  ex- 
ultancy, and  Madrid  once  more  took  its 
fill  of  wilder  pleasure.  Blindfolded 
horses,  poor  wretched  screws  cabbed 
into  premature  decay,  stood  in  trem- 
bling incertitude  till  pierced  by  an  un- 
seen sharpness ;  and  then  plunged  any- 
whither  in  their  blindness  from  this  aw- 
Ail,  unknown  terror,  trampling  out  their 
entrails  as  they  staggered  in  wandering 
curves,  and  bearing  their  riders  away  in 
safety  from  the  death  that  smote  them 
instead  until  they  fell,  with  emptied 
and  flapping  sides,  and  died  on  the  hot 


482 


Putkah's  Magazinx. 


[Apd. 


sand.  We  talk  of  this  and  of  the 
scenes  we  watched  in  the  arena  a  few 
Sundays  since,  with  a  half-regret  that 
the  men  somehow  manage  to  come  out 
unharmed,  leaving  the  certainty  of  pain 
and  death  to  be  vicariously  borne.  An 
English-speaking  Spaniard  overhears 
us,  and  addressing  us  with  that  free- 
masonry of  intercourse  so  common  in  a 
land  given  over  to  chatter  as  this  is, 
explains  that  the  horses  arc  worthless 
and  good  for  nothing  else.  We  hear, 
and  bow  in  a  hypocritical  silence  which 
he  interprets  as  the  abashed  assent  of 
convicted  error.  There  is  no  use  in 
arguing  the  point  or  in  attempting  to 
show  that  a  beast  whose  knees  arc  bent 
by  over-tasking,  whose  ribs  arc  salient 
or  whoso  neck  is  arched  the  wrong  way, 
camel-fashion,  is  thereby  unfitted  for  a 
quiet  death  in  some  equine  Beulah  of 
grassy  meadow  under  God^s  own  blue 
sky. 

I  turn,  and  miss  my  ruddy  little  nurse. 
Ah  !  there  she  is,  cramming  wide-eyed 
baby  with  some  toothsome  hyena-story. 
We  stroll  thither  and  glance  for  a  mo- 
ment at  her  text  as  it  paces  tirelessly  up 
and  down  before  its  bars.  One  of  us 
calls  it  an  idiotic  burlesque  on  both 
tiger  and  swine,  and  with  a  smile  at 
the  aptness  of  the  phrase  we  pass  on 
through  these  pleasant  gardens  of  re- 
tirement. Does  this  careless  crowd 
think,  I  wonder,  of  the  infinite  toil  re- 
quired to  create  such  boscages  and  vis- 
tas of  shade  on  these  hard  and  barren 
sandhills,  where  each  bush  is  nourished 
through  the  long  dry  summer  by  its 
own  generous  conduit  of  limpid  water  ? 
Without  this  lavish  labor,  these  mounds 
would  yet  be  as  bare  of  leafage  as  the 
red-brown  landscape  that  billows  far 
away  before  us,  to  Qink  into  the  horizon^s 
calm  or  break  in  green  surf  of  feathered 
pine-spray  at  the  feet  of  the  craggy 
Guadarramas  that  rise,  snow-capped  in 
this  late  autumn  light,  twenty  mUes  to 
northward. 

We  make  a  wide  detour  through  the 
waste  outskirts  of  the  city,  more  deso- 
late than  such  places  usually  are.  Low 
cabins,  one  scant  story  in  height,  rise 
here  and  there,  and  lower  walls  run 


aimlessly  to  and  fro ;  both  of  the 
dull  scorched  color  as  the  soil  beneiik 
them,  that  is  seemingly  soft  as  sand,  jct 
capable  of  being  spaded  into  twotj 
feet  of  sheer  perpendicularity  to  stand 
untouched  by  time,  unfiuTOwed  by  tibe 
rain,  uncrumbled  by  the  frost,  and  totibe 
last  utterly  barren.  We  halt  before  a 
solidly-built  wall  of  heavy  sun-dned 
brick,  and  look  at  some  twosoore  of 
tiny  black  wooden  crosses  tacked  on  ill 
rough  face ;  while  one  tells  of  the  deid- 
ly  scene  he  witnessed  here  two  yeiii 
ago  in  the  early  morning ;  of  a  littk 
band  of  pinioned  soldiers  led  to  fhif 
spot  and  ranged  arm  in  arm  before  the 
wall ;  of  a  squad  of  new  recruitB  wbo 
took  up  position  as  a  firing  party  not 
ten  paces  in  front  of  them ;  of  the  lifted 
sword  and  shrill  order  of  the  officer  ii 
charge ;  of  the  bungling  yoUeys  thil 
r&ng  again  and  again  till  the  last  writ- 
ing lump  of  fiesh  was  still  and  the  sofr 
rise  looked  into  as  many  dead  faoei  m 
there  are  rude  crosses  pinned  agiinit 
the  bricks  to-day.  Poor  fellows !  they 
attempted  to  raise  an  insurrection  ii . 
the  great  barracks  of  the  town,  anfl 
O^Donnell  got  the  better  of  them.  Had 
they  won,  the  Queen  might  haveflad*- 
year  or  two  sooner  and  Spain^s  new  his- 
tory been  begun  a  year  or  two  eariier,— 
that^s  all. 

Down  into  the  city  again,  past  the 
mint  with  its  tall  chimney,  fh>m  'whidi 
yellow  vapors  roll  at  times  like  aiiy 
gold.  Up  the  long  drives  and  promt> 
nadcs  that  hem  this  side  of  Madrid, 
now  filled  with  carriages  and  horsemen. 
Ilcre  comes  a  showy  team  drawing  a 
plain  landau,  in  which  reclines  a  thoaghi> 
ful-looking  woman,  just  a  little  too  old, 
it  may  be,  to  be  called  young,  wiik 
smooth  features  of  great  regularity  and 
splendidly  languid  eyes  that  miss  notb* 
ing  of  all  this  crowd.  Spaniards  ctlL 
the  Rcgentcss  ^^  hi  duquesa^'*  and  say  she 
is  the  handsomest  woman  in  all  CastikL 
But  we  have  our  own  type  over  the  set, 
and  may  be  pardoned  for  liking  it,  even 
in  a  strange  land.  You  see  it  to  perfec- 
tion in  this  carriage  that  just  passes  us 
— a  blonde  recently  from  New  York, 
who  can  hold  her  own  without  effort  in 


1 


Madbid,  fbom  Noon  till  MiDNionT. 


488 


ball-room  here.  That  quiet  old 
m  m  the  sober  coup6  before  us  is 
nothcr  of  the  Empress  of  the 
jh.  And  further  on,  that  good- 
ed  but  somewhat  heavy  face  is 
Prim's.  So  they  roll  in  a  ceaseless 
n,  funereally  down  one  side  and 
isly  up  the  other ;  and  the  upper 
of  Madrid  takes  its  afternoon  air- 
And  so  we  walk  with  the  slow- 
ig  current,  past  the  Museum  and 
>untains,  to  the  Calle  do  Atocha  to 
le  vesper  bell-ringing. 
ere  is  a  wonderful  fascination 
;  the  visible  energy  of  a  Spanish 
clangor.  It  does  not  lurk  motion- 
ehind  heavy  lattices  and  sound  by 
all  of  hammers  or  the  swing  of 
ics  as  do  ours  of  modern  training, 
igs  in  the  rain  and  sunshine,  piv- 
in  the  walls  of  the  square  turret 
ifts  it  and  its  fellows  in  the  air.  I 
nderstand  Quasimodo  better  now 
Dok  at  these  men  above  us — ^two  to 
larger  bell,  one  vdthin  the  belfry 
>ne  on  the  balcony  without — tum- 
le  loud-voiced  monsters  over  and 
again  in  a  wild  ecstasy  of  delight, 
and  then  one  jumps  on  the  mass- 
imber-yoke  as  it  rises,  sweeps  over 
ell  in  its  turn  and  dives  under  it 
I  just  as  the  heavy  tongue  thuds 
6t  the  broad  flange ;  leaving  us  in 
I  doubt  whether  he  has  been  brain- 
r  it  or  not,  until  we  see  him  sailing 
it  once  more.  Even  the  jangle  of 
f-dozen  of  these  bells  is  musical ; 
leh  so  that  we  readily  believe  the 
don  that  Spanish  bronze  is  largely 
Bd  with  silver. 

ese  are  very  narrow  and  angular 
s  that  we  thread  on  our  way  to 
!6rtes.  No  matter,  the  distance  is 
'ar,  and  the  roadway,  if  cramped, 
least  scrupulously  clean,  which  is 
than  one  can  say  of  Rome.  We 
the  Carrera  and  look  westward  to 
Paerta  del  Sol,  now  flooded  with 
ing  red  rays  that  '^  incarnadine " 
bimtain  and  the  long  street,  and 
t  the  Sun-Gate  look  like  a  short 
0  Paradise.  We  turn  away  fh>m 
^lory  and  reach  the  C6rtes.  There 
low  side-door  for  us — ^the  £ronting 
VOL,  V. — 29 


colonnade  is  an  entry  only  on  state  oc- 
casions. Up  two  tall  flights  of  stairs 
we  go,  and  are  shown  by  virtue  of  a 
magical  pink  ticket  to  the  Diplomatic 
Tribune,  whence  we  look  down  on  the 
Chamber. 

It  is  a  handsome  U-shaped  hall,  with 
seats  rising  gently  in  rows  around  the 
curve  and  a  broad  platform  bearing  the 
President's  desk  on  the  flat  end.  Mace- 
bearers,  gorgeous  in  Spain's  coat-of-arms 
of  scarlet  and  yellow,  stand  on  guard 
behind  him,  and  are  relieved  every  ten 
minutes  vnth  much  imposing  ceremo- 
nial. The  President  is  munching  some- 
thing very  like  biscuits,  and  oflbring 
them  generously,  in  a  newspaper,  to  his 
associates  behind  the  long  dais-desk. 
In  front  are  the  reporters,  scratching 
merrily.  Somebody  is  speaking — and 
nobody  is  listening. 

Turn  the  U  on  its  side,  thus:  p. 
The  thick  shank  is  the  Ministerial  side, 
or  Right ;  the  thin  one  is  given  over  to 
the  opposition  forces,  who  form  the  xm- 
ruly  Left.  The  central  curve  is  a  sort 
of  political  no-man's-land.  It  is  in  this 
last  that  somebody  is  speaking. 

Our  tribune  looks  down  on  the 
Ministerial  benches.  Much  more  red 
plush  cushioning  is  visible  than  broad- 
cloth ;  a  bare  quorum  is  present  for 
business,  but  members  continue  to 
straggle  in  and  take  their  places.  The 
front  bench  on  the  thick  side  of  the  U 
is  upholstered  in  blue  and  set  apart  for 
the  Cabinet.  This  is  awkward  for  us ; 
for  the  variations  in  the  ministerial  hab- 
its of  hair-brushing  are  about  all  we 
can  study  from  our  point  of  view,  and 
we  would  like  to  see  more  of  the  men 
who  have  turned  Spain  upside  down 
and  shaken  it  into  a  froth  of  Constitu- 
tionalism. Nearly  all  of  them  are  here 
this  afternoon.  At  the  top  end  is  a 
sober  head  of  glossy  black  hair,  with  a 
neat  little  bald  spot  in  its  centre,  like  a 
tonsure.  A  short,  thin  black  beard 
curls  and  creeps  down  the  cheek  and 
chin.  Under  this  gloomy  head-piece  is 
a  suit  of  black  broadcloth.  Even  the 
hands  are  dark-gloved.  The  general 
impression  conveyed  is  of  a  pious  and 
sympathizing  undertaker,  rather  than 


484 


FUTNAM^S  MaQAZTSR. 


[Art 


of  the  one  supreme  man  of  the  Penin- 
sula, Juan  Prim.  A  strangely  grave 
man  is  this  same  General  Prim,  and  one 
not  to  be  easily  fathomed, — not  a  mag- 
netic leader  of  men,  for  whose  smile  of 
approbation  tens  of  thousands  would 
eagerly  fight  and  die,  as  they  did  for 
the  first  and  only  Napoleon.  No  flash- 
ing eye  is  his,  such  as  we  are  wont  to 
ascribe  to  our  worshipful  self-made  he- 
roes. I  have  looked  into  his  sombre 
face  half  a  hundred  times,  and  now,  as 
I  write,  I  cannot  for  the  life  of  me  re- 
member what  is  the  color  of  his  eyes. 
In  short,  "rather  an  or'nary  lookin' 
man,"  as  our  homely  country  phrase 
goes,  and  yet,  for  all  that,  a  possible 
Cromwell  or  Ccesar.    Which  ? 

These  polls,  as  seen  fh)m  above,  have 
much  of  a  sameness  in  their  expression, 
although  they  range  in  hirsutcncss  fh)m 
the  dark-brown  mop  of  the  Minister  of 
State  to  the  eggy  crown  of  the  Minister 
of  Finance.  It  is  a  pity  that  we  cannot 
see  more  of  those  whom  they  top.  As 
if  with  knowledge  of  our  thought,  a 
head  in  the  middle  of  the  row  is  slowly 
cocked  on  one  side,  a  short  black  beard 
heaves  in  sight,  continuing  the  short 
black  hair,  black  eyes  lurk  beneath  long 
black  brows  that  slant  downwards  to- 
gether into  a  complex  black  knot  above 
a  large  but  slim,  curved  nose  with  up- 
sloping  nostrils.  Is  this  Mephistophcles 
in  the  flesh  in  this  latter  day  ? 

Somebody  gets  tired  of  speaking  and 
sits  down.  Somebody  else  gets  up  from 
a  back  seat  on  the  thin  arm  of  the  U, 
gives  a  leonine  shake,  and  begins  in  a 
voice  that  rings  of  silver  much  as  do 
the  plunging  bells  in  the  street  of 
Atocha.  Every  body  listens  except  the 
solemn  man  at  the  end  of  the  Minis- 
terial bench,  and  he  ungloves  his  right 
hand,  unfolds  a  sheet  of  note-paper, 
seizes  a  quill  and  begins  to  write  a  let- 
ter. He  generally  does  this  when  one 
of  the  strong  men  of  that  uncomforta- 
ble and  obstinate  Left  gets  on  his  feet. 
And  the  present  speaker  is  one  of  the 
very  strongest  and  pluckiest  of  the  lot, 
and  withal  probably  the  first  orator  in 
Europe— certainly  by  all  odds  the  first 
in  Spain.    Ask  any  ardent  Republican 


here  what  Emilio  Castelar  did  at  Suk- 
gossa,  and  his  voice  will  quiver  andlni 
eyes  moisten  as  he  tells  of  a  vast  crowd 
of  ten  thousand  souls,  filling  the  tovi^ 
great  square,  every  man  of  whom  «&> 
covered  as  though  in  a  cathednTi 
gloom,  and  with  upheld  right  handn- 
peated  after  that  mellow  voice  the 
words  of  a  solemn  oath,  swearing  \pf 
the  sky  and  God  above  him  never  to 
permit  the  entry  of  a  foreign  kinglo 
rule  over  emancipated  Spain  ! 

This  Castelar,  whose  name  even  Lm  a 
touch  of  romance  about  it  and  soandi 
of  the  days  and  loves  of  Mary  Stoai^ 
seems  built  to  order  as  an  orator.  Ht 
has  an  oviform  head,  narrowest  an.  the 
high  white  forehead  from  which  lit 
hair  has  shrunk.  Its  wider  lines  swop 
round  the  muscular  curves  of  a  bigi 
mouth,  sonorous  as  that  of  a  Gndi 
tragic  mask,  and  bushed  by  an  in* 
mense  moustache.  His  chest  is  mI 
only  broad,  but  deep  from  chest-bone 
to  spine.  Chest  and  mouth  togetiicr 
explain  his  power  of  voice  and  slmoek 
infinite  modulation  of  tone  and  en* 
phasis.  His  gestures  are  redundant— a 
national  fault — but  nearly  always  apt 
Favorite  among  them  is  the  piMoagiSl 
his  index-fingers  in  a  parallel  some  lii 
or  eight  inches  apart  and  handing  them 
right  and  left,  like  a  pair  of  dueUing 
pistols.  Again,  he  loves  to  grasp  a 
large  double  handful  of  nothing  and  kl 
it  slowly  trickle  through  his  fingniy 
aiding  the  sifting  process  by  a  goitk 
quivering  movement.  This,  I  am  toid| 
illustrates  the  throttling  of  the  libertiee 
of  Spain.  Other  motions  are  as  of  a 
ponderous  flail-sweep  or  a  brisk  nmdt- 
mill,  but  these  are  infrequent  exaggera- 
tions. He  pauses  after  a  powerful  deaiDi* 
elation  of  something,  and  takes  a  sip  of 
fresh  grape-juice.  (An  Dl-starred  being 
in  the  people's  gallery  applauds,  and  ie 
put  out.)  He  goes  on,  but  in  a  moment 
he  stops  short,  leans  forward,  and  in  t 
friendly  way  begs  many  pardons  for 
disturbing  tbe  correspondence  of  tho 
President  of  the  Council,  but  he  would 
really  like  to  have  his  attention  for 
awhile.  This  raises  a  laugh,  which  is 
all  he  is  in  search  of,  and  he  goes  oo 


•] 


Madbid,  fsom  Noes  tux  Midnight. 


485 


his  speech  while  the  quiet  man  in 
t  continues  his  letter.  Castelar's 
on  lasts  an  hour  or  more,  and  will 
-ead  and  pondered  through  the 
bh  and  breadth  of  the  Peninsula, 
bistopheles  rises  and  replies  rio- 
y.  He  has  two  gestures,  repeating 
L  in  alternation.  lUin — he  hurls  an 
tible  halter  across  the  room  at  the 
Tigible  Left.  Item — he  brushes  a 
)  cobweb,  also  unseen,  from  his 
;ed  brow.  But  ho  speaks  earnestly 
well,  and  if  he  fails  to  convince  it 
16  fault  of  the  cause  he  defends 
n  than  of  his  argument. 
le  discussion  becomes  generaL  The 
net  members  rise  and  sit  angrily  in 
like  the  hammers  of  a  piano  touch- 
idely  and  at  randooL  At  last,  two 
8  after  gas-light,  the  Cartes  ad- 
n,  having  gotten  throdgh  with 
ing  except  a  vast  deal  of  talk, 
:h  is  apt  to  bo  their  day's  record, 
great  hall  empties,  the  galleries 
orge,  and  we  reach  the  street  to 
that  the  thin  clouds^  which  hover- 
fc  noon  above  the  Guadarramas  and 
ed  into  purple  and  gold  in  the  sun- 
bave  thickened  into  rain. 
ttoes  not  often  rain  in  Madrid,  but 
1  it  does  the  shower  is  not  the  only 
a^  to  be  encountered.  Great  bullet- 
drops  come  wabbling  down  from 
tin  gargoyles,  that  jut  out  of  the 
s  like  rows  of  hat-pegs  from  a 
\  and  stretch  toward  the  middle  of 
lairow  by-strects  as  though  vainly 
ig  to  shake  hands  with  their  stiff 
libors  on  the  other  side  of  the  way. 
even  after  an  hour  of  bright  south- 
ion  this  random  and  discomfiting 
is  kept  up  along  the  lines,  as  the 
ilea  slowly  drain  their  surcharge  of 
{torn  ridge  to  eaves ;  and  the  heavy 
)8  plash  down  just  where  they  ought 
jo  fall — on  the  exact  centre  of  the 
;ray.  We  trudge  through  this  pat- 
to  the  nearest  restaurant,  with  a 
to  dinner.  It  is  a  cafe  as  well,  and 
e  dine  we  talk  over  the  mystery  of 
life  in  a  city  like  this,  of  the 
ige  fascination  that  prompts  men 
tardy  frame  and  active  mind  to 
jiegate  in  knots  in  these,  elbowing 


the  coffee-stained  marble  tables  and  sip- 
ping some  inexpensive  luxury  from 
glass  or  cup,  or  folding  and  rolling  the 
inevitable  cigarette,  while  they  engage 
in  animated  conversation  on  some  utter- 
ly useless  topic,  and  so  squander  hour 
after  hour,  as  though  they  possessed 
unlimited  credit  on  eternity.  This  lazy 
wastcfrilness  is  very  catching,  and  for- 
eigners resident  here  are  by  long  odds 
the  worst  offenders.  I  hardly  think  it 
would  be  safe  to  assert  broadly  that  no 
capital  given  over  to  the  puny  debauch- 
ery of  eafe  life  is  capable  of  the  higher 
and  nobler  forms  of  municipal  develop- 
ment through  a  hearty  oneness  of  pur- 
pose. But  among  the  cities  of  the  Con- 
tinent I^  know  of  none  more  hopelessly 
sinning  in  idleness  than  Venice  and 
Madrid.    And  none  less  likely  to  rise. 

Our  dinner  brings  nothing  to  light 
except  sage  dissertations  on  the  possi- 
ble chance  of  winning  the  three  hun- 
dred thousand  dollar  prize  in  the  great 
Christmas  lottery — some  luminous  views 
on  General  Prim's  intentions  anent  a 
covp  d'etat — some  little  scandal — and 
the  discovery  that  the  Spanish  term  for 
butter,  freely  translated,  means  ^'cow- 
lard,"  which  only  too  justly  describes 
the  whitish,  rancid,  over-salted  com- 
pound that  curses  all  Spain,  and  makes 
us  long  for  the  delicious,  saltless  pats, 
nestled  in  moist  chestnut-leayes,  that 
we  used  to  get  at  Y^four's.  I  marvel  at 
this  inadequate  result  of  three  hours  of 
brain-friction,  and  conclude  that  the 
imbecility  of  the  eqfi  is  upon  us.  We 
leave  it  at  last  to  find  that  the  rain 
ceased  to  fall  two  hours  ago,  and  that 
the  streets  are  thronged  as  in  the  day- 
time. The  same  swinging  cloaks,  the 
same  crowd  of  match-vendors,  the  same 
ebb  and  fiow  through  the  Puerta  del 
Bol,  the  same  Open  Board  of  talkers 
under  the  frowning  shadow  of  the 
€k)bemacion,  and  the  same  great  clock 
lifted  above  it,  now  lighted  from  with- 
in and  marking  eleven.  But  not  the 
same  in  this — that  bold  faces,  just  a  lit- 
tle too  heightened  in  color,  are  on  ev- 
ery side,  and  gaudy  dresses  not  warm 
enough  for  this  chilly  night  flaunt  along 
the  damp  stones  nnmindftil  of  the  miie, 


486 


PuTNAsi's  Magazine. 


[April. 


and  a  speech  is  heard  which  is  not  that 
of  the  purer  day. 

From  one  cafe  we  drift  to  another. 
Ordinarily  an  evening  possesses  some 
one  redeeming  feature,  a  tolerably  well 
sung  opera,  a  light  comedy  at  the  local 
Wallack's,  or  some  social  gathering. 
But  the  spell  of  Madrid  seems  to  have 
fallen  for  the  nonce,  and  to-night  is 
fated  to  be  wasted  utterly.  At  the  Im- 
perial tafe  we  lounge  within  earshot  of 
a  knot  of  matadores,  each  one  stubbily 
cropped  all  but  a  tiny  pigtail,  and  envy 
their  lithe  and  sinewy  figures  that  show 
evidently  by  reason  of  the  tightness  of 
their  garments.  We  wander  thence  up 
some  narrow,  northward  street  to  an 
active  little  blending  of  theatre  and 
eafi^  whose  admission-foe  of  ten  cents 
entitles  us  to  a  cup  of  coffee  or  some- 
thing stronger.  A  cleverly  silly  bit  of 
satire  is  enacting,  in  which  the  troubles 
of  Prim  and  Serrano  in  hunting  up  a 
king  are  duly  shown,  and  the  school- 
boy Duke  of  Genoa  takes  a  prominent 
part.  The  actors  who  have  these  rvlu 
are  not  bad  imitations  of  their  originals. 
We  smile  lazily  at  the  personation  of 
the  biscuit-eating  President  of  the  C6r- 
tes ;  as  well  as  of  the  pale  Begcnt.  And 
while  we  sit  in  the  dose,  smoky  air  of 
this  poor  place  the  bell  of  a  church 
hard  by  booms  its  twelve  shuddering 
strokes  out  into  the  midnight,  and  with 
their  pulsing  the  charm  is  over  and  my 
Madrid  day  is  ended. 

But  as  I  walk  home  in  the  thin  star- 


light through  the  yet  thronged  stneU^ 
I  think  over  the  straoge  contradictioiB 
of  this  puzzling  capital.  I  see  a  citjii 
cloud-land,  and  yet  for  ten  nu»ib 
cloudless ;  a  city  draining  its  life  froa 
the  Provinces  of  which  it  is  the  leader, 
possessing  in  itself  but  few  elements  of 
progress,  existing  as  it  were  by  tiie 
sufferance  of  the  outlying  memben  ol 
the  nation,  and  yet  looked  up  to  ly 
them  as  though  their  welfare  and  gieit- 
ness  were  wrapped  up  in  its  own;  a 
city  which  is  the  bankrupt  head  of  a 
bankrupt  country  that  without  it  nd^ 
have  resources  to  spare ;  a  city  inpof* 
erished  enough  to  demand  the  mwakn^ 
of  wide-spread  industries  to  gifeitttii 
self-supporting  life  it  need%  and  jck 
idle  enough  to  remain  always  poor;  a 
city  which  educates  its  children  by  Ihs 
blood  of  the  sabbath-crowded  bulkim^ 
and  sells  Bibles  in  its  very  ctrfk;  adlf 
pledged  to  the  support  of  a  monasdg^ 
and  yet  meek  under  the  ooi 
of  a  deliberative  body  (whose 
is  fast  on  the  wane)^  and  the 
autocracy  of  the  one  qoiet  man  lAft 
directs  all  as  he  wills;  a  dty  whoSB 
liberty  of  the  press  means  jibes  «d 
slanders,  and  whose  religious  flnotai 
means  growing  irreligion;  in  fine^aciiy 
that  claims  to  be  Spain,  and  is  not 

And  thinking  thus,  I  gravely  dorilt 
if  any  great  or  enduring  disnge  ftr 
good  can  be  wrought  in  a  natfcm  nikd 
by  such  a  paradox  as  is  this  Madrid  of 
yesterday,  and  to-day,  and  forever. 


The  Eabtebn  Pobtal  to  the  Polb. 


487 


THE  EASTERN  PORTAL  TO  THE  POLE. 

**  Man,  amid  ccaseleM  changct,  seeks  the  uncbaDging  To\e."—Oo*the, 


sentimeDt  of  the  iilastrioas  poet 
many  seems  almost  propbetio  of 
oantic  interest  which,  in  our  day, 
m  given  to  the  sahject  of  Arctic 
-ation.  In  the  Fall  of  the  last  year, 
riter  ventured  to  lay  hefore  the 
I  of  this  Magazine  the  substance 
eory  of  ocean-avenues,  by  which, 
thought,  a  safe,  and  the  only  safe, 
ly  could  be  found  to  that  myste- 
;oal  of  geographical  ambition— 
Drth  Pole.  The  views  then  ad- 
,  in  two  successive  articles,  enti- 
The  Gateways  to  the  Pole ''  and 
b  Guides  to  the  Pole,"  were  ne- 
ly  restricted  by  the  limits  of  the 
ical,  and  also,  in  a  degree,  by  the 
r  of  the  matter  presented.  The 
lesis,  some  months  before,  had 
[>ropoanded  by  its  distingoished 
,  Captain  Silas  Bent,  whoso  rank 
nght  as  a  nautical  authority  be- 
for  it  the  public  attention,  but 
modesty  in  statiug  his  opinions 
'ovoked  in  some  quarters  aeon* 
ions  and  dogmatic  opposition.  The 
3  alluded  to  were,  therefore,  de- 
to  bring  the  subject  before  the 
although  written  by  one  who  was 
iger  to  Captain  Bent.  Enough,  it 
ought,  was  then  written  to  satisfy 
fie  and  thinking  men  that  this 
was  defensible  and  promising, 
justify  a  practical  effort  to  test  it 
\  high  seas.  Since  the  issue  of 
publications,  the  writer  has  been 
•aged,  by  the  highly  favorable  en- 
lent  of  the  press  (without  a  single 
I  exception),  and  by  the  expressed 
I  of  several  competent  judges  of 
gnment,  to  discuss  some  aspects 
)  question,  for  which  previously 
r  his  time,  nor  space  in  these  col- 
was  sufficient.  It  may  not  be 
to  add  that  this  encouragement 
>t  a  little  strengthened  when,  at  a 


late  meeting  of  the  American  Geograph- 
ical and  Statistical  Society,  it  was  de- 
clared by  the  eminent  explorer.  Captain 
Charles  F.  Hall  (lately  returned  from 
Arctic  researches;  bringing  remains  of 
Sir  John  Franklin),  that  no  ship  had  ever 
attempted  the  polar  route  now  pointed 
out  by  Captain  Bent,  and  that,  after  a 
careful  perusal  of  his  reasoning  and  of 
the  Magazine  articles,  he  was  convinced 
that  It  deserved  to  be  put  to  an  inune- 
diate  experiment  by  a  special  Govern- 
ment expedition. 

Referring  the  reader,  therefore,  to 
what  has  already  been  brought  forward 
on  the  subject  in  these  pages,*  we  hasten 
on  to  the  pleasant  task  before  us. 

The  theory  of  thermometrical  gate- 
ways to  the  pole  (suffice  it  to  say)  is 
based  upon  the  existence  of  two  mighty 
currents  of  the  ocean,  which  are  off- 
shoots from  the  great  equatorial  currents 
and  which,  after  being  exposed  for  many 
days  to  the  heat  of  a  tropical  sun,  run 
toward  the  pole,  and,  it  is  contended, 
actually  reach  it.  One  of  these— the 
Gnlf  Stream  of  the  Atlantic — was  dis- 
posed of  at  first.  We  cannot  now  con- 
sider its  agency  or  repeat  the  story  of  its 
wonders.  The  other  "  Gateway,"  an  equal 
factor  in  the  grand  result  deduced  from 
Captain  Bent's  researches,  has  received 
but  a  cursory  mention,  and  now  demands 
our  notice. 

This  is  the  Euro  Siito,  Its  dork  and 
briny  water  has  suggested  to  the  Japa- 
nese the  name  they  have  given  it,  I%e 
Black  Stream,  It  is  a  magnificent 
"  river  "  in  the  Pacific,  equal  in  volume 
and  velocity  to  its  fellow  in  the  Atlantio. 
It  is  formed  on  the  island  of  Formosa, 
whose  verdant  and  spicy  shores  receive 
the  westward-bound  waves  of  the  equa- 
torial current  of  the  Pacific.    Its  fervent 

.^  See  Puinam*a  Maganne  for  November  aod 
December,  1800. 


488 


Putnam'3  Maoazike. 


lAp* 


temperature   presents  a  more   striking 
contrast  with  tlie  adjacent  waters  than 
does  tlie  "  blue  "  tide  of  the  Gulf  Stream. 
It  moves  with  majestic  powers,  heedless 
of  the  fiefcest  gale,  and,  to  the  eye  of 
the  thoughtful  observer,  is  bent  upon  the 
discharge  of  some  momentous  mission. 
Beaching  the  40th  parallel  of  nortli  lati- 
tude, its  surface  is  swept  by  "  the  brave 
west  winds"  of   the  northern    hemi- 
sphere.   It  seems  to  turn  aside  from  its 
course  and  curve  away  to  the  American 
shores.    On  the  track  of  its  northeasterly 
flow,  the   map-maker  writes   another 
name,  as  if  some  mighty  power  had  di- 
verted it.    But  it  has  not  been  turned ; 
only  a  little  of  its  foamy  snrface  has  been 
borne  along  in  the  easterly  set.    The 
vast  torrent  is  only  skimmed.    The  re- 
curvation which  ponrs  around  the  south- 
em  coasts  of  Alaska  and  laves  the  west- 
cm  shores  of  Sitka  Island,  is  but  a  drjft. 
The  tremendous  bulk  of  equatorial  water 
rushes  on  in  a  changeless  course.    It  is 
moving  in  obedience  to  law.    Every  drop 
feels  the  impulse  of  a  force  it  cannot  re- 
sist.    Every  drop  is  lighter  than   the 
drop  of  polar  water  with  which  it  is 
hastening  to  exchange  places,  lest  the 
equilibrium  of  nature  be  overthrown. 
But  on  its  way  it  receives,  every  mo- 
ment, an  impact  from  the  earth's  rota- 
tion.   And  thus  it  moves  on  the  line  of  a 
great  circle  directly  to  the  northeast, 
and  entering  Behring'a  Sea,  knocks  for 
admission  at  the  very  gates  of  the  polar 
ocean.     In  its  course,  its  pathway  is 
strewed  with  the  marks  of  its  thermal 
and  climatic  power.    If  the  Gulf  Stream 
has  clothed  Ireland  with  a  robe  of  ver- 
dure, and  made  it  the  "  Emerald  Isle," 
the  Kuro  Siwo  has  done  as  much  for  the 
Aleutian  Islands  and  Alaska.    They  are 
mantled  with  living  green.    The  flocks 
scarcely  need  shelter  in  the  winter.    If 
their  soil  is  treeless,  their  gulf  stream 
richly  supplies  them  with  timber  for 
their  canoes,  and  camphor  wood  of  China 
and  Japan  for  their  furniture.    The  hills 
of  Russian  America,  like  those  of  Kor- 
wny,  bristle  with  pines  and  firs  down  to 
the  very  sea-shore.     "  There  never  was 
an  iceberg  in  the  North  Pacific  Ocean, 
and  cocsequently  the  tender  plants  along 


its  shores  are  never  ni]>ped  by  the  ccSd 
that  the  drifting  islands  of  ice  always «d* 
gender.  Therefore  wo  may  conclodt 
that,  parallel  for  parallel,  and  altitide 
for  altitude,  the  climates  along  the  sei- 
shore  of  our  new  possessions  are  qnita 
as  mild,  if  not  milder,  than  those  of 
northwestern  Europe ;  and  we  know  tint 
the  winter-climate  of  England  is  not  n 
severe  even  as  that  of  Virginia."  ♦ 

Kotzebne  as  long  ago  as  1816  reniari- 
ed  these  facts,  and  particularly  eom- 
mented  upon  "the  riches  of  the  antio 
flora,  amidst  manifold  variety  of  soil  ob 
the  rooky  coast  <rf  St.  Lawrenoe  Bay.^f 

This  bay  is  on  the  island  of  St  Ltv* 
rence  lyingjnst  south  of  Behring'sStnita^ 
and  consequently  in  the  very  route  cf 
the  Kuro  Siwo.     The  same  great  TUf* 
ager  has  also  reoorded  that .  the  tnsii- 
tion  from  the  American  coast  to  ti» 
Asiatic   beyond   Behring's,  was  "lib 
l>assing  from  summer  to  winter."    Li  the 
colonial  days  of  America  and  long  afker,  a 
vessel  from  England  to  New  York, 
ing  a  *'  northwestern  *'  (storm),  beoome 
clogged  with  ice  as  to  be  almost  im 
ageable.    Her  captain  hod  only  to  ton 
her  course  into  the  re^on  of  the  Gdf 
Stream.     Vessels  trading  to  Petiupia- 
lowski  and  other  ports  on  the  coast  of 
Kamtschatka,  when  becoming  unwieldy 
from  the  accumulation  of  icy  cmst  on 
their  hulls  and  rigging,  ran  over  to  a 
higher  latitude  on  the  American  ooait, 
and  thus  thaw  out 

Allusion  is  sometimes  made  to  the  di* 
matio  influence  of  the  Japan  stream  on 
America.  This  proceeds  not  fh>in  the 
main  stream,  but  from  its  eastern  reea^ 
vation.  The  recurvation  of  the  Euro 
Siwo— a  mere  surface-drift — ^is,  how- 
ever, a  most  potential  climatic  agent 
Fragment,  or  skimming,  as  it  is  of  the 
southeastern  fringe  of  the  ^'  block  "  rirer 
in  the  sen,  it  is  powerfully  felt  oo  the 
northwestern  shores  of  America.  Gen- 
eral Thomas,  it  is  said,  in  his  recent  trip 
to  Alaska,  confirmed  by  liis  observatioDS 
the  deductions  that  have  been  drawn  li 


*  M.  F.  Man-7,  LL.D^  on  tbo  **  Physical  0«<^ 

raphy  of  KaHsLan  America.^' 

t  KotrcLuc's  "  Voyage  of  Dlecoven-,"  vol.  UL 
p.  299. 


1870.] 


The  Eabtebn  Pobtal  to  the  Polk. 


489 


to  ''the  probable  influence  of  the  Kuro 
Si  wo  upon  the  climate  of  the  coast  north 
of  the  Aleutian  Islands  on  the  waj  to 
the  pole,  which  was  found  to  be  more 
genial  and  milder  than  at  Sitka,  several 
degrees  farther  south.'**  In  Pnget's 
Sound,  latitude  48^,  as  is  well  known  on 
our  Pacific  coast,  snow  very  rarely  falls ; 
and  the  inhabitants  are  never  enabled  to 
fill  their  ice-houses  for  summer. 

"We  have  spoken  of  the  recurvation  as 
superficial.  It  owes  its  origin  to  the  at- 
mospheric currents  which  brush  it  along, 
and  is,  hence,  a  feeble  flow.  It  is  over 
this  "wind-swept  course,  meteorologists 
haYO  traced  the  march  of  the  fearful  cy- 
clones of  the  eastern  Pacific.  These  sur- 
fiice-storms  evidently  coincide  in  their 
limits  with  the  recurvation  of  the  Kuro 
Siwo,  and  indicate  its  atmospheric  origin. 
Some  have  supposed  this  recurvation  of 
cyclones  due  to  the  land  of  the  Ameri- 
can Continent,  but  in  a  long  catalogue 
cf  them,  prepared  by  Mr.  Eedfield,  it  ap- 
pears, to  use  his  words,  that  "  they  are 
to  be  ascribed  mainly  to  the  mechanical 
gravitation  of  the  atmospheric  strata,  as 
connected  with  the  rotative  motion  of 
the  earth."  t 

That  the  view  we  here  advance  of 
the  continuity  of  the  Kuro  Siwo  in  its 
atraight  northeasterly  course  from  off 
the  coasts  of  Japan  is  correct,  and  that 
the  recurvation  on  our  maps  is  only  a 
Srift,  it  is  sufficient  evidence  to  refer  to 
two  dismantled  vessels.  On  the  24th 
cf  March,  1815,  off  the  coast  of  Califor- 
nia, latitude  87®  north,  the  brig  Forester 
fell  in  with  a  Japanese  vessel,  which 
having  sailed  from  Osaka,  in  Japan,  had, 
io  a  storm  on  the  coast,  lost  both  her 
mast  and  rudder,  and  became  the  sport 
of  the  waves  for  seventeen  months  !  Since 
this  remarkable  occurrence,  another  Ja- 
panese junk,  after  long  delay,  floated  to 
the  coast  of  Xodiak,  south  of  Alaska, 
where  it  was  discovered.  The  velocity 
of  the  Kuro  Siwo  off  the  island  of  For- 
mosa is  six  miles  an  hour.  This  rate  is 
reduced  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Aleutian 


*  We  extract  this  from  The  Bureau,  an  ably 
•dlted  chronicle  of  oommeree  and  manufactures 
for  the  northwest :  Chicago,  101  Wabaah  Avenue. 

t  •*  Naval  Magazine,"  1888,  p.  818. 


Islands,  but,  supposing  its  average  ve- 
locity only  three  miles  an  hour,  the  Ja- 
panese craft  picked  up  by  the  Forester 
ought  to  have  reached  the  offiugs  of 
California,  a  distance  from  Osaka  not 
exceeding  7,000  miles,  in  four  months. 
The  largest  ships  have  ridden  on  the 
Kuro  Siwo  (against  a  storm)  over  thirty 
miles  a-day.  If  this  mighty  current 
rolled  eastward  in  force,  the  little  Japa- 
nese waif  must  soon  have  been  dashed 
to  pieces  on  rocks,  or  else  been  wafted 
across  the  PacifiCj  and  then,  through  tlie 
circuit  of  equatorial  waters,  back  to 
Osaka.  The  main  equatorial  current  of 
the  Pacific  is  nearly  as  broad  as  the 
whole  torrid  zone.  It  flows  from  east 
to  west  at  the  rate  ef  two-and-a-half  or 
three  miles  an  hour,  under  the  impulse 
of  the  trade-winds.  Curving  towards 
the  China  shores,  it  becomes  eutaugled 
between  the  Marshall  and  Sandwich  Is- 
lands, and  is  slightly  repelled  by  the  La- 
drones,  causing  it  to  run  in  a  northwestern 
direction,  and  thus  is  formed  what  Keith 
Johnston  names,  on  his  large  physical 
chart,  the  "constant  prolongation." 
The  Philippines,  Micronesia, I^ew  Guinea, 
and  in  fact  the  whole  of  Polynesia,  assist 
in  deflecting  the  w^estward  set  to  the 
northwest.  And  all  the  water  thus  de- 
flected, entering  the  Kuro  Siwo  as  a 
mighty  and  ceaseless  affluent,  swells  its 
volume,  and  the  mass  is,  as  a  unit,  turned 
sharply  northward.  If  it  be  demanded 
why  to  the  northward,  the  answer  is  be- 
cause the  affluent,  having  passed  out  of 
the  trade- wind  region  and  united  its  car- 
rent  with  the  Kuro  Siwo,  is  borne  along 
by  the  latter,  by  the  very  same  physical 
forces  which  give  the  latter  its  northerly 
and  easterly  trend.  The  Kuro  Siwo, 
thus  enlarged  and  reinforced  by  acces- 
sions from  the  great  equatorial,  during 
the  prevalence  of  the  southwesterly 
winds  (known  as  the  anti-trades),  Js  still 
further  increased  on  its  southern  skirt, 
and,  with  all  its  augmented  power, 
strikes  directly  for  Behring^s  Straits. 
That  it  penetrates,  through  these  straits, 
the  cold  seas  above,  is  the  point  now 
contended  for.  How  far  this  penetra- 
tion by  the  warm  stream  takes  place,  re- 
mains  to  be  demonstrated  by  actual  ex- 


440 


PUTKAli^S  MaOAZIKIE. 


[Am, 


ploration,  and  not  to  be  determined  by 
geographical  authorities,  however  emi- 
nent.   On  the  side  of  actaal  exploration, 
we   have  the  warrant  of  the  United 
States  IS'orth  Pacific  Exploring  Expedi- 
tion of  1854  and  1855,  for  sayiog  that 
"  while  to  the  northwest  of  Behring^s 
Straits  an  icy  barrier  was  cncoontered, 
to  the  northward  and  eastward  heyond 
the  Straits^  a%far  as  the  Expedition  went^ 
there  was  an  open  seOj  with  a  current 
flowing  to  the  northeast^  of  a  tempero' 
ture  much  above  that  due  to  the  latitude,'" 
Kotzebae,  in  his  famoaa  voyage  of  dis- 
covery, north  of  Behring^s  Straits,  in 
high  latitude,  saw  "  nothing  but  open  sea 
to  the  oast."    He  adds  that  others  had 
found  this  to  be  the- case  above  the  70th 
parallel,  and  he  thus  reasons:  '^  The  fact 
was  decided  that  a  double  current  takes 
place  in  the  sea  as  in  the  atmosphere — 
an  upper  one  of  the  wormed  lighter 
water  towards  the  north,  and  an  under 
one  of  the  cold  heavier  water  to  the 
equator,"  (see  Kotzebue's  "  Voyage  of 
Discovery,"  vol.  iii.)    If  it  be  asked,  how 
far  did  Oommodoro  John  Rodgers  lead 
the  North  Pacific  Expedition,  we  answer 
from  'his   track-chart   before    us:    ho 
sailed  to  the  seventy-sixth  parallel  of 
latitude  north  and  longitude  1T6^  west, 
cruising  in  and  within  two  circles  with  a 
radius  of  a  hundred  and  fifby  miles  each. 
Around  these  circles,  on  the  map  of  the 
Expedition,  it  is  written,  ^^  No  other  land 
hut  Herald  Island  found  within  these 
circUsy  To  the  west  was  found  "  packed 
ice;"  but  nothing  to  the  north  nor  to 
the  east.    These  explorations  were  made 
by  four  fine  vessels  of  the  United  States 
Navy,  and  had  there  been  any  barrier  of 
land,  stretching  across  the  Arctic  Ocean, 
or  athwart  Behring^s  Straits,  it  is  unac- 
countably remarkable  it  was  not  seen. 
It  is  true,  some  of  our   geographical 
plates,  since   constructed,  represent  a 
largo  land-mass,  with  high  peaks,  on  the 
very  spots  swept  by  the  keels  of  Rodger^s 
fleet,  but  the  reader  must  decide  how  for 
such  charting  is  acdirate.    It  is  proper, 
however,  to  remark  that  the  existence 
of  this  supposed  land-mass  is  not  in  the 
poleward  path  of  the  Kuro  Siwo.    The 
latter  gives  the  locality,  to  which  these 


elevations  are  ascribed,  a  wide  beift, 
leaving  it  more  than  a  hundred  miles  to 
the  west. 

▲ccumruiTTni  mArl 

The  reader  must  now  panae  for  t 
moment,  and  trace  the  courae  of  tiie 
most  majestic  current  on  the  planet 
This  is  known  as  the  Pacific  EqwUend 
Stream,  It  is  the  parent-Btream  cot  of 
which  so  many  other  bodies  of  wats 
obtain  their  volume.  It  moyea^  as  do 
all  such  currents  of  the  ocean,  on  the 
line  of  a  great  circle ;  and  this  dida 
intersects  the  equator  at  an  acate  aa^ 
of  only  a  few  degrees.  It  sweeps  to  tbe 
westward  **  in  uninterrupted  giandeo^* 
as  one  expresses  it,  "around  thiM 
eighths  of  the  circumference  of  the 
globe,  until  diverted  by  the  Continnt 
of  Asia,  and  split  into  innnmeraUi 
streams  by  the  Polynesian  Islanda" 

This  equatorial  current,  then,  out  of 
which  the  Kuro  Siwo  came,  has  all  tfaa 
way  in  its  course  been  leceiving  ao- 
cumulative  heat.  Reaching  the  I*- 
drones,  it  imparts  a  much  wanner  di- 
mate  than  it  has  given  to  the  SandwU 
or  Marquesas.  The  Philippines  ire 
made  oppressively  hot  even  in  winter, 
and,  as  it  has  been  strikingly-  said,  fUlw 
fervor  increases  as  we  reach  "K^lft^rnrfL^  is 
all  aglow  in  India,  and  becomes  stifling 
in  its  intensity  as  these  equatorial  wi* 
ters,  after  travelling  fifteen  tlM^^lWf^ 
miles,  and  being  fully  three  hnndnd 
days  under  a  vertical  son,  are  throwii 
against  the  eastern  shores  of  AMca." 

And  just  here  it  seems  proper  to  in- 
troduce a  remark  of  Captain  Bent 
(crowded  out  of  our  previous  artidei) 
concerning  an  offshoot  of  this  eqnito- 
rial  flow  of  waters.  He  claims  that 
this  latter  current,  after  reaching  the 
eastern  shores  of  Africa,  is  deflected  to 
the  southward  to  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope,  <'  from  whence  it  starts  with  its 
burden  of  heat  to  keep  an  ^open  sea* 
about  the  South  Pole.''  We  have  hero 
the  suggestion  of  a  thermetric 

OATBWAT  TO  THB  BOUTB  POUI I 

This  is  a  volume  of  heated  water, 
which  rushes  to  the  south  through  the 
Mozambique  Channel  with  such  Telocity 
that  navigators  dread  to  face  it.     It 


1870.] 


Tns  £astei2N  Pobtal  to  the  Polb. 


441 


skirts  the  coast  of  Natal,  as  our  Gulf- 
Stream  does  the  coast  of  Carolina.  If 
the  Gulf  Stream  is  called  by  sailors  ^'  the 
Weather-Breeder,"  the  Mozambique  cur- 
rent, often  called  the  Lagulhas  current, 
is  not  a  whit  behind  it  as  an  agitator 
of  the  elements.  It  gives  rise  to  the 
grandest  and  most  terrible  displays  of 
thunder  and  lightning  that  arc  any- 
where known«  Missionaries  at  Natal 
report  the  occurrence  there  of  storms,  in 
which  for  hours  consecutiyely  theyhayo 
seen  an  **  uninterrupted  blaze  of  light- 
ning and  heard  a  continuous  peal  of 
thunder."  The  storm-region,  over  the 
track  of  the  current,  has  been  traced  by 
Lieutenant  Andrau  of  the  Dutch  Navy 
beyond  the  Lagulhas  Banks.  Right 
onward,  it  flows  to  the  southwest ;  for 
it  is  impelled  by  the  same  forces  which, 
in  the  northern  hemisphere,  drive  the 
Golf  Stream  to  the  northeast  "  It  does 
not  double  round  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope,"  says  Captain  Bent,  ^'  and  flow  to 
the  northward  on  the  west  coast  of 
Africa,  as  stated  by  Dr.  Hayes,  in  his 
INiper  read  before  the  Geographical  So- 
ciety of  New  York, — although  there  is 
a  current  there  running  in  that  direc- 
tlbfi ;  for  Sir  James  Ross,  in  1842,  dis- 
eovered  that  these  were  two  distinct 
eorrents :  that  to  the  east  of  the  Cape, 
flowing  south,  being  a  hot  current  from 
the  tropics,  whilst  that  to  the  west  of 
the  Cape,  flowing  north,  is  a  cold  Ant- 
arctic current." 

The  argument  from  the  analogy  of 
oceanic  currents,  which  we  are  now  only 
inggcsting,  is  of  the  utmost  moment  to 
the  entire  discussion.  What  possible 
reason  can  be  invented  for  supposing 
the  Mozambique  current  is  lost  around 
the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  ?  Is  it  likely 
that  this  tropical  torrent,  pouring  out 
of  the  Indian  Ocean,  should  suddenly 
be  converted  from  a  southwestern  to  a 
northwestern  stream  ?  The  idea  seems 
unreasonable,  were  there  no  observa- 
tions to  destroy  it  The  Euro  Siwo  is 
not  more  rapid  than  the  Mozambique 
current  But,  *<  along  its  borders  where 
it  chafes  against  the  torpid  ocean,  as 
also  in  its  midst  where  whirls  and  ed- 
dies are  produced  by  islands  and  the 


inequalities  in  its  bed,"  we  are  told  by 
Commodore  Perry, "  strong  tide-rips  are 
constantly  encountered,  which  often  re- 
semble heavy  breakers  of  shoais  and 
reefs,  and  become  finger-boards,  as  it 
were,  to  warn  the  seaman  of  the  other- 
wise unseen  influence  which  may  be 
bearing  his  ship  far  from  her  intended 
track,  and  perchance  upon  some  of  the 
many  fearful  dangers  that  sprinkle  that 
region  of  the  sea."  Is  it  credible  that 
such  a  stream  as  suflSces  to  produce 
such  phenomena  is  cut  short  in  its  pride 
and  vigor  even  by  the  Antarctic  set  on 
the  southwest  of  Africa  ?  This  is  feebler 
and  less  distinctly  felt  than  the  corre- 
sponding cold  current  off  the  southwest 
of  Patagonia,  known  as  Humboldt's. 
**  The  latter  is  never  known,"  says  the 
author  of  the  "  Physical  Geography  of 
the  Sea,"  "  to  project  its  icebergs  further 
toward  the  equator  than  the  thirty-sev- 
enth parallel  of  south  latitude."  The 
Antarctic  flow  toward  Africa,  according 
to  thb  showing,  would  reach  the  Cape 
of  Good  Hope  (latitude  84*')  as  but  lit- 
tle more  than  an  extended  ooze.  It  is, 
however,  sufficient  to  moderate  and  cool 
the  western  shores  of  Africa,  according 
to  Du  Chaillu,  as  far  as  l""  80'  below  the 
equator,  giving  them  a  mean  tempera- 
ture through  the  hottest  season  of  setenPy* 
seven  degrees  Fahrenheit  I 

This  is  a  striking  illustration  of  how 
lar  the  ocean-current  may  affect  the  cli- 
mate of  any  region,  even  after  its  velo- 
city seems  to  be  abated,  and  its  volume 
seems  to  be  lost  amidst  the  unbounded 
waste  of  waters.  We  have  dwelt  on  the 
analogy  of  this  current  to  the  Euro 
Siwo,  because,  in  denying  to  one  of 
them  the  course  and  the  thermal  power 
imparted  to  it  by  physical  forces,  we 
rob  the  other  current  of  its  glory,  and 
umultaneously  deny  and  overthrow  the 
whole  system  of  oceanic  circulation; 
and  upon  a  just  explanation  of  this 
system  depends  the  solution  of  any  and 
every  question  of  i^iermometrical  ap- 
proach to  the  PoleV 

THK  lyrLUzxcE  or  oozah-cusbxiits 

is  coming  prominently  into  the  notice 

of  geographers  and  of  all  classes  of  sd- 

.  entiflc  men.    The  subject  has  even  at- 


142 


PUTSAM^S  MAOAZCnC 


[Apia, 


tracted  the  notice  of  the  medical  pro- 
fession and  its  study  is  made  one  of  im- 
portance. It  seems  to  have  become  an 
established  fact  that  comitries  haying  a 
sea-front  derive  their  climate  from  those 
waters  which  wash  their  shores,  and  not 
from  those  which  flow  near  but  nowhere 
touch  them.  *The  Gulf  Stream  nowhere 
impinges  upon  the  American  shore 
north  of  Florida,  and  hence  our  tem- 
perature is  not  affected  by  its  contigu- 
ity, except  it  be,  as  in  the  remarkable 
winter  through  which  we  have  passed, 
when,  for  weeks,  the  Antitrades  come 
to  us  as  southeast  winds  and  bring  the 
Stream  almost  to  our  doors.  Such  a 
winter  is  an  exception  which  only  goes 
to  prove  the  meteorological  rule.  The 
periodical  return  in  cycles  of  those 
startling  events  or  freaks  of  nature 
which  terrify  the  ignorant,  in  the  pres- 
ent state  of  our  knowledge  of  the  ele- 
ments, decide  nothing.  At  Lima,  twelve 
degrees  south  latitude,  the  coolness  of 
the  climate  has  been  ascribed  to  the 
proximity  of  the  towering  Andes ;  but 
it  is  far  more  reasonable  to  account  for 
it  by  the  agency  of  that  frigid  mass  of 
Antarctic  water  ceaselessly  rolling  by. 
The  Sierra  Nevada  lies  almost  as  near 
the  coasts  of  California  and  Mexico  as 
do  the  Andes  to  the  coasts  of  Peru ; 
but,  as  we  have  already  seen,  the  climate 
of  the  western  coast  of  the  United 
States,  even  as  high  as  Alaska,  is  affect- 
ed by  the  gentle  recurvation  of  the 
Kuro  Siwo  drafted  to  the  north  aod  west 
by  the  southwest  and  westerly  winds. 
Many  of  the  islands  in  mid-Pacific  are 
cooled,  though  on  the  equator,  to  a  pleas- 
ant temperature,  and  some  decidedly 
within  the  tropics  to  a  delicious  tem- 
perature, by  the  same  movement  of  wa- 
ters from  the  South  Pole. 

In  the  Mediterranean  Sea,  as  Captain 
Bent  has  well  pointed  out,  this  current- 
agency  is  very  conspicuous.  "  Naples,** 
he  says,  "in  southern  Italy,  is  in  the 
same  latitude  as  Iter  York,  and  Grenoa 
and  Marseilles  ab(nR  the  same  parallel 
as  Toronto ;  yet,  at  Genoa  I  have  pluck- 
ed ripe  oranges  from  the  trees  early  in 
February,  and  Naples  has  even  a  much 
more  vernal  climate.   This  is  attributed 


to  the  warm  winds  of  Africa ;  but  then 
winds  have  to  cross  the  Meditenanaa 
at  its  widest  part,  a  distance  of  mon 
than  three  hundred  miles.  Now,  if  fk 
winds  have  such  influence  as  ihiji,  ulij 
should  not  the  perpetual  snows  of  tiie 
Alps  give  a  severe  climate  to  the  plain 
of  both  France  and  Italy,  which  lie 
directly  at  their  feet  and  not  fifty  mila 
from  this  snow  ?  Yet  these  plaina,  in  the 
latitude  of  Maine,  are  verdant  with  a 
perennial  summer.*'  The  cause  of  tiib 
is  the  indr\fty  through  the  Straits  ol 
Gibraltar,  of  an  immense  body  of  wnm 
and  tropical  water,  sometinies  amountiiig 
to  an  inrush  into  the  Mediterranaa. 
This  has  been  so  violent  in  some  yeus 
that  large  fleets  have  been  detained  it 
the  "classic  sea,"  unable  to  get  oa^ 
though  the  wind  was  in  their  favor.  U 
1855,  for  over  six  weeks,  more  than  a 
thousand  sail  were  weather-bound  with- 
in the  Straits ;  and  when,  at  last^  Knu 
of  the  number,  more  enterprising  tlun 
the  others,  pushed  forward  toward  tfaa 
Atlantic  and  got  as  far  as  Malaga,  thej 
were  swept  back  by  the  current. 

'^Bnt  even  admit,"  says  the  antiior 
of  the  Thermometric  theory,  "  that  the 
winds  from  Africa  are  the  cause  (di  tte 
verdure  and  bloom  of  Italy),  then,  whenos 
.does  northern  Africa,  with  its  latitude 
of  thirty-four  degrees  north,  obtain  socfa 
an  excess  of  heat  as  to  be  able  to  throw 
off  enough  across  the  whole  width  of 
the  Mediterranean,  to  change  so  mtte- 
rially  the  climate  of  such  an  immense 
region  as  this  of  Italy  ?  It  cannot  be 
derived  directly  from  the  sun,  for  Da 
Chaillu  found  the  highest  range  of 
equatorial  Africa  to  be  eighty-eight  de- 
grees and  the  lowest  sixty-six  degrees— 
L  e.,  a  lower  average  of  temperature 
within  one  degree  of  the  equator  thin 
is  enjoyed  in  Italy.  But  it  may  be  said 
northern  Africa  being  a  desert  will  ao- 
count  for  its  being  so  much  hotter  than 
the  region  visited  by  Du  Chaillu.  This 
no  doubt  has  its  effects,  but  not  to  the 
extent  necessary  to  produce  such  r»> 
suits ;  for  I  have  been  in  this  Desert, 
and  also  in  the  jungles  of  Ceylon  and 
India,  where  the  rank  growth  of  vege- 
tation was  BO  dense  that  the  sun^s  rays 


1870.] 


Toe  Eastern  Portal  to  the  Pole. 


448 


never  reached  the  soil ;  yet  the  latter 
were  hotter  than  the  former,  because 
the  waters  of  the  Indian  Ocean  are  hot- 
ter than  those  of  the  Mediterranean.'* 
"  The  latter,  however,"  he  argues,  "  are 
sofflciently  warm,  when  bathing  the 
shores  of  Spain  and  France  and  Italy, 
to  diffuse  heat  enough  to  give  them  the 
delicious  tropical  climates  they  enjoy." 

Thus  far  we  have  traced  the  climatic 
power  of  these  currents  of  the  sea  and 
their  agency  in  breaking  through  the 
bars  of  latitude.  Wo  have  reasoned 
upon  them  as  forces,  acting  from  a 
given  and  fixed  base  of  supply  for  their 
Tolume.  The  reader  must,  for  himself, 
judge  how  far  they  are  capable  of  un- 
aealiog  the  ices  of  the  Arctic  and  Ant- 
aictic  seas  and  cleaving  a  path,  through 
the  crystal  solid,  to  the  Polar  goal  of 
the  geographer.  But  what  if  the  hose 
of  these  potential  masses  which  move 
Into  the  polar  basin  be  advanced  to- 
ward the  Pole  through  an  arc  of  twenty 
degrees  of  latitude.  Suppose  the  equa- 
torial currents  should  shift  their  posi- 
tion toward  the  north  as  much  as  twelve 
hundred  or  fourteen  hundred  miles? 
How  would  this  affect  the  Thermomet- 
ri<5  Gateways?  Evidently  they  would 
liave  far  less  space  and  time  to  spread 
oat  their  volume  and  radiate  their  heat, 
before  washing  up  into  the  Arctic  Sea 
itself.  Judging  by  the  velocity  of  the 
Gulf  Stream  and  Kuro  Siwo,  they  would, 
In  such  a  case  as  we  have  supposed,  be 
shortened  in  their  coarse  to  the  Pole  at 
least  thirty  days.  The  difficulty  of  pre- 
serving their  tropical  heat  of  course 
diminishes  as  the  time  of  flow  diminish- 
es. 

Now,  if  we  go  to  the  facts  of  astron- 
omy, we  see  that  what  is  here  supposed 
actually  takes  place  every  year,  and  is 
this  moment  hastening  to  a  reality,  with 
the  orbital  revolution  of  our  planet 
Mr.  Pay,  in  his  "  Great  Outline  of  Geo- 
graphy," has  happily  expressed  it :  "  For 
thousands  of  years  mankind  vainly  en- 
deavored to  account  for  the  phenomena 
of  the  seasons.  At  one  period,  we  are 
conscious  of  oppressive  heat  and  light ; 
at  another,  as  if  we  had  passed  into  a 
gloomy  shadow,  we  suffer  fh>m  dark- 


ness and  cold.  In  our  midsummer  the 
sun  remains  twelve  hours  above  the 
horizon  at  the  equator;  twenty-four 
hours  at  the  Arctic  circle;  and  six 
months  at  the  North  Pole.  In  our  mid- 
winter the  sun  remains  beneath  our  hori- 
zon twenty-four  hours  at  the  Arctic  cir- 
cle and  six  months  at  the  North  Pole* 
As  man  became  better  acquainted  with 
the  shape  and  surface  of  our  planet,  it 
was  discovered  that  the  southern  hemi- 
sphere underwent  the  same  ever-vary- 
ing revolutions  of  heat  and  cold,  winter 
and  summer,  as  the  northern  hemi- 
sphere, with  a  perfect  mathematical 
correspondence,  except  at  diametrically 
opposite  periods.  These  changes  follow 
each  other  annually  with  extraordinary 
regularity.  They  were  explained,  about 
three  hundred  years  ago,  by  Copernicus, 
who  demonstrated  that  the  earth  was 
not  2k  fixed  poinV^  Familiar  as  this  may 
sound  to  some  ears,  it  illustrates  that 
most  wonderful  movement  of  the  earth, 
which  gives  rise  to  an  oscillation  of  all 
tlis  climatic  circles^  or  Isothermal  Phe- 
nomena, Among  the  latter  are  the  fa- 
mous calm-belts  of  Cancer  and  Capri- 
corn, zones  of  atmospheric  tranquillity, 
and  especially  the  Doldrum  Belt  of  the 
equator  and  the  equatorial  formation 
of  cloud-matter.  Let  us  glance  at  the 
latter. 

THB   SQUATOBIAL  OLOrO-RIKO 

is  an  annular  mass  of  vapor  overhang- 
ing the  parallels  of  greatest  heat.  As 
the  fiery  heavens  blaze  down  on  the 
equatorial  seas  they  evaporate  their 
waters,  which,  rising,  form  this  nebu- 
lous mass  and  keep  it  ever  ftdl  to  over- 
flowing. Beneath  it  the  mariner  sees 
the  sky  heavy,  and  feels  that  the  air  is 
no  longer  elastic.  Torrents  of  rain  are 
succeeded  by  a  hot,  glowing  sun.  Un- 
conquerable lassitude  seizes  upon  the 
body  and  gloom  and  torpor  prey  upon 
the  mind.  The  barometer  is  continually 
low,  and  the  sunshine,  when,  for  a  mo- 
ment, it  bursts  on  the  scene,  is  almost 
instantly  dispelled  and  the  precipitation 
recommences.  But  this  cloud-ring 
moves.  It  is  never  stationary.  Up  and 
down  on  the  earth^s  surfEtce  it  vibrates 
with  the  apparent  motion  of  the  sun. 


444 


PoTNAM's  MAOAZDnS. 


[A|i3, 


Were  the  ring  viaible  to  an  obeenrer 
from  some  planet,  or  could  we  approach 
it  in  Mr.  Fay^s  light  car,  it  would  seem 
like  the  rings  of  Saturn,  only  not  lumi- 
nous. Such  an  observer  would  see  that 
the  mass  had  a  motion  contrary  to  that 
of  the  axis  of  our  planet.  Could  the 
spectator  remain  at  his  post  for  three 
months,  ho  would  see  this  motion  ex- 
tend over  nearly  twenty-three  degrees  of 
latitude.  He  would  see  the  ring  itself 
and  all  the  calm-belts  go  north  from 
the  latter  part  of  May  till  some  time  in 
August.  Then  they  would  stand  still 
till  December,  their  winter  *'  solstice," 
when  again  they  would  march  rapidly 
over  the  ocean  toward  the  south,  and 
in  line,  until  the  last  of  February  or 
first  of  March,  then  remain  till  toward 
May  stationary  at  their  southern  tropic. 

As  the  cloud-ring  passes  orer  places 
in  the  tropics,  it  gives  them  a  rainy  sea- 
son, and  some  places  (e.  g.,  Bogota)  re- 
ceive a  double  visit,  as  the  ring  goes 
and  returns.  In  a  word,  the  mathemati- 
cal equator  and  the  Thermal  equator 
are  only  twice  in  the  year  the  same  line. 
The  latter  is  thrown  to  the  north  at 
least  twelve  hundred  miles.  As  it  is ' 
thrown  northward  the  trade-wind  zone 
is  moved  with  it  The  trade-winds, 
however,  set  in  motion  the  equatorial 
currents  of  the  Pacific  and  Atlantic. 
These  mighty  masses  fiowing  to  the 
west  have  their  northern  banks  trans- 
ported over  twelve  hundred  miles  nearer 
the  Pole!  And  it  follows  that  the 
Kuro  Siwo  and  the  gulf-current  of  the 
Atlantic  are  thus  and  then,  <mee  ecery 
yeary  pushed  and  pressed  the  same  distance 
nearer  the  Polar  basin. 

But  wo  leave  the  intelligent  reader 
to  draw  his  own  inference  from  the 
facts. 

One  point  more. 

What  is  the  h&n^  of  this  Arctic 
Gateway  Theory? 

Could  it  bo  followed  up,  what  good 
can  come  of  it  ?  Not  to  repeat  what 
has  before  been  advanced,  it  may  be 
well  to  remind  the  historical  student  of 
the  yet  unsettled  question  of  the  settle- 
ment of  America.  When  Cortez  in- 
vaded Mexico,  he  found  there  an  em- 


pire more  magnificent  than  he  had  left 
behind  him  in  Spain.     He  had  pa» 
trated  not  a  wilderness:   he  wis  lot 
among  barbarians,  living  in  tents  tad 
caves  and  wigwams,  bat  among  a  petK 
pie  whose  regal  magnificence  outshoie 
any  thing  Europe  could  boast.     Hm 
Qreek,  conquered  and  in  chainB,  was  still 
so  much  his  victor's  superior  aa  to  dies 
tate  to  him  his  civilization,  his  man- 
ners, his  dress,  and  the  very  intonatioB 
of  his  voice.    The  proud  Castilian  wm 
glad  to  study  the  arts  and  improve 
ments  of  the  vanquished  Mexican.  The 
origin   of  this  race  is    still  obscnre. 
Tliere  is  reason  to  believe  it  came  fiom 
Asia,  and  was  borne  to  the  Americta 
continent  by  the  Kuro  Siwo.  It  has  been 
said  that  the  power  and  course  of  tlui 
current  is  sufficient  to  account  for  their 
presence.  If  this  be  so,  how  much  men 
probable  is  it  that  there  are  vestiges  of 
the  Asiatic  races  within    the   Aictio 
basin  transplanted  f^om  the  shores  of 
Japan  or  Eamtschatka,  or  from  the  vi- 
cinity of  Behring's  Straits,  by  the  steady 
and  mighty  fiow  of  equatorial  water  in 
that  direction. 

The  only  point  of  difficulty  in  the 
plan  suggested  for  tracing  up  Uiis  pels- 
ward  current  seemed  to  be  ^wmg^ 
tion  with  the  water-thermometer.  We 
have  already  discussed  this.  But  it  may 
not  be  amiss  to  close  the  article  witili  the 
following  beautiful  and  striking  testi- 
mony of  Humboldt  Speaking  of  hii 
own  experience  in  it,  he  says :  "  Sand- 
banks and  shoals  may  be  recognized  by 
the  coolness  of  the  waters  over  them. 
By  his  observations  Franklin  conurM 
the  thermometer  into  a  sounding4iM, 
Mists  are  frequently  over  these  depths, 
owing  to  the  condensation  of  the  vapof 
of  the  cooled  waters.  I  have  seen  such 
mists  in  the  south  of  Jamaica  and  also 
in  the  Pacific,  defining  with  sharpness 
and  clearness  the  form  of  the  shoals 
below  them,  appearing  to  the  eye  as  the 
aerial  reflection  of  the  bottom  of  the  se^ 
In  the  open  sea,  far  trom  land,  and  when 
the  air  is  calm,  clouds  are  often  ob- 
served to  rest  over  spots  where  shoals 
are  situated,  and  their  bearings  may  be 
taken  in  the  Eame  manner  as  that  of  a 


1870.1                                            In  Extbbmib.  445 

high  mountain  or  isolated  peak."  ("  Cos-  the  United  States  ship  VineenTies,  named 

mos,"  vol.  i.  314.)  These  facts  and  many  LoVs  Wife. 

similar  ones  that  might  be  advanced,  This  solitary  shaft  reveals  itself  to 

are  finely  iUastrated  by  the  majestic  the  mariner  by  the  cloud  formed  upon 

rock  rising  three  hundred  feet  out  of  its  apex,  as  if  it  designed  to  veil  the 

the  Pacific,  and  by  its  discoverers  of  sorrowful  countenance  from  human  gaze. 


IN  EXTREMIS. 


Sns  lies  on  her  royal  bed, 

And  her  life  is  ebbing  slow, 
With  the  voice  of  the  mourners  overhead 

And  the  fading  grass  below. 
While  the  reapers  reap  in  the  Autumn  calms, 

Singing,  and  binding  their  golden  sheaves, 
Iler  sigbs  fall,  sweet  with  the  Summer^s  balms, 

Through  her  tears — ^the  blood-red  leaves. 

She  is  weary ;  she  sighs  for  rest ; 

Yet  she  pines  in  her  last  sad  hours 
For  the  pipe  of  birds  in  the  early  nest, 

For  the  sweets  and  scents  of  flowers. 
Still  she  longs  for  the  olden  time 

Of  her  beauty,  and  youth,  and  grace ; 
While  the  leaves  keep  time  to  a  solemn  rhyme. 

Falling  over  her  face. 

Lost — ^gold,  and  purple,  and  gem ; 

Flown — ^youth,  and  beauty,  and  bloom ; 
Sadly  she  gathers  her  garment^s  hem 

At  the  gate  of  her  Autumn  tomb. 
"  Who  mourns  me  now  that  I  fail  and  faint  ?  '* 

Sighs  she,  as  she  droops  in  the  drowsy  eves ; 
And  Autumn,  he  answers  her  foud  complaint 

With  a  whisper  of  fEilling  leaves. 

Mid  showers  of  purple  and  gold. 

Mid  flaming  of  gorgeous  dyes, 
Drops  the  queenly  crown  from  her  fainting  hold — 

Fades  the  light  from  her  sad,  sweet  eyes. 
And  ever — ^in  solemn  and  sad  refrain — 

Bound  the  oouoh  where  the  dying  matron  grieves, 
With  mournful  patter — a  blood-rod  rain — 

Still  flutter  the  fallmg  leaves. 


446 


FUTNAIC^S  MaGAZIKB. 


[April, 


A  WOMAN'S  RIGHT. 


IV. 


KOT  Xlf  LOTB. 


\£ 


Paul  went  back  to  liis  books  but  not 
to  very  patient  study.  Ho  bad  never 
dreamed  that  Coke  and  Blackstone  could 
be  such  bores. 

Dick  Prescott's  ridicule  forced  bim  to 
two  conclusions:  tbe  first,  that  he  had 
made  a  goose  of  himself  in  so  nearly  fall- 
ing in  love  with  a  girl  so  mucb  his  infe- 
rior in  station.  Paul  would  not  acknow- 
ledge even  to  himself  that  be  had  fallen 
in  love — of  course  he  had  not.  But  be 
bad  come  to  tbe  conclusion  to  do  justice 
to  all,  no  matter  bow  lowly  their  condi- 
tion, and  to  do  justice  to  this  girl,  be  said 
be  must  acknowledge  that  she  was  love- 
ly, and  a  lady,  and  very  superior  to  her 
situation.  Tbe  second  conclusion  was, 
that  while  be  would  not  demean  himself 
by  attempting  to  follow  Dick's  advice, 
be  would  be  equally  careful  to  give  Dick 
no  opportunity  to  say  that  be  was  com- 
mitting bimself  seriously  to  a  shop-girl. 
He  would  study  harder  than  be  had  ever 
done  before,  and  think  no  more  about 
her.  Tbe  oftcner  bo  said  that  he  would 
think  no  more  about  ber,  tbe  more  con- 
tinually he  thought  of  her.  He  had  been 
attracted  before  by  many  pretty  faces, 
that  be  had  found  it  easy  enougb  to  for- 
get when  it  became  convenient. 

"  It  will  be  tbe  same  with  this  one," 
he  said  to  himself.  ^*  In  a  week  or  two 
I  sha'n't  think  any  more  about  it  than 
about  Tilly  Blane's,  and  really  this  time 
last  year  Tilly  looked  wonderfully  pretty. 
I  hadn't  seen  ber  in  so  long  a  time,  that 
sbe  struck  me  as  something  quite  new 
and  charming.  Bat  I  was  soon  tired 
onougb  of  her  pink  and  white,  and  to- 
day sbe  seems  perfectly  insipid.  I  shall 
be  tired  of  this  face  as  soon  as  I  see  one 
tliat  will  please  me  better."  In  the 
midst  of  these  very  thoughts,  a  voice  far 
down  in  bis  heart  would  say  to  bim, 
"  You  will  never  see  a  face  that  will 
lease  you  better."    And  even  while  he 


exclaimed,  '^  I  will  think  no  more  aboot 
her,"  be  was  eagerly  recalling  every 
lineament,  till  tbe  whole  face  seemed  to 
rise  through  a  mist  between  bis  eyes  and 
his  book.  It  was  not  ontline  and  color, 
nor  the  gleam  of  waving  bair,  on  which 
his  eyes  were  fixed.  It  was  tbe  port 
brow,  tbe  appealing  eyes,  the  gentle 
mouth,  which  drew  nearer  and  nearer  to 
bis,  till  a  thrill  of  delight  ran  through 
his  heart,  and  be  closed  his  eyes  as  if 
before  an  ecstatic  vision. 

Paul  oflen  asked  bimself,  '^I  wonder 
if  sbe  sometimes  thinks  of  me  ?  "  But 
for  once  bis  complacency  failed  him.  He 
by  no  means  felt  certain  that  she  thought 
of  bim  with  any  of  the  exquisite  plet- 
sure  with  which  he  remembered  her. 
Not  even  the  memory  of  the  blu^  !b 
the  window  reassured  him.  No  wonder 
sbe  blushed  when  she  thought  of  my 
rudeness,  and  saw  me  still  staring  at  her, 
be  said,  for  tbe  first  time  in  his  life  tfaM^' 
ing  of  a  woman  without  an  atom  of  self- 
conceit. 

Christmas  came.  Paul  in  his  impir 
tience  thought  it  never  would  come,  yet 
it  did  in  that  year  of  grace  as  early  aein 
any  other.  When  he  thought  of  going 
home  for  tbe  holidays,  his  heart  gave  a 
great  throb.  Never  had  any  thooght  of 
home  80  moved  it  before.  And  strange 
to  say  when  he  thought  of  it,  he  only 
saw  one  window  and  one  face  in  it.  The 
stiff  parlor,  the  staring  sitting-room,  tbe 
baby  in  the  cradle,  no  longer  rose  up  and 
annoyed  bim,  for  be  did  not  think  of 
them.  And  when  bis  worldly  self  «ud: 
^*  Paul  Mallane,  you  are  a  fool.  Ton  can 
never  marry  this  little  girl.  You  re- 
spect her  too  mucb  even  to  flirt  with 
ber.  You  could  not  make  love  to  her 
even  if  you  were  in  love,  and  you  know 
you  are  not.  You  can  only  go  and  look 
at  her.  What  a  fool  to  be  so  anxioos 
for  only  that." 

Yet  for  only  "that,"  Paul   refused 


1870.] 


A  Woman's  Right. 


447 


manifold  invitations  to  Beacon-street, 
and  a  special  one  to  Marlboro  Hill. 
"Thank  you,  Dick,"  he  said,  "but  I 
must  go  home  this  Christmas ;  it  will  bo 
the  first  time,  you  know,  since  I  entered 
college." 

"Don't  I  know?  I  know,  too,  you 
aro  spooney  yet  over  that  shop-girl,  or 
you  would  not  go  for  all  Busy  ville.  Own 
up.  Prince!  " 

"I've  nothing  to  own.  I  am  going 
home  because  I  want  to,  that  is  enough." 

"  Well,  go  ahead.  "We'd  like  to  have 
you  at  the  Ilill,  though.  We  shall  have 
a  jolly  time  and  no  mistake.  Bell  is  just 
home  from  Madame  Joli's,  'finished,' 
and  she  has  brought  a  school-mate  to 
make  my  acquaintance ;  a  Cuban  beauty 
with  a  cool  million.  What  do  you  think 
of  that,  Prince?" 

Paul  had  several  thoughts  concerning 
"that  "  which  drew  him  Marlboro  Ilill- 
ward,  wlien  Dick's  concluding  sentence 
sent  the  tide  brck  in  full  force  toward 
Busy  ville. 

"  Bell  says  she  thinks  that  it  is  time 
that  she  knew  Prince  Mallane.  And 
'When  I  was  coming  away  she  said,  '  Be 
sure  and  bring  him  back,  Dick.  I  want 
t»Me  how  many  fibs  you  have  told  about 
him  I'  But  of  course,  Bell  Prescott's 
desire  to  know  you  is  nothing  while  a 
pious  shop-girl  is  waiting  to  sing  psalms 
to  yon  in  Busy  ville  I  I  know  by  the 
look  of  your  eyes  that  you  don't  intend 
to  take  my  advicfi — and  fool  her.  No  I 
you  will  let  her  fool  you  into  downright 
love-making.  Then  there'll  be  a  scrape 
you  won't  get  out  of  so  ea**y.  Mark 
what  I  say.  Prince  Mallane  won't  mar- 
ry a  shop-girl,  if  he  does  fall  in  love 
with  her." 

"I  am  not  going  to  fall  in  love  with  a 
shop-girl  nor  marry  her ;  but  I  am  going 
to  spend  Christmas  in  Busyville,  Diok. 
Carry  my  regrets  to  Miss  Presoott ;  tell 
her  I  shall  lose  no  time  in  calling  upon 
her  when  I  return,  and  that  may  be  before 
the  holidays  are  over." 

The  moment  Dick's  grating  voice 
Qttered  the  word  "shop-girl,"  Paul 
saw  again  as  distinctly  as  if  before  his 
actual  eyes  the  young  face  of  the  window, 
in  its  frame  of  summer  vines,  and  the 


very  chords  of  his  heart  seemed  to  trem- 
ble and  to  draw  him  toward  it.  Besides, 
another  feeling  influenced  him.  lie  saw 
that  Dick  was  really  anxious  that  ho 
should  become  acquainted  with  his  sister. 

When  they  first  became  chums,  Dick 
used  to  patronize  Paul.  More  tlian  once 
he  had  made  him  feel  most  keenly  the 
difference  in  their  antecedents ;  the  dis- 
tinction between  having  one's  grand- 
father a  poor  carpenter,  or  having  one's 
grandfather  a  distinguished  gentleman. 
IIo  had  taught  Paul  the  advantage  of 
possessing  an  illustrious  name,  and  tho 
disadvantage  of  owning  one  the  world 
never  heard  of  before.  Yet,  in  spite  of 
the  obscure  name,  and  in  defiance  of 
rank  and  of  ancient  lineage,  some  way 
the  sceptre  had  slipped  into  Paul's  hands. 
Dick  had  learned  that  the  prestige  of  a 
fine  physique,  of  graceful  manners,  and 
of  a  brilliant  brain,  are  quite  as  potent 
as  the  memory  of  one's  grandfather. 
Everywhere  he  saw  Paul  possessing  him- 
self of  attention  and  of  admiration,  by 
the  charm  of  his  own  personality.  He 
saw,  too,  that  it  added  to  the  reputation 
of  even  a  Prescott,  to  be  on  intimate 
terms  with  this  popular  youth.  He  ac- 
knowledged his  claim  as  a  rising  man ; 
spoke  of  him  alwoys  as  his  particular 
friend*,  the  prince  of  fine  fellows;  and 
though  he  still  lectured  and  gave  him 
advice  as  a  man  of  the  world,  it  was  no 
longer  with  the  assumption  of  superiority 
or  the  arrogance  of  earlier  days.  Still 
Paul  had  not  forgotten  the  snubbings  and 
condescensions  which  used  to  bruise  his 
self-love,  and  he  always  remembered 
them  most  keenly  when  Dick,  by  some 
w^ord  or  act,  made  him  aware  of  his  pres- 
ent importance.  lie  was  flattered  at 
Dick's  eagerness  that  he  should  meet 
Miss  Bell,  yet  this  very  eagerness 
prompted  him  to  show  his  own  indiffer- 
ence as  proper  pay  for  old  patronage  in 
the  past.  In  characteristic  fashion,  if 
there  had  been  no  Eirene  Vale  in  Busy- 
ville, Paul  Mallane  would  probably  have 
gone  to  that  not  brilliant  winter-town, 
when  he  found  that  Dick  Prescott  was 
really  anxious  that  he  should  become  ac- 
quainted with  his  sister. 

Without  one  yearning  for  Marlboro 


448 


PuTNA3i*8  MaOAZINX. 


[April. 


Hill  ho  went  to  Busyvillo.  He  saw  the 
dagacrrcotypcs  which  he  despisocl,  still 
piled  aroimd  the  astral  lamp.  He  saw 
the  hright  stripes  of  the  sitting-room  car- 
pet, the  hateful  yellow  of  its  oak  paper ; 
indeed,  he  saw  most  clearly  every  thing 
which  ho  disliked,  for  all  that  he  had 
lonp:ed  most  to  see  was  wanting. 

The  girl  "  up-stairs "  had  gone  home 
to  spend  Christmas-week,  and  Paul  had 
his  old  seat  at  the  table  with  the  ordi- 
nary conntenanoe  of  his  sister  Grace  for 
a  perfectly  safe  vis-d-vis. 

Great  would  have  been  the  delight  of 
Tabitha  Mallane  at  the  prospect  of  Paul 
spending  his  holidays  at  home,  if  she 
could  have  believed  that  the  unwonted 
visit  had  no  connection  whatever  with 
the  girl  "up-stairs."  Her  instincts  all 
bore  opposite  testimony.  Thus  sho  said 
to  her  husband, 

"Father,  give  the  poor  girl  a  week, 
and  let  her  wages  go  on.  Sho  can^t  af- 
ford to  lose  any  thing,  but  I  think  that 
she  is  homesick." 

"  She  can  go  home,  and  welcome.  I 
am  glad  that  yon  are  getting  more  kindly 
disposed  toward  the  little  girl.  Fm  sure 
she  makes  no  trouble,"  said  good-natured 
unsuspecting  John  Mallane. 

But  Paul  and  his  mother  knew  each 
other  intuitively .  The  other  girls*  were 
at  work ;  if  Eirene  had  a  holiday  there 
was  a  special  reason,  and  his  mothor 
was  connected  with  it,  Paul  knew.  Yet 
he  said  nothing ;  ho  did  not  mention  the 
name  of  the  "new  hand ;"  he  was  only 
more  ill-natured  than  usual,  found  fault 
with  every  thing. 

Ho  had  intended  to  be  very  munifi- 
cent— to  present  to  each  of  the  children 
and  to  his  mother  an  elegant  Christmas 
gift.  Besides,  he  had  resolved  for  onco 
to  be  as  smiling  and  gracious  at  home  as 
he  had  ever  been  in  Beacon-street  or 
Marlboro  Hill,  and  not  to  swear  at  the 
baby  once,  no  matter  how  loudly  it 
screamed.  Poor  Paul  I  the  result  was 
that  he  forgot  all  about  the  presents,  and 
he  made  himself  so  disagreeable,  and  the 
atmosphere  of  the  whole  house  so  per- 
fectly uncomfortable,  that  at  the  close  of 
the  third  day  his  mother  felt  relieved 
when  he  informed  her  that  ho  should  go 


and  spend  the  remainder  of  the  week  at 
Marlboro  Hill. 

"  Very  well,  Paul,"  she  said  in  a  pe^ 
fectly  undisturbed  tone.  ^*  I  should  think 
you  would  like  to  meet  Miss  Presoott, 
and  the  next  time  jrou  come  home  I  hopi 
that  you  will  be  happier." 

"  That  will  depend  on  circnmstanoo^ 
mother,"  answered  her  son,  looking  her 
fully  in  tho  eyes. 

The  gray  eyes  looked  back  with  m 
wide  and  deep  a  gaze. 

They  understood  each  other. 

When  Eirene  heard  Grace  and  tbe 
children  talk  of  PanPs  coming  home  A 
Christmas,  it  was  with  a  feeling  of  rditf 
tliat  she  thought  she  should  not  meet 
him,  and  sho  felt  move' than  ever  gntdU 
for  Mr.  Mallano's  unexpected  penni«ki 
to  spend  tho  holidays  at  Hilltopi 

If  sho  hod  been  asked  why  she  felt  n- 
licvcd  at  tho  thought  of  not  meeting  Bml 
I  doubt  if  she  could  have  told — ^fbr  Ai 
spent  very  little  time  analyzing  her  on 
emotions ;  but  in  a  dim,  nnconacioiBwiT; 
she  felt  that  while  he  was  most  pTcMrt 
to  behold,  he  was  an  object  so  entive^ 
above  her  own  lowly  life,  that  it  mn 
wiser  for  her  not  to  contemplate  Wm, 
lest  what  seemed  brilliant  and  deriaAlr 
in  his  lot,  should  make  her  leas  patkot 
of  what  was  distasteful  in  her  own.  b 
the  weeks  that  had  passed  since  his  hisd* 
some  face  vanished  from  the  honN^  to 
memory  had  at  times  come  back,  nd 
brought  with  it  something  like  li{^and 
warmth  into  the  cold  little  chamber. 

If  Eirene  had  been  a  wealthy  aeboot 
girl,  with  nothing  to  do  but  to  lean  bcr 
lessons,  and  no  object  of  interest  dMitf 
than  her  own  pretty  self,  doubtless  fib 
would  have  spent  as  much  time  me^ta- 
ting  on  this  princely  youth  as  he  did  ift 
thinking  of  her. 

Amid  such  circumstances  thb  muJif 
face,  the  most  brilliant  that  she  had  erer 
seen,  would  probably  have  shone  upoa 
her  often  enough  to  have  satisfied  tbs 
utmost  vanity  of  its  owner. 

But  lifers  hard  conditions  saved  Einne 
from  even  the  temptation  of  idle  dream- 
ing. They  had  filled  her  young  heart 
with  desires  and  anxieties  too  deeply : 
ed  to  be  displaced  by  any  passing  h 


1870.1 


A  Woman's  Right. 


449 


To  ber  already  life  was  a  fact  whose 
penalties  she  did  not  seek  to  escape,  bat 
to  fulfil,  faithfully  and  patiently. 

Already  her  labor  had  found  a  pur- 
pose and  an  end ;  thinking  of  these,  the 
young  feet  might  faint,  and  the  young 
hands  grow  weary,  but  the  tme  heart 
never  faltered  nor  murmured. 

There  was  the  mortgage  I  that  dread- 
ihl  mortgage  that  she  had  heard  of  ever 
since  she  could  remember.  It  was  cer- 
tiun  to  be  foreclosed  before  very  long ; 
for  the  man  who  held  it  was  very  aged, 
and  his  heir,  who  lived  in  a  distant  city, 
had  already  announced  that  if  the  litUe 
fiurm  was  not  redeemed  by  the  time  of 
the  old  man's  death,  it  would  be  sold  in 
the  settlement  of  his  estate.  Eireno 
knew  that  this  day  could  not  be  very  far 
off;  that  unless  her  father  was  prepared 
to  meet  it.  Hilltop  would  be  lost ;  and 
she  thought  with  a  shudder,  of  the 
flunily  going  out  from  the  only  home 
that  it  had  ever  known ;  of  her  father, 
more  incapable  and  discouraged  than 
eTor,  seeking  vainly  to  begin  his  fortune 
aiiew  with  all  the  world's  odds  against 
hliB.  Then  there  was  Win's  profession ! 
BUs  life  must  not  be  a  failure,  as  his  fa- 
fljOT^s  had  been.  No  Yale  had  ever  been 
sSown  to  succeed  in  business ;  his  tastes 
and  habits  were  intellectual;  he  might 
SDOoeed  in  something  connected  with 
hookSf  she  felt  quite  sure  that  he  would. 
And  there  was  a  little  education  for  her- 
self!  It  could  never  be  finished  or 
thorough,  she  knew,  but  by  improving 
all  her  moments  out  of  the  shop  she 
eonld  loam  considerable. 

The  Yale  instincts  were  strong  in  the 
girl's  nature.  Culture  was  a  necessity. 
She  longed  to  hold  the  key  of  knowledge, 
and  nnlock  for  herself  something  of  the 
mystery  of  the  universe.  Into  tiiis  pre- 
occupied heart,  so  full  of  care  for  others, 
so  busy  with  loving  thoughts  for  father, 
mother,  sister,  and  brother,  in  strangely 
brilliant  contrast  sometimes  stepped  the 
image  of  the  handsome  Paul ;  but  it  was 
by  no  means  the  absorbing  and  undivid- 
ed presence  which  that  individual  de- 
sired. 

The  Harvard  law-student,  after  he  had 
dismissed  his  books  and  hb  chums,  often 
VOL.  V. — 30 


sat  far  into  the  night  alone  in  his  hand- 
some bachelor's  room  in  Cambridge. 
His  indulgent  father  had  denied  him 
nothing,  and  the  apartment  reflected 
without  stint  Paul's  love  of  luxury  and 
beauty.  Rich  books  and  pictures  were 
scattered  around  him  in  profusion.  A 
velvet  carpet  covered  the  floor ;  a  sumpt- 
uous lounge  was  drawn  near  the  open 
fire,  on  which  our  young  gentleman  re- 
clined, smoking  his  meerschaum.  The 
blue  velvet  cap  upon  his  head,  whose  sil- 
ver embroidery  and  glittering  tassel  af- 
forded such  fine  relief  to  his  dark  hair, 
and  which  in  itself  was  so  strikingly  be- 
coming, was  wrought  by  Helena  May- 
nard,  a  Beacon-street  belle.  The  delicate 
buds  and  roses  blooming  on  his  slippers 
had  been  worked  with  tenderest  thought 
for  him  by  the  pretty  fingers  of  Tilly 
Blane.  Even  the  watch-case  on  the 
wall  with  its  delicate  filigree,  and  the 
cigar-stand  upon  the  table  with  its  gold- 
en frettings,  were  gifts  from  her  and  the 
beautiful  Maynard,  meet  examples  of  the 
prodigal  presents  which  fond  and  fool- 
ish girls  are  forever  making  to  young 
men ;  presents  which  are 'sure  at  last  to 
find  their  way  into  the  handu  of  mistress 
or  wife,  while  the  ungrateful  masculine 
says,  *^  You  shall  have  this,  sweetheart 

Isn't  it  pretty  ?    gave  it  to  me.   Shf 

was  in  love  with  me,  poor  thing  I  " 

Paul  sat  in  true  bachelor  reverie,  gaz- 
ing into  the  clear  fiame  and  down  into 
the  red  core  of  the  wood-fire,  which  was 
one  of  his  special  delights. 

With  the  perversity  inherent  in  man, 
with  the  silver-embroidered  cap  upon 
his  head,  and  the  rose- wrought  slippers 
blossoming  on  his  feet,  his  thoughts 
were  not  of  the  Beacon-street  belle,  nor 
of  pretty  Tilly  Blane,  but  of  a  girl  who 
had  never  given  him  any  thing  at  all. 
The  young  eyes  into  whose  depths  be 
seemed  to  gaze,  had  a  look  in  them 
which  he  could  neither  fathom  nor  un- 
derstand, yet  it  hannted  and  fistsoinated 
him.  It  was  the  look  of  eyes  which 
Baw  farther  down  Into  the  deeps  of  life 
than  he  could  divine,  refieoting  the 
emotions  of  a  nature  which  had  fblt 
already  the  mystery,  the  tenderness,  the 
pathos  of  existence ;  as  he,  in  his  strong 


450 


PUTXASl's   MaGAZIKT. 


[JM 


self-centered  life,  had  never  felt  them. 
Her  years  were  fewer,  yet  in  all  that 
really  makes  life,  in  doing,  in  feeling,  in 
being,  she  had  out-lived  liim.  To  Paul, 
these  eyes  were  full  of  mystery,  guileless 
as  a  child's ;  they  still  suggested  to  him 
gentleness,  tenderness,  andilove,  deeper 
than  he  had  ever  dreamed  of  in  woman. 
This  was  why,  in  spite  of  himself,  they 
followed  him  always.  It  never  occurred 
to  him  to  inquire,  "  Is  there  ought  in 
me  to  suflice  these  large,  tender,  asking 
eyes?"  His  thought  wa^  though  ho 
was  not  conscious  of  it,  **  What  is  there 
not  in  this  heart  for  me!  Somebody 
will  woo  and  win  it  I  Why  not  I — I 
want  it.  I  will  have  it,"  he  said,  at  last, 
but  not  then. 

At  the  same  hour,  when  the  luxurious 
student  leaned  back  amid  his  cushions, 
dreaming  over  pipe  and  blaze,  the  young 
shop-girl  Fnt  in  her  bare  chamber  with- 
out a  fire.  Feet  and  fingers  were  numb 
with  cold,  and  she  shivered  in  the  shawl 
which  she  had  wrapped  around  her,  but 
it  was  the  only  time  that  she  had  for 
quiet  study;  and,  though  the  eyelids 
would  droop  sometimes,  and  the  book 
almost  fall  from  the  stiffened  fingers,  she 
studied  on  till  the  lesson  was  learned. 

The  frozen  air  was  hardly  as  favorable 
to  love-dreaming  as  the  summer  atmo- 
H[)hero  of  the  Cambridge  parlor. 

During  the  three  days  spent  at  home, 
Paul  had  stalked  into  this  room,  impelled 
by  angry  curiosity.  He  was  strongly 
suspicious  that  it  was  the  most  comfort- 
loss  room  in  the  house ;  and  in  the  ab- 
sence of  its  inmate,  he  deliberately 
opened  the  door  and  walked  in  to  see  if 
his  suspicions  were  correct.  Wlien  he 
looked  at  the  bare  painted  floor,  the  cold 
whitewashed  walls,  the  scanty  and 
pliabby  furniture,  strange  to  relate,  the 
aristocratic  youth  thrust  his  hands  into 
his  pockets,  and  in  his  wrath  swore 
aloud,  because  the  apartment  of  this 
shop-girl  was  not  as  comfortable  as  that 
of  his  sister  Grace.  lie  had  no  very 
generous  ideas  of  what  was  necessary  to 
the  comfort  of  shop-girls  in  general,  but 
some  way  these  ideas  did  not  seem  to 
apply  in  any  way  to  this  particular  one. 
He  had  supposed  the  room  was  meagre 


enough,  and  yet  he  was  not  prepmftti 
see  it  look  quite  so  barren,  so  mtd^ 
devoid  of  all  comfort. 

*'  There  are  rolls  and  rolls  of  carpi^ 
in  the  garret  that  have  never  beenvri. 
and  yet  mother  won't  lay  a  strip  dowi 
here,"   he   Faid    deprecatingly,  u  bi 
looked  on  the  painted  floor.    **  Even  di 
Beck  can  have  a  warm  fire  in  her  dum- 
ber over  the  kitchen,  and  $he  han't  kd 
one   this  winter.     She   sits   here  nd 
studies,  too,  in  the  cold.     Corse  it !  ^  ke 
exclaimed,   still    more  bitterly,  as  In 
looked  at  the  stand  by  the  window  « 
which  Eirene  had  left  a  few  books  lal 
a  work-basket.    Paul  took  up  the  boob 
one  by  one,  and  found  them  to  be  !!»• 
quelle^s  French  Grammar  an< 
Pension's  Telemochus,  a  small 
of  extracts  of  Bossuet^s  sermons,  md  i 
French  Testament   The  two  latter  wn 
very  small,  very  richly  bound,  and  n^ 
old.    On  the  fly-leaf  of  the  TestnHt 
he  read  in  round  delicate  charaeten^ 
"Alice  Valk,  1820. 
Spes  mea  Christ  us,'* 
and  below,  in  a  clear,  graceful  band, 
"  EiRENS  Vale,  1836. 
En  Dieu  est  ma  fiance." 

Paul  looked  long  and  thoughtfuDy  « 
these  two  names  and  sentences,  th^Dll 
brown  and  faded,  the  last  dear  and 
bright,  as  if  lately  written. 

*^Well,^'  he  at  last  soliloquized:  **! 
am  glad  you  have  somebody  to  tnut  in. 
It  would  be  very  little  comfort  to  me 
though,  to  trust  in  God,  if  I  had  to 
work  in  a  shop  and  burrow  in  a  bok 
like  this,  and  be  snubbed  by  my  inferi* 
ors.    For  we  are  her  inferiors.    I  am 
her  inferior,  I  know  it,  and  d — n  mj 
position ! "'   he  exclaimed,  as  proud  ia 
his  sudden    humility  as    he  had  ever 
been  in  his  self-conceit.    He  laid  the 
books  down  on  the  white  cover  with 
which  Eirene  had  sought  to  hide  the 
deformity  of  the  old  pine  stand,  looked 
at  them  a  moment,  and  then  with  a  low 
whistle  walked  out  of  the  room  and  oat 
of  the  house.   He  knew  that  hb  mother 
had  heard  him  walking  on  the  bare  floor 
over  her  head ;  indeed,  ho  was  in  such  a 
defiant  mood,  he  had  made  all  the  noise 
that  he  could.     It  was  partly  to  punish 


1870.] 


A  Woman's  Kioht. 


451 


hiS  mother  for  sending  Eirene  away, 
that  he  had  gone  up  there  in  the  first 
place ;  he  knew  that  nothing  conld  vex 
her  more ;  bnt  haying  done  as  he  chose, 
he  now  had  no  desire  to  return  to  the 
fiitting-room  and  listen  to  a  lecture  from 
over  the  cradle.  If  he  did,  he  knew 
that  he  would  saj  in  reply  something 
perfectly  savage,  and  Paul  did  not  like 
to  be  impertinent  to  his  mother,  how- 
ever much  he  enjoyed  punishing  her  by 
hiB  actions  for  thwarting  his  wishes. 

Tabitha  Mallane  rocked  the  cradle 
and  listened  to  Paul  walking  in  Eirene^s 
room  overhead ;  heard  him  come  down 
stairs  and  go  out,  shutting  the  front 
door  with  an  angry  slam.  She  then  left 
the  baby  in  the  cradle  and  walked  qui- 
etly up  to  the  room  that  he  had  lefL 

*'It  does  look  comfortless,  sure 
enough,"  she  said,  as  she  gazed  around. 
•*  I  should  have  made  the  girl  more  com- 
fortable if  I  had  not  taken  such  a  dis- 
like to  her  on  his  account.  I  foresaw 
all  this.  I  knew  how  it  would  be.  I 
was  sure  of  it;  because  I  knew  that, 
with  all  his  fancies,  Paul  had  never 
loved  any  girl,  and  that  what  is  pecu- 
liar in  this  one,  is  Just  what  would  seize 
apd  hold  him.  It  is  no  trifling  matter 
for  a  Bard  to  love,  and  Paul  is  all  a  Bard 
in  his  passions.  I  wanted  to  save  him 
trouble  and  her  too.  It  is  too  late. 
Love  her  he  will,  in  spite  of  me ;  but 
marry  her  he  won^t.  It  is  not  too  late 
to  prevent  tJiat.  Yoa  needn't  study 
French  for  him,  young  lady  I  *'  she  ex- 
claimed, as  she  gave  the  grammar  a  con- 
temptuous push ;  '*  he  will  never  marry 
you,  never  I " 

When  Eirene  returned,  great  was  her 
surprise  to  find  upon  her  little  stand 
a  package  which  had  come  by  express, 
directed  to 

^^  Miss  Eibbhb  Valb, 
Care  of  Hon.  John  Mallane." 

She  opened  it,  and  found  within  two 
cabinet  pictures  in  half-oval  rustic 
frames,  the  one  a  photograph  of  one  of 
the  most  exquisite  marbles  ever  oon- 
oeived  by  human  soul,  or  wrought  by 
human  hand — Palmer's  statue  of  Faith 
before  the  Cross.  The  other  was  an 
engraving  of  Longfellow's  Evangeline. 


As  she  took  these  treasures  from  their 
paper  wrappings,  Eirene's  hands  trem- 
bled so  with  delight  that  she  could 
scarcely  hold  them.  Who  had  sent 
them  ?  Who  could  have  thought  of  her  ? 
How  perfectly  satisfying  they  were. 
How  happy  she  was.  She  had  never 
seen  her  name  before  written  by  a 
strange  hand.  Indeed,  in  all  her  life  she 
had  never  received  a  communication 
from  any  one  outside  of  her  own  family. 
Thus  she  read  the  superscription  over 
and  over,  trying  in  every  letter  to  catch 
a  clue  to  the  writer.  But  no,  she  never 
saw  that  bold,  full  hand  before ;  that  os- 
tentatious quirl  at  the  end  of  the  ^^  e  " 
did  not  afford  the  slightest  idea  of  its 
maker.  She  only  knew  that  somebody 
was  80  kind,  and  it  was  so  strange  because 
she  thought  that  no  one  knew  her  outside 
of  Hilltop. 

Could  it  be  ?  Could  it  be  Mr.  Paul 
Mallane,  who,  in  making  presents  to  all 
the  family,  had  so  unexpectedly  inclu- 
ded her?  Oh  no,  that  was  not  possible. 
Ho  had  never  spoken  to  her  but  once, — 
and  his  mother  I  His  mother  she  feared 
did  not  like  her.  Thus,  she  knew  that 
Mr.  Paul  would  not  send  a  present  to  her 
directed  to  the  care  of  his  father,  when 
he  must  know  that  to  do  so  would  dis- 
please his  mother  I  Besides,  Mr.  Paul 
Mallane  himself  was  rather  haughty, 
and  she, — she  worked  in  a  shop!  No, 
it  could  not  be  he.  She  did  not  know 
who  had  sent  it,  but  she  would  save  the 
direction. 

What  companionship  and  comfort  she 
would  find  in  these  faces  I  already  they 
changed  to  her  the  entire  aspect  of  the 
room.  Her  surprises  were  increased 
when  turning  around  she  saw,  what  she 
had  not  discovered  before,  a  small  stove, 
and  behind  it  a  box  filled  with  wood 
ready  for  burning. 

*^  Oh  dear,  how  pleasant  every  thing 
is,"  she  exclaimed ;  and  in  her  overflow- 
ing gratitude,  quite  forgetting  all  her  fsar 
of  Mrs.  Mallane,  she  ran  down-sturs,  and 
appearing  before  the  lady,  exclaimed: 

*^  How  kind  of  you,  Mrs.  MaUane,  to 
put  that  dear  little  stove  into  my  room  I 
It  will  make  it  so  pleasant  to  study  eveo> 
ings.    I  thank  you  so  much." 


452 


PUTKAM^S  MAOAZI^*E. 


[Apia. 


"You  needn't  thank  me,"  said  that 
truthful  woman.  "  Thank  Mr.  Mallane ; 
it's  his  work.  I  shouldn't  give  you 
any  stove  to  injure  your  health  hy.  It 
is  a  very  had  thing  for  you  to  sit  up  as 
you  do  nights,  using  candles  and  your 
eyes  besides.  When  you  have  eaten  your 
supper  you  ought  to  go  to  bed." 

"  It  is  the  only  time  I  have,"  said 
Eirene  beseechingly. 

"It  is  the  only  time  you  have  to 
sleep,  and  you  ought  to  use  it  for  that 
purpose.  What  do  you  want  more  edu- 
cation for,  any  way  ?  You  have  enough 
now  for  all  practical  purposes ;  unless 
you  want  to  teach  school,  and  that's  a 
dog's  life.  You  had  better  stay  in  the 
shop.  In  your  situation  in  life  the  more 
education  you  have  the  more  discon- 
tented you'll  be.  If  I've  heard  the  trutb, 
that  is  the  curse  of  your  whole  family. 
You  are  none  of  you  willing  to  come 
down  to  your  circumstances.  You  are 
all  trying  to  "be  more  than  God  intended 
you  should  be,  and  to  get  out  of  the 
place  in  which  Ho  put  you.  My  advice 
is,  earn  an  honest  living,  and  be  con- 
tented. You've  got  all  the  learning  you 
need  for  that  now."  With  these  cruel 
thrusts  Mrs.  Mullane  looked  up,  and  the 
white  quivering  face  before  her  moved 
her  perhaps  to  a  stony  compassion,  for 
she  said : 

"There I  you  needn't  cry.  You'll 
hear  harder  truths  than  I  have  told  you 
before  you  get  through  the  world. 
There's  no  use  in  being  so  tender,  it 
don't  pay.  Study  all  night,  if  you  want 
to,  but  I  thought  I'd  do  my  duty." 

Just  then  came  a  knock  at  the  door, 
which  opened  an  instant  afterwards 
with  Mrs.  Mallane's  "  come  in ;  "  and 
there  appeared  the  well-fed  form  and 
florid  face  of  young  Brother  Viner,  the 
Methodist  clergyman.  Tabitha  Mallane 
was  born  a  Brahmin,  and  one  of  the 
sacrifices  which  she  had  made  to  her 
love  for  John  Mallane  was  to  forsake 
her  high  estate  in  the  Brahmin  church, 
to  take  up  her  cross  and  become  a 
Methodist.  But  sister  Mallane  had  "a 
gift."  She  could  speak  and  pray  in 
meeting  with  profound  effect. 

The  encouragement  given  her  talent. 


the  powerful  influence  it  gave  kr 
among  her  brethren  and  sisters  in  tk 
church,  more  than  compenstted  her  for 
a  place  and  a  pew  lost  among  the  Bnk- 
mins. 

Brother  Yiner  was  a  special  fiivoiite. 
He  was  young,  well-looking;  talentei 
enough  to  command  the  first  chnrdiML 
Besides,  his  father  was  rich.  I&ter 
Mallane  had  more  than  one  reason  ftr 
wishing  to  ensure  his  good  graeoi 
For  a  moment  his  attention  seemed 
flxed  upon  the  white  face  in  the  open 
door  opposite,  and  as  it  Taniabed  lia 
was  still  looking  after  it,  when  M& 
Mallane  said: 

"Do  sit  down,  Brother  Viner;  yea 
are  just  the  one  that  I  want  to  tea 
The  Lord  must  have  sent  yoo.  I  m 
sorely  tried." 

"  What  is  your  trial,  Sister  Mallanet" 

"  My  sense  of  duty,  and  the  diffieillif 
of  doing  it.  You  saw  that  girl  ia  fls 
door  I " 

"  Yes,  a  sweet  face." 

"Well,  I  suppose  yon  geotlflDNi 
would  call  it  sweet  I  am  sorry,  fto- 
ther  Yiner,  to  tell  yon  that  it  is  a  d^ 
ceitful  face.  I  know  it  has  a  look  ink 
such  as  you  see  in  pictures,  and  yoffgH^ 
tlemen  are  attracted  by  it,  that  is  why 
it  is  dangerous ;  but  it  belongs  to  t 
weak-minded,  inefficient  person.  She 
belongs  to  a  family  miserablj  poor,  and 
she  is  going  the  way  to  make  then 
poorer.  I  feel  it  to  be  my  dnty  to  teD 
her  so,  to  instruct  her  in  the  right  w^; 
but  it  is  hard  to  the  flesh  to  do  so.  I 
am  a  mother.  Brother  Yiner.  I  have  t 
daughter.  1  have  a  mother'^s  feelings. 
When  I  look  on  this  girl,  and  tldnk 
what  would  be  the  state  of  my  mind  if 
my  Grace  were  like  her — " 

"  What  does  the  poor  girl  do,  sistert 
I  thought  she  seemed  to  have  a  very  in- 
nocent face ;  but  then  I  onlj  cau^t  a 
glimpse  of  it  as  she  shut  the  door." 

"  Well,  I  must  say  that  gentlemen  are 
all  alike  in  one  thing — ^they  will  think 
that  a  face  is  Innocent  and  every  thing 
perfect  if  it  is  only  young  and  pretty. 
Even  Mr.  Mallane,  sharp-sighted  as  he 
is,  cannot  see  a  fault  in  this  girl.  And 
God  knows  the  trial  she  is  to  me ! " 


1870.] 


A  WoMAjj's  Right. 


458 


The  oonoladlDg  sentence  was  perfectly 
sincere,  and  uttered  in  the  pathetic 
mother-qnayer  which  was  entirely 
absent  from  the  first  portion  of  the 
reply.  Brother  Viner  was  a  young 
man,  and  not  profoundly  experienced  in 
the  ways  of  women.  His  own  mother, 
a  Bweet-tempered,  unworldly  woman, 
neyer  torn  by  conflicting  ambitions  and 
passions,  could  not  have  been  moved  to 
sach  a  show  of  distress  by  any  thing 
less  than  death,  or  an  equally  over- 
whelming calamity.  Men  measure  all 
women  by  the  particular  woman  whom 
they  know  best.  Thus,  Brother  Viner, 
thinking  the  while  of  his  own  mother, 
felt  sure  that  Sister  Mallane  had  pro- 
found cause  for  being  ^'sorely  tried;" 
bat  some  way,  it  was  difficult  for  him  to 
eonnect  the  cause  of  such  trial  with  the 
fine  which  he  had  just  seen  in  the  door. 
He  was  exceedingly  puzzled.  In  seek- 
Iqg  explanation,  he  very  naturally  fell 
back  upon  his  ministerial  functions. 

"Have  you  asked  wisdom  from  on 
high?"  he  asked.  <^That  is  our  only 
he^  Sister  Mallane.  Don't  you  think 
that  it  would  bring  comfort  to  your 
soul  if  we  shoald  have  a  season  of 
pvqperf" 

♦*  Yes,  Brother  Viner,  that  is  my  only 
leAige.  But  wouldn't  you  like  to  have 
me  call  Grace?  Dear  child  I  I  think 
her  heart  is  very  tender  Just  at  this 
tliiie.  I  feel  oertmn  that  she  is  serious, 
Ibr  last  Sabbath,  after  your  sermon  to 
the  youDg,  she  said,  ^Mother,  I  shall 
read  a  chapter  in  the  Bible  every  day ; ' 
and  after  prayer-meeting  in  the  evening, 
■he  said,  Mt  goes  right  through  my 
heart  to  hear  Brother  Viner  pray.'  I 
woaldn't  have  her  miss  hearing  you 
now.  You  may  be  the  means  of  bring- 
ing the  dear  lamb  into  the  fold  of 
Ohrist  Oh,  Brother  Viner,  you  little 
know  the  feelings  of  a  mother's  heart  I " 

Brother  Viner  was  very  sure  that  he 
did  not.  Therefore  he  made  no  reply, 
but  began  to  compose  his  conntenance 
ibr  his  coming  prayer,  which  he  in- 
tended should  contain  an  eloquent 
appeal  for  the  conversion  of  the  young 
girl's  soul,  while  Sister  Mallane  went  to 
the  door  and  called  Grace. 


Grace  appeared  with  downcast  eyes 
and  maiden  blushes,  and  with  tremulous 
devotion  prostrated  herself  upon  her 
knees,  while  the  young  minister  in 
sonorous  tones  said,  ^'Let  us  address 
the  TJirone  of  the  Heavenly  Grace." 

In  the  meantime,  the  cause  of  this 
family  prayer-meeting, — who,  strangely 
enough,  was  left  entirely  out  of  it,— the 
girl  up-stairs — wrapped  in  her  shawl, — 
was  gazing  steadfastly  upon  her  new 
picture.  Faith  before  the  Cross. 

The  utter  repose  of  the  figure,  the 
beautiful  serenity  of  the  uplifted  coun- 
tenance, seemed  to  steal  over  the  trem- 
bling frame  of  the  young  girl ;  the  tears 
faded  from  her  eyes,  the  quivering  lips 
grew  still,  and  without  being  conscious 
of  it,  she  began  to  grow  calm  and  strong 
again,  to  take  up  the  cross  of  her  own 
little  life. 

At  the  same  hour  Paul  sat  in  one  of 
the  lecture-rooms  of  Harvard.  He  gave 
slight  heed  to  the  Professor's  learned 
disquisition ;  his  thoughts  were  far  away. 
He  was  wondering  if  Eirene  had  come 
back ;  if  she  had  received  the  pictures ; 
if  she  liked  them;  if  his  father  had 
attended  to  the  stove.  Then  he  thought 
how  he  would  like  to  take  a  peep  into 
the  little  room,  just  to  see  her  enjoy  the 
comfort  of  being  warm  $  indeed,  how  he 
would  like  to  sit  down  there,  beside  the 
little  pine  stand,  and  help  her  to  read  T61^- 
maque.  Paul  had  studied  French  in  the 
old  academy,  and  later  had  acquired  the 
faultless  accent  of  Monsieur  de  Paris,  and 
felt  sure  that  he  was  perfectly  qualified 
to  be  her  teacher  in  the  heau  l^guage. 
The  more  he  thonght  of  it,  the  more  he 
longed  for  the  privilege;  the  stronger 
grew  the  attraction  ft  the  bare  little 
room  at  home,  the  more  tedioas  grew 
the  Professor,  and  the  more  intolerable 
his  learned  disquisition  on  the  law,  Paul 
at  last  felt  as  if  he  could  not  stay  where 
he  was  another  minute. 

Great  had  been  the  astonishment  of 
good  John  Mallane  a  few  days  before, 
when  he  received,  with  the  package 
directed  to  Miss  Eirene  Vale,  a  letter 
to  himself  from  Paul,  which  ran  in  this 
wise: 

"Deab  Fathkb:— You  will  oblige  me 


454 


PuTNAJi^s  Magazine. 


[M 


by  delivering  to  Miss  Eirene  Vale  the 
accompanying  package.  And  you  will 
oblige  me  still  more,  if  you  will  see  that 
a  stove  is  put  up  in  her  room,  that  the 
poor  girl  may  be  made  more  comfortable. 
When  I  was  at  home  I  accidentally  step- 
ped into  her  room,  and  was  shocked,  yes, 
I  must  say  shocked,  to  find  that  one, 
thought  worthy  to  have  a  home  under 
my  father's  roof,  should  occupy  a  room 
no  better  furnished  than  a  prison-cell ; 
and  have  absolutely  nothing  done  for 
her  comfort.  I  saw  books  which  she 
must  sit  up  at  night  to  study,  yet  she  has 
not  had  a  fire  in  her  room  this  winter. 

"  The  girl  is  nothing  to  me.  But  as  I 
sit  before  my  cosy  fire  in  my  cushioned 
chair,  in  a  room  full  of  luxuries,  I  must 
confess  that  I  feel  mean,  to  think  that 
all  these  things  have  been  given  to  me, 
a  man^  to  make  my  student-life  more 
attractive,  while  a  young  girl,  trying  to 
study  under  every  disadvantage,  sits 
shivering  and  freezing  over  her  book, 
and  that  in  my  own  father's  house.  I  toll 
you,  father,  it  takes  away  more  than 
half  of  the  comfort  of  my  fire ;  and  I 
should  despise  myself  if  it  did  not. 

^*  As  I  said  before,  the  girl  is  nothing 
to  me,  i)er8onally,  for  I  have  not  oven 
spoken  to  her  since  she  entered  your 
house.  Yet  please  say  nothing  to  mo- 
ther about  this  letter,  for  you  know  her 
weakness.  She  thinks  that  I  am  in  love 
with  every  girl  that  I  look  at,  except 
Tilly  Blane.  You,  dear  father,  know 
better.  You  know  that  I  make  the 
request  simply  from  a  feeling  of  human- 
ity ;  because  I  like  my  ease  too  well  to 
have  it  disturbed  bv  my  conscience,  at 
least  in  this  case.  And  I  know,  father, 
that  you  want  every  body  in  your  house 
to  be  comfortable.  I  think  mother  does, 
too, — every  one  except  this  little  girl, 
whom  she  dislikes  because  she  thinks 
that  I  shall  fall  in  love  with  her,  of 
which  there  is  not  the  slightest  danger. 

**  Your  affectioiMte  son, 

"  Paul." 

John  Mallane  took  his  spectacles  ofT, 
wiped  and  re-wiped,  set  ^em  on  his 
high  nose,  took  them  off  and  set  them 
back  again  numerous  times,  before  Paul's 
letter  had  received  its  lost  reading  and 
was  shut  away  in  his  inside  pocket. 
Then  he  said  to  himself:  ^^  The  girl  must 
have  the  stove,  of  course.  She  could 
have  had  it  before  if  I  had  known  that 
hadn't  one.  But  it  seems  to  me 
new  business  for  Paul,  prowling 


^^^hadi 


around  in  his  mother's  chambers,  look- 
ing after  the  comfort  of  their  imnitai 
But  I  consider  his  letter  an  encoong- 
ing  sign.  He  has  been  indulged  so  mndk 
himself,  and  has  so  many  wants  of  la 
own,  I  have  thought  sometimes  that  U 
would  never  think  of  other  people*a  I 
am  glad  to  be  mistaken.  It  is  tmDj 
kind  in  him  to  think  of  the  little  girfi 
comfort,  when,  as  he  says,  she  is  Doft- 
ing  to  him.  He  is  riglit,  too,  in  mjJB% 
that  he  knows  I  want  every  body  in  aj 
house  comfortable.  I  do.  He  is  zf^ 
about  his  mother,  also.  Tabiths  if  voy 
unreasonable  about  this  little  girl;  lil 
then  all  women  are  unreasonable  some- 
times. I  shall  not  tell  her  about  ttt 
letter.  It  would  only  moke  her  fni, 
and  do  no  good,  for  the  little  giri  mak 
have  the  stove."  And  without  forilMr 
meditation,  honest  John  Mallone  vcit 
and  ordered  that  a  stove  should  be  pil 
up  immediately  in  the  small  bedroom. 

Paul's  letter  did  make  Tabitha  Hal- 
lane  '*  fret "  that  very  evening. 

TVhen  husband  and  baby  were  aaleift 
she  laid  down  the  stocking  which  db 
was  mending  beside  the  cradle,  rON^ 
took  down  John  Mallane^s  coat  from  iU 
accustomed  hook,  and  placing  hertal' 
in  the  inside  pocket,  drew  forth  all  IIm 
letters  which  the  mail  had  brongfat  bim 
that  day.  This  act  usually  closed  hff 
day's  work.  John  Mallane  confided  to 
her  very  little  of  his  business  aSoA  • 
Early  in  their  married  life  he  had  saidi  ib 
reply  to  one  of  her  questions,  "  Mother, 
you  attend  to  the  house,  and  I  will  at- 
tend to  the  shop.  You  would  not  half 
understand  business  matters  if  I  should 
try  to  explain  them,  and  then  yoa  would 
be  all  the  time  worrying  over  what  yoo 
knew  nothing  about,  and  that  would 
worry  me.  Leave  me  to  attend  to  the 
business ;  the  house  and  the  children  are 
enough  for  you.'^  Tabitha  Mallane 
thought  otherwise.  Although  she  had 
a  passion  for  that  employment,  her  eager 
faculties  reached  out  beyond  her  nightly 
stocking-darning.  What  was  the  yearly 
income  ?  Was  money  being  made  7  Wa<i 
money  being  saved  for  all  these  chil- 
dren, or  would  they  some  time  come  to 
want  ?    All  these  were  vital  questions  to 


1870.] 


A  Woman's  Right. 


455 


ber ;  the  last  a  spectre  that  often  rose  up 
and  horrified  her  in  the  midst  of  plenty. 
The  fear  of  coming  to  want,  the  selfish 
insanitj  which  has  made  miserable  so 
many  lives,  poor  Tabitha  Mallane  had 
inherited  from  her  mother,  who  lived 
and  died  in  the  midst  of  abundance,  yet 
never  enjoyed  the  good  things  of  tiiis 
world  for  a  single  moment,  for  fear  that 
some  day  she  might  wake  np  and  find 
them  gone.  Tabitha  Mallane  knew  her 
husband  too  well  to  trouble  him  further 
with  financial  questions.  Yet  she  deter- 
mined to  be  answered,  nevertheless. 
Thus  she  commenced  the  nightly  prac- 
tice of  extracting  from  his  pockets  and 
private  desk,  his  memoranda  and  busi- 
ness letters.  By  reading  orders,  receipts, 
and  bills  of  sole;  by  additions  and 
^adnctions,  she  managed  to  give  herself 
a  partial  yet  tolerable  knowledge  of  the 
financial  status  of  her  husband's  affairs. 
IT  her  conscience  ever  reproved  her  for 
tbe  deceptive  means  which  she  took  to 
obtain  this  knowledge,  she  re-assured 
berself  with  the  thought  that  she  made 
no  bad  use  of  it.  Besides,  in  reality, 
was  it  not  her  business  quite  as  much  as 
tt  was  Ms  ?  y^QB  not  her  share  of  the 
Sura  homestead  invested  in  this  busi- 
ness? Had  she  not  a  perfect  right  to 
look  after  her  own  money,  if  John  Mal- 
lane, like  all  other  men,  did  think  that 
no  woman  could  understand  the  compli- 
dties  of  trade?  John  Mallane  slept 
too  soundly  and  snored  too  loudly  for 
bis  wife  to  incur  any  risk  in  the  time  of 
looking  over  his  business  accounts.  But 
to-night  she  could  scarcely  wait  till  the 
nasal  trumpet  began  to  sound  in  the 
adjoining  bedroom.  That  afternoon  the 
stove  had  been  put  up  in  Eireno's  room, 
and  she  had  taken  in  her  own  hand, 
fW>m  the  pine  stand,  a  package  directed 
to  that  troublesome  girl,  "  care  of  Hon. 
John  Mallane,"  in  Paul's  boldest  writ- 
ing. Nothing  had  been  said  to  her 
about  either  package  or  stove,  yet  she 
was  sure  that  both  came  from  her  son. 
She  felt  abused  and  indignant  Would 
that  perverse  boy  be  the  death  of  his 
mother?  Were  husband  and  son  com- 
bined to  destroy  the  dearest  ambition  of 
ber  lifetime  ? 


She  would  see.  Her  hand  trembled, 
and  the  lines  about  her  wide  mouth 
grew  more  rigid,  as  she  drew  the  pack- 
age of  letters  from  the  coat-pocket. 

She  had  only  heart  for  one  to-night ; 
she  singled  it  out  immediately  and  drop- 
ped the  others  back  into  their  receptacle. 

She  sat  down  again  by  the  cradle,  and 
her  pale  face  grow  still  paler  as  she  opened 
the  letter  and /read:  "Dear  Father: 
You  will  oblige  hie  by  delivering  to  Miss 
Eirene  Valo  the  accompanying  pack- 
age ; "  and  further  on,  as  she  came  to— 
"Please  say  nothing  of  this  letter  to 
mother,  you  know  her  weakness,  etc." 
the  rigid  lines  grew  almost  ghastly,  and 
she  said:  "It  is  what  I  expected." 
And  when  she  read  to  the  concluding 
sentence  she  reiterated  :  "  *  Afraid  that 
I  will  fall  in  love  1 '  Afraid  that  you 
will  I  Foolish  boy  1  You  are  in  love, 
and  your  father  is  as  blind  as  a  bat. 
You  will  have  your  way  for  a  while. 
Your  fever  will  run  itself  out.  But  you 
shall  never  marry  her,  never." 

The  next  day,  when  Eirene  returned, 
as  Mrs.  Mallane  heard  her  step  in  the 
hall  and  thought  of  Paul's  letter,  her 
first  impulse  was  to  open  the  door  and 
drive  her  from  the  house. 

But  twenty-five  years  of  life  with  John 
Mallane  had  taught  her  at  least  some- 
thing of  self-control.  To  send  the  girl 
from  the  house  now,  she  know  would  be 
to  madden  Paul,  and  drive  him  to  some 
extreme  act,  and  to  call  down  upon 
herself  the  only  wrath  which  she  feared 
upon  earth — the  wrath  of  her  husband. 
She  had  resolved  to  control  both  hus- 
band and  son,  and  to  do  this,  she  knew 
that  she  must  first,  in  part  at  least,  con- 
trol herself.  If  Eirene  could  have  con- 
ceived of  the  contending  passions  in  this 
woman's  heart,  and  of  her  pitiless  anger 
toward  herself,  she  would  no  more  have 
dared  to  approach  her  with  thanks  and 
gratitude  than  she  would  have  dared  to 
rush  into  the  face  of  any  infuriated  an- 
imal. 

In  comparison  with  what  she  felt,  Ta- 
bitha Mallane's  words  to  Eirene  were 
mercifal;  and  her  exclamation  to  the 
minister,  "God  only  knows  the  trial 
she  is  to  me !  "  was  no  exaggeration. 


456 


PUTNAM^S  MaOAZINB. 


[AA 


Paul  conoted  the  cost  of  angering  his 
mother  when  he  wrote  the  letter  and 
sent  the  package.  But  she  had  angered 
him  so  much  in  sending  Eirene  to  Ilill- 
top,  that  the  satisfaction  of  inflicting 
punishment  upon  her  entered  into  the 
purer  pleasure  of  purchasing  the  pic- 
tures. 

lie  saw  them  in  Williams  &  Stevens* 
window  on  liis  way  bark  from  Marlboro 
Hill.  And  the  face  of  Evangeline,  that 
love  of  all  college  youth,  her  seeking 
eyes  so  full  of  tender  quest,  the  homely 
dress  she  wore,  made  him  think  of 
Eirene.  Thus,  as  so  many  young  men 
more  or  less  romantic  have  done,  he 
bought  one  copy  for  his  Cambridge  room 
and  another  for  her.  "  It  will  brigliten 
up  that  den  a  little,'^  he  said  to  himself. 
"And  this  figure  of  Faith,  how  like 
hcr^s!  the  same  pure  girlish  outline, 
thougli  with  her  tlie  cross  is  not  before 
her,  but  on  her  shoulders.  She  shall 
have  this  picture  too.  How  angry  it 
will  make  mother.  I  am  glad  of  it.  She 
needn^t  have  sent  her  off.  She  will  find 
she  can't  balk  me." 

Paul  had  a  pleasant  visit  at  Marlboro 
Hill.  If  ho  had  been  in  his  wonted 
mood,  it  would  have  been  to  him  a  sea- 
son of  marked  triumph.  The  Cuban 
beauty  wns  altogether  too  dark  for  his 
fnncy.  Even  her  million  in  sugar  and 
slaves  was  not  altogether  to  his  fastidious 
taste.  But  Isabella  Presoott,  who  some- 
way lie  had  fancied  would  be  as  bony 
and  freckled  as  Dick,  to  his  surprise 
ho  found  his  opposite ;  a  round-limbed 
blonde,  witli  a  head  covered  with  tiny 
feathery  curls ;  a  creature  full  of  kitten- 
ish pranks  and  coquettish  ways,  with  a 
twinkle  in  her  small  eyes  which  might 
have  been  called  a  wink  in  any  body  but 
a  Presoott,  and  which  in  her  was  the 
sign  and  seal  of  the  coquetry  which  she 
had  already  cultivated  and  consummated 
as  an  art. 

Six  weeks  earlier,  this  gay  creature 
would  have  set  Paul's  nerves  tingling 
with  her  witching  ways,  and  he  would 
have  opened  a  campaign  of  flirtation 
wMdk  would  have  ended  in  his  subjuga- 
hers  for  the  time  being.  But 
L astonishment,  and  to  her  ex- 


wiucowouU 


treme  mortification,  for  onoe  he  foal 
himself  indifferent.  He  was  by  no  «■■ 
in  a  normal  mood  ;  he  was  preoeeqii^ 
and  found  himself  constantly  oompiilii 
tliese  brilliant  beauties  of  the  worii  li 
one  whose  preeminent  charm  wm  )m 
unworldlinesiiand  her  utter  nnooiucb» 
ness  of  all  the  little  arts  wbidi  wdi' 
taught  women  practice  to  fksoinsleMik 

Dashing  young  ladies  of  the  world  ib 
carried  with  them  the  prestige  of  fn^ 
of  wealth,  of  beaut j,  were  the  onAj  mm 
that  Paul  had  ever  aspired  to  eaatpm 
Thus  it  was  an  utterly  new  sensatiailf 
him  to  find  himself  measuring  all  vqhi 
by  a  new  standard,  and  that  one  iM 
he  had  never  found  in  the  merely  M^ 
ionable  world.    He  was  yezed  witfcM|F 
self,  and  tried  to  banish  from  his 
the  haunting  face   which 
came  between  him  and  all  Bell 
dangerous  ways.  j 

^'  Uere  is  a  match  for  me^'*  he  aefl^ti  '. 
himself.  ''The  heiress  of  MariboroDU  '^ 
Dick  says  that  she  inherits  this 
cent  place  from  her  mother,  to 
ing  of  a  fortune  in  railroad  stocky  aadkir 
charming  self.  She  is  a  proper  lulBh 
for  me.  Confound  it  I  Why  am  I  Mt 
making  the  most  of  mj  chance  f  DUC 
is  willing,  and  she — ^well,  one  ean^  be 
certain  of  such  a  witch  of  a  girl  in  thiM 
days.  What  she's  up  to  now,  is  to  ei^ 
tivate  me.  But  in  the  end,  Pll  make 
her  love  me,  that  is  if  she  can  love,  whidi 
I  rather  doubt.  Wliy  am  I  not  abool 
it?    Why ?" 

At  the  close  of  the  visit.  Miss  Jaabelli 
Prescott  found  herself  piqued  and  disup* 
pointed.  Youth,  and  wealth,  and  bean^, 
are  not  accustomed  to  indifferenoe,  ud 
cannot  bear  it  patiently.  YetBoUF^M- 
cott  had  borne  it  from  one  whom  flbe 
had  expected  to  conquer,  aud  whom  the 
had  intended,  although  in  a  lady-like 
manner,  to  treat  with  condescension. 

^^  Dick ! "  she  said  to  her  brother,  after 
Paul's  departure,  "  I  thought  you  said 
that  your  chum  was  a  parvenu  f  " 

"  Well,  I  meant  that  his  father  came 
up  from  nothing.  Of  course,  if  I  badn^ 
considered  him  a  gentleman,  I  shouldn't 
have  invited  him  hera  His  mother,  I 
believe,  is  of  old  stock,  but  ran  awi^ 


1870.] 


A  Wojian's  Bight. 


457 


r. 


r; 


And  mnrried  a  journeyman  mechanic. 
The  old  fellow  is  tolerably  well  off  now, 
and  very  influential  in  a  email  way. 
I've  seen  him." 

**  Never  mind  his  father  or  mother. 
JBe  has  the  air  of  a  grandee,  of  a  prince 
of  the  blood,  and  he  don^lAake  it  on ;  its 
natural.  Why  didn^t  yoa  tell  me  ho 
was  so  high  and  mighty  ?  Why,  he  was 
as  cool  and  indifferent  to  me  as  could 
be.  I  don^t  think  he  likes  me  a  bit.  I 
wouldn^t  mind  if  ho  wasn^t  so  handsome 
and  oleven  You  did  not  overrate  him, 
Diok." 

"  Of  course  I  didn't,"  said  Dick. 

*•  Really  his  manners  are  quite  Euro- 
pean, yet  yoa  say  he  has  never  been 
abroad  ?  But  I  blame  you,  Dick,  I  do, 
Ibr  talking  to  me  as  if  ho  would  be  ready 
to  kneel  at  my  feet  the  moment  he  reach- 
ad  here.  You  knew  better.  You  shouldn't 
bave  told  me  such  a  story.  I  can  tell 
}ian,  it  will  be  no  every-day  conquest  to 
anbdne  him." 

"  Don't  take  on,  Bell.  Wait  your  time. 
Be*B  in  love  with  a  shop-girl  now,  but 
be*ll  get  over  it." 

•*  A  shop-girl  I    What  do  yon  mean  ?  " 

*'  Why,  I  mean  that  he  has  done  what 
r^tbonght  ho  never  would  do;  he  has 
fldlen  in  love  with  a  girl  who  works  in 
one  of  his  father's  shops.  You  ought  to 
bear  him  rave  about  her.  But  he^l 
never  marry  her.  He  is  too  sensitive  on 
the  subject  of  position.  I  am  perfectly 
aertain  that  he  has  always  intended  to 
Contract  a  marriage  that  would  strength- 
en and  elevate  his  own,  not  one  tliat 
would  drag  him  back  to  old  antecedents. 
Bntforthe  time  being  he  has  lost  his 
wits  over  this  girl." 

**  Indeed ! "  was  the  young  lady's  only 

reply. 

*'If  yon  want  to  make  a  conquest, 
Bell,  you  can  do  it  just  the  same ;  only 
wait  till  he  gets  over  the  shop-girl,  then 
take  your  turn." 

^^  Indeed  I  Take  my  turn  qfter  a  shop- 
girl I  Where's  your  family  pride,  Dick 
Prescott?  I  am  not  so  poorly  off  tor 
admirers,  I  can  tell  you."  And  the 
young  lady  perked  up  her  piquant  nose, 
and  puckered  up  her  pretty  little  eyes  in 


a  fashion  which  made  her  anger  very 
comical. 

"Oh,  you  will  always  have  all  the 
beaux  you  want.  Bell.  But  yon  seemed 
piqued  over  Mallane's  coolness,  and  I 
was  explaining  it.  Of  course,  yon  must 
wait  for  one  flame  to  subside  before  you 
can  expect  that  he  will  feel  another. 
Wait  your  time,  then  conquer  him.  I'd 
like  to  punish  him  for  this  shop-girl 
nonsense  myself.  He's  fallen  in  love 
contrary  to  all  my  advice.  Of  course, 
Bell,  under  any  circumstances,  you 
wouldn't  be  in  a  hurry  to  commit  your- 
self. You  know  that  you  can  make  a 
higher  match.  In  one  sense,  it  would  be 
a  coming  down  for  a  Prescott  to  marry 
a  Mallane,  especially  to  bear  the  name. 
But  there's  no  denying  one  thing,  Prince 
Mallane  would  make  a  doucodly  pre- 
sentable husband.  Yoa  might  marry  a 
name  and  a  fortune  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing,  and  tlie  man  belongrog  to  them  be 
a  cursed  bore,  you  know.  80  take  time 
to  decide  which  you  want  most, — the 
man,  or  the  accompaniments.  The 
chances  are  against  your  having  both. 
It  will  be  worth  while  for  you  to  bring 
Mallane  to  your  feet,  whatever  yon  do 
with  him  afterwards." 

"Indeed I"  again  said  Bel],  as  she 
made  a  mouth  at  him  and  a  courtesy, 
and  vanished. 

A  few  moments  afterwards,  she  stood 
prinking  and  making  pretty  faces,  and 
throwing  herself  into  graceful  attitudes 
before  her  mirror. 

"A  shop-girl,  ah  I  I  never  had  to 
wait  fur  a  shop  girl  before.  I  wonder 
what  she's  like?  Of  course,  he  thinks 
that  she  is  prettier  than  I  am !  She^s  a 
common  little  rustic,  I  know.  Then  this 
is  why  you  were  so  cool  to  me.  Sir 
Knight  ?  This  is  why  yon  watched  me 
dance,  and  sing,  and  do  all  manner  of 
pretty  things,  as  unmoved  as  a  stone? 
Very  well,  you  won't  always.  My  day 
will  come.  Then  I'll  teach  yon  whether 
you  will  sit  by  my  side  like  your  grand- 
father carved  in  alabaster  I  PU  go  and 
tell  Delora  about  you,"  and  with  these 
words  she  capered  off  to  the  boudoir  of 
the  Cuban  heiress. 


458 


PUTET AM^B  MaoAZINX. 


[Aid. 


THE  NEW  SOUTH. 


WHAT  IT  IS  DOING,  AlTD  WHAT  IT  WANTS. 


^  The  King  is  dead !  Long  live  the 
King ! "  Sach  ever  has  been  the  for- 
mula in  France  by  which  the  death  of 
an  old,  and  the  advent  of  a  new,  ruler, 
were  simultaneonsly  announced.  The 
man  might  die :  the  king  must  live  for- 
ever. And  as  this  must  ever  be  the 
rule  with  those  large  communities,  con- 
centrating their  vitality  in  a  head  called 
a  king :  so  must  it  always  be  with  those 
other  communities  wMch,  under  our 
system,  group  themselves  together  in  a 
State,  which  is  the  heart  of  our  body- 
politic,  and  which  survives  successive 
generations  of  its  founders. 

The  Old  South,  once  so  active  and 
energetic  a  member  of  our  corporate 
body,  the  United  States,  is  dead— as 
dead  as  ever  was  king  or  kaiser;  and 
the  announcement  of  its  demise  was 
made  in  thunder-tones,  which  shook 
not  this  continent  alone,  but  the  whole 
orb  of  the  earth. 

But  the  New  South — ^its  child  and 
legitimate  successor — sits  in  the  seat  of 
the  dethroned  king,  exhibiting  a  lustier 
life,  and  the  promise  of  greater  growth 
and  strength,  than  did  its  predecessor. 
The  Old  South,  with  its  old  ways,  its 
peculiar  life  and  peculiar  industries, 
and,  more  especially,  with  its  "  peculiar 
institution,"  has  gone  "down  among 
the  dead  men,"  and  on  its  head- stone 
we  see  not  the  word  "  Resurgam."  For 
that  vanished  form  of  society  there  can 
be  no  resurrection.  It  was  annihilated 
with  emancipation :  and  this  the  South- 
em  people  know  and  recognize,  in  act 
as  in  speech,  however  fond  may  bo  the 
memories  which  yet  cluster  round  those 
"  good  old  times  "  to  them,  which  still 
"  smell  sweet,  and  blossom  in  the  dust." 

The  pen  of  the  great  novelist  of  our 
day  has  drawn  a  faithful  picture  of  that 
society  in  its  colonial  period,  in  "  The 
Yirginiana  ;'*''  and,  down  to  the  time 


of  the  late  war,  many  of  the  outSaa 
of  that  picture,  softened  by  time,  uL 
changed  manners,  were  fittU  jdioto* 
graphs  of  life  in  the  South :  blendii^ 
as  it  did,  the  old  patriarchal  sjitai 
with  the  feudalism  of  the  Middle  Agi^ 
and  making  agriculture  the  almost  o- 
clusive  employment  of  ita  spane  ad 
scattered  population.  Four  years  rf 
war  wrought  mighty  changes  intendlf 
on  this  society :  and  Reconstniction  em^ 
pleted  what  the  war  began,  v!M$ 
overturning  the  old  system,  and  out  of 
its  debrU  creating  what  we  see  to-daj- 
a  New  South,  whose  wants  and  inim^ 
ends  and  aims,  plans  and  purpoMi^  m 
as  dififerent  from  those  of  1860^  if 
though  a  century,  instead  of  a  dMdi 
only,  divided  the  two. 

It  is,  then,  of  this  New  SoutB|  m 
little  known,  so  much  misundeatot 
that  we  would  say  a  few  woidim 
"Maga" — words  of  truth  and  8ofa» 
ness,  divested  of  prejudice  or  panio^ 
and  relating  not  to  her  present  politicil 
or  social  condition,  but  to  her  matedal 
development — her  pressing  wants  and 
wishes,  and  the  wide  field  whidi  db 
opens  to  the  intellect,  the  eneigy,  and 
the  capital  of  the  North. 

The  field  is  so  vast  in  area  and  lO 
varied  in  attractions,  that  only  an  out' 
line  can  be  given  here :  and  even  that 
we  must  confine  to  a  particular  locality, 
selected  as  a  specimen.  Let  us  take  aa 
our  standpoint  that  State  in  the  Soutb- 
cm  cluster,  which  stands  in  the  same 
relation  to  the  others,  as  New  York  does 
to  the  Northern — the  renowned  "Old 
Donainion  "  of  Virginia — and  see  how 
it  fares  with  her ;  although  the  changea 
are  less  strikingly  perceptible  thera^ 
than  in  the  cotton-growing  States. 

What  are  the  great  changes,  then, 
which  mark  the  passage  lh)m  the  Old 
South  to  the  New?     The  first  and 


1 


Thb  New  Soitth. 


450 


striking  is  the  fact  that  she,  hith- 
the  proudest  and  most  exclusiye 
e  Southern  States  (with  the  excep- 
)f  South  Carolina)  who  ever  sought 
raw,  as  it  were,  a  Chinese  wall 
id  her  northern  limits,  so  as  to  ex- 
all  northern  or  foreign  settlers, 
opens  wide  her  arms  and  heart, 
earnestly  invites  immigration ;  re- 
ig,  in  peace,  that  well-known  and 
unwelcome  cry  of  war,  "  On  to 
nond  I " 

r  Governor,  her  Legislature,  her 
her  best  generals  during  the  war 
fine,  her  whole  population — echo 
ry,  and  welcome  these  peaceful  in- 
8.  One  of  the  most  earnest  and 
ent  passages  in  the  recent  inau- 
of  Governor  Walker  is  devoted  to 
call ;  and  as  his  voice  is  but  the 
of  the  popular  wish,  we  reproduce 
ords: 

1  my  opinion,  immigration  should 
stered  and  encouraged  by  all  the 
nces  we  can  exert,  and  by  all  the 
}  at  our  conmiand.  Nature,  with 
sh  hand,  has  bestowed  upon  us  all 
kdvantagea  of  climate,  soil,  and 
al  wealth  which  could  be  desired. 
Iiese  alone  will  not  suffice.  There 
be  other  inducements,  which  our 
e  themselves  can  alone  present. 
BAnda  of  vigorous,  intelligent, 
I  and  middle-aged  men,  with  more 
I  of  capital,  are  annually  migrating 
fhe  XSastem  and  Centnd  States  of 
nion  to  the  West  They  are  hon- 
idustrious,  eneigetic  citizens,  the 
and  sinew  of  ^e  land,  the  very 
3f  people  we  need  in  Virginia  to 
aae  our  surplus  lands,  to  build  up 
"aste  places,  and  to  unite  with  us 
relopmg  our  vast  affricultural  and 
bI  resources.  Englishmen  are  al- 
locking for  homes  in  our  State 
le  surplus  population  of  the  em- 
Much  interest,  also,  in  our  be- 
tias  of  late  been  awakened  among 
tl^r  populations  of  northern  £u- 
To  turn  the  tide  of  immigration 
all  these  sources  to  our  State,  only 
«B  the  proper,  combined,  ana  har- 
)ii8  action  of  our  people  and  their 
a  representatives.  Now  is  the  op- 
ae  moment  for  such  action ;  once 
t  may  never  return  in  your  day  or 
^  To  the  emigrant  who  settles  tin 
ddst,  with  the  honest  intention  of 


becoming  a  eood  citizen,  we  must  ex- 
tend a  cordial  and  hearty  welcome,  re- 
gardless of  what  State  or  nation  may 
happen  to  have  been  his  birthplace." 

These  are  words  of  weight  and  mean- 
ing, addressed  to  a  people  who  have 
shown  their  aptitude  in  profiting  by 
the  lessons  taught  them  by  the  changed 
aspect  of  afiairs. 

For,  not  alone  in  the  border  State  of 
Virginia  do  you  see  the  most  renowned 
leaders  in  the  war,  who  fought  so  des- 
perately to  perpetuate  their  old  system, 
taking  the  lead  in  great  educational, 
industrial,  and  immigration  movements 
— ^like  Lee,  Maury,  Mahone,  and  Imbo- 
den — ^but,  even  in  the  remoter  South, 
Johnston,  Beauregard,  Forrest,  and  their 
compeers,  are  seen  not  alone  *' accept- 
ing the  situation  "  (for  that  they  cannot 
help  doing),  but  improving  it,  by  in- 
spiring their  people  to  enter  into  com- 
petition with  the  Northern  in  industrial 
efibrt  and  skill,  and  to  diversify  their 
pursuits  by  the  introduction  of  North- 
em  and  foreign  muscle,  skill,  and  capi- 
tal. 

Whatever  the  case  may  be  as  regards 
the  political  affinities  of  the  two  sec- 
tions, there  can  be  no  doubt  of  the 
rapid  fusion  and  assimilation  of  the 
social  and  material  elements,  so  long 
"  divided,  discordant,  and  belligerent; " 
as  each  successive  day  blends  and  binds 
more  intimately  together  the  lives  and 
fortunes  of  the  two,  owing  to  the  move- 
ment of  Northern  men  and  capital 
southwards.  Though  the  North  has 
already,  and  is  daily  infusing  more  and 
more  the  peculiarities  of  its  life  and 
labor  on  the  South :  yet  there  is  also  a 
reciprocal  influence  reacting  upon  the 
North  with  equal  force,  though  less 
perceptibly.  For  it  is  a  truth  as  old  as 
history,  that,  as  in  the  case  of  Norman 
and  Saxon,  in  the  ftision  of  races  it 
always  happens  that  elements  of  both 
are  perq^tible  in  the  amalgam. 

The  Northerner  will  carry  South  his 
thrift,  his  caution,  his  restless  activity» 
his  love  of  new  things :  the  Sonthemer 
will  temper  these  with  his  reckless  lib- 
erality, his  careless  confidence,  his  fieiy 
energy,  and  his  old-time  conservatism ; 


460 


PuTNAH^s  Magazine. 


lAjiil, 


and  both  will  be  benefited  by  the  ad- 
miztore. 

But,  to  pass  to  more  practical  con- 
siderations, let  us  inquire :  What  are  the 
inducements  to  tempt  the  Northern 
capitalist  or  farmer  to  inyest,  or  move 
South  f  Can  he  do  better  there,  than 
by  employing  his  labor  and  his  funds  at 
home,  or  in  the  wide  West,  whose  vir- 
gin charms  woo  so  many  of  the  hardy 
sons  of  the  North  to  wend  their  way 
towards  sunset  ? 

This  is  the  crucial  question;  for, 
though  the  surplus  population  of  the 
North,  and  the  foreign  immigration, 
have  hitherto  poured  westward  in  a 
flood,  yet  the  curious  spectacle  is  now 
presenting  itself  of  an  ebb-tide  setting 
in  from  that  direction ;  since  it  has  fall- 
en within  the  scope  of  the  writer's  du- 
ties, to  have  ^issisted  in  settling  in  Vir- 
ginia returning  emigrants  from  the 
Northwest:  and  no  week  passes  that 
movements  are  not  made  from  that 
quarter,  in  the  same  direction.  One 
colony  of  Hollanders,  seven  hundred  in 
a  body,  migrated  last  year  from  Wis- 
consin, where  they  had  originally  set- 
tled ;  and  under  the  auspices  of  Gene- 
ral Lnbodcn,  State  Agent  of  Immigra- 
tion, settled  down  in  Amelia  county, 
Va,,  about  twenty  miles  south  of  Rich- 
mond, where  they  are  happy  and  pros- 
perous, and  are  awaiting  the  arrival, 
direct  from  Holland,  of  several  hun- 
dred more  of  their  countr3rmen.  A 
similar  movement  of  native  settlers  is 
steadily  progressing;  though,  through 
the  skilfiil  management  of  the  agents 
of  the  Western  railroad  lines,  aided  by 
the  steamship  lines,  the  great  bulk  of 
the  inmiigrants  from  northern  Europe 
is  still  poured  into  the  West.  Ameri- 
can immigration,  taking  this  new  direc- 
tion southward,  it  is  true,  has  trickled 
only  in  scanty  rivulets  as  yet ;  but  with 
the  thorough  flnal  reconstractioQ  of  the 
South,  and  her  reviving  prosperity,  it 
promises  soon  to  become  a  mighty  flood. 
The  sagacious  capitalists  of  New  York, 
Pennsylvania,  and  Massachusetts,  have 
foreseen  this,  and  have  prepared  to 
profit  by  it.  In  New  York,  within  the 
last  few  weeks,  three  great  industrial 


movements,  in  connection  with  Tl^ 
ginia,  embracing  many  millions  of  dot 
lars,  have  been  Buccessfully  initiited, 
and  put  in  the  way  of  speedy  campb> 
tion. 

The  first  great  enterprise  is  on 
which  has  just  been  brought  most  pro- 
minently before  the  public,  tliroo^  the 
enterprising  banking-house  which  bii 
charge  of  its  securities.  We  refer  ta 
the  Chesapeake  and  Ohio  Railroi^ 
which  is  to  open  the  communicatki 
between  the  Chesapeake  and  the  Fv 
West,  from  its  present  temdnm  the 
White  Sulphur  Springs,  at  the  sametiai 
making  a  new  highway  to  New  Yoft 
and  to  Richmond,  and  bringing  ftt 
great  iron  and  coal  region  of  the  Kft* 
nawha,  in  West  Virginia,  into  full  rifii* 
ry  with  the  Pennsylvania  and  Maryliad 
lines. 

Second.  The  eastern  link  of  the 
Memphis  and  El  Paso  railroad  is  to  la. 
attached  to  the  Norfolk  and  Grat 
Western  line  of  railroad,  running  fros 
Norfolk  in  an  air-line  through  Soiitlh 
side,  Ya.,  to  Bristol,  in  Tennone; 
and  proposals  for  the  constncdoi 
and  equipment  of  that  entire  line  oC 
road  (350  miles  in  length)  have  bM 
made  by  Northern  capitalists,  and 
are  now  under  consideration  of  ill 
Board  of  Directors. 

The  third,  and  aflSliated  enteipriH^ 
is  the  establishment  of  the  Yirginia  la* 
temational  Land  Company,  composed 
of  some  of  the  best  known  and  most 
enterprising  New  York  capitalists,  ea- 
gaging  to  purchase  and  settle,  at  a 
stipulated  price,  600,000  acres  of  tte 
lands  lying  on  each  side  of  this  liM^ 
couplecl  with  an  immigration  scheiiM^ 
which  will  speedily  people  those  fertito 
lands,  hitherto  so  sparsely  occupied,  yet 
lying  in  the  very  garden-spot  of  the 
State. 

While  these  great  movements  an 
made  outside  of  the  State,  in  aid  of 
the  railroad  communications,  the  peo- 
ple within  her  borders  have  awakened 
to  the  importance  of  such  works.  Mors 
than  twenty  new  lines,  and  extensions 
of  others  already  existing,  are  now 
under  construction  or  in  contemplatioQ 


Thb  New  South. 


461 


^inia :  commencing  with  the  great 
River  and  Kanawha  Canal  (the 
!anal  of  Virginia)  and  embracing 
Jy  the  long  lines  already  referred 
t  numerous  short  cuts  from  one 
to  another.  One  of  the  most  im- 
it  and  most  useful  among  these 
lines,  which,  when  completed, 
raighten  out  and  shorten  the  trip 
Washington  and  Baltimore  to 
lond  and  the  South,  is  the  exten- 
•f  the  Fredericksburg  and  Gor- 
ille  Railroad,  saving  the  present 
,  and  opening  a  new  and  valuable 
for  a  very  thriving  part  of  the 
7  hitherto  shut  out  from  railway 
inication.  Passing  through  a  rich 
1  of  the  Shenandoah  Valley,  whose 
traffic  it  will  command,  it  will 
:t  at  Charlottesville  with  the 
peake  and  Ohio  Railroad.  When 
eted,  as  it  soon  must  be,  it  will 
n  the  route  south  by  twenty  naleSj 
'om  Charlottesville  to  tide-water, 
niles.  Most,  if  not  all,  of  these 
ted  lines  are  in  a  fidr  way  of 
speedily  tndertaken,  and  Virginia 
ig  will  possess  a  perfect  gridiron 
[ways. 

construction  of  two  new  tnmk- 
3onnecting  the  seacoast  with  the 
West,  must  strike  every  obeerver 
30  common  significance ;  and  the 
tude  of  the  works  no  less  bol 
the  readiness  of  Northern 
to  invest  their  millions  tLr  13 
T  sign  full  of  hope  an^future 
le  for  the  New  South, 
re  IS  room  for  generou^^yiiiry  in 
?reat  enterprises,  tapi^g^  ^  they 
ifferent  points  in  th^^great  West, 
Qding  their  Atlant^  termini  at 
«nt  points  also ;  tj^  ^ne  at  Balti- 
the  other  at  Nafou^.  the  one 
Ig  up  the  greaf  ^fX,  iron,  and 
slds  of  the  Ka^^^i^a:  the  other 
lnaUy  valuabj^  j^^s  of  south- 
n  Virginia^  (^^  ^l^ich  Northern 
"^  ^^  Jiready  introduced  its 
?*^*f  these  lines  supplies  a 
fy  the  capacity  of  the  exist- 
•^^^^  canal,  and  water  routes, 
^®^3licoastto  theMississippi  valley 
^  *^est,  are  unable  to  transport 


the  surplus  products  of  the  West  to 
their  centres  of  shipment  and  consump- 
tion, and  high  rates  are  the  result,  in- 
viting new  and  improved  lines  of  trans- 
portation. 

So  keenly  is  this  want  felt  at  the 
West,  that  a  Committee  of  the  Nation- 
al Board  of  Trade,  with  the  president 
of  the  Chicago  Chamber  of  Commerce 
at  its  head,  has  appealed  to  Congress  to 
construct  a  great  freight-line  from  New 
York  to  the  Mississippi,  under  the  con- 
stitutional provision  for  regulating  com- 
merce. Westward  of  the  Pennsylvania 
boundary,  however,  the  lines  of  rail- 
road are  at  present  sufficiently  nume- 
rous and  efficient.  It  is  an  additional 
line,  or  lines,  across  the  Apalachian 
range,  that  is  needed,  and  this  the  Vir- 
ginian line  furnishes  in  unexpected  per- 
fection. 

The  Chesapeake  and  Ohio  line  has 
been  for  many  years  the  object  of  State 
care.  More  than  $7,000,000  were  ex- 
pended by  Virginia  upon  it  before  1860, 
and  about  an  equal  sum  was  contributed 
frx)m  private  sources.  Then  came  the 
war ;  the  appropriations  were  stopped, 
and  the  work  arrested  midway,  after 
the  1n~fTrr  tiimifi]!  ~'rrjr(T  thr  crest  of 
the  Alltfifiy  ridge  had  been  -o^^^^. 
vatedj/te  new  road  will  have^  thb 
coM^us  advantage  of  grades  light- 

^ in  those  in  use  on  our  oldest  and 

best  roads.  For  two  hundred  and  thir- 
ty-six continuous  miles  of  the  whole 
distance,  trains  will  pass  from  the  Ohio 
to  the  James  River,  with  grades  ave- 
raging only  ten  feet  to  the  mile,  with  a 
maximum  of  thirty  feet  per  mile.  The 
mountains  will  thus  be  crossed  with  no 
more  climbing  than  the  roads  on  our 

prairies.  ,  , 

Almost  as  important  to  Virginia,  and 
to  the  industry  of  the  whole  Union, 
will  be  the  after-work  of  the  Chesa- 
peake and  Ohio  line.  On  <me  slope  of 
the  Alleghanies  it  traverses  immense 
deposits  of  superior  iron  ores ;  on  the 
other  dope,  in  the  Kanawha  vaUey,  it 
cuts  through  the  finest  known  veins  of 
bituminous,  cannel,  and  "  splint "  coaL 
This  latter  is  a  variety  partaking  of  the 
properties  of  both  anthracite  and  can- 


462 


PuTNAM^s  Magazine. 


[Apia. 


nel,  and  is  especially  prized  by  iron 
manufacturers  on  account  of  its  £reedom 
from  sulphur.  Singularly  enough,  in 
southern  Ohio,  near  the  western  terminus 
of  the  road,  are  nearly  a  hundred  active 
iron  furnaces,  whose  operations  are  fet- 
tered by  the  increasing  difficulty  of 
procuring  cheap  charcoal.  To  these 
the  "splint"  coal  will  prove  a  timely 
assistance,  as  it  is  the  best  available 
mineral  substitute  for  charcoal  in  mak- 
ing the  best  iron.  The  cannel  coal,  in 
like  manner,  of  which  vast  quantities 
are  imported  from  Great  Britiun  for  gas 
and  parlor  uses,  can  be  mined  in  inex- 
haustible quantities  on  the  Kanawha,  at 
two  dollars  per  ton ;  and,  after  the  com- 
pletion of  the  railroad,  carried  to  ves- 
sels at  some  convenient  point  on  the 
Chesapeake,  for  an  additional  five  dol- 
lars per  ton.  In  other  words,  this  valu- 
able fuel  can  be  laid  down  at  the  dock 
all  along  the  coast  for  ten  dollars  per 
ton,  or  one  half  its  present  rates.  An 
immense  expansion  of  the  iron  manu- 
facturing interest  at  the  east  and  west 
ends  of  the  line  are  among  the  obvious 
results  of  this  road. 

These  great  public  works  are  to  ac- 
complish much  /or  the  reconstruction 
ot  Vi'irgmia  and  the  Sotfi.    But  there 
is  another  and  a  more  silet,  yet  not 
less  potent,  agent,  moving  irreastibly, 
growing  from  many  separate  streanntA. 
into  a  rushing  river,  fertilizing  as  it 
flows  over  the  old  barrier  of  "Mason 
and  Dixon^s  line,"  and  inundates  the 
South.    Many  of  the  places  made  waste 
by  war  have  been  redeemed  from  deso- 
lation.   Many  of  the  vacant  places  in 
field  and  by  fireside  have  been  filled  by 
the  inmiigration,  which   has  steadily, 
though  slowly  at  first,  been  setting  in 
for  the  South.    No  one,  who  has  not 
had  opportunities  for  watching  closely 
this  fiow  from   North  to  South   can 
imagine  the  proportions  it  has  already 
assumed,  and  the  mighty  shadow  it  al- 
ready projects  into  a  near  future ;  and 
not  only  from  the  Northern  States  of  this 
Union,  but  from  Europe  as  well,  where 
the  public  mind  and  heart  are  full  of 
agitation  on  the  subject  of  emigration. 
Within  the  past  six  months  the  actual 


settlers  on  Virginia  lands  have  been  vbj 
numerous;  more  native,  however, tbi 
foreign,  especially  in  Piedmont  ad 
Southside  Virginia,  the  latter  localitjbe- 
ing  the  favorite  one  with  the  Northm 
farmers.  And  "  the  cry  is  still  tlief 
come  I "  from  the  lumbermen  of  Mum 
seeking  new  forests  to  fellj  to  the  fin^ 
mers  of  the  Middle  States  searching  ftr 
milder  winters,  a  more  fertile  soil,  nd 
the  longer  spring  and  winter  seasonoC 
the  South ;  all  of  which  thej  procnsB 
for  a  tithe  of  the  price  paid  for  nmilv 
privileges  in  the  Northern  regiona,when 
land  is  less  and  money  more  abondtBt 
A  Virginia  homestead  now,  nndercidti- 
vation,  and  with  all  improvements^  ca 
be  had  at  a  price  so  incredibly  snnl 
that  it  is  difficult  to  make  lbreigiia% 
and  even  natives,  comprehend,  that  of 
thing  can  be  really  good  which  it  m 
cheap.  Yet  there  are  already  in  BooA- 
side  Virginia,  along  the  two  Unet  of 
railroad  which  intersect  it,  enoqg^ 
Northern  farmers  who  have  settbd 
down  singly,  or  in  pairs,  to  make  a 
very  respectable  colony,  in  nmnbers  and 
material,  if  collected  in  the  same  vidii- 
age. 

With  the  opening  of  spring  nM 
of  the  pioneers  expect  to  be  reinforeed 
by  friends  and  neighbors,  of  whom  tb^ 
have  been  the  avarit  eovrrien^  and  who 
have  only  awaited  their  favorable  repoit 
^*i  join  them  in  this  new  Canaan,  a  land 
reSly  flowing  with  milk  and  honey. 

Tn^fai'  this  matter  of  immigration 
has  bee;  left  chiefly  to  individual  eflbit, 
to  the  l^ra  of  T^'^'^  ^6  Maniy,  Imbo- 
den,  and  Ipchmann,  with  only  the  mor- 
al aid  of  ^te  countenance,  misapport- 
ed  by  materi^  appropriations  or  leps- 
lation.  Thi3t|llnow,wehope,bercmfr 
died.  \ 

Individual  eni^siasm  can  accomplish 
much ;  but  there  V^  burdens  too  heafy 
even  for  the  should"  V  Hercules  long 
to  bear  unaided ;  anl  *^  repcopling  or 
even  partially  fllling  a  5^*®  ^  ^^^^  ^ 
England,  with  not  more^  anefcurth 
of  its  available  area  underV^^**»^"» " 
a  task  which  will  tax  tho^P^f®  ^^ 
many  agents,  and  require  t*Jjff^^^ 
judicious  legislation,  fitly  to  f«"™- 


1870.1 


The  New  South. 


463 


But  with  '^  the  right  man  in  the  right 
place,"  as  Virginia  now  has  her  Gover- 
nor ;  and  with  a  legblature  composed  of 
young  and  new  men,  we  may  reasonably 
conclude  that  this  matter  will  claim  and 
command  intelligent  action,  by  the  pass- 
age of  acts  holding  out  inducements  and 
exemptions  to  newly  arrived  immigrants. 

The  invitation  is  given  by  a  State  on 
which  Nature  has  lavished  her  richest 
gifts  in  rare  profusion,  and  well  might 
one  of  her  sons  (Commodore  Barron) 
exclaim  with  just  pride,  when  speaking 
of  this,  his  fatherland  :  ^^  I  have  trav- 
ersed the  best  portions  of  the  earth,  and 
after  a  careful  examination  of  their  ag- 
ricultural merits,  have  arrived  at  the 
conclusion  that  some  six  or  seven  of  the 
tide-water  counties  of  Eastern  Virginia 
can  contribute  more  to  the  comfort  and 
luxury  of  man  than  any  other  portion 
of  the  habitable  globe." 

Another  witness,  who  cannot  bo  ac- 
cused of  undue  partiality,  Horace  Gree- 
ley, says  of  another  section,  the  Pied- 
mont region  in  Northern  Virginia :  *^  Set- 
tlers here  would  have  an  assured  success 
from  the  outset ;  and  would  find  in  the 
pure  air,  sparkling  streams,  mild  climate, 
ftaitful  soil,  and  bounteous  timber,  a 
beneficent  escape  from  the  sharpness  of 
Northern  winds  and  the  harshness  of 
Northern  winters." 

The  southern  counties  of  the  State 
offer  equal  attractions,  and  are  capable 
of  producing  both  cotton  and  tobacco, 
with  the  best  wheat  grown  in  the  United 
States. 

Within  the  borders  of  this  favored 
State  may  be  found  eveiy  variety  of 
scenery,  of  site,  of  climate,  and  produc- 
tion, from  the  rugged  ranges  of  the 
Blue  Ridge,  rivalling  the  Alps  in  moun- 
tain majesty,  to  the  smiling  and  fertile 
valley  of  Virginia  and  far-famed  Shen- 
andoah, giving  glimpses  of  Italy  with 
more  than  Italian  fertility.  Almost  as 
tempting  to  the  stranger's  eye  and  heart 
are  the  sunny  fields  and  woodlands  of 
Southside  Virginia — a  gently  rolling 
country  where  any  kind  of  cultivation 
will  thrive — the  great  tobacco  and  wheat 
region  of  the  State— with  its  market  at 
Richmond  near  at  hand.    The  exceed- 


ing cheapness  of  the  homesteads  to  be 
had  here,  attract  the  Northern  im- 
migration specially  to  this  spot ;  while 
a  little  farther  down  in  the  southwestern 
comer  of  the  State,  blue-grass  grazing 
lands,  equal  to  those  of  Kentucky,  and 
rich  deposits  of  coal  and  iron  ore,  have 
already  attracted  Northern  attention 
and  capital. 

This  was  the  section  of  the  State 
where  slave-labor  used  to  be  abun- 
dant; and  although  a  partial  exodus 
of  the  freedmen  to  the  cotton  and  su- 
gar plantations  further  South  has  recent- 
ly thinned  their  ranks,  yet  an  abundance 
of  that  labor  is  still  to  be  had  on  terms 
seeming  ridiculously  low  to  Northern 
fjBkrmers. 

The  old  proprietors  are  not  moving 
away ;  they  are  merely  selling  portions 
of  their  large  landed  property,  with  im- 
provements, to  attract  the  neighbors  and 
the  capital  they  need  to  cultivate  the 
rest.  For  the  three  great  wants  of  the 
New  South,  here,  as  elsewhere,  are  1st, 
the  want  of  men ;  2d,  the  want  of 
machinery ;  and  8d,  the  want  of  capital 
in  hard  cash. 

Yet  Virginia  is  not,  and  cannot  be, 
really  poor,  even  with  her  mighty  and 
varied  resources,  imperfectly  and  par- 
tially developed  as  they  are,  and  unde- 
veloped as  her  greatest  gifts  have  been, 
on  the  surface  and  in  the  bowels  of  the 
earth.  The  figures  of  the  last  Internal 
Revenue  returns  show,  that  she  stands 
nirUh  only  in  the  lUt  of  States  in  the 
magnitude  of  her  contribution  to  the  pvJth 
lie  treasury.  On  her  last  year's  produc- 
tion her  tribute-money  was  $4,700,000, 
four  times  as  much  as  was  obtained  from 
Georgia,  or  any  other  Southern  State. 

The  capital  represented  by  this  tax 
alone  may  easily  be  estimated ;  and  the 
coming  year  will  probably  show  a  much 
higher  figure.  If  she  can  make  such 
returns,  under  such  exceptional  and  ad- 
verse circumstances  as  those  which  have 
environed  her  for  the  past  year,  and 
before  the  terrible  efiects  of  the  late 
convulsion,  from  which  she  emerged 
ffieta  et  vidua,  have  ceased  to  be  felt, 
what  may  we  not  hope  for  in  the  bright- 
er future  now  dawning  upon  her  ? 


464 


PUTNAM^B  MaOAZIKB. 


[Aid, 


Let  her  three  great  wants  be  supplied, 
as  they  can  be,  by  the  influx  of  North- 
ern and  European  labor  and  capital  and 
immigration,  and  she  will  pour  a  return 
tide  of  wealth  upon  the  North,  which 
has  aided  in  her  regeneration. 

When  that  happy  time  shall  come  to 
her,  and  to  her  sisters  of  the  New 
South,  reconstructed  practically  by  this 
process,  then  will  the  whole  Southern 
people  sing  in  gladness  the  refrain  of 
the  old  song,  chanted  by  them  before, 
under  far  less  happy  auspices,  and  echo 
the  swelling  chorus : 

^^Thebb's  Lifb  is  the  Old  Land 

YET."* 


*  Tus  GuxiTB  OF  YiRQiKJA.—yLoxrsn  Laubsl, 
Ya.,  JPeftniary  16,  1870.— So  fine  are  the  Beaaons 
now  preraillng  in  this  latitude,  that  I  hare  thought 
it  would  not  be  amies  to  make  it  the  subject  of  a 
shoit  oommunication  to  your  Taluable  paper.  I  do 
BO,  that  parties  who  may  desire  to  locate  in  Vir- 
ginia will  have,  in  addition  to  a  kindly  soil,  good 
neighborhoods,  and  all  the  other  advantages  and 
appUanoM  that  country  location  can  bestow,  the 
best  climate  in  the  world.  As  a  proof  of  this, 
there  has  not  been  a  day  seaxcely  in  the  last  three 


years  that  profitable  ont-door  wosk  eofold  wk  ti 
done.  The  labor  necessary  to  yiucuie  in-«Ml 
during  these  winters  has  aoaroely  IniaTiBnd  vA 
the  operations  of  the  flucm ;  and  uyw,  at  fhlilk^ 
our  people  are  ftirther  adTmnoed  witk  ail  th«ftftB> 
work  than  they  have  erer  batora  benrn.  """"^ir^ 
and  others  designing  to  remoire  to  thaVest^aaii 
do  well  to  ponder  these  ftctsL  Wa  aza  sitaMI^ 
tween  the  extremes  of  heat  and  oold*  and,  on* 
quently,  are  firee  from  the  opxoaeaions  of  ttt  l» 
mer  and  the  rigors  of  the  latter. 

We  have  but  few  days  at  all  during  wialffii 
which  our  larm«work  comea  to  a  ataad-still,  ■! 
that  is  from  December  20th  to  Jannaiy  loui-d 
the  other  time  being  deroted  to  rennmentifti* 
door  labor. 

Our  mills  nerer  cease  grindingr  on  aaeeut  tf 
the  streams  which  supply  them  with  water  tataf 
frozen  up  with  ice ;  while  we  hara,  hot  ask  A» 
quontly,  ice  suificiontly  think  for  hoaiiBg;  ftr 
purposes  of  pulTerizatlon,  oor  lands  freest  iH§ 
enough  during  the  long  nights,  after  haTtagtai 
turned  up  with  the  plow  the  rT*K>ntiTig  d^.  Oir 
lands,  weU  adapted  to  but  iMMrly  laid  demli 
grass  at  i>reBent,  ftunish  nearly  a  toffleisMy  tf 
vegetation  to  keep  our  cattlo  throncrh  the' 
We  can  have,  if  we  would,  vogetablas 
early  here  as  in  States  farther  Sontii. 

Our  people  are  not  subject  to  those  doadltfA^ 
eases  that  prevail  in  more  soatham  ellmei^  alfli 
we  are  equally  free  Itom  those  belonging  tseilte 
latitudes.  On  the  whole,  it  may  be  aalisly  asHBHi 
that  tho  climate  of  Virginia  is  the  best  ia  Al 
world.— Cor.  Richmond  Whig. 


•#* 


PREDICATORIANA. 


OLD  BB58ATI0K  PBEACHEBS. 


Much  as  we  have  to  say  concerning 
*'  sensation-preaching  "  now-a-days,  it  is 
quite  certain  that  nothing  ever  meets 
the  eyes  or  greets  the  ears  of  a  modem 
audience  at  all  to  be  compared  with  the 
extravagant  performances  of  some  of 
the  elder  preachers.  Many  of  their 
peculiarities  were  no  doubt  mere  modes 
of  expression  current  at  the  time ;  but 
a  good  deal  of  their  extravagance  also 
was  buflfooneiy  or  violence  of  manner. 
What  should  we  say,  for  example,  of  a 
preacher  now,  who  should  so  exhaust 
himself  by  the  vehemence  of  his  de- 
clamation that  he  would  be  obliged  to 
stop  several  times  during  his  sermon  to 
recruit  himself  with  wine,  as  it  is  re- 
lated of  a  canon  of  Seyille,  preacher  to 
Charles  the  Fifth  ?  We  read  of  some 
preachers  who  indulged  in  grimaces  and 
extravagance  of  deportment,  or  of  others 


who  went  just  as  far  the  other  wifi 
affecting  monotony  and  measured  mon* 
ment  in  all  things,  and  fixing  the  enet 
passage  beforehand  when  they  would 
cough.  Pcignot  professes  to  have  Mi 
the  manuscripts  of  a  preacher,  on  tba 
margins  of  which  were  directions,  thv: 
'^  Sit  down ;  stand  up ;  here  yon  mint 
use  your  handkerchief ;  here  you  moat 
roar  en  didble^^  &c.  It  was  to  thft 
demonstrative  kind  that  Balxac  refemd 
when  he  makes  an  old  doctor  adTise  a 
young  man  concerning  preaching,  as  Al- 
lows :  *'*'  Shake  the  church  all  over,  look 
at  the  crucifix  in  a  frenzied  manner,  aiy 
nothing  to  the  purpose,  and  you  win 
preach  well."  The  strange  folly  and 
buffoonery  both  of  manner  and  matter 
which  was  so  habitual  as  to  pass  with- 
out reproach,  may  be  illustrated  by  an 
anecdote  or  two.    Here  is  one  related 


1870.] 


Pbedicatoeiaxa. 


405 


by  Peignot,*  for  the  truth  of  which  ho 
does  not  vouch,  but  which  is  by  no 
means  too  strange  to  be  believed:  *^A 
monk,  preaching  on  the  Nativity,  re- 
marked that  the  cock  was  the  first  to 
announce  in  the  morning  the  great 
event,  by  singing,  ^  Christ  is  born,  Christ 
is  bom,'  *  Christus  natus  e«t^  and  in  re- 
peating the  Latin  words,  the  monk  imi- 
tated the  crowing  of  a  cock ;  '  then,' 
continued  he,  'the  ox,  impatient  to 
know  where  Christ  was  bom,  cried  out, 
*  Where,  where  ? '  '  Vhi^  uhi  t '  and  again 
he  imitated  with  the  Latin  the  deep  low 
of  the  ox ;  to  this  question  of  the  ox, 
the  preacher  said  the  sheep  made  au- 
Bwer, '  In  Bethlehem^  in  Bethlehem  ; '  and 
BO  saying,  he  bleated  like  a  sheep ;  final- 
ly the  ass  invited  all  to  repair  to  the 
place  by  braying  out,  '  Let  us  go,  let  us 
go,  let  us  go,' '  JSkimvSf  eamu$,  eamtts  ; ' 
and  it  was  in  the  braying  of  the  ass 
that  the  preacher  surpassed  himsel£" 
Barlette,  a  celebrated  preacher  of  the  fif- 
teenth century,  employed  a  similar  means 
of  effect  for  enriching  the  church :  "  You 
ask  of  me,  dearest  brothers,"  he  said, 
«« how  you  may  attain  to  heaven ;  this 
the  very  bells  of  the  monastery  tell  you, 
by  giving  dando^  dando^  dando  ;  "  in  ut- 
tering which  he  imitated  the  sound  of 
bells.  The  Father  Honor6,  however,  & 
celebrated  capuchin  of  the  seventeenth 
oentury,  cast  these  performances  far  in 
the  shade.  Once  when  he  was  preach- 
ing on  the  vanity  of  the  world,  he  sud- 
denly produced  a  skull,  which  he  held 
xxp  to  view.  "  Speak ! "  he  cried ;  "  were 
yon  not  perhaps  the  head  of  a  magis- 
trate? Silence  gives  consent."  Then, 
clapping  upon  the  skull  the  cap  of  a 
judge,  he  continued :  **  Ah  1  ha  1  hast 
thou  never  sold  justice  for  gold  ?  hast 
thon  not  been  snoring  many  times  dur- 
ing a  hearing?  &c.,  &c.  How  many 
magistrates  have  sat  under  the  fleurs- 
de-lys  only  to  put  virtue  at  a  disadvan- 
tage ? "  Casting  aside  the  skull,  he  held 
up  another  which  in  like  manner  he 
addressed:  "Wast  thou  not  perhaps 
the  skull   of  one  of  those   beautitnl 


*  **PrMicatorIaDa,  on  R6T6Iation«  Slngaliftres  et 
AmvMmtefl  tor  les  Pr6dioateaFi,  fto.,  par  Q.  P.  Pbi- 
lomiiMte  [pseudon.  of  £.  G.  Peignot].  Dijon,  1841  .'* 

VOL.  V. — 31 


ladies  who  occupy  themselves  only  with 
catching  hearts  after  the  manner  of 
bird-catching  ? "  Then,  arraying  it  in  a 
head-dress,  he  continued :  "  Ah  I  ha  I 
empty  head  1  Where  are  those  lovely 
eyes,  which  cast  such  fascinating  glances  ? 
that  pretty  mouth,  which  shaped  such 
gracious  smiles,  that  made  so  many  un- 
happy ones  to  weep  in  hell  ?  Where  are 
those  teeth,  ^hich  chewed  .upon  so  many 
hearts  only  to  make  them  the  more  ten- 
der for  the  deviPs  eating  ? "  &c.,  &c. 
"Thus  most  invectively  he  piercetli 
through  the  body  of  the  country,  city, 
court,"  bringing  forth  skull  after  skull 
and  appropriately  decking  them  to  re- 
ceive his  reproofs.  The  Father  Honore 
is  said  to  have  been  a  very  popular  and 
successful  preacher  in  spite  of  his  harsh 
voice.  Bourdaloue  said  of  him :  "  He 
grates  on  the  ear,  but  he  rends  the 
heart."  A  still  more  astonishing  per- 
formance is  related  of  Brydaine,  a  pow- 
erful preacher  of  the  first  half  of  the 
last  century.  He  caused  himself  to  be 
led  into  the  church  by  his  valet  with  a 
cord  about  his  neck,  like  a  victim  en- 
deavoring to  win  the  pity  of  God.  The 
good  women  were  frightened  lest  he 
should  be  strangled.  Then  mounting 
the  pulpit  and  beginning  his  discourse, 
he  suddenly  disappeared ;  while  the 
people  were  fearing  that  he  was  precipi- 
tated into  the  abyss,  he  caused  his  voice 
to  echo  forth  mournfully,  acting  the  part 
of  a  condemned  soul  which  the  devils 
were  loading  with  their  chains.  Some- 
times this  pulpit-acting  availed  itself 
of  additional  means  of  dramatic  cfiect. 
In  a  sermon  upon  the  last  judgment,  a 
preacher  was  speaking  of  the  frightful 
alarum  of  trumpets  whicli  would  wake 
up  the  dead  at  the  end  of  the  world. 
"  Yes,"  he  cried,  "  you  will  hear  them, 
sinners,  when  you  least  think  it ;  per- 
haps to-morrow — ^why  do  I  say  to-mor- 
row ? — perhaps  at  this  instant."  At  that 
moment  the  horrible  clang  of  a  dozen 
trumpets,  which  the  preacher  had  secret- 
ly placed  in  the  nave,  rang  through  the 
church. 

This  pulpit  buffoonery,  which  was 
received  without  much  offence,  if  any, 
in  the  olden  time,  must  not  be  supposed 


460 


PUTNAM^S  ^AGAZIXS, 


[April, 


to  he  the  only  thing  that  the  pulpit  sup- 
plied. What  a  man  receiTed  depended 
much  on  his  own  soul,  as  it  always  does. 
Poncet  had  much  sense  in  his  reply  to  a 
duke  who  objected  good-naturedly  to 
his  ludicrous  manners  in  the  pulpit: 
**  Sir,  understand  that  I  preach  only  the 
word  of  God,  and  that  those  who  come 
to  laugh  are  bad  men  and  atheists. 
Moreover,  I  have  not  in  my  life  caused 
so  many  to  laugh  as  you  have  caused  to 
weep."  Sometimes  an  aflfccted  delicacy 
went  quite  to  the  other  extreme,  as  in 
the  case  of  the  English  bishop  when 
preaching  before  the  court ;  he  said  that 
those  who  should  not  lay  his  sermon  to 
heart,  were  in  danger  of  being  con- 
signed forever  to  that  place  which  "po- 
liteness would  not  permit  him  to  name 
before  so  respectable  an  audience."  On 
the  other  side,  Balzac  mentions  a  capu- 
chin who  preached  at  Rome  with  such 
majesty  of  air,  such  beauty  of  voice,  such 
purity  of  language,  such  dignity  of  de- 
meanor, and  such  affecting  zeal,  against 
ecclesiastical  absenteeism,  that  thirty 
bishops,  conscience-stricken,  set  off  the 
next  day  for  their  dioceses.  As  a  speci- 
men of  eloquence,  take  this  stirring  pass- 
age from  Father  Jacques  Brydainc,  of 
the  last  century :  "  On  what,  my  broth- 
ers, do  you  rest  your  confidence  that 
your  last  day  is  yet  so  far  ?  Is  it  on 
your  youth  ?  Yes,  you  say ;  I  have  yet 
only  twenty  or  thirty  years  behind  me. 
Ah  1  you  are  misled  and  deceived.  It 
is  not  you,  but  Death,  who  has  twenty  or 
thirty  years  behind  him ;  thirty  years 
of  grace  which  God  has  accorded  to 
you,  which  you  owe  to  him,  and  which 
have  brought  you  just  so  much  nearer 
to  the  day  when  Death  must  claim  you. 
Keep  the  soul  ready,  therefore;  eter- 
nity marks  already  on  your  brow  the 
moment  when  it  shall  begin  for  you. 
Oh !  do  you  know  what  eternity  is  ? 
It  is  a  clock  whose  pendulum  utters 
evermore  only  these  two  words  in  the 
silence  of  the  tomb:  forever,  never  I 
never,  forever  I  and  forever  I  During 
these  frightful  vibrations,  a  lost  soul 
cries  out,  *  What  time  is  it  ? '  and  another 
wretched  brother  answers,  *  Eternity.' " 
History  preserves  the  tradition  of  the 


terrific  efiect  upoD  the  congregatioaof 
this  solemn  appeal,  delivered  with  tlte 
preacher's  resounding  yoice  and  lusin* 
pctuosity  of  manner.  If  report  mib 
truly  of  the  stifled  cries  and  deq[>  mv- 
murs  which  arose  all  over  the  chndi 
when  he  preached,  he  must  have  beeat 
mighty  preacher.  He  used  common  tad 
popular  images  to  illustrate  the  lofiiot 
ideas;  and  it  was  his  habit  to  preach  ia 
the  early  evening,  just  at  the  coming  m 
of  night,  which  no  doubt  added  pover 
to  his  words.  The  passage  quoted  above 
doubtless  furnished  Longfellow  withtk 
text  for  "  The  old  Clock  on  the  Stain.' 
The  old  preachers  were  by  no  mem 
deficient  in  wit ;  on  the  contrary,  thej 
availed  themselves  of  humor  and  satin 
without  scruple.  Here  is  a  story  of  Ab 
little  Father  Andre,  a  witty  preacherof 
the  seventecnUi  century,  who  finds  a 
chance  for  humor  under  the  cloak  of  tin 
extravagant  and  absurd  etymologythea 
in  vogue :  He  was  once  preaching  at 
Bordeaux  dming  a  festival  called  then 
the  "  Feast  of  the  short  O,"  or  tbe 
"  Feast  of  the  End  of  the  Year,"  cde- 
brated  by  the  young  married  womo. 
"Ladies,"  said  Andr6,  "since  I  am 
preaching  to  you  on  your  feto-dtp^I 
must  inform  you  of  the  origin  of  its 
name ;  and  certainly  I  cannot  bat  ad- 
mire the  wisdom  of  our  fathers  wko 
gave  to  it  a  name  so  appropriate.  For, 
in  fine,  when  at  the  end  of  the  year  a 
father  asks  his  daughter  how  she  finds 
her  husband,  *  Ohy  my  father,'  she  cries 
at  once,  ^  what  a  noble  man  you  gate 
me  1  Oh,  if  you  knew  how  he  loves 
me  I  Oh,  how  happy  I  am  with  him!' 
Very  well,  ladies,  that  is  the  omicron  of 
the  Greeks,  that  is  to  say,  the  little  0, 
the  short  O.  But  after  the  second  or 
third  year,  let  the  father  ask  the  sama 
question  of  his  daughter.  '  My  father,' 
she  answers  sadly,  ^  alas  I  things  ir 
changed:  my  husband  is  a  gamblor, a 
sot,  a  rake.  Oh,  how  unhappy  I  ami' 
And  that,  ladies,  is  the  omega^  the  long 
O,  the  O  of  all  the  devils."  Andr^  had 
very  little  affection  for  the  Jesuits— « 
trait  which  he  displayed  during  a  disr 
course  on  Ignatius  in  a  way  which  must 
have  been  a  little  biting  to  his  Jesuit 


1870.] 


FfiSDIO  ATORI  ANA . 


467 


aadience.  He  supposes  tlio  saint  to  be 
asking  a  place  for  his  order :  "  I  do  not 
know  where  to  put  you,"  says  Christ ; 
**  the  deserts  are  held  by  St.  Benedict 
and  St.  Bruno;  St.  Bernard  occupies 
the  valleys,  St.  Francis  the  little  towns ; 
where  can  you  go  ? "  "  Ah !  Lord,"  re- 
plica Ignatius,  "  only  put  us  in  a  place 
where  there  is  something  to  get,  in  the 
great  cities,  for  example,  and  leave  the 
rest  to  us."  "  Christianity,"  said  Andr6 
on  another  occasion,  ^'is  like  a  great 
salad;  the  nations  are  the  herbs,  the 
doctors  arc  the  salt,  macerations  are  the 
vinegar ;  and  the  oil,  that  is  the  good 
Jesuit  fathers.  Is  there  any  thing  more 
lubricating  than  a  good  Jesuit  father  ? 
Ck>Dfess  to  another,  and  he  will  say  to 
you,  *  You  will  be  damned  if  you  con- 
tinue.' A  Jesuit  smooths  every  thing 
down.  Moreover  the  oil,  if  a  little  of  it 
fall  on  a  cloth,  spreads  itself  out  and 
occupies  gradually  a  great  space ;  so  let 
one  send  a  good  Jesuit  father  into  a 
province,  and  very  soon  it  will  be  full 
of  them." 

Among  the  many  good  things  told  of 
Swift,  by  the  way,  this  deserves  a  place ; 
preaching  once  on  pride,  he  said :  "  My 
dssr  hearers,  there  are  four  kinds  of 
pride :  pride  of  birth,  pride  of  fortune, 
pride  of  beauty,  and  pride  of  intellect. 
I  win  speak  to  you  of  the  first  three ; 
as  for  the  fourth,  I  shall  say  nothing 
of  that,  there  being  no  one  among  you 
who  can  possibly  be  accused  of  this 
reprehensible  fault." 

Sometimes  we  encounter  a  nalvcto 
and  simplicity  worthy  of  the  Emerald 
Isle.  The  Father  D'Harrouis,  telling 
of  the  excitement  produced  at  Rouen 
by  Bourdaloue's  preaching,  when  the 
merchants,  mechanics,  lawyers,  and  phy- 
sicians left  their  occupations  and  throng- 
ed to  the  church,  he  added  simply :  "  But 
when  I  went  there  to  preach,  I  put  all 
things  to  rights  again ;  not  a  man  of 
them  led  his  business."  This  is  surpass- 
ed, however,  by  the  capuchin,  who  an- 
nounced in  the  pulpit  that  Providence 
had  put  death  at  the  end  of  life  in  or- 
der to  give  sinners  time  to  repent  It  is 
not  unfair,  considering  the  autocratic 
privileges  of  the  pulpit,  that  ministers 


should  now  and  then  feel  the  wit  of 
other  people,  especially  when  they  de- 
serve it.  The  mot  of  Malherbes  is  well 
known,  when  invited  by  an  archbishop 
to  attend  his  sermon :  "  Ah  1  excuse  me, 
my  Lord,"  said  the  poet,  mindful  of  his 
daily  nap ;  "  I  shall  sleep  very  well  with- 
out it."  Here  is  one  still  better;  a  ver- 
bose preacher  could  bo  found  only  on 
Sunday,  being  obliged  to  secrete  himself 
during  the  week  to  avoid  his  creditors ; 
"  that  man,"  said  a  waggish  hearer,  "  is 
invisible  six  days  of  the  week  and  in- 
comprehensible the  seventh."  A  preach- 
er in  a  church  where  it  was  the  custom 
to  place  the  men  on  one  side  and  the 
women  on  the  other,  had  the  hardihood 
to  display  his  wit  at  the  expense  of  the 
fair  sex.  He  was  complaining  of  a  noise 
which  disturbed  him,  when  a  woman, 
mindful  of  the  credit  of  her  sex,  spoke 
aloud  to  assure  him  that  the  interrup- 
tion did  not  come  from  their  side.  "  So 
much  the  better,  my  dear,  so  much  the 
better,"  said  the  preacher ;  "  it  will  end 
the  sooner."  A  curious  instance  of  cleri- 
cal flattery  appears  in  the  exordium  of 
a  sermon  on  the  Trinity  preached  by  a 
Gray  Friar  before  an  Archbishop  whose 
family  name  was  Levi:  "It  would  seem 
to  me  impossible,  my  Lord,  to  succeed 
in  a  design  so  lofty,  if  I  did  not  avail 
myself  of  the  intercession  of  Madame 
your  cousin,  by  saying  to  her,  Ave  Ifaria,^* 
Let  us  contrast  with  this  a  dignified  as- 
sertion of  pulpit  impartiality  to  be  found 
in  the  address  of  the  Father  Seraphin  to 
Louis  XrV.,  when  preaching  before  him : 
"  Sire,  I  am  not  ignorant  of  the  custom 
which  requires  me  to  salute  you  with  a 
compliment,  but  I  beg  your  Majesty  to 
excuse  me  from  it;  I  have  looked 
through  the  Holy  Scripture  for  a  com- 
pliment, and  I  have  been  so  unhappy  as 
not  to  find  a  single  one."  The  same 
preacher  was  sharper  on  another  occa- 
sion when  he  discovered  an  abb6  sleep- 
ing :  "  Wake  up  that  abbd,"  he  cried, 
^'  who  has  probably  come  to  the  church 
only  to  pay  court  to  the  king."  The  cxir6 
of  Pierre-Bussi^e,  a  preacher  of  Limo- 
sin,  thus  rudely  berates  his  people: 
"  When  the  day  of  judgment  shall  come, 
God  will  call  mo  to  render  an  account 


468 


Putnam's  Magazins. 


lAprO. 


of  you  all,  and  will  say  to  me,  *  Chap- 
lain of  Picrre-BuBsidre,  what  is  the  state 
of  your  sheep  ? '  and  I  shall  say  not  a 
word.  Again  he  will  say  to  me, '  Chap- 
lain of  Pierre-Bussi^re,  in  what  state  are 
your  sheep  f '  and  again  I  shall  answer 
not  a  word.  Then  the  third  time  he 
will  say  to  me,  'Chaplain  of  Pierre- 
Bussidre,  what  is  the  state  of  your 
sheep?'  and  I  will  answer,  *Lord, 
beasts  thou  gayest  them  to  me  and 
beasts  I  return  them  to  thee."  Of  the 
character  of  this  cur6's  audience  we  are 
not  informed;  but  a  preacher,  according 
to  a  story  in  Peignot,  devoted  a  similar 
brusque  and  uncivil  passage  to  the  no- 
bility. He  describes  a  scene  before  the 
gate  of  heaven :  ''  A  duchess  knocks  at 
the  gate.  St.  Peter  asks,  *  Who  is  there  ? ' 
The  duchess  answers,  *  It  is  I,  Madame 
the  Duchess.'  *  What  1 '  says  St.  Peter, 
*  Madame  the  Duchess  who  goes  to  the 
ball  ?  Madame  the  Duchess  who  goes  to 
the  opera  ?  Madame  the  Duchess  who 
has  gallants  ?  Madame  the  Duchess  who 
paints  her  face  ?  To  the  Devil,  to  the 
Devil,  Madame  the  Duchess  ! '  and  he 
shuts  the  gate  on  her  nose."  The  follow- 
ing spicy  passage  from  Valladier,  a 
preacher  of  the  first  half  of  the  seven- 
teenth century,  reveals  some  interesting 
resemblances  between  the  fashionable 
toilet  now  and  that  of  two  hundred 
years  ago:  "Young  women,  what  do 
you  do  by  this  meretricious  apparel 
other  than  make  an  exhibition  of  your 
vanity  and  wickedness  before  Qod  and 
men  ?  .  .  ,  Do  you  not  understand  me  f 
Do  you  wish  to  see  that  your  every  act 
IS  only  pride,  ambition,  vanity,  hypoc- 
risy, that  is  to  say,  *  aBhea  and  dust  f  " 
[This  sermon  was  preached  on  Ash-  Wed- 
Jiesday.]  "  You  wish  me  to  believe  that 
your  hair  is  gray.  Oh,  hypocrisy  and 
detestable  falsehood  1  It  is  only  powder, 
Florentine  iris  and  Cyprus  powder. . .  . 
You  wish  to  make  me  think  this  com- 
plexion is  your  own.  Hypocrisy  !  de- 
ceit !  It  is  only  plaster,  vermilion,  and 
white  lead.  You  wish  to  appear  tall, 
and  you  deceive;  you  are  in  reality 
dwarfs;  it  is  your  high  heels  that  ele- 
vate you ;  hypocrisy  and  insupportable 
falsehood  I    You  vaunt  your  luxuriant 


hair.  Oh,  you  liars !  Oh,  you  defrud- 
ers  I  It  is  borrowed ;  *  this  is  the  btir 
of  some  beggar,  often  even  of  some  eu* 
cuted  criminal,  which  joa  have  bon^ 
at  the  hairdresser's  ....  Hypocrisy,  hy- 
pocrisy, horrible  imposture  I  wludi  is 
an  injury  to  Qod,  a  shame  to  nature,  an 
olfence  to  men,  a  scandal  to  the  angds, 
and  a  delight  to  the  devils.  .  .  .  Qn* 
cious  heavens  1  why  cannot  you  be  con- 
tent with  your  natural  beaaty  ?  " 

Erasmus  has  left  ns  his  view  of  tlie 
preaching  of  the  8i2:teenth  centniy, 
which  is  quoted  by  Joly,  "  Histoire  de 
la  Predication."  He  says :  ^'  They  com- 
pose an  exordium  which  has  no  conziM- 
tion  whatever  with  the  sabject  in  hand; 
if  they  design  to  preach  of  charity,  tiMj 
begin  with  the  river  Nile;  if  of  tile 
mystery  of  the  cross,  with  the  idol  of 
Bel ;  if  of  abstinence  in  Lent,  with  fbe 
twelve  signs  of  the  Zodiac ;  if  of  fsi^ 
with  the  squaring  of  the  circle.  Thej 
think  it  a  fine  thing  to  thrust  Qwk 
words,  often  most  inappropriate,  iato 
their  discourses,  which  thus  become  a 
kind  of  mosaic  work.  They  parade  sci- 
entific terms  which  dazzle  the  hearer; 
those  who  understand  them  plume  them- 
selves on  their  knowledgOi  and  ihsm^ 
who  are  all  in  the  dark,  admire  the 
preacher  in  proportion  to  their  igno- 
rance." Erasmus  thinks  the  people  are 
partly  to  blame ;  for  he  proceeds,  "If 
the  preacher  treats  seriously  of  his  sab- 
ject, they  cough,  loll,  yawn,  sleep ;  but 
if,  as  often  happens,  he  brings  in  an  old 
stoiy  or  legend  or  fable,  immediately 
every  body  is  awake  and  attentive: 
There  is  no  juggler  or  buffoon  whom 
you  would  leave  for  the  preacher."  Pd- 
gnot  thus  describes  the  sermon  of  the 
same  period :  "  It  has  been  remarked 
that  all  the  pious  whimsicalities  of  the 
fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries,  which 
cannot  be  honored  with  the  name  of 
sermons,  are  constructed  on  nearly  the 
same  pattern.  The  same  text  served  for 
all  the  sermons  of  one  Lenten  season. 
The  preacher,  having  repeated  this  text, 

*  "  So  are  thoae  crisped,  snaky,  golden  lo6k^ 
Which  moke  such  wanton  gambols  with  tho  wind 
Upon  snppoacd  fidmees,  often  known 
To  be  the  dowry  of  a  second  head, 
The  Bkall  that  bred  them  in  the  eopolchre.'* 


Pbedioatoriana. 


469 


(red  a  long  exordium,  after  which 
jposed  two  questions,  one  of  the- 
and  one  of  the  civil  or  canon  law. 
le  theological  question  he  quoted 
pinions  of  the  masters  of  the 
I ;  and  on  the  other  he  cited  the 
,  paragraphs,  and  laws,  as  if  he 
making  a  plea.  When  he  had 
ently  discussed  these  questions,  he 
id  his  discourse  by  words  which 
;d,  as  if  it  were  verse ;  and  each 
se  divisions  was  again  subdivided, 
ody  of  these  sermons  presented  a 
of  extracts  from  profane  history, 
lents  from  pagan  philosophers,  po- 
id  fabulous  stories,  in  which  were 
almost  on  every  page  the  great 
Lnondas,  the  divine  Plato,  the  artis- 
omer,  &c.  A  bishop  (Comeille 
),  in  a  discourse  which  he  deliver- 

the  opening  of  the  Council  of 

went  so  far  as  to  say  that  Hhe 
33  should  enter  that  town,  as  the 
and  valiant  captains  of  the  Greeks 
d  the  wooden  horse  with  which 
urprised  Troy.'     Happy  applica- 

Afterwards  this  ridiculous  and 
erudition  became  distasteful ;  but 
3fane  authors  they  substituted  the 
stic  theologians.  The  most  ab- 
questions  of  the  schools  were  dia- 
.  in  the  pulpit,  and  the  sermons 
filled  with  a  dry  scholasticism 
ikely  to  wither  the  heart  than  en- 
a  the  soul.  The  ancient  doctors 
preferred  to  the  modem,  and  it 

special  point  to  be  acquainted 
:he  doctrine  of  the  Fathers ;  but 
:a1ions  were  so  frequent  that  the 
as  were  nothing  but  a  tissue  of 
^es  misdirected  and  heaped  togeth- 
:K)nfusion."  This  absolute  domi- 
L  of  authority  may  be  inferred 
jJlanvil,  who  as  late  as  the  end  of 
venteenth  century  "  compared  the 
g  scholars  of  his  day  to  the  mari- 
10  returned  laden  with  common 
»  from  the  Indies,  imagining  that 
nust  be  rare  because  they  came 
afar;  and  he  accused  them  of 
ngy  on  the  authority  of  Beza,  that 
a  have  no  beards,  and  on  that  of 
gustine  that  peace  is  a  blessing."  * 

'  Utkj,  **  Histoxy  of  Batioxuaifm.'* 


The  manner  in  which  the  old  mythol- 
ogy was  used  will  be  seen  in  this  sen- 
tence from  the  Bishop  Musso,  before 
mentioned :  "  Our  Lord  in  dying  was  a 
Hercules ;  in  his  resurrection,  an  Apollo 
or  an  Esculapius ;  in  his  ascension,  he 
was  a  true  Bellcrophon,  a  new  Perseus 
who  killed  Medusa,  the  Gorgon  who 
changed  men  to  stones."  When  to  this 
inimdation  of  unmeaning  pedantry  is 
added  the  comedy  and  buffoonery  of 
manner  and  matter  before  described, 
and  when  it  is  remembered  too  that  the 
preachers  did  not  abstain  from  a  ftinny 
point  for  modesty's  sake,  we  easily  un- 
derstand the  indignation  of  Joly.  "  The 
pulpit,"  he  says,  "  was  erected  into  a 
theatre ;  the  people  heard  there  only  a 
tissue  of  jokes,  vulgarities,  indecent  illu- 
sions, low  comparisons,  foolish  thoughts, 
Equivoques  and  puns  as  contrary  to  mod- 
esty as  to  the  gravity  of  the  Minister  of 
the  Word." 

Astonishing,  however,  as  the  medley 
and  buffoonery  in  these  sermons  may 
appear,  the  palm  must  decidedly  be 
given  to  their  "  logical "  features.  Any 
thing  that  could  be  cast  into  a  logical 
form  seems  to  have  satisfied  their  minds, 
without  regard  to  the  substance  or  sub- 
ject-matter. The  most  fanciful  ana- 
logies were  put  forth  and  received  im- 
plicitly as  invincible  arguments.  Here, 
for  instance,  is  an  enlightened  account 
of  the  nature  of  death,  firom  Haulin, 
celebrated  as  a  preacher  in  the  fifteenth 
century :  "  How  does  the  outer  man  per- 
ish f  In  this  way :  if  every  day,  even 
though  only  drop  by  drop,  water  be 
poured  into  a  cask  of  wine,  soon  the 
wine  will  decrease  in  quality  and  at  last 
disappear.  In  like  manner  the  food 
which  enters  every  day  into  the  body 
of  a  man  diminishes  his  natural  heat, 
and  so  at  last  he  perishes."  This,  how- 
ever, is  far  outdone  by  a  preacher  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  who  thus  refers  to  the 
Greek  Testament,  then  recently  edited 
and  printed :  "  They  have  invented,  yes, 
they  have  invented  a  new  language 
which  they  call  Greek.  Distrust  it,  my 
brothers ;  it  is  the  source  of  all  heresy. 
They  are  putting  into  the  hands  of 
many  persons  a  book  written  in  that 


470 


PUTKAU'S  MaOAZIKB. 


[Apa. 


language,  and  which  they  name  the  New 
Testament.  It  is  a  work  full  of  daggers 
and  charged  with  poison.  As  to  He- 
brew, it  is  certain  that  they  who  learn  it 
become  Jews  on  the  spot."  Preachers 
of  the  present  day  are  occasionally 
whimsical  in  the  choice  of  their  texts, 
and  seem  to  take  delight  in  the  intel- 
lectaal  gymnastics  of  finding  a  fund  of 
suggestiveness  in  one  or  two  words  or 
in  some  very  commonplace  event  or  say- 
ing. The  difference,  however,  between 
them  and  the  old  preachers  is  precisely 
that  they  do,  for  the  most  part,  regard 
the  feat  as  an  exercise  of  literary  in- 
genuity, while  their  brothers,  of  two 
centuries  ago  or  less,  really  believed 
that  any  thing  which,  by  any  possible 
exercise  of  imagination  or  play  upon 
words  or  etymological  ingenuity,  could 
be  extracted  from  a  text,  was  intended 
by  the  Holy  Spirit  to  be  taught  by  it. 
Such  inner  meanings,  indeed,  were  con- 
sidered adorable  mysteries.  Thus  when 
William  Austin,  in  the  time  of  James  I., 
wrote  a  sermon  for  St.  Bartholomew's 
day  on  the  text,  "  And  Bartholomew ^^^ 
he  remarked  that  Bartholomew  never  is 
mentioned  in  Scripture  without  the  con- 
junction and,  and  thence  he  drew  the 
lesson  of  fraternal  connection  and  good- 
fellowship  with  all  men,  he,  no  doubt, 
believing  sincerely  that  the  duty  of  char- 
ity was  intentionally  hidden  by  the  Spir- 
it in  this  constant  and  mysterious  asso- 
ciation of  and  with  Bartholomew,  So, 
the  monk  who  preached  on  the  day  of 
the  Assumption  from  the  text  Ah  !  Jere- 
miah i.  6,  no  doubt  implicitly  believed 
that  this  exclamation  foreshadowed  the 
Virgin's  reception  in  heaven.  He  thus 
explains  it :  "  Ah !  ah  I  ah  I  Such  were, 
my  dear  brothers,  the  short  but  express.- 
ive  words  which  the  very  Holy  Virgin 
heard  on  the  day  when,  carried  to  heav- 
en by  angels,  she  saw  open  before  her 
the  celestial  dwelling.  *  Ah,  my  daugh- 
ter,' said  the  Eternal  Father ;  *  Ah  !  my 
mother,'  said  Jesus  Christ;  'Ah I  my 
bride,'  said  the  Holy  Ghost.  Imagine 
the  joy  which  these  three  divine  excla- 
mations caused  in  heaven  !  I  shall  try, 
my  dear  brothers,  to  make  you  partici- 
pate in  these  joys  by  taking  these  three 


words,  ah  I  ah  I  ah  I  for  the  subject  nd 
the  divisions  of  mj  discottiBe.  in 
Mariay  The  text  is  treated  in  thenoie 
modem  style  in  this  naive  discuasioaiof 
the  Virgin's  color,  by  a  Jesuit  of  tk 
seventeenth  century  :  ''  This  n^ra  m 
which  we  read  in  the  Song  of  Songt  tnd 
which  is  prophetically  spoken  onlj  U 
Mary,  ought  not  to  be  taken  lit^iDy; 
no,  the  Holy  Virgin  was  not  at  iD 
black ;  the  following  verse,  in  which  ibe 
is  called /f^^ca,  shows  that  she  was  oo^ 
brunette^  Another  peculiar  trait  of  tte 
old  preachers  was  the  latitude  they  al- 
lowed their  inventions.  Barlette,  acdfr 
brated  Italian  Dominican  preadier  of 
the  fifteenth  century,  thus  depicts  a  dii* 
cussion  in  heaven  as  to  who  should  ht 
sent  to  announce  the  Resurrection  tofte 
Virgin:  "Adam says  to  Christ,  ^Ioq^ 
to  go,  mihi  incunibitJ'  Jcsos  answers  Md^ 

*  You  would  perhaps  stop  on  the  wiy  to 
eat  apples.'    Then  Abel  comes  forwiid. 

*  No,  certainly  not  you  ;  you  might  p»- 
haps  encounter  Cain,  who  would  do  job 
another  injury.'    To  Noah,  Christ  M71, 

*  You  like  to  drink  too  much ; '  to  8t 
John  the  Baptist,  *Your  coat  is  too 
hairy ; '  to  the  penitent  thie^  '  Yea  cti- 
not  go,  because  you  have  had  your  legi 
brokcu.'  Finally  an  angel  was  sent,  ifho 
sung,  'Regina  ceeli,  Istare,  resuirexit 
sicut  dixit,  alleluia.' "  A  much  more 
ingenious  if  not  more  extraordinary  con- 
ceit is  that  of  Vieyra  in  the  inteipretft- 
tion  of  a  passage  in  EzekicL*  Qu«tiiig 
from  the  Hebrew,  Vieyra  thus  gives  the 
words:  ^^And  in  the  midst  ofthefm 
there  is,  as  it  were,  chasmal,^  This  a- 
pression,  the  diflSculty  of  which  he  first 
notices,  he  thus  interprets.  "  The  pn>- 
phet  saw  Ignatius  and  his  persecutions: 

*  That,'  says  he,  *  must  bo  St.  Clement' 
He  begins  to  write  the  word,  but  has 
only  set  down  the  letter  (7,  when,  con- 
sidering the  mortifications  of  the  saint 
— *  no,'  he  continues,  '  it  must  be  St 
Hierome.'  Down  goes  the  H,  when,  fore- 
knowing his  deep  attainments  in  theol- 
ogy, *  after  all,'  cries  Ezekicl,  *  it  most 
be  Athauasius,'  and  A  is  added  to  the 
preceding  letters.    In  like  manner  8  for 


•  •"  Modinval  Px«Mdiiii|r,**  by  Kialeu 


1870.] 


PSBDIOATOBIANA. 


471 


Simeon,  M  for  Martin,  A  for  Antony, 
and  L  for  Lawrence,  finish   the  word 
cluismaly  at  the  end  of  which  the  proph- 
et's patience  failed,  and  he  set  down  no 
more."    This  delightful  bit  of  exegesis 
is  from  a  sermon  upon  St.  Ignatius, 
which  accounts  for  the  prophet  behold- 
ing that  particular  saint  in  the  fire  of 
persecution.     Chatcnier,  a  Dominican 
preacher,  if  a  writer  who  pretends  to 
have  heard  him  reports  correctly,  im- 
agines, as  late  as  the  last  century,  a  tale 
of  the  Magdalen's  conversion,  and  em- 
bellishes it  with  modem  titles  of  nobil- 
ity :  "  She  was  a  great  lady  of  quality, 
very  dissolute.    She  was  going  one  day 
to  her  country  mansion,  accompanied 
by  the  Marquis  of  Bethany  and  the 
Count  of  Emmaiis.     On  the  road  she 
Baw  a  prodigious  number  of  men  and 
"women  assembled  in  a  field.    Grace  be- 
gan to  work  in  her.    She  stopped  her 
carriage,  and  sent  a  page  to  discover  the 
cause  of  the  assembly.     The  page  re- 
turned and  informed  her  that  it  was  the 
Abb6  Jesus  preaching.    She  descended 
from  her  carriage  with  her  two  cava- 
liers, advanced  to  the  place,  listened  to 
the  Abb6  Jesus  with  attention,  and  was 
'  BO  penetrated  by  his  teaching  that  from 
that  moment  she  renounced  the  vanities 
of  the  world."  The  parable  of  the  Prodi- 
gal Son  presented  an  opportunity  to  the 
old  preachers  for  the  exercise  of  imagi- 
nation, not  to  be  overlooked.     Philip 
Bosquier,  of  the  sixteenth  century,  com- 
posed fifty-two  sermons,  and  all  of  them 
upon  this  parable.    Menot  and  others 
practised  in  the  same  field.  They  dress- 
ed up  the  story  with  an  immense  va- 
riety of  details  of  conversation,  scenery, 
and  incident;    described  the  apparel 
and  the  coach  and  horses, — always  the 
fashions  of  the  preacher's  own  time, — 
with  which  the  bold  youth  set  off;  and 
dwelt  upon  the  magnificence  displayed 
on  his  return,  when,  according  to  Bos- 
quier, his  father  arrayed  him  in  a  da- 
mask^ or  other,  robe,  placed  a  diamond 
ring  on  his  finger,  fitted  him  with  boots 
or  Venetian  slipperi,  and  provided  music 
of  violins  and  English  comets.    The  im- 
agination of  one  preacher,  St,  Antony 
of  Pad'ja,  finds  exercise  in  a  develop- 


ment of  analogies  or  comparisons; 
wherein,  with  many  minute  details,  he 
shows  how  saints  are  like  eagles,  the 
apostles  like  ichneumons,  hypocrites  like 
hyenas,  sinners  like  hedgehogs,  peni- 
tents like  elephants  or  like  bees, 
merciful  men  like  cranes.  The  Fath- 
er Boucher,  a  Gray  Friar,  early  in 
the  seventeenth  century,  gives  his  com- 
parisons a  biblical  and  quasi  exegetical 
turn.  He  distinguishes  three  kinds  of 
mirrors,  convex,  plane,  and  concave ;  the 
convex  are  souls  puffed  up  with  pride, 
and  they  reflect  God  very  small  in  size ; 
the  plane  represent  him  exactly  in  his 
natural  and  true  greatness ;  but  the  con- 
cave are  humble  souls  which  represent 
him  in  adorable  majesty.  So,  as  Mary 
was  very  humble,  God  was  reflected  very 
profoundly  in  the  mirror  of  her  soul. 
To  make  a  mirror,  always  two  things 
are  needed :  crystal,  that  was  Mary's  vir- 
ginity ;  and  amalgam,  that  was  her  hu- 
mility ;  and  as  the  face  enters  and  leaves 
the  mirror  without  breaking  the  glass, 
BO  Christ  was  conceived  and  bom  of 
Mary  without  injury  to  her  immaculate 
virginity. 

Menot  wished  to  degrade  dancing; 
this  is  his  argument :  "  A  dance  is  a  cir- 
cular motion ;  the  motion  of  the  Devil 
is  circular,  therefore  a  dance  is  the  mo- 
tion of  the  Devil.  But  how  docs  it  ap- 
pear that  the  Devil's  motion  is  circular 
or  rotary  (Diaholi  iter  est  circulars)  ? 
Very  plainly  from  the  Scripture:  'He 
goes  about  (circuit)  seeking  whom  he 
may  devour.'  "  A  kind  of  etymological 
argument  was  much  in  favor,  of  which 
the  following  is  an  example  from  an  old 
preacher  reported  by  Erasmus:  "My 
brothers,  do  you  understand  Latin  ? 
Let  those  who  are  ignorant  of  it  go  to 
sleep  for  a  moment ;  it  will  not  be  long. 
You  others,  listen  to  me.  The  substan- 
tive Jesus  has  only  three  cases,  the 
nominative,  accusative,  and  ablative.  Q. 
am  sorry  for  you,  you  others  who  under- 
stand nothing  of  this.)  Now,  what  do 
these  three  cases  signify?  that  is  the 
question.  Plainly,  they  typify  the  Trin- 
ity, the  three  divine  persons  in  one  na- 
ture. But  hero  is  still  another  thing : 
of  these  three  cases,  th^  first  (mark  it 


472 


Putnam's  Hagazinje. 


[Art, 


well)  ends  with  the  letter  s,  JesuS  ;  the 
second,  with  an  m,  JebuM  ;  the  third, 
with  a  u,  JksXJ.  A  great  mystery,  my 
brothers,  a  great  mystery  !  These  three 
final  letters  signify  that  Jesus  is  at  once 
the  highest,  the  middle,  and  the  lowest, 
SummtiSj  MeditUj  JJltimua.  Divide  now 
the  name  Jssus  into  two  equal  parts ; 
these  represent  the  two  natures  united 
in  him,  Je-us.  But  what  shall  we  do 
with  the  s,  which  has  lost  its  compan- 
ions and  is  astonbhed  to  find  itself 
alone  ?  Patience,  my  brothers,  patience ; 
we  shall  speedily  indemnify  the  s.  The 
Hebrews  call  this  letter  syn  ;  now,  ay» 
means,  in  good  Scotch,  wrong^  sin.  After 
that,  what  man  can  be  so  incredulous  as 
to  deny  that  the  Saviour  has  taken  away 
the  sins  of  the  world  ? "  Similar  to  this 
is  the  explanation  which  Albcrtus  Mag- 
nus (thirteenth  century)  gives  of  the 
name  Mary:  "k,  Medicatrix;  a,  Alle- 
luiatrix;  b,  Reparatrix ;  i,  Illuminatrix ; 
A,  Adjutrix."  In  an  analogous  passage 
of  Ratdin,  a  fable  is  related  which  is  a 
pretty  bit  of  fancy,  and  reminds  one  of 
certain  classical  oracles,  after  which  it 
was  probably  modelled ;  "  While  a  cer- 
tain hermit  was  praying  to  be  taught 
the  way  of  salvation,  the  Devil  sudden- 
ly appeared  to  him  disguised  as  an  an- 
gel of  light.  The  pseudo-angel  informs 
the  hermit  that  God  has  heard  his  pray- 
er and  has  sent  his  messenger  to  tell  his 
servant  the  things  needful  for  salvation. 


The  hermit  must  offer  Qod  three  thbgi: 
a  new  moon,  a  disc  of  the  son,  and  tki 
fourth  part  of  a  rose.  If  he  shall  imile 
these  three  things  and  offer  tiiem  t» 
Ood,  he  will  be  saved.  The  hermit  vh 
plunged  in  despair,  not  knowing  titt 
meaning  nor  understandiog  the  pon* 
bility  of  these  requirements ;  wheii,nd- 
denly,  a  true  angel  appeared  to  him  tad 
explained  the  riddle.  The  new  hmns 
was  a  crescent^  that  is  to  say,  a  G^  of 
which  it  has  the  form ;  the  disc  of  tti 
sun  was  an  o ;  the  fourth  part  of  aion 
was  an  b  ;  and  these  three  joined  Uh 
gether  made  Cor^  the  Latin  for  htasC 
God  therefore  simply  demanded  Ui 
heart.  The  same  Raulin,  speakiiigof 
the  difficulties  of  conyersion,  dedani 
the  greatest  impediment  to  it  to  btt 
pampered  body :  "  A  carriage  goes  fio^ 
er  when  it  is  empty ;  a  boat  not  \m 
much  loaded  obeys  better  the  wind  nd 
the  oar ;  in  like  manner  the  soul  piOt 
ceeds  with  a  lighter  step  when  the  bodly 
is  not  made  sluggish  and  thestomaidiif 
not  too  full ;  for  then  the  soul  is  sadly 
hindered  by  the  body's  heavinesi.  b 
truth,  though  the  serpent  can  turn  \m 
head  while  his  belly  rests  dose  to  thi 
earth,  few  other  animals  can  do  it  Ttar 
spider  who  goes  so  well  on  his  feet,ciii- 
not  move  at  all  on  his  back.  In  like 
manner,  if  a  man^s  body  cling  to  the 
earth,  his  soul  cannot  take  flight  to* 
ward  heaven." 


■♦♦♦- 


MARY  RUSSELL  MITFORD.* 


It  is  seldom  that  so  harmonious  a 
character,  so  womanly  a  nature,  as  those 
of  Mary  Russell  Mitford,  survive  the  wear 
and  tear  of  a  literary  career ;  her  exam- 
ple is  seasonable  and  precious  in  these 
days  of  female  self-assertion ;  for  she  not 
only  bravely  vindicated,  in  practice,  the 
rights  of  her  sex  to  work  and  win  in  the 
field  of  the  world,  but  she  did  this  so 
truly  and  tenderly  as  to  conserve  all  the 
privileges  of  womanhood  ;  she  hallowed 
Publicity  by  Daty ;  and  kept  the  gentle 
and  gracious  charm  of  Ler  nature  and 

*Life  and  Letters  of  Mary  Ruasell  Mitford. 


the  simple  tastes  of  rural  seclusion  ua- 
marred  hy  ambition  and  unperverted  by 
vanity. 

In  defining  the  characteristic  develop* 
ment  of  an  artist,  in  whatever  sphere, 
we  must  regard  chiefly  what  is  congenial 
to,  or  derived  from,  personal  endow- 
ments, taste,  and  tendencies,  rather  than 
the  kind  of  work  achieved,  which  is  oft- 
en the  result  of  circumstances.  Thus, 
wliile  Mary  Mitford  wrote  and  published 
poems  in  her  girlhood,  dramas  and  operas 
in  her  prime,  and  a  novel  in  her  old  age^ 


1 


Maby  Bubsell  Mitfobd. 


478 


literary  labors  were  undertakea 
as  much  from  necessity  as  tnstc, 
exhibit  all  the  parity  and  grace  of 
>se,  and  all  the  deficiencies  of  pas- 
ad  experience,  incident  to  her  limit- 
3  and  womanly  seqaestration.  Her 
)  element  was  rural.  She  was  most 
me  when  she  expatiated  on  the 
rs  and  fields  aroand  and  the  dogs 
irds  beside  her.  She  had  the  con- 
and  conscious  sense  of  rami  that 
had  of  urban  privileges.  Her  best 
ng,  as  a  writer,  was  derived  from 
ractice  of  writing  letters,  in  the 
less  and  facility  of  her  early  years, 
i\n  the  familiar  scenes,  the  daily  in« 
ts,  and  the  minor  philosophy  of  life 
» country,  found  vivacious  and  sym- 
tic  record ;  and  she  is  best  known  by 
>icture3  and  pastimes  as  are  elabora- 
"  Our  Village."  Her  visits  to  Lon- 
ere  episodes  in  her  life — memorable 
ndeared  from  her  social  pleasures 
distinction  and  her  literary  tri- 
s;  the  vocation  which  secured  the 
was  to  her  one  more  of  duty  than 
) :  its  drudgery  wearied,  its  respon- 
y  depressed,  its  vicissitudes  ex- 
ed  her:  "I  would  rather,"  she 
I,  "serve  in  a  shop,  rather  scour 
,  rather  nurse  children,  than  under- 
ese  interminable  disputes  and  this 
manly  publicity.  If  I  could  but  get 
ssurance  of  earning  for  my  dear 
*  and  mother  a  humble  competence, 
lid  be  the  happiest  creature  in  the 
I.  But  for  these  dear  ties,  I  should 
write  another  line,  but  go  out  in 
situation  as  other  destitute  women 
Tor  thirty  years,  after  the  impro- 
ce  of  her  father  had  dissipated  the 
r  estate,  this  brave  and  affectionate 
m  supported  her  parents  by  her 
struggled  with  debt,— was  alter- 
f  the  provider  and  the  nurse ; — a 
md  beautiful  example  of  cheerful 
icrifice  and  filial  devotion.  And  if  we 
larrowly  into  tlie  resources  where- 
e  was  "  comforted  to  live,"  through 
ong  trial,  we  shall  find'  the  chief  to 
been  the  loveliness,  the  peace,  and 
Dresence  of  Nature.  It  is,  indeed, 
;hat  few  women  have  had  sach  faith- 
ifted,  and  loving  friends ;  her  corre- 


spondence with  Sir  William  Elford,  Rev. 
William  Harness,  Mrs.  Browning  and 
others,  and  her  intercourse  with  Hayden, 
Kenyon,  Talfourd,  and  scores  of  eminent 
authors,  artists,  and  actors,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  devotion  of  neighbors  and  the 
tributes  of  strangers,  surround  her  career 
with  a  halo  of  love  and  praise.  "  I  can 
never  be  suflSciently  thankful,"  she  wrote 
in  her  later  years,  "  for  the  very  great 
goodness  which  I  have  experienced,  all 
through  life,  from  almost  every  one  with 
whom  I  have  been  brought  in  contact." 
This  spontaneous  kindness  was  not  a 
mere  testimony  to  talent;  it  was  elicited 
by  the  womanly  qualities  of  the  recipient. 
And  it  is  these  very  traits  of  character 
which  emphasize  her  culture  and  her 
work.  She  was  the  least  of  a  sentiment- 
alist, in  the  conventional  sense  of  the 
term,  of  aiy  female  author  of  her  day ; 
she  had  no  lovers,  and  never  indulged  in 
the  girlish  caprices  and  affectation  bred 
of  too  much  and  too  early  female  com- 
panionship. An  only  child,  and  the  friend 
quite  as  much  as  the  protege  of  idolizing 
parents,  accustomed  to  the  society  of  her 
elders,  an  omniverous  reader,  keenly 
alive  to  intellectual  pleasures,  and  habit- 
uated to  the  freedom  and  freshness,  the 
tranquillity  and  exercise  of  rural  life, — 
her  mind  found  wliolesome  scope  and 
vigorous  growth.  With  the  trials  she 
had  also  the  triumphs  of  authorship; 
callers,  critics,  and  correspondents  en- 
croached upon  her  peace ;  but  the  noble, 
the  gifted,  and  the  illustrious  recognized 
cordially  her  worth ;  with  pecuniary  care 
she  also  had  cheerful  economy ;  with  the 
solitude,  the  solace  of  affection ;  with  ce- 
lebrity, domestic  retirement. 

Many  of  Miss  Mitford^s  opinions,  as 
they  find  expression  in  her  letters,  are 
hasty,  premature,  and  superficial ;  bat  she 
was  too  candid  not  to  modify  them  when 
better  informed  or  freshly  impressed; 
she  exaggerates  the  merit  of  Napoleon 
Third  quite  as  much  as  she  disparages 
Lafayette;  enthusiastic  in  her  political 
and  impulsive  in  her  literary  estimates, 
she  is  often  inconsistent ;  bat  there  ii  so 
much  love  of  truth  and  instinctive  acate- 
ness  in  her  judgments,  that  when  not 
satisfactory,   they  are   excusable.    She 


474 


PUTNAU'S  MaGAZINS. 


[April, 


makes  Bome  amuBing  mistakes  espeoiallf 
in  what  she  says  of  eminent  Americans ; 
but  the  tenor  of  her  correspondence  as 
well  as  her  life  is  so  womanly,  faithful, 
fond,  and  intelligent,  that  we  cannot  fail 
to  sympathize  with  and  respect  her.  It 
is  a  curious  illustration  of  the  uncon- 
scious self-deception  of  filial  piety,  that, 
while  the  mere  facts  of  her  life  evidence 
her  father's  supreme  selfishness,  she  not 
only  continued  to  idolize  him  to  the  last, 
but  naively  remarks,  in  speaking  of  the 
life  of  Mr.  Edge  worth,  that  his  daughter 
"  overrates  her  father  a  good  deal,  but  the 
mistake  is  so  creditable  to  her  affection, 
that  it  is  impossible  not  to  admire  her 
the  more  for  her  error."  There  is  some- 
thing pathetio  yet  noble  in  the  union  of 
a  laborious,  cheerful,  kindly,  and  disin- 
terested life,  with  an  under-current  of 
deep  solicitude  and  a  parallel  experience 
of  care  and  vexation  bome  without  com- 
plaint; a  genuine  womanly  faith  and 
fortitude  born  of  character,  and  such  char 
racter  as  comes  of  Anglo-Saxon  blood 
and  life  in  a  free,  industrial,  and  brave 
land.  In  describing  her  broken  health 
and  its  causes,  when  writing  to  Mrs. 
Browning  in  Italy,  she  says :  "  For  thirty 
years  I  had  perpetual  anxieties  to  en- 
counter, my  parents  to  support,  and,  for 
a  long  time,  to  nurse ;  and  generally  an 
amount  of  labor  and  care  such  as  seldom 
falls  to  the  lot  of  woman.  I  had  not 
time  to  take  care  of  myself  and  my 
health." 

We  ascribe  the  independence  and  in- 
sight of  Miss  Mitford,  in  no  small  degree, 
to  the  healthful  influences  under  which 
her  mind  developed ;  good  sense  was  the 
basis  of  her  character ;  she  appreciated 
alike  the  psychological  analysis  of  Bal- 
zac and  the  womanly  wisdom  of  Miss 
Austin,  and  could  equally  enjoy  the  ge- 
nius of  Shakespeare  and  the  tact  and 
taste  of  Madame  de  Sevign6 ;  but  there 
was  nothing  of  the  fantastic,  the  morbid, 
(T  the  exaggerated  vanity  so  common  in 
literary  development  less  sincere  and 
more  superficial.  Her  instincts  were 
true  and  pure  and  her  tastes  simple ;  ru- 
ral life — its  sequestration  and  serenity, 
its  sights  and  sounds, — ^kept  sweet  her 
nature  to  the  last;  the  flowers  and  the 


fields  were  nearer  to  her  than  the  loln, 
the  air  of  the  conntry  more  genial  tiiso 
that  of  court  or  theatre ;  she  longed  for 
her  rustic  home  when  in  London;  and  it 
was  there  she  lived  over  her  nrbaa  ex- 
perience with  renewed  zest  and  remisis- 
cent  satisfaction.  Glance  over  her  let- 
ters, and  constantly  some  ardent  pbme 
or  tender  mention  suggest  this  love  of 
and  life  in  rural  enjoyment.  It  reooaci- 
ed  her  to  the  loss  of  fortune  and  tamed 
privation  into  pastime;  writing  froD 
"  Three-Mile-Oomer  Cottage,"  after  lef^ 
ing  Bertram  House,  she  cheerfully  »ji 
of  the  change, — "  it  is  an  excellent  !»• 
son  of  condensation— one  which  weaB 
wanted ; "  and  her  regret  for  her  former 
home  was  rather  on  account  of  its  es- 
vironment  than  its  intrinslo  loxoiy: 
*'  The  trees  and  fields  and  sunny  be^ 
rows,  however  little  distinguibhed  bj 
picturesque  beauty,  were  to  me  as  (^ 
friends."  Her  garden  soon  atoned  for 
the  lost  domain ;  it  '^  looks  reaUj  di- 
vine," she  writes ;  "  oh  that  you  conM 
see  my  chrysanthemums  I  The  cootoI- 
vulus  major  is  in  great  beaufy,  so  an 
my  geraniums  and  ^  certain  exquisite 
carmine  pink,  also  a  delicate  white  pea.^ 
The  Virginia  flax,  the  moth  muUeiu  peri* 
winkles,  wood-sorrel,  anemones,  asters, 
violets,  and  ranunculus  are  as  fondly  and 
frequently  noted  in  her  letters,  as  the 
latest  Waverley  or  the  new  poem. 

To  the  love  of  scenery,  trees,  and 
flowers,  Miss  Mitford  added  another  mrsl 
idiosyncrasy — an  affection  for,  and  intw- 
est  in,  animals  and  birds,  whereby  they 
became  delightful  subjects  of  observa- 
tion and  cherished  companions:  she 
greets  them  when  absent  and  records 
their  traits  in  her  correspondence ;  kine 
and  owl-^,  beetles  and  butterflies,  cats, 
dogs,  and  horses  ore  fondly  characterized 
by  her  lively  pen :  "  all  dogs  follow  me," 
she  writes  ;  her  description  of  Dash,  a 
favorite  hound,  is  a  portrait  worthy  of 
Land  seer :  "  I  love,"  she  says,  "  to  feed 
Flush  and  to  see  my  tamo  pigeons  feed 
at  tlie  window,  and  tlie  saucy  hen  tsp 
the  glass."  To  her  the  most  available 
and  familiar  pleasures  sufficed;  *'Iam 
going  to  Reading  Fair  in  a  real  market- 
cart,   which  will     be    delightful,"  she 


1870.] 


A  TouPEiLS  Enigma. 


476 


writes;  and,  elsewhere,  "I  take  long 
walks  and  get  wet  through ;  I  nurse  my 
flowers ;  I  write  long  letters  and  I  read 
all  sorts  of  books."  Her  dramas  are 
rarely  acted,  her  novel  little  read ;  but 
the  faithful  record  of  her  life  as  a  rnral- 
iut — her  "  sketches  of  country  manners, 
scenery,  and  character,  with  some  story 
intermingled  by  unity  of  locality  and 
purpose,"  as  she  describes  "Our  Vil- 
lage," will  always  find  grateful  readers 
among  those  whoso  taste  is  unperverted 
and  whose  observation  is  kindly,  true, 
and  humorous.  The  "quiet,  peaceable 
people  "  among  whom  she  lived, — her 
fhnner-neighbors — bore  her  parents  and 
herself  to  their  graves — though  the  no- 
bly-born and  the  gifted  were  their 
mourners.    On  the  seventh  of  January, 


1855,  she  wrote,  from  her  arm-chair  in 
the  little  cottage  at  Swallowsfield,  to  an 
old  friend :  "  It  has  pleased  Providence 
to  preserve  to  me  my  calmness  of  mind 
and  clearness  of  intellect,  and  also  my 
power  of  rending  by  day  and  by  night ; 
and  ichat  is  still  morCy  my  love  of  poetry 
and  literature,  my  cheerfulness,  and  my 
enjoyment  of  little  things.  This  very 
day,  not  only  my  common  pensioners, 
the  dear  robins,  but  a  saucy  troop  of 
sparrows  and  a  little  shiny  bird  of  pas- 
sage, whose  name  I  forget,  have  all  been 
pecking  at  the  tray  of  crumbs  outside 
the  window."  This  "  simple  transcript 
of  natural  feeling,"  born  of  rural  aflBn- 
ities,  is  her  most  characteristic  epitaph; 
five  days  after  writing  it,  she  died,  at  the 
age  of  sixty-eight. 


•♦• 


A  POMPEIAN  ENIGMA. 


It  Tvas  the  Oxford  student  who  sum- 
med up  the  topic.  Yet  it  was  hardly 
in  a  spirit  of  argunent  that  he  spoke ; 
I6r,  taking  impnlse  from  a  casual  sug- 
gestion by  the  archseologist,  he  had 
monopolized  the  whole  conyersation, 
giying  his  views  rather  as  an  essayist 
than  a  controversialist— caring  little,  in 
fact,  whether  he  produced  conviction 
or  not,  so  long  as  he  could  give  vent  to 
the  metaphysical  theories  with  which 
bis  late  university  studies  had  imbued 
his  mind. 

"  It  is  evident  that  our  reason  can  tell 
UB  little  about  it,"  he  said.  "  Yet  we 
know  that  there  have  been  persons  who 
1>elieved  they  could  faintly  recall  a  pre- 
vious existence,  and  it  seems  hardly 
probable  that  all  these  were  led  away 
simply  by  baseless  fancies.  We  also 
know  that  well-accredited  instances  are 
on  record,  giving  cogency  and  even 
probability  to  the  theory.  And  though 
the  circumstances  of  these  instances  may 
be  so  contradictory  in  their  several  rela- 
tions that  no  well-established  principle 
can  be  elucidated  ftom  them,  and  we  can 
only  remain  startled  and  puzzled,  as 
wiUi  a  mystery  which  cannot  be  unrav- 


elled, yet  the  possibility  remains,  that 
this  may  not  be  our  only  life,  but  that 
we  have  already  lived  down  through  a 
train  of  past  existences,  and  shall  con- 
tinue to  do  so  in  the  eternal  future." 

With  that  conclusion,  he  folded  his 
napkin,  and,  without  waiting  for  any 
response,  left  the  table.  At  first  sight 
his  words  did  not  appear  to  have  made 
much  impression.  The  table  at  the  Ho- 
tel Vittoria  was  a  long  one,  and  those 
who  sat  at  the  further  end  could  not 
have  heard  a  word.  Nearer  by  were 
the  English  Life  Guard's  major  and  his 
wife;  but  they  kept  their  eyes  fixed 
steadfastly  before  them,  not  appearing 
even  to  listen,  lest  the  act  might  encour- 
age the  young  student  to  claim  future 
acquaintance  with  them.  At  the  other 
side  were  the  two  spectacled  Kentucky 
girls,  with  their  spectacled  father ;  but 
they  were  too  absorbingly  engrossed 
with  the  lava  earrings,  bracelets,  and 
shirt-studs  which  they  had  purchased 
that  morning,  and  now  ecstatically  wore 
in  gay,  glittering  profusion.  For  the  in- 
stant, I  believed  that  my  cousin  Estelle 
had  not  been  listening,  for  she  sat  be- 
side her  father,  carelessly  separating  an 


476 


Putnam's  Magazikx. 


[Art 


orange  upon  her  plate,  and  seemed  all 
the  while  immersed  in  silent  abstrac- 
tion. But  when  she  lifted  her  head,  I 
could  see  that  there  was  a  slight  flush 
upon  her  face,  and  a  certain  suggestion 
of  deep  thought  in  her  eyes. 

**  There  may  be  something  in  it,  after 
all,"  she  said.  "I  know  that  I  have 
often  thought —  " 

"Now,  my  dear  young  lady,"  inter- 
rupted the  archseologist,  who  sat  at  my 
right  hand — and  he  was  such  a  gentle, 
inoffensive,  fatherly  old  man,  that  she 
could  not  think  of  resenting  what,  in 
another  person,  might  have  been  looked 
upon  as  a  A-eedom  of  address — "  now, 
my  dear  young  lady,  do  not  be  tempt- 
ed by  any  such  vain  imaginings.  Take 
the  word  of  one  who  has  thought  and 
studied  much,  and  can  tell  you  almost 
of  a  certainty,  as  far  as  these  things  can 
be  made  certain,  that  there  is  nothing 
at  all  in  such  a  theory." 

She  seemed  about  to  reply,  but  at  that 
moment  her  father,  having  finished  his 
last  glass  of  Capri,  arose,  and  Estelle 
and  myself  accompanied  him.  From 
the  dining-room  we  passed  through  the 
outer  saloon ;  and  as  the  evening  had 
not  yet  set  in,  we  gathered  together 
upon  one  of  the  balconies  which  adorn 
the  hotel-front. 

Whoever  has  stopped  at  the  Hotel 
Vittoria,  will  not  forget  the  charming 
scene  upon  which  these  balconies  look 
out.  In  the  morning,  indeed,  they  are 
but  little  resorted  to,  for  the  sun  glows 
hot  and  strong  upon  them;  but,  later 
in  the  day,  they  reveal  to  the  lounger 
a  most  enchanting  combination  of  ex- 
citement, vivacity,  and  natural  beauty. 
Then,  the  paved  road  in  front  swarms 
with  elegant  carriages,  coursing  idly  up 
and  down,  or  returning  firom  excursions 
to  BaisB  and  Pozzuoli ;  while  now  and 
then,  mingled  with  the  gay  pleasure- 
parties,  comes  a  heavy  cart  drawn  by 
coupled  ox  and  mule,  or  a  light  wagon 
with  twelve  or  fifteen  passengers  crowd- 
ed together  within  it.  At  the  further 
side  of  the  road  lies  the  Villa  Reale ; 
its  pleasant  mass  of  thick  foliage  here 
and  there  relieved  by  white  marble 
statues,  and  its  avenues  swarming  with 


crowds  of  promenaders.  Still  fiste 
beyond  is  the  bay — at  times  bliie,n- 
ruffled,  and  glassy,  and  again  ttimdl^ 
strong  breezes  lh>m  the  open  sea  out- 
side, but  always,  in  its  deep,  bioid 
setting  of  olive-crowned  hills  and  ik» 
ing  villas,  a  scene  of  loyeliness  naij 
elsewhere  equalled.  Gathered  togete 
upon  our  balcony,  we  now  stood  gtiiig 
upon  this  picture,  and  turning  kslf 
from  Vesuvius,  with  its  crown  of  gnf 
smoke,  to  Capri,  with  its  torret-Bhtpei 
crags  thrown  clear  and  distinct  agaU 
the  afternoon  sky — all  three  of  us  keef> 
ing  indolent  silence,  and  fiBiat  fidUig 
into  a  state  of  listless  repose,  unli 
aroused  by  the  approach  of  the  ard» 
ologist. 

I  have  said  that  he  was  a  gentle,  !■> 
offensive  old  man.  I  will  go  furtho^ 
and  bear  my  testimony  to  his  bei^ 
the  most  quiet,  simple-hearted,  oonrli' 
ous  gentleman  whom  I  had  ever  dbL 
Whether  there  had  ever  been  any&> 
agreeable  traits  in  his  character,  I  oi- 
not  tell.  If  so,  his  present  tranqoil  es* 
istcnce  had  certainly  obliterated  tim, 
creating  in  him  a  disposition  reouuk* 
able  for  its  perfect  suavity,  linosrity, 
and  kindliness.  Having  a  natniml  kmi 
for  archaeology  and  art,  he  had  devoted 
himself  to  the  antiquities  of  the  CsB* 
panian  coast,  and  for  many  yean  had 
resided  in  Naples,  exploring,  arranging; 
and  classifying  the  relics  of  the  ptit 
Not  that  he  had  really  accompUshed 
much,  for  the  whole  ground  had  bees 
already  gone  over  so  thoroughly  as  to 
leave  little  to  be  gleaned.  But  that 
life  of  calm  contentment  suited  him 
well ;  and  he  was  never  so  happy  as 
when  upon  the  track  of  a  new  diaoov- 
ery — ^loving  each  development  for  it- 
self alone,  and  unambitiously  caiiog 
little  that  he  was  not  the  first  finder, 
but  merely  one  of  an  equally  interested 
throng.  He  was  said  to  be  wealthy; 
but  in  his  eyes  there  was  nothing  half  to 
precious  as  the  few  choice  relics  which 
he  had  collected.  A  coin,  a  medal,  a 
bronze  image — any  of  these  was  a  well- 
spring  of  satisfaction  to  him,  and  in  ob- 
taining it  lay  the  only  flaw  in  his  rigorous 
probity.  What  collector,  indeed,  can  r^ 


A  PoMPBiAN  Enigma. 


477 


rery  temptation  in  the  indulgence 
\  master-passion  ?  I  have  known 
ost  honorable  men  use  trickery  to 
sossession  of  a  coveted  rare  book 
piiTing.  In  like  manner,  though 
chseologist  would  not  for  the  world 
robbed  the  Museo  Bourbonico,  it  is 
ble  that  many  a  choice  relic  which 
1  have  adorned  its  cabinet  came 
lis  custody  instead ;  he,  with  cau- 
reticence,  forbearing  to  question 
losely  the  government  explorers 
iffered  them  to  him  for  sale, 
or  thirty  years,"  the  archeeolo^st 
said,  in  evident  continuation  of 
>rmer  topic,  "have  I  here  gazed 
illy  into  the  face  of  the  dead  past, 
ive  I  never  seen  any  thing  which 
encourage  a  belief  in  the  posses- 
>f  a  former  existence  to  any  one 
living.    This  is  the  grave  of  na- 

The  Italians  now,  the  Romans 

further  back,  the  Greek  colonies ; 

ho  beyond  them  in  the  far-distant 

The  tomb  of  cities,  too— Naples, 
>li8,  Parthenope ;  and  what  before 

Something,  we  are  sure,  though 
he  record  of  it  is  lost  Daily  we 
er  these  dead  remains,  but  never  is 
any  life-revival.  Where  else  than 
in  this  lap  of  luxurious  earthly 
f ,  would  the  past  soul  most  wish 
e  again;  or  the  soul  which  now 
>e  more  easily  led  to  remember  a 
r  life?  Nay,  the  living  simply 
id  each  other;  they  do  not  live 


» 


at  yet,"  remarked  Estelle,  the  for- 
ush  again  deepening  upon  her  face, 
le  old  expression  of  subtle  thought 
ig  over  it,  as  if  from  the  influence 
fancy  too  firmly  seated  to  be  at 
epulsed,  "  even  as  I  now  look  npon 
cene,  it  seems  as  though  in  past 
I  must  have —  " 

link  it  not ! "  interrupted  the  other, 
not  such  idle  fancies  gain  domin- 
''er  you.  They  will  only  bring  un- 
kctory  longings  by  day  and  tronb- 
Ireams  by  night.  Rather  turn  to 
things.    Where  have  you  lately 


n 


had  been  to  Baiss  last,  and  the 
lefore  that  had  simply  wandered 


off  on  foot  to  Virgil's  tomb.  The  pre- 
vious week,  to  Capri  and  Sorrento.  She 
had  hoped  to  go  to  Paestum  also ;  but 
the  brigands  had  been  heard  of  along 
that  route,  and  it  was  said  that  they 
considered  a  young  lady's  ears  worth 
full  as  large  a  ransom  as  those  of  coarse, 
commonplace  men.  And  on  Thursday 
she  had  taken  her  third  ride  to  Pom- 
peii. 

*'  And  there  ? " 

There,  of  course,  she  had  run  over 
the  amphitheatre  again,  and  strolled 
through  the  street  of  tombs.  Then,  to 
the  House  of  Diomede,  where,  however, 
she  did  not  tarry  long,  having  been  there 
so  often  before.  What  did  she  admire 
the  most  ?  It  was  hard  to  tell.  Every 
thing  was  pleasant  to  her  eyes — the 
fountains,  the  altars,  and  the  frescoes, 
and  last,  but  not  least.  Signer  Fiorelli's 
plaster  restorations  of  buried  bodies 
were — 

"  Not  only  not  least,  but  greatest  and 
most  wonderful  of  all  I"  interrupted 
the  archffiologist,  in  an  outburst  of  en- 
thusiasm ;  for  he  felt  a  peculiar  regard 
for  these  restorations,  believing — with 
what  truth  I  never  could  ascertain — 
that  he  himself  had  suggested  the  pro- 
cess. Certainly,  whether  entitled  to  any 
personal  merit  in  the  matter  or  not,  he 
was  correct  in  his  estimate  of  the  im- 
portance of  the  results,  since  for  years 
there  had  not  been  any  more  interesting 
occurrence  in  the  antiquarian  world.  To 
entertain  the  conception  that  those  bod- 
ies which,  so  many  centuries  ago,  had 
fallen  asleep  in  the  midst  of  mephitic 
fumes,  might,  in  their  subsequent  de- 
cay and  passing  away  into  nothingness, 
have  left  in  the  surrounding  ashes  a 
hardened  mould  into  which  could  be 
poured  the  liquid  plaster,  and  thereby 
every  line  and  feature  of  the  originals 
be  reproduced  with  faithful  exactness, 
was  a  magnificent  effort  of  human  gen- 
ius, deserving  lasting  credit  even  had 
the  experiment  failed,  instead  of  cul- 
minating in  such  wonderful  results. 

"  Greatest,  indeed,  of  all ! "  he  re- 
peated ;  and  for  the  instant  he  seemed 
lost  in  a  reverie,  his  mind  apparently 
dwelling  again,  as  his  actual  vision  al- 


478 


PimrAii's  Magazixb. 


[Art 


most  daily  did,  upon  that  prostrate 
mother  and  daughter,  vfho,  at  the  Pom- 
peian  Museum,  reenacted  in  snow-white 
plaster  their  death-stricken  writhings  of 
eighteen  centuries  ago,  "  But  yet,  there 
may  be  even  greater  results  before  us 
than  these,"  he  added,  after  a  moment. 
"  This  morning  there  has  been  found  at 
Pompeii  still  another  mound,  enclosing 
the  empty  mould  of  an  once  buried  fig- 
ure. To-morrow  we  will  make  the  at- 
tempt to  reproduce  it.  Would  any  of 
you  care  to  witness  the  process  ?  If  so, 
I  will  conduct  you  thither  with  mc." 

We  all  at  once  spoke  the  word,  for  it 
was  an  oifer  which  could  not  foil  to 
please  us ;  while  to  Estelle  the  sugges- 
tion seemed  to  give  especial  delight, 
since  the  proposed  process  was  not  only 
in  itself  a  comparatiyely  noyel  one,  but 
there  was  the  additional  exclusive  charm 
of  witnessing  a  scene  to  which,  from  its 
nature,  only  a  limited  number  of  per- 
sons could  have  access.  Therefore  she 
gave  way  to  an  instant  outburst  of  de- 
light, iitR^  at  once  proceeded  to  make 
the  requisite  arrangements  for  the  party. 

But  when  the  next  morning  came,  her 
mood  seemed  to  haye  changed.  It  was, 
above  all  others,  a  day  in  which  to  have 
enjoyed  one's  self.  The  sun  was  bright, 
the  air  clear,  and  a  not  too  violent  breeze 
rolled  in  from  the  sea ;  the  streets  were 
crowded  with  life;  song  and  laughter 
were  everywhere  heard ;  wandering  min- 
strels went  about  and  gathered  up  un- 
wonted contributions  from  cheerily  dis- 
posed listeners ;  the  Chiaja  was  throng- 
ed with  carriages ;  even  the  yellow-jack- 
eted prisoners  who  worked  in  the  stone- 
quarries  handled  their  picks  with  the 
air  of  persons  who  loved  the  occupation. 
Estelle  alone  seemed  dull  and  unani- 
mated.  8he  had  passed  an  unpleasant 
night,  she  explained.  Dreadful  dreams 
bad  disturbed  her,  though  she  could  not 
now  recall  them.  There  was  merely  the 
dull,  aching  sense  of  having  been  assail- 
ed by  some  disagreeable  influence.  It 
would  probably  soon  pass  away.  But, 
in  the  meantime,  she  would  not  go  upon 
the  excursion  to  PompeiL  It  would  bo 
enough,  after  all,  to  learn  of  the  result. 

Hearing  all  this,  I  felt  ill  at  heart,  for 


I  had  never  before  seen  lier  in  nch  i 
listless  state,  and  it  seemed  to  me  flat 
it  could  not  altogether  be  imputed  to 
a  restless  night.  Mj  own  antidpifad 
pleasure  for  the  day  was  at  onoedfe- 
Btroyed,  and  I  could  only  think  of  tk 
forced  expression  of  cheerfolness  witk 
which  she  had  bidden  us  good-by.  It 
affected  my  spirits  in  every  way,  so  tfal 
I  took  but  little  interest  in  the  proceed* 
ings  of  the  day,  and  must  have  nadi 
a  poor  appearance  before  the  ffigno^ 
who  must  naturally  have  desired  thtt 
the  favored  few  spectators  should  be 
attentive  and  sympathetic.  80  thi^ 
when  he  had  watched  the  last  drop  of 
the  liquid  plaster  sink  through  thecni' 
fully  prepared  hole  in  the  little  A 
colored  mound,  and  turning  aiwa^ 
predicted  success,  I  manifested  hut  to* 
fling  interest,  and  merely  accompoied 
the  hopes  and  congratulations  of  the 
others  with  a  faint,  meaningless 
mur.  Nay,  more ;  that  sad 
of  Estelle^s  seemed  to  accompany 
during  the  whole  journey  back,  lite  i 
ghostly  visitor,  making  me  lifeless  nd 
unapprcciativo  in  the  midst  of  the  p»> 
yaiUng  exhilaration,  and  all  I  cared  for 
was  to  see  her  again. 

She  lay  upon  a  lounge,  and  was  still 
desponding.  Her  face,  which  in  the 
morning  had  been  flushed,  was  now 
pale  and  death-like ;  yet  she  would  not 
acknowledge  that  she  was  ill.  At  cue 
time  during  the  day,  it  is  true,  tbere 
had  come  a  sudden  chill  upon  her,  last- 
ing for  several  minutes,  but  that  bad 
passed  away.  Now  she  was  well  agiii 
— all  except  that  strange  heaviness  of 
heart,  which,  doubtless,  would  soon  dii- 
appear.  As  she  spoke,  I  gazed  at  her 
intently,  but  beyond  the  paleness  could 
detect  no  appearance  of  illness.  Miglit 
not  her  loss  of  spirits  be  the  prenumi- 
tion  of  Naples'  fever  ?  I  privately  con- 
sulted a  physician,  who,  making  a  tat- 
tivc  visit,  to  my  great  relief  attributed 
her  condition  to  simple  weariness,  and 
predicted  that  rest  and  absence  from  ex- 
citement would  soon  restore  her. 

So  for  a  few  days,  during  which  she 
seemed  to  have  a  partial  recovery— that 
is  to  say,  her  bodily  strength  became 


1 870.] 


A  PoMPsiAK  Enigma. 


470 


ttomewhat  renewed,  and  she  lost  a  little 
of  the  pallor  of  ber  complexion,  though 
her  face  failed  to  regain  its  former  fresh, 
healthy  glow.  She  lost,  also,  much  of 
her  deep  depression  of  spirits,  though 
not  entirely,  since  her  usual  gayety  and 
elasticity  failed  to  return.  On  the  con- 
trary, she  became  quiet  and  unimpulsiye, 
appearing  like  one  who,  while  under  the 
influence  of  some  deep-seated  conviction 
that  cannot  bo  thrown  ofif,  yet  remains 
sufficiently  self-possessed  to  simulate  an 
unfelt  composure.  Altogether,  it  was, 
perhaps,  an  improvement  upon  her  for- 
mer state,  and  yet  almost  equally  dis- 
tressing, since  it  seemed  to  betoken  some 
permanent  relapse  from  her  customary 
▼ivadty. 

Upon  the  fourth  day  the  archaologist 
entered  in  a  state  of  strong  excitement, 
his  eyes  kindling  with  an  unwonted 
gleam,  while  he  threw  his  arms  over  his 
head,  as  though  he  would  give  vent  to 
a  husky  cheer. 

"  Success  I  A  great  success  I  "  he 
cried. 

"  In  what  ? "  I  asked. 
*  In  our  late  attempt — in  the  attempt 
ox  Signer  Fiorelli  and  myself.  Lo  I  the 
figure  has  come  forth  clear  and  bright 
as  a  coin  from  its  die  I  And  what  a 
figure  I  Will  you  see  it  ?  Come,  now, 
with  me,  and  you  shall  have  all  the 
glory  of  a  first  inspection.  The  Signor 
is  even  now  decorating  it  for  its  earliest 
public  exhibition.'' 

I  looked  at  Estelle  inquiringly,  know- 
ing how  important  it  was  that  she  should 
exert  herself,  but  fearing  lest  she  might 
rsfuse.  But  she,  seeing  my  anxiety,  made 
no  objection ;  and  quietly  putting  away 
her  writing,  expressed  her  willingness 
to  gratify  us.  But  how  difierent,  alas, 
was  her  sad,  methodical  air  from  the 
joyous  tone  with  which,  only  a  week 
before,  she  would  have  greeted  the  op-? 
portunity  I 

*'It  is  well,"  said  the  archsBologisi 
•*  And  now,  my  dear  young  lady,  regard 
this  new  acquisition  of  mine.  How  or 
whence  I  have  obtained  it  I  must  not 
tell.  We  collectors  do  not  too  freely 
publish  such  things.  It  is  sufficient  that 
I  possess  the  prize,  and  that  there  are 


others  who  have  failed  to  gain  it,  and 
will  envy  me  all  the  rest  of  their  lives." 

With  that  ho  produced  his  treasure — 
an  ancient  ring,  somewhat  discolored 
and  encrusted,  but  perfect  in  all  its  de- 
tails. The  band  was  of  a  commonplace 
pattern,  representing  the  twisted  ser- 
pent so  often  adopted  for  antique  orna- 
mentation ;  differing  from  any  article  of 
the  kind  which  I  had  ever  before  seen 
only  in  this  respect,  that  the  serpent's 
jaws  held  a  thin  gold  plate  shaped  like 
a  painter's  palate,  upon  the  flat  surface 
of  which  was  engraved  a  mysterious 
hieroglyph ic,  which  might  have  been  a 
charm  from  evil,  but  more  likely  was 
simply  some  family  monogram  of  the 
period.  Handing  this  to  Estelle,  the 
archaeologist  awaited  her  judgment,  not 
feeling  at  all  hurt  by  the  listless  air  with 
which  she  received  it,  for  that  had  now 
come  to  be  her  recognized  mood.  But 
we  were  both  greatly  astonished  at  wit- 
nessing her  sudden  animation  after  her 
first  hasty  glance  upon  the  trinket.  In 
her  eye  there  was  a  flash  of  intelligence, 
almost  of  recognition,  as  it  seemed  to 
me ;  dying  out  in  an  instant,  however, 
and  giving  way  to  a  look  of  keen,  yet 
puzzled  thoughtfulness,  as  though  it  had 
been  driven  away  by  some  baffling,  in- 
tricate conception.  Then,  in  a  tone  of 
eager  excitement,  she  exclaimed : 

"  Where — where  did  you  obtain  this  ?  " 

"  And  why  do  you  ask  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Because — ^it  seems  to  me — no,  it  is 
all  gone  from  me  now ; "  and  the  gleam 
of  quickened  intelligence  seemed  to 
pass  away  from  her  face,  as  the  sunlight 
fades  off  a  wall,  leaving  there  once  more 
only  her  now  usual  expression  of  dull, 
vapid  lifelessness.  Whatever  the  nature 
of  the  thought  that  had  just  quickened 
her  into  this  unlooked-for  impulsive- 
ness, it  had  evidently  been  too  fleeting 
and  transitory  for  her  to  grasp  it  under- 
standingly. 

"  Does  the  ring  please  you  ?  Would 
you  wear  it  yourself  ? "  said  the  archao- 
ologist.  "  Then  do  so.  It  is  yours,  my 
dear  young  lady.  I  care  no  longer  fox 
it." 

Her  only  response  was  the  sudden 
motion  with  which  she  slid  the  trinket 


480 


PuTNAif-s  Magazine. 


[April, 


upon  her  forefinger ;  while  it  seemed  as 
though  she  almost  forgot  to  thank  him 
for  the  sacrifice,  unless  by  the  eager 
pleasure  which  her  face  expressed.  I 
was  surprised  at  this  singular  impul- 
siyeness  which  had  led  the  archaeologist 
to  yield  up  to  her  a  relic  so  highly  val- 
ued, that,  in  any  ordinary  mood,  half 
a  year's  income  would  not  have  pur- 
chased it  from  him ;  knowing,  too,  that 
he  now  surrendered  it  to  one  who  might 
not  fully  appreciate  it,  but  might  rath- 
er, with  girlish  wilfulness,  admire  it  for 
a  day  only  by  reason  of  its  oddity,  and 
then  most  likely  lose  it,  or  destroy  its 
identity  by  changing  it  into  a  breastpin 
or  fastening  for  the  hair.  I  was  almost 
as  greatly  surprised  that  she  could  so 
readily,  almost  so  graspingly,  have  ac- 
cepted the  gift ;  for  I  had  always  no- 
ticed that  she  was  peculiarly  reserved 
in  such  matters,  never  receiving  favors 
from  any  others  than  those  who  had  the 
natural  right  to  bestow  them.  But  I 
resolutely  drove  all  idle  speculations 
from  my  mind,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
we  set  out  for  Pompeii 

There  we  found  the  Signer  Fiorelli 
engaged  in  putting  the  finishing  touch- 
es to  his  new  treasure,  preparatory  to  a 
more  public  exhibition  of  it.  The  fig- 
ure was  raised  upon  a  stand  breast-high, 
and  some  drapery  had  been  suspended 
at  a  little  distance  behind,  in  order  to 
control  the  light  into  additional  effect- 
iveness. Skilled  workmen  had  artistic- 
ally smoothed  down  a  few  irregularities 
upon  the  surface,  conscientiously  con- 
fining their  labor,  however,  to  such  de- 
fects as  had  manifestly  originated  from 
an  insufficiency  in  the  fiow  of  the  liquid 
plaster,  rather  than  from  any  blemish 
in  the  mould  itself.  But  these  irregu- 
larities were  few ;  for  the  figure  was  far 
less  imperfect  than  any  which  had  al- 
ready been  thus  prepared.  The  previous 
ones  were  mostly  rough  in  appearance, 
displaying  little  more  than  a  gnarled 
and  distorted  outline;  but  this  figure, 
owing,  probably,  to  some  peculiar  fine- 
ness and  softness  of  the  dust-deposit 
which  had  covered  it,  exhibited  much 
of  the  smoothness  of  chiselled  marble. 
Some  portions  had  disappeared,  it  is 


true.  One  hand  was  missing,  and  abo 
certain  folds  of  the  dress;  but  theie 
were  trivial  defects,  altogether  redeen- 
ed  by  the  perfection  with  which  tin 
face,  the  most  desirable  portion  of  all, 
had  been  preserved. 

It  was  the  figure  of  a  girl  of 
eighteen  years.  She  lay  upon  her  w 
not  with  the  limbs  distorted  or  writth 
ing,  as  in  other  instances,  but  stretdied 
out  in  seemingly  quiet  repose.  11» 
fingers  of  the  hajid  that  Iiad  been  pn- 
served  were  gently  relaxed,  and  the  p«> 
fectly  moulded  face  bore  a  sweet  imik^ 
as  though  she  had  fallen  asleep  with  t 
pleasant  dream.  What  must  have  beet 
that  dream,  to  have  left  its  imprm  of 
serenity  upon  the  mould  for  eig^iteai 
hundred  years  I  It  is  probable  that  ihi 
had  been  thrown  into  a  slumber  byioai 
soothing  influence  of  the  atmoqikai^ 
and  from  this  state  had  known  m 
awakening,  but  there  had  been  qniel^ 
covered  up  with  the  fine  dust,  at  vitt 
a  n:iantle  of  falling  snow.  It  was  pnb* 
able,  also,  that  she  had  been  of  pttd- 
cianrank;  and  this  we  conjectured  firon 
the  apparent  texture  of  her  Taimflnt, 
there  being  upon  her  neck  and  lemaiih 
ing  hand  no  indication  of  jeweli7.4C 
other  rich  adornments. 

So  entirely  life-like  were  the  featora^ 
that  it  was  difficult  to  realize  I  stood 
not  in  the  presence  of  a  sleeping  gid 
who  might  any  moment  awaken,  bot 
rather  beside  a  mere  effigy  of  what  hid 
been  a  human  being  so  many  centu- 
ries ago.  Then,  as  I  gazed,  a  startling 
thought  began  to  creep  stealthily  into 
my  mind.  That  low,  broad  fordiead, 
partly  shaded  with  voluminous  cuili^ 
the  aquiline  nose,  the  full  lips,  the  veiy 
shape  of  the  face— of  whom  did  att 
these  remind  me  ?  But,  happening  to 
look  towards  Estelle,  I  saw  at  once 
the  real  truthfulness  of  the  likeness, 
and  my  blood  seemed  to  run  cold  with 
a  premonition  of  something  which 
could  not  be  explained.  Again  I  stroTe 
to  calm  myself.  A  mere  coincidence, 
of  course;  what  else  could  it  be? 
And  did  any  one  besides  me  perceive 
the  strange  resemblance?  Glancing 
stealthily  tit    Estelle,  I  saw  that  she, 


1870.] 


A  PoMPEiAN  Enigma. 


481 


at  least,  was  tm aware  of  it.  It  is  diffi- 
calty  indeed,  for  any  one  to  detect  his 
own  likeness  to  another.  But  even  in 
Sstelle  there  seemed  to  be  some  unde- 
Teloped,  indefinable  impression  of  a 
mystery,  for  she  stood  gazing  steadfast- 
ly at  the  figure,  her  face  instinct  with 
certain  subtle  appearances  of  troubled 
and  perplexed  emotion,  which  swept 
over  it  in  regular  gradation,  like  the 
flax  and  refiux  of  the  tide  upon  the 
seashore.  Then  I  turned  towards  the 
archaeologist,  with  little  expectation, 
however,  of  finding  any  similar  expres- 
sion in  his  face.  That  man  of  mere 
fact,  accustomed  to  decipher  inscrip- 
tions upon  broken  columns  and  rusty 
ooins,  but,  in  his  natural  blindness  and 
incapacity  in  other  respects,  unable  to 
lead  the  human  countenance — what,  in- 
deed, would  he  be  apt  to  notice  ?  But 
I  saw  almost  with  horror  that  he  also 
was  observant  of  the  singular  likeness. 
•  He  stood  wonder-stricken  and  puzzled, 
turning  alternately  from  the  figure  to 
Estelle  and  back  again  in  mute  com- 
paiiBon  of  the  two.  Surely  it  would 
not  do  for  him  thus  to  act,  for  he  could 
not  fail  shortly  to  awaken  her  suspi- 
mons.  With  some  feeble  pretence  of 
consultation  upon  the  use  or  merits  of 
other  curiosities  in  the  same  room,  I 
therefore  drew  him  into  a  comer,  when 
suddenly — 

Even  now,  as  I  write,  I  can  hear  the 
sound  ringing  in  my  ears,  so  deeply  has 
it  left  its  vibrations  upon  my  memoiy. 
For  not  only  was  it  a  loud,  shrill  cry, 
in  its  mingled  terror  and  despair  un- 
like any  sound  which  I  had  ever  before 
heard,  but  with  it  there  darted  into  my 
mind,  as  with  an  electric  shock,  a  full» 
er  realization  than  ever  of  a  possible 
tragedy  hidden  under  all  this  mystery. 
Turning  instantly,  we  saw  Estelle  lying 
senseless  upon  the  fioor  at  the  side  of 
the  figure's  pedestal.  Even  at  that  mo- 
ment, though  it  was  but  a  second  be- 
fore we  lifted  her,  I  could  not  fail  to 
notice  how  the  resemblance  was  increas- 
ed ;  for  it  chanced  that  she  lay  almost 
in  the  same  position  as  the  figure,  upon 
her  side,  with  one  arm  fallen  in  front, 
her  face  turned  partially  upward,  and 
VOL.  V. — 32 


her  hair  slightly  shading  her  forehead ; 
while  her  eyes  were  closed,  and  her 
cheeks  were  now  so  deathly  white  as 
almost  to  vie  with  the  senseless  plaster. 

Tenderly  lifting  her,  we  placed  her 
in  the  carriage  and  drove  home.  For 
a  while  she  continued  insensible,  but 
towards  the  end  partially  recovered,  so 
that  we  could  carry  her  into  her  own 
room  without  attracting  unusual  notice. 
There  we  laid  her  upon  a  sofa,  and 
made  to  her  father  the  most  plausible 
statement  of  the  affair  that  we  could. 
For  there  was  no  need  to  tell  that  bro- 
'ken  old  man,  himself  travelling  for  his 
health,  the  whole  story  of  the  scene. 
He  could  not  have  comprehended  it; 
in  fact,  had  I  striven  to  tell  him  only 
that  which  I  myself  comprehended,  I 
could  not  have  advanced  much  beyond 
the  beginning.  Therefore  we  made 
some  conmionplace  pretence  of  a  faint- 
ing from  the  heat  of  the  gallery  and 
the  fatigue  of  the  ride ;  and  so,  having 
seen  her  somewhat  further  restored,  we 
left  her  to  his  care. 

Hoping  for  the  best,  yet  all  the  while 
fearing  the  worst.  So  that,  when  I 
again  saw  her,  I  was  less  surprised  than 
shocked  at  the  difiference  which  a  few 
hours  had  made  in  her  appearance. 
She  was  stronger,  indeed,  and  could 
converse  calmly  and  collectedly;  and 
though  her  color  had  not  returned,  she 
had  lost  something  of  that  ghastly 
white  tint  which  had  so  wonderfully 
completed  her  resemblance  to  the  Pom- 
peian  figure.  But  her  cheeks,  which 
only  a  week  before  had  been  so  full 
and  rounded,  were  now  sunken  in  as 
from  a  month's  illness,  and  harsh  lines 
appeared  in  her  face— lines,  seemingly, 
of  sombre  care  and  heart-sick  weari- 
ness— and,  worse  than  all,  there  was  a 
settled  rigid  expression  of  hopelessness 
in  her  eyes,  filling  me  with  apprehen- 
sion. 

Assuming,  however,  a  lively  demean- 
or, I  talked  of  the  pleasure  I  felt  at  see- 
ing her  so  far  recovered,  and  the  cer- 
tainty that  another  day  of  rest  would 
enable  her  to  resume  her  customary  ex- 
cursions ;  dilated  a  little  upon  the  cul- 
pability of  the  custodians  of  the  mu- 


482 


PuTNAM^B  Magazine. 


[April, 


seum  in  overheating  it  as  they  had  yes- 
terday done;  wondered  how  any  one 
conld  have  endured  that  atmosphere; 
stated  my  firm  conviction  that,  in  a  mo- 
ment more,  I  also  most  have  succmnbed 
— and  the  like.  8he  listened  to  me  in 
silence,  her  large  eyes  dwelling  with 
calm  incredulity  upon  my  face.  Then, 
partially  raising  herself  from  the  pillow, 
she  said : 

"All  this,  cousin,  is  but  a  kindly 
pretence  upon  your  part.  It  may  not 
seem  gentle  for  me  to  say  so,  but  why 
should  I  hide  the  truth,  and  thus  let 
you  go  on  in  your  vain  attempts  to 
cheer  me?  No,  better  let  us  at  once 
come  to  an  understanding.  Since  see- 
ing you  last,  I  have  reflected  much — 
have  dreamed  much — and  I  know  for  a 
certainty —  " 

"Know  what?"  I  inquired,  seeing 
that  she  hesitated. 

"  I  know,"  she  continued,  as  calmly  as 
though  she  were  stating  some  self-evi- 
dent mathematical  proposition,  "that, 
centuries  ago,  I  lived — that  I  was  the 
original  of  that  sleeping  figure  at  the 
museum." 

I  started  as  though  I  had  been  stung ; 
for  she  had  been  speaking  so  collectedly 
and  deliberately,  that  nothing  was  fur- 
ther from  my  thoughts  than  to  hear  her 
promulgate  any  such  mystery.  Those 
must  be  the  words  of  an  unsettled  mind, 
indeed;  and  I  looked  steadfastly  into 
her  eyes,  searching  there  for  the  wild 
gleam  of  insanity,  and  wondering  what 
would  be  her  next  errant  impulse. 

"  You  think  me  beside  myself? "  she 
continued.  "Nay,  never  have  I  been 
more  free  from  delusion  than  now. 
Only  listen  calmly.  This  is  no  new 
idea  of  mine.  For  years  I  have  had  it 
in  my  mind  that  I  had  long  ago  lived 
upon  the  earth.  And  last  week,  as  I 
looked  out  over  the  bay,  it  seemed  as 
though  I  had  been  here  before  in  some 
distant  age.  How  it  was  I  could  not 
tell,  but  all  things  appeared  strangely 
familiar  to  me.  Then,  at  night,  I  dream- 
ed it  out.  I  was  on  the  bay,  in  a  boat 
with  silken  sails  and  gilded  oars ;  and 
there  were  cities  all  along  the  shore, 
some  of  them  larger  than  those  we  see 


here  now.  People  in  strange  cosUnHi 
moved  about  me,  and  I,  too,  waa  d]iB^ 
ently  arrayed  than  at  present  Biogt- 
lar  strains  of  music  swelled  upon  tke 
air.  The  bay  itself— it  ivas  almoct  ^ 
same,  except  that  there  was  no  crowi 
of  smoke  upon  Vesuyios,  while  ^ 
mountain-top  was  rounded  and  knra; 
rather  than  stretching  up  into  a  coml 
Was  it  ever  so,  do  you  think?  Ym 
will  call  this  nothing  but  a  dream,  I 
know,  rather  than  a  revelatios  of  ^ 
past,  as  I  believe  it  to  be." 

"  Surely,  Estelle—  " 

"  But  let  me  give  you  farther  prooC 
Hand  me,  now,  that  worked  canni 
travelling-bag  from  off  the  table.  It  iB 
for  Robert.  Ton  know  that  I  am  b^ 
trothed  to  him.  He  is  now  in  Born^ 
and  I  expect  him  here  shortly.  IM 
month  I  sought  to  invent  some  g^wob- 
ful  arabesque  figure  to  be  here  wwM 
in,  and,  almost  without  care  or  thoq^ 
my  fingers  designed  this  piece  of  ta^ 
ery.  It  is  pretty,  is  it  not  t  I  TO 
pleased  with  it  myself,  and  imsghwi! 
that  it  was  a  creation  of  my  own.  Bit 
now  observe  how,  after  all,  it  if  tk 
exact  fac-simile  of  the  cq)her  upon  tidi 
antique  ring  I  May  it  not  be^  therelmi^ 
that  while  I  was  flattering  myself  witk 
having  invented  a  new  and  plcanng  d^ 
sign,  I  was  merely  unconsciously  npio- 
ducing  something  from  the  stores  of 
far-distant  memories  ?  " 

"  A  mere  coincidence  I "  I  exclaimed, 
but  not  with  bold  assurance.  For  I 
could  not  but  be  a  little  troubled  by 
the  strange  resemblance  between  the 
ciphers ;  and  I  felt,  moreover,  that  ihe 
was  watching  my  expression  too  intent- 
ly to  allow  of  successftd  pretence  upon 
my  part. 

"  But  listen  further,"  she  contini)ed. 
"  Yesterday,  as  I  stood  beside  the  Fom- 
pcian  figure —  " 

"There  you  have  the  key  to  the 
whole ! "  I  exclaimed.  "  Yon  were 
struck  with  its  likeness  to  yoond^ 
and,  by  long  dwelling  upon  it,  your 
dreams  have  been  tinged  with —  " 

"  Was  there,  then,  a  likeness  to  my- 
self ?  I  had  not  noticed  that,"  she  said ; 
and  I  bit  my  lip  at  having  so  xashlj 


1870.] 


A  PoMPEiAX  Enigma. 


483 


betrayed  the  resemblance.  "  No,  it  was 
Dot  respecting  any  likeness  that  I  wish- 
ed to  speak.  But  I  will  tell  you  what 
occurred.  When  for  a  moment  you  left 
me  alone,  I  saw  the  figure  gaze  earnest- 
ly upon  me.  There  was  no  deceit  or 
imagination  about  that,  cousin.  I  stood 
as  though  frozen,  and  could  not  move. 
Then — you  will  not  believe  all  this,  I 
know — the  figure  seemed  to  sec  this  ring 
upon  my  finger — ^the  ring  which  your 
friend  gave  me — and  slowly  moved  its 
hand  as  though  to  take  it  from  me. 
Then  I  must  have  fallen  to  the  ground, 
for  I  remember  nothing  more." 

"You  remember  too  much  already," 
I  exclaimed ;  "  that  is,  if  you  call  these 
foolish  fancies  by  the  name  of  memo- 
ries. Give  over  these  wild  delusions,  Ea- 
telle;  close  your  eyes  and  take  more 
rest.  To-morrow  you  will  be  yourself 
again,  and  will  laugh  at  what  you  have 
told  me," 

"  But  listen  once  more —  " 

"  Not  another  word,  Estelle — not  an- 
other word ! "  I  cried ;  and  I  left  her, 
feeling  as  though  my  heart  was  rising 
in  my  throat  to  suflfocate  me.  I  could 
not  believe  her  story,  of  course ;  those 
^-^rords  must  be  simply  the  ravings  of 
an  unsettled  mind.  Yet  I  felt  a  dull 
apprehension  of  mystery  of  some  kind, 
and  I  knew  that  I  was  in  no  mood  to 
answer  or  argue  with  her.  Therefore  I 
departed  ;  and  passing  hastily  through 
the  door,  plunged  headlong  against  the 
archaeologist,  who  was  on  his  way  to 
inquire  about  Estelle. 

•*  Do  not  go  on,"  I  whispered,  "  it  is 
needless  I    She  is  mad — ^mad — ^mad  I " 

<'MadI  do  you  say?"  he  gasped. 
Then  leading  him  away,  I  told  him 
what  I  had  just  heard,  and  how  that 
immediate  steps  should  be  taken,  lest 
her  mind  might  be  permanently  affect- 
ed. As  I  went  on,  I  could  see  that  the 
old  man  was  visibly  moved,  though  not 
in  the  way  that  I  had  expected.  It  was 
rather  nervous  terror  than  grief  or  sym- 
pathy which  beset  him,  for  I  could  feel 
that  he  trembled,  and  his  fingers  twitch- 
ed convulsively. 

"Is  this  really  madness?"  he  mut- 
tered half  to  himself;  "  or  is  there  truly 


some  mysterious  influence  over  us,  too 
subtle  for  us  to  comprehend  ?  If  so,  is 
it  the  work  of  good  spirits,  or  are  devils 
let  loose  to  torment  us  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  I  cried. 

"  I  know  not  what  I  mean,  or  what 
to  think,"  he  said.  "  After  all,  it  may 
— it  must,  indeed — be  only  coincidence 
and  imagination.  But  let  me  tell  you 
all.  That  ring  which  I  gave  her — ^it 
was  the  ring  which  the  Pompeian  girl 
had  worn  during  her  life.  She  must 
have  worn  it  upon  the  hand  which  has 
crumbled  away.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
of  it,  for  it  was  found  among  the  dl- 
hrU  below,  after  the  plaster  figure  had 
been  removed.  One  of  the  workmez^ 
picked  it  up  and  sold  it  to  me,  and  I — . 
Here,  too,  is  a  strange  thing  about  it," 
the  old  man  continued.  "You  know 
how  surprised  you  felt  that  I  had  made 
her  a  present  of  such  a  valuable  relic. 
I  was  surprised  myself,  for  such  a  cir- 
cumstance had  never  happened  to  me 
before.  But  there  was  something  about 
the  way  in  which  she  gazed  at  the  ring, 
so  different  from — it  was  as  though 
it  were  her  own,  recognized  by  her  as 
such,  and  that  she  was  simply  claiming 
her  individual  property.  I  can  hardly 
eay  how  it  was,  in  fact ;  but  there  was 
an  irresistible  impulse  in  me,  command- 
ing me  to  surrender  the  relic  to  her. 
YThat,  now,  if  about  the  figure  at  the 
museum  there  was  some  singular  influ- 
ence, recognizing  in  its  turn  the  ring, 
and  by  a  prior  right  desiring  its  relin- 
quishment ?  " 

"Let  ns  look  once  more  upon  that 
figure ! "  I  exclaimed,  I  scarcely  know 
why.  Certainly  I  did  not  expect  to  find 
in  it  any  change,  or  hope  to  obtain  any 
sign  or  revelation  from  it.  But  my  cry 
seemed  to  touch  some  kindred  spring 
in  the  breast  of  the  archaeologist,  for 
he  leaped  at  the  suggestion,  and  we  im- 
mediately set  out  for  Pompeii  There 
we  found  Signer  Fiorelli  in  the  outer 
hall  of  the  museum,  and  were  cordially 
welcomed  by  him ;  but  through  all  his 
studied  courtesy  I  could  sec  that  he  felt 
peevish  and  fretful. 

"  I  am  worried  and  disappointed,  in- 
deed," he  said,  after  a  few  moments ; 


484 


Putnam's  Magazine. 


[Aprils 


"  for  I  find  that  my  new  figure — how  it 
has  happened  I  know  not — ^but  during 
the  night  it  has  seemed  to  shrink  away. 
Such  a  result  has  never  attended  any 
of  my  other  experiments.  Could  the 
liquid  plaster  have  been  improperly  pre- 
pared ?  Was  there  moisture  in  it  which 
is  now  slowly  dying  out  ?  I  cannot  com- 
prehend it,  indeed.  But  you  will  come 
in  and  see  for  yourselves." 

So  saying,  he  led  us  into  the  inner 
hall.  There  the  figure  lay,  calm  and 
impassive  as  a  marble  statue.  But,  as 
the  Signor  had  stated,  it  had  suficred 
a  change,  even  as  a  dead  body  will  alter 
during  a  night.  The  cheeks  had  fallen 
away,  the  whole  face  had  become  thin- 
ner, and  here  and  there  had  appeared 
faint  lines  like  wrinkles,  which,  in  a 
living  body,  might  have  been  taken  for 
lines  of  thought  or  of  strong  mental 
agitation.  Possibly,  indeed,  the  change 
might  have  been  produced  by  the  at- 
mospheric shrinking  of  the  material, 
and  this  was  the  view  which  the  Si- 
gnor seemed  inclined  to  take ;  though 
he  must  confess,  he  said,  that  there  was 
nothing  in  the  scope  of  his  physical  or 
philosophical  knowledge  which  could 
explain  it.  But  to  myself,  the  mystery 
had  a  deeper  significance;  for,  wheth- 
er it  was  accident,  or  coincidence,  or 
what,  I  could  not  but  observe  that  the 
alteration  in  the  figure  was  precisely 
similar  to  that  which  had  taken  place 
in  Estelle ;  so  that,  in  every  respect,  the 
likeness  to  her  which  had  existed  the 
day  before  was  still  even  more  appar- 
ent. Could  there  actually  be  some  sym- 
pathetic bond  between  the  two  ?  What 
philosophy  could  account  for  the  phe- 
nomenon? As  I  gazed,  a  cold  chill 
crept  over  me  and  my  senses  grew  faint. 
I  heard  no  longer  the  complaints  of  the 
Signor,  except  as  one  will  be  aware  of 
a  faint,  indistinguishable,  unmeaning 
buzz;  and  after  a  moment,  feeling  no 
longer  able  to  control  myself,  I  left  the 
place  abruptly,  dragging  the  archaeolo- 
gist after  me,  and  so  returned  to  Na- 
ples. 

Why  should  I  now  go  on  ?  I  almost 
fear  to  do  so,  indeed,  so  strange  and 
unaccountable  is  what  from  that  time 


took  place.  But  as  from  the  outset  1 
have  promised  myself  to  omit  no  kk^ 
ture  of  my  story,  however  improbafaie 
it  may  seem,  it  only  remains  for  mt 
now  to  state,  that  thenceforth,  little  by 
little,  the  mysterious  process  went  oo. 
Each  day  I  saw  that  Estelle's  lace  lad 
changed,  the  cheeks  yet  farther  falfiag 
in,  the  eyes  becoming  deeper  set^  nd 
the  lines  of  thought  and  hopdesmoi 
growing  more  numerous.  Constant, 
in  like  proportion,  the  Pompeian  tgan 
also  changed — hourly  falling  away-Hud 
still  the  singular  likeness  between  Uv 
two  seemed  preserved  with  almost  m- 
nute  exactness.  Meanwhile,  as  I  hdd 
my  peace  and  only  thought  the  moic^ 
the  Signor  busied  himself  in  vain  to 
discover  some  natural  explanation  ftr 
the  figure^s  change. 

'^  The  dampness — ^no,  that  can  haidly 
be  it,"  he  said.  *'  All  this  material  but 
I  prepared  as  in  former  experimcBt^ 
none  of  which  have  failed  me.  Ou  it 
be  that,  in  the  circumambient  modd, 
there  was  a  deposit  of  some  Tolcaoie 
ingredient  as  yet  unanalyzed,  which^* 

'<  May  there  not  be  some  vitality  in 
the  figure  itself,  acting  in  sympttby 
with  a  living  object  ? "  I  suggested 
But,  in  doing  so,  I  forebore  to  mentiai 
any  name ;  for,  not  wishing  to  attnet 
too  open  attention  to  Estelle,  the  arch*' 
ologist  and  myself  had  so  far  refrained 
from  speaking  of  her  singular  case. 

"  How  ? "  exclaimed  the  Signor  is 
amazement. 

^^  It  is  but  a  mere  snppositioD,*'  I 
said.  *'You  know  that  the  andents 
divided  the  incorporeal  part  of  man 
into  two  branches,  the  soul  and  tiie 
mind;  was  not  that  the  classification! 
Nay,  may  there  not  be  a  greater  nmn- 
ber  of  component  elements  ?  We  know, 
of  course,  that  when  this  young  Pom- 
peian girl  was  sufibcated,  her  soul  must 
have  repaired  to  its  appointed  place. 
But  might  there  not  have  been  other 
elements — a  spirit  of  intelligence,  or 
reason,  or  memory,  or  some  such  attri- 
bute— which  remained  in  the  body,  and 
so  held  possession  of  the  mould  after 
the  body  had  decayed;  and  then,  en- 
tering, as  a  matter  of  course,  into  the 


.] 


A  PoMPEiAN  Enigma. 


485 


)ositioii  with  which  you  filled  the 
Id,  has,  so  to  speak,  incorporated 
'  with  it,  acting  upon  and  control- 
it,  whereby —  " 

le  Signor  gazed  at  me  with  amaze- 
.,  but  held  his  peace  until  I  had 
J  come  to  an  end — breaking  down, 
3d,  beneath  my  inability  to  further 
ess  my  crude,  undigested  reflections. 
I  he  simply  said, 
;    do    not    understand    what   you 


>» 


V  mere  attempt  at  a  suggestion,"  I 
endeaToring  to  give  vent  to  a  caro- 
AUgh  and  wofully  failing  in  it.  "  I 
ely  know  what  I  mean  myself." 
ith  that  I  left  him  and  returned  to 
lotel.  There  I  found  the  archaeolo- 
iust  starting  out. 

}he  remains  the  same,"  he  said; 
;  we  hope  for  better  things.  For 
ung  man  whom  they  call  Bobcrt 
ust  arrived,  and  it  is  thought  that 
isit  may  cheer  her  and  prove  the 
ng-point  in  the  case." 
ras  truly  glad  to  hear  of  this.  Ever 
1 1  had  been  first  informed  that  her 
'  was  expected,  I  had  reflected  upon 
tenefits  which  might  be  gained  from 
resence ;  for  it  was  highly  probable 
the  pleasure  of  meeting  him,  and 
ively  conversation  in  which  they 
d  naturally  indulge  after  their  some- 
;  protracted  separation,  would  prove 
reat  service  in  destroying  her  chi- 
s.  Kow  that  I  heard  of  his  arrival, 
leart  danced  with  joy,  for  it  seemed 
ough  at  length  we  had  been  visit- 
ith  good  fortune. 

le  archaeologist  passed  on,  leaving 
azily  leaning  against  the  doorway 
amusing  myself  with  the  scenes 
Qd  me.  It  was  too  early  for  the 
ig  of  carriages  to  be  whirling  past, 
fche  foliage  of  the  Villa  Keale  shut 
from  me  the  bay;  but  there  was 
1  else  of  interest  in  individual  in- 
its.  The  piper,  with  his  pig-skin 
dancing  as  he  played;  the  fnne- 
)rocession  of  white-shrouded  holy 
lers  peeping  out  from  their  eyelet- 
( ;  the  conjurer  supporting  upon  his 
a  chair  with  an  orange  balanced 
L  the  top  of  each  leg ;   the  gold- 


laced  nurses  carrying  babies  shrouded 
in  black,  like  young  monks;  the  boy 
begging  for  coppers,  and  rubbing  his 
stomach  with  one  hand,  while,  with  the 
other  raised  above  his  head,  he  counter- 
feited the  pleasant  process  of  eating 
maccaroni — these  and  other  kindred 
curiosities  of  human  life  cheerily  enter- 
tained me.  Looking  inside  the  deep 
arch  of  the  doorway,  I  could  further 
amuse  myself  with  the  action  of  the 
hotel-porter,  who  stood  alert  to  take 
off  his  gold-braided  cap  to  each  person 
passing  him,  and  made  it  an  especial 
matter  of  pride  not  to  miss  the  smallest 
chance  of  the  kind.  He  seemed  happy 
to  be  thus  employed ;  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  rather  disconsolate  and  uneasy  re- 
garding myself,  for  I  had  not  as  yet 
advanced  far  enough  inside  to  allow  of 
his  making  me  his  official  salute ;  and 
yet  I  was  so  near  that  it  would  have 
been  possible,  at  the  slightest  turning 
of  his  back,  to  slip  past  and  deprive 
him  of  his  opportunity.  While  I  thus 
stood  mischievously  watching  for  a 
chance  to  do  so,  and  thereby  make  him 
miserable  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  the 
spectacled  Kentuckian  and  his  two  spec- 
tacled daughters  emerged. 

"We  are  going  to  buy  some  more 
lavas  and  things,"  one  of  them  said  to 
me.  "  And  how  is  the  pretty  young 
girl  up-stairs  ?  A  little  out  of  her  head, 
they  say — ^isn't  she  ?  Thinks  she  is  an 
Italian  image-seller,  or  something  of  that 
sort,  they  tell  me.  Why  don't  you  try 
quinine  ?  Good  for  almost  any  thing, 
and  particularly  for  being  out  of  one's 
head." 

They  swept  past,  and  then  appeared 
the  English  major  of  Life  Guards  with 
his  wife.  From  a  chance  utterance  as 
they  drew  near,  I  could  gather  that  they 
had  been  talking  about  Estelle,  whose 
case,  as  far  as  regarded  the  mere  fact 
of  her  illness,  was  becoming  known 
with  the  usual  exaggerations  concern- 
ing the  cause  of  it;  and  I  could  also 
see  that  they  were  anxious  to  question 
me.  Indeed,  the  major  made  a  motion 
towards  me,  but  his  wife  instantly  re- 
strained him  with  a  little  pull  at  the 
sleeve.    What  more  likely  than  that^  if 


486 


Putnam's  Magazine. 


[April, 


he  had  yielded  to  the  impulse,  I  might 
claim  acquaintance  'with  them  years 
hence  in  London  ?  They  therefore  pass- 
ed oa  in  silence,  contenting  themselves 
with  a  patronizing  smile  upon  the  por- 
ter, who,  of  course,  stood  in  no  dauger 
of  being  tempted  by  any  condescension 
into  unwarrantable  liberties. 

A  moment  after,  the  Oxford  student 
came  in,  warm  and  almost  breathless ; 
and,  having  no  fear  of  me,  stopped  to 
rest  himself  against  my  side  of  the  door- 
way. He  had  gone  over  to  Sorrento 
two  days  ago,  and  had  taken  the  whim 
to  walk  back  again  around  the  bay.  It 
was  further  than  he  had  anticipated,  but 
there  had  been  much  to  see,  and  he  was 
not  so  very  tired ;  and,  upon  the  whole, 
it  had  paid.  And  how  about  the  poor 
young  lady  upon  the  second  floor? 
Yesterday  he  had  met  some  persons  in 
Sorrento  who  had  informed  him  that 
she  was  worse.  They  said,  also,  that 
she  had  some  notion  of  having  lived  a 
great  many  years  ago,  and  been  Lucre- 
tia,  or  Virginia,  or  a  Christian  martyr, 
or  something  of  that  kind.    Was  it  so  ? 

With  somewhat  pardonable  equivo- 
cation, I  assured  him  that  there  were 
many  untrue  reports  in  this  world. 

"  So  I  supposed,"  he  answered,  "  al- 
though it  would  not  have  been  a  singu- 
lar mania,  after  all.  A  great  many  peo- 
ple have  had  it,  I  presume.  Even  I 
have  encouraged  such  fancies  at  idle 
moments ;  though,  of  course,"  he  added 
with  ingenuous  forgetfulncss,  "  I  would 
never  openly  allude  to  them,  for  fear  of 
putting  strange  ideas  into  other  people. 
I  believe,  in  fact,  that  I  rather  inherit 
such  impressions.  My  great-grandfath- 
er once  imagined  that  he  had  been  Ju- 
lius Cflesar;  and  it  was  noticed  that, 
having  read  Hamlet,  he  had  ever  after 
a  strong  affinity  for  the  bung-hole  of 
a  beer-barrel.  Furthermore,  I  have  a 
maiden  aunt,  enormously  wealthy,  whose 
heir  I  am,  and  who  thinks  that  she  was 
once  Mary  Queen  of  Scots.  What  is 
more,  she  believes  that,  in  her  next  life, 
she  will  be  a  young  and  handsome 
queen  again.  But,  somehow,  she  does 
not  seem  in  a  hurry  about  getting  her 
promotion,  though,  by  reason  of  her 


rheumatism  and  her  spine,  her  preseot 
existence  is  no  comfort  to  her." 

The  Oxford  student  passed  on,  and 
then  appeared  Estelle^s  lover,  Robot 
Seeing  him  approach,  I  sprang  forwaid, 
and  my  heart  for  the  moment  felt  ligbt- 
er  than  ever,  for  now  I  fully  expected 
good  news.  But  his  downcast,  troubled 
air  struck  me  with  sudden  affiight 

"  Is  she  not  better,  then  ?  '^  I  inqoini 

"  She  is  worse,"  he  said.  '"  That  ia^ 
I  cannot  tell  how  she  was  yestoday, 
but  she  is  very  ill  now.  She  was  gfai 
to  see  me,  but  she  says  that  it  was  ht- 
cause  she  wished  to  bid  me  larewciL 
She  has  an  idea  that  she  will  not  lire 
long,  and  nothing  that  I  can  say  lui 
any  power  to  cheer  her.  Indeed,  tbot 
seems  to  be  some  delirium  hanging  orer 
her — something  about  the  past  beto^ 
the  present,  and  the  fdtnre  the  pM^ 
and  the  like.  I  could  not  make  it  oat; 
neither  does  her  father,  poor  old  nOf 
know  any  thing  concerning  it.  Te8 
me,  if  you  can,  what  is  it  all  about  f" 

There  was  no  use  in  keeping  the  tnA 
from  him,  and  I  told  him  all,  omitting 
and  disguising  nothing.  He  heard  me 
in  silence  ;  but  when  I  had  finished,  be 
drew  himself  up  with  an  air  of  relief 
and  I  saw  a  bright  and  encouraging 
gleam  of  hope  in  his  eyes. 

*^  I  am  glad  I  came  hither,"  he  said, 
"  for  I  think  that  I  have  the  eke  to 
the  whole  enigma.  Of  course,  it  is  this 
Pompeian  image  that  is  at  the  bottom 
of  it ;  and  it  has  so  greatly  encouraged 
her  delirium,  that  even  the  rest  of  yon 
have  begun  to  yield  and  give  assent  to 
her  fancies.  Well,  let  that  image  be 
got  away  with,  be  destroyed,  and  thffl 
she  will  recover ;  for  she  will  then  know 
that  it  could  have  had  no  real  connec- 
tion with  herself,  and  her  mind  will  be 
relieved  from  its  only  actual  nightmare 
and  oppression." 

"  It  is  a  thought  that  has  already  o^ 
curred  to  me,"  I  responded.  "  But  bow 
can  we  put  it  to  any  practical  eflTectf " 

"We  will  purchase  the  figure  from 
the  Signor  Fiorelli,"  he  saij^ 

"  It  is  not  his,"  I  answered.  "  It  is 
the  property  of  the  nation,  and  will  not 
be  sold." 


1870.] 


A  PosirEiAN  Enigma. 


487 


"  Then  we  will  break  into  the  room 
by  night." 

"  The  place  is  too  strong  and  well 
gaarded  for  that,"  I  said. 

"  Then  we  will — Heayen  help  us  !  is 
there  no  way  out  of  all  this  muddle  and 
mystery?  We  will  go  ourselves  with 
heavy  canes,  and  destroy  the  figure  in 
open  daylight.  "We  can  break  it  into 
ftaf^ents  in  an  instant,  and  before  any 
one  can  interfere  with  us.  There  will 
be  a  scene,  of  course.  We  shall  be  ar- 
rested, imprisoned,  fined,  and  what  not. 
But  the  American  Minister  will  get  us 
ont  of  trouble,  in  the  end,  and  the  good 
work  will  be  done.  Estclle  will  be 
saved ;  and  will  not  that  be  worth  all 
the  rest  ? " 

There  was  something  in  the  animated 
^irit  with  which  he  spoke  that  electri- 
fied me.  Yes,  his  was  the  feasible  plan, 
after  all !  What  mattered  the  danger 
of  it,  or  the  consequences  to  ourselyes  ? 
Estelle  would  be  saved — that  would  be 
enough  to  compensate  for  every  thing  I 
I  reached  out  my  hand  to  him  in  assent 
and  promise  of  cooperation.  He  grasp- 
ed it  with  fervor,  speaking  no  word  of 
thanks,  but  expressing  in  his  eyes  the 
gratitude  he  felt.  Then,  taking  our 
canes,  we  jumped  into  the  first  cab  and 
drove  off  to  Pompeii. 

I  was  now  fully  committed  to  the 
deed;  there  could  be  no  withdrawal 
without  a  sacrifice  of  friendship  and  an 
imputation  of  cowardice.  But  I  did  not 
wish  to  withdraw,  for  the  rash,  tem- 
pestuous spirit  which  my  companion 
had  imparted  to  me  still  remained  and 
held  its  sway.  I  knew  that  I  was  en- 
listed in  a  service  of  some  danger,  per- 
haps— certainly  of  terrible  annoyance 
and  confusion.  We  would  be  arrested, 
fined,  imprisoned — of  that  there  could 
be  no  doubt.  It  might  even  happen 
that  our  Minister  would  not  be  able  to 
get  us  released  again.  3Iore  than  all, 
it  was  not  to  be  questioned  but  that  all 
Europe  would  ring  with  the  act,  as  one 
of  gross  vandalism — ^that  the  stigma  of 
our  wild  act  of  destruction  would  be 
npon  us  for  years;  while  we  would 
never  be  able  to  explain  the  motived 
which  had  impelled  us,  since  our  tale 


would  be  adjudged  too  incomprehensi- 
ble and  ridiculous  for  belief.  But  Es- 
telle would  be  saved ;  what  further  re- 
ward could  be  desired  for  any  thing 
that  we  might  have  to  undergo  ? 

Thus  fortifying  ourselves,  the  car- 
riage stopped  at  the  door  of  the  mu- 
seum. Grasping  our  heavy  sticks,  we 
descended,  and  were  about  to  enter, 
when  we  saw  Signer  Fiorelli  emerging. 
His  countenance  was  troubled  and  sor- 
rowful, and  when  we  accosted  him,  the 
tears  almost  came  into  his  eyes. 

"  Alas  1 "  he  said,  "  you  have  come 
too  late,  my  friends  I  " 

"  What  mean  you  ? " 

"  My  beautiful  Pompeian  figure — was 
it  the  fault  of  the  material,  or  what,  I 
cannot  say;  but  you  know  how,  day 
after  day,  it  has  seemed  to  waste  away. 
And  this  morning — it  was  only  a  few 
minutes  ago — it  was  just  ten  minutes 
after  eleven,  for  I  had  that  instant  taken 
out  my  watch —  " 

"  Well  ? " 

"  Exactly  ten  minutes  after  eleven,  I 
say,  there  came  a  slight  shiver  of  the 
figure,  as  though  with  the  motion  of 
an  earthquake— though  nothing  else  in 
the  room  shook — and,  almost  before  I 
could  speak,  the  whole  figure  lay  in 
powdered  dust  upon  its  pedestal,  not 
a  vestige  of  form  left  to  it.  It  is  so  in- 
comprehensible 1  Could  the  material, 
do  you  think,  have —  " 

We  did  not  wait  to  hear  more,  but 
simultaneously  plunged  again  into  our 
vehicle ;  moved  not  only  by  the  desire 
to  return,  but  also  by  the  fear  lest  the 
Signer  might  perceive  the  irrepressible 
look  of  gratitude  and  joy  that  flashed 
over  our  faces.  For  it  was  not  to  be 
expected  that  wo  should  sympathize 
with  him  in  his  liiisfortune.  Yes,  the 
deed  was  done ;  some  kind  providence 
had  interfered  at  the  last  moment,  and 
saved  us  from  the  vandalism  and  its 
consequences !  We  were  free  to  go ; 
and  Estelle — she,  of  course,  was  saved ! 

Never  had  greater  or  wilder  exulta- 
tion possessed  us  than  as  we  drove  rap- 
idly back  to  Naples.  Never  had  the 
city  appeared  more  lovely,  or  our  spirits 
been  more  in  harmony  with  its  charms. 


488 


PUTNAH^S  MaGAZINZ, 


[Apd. 


How  we  grasped  each  other^s  hands  and 
spoke  cheerily  about  a  future  of  well- 
assured  happiness  1  What  showers  of 
coin  wo  lavished  upon  the  woman  with 
the  twisted  hand  at  the  turn  of  the 
Chiaja,  and  the  bald-headed  old  man 
on  his  knees  at  the  stone-coping  by  the 
bay  !  How  we  waved  our  handkerchiefs 
in  frantic  greeting  as  we  approached  the 
hotel,  and  saw  the  archseologist  looking 
out  from  the  doorway  I 

Until  our  carriage  stopped  and  he 
came  out,  and  we  saw  that  his  counte- 
nance was  unusually  grave  and  his 
manner  hesitating,  as  though  weight- 
ed with  misfortune, — then,  all  at  once, 


we  felt  struck  with  sadden  doubt, 
and  leaned  forward  anxiously  to  lite 
to  him. 

"  Where  have  you  been  ?  "  he  Mil 
"  We  have  looked  everywhere  for  yo«. 
Our  poor  Estelle —  " 
"  What  of  her  ?  What  news  of  her!' 
"I  was  watching  beside  her.  She 
was  sleeping  on  her  lounge,  and  secB- 
cd,  I  thought,  a  txifle  better.  But  odj 
a  short  time  ago — it  was  just  ten  nm- 
utes  after  eleven  by  the  mantel-dod[— 
I  noticed  that  there  came  a  slight  tzcB* 
bling  over  her  frame,  as  though  from  t 
chill,  and,  before  I  could  call  for  ud, 
she — she  was  dead  I  " 


•♦• 


THE  AMERICAN  DOOTHINE  OF  NEUTRALrTY. 


TiiE  question  which  we  propose  to 
discuss  is  not  whether  the  struggling  pa- 
triots of  Cuba  are  entitled  to  our  aid. 
It  is  whether  Americans  should  be  true 
or  false  to  their  own  policy  and  tradi- 
tions. 

We  have  no  sympathy  with  the  Amer- 
ican whose  pulse  has  not  beat  quicker  in 
response  to  the  plea  of  a  people  oppressed 
beyond  any  Anglo-Saxon  precedent.  The 
man  who  owes  all  the  glorious  breadth 
of  individual  freedom  in  a  Republic 
wholly  disenthralled  and  towering  in  the 
very  excess  of  imperial  power,  to  the 
successful  issue  of  what  Ilenry  Clay  right- 
ly termed  **  a  revolution  against  the  mere 
theory  of  tyranny,''  and  who  despises, 
or  belittles,  or  treats  coldly  the  long  pro- 
tracted efforts  of  the  Cubans  for  freedom 
— snch  a  man  may  be  an  American  by 
birth  and  descent,  but  he  inherits  merely 
the  material  results  won  by  better  men ; 
not  the  spirit  which  carried  his  ancestors 
through  the  birth-throes  of  revolution, 
or  which  made  the  men  of  1812  stout 
to  maintain  the  dignity  of  the  young 
Republic  against  the  world.  Neither 
could  he  have  shared  aught  of  that  no- 
ble inspiration  which  turned  a  million  of 
loyal  but  peaceable  citizens  into  heroic 
Sghters  for  a  purer,  and  higher,  and 
broader  nationality. 

Our  sympathy  is  doubly  due  to  the  Cu- 


bans. They  are  following  the  example 
of  our  fathers  in  fighting  agmnst  a  oo> 
lonial  despotism,  which  since  1887  hti 
held  them  under  martial  law,  that  is  t» 
say  lawlessly,  without  intermission  of 
wrongs.  They  arc,  also,  following  asd 
improving  on  our  own  example  of  en- 
franchising a  subject  race.  Oar  decree 
of  emancipation  was  wrung  from  as  by 
necessity — after  long  years,  in  whieh 
generations  of  trials  and  losses  were 
condensed;  after  the  negro  had,  in  a 
thousand  ways,  proved  himself  iodispeii- 
sable  to  our  success,  and  almost  after  we 
had  exhausted  God^s  patience  by  our 
tardiness  in  letting  His  poor  go  free,  tad 
as  if  in  final  despair  of  His  help  withoQt 
thus  appealing  to  Ills  favor. 

This,  however,  is  aside  from  our  more 
immediate  purpose,  which  is  to  discosstbe 
American  doctrine  of  neutrality.  The  io- 
tion  of  our  Government  and  the  debates 
in  Congress  in  relation  to  what  is  called 
vaguely  "The  Cuban  Question,"  make 
this  discussion  appropriate  to  amagazioe 
which  has  never  hesitated  to  handle 
living  questions  of  domestic  or  foreign 
policy  independently  and  fearlessly.  Wo 
could  not  forbear  a  brief  expression  of 
sentiment  as  to  the  existing  cause  of  the 
controversy,  and  may  recur  to  the  peca- 
liar  condition  of  affairs  in  Cuba  more  than 
once  before  wo  conclude ;  but  our  main 


1870.] 


The  Amkbican  Doctrine  of  Neutealitt. 


489 


purpose  is  that  which  we  have  already 
indicated. 

And,  when  we  speak  of  neutrality,  we 
must  claim,  at  the  outset,  that  in  the 
modero,  full,  aud  honest  sense  of  that 
much  abused  word,  neutrality  is  au 
American  invention.  It  could  have  found 
Binccre  recognition  and  the  honor  which 
is  paid  a  principle  by  its  use,  nowhere 
else,  and  only  within  the  last  century. 
For  it  is  only  on  our  soil  and  since  the 
foundation  of  our  government  that  there 
has  been  any  considerable  nation  extant 
which,  first,  last,  and  everywhere,  has  re- 
cognized justice  and  the  inalienable  rights 
of  men  as  the  only  trne  basis  of  govern- 
ment and  their  maintenance  as  the  only 
legitimate  claim  on  the  citizen  for  his 
obedience  and  support.  The  bearing  of 
this  central  fact  on  the  question  we  are 
discussing  will,  we  trust,  bo  made  ob- 
yious  as  wo  proceed. 

A  government  based  on  justice  and 
the  inalienable  rights  of  men!  This  may 
not  seem  to  some  readers  such  a  startling 
and  peculiar  fact.  Yet  it  is  the  pervad- 
ing element  of  our  lives,  of  our  laws,  of 
our  habits  of  thought  and  modes  of  ac- 
tion. It  makes  a  difference  in  all  the 
activities  and  passivities  of  our  being  be* 
tween  us  and  sM  other  peoples  on  the  face 
of  the  earth,  which  wo  cannot  wholly 
estimate,  even  when,  in  other  lands,  we 
feel  the  pressure  of  power  which  comes 
not  in  the  name  of  justice,  but  of  some 
trumpery  "legitimacy,"  or  "divine 
right,"  or  what-not,  and  which  is  never 
stayed  by  consideration  of  the  rights  of 
men  as  such. 

Almost  everywhere  else  men  hold  even 
what  they  call  their  rights  by  some  fra- 
gile, or  fickle,  or  fictitious  tenure.  It 
could  not  bo  otherwise.  The  roots  of 
every  European  government  strike  down 
deep  into  medicoval  soil  and  partake  of 
its  character.  Beginning  in  the  times 
when  might  really  did  make  right,  the 
progress  towards  the  betterment  of  indi- 
viduals has  been  through  a  series  of  hard 
won  concessions  of  "  privileges."  Even 
in  England  the  most  glorious  and  funda- 
mental of  revolutions  had  to  accomplish 
its  ends  by  legal  fictions,  and  to  make 
nominal  obeisance  to  the  doctrme  that 


rights  can  bo  given  to  men  by  Govern- 
ments. 

Up  to  the  time  when  the  American 
Revolution  revealed  to  the  peoples  of  Eu- 
rope the  sublime  truth  that "  governments 
were  instituted  for  the  benefit  of  the 
governed,"  the  historical  student  will 
find  great  difficulty  in  developing  princi- 
ples of  government  as  exemplified  in 
practice.  The  feudal  system  gave  a  com- 
plete, thorough,  and  consistent  classifica- 
tion of  powers  and  duties.  From  the 
time  when  its  fetters  were  first  consider- 
ably unloosed  by  Louis  XI.  until  the 
French  Revolution,  there  were  a  succes- 
sion of  makeshifts  to  accommodate  gov- 
ernments to  the  growing  demands  of  the 
industrial  and  mercantile  classes.  But 
each  step  was  a  temporary  expedient  for 
conciliating  to  the  "powers  that  bo" 
classes  too  strong  to  be  put  down  or  des- 
pised. "With  each  enlargement  of  the 
basis  of  the  ruling  class  there  came  new 
security  and  strength  for  it  as  against 
the  unrecognized  "  outsiders,"  But  the 
principle  that  government,  as  such,  was 
au  end,  and  a  thing  having  inherent 
rights  and  the  power  to  bestow  them, 
was  never  given  up. 

Was  it  to  have  been  expected  that  gov- 
ernments which  began  by  a  denial  of  the 
rights  of  men,  as  men,  should  have  risen 
to  the  height  of  conducting  their  rela- 
tions with  each  other  on  principles  of 
justice?  If  any  one  now  believes  that 
precedents  of  honest  neutrality  can  be 
found  anywhere  prior  to  the  time  when 
America  set  the  example,  a  brief  search 
through  the  proper  authorities  will  soon 
dispel  the  delusion.  In  our  own  re- 
searches wo  incidentally  discovered  a  fact 
which,  as  "  a  negative  pregnant,"  shows 
that  the  subject  of  neutrality,  as  a  well- 
defined  system,  founded  on  principles  of 
justice,  has  not  yet  been  even  consid- 
ered— except  by  a  few  professional  wri- 
ters and  on  a  few  occasions  in  the  Eng- 
lish Parliament  and  by  English  diplo- 
mats— across  the  water.  The  fact  was 
this,  that  in  the  indexes  to  tlie  first  hun- 
dred volumes  of  the  Edinburgh  Review^ 
there  are  not  half  a  dozen  distinct  allu- 
sions to  the  subject,  and  that,  on  exami- 
nation, these  were  found  fragmentary 


490 


PlJTNAM^S  MaOAZDOU 


[April, 


and  altogether  short  of  a  disousslon  of 
the  question. 

It  was  not  until  the  inauguration  of 
our  government  that  the  duty  of  an 
honest,  impartial,  and  efifcctual  neutral- 
ity was  recognized.  The  influence  of 
institutions  founded  on  broad  principles 
of  justice  and  human  rights  was  percep- 
tible in  all  of  the  public  deliberations 
and  official  acts  of  the  early  days  of  the 
Republic.  No  one  who  has  not  studied 
the  tortuous  and  misty  diplomacy  of 
Europe  can  wholly  appreciate  the  vital 
difference  in  the  tone  of  all  our  state 
papers  on  international  matters  from 
that  of  those  of  the  Old  World.  There 
we  find  endless  citations  of  precedents 
agreeing  on  scarcely  any  fundamental 
principle,  or  more  frequently  ignoring 
principles  of  justice  altogether.  We 
find  abuses  and  anomalies  sanctioned 
because  they  are  old ;  or  convenient  for 
immediate  ends,  or  essential  to  the  pre- 
servation of  dynastic  interests. 

But  this  is  partly  a  digression,  or,  at 
least,  an  amplification  of  our  statement 
that  from  the  outset  our  governmental 
system,  whether  considered  in  regard  to 
our  own  citizens  or  our  relations  with 
foreign  powers,  was  on  a  wholly  differ- 
ent basis  from  that  of  any  European  na- 
tion. We  recognized  justice  and  equal 
rights  as  the  God-given  heritage  of  all 
our  own  citizens.  Our  government,  hav- 
ing this  adamantine  basis  to  rest  on, 
asked  no  favors  from  other  powers  and 
had  no  special  reasons  for  favoring  or 
opposing  the  peculiar  interests  which 
supplied  ninety-nine  one-hundredths  of 
the  diplomatic  controversies  of  Europe 
with  material. 

We  had  barely  established  our  gov- 
ernment, when  we  were  called  on  to 
show  the  world  how  grandly  impartial 
our  position  was  to  be  among  the  na- 
tions, and  how  simple  the  diplomacy 
based  on  justice  and  common  sense. 
England  was  at  war  with  our  old  ally, 
stanch  friend  and  savior,  France. 
There  was  every  temptation  to  serve  the 
latter  at  the  expense  of  the  former. 
Nearly  all  of  the  opponents  to  Wash- 
ington's administration  were  warm  ad- 
herents of  the  French  cause.  Yet  in  his 


second  inaugural,  he  coanaelled  a  strict 
observance  of  neutrality  between  the 
belligerents,  and  on  the  22d  of  April, 
1793,  he  issued  a  proclamation,  of  who* 
spirit  the  following  sentence  Tfill  give  & 
good  conception.    He  said : 

"I  have  given  instmctions  to  those 
officers  to  whom  it  belongs,  to  cinae 
prosecutions  to  be  instituted  against  afl 
persons  who  shall,  within  the  cogmzann 
of  the  Courts  of  the  United  States,  vio- 
late the  law  of  nations  with  respect  to 
the  powers  at  war,  or  any  of  them." 

This  was  followed  np  by  pracdcd 
measures  of  such  vigilance  that  Jit, 
Jefferson,  then  Secretary  of  State,  d*- 
nounced  them  as  ^*  setting  up  a  systoa 
of  espionage  destructive  to  the  peace  of 
society.^'  A  French  vessel,  the  Xitdf 
Sardh^  was  seized  on  the  mere  sogge^ 
tion  of  the  British  Minister  that  ibe 
was  fitting  out  as  a  French  priTateo. 
The  questionable  expedient  was  resort- 
ed to  of  calling  on  the  GoTcmon  of 
States  to  detect  and  prevent  the  sailiiig 
of  possible  privateers,  and  the  Gorenor 
of  New  York  actually  did  seize  tiia 
sloop  FoUy  on  suspicion. 

In  17d4  our  first  Neutrality  Act  was 
passed.  As  to  its  stringent  character,  it 
is  only  necessary  to  refer  to  the  compli- 
ments paid  the  Act  by  Mr.  Canning,  in 
the  course  of  the  debates  on  Lord  Al- 
thorpe's  petition  for  the  repeal  of  tilw 
British  Foreign  Enlistment  Act  Our 
Government  even  went  to  the  extreme 
of  undertaking  to  pay  the  English  Gov- 
ernment and  English  subjects  for  all  the 
damages  arising  from  the  privateers  fit- 
ted out  in  our  ports.  In  1808,  Mr.  Jefier- 
son  urged  in  his  message  that  it  should 
"  be  our  endeavor,  as  it  is  our  interest, 
to  cultivate  the  friendship  of  the  bellige- 
rent nations  l>y  every  act  of  justice  and 
innocent  kindness ;  .  .  .  and  to  pun- 
ish severely  those  persons,  citizens  or 
aliens,  who  usurp  our  flag  not  entitled 
to  it.^'  In  1805,  Mr.  Jefferson,  in  anoth- 
er message,  declared  that  the  exigencies 
of  the  war  on  the  ocean  had  compelled 
him  "  to  equip  a  force,  to  cruise  within 
our  own  seas,  to  arrest  all  vessels  of  this 
description  found  hovering  on  our  coasts 
within  the  limits  of  the  Gulf  Stream, 


1870.] 


The  Amebioan  Dootkinb  op  Neuteautt. 


401 


and  to  bring  in  the  oflfendera  for  trial  as 
pirates." 

Here  wo  draw  near  the  close  of  what 
we  may  call  the  revolutionary  period  of 
our  history — that  is,  of  the  era  controll- 
ed by  the  men  of  the  Revolution.  We 
find  that  our  Government  pursued  from 
the  first  a  clear,  straightforward,  and 
ingenuous  policy  of  neutrality ;  so  sim- 
ple, honest,  and  eflScicnt  as  to  raise  our 
diplomacy  far  above  the  level  of  that 
of  the  Old  "World,  while  the  consistency 
and  impartiality  it  derived  from  an 
honest  adherence  to  the  natural  princi- 
ples of  equity  saved  us  from  all  foreign 
complications. 

The  instances  we  have  cited,  how- 
ever, only  illustrate  our  policy  in  cases 
of  wars  between  belligerent  govern- 
ments. There  was  another  class  of  cases 
— much  thought  of  as  probable  in  the 
then  near  future— which  required  the 
extension  of  our  doctrine  to  conform 
with  the  fundamental  theory  of  our 
government. 

We  allude  to  the  contingencies  of 
wars  between  governments  and  peoples 
straggling  to  throw  off  the  former.  In 
1810  the  consideration  of  this  class  of 
eases  was  forced  on  our  people  and  gov- 
ernment by  the  successive  revolts  of  the 
Spanish  colonists  in  South  America. 
The  circumstances  of  the  time  were 
favorable  to  a  direct  issue  between  the 
policies  of  Europe  and  those  of  Ameri- 
ca. "  Legitimacy  "  had  triumphed  in 
Europe,  and  the  conspiracy  of  her  rulers 
against  all  possible  assertions  of  human 
rights  had  enveloped  the  whole  Conti- 
nent in  its  diplomatic  meshes.  Here, 
on  the  other  hand,  the  ideas  which  had 
triumphed  in  the  Revolution  had  be- 
come strengthened  and  incorporated 
into  the  national  life. 

Most  of  the  leaders  of  the  Revolution 
were  still  alive  and  influential.  Weak 
as  we  were  among  the  nations — oven 
forced  to  make  terms  with  Barbary  cor- 
sairs and  ransom  their  captives — these 
men  uttered  no  doubtful  opinions  as  to 
how  America  should  bear  herself  in  any 
case  of  open  issue  between  her  princi- 
ples and  those  of  Europe.  Just  after 
the  Revolution,  indeed,  there  was  plainly 


no  course  left  us  but  that  of  extreme 
prudence.  Still,  the  conservative  and 
cautious  Washington  had  no  hesitation 
about  using  this  style  of  language,  in 
reply  to  the  French  Minister,  in  1796  : 

He  said  that  "his  anxious  recollec- 
tions, his  sympathetic  feelings,  and  his 
best  wishes,  were  irresistibly  excited 
whenever  he  saw  in  any  country  a  na- 
tion unfuri  the  banner  of  freedom  ;  and 
that,  above  all,  tbe  events  of  the  French 
Revolution  had  produced  in  him  the 
deepest  solicitude,  as  well  as  the  .high- 
est admiration." 

And,  in  a  message  to  the  Senate,  ho 
said:  "I  rejoice  that  the  interesting 
revolutionary  movements  of  so  many 
years  have  issued  in  the  formation  of 
a  Constitution  designed  to  give  per- 
manency to  the  great  object  for  which 
you  have  contended."  To  which  the 
Senate,  with  an  enthusiasm  which 
would  have  ruffled  the  composure  of 
Mr.  Sumner  had  he  been  a  spectator, 
replied  that  it  "  united  with  Washing- 
ton in  all  the  feelings  he  had  so  ardent- 
ly and  so  sublimely  expressed."  The 
Speaker  of  the  House  amounced  tho 
message  as  "  a  communicarion  which 
would  excite  the  most  pleasing  satisfac- 
tion in  every  American  heart,"  and  felt 
constrained  to  caution  the  representa- 
tives and  the  people  to  confine  their 
jubilations  and  keep  within  bounds. 
When  tho  message  was  read  the  French 
colors  were  unfurled,  and  the  House  for- 
got all  the  cautions  of  tho  Speaker,  and 
demeaned  itself  very  much  like  one  of 
the  best  of  our  audiences  at  a  war-meet- 
ing of  1861. 

Such  was  the  glowing  sjrmpathy  of 
the  executive  officers  and  legislators  of 
that  time  with  any  movement  for  tho 
realization  of  our  own  theory  of  gov- 
ernment. The  prudent  policy  actually 
adopted  was  perfectly  accounted  for  by 
Washington,  when  he  said : 

"  With  me,  a  predominant  motive  has 
been  to  endeavor  to  gain  time  to  settle 
and  mature  its  yet  recent  institutions, 
and  to  progress  without  interruption  to 
that  degree  of  strength  and  constancy 
which  is  necessary  to  give  it,  humanly 
speaking,  the  command  of  its  own  for- 
tunes." 


493 


FUTNAX^S  ilAGAZINE. 


[April, 


A  little  later  we  find  a  fuller,  more 
philosophical,  and  satisfactory  exposi- 
tion of  the  true  attitude  of  America 
during  the  period  when  we  "  creeped  " 
because  we  could  not  walk  erect,  in  a 
remarkable  letter  written  by  Mr.  Jeflfcr- 
son,  under  date  of  **  Washington,  Octo- 
ber 3, 1801,"  to  Mr.  William  Short.  We 
quote: 

"There  is  no  point  in  which  an 
American,  long  absent  from  his  country, 
wanders  so  widely  from  its  sentiments 
as  on  the  subject  of  its  foreign  aifairs. 
We  have  a  perfect  horror  of  every  thing 
like  connecting  ourselves  with  the  po- 
litics of  Europe.  It  would,  indeed,  be 
advantageous  to  us  to  have  neutral  rights 
established  on  a  broad  ground ;  but  no 
dependence  can  be  placed  in  any  Eu- 
ropean coalition  for  that.  They  have 
60  many  other  by-interests  of  greater 
weight,  that  some  one  or  other  will  al- 
ways be  bought  off.  To  le  entangled 
with,  them  toould  he  a  much  greater  evil 
than  a  temporary  acquiescence  in  thefciUe 
principles  which  have  prevaiM.  Peace  is 
our  important  interest,  and  a  recovery 
from  debt.  We  feel  ourselves  strong 
aud  daily  growing  stronger.  The  census 
just  now  concluded,  shows  us  to  have 
added  to  our  population  a  third  of  what 
it  was  ten  years  ago.  This  will  be  a 
duplication  in  twenty-three  or  twenty- 
four  years,  i/*  we  can  delay  but  for  a  few 
years  the  necessity  of  vindicating  the  laws 
of  nations  on  the  ocean,  we  sliall  he  the  more 
sure  of  doing  it  with  effect.  The  day  is 
within  my  time  as  well  as  yours,  when  we 
may  say  hy  what  laws  other  nations  shall 
treat  us  on  the  sea.  And  we  will  say 
IT.  In  the  meantime,  wo  wish  to  let 
every  treaty  we  have  drop  off  without 
renewaL  We  call  in  our  diplomatic 
missions,  barely  keeping  up  those  to  the 
most  important  nations." 

This  was  not  only  a  characteristic  ex- 
pression, but  a  prophecy  whose  fulfil- 
ment— to  a  good  degree — its  author 
lived  to  witness.  He  found  a  worthy 
successor,  when  the  struggles  of  the 
South  American  revolutionists  compell- 
ed the  action  of  Congress,  in  the  person 
of  Henry  Clay,  then  in  the  full  flush  of 
his  young  manhood,  and  with  his  broad 
and  continental  sympathies  unconfined 
by  the  necessities  of  partisan  leader- 
ship. 

The  Cuban  contest  has  revived  the 


well-nigh  faded  memories  of  that  event- 
ful epoch  in  our  history— eventful  esp»> 
cially  in  the  history  of  our  policy  of 
neutrality.  By  the  light  of  the  fini 
kindled  by  desperate  Cuban  patriots  to 
deprive  the  spoiler  of  his  gains,  we  cm 
see  with  terrible  vividness  the  force  d 
that  tremendously  descriptive  sentence 
in  Webster's  second  Banker  Hill  ci*- 
tion,  when  he  said :  "  Spain  swooped  on 
South  America,  like  a  vulture  on  lis 
prey."    We  can,  also,  realize,  with  % 


sense  we  never  before  had,  how  true 
the  indictment  preferred  against  Qpm 
by  Mr.  Clay,  in  his  great  speech  of 
March  24, 1818. 

Let  us  revive  a  part  of  this  speedi. 
Mr.  Clay  said : 

"  A  main  feature  in  her  policy,  is  thtt 
which  constantly  elevates  the  Europen 
and  depresses  the  American  charado. 
Out  of  upwards  of  seven  hundred  and 
fifty  viceroys  andcaptains-fi^neral  whom 
she  has  appointed  smce  the  conquest  of 
America,  about  eighteen  only  have  been 
from  the  body  of  the  American  popvl^ 
tion.     On   all  occasions  she  seeks  to 
raise  and  promote  her  European  siib> 
jects,  and  to  degrade  and  humiliate  tkl 
Creoles."    .    .    .    ^' Our  Revolution  ww 
mainly  directed  against  the  mere  the- 
ory of  tyranny.    We  had  suffered  com- 
paratively little ;  we  had,  in  some  re- 
spects, been  kindly  treated ;  but  our  in- 
trepid and  intelligent  fathers  saw,  in  the 
usurpation  of  the  power  to  levy  an  in- 
considerable tax,  a  long  train  of  oppres- 
sive acts  that  were  to  follow.     They 
rose;   they  breasted  the  storm;  the? 
achieved  our  freedom.     Spanish  Amen- 
ca  for  centuries  has  been  doomed  to  the 
practical  effects  of  an  odious  tyranny. 
If  we  were  justified,  she  is  more  thjun 
justified.     I  am  no  propagandist    I 
would  not  seek  to  force  on  other  nt- 
tions  our  principles  and  our  liberty,  if 
they  did  not  want  them.    I  would  not 
disturb  the  repose  even  of  a  detestable 
despot.    But  if  an  abused  and  oppres- 
sed people  will  their  freedom ;  if  they 
seek  to  establish  it;  if,  in  truth,  they 
have  established  it ;  we  have  a  right,  as 
a  sovereign  people,  to  notice  the  fact, 
and  to  act  as  circumstances  and  our  in- 
terest require." 

The  whole  question  of  neutrality  wis 
brought  before  Congress  by  a  special 
message  from  President  Madison,  on  the 


1870.] 


The  Amebican  Docteinb  of  Netjtkalitt. 


493 


26th  of  December,  1816*  It  called  at- 
tention to  the  necessity  of  remedying 
defects  in  the  law  of  1794,  and  of  pro- 
viding for  all  emergencies.  The  result 
of  this  recommendation  was  seen  in  the 
Act  of  1817,  the  debates  preceding  and 
following  whose  passage  show  very 
clearly  the  purpose  of  Congress  in  its 
enactment.  At  the  risk  of  being  tc- 
diouSy  we  will  revert  briefly  to  these  im- 
portant discussions,  whose  bearing  will 
readily  be  seen. 

Mr.  Forsyth,  the  Chairman  of  the 
HouBB  Committee  on  Foreign  Relations, 
on  tUe  24th  of  January,  1817,  reported 
from  that  Committee  a  bill  for  the  im- 
proyement  of  our  neutrality  laws,  and 
explained  the  ends  it  was  designed  to 
meet.  The  phrase,  "  district,  colony,  or 
people,**  was  not  included  in  this  bilL 
Ko  acknowledgment  was  made  of  the 


*  John  Qnincy  Adams,  then  onr  Minister  at  the 
Court  of  St.  James,  addressed  to  the  British  Min- 
igtcr  of  Foreign  Affairs,  Lord  Castlereagh,  on  the 
17th  of  Soptembor,  1816,  a  long  commnnicution  on 
lbs  general  relations  between  the  two  oonntries. 
(American  State  Papers,  Foreign  Belations,  ToLir.p. 
383w)  Among  other  subjects  discussed  was  that  of 
neatxality,  with  regard  to  which  Mr.  Adams  sug- 
gested that—*'  It  is  equally  desirable.  In  the  riew 
oi  the  American  QoTemment,  to  arrange,  at  this 
tim«,  every  question  relating  to  neutral  rights. 
.  .  .  The  tendency  of  discordant  principles  upon 
these  points  to  embroil  neutral  and  belligerent 
states  with  each  other  has  been  shown  by  the  mel* 
ancholy  experience  of  ages.  ...  A  time  of 
peace,  when  the  feelings  of  both  parties  axe  Dree 
from  the  excitement  of  any  momentary  interest* 
and  when  the  operation  of  the  principles  to  be 
sanctioned  by  mutual  compact  depends  upon  oon- 
tingendes  which  may  give  either  party  the  first 
dAim  to  the  stipulated  rights  of  the  belligerent  or 
the  neutral,  must  be  more  flivorable  to  the  amloable 
•4jnstment  of  these  questions  than  a  time  of  actual 
"war,  under  circumstances  when  the  immediate  in- 
terests of  each  party  are  engaged  in  opposition  to 
those  of  the  other.** 

A  few  years  before  the  date  of  this  eommunico- 
tion— In  1810— ft  vessel,  The  American  JSagU^  fit- 
ted out  for  the  service  of  Potion  against  Christo- 
pher, in  Si  Domingo,  was  seised  In  I7ew  York  by 
our  Government — these  two  rival  chieftains  dtsput- 
ing  the  possession  of  that  island  at  that  time,  and 
neither  being  recognized.  The  case  went  into  onr 
oourts  and  excited  general  attention.  It  was  de« 
oided  by  the  Court  of  Errors  of  the  State  of  New 
York,  that  it  was  not  unlawful  to  serve  an  unre^ 
cognized  belligerent,  it  being  only  forbidden  to 
serve  such  as  were  recognised  as  foreign  Princes  or 
Stntea  We  may  add  that  this  decision  was  sustain- 
ed, the  next  year,  by  the  Supreme  Court  of  the 
United  States.  The  New  York  decision  suited  the 
*'  fillibusters  "^of  the  day  admirably,  and  the  friends 
generally  of  the  South  American  BepuhUos. 


rights  of  struggling  peoples  to  recogni* 
tion  as  belligerents.  This  deficiency 
seems  to  have  suited  John  Randolph, 
who  held  then  the  same  attitude  toward 
the  iusurgent  colonists  of  Spain  as  that 
more  recently  maintained  by  Mr.  Sum- 
ner. The  Virginian  aristocrat  followed 
Mr.  Forsyth,  and  remarked  that  the  lat- 
ter "talked  about  the  obligations  of 
neutrality;  but  his  doctrine  did  not 
apply,"  Mr.  Randolph  said,  "  to  a  por- 
tion of  a  nation  in  arms  against  another 
portion  of  it,  until  the  revolted  portion 
is  acknowledged  as  free,  sovereign,  and 
independent." 

This  exposition  aroused  Mr.  Sharp, 
of  Kentucky,  who  said  "  he  was  aware 
of  the  distinction  taken  by  the  gentle- 
man from  Virginia  between  a  civil  war 
and  a  war  between  two  independent  na- 
tions ;  but  it  was  laid  down  by  writers 
on  the  law  of  nations,  that  when  a  civil 
war  assumed  a  regular  shape,  the  laws 
of  war  should  prevail,  &c.  If  so,  had 
not  a  neutral  nation,  by  a  stronger  rea- 
son, a  right  to  show  them  the  hospitali- 
ties due  to  their  situation  ? "  Mr.  Clay 
said  that "  whenever  a  war  exists,  wheth- 
er between  two  independent  States  or 
between  parts  of  a  common  Empire,  lie 
knew  hut  two  relations  in  which  oth^  pow- 
ers could  stand  toward  the  leUigerents: 
the  one  that  of  neutrality  and  the  other 
that  of  a  lelligerenty 

In  the  next  day's  debates  Mr.  Calhoun 
alluded  to  the  nature  of  the  contest  go- 
ing on  in  the  Spanish  Provinces,  and  ac- 
knowledged that  its  analogy  to  our  own 
conflict  in  1776  enlisted  our  sympa- 
thies. Bat  he  said  that "  all  that  could 
be  expected  of  us  by  the  patriots  was, 
thoit  we,  leing  neutral,  should  do  nothing 
to  weaken  their  efforts  or  injure  their 
eause.^^  Mr.  Hopkinson  maintained  that 
there  was  "  no  difference  between  our 
duty  in  this  case  and  in  a  war  between 
any  other  belligerents ;  he  considered  it 
precisely  as  he  should  a  war  between 
Spain  and  Portugal,  Spain  and  England, 
or  any  other  two  Powers,  and  our  duty 
required  that  we  should  observe  a  strict 
neutrality  between  them."  Mr.  Lowndes 
held  that  **the  law  of  17W  applying 
only  to  the  case  of  war  between  two  in 


494 


PuTNAM^S  MaGAZINS. 


[April, 


dependent  states,  it  ought,  no  doubt,  to 
be  extended  to  comprehend  the  contest 
referred  to  between  Spain  and  her  colo- 
nies, and  not,  when  prosecutions  are  car- 
ried up  to  court  for  breaches  of  the  law, 
deny  that  redress  we  propose  to  give. 
It  appeared  to  him  by  some  inadver- 
tence, however,"  Mr.  Lowndes  said,  that 
"  the  Committee  had  not  gone  far  enough 
in  amending  the  Act  of  1794 — if  it  be 
amended  so  as  to  apply  to  governments  not 
CKknowledged  to  he  ind^pendent.^^ 

It  resulted  from  this  discussion  that 
the  bill,  on  the  28th  of  January,  1817, 
was  amended  so  as  to  make  the  obliga- 
tions of  our  neutrality  applicable  to  the 
case  of  "  any  prince  or  State,  or  of  any 
colony,  district,  or  people  with  whom, 
&c/'  The  bill  thus  amended  was,  also, 
considerably  amended  in  the  Senate,  and 
some  of  these  latter  amendments  having 
been  accepted,  the  bill  became  a  law  just 
at  the  last  hours  of  the  session. 

The  question  was  again  brought  be- 
fore the  House  by  Mr.  Clay,  at  the  open- 
ing of  the  winter  session  of  1817,  on  the 
3d  of  December.  Mr.  Clay  moved  the 
passage  of  a  resolution,  which — after  ex- 
plaining its  occasion  and  complaining 
of  the  partial  conduct  of  the  Administra- 
tion toward  the  struggling  patriots  of 
South  America — read :  "  And  that  the 
said  Conmiittee  (on  Foreign  Relations) 
be  instructed  to  inquire  whether  any, 
and,  if  any,  what  provisions  of  law  were 
necessary  to  insure  to  the  American  colo- 
nies of  Spain  a  just  observance  of  the 
duties  incident  to  the  neutral  relation 
in  which  the  United  States  stand,  in  the 
existing  war  between  them  and  Spain." 
He  said :  "  I  have  brought  the  subject 
before  the  House  thus  promptly,  because 
I  trust  that  in  thk  House  the  cause  will 
6nd  justice ;  that  however  treated  else- 
where, on  this  floor  will  be  found  a 
guardian  interest  attending  to  our  per- 
formance of  the  first  obligations  of  neu- 
trality. Hitherto,  whatever  might  have 
been  our  intentions,  our  acts  have  all 
been  on  the  other  side.  .  .  .  Let  us 
recollect  the  condition  of  the  patriots : 
no  Minister  there  to  spur  on  our  Gov- 
ernment. .  .  .  No,  their  unfortunate 
case  was  what  ours  had  been  in  the 


years  1778  and  1779 ;  their  Mimitai, 
like  our  Franklins  and  Jays  at  thatd^^ 
were  skulking  about  Burope,  im^oiiig 
from  inexorable  Ugitimucy  one  kind  look; 
some  aid  to  terminate  a  war  affecting  to 
humanity.  Nay,  their  aituaticm  im 
worse  than  ours ;  for  we  had  our  gmt 
and  magnanimous  ally  to  recognize  «, 
but  no  nation  had  stepped  forward  to 
recognize  any  of  these  provinces."  Tie 
South  Americana  were  in  a  far  mon 
chaotic  and  unrecognizable  shape  tin 
the  Cubans  of  to-day,  according  to  Ml 
Clay^s  impassioned  statement;  buttbdr 
forlorn  condition  seemed  only  to  add  t§ 
his  zeal  in  their  behalf. 

The  next  day  after  Mr.  Clay^s  motaoi 
and  speech,  Mr.  Robertson,  of  Lomn- 
ana,  took  up  the  subject,  and  said  thit 
as  far  back  as  the  year  1811,  it  had  es- 
cited  considerable  interest:  ^'tbat  t 
committee  had  been  raised ;  the  Deda- 
ration  of  Independence  and  the  Coniti- 
tution  of  Venezuela,  with  other  inti- 
mation laid  before  it  by  the  then  Fxta- 
dent,  and  a  report  on  them  submitted 
to  the  House.  The  report,  among  oili- 
er things,  expressed  much  good^wiU 
to  the  Venezuelans,  and  an  intentioii 
to  acknowledge  their  indepeodeiee 
whenever  that  independence  diould  be 
achieved.  From  that  time  until  the  pre- 
sent silence  has  been  observed  in  regard 
to  the  affairs  of  that  part  of  the  conti- 
nent. .  .  .  It  is  to  be  r^retted," 
he  continued,  *^that  our  acquaintaBoe 
with  the  people  of  South  America  is 
not  more  particular  and  intimate  tim 
it  is :  we  entertain  but  one  sentiraeBt 
about  them— our  feelings  are  all  in  mu- 
son :  yet  we  differ  and  dispute  on  a  va- 
riety of  points  which  it  is  deflinble 
should  be  no  longer  suffered  to  remaia 
in  doubt.  Mexico,  Peru,  Chili,  Buenos 
Ayrcs,  Venezuela,  New  Granada — are 
they  independent  ?  Are  they  stmgglii^ 
for  independence,  or  have  they  yielded 
to  their  European  tyrant  ?  Have  they 
made  known  their  situation  to  the  Ex- 
ecutive Department?  Have  they  de- 
manded to  be  recognized  as  indepen- 
dent sovereignties?"  To  Mr.  Robert- 
son^s  earnest  plea  for  more  light,  Mr. 
Forsyth  replied  that  "  he  was  too  well 


1870.] 


The  Amebioan  Dootbixe  of  Neuteautt. 


495 


acquainted  with  tho  temper  of  the  peo- 
ple of  the  United  States  on  this  subject, 
to  oppose  any  motion  for  inquiring  into 
it." 

On  the  14th  of  the  same  month,  Mr. 
Miller,  of  South  Carolina,  submitted  the 
following  resolution : 

**  Resolved,  That  a  committee  be  ap- 
pointed to  inquire  into  the  expediency 
of  so  amending  the  fourth  section  of 
the  Act  passed  on  tho  8d  of  March, 
1817,  entitled  *  An  Act  more  effectually 
to  preserre  the  neutral  relations  of  the 
United  States,'  as  to  embrace  within 
the  provisions  thereof,  the  armed  ves- 
sels of  a  government  at  peace  with  the 
United  States,  and  at  war  with  any  co- 
lonv,  district,  or  people  with  whom  tho 
United  States  may  be  at  peace." 

Mr.  Miller  called  the  attention  of  the 
House  to  the  Act  of  the  last  session, 
wherein  it  would  be  seen  "  that  by  an 
oversight, — certainly,  because  it  could 
not  have  been  the  intention  of  the  House 
•»-the  vessels  of  old  Spain  might  now 
enter  our  harbors  and  increase  their 
force,  while  those  of  the  colonies  were 
prohibited  from  so  doing.  The  omis- 
sion of  the  words  *  district  or  people ' 
in  this  part  of  the  Act  gave  to  it  force 
as  to  the  vessels  of  the  colonies,  which 
it  did  not  possess  in  regard  to  Spain." 
..."  The  operation  of  the  law  thus 
exclusively  favored  old  Spain,  which 
never  could  have  been  the  intention  of 
the  House.  The  Act,  as  it  originally 
passed  this  House,  contained  no  such 
provision :  and  the  error  could  only  be 
accounted  for,  by  its  having  passed 
when  returned  from  the  Senate,  without 
due  attention.  It  was  the  deliberate 
sense  of  Congress,  at  the  last  session, 
that  the  United  States  ought  to  assume 
an  attitude  entirely  neutral,  in  the  con- 
test between  Spain  and  her  colonies: 
but  this  Act  having  a  different  aspect, 
he  had  thought  it  his  duty  to  bring  the 
subject  before  the  House,  that  it  might 
immediately  act  on  this  point." 

Mr.  Miller's  remarks  give  a  perfectly 
clear  and  satisfactory  contemporary  his- 
tory of  the  neutrality  legislation  of 
1817,  of  its  object,  and  of  its  deficien- 
cies.   Mr.  Forsyth,  on  the  20th  of  the 


same  month,  "  vindicated  the  Commit- 
tee on  Foreign  Relations  of  last  session, 
and  the  House,  from  participation  in 
the  error  which  was  apparent  in  the 
Act ;  for,  as  the  gentleman  from  South 
Carolina  had  truly  stated,  it  was  the 
object  of  the  House  of  Representatives, 
and,  he  believed,  of  the  Congress,  to 
pass  an  Act  to  preserve  to  each  party  all 
its  rights  as  a  neutral  nation.  The  bill 
which  passed  this  House  was  passed  for 
that  special  purpose,,  and  would  have 
answered  it.  The  Senate,  preferring  a 
different  form  for  tho  bill,  had  struck 
out  the  whole  of  it  except  the  enacting 
clause,  and  passed  the  bill  as  the  Act 
now  stands.  The  bill  which  passed  the 
Senate  was  brought  into  this  House 
after  ten  o^clock  of  the  last  night  of 
the  session.  At  that  hour  it  was  im- 
possible to  give  the  bill  so  critical  an 
examination  as,  under  different  circum- 
stances, it  would  have  received,  and 
this  verbal  inaccuracy  had  been  over- 
looked ;  for  he  was  satisfied,"  he  said, 
"  that  the  error  itself  had  been  one  of 
inadvertence  merely."  .  .  .  He  said, 
ihrther,  '^  If  the  Houso,  indeed,  thought 
it  all-important  that  this  error  should 
be  immediately  corrected;  that  it  was 
important  to  the  interest  of  the  colo- 
nies, and  of  the  United  States,  that  the 
error  should  be  corrected  the  moment 
it  was  pointed  out  hy  Mr.  Colibett  or  hy 
any  body  eUe^  this  resolution  might  have 
some  claim  to  the  favor  of  the  House. 
But  no  evil  had  arisen,  nor  would  arise, 
from  the  error,  before  it  is  corrected; 
he  would  say,  without  fear  of  contra- 
diction, that  no  Spanish  vessel  had  been 
armed,  or  had  her  armament  increased, 
since  the  passage  of  that  Act,  or  would 
be  now." 

Mr.  Miller,  on  the  80th  of  December, 
said  that  he  had  received  information 
that  vessels  of  war  were  actually  build- 
ing in  New  York  for  the  use  of  Spain, 
and  ho  wanted  Congress  to  rescue  its 
reputation  from  the  reproach  of  par- 
tiality. To  which  ]tfr.  Forsyth  replied, 
that,  if  Mr.  Miller^s  information  was 
correct,  the  case  was  already  provided 
for  by  the  Act  of  1817.  The  section  in 
which  the  error  had  been  detected  re- 


496 


PuTNAM'S  MaGAZOTS. 


[April, 


ferred  only  to  an  increase  of  the  arma- 
ments of  foreign  vessels  already  armed. 

So  the  resolution  was  laid  on  the  table 
as  unnecessary. 

On  the  18th  of  the  ensuing  March 
(1818),  Mr.  Clay  reopened  the  discus- 
sion. He  said :  "  Does  the  Act  of  1794 
embrace  the  case  of  the  Spanish  patri- 
ots? That  was  the  question,  and  it 
was  not  worth  while  to  disguise  it." 
"  It  becomes  us,"  said  Mr.  Clay,  "  really 
and  lend  fide  to  perform  our  neutral  ob- 
Ugations."  ..."  The  Act  of  1794 
being  given  up  on  all  hands,  and  the 
Act  of  1817  being,  as  he  thought  he 
had  shown,  unmeaning,  he  hoped  his 
motion  would  prevail." 

Mr.  Tucker,  of  Virginia,  on  the  same 
day,  said  that  the  Act  of  1817  "had 
been  framed  with  the  view  of  extend- 
ing the  provisions  of  the  Act  of  1794, 
prohibiting  our  citizens  from  taking 
part  in  a  war  between  two  independent 
nations  with  whom  we  were  at  peace, 
to  the  case  of  the  Spanish  colonies  and 
the  mother-country.  The  Act  spoke  of 
'  a  foreign  prince  or  State ; '  and  there 
had  been  in  our  courts  a  decision  which 
seemed  to  indicate  the  necessity  of  using 
some  further  designation,  in  order  to 
take  in  the  case  of  the  Spanish  colonies. 
The  first  section  of  the  Act  of  1817 
differs  from  that  of  1794  in  little  else 
than  the  addition  of  the  words  *  col- 
ony, district,  or  people,'  after  the  words 
'  prince  or  State.*  " 

Mr.  Clay  spoke  again  on  the  subject, 
on  the  same  day.  He  said  that,  as  it 
seemed  to  be  the  sense  of  the  House 
that  "until  the  southern  independent 
Governments  were  recognized  by  the 
United  States,  they  could  not  be  by  our 
courts,"  he  would,  therefore,  move  an 
amendment,  "  going  to  place  the  patriot 
Governments,  in  fact,  on  the  footing  of 
equality,  on  which  it  was  the  declared 
wish  of  the  Executive  to  place  them." 
.  ,  .  He  moved :  "  That  neither  the 
persons  nor  the  property  of  persons  sail- 
ing under  the  flag  of  any  colo(^,  dis- 
trict, or  people,  in  amity  with  the 
United  States,  should  be  subject  to  the 
penalties  attaching  to  piracy  in  the 
courts  of  the  United  States,  for  or  on 


account  of  the  Government  of  the 
United  States  having  omitted  to  m- 
knowledge  the  sovereignty  and  inde- 
pendence of  such  colony,  district,  or 
people." 

On  the  next  day,  the  19th  of  Maid, 
Mr.  Clay  said  he  "declined  taking^ 
the  time  of  the  Committee  any  fiouther 
on  this  motion.  He  wonld  only  ny, 
that  his  object  was  to  place  the  patnot 
flag  on  precisely  the  same  footing  m 
that  of  the  opposite  party.  He  &> 
claimed  any  intention,  as,  he  letme^ 
was  presumed  by  some,  of  prodndiig, 
by  the  motion,  an  indirect  recogni- 
tion of  South  American  independenoa 
Whenever  he  should  bring  that  qw- 
tion  before  the  House,  as  he  assoiedlj 
meant  to  do,^t  would  be  in  a  way  opeo^ 
direct,  and  unambiguous." 

I^Ir.  Forsyth,  in  reply,  opposed  ike 
motion  with  various  arguments  ''to 
show  the  impropriety  of  placing  iqioa 
this  footing  the  flags  of  govemmenti 
purporting  to  be  organized  and  inde- 
pendent, which  might  have  no  eziiA- 
ence,  and  to  whom  there  could  be  bo 
appeal  for  the  misconduct  of  those  act- 
ing under  commissions  from  their  pro- 
tended authority.  As  an  example^  klw 
mentioned  the  Government  of  Yaie> 
zuela,  whose  Government  existed  only 
in  the  camp  of  Bolivar."  Mr.  Lowndes^ 
also,  objected  that  "  the  words  of  the 
amendment  would  admit  vessels  under 
any  flag,  even  such  as  that  of  a  few  in- 
dividuals who  should  assemble  on  the 
obscure  island  of  Juan  Femandex  and 
fit  out  their  corsairs."  .  .  .  "The 
amendment  would,  therefore,  reoogmie 
the  flag  of  any  country,  however  ephe- 
meral." 

Mr.  Forsyth  then  resumed  his  objec- 
tions, and  said  that  "  the  adoption  of 
this  section  went  to  authorize  eveiy 
colony,  district,  or  people  whatsoever 
to  issue  commissions  and  to  recognize 
such  commissions  in  our  ports.  He 
wished  that  the  section  might  be  con- 
fined to  responsible  governments,  and 
not  recognize  any  handfUl  of  men  who 
might  embody  and  issue  commissions 
to  capture  property  on  the  high  seas.** 
Mr.  Clay  answered,  that  such  a  con- 


1870.] 


Tde  Amkbioan  Doctkink  of  Neutbalitt. 


497 


etruction  might  compel  us  to  exclude 
from  the  benefits  of  our  law  Venezuela, 
**  which  had  achieved  an  imperishable 
fame  by  its  noble  and  unparalleled  ex- 
ertions in  the  cause  of  liberty."  But 
Mr.  Forsyth  thought  that  the  courts 
could  hat  decide  as  to  the  reiponnbiliti/  of 
ih€9e  revolutionary  gotemments. 

The  discussion  was  renewed  on  the 
85th  of  3Iarch,  when  Mr.  Clay  seemed 
to  have  become  thoroughly  roused,  and 
maintained  that  *^an  oppressed  people 
were  authorized,  whenever  they  could, 
to  rise  and  break  their  fetters.  This 
was  the  great  principle  of  the  English 
lerolution.  It  was  the  great  principle 
of  our  own.  Vattcl,  if  authority  were 
wanting,  expressly  supports  this  right. 
We  must  pass  sentence  of  condemna- 
tion upon  the  founders  of  our  liberty — 
aaj  that  they  were  rebels,  traitors,  and 
tbat  we  are  at  this  moment  without 
competent  powers,  before  we  could  con- 
clemn  the  cause  of  Spanish  America.^' 

As  the  result  of  all  these  debates,  the 
Act  of  1818  was  passed,  and  our  na- 
tional attitude  on  the  subject  of  neu- 
trality was  defined  so  clearly,  so  com- 
prehensively,  and  so  wholly  in  accord 
wMi  public  sentiment,  with  the  yiews 
of  our  wisest  statesmen,  and  with  the 
fondamental  theory  and  principles  of 
our  Government,  that  it  has  remained 
the  law  of  the  land  ever  since.  How 
eonsistently  it  has  been  applied  to  yari- 
01I8  exigencies  as  they  have  arisen,  was 
terselv  demonstrated  from  the  record 
by  Mr.  Carpenter,  in  his  great  speech 
on  the  Cuban  question,  delivered  in  the 
Senate  on  the  4th  of  February  last. 

It  will  be  appropriate  here  to  con- 
trast the  language  of  the  Act  of  1818 
with  that  of  1704,  in  the  passage  where 
the  essential  difference  between  the  two 
is  most  marked,  as  regards  the  parties 
to  whom  the^  obligations  of  neutrality 
are  due.  We  take  the  section  of  each 
Act  which  relates  to  the  fitting  out  of 
ships,  &c.,  for  this  purpose.  In  the 
third  section  of  the  Act  of  1794  we  find 
penalties  threatened  to  any  person 
'*  concerned  in  the  ftimishing,  fitting 
out,  or  arming  of  any  ship  or  vessel, 
with  intent  that  such  ship  or  vessel 
TOL.  V. — 33 


shall  be  employed  in  the  service  of  any 
foreign  prince  or  State,  to  cruise  or 
commit  hostilities  upon  the  subjects, 
citizens,  or  property  of  another  foreign 
prince  or  State  with  whom  the  United 
States  are  at  peace,"  &c.  The  Act  of 
1818,  third  section,  reads :  "  be  con- 
cerned in  the  furnishing,  fitting  out,  oi 
arming  of  any  ship  or  vessel,  with  in- 
tent that  such  ship  or  vessel  shall  bo 
employed  in  the  service  of  any  foreign 
prince  or  State,  or  of  any  colony^  dis- 
triet,  or  people,  to  cruise  or  commit  hos- 
tilities against  the  subjects,  citizens,  or 
property  of  any  foreign  prince  or  State, 
or  of  any  colony,  district,  or  people 
with  whom  the  United  States  are  at 
peace,"  &c. 

Our  neutrality  legislation  of  1817-18 
formed  the  basis  of  the  British  Foreign 
Enlistment  Act  of  the  succeeding  year. 
The  history  of  the  latter  presents  so 
many  points  of  similarity  with  that  of 
the  former,  that  we  must  present  a  few 
extracts  from  Hansard^s  Debates  in  Par- 
liament, beginning  at  vol.  xl.,  p.  862. 
The  Attorney-General  said,  on  intro- 
ducing the  bill :  "  The  object  of  that 
law  (the  statute  of  George  11.,  then  in 
force)  was  to  prevent  His  Majesty's  sub- 
jects from  engaging  in  the  service  of 
any  State  at  war  with  another  State 
with  which  he  is  not  at  war.  But  it 
was  important  to  the  country,  if  neu- 
trality was  to  be  preserved,  it  should  be 
preserved  between  States  that  claim  to 
themselves  the  right  to  act  as  States,  as 
between  those  that  were  acknowledged 
to  be  States."  ..."  The  object  of 
this  bill  was,  in  a  certain  degree,  to 
amend  the  statute  by  introducing,  after 
the  words  *king,  prince.  State,  poten- 
tate,' &c.,  the  words  colony  or  district, 
who  do  assume  the  powers  of  a  govern-  < 
ment."  .  .  .  ^'His  purpose  was  to 
make  the  law  equally  applicable  to  ac- 
knowledged and  unacknowledged  pow- 


ers." 

Earl  Bathurst,  on  moving  the  bill  in' 
the  House  of  Lords— 40  Hansard,  Ist 
series,  1779-'82— made  substantially  the 
same  statement,  and  commended  onr 
neutrality  Act.  He  said  that  ^*tho 
American  legislature  wished  to  realize 


498 


PUTXAM^S  MaOAZIXX. 


[Apd, 


the  neutrality  they  professed,  and,  in 
1818,  passed  a  bill  extending  the  pro- 
visions of  the  Act  of  1794  to  every  de- 
scription of  State  or  Poteer,  whether  regu- 
larly recognized  or  not.  ...  A  meas- 
ure of  similar  equity  was  proposed  by 
this  bilL^^  By  the  Enlistment  Act,  thus 
explained  and  understood,  it  was  for- 
bidden, in  sec.  viL  of  the  Act,  to  equip, 
furnish,  fit  out,  or  arm,  &c.,  ^'  any  ship 
or  vessel,  with  intent  or  in  order  that 
such  ship  or  vessel  shall  be  employed 
in  the  service  of  any  foreign  prince, 
State,  or  potentate,  or  of  any  foreign 
colony,  province^  or  people,  or  of  any  per- 
son or  persons  exercising,  or  assuming 
to  exercise,  any  powers  of  government 
in  or  over  any  foreign  State,  colony, 
province,  or  part  of  any  province  or  peo- 
ple,'' &c. 

Thus,  by  our  own  action  and  through 
the  influence  of  our  example,  we  came 
very  near  realizing  the  prophecy  of  Mr. 
Jefferson,  which  we  have  before  quoted. 

Until  within  the  past  eighteen  months 
we  have  not,  for  over  a  generation,  had 
an  occasion  for  the  enforcement  of  the 
neutrality  legislation  of  1817-18  in  a 
case  like  those  which  were  the  imme- 
diate occasions  of  that  legislation.  The 
South  American  republics,  whose  cause 
inspired  our  fathers  with  such  noble 
and  American  sympathy,  have  not  ful- 
filled the  expectations  of  their  friends. 
Yet  not  one  of  them  has  suffered  mis- 
fortune to  bo  compared  with  that  of 
Cuba  in  her  passive  and  degrading 
endurance  of  the  contemptible,  grasp- 
ing, and  meanly  cruel  rule  of  Spain. 
The  noblest,  most  intelligent  and  culti- 
vated, and  richest  of  all  the  peoples 
whom  Spain  has  cursed  on  this  conti- 
nent, remained  submissive  until  they 
«aw  what  they  had  a  right  to  consider 
two  supreme  opportunities  of  asserting 
their  natural  claims. 

One  of  these  opportunities  was  the 
revolution  in  Spain,  which,  by  all  sound 
logic,  relegated  the  peoples  of  all  her 
domains  to  their  inalienable  rights  as 
men  to  choose  their  own  form  of  gov- 
ernment. The  other  was  afibrded  by 
the  emancipation  and  enfranchisement 
of  the  hitherto  servile  race  in  the  United 


States,  which  made  it  pofisible  for  u  to 
welcome  Cuba  as  a  sovereign  Stiteof 
the  Union.  So  long  as  slavery  lemiiDed 
among  us,  there  was  no  possibility  of 
gaining  the  consent  of  the  North  to  the 
admission  of  Cuba  as  a  slave  State,  or 
that  of  the  South  to  her  adnussum  m  i 
free  State.  Our  Act  of  Emancipitiot 
solved  the  problem,  as  the  Gubm' 
thought,  and  on  the  ri^ht  side,  for  thcj 
had  long  considered  emandpatba  u 
inseparable  concomitant  of  their  ovi 
fireedom. 

How  earnestly  the  leaders  of  tbe 
revolution  thexe  have  longed,  nd 
planned,  and  worked  for  Emandpatios, 
has  of  late  been  so  frequently,  so  Ofo- 
whelmingly,  and  so  clearly  proved  hj 
various  statements,  that  the  man  i^ 
still  afiects  to  deny  the  fiact  places  lam- 
self  in  the  pitiable  position  of  seeming 
incapable  of  appreciating  evidence^  or 
of  appearing  too  grossly  pr^odieod 
to  deserve  the  compliment  of  oontio- 
versy. 

Grand  as  was  the  occasion  for  the  a- 
forcementof  ourneutralitj  lawsaffordad 
us  by  this  righteous  revolution  at  our 
very  doors,  it  has — ^we  say  it  with  shflM 
and  the  deepest  regret — foand  our  Qev- 
ernment  humiliatinglj  unequal  to  the  o|h 
portunity  it  had  of  executing  those  laws 
in  accordance  with  their  obvious  men- 
ing,  with  the  intentions  of  the  men  who 
framed  them,  and  with  the  natural  in- 
stincts of  the  American  people.  Tbe 
time  will  come  when  the  course  pursued 
by  our  Government  in  relation  to  the 
Spanish  gunboats  will  be  regarded  by 
all  Americans  with  the  same  feeKngs  as 
those  with  which  we  look  ^ack  upon 
Mr.  Buchanan ^8  one-sided  *'  neutrality" 
in  the  struggle  between  freedom  and 
slavery  in  Kansas. 

Oor  policy,  as  especially  developed 
in  regard  to  those  Spanish  bloodhoands 
of  the  sea,  is  due  to  the  ChairiDin 
of  Uie  Senate  Committee  on  Foreign 
Affairs,  Mr.  Sumner,  and  to  our  Secre- 
tary of  State,  Mr.  Fish.  It  is  a  fresh 
and  sad  iliastration  of  the  tendency  ot 
great  leaders  of  reform  to  degenerate  in 
their  convictions.  The  same  able  senator 
who  recognized  in  the  pro-slavery  com* 


1870.] 


Thb  Ambbioak  Dootbinb  of  Nbutsalitt. 


499 


batants  on  the  blood-stained  fields  of 
Xansas  no  rights  which  he  was  bound 
to  respect,  and  who  claimed  for  freedom 
every  advantage  in  the  contest,  seems 
now  to  have  so  enveloped  himself  in 
the  swaddling-clothes  of  an  impracti- 
cable theory  of  international  law,  as  to 
be  able  to  see  in  the  Onban  straggle 
for  freedom  no  noble  or  generous  ele- 
ment. 

It  is  true  that  he  has  soaght  to  escape 
the  obvious  meanmg  of  onr  law  by  de- 
claring that  the  cases  it  was  intended 
to  meet  were  unlike  that  of  the  Cuban 
insurgents ;  but  this  statement  is  a  pure 
piece  of  assumption,  in  the  light  of  the 
history  of  the  law — and  of  the  same 
character  as  his  still  unrevoked  denial 
that  the  Cuban  constitution  provides  for 
the  emancipation  of  the  slaves  of  the 
island. 

Both  he  and  Mr.  Fish  have  also  affect- 
ed to  deny  the  existence  in  Cuba  of  such 
hostilities  as  entitle  the  insurgents  to 
the  name  of  belligerents.  In  Mr.  Fish's 
case,  his  own  official  declarations  have 
so  committed  him  that  it  must  have  re- 
quired a  good  deal  of  a  peculiar  kind  of 
oourage  for  him  to  falsify  the  only  really 
•  «reditable  part  of  his  official  record  on 
the  Cuban  question.  On  the  18th  of 
October,  1869,  he  wrote  to  Mr.  Roberts, 
the  Spanish  Minister : 

*'  The  civil  icctr  in  Cuba  has  continued 
for  a  year;  battle  after  battle  hat  been 
fought^  thousands  of  lives  have  been  sacri" 
flcedy  and  the  result  is  still  in  suspense" 

Smce  the  writing  of  whieh  memorable 
and  truthful  bit  of  official  history,  Spain 
has  reinforced  her  army  in  Cuba  by 
at  least  twenty  thousand  additional  sol- 
diers ;  has  received  the  powerful  and  es- 
sential reinforcement  of  the  thirty  gun- 
boats which  Mr.  Fish's  diplomacy  al- 
lowed to  be  sent  in  aid  of  the  war  ag^st 
a  yet  struggling  and  defiant  people ;  has 
conducted  a  costly  and  bloody  winter 
campaign  to  a  fruitless  close,  and  still  is 
not — according  to  our  Premier's  present 
vision  of  facts— carrying  on  the  "  civil 
war  "  which  had  raged  in  Cuba  for  a  year 
prior  to  Mr.  Fish's  official  recognition  of 
the  facti 

Seeing,  perhaps,  the  absurdity  of  his 


position,  Mr.  Fish  has  sought  to  escape 
from  his  own  official  statement  by  say- 
ing that  the  revolution,  if  it  was  such, 
is  virtually  at  an  end.  Unfortunately,  he 
has  since  been  called  on  by  Congress 
to  give  such  information  as  might  justify 
this  excuse  for  his  policy.  His  replies  to 
these  demands  have  been  published.  We 
have  read  them  very  carefully,  and  wo 
defy  any  one  to  find  in  them  any  infor- 
mation tending  to  support  the  later 
views  of  our  Secretary  of  State.  In  fact, 
the  most  positive,  precise,  and  trustwor- 
thy information  is  that  furnished  in  the 
shape  of  affidavits  of  citizens  of  Cuba, 
prominent  at  home  and  personally 
known  and  honored  by  our  own  citizens. 
These  affidavits  cover  the  whole  history 
of  the  war ;  are  uncontradicted  by  any 
other  testimony  included  in  Mr.  Fish's 
budgets,  and  are  confirmed  by  the  cor- 
respondence of  Mr.  Phillips,  the  Ameri- 
can consul  at  Santiago  do  Cuba — the 
principal  town  within  the  revolted  dis- 
trict. 

These  failures  and  shortcomings  on  the 
part  of  Mr.  Fish,  unfortunately,  involve 
us  all  in  their  disgrace,  and  may  at  some 
future  time  involve  us  in  serious  trouble, 
for  Judgment  against  a  nation  which — as 
represented  by  its  official  servants— 
^^ knows  its  du^  and  does  it  not,"  is  cer- 
tain to  be  executed.  Our  only  salvation 
from  the  consequences  of  executive 
blunders  lies  in  the  speedy  adoption  by 
Congress  of  a  policy  which  is  not  blind 
to  facts,  deaf  to  the  appeals  of  a  strug- 
gling people,  or  dumb  to  express  the 
generous  sympathies  of  Americans.  It 
may  be  an  unwelcome  task  for  the  ma- 
jority in  Congress  to  array  itself  in  op- 
position against  an  Administration  of 
the  same  political  faith,  but  the  Presi- 
dent has  lately  shown  his  promptness  to 
accept  the  friendly  censures  of  a  leading 
Republican  Congressman  against  bureau- 
cratic extravagance.  We  believe  he  wotld 
be  still  more  ready  to  receive  on  the 
Cuban  question  a  strong  Congressional 
support  of  the  views  he  is  known  to 
have  entertained,  and  of  which  his  clos- 
est and  dearest  counsellor  was  the  most 
earnest  advocate,  even  in  the  last  ago- 
nies of  death. 


500 


PuTNAM^S  MaGAZINX. 


lAjd, 


Moreover,  the  Republican  partj  is  in 
need  of  new  and  living  issues  which  shall 
i^peal  to  the  same  generous  instincts  as 
those  which  gave  the  party  its  first  tri- 
umphs. The  appeal  of  Cuba  comes  to 
it  just  in  time  to  quicken  and  to  give 
scope  for  the  same  noble  sympathies 
which  inspired  it  with  all-conquering 
zeal  fourteen  years  ago.  The  divine  rule 
of  justice  metes  out  eternal  blessings  to 
the  individuals  who  see  and  love  the  di- 
vine image  in  the  poor,  the  afflicted,  and 
the  imprisoned.    The  same  law  applies 


to  free  and  strong  nations  which  hm% 
opportunity  to  give  at  least  moral  ^rn- 
pathy  to  those  whose  bonds  are  not  !»- 
loosckl.  If  we  fail  to  help  Gaba,  sivt 
have  helped  all  of  her  sister  ooloniet  it 
revolt  against  the  aocursed  SpouA 
tyranny,  the  Republioan  party  will  inev 
the  responsibility  of  violating  not  onlj 
its  own  traditions  bnt  those  of  our  gov- 
ernment  And  a  party,  or  a  natka, 
which  is  false  to  its  own  prindplesi  oo^ 
to  perish  from  off  the  ikce  of  tki 
earth. 


••• 


EDITORIAL  NOTES. 


AXBRIOIH  WBITIVO. 


It  cannot  be  said  that  we  are 

without  literary  activity  such  as  it  is : 
the  country  teems  with  writers;  the 
magazines  and  newspapers  have  no  want 
of  aid.  Our  own  box,  at  least,  is  cram- 
med. We  have  essays,  tales,  travels, 
sketches,  poems,  and  the  rest  in  abund- 
ance— ^the  most  of  it,  we  are  sorry  to  say, 
not  good, — or  good  only  in  such  an  indif- 
ferent way,  as  to  be  quite  as  bad  as  bad. 
Nor  is  it  for  the  want  of  talent  that  it  is 
not  better.  In  many  cases  the  topics 
chosen  are  fresh  and  interesting;  the 
manner  of  treating  them  original ;  the 
thoughts  and  sentiments  often  of  a  kind 
worthy  of  being  reproduced;  and  yet 
useless.  Why?  For  two  reasons,  not 
relating  to  the  matter  so  much  as  to 
the  manner..  Our  writers  want  inde- 
pendcnoe,  boldness,  incisiveness,  indivi- 
duality. They  seem  to  be  afraid  of  some- 
thing or  somebody,  and  do  not  trust  to 
their  personality.  They  seem  to  be  try- 
ing to  keep  on  the  safe  side  of  an  ima- 
ginary opinion ;  they  want  an  authority 
for  what  they  are  doing ;  they  pattern 
after  some  conscious  or  unconscious 
model.  This  is  the  more  strange,  be- 
cause we  here  boast  of  our  liberty  so 
much,  and  say  we  are  not  like  others. 
Then  again,  there  is  such  a  manifest  ab« 
sence  of  care,  of  study,  of  labor,  of  per- 
sistent, painstaking  accuracy  in  what  we 
do.    As  we  have  artists  who  do  not 


know  how  to  draw  the  simplest  fonn^io 
we  have  writers  who  do  not  know  tht 
elements  of  rhetoric  or  even  grammar 
Not  many  weeks  ago,  we  reodved  a 
poem, — quite  original  in  conception,  oft- 
en vigorous  in  language, — ^plotoresqiieiB 
epithet;  and  yet  of  the  hundred  Unesor 
more,  not  twenty  oonformed  to  ioj 
known  or  accepted  measnre.  It  wn 
thoroughly  ruined  for  the  want  of  a  lit- 
tle patience  of  study.  The  same  tboogUi 
and  words  in  the  head  of  a  man  wIk!^ 
knew  his  art,  would  almost  make  a  wri- 
ter's fortune. 

We  had  written  thus  far,  when,  tak- 
ing up  an  old  number  of  this  Hagazioe, 
we  found  in  the  same  place  these  woidi: 

*^The  frreat  defect  in  it  (Americsa 
writing),  is  want  of  maturity  and  htfte. 
Our  writers  do  not  take  time  to  learn  the 
secret  of  their  own  powers,  to  husband 
them  with  discretion,  and  to  apply  tbem 
with  the  most  effectiveness  and  oonoea- 
tration.  As  the  general  life  of  the  na- 
tion, so  the  literary  life  is  hurried.  A 
certain  rawness  and  want  of  depth,  a 
certain  superficial  elegance,  in  lieu  of 
true  beauty,  marks  too  many  of  oir  ef- 
forts. But  there  is  great  strength  at 
the  bottom  of  us — a  luxuriance  of  force 
even — which  shows  that  there  is  no  de- 
ficiency of  genius,  and  only  the  absence 
of  culture  and  care.  We  are  an  intense 
people,  and  intensity  passes  with  na,  oft- 
en, for  real  vigor,  for  that  calm  and  mas- 
terly control  of  the  powers  which  is  the 
sign  of  true  greatness  of  mind.  The 
mistake  lies  in  sapposing  spasmodic  vio- 


Editorial  Notks. 


501 


1  indication  of  strength,  whereas     to  the  shell ;  bat  tne  growth  pleasant  to 
her  an  indication  of  disease.^'  every  body. 


was  said  thirteen  years  ago: 
e  not  improved  in  the  interval  ? 
^'hat  an  ardent  young  friend 
38,  at  this  very  moment :  "  Now, 
.r  Mr.  Editor,  the  time  has  come 

us  a  new  and  bold  expression 
ative  fiction.  The  public  would 
e  it;  for  the  Irving  genre^  the 
)rne  genre^  the  Beecher  Stowe 
ihe  Taylor  genre^  etc.,  etc.,  is 
;e  for  it ;  any  repetition  of  them 
)able  of  giving  a  sensation  of 
lelight  or  disgust.  Our  life  has 
I.  Turbulent  forces, — alarming 
1  the  crimes  and  lawlessness 
most  desperate  and  wretched  in 
33, — are  palpitating  in  our  socie- 
ianwhile,  our  current  literature 
10  word  drawn  from  the  intensely 
lal  life,  which  is  making  such 
and  which,  delivered  from  its  an- 
tlers, must  now  discover  a  natural 
subordination,  or  spend  itself  in 

anarchy.    This  force,  so  signifi- 

present  in  our  life,  is  not  in  our 
re,  which  in  the  magazine  writing 
9d  with  turnip-juice  rather  than 

How  far  is  it  from  correspond- 
li  the  body  and  spirit  of  our  sec- 
>  which  now  gets  utterance  only 
laily  papers, — gets  a  common  and 
g  expression  in  them ;  conmion 
)asing  because  without  a  touch  of 
or  without  a  redemption  of  the 
rhich  ennobles  every  outbreak, 
lens  the  harm  of  every  transgres- 

r  our  young  friend,  whose  insight 

0  us  keen  and  penetrating,  and 
pluck  we  admire.  We  do  not 
^ith  him  that  the  Irving  or 
>me  genre  is  passed  or  will  pass : 
bhing  of  beauty  is  a  joy  forever  ;^' 
ner  is  still  fresh,  and  the  Anti- 
»t  superseded.  But  we  oertainlj 
)e  with  him  that  each  age  and 

has  its  special  life,  and  the  true 
re  of  that  age  and  country  must 
It  of  that  life.    Burst  out  of  the 

1  and  then  grow,  as  it  can  1  The 
^,  doubtless,  will  be   painfhl, — 


mSMU  FOB  WSXTBKS. 


Thirteen  years  ago,  too,  we  wrote 

in  this  very  place  that  our  *' young  wri- 
ters had  no  need  to  despair  of  proper  and 
original  themes  whereon  to  exercise  their 
talent^'  *^  Our  American  life,"  we  said, 
'^is  comparatively  untrodden  ground, 
covered  all  over  with  rich  and  suggest- 
ive material."  Uncle  Tom  had  just  then 
worked  up  one  of  the  rich  veins :  "  Butj" 
we  asked,  *'  were  not  the  experiences  of 
the  emigrant  and  the  settler  fall  of  stir- 
ring adventure,  full  of  tragic  incident, 
full  of  pathos,  and  not  without  their 
humorous  side?"  Who  had  broached 
even,  much  less  exhausted  them  ?  Our 
uneasy,  active,  turbulent  societies,  with 
their  peculiar  extravagances,  humors, 
crimes,  littlenesses  and  greatnesses,  un- 
like in  their  littleness  and  greatness  any 
others, — who  has  yet  expressed,  in  truth 
or  fiction,  the  new  life  swelling  and 
coursing  through  them  ?  There,  0  young 
poet  of  the  day,  find  your  inspiration ; 
there,  O  young  novelists,  take  your 
scenes,  and  characters,  and  plots.  Hu- 
man nature  is  now  what  it  was  in  Ho- 
mer^s  time,  in  Dante's,  in  Kabelais^  in 
Shakespeare's;  its  passions  as  strong 
and  deep, — its  fun  as  fine  or  boisterous, 
— ^the  dramas  of  its  life  as  complicated 
and  mighty. 

That  was  thirteen  years  ago,  and  what 
a  tremendous  history  have  we  not  en- 
acted since ;  the  grandest  civil  war  of 
all  time,  to  which  the  siege  of  Troy, 
the  Republican  revolutions  of  Italy,  the 
Wars  of  the  Roses,  even  the  French  vol- 
canic outburst,  were  but  trifies  ?  What 
enthusiasms  and  heroisms,  what  sufiTer- 
ings,  what  darings,  what  meekness,  what 
devotion, — what  complicities  and  dislo- 
cations,— what  ruptures  of  family  ties, 
what  breaches  of  personal  friendships, 
— what  heart-aches,  and  what  rejoic-. 
logs, — ^have  we  not  seen ;  and  so  we  say 
again,  it  is  there,  O  artist,  that  your 
canvas  can  best  be  covered  with  death- 
less forms, — ^there,  O  singer,  that  yon 
may  catch  the  tones  that  will  go  echo- 
ing on  forever. 


502 


PnnfAH^s  Mac^azins. 


[Art 


LITBBABT  TITALITT. 


We  gave  some  acoount  last  month 

of  Mr.  Bryant^s  fine  translation  of  Ho- 
mer, bat  we  did  not  remark  then,  as  we 
propose  to  do  now,  npon  the  wonderful 
instance  of  intelleotnal  vitality  that  it 
famishes.  Mr.  Bryant  is  in  his  seven ty- 
sixth  year, — a  time  of  life  at  which  most 
men  retire  from  all  active  pnrsaits,  and 
set  themselves  to  nursing  their  various 
infirmities  of  bocly  or  mind.  Bat  he 
seems  only  to  have  ripened  and  mel- 
lowed with  time.  His  faculties  are 
just  as  vigorous  now  as  they  were  in  his 
prime,  while  his  temperament  has  be- 
come far  more  genial.  We  remember 
the  days  in  which  the  poet  was  supposed 
to  be  a  little  too  8aturnine,^old,  reserv- 
ed, severe, — some  folks  who  were  not 
intimate  with  him  said,  sonr, — ^but  those 
days  have  passed.  He  has  softened  with 
the  snns ;  his  sympathies,  while  they  have 
broadened,  have  also  deepened ;  and  his 
old  age,  hale  and  hearty,  is  yet  fresh, 
tender,  impressible. 

This  tenacity  of  vigor  is  the  more  re- 
markable in  Mr.  Bryant  because  he  be- 
gan so  early.  Ho  was  a  precocious 
child,  almost  a  prodigy,  but,  unlike  most 
prodigies,  did  not  fade  with  his  infancy. 
Like  Pope,  "he  lisped  in  numbers,  for 
the  numbers  came."  At  thirteen  years 
of  age  he  was  already  an  author.  A  lit- 
tle thin  volume  of  his,  issued  in  Boston, 
as  long  ago  as  1807,  contained  a  satire, 
a  long  poem  on  a  Spanish  subject,  sever- 
al occasional  pieces,  and  translations 
from  Horace, — all  exhibiting  unusual 
maturity  of  thought,  and  no  little  skill 
in  versification.  It  was  in  fact  so  remark- 
able a  production,  that  when  a  second 
edition  came  to  be  published,  his  neigh- 
bors were  obliged,  in  order  to  convince 
public  incredulity,  to  prefix  a  certificate 
that  the  poems  had  been  actually  writ- 
ten by  the  boy. 

After  an  active  literary  life  of  more 
than  sixty  years,  this  boy  has  got  to  be 
an  old  man,  whose  self-allotted  task  each 
day  is  fifty  lines  of  Homer.  As  a  relief 
from  domestic  sorrow, — ^for  something 
to  do  to  divert  his  mind,  he  turns  the 
Hiad  —  twenty-four  books  of  it,  are 
there  not? — into  English,  and  such  En- 


glish, we  venture  to  say,  as  after  ti« 
dozen  trials  at  least,  it  haa  never  bcfin 
found. 

The  late  venerable  Josiali  Qidsej 
used  to  relate  that  he  once  asked  Job 
Adams  how  he  managed  to  keep  up  kii 
activity  to  so  late  a  period  of  life.  Tk 
answer  was,  that  an  old  man  is  like  ta 
old  horse ;  to  get  any  thing  out  of  Us 
you  must  keep  him  going  all  the  wMla 
That  is  apparently  the  philosophy  of  Mt; 
Bryant'  The  only  parallel  to  his  intd- 
lectnal  vigor  that  we  now  recall  is  tb 
imperial  Goethe, — ^who  from  mere  dull- 
hood,  when  he  wrote  tales  and  pocoi 
for  his  playmates,  up  to  his  eiglitisA 
year,  when  he  had  just  completed  tb 
second  part  of  Fanst,  never  allowed  t 
day  to  go  without  its  line,  never  a  jm 
without  its  book  of  some  kind.  Mi^ 
our  laureate  go  on,  in  the  same  way,  tD 
the  same  advanced  period,  and  hr  h^ 
yondl 

WIKTBD  FOB  WWW  TOKK. 

First  of  all,  a  gOTomment,  for  it 

has  none  now;  then  a  good  govennNBli 
for  a  bad  government  is  qnite  as  bid  ai 
none  at  all;  and  finally  seLf-gOTemiiMDii 
which  is  the  only  government  that  » 
good.  Self-government  should  be  tbs 
cry  of  all  parties ;  but  the  first  requiate^ 
the  indispensable  condition  of  8df•fly^ 
ernment,  is  the  purity  of  electiooi.  If 
the  ballot-box  does  not  record  thepnblie 
voice,  but  the  wishes  and  desires  of  tiM 
rascals  in  the  commnnity,  self-govern- 
ment is  worse  thana  wretched faroe.  It 
is  the  most  dangerous  of  impoatioDa 
Parties  may  debate  the  comparative  lDe^ 
its  of  commissions  or  charters ;  but  tbe 
preliminary  qnestion  is  the  franchise. 
Neither  commissions  nor  charters  in 
worth  a  straw,  if  we  cannot  have  honest 
suffrage.  The  Democratic  party  now 
in  power  may  give  us  the  best  of  Qhs^ 
tcrs,  but  if  it  does  not  give  ns  a  fair  and 
free  choice  at  the  polls,  its  best  of  chut- 
ters  will  be  a  mockery  and  a  snare.  For 
the  suflarage  here  in  New  York  City  af- 
fects the  suffrage  in  New  York  State; 
the  suffrage  in  New  York  State  miy 
turn  the  scale  in  a  presidential  election ; 
and  a  Presidential  election  determined 
by  fraud,  would  be  the  first  step  to  dvil 


1870.] 


Editobial  Notes. 


508 


war.  We  have  had  enough  of  that,  but 
we  shall  have  more,  incontinently,  unless 
the  good  men  of  all  parties  unite  against 
the  ruffians  and  scoundrels.  So  we  say- 
very  frankly  to  Messieurs  the  politicians, 
— ^no  matter  what  party  they  are  of, — 
that  if  they  don't  give  ns  "  Honesty  at  the 
Polls,"  we,  the  plain  people,  who  don't 
care  much  for  their  parties,  will  put 
them  out  of  office,  in  a  way  they  will 
not  like. 


THE  MEW  sonrn. 


The  Virginian  of  old  times  was  a 

man  who  sat  eternally  in  the  shade  of 
bis  veranda,   smoking   cigars,  drinking 
mint  juleps,  and  reading  the  Richmond 
Enquirer^  of  which  three  solid  pages 
at  least  were  filled  with  communications 
from  "  Senex,"  "  Publicola,"  "  Decius," 
and  "  Aristides,"  on  the  true  meaning  of 
"  the  principles  of  '98."    When  he  was 
not  reading  the  Enquirer  he  was  discuss- 
ing the  same  subject  with  his  neighbors, 
or  a  chance  guest.    But  all  that  has 
changed :  the  war  which  grew  out  of 
the  aforesaid  '*  principles  of  '98  "  has 
swept  away  its  votaries ;  and  if  wo  may 
believe  our  contributor  in  another  place, 
the  talk  now  is  only  of  emigration  and 
railroads.    Virginia,  like  all  the  other 
Southern  States,  has  discovered,  by  hard 
experience,  that  her  true  interests  lie  in 
the  direction  of  diversified  labor.    All 
of  them  want,  and  they  demand,  more 
men,  and  more  money.    They  want  agri- 
culturists, they  want  mechanics,   they 
want  miners,  they  want  manufacturers, 
they  want  roads,  they  want  teachers; 
in  short,  men  of  means,  of  brains,  and  of 
energy  of  all  kinds. 

But  what  an  opportunity  for  us  of  the 
North  is  thus  ofiered.  A  ride  of  twelve 
hours  will  carry  us  into  a  State  which, 
as  to  the  development  of  its  inexhaust- 
ible resources  of  wealth,  is  to-day  not 
so  old  as  California,  and  which  offers  a 
more  certain  prospect  of  success.  There 
is  a  rich  soil  to  be  tilled,  mines  to  dig, 
railroads  to  be  built,  manufactories  to  be 
operated,  and  a  thousand  avenues  open 
and  daily  opening,  to  a  certain  independ- 
ence for  the  laborer. 

To  the  capitalist  who  seeks  an  invest- 
ment in  legitimate  enterprise,  the  South 


presents  the  most  tempting  inducements. 
Heretofore  the  production  of  sugar,  cot- 
ton, and  tobacco  engaged  nearly  all  its 
industry  and  capital  actively  employed. 
The  system  of  forced  labor  necessarily 
confined  its  efforts  to  a  comparatively 
narrow  sphere.  Cotton  and  wool  were 
sent  away  to  be  spun  and  woven  into 
fabrics,  but  the  prolific  supplies  of  iron, 
coal,  lead,  copper,  have  lain  untouched 
till  now. 

JOUKNALISM. 

The  feature  of  this  age  is  not  so 


much  democracy  as  journalism.  It  is 
aggressive,  usurping,  monopolizing.  Here 
are  four  months  of  Nature^  a  weekly 
newspaper  devoted  to  science.  Twenty 
years  ago  the  world  would  have  expect- 
ed as  soon  to  see  a  morning  journal  of 
the  Integral  Calculus,  or  a  Quarterly 
Review  of  the  Asteroids.  But  even  these 
would  scarcely  surprise  now.  Daily, 
weekly,  and  monthly,  periodical  litera- 
ture presses  into  every  field  of  thonght, 
and  libraries  grow  mainly  by  what  is 
sifted  out  of  it  as  wortli  storing  up.  The 
effects  of  this  revolution  in  the  republic 
of  letters  remain  to  be  studied ;  will  it 
help  the  coming  of  the  dead-level  period, 
when  all  men  will  bo  equal  in  intelli- 
gence as  in  rights,  or  will  the  broader 
fields  of  mind  thus  sown  with  thonght- 
gei-ms,  give  richer,  fresher  fiowers  and 
fruits  of  genius? 

The  result  is  certain:  history,  which 
is  really  made  up  of  the  changes  in  pub- 
lic opinion,  quickens  its  pace.  New 
questions  arise,  are  fought  over,  and  de- 
cided, in  the  press,  before  an  elaborate 
book  can  get  written.  Disputants  strike 
at  the  heart  of  a  subject;  broad  prin- 
ciples tell,  general  methods  of  thought 
control  every  thing,  details  disappear, 
learning  is  diffused,  differences  of  knowl- 
edge equalized ;  but  mental  vigor  and 
breadth,  the  power  to  grasp  and  apply 
principles,  and  the  literary  force  which 
gives  to  its  words  the  character  of  events, 
only  come  into  greater  prominence. 
Vast  learning  is  essentially  aristocratic, 
but  nothing  is  so  democratic  as  genius; 
and  as  the  authority  of  mere  scholarship 
declines,  the  leadership  of  intellect  bo- 
comes  more  pronounced. 


604 


PUTNAK^S  MAQAZaR. 


[Apia. 


rUKHT   PAPUtS. 

Practical  art  and  science  aro  yok- 
ed together  before  the  car  of  civilization, 
bat  the  former  often  gets  ahead.  So  it 
13  in  journalism,  which  is  a  growth  oat 
of  daily  needs,  and  like  other  institations, 
has  grown  at  random,  without  a  plan. 
Is  it  not  time  it  had  a  theory — a  science 
— defining  its  objects  and  adapting  its 
forms  to  them  ?  Are  there  no  general 
laws  which  determine  success  and  failure ; 
or  must  its  experiments  go  on  endlessly, 
as  blindly  as  now  ?  For  instance,  it  is 
announced  that  a  new  journal  of  fun  is 
about  to  appear,  a  regular  issue,  at  stated 
periods,  of  so  many  pages  of  jokes.  Is 
there  a  place  for  it?  Surely  the  only 
tediousnoss  on  earth  that  is  ^'  chemically 
pure,"' — elementary  dreariness  without 
dilution —is  Ihat  of  professional  wits. 
Do  you  ask  how  it  is  that  "funny 
papers  "  are  the  least  amusing  ?  How 
could  it  be  otherwise?  Reading  the 
best  of  them  is  like  dining  on  pepper  or 
living  in  an  atmosphere  of  nitrous  oxyde. 
And  those  which  are  not  the  best!  Punch 
is  an  agreeable  mixture  at  times ;  but 
punch,  with  some  acid  and  some  sweet- 
ness and  a  little  that  is  stimulating,  al- 
ways has  for  its  largest  ingredient 
water ;  and  even  punch  is  soon  insipid 
alone. 

There  is  one  huge  joke  in  the  history 
of  comic  journals  in  this  country  that 
quite  overshadows  their  contents ;  it  is 
their  profits,  recorded  in  the  same  chapter 
which  describes  the  snakes  in  Iceland  and 
the  cities  in  the  moon.  The  conditions 
of  a  genuine  success  in  such  an  enterprise 
are  hard  to  fulfil ;  the  first  of  them  is, 
that  life  shall  become  a  pantomime  and 
society  a  burlesque.  Fun  alone  is  fun 
out  of  place.  Ridicule  is  often  a  useful 
edge  to  the  weapon  argument,  or  a  happy 
ornament  in  literary  art ;  but  it  is  a  poor 
sword  that  is  all  edge ;  a  house  built 
of  mouldings  won't  sell,  nor  a  daugh- 
ter that  is  all  dress  get  a  husband.  Wit 
plays  on  the  surface  of  argument  as  hu- 
mor on  that  of  passion  ;  both  are  of  the 
temporary  and  external,  rather  than  of 
the  essential  and  enduring,  and  must 
grow  upon  what  is  permanent  of  itself, 
in  order  to  live.     "  Shadow  and  shine  is 


life,"  and  the  art  that  speaks  truly  of  fifc 
must  present  them  together.  Heoeft  it  ii 
that  Mercutio  and  Jack  Falstaff  are  in- 
mortal;  that  Thackeray  iaagreattfln- 
morist  than  Hood ;  that  the  Gothic  Cttb- 
edral,  with  its  grim  absardities  in  odd 
corners,  impresses  the  general  imagjoip 
tion  more  deeply  than  the  Grecian  tea- 
pie  ;  and  that  art,  standing  on  the  broads 
thought  of  these  days,  may  look  forwaid 
to  a  future  greater  than  its  past. 


rOXTST  HOT  DK1.X>. 


It  is  nonsense  to  say  that  indostiiil 

and  scientific  activity  excludes  the  artiii- 
ic  and  kills  poetry.  No  one  branch  of 
true  human  culture  impedes  another;  ts 
a  strong  arm  is  no  hindrance  to  healtfaj 
lungs  or  a  clear  head.  There  are  sjmf- 
toms  of  an  actual  revival  of  poetry,  oa  t 
grand  scale.  Never  before  was  poetie 
taste  80  widely  diffused ;  never  was  that 
such  an  audience  for  great  singen; 
never  did  the  echoes  of  trae  poets,  wbidi 
fill  newspaper  comers  and  ladies*  albiiiaii 
tell  of  so  high  a  standard,  and  so  esmtA 
a  longing  for  imaginative  satisfactioDi. 
Great  poems  take  their  form  and  tone 
less  from  individual  genius  than  from  tht 
ago  in  which  it  takes  root.  The  Homer 
or  Shakespeare  born  to-day  could  not 
write  Iliads  or  Hamlets,  but  he  would 
find  his  own  work  not  less  glorious,  and 
the  world  is  waiting  for  him. 

SAD    BOOK-XAXnfO.        ^ 

Among  those  poets  whose  fame 

rests  rather  on  what  they  might  hxn 
been  than  on  what  they  were,  thon 
melancholy  wrecks  of  sublime  possibili- 
ties, scattered  through  history,  as  if  to 
display  the  wantonness  of  Nature  la  her 
superfluity — among  tliose  whom  he  hiai- 
self  calls 

'*Tbe  inberiUtn  of  unfulfilled  ronown,** 

Shelley  is  doubtless  the  most  wonder- 
ful. He  died  in  his  thirtieth  year,  and 
left  the  Prometheus,  the  Cenci,  the  Ode 
to  Liberty,  the  Adonais.  "Were  he  living 
to-day,  a  dozen  of  the  active  public  men 
of  England  could  still  be  his  seniors,  as 
would  Pope  Pius  IX.  and  our  useful  fel- 
low-citizen. Professor  S.  F.  B.  Morse. 
What  might  not  English  poetry  liave 


1870.] 


LiTBBATDRB. 


606 


been,  had  he  reached  the  ago  of  calm 
and  masterly  production  ? 

What  he  actually  wrote  deserves  at 
least  careful  and  respectful  editing.  Mr. 
\r.  M.  Kossetti  has  just  published  Shel- 
ley's collected  works,  witli  a  dull  me- 
moir and  trashy  notes,  all  of  which 
might  be  pardoned  had  he  honestly  given 
us  his  author's  text  But  what  is  to  bo 
said  of  an  editor  who  knows  his  place  so 
little,  as  to  change  a  poet's  lines  accord- 
ing to  his  own  standard  of  English  gram- 
mar, versification,  and  tasto  I  In  scores 
of  places,  Mr.  Kossetti  points  out  liis 
own  changes  and  defends  them  ;  and  he 
makes  a  general  confession  of  many 
more,  in  which  not  even  a  note  enables 


the  reader  to  restore  the  original.  This 
is  the  sadder,  since  the  editor  had  the 
materials  for  making  his  book  thorough- 
ly illustrative  of  Shelley's  poetry ;  and 
having  made  one  of  the  worst  editions 
of  any  modern  English  poet  in  exist- 
ence, he  has  probably  closed  this  field 
against  more  competent  men  for  an  in- 
definite time.  The  memoir  contains 
few  important  facts  in  Shelley's  life  not 
known  before  I  "When  shall  we  have, 
either  of  him  or  of  Byron,  the  best  sub- 
jects for  such  works  in  this  century,  a 
biography  that  is  trustworthy  and  read- 
able ?  To  a  masterly  writer,  this  is  one  of 
the  most  tempting  patches  of  ontilled  or 
badly  tilled  laud  in  all  the  world  of  letters. 


•♦» 


LTTERATUKE— AT  HOME. 


If  any  thing  can  be  considered 

curious  in  the  history  of  literature,  it  is 
the  fact  that  some  English  writers  have 
made  reputations  in  America  years  be- 
fore they  have  made  them  in  England, 
and  that  others  have  preserved  reputa- 
tions in  America  years  after  they  have 
lost  them  in  England.  If  we  may  cred- 
it the  statements  of  her  biographer,  the 
Juvenile  poems  of  Miss  Mitford  were 
more  widely  read  among  us  than  among 
her  own  countrymen ;  while  the  early 
poetical  collections  of  Leigh  Himt,  as 
"  The  Masque  of  Liberty  "  and  "  Foli- 
age," were  reprinted  here,  and  popular, 
when  they  were  only  sneered  at  in  the 
literary  circles  of  London.  As  regards 
Hunt's  prose,  if  it  is  not  quite  true  that 
its  first  popularity  was  achieved  here,  it 
is  true  that  its  popularity  has  increased 
here  as  it  has  ditiiinished  elsewhere— a 
circumstance  which  would  have  delight- 
ed Hunt,  if  he  could  have  foreseen  it, 
for  he  was  proud  of  the  little  American 
blood  that  was  in  his  veins.  His  books 
are  not  exactly  the  kind  which  no  gen- 
tleman's library  should  be  without,  but 
they  are  of  the  kind  which  one  is  sure 
to  find  among  the  best  class  of  readers ; 
a  great  library  may  be  complete  with- 
out Hunt,  but  he  is  indispensable  to  a 


small  book-case.  Whatever  he  writes  we 
read  with  pleasure  and  profit — ^the  plea- 
sure which  comes  from  contact  with  a 
hopeful,  sunny  nature,  and  the  profit  we 
derive  f^om  an  addition  to  our  knowl- 
edge and  our  taste  from  the  stores  of  a 
thoughtful,  scholarly  man.  Of  no  mod- 
em' writer  can  it  be  said  with  more 
truth  than  of  Hunt, 

"  Ago  cannot  wither  hlxn,  nor  custom  sialo 
His  infinite  variety." 

Of  this  variety,  we  have  just  had  a  fur- 
ther instalment  in  the  shape  of  A  Day 
hy  the  Fire,  and  other  Papers  Eitherto 
Vhcolleeted,  by  Leigh  Hunt,  of  which 
Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers  are  the  pub- 
lishers. These  papers  (there  are  twenty- 
six  of  them)  were  originally  published 
in  "The  Refiector,"  "The  Examiner," 
"  The  Indicator,"  "  The  Monthly  Chroni- 
cle," and  "  The  New  Monthly  Magazine." 
Why  they  were  not  collected  by  Hunt 
himself  when  he  was  making  up  vol- 
umes of  similar  papers  we  are  left  to 
conjecture,  but  it  could  hardly  have 
been  because  he  regarded  them  as  in- 
ferior to  the  bulk  of  his  essays.  Some 
were  probably  overlooked  in  pure  care- 
lessness, others  were  probably  rejected 
as  containing  material  used  in  other 
forms,-  wh:2e  a  third  class  was  evidently 


S06 


Putnah'b  Maoazins. 


[Apia, 


laid  aside  as  portions  of  a  work  he  in- 
tended to  complete  some  day.  Among 
the  last  arc  the  eight  or  ten  papers  on 
mythology  and  mythological  person- 
ages— as  fairies,  genii,  satyrs,  nymphs, 
syrens,  mermaids,  &c.,  in  other  words, 
**  The  Fabulous  World,"  which,  by  the 
way,  was  the  title  that  Hunt  meant  to 
bestow  upon  the  series  when  it  was  fin- 
ished. He  proposed  at  one  time  to 
complete  it  (he  wrote  to  his  friend  John 
Forster),  "  and  to  add  the  miraculous 
goods  and  chattels  belonging  to  my 
fabulous  people,  such  as  Enchanted 
Spears,  Flying  Sophas,  Illimitable  Tents 
that  pack  up  in  nutshells,"  Ac, — addi- 
tions which  would  have  been  delightful, 
if  Hunt  had  only  made  them.  No  other 
work  with  which  we  are  acquainted 
contains  so  much  information  on  the 
special  subjects  mentioned  as  these  pa- 
pers, which  have  all  the  grace  and  sweet- 
ness of  Hunt^s  best  manner.  **  A  Day 
by  the  Fire  "  is  printed  as  Hazlitt's,  in 
a  late  English  reprint  of  "  The  Round 
Table,"  but  Hunt's  claim  to  it  appears 
the  strongest.  It  is  certainly  not  in 
Hazlitt's  vein.  In  the  paper  on  the 
"  Retrospectiye  Review "  we  are  once 
more  in  company  with  the  old  English 
poets,  Crashaw  and  Ford,  each  of  whom 
tells  us,  in  his  own  fashion,  the  beauti- 
ful story  of  the  duel  between  the  musi- 
cian and  the  nightingale,  the  original  of 
which  may  be  found  in  Strada's  "  Pro- 
lusions." In  the  paper  on  "Fairies" 
we  go  back  to  Randolph's  "  Amyntas," 
with  its  most  fairy-like  of  fairy  songs 
in  Latin.  Hunt  has  published  a  trans- 
lation of  this  sparkling  little  ditty  in 
his  Poetical  Works,  but  it  is  not  an  en- 
tire one,  as  we  remember,  for  there  are 
three  more  stanzas,  two  of  which  we 
copy,  as  a  necessary  pendant  to  the  re- 
ceived version : 

"  Now  for  ffach  a  stock  of  applos 
Luud  me  with  the  voioo  of  chajH^Is. 
Fays,  inethiiikB,  were  gotten  solely 
To  keep  orchard-robbiitg  holy. 

'*  Hence  then,  hence,  and  let*8  delight  ns 
With  the  maids  whose  creams  invite  us. 
Kissing  thorn,  like  proper  fidries, 
AU  amidst  their  fruits  and  dairies.^' 

If  we  have  not  said  that  we  are  glad  to 
have  this  charming  volume,  we  say  so 


now,  and  add  the  wiah  to  haye  whalevw 
else  of  Hunt's  prose  the  anonymoQi 
editor  of  "A  Day  by  the  Pire"m«y 
discover  yet  uncollected. 

No  poet  who  has  appeared  of 

late  in  England  has  sbown  a  better 
claim  to  the  laurel  than  William  Motra^ 
and  no  poet  has  shown  less  8ympat]i) 
with  the  tastes  and  the  powera  of  en- 
durance of  modem  readers.  That  lie  » 
an  epical  poet  Mr.  Morris  probably 
knows  as  well  as  we  do,  but  that  he  ii 
living  in  the  least  epical  age  of  EngM 
poetry  he  does  not  seem  to  know  at  aU. 
Would  that  he  did,  and  were  conteot 
to  mould  his  creations  on  a  smalkr 
scale ;  or,  that  being  impossible  for  him, 
would  that  we  could  be  content  to  take 
him  and  them  as  they  are.  *'  The  Biag 
and  the  Book  "  is  rather  a  long  poem, 
if  we  are  to  consider  it  one  poem,  nd 
not  twelve  different  poems  on  on 
theme ;  "  Paradise  Lost  ^  is  rather  a 
long  poem,  and  as  Byron  said, 

•*  A  little  heavy,  thoofiji  no  lo«  dirfne;  * 

<<  The  Canterbury  Tales  "  make  rather  a 
long  poem,  though  not  a  heavy  or  di- 
vine one ;  but  neither  *^  The  Canterhoiy 
Tales,"  nor  "  Paradise  Lost,"  nor  "TTie 
Ring  and  the  Book  "  will  compare  for 
length  with  Mr.  Morris's  Earthly  Para- 
dise, of  which  Messrs.  Roberts  Brother* 
have  just  published  the  third  part 
Though  it  fills  a  volume  of  883  doeelj 
printed  pages,  it  covers  only  three  of 
the  twelve  months  in  which  the  wan- 
derers are  supposed  to  relate  stories, 
and  contains  only  six  of  their  stories. 
Now  as  the  volume  which  preceded  it, 
and  which  contained  twelve  stoiieS)  and 
covered  six  months,  was  only  about  ^ 
pages  longer,  it  is  difficult  to  say  to 
what  length  "The  Earthly  Paradise " 
may  extend  before  it  is  finished.  We 
have  finished  what  we  could  of  it,  aad 
that  was  not  much,  we  frankly  own; 
but  what  we  have  finished  has  con- 
vinced us  that  Mr.  Morris  is,  if  not  the 
greatest,  certainly  the  most  beautifdl  of 
all  the  epical  poets  of  England,  not 
even  excepting  his  master  Chaucer, 
whose  kindly,  hearty,  gracious  spirit 
breathes  through  all  that  Mr.  Morris 
has  written.   When  to  Chaucer's  genius 


1870.] 


LlTEBATUBE. 


507 


for  narrative  we  add  Spenser's  genius 
for  versification)  we  indicate  in  few 
-words  the  merits  and  defects  of  *^  The 
Earthly  Paradise." 

That  a  great  poet  like  Tennyson 

should  have  imitators  is  not  to  be  won- 
dered at,  since  no  great  poet  was  ever 
without  them;   but  that  a  small  poet 
like  Patmore  should  have  an  imitator  is 
to  be  wondered  at,  since  no  small  poet 
before  ever  had  them.    Tupper  is  with- 
out imitators,  outside    his   family  of 
daughters,    who    reflect    the    lambent 
sweetness  of  their  sire,  like  the  gentle 
Tupperides  they  are;   and  Mackay  is 
without  imitators,  unless  there  has  risen 
some  new  people^s  poet,  of  whom  we 
have  not  heard.    But  Patmore  is  luck- 
ier, for  his  ^^  Angel  in  the  House  "  has 
"wakened  the  woman  in  some  other  man's 
bouse,  who  has  written  Mr$,  Jeming- 
ham's  Journal^  which  has  attracted  at- 
tention enough  in  England  to  justify 
Messrs.  Scribner  &  Co.  in  reprinting  it. 
It  is  "  The  Angel  in  the  House  "  over 
again,  with  a  difference  and  a  weakness 
(or  which  Patmore  is  not  responsible, 
or  no  more  responsible  than  a  gentleman 
may  be  supposed  to  be  for  the  fit  of  his 
small-clothes  on  his  valet, — ^we  ought  to 
say,  in  this  case,  on  his  wife's  maid. 
^  Mrs.  Jemingham's  Journal "  is  a  watery 
dilution  of  '^  The  Angel  in  the  House," 
but,  unlike  that  diluted   production, 
which  extended  to  three  or  four  vol- 
umes, it  is  complete  in  one,  and  a  thin 
one  at  that.    It  is,  in  brief,  the  heart- 
history  of  a  young  person  who  is  mar- 
ried to  a  man  older  than  herself;  who 
flirts  and  is  punished  for  flirting ;  and, 
finally,  who  recovers  the  heart  of  her 
husband,  who  has  loved  her  all  along  as 
husbands  do  not  always  love  their  wives 
in  modem  poems.    The  outline  of  a  lit- 
tle novel  is  therein,  and  if  we  could 
read  it  as  the  outline  of  a  little  novel  it 
might  pass  muster, — but  not  otherwise. 
Not  when  read  as  a  bona  fidjt  Journal, 
and  certainly  not  when  read  as  a  poem. 
The  reader  of  this,  however,  is  not 
obliged  to  read  it,  and  in  this  inmiu- 
nity  from  yawning  is  happier  than  the 
present  writer,  who,  having  to  take 
small  poetic  beer  occasionally,  prefers 


to  have  it  fresh  from  the  original  cask, 
rather  than  stale  and  fiat  from  such  a 
second-hand  mug  as  this. 

It  is  to  be  regretted  that  writers 

who  have  once  made  "  hits  "  have  kept 
on  endeavoring  to  repeat  those  "  hits  " 
until  there  was  nothing  left  to  strike, 
except,  perhaps,  their  own  reputations, 
which  these  literary  boomerangs    are 
very  apt  to  demolish.    This  tendency 
of  the  guild  is  one  into  which  the  writ- 
ers of  America  generally  fall,  especially 
the  vmters  of  American  humor.     We 
have  two  series   of  "Biglow  Papers," 
at  least  two  series  of  Autocratical  and 
Professorial  Papers ;  and  we  forget  how 
many  series  of  the  sayings  and  doings 
of  Davy  Crockett,  Jack  Downing,  Arte- 
mus  Ward,  Orpheus  C.  Kerr,  Petroleum 
y.  Nasby,  and  Josh  Billings.   We  hoped 
that  the  author  of  the  '^Hans  Breit- 
man  Ballads  "  (Mr.  Charles  G.  Leland) 
would  keep  his  place  among  the  select 
but  honorable  few  who  know  how  to 
let  well  enough  alone,  but  our  hope  has 
been  disappointed,  for  here  we  have  a 
new  venture  of  his,  HariB  Breitman  in 
Churchy  from  the  press  of  T.  B.  Peterson 
&   Brothers.     It   makes  a  handsome 
pamphlet  of  fifty  pages,  or  thereabouts, 
and  contains  six  new  ballads,  one  nar- 
rating the  adventures  of  the  hero  in 
Dixie's    Land    during    the    Rebellion, 
another  the  mishaps,  so  to  speak,  which 
attended  a  friend  of  the  author's  in  his 
attempt  to  have  the  original  **  Breit- 
man Ballads  "  set  up  for  a  first  edition 
which  never  appeared.    The  remainder 
consists  of  *'  I  Gili  Homaneskro,"  a  gip- 
sy ballad,  with  a  translation  into  Ger- 
man-English ;    '*  Stenli  von  Slang,"  a 
burlesque  on  the  romantic  balladry  of 
Germany :  "  To  a  Friend  Learning  Ger- 
man," and  "A  Love  Song."    To  say 
that  we  have  not  been  amused  by  these 
grotesque  trifies  would  be  untrue,  and 
to  say  that  they  have  satisfied  us,  even 
as  contributions  to  the  peculiar  humor 
of  our  German-English-speaking  popu- 
lation,  would   be  untrue.     They  are 
amusing,  and  they  are  tedious.    They 
are  also  false,— a  fault  we  find  with  most 
volumes  of  American  humor  (no  matter 
in  what  dialect,  real  or  imaginary,  they 


508 


PUTNAX^S  MAGJLZISnL 


[April 


are  written)  which  lack  the  email  merit 
of  interesting,  sometimes  of  being  in- 
telligible to,  the  people  who  are  render- 
ed ridiculous.  It  is  but  a  poor  sort  of 
humor  which  is  successful  only  abroad, 
and  which  depends  for  its  success  on 
bad  spelling,  as  does  that  of  Ward  and 
Billings,  and  upon  a  heterogeneous  and 
evanescent  jargon,  like  that  of  the 
"  Breitman  Ballads,^^  of  which  we  hope 
we  have  now  seen  the  last 

If  til©  world  of  elderly  readers 

have  much  to  rejoice  at  in  the  excellence 
of  their  fictions  as  compared  with  those 
they  read  of  old,  the  greater  world  of 
younger  readers  have  more  to  r^'oioe  at 
in  the  excellence  of  the  stories  that  are 
now  written  for  them.    The  difference 
is  not  so  great  between  the  novels  of 
Maria  Regina  Roche,  and  Jane  and  Anna 
Maria  Porter,  and  those  of  Scott,  Dick- 
ens, and  Thackeray,  as  between  **  Even- 
ings at  Home,"  "  Sondford  and  Merton," 
and  the  incomparable  little  tales  of  Hans 
Christian  Andersen.      We    thought  so 
when  we  first  read  thera  in  tlie  English 
editions,  and  we  think  so  now  that  we 
have  just  read  them  in  the  complete 
American  edition,  of  which  the  initial 
volume,  Wonder-Stories  Told  for  Chil- 
dren^ has  lately  been  issued  by  Hurd  & 
Houghton.     They  are  happily  named, 
for  among  the  various  elements  which 
enter  into  their  composition  the  ele- 
ment of   wonder   is  most   prominent, 
holding  the  same  place  in  them  that  it 
does  in  the  romantic  epics  of  Tasso, 
Ariosto,  and  Spenser,  and  that  its  more 
vigorous  development,  Imagination,  does 
in  "The  Midsummer  Night's  Dream," 
and  **  The  Tempest."  What  Shakespeare 
is  in  the  drama,  that  Andersen  is  in 
fairy-lore,  of  which  he  is  the  greatest 
master  that  ever  lived.     The  fairy-story 
tellers  of  France,  Charles  Perrault,  Ma- 
dame D'Aulnoy,  and  their  followers,  oc- 
cupy but  a  scanty  plot  of  ground  in 
Fairy  Land  beside  his  possessions, — a 
mere  strip  of  barren,  workaday  soil  on 
the  hither  edge  of  his  fruitful,  enchanted 
kingdom.      They  who   most    resemble 
him  are  the  nameless  tellers  of  German 
Mdrehen^  and  to  him  the  best  of  these 

^'  Are  aa  moonlight  onto  ■unlight,  or  us  water  unto 
wine." 


It  was  observed  of  Swift  by  Stella  thii 
he  could  write  beautifully  about  a  broom- 
stick, but  Andersen  ezceeda  Swift,  in 
that  he  can  write  beautifully  abont  manj 
a  smaller  thing  than  a  broom-stick,--i 
pack  of  cards,  a  pen  and  an  inkstand,  t 
tinder-box,  a  tin  soldier,  a  slate- pendl,— 
in  short,  about  any  thing  that  we  caD 
name.    His  invention  is  inexhantsible. 

No  biography  of  an  American  man 

of  letters  was  ever  received  with  soeh 
favor  as  '*•  The  Life  and  Letters  of  Wash- 
ington Irving,"  by  his  nephew  Pienre 
Irving,  and,  if  the  value  of  a  work  of  the 
kind  depends  on  the  freedom  with  whid 
the  author  delineates  himself  and  his 
pursuits  therein,  no   biography   of  aa 
American  man  of  letters  ever  desemd 
to  be  received  with  such  favor.    Of  tht 
many  who  have  in  some  sort  fbllovd 
authorship  here,  few  are  worthy  to  bt 
considered  authors,  and   of  those  ftw 
Irving  was  the  one  above  all  others  who 
was  most  an  author.     He  lived  and  had 
his  being  in  an  atmosphere  of  books; 
his  choicest  companions  were  bookiA 
men  like  himself.    No  American  erer 
knew  so  many  English  authors,  and  no 
American  was  ever  held  in  snch  high 
esteem  by  them.    They  were  his  friends 
OS  well  as  his  correspondents,  and  his 
reputation  was  as  dear  to  tliem  as  their 
own.    The  biography  of  such  a  man, 
even  when    the   materials    for   it  an 
scanty,  is  likely  to  be  entertaining,  apd 
when  they  are  as  abundant  as  in  Irving^a 
case,  it  is  certain  to  be   so.    Popular 
when  it  was  first  published,  the  biogra- 
phy of  Irving  is  popular  still,  if  the  aale 
of  several  editions  may  be  regarded  st  a 
test;  and  if  the  usual  test  of  a  cheap 
edition  is  to  be  trusted,  it  is  destined  to 
be  still  more  popular.    So,  at  least,  think 
the  publishers  (G.  P.  Putnam  ds  Son), 
who  have  just  issued  a  new  edition  of 
The  Life   and  Letter$  of  Waehingi&h 
Irving,    It  is  in  three  volumes  (eighteen- 
mos,  or  thereabouts),  each  of  which  is  il- 
lustrated with  a  portrait  of  Irving.    The 
printing  of  these  little  volumes  is  every 
thing  that  ought  to  be  looked  for  in  a 
cheap  edition  of  a  favorite  book :  of  this 
there  are  also  two  finer  editions  in  dif- 
ferent sizes. 


).] 


KOTBS  ON  FOBXXGH  LnXBATUBS,  STa 


509 


LITERATUEE  AND  ART  ABROAD. 


X05THLT  V0TK8  PBSPAHBD  FOB  PUTNAM*!  MAOASIVB. 


^  A  NOTABLE  featuro  of  the  English  lit- 
'  journals,  which  certainly  will  not  di- 
)h  their  interest  for  readers  on  this  side 
e  Atlantic,  is  the  increasing  space  which 
dcTote  to  notices  of  American  works, 
is  a  necessary  result,  not  only  of  the 
er  practical  nearness  of  the  two  coun- 
but  also  of  the  growth  of  their  mutual 
untance,  in  the  best  intellectual  sense. 
ips  the  publishing  arrangements  which 
been  established,  perforce,  through  the 
ice  of  any  international  copyright,  have 
er  conduced  to  give  the  two  kindred  lit- 
res a  common  field  of  circulation.  The 
t,  imperfectly  as  it  is  still  manifested,  is 
o  which  no  author  of  dther  country  can 
different  There  is  nothing  to  lose,  but, 
e  contrary,  much  to  be  gained  on  both 
,  through  the  contrast  and  reciprocal 
of  contemporaneous  thought  and  modes 
pression.  Intelligent  criticism  is  ralua- 
i  proportion  as  it  is  impersonal,  and  per- 
the  writers  to  whom  the  material  and 
of  a  work  is  most  foreign  are  best  quali- 

0  Judge  of  its  artistic  merits.  The  dif- 
ce  between  the  higher  literary  culture 
B  two  countries  is  one  of  quantity  rather 
of  quality,  and  thdr  mutual  criticism 
end  towards  the  better  deyelopment  of 

without   affecting   that   indiyiduality 

1  is  based  upon  the  diyerging  life  of  the 
ie. 

s  find  a  notice  of  General  Lee's  edi- 
of  his  grandfather's  book  in  the  Sat- 
/  Review^  wherein  the  following  curious 
nee  occurs:  "The  honest  family  pride 
lytd  in  the  account  of  the  ancestry  of 
Lees,  .  .  .  and  which  inddentally 
cates  against  Northern  sneers  the  claims 
3  leading  families  of  Yirginia  to  an  nius- 
s  origin,  is  an  interesting  trait  in  a  char- 
so  perfectly  free  from  personal  yanlty 
ibition  I "  The  same  journal  asserts  that 
lovel  of  "  Fair  Harrard  "  is  "  as  fiur  en- 
r  to  Verdant  Green  in  one  way  as  to 
Brown  in  another,"  though  it  seems, 
ilarly  enough,  to  consider  both  the  ath- 
sports  and  the  fagging  system  of  Har- 
as much  more  brutal  than  any  thing 


known  to  the  students  of  English  unirersitics. 
Further,  #the  reyiewer,  in  speaking  of  Mr. 
Bryant's  **  Letters  f^om  the  East,"  claims 
that  the  charge  of  *' coldness,  polish,  and 
seyerity,"  made  against  the  author  in  Ameri- 
ca, is  a  proof  of  his  literary  excellence.  The 
PalUMaU  GaxftU  has  a  good-natured  though 
sharp  reyiew  of  Mrs.  Whitney's  **  Hitherto," 
showing  (what  many  reyiews  do  not)  an  actual 
acquaintance  with  the  work  and  a  careful  es- 
timate of  its  merits  and  blemishes.  Ik  Is  a 
good  specimen  of  the  manner  in  which  a  wri- 
ter may  be  honestly  and  gently  castigated, 
without  showing  ill-humor  or  prejudice.  The 
Key.  J.  a  0.  Abbott  is  taken  to  task  by  the 
same  journal  for  haying,  in  his  *'  Bomance  of 
Spanish  History,"  made  Bon  John  of  Austria 
Prime  Minister  of  Spain  in  1677,  or  131  years 
after  he  was  bom.  The  Athenaum  heartily 
commends  Hans  Brdtmann's  new  yolume, 
and  reyiews  at  some  length  Mr.  Noyes'  "  His- 
tory of  American  Socialisms,"  apropo*  of 
which  it  says :  **  The  story  of  American  fail- 
ures  in  communism  is  a  melancholy  and  yet 
suggestiye  narratiye  of  human  presumption 
and  imbecility."  Low  k  Co.'s  Mowthly  BuU 
letin  publishes  a  highly  complimentary  letter 
from  the  late  Bean  Milman  to  Mr.  H.  C.  Leo, 
of  PhiladelpUa,  whose  "  Studies  in  Church 
History  "  has  just  appeared. 

Gustaye  Flaubert,  the  author  of  "Ma- 
dame Boyary"  and  "Salammbo,"  has  just 
published  a  new  romance*-"  X'iS^iuca</on 
SerUimefUaU,^^  The  story  is  absolutely  noth- 
ing, being  simply  a  record  of  the  transition 
by  which  a  sentimental  French  youth,  with 
some  cleyemess,  much  power  of  sensation, 
and  no  principle,  passes  from  his  eariy  inno- 
cence to  a  state  of  complete  ennvi  and  in- 
difference. To  our  race,  such  a  character 
is  despicable;  to  the  French  reader,  we 
suppose,  it  must  present  some  kind  of  psy- 
chological  interest.  M.  Flaubert  seems  to  be 
a  disciple  of  Balzac,  with  one  of  the  latter's 
peculiar  talents — he  is  an  unriyalled  word- 
painter  of  external  life.  Before  writing 
"  Salammbo  "  he  went  to  Tunis  to  study  the 
scenery  around  apcient  Carthage,  and  the 
clearness,  precision,  and  fhlness  of  lus  de- 


510 


Putetam's  XAfiAZoa. 


[Ajfia. 


ficriptions,  in  that  work,  is  almost  piuDfuL 
This  last  romance  has  the  same  merits,  wliich 
— so  highly  is  the  French  taste  developed  in 
regard  to  style,  without  reference  to  senti- 
ment— are  quite  enough  to  insure  its  popu- 
larity. 

The  life  of  Alexander  Hertzen,  whose 

death  has  been  recently  announced,  is  inti- 
mately connected  with  the  intellectual  devel- 
opment of  Russia,  and  belongs,  in  s^ne  mea- 
sure, to  the  history  of  that  Empire.  He  was 
bom  in  Moscow,  in  1812,  of  a  Russian  fiither 
and  a  (German  mother.  As  a  student  the  ex- 
pression of  liberal  views  brought  upon  him  a 
temporary  banishment  to  Siberia,  after  which 
he  entered  the  Russian  civil  service.  In  1842 
he  received  permission  to  travel,  and  in  the 
same  year  published  his  first  work,  which  was 
soon  followed  by  two  novels  of  Russian  soci- 
ety, "  Doctor  Crupow  **  and  *^  Whose  is  the 
Guilt  ?  "  He  then  settled  in  London,  estab- 
lished a  printing-office  for  the  Russian  lan- 
guage, and  commenced  the  publication  of  his 
celebrated  journal,  Kolokol  (The  Bell),  the 
success  of  which  was  phenomenal  Although 
prohibited,  it  was  smuggled  by  thousands  in 
Russia,  r^d  everywhere,  and  supported  by 
such  powerful  friends,  that  every  secret  of 
the  Russian  Court  was  betrayed  to  its  editor, 
yet  all  attempts  either  to  suppress  it,  or  to 
detect  its  sources  of  information,  were  power- 
less. For  many  years,  the  Kolokol  was  a 
power  in  Russia:  it  is  difficult  to  say  how 
mudi  of  the  recent  development  of  the  na- 
tion is  not  justly  due  to  Alexander  Hertzen. 
As  the  Russian  press  became  free,  the  influ- 
ence of  his  journal  diminished,  and  it  grad- 
ually passed  out  of  existence.  Hertzen  then 
retired  to  Paris,  where  he  died. 

Gustav  Freytag's  last  work  is  the 

"  Biography  of  Karl  Mathy,'*  a  statesman  of 
Baden,  whose  life  was  none  the  less  import- 
ant for  Germany  from  the  fact  that  his  field 
of  activity  was  limited,  but  whoso  name  and 
history  are  hardly  known  except  to  those  of 
his  own  race  and  language.  The  biography 
has  excited  much  interest  (of  a  political  na- 
ture) in  Germany.  With  regard  to  its  litera- 
ry character  there  can  be  bat  one  opinion : 
no  living  author  writes  better  German  prose 
tluui  Freytag. 

The  German  papers  state  that  the  his- 
torian Grcgorovius  has  recently  discovered, 
nmong  the  archives  of  the  house  of  Este  in 
Hodcna,  many  valuable  documents  which 
throw  new  liglu  on  the  history  of  the  Borgia 
family.  His  ''  History  of  Rome  in  the  Middle 


Ages  "  has  been  so  enriched  by  hk  reecotie. 
searches  that  he  has  already  projected  aa  li 
ditional  volume— the  eighth.  Sx  TobiMi 
have  appeared,  and  have  passed  to  a  teooid 
edition,  before  the  publication  of  the  seveo^ 
New  editions  of  the  Italian  sketches  of  Ore 
gorovius— exqmsite  prose  idyla— are  tin 
about  to  appear. 

Mr.  William  Morris  has  a  fordgn  lin] 

in  Paul  Heyse,  whose  romances  in  vene  ban 
just  been  published  in  Berlin.  They 
of  detached  stories,  not  connected  by  a 
mon  thread  of  narrative,  like  those  of  te 
English  poet  The  titles  are  *' The  Bride  W 
Cyprus,"  '"Urica,"  ''King  and  Mnsieia," 
''Michel  Angelo,"  "Raphael,*'  "Syrit^" 
eta  Some  are  Italian,  some  ChineM,  aai 
some  Scandinavian.  It  seems  impossible  to 
exhaust  the  productive  power  of  the  modcn 
German  poets.  The  last  number  of  the  JNlt- 
ier  fur  JAUraritehe  UiUerhaJUung  brin^  « 
reviews  of  ntfM  new  dramatic  poems,  besidH 
a  volume  belonging  to  the  class  which  Tl» 
nyson  would  style  "Experiments"- 
tempt  to  rhyme  the  ancient  classio 
Some  of  the  specimens  quoted  are  not  whfilf 
unsuccessfuL  The  Sapphic  and  the  Aloie 
measures,  in  particular,  adapt  themselves  ttA- 
ly  to  rhyme ;  but  we  cannot  say  that  they 
are  an  acquisition  of  much  value.  In  &f> 
lish,  we  must  first  natucalize  the  hexameter, 
before  we  can  make  any  such  doubtful  vea- 
tures. 

The  last  representative  of  the  fint 

literary  period  of  Russia  died  recently  ii 
Moscow,  at  the  age  of  eighty.  As  Ivn 
Ivanowitch  Lashetchnikoff,  his  name  is  better 
known  at  home  than  abroad.  He  was  bon 
at  Kolomna,  in  the  interior  of  Russia,  fbogbt 
in  the  war  of  1812,  afterwards  devoted  hha- 
self  to  literature,  but  produced  nothing  be* 
fore  his  thirty-fifth  year.  His  first  work  wm 
an  historical  novel,  "  The  Conquest  of  Iito> 
nia,"  followed  by  a  second,  "  The  Palace  of 
Ice,"  both  of  which  established  his  reputa- 
tion. He  afterwards  wrote  other  historical 
romances,  and  dramas  which  were  less  8ii& 
cessfuL  As  the  intimate  friend  of  Pusehkin, 
Belinsky,  and  the  other  great  poets  and  crit* 
ics  of  the  last  generation,  he  will  be  greatly 
missed  by  the  present,  which  has  only  the 
names  of  Turgenieff,  Zagoskin,  and  a  very 
few  others,  as  the  inadequate  successors  of 
the  classic  period. 

In  the  little  city  of  Oldenburg,  the 

four  historical  dramas  of  Shakespeare,  Richard 
IIL,  Henry  lY.,  Parts  I.  and  IL,  and  Heniy 


1870.] 


Notes  on  Foheion  Litsbatubs,  bto. 


511 


v.,  were  performed,  not  long  since,  on  four 
successive  evenings.  This  experiment,  the 
result  of  which  might  not  be  so  certain  in 
New  York,  was  brilliantly  successful  in  Olden- 
burg. 

The  first  newspaper  in  Central  Asia 

has  just  been  issued  in  the  city  of  Tashkend, 
in  Turkestan.  It  is  called  the  lUrkistans- 
kqja  Vjedemosli  (Turkestan  News),  and  will 
contain  articles  in  three  Tartar  dialects,  as 
well  as  in  the  Russian  language. 

Four  Greek  letters  of  the  Emperor 

Frederick  II.  accidentally  discovered  in  the 
Lanrentian  Library  at  Florence,  have  been 
published  in  Naples.  They  were  apparently 
written  during  the  last  year  of  the  Emperor's 
rtign,  and  have  a  biographical  if  not  an  his- 
torical value. 


AST. 

The  Museum  of  the  Louvre  has  lately 

recovered  a  work  of  art  to  which  a  singular 
history  is  attached.  It  is  a  group  of  **  Venus, 
fettered  by  Cupid,"  executed  by  a  French 
sculptor  in  the  seventeenth  century.  Louis 
XIY.  gave  it  to  a  French  ambassador  to 
China,  as  a  present  to  the  Emperor.  For  two 
centuries  it  stood  in  the  Summer  Palace  at 
Fekin,  and  finally  became  part  of  the  booty 
of  ft  French  soldier,  at  the  taking  of  the  Pal- 
ace, a  few  years  ago.  An  officer  purchased  it 
for  a  hundred  francs,  sold  it  for  five  thou- 
sand, and  it  has  now  been  purchased  for  the 
Louvre  for  thirty-five  thousand. 

Castellan!  the  younger,  in  Naples, 

whose  private  museum  of  antique  gold,  glass, 
and  porcelain  (commenced  by  his  father  in 
Borne)  is  unique  among  European  collections, 
has  recently  undertaken  to  reproduce  the  art 
of  miyolica  painting.  A  careful  study  of  the 
splendid  specimens  in  his  possession  has  al- 
ready enabled  him  to  attain  the  same  biil- 
liancy,  and  apparent  permanence,  of  color. 

Tlie  City  Hall  at  Crefeld  is  to  be 

decorated  with  historical  fresco-painting.  A 
prize  of  200  thalers  was  offered  for  the  best 
design,  the  judges  to  be — whom  does  the 
American  reader  think?  The  CSty  Coundl 
of  Crefeld  ?  A  committee  of  private  gentle- 
men ?  Or  perhaps  the  North-German  Parlia- 
ment ?  Not  at  all : — a  Committee  chosen  bj 
the  Art  Union  of  Westphalia  and  the  Rhine  I 
They  have  a  curious  way  of  managing  such 
matters  in  Germany :  these  subjects  '*  of  the 
despot  and  the  tyrant ''  consider  that  those 
who  select  painting  or  sculpture  for  the  adorn- 
ment of  public  edifices,  should  know  some- 
thing of  Art  I    The  consequence  was,  they 


gave  the  prize  to  the  best  design :  the  lucky 
artist,  Jansen,  is  further  to  receive  6,000 
thalers  for  the  execution  of  his  cartoons  in 
fresco,  the  subject  being  the  history  of  Her- 
mann, the  deliverer  of  Northern  Germany 
fh)m  Rome. 

A  Vienna  journal  gives  the  details  of 

a  regular  system  of  manufacturing  antique 
furniture,  weapons,  jewelry,  fayence,  and 
majolica,  which,  we  imagine,  will  carry  grief 
to  the  hearts  of  many  American  collectors. 
It  seems  that  in  Cologne,  Paris,  Brussels, 
Venice,  and  other  cities,  there  are  permanent 
manufactories  for  the  production  of  these 
articles,  employing  a  great  number,  not  only 
of  ordinary  workmen,  but  also  of  second- 
rate  artists.  The  wood  for  the  ancient  furni- 
ture is  carefully  chosen  and  carved,  the 
worm-holes  artificially  produced  by  puncture, 
the  comers  and  sharp  outlines  rubbed  with 
sand-paper,  dinted,  bruised,  and  chipped,  a  rich, 
dark  color  added,  and  then  dust  thrown  into 
all  the  sunken  parts.  Frequently  a  genuine 
piece  of  old  fhrniture  is  taken,  divided  into 
many  parts,  and  eadi  part  made  the  founda- 
tion for  an  artificial  reproduction  of  the 
whole.  The  effect,  of  course,  is  exactly  the 
same,  and  for  all  practical  purpo8iE^  the  fur- 
niture is  as  good  as  the  genuine, — but,  then, 
there's  the  price  that  one  pays  1 

Johanna  Codecasa,  nis  Sailer,  who 

sang  the  part  of  Zerlina  in  Mozart's  "  Don 
Giovanni,''  when  the  great  composer  first  pro- 
duced that  opera  in  Prague  (about  the  year 
1788  or  '90),  died  in  Milan,  last  November, 
aged  100  years.  Lorenzo  Da  Ponte,  well 
known  in  New  York,  who  wrote  the  libretto 
of  the  opera,  was  also  almost  a  centenarian  at 
the  time  of  his  death.  The  composer,  only, 
was  loved  of  the  gods. 

The  venerable  sculptor  Tcnerani,  who 

recently  died  in  Rome,  is  one  of  the  few  art- 
ists of  his  day,  who  had  both  the  intelligence 
and  the  courage  to  dispute  the  assumed  dicta- 
torship of  Canova.  He  left  that  master  as  a 
young  man,  and  attached  himself  to  Thor- 
waldsen,  whose  purer  influence  is  manifest  in 
all  his  works.  Taste,  harmony,  and  a  fine 
appreciation  of  classic  art,  rather  than  origi- 
nality of  genius,  characterize  Tenerani's  sculp- 
ture, lie  deserves  to  be  remembered  for  his 
admu'ablc  arrangement  of  the  statues  in  the 
Roman  museums,  and  his  careful  restoration 
of  imperfect  antiques. 

The  English  residents  of  Simla-^a 

sanitarium  in  the  Himalayas,  on  the  borders 
of  Cashmere — ^have  recently  held  an  art  ex- 
hibition, the  artists  being  the  officers  of  tiM 


512 


PUTNAII^S  MaOAZIKB. 


[April,  1870. 


post,  the  ciTillan  residents,  and  their  wires. 
Both  the  oil  and  water-color  schools  were 
represented,  and  some  of  the  pictures  exhibit- 
ed genuine  artistic  merit  But  fancy  the 
result,  if  the  guests  at  Long  Branch,  Saratoga, 
or  Newport,  during  the  season,  were  to  at- 
tempt the  same  thing  1 

— »  The  famous  church  of  Santa  Croce, 
in  Florence,  is  now  almost  completely  reno- 
yated.  All  the  old  whitewash  and  dust  of 
centuries  has  been  scraped  away,  and  the 
original  face  of  the  walls  brought  to  light,  in 
which  process  many  Interesting  discoyeries 
haye  been  made.  In  a  chapel  of  the  right 
transept,  a  series  of  frescoes,  dating  from  the 
fourteenth  century,  and  supposed  to  haye 
been  painted  by  the  puinls  of  Giotto,  is  now 
rcyeoled.  Eyerywhere  in  Italy,  there  seems 
to  be  a  renaissance  of  the  spirit  of  restora- 
tion and  research.  Societies  haye  been  form- 
ed for  carrying  on  ezcayations  in  hitherto 
neglected  localities,  money  is  subscribed,  and 
the  assistance  of  the  Italian  Goyemment  has 
been  secured.  Great  aa  are  the  treasures 
which  the  soil  of  Italy  has  already  yielded, 
they  are  probably  but  a  small  proportion  of 
those  which  may  yet  be  recoyerod. 

Th'b  great  Cathedral  of  Ck)]ogne  is 

steadily  approaching  completion.  During  the 
year  1869,  the  southern  tower  grew  thirty, 
and  the  northern  twenty,  feet  in  height.  It 
is  belieyed  that  by  the  end  of  1871,  both 
towers  will  haye  reached  the  base  of  the 
pointed  octagonal  lanterns,  after  which  the 
labor  will  be  greatly  diminished.  In  the  mean- 
time  the  decoration  of  the  interior  and  the 
growth  of  the  immense  main  portal  haye  not 
been  neglected. 

— '  A  curious  form  of  religious  intole- 
rance has  recently  been  manifested  in  ^lu- 
nich.  The  painter  Eaulbach  exhibited  a  new 
picture,  representing  the  inquisitor  Peter 
Arbues,  in  the  act  of  sentencing  a  heretical 
family  to  be  burned.  He  immediately  re- 
ceiyed  threatening  letters,  to  which  he  at 
first  paid  no  attention,  but  the  indications 
soon  became  so  strong  that  the  picture  would 
be  destroyed  unless  it  were  withdrawn  from 
exhibition,  that  Kaulbach  was  finally  com- 
pelled to  remoye  it.  This  is  another  triumph 
of  that  spirit  which  canonized  certain  inquis- 
itors a  few  years  ago,  and  would  now  restore 
the  Inquisition,  were  such  a  thing  possible. 


This  year  is  to  witness  a  renewal  of 

the  celebrated  Mirade-Plajs,  at  Ammogu, 
in  Bayaria,  the  last  exhibition  (which  was  tt- 
tended  by  an  immense  crowd  of  foreign  too^ 
ists)  haying  occurred  in  1860.  The  pbvi^ 
representing  the  Creation,  the  Life  of  Qint, 
and  Tarious  other  Mediseyal  mysteries,  win  be 
giyen  at  intenrals,  lasting  from  May  untfl 
September.  Arrangements  hayo  been  made 
to  entertain  an  immense  number  of  itrtB- 
gers. 

The  literary  and  artistic  journals  of 

Germany  give  prominent  reports  of  the  itcpi 
taken  towards  the  foundation  of  a  HetropoUtn 
Art-Museum  in  New  York.  The  progresi  of 
the  undertaking  is  followed  with  the  deepert 
interest,  and  probably  no  other  moyement  ii 
the  direction  of  a  higher  culture  wobM 
awaken  such  a  hearty  sympathy  abroad. 

The  destruction    of   ancient  mono* 

ments  in  Turkey  goes  on  at  a  rate  tbt 
awakes  the  lamentations  of  dyilized  Eoropci 
That  the  old  walls  of  Constantinople  shooU 
be  torn  down,  is  perhaps  ineritable;  bit 
when  we  hear  that  the  so-called  '*  Palace  of 
Priam  '*  at  Absos  is  nearly  destroyed  for  tkt 
sake  of  building-stone,  and  that  the 
ducts  of  Ephesus  haye  been  levelled  to 
a  railroad,  the  impression  is  not  fayonbb 
either  to  the  Turkish  Goyemment  or  its  l» 
eign  adyisers.  When  all  of  Asia  Ifinor  ii 
opened  to  trayel  by  the  railways  now  project 
ed,  the  doom  of  the  ancient  cities  will  be 
sealed. 

A  very  interesting  discoyery  hn 

been  made  near  Gythion  (Sparta).  It  is  a 
square-hewn  stone,  on  the  top  of  which  ten 
conical  holes  haye  been  carefully  cut  EMk 
of  these  holes  is  of  different  capacity,  and 
each  has  engrayed  near  it  the  name  of  the 
liquid  measure,  for  which  it  famished  a  bop- 
mal  standard.  This,  we  belieyc,  is  the  fint 
instance  of  the  actual  Hquid  measure  of  the 
Greeks  haying  been  restored. 

The  Swiss  archaeologists  are  excited 

oyer  the  discoyery  of  a  Druid  altar  in  Cuitoii 
Zurich.  A  careful  inspection  of  this  and 
other  Druidical  stones  in  the  neighborhood  bii 
led  to  the  discoyery  of  about  60  hieroglyphi- 
cal  figures,  which  haye  not  been  dedphocd. 
Without  doubt  these  remains  date  from  Iks 
ante-Roman  times. 


PUTNAM'S    MAGAZINE 


OP 


LITERATURE,   SCIENCE,  ART, 


AND 


NATIONAL  INTERESTS. 


Vol.  v.— MAT— 1870.— No.  XXIX. 


OUR  CELTIO  INHERITANCR 


OiTE  of  the  oldest  specimens  of  Gaelic 
poetry  tells  how  Oisin  was  once  enticed 
by  fairies  into  a  cavern,  where,  by  some 
of  their  magical  arts,  he  was  for  a  long 
time  imprisoned.  To  amuse  himself 
during  his  confinement,  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  whittle  the  handle  of  his  spear, 
And  cast  the  shavings  into  a  stream 
which  flowed  at  his  feet.  His  father, 
Finn,  alter  many  vain  attempts  to  find 
him,  came  one  day  to  the  stream,  and, 
recognizing  the  shavings  floating  on  its 
mirfiioe  as  portions  of  Oisin's  spear,  fol- 
lowed the  stream  to  its  source  and  dis- 
covered his  son. 

The  legend  may  illustrate  the  fate  of 
the  people  to  whose  literature  it  belongs. 
It  has  been  a  perplexing  question,  what 
became  of  that  old  Titan,  who  led  the 
van  in  the  migrations  of  races  west- 
ward, and  whom  Aristotle  describes  *^  as 
dretidiiig  neither  earthquakes  nor  iatin- 
dations;  as  rushing  armed  into  the 
waves ;  as  plunging  their  new-bom  in- 
fants into  cold  water  ^ — a  custom  still 
common  among  the  Irish — ^*  or  clothing 
tiiem  in  scanty  garments.^' 

Two  thousand  years  ago,  we  know 
fh>m  Ephorus  and  other  classic  geogra- 
phers, the  Celts  occupied  more  territory 
than  Teuton,  Greek,  and  Latin  com- 
bined. They  were  wonderful  explor- 
ers ;  brave,  enterprising,  deHghthig  in 


the    unknown    and    marvellous,    they 
pushed  eagerly  forward,  over  mountain 
and  river,  through  forest  and  morass, 
until  their  dominion  extended  from  the 
western  coasts  of  Ireland,  France,  and 
Spain,  to  the  nmrshes  around  St.  Peters- 
burg and  the  frontiers  of  Cappadocia : 
in  fact,  they  were  masters  of  all  Europe, 
except  the  little  promontories  of  Italy 
and  Greece;  and  these  were  not  safe 
from  their  incursions.      Six  centuries 
before  Christ,  we  find  them  invading 
Northern  Italy,  founding  Milan,  Yerona, 
Brixia,  and  inspiring  them  with  a  spirit 
of  independence  which  Roman  tyranny 
could  never  entirely  subdue.    Two  cen- 
turies later,  they  descend  from  their 
northern  homes  as  far  as  Rome,  become 
masters  of  the  city,  kill  the  Senate,  and 
would  have  taken  the  capitol,  had  not 
Camillus  finally  repulsed  them.    A  cen- 
tury later,  they  pour  into  Greece  in  a 
similar  way,  and  would   surely  have 
overrun  that  country,  had  not  their  pro- 
found reverence  for  the  supernatural— 
a  characteristic  not  yet  lost — led  them 
to  turn  back  awed  by  the  sacred  rites 
of  Delphos.    Their  last  and  most  formi- 
dable appearance  among   the  classics 
was  in  that  famous  campaign — ^a  cen- 
tury before  Csesar — ^when  the  skill  and 
bravery  of  Marius  saved  the  Roman  re- 
public. 


ItetntH,  la  tht  7Mr  IttO.  kr  O.  P.  TVTHkU  ft  BOIT,  U  tl*  a«fk'a  Oflat  af  Uia  DUtrld  Caart  af  Ilia  C.  t.  far  tha  Baatkan  DUtrlct  af  V.  T. 

VOL.  V. — 34 


514 


Pctnam's  Magazikx. 


pfaj, 


Then  the  scales  turn :  the  Romans  be- 
come the  invaders,  and  the  Celts  suffer 
ruinous  defeats.  In  that  great  battle 
with  Quintus  Fabius  Maximus,  Csesar 
tells  the  Gauls  two  hundred  thousand  of 
their  countrymen  were  slain.  Through 
nearly  all  the  vast  territory  they  once 
inhabited,  the  Roman  empire  became 
supreme;  and  where  Rome  failed  to 
gain  the  supremacy,  the  persistent  Teu- 
tons, pressing  closely  on  their  rear,  gen- 
erally completed  the  conquest.  Every- 
where, at  the  commencement  of  the 
Christian  era, — except  in  the  compara- 
tively insignificant  provinces  of  Ireland, 
Scotland,  "Wales,  and  Armorica, — ^this 
great  Celtic  people  vanish  so  suddenly 
and  so  completely  from  history,  that  their 
former  existence  soon  seems  like  one  of 
the  myths  of  a  pre-historic  age.  In  those 
regions  where  the  Celts  retained  their 
identity,  prolonged  political  and  re- 
ligious animosities  have  tended  to  throw 
into  still  greater  oblivion  all  mementoes 
of  their  early  greatness.  Their  English 
rulers  have  treated  them  as  members  of 
an  inferior  race.  Glorying  in  his  popu- 
lar misnomer,  the  Anglo-Saxon  has 
generally  ignored  all  kinship  with  those 
Britons  whom  his  ancestors  subdued. 

"  Little  superior  to  the  natives  of  the 
Sandwich  Islands ;  ''—says  Lord  Macau- 
lay  in  his  positive  way,  and  dismisses  the 
subject  as  unworthy  farther  notice. 
"  When  the  Saxons  arrived,  the  ancient 
Britons  were  all  slain,  or  driven  into 
the  mountains  of  Wales ;"— say  our  com- 
mon school  histories.  *^  Aliens  in 
speech,  in  religion,  in  blood ;  " — says 
Lord  Lyndhurst,  with  traditional  viru- 
lence, in  that  speech  which  Shell  so  ably 
answered. 

Still,  scraps  from  Oisin's  spear  have 
been  floating  down  the  current  of  An- 
glo-Saxon life.  In  language,  words 
have  arisen ;  in  politics,  literature,  and 
religion,  ideas  and  sentiments  have  been 
expressed,  bearing  unmistakably  the 
impress  of  the  old  Titan,  and  showing 
conclusively  that  his  spirit,  although  so 
long  concealed,  was  still  influencing  and 
inspiring  even  the  descendants  of  Heng- 
ist  and  Horsa. 

These  evidences  of  a  Celtic  presence 


in  the  Anglo-Saxon  the  wonderful  du- 
coveries  of  modem  science  have  nude 
BO  manifest,  that  men  are  beginmng  it 
last  to  recognize  them ;  and,  daring  tke 
past  century,  some  of  our  most  noted 
scholars  have  been  patiently  endeavw- 
ing  to  trace  them  to  their  original 
source. 

Philology,  although  one  of  the  young-- 
est  of  our  sciences,  has  been  of  the 
greatest  service  in  putting  us  on  the 
right  track  in  our  search  after  this  pio- 
neer of  nations.  By  its  subtle  art  of 
drawing  from  words — ^those  oldest  pt- 
limpsestic  monuments  of  meSf  thdr 
original  inscriptions — it  has  cleared  ip 
many  a  mystery  in  which  the  old  Celt 
seemed  hopelessly  enveloped.  Those  ad- 
venturous tribes  who  first  forced  thdr 
way  through  the  western  European  ^• 
demess,  left  memorials  of  their  piescnci 
which  no  succeeding  invaders  havebeei 
able  to  eflace,  in  the  names  they  gaie 
to  prominent  landmarks ;  so  that^ths 
mountains  and  rivers,'' — to  nse  a  meta- 
phor of  Palgrave's, — "still  muramr 
voices  "  of  this  denationalized  people. 
The  Alps,  Apennines,  Pyrenees^  the 
Rhine,  Oder,  and  Avon, — all  bear  wit- 
ness to  the  extensive  dominion  of  fte 
race  by  whom  these  epithets  were  tta/t 
bestowed.  By  means  of  these  ^theli^ 
the  Celts  have  been  traced  from  their 
original  home  in  Central  Asia  in  two 
diverging  lines  of  migrations.  Gertiin 
tribes,  forcing  their  way  through  ooffli- 
em  Europe,  seem  to  have  passed  from 
the  Cimbric  Chersonese— or  Denmark— 
into  the  north  of  Ireland  and  Scotiasd; 
others,  taking  a  southerly  route,  flnaOy 
entered  the  south  of  Great  Britain  horn 
the  northern  coasts  of  France  and  Spain. 
The  British  Isles  became  thus  the  termi- 
nus of  two  widely-diverging  Celtic  mi- 
grations. 

Naturally,  the  different  climatic  infln- 
ences  to  which  they  were  subject  dm^ 
ing  their  separate  wanderings,  tended 
to  produce  a  variety  of  dialects  and 
popular  characteristics.  Those  old  Brit- 
ons, however,  whom  Ca»ar  first  intro- 
duces to  history,  all  belonged  substaa- 
tially  to  one  people.  Zeuss,  after  a 
patient  drudgery  of  thirteen  years  in 


1870.] 


OuB  Ckltio  Inhsbitanoe. 


61ff 


inveetigatiDg  the  oldest  Celtic  manu- 
scripts, lias  proved  beyond  question,  in 
his  Grammatica  Celtica,  not  only  that 
the  Cymry,  or  modern  Welsh,  are  of  the 
same  family  with  the  Gael  or  modem 
Irish  and  Scotch,  but  that  all  the  Celtic 
people  are  only  another  division  of 
that  great  Indo-European  family  out  of 
which  the  nations  of  Europe  originally 
sprang.  More  extensive  philological  in- 
Testigations  have  indicated  a  still  near- 
er relationship  between  the  Celt  and 
the  Anglo-Saxon.  In  Great  Britain, 
Celtic  names  linger  not  only  upon  all 
the  mountains  and  rivers,  with  scarcely 
an  exception,  but  upon  hundreds  and 
hundreds  of  the  towns  and  villages, 
valleys  and  brooks,  and  the  more  insig- 
nificant localities  of  the  country. 

How  frequently  Aber  and  Inver,  Bod 
and  Caer  or  Car,  Strath  and  Ard,  ap- 
pear in  combination  as  the  eye  glances 
erer  a  map  of  England.  Is  not  this  S&ct 
most  naturally  explained  by  the  suppo- 
flition  that  Briton  and  Saxon  grew  up 
together  in  the  same  localities  so  inti- 
mately, that  the  latter  found  it  most 
convenient  to  adopt  the  names  of  places 
which  the  former  had  already  bestowed  ? 
The  Celtic  root  with  Saxon  suffix  or 
pr^^,  BO  often  g^reeting  us  in  any  de- 
scription of  English  topography,  cer- 
tainly hints  at  a  closer  amalgamation 
of  the  two  races  than  school  histories 
are  wont  to  admit  So  the  language 
we  daily  speak,  frequently  as  it  has 
been  denied,  is  found  strongly  impreg- 
nated with  Celtic  words,  and  many  of 
these  our  most  idiomatic  and  expres- 
flive.  Balderdash,  banner,  barley,  bas- 
ket, bicker,  bother,  bully,  carol,  cudgel, 
dastard,  fudge,  grudge,  grumble,  har- 
lot, hawker,  hoyden,  loafer,  lubber, 
nudge,  trudge, — may  serve  as  speci- 
mens. The  unwritten  dialects  which 
prevail  in  so  many  parts  of  England, 
give  still  more  numerous  examples  of 
this  Celtic  element. 

If  we  torn  now  to  our  family  sur- 
names, we  shall  also  find  indications 
of  a  similar  race  amalgamation.  The 
Cymric  Joneses  are  only  equalled  by  the 
Saxon  Smiths.  Take  any  of  our  ordi- 
naiy  directories,  and  how  many  Cymric 


names  you  find  like  Lewis,  Morgan, 
Jenkins,  Davis,  Owen,  Evans,  Hughes, 
Bowen,  Griffiths,  Powel,  and  Williams. 
Scarcely  less  numerous  are  the  Gaelic 
Camerons,  Campbells,  Craigs,  Cunning- 
hams, Dixons,  Douglasses,  Dufb,  Dun- 
cans, Grahams,  Grants,  Gk>rdons,  Mao- 
donalds,  Macleans,  Munros,  Murrays, 
Reids,  Robertsons,  and  Scotta. 

Although  the  application  of  these 
surnames  has  been  a  custom  only  dur- 
ing the  past  four  hundred  years,  still 
they  show  that,  at  some  period,  wo 
must  have  received  a  large  infusion  of 
Celtic  blood. 

Physiology  has  also  something  to  say 
on  this  subject.  A  careful  comparison 
of  the  different  physical  types  has 
shown  that  the  Celtic  is  found  almost 
as  frequently  among  the  English  as  the 
Saxon.  The  typical  Saxon  of  olden 
times  had  the  broad,  short  oval  skull, 
with  yellowish  or  tawny  red  hair.  The 
old  Celt  had  the  long  oval  skull,  with 
hiack  hair.  Climate  undoubtedly  modi- 
fied to  some  extent  these  types,  the 
northern  tribes  of  the  Celts  possessing 
lighter  hair  than  the  southern;  still, 
these  were  generally  the  distinguishing 
physical  characteristics  of  the  two 
races. 

How,  then,  have  these  characteristics 
been  perpetuated  t  Retzius,  one  of  the 
best  Swedish  ethnologists,  after  making 
extensive  observations  and  comparisons, 
gives  it  as  his  opinion  that  the  prevail- 
ing form  of  the  skull  found  throughout 
England  is  the  long  oval,  or  the  same 
which  is  found  still  in  Scotland,  Ira- 
land,  and  Wales.  His  statements  aie 
confirmed  by  many  other  ethnologists. 
Somehow,  after  crossing  the  German 
Ocean,  the  broad,  roundish-headed  Sax- 
on became  *^  long-headed.'^  And  his  hair 
changed.  Yellow,  or  tawny  red,  is  by 
no  means  now  the  prevailing  color 
among  the  Anglo-Saxons.  Any  English 
assembly  will  show  a  much  greater  pro- 
portion of  dark-haiied  than  light-haired 
people.  Different  habits  and  occupa- 
tions have  undoubtedly  contributed 
somewhat  to  effect  this  change.  Ger- 
mans and  English  have  alike  grows 
darker  during  the  past  one  thousand 


616 


Putnam's  Maoazinb. 


m, 


years ;  still,  the  marked  difference  wMch 
to-day  exists  between  the  Anglo-Saxon 
and  his  brethren  on  the  continent  is 
too  great  to  be  accounted  for, — except 
through  some  decided  modification  of 
the  race  relation.  The  Celts  are  the 
only  race  to  whom  such  modifications 
can  with  any  propriety  be  attributed. 

Whence  came,  then,  this  popular  opin- 
ion that  the  old  Britons  were  either  de- 
stroyed or  expelled  from  the  country  by 
their  8axon  conquerors  ?  Are  the  state- 
ments of  history  and  the  conclusions 
of  modem  science  so  contradictory  in 
this  matter  ?  Let  us  see.  At  the  Ro- 
man invasion,  65  b.  c.  Great  Britain 
seems  to  have  been  thickly  settled. 
Cffisar  says :  *'  The  population  is  infi- 
nite, and  the  houses  very  numerous." 
In  one  battle,  80,000  Britons  were  left 
dead  on  the  field ;  and  in  one  campaign 
the  Romans  lost  60,000  soldiers.  It 
took  the  Roman  legions  nearly  three 
hundred  years  to  bring  the  southern 
portion  of  the  island  under  subjection ; 
— «nd  then  that  great  wall  of  Beverus — 
seventy-four  miles  long,  eight  feet  thick, 
twelve  feet  high,  with  eighty-one  cas- 
tles and  three  hundred  and  thirty  tur- 
rets,— ^was  erected  to  secure  the  conquest 
from  the  warlike  tribes  of  the  north — a 
stupendous  undertaking,  surely,  to  pro- 
tect a  province  so  worthless  as  Macau- 
lay  asserts! 

Ptolemy  enumerates  no  less  than 
twenty  British  confederacies — with  great 
resources— south  of  this  wall,  and  eigh- 
teen upon  the  north.  During  the  five 
centuries  of  Roman  dominion,  they 
steadily  increased.  There  was  not  suffi- 
cient admixture  of  Latin  blood  to 
change  essentially  the  Celtic  character 
of  the  race.  The  Latins  came  to  con- 
trol, not  to  colonize.  When  Rome,  for 
her  own  protection,  was  obliged  to  recall 
her  legions,  thus  relinquishing  the  prov- 
iitCe  which  had  cost  so  much  time  and 
treasure  to  secure,  we  are  distinctly  told 
most  of  the  Latins  returned,  taking 
their  treasures  with  them. 

What,  then,  became  of  the  numerous 
Britons  who  remained?  Their  condi« 
tion  was  deplorable.  Accustomed  to 
rely  upon  Roman  arms  for  defense  and 


Roman  magistrates  for  the  admimstn- 
tion  of  law,  they  were  suddenly  depnicd 
of  both  defenders  and  rulers.  While 
Latin  civilization  had  developed  thdr 
resources  enough  to  make  them  a  moa 
tempting  prize  to  their  warlike  nei^ 
bors,  it  had  rendered  them  almost  mo- 
pable  of  guarding  the  treasures  thej 
had  gained.  They  had  grown  umm- 
like — ^had  lost  both  weapons  and  their 
use. 

Moreover,  a  crowd  of  rival  aspiniti 
at  once  began  a  contest  for  the  vacuk 
throne.  It  is  not  difiScult  to  bdieiv 
the  statements  of  our  earliest  histotiaiii^ 
that  many,  thus  threatened  by  extoml 
foes  and  internal  dissensions,  wererendy 
to  welcome  as  allies  the  Saxon  manad- 
ers,  preferring  to  recdve  them  as  friode 
than  to  resist  them  as  foes.  The  Saxone 
evidently  were  determined  to  come;  nd 
the  Briton, — with  characteristic  cnft,— 
concluded  to  array  Plot  and  8«xoa 
against  each  other,  hoping,  doubtloii^ 
both  would  thus  become  less  fformi- 
dable. 

Those  Saxons  also  came  in  detach* 
ments,  and  at  different  intervals.  Tliey 
were  generally  warriors,  the  picked  ma 
of  their  tribes.  Finding  a  better  comi- 
try,  and  a  people  without  mlers,  tiief 
quietly  determined  to  take 
of  both.  Their  final  ascendency 
gained,  not  by  superiority  of  number% 
but  by  superiority  of  will  and  of  anni. 
It  seems  utterly  incredible  to  suppose^ 
that,  in  their  little  open  boats,  thej 
could  have  transported  across  the  Ger- 
man Ocean  a  multitude  great  enough  to 
outnumber  the  original  British  inhahi- 
tants.  All  accounts  indicate  that  they 
were  numerically  inferior.  Nearly  one 
hundred  and  fiflky  years  of  hard  fight- 
ing were  necessary  before  Saxon  author- 
ity could  take  the  place  of  the  Roman. 

The  Welsh  historical  Triads  tells  u 
that  whole  bodies  of  the  Britons  entered 
into  "confederacy  with  their  con- 
querors " — became  Saxons.  The  Saxon 
Chronicle,  which,  meagre  and  dry  as  ii 
is,  still  gives  the  truest  account  we  have 
of  those  dark  periods,  states  that  whole 
counties,  and  numerous  towns  within 
the  limits  of  the  Heptarchy, — ^neariy  fhn 


1870J 


OUB  CSLTIO  IlTBSBITANOE. 


517 


hundred  yc&rs  after  the  first  Saxon  in- 
Tasion, — ^were  occupied  almost  entirely 
hy  Britons ;  and  that  there  were  many 
insurrections  of  semi-  Sazonized  subjects 
in  the  different  kingdoms.  Bede,  speak- 
ing of  Ethelfred  as  the  most  cruel  of 
the  Saxon  chieftains,  says  he  compelled 
the  Britons  to  be  "tributary,"  or  to 
leaye  the  country.  The  great  mass  of 
the  people  seem  to  have  chosen  the  for- 
mer condition,  and  to  have  accepted 
their  new  rulers  as  they  had  done  the 
old.  There  is  not  the  slightest  eyidence 
of  any  wholesale  extermination  by  the 
Saxons,  or  of  any  extenaiye  Celtic  emi- 
gration, except  two  passages  found  iu 
Gildas,  our  earliest  historian.  In  one 
of  these,  he  speaks  of  the  Britons  as 
haying  been  slain  like  wolyes,  or  driy- 
en  into  mountains ;  and  in  the  other,  of 
a  company  of  British  monks  guiding 
an  entire  tribe  of  men  and  women  to 
Armorica,  singing, — m  they  crossed  the 
diannel  in  their  yessels  of  skin, — "  Thou 
hast  giyen  us  as  sheep  to  the  slaughter." 

Gildas'  statements  are  so  contradic- 
tory and  erroneous,  as  eyery  historical 
student  knows,  that  they  must  be  re- 
ceiyed  with  great  allowance.  He  eyi- 
dently  hated  the  Saxons,  and  shows  a 
disposition,  in  all  his  descriptions,  to 
exaggerate  the  injuries  his  countrymen 
had  receiyed.  Undoubtedly  the  Saxons 
often  exhibited  the  sayage  ferocity  com« 
mon  in  those  days,  killing  and  enslay- 
ing  their  enemies  without  much  com- 
punction; undoubtedly  many  of  the 
British,  who  had  been  Christianized, 
fled  from  the  pagan  yiolence  of  their 
conquerors  to  the  more  congenial  coun« 
tries  of  Armorica  and  Wales ;  but  that 
most  of  them  were  obliged  thus  to 
choose  between  a  yiolent  death  or  ex- 
ile, is  sufSciently  disproyed,  I  think,  by 
the  eyidence  already  giyen. 

The  adoption  of  the  Saxon  language 
is  also  sometimes  cited  as  eyidence  of 
the  destruction  of  the  old  Britons; 
but  conquerors  haye  yery  often  giyen 
language  to  their  subjects,  eyen  when 
the  subjects  were  more  numerous  than 
themselyes.  Thus  the  Latin  was 
adopted  in  Gkiul;  thus  the  Arabic 
followed  the  conquests  of  the  Mussul- 


mans. Yet  there  is  nothing  but  this 
argument  from  language  and  the  state- 
ments of  Gildas — ^which  later  histo- 
rians haye  so  blindly  copied — to  giye 
any  foundation  to  ^e  conmion  opin- 
ion of  an  unmixed  Saxon  population. 
All  other  historical  records  and  infer- 
ences indicate  that  the  Anglo-Saxon 
— when  that  name  was  first  applied,  in 
the  ninth  century — represented  as  large 
a  proportion  of  Celtic  as  of  Teutonic 
blood. 

Future  inyasions  eficcted  little  change 
in  this  proportion.  The  Danes,  indeed, 
increased  somewhat  the  Teutonic  ele- 
ment, although  they  made  fearful  hayoo 
among  the  old  Saxons;  but  the  Nor- 
mans brought  with  them  ftdly  as  many 
Gauls  as  Norsemen ;  and  since  the  Nor- 
man conquest,  the  Celtic  element  has 
rather  increased  than  diminished. 

It  is  fitting  that  the  Lia  Fail,  or  stone 
of  destiny,  which  Edward  I.  brought 
from  Scotland,  and  upon  which  the 
Celtic  kings  for  many  generations  had 
been  crowned,  should  still  form  the 
seat  of  the  English  throne,  and  thus 
become  a  symbol — although  undesigned 
— of  that  Celtic  basis  which  really  un- 
derlies the  whole  structure  of  Anglo- 
Saxon  dominion. 

If  it  be  admitted,  then,  that  the  Celt 
formed  so  large  a  proportion  of  those 
races  out  of  which  the  English  people 
were  finally  composed,  it  becomes  an 
interesting  question  whether  any  of 
their  spiritual  characteristics  became 
also  the  property  of  their  conquerors. 
What  were  these  old  Celts  ?  Did  their 
blood  enrich,  orimpoyerish,  the  Saxon  ? 
Did  they  leaye  us  any  inheritance  be- 
yond certain  modifications  of  speech 
and  form?  An  answer  to  these  quee* 
tions  may  also  serye  to  confirm  the  con- 
clusions already  stated. 

We  do  not  get  much  satisfaction  to 
such  inquiries  from  contemporary  his- 
torians in  other  lands.  The  self-com- 
placent classic  troubled  himself  little 
about  neighboring  barbarians,  proyid- 
ed  they  did  not  endanger  his  safety 
or  tempt  his  cupidity.  That  they 
traded  in  tin  with  the  seafaring  Phos- 
nicians,   three   hundred   years   before 


518 


Putnam's  Maoazins. 


Pfay. 


Christ ;  that,  in  the  time  of  Csesar  and 
Aagostos,  they  had  many  barbarous 
customs,  but  had  also  their  chariots, 
fleets,  currency,  commerce,  poets,  and 
an  order  of  priests  who  were  supreme 
in  all  matters  pertaining  to  religion, 
education,  and  government ; — these,  in 
brief,  are  the  principal  facts  gleaned 
from  the  meagre  accounts  of  Greek  and 
Roman  writers  concerning  the  inhabi- 
tants of  the  Ultima  Thule  of  the  ancient 
world.  Saxon  historians  add  little  to 
this  information.  From  the  time  of 
Qildas  to  Macaulay,  they  have  generally 
viewed  the  Celt  through  the  distorted 
medium  of  their  popular  prejudices. 

The  Celt,  then,  must  be  his  own  in- 
terpreter ;  yet  the  Celt  of  to-day,  after 
suffering  for  so  many  centuries  a  treat- 
ment which  has  tended  to  blunt  and 
destroy  his  best  talent,  and  after  long 
association  with  foreign  thoughts  and 
customs,  is  by  no  means  the  best  repre- 
sentative of  his  pagan  ancestors. 

In  some  way — through  their  own  pro- 
ductions, if  possible — we  must  get  at 
the  old  Celts  themselves  before  we  can . 
determine  with  any  certainty  how  many 
of  our  popular  characteristics  can  be 
attributed  with  any  propriety  to  sijch  a 
source.  Aside  from  their  language, 
which  we  have  already  alluded  to,  their 
oldest  works  are  those  weird  megalithic 
ruins— scattered  all  over  western  Eu- 
rope, and  most  numerous  in  Brittany 
and  Great  Britain.  That  these  were  of 
Celtic  origin,  seems  indicated  both  by 
their  greater  number  and  perfection  in 
those  countries  where  the  Celt  retained 
longest  his  identity,  and  by  certain  cor- 
respondences in  form  and  masonry  with 
the  earliest  known  Celtic  structures, — 
the  cells  of  Irish  monks,  and  the  fa- 
mous round  towers  of  Ireland. 

Those  round  towers, — ^after  being  vari- 
ously explained  as  fire-towers,  astro- 
nomical observatories,  phallic  emblems, 
stylite  columns,  &c., — Dr.Petrie  has  very 
clearly  proved  were  of  ecclesiastical  ori- 
gin, built  between  the  fifth  and  thir- 
teenth centuries,  and  designed  for  bel- 
fries, strongholds,  and  watch-towers. 
Yet  these  cells  and  towers  alike  exhibit 
the  same  circular  form  and  dome  roof. 


the  same  ignorance  of  the  arch  and  c^ 
ment,  which  are  revealed  in  many  of  tb 
older  and  more  mysterious  raina. 

If  we  suppose  a  mythical  people  of 
the  stone  age  preceded  the  Indo-Emo- 
peans  in  their  wanderings, — and  then 
seems  no  need  of  sucli  a  sappoaitiaii, 
since  it  has  been  so  clearly  shown  hj 
some  of  our  best  pre-historic  arduBob- 
gists,  that  the  transition  from,  impb- 
ments  of  stone  to  iron  has  frequea&j 
taken  place  among  the  same  people,— it 
may  still  be  said  these  rains  are  entiiidf 
dissimilar  to  the  productions  of  sodi  t 
people  in  other  lands :  they  maik  t 
higher  degree  of  civilization,  and  sham 
clearly,  in  certain  cases,  the  use  of  me- 
tallic instnmients.  Some  of  them  le- 
veal  also  great  mechanical  sldU,  foie- 
thought,  and  extraordinary  oommni 
of  labor.  Most  of  these  ruins  are  ai 
least  two  thousand  years  old.  Thej 
have  been  exposed  constantly  to  the 
destructive  influences  of  a  northern  cS- 
mate ; — and  any  one  who  has  noticed  Ike 
ravages  which  merely  six  centuries  hife 
wrought  upon  even  the  protected  8toll^ 
work  of  English  cathedrals,  can  vppn- 
ciate  the  power  of  these  atmospheric 
vandals ; — they  have  suffered  erengreit- 
er  injury  from  successive  invaders;  tnd 
still  few  can  gaze  upon  them  to-dsj 
without  being  impressed  with  their 
massive  grandeur. 

Of  the  vast  ruins  of  Carnac,  in  Bnir 
tany,  four  thousand  great  triliths  still 
remain ;  some  of  these  are  twenty-two 
feet  highi  twelve  feetf  broad,  and  lix 
feet  thick,  and  are  estimated  to  wdgfa 
singly  256,800  pounds.  Says  M.  Cm- 
bray :  "  These  stones  have  a  most  ex- 
traordinary appearance.  They  are  iso- 
lated in  a  great  plain  without  trees  or 
bushes ;  not  a  flint  or  fragment  of  stone 
is  to  be  seen  on  the  sand  which  supports 
them ;  they  are  poised  without  founda- 
tion, several  of  them  being  movable.^ 
In  Abury  and  Stonehenge  there  are 
similar  structures,  not  as  extensive,  in- 
deed, but  giving  evidence  of  much 
greater  architectural  and  mechanictl 
skill.  They  are  found  also  in  different 
parts  of  Great  Britain  and  the  Orkney 
Islands  and  the  Hebrides. 


1870.] 


OXTB  CSLTIO  LmSBlTANOX. 


619 


How  were  these  immense  stones  trans- 
ported— for  there  are  no  quarries  within 
seyeral  mDcs — and  by  what  machinery 
could  the  great  lintels  of  Stonehenge, 
for  instance,  have  been  raised  to  their 
present  position  ? 

We  may  smile  incredulously  at  the 
learned  systems  of  Oriental  mythology 
which  enthusiastic  antiquaries  have  dis- 
covered in  these  yoiceless  sentinels  of 
forgotten  builders,  but  can  we  question 
the  evidence  they  give  of  scientific  pro- 
ficiency— superior  to  any  ever  attained 
by  a  "  race  of  savages  "  ? 

Their  cromlechs,  or  tombs,  exhibit 
clearly  the  same  massiveness.  The  Irish 
people  still  call  them  '^  giant  beds,"  but 
they  give  us  no  additional  information 
concerning  the  people  whose  skeletons 
they  contain  ; — unless  there  be  a  sugges- 
tion in  the  kneeling  posture  in  which 
their  dead  were  generally  buried,  of 
that  religions  reverence  which  charac- 
terized them  when  alive. 

In  the  Barrows— or  great  mounds  of 
earth — ^which  they  seem  to  have  used  at 
a  later  period  as  sepulchres,  we  do  get 
a  few  more  interesting  hints  concerning 
their  early  condition.  In  these,  large 
nunbers  of  necklaces,  swords,  and  va- 
rious ornaments  and  weapons  in  gold 
and  bronze, — some  of  exquisite  work- 
manship and  original  design, — ^have  been 
found,  showing  at  least  that  they  had 
the  art  of  working  metals,  and  many 
of  the  customs  of  a  comparatively  civil- 
ized life.  All  these  relics,  however, 
although  interesting  in  themselves,  and 
confirming  the  few  statements  of  classic 
historians,  only  serve  to  correct  the  pop- 
nlar  notion  concerning  the  savage  con- 
dition of  the  old  Britons.  They  leave 
us  still  in  ignorance  of  those  mental  and 
spiritual  characteristics  which  we  are 
most  anxious  to  discover. 

By  far  the  most  extensive  and  valu- 
able material  for  determining  the  char- 
acter of  the  ancient  Celt,  although  the 
most  neglected,  is  presented  in  their  lit- 
erature. Few  persons  I  imagine  who  have 
given  the  subject  no  special  investiga- 
tion, are  aware  how  extensive  this  litera- 
ture is,  as  found  in  the  Gaelic  and  Cym- 
ric tongues.    In  the  library  of  Trinity 


College,  Dublin,  there  are  one  hundred 
and  forty  manuscript  volumes.  A  still 
more  extensive  collection  is  in  the  Royal 
Irish  Academy.  There  are  also  large  col- 
lections in  the  British  Museum,  and  in 
the  Bodleian  Library  and  Imperial  libra- 
ries of  France  and  Belgium,  and  in  the 
Vatican; — besides  numerous  private  col- 
lections in  the  possession  of  the  nobility 
of  Ireland,  Great  Britain,  and  on  the 
continent. 

To  give  an  idea  of  these  old  manu- 
scripts, O^Curry  has  taken  as  a  standard 
of  comparison  the  Annals  of  the  Four 
Masters,  which  was  published  in  1861, 
in  seven  large  quarto  volumes  contain- 
ing 4,215  closely-printed  pages.  There 
are,  in  the  same  library,  sixteen  other 
vellum  volumes,  which,  if  similarly 
published,  would  make  17,400  pages; 
and  six  hundred  paper  manuscripts, 
comprising  80,000  pages.  Mac  Firbis' 
great  book  of  genealogies  would  alone 
fill  1,800  similar  pages;  and  the  old 
Brehon  laws,  it  is  calculated,  when  pub- 
lished, will  contain  8,000  pages. 

The  Cymric  collection,  although  less 
extensive,  still  comprises  more  than  one 
thousand  volumes.  Some  of  these,  in- 
deed, are  only  transcripts  of  the  same 
productions,  yet  many  of  them  are 
original  works. 

A  private  collection  at  Peniath  num- 
bers upward  of  four  hundred  manu- 
scripts ;  and  a  large  number  are  in  the 
British  Museum,  in  Jesus  College,  and 
in  the  libraries  of  various  noblemen  of 
England  and  Wales. 

The  Myvyrian  manuscripts,  collected 
by  Owen  Jones,  and  now  deposited  in 
the  British  Museum,  alone  amount  to 
forty-seven  volumes  of  poetry,  in  16,000 
pages,  and  fifty-three  volumes  of  prose, 
in  about  15,800  pages ;  and  these  com- 
prise only  a  small  portion  of  the  manu- 
scripts now  existing.  Extensive  as  are 
these  collections,  we  know,  from  trust- 
worthy accounts,  the  Danish  invaders 
of  Ireland,  in  the  ninth  and  tenth  cen- 
turies, made  it  a  special  business  to  tear, 
bum,  and  drown — ^to  quote  the  exact 
word — all  books  and  records  which 
were  found  in  any  of  the  churches, 
dwellings,  or  monasteries  of  the  island. 


620 


PUTVAM^B  MaGAZIXE. 


IMe, 


The  great  wars  of  the  seyenteenth  cen- 
tury proved  Btill  more  destructive  to 
the  Irish  manuscripts.  The  jealous 
Protestant  conquerors  burnt  all  they 
could  find  among  the  Catholics.  A 
great  number  of  undiscovered  manu- 
scripts are  referred  to  and  quoted  in 
those  which  now  exist.  From  their 
titles,  we  judge  more  have  been  lost 
than  preserved.  So  late  as  the  sixteenth 
century,  many  were  referred  to  as  then 
in  existence,  of  which  no  trace  can  now 
be  found.  Some  of  them  may  still  be 
hidden  in  the  old  monasteries  and  cas- 
tles. The  finding  of  the  book  of  Lis- 
more  is  an  illustration  of  what  may 
have  been  the  fate  of  many.  In  1814, 
while  the  Duke  of  Devone^ire  was  re- 
pairing his  ancient  castle  of  Lismore, 
the  workmen  had  occasion  to  reopen  a 
doorway  which  had  been  long  closed,  in 
the  interior  of  the  castle.  They  found 
concealed  within  it  a  box  containing  an 
old  manuscript  and  a  superb  old  cro- 
zier.  The  manuscript  had  been  some- 
what injured  by  the  dampness,  and  por- 
tions of  it  had  been  gnawed  by  rats. 
Moreover,  when  it  was  discovered,  the 
workmen  carried  off  several  leaves  as 
mementoes.  Some  of  these  were  after- 
ward recovered,  and  enough  now  re- 
mains to  give  us  valuable  additions  to 
our  knowledge  of  Irish  customs  and  tra- 
ditions. It  is  by  no  means  improbable 
that  others,  similarly  secreted  in  monas- 
teries and  private  dwellings,  may  still 
be  discovered. 

In  O'Clery's  preface  to  the  "  Succes- 
sion of  Kings  "—one  of  the  most  valu- 
able of  the  Irish  annals — he  says: 
"Strangers  have  taken  the  principal 
books  of  Erin  into  strange  countries 
and  among  unknown  people."  And 
again,  in  the  preface  to  the  "  Book  of 
Invasions  " :  "  Sad  evil  I  Short  was  the 
time  until  dispersion  and  decay  over- 
took the  churches  of  the  saints,  their 
relics,  and  their  books ;  for  there  is  not 
to  be  found  of  them  now  that  has  not 
been  carried  away  into  distant  coun- 
tries and  foreign  nations ;  carried  away, 
so  that  their  fate  is  not  known  from 
that  time  hither." 

When  we  consider,  thus,  the  number 


of  literary  productions  which  have  hen 
either  lost  or  destroyed,  and  the  loi. 
ber  still  remaining,  we  must  admit  thil 
there  has  been,  at  some  period,  giHt 
intellectual  activity  among  the  Cdtie 
people.  How  far  back  these  prod■^ 
tions  may  be  traced,  is  a  question  whick 
cannot  now  be  discussed  properly,  wi^ 
out  transgressing  the  limits  assigned  to 
this  article.  We  can  do  little  more,  tf 
present,  than  call  attention  to  the  ct 
tent  of  these  writings,  and  their  impo^ 
tance.  Many  of  them  are  nnquestioi^ 
ably  older  than  the  Canterbury  Taki; 
they  give  us  the  clearest  insight  into  ths 
character  of  a  people  once  great  ind 
famous,  but  now  almost  lost  in  oblivicn; 
and,  although  containing  a  large  amoimt 
of  literary  rubbish,  they  still  oompriie 
numerous  poems,  voluminous  codes  of 
ancient  laws,  extensive  annals— older 
than  any  existing  European  nation  can  ex- 
hibit in  its  own  tongue,  and  a  body  of 
romance  which  no  ancient  literature  lui 
ever  excelled,  and  from  which  moden 
fiction  drew  its  first  inspiration. 

Had  this  literature  no  special  relatioa 
to  our  own  history,  we  might  natunDj 
suppose  it  would  repay  investigatioai 
for  the  curious  information  it  contains 
of  a  bygone  age,  and  the  intellectoil 
stimulus  it  might  impart.  The  condi- 
tion of  Ireland,  to-day,  is  also  of  sodi 
importance  to  England  and  America— 
the  Irish  Celt,  in  this  nineteenth  cen- 
tury, enters  so  prominently  into  our 
politics  and  questions  of  reform,  that 
every  thing  is  worth  investigating  which 
can  reveal  to  us  more  clearly  his  charac- 
ter and  capacity. 

But  these  productions  of  his  ances- 
tors have  for  us  a  still  deeper  sigoifi- 
cance.  They  are  peculiarly  our  inheri- 
tance. Celt  or  Teuton,  or  both,  we 
must  mainly  be ;  our  ancestry  can  natu- 
rally be  assigned  to  no  other  raoea^ 
Much  in  us  is  manifestly  not  Teutonic 
The  Anglo-Saxon  is  quite  a  different 
being  from  all  other  Saxons.  Climate 
and  occupation  may  explain,  in  a  meas- 
ure, the  difference,  but  not  entirely. 
Some  of  the  prominent  traits  whidi 
Englishmen  and  Americans  alike  pos- 
sess, belong  so  clearly  to  the  GermsUi 


1870.] 


The  Talb  of  ▲  Oombt. 


52} 


or  Teutonic  people,  in  every  land,  that 
we  do  not  hesitate  to  ascribe  them  at 
once  to  our  Saxon  blood; — but  what 
shall  we  do  with  others  equally  promi- 
nent, and  naturally  foreign  to  Teutons 
everywhere  ? 

Were  these  found  peculiarly  charac- 
terizing the  Celts  from  their  earliest  his- 
tory, might  we  not — must  we  not — ^with 
equal  propriety  also  ascribe  them  to  our 
Celtic  blood  ? 

Ifi  then,  it  can  be  shown — and  we 
think  it  can— that,  not  only  before  the 
time  of  Gower  and  Chaucer,  but  aiflo 
before  Caedmon  uttered  the  first  note 
of  English  song,  Celtic  wits  and  poets 
were  busy  expressing  in  prose  and  verse 


the  sentiments  of  their  people,  then 
these  old  manuscripts  become  of  incal- 
culable value  in  explaining  our  indebt- 
edness to  those  Britons,  who,  as  history 
and  science  alike  indicate,  contributed 
so  essentially  to  our  popular  forma- 
tion. 

On  some  future  occasion,  we  may  pre- 
sent such  illustrations  of  their  antiquity 
and  general  character,  as  will  make  it 
appear  still  more  clearly  that  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  is— what  we  might  expect  the 
of&pring  of  two  such  varied  races  to 
become — the  union  of  the  varied  char- 
acteristics of  Celt  and  Teuton,  stronger, 
braver,  more  complete  in  every  respect, 
for  his  diverse  parentage. 


■«♦♦■ 


THE  TALE  OF  A  COMET. 


IN  TWO  PABTS:    I. 


**  Benxm  ziaturm  sacra  nu  non  simal  tradit. 


L — THE  PBOraSSOK^S  LSTTBB. 


Initiatoi  hob  oredimiui ;  in  vettibnio  ejui  hoeremuA." 

SsKBCA.    Nat.  Qasoet  ril. 


Thb  year  in  which  the  comet  came  I 
was  living  by  myself,  at  the  windmill. 
Early  in  May  I  received  from  my  friend 
the  Professor  the  following  letter  : 

**  College  Obssstatort,  May  5. 

"Mt  Deaji  Bebnard, — I  want  to  ask 
a  fiivor,  which,  if  you  please  to  grant  it,  I 
honestly  thiok  will  contribute  sensibly 
to  the  advancement  of  science,  without 
causing  much  disorder  to  your  bachelor 
life.  I  want  you,  in  fact,  to  take  a  pupil. 
There  has  come  to  us  a  very  strange 
young  man,  who  knows  nothing  but  the 
mathematics ;  but  knows  them  so  thor- 
oughly and  with  such  remarkable  and 
intuitive  insight,  that  I  am  persuaded  he 
is  destined  to  become  the  wonder  of  this 
age.  His  name  is  Raimond  Letoile ;  he 
is  about  twenty  years  old,  and  his  nature, 
80  far  as  I  can  determine  upon  slight  ao- 
qufuntance,  is  singularly  amiable,  pure, 
and  unsophisticated.  His  reconmienda- 
tions  are  good,  he  has  money  sufficient  for 
all  his  purposes,  and  I  think  you  will  find 
him  a  companion  as  well  as  a  pnpil, 
who,  while  giving  you  but  little  trouble, 
will  reward  you  for  your  care  by  the 
contemplation  of  his  unexampled  pro- 
gress. I  want  you  to  take  charge  of  this 


young  man,  my  dear  Bernard,  because  I 
have  confidence  in  the  evenness  of  your 
disposition,  and  the  steady  foothold  yon 
have  obtained  upon  the  middle  way  of 
life.  He  is  an  anomaly,  and  therefore 
must  be  treated  with  prudence,  and  a 
tender  reserve  such  as  we  need  not 
exercise  toward  the  rough-and-tumble 
youth  of  the  crowd.  In  fact,  this  young 
man  Raimond  Letoile  is  a  unique  and 
perfect  specimen  of  that  rare  order  of 
beings,  which,  not  being  able  to  anato- 
mize and  classify,  owing  to  tlie  infre- 
quency  of  their  occurrence,  we  men  of 
Science  carelessly  label  under  the  name 
of  OeniuSy  and  put  away  upon  our  shelves 
for  fhture  examination.  Letoile  is  cer- 
tainly a  genius,  and  when  properly  in- 
structed, I  believe  ho  will  develop  a 
faculty  for  the  operations  of  pure  science 
such  as  has  no  parallel,  unless  we  turn 
to  the  arts  and  compare  him  with  Ra- 
phael and  Mozart.  He  is  a  born  mathe- 
matician. And  when  I  say  this,  I  do 
not  mean  that  he  simply  has  an  extraor- 
dinary power  of  calculation,  like  Colbnrn 
and  those  other  prodigies  who  have 
proved  but  pigmies  after  all  —  I  mean 
that  he  possesses  an  intuitive  faculty  fbr 
the  higher  analysis,  and  possesses  It  to 
such  a  wonderful  degree  that  dl  of  us 
here  stand  before  him  in  genuine  amaze- 


623 


PUTNAM^B  MaOA&NS. 


[Uv, 


ment.  He  knows  apparently  but  little 
about  our  systems  of  formulation,  though 
every  day  rapidly  advancing  in  techiuoal 
knowledge.  And  yet,  by  processes  not 
in  the  books,  processes  apparently  origi- 
nal with  himself,  and  which  he  is  not 
able  to  explain,  he  has  worked  out  with 
ease  results  such  as  have  roost  violently 
exercised  the  highest  order  of  mathe- 
matical minds.  In  a  word,  this  extraor- 
dinary youth  maybe  said  to  think  in 
figures  and  symbols — the  ordinary  ca- 
reer of  his  reason  is  along  the  pathway 
of  scientific  formula.  More  than  all 
this,  his  mind  seems  to  have  grasped  at 
processes  and  solved  problems  which  we 
cannot  compass  with  all  our  skill,  and 
which,  with  his  present  deficient  powers 
of  expression,  he  is  incapable  oi  inter- 
preting to  us. 

"In  all  other  respects,  Letoile  is  ut- 
terly ignorant  and  unsophisticated — in 
efiect,  a  mere  infant  Of  applied  science, 
of  history,  of  those  simple  matters  which 
are  the  first  steps  of  every  school-boy, 
he  knows  nothing.  Of  the  common  phe- 
nomena of  nature  he  has  surprising  small 
knowledge;  nor  is  he  much  better  in- 
formed about  the  ordinary  observances 
of  social  life.  To  use  the  language  of 
our  venerable  President,  he  could  not 
seem  less  one  of  our  own  people  had 
ho  been  dropped  upon  this  earth,  a  full- 
grown  stranger,  accidentally  snatched 
from  some  other  sphere  where  the  cus- 
tomary interchange  of  thought  is  through 
the  medium  of  mathematical  formulsd. 

"  It  is  in  order  to  obtain  for  him  in- 
struction in  these  things  of  which  he 
knows  nothing  that  we  wish  you  to  take 
him.  I  would  myself  teach  him,  gladly, 
but,  as  you  know,  my  duties  are  already 
too  many  for  me  to  hope  to  do  him  jus- 
tice; and  besides,  the  gregarious  halls 
of  a  large  college  are  hardly  fit  schools 
of  life  to  a  person  so  inexperienced  and 
irasophisticated.  We  are  confident  that, 
if  you  will  accept  the  charge  of  his  edu- 
cation for  a  year  or  so,  our  young  man 
will  lonrn  to  walk  so  securely  in  the 
right  paths  that  there  will  be  no  danger 
of  his  going  amiss  hereafter.  We  feel  a 
responsibility  toward  him  that  is  meas- 
ured by  the  extraordinary  character  of 
his  talents,  and  by  his  helpless,  confiding 
nature.  Wo  are  sure  that,  in  asking  you 
to  share  this  responsibility  with  us,  we 
are  doin<;  our  duty  by  the  young  man, 
and  at  the  same  time  are  giving  you  an 
opj)ortunity  to  do  good  which  you  will 
be  glad  to  embrace. 

*'  Should  you  accept  this  charge,  my 
dear  Bernard,  you  must  treasure  it  sa- 


credly, and  administer  it  with  rare  jod^ 
ment  and  tender  aolicitade ;  for  I  neci 
not  tell  yon,  men  like  this  Letoile  and 
too  fragile  and  delicate  a  constitatioQti 
endure  rough  usage.  We  can  sendov 
earthenware  to  the  well,  but  we  uaA 
keep  our  finer  porcelains  indoors.  And 
if  any  mental  or  moral  hurt  should  ooon 
to  the  young  man,  we  conld  notfulto 
be  deeply  grieved*  Oar  Faculty  look 
upon  him  as  the  professors  of  a  maiial 
academy  are  said  to  look  npon  a  cbiii 
possessed  of  one  of  those  rare  toImi 
which  do  not  appear  more  than  onoe  ii 
a  century — somethinff  to  be  tressnnd 
more  zealously  than  the  SibyPs  boofai 

**  It  has  been  well  observed  by  one  of 
the  deepest  thinkers  of  our  century,  tint 
there  is  nothing  in  the  nature  of  matb^ 
matical  science  which  prescribes  anj 
boundaries  to  its  infinite  progress.  Than 
is  no  limit  to  the  applicability  of  matb^ 
matics,  for  there  is  no  inqniry  which 
may  not  finally  be  reduced  to  a  mm 
question  of  numbers,  as  notative  fane- 
tions  of  quantities  and  their  relationiL 
The  limitation  that  does  exist  is  in  our- 
selves, in  the  imperfections  of  our  intel- 
ligonce,  and  the  absence  of  ^ower  in  oar 
minds  to  go  beyond  certain  processes 
and  degrees  of  comparison  and  abstnc- 
tion. 

"  It  is  only  by  the  discovery  of  new 
and  simpler  methods  that  the  human  in- 
tellect is  able  to  grapple  with  the  ore^ 
powering  multitude  of  new  relations  and 
conditions  which  come  up  as  knowledge 
advances.  And  this  rank  growth  of 
strange  weeds  in  the  garden  of  Soienoe 
will  always  run  beyond  our  capacity  to 
eradicate  them ;  for  it  is  part  of  our  an- 
happy  constitution  that  we  are  more  tpt 
at  imagining  than  we  are  at  reasonuif. 
Hence,  we  do  right  to  look  abroad  for 
new  methods  and  better  processes  of 
high  analysis;  for,  while  these  subtler 
processes  will  of  course  open  up  to  us  i 
vast  new  field  of  questions  beyond  oor 
grasp,  they  will  at  the  same  time  give  os 
power  to  solve  many  problems  fureadj 
presented,  but  as  yet  impracticable  to 
our  imperfect  algebra. 

^'  I  need  not  tell  you  that  the  present 
advanced  condition  of  mathematical  sci- 
ence, as  compared  with  other  sciencees 
has  not  resulted  from  a  methodical  pro- 
gression, but  has  been  reached  per  ml- 
turn.  It  is  not  coordinate  with  the  ad- 
vancement of  tlie  race,  but  due  to  the 
sublime  flights  of  individual  genius.  Oar 
science  has  not  crept  along  with  com- 
mon men  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  bat 
has  leaped  from  point  to  point  up  the 


1870.] 


Thb  Tale  of  ▲  Comst. 


628 


giddy  heights,  under  the  impulses  given 
to  it  by  the  minds  of  such  t/ncommon 
men  as  Euclid,  Archimedes,  ApoUonius, 
Pappus,  Diophantns,  Yieta,  Descartes, 
Kopler,  Newton,  Leibnitz,  Napier,  La- 
place, and  the  many  other  illastrious 
names  which  we  delight  to  honor. 

"  A  new  genius,  therefore,  in  giving 
us  new  methods,  may  virtually  enrich 
the  world  with  a  new  mathematics. 
Hence  the  sense  of  responsibility  which 
"we  feel  toward  this  young  man,  who 
seems  to  have  at  his  control,  could  we 
contrive  to  develop  them,  new  pro- 
cesses in  our  science  of  as  great  utility 
to  us  now  as  were  those  of  Diophantas 
to  the  geometers  of  his  day. 

**  In  the  light  9f  these  facts,  should 
jou  consent  to  receive  Raimond  Letoile, 
you  will  understand  the  nature  of  the 
guardianship  we  wish  you  to  assume, 
and  will  know  how  to  bring  him  under 
SQch  a  general  discipline  as  will  best  en- 
able him  to  develop  his  rare  gifts. 

**6e  kind  enough  to  reply  at  once, 
and,  if  you  will  receive  the  pupil,  let  us 
know  when  he  is  to  come,  and  how  we 
are  to  send  him. 

**  Sincerely  your  friend, 

"Oanopus  Pakallax." 

I  made  answer  to  Professor  Parallax 
that,  though  I  did  not  feel  very  compe- 
tent to  teach  ordinary  pupils,  much  less 
such  a  transcendent  genius  as  he  de- 
scribed, and  though,  sooth  to  say,  I  had 
very  little  faith  in  meteors  of  that  kind, 
I  could  not  refuse  to  oblige  gentlemen  to 
whom  I  owed  so  much  of  my  own  edu- 
cation, and  who  expressed  their  desires 
in  such  complimentary  terms.  If  the 
young  man  was  willing  to  dwell  in  a 
windmill  and  put  up  with  bachelor 
comforts  and  country  fare,  I  was  quite 
willing  to  receive  him,  whenever  he  was 
ready  to  come. 

II.— CBXRKT. 

When  I  say  that  I  lived  in  a  wind- 
mill, I  mean  in  what  had  once  been  a 
windmill.  But  its  rotary  powers  had 
got  crank,  its  sails  were  no  longer  patch- 
able,  even  in  a  beggarly  way,*  the  rats 
had  gnawed  the  service  out  of  its  bolt- 
ing-cloth, and  all  its  functions  had  quite 
surceased  in  favor  of  the  steam  mill  fur- 
ther down  the  river,  long  before  I  saw  it. 


*  <*  Patch  beside  patch  If  neighborly, 
Bat  patch  upon  patch  is  beggarly." 


When  I  did  see  it,  it  was  little  else  than 
a  clapboard  ruin ;  but  the  independent 
attitude  with  which  it  lifted  its  burly 
figure,  like  a  stout  athlete  squared  for 
fight,  suited  my  whim,  and  I  rented  it  at 
once.  The  roof  was  all  bemossed,  but 
did  not  leak,  and,  without  much  expense, 
I  fitted  up  a  bedroom,  a  study  (in  which 
I  took  my  meals),  and  had  under  the 
roof  an  ample  chamber  in  which  to  ad- 
just my  telescope.  Old  black  Nanny, 
who  lived  in  a  cleanly  cabin  close  by, 
was  my  cook,  my  housemaid,  and  also 
my  washerwoman.  My  books  were  nu- 
merous and  select;  the  dear,  delightful 
river  was  just  at  hand,  and,  when  I  was 
lonesome,  or  needed  recreation,  there 
was  Cherry,  only  across  the  stream. 

Perhaps  Cherry  had  quite  as  much  to 
do  with  my  lease  of  the  old  windmill 
as  Astronomy.  For,  though  I  was  the 
same  bookworm  then  as  now,  my 
heart  was  considerably  younger,  and  my 
head  not  gray.  I  had  just  left  college, 
and  was  so  little  used  to  beautiful  wom- 
en or  indeed  to  women  of  any  sort, 
that  when  I  met  Cherry  I  fell  so  under 
the  charm  of  her  frank,  innocent  loveli- 
ness, that  it  seemed  I  could  never  be 
done  seeing  her.  So  I  rented  the  wind- 
mill.    I   could    prosecute   my   studies 

there  to  great  advantage,  and  then 

O  Cherry  I 

She  dwelt  in  a  little  low-roofed  cot- 
tage, so  close,  indeed,  that  if  there  had 
not  been  so  many  trees  and  vines  and 
honeysuckles  and  roses  about  it,  I  could 
have  looked  into  the  windows  of  her 
dainty  room.  The  mill  stood  over 
against  a  point  —  "Windmill  Point" 
'twas  called— on  a  little  round  knob  of 
land,  the  only  thing  approaching  to  a 
hill  in  all  that  region.  At  its  base  was 
a  scrap  of  road,  no  longer  used,  but 
white  with  splintered  oyster-shells  and 
pebbles;  beyond  this,  a  skirt  of  wiry 
grass,  intergrown  with  wild  asparagus 
and  tangled  with  sea-weed,  marking  the 
limits  of  the  tide ;  then,  the  river's  mar- 
gin, sand  and  pebbles  intermingled,  white 
and  clean;  next,  the  river,  a  limpid, 
clear,  lake-like  green  width  of  fifty 
yards,  which  I  could  overcome  with  a 
dozen  strokes  of  the  paddle  when  I  had 


524 


Fdtnah^s  MAGAZCnS. 


[Mir, 


unloosed  my  little  canoe  from  the  plat- 
form made  of  two  planks  which  I  called 
my  wharf.  Once  across,  I  used  to  tie 
my  boat  to  the  trunk  of  one  of  two 
graceful  green  willows  that  stood  there 
dipping  their  long  tresses  in  the  water 
like  mermaids  bathing ;  and  then,  it  was 
but  a  step  up  the  bank— a  sloping  wave 
of  the  greenest  sward — across  the  lawn, 
and  up  to  the  cottage-porch.  I  am  quite 
sure  grass  never  grew  so  green  as  it  grew 
on  that  little  lawn;  nor  could  honey- 
suckles have  been  sweeter,  nor  roses 
more  perfect,  than  Cherry's  always  were. 
I  used  to  tell  her  it  was  her  smiles  made 
these  things  so  sweet  and  perfect;  and 
when  I  told  her,  she  used  to  smile 
again  I 

The  cottage  was  not  much  to  speak 
of— that  is  to  say,  would  not  have  been 
much  without  Cherry.  It  was  ill-con- 
trived, old,  leaky,  and  weather-stained, 
with  small  mean  windows,  and  uneven 
rickety  floors.  There  was  nevertheless 
an  appearance  of  quaint  beauty  about  it 
such  as  I  never  saw  in  any  other  house, 
besides  an  air  of  that  homely  comfort 
which  money  cannot  purchase,  nor  ar- 
chitect design.  I  never  crossed  the  lawn, 
shady  with  various  trees  that  grew  how 
they  ^^Eoeld,  nor  stepped  upon  the  low- 
j?<rOied  porch,  hedged  in  and  twined  about 
with  vines  and  flowers  in  all  the  careless 
grace  of  nature,  but  I  was  reminded  how 
aptly  all  the  scene  fitted  itself  to  Cherry, 
and  chimed  with  her  artless  freedom 
and  frank  innocence  of  look. 

One  end  of  the  porch  was  latticed, 
and  on  the  frame  a  prairie -rose  and  a 
microphylla  climbed  in  emulous  rivalry 
which  should  first  rest  its  topmost  blos- 
soms on  the  sill  of  Cherry's  window, 
to  sparkle  back  decoy  responses  to  her 
morning  salutations.  All  summer  long, 
two  great,  high-backed,  hickory  arm- 
chairs stood  on  this  porch,  like  sentinels, 
on  either  side  of  the  hall-door,  and  in 
them,  unless  the  weather  prevented,  tlie 
old  people  used  to  sit.  Cherry's  grand- 
parents; for  she  was  an  orphan,  and 
they  were  her  only  guardians.  Two  old, 
old  people,  so  old  you  would  not  have 
had  to  stretch  your  fancy  much  to  imag- 
ine that  they  came  over  in  the  first  ship; 


and  here,  the  livelong  day,  they  mod 
to  sit,  dozing,  nodding,  or  cackling  <nt 
to  one  another  or  the  person  who  wb 
by,  some  little  trifle  left  them  by  m«ii- 
ory  out  of  the  forgotten  past,  a  thio, 
withered  joke,  or  a  scrap  of  homemade 
wisdom,  as  solid  and  as  frost-bitten  ai  i 
grindstone  apple.  The  old  man  smoked 
his  pipe  now  and  then,  when  Cheny 
would  fill  and  light  it  for  him ;  and  the 
old  lady  knitted  white  jam  Btockiog!^ 
careless  about  the  stitches  she  dropped 
in  her  dreams,  for  she  knew  that  Cheny 
would  take  them  np  for  her.  Cbeny, 
smiling,  busy  Cherry,  was  their  good 
providence ;  and  they,  sat  there  seemly 
under  her  protection,  very  certain  die 
would  never  fail  them.  A  nice,  old- 
fashioned,  quiet,  cleanly  couple  as  yoa 
ever  saw,  with  manners  brought  over 
from  the  last  century,  and  garments  to 
suit  There  never  was  whiter  cambrie 
than  that  of  the  old  lady's  inside  hand- 
kerchiefs, nor  ever  shoes  that  could 
shine  in  rivalry  to  the  old  gentleman's— 
which,  indeed,  must  have  been  fashioned 
upon  the  same  last  with  the  shoes  of  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Primrose,  of  Wakefield. 

It  was  a  very  pretty  sight  indeed,  of 
an  evening  after  tea,  to  see  Cherry  at 
down  in  the  low  doorway  between  her 
grandparents,  like  a  rosy  Pomme  d*Api 
betwixt  two  shrivelled,  frosted  pippins. 
She  was  the  beau  ideal  of  serene  and 
happy  maidenhood.  One  would  have 
thought  that,  leading  such  a  quiet  life  in 
the  company  of  two  decayed  old  people, 
she  must  have  caught  their  silent,  old- 
fashioned  manners.  But  Cherry  escaped 
these  influences  by  the  very  innocence 
of  her  nature,  and  the  innate  deep  joy- 
ousness  of  her  heart.  Besides,  she  bad 
much  to  do,  and  lively  companionship 
in  it.  There  was  her  housekeeping  and 
superintendence  of  the  blowzy,  but  big- 
hearted  maid  of  all  work.  There  was 
her  poultry— her  foolish  gee^e  with  their 
spraddling  goslings;  her  chickens;  her 
young  ducks ;  her  simple,  confiding  little 
turkeys,  that  would  follow  her  about  aU 
day,  lifting  their  bills  and  crying  peep  I 
peep  I  and  hovering  under  her  petticoat, 
and  clambering  upon  her  lap  whenever 
they  had  a  chance.    There  were  her 


1870.] 


Thb  Talk  ow  ▲  Comet. 


625 


flowers,  and  her  kitchen-garden.  Cherry 
-was  a  true  country-girl ;  she  knew  every 
tree  and  shrub,  and  all  the  wild  flowers, 
and  could  tell  you  something  about  all 
the  various  inhabitants  of  the  river — the 
orabs  and  the  king-crabs,  the  oysters  on 
the  bar,  the  terrapins,  the  fish,  the 
sticklebacks  and  toad-fish  and  shrimp; 
and  also  when  it  was  time  to  catch  them, 
and  where  were  the  good  fishing  stakes, 
what  was  the  proper  bait,  and  what 
state  of  tide  and  weather  was  most  fa- 
Torable  for  their  cajolement.  From  in- 
fancy she  had  sat  beneath  the  willows, 
and  rambled  along  the  shore,  until  she 
bad  come  to  feel  a  sisterly  interest  in 
each  object,  even  to  the  toothsome  man- 
anosays  that  squirted  water  up  through 
the  sand  what  time  the  tides  were  out^ 
and  the  round  milky-white  pebbles  that 
clustered  on  the  shore  like  eggs  in  a 
basket 

Cherry  did  not  observe  exactly  a  city 
toilette,  yet  there  was  always  something 
indescribably  fresh  and  pure  and  wom- 
anly in  her  dress.  I  need  not  tell  yon 
she  was  pretty.  She  had  not  a  figure 
to  please  the  concocters  of  heroines, 
being  rather  short  and  plump ;  but  her 
healthy,  springy  gait,  her  peach-blossom 
obeek,  her  breezy  hair,  her  soft  brown 
eye  full  of  goodness  and  sparkling  with 
lifd,  and  her  sweet,  sweet  mouth,  in  the 
dimples  of  which  laughter  lingered  like 
a  rippling  eddy  by  a  brook — these  were 
better  far  than  any  heroical  traits.  Her 
even,  lustrous  teeth,  gleaming  out  so 
often  from  between  the  smile-parted 
lipfly  and  her  wide,  innocent,  importu- 
nate eyes,  made  her  seem  more  childlike 
than  she  really  was.  For  Cherry  was 
quite  a  grown  woman,  and,  though  to 
appearance  simply  a  pretty,  fond,  do- 
mestic maiden,  there  was  in  her  a  lofty 
ideal,  something  that  more  than  made 
np  for  the  absence  of  artificial  graces. 
She  was  a  woman  of  perfect  love  and 
of  perfect  faith,  and  the  grandest  mar- 
tyrs were  no  more  than  this.  She  had 
precisely  that  "heavenly  beauty  of  soul" 
which  awes  us  in  Cordelia,  and  more- 
over, under  the  commonplace  veil  of 
her  round  of  daily  duties  kindly  done, 
and  the  shy  reserve  of  a  retired  country 


girl,  she  concealed  an  imagination  warm 
and  vivid,  and  that  sacred  fire  of  enthu- 
siasm whose  steady  flame  will  only  blaze 
upon  the  high  altar  of  self-abnegation. 

Does  any  one  wonder  that  my  canoe 
was  often  tied  up  at  the  willow  trees,  or 
that  I  tired  of  star-gazing,  lorn  bachelor 
that  I  was  ? " 


in.— BAlX02n>  LKTOILE. 


In  a  few  days  my  pupil  came  to  me,-- 
the  handsomest  youth  that  ever  stepped 
upon  this  earth.  A  tall,  statuesque 
flgure,  full  of  ease  and  grace, — an  Anti- 
nous,  carved  first  with  careful  chisels  out 
of  the  purest  marble,  then,  with  some 
divine  touch,  warmed  into  shell-tints  and 
the  gleam  and  glow  of  life.  And,  though 
its  tones  were  rich  and  soft,  there  was 
yet  always  a  certain  severe  quality  about 
this  young  man^s  beauty  which  prevented 
you  from  forgetting  the  marble  from 
which  he  was  carved.  A  touch  had 
stirred  him  with  the  breath  of  life-^it 
needed  but  another  touch  to  crystallize 
him  again  forever,  white  and  dumb,  an 
image  to  make  despairing  sculptors  break 
their  tools. 

I  have  never  seen  a  face  so  free  from 
every  mark  and  trace  of  passion.  There 
was  not  one  feature,  one  line,  one  shade 
on  which  the  sensuous  instincts  of  man 
could  place  a  smutchy  finger.  All  was 
pure  as  virginity's  self— purer,  for  its 
immaculate  quality  was  not  contingent, 
but  a  necessity.  The  fault  of  the  face, 
indeed — if  I  may  so  express  riiyself — 
lay  in  its  very  fJEinltlessness.  There  was 
no  expression  you  could  dwell  upon,  no 
character,  where  each  feature  was  but 
the  perfectly  proportioned  part  of  a  per- 
fectly proportioned  whole.  Character 
means  contrasts,  discords,  if  yon  will,  of 
various  degrees,  that  combine  to  bring 
out  harmony — this  face  expressed  sim- 
ple melody,  too  elemental  to  be  analyzed. 

From  the  very  first  of  my  intercourse 
with  Raimond  Letoile,  there  was  a  vagne, 
confused  impression  made  upon  my  mind 
of  something  lacking  in  him — some  little 
link  wanting  to  complete  the  chain  which 
bound  him  to  humanity.  I  do  not  know 
how  to  define  this  impression:  indeed, 
Hwas  like  those  shadowy  dreams  which 
melt  out  of  our  consciousness  when  we 


626 


Putnam 'b  Maoazisb. 


Ofay, 


'waken  in  the  morning,  as  the  mists  melt 
off  from  the  meadows  after  the  snn  has 
risen  above  the  trees.  It  was  not  intel- 
lect he  lacked,  for  there  he  was  dear  and 
bright ;  nor  truth,  nor  correct  principles, 
nor  parity  of  soal,  nor  a  kindly,  amiable, 
patient  disposition ;  all  these  he  had,  in 
as  ample  measure  as  ever  homan  being 
had  them.  But — was  that  human  good- 
ness which  never  seemed  to  be  bearing 
up  against  any  strain  of  temptation? 
Was  that  human  kindliness,  which  knew 
no  prejudices  where  it  shed  its  light? 
Was  that  human  sympathy  which  was 
— which  was  no  sympathy  at  all,  for  it 
waked  no  responsive  chord  in  the  hearts 
of  others?  What  was  this  puzzling 
something,  for  his  deficiency  in  which 
I  blamed  and  shrank  away  from  this  se- 
rene and  lovely  youth,  who  yet  seemed 
to  possess  all  the  good  qualities  to  which 
I  could  give  a  name?  There  he  was, 
rich  in  mental  power,  full  of  all  the  vir- 
tues, easy,  courteous,  kind,  the  best  and 
most  tractable  of  pupils,  the  most  com- 
plaisant of  inmates,  and  yet — I  could 
not  understand  my  feelings  toward  him. 
The  best  and  most  tractable  of  pupils 
be  certainly  was,  but  the  most  difficult 
of  all  pupils  to  instruct.  For,  how  to 
teach  a  man  who  seemed  to  know  every- 
thing in  its  essence  and  nothing  in  its 
appearance  ?  who  walked  witli  the  steps 
of  a  master  amid  the  deepest  arcana  of 
Nature,  yet  had  scarcely  been  taught  his 
ABO?  But,  if  it  was  hard  to  know 
how  to  teach  him,  it  was  not  hard  for 
him  to  learn.  I  had  but  to  repair  his 
ignorance  of  forms — the  substance  was 
already  there,  and  ample  grasp  of  miud 
to  seize  it.  Strange  scholar!  taking  a 
lesson  in  simple  grammar  and  geography 
from  me,  suitable  to  a  boy  of  eight,  then 
turning  to  work  out  original  solutions  of 
the  abstrusest  problems  in  the  higher 
geometry — problems  which  he  solved 
as  the  young  Pascal  solved  Euclid,  before 
he  had  mastered  the  terms  in  which  to 
express  them,  or  the  symbol  by  whish  to 
write  them  down  I 

In  speech,  Raimond  was  very  fluent 
and  pure.  His  vocabulary  was  rich  and 
full,  lacking  only  teclmical  terms,  and 
these  he  supplied  periphrastically  with 


great  readiness.  Tet,  it  wm  dillBrait 
from  our  speech.  Not  different  as  t  fi^ 
eigner^s  would  be,  for  his  tones  and  it- 
cents  were  highly  oorreot — ^bnt  diilBnit 
because  entirely  free  from  i^om,  becHM 
cold  and  faultless  as  that  nnivensl  ki- 
guage  must  be,  when  men  shall  agm 
upon  one  that  is  to  snpplant  the  hooi' 
speech  of  the  universal  human  race. 

This  young  man  knew  what  he  fii 
know  by  inteUection,  and  not  by  experi- 
ence. His  senses  had  taught  him  eo» 
paratively  nothing.  If  he  saw  a  flovo^ 
and  you  told  him  'twas  a  rose,  yoo  bid 
farther  to  tell  him  that  the  rose  wy  i 
flower.  Of  space,  except  when  mstlii- 
matically  considered,  of  color,  of  sonodi^ 
of  all  the  various  phenomena  of  tiiiip 
of  which  the  senses  take  perpetual  mf- 
nizance,  and  equally  of  all  the  vaiioii 
relations  of  man  to  man,  he  knew  mh 
prisingly  little.  Yet,  as  soon  as  he  hii 
acquired  a  few  elements,  his  knowledge 
flowed  in  swifdy,  for  his  faculty  of  o^ 
servation  was  as  alert  as  that  of  a  eUId. 
I  had  but  to  lead  him  up  the  steps  of  ttj 
temple  whatsoever  of  art  or  scieooi— 
he  needed  no  further  help  to  find  his  wif 
within,  aye,  even  to  those  innermost,  n- 
motest  shrines,  to  which  only  the  moit 
enthusiastic  devotees  may  penetrate,  tad 
these  but  rarely. 

I  was  not  alone  in  receiving  a  certain 
impression  of  this  young  man's  8iDgoIa^ 
ity — singularity  not  such  as  that  whidk 
strikes  us  in  the  foreigner,  unacquaiotad 
with  our  customs  but  practised  in  thou 
of  his  own  people,  but  singularity  as  of 
one  who  had  dwelt  altogether  apart,  who 
was  not  experienced  in  any  modes  what- 
ever of  human  life — the  singularity  of 
an  infant  full  grown,  of  a  man  newly 
bom  into  the  world.  Other  persons  who 
encountered  him  received  precisely  the 
same  impression.  Poor  old  black  Nan- 
ny, while  shyly  fond  of  him,  and  treat- 
ing him  as  she  might  have  treated  a  fbr- 
lorn  orphan  girl  fallen  to  her  sole  chtirge^ 
was  yet  wofully  afraid  of  him,  and  shod* 
deringly  sensible  of  the  aerie  atmosphere 
in  which  he  dwelt 

"  I  don^t  believe  heM  harm  a  fly,  ef  he 
knowed  it,"  she  would  say  to  me;  ''but 
dars  rael  sperits  guards  ober  him,  onb^ 


1870.] 


Thb  Tale  of  ▲  Comet. 


627 


knownst  to  him,  an'  dey'd  qnick  enongh 
settle  wid  you  and  me  ef  we  was  to 
stroke  him  agin  de  grain.  I  knows  peo- 
ple when  I  sees  'em,  an'  ef  dat  ar  yoaDg 
man  don't  see  ghosts  and  hold  comflabu- 
rations  wid  sperits  all  de  time  arter  dark 
when  he  goes  mumbling  aboat  de  house, 
den  my  name  ain't  Ann  Eliza  Simmons 
— dat's  all  1 " 

Of  course  Kaimond  Letoile  had  not 
been  my  pupil  long  before  I  took  him 
Across  the  water  with  mo.  Cherry  had 
expressed  much  curiosity  to  see  him  ever 
since  I  had  showed  her  the  professor's 
letter;  and  besides,  I  wanted  to  see  Cher- 
ry, and  it  would  not  have  been  courteous 
to  leave  the  young  man  at  home.  The 
<dd  people,  in  their  dim,  drowsy  way, 
welcomed  him  as  my  friend,  and  thought 
very  well  of  him,  as  a  nice  young  man 
who  diduH  make  much  noise  about  the 
house — a  good  trait,  by  the  way,  which 
they  flattered  me  by  supposing  I  pos- 
sessed, sober  old  bachelor  that  I  was  I 

But  Cherry's  reception  of  him  was 
very  much  warmer.  His  rare  and  noble 
beauty,  his  evident  purity  of  soul,  his 
cold  and  lofty  manners,  his  surpassing 
power  of  thought  and  speech,  his  remark- 
able introduction  to  me,  and  the  whole 
deep  mystery  which  seemed  to  engird  him, 
were  more  than  enough  to  entrance  her, 
and  startle  her  simple  ways  with  a  flood 
of  new  and  thrilling  experiences.  Her 
faith  more  than  made  up  for  any  doubts 
and  suspicions  I  may  have  entertained. 
From  the  flrst  hour  of  seeing  him  she  he- 
lieted  in  the  youth,  believed  him  to  be 
the  wonderfid  coming  Genius  for  whom 
the  good  Professor  was  waiting — the  Co- 
lumbus who  was  to  discover  now  worlds 
to  Science — and,  in  her  warm,  enthusias- 
tic fashion,  congratulated  me  on  the  glo- 
rious privilege  that  had  been  accorded  to 
me  of  teaching  his  a  h  ah%  to  a  young 
prince  of  wonders,  whose  shoe-latchet — 
I  feel  very  confident — she  thought  I  was 
not  worthy  to  unloose.  I  roust  needs 
confess,  this  thing  of  being  made 
the  pedestal  upon  which  my  pupil 
might  rear  his  figure  with  more  coin- 
manding  grace,  did  not  suit  me  very 
well ;  but,  what  could  one  do  ?  Cherry 
was  a  woman,  and  had  a  woman's  faith-— 


a  faith  which  pays  no  respect  to  reason, 
and  defies  the  trammels  of  experience. 
She  looked  up  to  the  stranger,  saw  in  him 
that  which  she  could  not  explain,  which 
excited  her  wonder  and  her  awe,  and 
straightway  she  began  to  reverence  and 
to  worship.  I  could  not  help  her  doing 
so.  I  might  indeed  have  pulled  down 
the  altar,  but  I  could  not  have  destroyed 
the  idol,  for  that  was  engraven  upon  a 
woman's  heart,  and  so  was  indelible  for- 
ever. 

But,  how  did  the  object  of  this  enthu- 
siasm and  this  worship  receive  them? 
How  did  he  conduct  himself  toward  his 
little  devotee  who  had  so  promptly  come 
to  bow  at  his  shrine?  Sooth  to  say,  his 
reception  of  it  was  the  strangest  part  of 
this  worship.  To  her,  in  her  creative 
faith,  he  was  one  whom 

**  Fancy  fetch'd, 
Eren  from  the  blazing  chariot  of  the  sns, 
A  beardlets  yoath,  who  touched  a  golden  late. 
And  filled  the  illmnlned  grore  with  raTiahment* 

To  him,  on  the  contrary,  she  was  appar- 
ently a  very  common  person  indeed,  a 
mere  simple  girl,  whom  he  had  not  looked 
at  closely  enough  or  thought  sufficiently 
about  to  know  whether  she  was  even 
ugly  or  pretty.  He  treated  her  as  we 
treat  the  vtn  ordinaire  upon  our  tables, 
something  not  worth  talking  about,  or 
even  sipping  daintily.  Was  he  blind? 
was  he  insensible  ?  Was  his  conversion 
from  the  chill  marble  a  process  not  quite 
completed  ?  Or,  was  he  too  proud  to  let 
one  see  what  impression  her  grace  and 
loveliness  mmt  have  made  upon  him  ?  I 
could  not  tell.  All  I  knew  was  that  his 
indiflferenoe  provoked  my  anger,  and  I 
almost  told  her  that  her  admiration  and 
worship  were  paid  to  a  stock  and  a  stone. 
Even  had  Cherry  felt  this  to  be  so,  how- 
ever, it  would  have  made  no  difference 
in  the  degree  of  that  admiration  and 
worship.  Her  religion  was  self-reward- 
ing. 

I  have  spoken  of  Baimond's  roatbe- 
matical  studies — but  indeed  that  is  scarce- 
ly the  proper  word.  \Vhat  he  did  in 
this  way  seemed  done  not  by  process  of 
reasoning,  bnt  by  pure  evolution  of  con- 
soionsness.  During  the  day  his  thoughts 
were  bestowed  in  other  directions,  but. 


528 


PUTHiJC'B  MaOAHNS. 


0««y, 


after  the  san  was  down  and  the  stars  had 
come  oat,  he  began,  as  old  Nanny  said, 
to  go  '^  mumbling  about  the  house,'*  not, 
as  slie  fancied,  in  conyersation  with  hob- 
goblins and  spooks,  but  in  a  sort  of  inti- 
mate communion  with  abstract  princi- 
ples— ^I  have  to  use  paradoxical  lan- 
guage to  express  paradoxical  things — 
in  a  terminology  which  he  could 
only  feebly  and  faintly  translate  into 
our  common  algebraic  formulation. 
Yon  have  perhaps  noticed  the  constant 
habit  which  musical  devotees  have  of 
emphasizing  as  it  were  the  harmonious 
fancies  that  perpetually  float  through 
their  brains,  by  drunmiing  with  their  fin- 
gers upon  whatever  thing  is  nigh  at  hand. 
In  the  same  way,  as  soon  as  night  was  fall- 
en, Raiiuond  Letoile^s  lips  seemed  to  be 
counting  off  fugues  from  and  variations 
upon  the  grand  harmonies  of  the  spheres, 
and  the  mystical  properties  of  motion 
and  number,  in  their  widest  and  most 
transcendent  generalizations.  Now  and 
then,  as  he  advanced  in  knowledge  of 
our  common  symbols,  he  would,  by  way 
of  exercise  as  it  were,  set  down  frag- 
ments from  these  essentially  rhythmical 
reveries — ^abstruse  developments  of  the 
properties  of  recondite  curves,  unguessed 
corollaries  and  scholia  from  the  general 
laws  of  the  stellar  spaces,  and  specula- 
tions within  the  profoundest  twilight  of 
the  Calculas— demonstrations  always 
complete  and  exemplary  so  far  as  I  could 
understand  thera,  but  often,  even  when 
most  carefully  written  out,  as  much  too 
difficult  for  me,  as  the  propositions  of 
the  Principia  or  the  Micanique  CelesU 
would  be  to  an  ordinary  schoolboy. 

The  room  under  the  pyramidal  roof 
of  the  windmill  which  I  have  called  my 
observatory,  was  Raimond^s  favorite  re- 
sort I  had  pierced  each  face  of  the 
roof  with  a  long  sliding  window,  like 
the  frame  of  a  greenhouse,  so  that  there 
was  a  good  view  of  the  whole  celestial 
hemisphere,  and,  through  my  little  tele- 
scope, good  chance  to  study  the  more 
conspicuous  objects  of  astronomical  sci- 
ence. In  this  room  Baimond  spent  the 
most  part  of  every  night,  both  when  I 
was  observing,  and  when  I  slept.  If  the 
night  was  cloudy,  he  also  went  to  bed 


and  slept,  a  dull,  leaden  sort  of  deem  a 
if  the  clouds  upon  the  akj  were  CMliB| 
then*  reflex  shadowa  darkly  over  \k 
soul.  But  when  it  was  clear  above,  oft 
the  starry  gems  of  night  sparkled  vift 
fervor,  there  was  no  longer  any  dooi 
over  his  face,  nor  the  yestige  of  tuj 
drowsy  sigh.  Then,  indeed,  a  fins  it- 
sponsive  fervor  lightened  np  his  broY, 
and  he  stood*  looking  out  and  npvol 
with  unwearied,  steadj  eyes,  munnnriif 
to  himself  like  one  in  a  tranoe — his  iii»> 
ihurs  growing  deeper,  his  abstrMtioi 
Aiore  profound,  and  his  fervor  wilder, « 
the  night  advanced.  He  must  have  hai 
a  very  clear  vision,  for,  on  all  these  ooar 
sions,  he  would  refuse  the  aid  of  thetd- 
escope,  which,  indeed,  he  never  isei, 
saying  he  did  not  need  it.  He  seemed 
to  have  but  little  knowledge  of  oari^i* 
tem  of  apportioning  the  stars  into  vin- 
ous constellations.  He  gave  them  dsom 
according  to  lus  fancy,  and  grouped  tlMB 
according  to  some  recondite  system  of 
his  own,  which  he  conid  not  explshito 
me  in  terms  definite  enough  forms  to 
comprehend. 

I  do  not  know  that  any  one  will  be 
able  to  gather  a  clear  idea  of  thk 
youth  from  the  few  traits  I  have  sit 
down.  My  own  notions  about  him  wen 
not  clear,  and,  as  the  sequel  will  show,  I 
had  but  scant  opportunity  to  improff 
them.  There  were  times,  and  espeeiiUj 
at  night,  and  while  he  was  mnttering  to 
the  stars,  when  I  suspected  that  hb  is- 
tellect  was  diseased.  But  I  could  not 
look  at  him  by  daylight,  nor  convene 
with  him,  and  find  it  possible  to  r^ais 
the  suspicion.  How  conld  he  be  in  any 
degree  mad  or  distraught,  whose  brsin 
was  clear  as  glass  and  strong  as  steel, 
and  whose  soul  was  absolntely  mmiond 
by  any  turmoil  of  emotion  or  teroptatioo 
of  passion  ? 

TI.— OH  TH«  POKCa. 

Spring  tripped  away  gladly,  like  a 
maiden  to  the  dance,  and  summer  came^ 
with  all  its  fruits  &::d  flushes.  The 
heats  streamed  down,  bat  Zephyr  had 
always  a  breath  to  lend  to  the  beanti/bl 
river,  to  ripple  its  green  lustre  withal, 
and  teach  it  to  remember  May.  Rai- 
mond  and  I  quietly  studied  in  the  silent 


1870.] 


ThB  TaLB  of  ii  OOMBT. 


589 


old  tower,  and  often,  when  evening  came 
down  with  ita  opaline  lastre  upon  the 
river,  we  woold  cross  it  to  visit  Oherry. 
And  always  we  found  her,  dear  Ladj 
Apple  hetwixt  the  withered  Pippins,  sit- 
ting with  the  old  folks  upon  the  porch, 
dressed  in  some  cool,  airy  lawn  or  moslin, 
and  ready  to  greet  na  with  hri^fht,  eager 
oyea. 

One  evening,  after  a  very  hot  day,  as 
we  were  lingering  hy  her,  while  the  old 
people  nodded,  and  we  rather  mnsed  in 
oompany  with  her  cheerfiil  prattle  than 
vepHed  to  it  or  followed  it,  I  suddenly 
bethought  me  to  ask  her  for  a  song. 
And  then,  rememhering  she  had  not 
oong  to  me  for  a  long  time,  I  pressed 
her  sU  the  more.  Oheny  was  not  a 
**  performer ; ''  she  possessed  neither 
^ano  nor  guitar;  hut  she  had  a  sweet, 
tmder  voice,  with  a  thrill  in  it  aa  clear 
and  gushing  as  a  wren's,  and  she  aang 
with  expression  and  feeling.  So,  after 
m  glance  toward  Raimond  as  he  sat  in- 
different in  the  moonlight,  she  took  up 
the  strain  of  a  sort  of  hijf  hymn,  half 
ballad  —  a  pure  little  melody  such  as 
mothers  use  to  win  their  weary  hahes 
to  dumher,  hy  night,  in  the  darkened 
miraery,  when  their  reverent  thoughts 
tarn  naturally  to  prayer  and  praise. 
Cherry  sang  sweeter  than  I  had  ever 
beard  her  sing  hefore,  I  thought,  and,  as 
■be  sang,  Raimond,  listening,  seemed 
Just  like  one  wakened  out  of  a  long,  deep 
tranee,  who  hears  a  celestial  voice  hid- 
ding  him  rise,  and  tremhles  lest  he 
should  lose  some  one  of  its  strange,  sweet 
yihrations.  I  gazed  upon  him  with  sur- 
prise as  he  sat  there,  motionless,  attent, 
while  his  countenance  was  transfigured 
with  a  sort  of  divine  rapture,  and  his 
eyee  dilated  in  ecstacy ;  and,  aa  I  watch- 
ed him,  I  said  to  myself:  '^  Now  at  last 
be  looks  like  a  man  I '' 

When  the  song  ended  he  was  silent  a 
long  while,  gazing  out  upon  the  stars, 
which  shone  pale  and  dim  in  the  light 
of  the  half-moon.  At  last  he  tamed  to 
Oherry,  and  sud: 

^^That  song  haa  awakened  strange 

memories  in  me  I    It  is  a  voice  from  my 

home;  a  voice  I  have  not  heard  before 

since  I  came  here  I    Ton   have  been 

VOL.  V. — 35 


there,  Oherry ;  surely  you  have  been  at 
my  home  I " 

"  I' am  afraid  not,*'  answered  Oherry, 
timidly ;  *^  I  am  but  a  little  home-body, 
and  have  not  travelled  much.^ 

"  Your  home  I "  said  I — **  where  is  it, 
Raimond  ? "  for  I  had  never  heard  him 
refer  to  the  subject  before. 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  toward  the 
clustering  stars,  and  turned  again  to 
Oherry. 

'*  There  1 "  he  cried, '  "  there  is  my 
home,  in  the  cycles  of  yonder  bright 
wilderness  of  spheres  which  yon  call 
ArcturDs  I  There  is  my  home ;  and  since 
I  was  sent  from  thence  I  have  had  no 
word  from  home,  until  Cherry's  voice 
uttered  it  just  now,  with  such  a  familiar 
accent.  Sorely  you  are  one  of  our 
denizens,  Cherry,  wandering,  like  me, 
a  little  while  from  home." 

**  Cherry^s  whole  life  is  a  poem,  Rai- 
mond," I  answered  for  her ;  **  and  a  very 
sweet  one.  But  it  is  only  set  to  earthly 
music,  after  all,  and  I  do  not  imagine 
she  understands  the  language  of  the 
spheres." 

''Yet  she  speaks  to  me  in  that  lan- 
guage," responded  Raimond,  musingly. 

''  I  do  not  know,"  was  aU  that  Oherry 
said;  ''I  do  not  know,  Bernard;  but 
Raimond  does  know,  far  better  than 


11 


we. 

''  Raimond  ought  to  know  better  than 
to  let  his  fancy  go  astray,  to  bewilder 
poor  little  girls'  brains  with  mystic  met- 
aphors." 

''  Metaphors  ? "  answered  he  again,  as 
if  in  doubt  ''  Is  it  all  a  mere  metaphor, 
then,  and  am  I  merely  one  of  you,  and 
simply  (u  you  are  ?  It  cannot  be  I  To- 
night a  long  veil  has  been  rent  asunder 
betwixt  me  and  the  past,  and  I  can  trace 
myself  far  backward  along  dim  distant 
paths,  where  I  have  never  heard  any 
mortal  say  he  travelled.  How  should  I 
read  the  language  of  the  spheres,  unless 
I  pertained  to  them  f  Cherry  has  spoken 
our  tongue  ulso,  she  must  needs  be  of 
our  kindred.  What  I  have  always 
read  in  the  n ambers,  I  now  seem  to  see 
plainly  before  me,  like  a  vivid  dream 
out  of  which  I  have  Just  waked.  The 
touch  of  her  voice  roused  me  to  con- 


680 


Ptjtnam'b  Magazins. 


Dbj, 


soionsness  again,  as  it  was  meant  to  do, 
for  I  have  slept  long.  It  was  meant  to 
roose  me,  that  thrilling,  tender  song  I 
See  there  I  ^^  he  cried,  snddenlj  point- 
ing ;  "  did  I  not  tell  yon  'twas  time  for 
me  to  he  awake  ?  See,  there  comes  a 
messenger  I  It  has  sprung  into  view, 
like  mj  vision,  at  the  very  sonnd  of  her 
voice  I    See  it  I " 

**  A  messenger !  What  do  yon  mean  ? " 

"  0  Bernard ! "  cried  Cherry,  trem- 
ulously— "look I  look!  it  is  a  comet — 
a  new  comet,  that  has  just  come  into 
view ! " 

It  was  so. 

Kemote  and  dim,  a  mere  flaint,  feehle, 
nehulous  star,  low  down  in  the  region  of 
the  Great  Bear,  with  a  long,  streaming, 
shadowy  dim  veil,  the  new  comet  show- 
ed itself. 

"  Raimond,"  I  asked,  "  have  you  ever 
seen  this  hefore  t " 

"  Never,"  he  answered ;  "  it  has  but 
Just  appeared.  It  was  wandering  at  will 
among  the  spaces,  until  her  song  reached 
it,  and  bade  it  come  hither,  for  that  we 
were  here  I  It  is  a  messenger  from  the 
cycles  of  Aroturus  I  " 

Cherry  had  risen  from  her  seat,  and 
now  stood  close  beside  me,  resting  her 
hand  timidly  upon  my  arm.  I  saw  that 
she  was  frightened,  and  full  of  awe. 

"  Why  do  you  tremble.  Cherry  ?  "  said 
I,  "  it  is  but  a  simple  comet,  as  natural 
an  appearance,  as  harmless,  and  quite  as 
beneficent,  did  we  know  its  uses,  as 
yonder  familiar  moon." 

'*  A  comet!  "  said  the  old  man,  wak- 
ing up  out  of  his  doze—*'  a  new  comet  I^' 
He  shook  his  head  with  ominous  gravity. 
"  I  do  not  like  comets.  I  have  always 
noticed  that  they  bring  war  with  them, 
and  all  sorts  of  calamity.  The  last  comet 
we  had  my  wheat  was  ruined  by  the 
rust.    Where  is  it  ?  " 

lie  came  to  the  steps  of  the  porch 
where  wo  were  and  gazed  out  toward 
the  north,  but  his  poor  old  eyes  were 
too  feeble  to  grasp  so  dim  an  object. 

"  I  cannot  see  it,"  said  he,  returning 
at  last  to  his  chair ;  "  wife,  I  cannot  see 
the  comet." 

**  It  must  be  a  poor  sort  of  a  comet, 
then,"  retorted  she,  disdainfully,  "if  you 


cannot  see  it,  for  you  always  was  fanKNi 
for  being  far-sighted  1  Dent  yon  i«- 
member  the  dncka  joa  saw  fljing  so  &r, 
when  everybody  else  said  they  w«n 
quite  gone  out  of  sight?  " 

"  I  feel  a  sort  of  vagae  terror,"  wd 
Cherry,  with  a  shiver ;  "  I  do  not  Uki  to 
think  of^  these  strange  nghts  in  tibe 
Heavens.  Suppose  one  shoold  fidl  npos 
our  earth  t " 

"  Not  probable,  Oheny,"  answered  L 
"They  have  their  orbits  just  as  otlHr 
bodies  in  our  system ;  they  are  as  nmeh 
part  and  parcel  of  that  system  as  tbo 
round  earUi  itself — nebnlons  bodies  with 
wandering  habits  and  uncertain  bomk 
like  men  of  genius  I  ooold  name,  bat 
with  good  principles,  nevertheless.'^ 

"  Nebulffi  I  '*  rejoined  Baimond  Is- 
toile,  in  a  tone  of  strong  protest — ^  mas- 
sengers,  I  tell  yon,  intelligent  existencei 
with  souls  of  flame  and  lightning  wiiig% 
set  on  to  do  the  bidding  of  the  superior 
spheres  1 " 

"  Pray  tell  me  something  abont  ihtm 
wandering  mysteries,  Raimond,"  laid 
Cherry,  eagerly ;  "  I  am  sure  that  if  aoj 
body  knows  about  them,  yon  do." 

"  But,  do  you  not  know  as  well  as  If " 
asked  Raimond,  lifting  his  beantifal head 
with  swan-like  grace,  and  taming  his 
eyes  toward  her  inqniringly.  "Too 
sang  their  song." 

"  It  was  only  a  simple  ballad  I  learned 
from  my  grandmamma.  I  scarcely  knov 
about  the  little  flowers  of  oarth,  math 
loss  the  bright  and  beautiful  beings  of 
space.  How  should  I  know  about 
them  ? " 

"  How  should  /  know  about  themf* 
he  said ;  "  unless  they  are  my  kindred- 
free  thoughts  of  the  sublime  spaces,  ss  I 
am  an  imprisoned  thought !  "  He  went 
on,  seemingly  talking  more  to  himself 
than  to  us :  "I  was  yesterday  reading 
in  one  of  Bernard^s  books  an  Arabian 
tale  of  the  Genie  that  was  kept  pent  up 
within  a  narrow  vase  by  the  spell  of  a 
magic  seal,  until  a  fisherman  came  that 
way  to  drag  his  nets,  and  broke  the  seal, 
and  let  the  spirit  float  aloof  in  a  great 
cloud  of  vapor.  Such  a  cloud,  wander* 
ing  free,  and  lighted  up  by  a  spark  of 
the  illumining  universal  thought,  might 


1870.] 


The  Tale  of  a  Comet. 


581 


be  ooe  of  those  oxistoncos  wo  call  com- 
ets. What  is  thought  ?  What  is  space  ? " 
he  continaed,  with  a  certaia  raptnre. 
"  Only  names  which  you  bestow  upon 
forces  stirriog  within  the  Universal  All 
— ^names  for  designation,  but  not  for 
definition!  Existence,  substance,  are 
but  comparative  degrees,  after  all,  and 
that  which  is  volatile  and  immaterial 
here  in  this  dense,  cross  atmosphere, 
may  well  glow  forth  like  a  blazing,  ra- 
diant world  rolled  grandly  upon  the 
more  attenuated  floors  of  yonder  mighty 
Space.'' 

'*  But  I  do  not  understand  all  that,''  said 
Oberry,  naively. 

**  It  is  rank  Spinozism,  Cherry ;"  said 
I;  *'  and  if  you  could  understand  it,  would 
only  bewilder  you  the  more.  Do  not 
quit  your  tlowers  for  philosophy  like 
that." 

**Ido  not  know  what  Spinozisra  is," 
Baimond  replied ;  '^  what  I  have  told  you 
Is  simple  truth,  and  Cherry  will  under- 
stand it,  too,  when  she  shall  have  gone 
thither  to  her  home." 
"  Her  homo  ? " 

"  In  the  cycles  of  the  radiant  Arctn- 
msl  "  said  he,  **  whence  sprung  the 
thoaght  whom  you  call  Cherry." 

"  They  must  have  beautiful  thoughts 
there,  then,"  I  said,  glancing  at  the  girl 
who  listened  to  him  so  eager  and  intent. 
Bat  he  did  not  notice  how  she  was  ab- 
sorbed in  him.     He  only  said : 

"They  do  indeed  have  beautiful 
thoughts  there — thoughts  too  dazzling, 
bright,  and  warm  for  this  poor,  pallid  air  I 
I  call  to  mind  such  a  thought,  even  now 
— a  thought  flung  forth  from  those 
mighty,  mystic  cycles,  ages  on  ages  ago. 
It  was  a  little  naked  thought,  like  a  new- 
born babe,  scarce  able  to  struggle  with 
the  immensity  of  space  into  which  it 
was  flung,  and  the  immensity  of  being 
that  ran  thrilling  before  it  like  the  long 
echoing  vibrations  of  a  harp.  But  even 
the  little  naked  thoughts,  unequal  forces 
though  they  be,  cannot  perish,  and  this 
thought  found  the  elements  not  unkindly. 
It  wandered  forth,  a  wee,  tiny  spark,  and 
as  it  went  it  grew,  until,  like  a  long  star- 
ray — like  one  of  those  long  rays  now 
streaming  down  from  Vega,  overhead — 


it  left  its  track  along  the  wondrous 
spaces,  far  and  bright  and  free.  And 
the  vital  power  within  it  spirited  it  on 
and  on,  with  rushing  speed,  yet  softly 
as  the  evening  wind  will  waft  you 
fragrance  from  the  flowers.  And  ever 
as  it  came  it  waxed  brighter  and 
brighter  still,  and  spread  its  radiance 
higher,  a  self-lighted,  rosy  mist,  sailing 
among  the  spaces  on  seraphio  wings. 
Ah  t  what  a  happy  play-time  had  that 
infant  thought,  at  its  little  sports  among 
the  spaces  and  the  ages !  Anon,  how- 
ever, a  strange  sadness  seized  it,  a  strange 
darkness  overcame  it,  and  the  mysteri- 
ous elder  forces,  gray  and  cheerless  pow- 
ers over  which  it  had  no  control,  caught 
it  as  it  wandered,  and  dragged  it  down- 
ward to  the  face  of  earth,  and  im- 
prisoned it  there  for  ages.  But,  for  all 
its  sadness,  the  little  thought  was  too 
pure  and  bright  to  have  a  darkling  pris- 
on, so  it  was  melted  into  the  substance 
of  a  crystal  spar,  where  it  might  shine 
and  glisten  at  its  will.  And  presently, 
when  its  time  was  ripe,  a  kindred  ray 
from  those  far-oflp  cycles  glanced  through 
it  with  a  message,  and  gave  it  new  pow- 
ers, so  that  it  rent  its  prison-house 
again,  and,  after  strange  transformations, 
walked  the  earth  a  full-grown  man.  Yet 
this  man  knew  not  who  he  was,  nor 
why,  until,  this  very  evening,  a  kindred 
voice,  singing,  touched  on  the  chord  of 
memory,  so  that  it  thrilled  with  a  mil- 
lion responsive  echoes,  and  then  the 
blinding  veil  passed  upward,  and  all 
was  very  dear.  Cherry  I  the  new-bom 
wandering  thought  was  a  thought  from 
the  cycles  of  A  returns,  and  the  ray  that 
rent  its  prison-house  in  the  crystal  spar 
came  from  thence,  also,  and  the  voice 
that  sweetly  undoes  the  casket  of  mem- 
ory has  a  like  origin  I  Cherry,  yonder 
is  your  homo,  and  we  will  go  back 
thither,  you  and  I." 

"  A  pretty  myth  I  You  have  a  poetic 
fancy,  my  pupil,"  said  I.  Then,  seeing 
how  Cherry  stood  before  him,  leaning 
toward  him  like  one  magnetized  and  en- 
tranced— seeing  all  her  faith  in  him  and 
enthusiasm  for  him — seeing  how  abso- 
lutely she  accepted  his  mystic  utter- 
ances for  truth — seeing  how,  in  her  un- 


589 


Putnam's  Maoazisx. 


Ubf, 


conBoioiu  firftnkness,  she  was  witboat 
concealment  patting  me  awaj  iVom  her 
foreyer,  like  a  thing  of  no  account — ^me 
who  loYcd  her  better  than  I  loved  mj  own 
sool — and  snffering  this  nnknown  stran- 
ger to  absorb  her  very  being,  as  a  flower's 
cup  absorbs  the  dew — seeing  all  this,  I 
cried  ont  in  the  bitterness  of  my  sool : 

"  Truly  a  pretty  myth,  little  Cherry, 
bat  yon  most  not  let  it  create  within 
yoa  longings  for  Arctoros  t  For,  spite 
of  all  he  says,  Oherry,  yoa  and  I  are 


mere  beings  of  this  world,  and  we  rnait 
not  yentare,  even  in  thought,  into  re- 
gions where  these  '  superior  intdfi- 
gences'  may  look  down  upon  as  from 
their  lofty  heights,  and  treat  as  with 
contumely  and  neglect !  " 

But  she  did  not  heed  me.  She  did 
not  hear  me.  She  only  gazed  still  etr- 
nestly  into  his  eyes,  and  cried,  claq»iDg 
her  hands  with  rapture : 

*'0h  1  what  a  beautiful  life,  Baymoodl 
what  a  beautiful  life  is  yourat  ** 


-•♦♦■ 


NOTUS  IGNOTO. 


Though  mine  be  to  giye  and  yours  to  take, 
Mine  to  wander  and  watch  and  wake. 
Seeking  for  yon  a  house  of  pleasure. 
Which  you,  as  it  chances,  idly  measure, 

Free  to  inliabit  or  forsake ; — 
lOne  to  snatch  the  fimcies  flying. 

To  paint  with  colors  evanescent. 
So  that  the  picture  seems  undying, — 

Bound,  for  you,  to  the  task  incessant, — 
Yet  who  shall  say,  that  mine  achieving 
Hath  more  desert  than  your  receiving? 
Who  shall  decide,  if  Fate  so  chooses 
That  one  creates,  and  the  other  osesf 

n. 

I  pine  for  the  word  that  is  not  spoken, 

And  perchance  I  speak  it  to  you ; 
The  brittle  thread  of  my  dream  is  broken, 

And  you  have  caught  the  dew. 
I  strive  for  the  inaccessible  sununit, 
I  fathom  the  sea  with  a  failing  plummet, 
And  yet  I  may  lead  yon  higher,  deeper. 
To  waters  darker  and  mountains  steeper, 

Than  I  can  sound  or  dimb : 
And  the  bird  I  loosen  has  power  to  pilot 
Your  way  to  the  fairest  and  fiurthest  isleti*- 

The  bird  of  my  brooded  rhyme ! 

m. 

Balance  your  loss  with  the  chance  of  gaini 
One  may  beckon,  and  one  attain : 
One  fill  the  cup,  and  the  other  drain. 
One  may  struggle,  and  pant,  and  fliJter, 

Open  the  temple-door  and  ficJl ; 
While  the  other  is  set  at  the  foot  of  the  altar 

At  once,  by  the  goiding  call  I 


VtO.I  NoTus  loNOTO.  mm 

Then,  where  his  effortless  feet  are  planted, 
Forth  he  walks  through  the  realms  enchanted, 
Fresh  his  eyes  for  the  joy  of  seeing, 
His  nostrils  warm  with  the  breath  of  being  I 

IV. 

Song  is  the  voice  of  the  spirit's  pasoion, 

The  speech  of  a  splendid  dream: 
But  all  that  my  lips  shall  fail  to  fashion 

Yon  may  hear  with  a  sense  supreme. 
As  the  nightingale,  in  the  twilight  boshes, 
Soothes  herself  with  melodioas  gashes, 

So  is  my  song  to  me : 
Bat,  as  my  soal  from  her  chanting  flashes, 

Till  a  thousand  dreams  go  free, 
I,  like  the  nightingale,  may  win  me 
A  glory  beyond  the  song  within  me. 

Waking  the  soul  in  you, — 
And  yon  thrill  and  tremble  with  thoughts  undying^ 
Your  grander  speech  to  my  chant  replying 
From  the  height  of  the  stars,  while  I  am  lying 

In  the  darkness  and  the  dew  t 

Y. 

Ah,  yes  t  the  beauty  that  brims  existence 
Is  not  a  wraith  of  the  formless  distance : 
But,  near  ns  ever,  each  moment  misses 
The  arms  that  fold  and  the  month  that  kisses  I 
With  a  simple  word  we  may  snare  its  blisses, — 

With  a  breath,  a  tone. 

An  odor,  blown 

From  a  bad  the  winds  at  our  feet  have  thrown ; 
And,  Soul  unknown,  however  thoa  starvest, 
One  grfun  shall  give  thee  the  whole  rich  harvest ! 

VI. 

An  arrow  carved  on  the  rock  am  I : 
A  dond  that  points,  in  the  lonely  sky, 
The  way  the  invisible  breezes  fly: 
AwhUe  to  herald  the  holy  places. 
Ere  the  san  dispels,  or  the  moss  effaces  I 
Unknowing  whose  is  the  footstep  fleeter 

That  follows,  overtakes  and  passes 
To  the  founts  afar  of  waters  sweeter. 

And  the  meads  beyond  of  softer  grasses! — 
Unknowing  gladly,  uncaring  ever, 
How  others  may jnonnt  from  mine  endeavor. 
To  the  beauty  whereof  my  brows  are  lorn, — 

The  greener  crown 

Of  the  dear  renown, 
Silently  woven  and  secretly  worn, 
Whose  leaves  are  bright  from  the  raptnres  tasted 
By  a  living  Soal  in  a  Life  nn  wasted  I 


684 


FunrAii's  Maoazinb. 


m. 


PICTURES  IN  THE  PRIVATE  GALLERIES  OF  NEW  YORK. 

L 


GALLSBIBS  OF  BBLMONT  Am>  BLODGBTT. 


Abt  in  onr  conntrj,  if  not  in  modem 
society,  seems  to  belong  to  our  domestic 
life;  and,  instead  of  looking  for  it  in 
public  baildings  and  in  the  obapels  of 
churches,  we  have  to  seek  for  it  in  pri- 
vate galleries  and  parlors :  in  a  word, 
we  find  the  best  of  it  within  the 
limits  of  the  household.  But  perhaps 
only  those  who  are  ezclusivelj  interested 
in  art  know  the  extent  and  value  of  the 
art-treasures  which  are  a  part  of  the  op- 
ulence of  our  wealthy  men. 

We  propose  to  give  a  brief  review  of 
some  of  the  finest  private  art-collections 
in  New  York,  and  we  shall  confine  our- 
selves, in  the  present  article,  to  the  nota- 
ble pictures  in  the  galleries  of  Messrs. 
Beltnont  and  Blodgett.  Many  persons 
interested  in  art  will  recall  the  vivid 
sensations  of  pleasure  and  the  sudden  rev- 
elation of  modern  art  which  the  first 
exhibition  of  Mr.  Belmont's  collection 
afforded  our  New  York  public.  We  saw 
for  the  first  time  pictures  by  masters 
then  celebrated,  or  since  celebrated  on 
^^he  continent,  but  which  at  the  time 
were  almost  unknown  to  us.  Every 
department  of  painting  was  illustrated 
by  contemporary  painters  of  the  French, 
Belgian,  and  German  schools.  Since  that 
first  memorable  exhibition  of  the  Bel- 
mont gallery,  the  taste  and  love  of  art 
have  been  much  improved  and  extended 
in  New  York;  and,  today,  we  count 
fewer  private  gentlemen  who  spend 
money  on  doubtful  or  inferior  old  mas- 
ters, more  who  buy  examples  of  art  from 
leading  painters  of  the  modern  French 
school,  and  a  few  who  understand  that 
we  have  American  masters  whose  works 
suffer  no  dimination  of  worth  or  of 
merit  next  to  foreign  landscape  and 
genre  painting. 

Since  Mr.  Belmont^s  collection   was 
placed  before  the  public  most  of  the  no- 


blest examples  of  American  art  hifi 
been  produced.  Since  then,  too,  wbit 
striking  specimenb  o/  French  art  hifi 
reached  us ;  so  that,  what  we  just  tuted 
in  Mr.  Belmont's  gallery,  we  have  noor 
ished,  if  we  have  not  satiated  ouraehii 
with,  in  the  unstinted  importati(nks  of 
our  best  picture  dealers.  We  have  ben 
really  able  to  make  the  aoqnaintanoe  of 
the  modem  French  mind  through  inqwrt- 
ed  works  of  art ;  and,  without  crosBBng^ 
ocean,  have  been  able  to  see  the  elegut 
and  correct  and  spirited  work  of  nwa 
who  are  masters  of  the  best  methods  of 
painting.  If  to  most  of  ns  Ddaeroiz 
and  Millet  and  Flandrin  are  yet  oolj 
names,  thanks  to  Mr.  Belmont  and  Mr. 
Blodgett  and  Mr.  Aspinwall  and  Mr. 
John  Taylor  Johnson  and  Mr.  Webb 
and  Mr.  Roberts,  thanks  also  to  Mr. 
Knoedler  and  Mr.  Schaus,  we  direct^ 
know  the  actual  character  of  the  woris 
of  such  men  as  G^rorae  and  Leys  and 
Decamps  and  Merle  and  Meissonier,  and 
all  the  French  genre  painters;  and  wo 
can  thank  Mr.  Avery  for  always  hav- 
ing in  bis  art-rooms  some  specimen  of 
Boughton.  How  much  zest,  how  much 
illumination  has  been  communicated 
through  the  works  of  these  renowned 
painters,  but  which  so  soon  seem  to  be 
placed  beyond  the  reach  of  the  public 
A  little  of  all  this  zest  and  illumina- 
tion may  come  to  us  again  in  renewing 
our  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Belmoot^t 
pictures.  A  fine  specimen  of  Roussean, 
two  good  pictures  of  Troyon,  two  ad- 
mirable Meissoniers,  a  fine  example  of 
Baron  Henri  Leys,  one  Robert  Fieury, 
three  Willems,  and — ^but  instead  of  a 
catalogue  of  several  hundred  paintings^ 
let  us  give  our  personal  impressions  of 
those  of  the  first  merit  in  the  oolleotion. 
Painting  is  at  its  highest  level  when 
the  artist  has  attained  the  most  vivid 


1870.] 


PlOTUBBS  IN  THE  PbITATB  GlXLXBIBS  OF  NbW  YOBS. 


685 


and  harmonioas  and  refined  combina- 
tions of  color  in  well-nnderstood  forms ; 
and,  for  this  reason,  we  are  arrested 
first  bj  a  little  picture  by  Decamps.  It 
is  simply  an  old  barnyard  after  sundown ; 
a  golden  glow  of  color  is  in  the  sky. 
How  warm  and  luminous  and  harmonions 
and  deep-toned  is  this  picture  I  No  opa- 
city, no  heaviness,  no  blackness ;  nothing 
thin  nor  cold.  This  old  barnyard  at  twi- 
light is,  by  the  incommunicable  gift  of 
the  painter,  instinct  with  poetry — poetry 
each  as  touches  as  in  the  magic  of  Kem- 
brandt^s  brush,  and  plnnges  ns  into  mel- 
ancholy reverie,  or  gives  ns  a  shock  of 
pleasure  like  a  thing  of  life. 

It  is  but  seldom  that  we  meet  with  a 
picture  by  a  pure  colorist,  or  even  by  a 
fine  tonist, — if  the  distinction  is  exact- 
ed. So  few  persons  know  what  is  color, 
BO  few  have  been  educated  to  appreciate 
the  fact  that  rank  color,  without  quality 
or  refinement  and  vividness,  is  not 
enough — is  nothing  better  than  the 
shrieking  reds  and  blues  of  Horace  Ver- 
net^s  work — that  it  is  difficult  to  make 
known  the  rare  excellence  of  such  a  lit- 
tle canvas  as  this  example  of  Decamps* 
art.  C&lame  and  Louis  Meyer  are  thin 
and  heavy  and  cold ; — ^the  first  is  merely 
positive,  and  the  last  opake  in  color 
compared  with  Decamps'  picture; 
neither  of  these  celebrated  painters  have 
any  of  the  magie  which  makes  ns  mar- 
vel before  a  Rembrandt  or  a  Delacroix 
or  a  Rousseau.  This  little  Decamps  is 
certainly  very  insignificant  by  its  sub- 
ject, but  how  remarkable  by  its  art.  A 
man  with  any  sense  of  the  real  triumphs 
of  painting,  of  the  mystery  and  genius 
which  finds  expression  in  painting,  will 
turn  from  Louis  Meyer's  Christ  on  the 
the  Sea  of  Galilee,  just  as  he  would  turn 
from  the  reading  of  Young's  "Night 
Thoughts,"  orPollok's  "Course  of  Time," 
and  palpitate  with  pleasure  and  surprise 
on  hearing  aline  of  Shelley,  or  of  Bums, 
expressive  of  intercourse  with  nature. 
As  the  two  last  are  full  of  what  we  call 
genius,  of  something  that  is  personal  and 
magical  and  moving,  so  the  former  are  the 
pushed  up  and  pompous  expression  of 
natures  without  natural  sensibility  and 
self-surrender,  or  are  merely  the  cold 


and   positive  result  of  the  intelligence 
whose  manifestation  is  always  prosaic. 

From  Decamps'  we  go  to  GhiUait's 
picture,  which  represents  the  "  Duke  of 
Alva  and  the  Council  of  Blood."  Noth- 
ing more  concentrated  and  admirable  is 
to  be  found  in  modem  art  than  this  spe- 
cimen of  Gallait's  power.  Memorable 
and  intense  as  a  dramatic  and  historical 
work,  rich  and  luminous  in  color,  low- 
toned,  and  executed  with  a  free  and  con- 
scientious touch,  showing  perfect  mas- 
tery of  form  and  color,  it  principally 
affects  us  as  a  dramatic  conception  ad- 
mirably set  before  us,  and  fixes  itself  in 
our  memory  as  one  of  the  greatest  exam- 
ples of  historic  character  thoroughly  and 
nobly  realized.  It  is  as  studied  as  Dela- 
roche's  finest  things,  but  in  point  of 
color  and  depth  of  tone  beyond  Dela- 
roche's  most  celebrated  pictures.  It  is 
not  a  large  picture,  but  how  suggestive 
of  that  crashing  despotism  of  Church 
and  State  which  found  in  Alva  and  in 
the  Inquisition  its  ablest,  most  inflexible, 
cruel,  and  remorseless  agent  and  instra- 
mentl  Gallait  has  painted  that  Duke 
of  Alva  whom  Motley  portrayed  for  us. 
Severe,  able,  vindictive,  determined,  so 
Gallait  has  painted  him ;  a  large,  iron- 
like man,  a  man  intent  to  find  some 
weakness  or  resistance  on  which  he  can 
lay  his  crushing  hand,  and  drown  laugh- 
ter and  pride  of  life  in  sobs  of  bloo<l,  or 
hush  both  in  the  silence  of  prisons,  or 
change  them  in  the  anguish  of  torture. 
Observe  how  well-considered  is  his  ac- 
tion in  Grallait's  picture.  He  sits,  one 
hand  on  his  face,  finger  pressed  uncon- 
sciously against  his  swartJiy  cheek,  and 
his  deep-set,  but  penetrating,  steel-cold 
eyes  look  out  from  under  gray,  shaggy 
eyebrows ;  the  other  rests  on  the  sword's 
hilt.  Will,  strength,  force  is  in  that  ficMe, 
but  no  sign  of  human  tenderness,  mercy, 
or  love.  In  Gallait^s  picture  there  is  a 
free  and  masterly  understanding  of  form, 
and  the  rendering  of  the  texture  of  flesh 
is  such  as  is  rarely  found  in  works  of  so 
much  intere^  to  the  literary  and  histori- 
cal mind.  Tite  portraiture  of  character 
equals  in  interest  the  situation.  But  it 
is  not  Alva  alone  that  is  so  strikingly 
placed  before  us,  but  here  is  that  typical 


586 


PuTNAM^S  MAftACDTB. 


Phy 


monk,  £anatioal  as  though  hell-flames 
were  bnming  within  him,  impelling  him, 
like  a  machine,  to  go  straight  onward  to 
do  the  devil's  work ;  and  then  we  have 
a  large,  gross-Jawed,  heavj-lipped,  sen- 
sual priest.  How  we  detest  both  I  The 
one  white  and  bloodless  as  his  victims ; 
the  other  red  and  coarse,  with  a  vitality 
as  of  an  animal.  The  meaning  of  these 
faces  is  something  quite  beyond  verbal 
expression.  The  painter  has  gone  b^ 
yond  the  limitations  of  language ;  and  it 
is  a  witness  to  the  force  of  his  work  that 
we  view  each  face  and  figure  as  actuali- 
ties, and  execrate  them  as  we  must. 
Thej  do  not  safSar  us  to  remain  indiffer- 
ent We  are  their  friends  or  we  are 
their  judges.  Looking  at  this  picture 
we  recall  some  of  Robert  Browning's 
dramatic  creations,  and  we  think  how 
intensely  and  vividly  Gallait  could  place 
them  before  us. 

From  Gallait  we  turn  to  a  little  land- 
scape by  Theodore  Bousseau — a  little 
pond,  a  grove,  a  stony,  broken  country, 
a  low  horizon,  and  a  sky  fiill  of  formless 
clouds,  but  soft,  vapory,  and  light.  What 
a  lesson  this  little  picture  is  to  us  I  The 
subject  is  in  no  way  imposing ;  neither 
peaks,  passes,  nor  filmed  rivers  and  lakes, 
--only  the  soil,  a  few  trees,  and  the  sky ; 
but  here,  too,  is  poetry,  the  stUl,  small 
voice  of  things  speaks  to  us,  the  infinite 
is  here ;  sadness  and  silence,  and  the 
subdued  harmonies  and  natural  look  of 
objects.  The  manner  is  fine,  the  tones 
are  deep,  the  color  very  transparent 
Poor  and  noble  Rousseau  I  it  is  the  true 
expression  of  his  own  lonely  and  impov- 
erished di^s  of  struggle  and  neglect ;  no 
doubt  he  painted  it  when,  withdrawn  in 
spirit  as  in  body  from  the  festivities  of 
life,  he  sought  in  nature  for  that  which 
corresponded  with  his  moral  experience. 
It  is  so  that  every  unconventional  paint- 
er seeks  his  subject  The  experience  of 
his  soul  determines  what  his  eyes  shall 
see  and  his  hand  reproduce — ^whether  it 
be  the  passionless  calm  of  basking  hours 
under  a  summer's  sun  and  an  Italian 
aky,  the  glory  of  autumn  in  the  gorges 
of  mountains,  or  the  forbidding  solitudes 
of  lonely  ravines,  or  desolate  moors  un- 
der gray  mista 


A  picture  of  inooiitesti]>le  ]iierit,ai 
far  more  lik»ly  to  b%  generally  wfft^ 
dated  than  Ronneaii's  landmpi^  k 
Achenbach's  ^  Moonriae  on  tiie  GoML* 
Mr.  Belmont  has  no  finer  pietare  tfaa 
this  in  his  collection ;  it  lacks  only  a ««^ 
tain  tenderness  of  oolor  which  no  Gi^ 
man  or  Prussian  has  ever  been  abk  U 
get  in  hia  work.  The  feeble  aide  of  G«- 
man  and  Prussian  art  is  color.  Thejut 
apt  to  be  both  earthy  and  aitifieiai,  ds> 
ficient  in  sweetness  and  light  and  vii 
ness.  But  they  are  Tigorons  and 
ive  in  method ;  witneaa  the  two 
of  Achenbach's  genioe— ooaat-aoeDe  i^ 
der  an  afternoon  aky,  storm -ckwii 
broken  up  and  light  bnrsting  fxth, 
and  a  boiling  surf—in  fine  ooutrasi  wilk 
the  placid  evening  on  the  ooesl|  wilk 
fishermen  coming  from  the  boatSi  wkkk 
is  the  subject  of  the  companion  pioCnni 
Achenbaoh  is  one  of  the  great  palntai 
of  the  world,  and  he  haa  given  ns  the 
poetry  and  life  of  the  ahorea  of  the  aea. 

From  so  great  a  maater  of  the  nor^ 
em  school  we  naturally  torn  to  anelkr 
German,  Enaus,  who  is  probably  Hm 
first  genre  painter  now  living.  No  oas 
has  exceUed  him  in  variety  of  oharaetir, 
naturalness,  and  humor.  Mr.  Belmoat 
has  one  of  his  finest  pictnres,  whieh  np- 
resents  a  crowd  of  men,  women,  and  cli3- 
dren  coming  out  of  the  town-gate,  widi 
fife  and  drum,  about  to  keep  holidij. 
Everything  is  in  movement  but  thewaUi 
of  the  houses ;  a  fiock  of  geeae  seattv, 
cackling  and  fiurried,  ahead  of  the  boyi 
and  musicians ;  the  boya  tnm  head  ow 
heels  with  happiness;  the  burly  innkeep> 
er  carries  his  keg  of  beer,  and  lan^  st 
his  glad  little  boy,  who  trips  along  by 
his  side ;  and  back  of  him  follows  the 
village  Adonis  with  two  pretty  girls.  la 
spite  of  the  types  of  poverty  and  aofier* 
ing,  which  the  artist  haa  also  rendered, 
the  whole  group  seema  alive  with  merri* 
ment  and  expectation.  Juat  look  at  thai 
crying  baby,  his  little  face  red  and  awol- 
len  with  vexation ;  he  is  not  the  most 
insignificant  personage  present  How 
individual  is  each  character  I  How  pos- 
itive the  type  is  put  before  ual  And 
then,  too,  how  pervasive  ia  the  mosio 
and  jollity  and  movement  of  the  figana 


1670.] 


PlOTUBES  TS  THB  PBIT1.TS  GaLLXBISB  OF  NeW  ToBK. 


537 


of  this  yiUage  processioD  I  The  paiDting 
•nd  drawing  is  admirable;  but,  like 
Aohenbach^s  work,  the  feeble  side  is 
tx>lor.  Bat  who  is  the  Dasseldorf  paint- 
er that  has  a  fine  sense  of  color  ?  Onr 
own  painters  are  better  endowed  with 
that  sense. 

Mr.  Belmont's  gallerj  enables  ns  to 
understand  Justly  most  of  the  art  activ- 
itj  of  the  French  and  German  and  Bol- 
ivian schools.  It  offers  ns  nothing  of 
American  art  to  speak  of  but  a  Johnson 
mnd  two  Boughtons.  The  Belgian  school 
is  represented  by  GaUait  and  Leys — Gsl- 
lait  so  romantic  and  natural,  and  Leys  so 
liomely  and  real  in  his  art  If  you  wish 
to  discover  how  a  man  can  be  a  great 
painter  without  any  sense  of  the  beauti- 
fnl,  you  must  look  at  and  think  a  long 
time  before  Leys'  *^  Margaret  and  Faust,'' 
at  the  entrance  of  a  cathedral.  You 
might  think  that  only  in  B&le  or  in  Nu- 
remberg a  painter  could  reproduce  such 
homely  figures  and  faces  without  being 
niJected  and  mocked;  but  honors  have 
been  won  by  Henri  Leys  even  in  Paris  and 
in  England,  and  criticism,  such  as  it  is, 
has  paid  him  the  tribute  of  sincere  appro- 
oiation  and  discussion  even  here,  where 
the  /aces  of  American  women  teach  us 
the  pretty.  Nothing  pretty,  nothing 
beautiful  is  in  Leys'  figures  and  faces. 
They  are  the  homeliest  and  saddest  look- 
ing people  over  put  on  canvas.  They 
look  sullen,  grim,  subdued,  resigned; 
capable  of  endurance,  and  accustomed  to 
a  serious  life.  None  of  them  show  the 
least  affinity  with  fresh  and  vivid  and 
joyous  things.  The  mild  radiance  of 
beautifhl  faces,  the  voluptuous  forms  of 
Greek  goddesses  and  Venetian  women, 
eeera  to  be  unknown  to  the  painter  of 
^^Fuust  and  Margaret,"  but  his  whole 
ftudy  has  been  the  ugly  actualities  of 
his  country  and  the  stiff  and  starved 
figurea  cut  by  the  medieval  stone-cut- 
ters, or  painted  in  missals  or  for  the 
windows  of  churches — &ces  and  figures 
such  as  Holbein's  sad  and  sincere  genius 
has  portrayed,  such  as  we  meet  to-day  in 
German  Switzerland — ^fiEioes  not  illumin- 
ated by  art  nor  transfigured  by  the 
ideal — faces  which  are  the  sign  of  lives 
that  have  never  been  liberated  from  sor- 


did sadness  and  pious  preoccupations. 
How  can  a  man  interest  us  with  people 
who  have  no  graoe,  no  pleasure  of  joy, 
no  grandeur  and  glory  in  their  life! 
How  sincere,  how  deep  and  searching 
must  be  that  talent  which  in  using  means 
that  are  addressed  to  the  eye,  yet  can 
dispense  with  its  craving  for  perfection, 
and  by  a  sad  smcerity,  an  unimpeachable 
naturalness,  occupy  us  with  the  being  of 
plain  people.  If  they  are  plain,  they 
are  not  prosaic;  and  it  is  because  we 
must  watch  with  interest  anything  that 
really  corresponds  with  onr  common  ex- 
rienoe ;  it  is  because  our  intelligence  re- 
cognizes something  apart  from  the  pleae^ 
nre  of  the  senses,  and  welcomes  reality 
when  it  cannot  get  beauty.  These  peo- 
ple that  Leys  paints  are  real  beings; 
they  are  individuals.  The  mystery  of 
suffering  and  the  m^esty  of  patience  are 
Leys'  men  and  women.  Mr.  Belmont's 
example  of  Leys  is  not  so  fine  in  color  as 
some  of  the  pictures  which  we  have 
seen  by  the  same  master,  but  it  is  char- 
acteristic 

We  must  forego  a  more  extended 
examination  of  Mr.  Belmont's  valuable 
collection,  to  call  attention  to  some  of 
Mr.  Blodgett's  finest  I>ictnres.  But  be- 
fore leaving  Mr.  Belmont's  gallery,  yon 
will  observe  that  he  has  three  Troy- 
ons ;  two  Meissoniers ;  two  pictures  by 
Enaus;  a  charming  picture  called  7%4 
Good  Sister^  by  Merle ;  one  limpid  and 
lovely  picture  of  Venice,  by  Zeim ;  two 
fine  examples  of  Stevens ;  three  pictures 
by  L.  Meyer;  two  specimens  of  Bosa 
Bonheur,  one  of  whidi  is  not  second  to 
any  picture  which  we  have  seen  from 
her  studio ;  three  Willems ;  three  by  De 
Haas ;  two  by  Oalftme ;  two  by  Ohavet ; 
one  by  Belang6;  a  very  perfect  genre 
picture  by  Meyerheitn ;  two  examples  of 
Bougereau  ;  one  Horace  Vemet;  one 
G^rome ;  a  sketch  by  Delaroche ;  a  fine 
example  of  Kobert  Fleury ;  and,  in  ad- 
dition to  these  most  noteworthy  pictures, 
examples  of  admirable  art  ftora  paint- 
ers who  are  either  in  vogue  or  of  high 
merit  in  Paris. 

Mr.  Blodgett's  ooUection  is  not  so  large 
as  Mr.  Belmont's,  but  it  contains  fine 
examples  of  foreign  and  some  of  the  most 


588 


PuTHAM's  MAOAZDn. 


t"* 


renowned  specimens  of  American  art 
Mr.  Blodgett  has  Ohnrch's  ''Heart  of 
the  Andes,"  and  one  of  his ''  Niagaras; " 
a  familj  g^onp  hj  Eastman  Johnson ;  a 
fine  interior  hy  Whittredge,  and  a  McEn- 
tee.  Dor6,  Troyon,  G6rome,  Fromentin, 
Dapr^  Decamps,  Tonlemonche,  and  Kosa 
Bonheor,  are  admirably  represented  in 
Mr.  Blodgett^s  gallery.  We  cannot  see 
a  Decamps  and  a  Dapr6  and  a  Fromen- 
tin every  day.  The  pictare-dealers  do 
not  often  get  them  on  this  side  of  the 
Atlantic  Mr.  Blodgett^s  Decamps  is  a 
very  powerful  picture,  deep  and  trans- 
parent in  tone,  and  very  effective.  The 
subject  itself  is  one  we  are  not  accus- 
tomed to  in  art — common  as  it  is  to  the 
French  public.  A  poor  suicide,  a  young 
man,  lies  dead  on  a  cot  in  his  room.  It 
is  a  fellow-being  stretched  in  miserable 
and  untimely  death — ^a  fellow-being,  like 
Ohatterton,  dead  in  his  pride,  now  shel- 
tered from  abject  poverty  and  fierce  re- 
volt— a  fellow-being  too  poor  to  feed  the 
fiuctuating  fiame  of  his  life, — a  life  dedi- 
cated to  the  beautiful,  not  to  the  utili- 
ties. Did  Decamps  paint  this  forlorn 
and  stranded  boy,  dead  in  bis  attic,  sim- 
ply to  sliow  us  how  brown  and  deep  and 
transparent  he  can  pfdnt  the  shadows, 
how  luminous  he  can  make  the  tone  of 
a  startling  scene,  how  striking  he  can 
render  the  effect  of  a  dirty-white  shirt 
upon  which  the  light  is  focused,  and 
how  skilful  he  is  to  carry  so  much  white 
off  into  the  dark  tone  of  the  back- 
ground ?  Because  he  was  an  artist  the 
picturesque  had  full  place,  but  because 
he  was  also  a  man  of  heai*t  he  painted 
for  the  salon  this  sign  of  neglect  and 
despfdr.  A  greater  artist  than  Decamps, 
the  immortal  Rembrandt,  would  have 
made  more  of  the  helpless  hand  that  lies 
on  the  breast  of  the  suicide;  but  he 
would  hardly  have  rendered  the  subject 
with  more  force  in  the  general  effect. 
This  subject  placed  before  us  without 
something  in  it  to  gratify  our  sense  of 
pleasure  would  simply  shock  us.  But 
this  light,  so  brilliant  and  beautiful,  these 
transparent  and  harmonious  tones,  please 
us;  and,  as  artists,  we  think  of  them 
rather  than  of  the  poor  dead  fellow  who 
in  an  instant  closed  the  gates  of  life,  shut 


himself  in  silenoe  and  untionbiM  cftBv> 
ion  from  all  the  pagemntry  and  pleiMi 
as  well  as  firom  the  miaerj  and  dBifir 
that  besets  us  in  thia  Tast  and  m^ki^ 
world.  Such  a  piolare  as  this  ii  f«j 
Buggesdve.  It  shows  how  broadml 
and  changed  is  the  fonction  of  art  Hm 
Art  goes  to.Opnlence  with  the  inugtof 
his  neglected  brother,  and  admoimb« 
him  of  his  lonely  straggle  and  Mil 
hope  and  final  despair.  It  does  mI 
limit  itself  to  the  heantifnl,  as  in  Greeea, 
to  the  serene  or  joyous  types  of  perM 
physical  life.  Civilization  has  changii 
its  home,  and  our  cities  afford  no  soek 
free  and  untroubled  life  as  in  GreeeiL 
To-day  we  have  to  be  reminded  in  osr 
comfort  and  Inzury  how  cruel  is  life  ii 
crowded  cities,  and  where  struggle  is  is- 
cessant.  It  is  not  the  mi^esty  and  ]oi»> 
liness  of  serene  ideals,  but  the  awfuloe* 
and  fiiscination  of  suffering  and  the  lM^ 
ror  of  poverty  to  the  Tictims  of  life  er 
^  of  civilization,  which  art  illDstntOL 
GflBsar  struck  dead  amid  the  grandcut 
and  after  the  magnificent  developsNot 
and  full  use  of  his  pow^-a,  we  can  u- 
derstand;  but  Ohatterton  in  his  attk^ 
with  so  much  music  in  him  which,  fib 
a  bubbling  spring,  is  plunged  back  into  ill 
dark  bed  of  earth,  and  Decamps*  r^m 
perhaps  with  a  refreshing  sense  of  thiagi^ 
snuffed  out  in  an  instant,  makes  ns  lie^ 
less  questioners. 

As  art,  Decamps*  picture  demonstntoi 
how  inadequate  is  criticism — for  cr^ 
icism,  prior  to  the  rise  of  the  Bo* 
mantic  school  in  France,  would  hive 
rejected  it ;  it  is  a  witness  that  art  is 
a  flexible  and  responsive  and  living  ex- 
pression, that  ideas  and  conceptions  of 
human  suffering  are  to  us  what  ideas  and 
conceptions  of  beauty  and  pleasure  were 
to  the  Greeks.  Our  modem  art  is  at  the 
service  of  sorrowing  humanity.  Think 
of  what  the  most  vital  and  original  of 
the  French  painters  have  given  ns  with- 
in the  last  thirty  years^types  or  sug- 
gestions of  affliction  in  figure-painting; 
and  of  melancholy  in  landsortpe  art— all 
the  tormenting  dramas  of  Delacroix^s 
stormy  and  flame-like  genius;  all  the 
sadness  of  Scheffer^s  melancholy  mind, 
his  Francesca  di  Bimini,  for  example; 


1870.] 


PlOTUBES  IN  THE  PbIYATB  G1.LLRBIB8  OF  NeW  YoRK. 


589 


then  the  pensiveness  of  Breton's  peas- 
ants ;  last,  Decamps'  **  Suicide."  Modem 
art  has  no  youth ;  it  is  touched  with  re- 
flectiveness; it  gives  hack  to  us  the 
images  of  our  moumfulest  experience. 
A  ohauge  has  come  over  the  temper  of 
the  high  world.  Instead  of  pleasing 
itself  with  Watteau's  rosj  and  hap- 
pj  girls  and  gallants  embarking  for 
the  Cj^therian  islands,  instead  of  ask- 
ing for  the  sunny  voluptuousness 
of  Titian's  beautiful  women,  it 
aocepts  the  ministrations  of  artists 
who  place  in  the  homes  of  rich  men 
mere  illustrations  of  travel ;  or,  who  set 
before  us  pictorial  combinations  that 
correspond  with  our  broadened  and 
deepened  and  easily-moved  sympathies ; 
BQoh,  for  example,  as  we  see  in  the  works 
of  the  leading  romantic  painters  of 
France. 

And  this  change,  so  striking  and  sig- 
nificant in  art,  is  not  less  pronounced 
in  literature.  Passion  of  love,  of  de- 
spair, of  aspiration,  palpitates  in  modem 
,  literature,  and  lends  interest  to  every 
form  of  art  but  novels  of  English  so- 
ciety. But  this  mighty  change  which 
makes  us  sympathetic  and  solicitous  be- 
fore things  that  the  Athenian  was  hap- 
pily ignorant  of,  or  which  he  would  have 
excluded  from  art,  has  not  touched  us 
all  alike.  Ingres  in  France  never  re- 
sponded to  this  change  of  art  and  this 
new  need  of  our  nature  ;  he  held  fast  to 
the  worship  of  the  beautiful.  We  have 
one  painter  nmong  us  who  seems  like<- 
wise  intrenched  by  the  struggles  and 
anguish  of  life  in  our  modem  society. 
Sadness  and  unrest  which  we  all  share 
with  our  fellows,  and  which  we  give 
forth  again  in  our  expression,  this  one 
painter,  however  much  he  feels  it  as  a 
roan,  does  not  let  it  invade  his  life  as  an 
artist.  lie  alone  comes  to  us  with  his 
yision-like  pictures,  so  rarely  and  serenely 
beautiful,  so  placid,  so  like  the  world  we 
wish  to  inhabit,  that  we  let  ourselves 
bask  in  the  basking  places  of  Italy,  which 
he  portrays,  or  of  our  American  moun- 
tains and  skies,  which  he  paints. 

But  to  go  back  to  Mr.  Blodgett's  pic- 
tures, let  us  remark  that  he  has  two  Troy- 
ons,  one  very  admirable;  a  good  Couture; 


a  beautiful  drawing  of  sheep  by  Rosa 
Bonheur,  and  several  crayon  heads  by 
Lawrence— one  of  which  represents 
Robert  Browning,  and  it  must  afford 
pleasure  to  whoever  loves  the  magnifi- 
cent poetry  of  that  splendidly-gifted 
thinker.  Mr.  Blodgett  has  also,  what 
is  quite  rare,  a  specimen  of  Fromentin — 
one  of  his  Algeria  subjects,  with  which 
his  name  is  exclusively  associated.  The 
composition,  the  grouping  of  the  figures, 
and  the  luminous  and  mellow  tone  of 
the  picture,  must  elicit  the  highest  praise. 
Since  painting  this  picture  Fromentin 
has  become  one  of  the  first  painters  in 
Paris.  Every  form  of  written  eulogium 
has  been  lavished  upon  him.  Critics 
pridse  his  color,  his  drawing,  his  compo- 
sition; they  admire  the  fineness  and 
elegance  of  his  style,  the  spirit  of  his 
figures,  the  neatness  of  his  touch.  A 
very  instractive  comparison  was  recently 
made  by  the  critic  of  the  .Revue  Inter- 
nationdU  between  Fromentin's  and 
Chrome's  pictures.  He  wrote :  "  O^rome, 
whose  pictures  form  a  perfect  contrast 
with  those  of  Fromentin,  obtains  a  suc- 
cess in  the  talon  to  which  we  are  accus- 
tomed. A  long  time  yet  the  mass  of  the 
public  will  continue  to  take  a  certain  skill 
for  the  highest  work  of  art.  Fromentin 
places  his  personages  in  the  open  air,  and 
gives  to  his  canvas  a  general  and  true 
tone.  G4rome  represents  his  personages 
under  some  arbitrary  light,  and  renders 
them  in  a  conventional  rasset  tint ;  Fro- 
mentin shows  them  in  motion,  and  as  in 
Delacroix,  by  the  gesticulation  which 
they  make,  you  may  guess  that  which 
will  follow.  G6rome  shows  them  in  a 
motionless  attitude  that  would  delight 
a  photographer;  the  touch  of  one  is 
spirited  and  free — that  of  the  other  is 
only  precise,  and  the  good  fellows  of 
G^rome's  pictures  always  have  the 
aspect  of  ivory  statues,  whose  precision 
of  form  charms  certain  people."  These 
words  let  us  know  the  interest  with 
which  Fromentin's  work  is  considered  in 
Paris,  and  how  closely  he  presses  the 
most  successful  artist  now  living  in 
France.  Mr.  Blodgett  is  to  be  congratu- 
lated on  having  a  Fromentin,  and  for 
these  reasons:  Fromentin  and  Millet — 


640 


PtTTirAH'S  Magaziks. 


p«v, 


sinoe  Konsseau  and  Delacroix  are  no 
more — are  the  most  admirable  and 
boasted  painters  of  the  French  schooL 
Tbej  are  the  most  thoroughly  sincere 
and  original — ^Millet  poet-pdoter,  and 
Fromentin  pore  and  elegant  artist.  Fro- 
mentin  lacks  bnt  one  element  to  be  a 
grand  painter;  lacking  passion,  he  jet 
has  all  the  qualities  of  a  man  of  the 
world  which  imply  fine  and  sure  powers 
but  no  grandeur.  Fromentin  as  a  man 
and  artist  is  elegant,  exquisite,  brilliant, 
just;  his  touch  is  precise  and  spirited 
like  Teniers ;  he  composes  with  a  skill 
second  only  to  Horace  Vernet ;  he  is  a 
colorist  to  be  compared  with,  although 
he  does  not  equal  the  force  and  rariety 
of  the  great  Delacroix;  and  yet  ten 
years  ago  Fromentin  could  not  determine 
whether  he  was  a  painter  who  writes  or 
a  writer  who  paints. 

But  we  must  leaye  all  the  fine  things 
in  Mr.  Blodgett^s  collection  to  those  who 
may  have  the  privilege  of  leisurely  and 
repeatedly  renewing  their  acquaintance 
with  them.  There  is  no  better  foreign 
art  in  New  York  than  on  Mr.  Blodgett*s 
walls.  On  another  occasion  we  shall 
speak  of  what  Mr.  Aspinwall  and  Mr. 
X.  ^.  Johnson  have  in  their  galleries. 
The  art-wealth  in  our  New  York  private 
galleries  is  very'great,  but  with  the  sole 
exception  of  Mr.  R.  M.  Oliphant^s  admi- 
rable collection,  ^one  of  these  galleries 
are  either  chiefly  or  exdnsively  com- 
posed of  American  pictures ;  and  in  Mr. 
Belmont's  gallery  American  art  is  barely 
admitted.  The  best  examples  of  Amer- 
ican art  seem  to  have  found  less  hospi- 
tality in  the  galleries  than  in  the  parlors 
of  discriminating  gentlemen.  While  we 
could  wish,  for  the  sake  of  a  direct  influ- 
ence upon  us,  that  we  could  always  know 
where  to  fiud  the  best  works  of  our 


American  painters,  we  can  only  ntd- 
lect  them  and  question  where  tbej  in 
hidden  from  us;  what  iaxoSlj  has  th» 
pleasure  of  those  scattered  and  predni 
examples  of  American  art  which  v« 
boast  off  where  all  the  fine  Giibrdi 
and  Inness's  that  have  arrested  attia- 
tion  in  successive  exfaibitioDs  of  ths 
Academy  of  Design?*  InateadofaproB- 
inent  and  accessible  collection  of  theUil 
pictures  which  represent  Amerieaas^ 
and  inform  our  wealthy  men  of  the  <i- 
cellenoe  of  what  haa  been  done;  iniUil 
of  being  able  to  reach  the  moat  beantiM 
renderings  of  our  own  painters'  baiksi- 
perienoe  with  nature,  we  have  toian^ 
it  all,  and  thank  oar  most  opulent  mH 
liberal  fellow-citizena  for  fordga  art; 
while  we  consent  to  ignore  the  ftek,  flit 
real  sensibility  to  the  beantlfhl  and  pi^ 
sonal  discrimination  in  matters  of  n^ 
would  make  a  man  as  quick  to  covet  ai 
Inness  as  a  Rousseau,  a  Giilbrd  as  i 
Turner  or  a  Zeim,  a  Johnson  aa  a  Kmi; 
and  that  Winslow  Homer  and  Laltefi 
and  Homer  Martin  and  Graj  and  KsoNtt 
and  Wyant  and  Griswold  and  Hunt  sad 
Coleman  and  Whittredge  and  Dana  aai 
Vedder  are  more  or  leaa  the  peers  of  tbs 
landscape  and  genre  painters  of  I^aoflt 
and  Germany,  however  much  tbdr  woiti 
may  fall  below  the  rank  of  the  repressat- 
ative  and  learned  and  dramatao  produc- 
tions of  such  men  as  G^rome,  Delarodbe, 
Delacroix,  Gallait,  and  Oontore,  and  the 
prinutive  poet-painter  ICUetof  Barbiaoa. 


*  [Our  oantrflmiorwM  not  pcriupa  ame^tette 
the  Appendix  to  Mr.  TackennM&*i  Book  of  Ihi 
Artiati,  ia  a  complete  list  of  neariy  aU  Um  Amtritm 
pictnres  of  any  note  pointed  up  to  ttia  ttee  of  te 
pnblieation,  together  with  the  names  of  the  ovmh 
of  them,  or  of  the  instttntionfl  to  whieb  thoy  b^ 
long.  The  new  Mneemn  of  Art  jnat  pwtfeote^  vBi 
we  tnuti  eoon take  away  fhxB  o«r  dty  thoi 
implied  in  fhta  paiioge.~BD.) 


1870.] 


PXBNIOKITTT  PxOFUk 


Ml 


PERNIOKITTY  PEOPLE. 


Whebt  I  was  in  Edinbargh— that  most 
pletnresque  city — I  was  diniog  with  a 
friend  one  eyeniog,  who  said  to  me,  **  I 
have  two  yerj  pemiokitty  old  aunts  who 
wish  to  know  yon." 

^'What  do  7on  mean  bj  that  odd 
word  ?  "  I  asked. 

'*  Go  and  see  them,  and  jon  will  soon 
find  out  They  are  doaoe  sonsie  bodies, 
but  extremely  pemickittj.  Yon  mnst 
odl  npon  them,  for  thej  rarely  go  be- 
yond their  own  door-stone  save  to  kirk." 

Stimulated  by  cnriosity,  and  waiving 
eHqnette,  my  danghter  Alice  and  I  drove 
€fat  the  next  morning  to  make  the  visit 
Oor  road  was  that  beantifol  one  called 
^The  Qneen's  Drive."  We  passed  Oal* 
ton  Hill,  on  the  top  of  which  Lord  Nel- 
•on^s  monument  shoots  up  into  the  sky, 
liien  through  massive  gates  which  took 
114  past  the  firont  of  Holyrood  Oastle, 
and  up  gentle  slopes  with  the  green  and 
lorely  Arthur's  Seat  and  Salisbury  Orag 
on  the  right,  where  the  birds  and  sheep 
and  lads  and  lassies  were  rejoicing  to- 
gether in  the  sunshine. 

The  gradual  rise  in  the  '*  Queen's 
Drive  "  soon  showed  us  the  little  fishing 
town  of  New  Haven,  two  miles  away, 
where  some  of  the  young  fish- wives  in 
their  quaint  costumes  are  as  beautifdl  as 
Ohristie  Johnston.  Beyond,  the  swelling 
tide  of  the  Atlantic  was  lost  in  the  hori- 
son. 

We  sat  silent,  enjoying  to  our  hearts' 
content  the  sensations  awakened  by  the 
delicious  mingling  of  the  present  loveli- 
ness with  the  storied  souvenirs  which 
crowded  and  covered  every  rood  €ff 
ground,  and  after  four  or  ^ve  miles  of 
this  pleasant  driving,  we  arrived,  in  a 
most  cheerfbl  frame  of  mind,  at  the 
mansion  of  the  pemiokitty  ladies^ 

The  house  stood  alone.  A  grass  plot 
was  on  either  side  of  a  straigjit  and  very 
narrow  paved  walk,  which  with  two 
stone  steps  led  up  to  the  front  door.  I 
observed  that  there  were  no  fiower  beds ; 


that  the  stone  steps  were  artificially 
whitened ;  and  that  the  door  glared  pain- 
fally  white  in  the  sunbeams.  There 
were  both  bell  and  knocker,  and  being 
used  to  the  former,  I  rang. 

A  neat  little  maid-servant  opened  the 
door,  and  instantly  said^  "  Hand  up  your 
feet,  ma'am,  please,  a  wee  bit  minute." 

I  did  so,  and  she  carefully  rubbed  my 
boots  with  a  coarse  cloth.  Alice  had  to 
submit  to  the  same  somewhat  mortifying 
purification,  and  then  the  little  maid 
looked  anxiously  at  the  door-bell.  Pull- 
ing another  and  finer  cloth  out  of  her 
pocket,  she  polished  the  knob  energetic- 
ally, and  turning  to  us  with  a  i^Ueved 
but  fiushed  fSaoe,  said,  '<  Weel,  that's  a'. 
Wad  ye  be  seekin'  the  leddies  ?  " 

'^  That's  a'."  If  I  had  not  been  led  to 
expect  something  unusual,  I  should  have 
marched  off  then  and  there  in  a  fine 
rage,  that  our  very  touch  was  considered 
a  defilement ;  but  a  dawning  perception 
crossing  my  brain  that  the  pemickitty 
business  was  beginning,  I  swallowed — so 
to  say — my  boots  and  the  bell-knob,  and 
sweetening  my  face  and  my  temper,  sig- 
nified my  desire  to  see  the  Misses 
McOrae.  I  gave  the  maid  my  card  and 
walked  up-stairs  into  the  drawing-room. 

It  was  a  large  apartment,  with  all  the 
sun  severely  shut  out  of  it.  Every  chair 
was  set  hard  against  the  wall  like  bad 
boys.  The  books  on  the  centre-table 
were  arranged  with  mathematical  preci- 
sion^  and  looked  like  the  spokes  of  a 
wheel  around  an  axle  formed  by  a  lamp. 
There  were  no  pictures  on  the  walla, 
pdrhaps  because  the  frames  might  leave 
an  outline  mark.  There  was  no  com- 
fortable tabby — such  as  all  nice  old  ladies 
ought  to  have—purring  on  the  rug,  but 
a  hard  china  cat  squinted  at  us  from  the 
mantel-shelf^  which  was  about  two  feet 
from  the  ceiling.  Two  little  hand  fire- 
screens tanked  the  cat  on  either  side; 
they  were  of  a  square  shape,  and  were 
embroidered  in  brown  and  gray  squares. 


043 


PXTTNAM^S  MaOAZINB. 


0iv, 


The  carpet  was  of  a  pattern  also  in 
squares  like  a  checker-board,  and  IIo- 
garth^s  famoas  line  of  beauty  was  no- 
where to  be  seen. 

I  got  fidgettj  gazing  at  all  this  grim 
order.  I  felt  a  desire  to  stir  up  the 
chairs  to  revolt.  I  did  make  an  intrepid 
foray  on  the  wheel  of  books,  pulling  two 
of  the  spokes  oat  of  line,  and  had  jast 
regained  my  seat,  when  the  old  ladies 
entered. 

They  were  two  small  neat  little  wom- 
en, with  high-cheek  bones  and  angular 
elbows ;  and  they  were  dressed  precisely 
alike,  in  immaculate  gray  silks,  snowy 
lace  caps,  and  black  mitts. 

They  approached  us  with  mild  and 
gracious  smiles,  prinking  this  way  and 
thnt,  with  quick  darting  movements  of 
their  heads  like  canary  birds.  Their 
eyes  seemed  to  look  "seven  ways  for 
Sunday,"  and  inevitably  and  simultane- 
ously they  saw  the  destruction  of  the 
harmonious  wheel  on  the  table.  A  faint 
color  mounted  into  their  small  faces,  one 
of  them  sprang  forward  and  replaced  the 
spokes,  while  the  other  extended  her 
hond  to  me  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  her 
sister^s  movements. 

"A  wee  mair  th'  ither  side,  Jean- 
nette,"  said  she.  "  Which  way,  Elsie, 
sae  ?  "  "  Na,  na !  O,  I  can  thole  it  nae 
langer,"  and  Miss  Elsie,  forgetting  me, 
ran  to  the  table  and  moved  a  book  the 
twentieth  part  of  an  inch,  patted  it— then 
both  shaking  hands  with  us,  they  sat 
down  flushed  and  flustered. 

"They  ca'  us  ower  muckle  per- 
nickitty,"  said  Miss  Elsie,  trying  to  smile 
graciously,  "  but  what  kind  o'  place  wad 
Heaven  be,  I  wad  like  to  ken,  if  the 
mansions  aboon  were  na  keppit  in  or- 
der?" 

"And  dustit,"  added  Miss  Jeannette. 
"  It^s  a  mercy  that  we  needna  lie  waken 
o*  nights  in  Heaven  thinking  o'  the  cob- 
webs which  that  hizzy,  Ann,  leaves  in  a' 
the  corners." 

To  witness  unconscious  revealing  of 
points  of  character  was  always  great  fun 
for  me,  and  I  was  keenly  enjoying  the 
present  display,  when  a  knock  at  the 
front  door  arrested  the  conversation.  A 
moment  after  we  heard  a  slight  scuffle 


and  a  loud  "  let  my  booU  alone!  **  aiidt 
bright  looking  boy  of  sixteen  entered  Ab 
room. 

'^Why,  Archie,"  said  Miss  Jeannette, 
"  the  sight  o'  you  is  gude  for  sair  ea.* 
She  was  looking  up  iu  his  handsome  face 
as  she  spoke,  but  Miss  Elsie  when  ihe 
gave  him  her  hand  looked  down,  sod' 
suddenly  her  face  stiffeDed  into  an  ex- 
pression of  mixed  dignity  and  indign** 
tion.  Following  her  eyes  I  noticed  a 
bit  of  mud  the  size  of  a  pea  sticking  to  tbe 
outer  edge  of  one  of  the  young  mamh 
boots. 

"  Who  can  control  his  fate  f  "  as  OtheBo 
says.  I  saw  in  a  moment  that  Arehie^i 
doom  was  fixed  I  his  character  gone  fiir- 
everl  It  was  enough  to  move  one  to 
tears,  or  it  would  have  been  had  I  kaowa 
at  the  moment  that  he  was  a  fiivorita 
great-nephew  of  the  old  ladies,  and  tliej 
had  intended  to  leave  him  the  mostiif 
their  money. 

Miss  Elsie  sat  down,  her  face  pale,kflr 
hands  nervously  twitching — ^taking  wj 
little  part  in  the  conversation,  and  looi 
after  the  little  maid  entered  with  a  salfer 
of  cake  and  wine. 

By  this  time  Archie  had  discovered 
the  dreadful  scrap  of  mud  which  bad 
made  ruin  of  his  prospects,  and  wrecked 
his  aunts'  pernickitty  peace  of  mind.  It 
was  in  vain  that  he  tried  to  be  uoeon- 
cerned  and  jolly — ^he  knew  too  well  tbe 
deadly  nature  of  the  offence  he  had  com- 
mitted. The  scrap  of  mud  seemed  to 
grow  larger  every  time  he  looked  at  it, 
and  he  was  fast  getting  into  a  stuttering 
and  confused  state  of  mind  and  conver- 
sation. 

We  each  took  a  glass  of  wine,  aad 
Aunt  Elsie  was  just  raising  hers  to  her 
lips,  when  she  spied  a  big  brown  cater- 
pillar mounting  up  the  strings  of  the 
maid^s  cap,  its  horned  head  turning  and 
twisting  the  better  to  view  the  company. 

Tbe  intrusion  of  this  abominable  beiit 
was  past  endurance.  Miss  Elsie^s  fingers 
immediately  got  a  stroke  of  pernickittj 
paralysis,  her  glass  suddenly  turned  up- 
side down,  and  the  wine  was  splashed  aU 
over  the  front  of  the  ^otless  gray  silk. 

Archie  flew  to  catch  the  glass ;  when 
the  unlucky  boot,  sliding  along  the  car- 


1670.] 


Pkbniokitty  People. 


648 


petf  left  a  muddj,  streaky  line  in  his 
wake,  the  sight  of  which  oansed  Miss 
Jeannette  ta  scream  as  if  she  had  been 
stabbed. 

"  Wha'  hae  ye  dune,  ye  gowk  ? "  she 
cried.  '^Ichabod!  the  decency  hae  de- 
parted frae'  ns  a' !  " 

It  was  high  time  that  we  departed,  too, 
for  the  agitation  and  bow-wow  were  fast 
increasing.  Miss  Elsie^s  terrible  misfor- 
tune had  steadied  her  nerves  and  aronsed 
her  spleen.  With  a  look  like  an  ogres<), 
as  If  she  would  swallow  maid,  caterpillar, 
and  all,  she  clawed  the  terrified,  hapless 
servant  and  dragged  her  ont  of  the  room 
—  "the  snake"  still  wriggling  np  her 
cap-strings. 

I  believed  that  they  could  harbor  no 
pemickitty  sin  against  me,  but  Alice  dis- 
graced herself  forever  by  letting  three 
crumbs  fall  on  the  carpet  as  she  rose, 
and  thus  deprived  us  of  the  slightest 
chance  of  ever  being  invited  to  that 
house  again. 

As  we  drove  away  I  looked  back ;  the 
last  thing  I  saw  was  the  poor  little 
toaid,  her  face  all  puckered  with  crying, 
hurrying  out  with  a  bucket  of  steaming 
hot  water,  and  a  brush,  with  which  she 
proceeded  to  scrub  off  the  door-steps. 

Since  my  return  to  my  beloved  coun- 
try, I  have  heard  of  other  pernickitty 
people — ^I  have  visited  them — and  what 
follows,  is  a  full  and  true  account  of  one 
of  these  visits : 

There  is  at  this  moment  a  pretty  little 
village  in  the  wooden-nutmeg  and  shoe- 
peg,  melon-seed  State — so  far  removed 
from  railroads  as  to  retain  that  delicious 
primitiveness  which  is  becoming  more 
rare  every  day,  with  the  march  of  im- 
provement— and  morels  the  pity  I 

This  village  consists  of  just  nineteen 
houses,  nestling  in  a  sheltered  basin, 
with  knarled  old  trees  and  the  high  hills 
rising  up  on  every  side.  Of  oourse  it 
boasts  a  minister,  a  lawyer,  a  doctor,  and 
a  postmaster.  They  are  all  well-to-do 
and  well  educated,  but  no  one  keeps  a 
servant,  and  consequently  thrift  and 
neatness  reign  triumphant. 

I  spent  two  weeks  in  this  sylvan  spot, 
and  soon  discovered,  to  my  intense  satis- 
faction, another  pernickitty  wonder  in 


the  minister's  wife.  8he  had  no  chil- 
dren, let  me  premise,  for  a  childless 
house  must  be  an  inevitable  nne  quA 
non^  if  you  desire  successftilly  to  practise 
this virtue ! 

One  evening,  or  rather  afternoon,  the 
pretty  daughter  of  my  hostess  was  away 
taking  tea  at  the  parsonage ;  her  brother 
was  to  go  for  her  in  the  evening.  It 
was,  as  I  have  mentioned,  a  strangely 
primitive  place  for  these  high-polish  and 
high-pressure  days,  so  I  did  not  hesitate 
to  offer  to  accompany  him,  and  make  a 
call. 

When  we  got  to  the  garden-gate,  Gath 
— for  this  was  his  Scriptural  name — 
solemnly  drew  off  his  boots. 

"  What's  that  for? "  I  asked. 

"  Never  do  to  wear  'em  in,"  he  an- 
swered; "I  did  it  once — and  horresco 
refereni/^^ 

Stepping  up  the  path  in  his  stockinged 
feet,  he  took  out  his  pocket-handkerchief 
and  proceeded  vigorously  to  polish  his 
knuckles,  with  which  he  knocked  on  the 
door.  The  minister  opened  it,  welcomed 
us,  and  ushered  us  into  the  parlor,  where 
some  romping  game  seemed  to  be  going 
on. 

Romping!  No  indeed  I  A  very  seri- 
ous business  was  in  progress.  We  found 
Oath's  sister  with  a  large  towel  in  her 
hand,  and  the  minister's  wife  had  anoth- 
er. One  towel  was  wet,  the  other  dry. 
A  Fly— just  one — was  In  the  room. 
Wherever  this  awful  monster  alighted, 
there  pounced  the  minister's  wife  to 
scrub  out  tUe^I — don't — know — what 
— spot — Shakespeare  does  perhaps — with 
might  and  main — Oath's  sister  instantly 
following  to  complete  the  purification 
with  the  dry  towel. 

Oh  the  appalling  villany  of  that  fly  I 
It  was  beyond  belief  I  He  reduced  his 
mad  antics  to  a  science,  the  better  to 
torment  those  two  heated,  breathless 
women.  He  challenged  them  to-— *'  come 
on,  Macduff,"  etc.  He  made  "rights" 
at  them  with  his  legs  on  his  nose.  He 
darted  away  each  time  at  a  different  an- 
gle, so  that  the  flapping  towels  invari- 
ably hit  only  the  iigured  and  insulted 
walls  in  their  endeavor  to  circumvent 
him  by  following  the  course  of  the  last 


644 


Putnam's  Magazihi. 


Vt, 


flight ;  he  did  not  intend  them  to  profit 
hy  experience ;  he  might  have  heen  the 
transmigrated  soul  of  Ooleridge,  who 
compares  experience  to  the  *'  stern-lights 
of  a  ship,  which  illume  the  path  that 
has  heen  traversed,  but  throw  no  light 
on  that  which  is  to  come." 

When  the  minister's  wife  and  Gath's 
sister  were  on  the  point  of  fainting  with 
exhaustion,  the  depraved  fly  rose  on 
level  wings  to  a  corner  of  the  ceiling, 
and  sat  there  coolly  washing  his  face, 
and  making  months  at  his  baffled  pur- 
suers. 

Why  is  it  that  people  make  the  most 
astounding  confidences  to  me  ? 

That  evening  the  minister  offered  to 
wait  upon  me  home.  I  accepted  his  serv- 
ice with  alacrity,  for  there  had  been  very 
little  conversation  during  the  battle  with 
the  fly,  and  I  wanted  to  know  him  better. 
His  very  plain  but  intelligent  face  in- 
terested me.  It  had  *'  a  charity-which- 
suffereth-long'^  expression.  It  remind- 
ed mo  of  one  of  the  pictures  in  ^'  Fox's 
Book  of  Martyrs,''  the  martyr  whose 
feet  are  toasting  on  a  gridiron. 

His  feet,  let  me  hasten  to  say,  were 
not  toasting  on  a  gridiron,  unless  you 
should  choose  to  consider  a  pair  of  nice 
carpet-slippers  as  an  allegorical  symbol 
of  this  culinary  utensil,  because  they 
were  worn,  without  a  doubt,  under 
marital,  not  to  say  inquisitorial  law.  I 
forgot  to  mention  that  he  had  supplied 
Gath,  on  his  entrance,  with  a  pair  of 
the  same  sort,  who  danced  around  in 
them,  after  the  plunging  and  leaping 
women,  langhing  and  singing  '*  8hoo-fiy 
don't  bodder  me,"  to  their  extreme  an- 
noyance, whUe  the  minister  and  I  tried 
to  converse,  as  I  said  before,  with  very 
little  success ;  for  I  saw  that  he  was  ex- 
ceedingly mortified  at  the  entertainment 
the  stranger  was  receiving  within  his 
gates. 

When  we  left,  the  minister  bronght 
with  him  to  the  garden-gate  a  pair  of 
boots,  took  off  the  slippers,  hid  them  in 
a  currant-bush,  drew  on  the  boots,  and 
then  offered  me  hb  arm. 

"My  dear  wife,"  he  began  the  very 
first  sentence,  "my  dear  wife  carries 
her  virtues  of  neatness  and  carefulness 


to— I  had  almost  said — the  verge  «f 
vice ;  truly  she  is  *•  oombered  abnl 
much  serving.*  It  is  much  too  w&Am 
to  be  a  Jest — it  pervades  all  boon  d 
the  day  and  night.  In  her  leaUy  ttt^ 
tionate  solioitade  for  mj  oomfort,  lit 
awakens  me  out  of  m j  first  ale^  eiwj 
night  with — 'Dear,  are  yea  oonfivt- 
able?' 

**  *  Quite  so.* 

" '  Won't  yon  have  another  Uankett* 

"  *  Oh,  no.* 

"  ^Perhaps  you  are  too  warm  MM 
open  the  window  a  little  morel' 

"  *  No,  thank  you,  my  dear.' 

"  <  Shall  I  get  up  and  g^ve  yon  a  driak 
of  water?' 

'*  *  I  am  not  thirsfy,  dear.  Good-Di|^' 

"  'Are  yon  quite  sure  yon  are  p»> 
feotly  comfortable?*  and  so  on,  until  I 
have  to  use  almost  superhuman  exeitiai 
to  keep  my  temper,  beoaose  I  know  dis 
loves  me  with  i^  her  carefhl  heart** 

**I  have  met  such  people  befixre^"  I 
observed.  "They  are  called  '  pemiddttj 
people '  in  Scotland ;  **  and  I  gave  him  an 
account  of  my  visit  to  the  old  ladie^  tt 
which  he  laughed  heartily. 

"  It  is  a  wonderfhl  exception,"  be  aud, 
*'  if  I  can  eat  a  meal  in  peace.  Thb 
morning  my  plate  was  snatched  awiy 
just  as  I  had  put  a  crisp  brown  sausage 
on  it,  because  my  wife  saw  some  marki^ 
invisible  to  me,  which  showed  that  it 
(the  plate)  had  not  been  washed  in  boil- 
ing water.  My  study  chair  is  kept  at  a 
rigorous  right  angle  with  the  writing- 
table,  and  I  am  afraid  my  sermons  are, 
fVom  affinity,  as  rigid  as  a  poker,  and 
dull  as  a  door-post.  Bless  her  kind 
heart  I  if  she  would  only  take  Mary  in- 
stead of  Martha  as  a  model — ^if  she  would 
only  cultivate  a  little  carelessness— we 
should  be  the  happiest  couple  in  tbe 
world." 

Poor  fellow!  a  minister  grievoody 
tormented  with  too  much  pemickittj 
virtue  in  hb  wife  I 

Before  I  left  the  village  the  good  maa 
was  invited  to  the  ten  years*  meeting  of 
his  own  class  at  Yale,  and  JoyfbUy  made 
his  preparations  to  go. 

His  wife  also  made  preparations,  and 
Gatb's  sister  helped  her.    *^  Now,  dear,** 


1870.] 


Madame  Roland. 


545 


she  harangued  him  the  previous  even- 
ing, "  now  look  I  here  are  eleven  pocket- 
bandkerohiefs.  I  have  labelled  them  as 
jon  see.  This  one  ''-^reading  the  label 
— ''  is  for  you  to  use  in  the  cars ;  this 
large  one  is  to  tie  round  your  neck  if  any 
nasty  selfish  people  open  a  window  near 
yon  ;  this  is  to  spread  over  your  knees 
to  keep  the  grimy  dust  from  soiling  your 
clothes;  this  large  colored  one — quite 
old  you  see — ^is  in  case  you  have  the 
nose-bleed  (which  he  never  had,  by  the 
way) ;  this  other  old  colored  one  is  to 
aprMd  over  the  back  of  the  seat — people 
are  always  rubbing  their  greasy  heads 
on  the  backs  of  the  seats ;  this  very  fine 
one  dear — now  don't  forget  it — ^is  for  you 
to  carry  when  you  call  upon  President 
Woolsey ;  this  is  for  a  night-cap.  You 
mnst  wear  a  night-cap  in  a  strange  bed- 
^  room,  nobody  can  tell  what  dangerous 
draughts  there  are  flyiog  round.  This 
other  very  nice  one  is  to  use  when  you 
go  to  the  class  supper ;  I  have  embroi- 


dered your  initials  in  the  corner,  and  be 
sure  if  you  have  to  wave  it,  and  orj 
Hurrah!  that  you  let  that  comer  fly. 
There  are  three  left,  for  accidents,  oon- 
tiugencies,  and  possible  losses — ^for  you 
are  s— o  careless  I  " 

"Oh I  "  sighed  he  to  Gath,  who  ac- 
companied him  to  the  cars — "oh,  thank, 
goodness!  I  shall  sleep  all  night  safe 
from  killing  kindness." 

"  And  oh !  "  sighed  his  wife  to  Gath's 
sister,  /shall  have  a  good  night's  sleep, 
but  who  will  see  that  he  is  comfortable? " 

There  is  a  moral  to  be  deduced  firom 
all  this,  my  patient  reader,  but  I  have  a 
delicacy  about  sticking  it  out  at  the  end 
of  my  article  like  a  homy  toe. 

Children  always  skip  the  moral ;  most 
grown  folk  do  sometimes,  to  save  me 
the  trouble  of  telling  you  that  it  is  only 
a  peculiar  cropping  out  of  "  innate  de- 
pravity "  to  be  Pemickitty  People,  such 
as  those  of  whom  I  have  been  writ- 
ing. 


•♦• 


MADAME  ROLAND. 


Thbeb  separate  works,  comprising 
four  Yolumes  octavo  of  from  three  hun- 
dred and  fifty  to  four  hundred  pages 
oach,  have  been  published,  since  Jan- 
nary,  1857,  in  Paris,  two  of  which  have 
readied  a  third  and  the  other  a  fourth 
edition,  on  the  life  and  times  of  Ma- 
dame Roland.  This  feust  attests  the 
interest  that  Frenchmen  still  have  in 
ber  history.  Her  autobiography,  writ- 
ten during  five  months'  confinement  in 
prison,  was  first  printed  in  the  third 
year  of  the  Republic,  and  though 
known  to  have  been  expurgated  and 
altered,has  passed,  within  seventy  years, 
through  more  than  half  that  number  of 
editions,  each  succeeding  one,  however, 
being  scarcely  more  than  an  imprint  of 
its  predecessors.  By  the  testament  of 
her  daughter,  Theresa  Eudora  Roland, 
widow  of  M.  Champagneux,  dated  in 
1846,  the  Imperial  Library  came  into 
possession  of  the  original  manuscript 
in  1868,  and  after  authenticating  its 
VOL,  v. — 36 


genuineness,  made  it  accessible  to  the 
literary  public  three  years  ago.  Two 
of  the  three  works — the  third  being  a 
"  Study  of  her  Life  "—conform  to  the 
text  of  the  manuscript,  the  only  dif- 
ference being,  that,  whilst  one,  in  the 
interests  of  modesty,  permits  expurga- 
tion, the  other  scrupulously  reproduces 
the  whole.  Both  the  works  contain  the 
recently-discovered  letters  of  Madame 
Roland  to  Buzot,  about  which  there  is 
the  following  story :  In  November,  1866, 
a  young  man,  employed  by  the  book- 
seUers  as  a  collector  of  autographs,  pre- 
sented himself  at  a  shop  on  the  Quai 
Voltaire  with  a  bundle^  of  old  manu- 
scripts. They  were  declined  at  first, 
but  after  being  examined  were  pur-, 
chased  for  fifty  francs,  having  been 
found  to  be  original  letters  from  Ma- 
dame Roland. 

The  knowledge  gained  firom  these 
new  sources  of  the  most  remarkable 
woman  of  modem  times, — remarkable 


S46 


Ptjtnam*b  Maoazinb. 


pi^, 


not  ]e89  for  her  virile  intellect  than  her 
womanly  heart,  her  free  thinking  than 
her  purity  of  action,  her  peerless  beauty 
than  her  tragic  fate — ^has  corrected  much 
of  history  and  g^ven  new  zest  to  the 
alleged  liaisons  of  the  Republic  That 
the  warmth  and  cAandan  of  the  auto- 
biography will  prevent  its  translation 
into  English  notwithstanding  its  rich 
material,  and  that  the  "  Buzot  letters," 
which  make  out  of  literal  fact  a  love 
tragedy  wilder  than  romance,  and  pre- 
sent psychical  phenomena  such  as  the 
upheaving  of  society  alone  could  reveal, 
will  never  be  literally  translated,  seem 
reason  enough  for  a  Magazine  sketch 
of  her  life.  Besides  her  singular  destiny 
and  her  great  political  power,  Madame 
Roland,  like  Mary  Btuart,  attracts  not 
only  by  union  of  heart-weakness  with 
mind-brilliancy,  but  by  a  mystery  that 
involves  her  life.  Bhe  herself  speaks 
of  "  passions,  which,  with  the  strength 
of  an  athlete,  she  hardly  controlled,'' 
and  her  enemies  charged  her  with  "  co- 
quetting with  the  bailiff  of  the  guil- 
lotine and  flirting  with  the  victims  of 
the  triumvirate."  And  yet — ^her  life 
was  surrendered  for  France,  purer  pa- 
triotism never  was,  and  in  a  wauton 
age  she  was  mistress  of  herself  and 
loyal  to  the  obligations  of  wife  and 
mother. 

Marie  Jeanne  Phlipon,  bom  in  Paris, 
March  18, 1754,  was  the  only  child  of  a 
wood-carver.  In  writing  from  prison, 
thirty-nine  years  afterward,  she  de- 
scribes her  childhood  as  spent  in  the 
midst  of  fine  arts,  nourished  by  books, 
conscious  of  no  superiority  but  merit 
and  no  greatness  but  virtue.  Manon, 
her  pet  name,  learned  to  read  so  early 
and  easily  that  she  could  never  recall 
the  process.  At  the  age  of  seven  she 
was  accustomed  to  rise  at  6  A.  h.,  creep 
in  her  night,  gown,  without  shoes  or 
stockings,  to  her  table  in  the  comer  of 
her  mother's  bedroom,  and  there  to 
commit  her  lessons,  read  her  st^ry 
books,  and  write  poetry,  till  called  to 
her  task  in  her  father's  workshop.  No 
restraint  was  imposed  upon  her  read- 
ing ;  she  devoured  every  book  she  could 
obtain;   and  it  fhmishes  her  a  theme 


for  remarks  which  that  age  x)enmtlid, 
that  at  ten  she  had  added  to  her  knovl- 
edge  of  ancient  and  modem  histoiy  te 
Confessions  of  Rooaseaa  and  the  Cm 
dide  of  Voltaire.  Her  lively  intelligeMe 
appropriated  every  thing  piesentod  lo 
her  senses — green  fields^  crowded  ftndi. 
gay  shop-windows,  decayed  manon  nd 
royal  palaces,  public  gardens  and  QoiUe 
cathedrals;  the  Seine  with  its  (andd 
masts  and  the  Champ  de  Man  flooM 
with  soldiery.  The  love  of  flowen  «■ 
a  passion  so  intense  that  a  rotebod  kii- 
dled  her  imagination  till  she  **  refriU 
in  the  voluptuous  oonsciousneBS  of  a- 
istence."  In  her  religious  educstioi  ihe 
leamed  the  creed,  catechism,  and  pii»' 
noster ;  was  prepared  by  the  piieit  tat 
confirmation  and  duly  received  therili; 
and  at  eight  years  of  age,  amidst  Ike 
gorgeous  ceremonial  of  Notre 
partook  of  her  first  communion,  ** 
ed  in  tears  and  ravished  with  oeMU 
love."  At  ten  she  went  to  the  conval^ 
from  which  she  returned  five  years  aflo^ 
ward,  in  the  fullness  of  health  expandr 
ing  into  womanhood,  beautifhl  both  b 
reality  and  promise,  and  rich  in  the 
exuberance  of  girlish  sensibility.  She 
describes  the  apartment  to  which  ibe 
came  back  as  offering  from  its  windowi 
to  her  **  romantic  and  va^bond  ftney  t 
boundless  field.  The  vast  deserts  «f 
blue  heavens  were  familiar  as  booki, 
while  my  heart,  sufihsed  with  miattOB- 
ble  motion,  rejoicing  in  life  and  thask- 
All  for  existence,  offered  God  pare  tad 
worthy  homage." 

During  her  next  twelve  years  we  hsve 
the  often-told  history  of  maidenliood. 
At  the  convent  she  had  formed  ftiesd- 
ships  with  Sophie  and  Henriette  Otnneft, 
sisters,  six  and  ten  years  her  senion, 
with  whom  she  corresponded  till  bcr 
marriage.  Then,  at  M.  Rolaad^s  le- 
quest,  no  reason  being  assigned,  Ae 
ceased  to  answer  their  letters ;  but  ibe 
said  afterward,  "It  was  a  wrong  view; 
marriage  is  grave  enough,  and  if  you 
make  it  more  so  by  taking  from  s  wife 
the  sweetness  of  female  friendship,  you 
run  risks  not  anticipated." 

The  picture  of  these  years,  as  paisied 
in  the  correspondence,  is  fhll  of  inttf- 


1870.] 


Madams  Roland. 


647 


eet.  Kot  personal  topics  only,  but 
comt  intrigues,  as  they  were  whispered 
by  the'  people ;  the  alleged  Impotency 
or  coldness  of  the  King,  the  fayorites 
of  the  Queen,  the  escapades  of  the 
ladies  of  honor,  the  destitution  among 
the  peasantry — all,  with  hundreds  more, 
come  up  for  comment.  The  strange 
charm  of  these  letters,  with  their  un- 
equalled brilliancy,  where  topics  stale 
and  trite  are  vivified,  and  the  common 
Joys  and  sorrows  of  a  bourgeoise  girl 
interest  likb  romance,  is  in  the  intense 
womanhood  of  the  woman.  Her  heart 
impels  every  thing.  Her  opinions  echo 
both  the  Encyclopedists  and  the  Con- 
Tent.  A  husband,  **  that  unknown  Con- 
queror in  the  future,"  is  at  one  moment 
the  mind^s  idol,  whilst  the  next  she  is 
indignant  **•  that  women  should  shame- 
leBsly  sell  their  liberty  by  marriage 
TOWS."  **  I  could  make,"  she  writes  to 
fik>phie,  **  a  model  of  the  man  I  could 
lore,  but  it  would  be  shattered  the 
moment  he  became  my  master."  She 
continues,  '*I  see  in  marriage  great 
losses  to  every  woman, — losses  that  are 
compensated  only  by  the  gain  of  giving 
to  the  world  useful  men.  In  love  our 
opponents  are  more  brisk,  impetuous, 
and  vigorous  than  we,  less  tender  and 
ftdthfhl,  but  possessing  the  ardor,  activ- 
ity, and  pliancy  which  strong  desires 
give,  without  the  impressibility  which 
vefines  and  perpetuates  regard,  solici- 
tade,  and  deference.  Their  attentions 
are  interested  in  behalf  of  an  imme- 
diate end,  and  their  love  the  effect  of  a 
momentary  frame  of  mind,  whilst  with 
ua  love  is  a  requirement  of  the  heart." 

Among  the  numerous  suitors  for  her 
band,  one  only,  M.  Lablancherie,  an 
aspirant  for  literary  fame,  touched  her 
beart.  He  brought  her  his  works  and 
she  was  delighted  in  reading  them.  '*  I 
dare  not  judge  this  young  man,"  she 
writes,  ^for  he  is  too  much  like  my- 
self ;  but  I  can  say  of  his  writings,  as  I 
•aid  to  M.  Wenze  of  his  paintings,  that, 
if  I  had  not  loved  excellence  before, 
they  would  have  made  me  crave  it. 
But  I  repent  already.  A  droll  little 
body,  my  feelings  varying  evety  hour,  I 
Bay  over  my  books, '  Adieu,  love,  I  am 


free ; '  but  at  a  knock  at  the  door,  my 
heart  goes  pit  a  pat,  and  my  imagina- 
tion conquers  me."  She  shortly  gave 
her  lover  his  dismissal,  because,  with 
senses  most  susceptible,  she  '*  doubts  if 
any  one  as  fitted  for  voluptuousness 
ever  tasted  it  less.  I  only  consider 
pleasure  to  bo  a  happiness  in  the  union 
of  what  will  regale  both  mind  and 
body  without  the  Cost  of  regret." 

It  has  been  said  already  that  after 
her  marriage  her  correspondence  with 
the  Cannets  ceased.  From  1789  to  1792 
they  did  not  exchange  a  word.  Pol- 
itics, as  well  as  the  command  of  her 
husband,  separated  them.  But — to  the 
honor  of  woman's  fidelity  to  friendship 
let  the  story  be  told — when,  years  after- 
ward, the  news  of  Madame  Roland^s 
arrest  reached  the  old  chateau,  Hen- 
riette  hastened  to  Paris,  with  persever- 
ance that  would  not  accept  denial  gain- 
ed access  to  her  eel),  and  urged  her 
with  earnest  implorings  to  escape  in 
the  disguise  she  had  brought.  **  I  was 
a  widow,"  Henriette  says,  "without 
children,  whilst  my  friend  had  a  hus- 
band and  a  daughter.  What  more 
natural  than  that  I  should  expose  my 
life  to  save  hers  ?  I  proposed  a  change 
of  garments,  and  that  she  should  escape 
while  I  remained.  My  prayers  and 
tears  availed  nothing.  *  They  will  kill 
you,'  she  continually  repeated.  ^  Tour 
blood  will  set  back  against  me.  Better 
suffer  a  thousand  deaths  myself  than  to 
reproach  myself  with  yours.' " 

But  to  return  to  our  narrative.  On 
the  5th  of  February,  1780,  Marie  Phli- 
pon  became  the  wife  of  Roland.  He 
was  forty-six  years  old,  she  twenty-six. 
She  had  known  him  several  years  as  a 
literary  friend,  had  learned  to  esteem 
him  as  a  man  of  probity  old  enough  to 
be  her  father,  and  had  been  flattered  by 
his  interest  in  her  studies.  But  she  did 
not  love  him,  he  fell  short  of  her  idea 
of  a  husband,  and  in  marrying  him 
she  "charged  herself  with  both  his 
happiness  and  her  own."  Still  she  was 
alone,  her  mother  dead,  her  father 
estranged,  her  means  cramped,  her  fu- 
ture unremunerative  toil,  and  she  gave 
herself  to  the  sacrifice.  '*  I  have  known 


548 


PiTTNAM^s  Magazine. 


Pfaj, 


all  grief,"  she  writes  on  her  wedding- 
day,  "and  am  able  to  defy  all  eviL 
Life  is  only  a  chaine  de  tmarrerie^ — ^I 
can  endure  it  without  impatience  and 
end  it  without  fear.  Men  are  either 
fools  who  abuse,  or  knayes  who  deceive 
themselves,  more  deserving  pity  than 
hatred ;  the  passions  are  cheats ;  science 
is  only  vanity ;  virtue  alone  is  substan- 
tial, and,  when  accompanied  by  friend- 
ship, may  make  life  endurable.  In 
wedding  M.  Roland  I  reduce  my  expec- 
tations to  a  measure  where  there  can  be 
no  disappointment."  What  an  epitha- 
lamium  to  be  composed  by  the  bride  ! 

She  said  of  him  afterward,  in  that 
delicate  irony  of  which  she  was  queen, 
"  He  was  a  man  fond  of  ancient  history, 
and  more  like  the  ancients  than  mod- 
ems ;  about  seven-and-forty,  tall,  stoop- 
ing, and  awkward,  but  simple  and  sin- 
cere; thin  in  flesh,  yellow,  partially 
bald,  and  with  manners  respectable 
rather  than  pleasing.  He  had,  however, 
a  sweet  smile  and  an  expressive  face ; 
his  conversation  was  fUU  of  facts,  but, 
owing  to  an  unmodulated  voice,  more 
pleasant  to  recall  than  to  hear." 

During  the  first  nine  years  that  fol- 
lowed their  marriage,  Roland  occupied 
several  public  positions  and  made  two 
considerable  journeys,  his  wife  accom- 
panying him,  to  England  and  to  Swit- 
zerland. One  child  only,  a  daughter, 
was  bom  to  them,  which,  but  for  his 
cold  temperament  and  exacting  disposi- 
tion, might  have  become  a  bond  of 
union  between  husband  and  wife.  With 
more  than  common  devotion  neverthe- 
less, the  devotion  of  duty,  Madame 
Roland  partook  of  the  occupations  of 
her  husband,  editing  his  notes,  re- 
writing his  journals,  and  reviewing  his 
articles  for  encyclopoedias  and  news- 
papers. "Working  with  him  became 
as  natural  as  eating  with  him."  During 
a  long  illness  she  never  left  his  bedside, 
for  months  depriving  herself  of  air  and 
exercise  until  he  was  out  of  danger. 
Through  their  whole  united  life,  she 
prepared  the  dyspeptic's  food  with  her 
own  hands.  In  his  sickness  she  never 
permitted  his  serial  contributions  for 
the  Academy  to  be  delayed,  and  of  the 


notice  which  those  composed  by  hendf 
received,  she  naively  remarks,  thitkr 
"husband  eigoyed  the  i>enisal, penud- 
ing  himself  that  he  was  in  an  mrasuDj 
good  vein  when  they  were  written." 

During  these  years  she  coTref^onded 
by  letters  with  Bosc,  Issarts,  and  Ln- 
thenas.  Friendphip  was  as  neoeflsaiy  to 
her  as  air. .  Commnnicaldon  of  thoi^ 
was  the  safety  valve  of  her  lif&  D^ 
prived  of  intimacy  vnth  her  own  aex, 
she  found  it  in  the  other.  Bosc  was  nz 
years  her  junior ;  Issarts  fooAer  seDior. 
It  is  to  her  letters  to  these  two  eminait 
men — ^those  to  Lanthenas  being  lo8t~ 
letters  wonderftd  in  life,  tone,  and  pow- 
er, filled  with  anecdote  and  repcttee^ 
free  from  secrecy  and  cant,  now  in  tea- 
demess  of  womanly  feeling  touchiig 
the  very  core  of  sympathy,  and  asoi 
arousing  the  mind  to  patriotic  devodoi, 
everywhere  herself,  sometimes  plajM 
in  coquetry,  severe  in  satire,  and  almMt 
girlish  in  fickleness,  and  again  the  dig- 
nified and  noble  woman  who  knew  bo 
measure  to  the  law  of  right  herinipind 
genius  laid  down  for  her  deroteei :  it 
is  to  these  letters  we  are  to  look  for  tiie 
secret  of  that  power  which  for  two 
years  made  her,  in  after-days,  the  real 
power  of  France.  In  contact  with  sodi 
men  her  mind  grew.  To  cope  with 
difiiculties,  be  equal  to  emergencieB, 
infuse  life  into  dead  theories,  and  mle 
minds  then  startling  the  world  bj 
audacity  of  doubt,  was  a  woman's  tri- 
umph. Free  as  these  letters  are,  they 
never  exceed  her  self-imposed  role  of 
morals.  And  it  is  no  small  proof  of 
her  sincerity  and  truthfulness  of  char- 
acter, that  die  kept  her  friends  to  the 
last.  It  was  Bosc,  who,  at  the  risk  of 
his  life,  left  his  retreat  in  the  forest  of 
Montmorency,  and,  clothed  as  a  wood- 
cutter, gained  admission  to  hw  cdl, 
received  and  preserved  her  journal, 
which  he  concealed  for  months  in  the 
cleft  of  a  rock,  and  followed  the  cirt 
which  took  her  to  the  scaffold,  thus 
complying  with  her  request  that  be 
would  see  her  die. 

Roland  arrived  in  Paris  in  Febroary, 
1791.  Madame  Roland  accompanied 
him.    Here  she  shortly  made  the  ao- 


1870.] 


Madame  Roland. 


549 


quaintance  of  Brissot,  Potion,  Buzot, 
and  other  leading  Republicans,  and  her 
lodgings  became  the  rendezvous  of  the 
foremost  men  of  the  Conyention.  De- 
scribing the  reunions  in  her  rooms,  she 
writes :  "  I  knew  the  place  that  became 
my  sex  and  did  not  quit  it.  In  the 
debates  I  took  no  part.  Seated  near 
the  work-table,  outside  the  circle,  I  sew- 
ed or  wrote  while  they  deliberated,  los- 
ing not  a  word,  but  neyer  speaking  or 
seeming  to  listen.^' 

Madame  Roland  was  now  thirty-six 
years  old;  her  husband  fifty-seven.  The 
prime  of  that  beauty,  which  compelled 
homage  from  friend  and  foe  alike,  was 
joflt  reached.  The  Heinsius  portrait  at 
TeiBailles  represents  her  in  morning 
dress,  her  abundant  black  hair,  confined 
by  a  ribbon  in  front,  falling  firom  the 
back  head  in  ringlets,  her  dark  eyes 
large  and  liquid,  her  nose  wide  nostril- 
edy  and  the  red  full  lips  and  rounded 
oliin  voluptuous.  It  is  a  face  alive  with 
ei^ression ;  and  when  there  are  added 
tilie  small  tapering  hands,  the  rounded 
arms,  and  the  bust  swelling  in  dazzling 
whiteness  as  it  comes  in  sight  under  the 
folds  of  the  shawl,  it  requires  little 
effort  to  imagine  the  queen  of  the  Man- 
fllon  of  the  Interior,  surrounded  by  the 
vnts  of  the  Revolution,  charming  by  a 
sagacity  which,  under  womanly  ways, 
knew  how  to  make  the  intonation  of  a 
word  an  invincible  spell. 

Tissot  describes  her  as  without  regu- 
larity of  features,  "but  possessed  of 
elegance  of  form,  grace  of  movement, 
easy  presence,  a  winning  smile  of  trans- 
parent sincerity,  and  large  black  eyes 
so  full  of  vivacity  under  pencilled  lash- 
es of  brown,  that  they  reflected  in  vary- 
ing expression  every  thought  and  emo- 
tion. Endowed  with  a  masculine  char- 
acter tempered  by  womanly  graces,  a 
•  perception  always  acute,  voice  soft 
and  flexible,  conversation  full  of  life 
heart,  soul  aglow  with  enthusiasm, 
and  unequalled  charms  of  manner,  she 
mled  the  husband  whose  intellect  she 
inspired,  governed  the  Girondists  by  an 
irresistible  ascendency,  and  remained 
in  the  midst  of  a  circle  of  modem 
Athenians  a  chaste  Aspasia.^' 


A  score  of  eulogies  of  her  wonderful 
beauty  have  been  left,  coming  as  often 
from  enemies  as  Mends.  Cam! lie  Des- 
moulins  expressed  surprise  that,  at  her 
age,  she  should  have  so  many  admirers ; 
"  but  I  never  spoke  to  him,"  is  her  naive 
remark,  "  and  his  vanity  was  wounded." 
It  was  evidently  not  so  much  the  beauty 
of  person  as  of  the  soul  that  irradiated 
it,  and  only  in  conversation,  when  her 
eyes,  full  of  life,  now  mild  and  loving, 
anon  flashing  indignation,  lighted  her 
countenance,  that  she  compelled  uni- 
versal homage. 

The  character  of  Madame  Roland 
must  be  judged  by  her  times.  During 
the  last  half  of  the  eighteenth  century 
throne,  altar,  and  family  in  France,  had 
fallen  into  one  common  ruin.  Over  the 
desolation  there  was  not  one  hopeful 
outlook.  The  sacred  was  superstitious, 
the  revered  ridiculous.  Virtue  received 
no  praise,  and  the  lapse  from  it  incur- 
red no  censure.  Social  obligations 
were  denounced  as  tyrannical  burdens. 
Foundling  hospitals  provided  for  chil- 
dren, the  fancy  of  the  moment,  were 
accepted  as  an  excuse  for  adultery,  and 
divorces  kept  pace  with  marriages.  The 
brand  oi prejudice  was  stamped  on  every 
social  institution.  Inherited  property, 
legitimate  birth,  subordination  of  wom- 
an in  the  home  circle,  faithfulness  to 
wedded  vows,  chastity  when  the  affec- 
tions were  won,  celibacy  against  inclina- 
tion, and  purity  either  in  man  or  woman, 
were  traditions  cast  off  in  the  progress  of 
human  reason.  Of  course  there  are  not 
two  codes  of  moral  law.  The  bond  that 
unites  husband  and  wife  in  virtue  of 
the  marriage  covenant  is  sacred  in  every 
age.  But  the  moral  law  receives  a  sanc- 
tion more  or  less  sacred  from  the  spirit 
of  the  age,  and  individual  character  is 
affected  by  public  opinion. 

Reviewing  her  married  life  at  this 
time,  she  remarks,  that  having  "  wed- 
ded M.  Roland  in  all  the  seriousness  of 
reason,  I  did  not  hesitate  to  devote  all 
my  powers  to  his  happiness.  Never  for 
an  instant  have  I  ceased  to  respect  him, 
or  failed  to  honor  him,  as  my  husband. 
But  there  has  never  been  equality  be- 
tween us,  nor  could  there  be  with  his 


550 


Putnam's  MAOAznrs. 


Piv. 


loye  of  command  joined  to  twenty  years 
greater  age.  When  we  live  in  the  coun- 
try my  time  is  spent  mostly  alone,  and 
when  we  come  to  town  I  am  noticed  by 
men  of  mark  with  whom  I  dare  not  bo 
intimate." 

With  such  feelings,  when  what  of 
loye  there  may  have  ever  been,  when 
respect,  gratitude,  common  interest, 
constant  association,  and  mutual  help 
were  reduced  in  the  solvent  of  pity — 
what  wonder  that  such  a  woman,  in 
such  an  age,  should  have  loved  another  I 
The  chief  element  in  Madame  Roland, 
in  all  that  made  her  what  she  was  in 
physique  and  morale^  was  l^e.  The 
vitality  of  a  score  of  women  animated 
her  being.  What  she  demanded  in  the 
man  she  could  love  was  a  correspond- 
ing Hfc.  This  Roland  had  not  At 
forty  she  would  have  been  younger  than 
he  at  twenty-five.  Was  it  strange,  then, 
that  when  "  the  lover,  whom  she  did 
not  desire  and  never  expected  to  see,'' 
appeared,  with  warmth,  delicacy,  prob- 
ity, courage,  a  cultivated  mind,  and 
grace  of  person  and  address,  appreciat- 
ing her  qualities,  quickened  by  her  spirit 
and  kindled  by  her  beauty,  that  he 
should  have  won  what  she  had  never 
given  to  her  husband  ? 

Buzot  was  four  years  her  junior.  He 
was  the  leader  of  her  party.  Correct, 
pure,  serious,  faithfhl,  and  implacable, 
known  in  the  Assembly  by  unyielding 
decision  and  consistent  conduct,  sensi- 
tive, ardent,  a  passionate  admirer  of 
nature,  and  capable  of  intense  sympa- 
thies, he  added  to  all,  freedom  from  the 
libertinage  and  hatred  of  the  debauch- 
ery that  fouled  the  age.  His  wife  was 
below  his  level.  The  families  were 
neighbors.  In  the  Roland  reunions  he 
was  always  present.  He  possessed  a 
line  figure  and  graceful  address,  and 
was  nice  to  excess  in  dress.  What  a 
contrast  to  Roland,  who  was  so  negli- 
gent of  his  personal  appearance  that 
even  Marat  said  of  him :  "  This  Puri- 
tan, who  no  doubt  has  stolen  millions 
of  the  public  funds,  shows  himself  in 
the  streets  afoot  in  a  threadbare  coat 
and  darned  stockings ; "  and  Gamille 
Desmoulins  had  immortalized  him  as 


**The  venerable  man  whom  exoMht 
slovenlinesB  raiders  mote  yeoerabk."  & 
was  the  disparity  of  natures,  not  jew^ 
that  alienated  Madame  Roland  from  kr 
husband ;  it  was  their  parity  that  divf 
her  towud  Buzot.  Four  jean  JQBi» 
ity  in  the  husband  is  counted  a  gntlBr 
objection  in  society  than  twenty  in  tki 
wife;  but  society  does  not  metsoR 
natures  nor  count  pulsations.  If  it  £d» 
there  would  be  more  both  of  yiitue  tad 
happiness  in  married  life.  What  tiie 
soul  of  Madame  Roland  was,  we  hue 
seen ;  what  her  physique  was,  Bertii,  a 
royalist,  who  diverted  so^dcAbyil' 
tending  the  daily  executions,  and  whs 
stood  near  enough  to  have 
Madame  Roland  on  the  scafiEold, 
by  extraordinary  proof  when  he  UA 
fiea,  *Hhat  the  axe  had  no  sooner  entof 
her  head  than  two  large  jets  of  Used 
sprang  from  the  trunk,  an  anpreoodsi^ 
ed  sight,  inasmuch  as  almost  sfan|i 
when  the  head  falls  a  drop  or  two  cs^ 
of  blood  oozes  from  the  wound."  9u 
died  in  the  flush  of  life  and  health; 
but,  in  all  the  elements  that  comtiftds 
youth,  she  would  have  heea  young  had 
she  lived  three-score-and-ten. 

"Age  oould  not  wither  her,  nor  niwliwi  itdt 
Ber  infinite  Tariety.** 

We  now  reach  the  last  two  years  of 
Madame  Roland's  life.  Roland  was 
made  Minister  of  the  Interior  in  Maidi, 
1792.  From  the  time  he  accepted  ofkc^ 
it  was  his  purpose  to  oveithrow  ths 
throne.  His  wife  seconded  him.  Dif- 
ferences with  Louis,  want  of  deference 
to  the  Queen,  disregard  of  court  trad»> 
tions,  were  all  suggested  by  her.  It  wis 
she  who  advised  the  omission  of  lbs 
salutation  upon  entering  the  royal  diaift- 
ber,  who  ridiculed  the  antique  dreos, 
and  who  protested  against  the  profound 
courtesy  and  bent  knee.  In  every  stafs 
of  that  momentous  quarrel  which  came 
to  an  end  so  tragic  as  to  cause  empires 
to  quake,  Madame  Roland  manifested 
an  opposition  to  all  kingly  authority 
unaccountable  by  any  hypothesis  hot 
that  of  bitter  personal  hostility  to  Marie 
Antoinette. 

It  was  now  that  she  began  to  rise  to 
the  height  of  her  great  power.     Her 


1870.] 


MiPAliU  B0LAl!n>. 


561 


ibliesy  as  wife  of  the  Minister,  sur- 
passed in  brilliancy  the  splendid  enter- 
tainments of  the  Begency.  It  was  there 
the  Girondists  discussed  the  ciyil  list 
oyer  their  wine,  and  plotted  the  ruin 
of  the  monarchy  amidst  the  measures 
of  the  dance.  It  was  the  high-day  of 
unacmpulous  democracy.  The  bland- 
iahments  of  the  present  concealed  the 
Ititure.  Ministers  arranged  their  man- 
sions as  if  for  life.  The  bourgeoisie  had 
Qflorped  the  place  of  the  nobles,  po- 
Utical  economy  was  studied  in  the  max- 
ims of  Rousseau  and  the  dramas  of  Yol- 
tsire^  and  the  new  era  of  approaching 
libeity  was  gilded  by  rays  of  hope  that 
a|ypeared  the  morning  of  an  eternal  day 
fbir  France. 

On  the  question  of  forming  a  camp 
in  Paris,  the  King  dismissed  his  Minis- 
ters on  the  18th  of  June,  1792.  Senran, 
Minister  of  War,  entering  Madame's 
apartment,  said,  '^  I  am  dismissed.  Con- 
gvatolate  me  I"  **I  am  piqued,'^  she 
leplied,  ^*  that  you  haye  precedence  in 
the  honor."  Roland's  followed,  and  he 
became  the  idol  of  the  French  people. 

The  reyolution  of  August  10th  suc- 
ceeded, and  the  Minister  was  reinstated. 
The  eyents  of  the  next  few  weeks,  the 
Tain  attempts  of  those  in  power  to  stop 
the  wheel  they  had  set  in  motion,  the  rise 
of  the  "  Mountain  "  in  the  Conyention, 
the  grovring  audacity  of  the  mob,  the 
September  massacres,  and  the  initiation 
of  the  triumyirate,  do  not  come  within 
our  scope.  We  only  see  Madame  Ro- 
land, wise,  earnest,  self-contained,  cour- 
ageous, industrious,  fruitful  in  resource, 
equal  to  emergency,  and  yarious  as  the 
sternest  demands  of  eyery  hour — ^the 
grand  heroine  of  the  Reyolution.  The 
'*  proclamation  of  the  Executiye  Coun- 
cil,*' signed  by  all  the  Ministers,  she 
wrote.  The  "  Circular  to  the  Depart- 
ments "  was  hers,  as  was  also  the  exhaus- 
tiye  paper  on  "  Subsbteuce,"  quoted  dur* 
ing  our  late  Rebellion  by  eyery  writer 
in  the  Commissary  Department.  She 
prepared  the  "  Letter  to  the  King," 
composed  the  "Appeals  against  the 
Assassins,''  which  were  placarded  oyer 
Flunce,  wrote  the  "Demand  for  Jus- 
tice "  against  the  Septembrists,  and  col- 


lated the  masterly  "Reports"  which 
Roland  made  to  the  Assembly.  These 
fiye  months,  f^om  August  16, 17dd,  to 
January  82, 1793,  were  the  one  platform 
in  world-history  up  to  that  time  where 
was  exhibited  what  a  woman  could  do 
and  su^r.  She  flung  back  the  jeers  of 
Danton  with  stinging  irony,  treated  the 
ribald  blackguardism  of  P6re  Duchesne 
with  lofty  contempt,  branded  the  insin- 
uations of  Marat,  all  oyer  her  own  name 
in  the  Moniteur,  as  falsehoods  known  to 
the  ntterers,  and  exposed  the  yanity  of 
Robespierre  to  the  roars  of  laughter  of 
all  the  sansK^ulottes  of  Paris.  The 
party  leaders  in  the  Assembly  drew 
their  inspiration  from  her  eyer-actiye 
brain.  She  kindled  the  eloquence  of 
Barbaroux,  directed  the  attacks  of  Po- 
tion, neryed  the  courage  of  Lasource, 
and  cemented  the  union  of  the  twenty- 
two  Girondists  who. stood  with  Spartan 
biayery  against  the  assaults  of  an  iiH 
ftiriated  populaca 

In  reference  to  this  part  of  her  life, 
she  afterward  wrote:  "It  is  so  true 
that  appearances  are  deceitful,  that 
those  periods  in  my  life  when  I  haye 
experienced  the  greatest  pleasures  or 
tasted  the  bitterest  chagrins,  haye  seem- 
ed to  obseryers  just  the  contrary.  It  is 
our  disposition  that  affects  us,  rather 
than  eyents.  When  attacks  upon  my 
character  were  most  audacious,  and  I 
was  in  hourly  danger  of  assassination,  I 
tasted  more  of  the  sweetness  of  life  than 
eyer  before  or  since." 

It  is  difficult  to  understand  how 
eyents  hurled  themselyes  along  in  that 
age  of  madness.  In  spite  of  her  rule, 
perhaps  in  consequence  of  it,  Madame 
Roland  was  abandoned  by  her  party. 
The  times  had  become  frightful.  Eyery 
public  interest  was  menaced.  Roland 
resigned.  The  most  sagacious  could 
not  foresee  whither  eyents  were  driying 
them.  The  King  was  deposed.  The 
triumyirate  ruled.  The  power  of  the 
Girondists  was  departing,  and  8elf-pres> 
eryation  became  the  first  law. 

At  three  in  the  morning  of  June  2, 
1792,  the  tocsin  announced  insurrection 
in  Paris.  An  immense  army  took  pos- 
seision  of  the  streets  and  fiye  thousand 


662 


PnTNAM^S  MAGA2I5X. 


Vv, 


picked  soldiers  smronnded  the  Conyen- 
tion  HalL  A  mandat  was  issued  against 
Roland.  Madame  arose  from  a  sickbed 
in  the  dusk  and  started  for  the  Assem- 
bly, "  It  18  overthrown,"  said  a  friend 
she  met,  **  and  you  must  escape.**  She 
returned  instantly,  but  was  arrested 
within  an  hour  and  conducted  to  the 
Abbaye.  Her  associates  fled  from  Paris 
and  became  yagabonds  over  France. 
Terror  marched  at  double-quick. 

To  follow  Madame  Roland  through 
the  next  flye  months  would  fill  a  yolume. 
In  yarious  prisons ;  crowded  among  fel- 
ons and  harlots;  cramped  in  stifling 
wards ;  exposed  to  daily  insults ;  shut 
out  fW>m  friends  and  correspondence; 
cheated  with  false  promises ;  her  power 
departed  and  her  good  name  defamed ; 
she  conquered  misfortune.  In  the  face 
of  all  she  composed  those  incomparable 
Memoirs  which  will  never  cease  to  be 
read.  There  is  nothing  in  French  his- 
tory to  compare  with  them.  She  never 
lost  her  self-control.  Once  released, 
only  to  be  rearrested  before  nightfall, 
she  writes  Buzot  a  cool  account  of  the 
atrocity.  Nowhere  does  she  appear  in 
truer  greatness,  love-letters  though  they 
are,  than  in  these  epistles  to  her  be- 
loved. Behind  prison  walls  she  is  pres- 
ent with  him,  urging  new  sacrifices  for 
the  fatherland. 

It  is  impossible  to  quote  at  large  from 
these  autographs,  but  they  cannot  in  fair- 
ness be  passed  entirely  over.  **  They  will 
be  less  cruel  to  Roland,"  she  writes,  'Mf  I 
remain.  I  can  better  sustain  his  reputa- 
tion. In  doing  this  I  acquit  myself  of 
a  debt  I  owe  to  the  tmhappiness  I  have 
caused  him.  But  do  you  not  see,  that 
in  being  absent  from  him,  I  live  with 
you  ?  By  my  imprisonment  I  sacrifice 
myself  for  my  husband,  and  keep  my- 
self for  you.  Thanks  to  my  jailers  for 
reconciling  duty  and  love.'* 

Again,  when  declining  escape,  she 
writes:  "Yes,  I  would  brave  every 
danger  to  fly  to  you,  but  it  is  to  Ro- 
land, old,  impotent,  and  peevish  that 
my  duty  would  compel  me,  and  I  prefer 
this  cell.  Here  I  can  keep  myself  for 
you." 

And  still  again,  in  her  most  ardent  fer- 


vor of  love— the  last  of  her  lettenttit 
reached  Buzot-^ehe  writes:  '^Sfeili 
have  placed  within  my  reach  what  I 
could  else  have  procured  only  by  eriae. 
These  irons  make  me  free  to  lovejoi 
without  hindrance.  I  will  noissAto 
fathom  the  designs  of  Ck>d,  nor  sdEei 
an  indecorous  vow  to  escape  my  l^i, 
but  I  thank  Him  for  haying  substituted 
these  chains  for  the  intangible  fetteal 
have  worn  so  long.** 

During  her  imprisonment  she  appcm 
never  to  have  lost  her  serenity  of  nunl 
Not  a  complaint  escaped  her.  ''l^ 
cell  is  large  enough  for  a  chair  near  mj 
bed,  where,  with  my  table  before  bm^  I 
read,  draw,  and  write.*'  A  feUow-|n»> 
oner  describes  her  as  always  cheeifid, 
and  possessed  of  such  self-control  ttit 
the  most  revolting  scenes  failed  to  db- 
turb  her.  In  the  ccneierfferiey  whm 
were  mixed  women  of  quality  and  pet- 
ty thieves,  sisters  of  charity  and 
tezans, — where  purorminded 
mothers  and  daughters,  beard  the  viM 
language  and  witnessed  the  most  revolt 
ing  scenes,  Madame  Boland  created  for 
herself  a  little  empire.  Her  cell  was  as 
asylum  of  peace.  When  she  went  ints 
the  court,  her  very  presence  produced 
order,  and  abandoned  wcmien,  whom  no 
punishment  could  tame,  became  gentk 
in  fear  of  displeasing  her.  To  the 
needy  she  gave  money,  to  all  counsdi 
and  consolation.  When  taking  her 
daily  promenade,  the  poor  unfortunates 
would  press  around  her  as  if  she  were  a 
tutelary  divinity. 

One  who  was  her  companion  in  mis- 
fortune speaks  thus  of  her  beauty :  ^  It 
was  not  the  well-shaped  hand  and  giaoe- 
ful  flgure,  not  the  liquid  eye  and  round- 
ed bust,  so  much  as  her  manner,  that 
won  hearts.  She  spoke  with  ease  and 
elegance,  giving  to  her  native  tongue 
the  rhythm  of  the  Italian.  To  this 
sweetness  of  voice  she  added  an  attrac- 
tion of  manner  and  a  countenance  Adl 
of  life,  holding  listeners  as  if  by  a  epelL^ 

Upon  the  morning  of  her  trial  she 
dressed  herself  with  unusual  care.  She 
wore  a  dress  of  white  muslin,  trimmed 
with  lace,  and  fastened  by  a  black  vel- 
vet girdle.    Her  hair,  parted  so  as  to 


1870.] 


Madame  Roland. 


558 


show  her  low,  broad  forehead,  fell  in 
ringlets  on  her  shoulders.  She  was 
uncommonly  yivacious.  Holding  the 
train  of  her  dress  in  one  hand  as  she 
walked  toward  the  prison  door,  she 
gaye  the  other  to  the  women  crowding 
aronnd  her,  who  covered  it  with  kisses. 
She  could  not  be  certain  of  her  return, 
and  so  bade  adieu,  with  counsels  and 
gentle  admonitions,  to  alL  Fontenay, 
the  old  jailer,  as  he  turned  the  key, 
burst  into  tears.  She  whispered  to  her 
nearest  friend  in  the  prison,  ^*  Courage," 
and  passed  out  of  the  gates. 

8he  was  twice  before  the  Tribunal. 
The  clear  account  of  her  examination, 
protracted  for  nine  hours,  which  she 
wrote  from  memory  on  the  eyening  of 
the  first  day,  corresponding  almost 
word  for  word  with  the  official  record, 
ia  a  maryel  of  self-possession.  The  At- 
torney-General, angry  that  he  could  not 
embarrass  her,  said  at  last,  '^  that  with 
snch  a  babbler  the  trial  would  never 
end.**  "I  pardon  your  rudeness,"  she 
replied ;  '^  you  can  condemn  me,  but  you 
cannot  destroy  my  good  conscience,  nor 
my  conviction  that  the  future  will 
Justity  me,  while  it  covers  you  with 
infiuny.'' 

When  she  reentered  the  prison  after 
the  second  day,  her  eyes  were  red  with 
weeping.  In  passing  toward  her  cell, 
she  indicated,  by  an  expressive  sign,  that 
she  was  condemned  to  death.  Her  spir- 
its quickly  returned,  however,  and  she 
sat  conversing  with  her  usual  spright- 
liness  until  her  name  was  called. 

It  was  4  p.  M.,  November  10,  1798, 
when  the  tumbril,  carrying  herself  and  a 
man  named  Lamarque,  former  Director 
of  Assignats,  aged  about  thirty-five,  left 
the  Conciergerie  and  took  the  usual 
route  toward  the  place  of  execution. 
A  crowd  followed,  shouting  her  name. 
Lamarque  excited  her  pity  by  his  im- 
manly  fears,  and  true  to  her  woman's 
instincts,  though  he  was  an  entire 
stranger,  she  addressed  him  encourag- 
ingly. Her  manner  during  the  ordeal 
of  this  terrible  hour,  while  the  mob 
were  heaping  upon  her  scandalous  out- 
rages, is  one  of  the  bravest  recollections 
of  the  Revolution.    Tissot,  writing  his 


history  at  the  age  of  sixty-seven,  ten 
years  afterward,  describes  ^e  scene  as 
the  most  impressive  he  ever  witnessed. 
"  Dressed  in  white,  with  rose-color  trim- 
mings, the  day  being  bright  and  warm, 
she  sat  undemonstrative  as  the  cart 
fared  slowly  forward,  the  obscene  shouts 
producing  no  change  in  her  manner. 
There  was  high  color  in  her  face,  add- 
ing greatly  to  its  beauty.^'  Arrived  at 
the  guillotine,  the  vehicle  was  backed 
to  the  steps.  **  Go  up  first,"  she  said 
to  Lamarque,  '^  you  have  not  the  cour- 
age to  see  me  die  I "  *^  Ton,  Madame, 
are  named  first  in  the  warrant,"  replied 
Sampson.  **  But  you  will  not  contend 
precedence  with  a  woman.  Monsieur  ? " 
she  rejoined,  and  her  companion  ascend- 
ed. Her  turn  came  in  a  moment.  As 
they  bound  her  to  the  plank,  catching 
sight  of  the  great  statue  before  her,  she 
exclaimed,  **  O  Liberty,  how  they  mock 
thee  I "  and  the  axe  fell* 

Her  husband  survived  her  only  five 
days.  Taking  leave  of  his  Mends,  one 
of  whom  Aimished  him  a  sword-cane, 
on  the  evening  the  sad  news  reached 
him,  he  went  out  on  the  Paris  road, 
turned  into  a  lane,  seated  himself,  and 
drove  the  steel  into  his  heart.  Her 
lover,  hunted  like  a  wild  beast  from 
covert  to  covert,  lived  nearly  seven 
months  longer,  and  was  torn  in  pieces  a 
prey  to  wolves.  Her  friends,  the  Gi- 
rondists, wandering  over  mountains 
and  through  deserts,  exposed  to  all  incle- 
mencies of  weather,  often  ill,  and  without 
money,  food,  or  clothing,  nearly  all  per- 
ished within  the  year. 

Among  the  curious  phenomena  of 
that  day  was  that  of  indifference  to 
death.     Adam    Lux  prayed  that  his 

*  Carlyle,  in  bis  French  Bevolution,  says  that 
Madame  Boland  requested  *<for  Lamarche^s  (Zo- 
marqu6*»)  sake,  to  die  first.'*  We  give,  therefixre, 
the  text  of  Tissot :  *<  La  chairete  s'etait  anr6tt«e, 
adoBB^e  k  r^chelle  oonrte  et  roide  qui  oonduiaait 
de  son  plancher  k  la  plate-forme  de  I'tehafknd. 
Madame  Roland,  usant  de  son  droit  de  femme, 
pouvait  abr^ger  son  lapplice  de  qnelques  minutet. 
EUe  dit  k  Lamarqne,  *Montei  le  premier,  toub 
n^auriez  pas  la  force  de  me  Toir  mourlr.'  L*ex6- 
cutenr  b^sitait  A  donner  son  oonsentement  k  one 
deposition  oontraire  auz  ordres  qn*il  avait  repos : 
*  Fouvez-Tons,^  Ini  dit-elle  axec  nne  sourire,  *  refuser 
k  une  femme  sa  demidre  requfite  1  *  Son  tonr  Tint 
cnfin.*» 


554 


PUINAIC'S  HAAAZEm. 


m. 


head  might  fall  by  the  same  axe  that 
was  wet  with  Charlotte  Corday's  blood. 
Diiprd  desired  nothing  more  than  to  die 
with  his  friends,  and  went  singing  to 
the  scaffold.  Philippe  £galit^  with 
the  charm  of  manner  that  never  forsook 
him,  begged  the  j&yor  that  his  execu- 
tion should  not  be  postponed  till  eyen- 
ing.  The  guillotine  was  a  lottery  from 
which  the  numbers  were  always  draw- 
ing; last  week  your  wife's,  yesterday 
your  fiither'S)  to-day  yours, — ^why  quar- 
rel with  the  inevitable  ?    Akin  to  this 


indifference  was  the  desire  that  gpnr 
among  high  and  low  to  witaen  tki 
daily  executions.  Men  of  lettoBi^  fairtk, 
wealth,  wearing  the  red  cap,  cnwdBd 
with  the  maseea  close  to  the  liedn^ 
that  no  circumstance  of  the  tngedj 
should  be  lost.  It  is  firom  one  of  tiuN 
that  we  hear  of  Madame  Rcdand^  cool- 
ness on  the  BcafEdld,  and  of  the  jets  of 
blood  which  sprang  from  her  headli 
body.  ^  Aiiui  le$  pemtrmfdnt  momir  Im 
martyrs, — U  msag  t^HUanee  esra  U  dd  mm 
leur  denUdre  peiuiej^ 


-•♦•- 


A  MirSIOAL  MYSTERY. 


One  chilly,  windy  evening,  in  the 
month  of  December,  1881,  three  yonng 
men  sat  around  a  tall  office-stove  in 
Mr.  Simon  ShrowdwelPs  establishment, 
No.  807  Dyer-street,  in  the  town  of 
Boggsville. 

Mr.  Simon  Shrowdwell  was  a  model 
undertaker,  about  fifty  years  of  age,  and 
the  most  exemplary  and  polite  of  sextons 
in  the  old  Datoh  church  just  round  the 
comer.  He  was  a  musical  man,  too, 
and  led  the  choir,  and  sang  in  the 
dioruses  of  oratorios  that  were  some- 
times given  in  the  town-hall.  He  was 
a  smooth-shaven,  sleek  man,  dressed  in 
decorous  black,  wore  a  white  cravat, 
and  looked  not  unlike  a  second-hand 
copy  of  the  clergyman.  He  had  the 
fixed,  pleasant  expression  customary  to 
a  profession  whose  business  it  was  to 
look  sympathetic  on  grief,  especially  in 
rich  men's  houses.  Still  it  was  a  kind 
expression ;  and  the  rest  of  his  features 
indicated  that  he  did  not  lack  firmness 
in  emergencies.  During  the  cholera 
season  of  the  year  aforesaid  he  had  done 
a  thriving  business,  and  had  considerably 
enlarged  his  store  and  his  supply  of 
ready-made  mortuary  furnishings.  His 
rooms  were  spacious  and  neat.  Rows 
of  handsome  coffins,  of  various  sizes, 
stood  around  the  walls  in  shining  array, 
some  of  them  studded  with  silver-headed 
nails,  and  everything  about  the  estab- 
lishment looked  as  cheerful  as  the  nature 
of  his  business  permitted. 


On  this  December  evening  ]fr. 
Shrowdwell  and  his  wife^  whose  q&V' 
ters  were  on  the  floor  above,  happ«ud 
to  be  out  visiting  some  fHends.  Hk 
young  man,  William  Spindles,  and  tve 
of  his  friends  who  had  come  in  to  keep 
him  company,  sat  by  the  ruddy  stofi^ 
smoking  their  pipes,  and  chatting  as 
cheerily  as  if  these  cases  for  tbe  dssi 
that  surrounded  them  were  simply  om^ 
mental  panels.  Gas  at  that  time  hadnt 
been  introduced  into  the  town  of  Bog^ 
ville ;  but  a  cheerftil  Argand-lamp  £d 
its  best  to  light  up  the  shop. 

Their  talk  was  gay  and  airy,  about  aB 
sorts  of  small  matters ;  and  people  ulio 
passed  the  street-window  looked  in  and 
smiled  to  see  the  contrast  between  the 
social  smoking  and  chatttng  of  tbest 
youngsters  and  the  grim  but  neat  pro- 
prieties of  their  environrnent. 

One  of  the  young  men  had  smoked 
out  his  pipe,  and  rapped  it  three  times 
on  the  stove,  to  knock  out  the  ashes. 

There  was  an  answering  knocking— 
somewhere  near ;  but  it  didn't  seem  to 
come  from  the  street-door.  They  wtrt 
a  little  startled,  and  Spindles  called  out: 

"  Come  in  I " 

Again  came  the  rapping,  in  another 
part  of  the  room. 

^'  Come  in !  ^'  roared  Spindles,  gettiof 
up  and  laying  his  pipe  down. 

The  street-door  slowly  opened,  and  in 
glided  a  tall,  thin  num.  He  was  a 
stranger.     He  wore  a  tall,  broad-brim- 


1870.] 


A  MuaioAL  Mtstksy. 


med  hat,  and  a  long,  dark,  old-fiashioned 
doak.  His  eyes  were  simkeD,  h^  face 
eadayeroQS,  his  hands  long  and  bony. 

He  came  forward.  "  I  wish  to  see  Mr. 
Shrowdwell.'' 

*^  He  is  out,*'  said  Spindles.  *^  Oan  I 
do  anything  for  yon  f " 

**  I  would  rather  see  Mr.  Bhrowdwell," 
said  the  stranger. 

''  He  will  not  be  home  till  late  this 
CTening.  If  yon  have  any  message,  I 
oan  deliyer  it ;  or  you  will  find  him  here 
in  the  morning." 

The  stranger  hesitated.  ^^  Perhq)s  yon 
oan  do  it  as  well  as  Shrowdwell  ...  I 
want  a  cofl&n.'' 

''An  right,'' said  Spindles;  ''step  this 
way,  please.  Is  it  for  a  grown  person  or 
a  child?  Perhaps  yon  can  find  some* 
thing  here  that  will  suit  you.  For  some 
rdative,  I  presume  ? " 

"No,  no,  no!  I  have  no  relatives," 
said  the  stranger.  Then^  in  a  hoarse 
whisper:  '' It's  for  myself! '' 

Spindles  started  back,  and  looked  at 
his  friends.  He  had  been  used  to  ous- 
tomers'  ordering  oofQns;  but  this  was 
something  new.  He  looked  hard  at  the 
pale  stranger.  A  queer,  uncomfortable 
ohill  crept  over  hiuL  As  he  glanced 
around,  the  lamp  seemed  to  be  burning 
very  dimly. 

''  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  are  in 
earnest  t "  he  stammered.  And  yet,  he 
thought,  this  isn't  a  business  to  joke 
about. ...  He  looked  at  the  mysterious 
stranger  again,  and  said  to  himself: 
*'  Perhaps  he's  deranged — poor  man  I  " 

Meanwhile  the  visitor  was  locking 
around  at  the  rows  of  coffins  shining 
gloomily  in  the  lamp  light  But  he  soon 
tamed  about,  and  said : 

"  These  won't  do.  They  are  not  the 
right  shape  or  size.  . . .  You  mitst  metU' 
ure  me  for  one/^^ 

"You  don't  mean — "  gasped  Spindles. 
"  Oome,  this  is  carrying  a  joke  too  far." 
"  I  am  not  joking,"  said  the  stranger ; 
"  I  never  joke.  I  want  you  to  take  my 
measure. .  . .  And  I  want  it  made  of  a 
particular  shape." 

Spindles  looked  toward  the  stove. 
His  companions  had  heard  part  of  the 
oonversation,  and,  gazing  nervously  at 


each  other,  they  had  put  on  their  hats 
and  overcoats,  pocketed  their  pipes,  and 
taken  French  leaver 

Spindles  found  himself  alone  with  the 
cadaverous  stranger,  and  feeling  very 
queer.  He  began  to  say  that  the  gentle- 
roan  had  better  come  in  the  rooming, 
when  Mr.  Shrowdwell  was  in — Shrowd- 
well understood  this  business.  But  the 
stranger  fixed  his  cold  black  eyes  on 
him,  and  whispered : 

'*  I  caa't  wait.  You  must  do  it — to- 
night. . . .    Ck)me,  take  my  measnre  I " 

Spindles  was  held  by  a  sort  of  fascina- 
tion, and  mechanically  set  about  taking 
his  measure,  as  a  tailor  would  have  done 
for  a  coat  and  trousers. 

"  Have  yon  finished  ?  "  said  the  stran- 
ger. 

''Y — y — es,  8ur;  that  will  do,"  said 
Spindles.  "What  name  did  you  say, 
sir?" 

"  No  matter  about  my  name.  I  have 
DO  name.  Yet  I  might  have  had  one,  if 
the  fates  had  permitted.  Now  for  the 
style  of  the  ooffin  I  want" 

And  taking  a  pencil  and  card  from  his 
pocket,  he  made  a  rough  draft  of  what 
he  wanted.  And  the  lines  of  the  draw- 
ing appeared  to  burn  in  the  dark  like 
phosphorus. 

"I  must  have  a  lid  and  hinges — so^ 
you  see — and  a  lock  on  the  inside,  and 
plenty  of  room  for  my  arms." 

"All  r— r— ight,"  said  Spindles; "  we'U 
make  it  But  it's  not  exactly  in  our  line 
— torn— m— ake  co—co— coffins  in  this 
style."  And  the  youth  stared  at  the 
drawing.  It  was  for  all  the  world  like 
a  violoncello-case. 

"When  oan  I  have  it?"  said  the 
stranger,  paying  no  attention  to  Spin- 
dles' remark. 

"  Day  after  to-morrow,  I  sup — p— ose. 
But  I — will  have  to — ask  Shrowdwell — 
about  it" 

"  I  want  it  three  days  from  now.  I'll 
call  for  it  about  this  time  Friday  even- 
ing. But  as  yon  don't  know  roe,  I'll  pay 
in  advance.  This  will  oover  all  expenses, 
I  think,"  producing  a  $50  banknote. 

"  Certainly,"  stammered  Spindles. 

"I  want  you  to  be  particular  about 
the  lid  and  the  locks.  I  was  buried  once 


056 


Putnam's  Magazikb. 


P«iy, 


before,  joa  see ;  and  this  time  I  want  to 
have  mj  own  way.  I  have  one  coffin, 
bat  it's  too  small  for  me.  I  keep  it  un- 
der my  bed,  and  use  it  for  a  trunk. 
Good-evening.  Friday  night — remem- 
ber!" 

Spindles  thoaght  there  wonld  be  little 
danger  of  his  forgetting  it.  But  he  didn't 
relish  the  idea  of  seeing  him  again,  espe- 
cially at  night.  "However,  Shrowd- 
well  will  be  here  then,"  he  said. 

When  the  mysterions  stranger  had 
gone.  Spindles  put  the  bankbill  in  his 
pocket-book,  paced  np  and  down,  looked 
out  of  the  window,  and  wished  Shrowd- 
well  would  come  home. 

"After  all,"  he  said,  "it's  only  a 
crazy  man.  And  yet  what  made  the 
lamp  bum  so  dim  t  And  what  strange 
raps  those  were  before  he  entered  I  And 
that  drawing  with  a  phosphoric  pencU  I 
And  how  like  a  dead  man  he  looked  I 
Pshaw !   I'll  smoke  another  pipe." 

And  he  sat  down  by  the  stove,  with 
his  back  to  the  coffins.  At  last  the 
town-dock  struck  nine,  and  he  shut  up 
the  shop,  glad  to  get  away  and  go  home. 

Next  morning  he  told  Shrowd  well  the 
story,  handed  him  the  $50  bankbill  as 
corroboration,  and  showed  him  the 
drawing,  the  lines  of  which  were  very 
faint  by  daylight  Shrowd  well  took  the 
money  gleefully,  and  locked  it  in  his 
safe. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  this  affair, 
Mr.  Shrowdwell  ? "  Spindles  asked. 

"  This  is  some  poor  deranged  gentle- 
man. Spindle.  I  have  made  coffins  for 
deranged  men — bnt  this  is  something 
unusual — ha!  ha  I — for  a  man  to  come 
and  order  his  own  coffin,  and  be  meas- 
ured for  it !  This  is  a  new  and  inter- 
esting case,  Spindles— one  that  I  think 
has  never  come  within  my  experience. 
But  let  me  see  that  drawing  again.  How 
faint  it  is.  I  must  put  on  my  specs. 
Whyj  it  is  nothing  but  a  big  fiddle-case 
—  a  double-bass  box.  He's  probably 
some  poor  distracted  musician,  and  has 
taken  this  strange  fancy  into  Iiis  head — 
perhaps  imagines  himself  a  big  fiddle — 
eh,  Spindles?"  And  he  laughed  softly 
at  his  own  conceit.  •*  'Pon  my  soul,  this 
is  a  queer  case — and  a  fi«ld-  •ca^ie,  too — 


hal  ha  I  Bnt  we  must  set  aboat  fiiMQ- 
ing  his  order." 

By  Friday  noon  the  coffin  of  the  new 
pattern  was  finished.  All  the  wor^piei 
were  mystified  about  it,  and  neariy  iB 
cracked  Jokee  at  its  queer  shape.  Bot 
Spindles  was  very  grave.  As  the  bov 
approached  when  the  stranger  wis  to 
call  for  it,  he  became  more  and  man 
agitated.  He  wonld  have  liked  to  be 
away,  and  yet  his  curiosity  got  the  bet- 
ter of  his  nervousness.  He  asked  Im 
two  friends  to  come  in,  and  they  agreed 
to  do  so,  on  Spindles'  promise  to  go  fint 
to  an  oyster  sdoon  and  order  something 
hot  to  fortify  their  courage.  They  dids^ 
say  anything  about  this  to  Bhrowdvdl, 
for  he  was  a  temperance  man  and  t 
sexton. 

They  sat  around  the  blazing  stove,  d 
four  of  them,  waiting  for  the  insane  mn 
to  appear.  It  wanted  a  few  minntee  of 
eight 

"What's  the  matter  with  that  lamp  t" 
said  Shrowdwell.  "  How  dim  it  bone! 
It  wants  oil." 

"  I  fiUed  it  to-day,"  said  Spindles. 

"  I  feel  a  chill  all  down  my  ba^" 
said  Barker. 

"  And  there's  that  rapping  again,"  siid 
O'Brien. 

There  ieas  a  rapping,  as  if  undemeiiyi 
the  fioor.  Then  it  seemed  to  come  from 
the  coffins  on  the  other  side  of  the  room ; 
then  it  was  at  the  window  panes,  and  ft 
last  at  the  door.  They  all  looked  be> 
wildered,  and  thought  it  yery  strange. 

Presently  the  street  door  opened  slow- 
ly. They  saw  no  one,  but  heard  a  deep 
sigh. 

"Pshaw,  it's  only  the  wind,"  said 
Shrowdwell,  and  rose  to  shut  the  door 
— when  right  before  them  stood  the  ca- 
daverous stranger.  They  were  all  so 
startled  that  not  a  word  was  spoken. 

"I  have  come  for  my  coffin,"  the 
stranger  said,  in  a  sepulchral  whisper. 
"  Is  it  done  ? " 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Shrowdwell.  "It's 
all  ready.     Where  shall  we  send  it  ? " 

^^  I  t^e  it  with  me,"  said  the  strangv, 
in  the  same  whisper.     "  Where  is  it  f  " 

"  But  it's  too  heavy  for  you  to  cany,'* 
said  the  undertaker. 


1870.] 


A  Musical  Mtstbby. 


657 


"  That^s  my  affair,"  he  answered. 

"Well,  of  course  you  are  the  best 
jadge  whether  you  can  carry  it  or  not. 
Bat  perhaps  yon  have  a  cart  outside,  or 
(I  porter  ? " 

All  this  while  the  lamp  had  burned  so 
dim  that  they  couldn^t  see  the  features 
of  the  unknown.  But  suddenly,  as  he 
drew  nearer,  it  flared  up  with  a  sudden 
blaze,  as  if  possessed,  and  they  saw  that 
his  face  was  like  the  face  of  a  corpse. 
At  the  same  instant  an  old-oat  which  had 
been  purring  quietly  by  the  stove — usu- 
ally the  most  grave  and  decorous  of  tab- 
bies— started  up  and  glared,  and  then 
sprang  to  the  farthest  part  of  the  room, 
her  tail  puffed  out  to  twice  its  ordinary 
size. 

They  said  nothing,  but  drew  back  and 
let  him  pass  toward  the  strange-looking 
coffin.  He  glided  toward  it,  and  taking 
it  under  his  arm,  as  if  it  were  no  heavier 
than  a  small  basket,  moved  toward  the 
door,  which  seemed  to  open  of  its  own 
accord,  and  he  vanished  into  the  street. 

*^  Let's  follow  him,*'  said  the  under- 
taker, "  and  see  where  he's  going.  You 
know  I  don't  believe  in  ghosts.  I've 
seen  too  many  dead  bodies  for  that.  This 
is  some  crazy  gentleman,  depend  on  it ; 
and  we  ought  to  see  that  he  doesn't  do 
himself  any  harm.    Come! " 

The  three  young  men  didn't  like  the 
idea  of  following  this  stranger  in  the 
dark,  whether  he  were  living  or  dead. 
And  yet  they  liked  no  better  being  left 
in  the  dimly^lighted  room  among  the 
coffins.  So  they  all  sallied  out,  and 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  visitor,  just  turn- 
ing the  corner. 

They  walked  quickly  in  that  direction. 

"  He's  going  to  the  church,"  said  Spin- 
dles. *^No,  he's  turning  toward  the 
graveyard.  See,  he  has  gone  right 
through  the  iron  gate  I  And  yet  it  was 
locked !  He  has  disappeared  among  the 
trees  I " 

^*  We'll  wait  here  at  this  corner,  and 
watch,"  said  Shrowdwell. 

They  waited  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes, 
but  saw  no  more  of  him.  They  then 
advanced  and  peered  through  the  iron 
railings  of  the  cemetery.  The  moon  was 
hidden  in  clouds,  which  drifted  in  great 


masses  across  the  sky,  into  which  rose 
the  tall,  dim  church  steeple.  The  wind 
blew  drearily  among  the  leafless  trees  of 
the  burial  ground.  They  thought  they 
saw  a  dark  figure  moving  down  toward 
the  northwest  comer.  Then  they  heard 
some  of  the  vault  doors  creak  open  and 
shut  with  a  heavy  thud. 

^*  Those  are  the  tombs  of  the  musi- 
cians," whispered  the  undertaker.  *'  I 
have  seen  several  of  our  Handel-and- 
Hayden  Society  buried  there — two  of 
them,  you  remember,  were  taken  off  by 
cholera  last  summer.  Ah  well,  in  the 
midst  of  life  we  are  in  death ;  we  none  of 
us  know  when  we  shall  be  taken.  I  have 
a  lot  there  myself,  and  expect  to  lay  my 
bones  in  it  some  day." 

Presently  strange  sounds  were  heard, 
seeming  to  come  fi*om  the  corner  spoken 
of.  They  were  like  the  confused  tuning 
of  an  orchestra  before  a  concert — with 
discords  and  chromatic  runs,  up  and 
down,  from  at  least  twenty  instruments, 
but  all  muffled  and  pent  in,  as  if  under 
ground. 

Tet,  thought  the  undertaker,  this  may 
be  only  the  wind  in  the  trees.  ^'I 
wish  the  moon  would  come  out,"  he  said, 
"  so  we  could  see  something.  Anyhow, 
I  think  it's  a  Christian  duty  to  go  in 
there,  and  see  after  that  poor  man.  He 
may  have  taken  a  notion,  you  know,  to 
shut  himself  up  in  his  big  fiddle-case,  and 
we  ought  to  see  that  he  don't  do  himself 
any  iiyury.    Come,  will  you  go  ? " 

"  Not  I,  thank  you — nor  I — ^nor  I,"  said 
they  all.  "We  are  going  home — we've 
had  enough  of  this." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  undertaker. 
"  As  you  please ;  I'll  go  alone." 

Mr.  Shrowdwell  was  a  veritable  Sad- 
ducee.  He  believed  in  death  firmly. 
,  The  only  resurrection  he  acknowledged 
was  the  resurrection  of  a  tangible  body 
at  some  far-off  Judgment  Day.  He  had 
no  fear  of  ghosts.  But  this  was  not  so 
much  a  matter  of  reasoning  with  him, 
as  temperament,  and  the  constant  con- 
tact with  lifeless  bodies. 

"  When  a  man's  dead,"  said  Shrowd- 
well, "  he's  dead,  I  take  it  /  never 
see  a  man  or  woman  come  to  life  again. 
Don't  the  Scriptures  say  '  Dust  to  dust '9 


9SS 


PuTirAM''8  Maoazinb. 


P&r, 


It's  true  that  with  the  Lord  nothing  is 
impossible,  and  at  the  last  day  he  will 
sammon  his  elect  to  meet  him  in  the 
clouds ;  bnt  that's  a  mystery." 

And  yet  he  couldn't  account  for  this 
mysterious  visitor  passing  through  the 
tall  iron  railings  of  the  gate— if  he  real- 
ly did  pass— for  after  all  it  may  have 
been  an  ocular  illusion. 

Bat  he  determined  to  go  in  and  see 
what  he  could  see.  He  had  the  key  of 
the  cemetery  in  his  pocket.  He  opened 
the  iron  gate  and  passed  in,  while  the 
other  men  stood  at  a  distance.  They 
knew  the  sexton  was  proof  against  spirits 
of  all  sorts,  airy  or  liquid;  and  after 
waiting  a  little,  they  concluded  to  go 
home,  for  the  night  was  cold  and  dreary 
— and  ghost  or  no  ghost,  they  couldn't 
do  much  good  there. 

As  Shrowdwell  approached  the  north- 
west comer  of  the  graveyard,  he  heard 
those  singular  musical  sounds  again. 
They  seemed  to  come  from  the  vaults 
and  graves,  but  they  mingled  so  with 
the  rash  and  moaning  of  the  wind,  that 
he  still  thought  he  might  be  mistaken. 

In  the  farthest  comer  there  stood  a 
large  old  family  vault.  It  had  belonged 
to  a  familv  with  an  Italian  name,  the 
last  member  of  which  had  been  buried 
there  many  years  ago— and  since  then 
had  not  been  opened.  The  vines  and 
shmbbery  had  grown  around  and  over 
it,  partly  concealing  it. 

As  he  approached  it,  Shrowdwell  ob- 
served with  amazement  that  the  door 
was  open,  and  a  dense  phosphorescent 
light  lit  up  the  interior. 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  "  the  poor  insane 
gentleman  has  contrived  somehow  to 
get  a  key  to  this  vault,  and  has  gone  in 
there  to  commit  suicide,  and  bury  him- 
self in  his  queer  coffin — and  save  the  ex- 
pense of  having  an  undertaker.  I  must 
save  him,  if  possible,  from  such  a  fate." 

As  he  stood  deliberating  he  heard  the 
musical  sounds  again.  They  came  not 
only  from  the  vault,  but  from  all  around. 
There  was  the  hoarse  groaning  of  a 
double-bass,  answered  now  and  then 
by  a  low  muffled  wail  of  horas  and  a 
scream  of  flutes,  mingled  with  the  pa- 
thetic complainings  of  a  violin.  Shrowd- 


well began  to  think  he  was  drendnii 
and  robbed  his  eyes  And  his  ean  to  m 
if  he  were  awake.  After  eonddflcaUi 
tuning  and  rannlng  up  and  down  fti 
scales,  the  instruments  fell  into  an  aeeoa- 
paniment  to  the  Doable  Baas  in  Beet- 
hoven's celebrated  song — 

In  qneste  temln  omsan, 

LaBebtrmi  ilpocer  I 
Qmndo  TiveTO,  ingnitii 

Dover!  a  me  peuar. 
Laada  che  Pombirn  ignada 

Oodanai  ia  paoa  aimer— 
£  non  bagoar  aoie  eeaara 

D'inatile  Tellen ! 

The  tone  was  as  if  tbe  air  were  pitjed 
on  the  harmonic  intervals  of  the  ioitro- 
ment,  and  yet  was  so  weirdly  and  so 
wonderfully  like  a  haman  voice,  flat 
Shrowdwell  felt  as  if  he  had  got  into 
some  enchanted  circle.  As  the  sofe 
drew  to  ita  conclusion,  the  voice  dot 
seemed  to  be  in  it  broke  into  sobs,  aad 
ended  in  a  deep  groan. 

Bnt  the  undertaker  snmmoned  up  Ik 
courage,  and  determined  to  probe 
mystery  to  the  bottom.  Coming 
the  vault  and  looking  in,  what  sboald 
he  see  but  the  big  musical  coffin  of  the 
cadaverous  stranger  lying  just  inside  tbt 
entrance  of  the  tomb. 

The  undertaker  was  convinced  fliit 
the  strange  gentleman  was  the  perfona- 
er  of  the  solo.  But  where  was  the  ia- 
strnment?  He  mustered  courage  to 
speak,  and  was  about  to  offer  some  com- 
forting and  encouraging  words.  Bnt  at 
the  first  sonnd  of  his  voice  the  lid  of 
the  musical  coffin,  which  had  been  open, 
slammed  to,  so  suddenly,  that  the  sexton 
jumped  back  three  feet,  and  came  near 
tumbling  over  a  tombstone  behind  him. 
At  the  same  time  the  dim  phosphores- 
cent light  in  the  vault  was  extinguished, 
and  there  was  another  groan  from  the 
double-bass  in  the  coffin.  The  sexton 
determined  to  open  the  case.  lie  stooped 
over  it  and  listened.  He  thought  he 
heard  inside  a  sound  like  putting  a  key 
into  a  padlock.  "  He  mustn't  Io<^  him- 
self in,^'  he  said,  and  instantly  wrendied 
open  the  cover. 

Immediately  there  was  a  noise  like 
the  snapping  of  strings  and  the  cracking 
of  light  wood— then  a  strange  sictliBg 


1870.] 


A  Musical  Mtsteby. 


669 


Bound — and  then  a  load  explosion.  And 

tiie  undertaker  laj  senseless  on  the 
gronnd. 

Mrs.  Shrowdwell  waited  for  her  hns- 
bond  till  a  late  hoar,  bat  he  did  not 
retarn.  She  grew  very  anxions,  and  at 
last  determined  to  put  on  her  bonnet 
and  Bhawl  and  step  over  to  Mr.  Spin- 
dles^ boarding-hoase  to  know  where  he 
conld  be.  That  yoang  gentleman  was 
jast  about  retiring,  in  a  very  nervous 
state,  after  having  taken  a  strong  nipper 
of  brandy  and  water  to  restore  his  equa- 
nimity. Mrs.  Shrowdwell  stated  her 
anxieties,  and  Spindles  told  her  some- 
thing of  the  occurrences  of  the  evening. 
She  then  urged  him  to  go  at  once  to  a 
police  station  and  obtain  two  or  three 
of  the  town  watchmen  to  visit  the  grave- 
yard with  lanterns  and  pistols;  which, 
after  some  delay  and  demurring  on  the 
part  of  the  guardians  of  the  night,  and  a 
promise  of  a  reward  on  the  part  of  Mrs. 
Shrowdwell,  they  consented  to  do. 

After  some  searching  the  watehmen 
found  the  vault,  and  in  front  of  it  poor 
Shrowdwell  lying  on  his  back  in  a 
senseless  state.  They  sent  for  a  physi- 
cian, who  administered  some  stimulants, 
and  gradually  brought  him  to  his  senses, 
and  upon  his  legs.  He  couldn't  give 
any  clear  account  of  the  adventure.  The 
vaalt  door  was  closed,  and  the  moon- 
light lay  calm  upon  the  white  stones,  and 
no  sounds  were  heard  bnt  the  wind, 
now  softly  purring  among  the  pines  and 
cedars. 

They  got  him  home,  and,  to  his  wife's 
joy,  found  him  uninjured.  He  made 
light  of  the  affair — ^told  her  of  the  fifty- 
dollar  note  he  had  received  for  the 
mnsical  coffin,  aud  soon  fell  soandly 
asleep. 

Next  morning  he  went  to  his  iron  safe 
to  reassure  himself  about  the  fifty-dollar 
bill — for  he  had  had  an  uncanny  dream 
about  it.  To  his  amazement  and  grief 
it  was  gone,  and  in  its  place  was  a 
piece  of  charred  paper. 

The  undertaker  lost  himself  in  endless 
speculations  about  this  strange  adven- 
ture, and  began  to  think  there  was  dia- 
bolical witchcraft  in  the  whole  bosiness, 
after  all. 


One  day,  however,  looking  over  •the 
parish  record,  he  came  upon  some  fiicts 
with  regard  to  the  Italian  f&mily  who 
had  owned  that  vault  On  comparing 
these  notes  with  the  reminiscences  of 
one  or  two  of  the  older  inhabitants  of 
Boggsville,  he  made  out  something  like 
the  following  history : 

Signer  Domerico  Pietri,  an  Italian 
exile  of  noble  family,  had  lived  in  that 
town  some  ^fty  years  since.  He  was  of 
an  unsocial,  morose  disposition,  and  very 
proud.  His  income  was  small,  and  his 
only  son  Ludovico,  who  had  decided 
musical  talent,  determined  to  seek  his 
fortune  in  the  larger  cities,  as  a  per- 
former on  the  double-bass.  It  was  said 
his  execution  on  the  Tiarmonic  notes  was 
something  marvellous.  But  his  father 
opposed  his  coarse,  either  from  motives 
of  family  pride  or  wishing  him  to  en- 
gage in  comm^roe ;  and  one  day,  daring 
an  angry  dispute  with  him,  bani^ed  him 
from  his  hoose. 

Very  little  was  known  of  Ludovico 
Pietri.  He  lived  a  waudering  life,  and 
suffered  fh)m  poverty.  Finally  all  trace 
was  lost  of  him.  The  old  man  died,  and 
was  buried,  along  with  other  relatives, 
in  the  Italian  vault.  The  authorities  of 
the  Dutch  Ohnrch  had  permitted  this, 
on  Signer  Domerico's  renouncing  Ro- 
manism, and  joining  the  Protestants. 

But  there  was  a  story  told  of  a  per- 
former on  the  double-bass,  who  played 
such  wild,  passionate  music,  and  with 
such  skill,  that  in  his  lonely  garret,  one 
night,  the  devil  appeared,  and  offered 
him  a  great  bag  of  gold  for  his  big  fid- 
dle—proposing, at  the  same  time,  that  he 
should  sign  a  contract  that  he  would 
not  play  any  more  during  his  lifetime — 
except  at  his  (the  fiend's)  bidding.  The 
mnsician  being  very  poor  accepted  the 
offer  and  signed  the  contract,  and  the 
devil  vanished  with  his  big  fiddle.  Bat 
afterward  the  poor  musician  repented 
the  step  he  had  taken,  and  took  it  90  to 
heart  that  he  became  insane  and  died. 

Now,  whether  this  strange  visitor  to 
Mr.  Shrowd well's  coffin  establishment, 
who  walked  the  earth  in  this  unhappy 
frame  of  mind,  was  a  live  man,  or  the 
ghost  of  the  poor  maniac,  was  a  question 


560 


Putnam's  Magazine. 


Pbr, 


which  could  not  be  satisfactorily  set- 
tled. 

Some  hopeless  nnbelievers  said  that 
the  strange  big  fiddle-case  was  a  box  of 
nitro-glycerine  or  fulminating  powder, 
or  an  infernal  machine  ;  while  others  as 
firmly  believed  that  there  was  something 
supernatural  and  uncanny  about  the 
affair,  but  ventured  no  philosophical 
theory  in  the  case. 


And  as  for  the  undertaker,  he  wasiock 
a  hopeless  sceptic  all  his  life,  thath^st 
last  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  mnt 
have  been  dreaming,  when  be  had  thit 
adventure  in  the  graveyard ;  and  this  not- 
withstanding William  Spindles^  repested 
declarations,  and  those  of  the  two  other 
young  men  (none  of  whom  acoompaaied 
Bhrowdwell  in  this  viait),  that  eveiythioj 
happened  just  as  I  have  related  it 


•♦• 


THE  APPROACH  OF  AGE. 

GrONB  are  the  friends  my  boyhood  knew, 

Gone  threescore  years  since  childhood's  mom ; 

A  lonely  stalk  I  stand  where  grew 

And  proudly  waved  the  Summer  com. 

Scanning  the  record  of  my  years 

How  blank,  how  meagre  seems  the  page , 

How  small  the  sum  of  good  appears 

Wrought  by  these  hands  from  youth  to  age. 

Yet,  'midst  the  toils  and  cares  of  life,) 
IVe  tried  to  keep  a  cheerful  heart;' 

To  curb  my  fiercer  passions'  strife, 
And  as  a  man  to  act  my  part. 

And  I  repine  not  at  my  lot. 

Glad  to  have  lived  in  times  like  these, 
When  mystic  cords  of  human  thought 

Bind  realm  to  realm  across  the  seas. 

When  this  dear  land.  Time's  latest  birth, 
Smites  every  chain  from  human  hands, 

And  'midst  the  nations  of  the  earth 
The  greatest,  freest,  noblest  stands. 

When  progress  in  material  things 

Leads  upward  immaterial  mind. 
And  into  nearer  prospect  brings 

The  perfect  life  of  all  mankind. 

Kindly,  as  yet,  life's  autumn  sun 

Gilds  the  green  precincts  of  my  home ; 

Softly,  though  fast,  the  moments  run, 
And  fleeting  seasons  go  and  come. 

Yet  nearer  moans  the  wintry  blast. 
The  chilling  wind  of  Age  that  blows, 

Through  darkening  storms  with  cloud  o'eroast. 
With  blinding  sleet  and  drifting  snows. 


1870.] 


A  Woman's  Right. 


561 


Ho  I  gleaner  on  life's  wintrj  lea, 
I  hear  thy  steps  'mid  rustling  leaves, 

And  soon  this  withered  stalk  will  be 

Close  garoered  with  the  aatumn  sheaves. 

And  then  will  He,  beneath  whose  eye 
Each  act  of  right  and  wroDg  appears, 

Anght  of  untarnished  grain  descry 
AmoDg  these  husks  of  wasted  years  ? 

Haply  these  masteriug  clouds  that  lower 
On  the  low  sky  in  seeming  wrath 

May  vauish,  and  life's  sunset  hour 
Shed  a  calm  radiance  o'er  my  path. 

Then  may  the  clear  horizon  bring 
Those  glorious  summits  to  the  eye, 

Where,  flanked  by  fields  of  endless  Spring, 
The  Cities  of  the  Blessdd  lie. 


•»• 


A  WOMAN'S  RIGHT. 


V. 


XIXKNB*8  SVMXBB. 

In  the  Spring,  Eirene  left  the  house 
of  Mr.  Hallane  aud  went  to  live  with 
her  Mend,  Tilda  Stade,  in  the  family  of 
Brother  Goodlove,  John  Mallanc's  fore- 
man. From  the  advent  of  the  store  and 
the  pictures,  Eirene  felt  that  she  must 
go  away  from  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Mai- 
lane,  for  she  had  every  reason  to  feel 
that  she  was  only  a  tolerated  member 
of  that  lady's  household. 

**  She  dislikes  me,"  said  the  child,  "be- 
cause she  thinks  that  I  am  trying  to  make 
myself  more  than  Ood  lutended  I  should 
be.  And  she  thinks  that  is  the  trouble 
with  all  my  poor  family,  that  we  are  not 
coDteuted  with  our  condition,  and  yet 
are  not  eflScient  enough  to  better  it. 
*'  Poor  and  shiftless,'  she  called  us ;  that 
sounds  hard.  Poor  father  don't  know 
how  to  get  on,  but  he  has  always  work- 
ed hard ;  sowed,  and  others  have  reap- 
ed his  harvests.  Oh,  if  he  conld  only 
get  on  well  once  I  But  I  must  go  away 
from  here.  It  hurts  me  to  stay  where 
I  am  not  wanted.  Father  thought  it 
would  be  so  nice  for  me  to  live  here,  be- 
cause Mr.  Mallane  seemed  so  pleasant. 
VOL.  V — 37 


Mr.  Mallane  if  pleasant ;  he  doesn't  seem 
to  think  so  poorly  of  us.  I  noticed  he 
was  very  kind  to  father  the  other  day ; 
urged  him  to  stay  to  dinner.  I  said 
nothing,  because  I  feared  that  Mrs.  Mal- 
lane would  not  like  it.  I  will  go  to  the 
boarding-house.  I  have  dreaded  to  go 
there  because  it  is  so  noisy.  But  I  will 
^ve  up  my  French.  I  tan  give  it  up, 
although  I  like  it  so  well.  I  never  stud- 
ied it  because  I  thought  it  fine,  but  be- 
cause I  love  the  language.  I  will  tell 
Tilda,  to-morrow,  and  see  ifJE  can  room 
with  her." 

Tilda  Stade  worked  next  to  Eirene 
in  the  shop.  She  was  a  good  girl — a 
zealous  Methodist,  whose  piety  held  her 
apart  from  her  more  rude  and  boister- 
ous companions.  Although  she  regard- 
ed Eirene  as  an  unconverted  sinner,  still 
"  in  the  gall  of  bitterness  and  bonds  of 
iniquity,'*  she  had  become  personally 
warmly  attached  to  her.  Her  gentle- 
ness and  refinement,  showing  in  such 
striking  contrast  to  many  of  those 
around  her,  were  yery  attractive  to 
Tilda,  and  from  the  first  she  establish- 
ed herself  as  the  uncompromising  friend 


563 


Putnam's  Maoazihb. 


Pfar. 


of  the  new  hand  npon  every  possible 
occasion. 

When  Eirene  told  her  that  she  was 
going  to  leave  the  honse  of  Mr.  Mallane, 
she  replied  that  she  was  glad  of  it,  and 
there  was  something  better  in  store  for 
her  than  that  wicked  boarding-house, 
where  she  herself  could  scarcely  find  a 
mementos  quiet  for  secret  meditation 
and  prayer.  Brother  Goodlove  had  of- 
fered her  the  front  chamber  in  his  house, 
and  she  had  only  been  waiting  to  find 
a  quiet  girl  to  share  it  with  her,  so  that 
she  could  afford  to  take  it. 

Eirene,  who  had  a  terror  of  the  board- 
ing-house, was  made  quite  happy  by 
this  proposition. 

Thus,  one  May  evening  not  long  after, 
Brother  Gk>odlove  himself  carried  her 
small  trunk  across  the  street  to  his  story- 
and-a-half  house,  which  stood  in  a  gay 
little  garden  beside  the  shops.  Eirene 
followed,  carrying  Moses  Loplolly's  par- 
rot, which,  for  the  sake  of  the  giver,  she 
had  named  Momo.  Momo  was  as  pret- 
ty and  prating  as  ever,  and,  greatly  to 
Eirene^s  discomfiture,  went  out  of  the 
house  crying :  "  Paul  I  Paul  I  Pretty 
Rene  I  Mother  I  mother  I  no-youdon'tl 
Pretty  Paul  I " 

Mrs.  Mallane  had  never  objected  to 
the  presence  of  Momo,  because  he  af- 
forded much  amusement  to  the  children. 
He  had  a  remarkably  fa(^ile  tongue  even 
for  a  parrot,  and  caught  new  words 
and  phrases  from  the  little  ones  every 
day.  Tabitha  Mallane  had  heard  him 
sing  out  "Paul,"  hundreds  of  times, 
but  it  nevef  sounded  as  it  did  to-night, 
coming  back  through  the  street,  and 
even  from  Brother  Goodlove's  door. 
She  stood  in  the  open  window,  with 
the  baby  in  her  arms,  watching  Eirene^s 
departure.  And  as  she  heard  the  par- 
rot's cry,  her  whole  face  darkened. 

"  Oh,  the  hateful  huzzy,  to  teach  the 
bird  such  talk  as  that!  And  sheMl 
hang  the  little  wretch  in  her  window, 
to  call  my  boy  in,  will  she  I " 

"  Mother  1  mother  I  no  you  don't  I" 
screamed  the  parrot. 

"  She  taught  it  that  in  my  own  house  1 " 

Tabitha  Mallane,  in  her  anger,  was 
entirely  forgetful  of  the  fact  that  Momo 


had  learned  this  precioiis  bit  of  ntiii 
from  her  youngest  son,  her  own  littli 
impish  Jack. 

"  Well,  she's  gone,'*  the  mother  wot 
on,  "  out  of  my  house,  at  least,  bat  oolf 
across  the  street.  She  is  canning.  She 
knows  that  she  will  have  a  better  chance 
to  see  him  there  than  here.  Bat  yon 
have  a  long  head,  young  lady,  if  yon 
think  you  will  outwit  me." 

If  Tabitha  Mallane's  hate  had  sUov- 
ed  her  reason  any  action,  her  own  good 
sense  would  have  told  her  that  all  ber 
accusations  were  false.  She  knew  bet- 
ter even  when  she  made  thenoL  Shi 
knew  enough  of  the  simplicity  of  tUf 
girl's  nature,  to  know  that  she  had  laid 
no  traps  to  entice  her  son ;  that  all  soi^ 
devices  were  unknown  to  her  thooglitL 
She  knew,  in  her  inmost  heart,  that  ibe 
only  hated  Eirene  because  there  im 
that  in  her  face  and  in  her  nature  whidi 
would  be  attractive  to  Paul ;  that  ihe 
hated  her  because  she  was  lovdy,  and 
because  her  loveliness  was  in  the  wij; 
and  the  more  conscious  she  felt  of  ber 
own  injustice,  the  more  bitterly  she  ae* 
cused  its  object. 

Eirene  reached  her  little  chamber, 
with  Mr.  Momo  screaming  at  his  utmoit 
voice.  She  gave  the  cage  a  very  hu- 
mane and  positive  little  shake  as  she 
set  it  down,  and  said : 

"  Momo,  how  can  you — how  can  yon 
be  so  naughty  ? " 

Momo,  conscious  that  he  was  in  dis- 
grace, thrust  his  bill  into  his  hreait, 
shook  his  head,  and  blinked  soleamly, 
first  with  one  eye,  then  with  the  other, 
and  at  last  said,  in-  a  very  subdued 
voice,  "  Pretty  Paul  I '» 

*'  Who  taught  him  that  f  "  asked  TH- 
da,  abruptly. 

*^  He  learned  it  of  the  children.  Yoa 
can't  think  how  soon  he  picks  up  woida 
The  first  thing  we  know,  he  wUl  be  re- 
peating our  txilk." 

"  Well,  if  I  were  you,  I  would  ratber 
have  him  repeat  any  thing  than  *  PaoL* 
In  my  estimation,  Mr.  Paul  Mallane  is  a 
very  wicked  young  man,  and  I  shouldn't 
want  any  bird  of  mine  calling  out  his 
name." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  he  is  not  wicked,"  said 


?8700 


A  WoXAN^g  ElQHT. 


fiitene,  with  feeling^  as  she  looked  at 
the  two  pictures  which  he  had  sent  her, 
already  hanging  in  their  assigned  places. 
^  His  father  and  mother  seem  to  live  in 
him ;  they  would  never  get  over  it,  if 
he  were  to  disappoint  them." 

**0h,  he  won^t  disappoint  them/ 
Haven^t  they  brought  him  up  to  be 
what  he  is?-~tbough,  how  they  can, 
they  both  praying  and  speaking  in 
meeting,  is  more  than  I  can  understand. 
If  Sister  Mallane  had  spent  her  time 
praying  for  his  soul  and  fitting  him  for 
the  itinerant  ministry,  instead  of  bring- 
ing him  up  as  she  has  done,  then  she 
would  have  done  her  duty.  Jack's  to 
be  the  minister,  I  believe.  They'll  give 
the  first  son  to  the  world  and  the  devil, 
and  the  last  one  to  the  Lord.*' 

"  How  do  you  mean  that  they  have 
brought  him  up  ? "  asked  £irene,  doubt- 
fully. Notwithstanding  his  thoughtful 
kindness  to  her,  she  felt  an  unwilling 
consciousness  that  Mr.  Paul  Mallane 
might  not  be  quite  as  good  as  he  ought 
to  be,  and  she  was  naturally  anxious  to 
]»y  the  &ult  to  his  parental  training. 

"I  mean,"  said  Tilda,  "that  they 
have  always  indulged  him  in  every 
thing.  They  have  made  him  feel  that 
nobody  else  is  quite  aa  handsome  or 
quite  as  smart  as  he  is.  He  has  grown 
to  think  that  nothing  in  the  world  is 
quite  good  enough  for  him,  and  has 
oome  to  look  down  even  on  his  own 
flesh  and  blood.  If  the  other  girls  felt 
as  I  do,  they  wouldn't  seem  so  pleased 
and  flattered  every  time  he  comes  into 
the  shop  and  notices  them.  His  very 
notice  there  is  an  insult,  for  he  never 
speaks  to  one  of  them  outside  of  it. 
He  knows  better  than  to  make  any  of 
his  fine  speeches  to  me.  I  want  nobody 
to  speak  to  me  in  the  shop,  that  can't 
speak  to  me  out  of  it.  I  don't  believe 
he'd  turn  his  white  hand  over  to  help  a 
shop-girl  if  she  were  dying." 

**  Oh,  you  judge  him  too  hardly,"  said 
Eirene.  "He  can  be  very  kind.  He 
sent  me  those  two  pictures  which  you 
admire  so  much,  and  I  am  nothing  to 
him  at  all.  He  never  spoke  to  me  but 
once,  and  then  it  was  through  a  mis- 
take.   You  know  I  have  not  the  slight- 


est claim  upon  him,  and  it  seemed  very 
good  of  him  to  remember  me  ih,  such  a 
way." 

Tilda  looked  amazed  and  exceedingly 
displeased. 

"  Eirene  Vale  I "  she  said,  with  deep 
solemnity,  "  if  Mr.  Paul  Mallane  sends 
you  presents,  he  does  it  for  no  good 
purpose.  It'  you  had  known  what  is 
due  to  yourself,  you  would  have  sent 
them  back  as  soon  as  they  came." 

"  I  did  not  know  who  sent  them  when 
they  came,  nor  for  a  long  time  after," 
said  Eirene,  her  voice  trembling  slight- 
ly, as  it  always  did  when  she  was  fright- 
ened. "  I  only  knew  that  Mr.  Paul  sent 
them  to  me,  when  the  first  number  of 
this  magazine  came.  On  it  was  writ- 
ten, *From  Paul  Mallane,'  and  then  I 
saw  that  it  was  the  same  hand  which 
directed  the  pictures.  If  it  was  wrong 
to  keep  them,  I  am  sorry  that  I  did ; 
but  nobody  but  father  ever  made  me  a 
present  before.  It  does  not  seem  as  if 
a  person  who  thought  any  harm  would 
send  me  such  a  picture  as  ^  Faith.' " 

"  You  know  nothing  of  the  wicked- 
ness of  men,"  said  Tilda,  compassion- 
ately, in  a  tone  which  indicated  that 
she  knew  all  about  it.  "  Mr.  Paul  Mal- 
lane is  very  old  for  his  years.  Of  course, 
he  can  see  what  you  are ;  any  one  with 
half  an  eye  could  see  that.  If  he  sent 
you  anything,  it  would  be  something 
which  he  knew  would  please  you.  "What 
are  the  magazines?  Trifles, — full  of 
foolish  travels  and  fashions  and  comic 
pictures,  to  make  you  laugh  and  forget 
your  soul's  salvation.  When  the  next 
one  comes,  I  advise  you  to  send  it  back. 
Show  him  there's  one  shop-girl  that 
don't  want  any  of  his  attentions." 

Eirene  made  no  answer.  Her  gaze 
was  fixed  upon  "Faith,"  and,  as  she 
looked,  she  seemed  to  be  far  away. 

Tilda  turned  toward  her  her  small, 
keen  eyes,  and  narrow,  perceptive  fore- 
head, which  had  no  power  of  reflection 
in  it,  and  came  to  two  conclusions.  The 
first  was,  that  the  beauty  of  the  face  be- 
fore her,  without  doubt,  was  very  attrao* 
tive  to  Mr.  Paul  Mallane.  The  second 
was,  that  she,  Tilda  Stade,  in  virtue  of 
six  years'  seniority  and  vastly  superior 


564 


Pdtnam^s  Maoazihx. 


Vi, 


knowledge  of  men,  would  defend  and 
save  this  innocent  lamb  from  the  im- 
pending wolf,  even  when  he  came  in 
the  unexceptional  clothing  of  a  yoimg 
gentleman  of  the  world. 

Brother  Goodlove^s  front  chamber  did 
not  prove  to  be  a  paradise.  The  after- 
noon sun  shone  full  upon  its  low  roof 
and  unsheltered  windows,  fading  its  cot- 
ton carpet,  blistering  its  cheap  furniture, 
and  making  its  air  stifling  with  heat. 
In  the  evening,  when  their  day^s  work 
was  done,  Eirene  found  it  scarcely  easier 
to  breathe  there  than  in  the  close  atmos- 
phere of  the  overcrowded  shop.  Weary 
with  her  ten  hours*  toil,  she  would  sit 
on  a  low  chair  by  the  open  window, 
vainly  waiting  for  a  breeze  to  come  in 
to  cool  her  throbbing  temples,  and  rest 
her  a  little  for  the  lesson  which  she  so 
much  desired  to  learn.  Across  the  street, 
through  the  boughs  of  the  apricot  tree, 
she  saw  the  window  where  she  used  to 
sit,  half  hidden  within  its  cool  curtains 
of  summer  vines ;  and  she  might  have 
wished  herself  back  ag^in  in  the  bare 
little  room,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the 
memory  of  Tabitha  Mallane^s  unfriend- 
ly face. 

Tilda  Stado  said  that  8?ie  "  desired 
only  the  wisdom  which  cometh  from  on 
high,^'  and,  therefore,  vhad  very  little 
sympathy  with  Eirene^s  pursuit  of  earth- 
ly knowledge.  Indeed,  it  was  only  on 
class-meeting  and  prayer-meeting  nights, 
when  Tilda  was  absent  telling  "  what  the 
Lord  had  done  for  her  soul,^^  that  Ei- 
rene could  study  at  all.  Tilda's  favor- 
ite anxiety  was  for  Eirene^s  conversion ; 
and  as  her  zeal  wad  not  at  all  according 
to  knowledge,  she  felt  it  to  be  her*  duty 
to  labor  perpetually  for  this  much-de- 
sired object.  No  matter  how  high  the 
thermometer  stood,  nor  how  tired  Eirene 
might  be,  nor  how  hard  she  herself  might 
have  worked,  this  devout  young  woman 
always  had  vitality  enough  left  to  ex- 
hort her  friend  by  the  hour  to  repent  of 
her  sins  and  "  give  her  heart  to  Jesus.** 
She  acknowledged  to  herself  that  she 
did  not  understand  Eirene*s  case ;  and 
the  more  it  puzzled  her,  the  more  ex- 
treme grew  her  unction,  and  the  more 
fearfully  long  her  lectures.    While  Ei- 


rene sat  beside  one  windovr,  she  vhOj 
sat  by  liie  other,  on  a  high,  8tnighi> 
backed  chair,  ostensibly  to  sew.  Bit 
in  a  very  few  moments  the  wofk  vii 
sure  to  drop  into  her  lap,  and,  with  W 
feet  firmly  fixed  on  a  high  stool  befon 
her,  she  would  plant  her  elbows  iqMi 
her  knees,  thrust  her  chin  in  her  haad% 
and  set  her  sharp,  inquiring  eyes  upn 
the  fiice  drooping  below  the  level  of  tk 
stand  which  divided  them.  It  never  f» 
mained  for  any  length  of  time  a  nkd 
gaze.  The  large,  patient  look  fixed  v^ 
on  the  difficult  page  always  provoksi 
Tilda  to  exhortation,  and  all  the  mon 
because  it  in  no  way  coincided  with  thi 
expression  which  she  thooght  an  miooa- 
verted  sinner*s  oonntenanco  ong^  is 
wear. 

*^  How  you  can  look  like  that  overt 
Catholic  French  book,  is  more  thaa  I 
can  understand,**  she  would  exdaiB. 
*^  If  it  was  your  Testament,  Bene^  tad 
you  were  reading  about  jonr  Saviov, 
then  I  should  know.** 

At  the  first  exclamation,  Sirene  it 
ways  laid  her  book  down,  knowing 
well  that  any  further  attempt  to  stodj 
would  be  useless. 

"  If  you  would  only  fall  down  befim 
your  Saviour,  confess  yonr  sins,  and  get 
the  evidence  that  you  were  accepted,  I 
8houldn*t  be  troubled  about  you  any 
longer,**  Tilda  would  say. 

"  I  have  prayed  ever  since  I  can  re- 
member, and  every  day  ask  my  Savioiir 
to  forgive  my  sins,  and  give  me  strengtli 
to  do  right,**  Eirene  answered. 

"  That  makes  you  all  the  worse.  Yob 
pray  in  your  own  strength.  As  long  as 
you  are  not  converted  and  haven't  re- 
ceived the  witness,  your  prayers  doii*t 
get  through  the  ceiling.** 

Eirene  did  not  understand  these  fine 
points  in  Tilda*s  theology.  The  faith 
of  the  gospel,  as  it  had  been  taught  to 
her  by  her  mother,  was  very  simple. 
"  Ask,  and  ye  shall  receive ;  seek,  and 
ye  shall  find ;  knock,  and  it  shall  be 
opened  unto  you,**  were  words  whidi 
she  believed  with  unquestioning  faith, 
and  obeyed  with  the  simplicity  of  a 
child.  Almost  from  babyhood  she  had 
been  accustomed  to  carry  all  her  little 


1870.] 


A  WoMAN^s  Bight. 


665 


sins  and  8or|;ow8  to  this  Sayioar,  whom 
she  had  been  taught  to  regard  as  an 
Elder  Brother,  who  loved  little  childreD, 
and  who  was  interested  in  all  that  con- 
cerned their  happiness.  Now,  to  be  told 
that  He  cared  nothing  for  her,  and  would 
pay  no  attention  whatever  to  her  pray- 
ers because  she  was  so  wicked,  was  to 
her  a  view  of  Christ  unprecedented  and 
appalling.  The  lack  of  self-poise  was 
a  weakness  in  her  character.  Her  deli- 
cate, work-worn  nerves,  her  tender  and 
hnmble  heart,  were  no  match  for  Tilda^s 
pugnacious  persistency.  Thus  this  de- 
voted missionary  often  enjoyed  the  par- 
tial satisfaction  of  seeing  the  eyes  be- 
fore her  suffused  witli  tears,  and  the 
head  bowed  in  bewildered  sorrow.  For, 
after  all,  Eirene  knew  no  other  way 
than  to  go  on  praying  and  believing, 
just  as  she  had  always  done. 

Then  Tilda  would  exclaim,  in  joyful 
enthusiasm : 

^  You  are  almost  in  the  kingdom, 
Rene.  If  you  were  only  under  convic- 
tion, and  would  give  up  all  for  Jesus — 
if  you  could  only  feel  that  you  were 
willing  to  be  lost,  if  it  were  His  will, 
then  you  would  have  the  evidence.  But 
your  own  goodness  is  only  filthy  rags. 
Itll  never  save  you.  Are  you  willing  to 
give  up  every  vanity  for  the  Saviour  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so,"  was  the  humble  reply. 

*'  Are  you  willing  to  take  that  ribbon 
out  of  your  hair  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes." 

"  Are  you  willing  to  have  the  small- 
pox, and  look  like  a  fright  ?  " 

*i  I— don't  know." 

**  Then  you  are  kot  a  Christian,  and 
you  won't  be  till  you  are  willing,"  was 
Tilda's  conclusive  rejoinder. 

*^  Tet  she  is  outwardly  more  consist- 
ent than  many  professors,"  Tilda  would 
ejaculate  to  herself.  *'  But,  then,  that's 
natural  goodness;  it  won't  save  her; 
she  has  never  been  under  conviction — 
never  received  the  witness.  She  is  in 
a  state  of  nature.  She  can'fr  be  saved 
any  more  than  I  could  before  Christ  par- 
doned me.'* 

In  order  to  feel  certain  of  Eirene's 
safety,  she  wished  to  see  her  pass  through 
precisely  the  same  spiritual  travail  and 


triumph  which  had  been  vouchsafed  to 
herself.  Her  mind  could  comprehend 
no  reason  why  Eirene's  finer  mental  and 
spiritual  organism  would  r^ive  religion 
through  the  process  of  silent  growth, 
rather  than  by  any  sudden  and  violent 
demonstration  such  as  she  herself  had 
experienced.  The  great  object  of  her 
daily  labors  was  to  make  Eirene  feel  as 
she  did.  To  gain  this  end,  she  would 
tell  over  and  over  her  own  religious  ex- 
perience :  how  the  sudden  death  of  her 
cousin,  a  gay  young  man,  had  transfixed 
her  with  terror  in  the  midst  of  her  win- 
ter dissipations  of  quilting-bees  and  ap- 
ple-parings ;  how  she  suddenly  discov 
ered  that  she  had  loved  nothing  in  the 
world  so  well  as  this  young  man ;  how 
she  had  lived  for  him  and  for  herself; 
how  she  had  done  all  in  her  power  to 
injure  Betsey  Boyd,  because  she  feared 
that  this  young  man  loved  Betsey  bet- 
ter than  he  loved  herself;  how,  over  his 
coffin,  she  was  suddenly  overcome  with 
a  consciousness  of  her  sinfulness,  and 
the  fear  of  hell,  whose  terrors  she  did 
not  feel  willing  to  share  even  with  the 
gay  young  man;  how,  for  weeks,  she 
was  under  conviction ;  how  she  wept 
and  prayed  at  protracted  meeting ;  how 
she  wrestled  day  and  night,  yet  saw 
only  the  blackness  of  darkness,  and  God 
seemed  to  have  forsaken  her ;  how,  at 
last,  at  the  "anxious  seat,"  she  cried 
out,  "  O  Lord  I  I  deserve  to  be  lost  1 " 
And,  with  these  words,  a  great  light 
shone  about  her.  All  the  brethren 
and  sisters  shouted  "Glory!"  She 
herself  cried,  **  Praise  the  Lord  I "  fell 
down  in  a  vision,  and  had  the  "  power." 
In  which  she  saw  her  Saviour  come  down 
fh)m  the  skies,  with  a  white  book  in 
His  hand,  on  whose  front  lea£^  in  gold 
letters,  she  read:  "Tilda  Stade,  thy 
sins  are  forgiven  thee."  How,  when 
she  came  to  herself,  she  felt  peace  im- 
speakable,  and  knew  that  she  ha4  re- 
ceived the  white  stone  and  the  new 
name.  She  had  received  the  witness. 
Thus  she  could  point  Eirene  to  the  spot 
— ^to  the  very  moment  when  the  Saviour 
forgave  her  sins ;  and  this  Eirene  must 
be  able  to  do  before  she  would  be  fit 
for  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 


1 


566 


Putnam's  MAGAznnL 


Ilk, 


Eirene,  whose  childish  moods  had 
heen  of  a  milder  sort,  who  had  never 
tried  to  injure  any  young  woman,  and 
had  never  been  violently  in  love  with 
any  young  man — who  had  never  expe- 
rienced any  of  Tilda's  vehement  pas- 
sions— ^naturally  felt  a  less  violent  though 
no  less  sincere  sorrow  for  her  sins.  As 
she  listened  wonderingly  to  Tilda's  spir- 
itual story,  she  felt  sure  that  she  could 
never  feel  like  that ;  she  did  not  believe 
that  anything  so  wondorfVil  could  ever 
happen  to  her.  In  conclusion,  she  would 
drive  Tilda  almost  distracted,  by  saying 
that  she  never  felt  that  she  herself  was 
good — she  knew  that  she  was  not — but 
when  she  went  to  her  Saviour,  He  always 
seemed  near  and  ready  to  help  her,  and 
that  she  trusted  in  Him  for  strength  to 
do  right. 

In  August  there  was  to  be  a  camp- 
meeting  in  the  woods  of  Southerly,  and 
this  became  Tilda's  final  hope  for  Ei- 
rene's  salvation. 

"  I'll  take  her  there,"  she  said,  with 
an  energetic  jerk,  as  if  the  taking  would 
involve  corporeal  lifting,  and  Eirene  was 
to  be  carried  in  her  arms  to  the  camp 
ground.  "  I'll  take  her  there,  and  when 
the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  comes  down,  as 
it  did  at  Pentecost,  it  will  pierce  her 
through  and  through.  Then  she'll  see 
her  sinfulness,  but  not  before.  Such 
blindness  I  such  blindness  I  But  when 
she  is  a  Christian,  she  will  be  a  bright 
and  shining  light.  I  haven't  a  doubt 
but  she'll  receive  the  blessing  of  sancti- 
fication." 

PAVL*8  StTMXKR. 

Paul  had  not  been  at  home  all  snmmer. 
lie  had  a  strong  will,  and  it  iiad  kept 
hira  away  from  Busyville.  During  the 
winter  the  desire  to  go  there,  the  desire 
to  see  Eirene,  hud  often  rushed  through 
his  heart.  Head  and  heart  wrestled  to- 
gether, but  in  the  end  the  iiead  hnd 
al  ways  been  victorious.  More  than  once 
he  sat  over  his  meerschaum  gazing  into 
the  fire  till  he  saw  the  face  that  he  sought 
rise  and  look  forth  on  him  t!irouj|:h  its 
heart  of  flame.  Once  as  he  beheld  it 
tl)ug,  he  turned  aside  t;)  his  table,  took 
his  pen  and  began  a  letter  to  Eirene; 
more,  he  wrote  on  to  the  end,  a  long 


letter  into  which  he  poured,  his  htirt  ^ 
flood-tide.  He  told  her  hotrahe  mmd 
to  him  in  her  innocence ;  bOw  fiflkntt 
from  the  yonng  ladies  of  tlie  worid;  bow 
her  face  and  her  presence  rested  nxA 
satisfied  him ;  how  it  made  him  h^>iNa 
and  better,  indeed  how  it  made  all  good* 
ness  Beem  possible  even  to  him ! 

For  he  was  not  good,  he  told  her;  h 
was  guilty  of  sins  of  which  she  had  no 
comprehension ;  but  that  the  look  in  bar 
eyes  made  the  pleasures  of  the  worii 
hatefol  to  his  ver/  thought. 

He  needed  the  influence  of  sadi  • 
nature  in  his  life.      She  oould  do  ererf^ 
thing  for  him,  if  she  only  would ;  if  tbe 
would  only  care  for  htm,  if  she  would 
only  care  for  him  a  little ;  if  she  wooM 
think  of  him,  and  write  to  him  sometims^ 
And  he  hoped  that  he  could  do  hmd»' 
thing  for  her — it  pained  him  to  think  that 
she,  a  young  and  delicate  girl,  was  stro^ 
gling  against  such  hard  odds  for  an  edi- 
cation,  while  he,  a  yonng  man,  had  oppor 
tunities  given  him  which   he  did  not 
improve.    He  could  assist  her  a  little  at 
least  in  the  way  of  books.     Would  the 
let  him?    Would  she  let  him  be  her 
brother  ?    Would  she  be  to  him  a  sisterf 
Paul  had  never  written  anything  ia  hii 
life  so  purely  noble  and  sincere  as  thb 
letter,  till  he  came  to  the  last  sentMea 
"Sister  I  brother  I      Pshaw  I      A  pretty 
brother  I'd  make  to  her  !    I  dare  say  8h« 
could  be  my  sister,  but  I  never  could  be 
her  brother.    To  her  I  can  only  bet 
lo^er  or  nothing.    I  cannot  be  her  lover. 
Then  I  will  be  nothing.  But  I  won't  sesd 
her  any  such  lying  humbug."  And  In  bb 
self  disgust  Paul  tossed  into  the  fire  the 
letter  in  which  he  had  put  the  very  beat 
of  his  heart. 

Instead  of  the  letter  he  sent  her  a 
magazine  I  Paul's  shrewd,  worldly  head 
domineered  over  his  passionate  and  im- 
portunate heart.  Thus  he  carried  in 
himself  two  conflicting  and  keeuly-do- 
fined  natures  which  were  constantly  war- 
ring with  each  other.  Like  all  men  of 
intellect  eager  for  power  and  distinctioa 
in  the  world,  his  plan  of  life  was  dis- 
tinctly marked  out,  and  in  the  end  be 
meant  to  fulfil  it  at  anj  cost  to  mere 
affection.    In  his  cool  moments  he 


1870.] 


A  WoMAN^s  RionT. 


567 


quite  as  ambitious  for  himself  as  his 
mother  was  for  him. 

But  sbe  knew  him  well  when  she  said : 
"  It  will  be  hard  for  you  to  be  trae  to 
your  position  till  you  are  older." 

Now  life  was  eager  within  him.  His 
youth  was  in  the  way.  It  was  the  youth 
in  his  heart  which  cried  out  and  would 
not  be  defrauded  of  its  right. 

But  as  tbe  winter  wore  on,  Paul  found 
it  easier  to  submit  to  what  he  called  his 
^'  reason,"  and  he  began  once  more  with 
a  will  to  bend  all  his  desires  to  his  old 
plan  of  life. 

Time  dropped  its  barrier  between  him 
and  the  fair  presence  which  for  a  single 
month  had  so  pervaded  and  possessed 
Lim.  The  sweet  face  began  to  seem 
picture-like,  something  to  remember  and 
half  worship  as  he  did  the  Evangeline 
before  him. 

As  it  grew  more  dreamlike,  he  found 
it  easier  to  reason  over  his  feelings,  and 
began  to  console  himself  with  the  con- 
olusion  that  he  had  not  been  such  a 
foolish  fellow  after  all. 

"  I  never  saw  a  face  that  moved  mo 
like  that,  and  I  don^t  believe  that  I  ever 
Bhall  another,"  he  would  say  to  himself. 
"I  came  very  near  falling  in  love.  But 
I  left  Busyville  just  in  season.  I  knew 
enough  to  know  my  danger,  and  I  have 
had  sense  enough  to  keep  out  of  it.  I 
ahanH  go  home  again  till  I  am  sure  I  can 
look  at  that  face  without  a  single  flutter, 
and  criticise  it  as  coolly  as  any  other." 

Paul  found  Marlboro  Hill  a  valuable 
assistant  to  his  sensible  resolutions.  He 
accepted  all  Dick^s  invitations,  and  spent 
his  Saturdays  and  Sundays  there.  Like 
most  men,  he  was  powerfully  control- 
led by  his  senses.  IVliat  he  saw  and 
felt  this  moment  moved  him  more  than 
what  he  remembered. 

We  have  no  gauge  whl^h  can  measure 
the  power  of  personal  contact, — the  in- 
fluence of  voice  and  eye,  of  look  and 
touch,  laying  siege  to  the  soul  through 
the  outworks  of  the  senses. 

We  do  not  half  realize  how  potent  is 
the  subtle  atmosphere  of  presence 
sheathing  every  human  body,  rbpelling 
or  attracting  with  inevitable  magnetism. 

Rare  as  wonderful  is  the  personality 


of  that  being  who  can  so  pervade 
another, — that  neither  time  nor  absence 
nor  rivals,  the  crudest  foes  to  love,  can 
dethrone  or  banish  it  from  the  heart 
into  which  it  has  entered  and  in  which 
it  is  enshrined.  Not  more  than  one  man 
in  a  thousand  is  strong  enough  to  be 
perfectly  loyal  in  thought  and  in  deed  to 
the  absent  love,  when  beguiled  by  the 
looks  and  words  and  tones  of  a  charmer 
whose  living  presence  makes  the  absent 
one  pale  into  a  memory  and  a  dream. 

Paul  would  haye  been  a  very  diflTerent 
Paul  from  what  he  was  had  he  proved 
to  be  an  exception  to  his  sex.  Besides, 
bound  by  no  vow,  feeling  himself  sub- 
ject to  no  law  but  that  of  his  own  nature, 
he  threw  himself  with  nil  the  force  of 
his  will  into  that  side  of  the  balance 
which  held  the  whole  of  his  interest,  if 
only  a  part  of  his  feeling. 

Feeling  is  usually  a  rebel  against  mere 
expediency.  And  Miss  Isabella  Pres- 
cott's  cause  would  have  prospered  more 
surely  if  Paul's  practical  head  had  not 
been  constantly  reiterating  to  his  rebel- 
lious heart:  ^^Yon  must  fall  in  love 
with  Bell  Prescott,  because  it  is  for  your 
interest  to  do  so."  As  he  had  made  up 
his  mind  to  obey  his  head,  he  did  it  as 
for  as  he  was  able,  and  he  would  not 
have  been  Paul  if  he  had  found  that 
obedience  wholly  disagreeable. 

To  a  young  man  of  his  tastes  it  was  by 
no  means  an  irksome  task  to  be  the 
escort  of  a  belle,  a  beauty,  and  an  heiress. 
It  pleased  his  vanity  to  roll  about  tbe 
country  with  her  in  a  showy  carriage ; 
or  on  a  mettled  thoroughbred  to  canter 
through  the  streets  of  Cambridge  by  her 
side ;  or  to  promenade  with  her  down 
Beacon  street,  and  thus  send  a  pang 
through  Helena  Maynard's  heart  as  she 
beheld  them  seemingly  absorbed  in  each 
other,  from  the  windows  of  her  stately 
homCk  Paul  attended  Miss  Prescott  to 
church,  he  waited  upon  her  to  the  opera. 
He  danced  with  her,  sung  with  her,  in 
fine  flirted  with  her,  and  the  world 
looking  on  said  that  it  was  a  high  game 
that  either  one,  or  both  were  playing, 
and  wondered  which  would  win. 

And  yet  every  week  Paul  spent  one 
evening  at  least  with  Helena  Maynard^ 


568 


Pdtham's  ILloazikb. 


[% 


in  which  he  neither  waltzed  nor  sang — 
bat  sat  in  oosj  t^te-^t6te  in  a  classical 
and  loxoriant  library,  talking  metaphja- 
icfl  and  ethics,  ethnology,  psychology, 
theology,  art,  poetry,  and  love,  with  one 
of  the  most  noted  girls  ia  Boston.  Not 
a  week  bnt  one  or  more  of  her  exqui- 
sitely scented  missives,  witry,  sentimen- 
tal, dashing,  to  the  verge  of  coarseness, 
free  beyond  the  conventional  limit  of 
maidenly  freedom,  yet  certaioly  clever, 
and  nnmistakably  tender,  found  its  way 
to  the  law  stadent*s  parlor  in  Cambridge. 
Panl  would  read  it  over  more  than  once, 
and  say  thoughtfully :  "  With  all  her 
conquests,  and  all  her  offers,  she  un- 
doubtedly loves  me.  And  she  writes  the 
cleverest  letters  that  I  ever  read — they 
are  really  company."  And  in  propor- 
tion to  his  estimate  of  their  cleverness, 
he  felt  flattered  by  their  homage.  And 
what  kind  of  letters  did  he  write  in 
reply?  Not  love  letters  in  the  openly 
declared  sense,  nnd  yet  love  letters  still, 
in  all  subtle  and  undefined  expression. 

No  single  sentence  committed  him  to 
any  positive  declaration,  yet  every  word 
wos  full  of  implied  interest,  sympathy, 
and  tenderness  toward  her,  and  all  that 
concerned  her  happiness.  Helena  made 
him  her  confidant.  She  uncovered  to 
his  vision  her  inner  life  ; — told  him  of 
her  many  lovers,  of  the  numerous  offers 
of  marriage  made  her  ; — of  her  refusals 
of  every  one ; — revelations  not  at  all  un- 
pleasant to  a  vain  young  man,  when  the 
inevitable  oonslusion  was,  tliat  these  re- 
fusals were  all  made  by  a  heart  pre- 
occupied with  his  own  absorbing  self.  It 
pleased  him  to  call  himself  and  Helena 
"  friends."  He  believed  in  men  cherish- 
ing female  friends  d  la  H6camier,  nnd 
thought  it  of  immense  value  to  his  own 
development  to  be  the  intimate  compan- 
ion of  a  gifted  woman  of  society.  Besides 
it  afforded  him  a  flattering  estititate  of 
his  own  superior  strength  and  wisdom, 
to  be  able  to  accept  this  unequivocal 
homage  unveiled  even  of  maidenly  re- 
serve, and  yet  to  be  strong  to  inform  her, 
in  return,  that  his  heart  was  not  his  own 
—that  he  was  her  true  and  devoted  friend, 
but  could  be  no  more.  And  yet  while  mak- 
ing this  avowal  in  words  in  a  thousand 


ways  more  expressive  tliaa  all  laogniiB, 
he  made  her  feel  oonatantly,  after  d, 
that  if  less  than  a  lover,  he  was  mm 
than  a  friend. 

He  would  say  to  himself:  ^*I  ibd 
never  love  Helena  May  nard.  Her  nature 
is  too  exaggerated,  too  over-wroBg^ 
She  is  too  full  of  passionate  nnrett,it 
would  worry  me  to  death  to  live  wHk' 
it;  but  I  admire  her,  and  I  am  notgoiig 
to  give  up  such  letters.*' 

Poor  Paul  1  he  did  not  know  that  it 
was  almost  impossible  for  him  to  gift 
up  any  thing  which  in  the  slightest  de- 
gree ministered  to  his  own  [Reason. 
These  letters  were  a  g^tificaiion  to  bi» 
self.  He  did  not  think  to  inqoire  how 
far  they  might  grow  to  oompromtse  tiM 
peace  of  their  writer. 

Still,  his  intercourse  with  Helena  Mty- 
nard  was  only  the  side  play  of  lif^  iti 
positive  entertainment  was  derived  fh« 
the  society  of  Bell  Presoott.  To  him,  m 
this,  there  wns  just  enoagh  of  the  ^hj 
of  passion  to  make  it  pleasant.  Then 
was  no  deep  yearning  of  heart,  no  8j»- 
pathy  of  spirit,  no  holj  love,  bnt  tlien 
was  personal  attraction  hovering  in  look 
and  gesture ;  fluttering  in  the  tondi  d 
her  dainty  hands,  and  in  the  twinkliog 
of  her  dancing  feet. 

She  played  about  him  perpetually,  and 
fascinated  his  senses.  If  he  sat  by  htr 
side  he  wanted  to  touch  the  jewel  quiv- 
ering in  her  ear,  or  to  toy  with  the  gold- 
en chains  fettering  her  delioafte  wrists: 
or  he  felt  an  insane  desire  to  catch  some 
tiny  feather  of  a  curl  floating  out  fran 
all  the  rest.  The  pretty  hand  so  playfhilj 
yet  coyly  given,  so  qnickly  withdrawo, 
he  liked  to  take  it  in  his,  and  hold  it  aa 
instant  longer  than  necessary.  He  liked 
to  dance  with  this  airy  sylph — for  sbe 
swayed  him  with  her  movement,  now 
dreamy  and  linguid,  now  sprightly  and 
gay.  And  for  the  time  being  she  woaM 
fascinate  him  with  her  eyes,-— one  mo- 
ment languishing  with  tenderness,  ^ 
next  sparkling  and  teazing  with  menri- 
ment.  Then  she  was  so  full  of  pretty 
pranks  and  whims  which  are  as  diann- 
ing  in  a  youthful  beauty  as  they  are 
tedious  and  irritating  in  a  plain,  ^eiiy 
woman. 


1870.] 


A  Womak's  Right. 


569 


One  moment  she  wonld  say  she  "  could 
waltz  forever,"  and  the  next  would  de- 
clare she  was  "  90  tired  she  conld  not 
take  another  step.  Mr.  Mallane  must 
take  her  fan  and  hoaqnet,  her  vinai- 
grette and  her  tnatichoirJ'^  But  as  soon 
as  she  saw  him  fairly  laden  she  wanted 
them  all  hack  again. 

When  Dick  remonstrated,  and  told  her 
that  she  was  *^  silly,"  as  he  always  did 
when  he  was  about,  she  would  look  at 
him  with  an  audacious  twinkle  in  her 
onnning  eyes,  and  a  vexed  pout  on  iter 
childbh  moath,  and  tell  him  that  she 
*^  liked  to  be  silly,  it  was  vastly  pleasant- 
er  than  being  wise,"  which  was  very 
true  in  her  case.  She  was  too  perfect  an 
artiste  in  her  art  not  to  know  precisely 
the  effect  of  all  these  foolish,*  yet  bewitch- 
ing ways.  She  had  practised  those 
charming  gestures  and  made  those 
pretty  mouths  too  long  not  to  know  ex- 
actly their  influence  upon  susceptible 
yonng  men. 

Her  prophecy  was  already  fulfilled — 
Paul  DO  longer  sat  by  her  side  unmoved 
as  his  **  grandfather  carved  in  alabaster." 
Indeed,  her  moods  were  so  full  of  con- 
trast, such  a  perpetual  surprise,  that  he 
was  in  a  half-astonished,  half-admiring, 
and  wholly-bewildered  state  whenever 
he  waa  in  her  presence.  But  her  empire 
did  not  extend  beyond  her  personal  at- 
mosphere. Fairly  outside  of  that,  Paul 
was  alone  with  himself,  and  then  it  was 
not  of  her  that  he  thought.  Or  if  he 
did,  strange  to  say,  he  felt  no  longing  to 
return  to  her  side — and  it  was  with  a 
feeling  of  vexation  toward  himself,  that 
while  he  was  conscious  that  she  fasci- 
nated him,  he  was  equally  conscious  that 
he  did  not  love  this  girl. 

He  would  sit  and  wonder  if  Eirene 
had  translated  Telemaque  yet,  or  if  she 
had  read  all  of  Bossuet^s  sermons;  or  if 
she  liked  the  Magazine,  or  the  copy  of 
Beranger^s  songs  which  he  had  sent  her. 

He  would  think  of  her  as  he  saw  her 
once  standing  by  the  window,  at  the  end 
of  the  long  shop,  the  sunshine  falling  on 
her  hair  touching  its  brown  with  gold. 

He  wondered  if  she  ever  fancied  where 
her  pictures  and  books  came  from,  and 
if  slie  ever  thought  of  him  I    Then  came 


the  thought  which  always  came  at  last, 
and  which  was  a  longing  also — that  the 
pictured  eyes  could  only  look  on  him 
once  more  from  the  living  face. 

'^Bell  Prescott  is  the  gayest  of  all 
company,"  he  would  say  to  himself; 
"  and  her  ways  are  fascinating,  very,  and 
when  I  am  with  her  I  don't  know 
whether  I  am  in  love  with  her  or  not ; 
but  as  soon  as  I  get  away  I  know  that 
I  am  not.  It  looks  cunning  in  a  girl  of 
her  features — but  I  don't  think  that  I 
should  fancy  having  my  wife  winking 
at  me  out  of  the  corner  of  one  eye,  or 
making  months  at  me — as  she  does. 
It's  odd,  hut  what  one  thinks  very 
charming  in  a  coquette,  and  a  young 
lady  of  fashion,  is  not  at  all  what  one 
would  fancy  in  one's  wife  I  These  are 
the  eyes  to  spend  one's  life  with !  "  he 
said,  looking  down  into  the  face  of  his 
Evangeline — eyes  that  would  never  up- 
braid except  with  their  tenderness,  that 
would  never  mock  save  with  their  puri- 
ty. . "  These  are  the  only  eyes  to  save  m^ 
from  the  world  and  the  devil.  If  I  could 
look  down  into  them  and  see  them  full 
of  love  for  me,  the  eyes  of  my  wife  I  and 
see  them  looking  up  at  me  again,  some 
day,  from  the  eyes  of  my  children— 
that  would  be  joy  en  ough  I  How  I  could 
love  that  girl  I  What  a  cursed  fate  I 
What  a  cursed  nature  that  will  not  he 
satisfied  with  less  tlian  all ! " 

When  he  reached  this  climax  Paul 
usually  snatched  Blackstone  and  went 
to  studying  with  all  his  might ;  or  if  he 
could,  he  did  what  was  better  still  for 
self^forgetfulness,  he  went  to  sleep,  and 
in  a  short  time  found  himself  in  his 
dreams  perfectly  happy,  livinglike  a  king 
at  Marlboro  Hill;  but,  strange  to  say,  the 
queen  who  shared  all  fortune  and  beauty 
with  him  was  not  Bell  Prescott,  but  a 
shop-girl  named  Eirene  Vale. 

Bell  Prescott  was  perfectly  certain 
that  she  had  made  great  advances  in  his 
favor  since  Paul's  first  visit  to  Marlboro 
Hill— indeed  that  she  hod  gained  a  posi- 
tive power  over  him ;  still  she  was  equal- 
ly certain  that  it  was  only  a  partial  pow- 
er, and  therefore  she  by  no  means  felt 
satisfied.  Notwithstanding  she  made  her 
presence  so  engrossing,  there  were  mo- 


570 


Putnam's  Magazikb. 


[M17, 


nients,  perhaps  Tvhen  she  was  most  bril- 
liant and  fantastioal,  when  an  absent 
look  would  creep  over  his  face  as  if  he 
saw  something  far  distant,  It  is  trne  at 
these  times  another  face  did  rise  before 
his  vision  by  sheer  force  of  contrast  to 
the  one  before  him. 

This  look  never  escaped  Bell's  quick 
eyes,  and  she  would  inwardly  say: 
**  There  I  he  is  thinking  of  that  shop- 
girl I  It  seems  very  hard  to  get  her  out 
of  his  head.  If  I  can't,  nobody  can," 
Sometimes  while  toying  with  her  jewels 
he  would  drop  them  suddenly,  with  a 
sense  of  self-disgust,  and  a  look  of  posi- 
tive weariness.  He  was  playing  with 
the  charms  in  her  obatolaiue  one  day, 
when  he  let  them  fall  listlessly,  and  this 
look  so  unwelcome  to  his  companion 
stole  over  his  face. 

"Who  are  you  thinking  of,  Sir 
Knight  ? "  she  asked  in  her  softest  voice. 
This  unexpected  question,  the  first  of  the 
kind  which  she  had  ever  put  to  him, 
brought  the  color  into  Paul's  cheek. 

"Ah I"  she  said  archly,  "you  are 
thinking  of  some  Busyville  beauty.  It's 
nobody  very  near  I  know,  for  your 
thoughts  seem  a  long  way  off.  Come, 
Sir  Knight,  tell  me.  Eaf>6  you  a  little 
loveress?" 

"  No  indeed,  ma  belle,  I  am  solitary, 
with  no  lady  to  love  me.  But  I  toas 
thinking  of  a  lovely  girl,  one  of  the  love- 
liest that  I  ever  saw,  and  she  does  live 
in  Busyville." 

"  Indeed  1  "  was  the  involuntary  ex- 
clamation, and  this  time  the  pouting  of 
the  little  mouth  was  real  not  affected. 
Miss  Bella  was  not  quite  prepared  for  this 
unanticipated  confession.  The  vexation 
of  lip  and  tone  were  not  to  be  mistaken, 
and  fi)r  an  instant  Paul  experienced  the 
keen  masculine  delight  of  making  one 
woman  miserable  by  praising  another. 

Ilis  triumph  was  only  momentary. 
Miss  Prescott  was  quite  as  well  aware  of 
his  weakness  as  he  was  of  hers,  and  be- 
fore Paul  could  choose  any  new  adjective 
of  praise  for  the  unknown  rival  with 
which  to  torment  her,  she  had  recovered 
all  her  wonted  art  and  exclaimed : 

"Oh,  I  know  who  it  is  I  Dick  told  mo 
all  about  her.    lie  said  you  were  in  love 


with  her;  she  works  in  year  isftho^ 
shop.** 

Tliis  was  extremely  morti^nng,  ai 
would  have  seemed  almost  mde  if  ithil 
not  been  uttered  in  the  most  iiUMmil 
and  charming  tone  in  the  world. 

Paul  never  mentioned  the  "  shop  ^  at 
Marlboro  Hill.  The  Prescotts  had  nenr 
been  "in  business;  "  and  Paol  himteif 
felt  a  repugnance  to  trade  which  wai 
rather  at  variance  with  his  NewEn^and 
origin.  When  he  heard  his  compaoiou 
boasting  of  their  pedigree,  he  dim 
wished  that  he  could  refer  to  a  long  line 
of  illustrious  ancestors  whose  white 
hands  had  never  been  soiled  by  oomiqgiB 
contact  with  gross  products ;  and  whoM 
lofty  intellects  had  never  come  dows  is 
accounts  in  stock,  bat  who  had  livsdnd 
died  in  the  practice  of  high  and  wtMpor 
suits,  or  in  the  serene  atmosphere  of  d- 
fluence  and  leisure. 

It  was  but  a  partial  consolation  for  hia 
to  remember  that  the  Bards  had  alwqfi 
been  freeholders  and  rich,  while  he  ooaid 
not  forget  that  the  grandfather  wham 
name  he  bore,  had  been  only  an  honeit^ 
industrious  carpenter,  and  that  hii  h- 
ther's  wealth  had  all   been  acquired  ii 
the  shops  where  in   earlier  days  tiiat 
same  father  had  worked,  with  his  owi 
hands.    This  false  pride,  ever  alert,  stuDf 
him  once  more  at  Bella  Prescott's  words; 
but  he  was  too  haughty  to  betray  hii 
weakness  for  more  than  an  instant,  and 
thus  said  very  deliberately :    "  Yes,  she 
does  work  in  one  of  my  father's  shopi- 
But  she  is  very  superior  to  her  condition. 
Indeed,  I  have  reaso]}  to  think  that  she 
comes  from  an  old  and  educated  iiiiiily 
who    have  become  reduced,"  and  his 
mind  referred  to  the  little  antique  testa- 
ment with  its  Latin   phrase.      "But, 
Miss  Prescott,  personally  she  is  nothing 
in  the  world  to  me,  and  never  will  be. 
Her  face  comes  back  to  me  like  pictures 
that  I  have  seen  and  admired,  and  as  it 
has  a  peculiar  kind  of  loveliness  I  like  to 
look  at  it,  that  is  all.    She  makes  a  pret- 
ty picture,  and  yet  she  has  not  the  style 
of  beauty  that  I  most  admire  in  a  wom- 
an,  you  may  know,  for   her  eyes  are 
brown."    He  said  this  with  a  look  of  on- 
mistakablo  meaning  fixed  upon  her  eyes. 


1870.] 


Tnx  Oboan. 


671 


i( 


Are  you  sure  that  is  all  ? "  • 
At  the  yeqr  b^iyiing  of  this  qoas^ioa 
.tlie  gagr  Toioe  BMlfed  kito  a  tender  vibrar 
^onwhieh  most  have  been  irreBistible, 
for  Paol  answered  quidcly :  "  Yes,  I  am 
sore.  Don^t  yon  itnnk  that  I  am  old 
enough  to  know  my  o]^n  mind  ?  Brown 
eyes  may  bo  lovely  in  a  picture,  but  in 
the  living  woman  give  me  the  blue." 


A  moment  afterward  Paul  despised 
bimseU  for^  liar,  and  MisaPrescoct,  feelr 
ing  the  emanation  of  .  his  dlseontenti 
mused  silently  ov^iiis  word^.  *^I  don't 
believe  iti  No  inan  would  ever  spend 
so  much  time  in  growing  absent-minded 
over  a  pioture.  He  has  told  me  a  fib, 
and  dotes  on  browH  eyes,  and  has  'told 
her  so." 


-•♦♦- 


THE    ORGAN. 


Although  I  am  not  about  to  preach 
a  sermon,  I  propose  to  commence  this 
-paper  with  a  text  or  two  from  Scrip- 
ture ;  to  wit.  Genesis  iy.  Sfl :  *'  And  his 
brother's  name  was  Jubal ;  he  was  the 
father  of  all  such  as  handle  the  harp 
and  organ."  Again,  Job  ud.  13 :  "  They 
take  the  timbrel  and  harp,  and  rejoice 
at  the  sound  of  the  organ."  And  again. 
Job  zxx.  81 :  **  My  harp  also  is  turned 
into  mourning^  and  my  organ  into  the 
Toice  of  them  that  weep." 

Now,  the  word  "  organ,"  used  in  these 
and  other  places  in  the  Old  Testament, 
which  I  might  quote,  must  not  be  con- 
foimded  with  the  noble  instrument  at 
present  bearing  that  name.  The  term 
was  taken  from  the  Greek  translation, 
bat  the  ancient  Greeks  had  no  particu- 
lar instrument  called  an  organ:  the 
word  which  has  been  so  translated  was 
a  general  name  for  an  instrument,  a 
work,  or  an  implement  of  any  kind. 

The  instrument  which  was  the  origin 
of  the  organ,  or  at  least  furnished  the 
first  hint,  is  still  in  conmion  use,  and  is 
known  as  the  "  Pan  Pipes,"  or  mouth- 
organ.  Thus,  the  pipes  were  the  first 
in  order  of  invention  of  the  various 
parts  of  which  an  organ  is  composed. 

The  next  in  order  was  the  wind-chest, 
at  first  composed  of  a  wooden  box, 
which  was  invented  to  obviate  the  fa- 
tiguing motion  of  the  head  and  hands 
while  inflating  the  l)ipe8.  The  pipes 
stood  on  this  box,  and  it  was  filled 
with  wind  by  being  blown  into  through 
a  tube.  Now,  in  order  to  prevent  a- 
simultaneous  intonation  of  all  the  pipes, 


a  slider  was  placed  under  the  aperture 
of  each  one,  which  either  opened  or 
stopped  the  entrance  of  the  wind  into 
the  pipes.  This  was  the  origin  of  the 
^'  stops  "  that  are  ranged  on  either  dde 
of  the  key-board. 

An  increase  of  the  number  of  pipes 
on  the  wind-chest,  and  the  necessary- 
enlargement  thereof,  made  it  impossible 
for  human  breath  to  supply  sufficient 
wind  to  fill  the  instrument ;  and  so  the 
bellows  was  invented. 

The  ancient  organs  were  not  provided 
with  finger-keys,  and  were  played  by 
pulling  down  small  rods  which  caused 
the  pipes  to  speak.  This,  of  couxse, 
was  a  very  inconvenient  way  of  play- 
ing, and  so,  in  course  of  time,  the  key- 
board was  invented. 

All  these  successive  improvements 
and  additions  were,  however,  the  work 
of  centuries ;  and  it  was  not  until  the 
close  of  the  eleventh  century  that  this 
last  improvement  was  made. 

In  the  earlier  organs  the  number  of 
notes  was  very  limited.  From  nine  to 
eleven  was  nearly  their  greatest  extent, 
and  the  execution  of  ancient  music  did 
not  require  more.  "Harmony,"  of 
course,  was  unknown. 

The  first  keys  were  not  "finger" 
keys,  but  were  often  as  large  as  five  and 
a  half  inches  wide,  and  the  manner  of 
performing  on  them  was,  of  course, 
conformable  to  their  size.  They  were 
struck  down  by  the  fist  of  the  perform- 
er, and  the  organist  was  called  the 
"  organ-beater." 

The  bellows,  and  the  mode  of  oper- 


57S 


Putnam's  Maoazinb. 


I"* 


ating  the  same,  were  equally  clumsy. 
In  the  old  church  at  Winchester,  in 
Sngland,  there  was  a  monster  organ 
(according  to  the  times),  described  by 
the  monk  Woolston  in  a  poem  which 
he  wrote,  and  dedicated  to  Bishop 
Elphege,  by  whose  order  the  organ  was 
built,  toward  the  close  of  the  tenth  cen- 
tury. This  instrument  required  the 
force  of  seventy  men  to  blow  the  bel- 
lows ;  and  the  portion  of  the  poem  re- 
lating thereto  is  as  follows : 

**  Twolye  pair  of  bellows,  rang'd  in  stated  roir, 
Are  joined  above,  and  inartcon  more  beloir. 
Tbese  the  fall  force  of  seventy  men  require, 
Who  ceaseless  toil,  and  plent^onsly  perspire. 
Each  aiding  each,  till  all  the  wind  be  prest 
In  the  close  confines  of  th*  incumbent  chest ; 
On  which  four  hundred  pipes  in  order  nee, 
To  bellow  fbrth  the  blast  that  chest  supplies." 

The  next  epoch  in  the  history  of  the 
organ  is  the  invention  of  the  pedals. 
This  took  place  between  the  years  1470 
and  1480,  and  is  commonly  attributed 
to  Bernhard,  organist  to  the  Doge  of 
Venice.  And  the  next  and  last  funda- 
mental department  of  the  instrument 
invented  was  the  swell,  which  was  in- 
troduced about  one  hundred  and  sixty 
years  ago ;  and  the  first  organ  provided 
with  that  beautiful  and  effective  feature 
was  erected  by  Abraham  Jordan,  in  St. 
Magnus*  church,  at  the  foot  of  London 
Bridge.  Jordan^s  invention  was  un- 
doubtedly suggested  by  the  "  echo," 
used  in  many  English  organs  before  his 
time.  The  echo  consisted  of  a  dupli- 
cation of  the  treble  portion  of  some  of 
the  stops  in  the  other  manuals,  closed 
in  a  wooden  box  to  give  their  tone  soft- 
ness and  the  effect  of  distance.  The 
name  plainly  indicates  the  purpose  for 
which  it  was  originally  designed. 

Jordan^s  invention  was  to  cause  the 
sounds  from  the  pipes  in  the  echo  to 
increase  or  decrease  in  strength  by  using 
shutters  or  leaves  arranged  much  like 
those  of  common  Venetian  window- 
blinds,  and  closing  or  opening  by  means 
of  a  pedal. 

Thus  I  have  sketched  the  history  of 
the  invention  and  improvement  of  this 
noble  instrument,  from  the  first  ages 
down  to  modern  times.  I  will  now 
consider  its  structure. 


The  mechanism  of  an  organ,  thoo^ 
apparently  so  complex,  is  yet,  ii  III 
main  features,  comparatiTdly  mmifk. 
We  see  the  keys,  and,  on  thdr  bdif 
touched,  hear  the  pipes  tpctk.  Tli 
connection  between  them  ia  etsj  cC 
comprehension.  .The  key  mores  oat 
centre,  and,  on  being  pressed  dowa,  of 
course  the  other  end  (technically  csU 
"  the  tail  '0  rises.  This  lifts  up  a  diort 
rod  about  the  size  of  a  lead-pencil, 
called  a  *^  sticker."  This  sticker  in  ton 
operates  on  one  end  of  a  lever  caDed 
"  a  back-falV  the  other  end  of  whidi, 
dropping,  pulls  down,  by  a  connectiiig 
wire  or  "tracker,"  the  "pallet"  or 
valve,  over  which  the  pipe  standi^  Tim 
pallet  admits  the  wind  from  the  bd- 
lows  into  the  pipe,  and  causes  it  to 
speak.  So  you  have  the  whole  art  tad 
mystery  of  organ-building ;  and  if  nj 
lady  or  gentleman,  after  my  deacriptiai, 
think  they  can  make  an  oi]gan,  all  Hiej 
have  to  do  is  to  try. 

Things  may  sometimes  be  carried  to 
extremes,  and  certainly  the  exoeMve 
ornamentation  of  origan-cases  in  the 
olden  time  was  an  iUnstration  of  tliis 
truth.  In  the  course  of  the  seventeenik 
and  early  part  of  the  eighteenth  centh 
ries,  great  industry  and  expense  wen 
bestowed  on  the  external  decoration  of 
the  organ.  The  entire  case  was  oroi- 
mented  with  statues,  beads  of  angdt, 
vases,  foliage,  and  even  figures  of  ani- 
mals. Sometimes  the  fjont  pipes  were 
painted  with  grotesque  figures,  and  the 
lips  of  the  pipes  made  to  resemble  liom^ 
jaws.  Among  these  ornaments  the  fig- 
ures of  angels  played  a  very  conspicih 
ous  part.  Trumpets  were  placed  in 
their  hands,  which,  by  means  of  mech- 
anism, could  be  moved  to  and  from  the 
mouth.  Carrillons,  too,  and  kettle- 
drums, were  performed  upon  by  the 
movable  arms  of  angels.  In  the  midst 
of  this  heavenly  host,  sometimes  a  gi- 
gantic angel  would  be  exhibited  hoTe^ 
ing  in  a  glory  above  the  organ,  beating 
time  with  his  baton,  as  the  conductor 
of  this  super-earthly  orchestra.  Under 
such  circumstances,  the  firmament,  of 
course,  could  not  be  dispensed  with. 
So  we  had  wandering  suns  and  moom 


1870.] 


Thb  Oboait. 


578 


and  jingling  stars  in  motion.  E^en  the 
mnimal  kingdom  was  summoned  into 
activity.  Cuckoos,  nightingales,  and 
every  species  of  bird,  singing,  or  rather 
chirping,  added  their  notes  to  the  ludi- 
crous effect,  and,  with  the  other  absurd 
monstrosities,  succeeded  in  turning  this 
noble  iustrument  into  a  perfect  raree- 
abow. 

But  if  men  went  to  the  extreme  of 
decoration  and  patronage  of  the  organ, 
BO  did  they  afterwards  go  to  the  other 
extreme  of  condemnation  and  neglect. 
What  I  am  going  to  speak  of  now  may 
be  called  the  age  of  organ  persecution. 

In  1644  an  ordinance  was  passed  in 
the  English  Parliament  establishing  a 
new  form  of  Divine  worship,  in  which 
no  music  was  allowed  except  plain 
psalm-singing.  It  was  thought  neces- 
sary, for  the  promotion  of  true  religion, 
that  no  organs  should  be  suffered  to  re- 
main in  the  churches ;  that  choral-books 
ahould  be  torn,  painted  glass  windows 
broken,  sepulchral  brass  inscriptions  de- 
faced, and,  in  short,  that  the  cathedral 
service  should  be  totally  abolished. 

In  the  civil  war  which  followed,  or- 
gans were  among  the  especial  objects  of 
puritanic  wrath.  At  Westminster,  in 
1647,  some  of  Cromwell's  soldiers  were 
quartered  ^n  the  Abbey  church.  They 
broke  down  the  altar-rail,  and  burned 
it  on  the  spot.  They  also  broke  down 
the  organ,  and  pawned  the  pipes  at 
neighboring  public  houses  for  pots  of 
ale.  At  Exeter  Cathedral  they  threw 
down  the  organ,  and,  taking  the  pipes, 
went  up  and  down  the  streets  piping 
with  them.  At  Peterborough,  at  Can- 
terbury, at  Chichester,  at  Norwich,  and 
at  Winchester,  the  like  depredations 
were  committed.  When  the  Parliament- 
ary army,  in  1651,  under  .the  command 
of  the  Earl  of  Essex,  entered  Worces- 
ter, they  rode  up  through  the  body  of 
the  cathedral,  tore  down  the  altar-rail, 
broke  the  stained  glass  windows,  and 
destroyed  the  organ.  At  the  Nunnery 
at  Little  Gidding,  in  Huntingdonshire, 
the  same  scenes  were  repeated.  The 
soldiers  of  the  Parliament,  resolving  to 
suppress  the  establishment,  manifested 
a  particular  spite  against  the  organ. 


This  they  broke  in  pieces,  of  which 
they  made  a  large  fire,  and  at  it  roasted 
several  sheep  foraged  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. 

After  the  Parliamentary  ordinance  of 
1644,  and  the  zeal  of  the  puritanical 
party  in  putting  their  orders  in  force,  it 
is  somewhat  remarkable  that  any  church 
organs  should  have  escaped  demolition. 
Some  instruments  were,  however,  suf- 
fered to  remain ;  nevertheless,  the  de- 
vastation committed  upon  these  inno- 
cent victims  was  not  easily  remedied. 
It  was  not  until  some  time  after  the 
Restoration  that  the  instruments  could 
be  reinstated. 

Among  the  Continental  organ-build- 
ers who  established  themselves  in  Eng 
land,  attracted  thither  by  the  revival 
in  organ-building,  was  one  Christopher 
Schrider,  who  erected  several  organs  in 
that  country,  and  among  them  the  noble 
instrument  for  Westminster  Abbey, 
which  is  still  in  that  church.  At  his 
death,  a  monument  was  erected  to  his 
memory,  on  which, was  engraved  the 
following  curious  epitaph : 

**  Here  rests  the  mtuieal  Kit  Schrider, 
Who  orgmns  built  when  he  did  bide  here. 
With  nicest  care  he  tuned  *em  up ; 
But  Death  hat  pulled  the  cruel  stnp, 
Tho*  breath  to  others  he  cony  eyed, 
Breathless,  alas !  himself  is  laid. 
Mny  ho  who  us  such  keys  has  given. 
Meet  with  Si  Fetor's  keys  of  hearen. 
His  comet,  twef/lh,  and  diapawn. 
Could  not  with  iiir  supply  his  weosand. 
Boss,  tenor,  treble,  unison, 
The  loss  of  tuneful  Kit  bemoan." 

He,  however,  was  not  the  only  one  of 
eminence  in  his  profession  who  visited 
England  at  that  time.  I  have  only  sin- 
gled him  out  on  account  of  his  quaint 
epitaph.  The  names  of ''  Father  "  Smith 
and  Renatus  Harris  will  ever  hold  an 
honorable  place  in  the  annals  of  organ- 
building.  These  two  artists  had  a  con- 
tention over  the  merits  of  their  organs, 
which  attracted  considerable  attention 
ia  their  day.  The  authorities  of  the 
Temple  church,  in  London,  were  desir- 
ous of  having  the  best  organ  attainable 
erected  in  their  church,  and  accordingly 
invited  proposals  from  both  these  emi- 
nent men.  But  their  respective  claims 
were  backed  by  the  recomn^endations  , 


574 


Putvak's  MAeAzors. 


Vbf, 


of  such  an  equal  number  of  powerftil 
friends  and  celebrated  organists,  that 
they  were  unable  to  determine  which  to 
employ.  They  therefore  told  the  can- 
didates that,  if  each  of  them  would 
erect  an  organ  in  different  parts  of  the 
church,  they  would  retain  that  which 
in  the  greatest  number  of  excellences 
should  be  allowed  to  deserve  the  prefer- 
ence. Smith  and  Harris,  agreeing  to 
this  proposal,  devoted  their  utmost  skill 
to  the  work;  and,  in  about  eight  or 
nine  months,  each  had  an  organ  ready 
for  trial.  Smith  engaged  the  services 
of  the  celebrated  organists  and  compos- 
ers. Doctors  Blow  and  Purcell;  and 
Harris  secured  those  of  Signor  Baptiste 
Draghi,  organist  to  Queen  Catherine, 
wife  of  Charles  H.  Such,  however, 
were  the  merits  of  the  instruments  and 
the  skill  of  the  performers,  that  a  choice 
was  rendered  more  difficult  than  ever ; 
and  at  last  the  controversy  was  brought 
into  court,  where  a  decision  was  given 
in  Smith's  favor  by  the  notorions  Judge 
Jeffries. 

It  was  about  this  period  that  art  in 
organ-building  began  steadily  to  pro- 
gress, until  it  has  arrived  at  its  present 
perfection. 

In  1630  the  fine-toned  organ  in  the 
magnificent  church  of  St.  Ouen,  at 
Rouen,  was  erected,  and  is  still  in  ex- 
istence. It  has  five  rows  of  keys,  a 
pedal  organ,  forty-nine  stops,  and  twelve 
bellows.  In  1670  the  noble  instrument 
in  St.  Sepulchre's  church,  in  London  (the 
bell  of  which  edifice  has  so  often  tolled 
the  knell  of  departing  criminals  from 
Newgate),  was  erected  by  Renatus  Har- 
ris, and  is  supposed  to  be  the  oldest  in- 
strument of  his  make  now  existing  in 
London.  In  the  early  part  of  the  last 
century,  the  celebrated  organ  in  the 
Cathedral  at  Haarlem  was  erected.  It 
has  long  been  famous  as  one  of  the 
largest  and  finest  instruments  in  the 
world.  It  was  built  by  Christopher 
Mtlller,  of  Amsterdam,  and  was  nearly 
three  years  and  a  half  in  course  of  con- 
struction. Some  of  the  front  pipes  are 
thirty  to  forty  feet  in  length,  and  are 
of  pure  English  tin,  burnished.  It  has 
sixty  stops  and  nearly  five  thousand 


pipes,  and,  with  its  magnxficeBt  cm^ 
cost  altogether  abont  t60,t)00. 

About  the  same  time,  the  organ  k  8t 
Michaers  church,  Hamburg,  was  tnd^ 
ed.    The  case  of  this  instrument  isBUi 
feet  high  and  sixty  in  width.    Iks 
front  pipes  are  arranged  to  lepnsBOl    . 
pillars,  being  furnished  with  bases  tad    ' 
Corinthian    capitals,    the    pipes  thor 
selves,  with  their  burnished  Bni&oa^ 
forming  the  shafts.     The  organ  Is  fim^ 
laid  out  inside  in  four  stories,  to  €Mk 
of  which  tree  access  is  obtained  tf 
wide  staircases  with  hand-raila.    Soni 
of  the  pipes  are  so  large  that  a  li^ 
sieve  of  wire  with  large  meshes  is  placed 
over  the  top,  to  keep  out  the  bMa 

One  of  the  largest,  if  not  the  lugtt 
organ  in  the  worid,  is  in  St.  GeorgA 
Hall,  Liverpool.  This  immense  iMtn- 
ment  contains  one  hundred  soondiiy 
stops,  besides  the  accessory  slops,  cosp- 
lers,  &c.  The  wind  is  supplied  tarn 
fourteen  bellows,  blown  by  a  steim- 
engine.  There  are  eight  thousand  jifo, 
varying  in  length  from  thirty-two  M 
to  three  eighths  of  an  inch,  ten  octavei 
apart.  The  ^^  trackers,'^  if  laid  out  in 
a  straight  line,  would  reach  six  mi)e^ 
The  largest  pipe  is  twelve  feet  in  ci^ 
cumference,  and  its  interior  measQre> 
ment  two  hundred  and  twenty-four  cu- 
bic feet  The  timber  alone  weigbi 
thirty  tons;  and  the  metal  and  other 
materials  employed  in  its  formatioBiiie 
to  a  total  weight  of  over  forty  tons. 

In  giving  these  instances  of  the  msi- 
terpieces  of  art  in  organ-building,  I 
have  selected  those  as  remarkable  for 
size  as  for  excellence.  There  are  manj 
organs  in  this  country,  as  well  ss  in 
Europe,  which,  though  not  of  sudi  vist 
dimensions,  take  no  second  rank  (except 
in  point  of  mere  size)  with  any  of  these 
I  have  mentioned.  And  among  them 
may  be  enumerated  the  fine  instmments 
in  the  Music  Hall,  Boston;  in  Trinity 
Church,  the  Tabernacle,  and  the  Tem- 
ple Emmanuel,  in  the  city  of  New 
York;  in  St.  John^s  H.  B.  Church  in 
Willitunsburg,  and  Plymouth  Church, 
Brooklyn,  the  two  latter  blown  by  hy- 
draulic engines. 

The  application  of  hydraulic  power 


1870.] 


The  Oboan. 


575 


§0T  the  purpose  of  supplying  wind  to 
the  organ,  is  destined  to  come  into  yery 
general  use,  not  only  for  instruments 
erected  in  churches  and  mi^sic  halls,  but 
eren  for  parlor  organs.  The  facility 
with  which  the  power  can  be  applied, 
the  small  space  required  for  the  engine, 
and  the  ready  command  of  water  in  all 
great  cities,  afiford  opportunities  for  the 
introduction  of  this  motor  that  will 
soon  bring  it  into  extensive  employ- 
ment. 

The  organ  in  St.  John's  M.  E.  Church 
in  Williamsburg,  is  seventy  feet  above 
tide  water ;  but  as  the  Ridgcwood  reser- 
'Voir  is  one  hundred  and  ninety  feet 
Above  the  same  level,  the  water  has  a 
iMad  of  one  hundred  and  twenty  feet, 
which  gives  a  pressure  of  forty-three 
pounds  to  the  square  inch.  The  diame- 
ter of  the  cylinder  of  the  hydraulic  en- 
gine here  used  is  seven  inches,  and  the 
stroke  of  the  piston  ten  inches. 

The  bellows  are  provided  with  levers, 
to  be  used  in  case  of  accident  to  the 
engine  or  water-supply;  and  although 
these  levers  require  the  united  force  of 
four  men  at  the  end  to  operate,  the  en- 
gine, connected  near  the  eentrej  moves 
them  with  ease  and  steadiness.  The 
engine  itself  is  set  in  motion  and  regu- 
lated by  a  horizontal  hand-wheel  placed 
near  the  performer. 

It  may  not  be  out  of  place  here  to  in- 
vite the  attention  of  committees  having 
in  charge  the  purchase  of  organs  for 
churches  or  music  halls,  to  a  few  impor- 
tant considerations. 

In  the  first  place,  an  organ  is  destined 
to  stand  in  its  allotted  position  for  years 
and  years.  Some  have  stood  for  centu- 
ries. And  there  it  is  to  remain,  for  bet- 
ter or  for  worse,  either  an  object  of 
pride  for  all  concerned,  or  else  a  great 
and  mortifying  failure,  offensive  to  the 
eye  and  distracting  to  the  ear  of  every 
one  obliged  to  look  upon  or  listen  to  it. 
Parties  interested  should  beware  how 
they  trifle  or  tamper  with  the  matter. 

To  quote  the  words  of  that  eminent 
scholar  and  musician,  the  late  Dr.  Ed- 
ward Hodges,  formerly  organist  of  Trin- 
ity Church,  New  York :  . 

''The  good  organ-builder  is  not  a 


mere  manufacturer  of  organs  made  to 
sell  as  per  list.  He  is  not  even  a  merely 
clever  mechanic  or  artisan,  who  has 
learned  to  perform  certain  manipula- 
tions, and  can  perform  them  dexteroua- 
lyl  But  he  is,  in  his  own  department, 
an  etrtUtj  as  every  organ-builder  should 
be.  Himself  a  good  workman,  he 
knows  what  good  work  is.  That,  how- 
ever, is  not  enough  to  enable  a  man  to 
rank  with  the  organ-builders  who  live 
in  history ;  an  organ-builder  must  know 
how  to  contrive,  adapt,  and  accommo- 
date, according  to  the  varying  circum- 
stances under  which  his  instruments 
may  be  put  in  requisition.  He  should 
be  well  acquainted  with  theoretical  and 
practical  mechanics,  and  have  insight 
into  the  kindred  science  of  architecture, 
with  which  his  operations  are  connect- 
ed. Moreover,  he  must  have  some  in- 
ventive genius,  or  his  organs  will  turn 
out  but  stereotyped  reproductions  of 
one  or  two  unvarying  ideas." 

Such  being  the  character  of  the  man 
whom  *'  organ  committees  "  should  con- 
sult, is  it  well — indeed,  is  it  economy — 
to  force  him  into  competition  with  some 
cheap  but  incompetent  builder?  Per- 
sons charged  with  awarding  an  organ 
contract  are,  of  course,  bound  to  study 
the  pecuniary  interests  of  those  they 
represent;  and  they  sometimes  think 
they  do  so  when  they  save  a  few  dollars 
on  the  price  of  the  instrument;  but 
they  eventually  find  themselves  wofhlly 
mistaken,  when  they  discover  that  they 
are  burdened  with  an  apparatus  that 
will,  in  the  course  of  time,  cost  for  re- 
pairs as  much  as,  if  not  more  than,  the 
original  amount  of  the  purchase ;  and 
which,  in  the  end,  they  will  be  glad  to 
get  rid  of  at  any  sacrifice. 

Then,  while  it  is  right  and  proper  for 
such  a  committee  to  insist  on  a  faithfld 
performance  of  the  contract,  let  them 
select  none  but  a  builder  of  known  repu- 
tation, who,  by  the  very  necessity  of 
the  case,  is  a  man  of  honor,  and  then 
deal  with  him  fairly,  and  even  liberally, 
remembering  that  they  are  not  paying 
for  so  many  cubic  feet  of  work  merely, 
but  reimbursing  him  for  the  product  of 
a  lifetime  of  artistic  education  and  sci- 
entific study. 

But  in  no  department  .of  his  profes- 
sion are  these  qualifications  so  absolute- 


(FI^ 


Putnaji'b  Magazikx. 


ly  essential  as  in  the  yoicing  and  tuning 
of  the  organ.  The  fonner  of  these  is  a 
most  delicate  operation,  and,  to  attain 
success,  long  experience  and  a  refined 
ear  must  be  brought  to  its  accomplish- 
ment. The  process  is,  indeed,  so  deli- 
cate, that  it  is  impossible  to  describe  or 
even  to  teach.  Success  can  only  be  at- 
tained by  a  long  course  of  individual 
experiment,  combined  with  a  consum- 
mate judgment  and  a  most  sensitive 
car.  Results  only  can  be  described. 
Each  pipe  must  be  voiced  with  refer- 
ence to  its  distinctive  character,  and  to 
the  "  stop  "  to  which  it  belongs.  The 
flute,  the  trumpet,  the  piccolo,  the  horn, 
the  flageolet,  the  trombone,  the  clario- 
net, &C.,  &c.,  must  each  possess  the  va- 
rious characteristics  appropriate  to  their 
names.  These,  again,  must  be  voiced 
with  reference  to  the  position  they  oc- 
cupy in  the  instrument,  whether  in  the 
great,  the  choir,  the  swell,  or  the  pedal 
organ;  and,  finally,  they  must  all  be 
subordinated  to  the  general  efiect,  so  as 
to  secure  individual  diversity  with  gen- 
eral harmony. 

The  art  of  tuning  the  organ  is  more 
simple,  and  can  be  attained  by  any  one, 
patience  and  the  possession  of  a  dis- 
criminating ear,  of  course,  being  under- 
stood. 

The  first  step  taken  in  ^Maying  the 
bearings  **  (i,  «.,  adjusting  an  initial  or 
normal  stop,  from  which  all  the  rest 
of  the  organ  may  be  tuned),  is  to  a^ust 
the  starting  sound  (middle  C)  to  the 
pitch  of  the  tuning-fork,  and  then  tun- 
ing the  remaining  eleven  sounds  of  the 
octave  by  intervals  of  third,  fourth, 
fifth,  sixth,  or  octave,  up  or  down  as 
the  case  may  be,  and  at  the  same  time 
making  those  intervals  "  bear  "  nearer 
towards,  or  farther  from,  the  sounds 
from  which  they  are  being  calculated, 
than  if  they  were  being  tuned  absolute- 
ly perfect.  All  the  thirds,  fourths,  and 
sixths  that  are  tuned  upwards  are  made 
a  little  sharp,  and  those  that  are  tuned 
downwards  rather  fiat.  The  fifths,  on 
the  contrary,  are  tuned  a  slight  degree 
fiat  upwards,  and  sharp  downwards. 
As  the  tuner  .proceeds  with  his  work, 
he  occasionally  tries  the  temperament 


of  a  note  just  toned  whih  m 
not  prcyiouslj  accosted,  to  i 
whether  the  bearing!  aie  bd 
correctly.  These  referencci  a 
trialiy  or  proofs^  and  are  made 
ing  the  major  third,  fourth,  < 
above  or  beloiy,  to  the  note  ji 
If  the  intervals  upwards  appi 
rather  greater  than  perfect  in 
except  between  C  sharp  and 
which  should  be  rather  flat,  aU 
but  if  otherwise,  then  some  of 
vious  bearings  are  not  quite  co 

The  stop  usually  selected 
process  is  the  *^  principal,"  1 
of  that  stop  bein^  the  medio 
those  generally  contained  in  tl 

The  bearing  having  been 
remainder  of  the  stop  is  tun 
taves  to  the  pipes  already  adQi 
then  the  rest  of  the  stops  in  t 
are  tuned  to  the  principal 

We  have  seen  that  the  nob 
ment  of  which  -we  have  bee 
ing  is  the  monarch  of  all  beaii 
embraces  and  improyes  upon 
The  trumpet,  the  trombone,  tl 
net,  the  flute,  the  violin,  the  I 
the  violoncello,  the  oboe,  the 
the  horn,  the  flageolet,  the  pic 
comet,  even  the  fife  and  dnm 
here,  and  with  a  sustained  po 
ness,  and  richness  of  tone  i 
orchestra  in  vain  endeavors  U 
It  goes  further ;  the  human  Toic 
tated  with  startling  fidelity ;  m 
the  '^  Yoix  Celeste,"  as  its  name 
conveys  to  the  ravished  senses 
prcssion  of  a  distant  choir  of 
voices,  bearing  up,  for  acceptanc 
gates  of  heaven,  the  praises  of  tl 
ful  hero  below. 

The  noblest  use  to  which  this 
piece  of  art  can  be  devoted,  is 
service  of  the  Most  High.  Wl 
not  bow  in  almost  involuntary  d< 
as,  under  the  touch  of  a  mast 
glorious  tones  of  the  organ  com 
ing  through  the  air,  filling  every 
of  the  temple  of  Deity,  the  wavi 
ing  onward  and  onward,  burstin 
beyond  the  walls  which  cannot 
them,  far  out  into  the  open  air,  m 
very  soul  is  lost  in  a  sea  of  harm 


IMt.] 


P0LT&LOT8. 


5W 


=«i 


■ff 


.1 


Uttening  to  such  inspiring  Bounds, 
•re  reminded  of  a  beantiM  descrip- 
oi*  organ-music  in  a  cathedral,  by 
in  his  ^  Legend  of  Brittany  " : 

•veiled  the  org»a ;  up  through  oboir  and 
nare 
n^  mueio  trembled  with  an  i&irard  thrill 

Utet  at  its  own  grandeur ;  ware  00  waTe» 
2to  flood  of  mellow  thunder  roee,  until 
]nieh*d  air  ahiTered  witii  the  throb  it  gare. 

polling  for  a  momeDt,  it  aftood  atiU* 
■tnk,  and  roee  again,  to  buret  in  epcay, 
TChmt  wandered  into  alienee  tu  away. 


**  like  to  a  mighty  heart,  the  muaio  aaemed; 

That  yeama  with  melodiea  it  cannot  apeak : 
Until,  in  grand  deapair  of  what  it  dreamedt 

In  the  agony  of  ellbrt^  it  doth  break ; 
•Yet  trlumpha,  breaking.     On  it  xuahed*  aaA 
atreamed, 

And  wantoned  in  ita  might :  aa  when  a  laka. 
Long  pent  among  the  mountaina,  buiata  ita  widlib 

And  in  one  orowding  gueh,  leapa  ibrth  and  ftUlk 

**  Deeper  and  deeper  ahuddera  ahook  the  air, 
Aa  the  huge  base  kept  gathering  heavily ; 

Like  thunder  when  it  rouaee  in  ita  lair 
And  with  ita  hoarte  growl  ahakea  the  low*hmgiftj. 

It  grew  up  like  a  da^noH,  ereiywhera 
miing  tiie  Taat  cathedral ,** 


■«♦♦- 


POLYGLOTS. 


•I. 


'*  • 


Thb  stndy  of  modem  langoages  being 
'Biore  generally  preralent  than  it  has 
been  at  any  former  period  of  the  world's 
history,  and  the  tendency  btfiog  so  strong 
In  that  direction  that  we  may  safely  pre- 
set a  BtiU  farther  extension  of  this  pnr* 
■nit,  the  reader  is  likely  to  take  some 
Interest  in  the  qnestion  whether  it  is 
possible  to  learn  a  foreign  language  or 
not.  I  have  been  on  the  lookout,  daring 
the  last  ten  years,  for  a  person  who 
loiew  two  languages  perfectly,  and  I  have 
toiand  •ne.  As  for  the  man  who  knows 
three  languages,  I  have  not  fonnd  him 
yet,  and  do  not  belieye  that  he  exists  upon 
the  surface  of  this  planet  There  are  many 
instances  of  people  who  have  learned  a 
foreign  language  so  as  to  speak  it  ex* 
aotly  like  a  native ;  but  in  all  such  cases 
that  have  come  under  my  own  obser- 
Tfttion,  except  the  one  Just  alluded  to, 
the  acquisition  has  been  paid  for  by  the 
loss,  total  or  partial,  of  the  mother- 
tongue.  I  remember  meeting  with  a 
bookseller  in  the  north  of  England  who 
spoke  English  with  a  strong  foreign  ac- 
cent, but  he  spoke  the  French  well; 
he  had  lived  ten  years  in  Paris,  where 
he  had  been  in  business,  during  which 
time  he  bad  acquired  a  good  French  ac- 
oent,  and  a  bad  English  one.  An  Amer* 
loan  lady,  who  is  a  friend  of  mine,  and 
has  lived  fourteen  years  in  France,  al- 
ways speaks  French  with  me  because  she 
finds  it  easier  than  English.  She  speaks 
English  correctly  still,  or  nearly  so,  but 
with  evident  embsrrassment,  and  it  is 
VOL.  V. — 38 


clear  that  she  does  not  feel  at  home  in  it ; 
her  English  vocabulary,  too,  has  become 
limited  through  the  loss  of  words  which 
have  gradually  dropped  out  of  her  recol- 
lection. 

Bat  one  of  the  most  curious  in- 
stances of  the  loss  of  the  mother- 
tongue  occurred  in  a  case  about  which 
I  can  give  the  best  possible  testimony, 
since  it  was  the  case  of  my  own  eldest 
son.  He  spoke  English  at  one  time  as 
perfectly  as  any  other  English  child  of 
his  age,  but  we  migrated  to  France,  and 
for  some  months  he  lived  in  the  house 
of  some  French  friends  of  ours  in  the 
south  of  France,  not  very  far  from  Avig- 
non. Notwithstanding  the  &ot  that  two 
of  the  ladies  in  the  family  spoke  English 
(and  spoke  it  uncommonly  well  for 
Frenchwomen),  the  child  had  not  been 
more  than  a  week  or  two  in  the  house 
before  he  ceased  speaking  English  alto- 
gether, and  began  to  speak,  not  French, 
but  the  purest  Proven^l,  which  he  heard 
the  servants  and  work-people  speaking 
about  him.  The  next  time  I  met  him 
there  was  no  longer  any  means  of  oom- 
munication  between  us.  He  could  not 
understand  one  word  of  English,  nor 
of  French  either,  and  I  was  equally  ig- 
norant of  the  beautifhl  and  poetical  Ian* 
gnage  of  Provence.  Since  then  he  has 
acquired  French  and  forgotten  his  Pro- 
vencal, but  he  has  not  yet  recovered  his 
lost  EngUsh,  and  will  only  do  so  by  learn- 
ing it  as  a  foreign  tongue.  He  is  at  a 
French  public  school,  and  speaks  French 


S78 


Putnaic'b  Maoazins. 


IVv. 


as  well  as  anj  of  his  schoolfellows,  bat 
he  has  paid  his  English  for  it,  exactly 
as  an  Englishman  pajs  a  sovereign  for 
twenty-five  francs. 

The  solitary  instance  that  I  have 
known  of  a  person  knowing  perfectly 
two  langaages  is  that  of  a  distingaished 
English  landscape-painter,  William  Wyld. 
Mr.  Wyld  came  to  live  in  France  at 
the  age  of  nineteen,  and  has  therefore 
lived  in  the  country  abont  forty  years. 
He  speaks  English  quite  perfectly  still, 
without  the  faintest  trace  of  a  foreign 
accent,  and  his  French  is  equally  perfect 
I  took  a  French  lady  one  day  to  his  stu- 
dio (a  born  Parisienne),  and  begged  her 
to  listen  to  Mr.  Wyld^s  French,  and  de- 
tect a  fault  in  it  if  she  could.  When  we 
left,  she  said  that  during  the  first  half- 
hour  she  had  been  quite  unable  to  detect 
any  thing,  but  that  afterwards  she  became 
aware  ot  something,  and  for  some  time 
could  not  make  out  what  it  was ;  finally, 
however,  she  hit  upon  a  slight  defect, 
not  in  grammar  or  tiie  choice  of  expres- 
sions, but  in  the  vibration  of  the  letter 
r.  I  take  the  case  of  Mr.  Wyld,  there- 
fore, as  a  proof— the  solitary  proof  which 
after  much  searching  I  have  hitherto 
been  able  to  discover — that  it  is  possible 
to  possess  two  languages  in  the  fall 
sense  of  possession,  that  is,  so  as  to  have 
the  perfect  use  of  both.  The  only  other 
instance  which  may  possibly  be  as  con- 
clusive as  this,  is  that  of  an  assistant  in 
M.  Goupirs  shop  in  Paris.  I  went  there 
one  day  to  transact  some  business  for  a 
London  publisher,  and  in  M.  Goupirs  ab- 
sence had  to  deal  with  one  of  his  clerks. 
After  a  long  conversation,  during  which 
I  had  not  the  slightest  suspicion  that 
he  was  an  Englishman,  I  happened  to 
mention  the  name  of  the  English  pub- 
lisher I  for  the  moment  represented. 
'^  I  think,  sir,"  he  said,  **  there  has  been 
a  mutual  mistake ;  we  have  been  taking 
each  other  for  Frenchmen.*^  As  our  busi- 
ness was  then  virtually  at  an  end,  I 
heard  very  little  of  his  English,  but  it 
did  not  appear  to  be  defective.  I  know 
a  French  lady,  who  has  written  two 
English  books,  and  speaks  English  well 
enough  for  her  nationality  to  be  a  mas- 
ter of  doubt,  well  enough  to  be  often 


taken  for  an  EDglkhwomflD,  yei  nstil^ 
solntely  well.  Her  s^Ie  inspatknib 
the  style  of  a  higfaly-eultiYated  En^ 
woman^  but  there  are  oeoenooaltiaoiiif 
gallicisms  enough  to  betray  her  to  la 
attentive  and  critical  hearer.  In  addi- 
tion to  these  instanoes,  I  used  to  «Nnt 
that  of  an  Italian  who  q[>oke  FrenA  ii 
perfection.  He  was  the  late  M.  Bixis, 
formerly  French  ambeMador  at  Tom, 
&c.,  and  a  great  fHend  of  ours.  I^nee  X. 
Bixio  was  an  Italian  by  birth,  we  used  to 
believe  that  his  Italian  mnat  neceswrfly 
be  faultless ;  but  I  have  since  learned  thit 
he  did  not  speak  Italian  at  all,  haviig 
abandoned  his  native  tongue  ainoe  liii 
residence  in  France.  Daring  his  fr»> 
quent  visits  to  Italy  on  financial  andps* 
litical  business,  he  made  nae  of  At 
French  language  only.  Inatanoes  (tf  tb 
perfect  acquisi^on  of  a  foreign  ]tai^fu§i 
are  usually  accompanied  by  the  total  m 
partial  loss  of  the  native  tongue.  Hi 
only  modern  to  whom  claasieal  Ijtii 
was  the  language  of  iduldhood,  the  «> 
sayist  Montaigne,  fiailed  to  ke^  Ijtii 
and  French  to  the  same  point  stmalto* 
neously. 

Every  instance  of  any  thing  even  i^ 
preaching  the  perfect  acquisition  of  t 
foreign  language  which  has  come  nndv 
my  own  observation,  has  been  aoconpa* 
med  by  peculiar  fiami^  conditiona  The 
person  has  either  married  a  penoa  d 
the  other  nation,  or  is  of  mixed  blood. 
When  the  &ther  ia  Engliah  aod  tfai 
mother  French,  the  children  may  koov 
the  two  languages ;  but  even  then  it  li 
highly  improbable  that  they  will  do  li 
unless  they  live  alternately  in  tiie  two 
countries.  I  could  mention  -an  Italiia 
family  in  Manchester  which  does  not 
know  a  word  of  Italian ;  but  I  leoerve  thb 
instance  for  the  preseat|  beoanae  it  wffl 
be  valuable  as  an  illustration  of  another 
part  of  our  subject. 

Even  intermarriage,  however,  by  no 
means  insures  the  acquisition  of  the  otiicr 
language.  There  are  very  nQmeroai 
examples  of  wives  wlio  have  never 
learned  the  native  language  of  their  hus- 
bands. Instances  ofthe  converse  are  more 
rare:  a  man  generally  learns  hb  wife's 
language,  but  not  alwaya.    I  know  Is* 


1870.] 


Polyglots. 


679 


fitanoes  of  both  kinds,  in  which  one  of  the 
two  is  absolatelj  ignorant  of  the  other's 
native  tongue,  and  willing,  apparently,  to 
remain  so.  So  in  the  case  of  children :  it 
by  no  means  follows  that  beoanse  yon 
speak  English  yoar  children  will  speak 
it  too,  if  they  are  living  in  a  foreign 
conntry.  The  langoage  they  are  quite 
sure  to  acquire  is  the  slang  or  dialect  of 
the  district,  becanse  that,  so  to  speak,  is 
in  the  air.  Children  receive  a  language 
Arom  the  medium  which  surrounds  them, 
as  a  piece  of  cloth  is  stained  by  being 
plnnged  in  the  dyer's  vat. 

There  appear  to  be  certain  insupera- 
ble difficulties  of  pronunciation  that  stand 
in  the  way  of  particular  races  of  man- 
kind. For  example,  I  never  heard  a  Grer- 
znan  pronounce  French  even  tolerably ; 
and,  though  constantly  in  the  habit  of 
making  inquiries  on  this  subject,  have 
never  met  with  a  Frenchman  who  had 
heard  a  Grerman  pronounce  tolerably. 
There  may,  of  course,  be  exceptions, 
but  I  naturally  conclude  that  they  must 
be  very  rare.  Germans  nsually  pro- 
nounce jdi^  "choli,"  eniembUt  "en- 
semple,''  and  so  on ;  nor  does  any  length 
of  residence  in  France  seem  to  pro- 
duce the  least  amelioration  in  this  re- 
spect Again,  I  never  heard  a  German 
pronounce  English  perfectly^  though  they 
imoally  succeed  much  better  with  Eng- 
lish than  with  French,  and  one  or  two 
instances  have  come  in  my  way  of  Ger- 
mans whose  English  accent  was  fairly 
good ;  bnt  in  these  instances  the  speaker 
had  intermarried  with  an  Englbh  fami- 
ly, or  was  himself  of  mixed  blood. 

In  speaking  thns,  of  course,  I  set  aside 
the  usual  complimentary  estimates  alto- 
gether. In  every  coimtry,  people  will 
tell  you  that  you  have  a  perfect  accent, 
that  yon  spenk  wondertblly,  that  yon 
might  easily  be  taken  for  a  native,  and 
other  civil  nonsense  of  that  kind.  Then, 
after  yon  leave  the  room,  they  will 
laugh  at  you  and  their  own  lies.  The 
consequence  of  compliments  of  this  kind 
is,  that  most  people  rest  contented  with 
a  very  low  degree  of  acquirement-^with 
a  much  lower  degree  than  might  be  at- 
tainable by  them.  In  *many  instances 
there  is  not  so  much  the  intention  to  pay 


undeserved  compliments  as  an  inexact, 
though  not  indncere,  use  of  language. 
People  tell  you  that  you  speak  well, 
meaning  well  for  a  foreigner ;  which  is 
about  as  much  as  to  say  that  you  are 
barely  intelligible. 

But  although  to  tpeak  a  foreign  lan- 
guage really  well  is  a  matter  of  all  but  su- 
perhuman difficulty,  and  a  thing  only  pos- 
sible under  rare  and  peculiar  conditions, 
people  might  speak  foreign  languages  in- 
comparably better  than  they  do,  if  they 
would  set  about  it  in  the  right  way. 
Nothing  is  more  surprising  than  the 
resisting  faculty  which  grown-up  people 
possess,  and  by  which  they  are  capable 
of  remaining  any  length  of  time  in  a 
country  without  learning  the  language 
which  they  hear  every  day  around  thenu 
There  \i  a  story  of  a  Frenchman  who 
had  lived  in  England  fifty  years  without 
acquiring  any  English,  and  who  excused 
himself  by  asking,  *^  What^s  fifty  years 
to  learn  English  in?"  his  impression 
being  that  such  a  vast  undertnking  r^ 
quired  a  century  or  two.  The  story 
may  be  a  true  one,  or  it  may  not ;  bat 
I  know  an  Englishman  who  has  lived 
in  Paris  permanently  for  many  years, 
who  has  no  intention  of  living  any- 
where else,  and  who  is  utterly  and  abso- 
lutely ignorant  of  French,  and  will  for- 
ever remdn  so.  I  spoke  just  ndW  of 
"the  resisting  faculty  which  grmcH'ttp 
people  possess,"  because  children  do  not 
possess  it  at  all.  A  child  is  sure  to 
learn  the  language  of  the  country  he 
lives  in,  bat  then  he  is  almost  as  snre  to 
forget  his  native  tongue,  unless  the 
greatest  precautions  are  taken  to  keep 
it  up.  The  adult,  on  the  other  hand, 
resists  in  the  most  astonishing  manner ; 
so  that  it  does  not  in  the  least  follow 
that  an  Englishman  or  a  German  will 
speak  French  endarably  because  he  has 
lived  twenty  years  in  France.  The  Ger- 
man will  call  a  Boulevard  a  "  Ponlevard," 
and  an  Sglise  an  "  Mise,"  and  a  Ju^ftk 
"  Ohuif,"  and  praise  the  "ch^nie"  of  an 
anthor  and  the  "  peant^  "  of  a  lady  till 
Death  puts  a  period  to  his  crimes.  So 
the  Englishman  talks  boldly  about  the 
^'Boo  Santonnoray  *'  and  the  "Ohong 
de  Marz,"  and  remdns  aU  his  life  in 


580 


Putkaji'b  Maoazins. 


[Mil, 


dubiona  unoertaintj  whether  a  famooa 
piotare-galleiy  oaght  to  be  called  the 
**  Loave  "  or  the  "  Louver." 

A  cliifls  of  Eoglishmen  who  Devor  eon 
learn  how  to  pronoanoe  French  are  the 
English  swells.  In  nsing  this  slang  word 
I  do  not  mean  English  gentlemen  of 
high  rank,  but  men  with  the  aristocratic 
affectations.  There  are  many  gentlemen 
in  England,  of  very  high  rank  indeed, 
who  are  absolutely  devoid  of  the  aristo- 
cratic affectations ;  but  there  are  others, 
both  of  high  rank  and  of  little  or  no 
rank  at  all,  who  have  them  in  a  marked 
degree.  In  a  word,  these  affectations 
are  more  an  affair  of  character  than  of 
rank.  They  affect  a  man^s  manners,  bat 
that  is  not  our  present  concern ;  they 
affect  also  hia  pronunciation,  they  vitiate 
it  Oharlea  Dickens  made  some  very 
severe  observations  about  a  year  ago  on 
the  nop-pronunciation  which  distinguish- 
es England  beyond  other  nations,  and 
the  English  swell  beyond  other  English- 
men. The  supposed  acme  of  elegance  is 
not  to  pronounce  at  all.  Listen,  for  ez« 
aihple,  to  a  young  Londoner  when  he 
.  Intends  to  say,  "I  don't  know."  The 
^sounds  which  really  issue  from  his  lips 
are  '^pidanow."  When  he  intends  to 
si^,  **  It  is  the  sort  of  thing  to  do,"  he 
Hays,  '* itsawtathingtdoo ; "  for  "How 
are  you,  old  fellow  ? "  he  says,  "  haSyaol- 
fnlla."  He  calls  a  horse  a  "  hoce,'*  and 
a  carriage  a  "  caidge,"  and  Ireland  "  Ah- 
Ind,"  tind  York  "Yoke."  I  remember 
Mr.  Ruakin  says,  in  a  chapter  on  vul- 
garity, that  you  may  know  a  man  to  be 
not  a  gentleman  by  the  accuracy  of  his 
pronunciation.  In  England  this  is  true, 
but  how  lamentable  it  is  tliat  it  should 
be  true! 

The  English  swell,  with  his  notion 
that  a  gentleman  ought  not  to  con- 
descend to  pronounce  any  thing,  goes 
into  France,  where  people  think  that  'a 
gentleman  ought  to  pronounce  with 
more  studied  and  perfect  accuracy  than 
any  body  else.  He  has  no  notion  of  such 
a  thing  ns  an  accurate  study  of  sound, 
he  despises  it.  The  consequence  is  that 
he  carries  the  liabits  of  a  non-pronoimced 
language  into  a  language  which  requirea 
the  most  exquisite  truth  of  pronuncia- 


tion ;  and  the  effect  on  tha  ears  of  \k 
audience  is  like  the  effect  of  the  wont 
violin-playing  when  every  note  is  oot 
of  tune.  It  is  far  more  a  moral  aiur, 
belonging  to  character,  tlian  a  phjded 
hindrance,  that  diaqaalifiea  him.  It  m 
the  pride  of  a  swell  who  has  tlwtij% 
thought  it  beneath  him  to  pronoones  \k 
own  language,  and  who  is  still  leas  fikelj 
to  condescend  to  study  aoonraej  ia 
another.  I  never  met  with  an  Ei^iA 
awell  who  could  pronounce  French  ift 
aU.  The  Engtiahman  who  do  eome  t» 
pronounce  French,  are  either  men  sf 
comparatively  humble  poaitioii,  witboit 
affectations,  or  else,  if  they  ar^  maa  d 
rank,  they  are  very  simple  in  charaelff 
and  destitute  of  the  pride  of  oaste. 

There  are  many  proolb  that  Frendiii 
an  accurately  pronounced  laogm^  bn 
one  of  the  most  striking  is  the  varialj  d 
sound  given  to  the  letter  e — a  variety 
strictly  regulated  and  most  deliciMf 
observed.  A  nation  which  sets  UnIT 
four  ways  of  prononncing  the  letter « 
(eiSi\  and  which,  having  settled tlMBt 
four  ways  by  nde,  sticks  to  them  qaita  . 
faithfully  whene^r  the  letter  ocean  ia 
the  moat  rapid  conversation,  is  a  naiioa 
which  respects  its  phonie  lawa^  and  hai 
phonio  laws  to  respect.  The  onIy1ett« 
about  which  the  English  are  severe  is  ths 
letter  A.  It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that 
we  are  not  equally  aevere  about  eteiy 
letter  in  the  alphabet.  For  iniita'r^t 
there  is  that  unfortunate. letter  r,  whieli 
would  be  of  the  utmost  nae  in  giving  a 
distinctive  character  to  the  winds  in 
which  it  occurs — a  letter  which  is  eepe- 
cinlly  precious  because  there  is  not  a&- 
other  in  the  least  resembling  it.  Tbe  I , 
is  only  a  d  hardened,  the  e  is  only  a 
aofter  /  and  the  h  a  softer  p;  i  and  4 
have  precisely  the  same  sound ;  hot  r  ia 
unique,  being  the  only  vibrated  letter  ia 
the  whole  alphabet.  Well,  what  hava 
the  English  swells  done  with  this  moat 
valuable  letter?  Here  was  a  letter 
which  really  required  to  be  prooouneed; 
there  was  no  getting  over  it,  pride  muA 
condescend  to  learn  it,  and  lazineas  eiert 
itself  to  make  the  necessary  little  vibia- 
tion.  So  the  English  swells  made  up  their 
minds  that  they  would  not  be  bothered 


1870.] 


Polyglots. 


581 


to  proDoanoe  this  letter  at  all,  and  thej 
have  actually  abolished  it  I  Tlie  letter 
r  does  not  exist  in  swell-Englisli  I  But 
unfortunately  it  doe$  exist  in  France,  and 
the  swell  Englishman  cannot  abolish  it  in 
that  country,  so  he  is  placed  in  a  strange 
dilemma.  Either  he  mnst  learn  to  pro- 
nounce the  letter  r— a  piece  of  coudescen- 
Mon  which  the  swell-mind  feels  to  be 
hnmiliating  and  degrading — or  else  he 
xaoit  remain  forever  incapable  of  pro- 
nouncing the  French  tongue.  He  inva- 
riably prefers  the  latter  alternative.  As 
for  studying  the  four  sounds  of  the  letter 
tf,  he  has  no  notion  that  accents  have 
any  thing  to  do  with  pronunciation  at 
all ;  he  believes  them  to  be  useless,  and 
put  there  for  the  purpose  of  plaguing 
him  every  time  he  tries  to  write  a  letter. 

The  same  combination  of  laziness  and 
pride  which  prevents  the  swell  English- 
'  man  from  learning  a  foreign  pronuncia- 
tion, hinders  equally  his  acquisition  of 
the  verbs  and  genders.  His  scorn  of 
servile  accuracy,  his  feeling  of  personal 
Buperiority  to  foreignere^  and  his  general 
objection  to  taking  trouble,  are  quite 
sufficient  to  insure  his  permanent  and 
irremediable  ignorance  on  these  points. 
The  swell  Englishman  never  masters  the 
French  genders;  they  are  sometimes 
mastered  by  an  Englishman,  though  very, 
yery  rarely,  but  never  by  a  swell.  What 
binders  him  most,  both  in  pronunciation 
and  grammar,  is  the  notion  that  in  order 
to  prove  himself  to  be  a  gentleman,  he 
must  carry  into  French  the  disdainful 
habits  which  command  respect  in  Eng- 
land. It  is  a  perfect  comedy  to  hear 
' '  him  giving  himself  airs  in  French.  The 
defects  of  pronunciation  which  in  Lon- 
don are  supposed  to  be  an  evidence  of 
social  status,  are  in  Paris  only  evidence 
of  pure  ignorance,  and  the  affectations  of 
one  country  are  a  sort  of  coin  which 
does  not  pass  current  in  another.  The 
French  swell  has  his  affectations  also,  and 
yery  absurd  affectations  they  are;  but 
t   then  they  are  different  affectations. 

If  it  is  SQ  rare  to  find  a  man  who  can 
speak  two  languages  perfectly,  what  are 
we  to  say  about  polyglots? 

There  is  a  natural  prov^ion  by  which 
every  generation  has  its  regular  supply 


of  polyglots.  I  know  several.  I  know 
one  who  has  studied  eleven  languages, 
and  the  reader  will  no  doubt  remember 
instances  which  are  on  record  of  men 
who  have  studied,  and  even  in  a  certain 
sense  mastered,  many  more  than  eleven 
languages.  As  it  is  the  business  of  an 
author  to  know  one  language  thoroughly 
well,  to  be  able  to  use  it  as  an  organist 
uses  an  organ  and  not  merely  to  possess 
it  as  a  collector  possesses  his  curiosities, 
so,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  the  business 
of  the  polyglot  to  be  not  so  much  an 
artist  iu  one  language  as  a  collector  of 
several.  His  head  is  a  museum  of  words 
and  phrases,  useful  for  reference,  useful 
more  especially  for  comparison.  The 
whole  science  of  comparative  philology 
— a  science  which  has  already  rendered 
various  and  most  unexpected  services — 
is  due  to  the  polyglots.  Another  prao- 
tioal  service  which  they  continually  ren- 
der is  in  teaching  the  rudiments  of  lan- 
guages which  without  their  help  would 
never  be  taught  at  ail  in  certain  isolated 
localities.  It  is  a  great  convenience  to 
have  a  man  in  a  remote  little  town  who 
can  teach  your  children  correctly  the  m- 
dimentsof  four  or  five  languages,  because 
you  can  select  the  one  whieh  is  most 
likely  to  be  useful.  The  most  accom- 
plished polyglots  go,  of  course,  much  far- 
ther than  the  mere  collek^ting  of  phrases. 
They  arrive  at  a  comparative  knowledge 
of  the  spirit  of  the  different  nations 
whose  languages  they  have  studied,  and 
they  become  comparers,  not  merely  of 
words  but  of  literatures.  It  is  obvious, 
also,  that  to  be  a  polyglot  is  practically 
a  great  help  to  a  man  in  travelling.  The 
American  polyglot,  when  he  goes  to 
Europe,  picks  up  a  great  deal  that  the 
monoglot  necessarily  misses. 

The  limits  of  the  attainments  of  poly- 
glots lie  much  less  in  the  number  of  the 
langoages  which  they  learn  than  in  the 
degree  of  mastery  whieh  is  possible  for 
them  in  each  of  those  languages.  It  is 
easier  to  learn  twenty  languages  imper- 
fectly than  two  perfectly.  Any  one  with 
a  good  memory  and  that  knack  of  lan- 
guage-learning which  no  doubt  is  a  spe- 
cial gift,  but  not  a  rare  gift,  could  learn 
a  new  language  every  year,  if  he  devoted 


082 


PuTNAM^S  MaOAZINB. 


[MV, 


his  time  to  that  pursuit,  and  retain  the 
elements  of  eight  or  ten  languages  at 
once.  He  conld  read  and  oonstrne  ten 
langnages  with  the  help  of  diotionaries, 
but  he  could  not  write  and  speak  them 
with  any  approach  to  eovreet  fluency, 
though  he  might  be  fluent  without  cor- 
rectness«  It  is  always  easy  to  do  many 
things  badly.  For  instance,  what  is 
easier  than  to  play  badly  on  many  instru- 
ments, what  more  difficult  than  to  play 
excellently  on  one?  The  polyglot  Is  like 
a  musician  who  plays  badly  upon  all 
the  instruments  in  a  band,  with  the  dif- 
ference, however,  that  the  polyglot  is 
really  a  useftd  personage,  whereas  the 
other  is  not. 

There  appears,  however,  to  exist  usu- 
ally a  certain  degree  of  confusion  in  the 
polyglot  mind.  Polyglots  seldom  use 
a  language  without  paluM  hesitation, 
even  when  they  are  men  of  culture,  and 
it  does  not  follow  that  a  polyglot  need 
be  a  man  of  culture  at  all.  The  mere 
Acquisition  of  the  rudiments  of  many 
languages  does  little  or  nothing  for  cul- 
ture; if  it  is  culture  at  all,  it  is  culture 
of  a  very  low  order.  But  even  those 
polyglots  who  are  men  of  culture  seem 
to  have  the  greatest  difficulty  in  making 
any  practical  use  of  the  languages  in 
their  armory.  They  are  like  collectors 
of  many  weapons,  who  may  indeed  boast 
of  possessing  them,  but  are  unskilled  in 
their  use.  I  know  a  Frenchman  who 
possesses,  in  his  memory,  every  word  in 
the  English  language,  except  of  course 
the  technical  and  scientific  vocabularies ; 
yet  he  speaks  most  incorrectly  and  with 
the  most  painful  hesitation,  in  fact  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  be  altogether  un- 
intelligible at  times.  The  bishops  who 
went  to  th^  (Ecumenical  Council  at 
Rome  are  said  to  have  found  out  the 
wonderful  difference  which  there  is  be- 
tween having  learnt  a  language  and 
being  able  to  use  it.  They  all  know 
Latin,  in  a  certain  sense ;  but  as  for  de- 
bating in  Latin,  or,  still  worse,  talking 
freely  in  Latin  with  each  other,  they 
find  that  quite  impossible. 

There  is  a  large  class  of  uneducated 
and  uncultivated  polyglots,  servants, 
couriers,  waiters,  &c.,  and  very  useful 


their  acquirements  are.  What  woold 
Europe  do  withont  the  i>ol7glot  Yvt* 
erf  Thousands  of  travellers  would Vi 
embarrassed  at  every  tarn  without  liii 
valuable  help.  He  is  generally  a  G«r* 
man,  and  retains  the  frank  accent  of  the 
fatherland.  Though  he  speaks  quits 
fluently,  his  vocabnlaiy  is  wondeiMj 
limited;  hut  he  knows  all  thephnNi 
which  are  necessary  in  his  8itoation,aDd 
by  constantly  using  the  same  expreHiov 
has  acquired  that  flaencj  which  we  ad- 
mire. He  can  tell  yon  when  the  tnis 
starts  in  four  languages,  but  his  mindii 
not  the  more  cultivated  on  thataocooD^ 
for,  after  all,  the  fact  that  the  train  stirti 
is  always  exactly  the  same  fact,  caSag 
forth  exactly  the  same  reflectiona,  vke- 
ther  one  affirms  it  in  English,  or  iWneli, 
or  German,  or  Italian.  So  it  is  iritli 
all  the  other  facts  which  habitually  ooim 
in  the  polyglot  waiter^s  way.  He  en 
announce  them  to  four  nations,  but  aftir 
all  they  are  obt  the  greater  facts  on  Hut 
account,  any  more  than  a  book  can  be 
made  deeper  or  better  by  being  trans* 
lated  into  four  tongues. 

I  once  knew  a  polyglot  servanti  wbo 
in  his  old  age  ended  by  knowing  no  lan- 
guage on  the  face  of  the  earth.  He  vh 
a  Neapolitan  by  birth,  and  had  beooms 
travelling-servant  to  an  English  marquiii 
in  whose  family  he  ever  afterwaids  re- 
mained. He  was  supposed  to  han 
learned  English  and  French,  but  never 
understood  either,  and,  what  was  stiU 
worse,  totally  forgot  his  Italian.  At  the 
time  I  knew  him  the  man  had  no  meani 
of  communication  with  his  spedea 
When  his  master  told  him  to  do  any 
thing,  he  made  a  guess  at  what  wai 
likely  to  be  for  the  moment  his  master^s 
most  probable  want,  and  sometimes  hit 
the  mark,  but  more  generally  missed  it 
The  man^s  name  was  Alberino,  and  I 
remember  on  one  occasion  profltiQg  by 
a  mistaken  guess  of  his.  After  a  visit  to 
Alberino^s  master,  my  servant  brought 
forth  a  magnificent  basket  of  trout, 
which  greatly  surprised  me,  as  nothing 
had  been  said  about  them.  However, 
we  ate  them,  and  only  discovered  altera 
wards  that  the  present  was  due  to  an  illu- 
sion of  Alberino^s.  His  master  had  never 


187O0 


Polyglots. 


68g 


told  him  to  give  me  the  troutf  but  he 
hmdi  interpreted  some  other  order  in  that 
eense.  Any  attempt  at  conversation 
witii  Alberiao  was  sare  to  lead  to  a  per- 
fect comedy  of  mLsanderstandiogs.  He 
never  had  the  remotest  idea  of  what  his 
interlocQtor  was  talking  about ;  but  he 
pretended  to  catch  your  meaning,  and 
answered  at  hap-hazard.  He  had  a  habit 
of  talking  aloud  to  himself— 

*'  Bvt  in  a  tongue  no  man  could  undentand." 

It  is  to  be  feared  that  many  more  cul- 
tlYated  polyglots  are  much  in  the  same 
pocition,  with  the  difference  that  they 
ofliially  remember  their  native  tongue. 
Ladies  and  gentlemen  who  know  several 
languages,  or  are  supposed  to  know 
.them,  rarely  succeed  in  speaking  them 
eyen  intelligibly.  But  it  must  also  be 
acknowledged  that  a  language  may  be 
studied  for  other  purposes  than  that  of 
speech.  A  man  may  be  well  acquainted 
with  our  literature  without  being  able 
to  speak  our  language,  and  it  is  not  rare 
to  meet  with  cultivated  foreigners  who 
know  our  authors  better  than  we  do. 
Tet,  after  all,  they  know  them  better 
only  in  the  sense  of  having  read  them 
more,  not  in  the  sense  of  a  deeper  and 
more  perfect  understanding.  The  ped- 
ant's knowledge  of  books  is  very  differ- 
ent from  that  more  perfect  knowledge 
to  which  a  happy  sympathy  with  the 
author  can  alone  lead  us ;  and  this  sym- 
pathy is  scarcely  attainable  without  a 
colloquial  knowledge  of  his  language. 
This  is  one  of  the  causes  for  the  very 
different  estimates  of  literary  reputt^ 
tions  which  exist  in  foreign  countries, 
and  in  the  countries  where  the  writer's 
own  language  is  the  language  usually 
spoken.  In  speaking  upon  this  sabject, 
I  am  upon  rather  dangerous  ground,  be- 
cause every  one  who  has  learned  a  for- 
eign language  in  the  privacy  of  his  own 
atudy  is  disposed  to  believe  that  his 
knowledge  of  it  is  perfectly  sure.  He 
trusts  the  dictionaries;  but  what  is  a 
dictionary?  The  constant  observation 
of  the  manner  in  which  a  word  is  actu- 
ally used  by  the  living  inhabitants  of 
the  country,  can  alone  convey  to  the 
mind  a  precise  idea  of  its  value  and  of 
its  use.    You  want  a  foreign  word,  and 


seek  in  the  dictionary  the  English  word 
you  already  know.  The  more  conscien- 
tious the  dictionary-maker  has  been,  the 
more  he  will  embarrass  you.  Out  of  the 
string  of  meanings  which  he  gives, 
which  are  yon  to  choose  ?  Suppose  you 
choose  the  right  one :  it  is  after  all  only 
the  nearest,  which  by  no  means  proves 
that  you  have  found  a  true  equivalent, 
or  any  thing  like  one.  And  the  diction- 
aries are  generally  so  rough  and  clumsy — 
it  is  so  rarely  that  they  explain,  or  can 
explain,  those  shades  of  meaning  which 
constitute  all  the  delicacy  and  beauty  of 
a  language.  When  yon  have  learned  all 
that  the  dictionary  can  tell  you,  the 
study  of  nuancea  is  still  to  be  begun.  I 
never  knew  a  Frenchman,  whose  knowl- 
edge of  English  had  been  acquired  ex- 
clusively by  reading,  who  understood 
our  authors  as  we  ourselves  can  under- 
stand them.  For  a  Frenchman  to  do 
that,  he  must  have  lived  in  England  or 
America,  or  else  with  English  people  or 
Americans.  And  yet  there  are  many 
Frenchmen  who  study  Englbh  without 
ever  speaking  it,  and  who  arrive  at  the 
possession  of  an  extensive  vocabulary, 
which  they  never  really  understand.  So 
it  is  with  Encllsh  people  who  study 
French  in  England.  They  know  all  the 
words,  but  miss  the  delicate  sense,  and 
it  is  no  use  reading  to  them  any  thing 
really  exquisite. 

The  reader  may  guess,  from  what  has 
Just  been  said,  that  my  belief  in  classical 
scholarship  is  not  of  the  strongest.  Tho 
utmost  knowledge  of  the  Greek  and 
Latin  classics  which  is  attainable  by  any 
modern  is  about  the  same  as  the  knowl- 
edge of  English  literature  which  is  at* 
tainable  by  a  provincial  Frenchman  who 
has  never  been  in  England,  or  spoken  to 
an  Englishman  in  his  life.  I  know  from 
personal  observation  what  that  amounts 
to.  And  the  most  discouraging  thing 
about  what  is  called  '*  classical  educa- 
tion^' is,  that  it  prescribes  for  us  Just 
those  languages  which  we  have  no  op- 
portunity of  learning,  in  any  genuine 
and  perfect  sense.  Those  who  teach 
them  are  not  nativea  of  the  countries 
where  they  were  spoken,  and  never 
heard  them  spoken.     It  is  wonderful 


584 


Pi7TNAli*8  MaOAZINB. 


\Aj. 


that  they  should  know  even  as  rnnoh 
about  these  languages  as  they  do  know, 
but  it  is  not  wonderful  that  their  knowl- 
edge of  them  should  still  be  merely  of 
the  nature  of  erudition,  not  that  true 
and  intimate  knowledge  which  we  may 
acquire  of  a  living  tongue,  amidst  the 
people  for  whom  it  satisfies  all  the  needs 
of  human  existence.  And  I  think  that 
any  one  who  fhUy  realizes  the  satisfac- 
tion of  knowing  a  language  weD,  and 
the  feelings  of  vexation  which  attend 
the  commission  of  a  blunder,  would  feel 
deterred  from  reading  any  dead  language 
aloud  by  the  consciousness  of' his  own 
horrible  and  abominable  pronunciation. 
For  our  pronunciation  of  Greek  and 
Latin  must  be  truly  horrible  and  abomi- 
nable I  What  cultivated  Roman  or 
Athenian  could  endure  to  listen  to  us? 


To  sum  up.  It  does  not  appear  Is 
be  possible  to  learn  more  than  ooe !» 
guage  perfectly,  in  addition  to  tfaenslifi 
tongue,  but  many  lan^agea  may  be  a^ 
quired  to  snch  a  degree  aa  to  be  juM 
for  certain  purposes,  and  polyglots  an  k 
the  order  of  nature,  and  often  vataaUi 
members  of  society.  It  may  be  added, 
however.  In  conclusion,  that  polyg^otoan 
rarely  intellectua],  which  may  be  tmif 
accounted  for.  They  are  oeoopied,  aot 
with  thoughts,  but  with  langaagea,  wUd 
are  merely  the  vehioles  of  thoQgfat,  aai 
a  man  whose  business  it  is  to  knowei^ 
or  ten  languages  up  to  a  certain  poii^ 
cannot  keep  them  up  without  constaB^ 
going  over  their  rudiments.  The  pol|]^ 
glot,  in  a  word,  cannot  retain  bis  » 
complishment  without  making  hlmsdf  t 
perpetual  schoolboy. 


>♦• 


THE  ACADEMY  OF  DESIGN  AND  ART-EDUCATION. 


The  recent  reforms  in  the  National 
Academy  of  Design  are  a  satisfactory 
sign  of  a  real  and  intelligent  appreciation 
of  the  necessity  of  art-education.  The 
promised  increase  of  the  means  of  study, 
the  more  comprehensive  and  liberal  or- 
ganization of  the  schools,  will  do  much 
to  bring  them  in  keeping  with  the 
dignity  and  pretensions  of  a  National 
Academy  of  Art,  and  without  which 
it  is  nothing  more  than  an  institution 
for  the  exhibition  of  pictures  and  sculp- 
tures. The  new  organization,  or  ex- 
pansion, of  the  schools  of  design  at  the 
Academy  does  not  hold  the  promise  of 
the  best  art,  for  no  school  of  design  has 
been  able  to  give  us  that;  but  it  cer- 
tainly does  assure  us  of  the  possibility 
of  forming  a  number  of  young  men  for 
the  practice  of  painting,  with  more  care 
than  the  Academy  has  hitherto  been 
able  or  willing  to  bestow  upon  students. 
But  the  question  is  not  whether  any 
system  of  instruction  will  make  original 
lurtists ;  the  question  is  not  of  the  value 
of  the  best  results  of  academical  train- 
ing, as  in  a  Delaroche  or  a  Kaulbach, 
compared  with  the  results  of  art-man- 


ifestation independent  of 
as  in  a  Rembrandt,  a  Delacroix,  aai 
a  Rousseau ;  although,  in  passing,  wo 
may  say  that  the  real  and  permaaeat 
glory  of  the  art  of  a  people  is  in  the 
number  of  works  or  of  men  who  an 
original,  who  have  made  a  penoosl 
revelation,  as  Rembrandt  did  in  eflGMt 
and  character,  as  Da  Yinoi  did  in  ex- 
pression, even  as  the  nnambitiooB  fad 
charming  Corot  does  in  sentiment 

The  question  which  our  Academy 
had  to  meet  was  not  as  to  the  valoe  of 
the  largest  conception  of  art-study  to  be 
derived  from  the  best-organized  school 
of  instruction,  for  as  an  Academy  it  as- 
sumed the  paramount  importance  of  in- 
struction. The  business  of  the  Academy 
was,  and  is,  to  meet  the  wants  of  tiM 
student  whom  it  invites  to  study  art 
Thanks  to  the  agitation  of  those  moot 
impatient  with  the  postponement  or 
feeble  response  to  this  obligation,  thanla 
to  those  most  solicitous  about  art-edu- 
cation, the  Academy  of  Design  will 
offer  a  course  of  study  of  art,  at  stated 
hours,  next  Fall,  in  the  Academy  hilla, 
such  as  we  have  long  wished  for,  such 


1870.] 


The  Academy  of  Design  and  Abt-Eduoation. 


565 


■m  it  has  not  been  ready  to  gi^e  ns  until 
now. 

In  the  Academy,  natarally,  the  prae^ 
Uee  of  art  Is  more  than  the  philosophy 
or  theory  of  art;  and  yet  lectures  on  the 
history  and  philosophy  of  art  do  more 
to  fnrnish  the  minds  of  students  than 
any  thing  short  of  the  long  experience 
of  a  well-nonrished  life.  It  is  Uierefore 
cf  no  little  importance  that  the  Academy, 
in  maintaining  the  ascendancy  of  art  as 
a  pracdce  to  the  professional  student, 
above  art  as  an  esthetic  influence  in 
■ooiety,  should  not  neglect  to  instruct 
atodents  in  the  history  and  theory  of  art 
in  society.  The  object  is  to  invest  the 
student-mind  with  art  in  all  its  relations, 
and  this  can  be  done  only  ^y  interpret" 
ing  whatever  is  representatire  in  the  art 
of  the  past  Bat  mere  lectures  on  the 
art  of  different  epochs  and  schools  are 
not  likely  to  be  of  more  value,  nor  of 
higher  merit,  than  the  average  of  lec- 
tures on  literature ;  and  the  student  of 
art  will  probably  rarely  hear  the  most 
capable  man  of  his  time  on  art,  as  the 
student  of  Bellei'LeUres  rarely  gets  the 
beet  word  about  literature  from  his  pro- 
fessor. In  France,  the  students  of  the 
.Eeole  dee  Beaua  Arte  were  exceptionally 
fiivored  and  perhaps  stimulated^  by  the 
leotares  of  Henri  Taine  on  the  history 
and  philosophy  of  art;  in  England,  at 
this  late  day.  Buskin  is  called  to  the 
chair  of  professor  of  art  at  Oxford. 

Now,  in  proportion  to  their  personal 
ascendancy  or  magnetism,  Buskin  and 
Taine  will  give  direction  to  the  power- 
less and  submissive  minds  of  students, 
who,  instead  of  stumbling  forward  in 
their  own  more  or  less  weak  and 
groping  way,  will  advance  like  trained 
mediocrities,  potent  because  of  unity  of 
aim,  which  they  have  derived  from  a 
olever  and  harmonious  statement  of 
art.  On  the  other  hand,  these  must  ob- 
stract  the  development  of  more  individ- 


indomptable   constitution,  and  a  most 
pronounced  genius  for  art. 

A  generation  under  the  teaching  of  a 
literary  critic  like  Hathew  Arnold,  for 
instance,  would  disdain  any  such  ex- 
pression of  graphic  and  vital  power,  any 
such  conception  of  history,  as  Oarljlo^s 
'*  French  Bevolution."  A  generation 
under  the  teaching  of  the  Bui4[in  of  the 
first  two  volumes  of  **  Modem  Painters," 
would  be  sincerely  unjast  and  narrowly 
true  in  its  understanding  of  some  grett 
historic  examples  of  painting.  This  be- 
ing so,  the  difficulty  of  official  instruc- 
tion reaching  positive  force  without  be- 
ing narrow  and  intolerant,  or  the  difficul- 
ty of  official  instruction  being  any  thing 
but  negative,  and  therefore  unsatisfac- 
tory, seems  insurmountable.  The  func- 
tion of  an  organization  for  practice  and 
instruction  in  the  fine  arts  is  to  provide 
guidance  and  illumination  for  the  feeblest 
and  most  docile  minds.  How  shall  the 
Academy  of  Design  fill  the  chair  of  his- 
tory and  philosophy  of  art  f  And,  justiy 
appreciating  the  place  of  art  in  edncation, 
really  wbhing  to  occupy  the  whole  mind 
of  the  student  with  art,  ought  it  not  to 
provide  lectures  on  architecture,  sculp- 
ture, historical,  genre  and  landscape- 
painting,  as  well  as  the  obviously  prac- 
tical instruction  in  anatomy,  perspec- 
tive, painting,  and  modelling?  What 
student,  and  even  what  artist,  but  would 
like  to  hear  H.  K.  Brown,  or  J.  Quincy 
Ward,  give  his  understanding  of  ancient 
and  modem  sculpture;  Page  or  Gray 
on  the  Italian  dU&sters  of  painting ;  Gif- 
ford,  or  Kensett,  or  any  of  our  chief 
landscapists,  on  landscape-art  f  A  dozen 
artists  of  course  are  ready  to  stop  us  and 
say :  Ward,  Brown,  Page,  Gififord,  Ken- 
sett,  and  La  Farge,  have  something  more 
important  to  do  than  talk  to  artists  and 
students  about  their  predilections  in  art; 
that  they  paint  or  model  as  they  do, 
precisely  because  they  are  exdnsively 


ual  and  unsubmissive  minds,  and,  by  the «  devoted  to  pointing  or  modelling.     The 


prestige  which  they  derive  from  follow- 
ing official  instruction  and  easily  main- 
tain themselves  in  the  ascendant,  while 
a  Bonsseau  outside  of  the  Academy,  and 
a  Decamps  in  revolt  against  official 
systems,  can  exist  only  by  virtue  of  an 


reply  is  more  plausible  than  satisfactory; 
for  it  cannot  be  supposed  that  these 
artists,  who  have  devoted  a  good  part  of 
their  matnrest  study  to  the  practice  of  a 
special  department  of  art,  are  not  aUe 
to  make  a  statement  in  the  course  of  one 


580 


Putnam's  Milgazinb. 


Vtt, 


or  two  hoars'  talk,  before  i>er80D8  really 
interested  in  art,  without  draining  or 
undaly  taxing  their  strength;  and  we 
maintain  that  a  large  and  generous  sym- 
pathy for  art  in  a  society  and  among 
young  men  so  maoh  in  need  of  it  as  oar 
own,  would  speedily  place  the  experi- 
ence and  understanding  of  individuals, 
of  men  of  real  ability,  before  students 
and  fellow-artbt?.  We  do  not  ask  from 
our  most  honored  painters,  sculptors, 
and  architects,  the  pretension  to  or 
solicitude  about  literary  graces  or  the 
skill  of  the  rhetorician ;  we  ask  from 
them  an  hour's  talk  which  shall  impart 
to  students  the  personal  experience  and 
understanding  of  what  landscape-art  or 
sculpture  or  architecture  may  be  to  the 
particular  landscapist,  sculptor,  or  archi- 
tect or  portrait-painter,  who  may  be  call- 
ed to  give  others  the  benefit  of  his  expe- 
rience simply  as  he  would  to  a  student 
in  his  studio. 

If  the  studios  of  our  best  painters  were 
open  to  students  as  the  studios  of  French 
painters  are  open  to  French  students, 
students  would  get  the  benefit  of  such 
instruction— -of  such  personal  eofnmtmi- 
eatwenesB  as  that  which  in  the  studios 
of  French  painters  feeds  the  flame  of 
art,  making  it  so  bright  and  lively  in  the 
life  of  the  French  student  Here  the 
more  feasible  plan  would  be  to  get  our 
artists  to  put  all  that  has  interested  them 
before  students  and  artists  in  the  lecture- 
room  of  the  Academy  of  Design.  From 
this  mixed  but  genuine  and  vital  teach- 
ing, the  intelligent  student  could  glean 
from  the  experience  of  another  what 
now  possibly  he  may  pick  up  by  chance, 
or  not  pick  up  at  all. 

The  be^t  artists  have  come  from  the 
special  and  personal  teaching  of  particu- 
lar masters.  It  seems  to  us  that  this 
personal  intercourse  between  artists  and 
students  at  the  Academy  is  the  only  way 
to  quicken  in  the  latter  the  slow  growth 
of  a  broad  and  deep  sense  of  the  worth 
and  meaning  of  art  in  all  its  aspects.  It 
would  do  more  to  beget  respect  and  mod- 
esty in  them ;  it  would  do  more  to  quick- 
en and  enliven  tjio  intelligence  than  any 
means  of  instruction,  beyoud  the  practice 
of  the  hand  and  eye,  that  we  know  of. 


The  object  Is  to  establish  a  doaer 
tion  between  the  old  and  the  new,  be- 
tween experience  and  etzpeetatioa,  thai 
has  hitherto  existed  in  the  Httleart-vodl 
of  New  York. 

While  eduoatioa  Is  nndeiigcniigaoiBis^ 
changes  as  to  method  and  oljeeti  wli3i 
it  is  becoming  so  mnoh  more  obfioH|f 
and  immediately  praotioal,  we  have  is 
reason  to  displaoe  art  as  dealiogwiHi  Us 
illusions  and  fictions  of  the  hunsa  aini 
The  teaching  at  the  bottom  ef  all  «^ 
education  is  very  praeiieaL  It  is  ain» 
ing  of  all  the  faoniaes;  it  deali  wA 
actual  things;  itexaots  an  aoqaaiafemi 
with  the  form  and  ^pearanoe  of  thiif^ 
and  implies  no  mean  amount  of  soiess^ 
although  the  ultimate  object  of  the  aitiit 
IS  simply  to  elevate  ns  by  the  rank  lai 
order  of  beautifal  oombinationa,  wliiBk 
he  is  charged  to  make  the  pemaiMit 
posseiaion  of  homanit j. 

This  claim  for  art  is  not  oonfined  to  «> 
cbitecture,  soulptiirey  and  p^nt^^g^  tst 
extends  to  the  equally  preoioiis  sit  if 
verbal  expreasionf  so  mnoh  nsn^selii 
in  this  sge  of  hssty  -writing  sad  ho^ 
reading.  Works  of  great  literary  ai^ 
ists  correspond  in  inflnenoe  and  ain 
with  cathedrals,  statoes,  and  paintings 
They  serve  to  expand  and  elevate  our  eoa* 
oeptions ;  they  educe  poetry  from  fiMl^ 
and  music  from  words;  Uiey  liberate  ov 
emotions  from  the  prtson-luNiae  ef  tiM 
unsympathetic  or  the  fmssfistcMit  nusd, 
which  seems  the  most,  oommoo  and  po- 
tent result  of  a  life  formed  more  bj 
journalism  than  by  art. 

Great  artists— -literary  or  plsstie->ire 
the  historic  pledges  of  the  dignity  and 
beauty  there  is  in  the  expression  of  the 
being  of  man,  and  they  are  honored  by 
and  address  the  same  sentiment  that  ii 
awakened  in  us  when  we  walk  in  cathe^ 
drals,  or  by  the  sea-ahoref  or  in  pine  for- 
ests, or  listen  to  the  music  of  great  masten^ 
or  contempbite  the  aolitudea  of  mooo- 
tains. 

To  quote  Eeats,  we  may  say  i  httt  we 
are  not  taught  to  etwuage  Uils  sutjeot  as 
we  should.  We  ooomoonly  look  at  it 
without  indulgence  for  the  partioalar  or- 
ganisation or  temperament  of  the  artist, 
and  without  ever  having  been  under  the 


1870.] 


Ths  Gbsat  Gold  Flttbbt. 


587 


:  Inflaeuoe  of  the  great  and  moYing  exam- 
ples of  art.  We  cannot  appeal  to  the 
.  ohaate  coldness  and  wonderful  beauty  of 
the  antique  marbles ;  we  have  not  the 
dftzding  and  nleneing  beauty  of  Titian's 
women  to  make  us  feel  and  see  the  won- 
der and  mijesty  of  art  We  have  only 
(be  works  of  contemporary  paiuters,  oc- 
.oasionally  to  be  seen, — works  of  very 
^different  degrees  of  meriti  imposing  to 
the  general  public  only  as  they  are  the 
production  of  fashionable  painters.  All 
tills  ui^ges  us  to  the  conclusion  that  we 
most  have  a  museum  of  art,  and  that 
tbe  Academy  of  Design  cannot  do  too 
Bwoh  for  the  education  of  students  of 
lurt. 


The  Cathedrals  of  the  twelfth  century 
are  the  nob]e  and  immortal  symbols  of 
the  awakening  of  Europe  from  the  clois- 
tral life  of  the  dark  ages,  not  of  its  deg- 
radation ;  the  statues  of  Angelo  and  the 
poems  of  Dante  are  the  culminating  ex- 
pression of  the  life  of  Italy ;  the  Oraisans 
Funilres  of  Bossuet  and  the  JUfieetions 
of  F6n61on  are  the  expression  of  the  pride 
and  dignity  and  charming  tenderness  of 
heart,  voiceful  in  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury ;  and  so  for  us  there  must  be  an  arc, 
whether  verbal  or  plastic,  not  of  mere 
literalism  or  imitation,  not  of  the  mere 
understanding,  but  which  shall  utter  the 
emotional  experiences  of  the  modem 
man. 


•» 


THE  GREAT  GOLD  FLURRY. 


-Thb  existence  of  the  New  York  Gold 
Board,  as  the  Gold  Exchange  is  popularly 
.called,  with  the  institutions  pertaining 
*to  it,  is  certainly  not  the  least  curious  of 
the  mMiy  curious  facts  left  us  by  the 
recent  civil  war.  That  a  dub  of  gentle- 
men, most  of  them  young,  and  many  of 
tliem  far  fh>m  rich,  should  meet  from 
dasf  to  day  to  lay  wagers  on  any  event 
of  daily  occurrence,  might  be  consider- 
ed an  eccentric  but  silly  amusement,  did 
not  their  betting  affect  the  values  of 
•very  piece  of  property,  great  or  small, 
In  the  whole  country.  But  such  being 
the  case,,  the  people  at  large  are  interest- 
ed; and  what  was  the  unimportant 
amusement  of  idle  men  rises  to  the 
dignity  of  a  business  meriting  the  atten- 
tion of  rich  and  poor,  high  and  low. 
Stripped  of  all  illusory  epithets,  the 
QM  Exchange  is  exactly  what  we  have 
described — a  club  of  persons  who  meet 
daily  to  bet  on  the  fluctuations  in  price 
of  the  national  currency  as  compared 
with  gold. 

How  gold  roae  in  value,  thus  making 
these  fluctuations  possible,  it  is  not  ne- 
oessary  to  tell.  The  tale  is  not  a  new  one 
in  the  history  of  wars,  and  it  has  been 
only  too  well  learned  in  this  country. 
The  su^nsion  of  specie  payment  was  an 


undoubted  necessity  fbr  the  Govern- 
ment, and  so  was  Uie  killing  of  men  in 
battle ;  but  the  effect  was  none  the  less 
disastrous  in  either  case  because  of  the 
necessity. 

Mere  suspension  cannot  be  made,  how- 
ever, to  bear  the  whole  blame  for  the 
fluctuations  in  gold,  for  England  sus- 
pended in  1797,  and  did  not  resume  for 
twenty-three  years ;  yet  in  all  that  time 
the  highest  point  reached  by  gold,  as 
compared  with  Bank  of  England  notes, 
was  a  fraction  over  82  per  cent,  pre- 
mium. 

Many  causes  have  undoubtedly  com- 
bined to  make  our  case  different  from 
that  of  England,  but,  whatever  the  cause, 
there  cannot  be  much  doubt  that — 

The  greatest  public  harm  has  been 
caused  by  the  fluctuations  in  the  price 
of  gold : 

That  the  most  violent  and  disastrous 
of  these  fluctuations  have  been  purely 
speculative  and  unnecessary : 

That  the  Gold  Exchange,  and  its  ally 
the  Gold  Exchange  Bank,  have  ftumish- 
ed  the  machinery  whereby  the  specula- 
tors were  enabled  to  carry  out  their 
schemes. 

The  Gold  Exchange  is  composed  of 
about  five  hundred  members,  some  of 


588 


Putnam's  Magazinb. 


[Mv, 


whom  are  and  some  are  not  also  mem- 
bers of  the  Stock  Exchange.  The  bnsi- 
ness  of  the  Exchange  is  transacted  in  a 
dingy  room  on  New-street,  not  at  all 
remarkable  for  any  attention  to  either 
beaaty  or  comfort.  Its  members  are 
probably  as  heterogeneous  a  collection 
of  men  as  could  well  be  brought  to- 
gether for  any  business  purpose.  One 
looks  in  yain  among  them  for  any  un- 
failing indication  of  their  calling ;  they 
exhibit  no  more  uniformity  of  face,  form, 
or  expression,  than  of  dress.  A  phreno- 
logist might  possibly  be  able  to  give  a 
reason  why  they  should  all  be  found 
there,  but  it  puzzles  any  observer  of  a 
less  occult  school  of  philosophy.  Even 
the  strained,  eager  look  which  has  been 
ascribed  to  them  is  difficult  to  recognize 
in  the  room — is  not  seen  out  of  it — 
and  seems  to  be  only  put  on,  as  a  soldier 
takes  up  his  weapon  on  going  into  battle 
to  throw  it  aside  at  the  first  opportunity. 
Not  less  different  are  these  men  from 
one  another  in  respect  to  their  previous 
occupations  than  in  regard  to  their  pres- 
ent appearance.  Pretty  nearly  all  classes 
and  occupations  are  represented,  and  it 
is  not  unworthy  of  remark  that  the  pul- 
pit furnished  two  of  the  acknowledged 
leaders  who,  if  they  formerly  served  God 
as  energetically  as  they  since  have  Mam- 
mon, must  have  been  very  Boanerges  in 
the  desk. 

It  is  a  fact,  not  perhaps  thoroughly 
appreciated,  that  the  men  doing  business 
in  Wall-street  have  greatly  changed, 
both  in  number  and  character,  within  the 
last  ten  years.  Then  there  was  only  one 
board  of  brokers, — the  old  Stock  Ex- 
change,— and  the  members  of  this  only 
numbered  about  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
five,  all  of  whom  had  served  a  regular 
apprenticesliip  to  the  business  in  the 
office  of  some  reputable  broker.  Now 
there  are  over  eleven  hundred  members, 
many  of  them  mere  boys,  and  perhaps 
most  of  them  men  who  have  made  natu- 
ral shrewdness  and  audacity  serve  them 
in  place  of  experience.  This  fact  has 
had  no  little  to  do  in  the  production  of 
tlie  panics  of  the  last  four  years,  for,  be- 
fore the  war,  the  bold  plans,  the  exten- 
sive combinations*  and  the  magnificent 


audacity  in  execotioii  neoeasary,  wodi 
have  been  to  a  great  extent  wantiag. 

Such  were  the  contestantai  and  oflki 
portion  of  the  battle-field,  of  the  mmf^ 
rable  contest  of  the  '^  Black  Fridi^,**  «& 
has  not  inaptly  been  called.  We^jt 
portion  of  the  field ;  for,  if  theGold  Bool 
was  the  Grettysbarg,  the  Gold  ^^^"^'•^t 
Bank  was  certainly  the  Gemetery  Bi%i; 
and  the  comparison  is  not  modi  find^ 
for  it  has  indeed  proved  a  boryiiig-ilM 
to  more  than  one  combatant. 

This  Bank  was  chartered,  and  is  ih1 
only,  as  a  Clearing  House  for  tranMstta 
at  the  Gold  Board,  though  its  ehartva 
said  to  confer  other  important  privilcfiL 
Its  workings,  though  from  their 
complicated,  are,  in  ontlioe,  e: 
simple.     All  transactions  at  the  Goli 
Exchange  are,  unless  otherwise  ^edia^ 
settled  the  following  morning.  To  efiofll 
this,  each  broker  sends  to  the  Bank  « 
night  a  statement  of  all  the  gold  heitr 
bought  during  the  day,  from  whom,  asft 
at  what  price  it  was  porohaaed,  as  vaD 
as  a  similar  accoont  of  his  sales.    If  fts 
balance  be  against  him,  he  also  aeodia 
9heck  for  the  amount.     The  Bank  »> 
ceives  these  statements,  compares  then 
with  one  another,  and,  if  they  are  fband 
to  agree,  pays  over  next  morning  to  tbe. 
brokers  who  have  made  money,  tbe  bil- 
ances  due  them.    It  will  be  easilj  seen 
that  the  Bank  is  a  great  cooveniaDOfl^ 
and  that  it  is  of  greatest  service  to  tba 
men  who  have  least  money.    Were  vraj 
purchaser  of  gold  obliged  to  reoeiTe  it 
and  pay  for  it  in  cash,  it  is  plain  tbati 
man  with  only  five    thousand   doD«i 
could  not  indulge  in  any  extensive  ipee- 
ulations;   whereas,   by  the  aid  of  tiia 
Bank,  a  man  who  is  careful  to  have  hii 
daily  balance  in  his  favor,  or  n6t  too 
much  against  him,  may  do  as  much  bos* 
ness  on  a  capital  of  five  hundred  as  of 
five  million  dollars.    It  is  simply  the  i^ 
plication  to  the  Exchange  of  the  princi- 
ples of  the  betting-ring :  a  man  who  eta 
^^make  a  good  book  *'  on  a  race  can  do 
an  unlimited  business  in  gold  on  a  limited 
capital. 

How  the  battle  of  September,  186$, 
the  most  gigantic  of  all  the  apecola- 
tions  in  gold,  was  brought  about,  has 


1870.] 


Tbx  Gbiat  Qold  Flubbt. 


589 


been  discnssed  folly  enough  bj  the  press 
and  the  people,  not  only  of  this  but  of 
other' coontries ;  it  has  been  made  the 
sabjeot  of  congressional  investigation, 
and  has  ftimished  the  basis  for  more  than 
one  suit  at  law ;  yet  it  may  be  doubted 
whether  the  real  history  has  been  told, 
or  whether,  in  all  its  details,  it  will 
ever  be  fully  known.  Perhaps  it  is 
neither  necessary  nor  desirable  that  the 
whole  affiiir  should  be  made  more  plain ; 
there  are  scones  not  fitted  for  close 
inspection.  Enough  is  known  to  show 
thw  if  the  combination  which  brought 
about  the  panic  differed  at  all  from  other 
affairs  of  the  sort,  it  was  chiefly  in  mag- 
nitude and  audacity.  Conspiracies  for 
"iipecul^ve  purposes  have  not  been  un- 
common in  Wall-street,  in  the  Stock  Ez- 
ohange  as  well  as  in  the  Gold  Room ;  and 
thia  one,  if  worse  than  others,  was  so 
rather  in  degree  than  in  kind. 

Who  were  the  leaders  in  this  move- 
ment it  is  not  necessary  to  tell  here ;  their 
names  have  become  only  too  notorious 
in  every  hamlet  of  the  coantry.  If  the 
fame  they  have  gained  is  not  pleasant  to 
them,  they  have  at  any  rate  only  them- 
selves to  thank ;  they  certainly  worked 
industriously  enough  to  acquire  it,  as 
they  also  did  to  secure  good  company  in 
their  schemes,  though  in  this  they  were 
disappointed.  That  the  President  was  in 
any  way  concerned  in  the  conspiracy  no 
one  now  believes ;  that  he  should  ever 
have  been  accused  of  complicity  is  an 
iUuBtration  alike  of  the  evil  days  upon 
which  we  are  fallen,  and  of,  the  magnifi- 
cent impudence  of  some,  at  least,  of  the 
conspirators.  Indeed,  it  is  difficult  to 
see  precisely  what  good  end  was  ti>  be 
accomplished  by  his  assistance.  A  Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States  who  could  lend 
himself  to  a  stock-Jobbing  operation 
would  be  likely  to  charge  a  price  for  his 
services  which  would  make  him  an  ex- 
pensive ally. 

The  tactics  adopted  by  those  concern- 
ed in  the  movement  were  sufficiently 
simple,  and  as  old  as  the  history  of  hu- 
man greed.  Men  once  bought  corn  and 
stored  it  up,  that  the  famine  which 
brought  death  to  others  might  bring  gain 
to  them.    So  these  schemers  bought  all, 


or  nearly  all,  the  gold  in  market,  that 
they  who  wanted  that  article  should 
be  compelled  to  buy  fh>m  them,  and  of 
course  at  their  own  prices.  This  was 
not  all,  however,  for  this  action  alone 
would  have  insured  them  little  or  no 
profit  Were  it  the  custom  in  Wall- 
street  to  buy  only  what  one  needs,  and 
sell  only  what  one  really  owns,  no  stich 
thing  as  a  panic  would  be  possible.  In 
sach  a  state  of  things  the  holders  of  gold 
might  indeed  charge  a  high  price  for  what 
they  sold,  but  that  amount  would  be  too 
small  to  afford  them  much  interest  on 
the  enormous  sum  they  had  piled  up  in 
unproductive  idlene^  Fortunately  for 
them,  however,  no  such  Spartan  virtue 
was  known  on  the  street,  and  they  could 
plan  their  financial  campaign  secure  in 
the  active  co6peration  of  their  adversa- 
ries. They  had  looked  the  ground  well 
over,  and  had  counted  carefidly  each  step 
to  be  taken,  and  success  seemed  a  fore- 
gone conclusion. 

Precisely  when  the  purchases  of  gold 
were  begun,  if  accurately  known  outside 
the  clique  who  made  them,  is  not  mate« 
rial.  They  did  not  particularly  affect  the 
price  of  gold,  which  declined  all  through 
the  summer,  closing  on  the  afternoon  of 
August  81st  at  188},  and  opening  next 
morning  one  half  of  one  per  cent,  lower. 
From  this  point  it  rose  to  187f ,  and  fell 
so  low  as  185,  varying  between  those  two 
points  in  a  fitful  way  until  the  great  rise 
began.  During  all  this  time  it  was  well 
known  that  the  clique  were  buying,  or 
had  bought,  all  the  gold  actually  in  mar- 
ket, and  that  their  object  was,  of  course, 
to  raise  the  price.  The  papers  com- 
mented on  the  fact,  and  when,  early  in 
September,  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury 
vidted  the  city  and  had  interviews  with 
leading  merchnnts  and  financiers,  the 
subject  was  laid  before  him.  It  was 
even  asserted  in  the  newspapers,  without 
denial,  that  some  of  those  most  opposed 
to  the  rise  in  gold,  taking  advantage  of 
the  proverbially  mollifying  infinence  of 
a  good  dinner,  approached  the  Secretary 
on  the  subject  at  a  banquet  given  in  his 
honor.  The  Finance  Minister,  however, 
gave  his  interlocutors  as  little  informa- 
tion as  his  superior  had  given  to  a  leader 


8W         a                                 PirtXAx'a  M^uan.                                          [U^, 

of  the  opporite  fkction  on  a  memorable  lata  boar,  and  resumed  earijnutmik 

oooBMon.     la  foot,  both  PreBideot  and  ing,  the  Mth. 

Seoretarj  Beem  to  have  viewed  the  ooo-  Tlie  exeitetnent  of  this  daj  ku  at 

tentlone  of  the  ■peonlatore  with  mnehof  dom  If  oTerbeea  equalled  in  thahytsf 

the    soblime    indifferenoe  with  which  of  flnaoiual  oommotioDs  in  thii  con^. 

a  dweller  oa  the  fh>atier  would  look  Frwn  th*  Qold  Itoom  it  had  tpmAw 

opoQ  the  wan  of  rival  lodiaa  tribes —  til  the  wbola  commDni^,  not  o^tf 

not^  all  oaring  whioh  lide  got'  most  New  York  bnt  aleo  of  ererylMgiii^ 

Boaliw.    The  ooorae  to  be  pniaaed  in  re-  ia  the  ooniitiT,liad  become  infiMttdrtt 

gard  to  the  flnancea  of  the  ooontry  bad  the  ttmi.     The  preaa  had  takn  tt 

been  decided  upon,  aod  dnlyproolaimed,  matter  op,  and  the  daily  Janraibaw 

and  DO  enconragement  was  given  to  aaj  diiaosring  the  eflTeots  of  tfaa  ntov^M, 

one  that  it  wonld  be  at  all  altered.  and  what  ahoold  or  should  not  b«  dw 

Ueanttme  tbe  clique  went  on  quietly  by  the  Govenmetit.     Not  a  fcv  *m 

enongli  with  their  parohtues,  with  the  olamorooe  to  have  th«  gold  in  ttaM- 

effect  we  have  given,  noUl  at  S  o'olook  Treaeory  pnt  on  the  market  at  osai^  b 

on  the  afternoon  of  the  22d,  gold  sold  at  break  down  the  alliancey  while  en  Ifa 

1S7J,  and  fifteen  minntee  later  at  189^  other  band  it  vas  claimed  that  osbii- 

At  8o'olock,140^hadbeenreaohed,and  terftrence   wHh     private     tpeaiiim 

the  gtmggle  had  fairly  began.  Longafter  wonld  be  impolitic  uod  wrong.     TU 

the  closing  honr  for  the  Board  the  room  Steninf  Patt,  on  tfao  afterooon  et  dw 

was  ooonpied  by  an  excited  crowd  of  884,  took,  In  it*  leading  editorial,  anr; 

dealers,  boying  and  Belling  as  if  exUtenoe  deolded  stand    npon  liiia    side  of  tie 

here  and  hereafter  depended  on  their  qaestlon. 

labors.     Darkness  hardly  stopped  the  The  esdtemenC  amoDg  the  pfofjc  ii 

strn^le  and  did  not  lessen  the  eicit«-  large  was  clearly  sbown  by  the  pf«> 

ment     Next  morning  gold  opened  at  enoc  In  Wall  and  Bi-oad  streets,  «d  Fti- 

141  J,  and  rose  before  noon  to  144.    The  day  moralng,  of  crowds  of  strange  facw, 

cliqne  bonght,  through  their  many  bro-  of  persons  many  of  n-boai  had  prolially 

kers,  enormoas  amounts,  and  their  oppo-  never  before  visited  tlie  plac«-     BndMM 

nenCs,  gallantly  contesting  every  fraction,  among    the  wholevls    msrdiiBta  ni 

were  aa  willing  to  aell  as  they  to  bay.  brought  virteally  to  a  atuid^tllL   He 

We  use  the  words  bay  and  sell  as  they  merchants  found  their  waj  to  Uia  dM 

were  esed  on  the  street,  thongh  in  real-  of  their  brokers,  and  tboie  In  ttdr  (fr 

ity  one  side  had  bought  and  the  other  ploy,  from  clerks  to  eiraDd-bi^'vm 

had  sold  many  times  more  gold  than  employed  in  disonsetDg  tb«    ritotht. 

there  was  in  the  city,  as  will  be  seen  lAbor  was  snapeoded   on  ihipi  wUok 

when  we  state  that  the  balances  a^jnsted  were  loading  at  thewharvei^  ud  ■■(■{ 

at  the  Gold  Eicliange  Bank  for  that  the  crowds  which  gatbwed  ironDl  %• 

day's  transacti'ins  amounted  to  the  enor-  indicators  and  bulletin •boaida  wbeMiV 

mous  sum  of  three  hundred  and  tieentg-  the  prices  of  gold  were  raeoidad,  wh 

fire  million  dollan.  nut  a  small  pereentage  of  atervdora*  «1 

Throughout  this  day  the  opponents  of  cartmen  who  wonld  hardly  be  rappoMl 

the  cliqae     were    not  withont    hopes  to  have  beard  of  tbe  Gold  Room. 

of  nltimate  bqcccsb.    If  they  oonld  eeU  The  story  of  this  day  is  more  graphic 

more  gold  than  the  combination  coald  ally  told  in  a  photograph  now  lying  be> 

receive  and  pay  for,  or  pay  the  differ-  fore  the  writer,  than  it  oonld  be  bypes. 

ences  on,  oil  might  yet  go  well — and  It  is  a  picture,  made  in  Boston,  of  the 

it    mnst   bo  owned  that    they  fought  blackboard    in    the    telegraph     office, 

manfully.      At  3   o'clock  they  bad    re-  whereon  were  recorded  the  T|00tatH>aii, 

duced  the    price    to  143|(,  and  many  as  fast  as  received  from  the  Gold  Boota 

of  them  begun  to  think  the;'  were  yet  in  New  York.    Here  we  can  tracer  i«- 

destined  to  win.     As  on  tlie  previous  corded  in  the  not  too  symmetrical  dignres 

day,  thobargainingwascontinuedantila  of  tlio  operator,  tbe  flocUutiooa  of  tbe 


itMk] 


Th>  Ghat  Oou>  Tlunaz. 


592 


Putnam's  Maaabhs. 


9% 


day,  and  mark  the  oonrse  of  the  combat 
as  it  has  been  so  often  described.  In 
one  corner  are  written  the  prices  ob- 
tained before  the  meting  of  the  Board. 
Beginning  with  ''8.60:  44^  bid,"  we 
have  the  upward  progress  to  150  (9.27), 
at  which  price  operations  at  the  Board 
began. 

From  this  time  the  changes  come 
thick  and  fast,  vividly  recalling  the  fran- 
tic, yelling  crowd  in  the  Gold  Boom,  the 
swaying  crowds  in  the  street  outside, 
and  the  anxions  fiAoes  in  the  different 
offices  waiting  for  news  of  the  fray.  For 
once,  even  electricity  was  at  fimlt,  and 
the  instruments  used  to  record  the  prices 
in  the  different  offices  were  found  prac- 
tically useless,  not,  as  some  newspapers 
gravely  reported,  from  aver^heatiug  of 
the  loiret,  but  from  the  inability  of  the 
apparatus  used  to  receive  such  rapid 
changes. 

The  figures  recorded  in  our  photo- 
graph, however,  were  transmitted  by 
the  ordinary  Morse  instrument,  which  is 
capable  of  faster  work,  and  we  have 
them  here  as  they  were  announced  in 
the  Board,  varying  every  minute,  and 
sometimes  coming  in  groups  of  two  and 
three.  The  course  of  the  quotations  is 
steadily  upward,  until,  at  32  minutes 
past  11,  we  find  162}  had  been  reached. 
This  was  the  highest  point  attained ; 
in  twenty  minutes  the  price  had  fallen 
to  140,  and  though  it  rallied  spasmodi- 
cally, and  sales  were  even  made  as 
higl)  as  100,  the  battle  was  practically 
ended,  and  before  1  o'clock  the  pre- 
mium had  fallen  to  84  per  cent,  and 
night  found  it  a  fraction  lower. 

It  was  daring  the  time  from  half-past 
eleven  to  twelve  o'clock  that  the  ex- 
traordinary spectacle  was  presented  of 
brokers  selling  gold  on  one  side  the  cir- 
cular railing  in  the  Gold-Room  for  140, 
while  other  brokers  on  the  opposite  side 
were  bidding  160  for  i^  both  being  em- 
ployed by  the  same  principals ! 

It  was  during  this  time,  too,  that  the 
Government  announced  its  intention  to 
soil  $4,000,000— the  act  which,  it  has 
beou  claimed,  defeated  the  clique. 

The  battle  was  over,  as  we  have  said ; 
but  with  which  side  the  victory  remain- 


ed it  was  difficult  to  tell.  The  fccw  a 
both  sides  were  pretty  well  8cattered,al 
neither  was  in  any  hurry  to  begin  tb 
ungracious  task  of  ooandng  up  the  dail 
and  wounded.  In  more  appro|irirti 
phrase,  settling-day  irae  yet  to  oona; 
and  if  ever  nnfortunate  aoooontantt  wm 
entitled  to  use  the  hackneyed  qaotitei 
'*  J9f0  labor^  hoc  opu$  eU^^  it  was  eertn- 
ly  thoae  upon  whom  devolved  the  tiA 
of  balancing  the  aocoimt«  of  that  dij^ 
tranaaotiona.  Preciaelj  how  mneh  tbcj 
amountod  to  ia  not  known.  They  m 
not  given  in  the  statement  of  bflbaM 
published  by  the  Bank,  for  the  ezeeDMl 
reason  that  a  large  part  of  them  wwt 
settled  privately.  Enon^  is  knov% 
however,  to  make  it  safe  to  put  theoi  il 
over  four  hundred  milliona  of  doUarL 

We  have  said  that  the  baying  of  goli 
was  only  one  of  the  means  nsed  bj  tks 
clique  to  enable  them  to  pat  np  the  priei 
and  keep  it  up ;  and  before  ^Making  of 
the  settlement-day,  we  mast  go  back  i 
little  and  explain  our  meaning,  llit 
leaders  in  the  upward  movement  (tte 
''Bulla,"  in  Wnll-atreet  alang),  knefr  voy 
well  that  they  could  no  more  receireaad 
hold  the  gold  they  had  bought  than  tbe 
other  party  could  deliver  it,  and  it  was 
a  question  which  should  be  mined.  Ia 
this  dilemma  they  resorted  to  the  expe- 
dient of  lending  their  gold  to  the  v«y 
persons  from  whom  they  had  bought  it, 
or  to  others  of  the  same  aide. 

This,  at  first  sight  puzzling,  tranaao- 
tion,  is  not  an  uncommon  one.  Deskft 
who  require  a  certain  amount  of  gold,  or 
of  a  particular  stock,  when  tbe  price  is 
high  often  borrow  what  they  need  in- 
stead of  buying  it,  in  the  hope  that  when 
it  becomes  necessary  to  repay,  tlie  pries 
will  be  lower  and  they  oan  bay  cheaper. 
By  this  means  the  clique  were  acto- 
ally  moking  their  adversaries  pi^  in- 
terest on  their  own  money — a  thing  usu- 
ally not  easy  to  accomplish.  We  shall 
see  how  this  condition  of  things  affected 
the  settling  of  the  tranaaotiona  of  these 
two  days. 

This  settlement  was  to  be  efiTeotod  by 
the  agency  of  the  Gold  Exchange  Bank 
to  which  we  have  referred,  and  it  is  at 
this  stage  of  t!io  affair  that  matters  began 


1870.] 


Ths  Gbbat  Gold  Flvrry, 


593  . 


to  b«  most  vitally  iDterosting  to  ontsiders, 
if  not  to  the  actors  themselves.  While 
the  battle  was  raging  the  scene  had  not 
^een  without  a  certain  pictnresqueness, 
and  the  excitement  of  the  combatants 
had  proved  not  a  little  contagions;  but  it 
bad  been,  after  all,  more  or  less  unintel- 
ligible. Men*B  hope^and  fears  had  fol- 
lowed very  closely  the  price,  but  chiefly 
because  they  dreaded  a  high  price  for 
gold.  They  were  now  to  learn  whot 
extensive  mischief  the  Gold  Room  was 
oapable  of  working  upon  the  country  at 
large  by  the  aid  of  its  Clearing  House — 
the  Bank. 

Not  even  those  most  deeply  inter- 
.e6ted  fully  understood  the  difficulties 
which  would  be  encountered  in  the 
process  of  ai|justing  their  accounts.  We 
have  already  given  the  amount  of 
Thursday's  balances,  and  have  said  that 
those  of  Friday  were  much  larger. 
From  their  amoant  and  their  great  num- 
ber, it  was  found  that  the  task  of  adjust- 
ing them  in  the  time  allowed  for  the 
settlement,  was  almost  an  impossible  one. 
Added  to  the  intrinsic  arithmetical 
difficulties  involved  were  those  pro- 
duced by  the  failure  of  a  number  of 
firms  whose  names  had  to  be  stricken 
from  all  the  balance-sheets  on  which 
they  occurred,  thus  rendering  neces- 
sary an  entire  re-makiug  of  the  state- 
ments affected.  Finally,  after  working 
day  and  night,  the  Bank-officers  were 
obliged  to  announce,  on  the  25th,  that 
they  could  make  no  ai^nstment  of  even 
Thursday's  balances  before  the  Monday  ' 
following. 

Thereupon  the  Gold  Board  adjourn- 
ed OQ  Saturday  without  doing  any  busi- 
ness, aud  the  ordinary  business  was  not 
resumed  until  the  80th,  and  but  very  few 
trausactions  were  made  for  a  long  time. 

Meantime  the  clamor  for  settlements, 
wliich  had  commenced  before  noon  on 
Friday,  continued,  and  the  street  pre- 
sented a  scene  of  anxiety,  strife,  and  ve- 
hement discussion  seldom  witoessed. 
Many  of  the  transactions  with  the  clique 
had  been  settled  on  Friday  at  prices 
varying  from  150  to  145,  and  even 
lower,  and  not  a  few  brokers  continued 
to  settle  among  themselves  without 
VOL.  V. — 39 


the  intervention  of  the  Clearing  House. 
They  were  Just  beginning  to  find  out  the 
possibilities  of  this  institution  for  evil 
as  well  as  good  Immense  sums  of 
money,  both  gold  and  curreney,  were 
looked  up  in  this  Bank,  or  through  its 
agency,  which  were  needed  for  oiroola- 
tion,  but  which  could  not  be  released 
until  a  settlement  was  made.  The  effect 
of  this  was,  of  course,  most  disastrouii, 
both  in  the  city  and  throughout  the 
country.  Money  was  needed,  especially 
in  the  West,  and,  as  it  could  only  be 
had  at  ruinous  rates  of  interest,  many 
firms  were  obliged  to  succumb.  Large 
amounts  of  stocks  were  thrown  on  the 
market,  and  prices  fell  rapidly.  Tho 
old  proverb,  however,  about  an  ill- 
wind,  held  good  even  here,  and  not  a 
few  shrewd  men,  who  seldom  meddle 
with  Wall-street,  foQud  their  way  there 
now  to  buy  of  the  better  class  of  stocks 
for  investment.  Their  case  was,  to  a 
certain  extent,  parslleled  by  that  of  a  few 
merchants  who  had  bought  gold  before 
the  rise  foV  the  purpose  of  paying  their 
obligations  abroad,  and,  when  the  high 
prices  of  Friday  were  reached.  Judging 
that  a  fall  would  come  before  they  should 
need  the  coin,  they  sold,  and  found  them- 
selves thousands  of  dollars  better  off  in 
pocket  by  what  ruined  so  many  of  their 
fellows.  These  were  the  few  exceptions 
which  made  the  general  woe  more  ap- 
parent. 

The  discussions  over  the  still  pending 
settlements  became  daily  more  acrimo- 
nious. The  clique  were  accused  of  re- 
pudiating many  of  their  purchases,  and 
the  accusation  was  undoubtedly  true, 
though  not  to  the  full  extent  charged. 
Some  of  the  operators  on  that  side-^it 
was  charged  against  them  all — refused 
to  accept  the  gold  they  had  lent,  but 
offered  to  sell  it  to  the  unfortunate 
borrowers  at  a  price  a  little  above  the 
market — thus  entailing  upon  their  vic- 
tim still  greater  loss  than  he  had  already 
sustained.  'The  Gk>ld  Exchange  and  the 
Stock  Exchange  endeavored  to  force 
some  of  the  leading  operators  to  come 
to  terms  by  *^  selling  them  out ''  under 
the  rules ;  but  at  this  juncture  the  in: 
junction — ^that  mighty  weapon,  which  is 


5M 


Pdtvam^b  Maoazinx. 


(M«, 


to  financial  warfare  in  this  country 
what  the  needle-gnn  was  to  Prussia — was 
brought  into  operation,  and  so  effeot- 
uallj  used  that  everj  body  was  at 
length  completely  enjoioed  from  doing 
any  thing.  Suit  was  brought,  too, 
against  the  Grold  Exchange  Bank,  and  a 
receiver,  in  the  person  of  a  very  able 
and  upright  member  of  the  Bar,  was 
appointed.  Unfortunately,  this  gentle- 
man was  not  a  practical  financier,  and 
the  complication  which  had  defied  the 
efforts  of  the  officers  of  the  Bank  proved 
too  much  for  his  abilities. 

Throughout  the  month  of  October 
there  was  not  much  change  in  the  con- 
dition of  affairs,  but  it  waa  plain  that 
something  must  be  done  before  long  or 
the  Bank  would  be  rained,  and  many 
individuals  perhaps  with  it.  It  had  be- 
come plain  that  the  receiver  would  be 
unable  to  settle  its  affairs,  and  an  ami- 
cable arrangement  was  made  whereby, 
early  in  November,  a  new  receiver  was 
appointed— a  step  which  afforded  greater 
pleasure  to  no  one  than  to' the  retiring 
officer.  The  man  selected  for  this  trying 
position  was  a  well  known  bank-officer, 
a  shrewd  financier,  and  a  man  of  great 
executive  ability.  Ho  soon  showed  that 
he  also  possessed  an  iron  will,  and  the 
power  to  command  in  no  small  degree. 
He  set  himself  resolutely  to  work  to 
master  the  details  of  the  situation,  and 
finding  the  knot  too  hard  to  be  untied, 
went  to  work  to  cat  it.  He  met  the 
members  of  the  Gold  Exchange  in  their 
room,  and,  in  a  speech  more  remarkable 
for  emphasis  than  for  elegance  of  diction, 
laid  before  them  a  statement  of  the 
condition  of  affairs,  and  pointed  out 
what  must  be  done  to  settle  the  affairs 
of  the  Bank  and  pay  its  debts.  The 
scene  was  not  the  least  dramatic  of 
those  witnessed  during  that  memorable 
antumn,  and  will  not  soon  be  forgotten 
by  those  present.  The  speaker  was  not 
of  the  long-snffering  kind,  and  was,  like 
many  men  of  business  training,  inclined 
to  be  restive  under  the  trammels  of  legal 
operations  in  purely  business  affairs. 
Finding  himself  hampered  by  the  many 
injunctions  which  had  been  served  on  the 
Bank  and  its  officers,  and  annoyed  by  the 


tactics  adopted  bj  a  fow,  eq>eeit&j  hj 
its  smaller  oreditors,  he  allowed  UdhV 
to  indulge  in  a  style  of  inyectiTe  in  vliek 
his  audience  were  not  madh  accMlo«ei 
to  being  addressed,  and  for  wkieh  h 
afterwards  apologized  to  the  Board.  He 
showed  them  that  the  only  way  eat  of 
the  difficulty  was  to  gire  him  taJl  eoota^ 
free  from  all  ii^junctiona  or  prooesMi^al 
assured  them  that  if  this  were  doaeki 
would  pay  the  whole  indebtedn€«of  tti 
Bank  in  fifteen  days. 

Whatever  fault  might  be  foimd  «i& 
the  manner  of  this  speech,  its  eflfeetia 
wholesome,  and  in  that  respect  eodd 
not  have  been  surpassed  by  the 
polished  effort  of  the  Grecian.  A 
ing  of  the  creditors  was  held  that  ift» 
noon,  and  steps  tak^n  to  carry  out  thi 
wishes  of  the  receiyer.  In  a  tew  dqi 
the  last  injunction  waa  removed,  fti 
pledges  made  by  the  reoeiTer  wen  ta- 
ply  fulfilled,  and  on  the  22d  of  Kovoi- 
her  the  Bank  resumed  bnsiness.  Tobi 
sure,  half  of  its  capita]  had  been  kit; 
but  that,  in  view  of  the  profitabfe  » 
ture  of  its  business,  waa  a  minor  eoa- 
sideration.  The  clearances  of  the  fint 
day  amounted  to  six  millions,  and  oa 
each  of  the  two  succeeding  days  tliej 
were  but  &ve  millions ;  bat  they  worn 
reached  about  the  old  ante-panic  figure. 
Since  then  the  two  institutions  hsfe 
moved  on  together  after  the  old  sort, 
and  we  hear  no  more  of  a  divofce, 
though  men  are  not  wanting  who  do 
not  like  the  union. 

We  have  given  a  brief  histoiy  of  one 
panic  in  the  Gold  market,  both  became 
it  may  serve  as  a  sample  of  all  iHiidi 
have  taken  pjace  or  which  may  take 
place  there,  and  because  it  has  been,  so 
far,  the  most  important  of  all  in  its 
effects.  The  notoriety,  too,  which  it 
has'  attained,  makes  it  the  easier  to  be 
understood  by  those  whose  life  lies 
away  from  the  exciting  atmosphere 
of  "the  street."  As  to  its  rise,  that 
was  due,  as  wc  have  said,  to  greed ;  its 
progress,  to  the  skilful  manipulation  of 
existing  circumstances ;  for  its  dediae ' 
and  fall,  a  variety  of  causes  have  been 
assigned,  all  of  which  are  probably  in 
a  measure  true. 


>.] 


Ths  Great  Gold  Fltjbbt. 


595 


t  the  first,  the  entire  credit  of  put- 
down  the  price  was  given  to  the 
emment,  for  having  sold  gold  at 
Lsely  the  right  moment ;  but,  while 
had  its  effect,  that  it  was  not  the 
cause  is  shown  by  the  fact  that 
clique  had  sent  agents  to  settle 
.  their  opponents  at  prices  below 
narket  before  the  news  was  received 
le  intended  action  of  Government, 
undoubtedly  true  that  the  bubble 
Id  have  ]>ur8t  sooner  or  later  from 
extreme  tenuity  of  its  walls,  and 
.  a  variety  of  other  causes  might 
I  been  shattered.    Let  us  be  satis- 
with  the  result,  without  wasting 
over  the  causes.    The  action  of 
Treasury  Department  had  this  good 
fc,  that  it  showed  what  could  and 
id  be  done  by  those  in  power  in 
an  emergency,  and  taught  future 
pirators   that  they  must  hereafter 
this  possibility  into  account  in 
lating  their  chances  of  success  or 
re. 

St  now  the  most  interesting  inquiry 
to  the  future.  Since  the  last  day 
September,  gold  has  not  reached 
and  its  course  has  been  steadily 
award.  At  the  time  of  writing 
ch),  gold  is  just  about  where  It 
on  the  8th  of  July,  1862,  after  the 
at  before  Richmond— 111  j — a  point 
B  not  before  reached  since  that  date, 
e  are  possibilities  of  another  at- 
)t  to  force  the  price  up — ^possibili- 
perhaps  all  the  stronger  from  the 
ral  expectation  that  it  will  keep 
ig.  The  task,  however,  would  be 
[erculean  one,  and  could  only 
sve  temporary  success.  The  ten- 
y  is  downward;  the  country  at 
)  want  it  to  go  to  par,  and,  with- 
ome  foreign  complications,  we  see 
ing  to  prevent  the  premium  becom- 
iominal  within  a  few  months.  It 
certainly  a  "consummation  de- 
ly  to  be  wished."  Nor  do  the  dan- 
feared  by  many  seem  imminent: 
and,  after  a  suspension  of  twenty- 
years,  began  making  preparations 


for  resumption  by  passing,  in  1810, 
"  Peel's  Act,"  providing  for  a  gradual 
resumption,  and  two  years  later  the 
thing  was  accomplished  without  dis- 
turbance. True,  many  and  disastrous 
failures  occurred  between  1815  and 
1810,  but  they  arose  from  over-specula- 
tion and  similar  causes — a  stage  throagh 
which  we  have  passed. 

The  writer  visited,  a  few  days  ago, 
the  Gold  Room,  and  while  in  conversa- 
tion with  one  of  the  oldest  ofSclals  of 
the  Board,  the  latter  remarked,  with  a 
half-mournful  shake  of  the  head, ''  There 
won't  be  much  more  of  this.  It  will 
soon  be  over  now."  Let  us  hope  he 
may  prove  a  true  prophet,  and  that  we 
shall  soon  have  looked  our  last  upon 
the  Gold  Room  I 

We  sliall  bid  it  farewell  without  the 
least  sorrow,  not  so  mach  for  reason  of 
the  evil  it  has  done,  as  becanse  it  has 
been  at  once  the  outgrowth  and  the 
monument  of  a  period  we  want  ended. 
The  Exchange  has  not  been  an  unmixed 
evil — it  is  probable  that  it  has  accom- 
plished much  good  by  regulating  the 
price  of  gold,  and  perhaps  the  specu- 
lative nature  of  most  of  the  business 
done  there  has  really  kept  the  price  on 
the  whole  lower  than  it  would  other- 
wise have  been.  It  must  be  remem- 
breed  that  the  legitimate  purchases 
of  gold  in  "New  York  are  always 
large,  and  if  the  operations  of  the  Hoard 
have  kept  the  price  more  uniform,  the 
merchants,  and  through  them  the  whole 
community,  have  been  benefited.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  speculative  sales  ac 
the  Board  have  been  very  large ;  such 
panics  »s  we  have  described,  though  on  a 
smaller  scale,  have  not  been  infrequent, 
and  every  body  has  suffered  from  them. 
To  strike  the  balance  between  the  good 
and  evil  is  not  easy ;  every  man  who  tries 
it  will  give  a  different  verdict,  but  near- 
ly the  whole  community  are  prepared  to 
join  in  quoting  in  reference  to' it  the  old 
refrain : 

*'  But  this  I  know  and  know  tall  well, 
I  do  not  llko  thee,  Dr.  Fell.'* 


506 


PUTNAJC^S  M^eiLZIBB. 


(M*. 


OUR  POLITICAL  DEGENERAOY—ITS  CAUSE  AND  HEM£DI. 


EvEBT  body  admits,  for  indeed  almost 
every  body  deplores,  the  lamenUiblo  dopa- 
derice  that  has  come  upon  politics,  both 
as  a  pi  inciple  and  a  practice.  You  will 
hear  it  said  on  all  sides  that  neither  our 
statesmen  nor  our  parties  are  what  they 
ns.d  to  be ;  and  you  will  seldom  hear  it 
gaiiis.'iyed.  Several  years  ago,  Emerson 
remarked  it  as  the  severest  of  satires  up- 
on government,  that  the  word  politics 
had  come  to  signify  that  which  was  poli- 
tie^  or  canning,  **  as  if  the  State  were  only 
a  trick;"  and  the  irony  is  more  tren- 
chant now  than  it  was  then.  As  a  science 
and  as  an  art,  politics  has  degenerated ; 
few  regard  it  in  the  comprehensive  light 
that  the  old  writers  regard  it ;  and  few 
practise  it  in  the  noble  spirit  in  which 
its  intrinsic  importance  demands  that  it 
should  be  practised.  Let  ns  look  back 
a  little. 

Of  the  eminent  ability  and  incorrupti- 
ble virtue  of  our  revolutionary  statesmen 
there  is  no  longer  any  doubt.  Washing- 
ton and  Hamilton,  Jtrfferson  and  Adams, 
Madison  and  Jay,  and  a  hundred  more, 
have  passed  into  history.  They  have 
taken  their  phices  in  fame  by  the  side  of 
tiie  most  illustrious  names  of  any  nation 
and  of  almost  any  era.  Whatever  faults 
the  party-spirit  of  their  times  may  have 
imputed  to  their  conduct,  whatever  de- 
fects a  nicer  historical  criticism  may  find 
in  their  characters,  the  popular  memory 
has  ceased  to  treasure  the  blemish,  and 
esteems  them  with  that  unquestioning 
admiration  and  gratitude  with  which  the 
early  founders  of  empire  are  apt  to  be  es- 
teemed. 

The  position  of  our  post-revolutionary 
stata^men,  of  the  Websters,  the  Calhouns, 
the  Clays,  the  Adamses,  the  Jackgons,  the 
Bentons,  and  the  Wrights  of  what  may  be 
called  our  secondary  period,  is  perhaps 
not  so  high  and  assured ;  and  yet  it  is 
sufficiently  high  and  assured  to  make  us 
proutl  of  their  remembrance.  Webster, 
indeed,  as  a  constitutionalist,  seems  to 


shine  the  brighter  with  the  ]a|«tf 
time;  Calhonn's  greatneeA  is  Ksnlf 
dinomied  by  the  fearful  cloud  of  dvilnr 
in  which  his  impracticable  theories  ii- 
volved  his  too  ardent  followers;  Cbf 
has  still  a  potent  infloence  with  tiMi 
who  adhere  to  the  protective  or  pitend 
notion  of  the  duties  of  Oovemment,  iii 
the  second  Adams  receives  as  lix|e  si 
homage  from  posterity,  if  not  slsrger«^ 
than  the  first;  while  the  Jacksoiubtb 
Bentons,  and  the  TTrights,  are  rea£(f 
and  gratefully  identified  in  the  miodiflf 
the  many  with  the  most  salataiy  kguii- 
tion  of  the  past. 

In  comparison  with  these,  what  M 
be  said  of  the  statesmen  of  the  ttrimj 
period,  or  that  immediately  preoediqgtii 
war  ?  Compare  the  Cabinets  since  Tm 
Barents  administration  with  say  fkd 
went  before  it,  and  what  have  we  but  t 
melancholy  contrast  ?  Compare  the  S^ 
nate  from  that  time  with  the  Senates  tbt 
wont  before  it,  and  is  not  the  ehaoge ob- 
vious ?  W here  were  the  great  men  of  ti$ 
House,  who  without  being  orators,  wift- 
out  even  speaking  or  seldom  speaking  t 
word  on  the  floor,  carried  with  them 
such  force  of  influence,  from  ntn 
weight  of  character,  as  Lowndes  asd 
Cheves  and  Carobreleng,  and  a  boil 
of  others?  Do  we  feel  like  writiag 
eulogies  of  the  Pierces,  the  Tjlen, 
the  Buchanans,  the  FOlmores, — tbe 
Cobbs  and  the  Blacks?  Is  it  possiUe 
to  say  that  they  conducted  aflToirs  with 
that  large  discretion  and  unswerving 
fidelity  to  principle  which  the  thickening 
complications  and  gathering  dangers  of 
the  crisis  demanded  ?  Did  thej  dis^^ra 
the  deeper  under-cnrrents  of  public  seo- 
timent,— currents  destined  to  carry  at 
into  a  bloody  fratricidal  conflict. — see 
them  as  they  were,  and  treat  them  as 
they  ought  to  have  been  treated— or 
simply  trust  with  pusillanimous  obsti- 
nacy, or  at  best  a  blindfold  courage,  to 
the  usual  petty  expedients  of  party  drill 


1870.] 


OuB  Political  Deqbnebact — ^its  Gause  and  Bemedt. 


597 


3nd  discipIiDe?  Alas  I  charity  prompts 
one  to  draw  the  veil  over  an  ago  which 
the  impartial  jnstico  of  history  will  de- 
scribe with  a  Bhndder  of  scorn  and  a 
ft'own  of  contempt. 

Or,  what    shall  be  said,  again,  of  the 
statesmen  of  the  present  period  ?    Have 
"we  any?    Lincoln  is  dead,  Andrew  is 
dead,  and  Stanton  is  dead,  like  so  many 
of  the  demi-gods    of  the  battle-field, 
naixed  and  nnnamed.    Others  succeed 
to  their  places ;  new  persons  crowd  the 
senate-halls  and  the  bureaus;  new  ques- 
tions have  come  to  be  debated;  mo- 
mentous  responsibilities  fall  upon   un- 
tried shoulders;   and  what  i^,  or  is  to 
be,  the  record  ?    Of  persons  it  is  doubt- 
loss  too  soon    to  spenk;   they  are  in 
the  midst  of  their  work ;    we  see  them 
only  through  the  mists  engendered  by 
oar  hopes  and  fears,  or  the  dust  raised 
bj  the  noisy  tumults  of  faction;    the 
lines  of  the  ftiture  armies  are  unformed 
or  only  forming,  and  the  direction  of 
the  movement  is  not  fixed.    To  Judge, 
now,   would   be   merely  to   prejudge. 
But  what  we  behold  thus  far,  we  con- 
fess, does  not  in>%pire  ns  with  a  joyful 
confidence;  what  we  know  of  prom- 
inent men  docs  not  fill  ns  with  a  lofty 
fsith ;  what  we  discover  of  their  future 
aims  and  purposes  does  not  kindle  a  fer- 
Teot  admiration. 

The  war  produced  some  excellent 
military  ability — the  Grants,  Shermans, 
Sheridans,  Farragnts,  and  others,  were 
equal  to  their  positions ;  many  of  them 
have  won  a  lustrous  fame,  and  many 
more  came  out  of  the  fiery  trial  with 
honor,  if  not  glory.  But  the  war  -has 
not  yet  brought  ns,  what  all  great  00- 
oia-  commotions  are  apt  to  bring,  civil- 
ians who  tower  with  Atlantean  eminence 
aboYc  their  fellows.  Those  large-brain- 
ed, large-hearted  men,  who  feel  all  the 
needs  of  an  epoch,  who  discern  all 
its  bearings  and  capabilities,  and  who 
wisely  provide  and  assure  a  glorious  fu- 
ture, do  not  yet  mnke  their  presence 
felt.  Perhaps  they  will  come ;  the  times 
may  be  even  now  laboring  with  their 
birth ;  but  the  unpractised  eye  scans  the 
▼ast  heavens  with  a  yearning  search  and 
finds  them  not.    Our  hope  is  not  dead, 


however,  though  w^  long  for  the  actual 
vision.  We  remember  the  beautiful 
thought  of  our  venerable  laureate,  in 
hU  poem  entitled  the  "  Constellation?," 
where  he  wanders  forth  in  the  ni^ht 
and  misses  the  great  familiar  stars; 
only  the  little  specks  twinkle  where 
once  fiamed  the  beaming  suns  of  fire; 
but  anon,  new  orbs  appear : 

*'Fair  dxistcred  splondon,  with  whoso  raya  the 

^'iffht 
Shan  eloM  her  march  in  glory,  cro  she  Tield 
To  th«  yoimg  Day,  the  great  Earth  tteoped  fai 

dew." 

Thus,  we  live  by  faith  and  not  yet  by 
sight. 

Turning  from  men,  let  us  glance  at 
parties.  They  are,  as  formerly,  two  in 
number — the  Democratic  and  the  Re- 
publican party.  As  they  have  each  a 
past,  and  each  aspires  to  a  future,  we 
feel  more  free  to  speak  of  their  preten- 
sions. We  begin  by  declai  ing  frankly, 
that,  so  fir  as  we  are  able  to  discover 
from  a  pretty  attentive  study  of  their 
symbols,  nMther  of  them  seem?  to  have 
any  definite  or  settled  principle,  and 
neither  is  immaculate  in  its  practice. 

The  Democratic  party  used  to  be  a 
party  of  ideas ;  its  shibboleths  in  tlie  old 
times,  though  it  was  not  always  true 
to  them,  were  equal  riglits  and  impartial 
legislation ;  and  the  predominance  it  ac- 
quired was  won  by  these  words.  All  its 
greater  leaders  professed  and  expounded 
them ;  and  they  made  the  party  dear  to 
the  popular  heart.  The  writings  of  Jef- 
ferson, of  Nathaniel  Hacon,  of  John  Tay- 
lor of  Carolina,  of  Andrew  Jackson,  and 
particularly  of  Silas  Wright,  Samuel 
Young,  Michael  Hoffaian,  and  William 
Leggett  of  the  State  of  New  York,  were 
the  utterances  of  men  sincerely  convinced 
of  the  truth  and  goodness  of  the  demo- 
cratic theory  of  the  S  ate.  In  the  long 
and  exciting  struggle  between  the  mas^^es 
of  the  people  and  the  money-power  of 
banks,  the  leading  Democrats  clung  with 
an  inviucible  tenacity  to  that  conviction, 
and  by  means  of  it  they  were  victoHcms 
in  the  end.  It  secured  them  a  prolonged 
control,  not  only  of  the  General  GoVs-rn- 
mont,  but  of  that  of  nearly  every  State 
in  the  Union. 


598 


PUTNAJC^B  ILLOAZinL 


Hbr, 


Bat  prosperity  wrought  corruption; 
the  sinister  alliances  which  suocess  al- 
ways hrings  with  it,  and   particularly 
the    alliance  of  the    slave-holders   of 
the  South — swift  to  put  themselves  on 
the  stronger  side— caused  a  deflection 
from  the  straight  line  of  duty.     How 
could  they  who  had  marched  to  victory 
under  the  hanner  of  equal  rights,  wave 
its  glorious  folds  in  the  face  of  a  body  of 
men  whose  whole  social  system  was  built 
upon  an  atrocious  denial  of  all  rights 
to  an  entire  race  of  mankind?    How 
could  they  who  had  clamored  for  im- 
partial legislation  uphold  a  legislation 
which  refnseii  to  acknowledge  even  the 
political  existence  of  at  least  one  half  the 
natural  community  ?     It  was  a  painful 
predicament:  a  few  remained  true  to 
principle;  but  the  most  preferred  the 
tortuous  paths   of  jugglery.     In    the 
place  of  Human  Bights  they  inscribed 
upon  their  standard  another  word,  not 
different  in  every  respect,  yet  nut  the 
same, — State  Rights.    Under  a  plausible 
bat  f  illaoioDs  interpretation  of  the  Or- 
ganic Law,  they  erected  these  common- 
wealths, which  are  but  the  coequal  in- 
tegers of  a  Composite  Nation,  into  the 
independent  and  sovereign  parties  to  a 
federal  compact.     There  was  enough 
truth — atid  of  importtmt  truth^n  their 
doctrine  to  mislead  the  simple  mind,  un- 
used to  the  nicer  distinctions  of  political 
hermeneutios.     It  was  not  discovered, 
at  a  moment,  how  tiicy  brought  the 
general  Constitution  into  conflict  with 
the  most  elementary  principles  of  liberty 
and  Justice, — how  they  adroitly  shielded 
an  abuse  which  every  unperverted  mind 
abhorred  by  an  instrument  which  every 
Afnerican  heart  revered.    Thus  for  a 
time  tlioy  were  successful  in  confusing 
popular    intelltgenoe    and    conscience. 
Slavery  triumphed ;  bnt  as  it  is  the  na- 
ture of  all  despotisms  to  proceed  to  ex- 
cess, its  triumph  was  accompanied  by  an 
assertion  of  supremacy  so  dictatorial  and 
arrogant,  that  it  of  itself,  apart  from  its 
nefarious  cause,  provoked  revolt.    A  re- 
action, slow  at  flrst,  but  Fure  and  inevit- 
able as  the  laws  of  God,  gathered  inten- 
sity and  strength  witli  time,  until  the 
amuuldering  fires  burst  into  a  confldgra- 


tion.  War,  the  last  arbiter,  came;  tat 
when  it  came,  it  is  to  be  said  with  sor- 
row and  regret  that,  while  the  vattn  d 
the  Democrats  shouldered  their  gnus  ik 
defence  of  liberty  and  the  Nattooal  Life^ 
many,  far  too  maoj,  of  thei^  leaden^ 
either  sided  with  the  insurgents  organ 
a  cold  shouldeif  to  the  patriots. 

Throughout  this  contest,  and  espedil- 
ly  in  the  appeal  to  armsi  the  oondoet 
of  the  Republican  party  was  as  deaiM 
and  honorable  as  that  of  the  Democrati 
was  vacillating  and  disreputable.  Foim- 
ed  originally,  indeed,  of  the  serious  ind 
thinking  men  of  all  the  older  partiet,  n 
a  protest  against  their  general  sabsarri* 
ence  to  the  Slave-Power,  it  Tnftiiinj««^ 
its  consistency  with  a  greater  puri^  of 
zeal  and  a  more  inflexible  purpose  tbsa 
is  usual  with  political  oombinstiflsa 
Sometimes  it  doubted,  some^mas  ft 
wavered,  sometimes  conspicooos  leadas 
thought  it  possible  to  solace  the  hm^ 
ships  of  the  march  with  the  sweeli  d 
official  bivouacs ;  bat  when  the  btttii 
was  at  length  joined, 

**  They  fought  like  \aa,r9  men  long  »ad  w^ 
They  strewed  the  ground  with  ModeMi  dafaf 

and  they  did  not  desist — in  any  darknoai 
however  black,  in  any  strain  howeTor 
exhausting  and  desperate— until  the 
enemy  had  been  dispersed,  and  an  entira 
race  redeemed  from  slaverj  into  free- 
dom I  That  is  a  transcendent  glory  for 
any  party  to  have  achieved,  at  any  p«iod 
of  the  world's  hbtory.  The  moveoeota 
of  reform  are  commonly  so  slow ;  wnogt 
are  so  inveterate,  strike  sucli  deep  roota 
into  the  soil,  weave  their  branchea 
among  so  many  tender  twigs,  clambtf 
up  and  twine  about  so  many  sheltering 
wallfl^  that  pulling  them  op  at  once  is 
dangerous ;  so  they  can  only  be  lopped 
off  by  degrees.  But  the  hideous  Upsa 
of  slavery  was  literally  deracinated; 
radicalism  was  trne  to  its  meaning ;  the 
very  roots  were  torn  from  the  soil  by 
the  Act  of  Emancipation;  and  subse- 
quently, by  the  Great  Amendments,  all 
the  rootlets  and  little  fibres  that  might 
sprout  again  somewhere  have  beta 
cut  off.  Now,  for  the  first  time  sinos 
the  preamble  to  the  Declaration  of 
Independence^the    Magna   Carta   of 


1870.] 


OUB  POLITIOAL  DSOKNXBA.0Y — ^ITB  OaUSB  AND  BSHBDT. 


509 


the  Repabiio — was  framed,  every  hu- 
xnan  being  in  the  land  may  read  it 
ivithoat  feeling  it  to  be  a  lie,  with  an 
honest  and  Jubilant  consoionaness  that  it 
18  a  truth,  and  the  greatest  of  truths. 

"What  is  to  come  of  so  swift  and  tre- 
nondous  a  change,  tbe  future  will  tell ; 
but  it  is  impossible  to  indulge  in  any 
despondency  in  respect  to  it;  for  we 
should  distrust  the  God  who  made  us, 
and  man,  his  noblest  image,  if  we  could 
suppose  that  an  act  of  Justice  so  grand 
and  signal  could  have  any  other  than 
prosperous  issues — prosperous  beyond 
the  dreams  of  earth,  because  involving 
every  benignity  of  the  sympathetio 
heavens. 

Thus  far,  then,  in  the  questions  that 
led  to  the  war,  and  that  acoompanied 
it,  the  Republicans  occupy  an  indisputa- 
ble vantage-ground ;  they  were  faithful 
to  the  spirit  of  Liberty,  to  which  it  is 
said  some  faults  may  always  be  par- 
doned; they 'have  redeemed  the  nation 
from  its  greatest  blight,  and,  setting  it 
squarely  upon  its  legs,  for  the  first  time 
empowered  it  to  run  the  unfettered  race 
of  freedom  and  progress. 

But  since  the  war  it  would  seem  to 
have  been  difficult  for  either  party 
to  learn  that  the  war  was  over.  Some 
degree  of  agitation  is  to  be  expected  in 
an  ocean  which  the  tempests  have  lash- 
ed into  fury,  even  after  the  storm  is 
past;  the  passions  of  civil  conflict  are 
not  easily  appeased,  and  the  prejudices 
engendered  by  it  are  apt  to  survive  its 
causes.  The  dominant  party,  consequent- 
ly, has  been  dbposed  in  its  legislation  to 
legislate  as  if  for  bitterly  hostile  ene- 
mies, and  not  for  a  vanquished  and  humil- 
iated opponent.  It  has  been  disposed  to 
stretch  the  powers  of  the  Constitution 
to  an  extent  which  actual  war  alone 
would  justify,  and,  annihilating  the  rights 
of  the  States,  resolve  the  central  author- 
ity into  an  oppressive  and  fatal  consol- 
idation. President  Johnson^s  frantic 
methods  of  resisting  this  extravagance 
only  aggravated  tiie  danger ;  headstrong 
as  he  was.  Congress  was  no  less  so ;  and, 
but  for  the  good  sense  of  the  people  in 
electing  a  man  of  discretion  and  mode- 
rate party  sympathies  to  the  Presidency, 


we  should  have  been  drawn  into  the  very 
vortex  of  centralism,  which  is  but  one 
step  removed  ftom  despotism.  The 
''man  on  horseback"  lurks  always  in 
the  shadow  of  huge  concentrations  of 
power. 

All  the  while  the  Democrats  scarce- 
ly ruse  to  the  dignity  of  **  a  consti- 
tutional opposition."  Their  hatred  of 
the  signal  measure  of  the  war  was  so 
blind,  so  violent,  so  undiscriminating,—- 
that  they  have  hardly  served  as  a  make- 
weight upon  the  precipitous  velocity  of 
the  Radicals.  Here  and  there,  one  might 
remark  public  men  and  journalists  suf- 
ficientiy  sagacious  to  discern  that  no 
further  uses  lay  in  a  fierce  hostility  to 
the  elevation  of  the  negro,  and  that  the 
time  had  come  for  other  topics.  But 
many  of  them,  with  a  stubbornness  that 
boded  ill  for  their  future,  were  quite  as 
ignorant  as  the  hot-headed  chie£i  of  the 
other  side,  that  ten  years  of  war  will 
not  go  back,  like  a  measurer's  linei  '*  to 
the  place  of  beginning."  Events  are 
events;  and  the  revolution  of  an  entire 
social  system  may  have  its  episodes  of 
temporary  reaction,  but  will  never  re- 
turn to  the  old  status.  A  dynasty  may 
be  deposed  and  then  recover  its  place ; 
a  form  of  govemmeDt  may  be  changed 
and  then  renewed ;  but  the  transforma- 
tion of  a  whole  society,  like  that  which 
has  token  place  in  the  Southern  country, 
supposes  also  so  complete  a  transforma- 
tion of  opinion,  moral  feeling,  and  all 
the  previous  relations  of  things,  that  it 
can  only  be  accepted  by  wise  men  as 
''an  accomplished  fact" — capable  of 
modification,  but  in  no  large  degree  of 
reversal  The  legislation  by  which  Uni- 
versal Freedom  has  been  secured  and 
fortified  may  be  re?iewed — ^its  excesses 
pruned  and  its  errors  corrected;  but 
the  essential  principles  of  it  will  ever  re- 
main, because  they  are  forever  just. 

Apart  from  the  nudn  issues  growing 
out  of  emancipation,  the  war  has  revived 
or  created  many  questions  in  reference 
to  which  the  attitude  of  our  two  great 
parties  is  by  no  means  fixed.  It  has  left  ns 
an  enormous  debt ;  it  has  left  us  a  deluge 
of  paper-money ;  it  has  left  us  a  com- 
pact and  powerfhl  oiganization  of  bank* 


600 


Putnam's  Maoazikk. 


m, 


ing  capital;  it  has  left  us  a  mesh  of 
financial  expedients;  and  it  has  left  us 
modes  of  taxation  hard  to  characterize, 
and  not  pleasant  to  contemplate.  Where 
do  onr  pai*ties  stand  in  regard  to  these? 
Has  either  of  them  a  definite  policy ;  is 
either  of  them  committed  to  any  certain, 
clear,  consistent  scheme  for  the  extinction 
of  the  national  indebtedness ;  is  either 
of  them  uncompromisingly  for  hard- 
money,  or  for  that  first  principle  of  an 
enlightened  economy,  free-banking;  is 
either  of  them  for  out-and-out  free-trade, 
or  even  for  such  a  tariff  only  as  will 
raise  the  largest  amount  of  revenue  with 
the  least  burden  upon  the  productive 
energies  of  the  people?  Individuals  of 
both  parties  we  find  decided  enough  in 
their  relations  to  these  subjects ;  positive 
and  distinct  utterances  may  be  quoted 
from  prominent  men  of  both  sides ;  but 
parties  themselves  have  scarcely  been 
crystallized  into  form ;  have  scaroely  as- 
sumed a  position  of  friendliness  or  an- 
tagonism on  any  of  these  issues,  momen- 
tous as  they  are.  They  have  not  done 
so,  because  neither  of  them  holds  to  any 
creed  of  general  principles,  which  com- 
pels it  to  a  uniform  and  consistent  prac- 
tice, or  to  any  creed  indeed  which  is 
logically  coherent,  and  inoyitable  in  its 
results  on  conduct  Neither  of  them,  so 
far  as  we  have  been  able  to  learn,  pro- 
fesses any  doctrine  of  the  proper  sphere 
and  function  of  government  distinguish- 
able from  tliat  of  the  other,  or  aims  at 
any  lino  of  policy  which  may  be  regard- 
ed as  more  than  an  expedient  suggested 
by  circumstances,  and  to  be  turned  this 
way  or  that  as  the  prospects  of  mere 
party  sucoess  may  be  adverse  or  propi- 
tious. 

Meanwhile,  as  a  result  of  this  want 
of  fundamental  convictions,  the  practical 
legislation  everywhere,  in  our  municipal 
councils,  in  our  State  Legislatures,  in 
Congress,  is  falling  into  all  manner  of 
disorder  and  vileness.  What  the  New 
York  city  government  is,  is  only  too 
notorious;  its  venality,  its  profligacy, 
its  almost  brigandage,  has  passed  into 
a  proverb :  to  say  that  one  is  an  alderman 
is  fyrima  faeie  to  brand  him  as  a  rogue ; 
a  person  with  any  tolerable  amount  of 


self-respect,  called  by  that  Utle^  wodi 
feel  himself  obliged  to  resent  it  as  alibsl, 
or  to  get  up  tax  afildavit  to  dear  kii 
fame ;  offices  are  camnlated  until  s^ 
scare  clerks  get  mora  salary  than  lb 
President  of  the  United  States;  vhib 
the  leaders  of  **the  Ring^^  a  fewjiin 
ago  needy  emigrants,  now  own  acres  of 
real  estate  in  the  heart  of  the  city,  aid' 
stable  their  yery  horses  in  palaces.  Tht 
taxes  here  are  higher  than  are  the  tans 
of  Paris,  the  most  sumptnona  city  of  thi 
world,  which  has  been  lately  almost  it- 
built  on  a  scale  of  unhe.nrd-of  msgail- 
cence ;  and  yet  for  all  this  tazatioD,  tks 
citizens  receive  worse  than  no  t¥ 
turn ;  the  streets  are  the  dirtiest 
to  be  found  in  any  metropolis ;  the  i 
age  is  the  least  serviceable ;  the  a 
kets  are  the  filthiest ;  and  the  pierii 
wharves  the  most  ricketty  and 
ble  for  their  purposes.  With  the 
of  money  that  is  now  spent,  New  Ysi^ 
with  the  splendid  advantages  of  its  htd 
position  and  circumstances,  shoold  bstki 
cleanest,  the  best-drained,  the  moskesa- 
venient,  and  the  most  beaotifal  eity  ea 
cither  continent,  instead  of  being  ths 
reverse. 

Our  State  Legislatores  are  possibly  not 
quite  so  degraded  as  the  New  Toik 
Common  Council;  and  still,  if  w% 
may  believe  the  reports  that  come  tow 
from  the  new  legislative  bodies  of  ths 
South,  and  many  that  have  been  one- 
lated  for  years  without  contradictioa  in 
regard  to  those  of  New  York,  New  Jw- 
sey,  Pennsylvania,  Ohio,  Indiana,  sad 
others,  they  are  rapidly  on  the  way  to 
the  same  Serbonian  bog.  It  is  ohaigsd 
that  a  considerable  number  of  the  mem- 
bers of  these  bodies  are  always  open 
to  purchase.  We  know,  at  any  rate,  that 
a  certain  sort  of  legislatif>n--4egisladaa 
by  which  Incraitive  franohisca  art 
granted  to  a  select  company  of  individ- 
uals— ^is  always  in  great  favor  with  them; 
when  a  bill  is  introduced,  the  first  qoss- 
tion  is  said  to  be,  *^  Is  there  money  in  it  t " 
and  a  numerous  lobby,  which  lives  at  great 
expense,  and  seems  well  provided  with 
greenbacks,  is  the  inseparable  Inngt 
and  border  of  every  session.  Speoial 
committees  appointed   to-  inqnirs  inte 


1870.] 


Our  Bolitioal  Dkoenbbaot — its  Cause  akd  Remedy. 


601 


abuses,  become  either  black-mailing  or 
white- washing  committees^ — which  is 
understood  to  be  the  same  thing ;  while 
many  of  the  mammoth  railroad  corpora- 
tions, which  hare  new  privilege  J  to 
obtain  or  old  ones  to  enlarge,  set  aside  a 
bribery  fund  for  representatives,  with 
as  mnch  of  a  matter-of-course  regnlarity 
as  merchants  pnt  a  profit-and-Ioss  ac- 
count m  their  ledgers.  In  Horace  Wal- 
pole's  time  in  England,  the  whippers-in  of 
the  ministry  used  to  stand  at  the  doors 
of  the  House  of  Commons  and  hand 
openly  to  members  who  had  voted  in 
support  of  the  govemment  the  various 
guerdons, — gold,  preferments,  commis- 
sions, charters,  titles,  whatever  they 
might  be,^which  were  taken  without 
scruple  and  without  shame.  That  was 
many  years  ago,  and  we  are  yet  not  so 
flagrantly  base  as  that ;  we  have  more 
shame,  though  we  may  have  no 
more  scruple  ;  public  sentiment  is  still 
honest  enough  to  drive  such  transaotfons 
to  private  rooms  or  the  t>rgies  of  the 
hotels;  but  publio  sentiment  is  daily 
growing  less  sensitive;  peculation  is 
not  so  much  a  crime  as  an  adroitness ; 
and  men  unblushingly  hold  up  their 
heads  in  the  community,  nay,  are  court- 
ed in  it  for  their  influence,  who,  if  the 
oommunity  were  strict  to  punish  wicked- 
ness, would  be  indignantly  expelled 
from  all  decent  association,  even  if  the 
Courts  failed  to  send  them  to  Sing-Sing. 
The  Congress,  we  are  glad  to  believe, 
maintains  a  higher  standard  of  worth 
than  the  State  Legislatures  to  which  we 
have  jnst  referred.  One  might  easily 
point  to  a  score  of  names  at  least  which 
do  honor  to  the  selection  of  the  people. 
One  recalls  debates  of  important  ques- 
tions that  were  full  of  a  conscientions, 
prudent,  far-reaching  consideration,  of 
an  evident  anxiety  to  compass  great 
publio  ends.  But  we  recall,  at  the  same 
time,  much  personality,  vulgarism,  super- 
flcia*ner<s,  and  weari«ome  platitude. 
What  is  worse,  we  recall  much  mere 
party  rancor,  mere  squabbles  for  small 
triumphs  and  temporary  successes. 
But  what  is  worst  of  all,  it  is  charged 
that  many  representatives  allow  them- 
selves to  vote  and  speak  for  schemes  of 


legislation  in  which  they  have  a  personal 
interest,  for  schemes  which  propose  to 
build  up  one  class  at  the  expense  of 
another,  whicli  take  for  the  measure  of 
their  fitness,  not  their  rectitude  accord- 
ing to  some  established  principle,  but 
their  expediency  according  to  some 
fluctuating  need. 

What  is  the  difference  between  Smith 
of  the  Senate,  who  hnposes  a  mode  of 
taxation  on  the  country  intended  to 
footer  the  business  of  a  few  of  his  im- 
mediate constituents  and  friends  (him- 
self included),  and  Smith  of  the  Common 
Council,  who  takes  a  share  in  a  plan  for 
poulticing  the  streets  instead  of  paving 
them  f  What  is  the  difference  between 
Jones  of  Washington,  who  votes  money 
into  the  pockets  of  a  class  of  iron-masters 
in  Pennsylvania,  and  some  other  Jones  of 
Kew  York,  who  votes  it  into  the  pock- 
ets of  another  class, — say,  the  street- 
contractors?  If  Congress  may  grant 
away  our  vast  publio  domains,  almost 
without  condition  and  without  price,  to 
great  railroad  corporations,  why  may  not 
a  State  Legislature  grant  a  monopoly  of 
city-streets  to  other  great  corporations, 
without  condition  and  without  price? 
If  these  corporations  inflate  with  wealth 
until  they  are  able  to  stand  at  the  doors 
of  Congress  or  of  the  Legislature,  like 
the  whippers-in  of  Horace  Walpole,  to 
buy  new  franchises,  to  ward  off  restric- 
tions and  inquiry,  to  raise  fares  or  to  re- 
sist taxes,  who  is  to  blame  but  the  authors 
of  them  ?  Or  if  the  Honorable  Mr.  Tom 
abuses  the  franking  privilege  to  procure 
firee  transportation  for  his  wife*s  wardrobe, 
or  covers  with  the  name  of"  contingency  " 
a  petty  theft  of  penknives  and  writing- 
desks,  hardly  worthy  the  ability  of  a 
sneak-ttiief,  can  he  complain  that  Pick  in 
the  Custom  House  takes  a  small  bribe,  or 
that  Harry  of  the  Revenue  Service  hob- 
nobs confidentially  with  the  knights  of 
the  whiskey-tnb  ?  All  these  Ecverul  sorts 
of  plunder  and  pillage  are  fhndamen- 
tally  the  same.  They  all  ufc  the  publio 
means  for  private  advantage;  they  all 
regard  the  Crovemment,  not  as  an  agent 
for  collective  society,  but  as  the  tool 
of  private  cliques ;  they  all  pervert  its 
functions  from  their  proper  sphere  into 


609 


PCTHAJC'S  ILlOAZIHS. 


V^. 


unlawful  ohannels;  they  all  aid  in  bo 
Titiating  its  actioQ  that  politics  is  turned 
into  a  scramble  for  profits  and  spoils,  into 
a  selfish,  mean,  venal  and  corrupting  in- 
trigue, in  which  the  most  brutd  sconn- 
drd  or  the  cunningest  rogue  has  infinite- 
ly more  chanpe  of  succeeding  than  the 
broadest  intellect  or  the  noblest  heart. 

It  will  doubtless  seem  yery  strange  to 
a  man  who  legisUtes  conscientiously  for 
the  encouragement  of  certain  branches 
of  trade,  to  find  himself  classed  with 
the  common  herd  of  peculators  and 
pilferers;  and  personally,  no  doubt, 
the  classification  is  wholly  ui\just  and 
undeserved.  We  intend  thereby  to 
oast  no  reflections  upon  individuals.  We 
speak  of  systems;  as  individual  con- 
duct may  be  redeemed  by  the  fact  that 
one  honestly  supposes  himself  to  be  pnr- 
soing  the  general  good.  But  is  it,  on  that 
account,  any  the  less  true,  that  a  policy 
proceeds  upon  a  false  principle,  which,  if 
carried  out  logically,  justifies  every  fla- 
grant abuse  and  perversion  of  the  powers 
of  government  ?  Here  are  men  who  pro- 
fessedly legislate  on  behalf  of  a  special 
class;  they  declare  that  their  object  is 
to  build  up  a  determinate  interest  by 
taxoi  levied  upon  all  other  interests; 
they  take  money  out  of  the  parses  where 
it  legitimately  belongs  to  transfer  it  to 
other  purses  where  it  would  otherwise 
never  have  gone  ;  they  call  the  act  by  a 
specious  name,  protection,  subvention, 
encouragement  of  industry,  &c ;  but  the 
act  itself  is  spoliation  for  every  man  who 
is  made  to  pay  without  his  consent,  and  of 
subsidy  or  gratuitous  gift  for  every  man 
who  receives  without  rendering  an 
equivalent.  The  act  is  both  an  infringe- 
moDt  of  property  snd  an  invasion  of 
personal  rights.  The  individual  owner  of 
property, — which  represents  his  labor, 
his  skill,  his  economy,  his  reward  for 
services  rendered  society, — has  a  right 
to  dispose  of  it  in  any  harmless  manner 
that  he  pleases.  He  has  as  much  right 
to  its  use  and  enjoyment,  according  to 
his  mode  of  estimating  use  and  ei\|oy- 
ment,  as  he  has  to  think  his  own 
thoughts  or  to  worship  God  in  his  own 
church.  Subject  alone  to  the  dues  which 
the  State  exacts  for  real  services,  his  prop- 


erty is  sacred.  If  any  other  person,  ddNT 
with  or  without  the  oonaent  of  goven- 
ment,  steps  in  to  deprive  him  of  his  &«• 
disposal  of  it,  comp^ing  him  to  go  hait 
or  there  for  what  he  wants  or  hacm, 
he  is  deqtoiled  of  his  poBscmion  mi 
fettered  in  his  freedom. 

Let  us  suppoee  that  no  special  kwi  ia 
regard  to  trade  existed — no  laws  ezMpt 
general  provisions  for  the  equal  seeozitj 
of  all  trades ;  or,  io  other  words,  aa  sa- 
tire liberty  for  every  person  to  punit 
what  avocation  he  liked,  and  to  buy  sod 
sell  the  products  of  it  where  he  could  Hf 
and  sell  to  his  best  advantage.  Afaram^ 
then,  is  in  want  of  an  axe  or  a  plomh, 
and  walks  into  a  shop  where  axes  ssd 
plonks  are  sold;  he  asks  the  pae% 
which  dissatisfies  him  beoanse  of  Usti* 
orbitanoy,  and  he  turns  awaj  to  go  di^ 
where  to  effect  his  purpose.  ^*  No,  nr," 
exclaims  the  merchant,  *^  jou  cannot  gs 
elsewhere ;  you  must  buy  here  or  m^ 
where ! "  and,  calling  his  clerks  and  pi^ 
ters,  threatens  the  ^plioant  with  fi^ 
lenoe  if  he  persists  in  leaving  wiihoata 
parobase  1  That  would  be  clearly  la 
outrage  upon  the  fanner's  liberal 
which,  if  violence  were  oommitted,  (hi 
law  would  rightly  punish.  But  sow, 
suppose  that  the  merchant,  instead  of 
resorting  to  violence,  which  exposes  bia 
to  punishment,  resorts  to  ounning^  whiok 
he  may  conceal ;  suppose  that  in  soom 
way  or  other  he  gets  a  law  passed  that 
no  one  is  to  buy  axes  or  ploughs  except 
at  his  shop  or  at  his  prices :  would  the 
act  be  any  the  less  an  infringement  of 
the  liberty  of  the  buyer,  and,  though  do 
longer  a  legal  wrong,  yet  a  moral  sad 
social  wrong,  which  the  law  may  author- 
ize, but  justice  as  surely  oondemnsf  Or 
again,  suppose  that  a  half-dozen  mer- 
chants contrive  to  get  an  enactment 
from  some  ignorant  or  faoile  Legishitars^ 
that  no  one  shall  buy  the  wares  io  which 
they  deal,  except  on  paying  them  a  pre- 
mium of  thirty,  fifty,  or  a  hondred  per 
centum:  would  any  fair-minded  man 
regard  the  transaction  as  less  dishon- 
est or  dishonorable  because  it  chaaced 
to  be  sanctioned  by  a  statute!  In- 
deed, is  not  either  of  the  latter  proceed- 
ings a  more  monstrous  offence  than  the 


1870.] 


Cub  ^outioal  Dkosnxbaot — ^its  Oaubb  and  Bkiucdt. 


603 


firaty  for  the  verj  reason  that  it  is  done 
under  the  guise  of  law  ?    Assnredlj ;  for 
it  perverts  that  which  is  meant  to  be  the 
palladium  of  all  into  an  instrument  of 
extortion  and  benefit  for  the  few;   it 
makes  that  an  accomplice  in  crime  which 
OQght  to  chastise  all  crime.    What  is  the 
fandamental  use  of  the  law  ?    What  are 
its  supreme  objects  ?     What  do  all  men 
demand  at  its  hands?    The  equal  pror 
teotion  of  all — security  for  their  rights, 
defence  against  uigust  encroachments. 
When  an  individual,  therefore,  or  a  class 
of  Individuals,  not  only  invades  the  per- 
aon   and    property   of  others,  but   is 
adroit  enough  to  shelter  the  inyasipn 
under  the  very  shield  which  ought  to  be 
the  universal  egis, — it  adds  a  sort  of 
sacrilege  to  spoliation,  and  wrongs  the 
.oommunity  as  well  as  the  actual  yictims. 
In  this  view,  in  fact,  it  matters  little 
whether    the  immediate    purposes    of 
those  who  solicit  special  legislation  be 
selfish  or  not;  they  may  be  even  disin- 
terested and  philanthropic;  they  may 
design  to  bring  about  results  in  them- 
selves beneficent ;  but  if  they  can  be  ac- 
complished only  by  means  of  an  agency 
instituted  for  a  wholly  different  purpose, 
by  forcing  the  community  into  a  false 
position,  by  a  procedure  which,  if  imi- 
tated, must  lead  to  the  most  frightful 
abuses ;  in  a  word,  if  to  get  at  them  a 
fandamental  and  dangerous  departure 
from  sound  principle  be  requisite,  then  it 
is  better  to  forego  them  or  reach  them 
in  some  other  way.    A  bad  method  is 
none  the  less  bad  because  the  motives  ok 
those  who  resort  to  it  are  pure.     More 
benignant  designs  never  actuated  men 
than  those  imputed  to  certain  schools  of 
socialists  during  the  French  revolution 
of  1848 :  they  wanted  every  man  to  have 
work ;  they  wanted  every  man  to  have 
property ;  they  wanted  every  man  to  have 
credit:  in  a  word,  they  wanted  every 
man  to  be  free  from  need,  to  be  able  to 
earn  his  own  living,  and  to  ei^joy  a  rea- 
sonable degree  of  comfort  and  happi- 
ness.   Who  does  not   want   all   these 
things  for  himself  and  his  fellows  t  But, 
then,  the  socialists  wanted,  besidesi  that 
the  State  should  guarantee  work,  pro- 
perty, credit  to  every  man  without  re- 


gard to  his  ability  or  deserts, — which 
was  not  only  flatly  impossible  but  thor- 
oughly unjust  and  mischievous.  So,  in 
our  own  country  and  times,  there  are 
many  good  souls  who  would  like  the 
Government  to  build  their  churches,  to 
endow  high-schools  and  colleges,  to  pat- 
ronize the  arts,  to  support  inventors  and 
scientific  men,  to  run  railroads  across  the 
continent  and  steamships  on  the  high 
seas,  and  to  take  in  hand  a  thousand 
other  laudable  schemes  and  projects. 
But  these  kind  souls  do  not  stop  to 
think  that  not  one  of.  these  things  can 
be  done  without  exacting  money  from 
somebody^s  reluctant  pocket,  which  is 
an  invasion  of  property ;  that  not  one  of 
them  pan  be  done  without  multiplying 
prodigiously  the  number  of  offioe- 
^  holders,  which  is  a  dangerous  extrava- 
gance; that  not  one  of  them  can  be 
done  without  diverting  the  government 
from  its  proper  business,  as  the  universal 
organ,  which  is  usurpation;  and  that, 
while  the  power  and  patronage  of  the 
State  were  thus  swelling  into  congestion, 
the  self-reliance,  the  sagacity,  and  the 
enterprise  of  individuals  would  be  im- 
poverished and  paralyzed  to  a  propor- 
tionate extent,  which  is  suicidal. 

These  good  souls,  moreover,  in  the  ar- 
dor of  their  zeal  for  objects  desirable  in 
themselves,  forget  that  they  set  an  ex- 
ample for  others  whose  objects  are  not 
so  desirable.  As  soon  as  it  is  seen  or 
understood  that  government  is  not  the 
organ  of  universal  but  the  tool  of 
private  ends,  swarms  of  eager  clam- 
orers  and  expectants  gather  about  its 
doors,  to  solicit,  to  intrigue,  and  to  fight 
for  its  fftvors.  The  State  becomes,  then, 
in  the  common  apprehension,  a  sort  of 
inexhaustible  fount,  '^  which  has  bread 
for  all  mouths,  labor  for  all  hands,  capital 
for  all  enterprises,  credit  for  all  projects, 
oil  for  all  wounds,  balm  for  all  sorrows, 
counsels  for  all  perplexities,  solutions  for 
all  doubts,  truths  for  all  intelligences, 
distractions  for  all  fatigues, — milk  for  in- 
fSancy  and  wine  for  old  age  :^— which 
may  provide  for  all  our  wants,  anticipate 
all  our  desires,  satisfy  all  our  curiosities, 
correct  all  our  errors  and  faults,  and 
dispense  us  evermore  from  the  use  of  our 


604 


PimrAif^s  Maoazins. 


PliT. 


own  foresight,  pradence,  Bagacity,  ex- 
perience, order,  economy,  temperance, 
and  activity." 

Of  conrse  all  these  needs  and  onpid- 
ities,  some  natural,  others  artificial  and 
stimulated,  cannot  be  gratified ;  not  the 
ten  thousandth  part  of  them  perhaps; 
but  every  body  will  like  to  &hare  in 
the  control  of  a  Power  from  which  so 
much  is  sought,  and  by  which,  in  any 
event,  so  much  is  done.  Every 
"Interest"  and  every  shade  of  an  "in- 
terest," bad  as  well  as  good, — the  bad 
indeed  more  than  the  good, — ^becomes 
insatiate  and  strenuous  in  its  demands : 
each  jostles  and  combats  the  others; 
Jealoui-ies,  disputes,  struggles,  and  strifes 
ensue ;  and  upon  these  follow  intrigues 
and  conspiracies,  frauds  and  corruptions. 
Thence  the  formation  of  party  "  Rings," 
the  collusions  of  bad  men — of  vulgar,  ra- 
paciou$i,  and  violent  men  who  shoulder 
off  the  better  sort ;  thence  the  reign  of 
tricksters  and  thieves  in  legislative  bod- 
ies, who  sell  more  or  less  openly  the  pat- 
ronage and  offices  of  the  State  to  the 
highest  bidder  as  the  Roman  purple 
was  Fold  by  the  Pretorians;  thence 
confusion  and  anarchy  of  opinion  as  to 
the  very  purposes  of  the  State, — a  con- 
fusion, an  anarchy  which  does  not  con- 
fine itself  to  opinion,  but  embroiling  irsf  If 
more  and  more,  passes  over  info  action, 
when  the  conflict  of  anthorities  or  the 
ntter  extinction  of  all  authoricv  lets  Ioo*ie 
the  fiends  of  civil  war.  Behold  what  a 
fiame  a  little  spark  mny  kindle ;  behold 
what  a  monstrons  vegetation  mny  grow 
from  a  single  germ;  behold  how  danger- 
ous the  smallest  seed  of  evil,  when  it  is 
permitted  to  sprout  and  spread  like  a 
rank  weed  in  the  mould. 

In  the  foregoing  remarks  we  believe 
that  we  have  tonched  the  very  secret 
of  our  political  condition — the  very  source 
of  thnt  political  degeneracy  wealldeplore. 
No  party  conceives  any  longer  of  tiie4>r- 
igin,  pupose,  liu.irs,  duties  of  the  State, 
in  the  light  of  sound  theory,  or  of  solid 
scientific  deduction.  All  parties  have 
come  to  regJird  the  higliest  and  holiest 
function  of  society,  that  cvf  governing  it- 
self,—the  function  in  which  human 
agency  most  nearly  approaches  the  di- 


vine,— not  as  an  exercise  of  the  eoDeetifv 
Reason  and  Conscience,  bat  as  a  mn 
calculation  of  private  and  oonfedenli 
interests.  Government  is  not  the  appB- 
cation  of  law  to  the  defence  of  naiTeral 
Justice,  but  the  perversion  of  it  to  tfct 
promotion  of  nniversal  chicanery,  htpt- 
lation  18  not  the  exertion  of  the  foreerf  • 
the  whole  to  defeat  and  pnubh  wrong, 
but  the  exertion  of  that  force  to  bdb 
and  dethrone  right.  Politics  is  not  t 
science;  it  is  not  statesmanship;  itiiMt 
the  use  of  a  general  means  fbr  gnenl 
ends,  in  which  character  it  is  one  of  lie 
noble^  as  it  is  one  of  the  asefniest  if 
human  pursuits ;  but  it  is  a  low  pieetrf 
attorney  -practice,  a  'straggle  of  rival  «- 
pidities,  a  mercantile  and  mercliaotiblf 
transaction, — a  debising  ancT'  roisiisnkli 
contrivance  of  canning  and  8e!fi9)jii0a' 
There  we  find  the  cause  of  our  nuniftU 
evils,  and  there  alone  we  expect  to  fill 
the  means  of  restoration. 

Ot  insider  for  a  moment  what  the  mj^ 
terioiis  entity  which  we  call  Thx  Stah 
practically  is  I  U  is  the  whole  force  of 
a  nation  organized  into  an  nltimate  and 
paramount  tiuthority .  Ir  dorainntea eveiy 
individual  and  its  decisions  in  regard  te 
him  are  finaL  What  avail  for  an  ia^- 
vidual  to  re^^ist  its  decrees?  ir  c^n  croik 
him  as  Behemoth  crashes  the  spiresi  of 
the  grass.  Laying  hold  of  the  individo- 
al  as  sfK)n  as  he  is  bom,  the  State  claims 
some  sort  c  f  jurisdiction  over  him  to  ths 
end  of  his  days.  He  is  its  ward  or  its 
subject.  Hi»  status  is  determined  byit,— 
his  family  ties,  his  rights  and  duties,  ereo 
his  life.  The  very  fruit  of  his  loins,— 
the  dearest  and  sweetest  objects  of  hi:*  af- 
fections, it  may  tear  from  him,  to  t»  mit 
into  armies  to  linger  out  years  of  priv»» 
tion  and  eufiering  in  prisons,  or  to  die  of 
wounds  on  the  battle-field.  How  impor- 
trnt,  thvn,  seeing  the  tremendous  scops 
of  this  Power,  even  in  its  most  ristricted 
fonn,f  hat  the  exercise  of  ]tshoa!dbe  pre- 
scribed to  certain,  definite,  m.nnageah^ 
and  s-tlutary  ends?  H'>w  importani  that 
we  should  all  know,  aid  ever  keep  clearly 
in  mind,  its  proper  sp!  ere  and  limira- 
tionsf  Is  there,  in  truth,  in  the  whole 
range  of  pliilosophio  discussion,  afij 
question  so  vital  and  momentous  as  that 


1870.] 


Our  Political  Dsqbns&iot — itb  GArsE  and  Bsmedt. 


605 


irhich  relates  to  the  proper  objects  of  the 
political  fiinctioD  ? 

That  question  we  Iiope  to  consider, 
irith  some  degree  of  minuteness  and  phi- 
losophic precision,  hereafter;  but  at 
present  we  have  only  space  for  a  few 
suggestions.  Two  poiuts  are  evident: 
first,  that  it  cannot  be  an  object  of  the 
State  to  accomplish  purposes  which 
individuHls  may  echieve  fur  thetnselves, 
— for,  in  that  case,  its  interference  woald 
be  iniptrrtinent  and  useless.  Nor,  sec- 
ondly, can  it  bo  an  object  of  the  State  to 
annihilate  the  agency  of  individuids  alto- 
gether,— in  which  case  it  would  be  worse 
than  despotic,  it  would  be  destructive — 
destructive  of  society  which  is  composed 
of  individuals,  and  destructive  of  itself 
as  an  agent  of  society.  Its  end,  then, 
xnnst  be  something  which  individnals 
cannot  accomjdish  for  themselves,  and 
which,  when  it  is  accomplished,  tends 
not  to  destroy  but  to  further  the  activ- 
ity of  individuals.  Being,  we  repeat, 
the  organ,  the  representative,  the  su- 
preme authority,  the  united  force,  of  the 
whole  of  society,  the  object  of  its  action 
must  be  something  commensurate  with 
the  whole  of  society,  sometiiing  ei«ential 
to  it  as  a  whole,  and  essential  to  all  its 
component  parts. 

Now,  the  only  thing  which  answers 
to  these  conditions  is  Universal 
Security,  or  the  unmolested  enjoyment, 
by  every  person,  of  his  Life,  of  his  free, 
spontaneous  activities,  and  of  the 
results  of  those  activities.  Individnals 
cannot  procure  this  for  themselves  by 
their  own  unaided  exertions;  for  the 
▼ery  attempt  to  procure  it  Is  the  begin- 
ning of  conflict  and  disorder.  It  is  pos- 
sible only  to  a  supreme  civic  organiza- 
tion, to  nn  organization  of  the  force  of 
the  whole,  which  shall  yet  be  compati- 
ble with  the  liberties  of  ulL  Without 
such  collective  action  there  is  anarchy ; 


with  too  much  of  it  there  is  despotism ; 
but  with  just  enough  of  it  to  re^^train 
the  encroachments  of  persons  upon  each 
other,  to  counternct  what  the  Greeks 
called  the  ir\fovf(ia  of  the  individual, 
the  tendency  to  transgress  his  appro- 
priate limits,  there  is  that  happy  equi- 
librium which  alone  is  government. 

The  State,  therefore,  in  its  primary  and 
essential  character,  is  a  juridical  institu- 
tion. It  is  not  economical,  or  a  creator 
and  purveyor  of  wealth ;  it  is  not  benefi- 
ciary, or  a  dispenser  of  charity ;  it  is  not 
religious,  or  a  teacher  of  dogma;  but  it 
is  equitable,  or  the  administrator  of  Jus- 
tice. The  main  thing  it  has  to  do  is  to  de- 
fend and  secure  every  man  from  every 
other  man,  that  the  noble  faculties  with 
which  God  has  endowed  us  all  may  find 
their  fullest,  freest,  and  most  harmonious 
development.  More  than  that  cometh  of 
evil  and  gooth  to  evil.  Justice  is  clear, 
defined,  measurable ;  it  is  never  exces* 
sive ;  it  is  never  oppressive ;  it  is  never 
^subversive ;  it  is  orderly,  it  is  peaceful, 
it  is  benignant ;  it  is  the  friend  of  every 
virtue  and  grace  of  life,  the  pledge  of 
every  progress ;  "  Us  voice,"  as  Hooker 
says,  in  a  memorable  passage,  **  the  har- 
mony of  the  worlds,  and  its  home  the 
bosom  of  God." 

When  either  of  our  parties  shall  return 
to  this  true  and  simple  idea  of  the  State, 
or  when  some  new  party,  composed  of 
the  fre-^h  young  blood  of  the  nation,  of 
its  yet  generous  and  unperverted  youth, 
shall  take  it  up,  the  rainbow  of  Hope 
will  appear  upon  the  clouds  which  now 
shut  out  the  heavens.  But  so  long  as 
we  shall  continue  to  regard  the  State  as 
the  mere  instrument  of  our  greeds,  our 
difficulties  will  increase;  the  clouds  will 
thicken  and  the  storm  grow  mad  apace, 
until  the  tempest  breaks  upon  us  in  a 
whirlwind  of  wrath  and  fury. 


«0« 


PuTVAM'f  MAOAQinL 


Piif. 


A  FRENCH  OHlTEAU  AND  ITB  DEPENDENCIES. 


Thb  Chilteau  (to  which  the  Basse-Cour 
is  fitting  antechamber,  though  not  intend- 
ed as  such  originally),  let  me  premise,  be- 
longs to  the  Nioolai  family.  The  pres- 
ent owner,  Count  Nicolai,  now  an  old 
man  of  eighty,  disgusted  by  the  Conp 
d^£tat,  banished  himself  from  France 
and  his  paternal  estate,  and  has  since 
lived  in  Switzerland.  It  has  not  been 
occupied,  except  for  a  short  interval,  for 
forty  years ;  with  its  park  and  surround- 
ings, which  are  of  great  extent  and  most 
beautifully  wooded,  it  has  been  cared  for 
by  dependants,  who  have  simply  trted 
the '^aissez  faire"  and  ^Maissez  aller" 
system  as  being  quite  as  profitable  to 
tliemselves  and  much  less  fatiguing,  es- 
pecially as  the  proprietor  has  already 
more  worldly  goods  than  he  can  use 
or  eryoy  himself.  We  certainly 
owe  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  this 
fortunate  combination  of  what  at  first 
Bight  appear  to  be  adverse  circumstances 
(and  even  to  Louis  Napoleon  himself,  for 
whose  **  raison  d*6tre  ^*  one  is  thankful 
to  have  the  slightest  proof) ;  for  without 
being  "  abim6e,"  as  the  French  so  elo- 
qnently  express  it,  the  whole  place,  orig- 
inally very  tastefully  laid  out  and  grow- 
ing out  of  the  tastes  and  needs  of  cul- 
tured nobility,  has  the  added  charm  of 
a  sadness,  a  certain  tender,  pensive 
beauty,  not  to  say  desolation,  something 
which  recalls  the  past,  and  yet  reveals  it 
as  past  recall,  hanging  over  it,  and  which 
Time  and  Nature,  ever  busy  with  their 
arts,  are  hourly  vying  with  each  other 
to  heighten  and  develop. 

The  buildings,  forming  one  continuous 
side  of  the  Basse-Cour,  are  composed  of 
spacious  granaries,  barns,  and  stables, 
with  apparently  some  features  of  domes- 
tic architecture  in  the  dormer  windows, 
in  a  portion  of  the  roof,  which  with  the 
stairs  have  fallen  into  picturesque  decay. 
From  these  feudal,  buttressed  walls,  we 
momently  expected  to  see  the  richly-ca- 


parisoned charger  iasae^  led  bj  the  it- 
tainer,  ready  for  his  ohivalrooa  lord,  w 
eloquently  did  this  pile  of  wettto> 
stained,  lichen-covered  stone,  soriehaai 
varied  in  color,  with  bite  of  verdim 
cropping  out  here  and  there  from  endi 
and  crevices,  tell  as  the  story  of  theptil 
in  its  half-ruined  architectore.  The  don 
of  the  broad,  deep-roofed  barn  stood 
open,  and  a  peasant  was  beating  thegniii 
with  the  old-time  flail.  A  heap  of  goIdM 
straw  lay  piled  up  outside.  Wetooktho 
path  toward  the  cb^teao,  which  M 
across  a  brook,  pushed  a  low  woodii 
gate  which  stood  igar,  and  fbond  o«> 
selves  under  what  formed  the  oppoatt 
side  of  the  Basse-Oour,  which,  ho  went; 
I,  lost  in  wonder  and  admiratioD,  ooold 
only  compare  to  a  vast  aisle  in  somemif- 
nificent  ideal  cathedral,  a  place  in  whiok 
the  Druids  might  have  worshipped,  if 
they  had  combined  more  sunshine  sad 
cheerfulness  in  their  religion  than  tbiu 
have  had  the  reputation  for.  Ilere  aro 
mighty  columns  of  the  tronks  of  8yoi> 
mores  standing  erect  ninety  feet,  ranged 
a  double  row  for  some  hundreds  of  feoCi 
and  almost  ten  feet  asunder,  measnriqg 
in  girth  at  the  base  at  least  eight  feet 
These  columns  had  mighty  arms,  whidi 
descending  from  aloft  touched  the  grunnd 
at  each  duter  side  of  the  aisle  in  most 
graceful  sweep  and  curve,  forming  a  sup- 
port for  the  largesse  of  Nature,  who  had 
rippled  down  over  these  argent-colored 
arms  an  ever-changing  green  and  golden 
drapery  of  leaves,  through  which  the 
sunshine  pouring  its  full  flood  of  amber 
made  the  rich,  dark  ivy,  clambering  up 
the  massive  stalwart  columns  to  the 
leafy  crest  above,  stand  out  as  sculpture 
on  their  mottled,  satin  stems.  The  earth 
beneath  was  bruideredall  over  with  ten- 
der velvety  green  of  ivy,  not  content 
with  embracing  and  clothing  these  lofty 
giants  so  worthy  of  its  love,  but  wander- 
ing off  in  mere  wantonness  to  lavish  it- 


1870.] 


A  Fbbkoh  OhItbau  ahd  its  Dspbndbnoiss. 


m 


self  on  all  withia  its  rieach ;  the  little 
stream  anderoeath  on  one  side  panned 
its  lowlj  way  mid  all  this  magnificence 
quite  as  unconscious  as  we  humans  often 
are  of  the  heaven  above  us.  This  was 
indeed  a  fitting  [Jace  for  worship  I  and 
this  indeed  was  **  la  belle  France  !^' 

We  lingered — how  could  we  go  ?  but  an 
artist  beckoned  us  forward,  and  stepping 
out  again  under  the  broad  bine  dome, 
walked  on  to  the  chAteau  which  was  but  a 
stone's  throw  Arom  the  avenne,  and  stood 
before  its  simple  beauty.  It  is  a  longi- 
tudinal pile  of  whitish-gray  stone  with 
Hansard  roof,  jnultitudinous  windows, 
but  little  if  any  decoration  or  sculptured 
ornament,  facings  of  red  brick,  and  the 
main  entrance  as  simple  and  unpreten- 
tious as  a  modem  street-door  in  our 
ordinary  houses,  and  raised  bat  a  step 
from  the  ground.  The  house  stands 
at  the  further  end  of  a  level  parallelo- 
gram, which  is  surrounded  by  a  moat 
some  thirty  or  fifty  feet  wide  filled 
with  water,  whose  sides  of  massive  ma- 
sonry with  sculptured  griffins  and  other 
monsters*  heads  for  the  admission  of 
water,  now  green  and  mossy  with  time, 
are  made  more  picturesque  also  by  a 
turf-bordered  brink,  while  below  water- 
plants  of  the  most  tender  green  and  del- 
icate livery  of  foliage  abound,  and  fish 
of  many  rainbow-hues  are  sporting 
through  their  many  shadowy  mazes. 
Hie  pretty  open-work  iron  gate  turned 
easily  on  its  hinges  as  we  crossed  the 
simple  bridge  with  low  stone  balustrade, 
the  porter  and  superintendent  came  for- 
ward to  receive  us,  and  as  we  talked 
I  was  transported  back  many  a  year 
by  this  scene  to  my  girlhood's  theatre- 
going  days,  and  recognized  in  the  little 
dapper,  handsome  French  jockey  so 
jauntily  and  becomingly  costamed,  the 
•'Postilion  of  Lonjumeau"  of  the  old 
Niblo  times.  He  gave  us  permission  to 
wander  at  onr  leisure. 

In  front  of  the  house  was  a  square  of 
turf  divided  in  the  centre,  and  bordered 
on  each  side  by  walks  and  low  fiowering 
plants.  The  kitohen,  offices,  and  depend- 
ants' rooms  adjoin  the  chateau  on  tbe 
right,  extending  the  length  of  the  paral- 
lelogram, terminated*  by  a  half-rained 


square  building,  which  was  the  theatre, 
and  matched  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
gate  by  its  counterpart  the  porter's  lodge. 
How  compact  this  arrangement  I  which, 
though  but  a  pale  refiex  of  the  feudal  past, 
had  its  defensive  sentiment  without  its 
warlike  air,  for  tbe  moat  isolated  as  well 
as  beautified  the  home.  Tbe  internal  ar- 
rangements consist  of  a  large  hall  opening 
at  the  back  upon  a  paved  walk  bordered 
by  shrubbery  to  the  moat,  on  the  oppo- 
site of  which  rises  a  background  of  tall 
foliage,  tangled,  wild,  exuberant,  reflected 
in  the  grassy  surface  beneath ;  the  stair- 
case ascends  from  tbis  low,  squnre  hall 
into  large  reception,  drawing,  and  dining 
rooms,  all  bare  in  their  simplicity,  the 
furniture  having  all  been  removed ;  the 
windows  were  ample,  and  looked  out  on 
the  green  turf  in  front;  the  eye,  tempted 
across  the  moat  to  the  great  sycamore 
aisles  on  each  side  of  the  velvety  turf 
which  rolled  out  its  green  carpet  between 
them  to  the  main  gate  and  entrance  from 
the  high  road,  took  in  at  a  glance  also 
their  yellow  draperies  waving  in  the  ten- 
der autumn  sunlight  The  upper  rooms 
being  bedrooms  are  all  at  the  back  of 
the  house ;  a  long  corridor  ran  the  length 
of  the  house  in  front,  from  which  opened 
little  passages,  on  each  side  of  which 
was  a  room  for  the  valet  or  femrae  de 
chambre  of  the  occupant  of  the  bed- 
room at  the  end,  as  each  guest,  as  well 
as  member  of  the  family,  had  his  own 
servant,  who  was  always  on  hand,  day 
and  night.  The  comfort  and  conven- 
ience of  this  is  obvious.  Many  of  these 
rooms,  especially  those  of  Monsieur  and 
Madame,  looked  as  if  tliey  might  have 
been  lately  occupied,  for  the  furniture 
and  appointments  were  still  there,  just 
as  they  had  been  left  years  before  ;  little 
cabinet  pictures  of  favorite  children  in 
pastel  were  on  the  walls  of  the  mother's 
bedroom,  and  there  was  an  indefinable 
air  of  tender  womanly  refinement  abont 
the  room  that  moistened  our  eyes,  when 
we  thought  of  the  cruel  bereavements 
and  sad  banishments  that  these  walls  had 
witnessed,  for  in  the  Revolution  of  '89 
both  father  and  son  were  beheaded  on 
the  scaffold. 
Some  of  the  upper  rooms  were  hung 


608 


PUTNAH^S  MaOAZIHX. 


Pin, 


with  curioasly-crabroldered,  tambonrecl, 
wbite  sntin  tapestrj;  an  old  spinnet 
stood  in  a  corner ;  one  room  was  piled, 
nearly  to  the  ezolnsion  of  light  from  the 
windows,  with  huge  tomes  in  leather 
binding,  redolent  of  black-letter  and 
parchment,  and  tempting  our  bibliopole 
to  spend  his  life  in  poring  over  them; 
bat  tlie  air  and  aspect  of  the  house  here 
was  mnsty,  cold,  dreary,  recalling  vividly 
such  unwholesome  productions  as  Mrs. 
Radcllff's  romances,  "The  Mysteries  of 
Udolpho,"  etc.,  and  I  was  glad  to  escape 
into  the  welcoming  sunshine  without. 
The  park  we  could  not  resist  though  it 
WAS  late,  and  its  shadowy  recesses,  so 
tempting  to  the  imagination,  enamored 
with  "  the  forms  of  things  unknown," 
lured  us  on,  and,  as  we  penetrated,  made 
us  first  acquainted  with  the  nymphs  and 
dryads  of  the  poets,  who  have  not 
yet  followed  the  tide  of  emigration  to 

America. 

The  luxuriant  beauty,  grace,  and  lavish 
growth  of  the  ivy  here,  must  be  seen  to 
be  appreciated ;  it  festoons  itself  from 
tree  to  tree,  and  indeed  *^a  rare  old 
plant  is  the  ivy  green  I "  more  lovely  in 
France  than  even  in  England,  for  the 
persistent  humidity  of  the  island,  though 
enhancing  its  growth  and  vivid  color, 
often  allies  it  with  images  of  damp  and 
mould,  and  churchyard  melancholy, 
which  the  sunshine  of  "  la  belle  France  " 
dispels.  Oh  I  that  the  climate  of  our 
Northern  States  would  ever  allow  us  to 
perfect  it!  In  some  open  spots  in  the 
fiirest  it  covers  the  ground  and  takes  a 
lustrous  metallic  green,  suggesting  super- 
natural fancies  which  people  all  these 
sylvan  shades  with  elfin  groups,  serving 
the  fairy  queen  and  "  seeking  dewdrops 
here  "  to  *'  hang  a  pearl  in  every  cow- 
slip's ear.'' 

In  the  more  secluded  depths  of  these 
wooded  glades  were  stone  grottoe**,  now 
vacant,  in  which  were  remnants  of  former 
shrines  tut  in  stone,  half-broken  sculp- 
ture J  bit",  ornaments  lovingly  clasped 
by  the  little  pointed  leaved  fingers  of  the 
ivy  which   hugs  so  caressingly  every 


thing  within  ito  reach,  and  recalli  n 
many  poetic  images.  Shakespeare  niikii 
^'Titania"  marmur  in  her  "mid^ 
tage  "— 

**  So  doih  the  woodbine  tho  swwt  hoaijwiMi 
OoDtly  entirist ;  the  female  Itt  io 
Earlngv  the  barky  ilnfrers  of  the  etaB. 
Ob,  how  I  lore  thee  I  how  I  dot«  on  Am!* 

Further  on  wo  take  a  torn,  and  crat- 
ing the  babbling  stream  "hj  the  dainM 
little  moss-covered,  relTCtj,  greea  ai^ 
that  ever  spanned  a  brook  in  faiiy-lia^ 
follow  iu  course,  and    behold  l^vkl 
are  these  brilliant-hued  heaps  lying  ii 
such  profusion  by  the  side  of  the  wim* 
press?     The  vintage  i^  over  sod  thi 
doors  of  the  wiae-press  are  doeed,  lit 
the  beet-root  is  now  ripe,  and  in  ikm 
rich,    deep-toned,  varioosIj-tiDtsd  m- 
phorss  of  Kature's  own  modelling,  ilt 
has  bottled  up  the  lucent  sweetneMtkt 
also  helps  to  **  make  glad  the  heart  if 
man."    We  meet  loaded   wains,  gfcK^ 
ponderous,  high-piled   carts  drawn  kf 
theshaggy-maned,  blowzy-headed  hono^ 
lumbering  on  the  highways,  bringiogtb 
crop  to  the  sugar-hooses.      Seated  \j 
the  roadside  to  rest,  and  looking  dofwa 
the  quaintly -bordered  village  lane,  hig^ 
walled  and  narrow,   outside   the  paik 
gate  we  spied  an  aged  beldame  alowlj 
and  tiresomely  making  her  way  in  vhiti 
cap  and  sabots,  cane  in  hand.    She  wai 
bent  nearly  double  with   age;   as  dis 
came  up,  with  the  instinct  of  her  dtsi 
she  scented  her  prey,  and  mumbled  oat 
in  execrable  patoUy  with  extended  hand, 
her  petition  for  a  few  sons.     I  rentarsd 
to  ask  her  age ;  she  looked  up  archly 
with  her  almost  mummied  featnres,  and 
said,    *' Seize  I"    ("sixteen"),    paused, 
then  murmuring,  "mais,  soixante  dix  en- 
core "  ("  but  add  seventy  more"),  pocket- 
ed her  sous,  chattered    on   about   the 
*^  grande    compagnie  "    at  the  chAteau, 
and  **  le  beau  monde  il  y  avait,"  regard- 
less of  the  lap!^e  of  time ;  then  shakioj; 
her    head  sadly,    passed    on    aatiafied. 
We  too  were  satisfied  to  await  another 
day  for  further  explorations  of  ths  chan- 
mitres  as  well  as  chAteaox  of  "  la  belle 
France." 


1870.] 


Editobial  Notbs. 


609 


EDITORIAL  NOTES. 


OOLOHIAL  LirBKATUKB. 


It  was  once  the  happy  dream  of  many 
of  U8,  interested  in  the  growth  of  a 
sound  nationality,  that  we  were  des- 
tined to  have  here,  some  day,  a  vig- 
orous national  literature.  But  the  ap- 
pearances are,  jast  now,  that  the  dr§am 
is  to  remain  a  dream.  We  seem  to  be 
more  than  ever  before  dependent  for 
our  reading  upon  foreign  sources,  and 
especially  English.  We  are  not  aware 
that  oar  publishers  reprint  more  English 
books  than  before,  certainly  it  is  not  less ; 
but  in  periodical  literature  we  have  be- 
come mere  echoes.  All  the  foreign  quar- 
terlies are  regularly  reproduced  as  they 
have  been;  four  of  the  principal 
monthly  magazines  resort  to  noted  Eng- 
lish authors  for  their  main  attractions ; 
four  of  our  foremost  popular  illustrated 
weeklies  are  little  more  than  copies,  as  to 
their  pictures,  of  the  foreign  illustrated 
weeklies;  and  two  if  not  three  of  our 
daily  journals  are  chiefly  edited  by  men 
from  abroad. 

We  do  not  object  to  this ;  we  hold  that 
our  people  have  a  right  to  go  for  their 
wares  of  all  sorts  where  they  think  they 
get  them  best ;  but  we  do  not  regard  it  as 
creditable  to  our  native  writers.  Why 
do  they  allow  themselves  to  be  super- 
seded in  this  way  ?  Why  must  editors 
apply  to  Mr.  Dickens,  or  Mr.  Trollope, 
or  Mr.  Charles  Beade,  for  serial  sto- 
ries? Why  must  they  get  essays  and 
criticisms  and  sometimes  poetry  from  re- 
mote London,  and  not  from  Boston, 
Philadelphia,  or  New  York  ?  There  are 
two  reasons,  as  we  conceive :  the  first 
is,  that  the  excessive  developments  of 
practical  life  here  absorb  so  much  of 
the  best  intellect  of  the  nation.  No 
man  will  devote  his  life  to  writing  at 
five  dollars  or  even  forty  dollars  a  page, 
when  by  becoming  an  engineer,  or  a  law- 
'  yer,  or  a  broker,  he  can  make  his  ten 
thousand  dollars  a-year  with  fnr  more 

vol*  V. — 40 


ease.  But  a  second  reason  is,  that  when 
our  intellect  does  take  to  writing,  it  does 
not  write  out  of  the  fulness  of  the  na- 
tional life,  hot  on  traditionary  themes 
and  in  a  traditionary  way.  We  only  at- 
tempt  to  do  over  again  what  has  been 
very  well  done  before.  We  strive  to  be 
Addisons  or  Goldsmiths,  or  Dickenses  or 
Macaulays  or  Thackerays,  and  we  arrive 
only  at  a  pinchbeck  sort  of  success.  Let 
us  strike  in  earnestly  into  the  very 
heart  of  our  own  societies,  if  we  want 
to  do  better.  Our  artists  have  made  a 
school  of  landscape-art,  which  holds  its 
own,  because  they  have  been  compelled 
to  paint  American  landscape.  John 
Kodgers^s  little  statuettes  take  their 
place  in  every  parlor  and  study,  because 
they  tell  us  the  tales  of  every  day.  Coo- 
per, Hawthorne,  Emerson,  Mrs.  Stowe, 
Mcyor  Winthrop,  have  made  names,  be- 
cause they  drew  from  the  inspiration  of 
their  country  and  times.  •  We  never 
went  abroad  for  the  model  of  our  clip- 
per-ships ;  we  did  not  fight  the  civil  war 
according  to  Alexander's  or  Napoleon's 
strategy ;  why  should  we  write  books 
that  are  but  pale  reflections  or  impu- 
dent plagiarisms  of  something  much 
better  done  over  the  sea  ? 

ArtemuB  Ward,  Nasby,  Mark  Twain, 
have  a  certain  vogue,  abroad  as  well 
as  at  home,  notwithstanding  the  coarse- 
ness of  much  of  their  wit,  simply  be- 
cause they  are  racy,  vernacular,  local, — 
out  of  the  life  and  manners  of  the 
times.  Mr.  Bret  Hart,  of  Califomia, 
is  getting  a  deserved  reputation  as 
a  tale- writer  and  magazinist,  because 
lie  writes  in  a  sympat]|^ctic  and  lively 
way  of  what  he  knows— the  life  of 
the  frontiers  and  the  plains.  It  is 
not  the  loftiest  kind  of  writing,  any 
more  than  a  picture  of  Jan  8teen  is 
grand  art,  but  it  is  honest  in  its  way, 
and  that  is  what  all  men  like.  Let  us 
have  more  of  it  I 


610 


PUTNAM^S  llAGikSIXB. 


(Mq. 


KKWtTAFBft  CUTXaSM. 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  a  great  deal 
of  progress  has  been  made  in  the  char- 
acter of  the  literary  criticism  of  our 
newspapers.  Much  of  it  is  still  shallow 
enough,  no  doubt  When  a  leading 
weekly  journal,  for  instance,  said  of  a 
late  number  of  this  Magazine  that  there 
were  but "  two  readable  articles  in  it, 
and  those  very  poor — namely,  a  disqui- 
sition on  the  Rights  of  Women,"  (re- 
ferring to  Mrs.  Ames'  story  of  A  Woman's 
Bight,  which  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  Rights  of  Women),  "  and  an  artist- 
ic criticism  '*  (referring  to  the  pleasant 
local  sketches  of  negro-life,  entitled 
Sketches  in  Colorj  which  has  nothing 
to  do  with  art),  we  think  it  hardly 
reached  the  highest  leyel  of  critical 
impartiality  and  discernment  But  in 
spite  of  these  learned  Thebans,  who 
pronounce  ex  cathedra  upon  what  they 
haye  never  read,  the  criticism  of  the 
journals  is  improving.  We  have  as 
yet  no  St  Beuve,  because  St  Beuves 
are  rare  anywhere.  We  have  no  class 
of  critics,  perhaps,  like  that  which 
writes  for  the  London  Spe4Slator,  the 
Saturday  Beview,  &c.,  &c.,  because,  pos- 
sibly, we  do  not  pay  enough  to  keep 
up  such  a  class ;  but  we  have  still  many 
respectable  reviewers,  whose  writings  it 
is  a  pleasure  and  profit  to  read.  As  a 
proof,  take  the  notices  that  have  been 
made  of  Mr.  Bryant^s  translation  of 
Homer— not  a  recondite  topic,  though 
a  serious  and  important  one.  Now,  the 
larger  part  of  these  notices  have  been 
worthy  of  the  theme ;  have  shown  care, 
flcholarship,  insight,  knowledge  of  the 
subject,  and  independent  judgment 
The  articles  in  the  World,  the  2'ribune, 
«nd  the  Daily  Timet,  not  to  go  out  of 
this  city,  were  elaborate,  well-consid- 
ered, fair,  and  inspired  apparently  by 
an  entire  eonnaiaanee  de  cause,  as  the 
French  say.  In  other  words,  they  were 
not  the  mere  Stereotyped  phraseology 
«f  men  ignorant  of  the  topic,  or  who 
■ievely  '^  crammed  ^  for  the  occasion.  Of 
coarse,  we  do  not  mean  to  coincide  with 
die  conclusions  of  this  criticism,  which 
are  ^arioaa,  bat  simply  to  commend  the 
genend  ability  and  serioosness  of  pur- 


pose. The  newspaper-writing  of  soim 
years  ago  was  so  entirely  uninfomed, 
superficial,  slipshod,  and  even  valgum 
that  it  is  agreeable  to  mark  the  chai^ 
The  war,  paper-money,  huge  c(xpoc»> 
tions,  and  other  causes,  discussed  elw- 
where,  have  brought  about  a  lamentabli 
degeneracy  in  many  political  and  social 
matters;  but  if  the  character  of  tW' 
newspapers  improves — ^if  the  tone  of 
these  daily  reflectors  and  moniton  geb 
higher — we  have  reason  to  hope  fior 
general  society. 

^  ▲  rA8HX0XABX.B  AlCIIBBMBirr. 

Homer,  by  the  way,  has  come  to  bi 
a  sort  of  popular  reading.  Mr.  Brpo^ 
like  Beau  Brummel,  **  has  brougiit  Am 
old  king  into  fashion.*'  Men  stop  joi  tX 
the  comers  of  the  streets,  and  ask,  **  WcO, 
what  do  you  think  of  the  Homer  I* 
Old  couples,  who  nerer  read  a  book 
together  before,  sit  down  in  the  coimi; 
of  an  evening,  and  entertain  each  <A- 
er  with  the  story  of  Achilles  and  ik$ 
other  chiefs;  and  we  have  heard  oft 
half-dozen  circles  at  least,  in  which  Um 
young  ladies  spend  the  time  in  reading 
aloud  from  the  old  bard  in  his  new  Bsg- 
lish  garb.  Our  friends  in  the  coontiy, 
who  contemplate  spending  a  week  or 
.two  of  the  Spring  in  town,  would  do 
well  to  prepare  themselves  by  one  or 
two  lessons,  if  they  would  pass  for  anj 
bodies.  It  is  very  much  here  as  it  was 
in  Boston  after  Longfellow  had  trms- 
lated  the  Divina  Commedia.  **  Do  yon 
like  Dante  ? "  asked  a  friend  of  us,  ts 
we  arrived  there  in  the  height  of  tbe 
vogue.  **No,"  we  foolishly  replied. 
**  Then  hurry  away  as  quick  as  yoa  caa; 
nobody  is  respectable  here  who  doesn^ 
like  Dante.  I  am  the  only  man  in  Mas- 
sachusetts who  has  had  moral  ooarago 
enough  to  say  I  donH  like  Dante,  and 
I  have  been  in  disgrace  ever  since.  Bat 
for  my  wife  and  children,  who  havi 
given  in  to  the  rage,  I  should  be 
driven  out  by  violence.  I  only  sneak 
through  the  back  streets,  as  it  is.**  It  is 
pretty  much  the  same  now  in  New  York 
in  regard  to  the  liking  of  Homer;  and 
our  country  editors  must  coma  hera  duly 
prepared. 


1870.] 


Editoxial  Nona. 


611 


▲  BOOK  TO  BS  WHITTKN. 


Mr.  Lowell's  collection  of  his  Kyiew- 
into  a  yolume,  which  bears  the 
title  of  "  Among  My  Books,"  is  as  read- 
able a  work  as  we  have  taken  up  this 
many  a  day.  It  is  Aill  of  fine  thought, 
fall  of  rare  learning,  full  of  nice  criti- 
cism, full  of  ori^aal  phrasing,  Aill  of 
good  feeling,  and  sprinkled  over  with 
pleasant  wit.  We  refer  to  it,  however, 
not  to  characterize  it  in  a  literary  way, 
which  is  done  by  another  elsewhere, 
but  simply  because  it  suggests  to  us 
what  might  be  a  better  book  still.  A 
really  good  *^  History  of  English  Liter- 
ature,*' beginning  with  the  early  Anglo- 
Saxon  times,  and  coming  down  to 
Thackeray  and  Tennyson,  is  yet  to  be 
written.  There  have  been  attempts  in 
that  line,  but  none  equal  to  the  rich- 
ness and  grandeur  of  the  subject.  Is 
there  any  one  more  capable  of  writing 
such  a  work  as  it  should  be  written 
than  Mr.  Lowell  ?  It  should  be,  of 
course,  complete,  solid,  erudite,  discrim- 
inating, sympathetic,  and  philosophical ; 
and  he  could  make  it  all  these.  He  has 
already,  probably,  much  of  the  needful 
knowledge ;  he  has  the  critical  discern- 
ment and  skill ;  he  has  the  lore  for  the 
anthorsjpoetical  and  prose,  great  and  les- 
aer,  and  he  has  penetration  and  breadth 
of  yiew  enough  to  connect  the  life  of 
thought  with  the  great  morements  of 
•ociety.  Such  a  work,  written  as  the  pa- 
pers on  Dryden  and  Shakespeare  in  the 
late  volume  convince  us  that  he  would 
write  it, — with  a  large,  generous  heart, 
with  a  clear,  vigorous  judgment — would 
be  an  enduring  monument  erected  to 
bis  own  fame  as  well  as  to  that  of  so 
many  others,  and  a  contribution  to  the 
instruction  and  delight  of  the  public 
not  easily  over-estimated.  It  would  be 
a  repository  of  sound  literary  apprecia- 
tions, of  exqubite  tastes  and  fancies, 
that  would  educate  the  general  mind 
into  a  proper  sense  of  the  superb  and 
opulent  inheritance  we  have  in  the  vast 
treasures  of  our  motherrtongne.  New 
England,  through  Prescott  and  Tick- 
nor,  has  taken  out  of  European  hands 
nearly  the  whole  field  of  Spanish  his- 
toid;  Ae   has   warned    them    away, 


through  Motley,  fh>m  the  Netherlands ; 
and  why  should  she  not  do  for  Eng- 
land what  English  writers  have  yet 
failed  to  do  in  any  adequate  manner  f 
Laborious  the  task  would  be,  no  doubt, 
requiring  in  even  the  best-furnished 
mind  much  study  and  much  careftil 
planning;  but  then,  how  grateful  t  And 
who  is  there,  in  any  quarter  of  the  globe, 
where  the  language  is  seriously  read, 
that  would  not  be  eager  to  possess  the 
lucid  narrative  of  its  progress,  the  ge- 
nial reflection  of  its  glories  f 


WAK  jrOT  XABtAORX. 


If  we  should  see  a  huge  St.  Bernard 
or  mastiff  dog,  who  had  been  long  an- 
noyed by  a  pestilent  little  cur,  fall  upon 
him  at  length  and  stretch  him  dead 
upon  the  ground,  we  should  say  that 
the  saucy  little  brute  had  got  his  de- 
serts. He  had  no  right  to  be  snarling 
and  biting  all  the  while  at  his  neigh- 
bor, simply  because  he  was  a  neighbor. 
But  if  the  big  victor,  not  satisfied  with 
this  sort  of  retribution,  should  hunt  up 
the  kennel  of  his  victim  and  proceed  to 
tear  in  pieces  an  entire  litter  of  half- 
blind  pups  because  they  were  of  the 
same  blood,  we  should  say  that  he  was 
a  very  ferocious  and  very  mean  big  dog. 

That  is  precisely  the  relation  which 
exists  between  the  United  States  and 
the  Indian  tribes.  We  are  the  big  dog, 
and  they  the  malig^nant  little  curs.  We 
punish  them  when  they  give  us  trouble, 
properly  enough ;  but  we  have  no  call 
to  take  vengeance  on  them.  We  may 
kill  their  warriors  and  fighting-men, 
who  refuse  to  smoke  the  pipe  of  peace, 
but  may  not  kill  their  old  men,  old 
women,  and  babes.  War  is  self-de- 
fence, and  war  is  sometimes  retribn* 
tion ;  but  it  is  not  massacre.  The  na- 
tions that  pursue  it  as  massacre,  inflict 
an  indelible  disgrace  upon  their  name. 
Do  we  not  all  remember  what  a  shud- 
der of  indignation  ran  through  the 
country  when  we  read  of  the  butchery 
at  Fort  Pillow  ?  Was  not  the  civilized 
world  shocked  by  the  deed  done  by 
the  Sepoys  at  Cawnporef  Has  not 
Olenooe  left  an  impression  on  history 
which  will  never  be  effiusedf     Whet^ 


612 


PUTHAK^B  KkQAaSE, 


l¥u, 


indeed,  is  the  distinction  between  ciyil^ 
ized  and  sayage  races  but  this — that  one 
carries  on  war  as  if  it  were  murder ;  the 
other  under  rule  and  with  human  pity  f 
Besides,  in  the  case  of  the  Indians, 
they  are  not  wholly  to  blame  if  they 
have  remained  barbarians.  Our  own 
conduct  towards  them  has  kept  up  their 
hereditary  character  and  manners.  We 
haye  treated  with  them  always  as  tribal 
organizations,  and  they  haye  preseryed 
with  their  ancestral  forms  the  ancestral 
spirit.  We  ought  to  haye  treated  with 
them  as  men ;  we  ought  to  haye  disre* 
garded  the  tribe;  we  ought  to  haye 
prepared  them  for  citizenship  and  for 
social  and  indiyidual  duties ;  and  then 
we  should  not  haye  had  these  periodi- 
cal wars,  these  incessant  frantic  out- 
rages, which  proyoke  us  out  of  our  dig^ 
nity  and  eyen  out  of  our  humanity. 


renegades  who  tried  to  induce  tki 
French  despot  to  put  down  the  Bcpab> 
lie  in  the  day  of  her  distress,  are  tki 
authors  of  this  last  self-debasement 


DSOXnUlATS  ▲KSSIOAKB. 


A  Paris  correspondent  of  the  Timea 
of  this  city  has  twice  alluded  to  a  story 
current  in  Paris,  that  a  considerable 
number  of  the  American  residents  there 
presented  a  weapon  to  M.  Pierre  Bona- 
parte, the  assassin  of  Victor  Noir — 
whether  in  admiration  of  his  general 
character,  or  of  his  late  particular  ex- 
ploit, is  not  said.    We  should  like  to 
know  if  the  report  be  true,  and  then 
we  should  like  to  know  the  names  of 
the  recreants.    There  are  Americans  in 
Europe  who  are  as  intense  snobs  as  any 
described  by  Thackeray,  who  worship 
crowned  heads  and  run  after  people 
with  titles.    Some,  indeed,  carry  their 
baseness  so  far  as  to  buy  titles  by  the 
sacrifice  of  their  daughters.    But  that 
any  are  fallen  so  low  as  to  compliment 
one  of  the  most  miserable  and  reckless 
of  the  murderous  Bonapartes,  surpasses 
belief.    Their  general  snobbery  might 
be  easily  ascribed  to  foolishness,  or  to 
the  fact  that,  haying  money  without 
culture  or  self-respect,  they  are  as  igno- 
rant of  good  manners  as  they  are  of 
letters.    But  snobbery  towards  a  cut- 
throat is  the  last  degree  of  wickedness. 
In  an  American  it  is  a  twofold  wicked- 
ness— treachery  to  his  country  as  well 
as  to  humanity.    We  suspect  that  the 


FKCB   BKADIVO-SOOHS. 


Thb  English  public  are  wisely  pn- 
paring  for  that  extension  of  the  safh^ 
which  lias  lately  been  made  under  lib«- 
al   rule.     They    are    establishing  fiw 
libraries  and  news-rooms  for  the  use  aak 
benefit  of  those  classes  of  the  peopli 
who  are  not  in  a  condition  to  sob^a^ 
to  priyate  establishments  of  the  bod. 
Already  at  Airdrie,  Birmingham,  Bla^- 
burn,  Bolton,  Cambridge,  Oardifl^  Got- 
entry,  Dundee,  Liyerpool,  Leamingtot, 
Manchester,  Norwich,  Nottingham,  (h- 
ford,  Salford,  ShefSeld,  and  other  pliea 
news-rooms   and    libraries    hare  bees 
opened     with     the     happiest    effeek 
In  some  cases  they  are  supported  \fj 
the  corporations,  and  in  others  by  ooi- 
tributions;  but   in    all    they  are  wdl 
attended,  and  furnish   a  resort  for  tin 
poorer  classes,  which  has  had  a  sensiblo 
effect  upon  the   gin-shops    and  other 
places  of  low  and  brntal   indulgence. 
Workingmen,  who  do  not  always  hrrt 
clean  and  pleasant  homes  to  retire  to,  ia 
their  days  and  hours  of  leisure,  are  glad 
to  find  comfortable  rooms  and  desirable 
companions.    In  one  of  the  larger  towns 
the  attendance  averages   two  thonsaod 
persons  daily,  who  spend  tlieir  time,  not 
drinking  nor  gambling,  nor  in  ramuag 
their  eyes  over  police  and  sporting  ga- 
zettes, but  in  reading  the  best  Jooroab 
and  periodicals  of  the  day,  and  also  the 
best  books.    Lending  libraries  and  refer- 
ence libraries  are  often  connected  with 
the  news-rooms,  and  receiye  tlieir  doe 
share  of  attention.    Why  can  we  not 
have  something  of  the  same  sort  here, 
not  only  in  the  cities,  but  in  all  towos 
and  villflges  ?    Stnall  libraries,  open  to 
subscribers,  are  to  be  fonnd  in  manj 
places;    but   what   is    needed    is  free 
libraries, — pleasant  rooms, — a  larger  se- 
lection of  works.    Tlie  cost  oould  not  be 
great,  while  the  utility  is  obvious. 

oTfts-LaoBLAnoir. 
Given  a  vigorous  social  life,  under 
all  disorders,  and  time  and  patience  will 


1870.] 


Editorial  Notkb. 


618 


then  be  sore  to  effect  woDdrons  cures. 
The  credit  of  the  United  States  is  fast 
rising  in  the  world^s  markets ;  but  this 
does  not  prove  that  the  finances  are 
wisely  managed,  bat  only  that  folly  in 
high  places  has  not  been  quite  able  to  ru- 
in ns.  Our  Government,  since  the  war, 
has  been  *^  Jack  of  all  trades,  master  of 
none;  "  it  has  nndertaken  to  do  the  bank- 
ing business  of  the  people,  to  regulate 
prices,  to  distribute  profits,  to  set  upland 
pall  down  industries,  to  build  railroads, 
and,  if  some  have  their  way,  will  soon 
become  tlie  common  carrier  of  freight 
and  intelligence  everywhere.  In  fact,  a 
elass  of  our  statesmen  look  on  Govern- 
ment as  a  sort  of  Providence,  whose  laws 
ought  to  be  as  universal  as  those  of  nature 
and  society,  bat  a  decided  improvement 
upon  these. 

Meanwhile,  there  is  a  strong  reaction 
against  this  notion  and  some  prospect 
that  the  people  will  again  limit  Gov- 
ernment to  its  true  work  of  preserving 
order  and  protecting  freedom.  Then  its 
own  work  will  be  better  done,  and  all 
other  interests,  too,  will  be  better  off 
when  it  ceases  to  middle  with  them.  In 
tliis  view  we  commend  the  article  on 
Political  Degeneracy,  in  the  body  of  the 
Magazine,  to  general  perusal. 

H1CW8PAPCBS  A1VD  THI  THBATKB. 

Journalism  has  been  discussing  the 
theatre  during  tlie  past  winter,  with 
much  intelligence  in  trifle?,  bnt  with  less 
comprehension  than  the  popular  feeling 
demands.  The  critics  seem  not  to  see 
that  it  is  the  newspapers  which,  in  the 
common  mind,  have  crowded  out  the 
stage,  '*  whose  end,  both  at  the  first  and 
now,  was  and  is  to  hold,  as  it  were,  the 
mirror  up  to  nature ;  to  show  virtue  her 
own  feature,  scorn  her  own  image,  and 
the  very  age  and  body  of  the  time  his 
form  and  pressure."  The  theatre  was 
once  the  school  of  the  people,  and  now 
the  very  rival  that  has  supplanted  it, 
blindly  laments  its  decline.  Only  by  des- 
troying the  newspapers,  can  the  intellect 
of  the  a:;e  be  driven  to  the  drama  for  its 
expression.  The  leaders  of  thought  will 
always  use  the  art  which  is  the  most  di- 
rect way  to  the  mass  of  men. 


DUST  IV  THB  niK04T. 

Professors  Tyndall  and  Hnxley  and 
their  school  are  always  taming  some 
old  theory  or  other  upside  down.  The 
whole  medical  profession  is  aghast  at  a 
recent  lecture  by  Mr.  Tyndall,  on  Haze 
and  Dust,  in  which  he  forcibly  stated 
two  new  things.  The  first  is  the  proved 
frict  that  the  air  we  breathe  is  crowded 
with  myriads  of  infinitesimal  particles 
of  animal  or  vegetable  matter,  in  vari- 
ous conditions  of  life  or  of  decay,  and 
that  it  is  never  free  from  this  pollation, 
unless  carefully  filtered  through  fire  or 
water,  or  some  such  sieve  as  close-pack- 
ed cotton-wool.  The  second  is  the 
theory  that  many  diseases  are  probably 
nothing  more  than  a  process  of  fermen- 
tation in  the  human  ft'ame,  produced  as 
a  .little  yeast  produces  fermentation 
throughout  a  great  mass.  The  fact  in 
question  is  indisputable ;  Professor  Tyn- 
dall established  it  by  many  experiments. 
The  theory  is  made  probable  by  a  variety 
of  observations  which  it  would  explain ; 
and  its  author,  at  least,  one  of  the  first 
living  authorities  on  such  subjects,  is 
evidently  convinced  of  its  truth.  Small- 
pox, cholera,  yellow  fever,  influenza,  and 
other  pests,  are,  as  he  thinks,  propagated 
by  taking  this  invisible  dust  into  the 
lungs ;  and  if  we  should  breathe  only 
through  "  filtere  of  cotton- wool,"  when 
exposed  to  contagion,  these  diseases 
could  be  kept  off.  Experiments  will 
now  be  made  on  a  large  scale  to  test 
this  notion  practically ;  but  it  will  have 
to  bo  established  with  great  certainty 
before  the  human  race  will  consent  per* 
manently  to  cover  all  their  breathing 
holes  with  "  filters,"  in  order  to  put  an 
end  to  contagious  disease  forever. 

▲  DBFBX8B  OV  rOLTOAlCT. 

One  of  the  most  curious  speeches 
made  in  the  present  Congress  was  that 
of  Mr.  Hooper,  delegate  from  Utah,  i^ 
opposition  to  a  bill  for  the  suppression 
of  polygamy  among  the  Mormons.  Of 
the  merits  of  the  bill  we  are  unable  to 
speak,  because  we  have  not  seen  it ;  bat 
of  the  merits  of  Mr.  Hooper's  argument 
we  are  able  to  speak,  apart  from  the 
merits  of  the  particular  bill.    Mr.  Hoop- 


614 


PUTNAM^S  MAOAXHrS. 


Vl. 


er*s  position  is,  that  society  has  no  right 
to  declare  polygamy  illegal,  becanse 
polygamy  Is  a  doctrine  forming  part  of 
the  religious  faith  of  the  Mormons. 
Now  religious  faith,  by  our  laws  and 
the  whole  spirit  of  our  institutions,  is 
exempt  from  the  interference  of  law; 
and  to  prohibit  polygamy,  therefore,  is 
to  invade  the  consciences  of  those  who 
believe  it  right  and  proper.  But  the 
fallacy  here  is  in  assuming  that  polyga- 
my is,  or  can  be,  a  doctrine.  The  be- 
lief in  its  lawfulness  may  be  a  doctrine 
or  article  of  religious  faith,  but  polyga- 
my itself  is  a  practice  proceeding  from 
that  doctrine.  It  is  the  practice,  tben, 
not  the  belief,  which  the  law  prohibits, 
or  proposes  to  prohibit.  If  polygamy 
were  a  Divine  command,  every  man, 
without  exception,  ought  to  take  unto 
himself  several  wives ;  which  would  be 
a  command  of  impossible  fulfilment, 
because  the  numbers  of  the  sexes  bom 
are  nearly  equal.  It  can  be  at  best, 
consequently,  no  more  than  a  Divine 
permission — as  it  was  under  the  Jewish 
dispensation ;  in  which  case  it  is  not 
obligatory,  but  simply  allowable.  A 
man  may  have  several  wives — he  is  not 
in  conscience  bound  to  have  them ;  how 
is  his  conscience  invaded,  tben,  if  the 
law,  for  social  reasons,  deems  it  best 
that  he  should  not  have  them  ?  He  is 
entitled  to  his  belief,  but  he  is  not  en- 
titled to  act  upon  that  belief  when 
major  considerations  are  opposed  to  the 
act.  A  great  many  Orientals,  and  some 
few  Europeans,  have  believed  polygamy 
proper ;  they  have  never  believed  it  an 
imperative  duty,  and  to  prohibit  it, 
therefore,  is  in  no  sense  a  violation  of 
conscience.  Society,  in  prohibiting  it, 
simply  says  that,  for  its  own  'good  and 
security,  such  unions  ought  to  be  for- 
bidden. It  perceives,  under  the  physio- 
logical law  of  the  numerical  equivalence 
of  the  sexes,  tbat  polygamy  is  incom- 
patible with  both  justice  and  safety; 
first,  because,  if  one  man  is  allowed  to 
usurp  ten  wives,  there  must  be  nine  who 
have  no  wives — i.  e,  who  must  submit 
to  an  enforced  celibacy,  which  is  so  far 
forth  slavery ;  and  second,  that,  if  ten 
women  may  have  only  one  husband,  ten 


men  may  have  one  wife — which  vnU 
be  the  destmction  of  the  family  ari 
the  non-perpetuation  of  the  race.  Ad> 
cordingly  we  find,  as  an  historical  btX, 
that  wherever  polygamy  prevaili,  a  lufe 
class  of  men  are  slaFes,  and  the  wM 
class  of  women  d^^raded.  In  lel^ 
defence,  then,  and  to  protect  the  equl 
liberty  of  all,  society  says  such  masm 
shall  not  be. 


VAXJiB 


It  is  not  considered  in  very  good  tufei 
to  make  jests  oiw  passages  of  Sci^yton^ 
for  the  reason  that  they  are  i^  to  bi 
associated  with  some  of  the  tendcfol 
and  holiest  of  our  recoUectiotui  Kor 
is  it  in  much  better  taste  to  take  t 
poem  like  Hamlet,  consecrated  in  o« 
memories  by  the  most  seriom  waoatt 
tions,  and  turn  it  into  borlesqne.  llx 
wit  of  it  is  not  of  a  rare  or  di£Bailt 
sort — is,  in  fact,  apt  to  be  coarse  nd 
vulgar — and  the  effect  upon  minds  of 
any  sensibility  is  more  repulsive  tbai 
pleasing. 

But  there  is  a  more  wretched  Idad 
of  joke-making  than  this  —  the  kind 
we  often  find  in  the  reporters'  col- 
umns of  the  newspapers,  when  they 
have  to  describe  some  awfiil  crime  or 
some  conspicuous  instance  of  vice.  The 
writers  think  that  if  they  can  mike 
the  reader  laugh  over  it  in  some  waj, 
they  have  done  something  smart.  Bol 
crime  is  never  a  proper  object  of  ridi- 
cule. The  smaller  vices  and  foibles  of 
men  may  be — their  false  pretensions, 
their  affectations,  their  eccentricities, 
their  meannesses ;  but  crime  is  always 
too  serious  a  matter  for  sport— too  seri- 
ous for  those  who  perpetrate  it,  and 
for  those  who  suffer  by  it.  Even  satire 
is  out  of  place,  unless  the  satire  be  an 
earnest,  heartfelt  expression  of  rcproval 
Writers  of  real  humor,  consequently, 
like  Dickens  and  Thackeray,  find  the 
objects  of  their  fun  in  persons  who  are 
really  ludich)us  in  character  or  con- 
duct ;  they  expose  folly  and  the  petty 
vices ;  but  the  larger  crimes  and  vices, 
often  misfortunes  rather  than  faults, 
they  treat  in  some  other  than  the  comic 
vein«    Offences  against  the  laws  mav  be 


1870.] 


Editorial  Notes. 


615 


made  to  excite  liorror,  or,  under  certain 
circumstances,  compassion ;  but  to  ren- 
der them  amusing  by  the  mode  in  which 
they  are  described,  is  to  strip  them  of 
the  qualities  which  are  likely  to  awaken 
either  aversion  or  sympathy. 

WHAT  TO  WaiTK  AND  BOW  TO  W&ITE. 

We  receive  not  a  few  letters  from  as- 
piring young  men  and  women,  asking 
as  what  they  should  write  about,  and 
how  they  should  write  it,  in  order  to  be 
successful  with  the  magazines.  As  we 
are  not  school-teachers  nor  professors 
of  rhetoric,  these  questions  scarcely  fall 
within  our  province ;  besides,  when  we 
have  a  particular  topic  that  we  desire 
to  see  treated,  we  know  the  persons  to 
whom  to  apply  for  the  purpose.  Never- 
theless, there  are  one  or  two  general 
counsels  that  may  always  be  given  with 
safety  for  ourselves  and  good  eflfect  for 
others.  The  first  is,  never  to  write  ex- 
cept about  something  that  interests  you 
very  much,  which  you  understand,  and 
which  you  would  like  others  to  feel  and 
understand;  and  a  second  is,  to  write 
about  it  with  as  much  directness  and 
simplicity  as  you  can  muster.  Hake  no 
long  introductions,  therefore,  but  strike 
into  the  subject  at  once ;  and  when  you 
have  said  what  you  know  or  feel,  stop 
at  once;  or,  as  Dr.  Witherspoon,  of 
Princeton  College,  used  to  say  to  his 
young  orators,  "  When  ye're  dun,  dune  1 " 
In  these  days  we  travel  by  railroads 
which  have  time-tables,  and  not  by  lum- 
bering, uncertain  stage-coaches,  which 
set  out  and  arrive  when  they  can.  Bnt 
remember  especially  that  "  slang  "  is  not 
wit,  nor  vulgarity  smartness.  As  a  per- 
emptory rule,  too,  if  you  are  a  young 
writer,  strike  out  every  passage  and 
every  phrase  that  seems  to  you  particu- 
larly good.  The  rest  of  it  will  be  the 
better  for  the  pruning,  and  nobody  will 
probably  miss  what  you  have  saved. 
As  for  poetry,  don^t  touch  it  as  long  as 
good,  honest  prose  will  serve  you  as 
well.  What  is  the  use,  as  Carlyle  asks, 
of  trying  to  sing  a  thing,  when  you  can 
say  it  ?    It  is  only  when  you  can't  say 


it  at  all,  or  say  it  as  well,  that  it  is 
proper  to  tune  your  pipes.  Finally, 
whether  you  write  in  prose  or  poetry, 
bear  in  mind  the  profoundest  rule  of 
rhetoric  that  was  ever  laid  down, — ^Vol- 
taire's, when  he  said  that  **aU  styles 
are  good,  except  the  tedious." 


BABITATIOirs  FOB  MIH. 


There  is  nothing  more  disgraceful 
to  the  social  life  of  this  city,  than  the 
homes  we  are  in  tCe  habit  of  preparing 
for  the  poorer  classes — and  even  for  the 
middle  class,  for  that  matter.  We  com- 
plain of  our  streets,  our  markets,  our 
wharves,  and  our  public  vehicles,  and 
we  complain  justly,  because  they  are 
below  the  standard  of  a  third-rate  city 
anywhere ;  but  worse  than  these  are  the 
tenement  houses  put  up  for  the  accom- 
modation of  those  of  limited  means. 
They  are  often  scarcely  fit  receptacles 
for  cattle.  Many  a  horse,  indeed,  is 
stalled  in  a  finer,  cleaner,  better-venti- 
lated room  than  many  a  man.  Thou- 
sands of  families  would  be  glad  to  ex- 
change their  cellars  and  garrets,  where 
father,  mother,  and  children  are  hud- 
dled together  in  a  promiscuous  and  un- 
wholesome squalor — unwholesome  mor- 
ally as  it  is  physically — for  the  clean 
straw  and  warm  blankets  of  our  canine 
and  equine  favorites.  Yet  the  men  Ifve 
condenm  to  these  noisome  retreats  are 
not  only  our  fellow-creatures,  they  are 
also  our  fellow-citizens,  sharers  in  the 
government,  voters  who  help  to  make 
the  laws  and  give  character  to  our 
civilization. 

It  is  the  more  shameful  it  should  bo 
BO,  because,  with  the  same  expenditure 
of  money,  but  a  little  more  compassion 
and  care,  lodging-houses  could  be  made 
as  comfortable  as  they  are  now  repul- 
sive. Let  capitalists  and  builders  build 
in  fiats  or  apartments  properly  ar- 
ranged, as  they  do  abroad,  and  let  a 
janitor  look  properly  after  the  police 
of  them,  and  the  most  reckless  and  filthy 
housekeepers  could  soon  be  brought 
to  desire  and  maintain  agreeable  and 
cleanly  quarterst 


tit 


PUTHAM^B  MAGAZnnL 


ncv. 


LITERATURE— AT  HOME. 


If  it  be  true  that  poets  are  the  best 
translators  of  poetry,  it  is  also  true,  we 
think,  that  they  are  the  best  critics  of 
poetry.  They  certainly  ought  to  un- 
derstand their  special  walk  of  letters  as 
thoroughly  as  the  historian  understands 
his,  or  the  noyelist  understands  his; 
indeed,  they  ought  to  understand  more 
than  that,  and  more  than  these  their 
fellow- workers,  since  to  be  other  than    . 

**  The  Idle  slDgera  of  an  empty  day," 

they  must  be  novelists,  historians,  and 
artists,  as  well  as  poets.  Good  poets 
are  always  good  critics,  though  many 
haye  lived  and  died  in  ignorance  of  the 
&ct,  apparently  guided  by  instinct  in 
their  creative  work.  Without  wishing 
to  decry  poetic  instinct — ^if  there  be 
such  a  thing — it  is  certain  that  a  great 
deal  of  knowledge  of  one  sort  or  an- 
other, particularly  critical  knowledge, 
goes  to  the  making  of  a  poet.  It  is  so 
in  the  case  of  Mr.  Matthew  Arnold,  one 
of  the  best  of  living  English  poets; 
and  it  is  so  in  the  case  of  Mr.  James 
Russell  Lowell,  one  of  the  best  of  liv- 
ing American  poets.  Both  are  scholars 
and  both  are  critics — excellent  in  gen- 
eral criticism,  and  admirable  in  that 
which  concerns  their  own  art.  We 
were  reminded  of  this  last  fact  as  re- 
gards Mr.  Arnold,  when  we  read  his 
"  Essays  in  Criticism,"  and  we  are  re- 
minded of  it  as  regards  Mr.  Lowell  by 
his  latest  volume,  Among  My  BookSy 
which  has  recently  been  published  by 
Messrs.  Fields,  Osgood  &  Co.  It  con- 
tains six  papers,  four  of  which  are  on 
purely  literary  subjects ;  and  while  these 
are  excellently  handled,  the  two  devoted 
to  Shakespeare  and  Dryden  are  unques- 
tionably the  best.  We  are  not  suffi- 
ciently acquainted  with  the  commenta- 
tors and  critics  of  Shakespeare  to  de- 
termine whether  Mr.  Lowell  has  said 
any  thing  that  has  not  been  said  before. 


though  we  think  it  qtiite  likely;  hot 
we  are  certain  that  whatever  he  hai 
said,  is  said  in  a  new  and  stiiking  way. 
We  do  not  exactly  like  the  way,  (mr- 
selves;  for,  while  it  is  spirited  and 
often  eloquent,  it  is  frequently  too  man- 
nered and  familiar  to  be  agieeaUe; 
but,  apart  from  this,  the  paper  is  no- 
ticeable for  poetic  sympathy  and  btd- 
lectual  insight.  Especially  do  we  like 
what  Mr.  Lowell  says  of  Hamlet,  whom 
he  places  in  a  light  that  is  new  to  n& 
Shakespeare  himself  he  characteriKi 
very  happily :  *'  Among  the  most  alien 
races  he  is  as  solidly  at  home  as  a 
mountain  seen  from  difTerent  sides  hj 
many  lands,  itself  superbly  solitary,  yd 
the  companion  of  all  thoughts,  and  do- 
mesticated in  all  imaginations.^  The 
paper  on  Dryden  is  surprisingly  good. 
Mr.  Lowell  can  have  no  especial  sympa- 
thy with  the  sort  of  poetry  which  Diy- 
den  naturalized  in  the  language;  and 
it  is  greatly  to  his  credit,  therefore,  that 
he  is  not  only  able  to  recognize  its  mer- 
its, such  as  they  are,  but  to  place  him- 
self more  completely  en  rapport  with 
Dryden  than  any  critic  with  whom  we 
are  acquainted.  He  enters  fully  into 
the  spirit  and  intentions  of  his  author, 
as  Dryden  himself  entered  into  the 
spirit  and  intentions  of  authors  whose 
powers  were  as  dissimilar  to  his  as  his 
are  to  Mr.  Lowell's — a  proof  of  large- 
mindedness  on  the  part  of  these  poets 
which  we  are  happy  to  call  attentian 
to.  We  agree  with  Mr.  Lowell  in  the 
estimate  he  puts  upon  Dryden,  both  ai 
a  poet  and  a  prose-writer,  but  we  do 
not  agree  with  him  in  his  contemptuous 
estimate  of  Waller.  That  Dryden  may 
have  over- valued  the  influence  of  Wal- 
ler upon  the  poetry  of  his  time,  is  likely 
enough  (though  Dryden  may  at  least 
be  supposed  to  know  as  much  of  the 
matter  as  ourselves),  but  it  will  take 


1870.] 


LlTKBATUBI  AT  IIOMB. 


617 


more  than  that  good-natured  oyer-yalu- 
ation  of  his,  if  it  were  such,  to  degrade 
him  to  the  position  which  Mr.  Lowell 
woald  assign  him.  We  do  not  think 
that  he  was  *'  a  very  poor  poet  and  a 
purely  mechanical  versifler,"  though 
that  is  a  matter  of  opinion ;  and  it  is 
not  true  that  he  has  lived  mainly  on 
the  credit  of  the  single  couplet  which 
Mr.  Lowell  quotes.  The  couplet  in 
question  is  a  striking  one,  in  spite  of 
Mr.  Lowell's  sneers,  but  it  wDl  not  com- 
pare with  the  lines,  "  On  a  Girdle,"  or 
*'  (Jo,  Lovely  Rose ;  "  nor  do  we  think 
it  better  than  the  rest  of  the  verse  in 
which  it  occurs : 

**  StronRer  by  ▼eaknoss,  wiaer  men  booome 
As  they  dnw  near  to  thoir  eternal  homo ; 
Leaying  the  old,  both  iroTlds  at  once  they  vieir 
That  stand  upon  the  threshold  of  the  new." 

We  suspect  that  Waller's  accommodat- 
ing politics  is  at  the  bottom  of  Mr. 
Lowell's  dislike  of  him,  as  we  suspect 
that  the  ultra  loyalty  of  Burke,  who 
could  not  regard  the  loose  morals  of 
Rousseau  as  calmly  as  he  regarded  the 
loose  morals  of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  is 
at  the  bottom  of  his  dislike  of  Burke, 
whom  he  describes  as  **  a  snob,  though 
an  iuspired  one."  Not  to  commit,  how- 
ever, the  fault  of  carping  which  we 
have  reprobated  in  Mr.  Lowell,  let  us 
say  briefly  that  his  pax)er  on  Dryden  is 
masterly  throughout,  reflecting  honor 
upon  himself  and  upon  American  criti- 
cism. The  rest  of  the  volume  does  not 
impress  us  so  favorably.  The  paper  on 
Lessing  is  interesting,  though  too  evi- 
dently written  as  a  mere  review :  ^'  Rous- 
seau and  the  Sentimentalists  "  are  anti- 
pathetic to  the  healthy  nature  of  Mr. 
Lowell :  «  Witchcraft  "  and  "  New  Eng- 
land Two  Centuries  Ago,"  though  good 
enough  in  themselves,  are  within  the 
capacities  of  lesser  and  more  prosaic 
writers,  to  whom  Mr.  Lowell  should 
have  left  them.  His  ibrte  in  criticism 
is  the  same  as  in  literature — poetry, 
concerning  which  and  its  professors  he 
has  earned  the  right  to  be  heard. 


There  are  writers  who  take  such  a 
hold  upon  us  that  we  are  unable  to 
judge  them  correctly,  either  to  praise 


or  blame;  for  it  does  not  follow  that 
we  like  them  because  they  have  us  in 
their  power  for  the  time  being.  Wheth- 
er the  last  volume  of  Tennyson,  for  in- 
stance, is  better,  or  worse,  than  the  one 
which  preceded  it,  we  cannot  say,  our 
only  impression  being  that  it  is  Tenny- 
Bonian  fVom  beginning  to  end.  We  are 
in  the  same  predicament  with  regard  to 
Mr.  Emerson's  last  volume.  Society  and 
Solitude^  of  which  Messrs.  Fields,  Os- 
good &  Co.  are  the  publishers.  It  is 
Emersonian  throughout;  but  if  you 
ask  us  whether  it  is  above  or  below  the 
average  of  this  unique  writer,  we  con- 
fess that  we  don^t  know.  We  have 
found  it  delightful  reading,  but  it  has 
not  fixed  itself  in  our  memories,  either 
because  we  demand  more  purpose  in 
what  we  read  than  is  apparent  here,  or 
because  we  have  become  so  accustomed 
to  Mr.  Emerson's  peculiarities,  or  excel- 
lences, if  his  admirers  prefer,  that  we 
are  no  longer  affected  by  them.  There 
is  a  story  of  an  old  English  country 
squire  who  was  so  assured  of  the  ortho- 
.doxy  of  his  parson,  that  he  regularly 
went  to  sleep  as  soon  as  he  began  to 
preach.  We  are  not  quite  so  sure  of 
Mr.  Emerson's  orthodoxy,  nor  do  we 
sleep  under  his  ministrations ;  but,  all 
the  same,  we  are  willing  to  let  him  say 
whatever  he  will,  being  fully  assured  in 
our  minds  that  nobody  will  be  harmed 
by  it.  He  never  seeks  to  make  prose- 
lytes— as,  indeed,  how  should  he,  when 
he  never  seems  to  quite  know  what  he 
believes,  nor  where  he  stands,  except 
that  it  is  somewhere  in  the  region  of 
abstract  Thought.  What  he  aims  to 
do,  if  he  has  anj  definite  aim,  is  to  im- 
part to  other  minds  what  is,  or  was,  in 
his  own  mind,  and  what  the  meaning 
is  of  this  incomprehensible  Universe  iu 
which  we  find  ourselves.  The  most 
suggestive  of  living  writers,  he  is  every 
thing  to  those  who  are  prepared  to  re- 
ceive him,  and  nothing  to  those  who 
are  not;  it  depends  entirely  upon  the 
barrenness  or  the  richness  of  the  soil 
whether  the  seed  of  his  thought  falls 
dead,  or  blossoms  into  the  ripe,  con- 
summate flower.  For  his  present  vol- 
ume, which  contains  twelve  brief  pa- 


618 


PunrAii's  MAftAznra. 


["•y, 


pen  in  his  usual  vein,  we  advise  our 
readers  to  discard  the  first  of  the  three 
"  practical  rules  "  which  Mr.  Emerson 
recommends  in  these  cases,  yiz.,  ^^  Never 
read  any  book  that  is  not  a  year  old,*' 
and  to  read  this  one  now,  no  matter 
under  what  circumstances ;  for,  if  we 
may  trust  our  imperfect  impressions,  it 
is  suited  alike  for  "  Society  and  Soli- 
tude." 


French  fiction  cannot  be  said  to 
flourish  in  England  or  America,  not- 
withstanding'the  roots  which  have  from 
time  to  time  been  transplanted  into 
both  countries.  The  English  have  a 
prejudice  against  Balzac  and  Oeorgs 
Sandy  and  we  have  adopted  it  without 
knowing  why,  perhaps  because  we  have 
hitherto  let  our  elder  brethren  form  our 
literary  opinions.  We  can  recall  sev- 
eral translations  of  the  writers  named 
— instalments  of  contemplated  transla- 
tions of  their  complete  works — which 
have  come  to  naught.  Miss  Hayes, 
if  wo  remember  rightly,  began  with 
Oeorge  Sand^  in  England,  and  Messrs. 
Wight  and  Goodrich  followed  here, 
with  Balzac,  but  neither  proceeded  be- 
yond three  or  four  volumes.  On  the 
whole,  Oeorge  Sand  has  fared  rather 
better  tban  Balzac,  though  still  badly. 
So,  at  least,  thinks  3Iiss  Virginia 
Yaughan,  who  has  undertaken  to  re- 
introduce her  to  the  American  public. 
She  has  begun  well  with  Mauprat 
(Roberts  Brothers),  a  minor  novel  of 
her  author's,  but  one  in  which  her  ge- 
nius is  clearly  manifested.  It  is  a 
sketch,  compared  with  some  of  her 
larger  works — "  Cousuelo,"  for  example 
— but  it  is  full  of  power  and  original- 
ity. The  excellence  of  Oeorge  Sand,  as 
we  understand  it,  lies  in  her  compre- 
hension of  the  primitive  elements  of 
mankind.  She  has  conquered  her  way 
into  the  human  heart,  and  whether  it  is 
at  peace  or  at  war,  is  the  same  to  her, 
for  she  is  mistress  of  all  its  moods.  No 
woman  before  ever  painted  the  passions 
and  the  emotions  with  such  force  and 
fidelity,  and  with  such  consummate 
ort.  Whatever  else  she  may  be,  she  is 
always  an  artist.    That  she  has  occa- 


sionally  painted  chAracteiB  whidi  m 
not  agreeable,  as  in  "Indiana'*  tad 
^  Jacques,"  is  true ;  it  is  also  true  ftat 
the  English  mind  shrinka  from  discuss- 
ing some  of  the  social  problems  with 
which  she  has  grappled  boldly.  Wheth- 
er this  Saxon  sensitiYeness  comes  bj 
nature,  or  is  the  result  of  edncatioa, 
need  not  be  determined ;  enough  tbit 
it  exists,  and  cannot  be  easUy  eradi- 
cated. It  is  not  natire  to  the  Freock 
mind,  or  the  novelists  of  France  would 
not  violate  it  as  most  of  them  do,  some 
without  excuse,  as  Feuillet^  in  ^Gs- 
mors,"  and  others  with  only  the  doobl- 
ful  excuse  that  art  should  be  free  to  do 
what  it  pleases.  Qe<nye  Sand  sinned, 
like  her  fellows,  at  the  beginning  of 
her  literary  career,  but  not  for  long,  for, 
just  after  suing  for  her  divorce,  riv 
wrote  "Mauprat."  "Hitherto,"  she 
says,  "  I  had  been  attacking  the  abnses 
of  marriage,  and,  perhaps,  from  not 
having  sufSciently  developed  my  viewi, 
had  occasioned  the  opinion  that  I  did 
not  appreciate  its  essence ;  but  it  wu 
precisely  at  this  time  that  it  appeared 
to  me  in  all  its  original  moral  beauty." 
"  While  composing  a  romance  to  odcn- 
py  and  distract  my  mind,  it  occurred  to 
me  to  paint  an  eternal,  exclusive  loTe— 
a  love  inspired  before,  and  continuing 
during  and  after  marriage.  I  made  the 
hero  of  my  book,  therefore,  declare,  at 
eighty  years  of  age,  his  fidelity  to  the 
only  woman  whom  he  had  loved." 
Love  is  the  key-note  of  "Mauprat"— 
love,  and  what  it  can  accomplish  in 
taming  an  otherwise  untamable  ^irit 
The  hero,  Bernard  Mauprat,  grows  up 
with  his  uncles,  who  are  practicallj 
bandits,  as  was  not  unconmion  with 
men  of  their  class,  in  the  province,  b^• 
fore  the  breaking  out  of  the  French 
Revolution.  He  is  a  young  savage,  of 
whom  the  best  that  can  be  said  is,  that 
he  is  only  less  wicked  than  his  relatives 
because  be  has  somewhere  within  him 
a  sense  of  generosity  and  honor,  to  which 
they  are  entire  strangers.  To  sting  this 
sense  into  activity,  ;to  detect  the  mak- 
ings of  a  man  in  this  brute,  to  make 
this  brute  into  a  man,  is  the  difScult 
problem,  which  is  worked  out  by  love 


1870.] 


LnriBATusx  at  Homx. 


619 


"i— the  lore  of  Bernard  for  his  cousin, 
Sdm^e,  and  hers  for  him — ^the  love  of 
two  strong,  passionate,  noble  natures, 
locked  in  a  life  and  death  struggle,  in 
which  the  man  is  finally  overcome  by 
the  unconquerable  strength  of  woman* 
hood.  Only  a  great  writer  could  haye 
described  such  a  struggle,  and  only  a 
great  artist  could  have  kept  it  within 
allowable  limits.  This  George  Sand  has 
done,  we  think,  for  her  portrait  of  Ber- 
nard is  yigorous  without  being  coarse, 
and  her  situations  are  strong  without 
being  dangerous.  Such,  at  least,  is  the 
impression  we  have  receired  from  read- 
ing ^^Mauprat,^'  which,  besides  being 
an  admirable  study  of  character,  is  also 
a  fine  picture  of  French  provincial  life 
and  manners.  Whether  this  new  ven- 
ture will  fail,  like  the  earlier  ones,  we 
shall  not  undertake  to  say ;  but  if  the 
translator  is  wise  in  her  future  selec- 
tions from  the  writings  of  George  Saiid, 
we  think  she  will  meet  with  consider- 
able success.  We  hope  so,  at  all  events ; 
for  while  we  have  no  desire  to  have  the 
objectionable  "features  of  French  fiction 
engrafted  upon  our  own,  we  have  the 
greatest  desire  to  have  our  own  quick- 
ened into  something  like  life,  and  we 
believe  that  this  can  be  greatly  helped 
by  an  infusion  of  fi^esh  foreign  blood — 
French  or  German,  as  the  case  may  be. 


There  is  (as  we  believe  we  have  be- 
fore observed)  an  element  in  German 
fiction  by  which  our  novelists,  such  as 
they  are,  might  profit ;  but  it  is  not  to 
be  found  in  The  Hohensteine  of  Fried- 
rich  Spielhagen,  of  which  a  translation, 
by  Prof.  Scheie  de  Vere,  is  published  by 
Lcypoldt  &  Holt.  It  is  a  disagreeable, 
bad  book.  Spielhagen  has  not  hitherto 
had,  80  far  as  we  are  aware,  a  doubtful 
literary  character,  like  George  Sand,  but 
if  he  writes  one  or  two  more  such  works 
as  *'  The  Hohcnsteins,"  he  will  attain  a 
bad  eminence  as  a  novelist.  We  liked  his 
"  Problematic  Characters,"  strangely  as 
some  of  them  acted,  but  we  like  no 
member  of  the  house  of  Hohens|;ein,  and 
we  have  no  respect  for  the  rest  of  his 
personages.  The  journalist,  Munzer,  who 


abandons  his  wife  and  children  for  the 
embraces  of  a  loose  baroness,  is  a  scoun- 
drel for  whom  it  is  impossible  to  offer 
even  the  excuse  of  his  maudlin  passions. 
Not  less  bad  (since  we  are  on  the  sub- 
ject of  bad  books)  is  Edward  WoriUy 
Montagu^  an  Autobiography  (Turner  & 
Co.),  the  production  of  some  unscrupu- 
lous hack,  whose  talents  are  on  a  par 
with  his  morals.  It  is  an  attempt  to 
narrate  the  life  of  the  son  of  Lady  Mary 
Wortley  Montagu,  and  a  wretched  one, 
first,  because  the  autobiographic  char- 
acter which  it  assumes  is  too  fiimsy  to 
deceive  for  a  moment,  and,  second,  be- 
cause it  is  a  receptacle  for  the  most  in- 
decent slanders.  Lady  Mary  may  not 
have  been  a  paragon  of  goodness,  nor 
the  age  in  which  she  lived  an  apotheo- 
sis of  virtue ;  but  neither  can  have  been 
so  vile  as  they  are  painted  here.  The 
book  is  worse  than  worthless ;  it  is  de- 
praved. 

The  seventy  years  embraced  by  the 
life  of  Queen  Elizabeth  will  always  con- 
stitute a  unique  epoch  in  English  his- 
tory, ftrom  whatever  point  of  view  they 
are  regarded.  They  witnessed  the  down- 
fall of  the  Roman  Church  in  England 
and  the  humiliation  of  Spain  on  the 
seas,  and  they  created  a  literature  which 
is  still  our  wonder  and  our  despair. 
What  we  have  agreed  to  call  the  Spirit 
of  the  Age  may  account  for  some  of 
the  events  with  which  they  were  crowd- 
ed, but  surely  the  character  of  Elizabeth 
must  have  largely  informed  this  imagi- 
nary spirit,  which  was  surprisingly  pro- 
pitious to  England.  She  interested  her 
contemporaries  beyond  all  the  sove- 
reigns of  her  time,  and  she  interests 
the  world  now  more  than  any  later 
sovereign,  except,  perhaps,  Napoleon 
the  First.  Not  so  difficult  to  under- 
stand as  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots — a  royal 
enigma  that  still  waits  its  solution — 
she  has  puzzled  historians  before  Mr. 
Froude,  and  will  puzzle  historians  after 
him.  We  have  no  faith  in  History,  as 
it  is  generally  written,  or  only  such 
faith  as  Walpole  had  when  he  declared 
that  it  must  be  false ;  but  we  have  great 
faith  in  mere  narrative,  in  simple  me- 


620 


PrrTNAM^s  Maoazctk. 


p«^, 


meir  and  biography;  in  other  words, 
we  haye  faith  in  persons  and  eyents, 
in  the  actors  and  the  play,  not  in  the 
directions  of  the  prompter  and  the  com- 
ments of  the  critic.  We  haye  more  faith, 
for  example,  in  Miss  Lncy  Aikin*s  lU- 
moivB  of  the  Court  of  Queen  Elisabeth 
than  in  Mr.  Fronde's  "  History  of  Eng- 
land.*' There  is  no  comparison,  of 
course,  between  the  literature  of  the 
two,  for  Mr.  Froude  is  one  of  the  most 
accomplished  authors  of  the  day,  while 
Miss  Aikin  is  not  aboye  the  ayerage  of 
the  lady-writers  of  forty  or  fifty  years 
ago.  ^  is  a  historian,  she  merely  a 
compiler  of  memoirs.  Her  yolnme  was 
a  fayorite  one  in  its  day,  and  we  are 
glad  to  haye  it  reprinted.  It  is  faith- 
ful, if  not  liyely,  and  entertaining,  if 
not  profound.  But  whateyer  its  demer- 
its, it  is  a  trustwortny  piece  of  work, 
both  as  regards  the  life  of  the  Virgin 
Queen,  which  is  intelligible,  as  here 
presented,  and  the  age  of  which  she 
was  at  once  the  ornament  and  the 
dread.  It  is  what  the  greatest  of  her 
poets  declared  the  stage  to  be — **  an 
abstract  and  brief  chronicle  of  the 
time." 


If  the  majority  of  readers  remain 
much  longer  in  ignorance  of  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  age  in  all  departments  of 
Science  and  Natural  History,  it  will  be 
their  own  fault,  for  neycr  since  these 
studies  came  in  yoguc  haye  they  been 
as  accessible  and  as  attractiye  as  now. 
They  are  popularized  the  world  oyer, 
and  nowhere  so  much  so  as  in  France, 
whose  aavans  are  either  men  of  letters 
themsolyes,  or  the  bosom-friends  of 
men  of  letters,  to  whom  they  willingly 
communicate  all  that  they  know,  and 
much  that  they  merely  conjecture.  We 
have  before  us  three  fresh  instalments 
of  the  "Illustrated  Library  of  Won- 
ders," which  Messrs.  Scribner  &  Co. 
have  now  in  tbe  course  of  publication, 
and  of  which  the  greater  part  are  trans- 
lated from  the  French.  They  are,  The 
8un,  by  Am6d6e  Guillemin;  The  Sub- 
lime in  Nature^  by  Ferdinand  de  La- 
noyc ;  and  The  WoTidere  of  Olass-Mah- 
ing  in  all  Agcs^  by  8.  Saozay.    Neither 


of  these  little  TolnmeB  can  be  said  to 
exhaust  the  subject  diBCUsaed  therdn, 
but  the  least  exhanatiTe  of  the  three, 
^The    Sublime   in    Nature,"    is  weQ 
worth  reading,  being  made  up  of  ex- 
tracts from  the  works  of   oelebnted 
writers  and  trayellera,  in  whom  loye  of 
the   ocean,   the   mountainfl,    and  the 
woods,  was  a  passion.     More  entertain- 
ing is  the  volume  on  Glass-Making,  and 
much  more  scholarly,  though  there  is 
no  parade  of  scholarship  in  itw    Tbe 
materials  for  a  History  of  Glass  are  not 
abundant,  but  when  we  consider  thit 
its  manufacture  lives  in  tradition,  and 
always  avoided  publicity,  it  is  gratify- 
ing  that   they  are  not  more  scanty. 
Scattered  heretofore  through  cyclope- 
dias and  chemical  treatises,  they  hare 
been  brought  together  by  M.  Sauzay, 
who  is  no  conmion  compiler,  but  a  hap- 
py combination  of  the  scholar  and  the 
gossip.   M.  Guillenun's  volume  increases 
the  wonder  which  we  always  feel  when 
the  great  facts  of  astronomy  are  brou^t 
home  to  us,  and  destroys  what  little 
may  have  remained  of  our  natural  sdf- 
importance.     Dr.    Young    was    right 
when  he  said, 

**  An  nndevont  aatronomer  Is  mad ;  ** 

but  the  marvel  is  that  any  astronomer 
can  remain  sane.  These  Wonder-Books, 
like  the  rest  of  the  series  in  which  they 
belong,  are  profusely  illustrated. 


The  second  edition  of  Thb  Lifb  of  Ru- 
Fus  OnoATs,  by  Samuel  Gilman  Broim, 
President  of  Hamilton  College,  contains 
some  things  not  in  the  first  edition,  in 
the  form  of  letters,  reminiscences,  and 
selections.  If  it  were  a  new  work,  we 
should  consider  it  oar  duty  to  review  it 
at  length,  but  as  it  is  not,  we  shall  content 
ourselves  with  annoanoing  its  reappear^ 
ance,  and  with  culling  an  anecdote  or 
two  from  its  pages :  **  He  objected  once 
to  an  illiterate  constable^s  return,  brist- 
ling all  over  with  the  word  "  having,"  on 
the  ground  that  it  was  bad.  The  judge 
remarked,  that  though  inelegant  and 
ungrammatical  in  its  structure,  the  paper 
still  seemed  to  be  good,  in  a  legal  sense. 
**  It  may  be  so,  your  Honor,'  replied  Mr. 


1870.] 


LrnouLTUBK  Abroad. 


631 


Ghoate,  'bat,  it  must  be  confessed,  he 
has  greatly  otenoarked  the  participle.* " 
In  1847,  Mr.  Choate  appeared  in  behalf  of 
certain  parties  whose  rights  were  affected 
b  J  a  bound ar  J  line  between  Massaehasetts 
and  Rhode  Island,  which  bonndarj-line 
was  described  in  the  agreement  as  follows : 
"  Beginning,  dec,  &c.,  thence  to  an  angle 
on  the  easterly  side  of  Watappa  Pond, 
thence  across  said  pond  to  the  two  rocks 
on  the  westerly  side  of  said  pond,  and 
near  thereto,  thence  westerly  to  the  but- 


tonwood  tree  in  the  village  of  Fall  Rirer, 
dec.  &c.*'  In  his  argument,  commenting 
on  the  boundary,  Mr.  Ohoate  thus  refer- 
red to  thi^  part  of  the  description :  *'  A 
boundary-line  between  two  sorereign 
States,  described  by  a  couple  of  stonsi  ^ 
near  a  pond,  and  a  hittontoood  sapling 
in  a  village.  The  Oommissioners  might 
as  well  have  defined  it  as  starting  from 
a  blue-Jay,  thence  to  a  swarm  of  bees  in 
hiving-time,  and  thence  to  five  hundred 
foxes  with  firebrands  tied  to  their  tails  1  '* 


••• 


LITERATURE,  SOIENOE,  AND  ART  ABROAD. 


The  English  literary  Journals  of  the. 
past  month  bring  us  a  motley  collection 
of  new  publications  and  announcements. 
It  is  not  always  easy  to  undertake  the 
winnowing  process  at  this  distance,  and 
through  the  medium  of  reviews — since 
we  have  not  yet  discovered,  and  are  not 
likely  to  discover,  any  impartial  tribunal 
for  cotemporary  writers — and  we  there- 
fore give  the  sound  grain  and  chaff  with- 
out attempting  to  separate  them. 

Captain  Burton,  who  has  transferred 
his  rather  obstreperous  activity  from 
Africa  to  South  America,  follows  his 
Brazilian  book  with  a  new  volume,  en- 
titled "  The  Battle-rields  of  Paraguay," 
—a  work  which,  we  should  suppose, 
must  possess  a  very  limited  interest  at 
this  time.  The  author,  however,  is  so 
much  of  a  partisan  that  he  is  always 
lively,  if  not  always  to  be  depended  up- 
on. An  announcement,  which  rejoices 
in  a  pompous  title,  is  "  Varieties  of  Vioe- 
Regal  Life,"  by  Sir  William  Denison, 
K.  0.  B.,  late  Governor-General  of  the 
Australian  colonies  and  Governor  of 
Madras.  A  work  of  more  importance  is 
Dr.  Van  Lennep^s  "  Travels  in  Asia  Mi- 
'  nor,"  published  by  Murray.  The  author 
was  for  thirty  years  a  resident  in  Turkey, 
during  which  time  he  explored  many  of 
the  by-ways  of  Asia  Minor.  The  chief 
interest  of  his  book  is  archsoological. 
He  contributes  little  to  our  knowledge 
of  the  antiquities  of  Phrygia,  and  the  . 
other  interior  provinces,  but  gives  an  ex- 


ceedingly interesting  description  of  the 
route  from  Tokat  to  Smyrna,  and  full  ac- 
counts of  the  ruins  at  Pessinus,  Pterium, 
and  Ephesus.  He  is  of  the  opinion  that 
the  famous  rock-statue  on  Mount  Sipy- 
1ns  is  the  original  Niobe. 

In  the  department  of  theology  some 
curious  if  not  very  profound  works  have 
appeared.  The  Hon.  Oolin  Lindsay,  who 
has  reached  Romanism  by  the  natural 
path  of  Ritualism,  appears  with  a  work 
entitled  "  The  Evidence  of  the  Papacy, 
as  derived  from  the  Holy  Scriptures  and 
from  Primitive  Antiquity  /  ^^  the  char- 
acter of  which  is  thus  concisely  given 
by  a  reviewer :  "  "When  Mr.  Lindsay  de- 
cided to  believe  in  the  dicta  of  an  infalli- 
ble Pope,  he  simply  decided  to  believe 
in  the  diclum  of  an  infallible  self."  The 
basis  of  his  argument  is  faith,  not  his- 
torical research.  One  of  the  Longmans' 
new  works  has  the  following  title: 
'*  Ritnal  of  the  Altar ;  or  the  Commu- 
nion Office,  with  Rubrical  Directions, 
Private  Prayers,  and  Ritual  Music 
Edited,  with  an  apology  for  the  hooh,  by 
the  Rev.  Orbey  Shipley,  M.  A."  We 
wonder  that  the  old  proverb  did  not  re- 
cur to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Sliipley's  memory — 
qui  ieoDcvM  9^ accuse.  Another  announce- 
ment is:  ^'  (Ecumenicity y  in  Relation  to 
the  Church  of  England,"  by  Alexander, 
Lord  Lindsay.  Mr.  Sumner,  it  seems,  is 
not  the  only  distinguished  English  neolo- 
gist  Lord  Shaftesbury  has  also  again 
entered  the  theological  field,  taking  zeal- 


PonrAii's  MiOAznn. 


[MV, 


OQS  ground  against  a  more  oorreet  trana> 
latfon  of  the  Bible.  Varions  othor 
works,  of  no  particalar  value,  are  an- 
nounced, but  the  theology  of  the  month 
is  rather  a  rattling  of  ancient  dry  bones, 
than  an  expression  of  more  intelligent 
conscience  and  original  thought.  We 
must  not,  however,  forget  Dr.  Cumming's 
new  '*  preparation,"  for  Dr.  Gumming  is 
always  original,  whatever  else  he  may 
not  be.  This  time  he  gives  us:  '^The 
Fall  of  Babylon  Foreshadowed  in  her 
Teaching,  in  History,  and  in  Prophecy." 
Babylon,  of  course,  is  Rome,  and  the  Sat- 
urday Review  says :  "  If  the  Pope  could 
obtain  the  services  of  a  Dr.  Gumming  in 
every  country  of  Europe,  he  might  al- 
most afford  to  laugh  at  the  assaults  of 
Janus." 

Mr.  Gonsnl  TowVs  book  on  **  Ameri- 
can Society  "  (published  only  in  England) 
receives,  on  the  whole,  very  fair  treat- 
ment from  the  Englisli  literary  press. 
The  AtheruBum^  apropos  of  Mr.  Towle^s 
praise  of  a  shifting  Oivil  Service  (a  point 
wherein  he  is  certainly  behind  intelligent 
pnblic  opinion  in  this  country),  very 
neatly  combines  dissent  and  compliment 
in  the  following  sentence :  *^  We  question 
whetiier,  at  the  end  of  President  Grant*s 
term  of  office,  Mr.  Towle  will  be  as  ready 
as  he  is  now  to  defend  the  system  under 
which  all  public  servants  may  be  called 
upon  to  retire  with  the  head  of  the  State ; 
and  we  are  sure  that  neither  America 
nor  Bradford  will  gain  by  Mr.  Towle's 
recall  at  the  time  when  he  has  become 
most  thoroughly  fit  for  the  discharge  of 
his  consular  duties."  The  Saturday  Re- 
view condemns,  also,  Mr.  Towle^s  faith  in 
the  beauty  of  rotation  in  office,  and  thus 
points  out  what  may  very  well  be  a  de- 
fect in  his  work :  "  We  may  learn  from 
him,  if  we  did  not  know  it  before,  that 
an  American  steamboat  is  a  floating 
palace,  and  that  there  is  an  admirable 
system  of  checks  for  luggage;  but  we 
fail  to  learn  what  are  the  specific  differ- 
ences between  the  human  being  in 
America  and  in  England." 

Mr.  Thorold  Rogers  has  published  a 
second  collection  of  ^*  Historical  Glean- 
ings," containing  sketches  of  Wickliff, 
lAod,  Wilkes,  and  Home  Tooke.    They 


add  little,  if  any  Udng,  to  oar  kneivi- 
edge  of  those  characters.  -Mr.  Markhaa, 
author  of  a  verf  intereatmg  work  ca 
Guzco  and  the  Givilization  of  the  Inoii^ 
now  appears  as  a  historian.  His  ^  Lift 
of  the  Great  Lord  Fairfax,  Gommande^ 
in-Ghief  of  the  Army  of  tiie  Parlimwat 
of  England,"  is  commended  as  an  able 
and  picturesque  work.  MissT  Jane  Wil- 
liams has  produced  a  ^History  of 
Wales,"  less  tinctured  with 
than  former  Welsh  hietoriee ;  and 
more  of  the  Venetian  archives  have  beea 
published. 

The  booksellers*  lists  contain  rather 
more  than  the  usual  proportion  of  Amer- 
ican authors.  Mr.  LowelFs  '^  Among  mj 
Books  "  is  published  by  Macmillan ;  the 
.recent  works  of  Emerson,  Miss  Phelps, 
Mrs.  Uawthorne,  and  Mr.  Orton,  Vf 
Sampson  Low  &  Go. ;  and  Mr.  Maverid:*! 
Life  of  Raymond,  and  '^  HansBreitmsaa 
in  Ghurch  "  by  Trabnw  ^  Co. 

It  is  impossible  to  keep  abreast  of  the 
current  of  fictitious  literature.  New 
titles  fall  upon  us  thicker  than  aotomB 
leaves  in  Vallambrosa.  A  certain 
amount  of  technical  cleverness  must  be 
presumed  of  many  of  these  books,  and  at 
least  a  moderate  encouragement  on  the 
part  of  the  public ;  otherwise  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  account  for  their  continued  pro- 
duction and  reproduction.  We  wen 
premature,  however,  in  stating  that  ths 
fashion  in  titles  had  changed :  among  the 
latest  announcements  we  find  *'Not 
While  She  Lives,"  and  "  A  Double  Be- 
cret  and  Golden  Pippin." 

The  last  German  work  devoted  to 

Shakespeare — **The  Ideas  of  Shakespean 
and  their  Realization  " — ^is  by  a  gentle- 
man named  Earpf,  whose  object  is  to 
prove  that  the  poet,  especially  in  Hamlet 
and  the  Sonnets,  is  a  oonsiateot  Aristo- 
telian. The  question  may  possibly  in- 
terest a  few  persons. 

Two  volumes  of  stories  by  Adal- 
bert Stifter,  the  greater  portion  of  them 
selected  from  his  literary  remains,  have 
been  published  in  Vienna.  His  later  writ- 
ings, unfortunately,  have  not  the  exqois- 
ite  grace  and  simplicity  of  the  FeldJU^ 
men^  which  first  gave  him  fame.  His 
fondness  for  minute  detail  iooressed  t6 


1870.] 


LiTB&ATUBB  Abroad. 


008 


BQoh  an  extent  that  it  finally  became  al- 
most nnendoraUe,  especially  aa  his  oon- 
fitractiTe  talent  was  very  alight.  Bat  in 
limpid  parity  of  style,  in  the  power  of 
painting  clear  pictares  of  nature,  and 
setting  a  certain  class  of  characters,  gen- 
erally of  an  eccentric  type,  vividly  before 
the  reader^s  eyes,  he  had  scarcely  his 
equal  in  modern  literature. 

When  Schiller  died,  he  left  behind 

bim  an  uncompleted  tragedy  called  ^'  De- 
metrius," the  hero  being  the  Polish  im- 
poster,  who  passed  himself  upon  the 
Boyards  as  the  true  heir  to  the  throne, 
and  reigned  for  a  short  time  in  Moscow. 
The  attempt  has  been  frequently  made 
to  supply  the  missing  acts,  and  produce 
a  good  acting  play ;  and,  failure  being 
the  result,  ambitions  young  poets,  in 
Germany,  next  undertook  to  recast  the 
material  in  their  own  fashion.  How 
many  times  Demetrius  has  thus  been 
brought  before  the  public,  we  cannot  say. 
Adolph  Wilhelmi  is  the  last  adopter,  and 
he  is  no  more  successful  than  his  prede- 
cessors. 

M.  F61ix  Ol^ment  has  just  pub- 
lished, in  Paris,  one  of  those  works 
which  involve  immense  labor  and  re- 
search, yet  which  are  afterwards  used 
by  a  comparatively  small  number  of 
scholars.  1 1  is  a  Dictionnaire  Lyrique^  au 
HUtovre  dea  Operat,  containing  the  titles 
and  descriptions  of  all  operas,  serious  or 
comic,  which  have  been  produced  in  the 
world  since  the  invention  of  this  form  of 
lyric  drama — a  period  of  about  260  years. 
The  number  may  be  guessed  from  the 
fact  that  the  list  fills  between  seven  and 
eight  hundred  pages,  printed  in  double 
columns.  Of  course,  hardly  two  per 
cent,  of  the  operas  therein  described  are 
now  known  even  by  name,  but  much  of 
the  material  collected  by  M.  Clement  is 
very  curious,  as  an  illustration  of  the 
changing  tastes  of  dififerent  generations. 
We  learn,  for  instance,  that  *^  CHanssa 
Harlowe  ^  and  *'  Tom  Jones  "  have  both 
been  produced  as  operas ;  that  Dan  Juan 
was  twice  composed  before  ICozart,  and 
FatiiP  ten  times  before  Gounod ;  and  that 
there  have  been  operas  with  such  titles 
B!^ "  Behoboam  and  Jeroboam  "  and  ^*  The 
Drnnkard^s   Last   Spree.''      Moreover, 


Latin  operas  were  performed  in  the  Ben- 
edictine monastery  at  Salzburg,  a  hun* 
dred  years  ago. 

Among  other  recent  publications 

in  France  we  find  ^'  The  French  Moral- 
ists of  the  Sixteenth  Oentury,"  by  Albert 
De^ardins.  The  principal  figures  in  his 
work  are  Montaigne,  Oharron  and  Bo&- 
tius.  The  Count  d'Haussonville  has  also 
completed  his  account  of  the  relations 
between  "  The  Roman  Church  and  the 
First  Empire,"  embracing  the  imprison- 
ment and  release  of  Pius  VII.,  and  the 
restoration  of  the  Bourbons.  The  work 
comprises  five  volumes,  and — if  reviews 
can  be  trusted — appears  to  be  clearly  snd 
impartially  written, 

Mr.  Alfred  Church,  in  a  letter 

upon  Homeric  translation,  published  in 
The  Spectator^  advises  that  the  task 
should  be  entrusted,  like  the  authorized 
version  of  the  Bible,  to  a  number  of 
hands,  of  whom  he  intimates  his  willing- 
ness to  be  enrolled  as  one.  Accordingly, 
he  furnishes  a  specimen  of  his  powers — a 
translation,  in  Alexandrines,  of  Andro- 
mache's lament  for  Hector,  from  the 
twenty-fourth  book.  After  reading  it, 
we  feel  considerable  hesitation  about 
recommending  Mr.  Churches  method. 
In  regard  to  the  time  necessary  for  trans- 
lating Homer,  he  naively  eays :  *'  I  con- 
siderably understate  my  own  experience, 
when  I  say  that  an  hour  for  a  line  is  the 
smallest  average  of  time  that  I  should  be 
disposed  to  allow."  At  this  rate,  a  sin- 
gle translator,  working  six  hours  every 
day  (Sundays  excepted),  would  occupy 
ten  years  in  turning  the  Iliad  into  such 
English  verse  as  Mr.  Church's  specimen  1 
Mr.  Bryant,  fortunately,  has  saved  na 
from  the  danger  of  any  such  common- 
place and  composite  version. 

German  papers  announce   that 

"  Janus  "  is  not  the  work  of  Dr.  Dollin- 
ger,  but  of  Professor  Hober  (Huber  t), 
who  has  long  been  known  in  Munich 
as  a  zealous  opponent  of  the  Papal 
claims. 

Messrs.  William  Morris  and  Erie 

Magnusson  follow  up  their  '^Grettir 
Saga  "  with  the  announcement  of  **  The 
Story  of  the  Yolsunga  and  the  Nib- 
lungs,"  a  translation  from  the  celebrated 


624 


Tjjtsiu'b  Maoazinb. 


puy; 


*'  Ydlsnnga  Saga,''  which  contains  some 
of  the  finest  specimens  of  the  primitive 
Icelandic  poetrj.  Mr.  Magnnsson,  we 
belieye,  is  an  Icelander,  and  his  literarj 
partnership  with  Mr.  Morris  is  practical, 
if  somewhat  nnnsnal.  The  two  gentle- 
men gave  us  the  Grettir  Saga  in  a  very 
fresh  and  picturesque  form. 

nesekiePs  ** Bismarck"  is  al- 
ready followed  by  "Friedrich  Ferdinand, 
Graf  von  Beast,"  a  biography  by  Eber- 
ling.  Count  Beust  has  not  succeeded, 
like  Bismarck,  in  attracting  toward  him- 
self a  keen  public  and  personal  curio- 
sity ;  but  bis  place  and  his  achievements 
are  still  of  such  importance  that  his  bi- 
ography is  sure  to  be  in  demand.  The 
only  point  of  resemblance  between  the 
rival  statesmen  is  that  they  began  by 
being  fiercely  conservative,  and  reached 
the  liberal  side  at  about  the  same  time. 
It  is  not  more  than  six  or  seven  years 
since  Beust,  then  Saxon  Minister,  was 
hooted  at  and  hissed  in  a  public  assembly 
at  Leipzig.  His  history,  since  then,  be- 
longs to  the  political  phenomena  of  Ger- 
many. 

George  Sand  is  about  to  publish 

a  new  romance,  entitled  '^  Le  Beau  Lau* 
ren»y  It  is  said  to  be  a  continuation  of 
her  Pierre  qui  roule  (A  Rolling  Stone), 
which  appeared  last  year  in  the  Eevue 
des  Deux  Mondes, 

Two  of  the  plays  of  the  Norwe- 
gian author,  BjOrnstJerne  Bjdrnsen,  who 
is  fast  acquiring  a  public  reputation  in 
the  United  States,  were  recently  given 
in  Meiningen,  Germany.  The  titles  were 
'* Halte-Hulda "  and  "King  Sigurd." 
The  critics,  while  admitting  tbe  literary 
worth  of  the  plays,  are  doubtful  whether 
(on  account  of  their  strict  Norse  charac- 
ter) they  can  be  made  pqpular  to  any 
other  than  a  Norwegian  audience. 

We  have  already  several  times 

referred  to  the  dramatic  ambition  of 
modern  German  authors,  which  is  all 
the  more  remarkable  since  it  is  so  rarely 
coupled  with  success.  We  now  hear 
from  Leipzig  that  no  les3  than  634 
manuscript  plays  were  sent  to  the  mana- 
ger of  the  theatre  in  that  city,  during 


the  year  1869 1  Taking  thia  as  an  indi- 
cation of  what  may  have  been  done  else- 
where, we  must  suppose  that  the  nam- 
ber  of  dramatic  works  produced  in  Ger- 
many last  year,  was  somewhere  be- 
tween three  and  five  thousand !  And  of 
these,  not  more  than  five  will  be  beard 
of  five  years  hence ! 

In  Berlin  a  new  ediUon  has  be«i 

published  of  the  works  of  Roswitha  ?on 
Gaudersheim,  a  German  poetess  of  the 
tenth  century,  whose  works,  after  beiog 
forgotten  for  nearly  five  hundred  yean, 
were  finally  fonnd  in  MS.  in  Ratisbon, 
about  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  centniy. 
Professor  Rtlokert  (son  of  the  poet)  stjs 
of  Roswitha:  '^she  is  original  tlirough  tad 
through,  from  crown  to  sole,  unique  in 
her  genius,  not  to  be  compared  with  id j 
thing  in  the  tenth  or  any  other  centoiy 
of  the  Middle  Ages." 

— —  A  volume  has  appeared  in  Lmp- 
2ig  with  the  singular  title :  **  Humbol^ 
Pearls;  a  Wreath  of  Diamonds  from  tbt 
Life  and  Writings  of  Alexander  too 
Humboldt."  It  is  an  anthology,  selected 
from  the  Cosmos,  the  Personal  Narra- 
tive, and  the  correspondence  with  Vara- 
hagen  von  Ense. 

Yoigt,  in  Leipzig,  has  published 

a  volume  of  **  Works  and  Days  " — ^notbj 
Hesiod,  as  the  classical  reader  might  sup- 
pose, but  by  Max  Maria  von  Weber,  tbe 
son  of  the  renowned  composer.  As  tbe 
book  is  a  collection  of  descriptions  of 
great  manufactories  and  machine^  tbe 
title  is  not  inappropriate.  The  sketcbei 
are  written  with  spirit  and  with  tbe 
technical  knowledge  required  by  sudi 
subjects. 

Mr.  Ruskin's  fourth  lecture  at  Ox- 
ford is  on  "  The  Relation  of  Art  to  Use." 
From  the  report  in  the  Atherusum,  it  ap- 
pears to  ha\  e  been  one  of  his  most  su|^ 
gestivo  addresses,  abounding  in  ideas  of 
general  application — ^but  which,  we  fear, 
will  have  no  very  speedy  efiTect.  The  publio 
confession  of  deficiency  is  the  first  nec- 
essary step  towards  implanting  the  artist- 
ic feeling,  or  at  least  desire,  among  the 
people ;  but  is  there,  yet,  any  snch  ges* 
eral  confession  ? 


PUTNAM'S    MAGAZINE 


OP 


LITERATURE,   SCIENCE,  ART, 


AND 

\ 


NATIONAL  INTERESTS. 


Vol.  v.— JUNE— 1870.— No.   XXX. 


i^C 


DOWN  THE   DANUBE. 


The  fact  was,  we  were  growing  tired 
of  Vienna.  It  is  a  town  to  wMch  you 
are  easily  reconciled  if  you  are  com- 
pelled to  stay,  but  which  only  pleases 
up  to  a  certain  point  restless  idlers,  ad 
we  were.  Most  Americans  spend  one 
day  there,  and,  after  being  whirled 
through  the  Belvedere  and  the  Ambra- 
ser  Sammlung,  and  haying  stared  them- 
selves half  blind  at  the  wonders  of  the 
Schatzkammer,  and  drunk  the  clearest 
of  beer  to  the  most  voluptuous  of  dance- 
music  in  the  Volksgarten,  they  go  re- 
gretfully away  and  wish  they  had  not 
been  so  hurried,  and  devoutly  vow  to 
come  back  some  time  and  stay  longer. 
They  never  do,  but  they  go  through  the 
world  chanting  in  strophes  of  regret 
the  enchantments  of  the  Kaiserstadt. 
We  were  not  hurried,  and  we  saw  all 
of  Vienna  that  the  profane  may  see.  It 
is  a  pleasant,  happy-go-lucky,  old-fash- 
ioned, good-natured,  and  rather  stupid 
town.  I  know  that  sentence  will  meet 
with  an  indignant  denial  from  all  the 
young  ladies  who  have  gazed  for  an 
hour  at  Strauss  in  his  rhythmic  ecsta- 
cies,  and  from  all  the  young  gentlemen 
who  have  passed  an  evening  heim  SperL 
Duke  eat  desipere  in  loco — ^unquestion- 
ably ;  and  let  the  folly  be  localized  for 
a  day  or  two  at  Vienna,  and  you  can- 
not do  better.    But  try  it  for  a  year, 


and  then  beg  my  pardon  for  contra- 
dicting me.  You  will  be  glad  to  take 
tickets,  as  we  did,  for  Constantinople. 

One  morning  we  were  oiOf  by  the  Nord 
Bahn.  In  the  cold,  gray  frosty  day- 
break as  I  drove  to  the  station,  Vienna 
looked  glum  and  cheerless.  Even  the 
gay  little  people,  whose  night  was  end- 
ing, looked  blue  and  sleepy;  while 
stolid  toil,  whose  day  was  beginning, 
was  as  gloomy  as  it  is  everywhere  in 
great  towns.  As  I  clattered  through 
the  Salzgries,  I  saw  it  was  dismally 
early.  There  was  not  a  Jew  or  a  goose 
in  the  street.  At  the  station  I  saw  my 
friends  in  the  waiting-room — the  Judge, 
with  a  diffused  sense  of  injury  at  being 
compelled  to  get  up  before  he  was  ready 
and  to  eat  before  he  was  hungry,  and 
Mr.  Funnell  Hall,  fresh  and  frosty  and 
rosy  as  a  red  winter-apple.     ' 

While  we  are  waiting  for  the  train, 
let  me  introduce  my  friends.  Gentle 
reader,  this  is  Mr.  Funnell  Hall,  one  of 
the  Halls  of  Beacon-street,  cousin  to 
the  Marble  Halls  of  Commonwealth  ave- 
nue ;  he  is  something  of  a  student,  and 
very  much  of  a  gentleman;  he  came 
over  in  the  "  Mayflower,"  and  he  leads 
the  German ;  he  sleeps  well,  for  hi.s  con- 
science is  easy ;  he  eats  honestly,  for  his 
liver  is  sprightly;  ho  laughs  heartily, 
for  his  lungs  are  in  excellent  repair. 


Kattrtd,  IB  tlia  jnt  1870.  bf  O.  P.  rCTXAM  k.  305,  in  thcCUrk'a  OOec  of  Ihe  DUIrict  Cosrt  of  the  V,  8.  for  lb*  Soathera  DitUlct  of  X.  T. 


VOL.  V. — 41 


626 


PUTNAH'S  MaOAZINS. 


[June, 


"  The  Judge  " — ^there,  I  knew  I  should 
forget  it.    I  saw  his  name  once  on  a 
passport,  but  immediately  forgot  it — ^it 
was  Ellsworth,  or  Winthrop,  or  some 
satisfactory  Puritan  name  transplanted 
a  little  further  west.    But  the  name  is 
of  no  consequence.    He  was  never  call- 
ed any  thing  but  "  The  Judge."    When 
he  was  a  baby,  and,  in  obedience  to  the 
great  georgic  principle,  made  mud-pies, 
he  stirred  the  terrestrial  paste  with  a 
certain  judicial  gravity.     As  he  grew 
up,  his  friends  and  neighbors  called  him 
Judge  so  naturally,  that  one  day,  at  an 
election  held  in  his  absence  from  town, 
his  name  was  found  on  so  many  ballots 
for  some  vacancy  on  some  bench,  that 
he  was  declared  elected,  to  his  horror 
and  confusion.    For  the  Judge  was  a 
man  of  substance,  and  one  that  loved 
books  better  than  work.    So  he  resign- 
ed, and  was  promptly  reelected.    There 
was  but  one  resource  left — that  which 
Ed'ard  Cuttle,  mariner,  suggested  to  his 
friend  and  shipmate,  Bunsby,  ^*  Sheer 
oflf."    The  Judge  took  a  pair  of  easy- 
shoes,  and  a  portentous  green  umbrella 
that  had  been  in  the  family  since  the 
Pequod  war,  and  stealthily  sailed  for 
Europe,  where  he  breathed  freely — in 
cathedrals,  and  picture-galleries,  and  li- 
braries.    He  had  no  plans.     He  was 
goiug  to  stay  abroad  till  the  thing  blew 
over  at  home — ^till  **  some  other  fellow 
got  the  certificate."    The  Judge  wears 
gold  eye-glasses,  and  not  much  hair. 
He  attributes  the  rise  of  the  latter  hab- 
it to  his  early  custom  of  carrying  his 
hymn-book  in  his  hat.    His  principal 
passion  is  getting  up  early  and  scaling 
cathedral  towers.    He  is  the  best  Re- 
publican now  living.     He  knows  his 
'ecclesiastical  history  better  than  most 
bishops. 

We  spun  along  at  a  Jively  pace  until 
we  crossed  the  Hungarian  border  and 
came  to  Pressburg,  which  became  the 
capital  of  Hungary  and  the  city  of  the 
coronation  at  a  time  when  the  ancient 
•city  of  Bada-Pesth  was  in  the  hands 
of  the  infidels.  In  the  old  cathedral, 
founded  by  St.  Ladislaus,  and  dedi- 
<»ted  in  the  middle  of  the  fifteenth 
•century,  the  crowning  of  the  kings  of 


Hungary  was  for  many  generations  po- 
formed.    The  gilded  crown  upon  tbe 
cupola  still  marks  the  former  digmtf 
of  the  now  insignificant  charcb«    One 
of  the  saddest  and  most  touching  ind- 
dents  of  Hungarian  history  took  place 
in   this  triste  little  city,  when  ICiriA 
Theresa  came  down  to  Hungary  croim- 
ed  and  girded  with  the  diadem  and 
sword  of   St.   Stephen,   to  entice  the 
magnates  into  her  bloody  and  sel&h 
wars,  and  the  impressible  and  dunl- 
rous  nobles  fell  into  the  trap  that  wai 
baited  with  her  beauty  and  her  tears. 
Moriamur  pro  rege  nostra  !  shouted  Bat- 
thyany,  in  a  glow  of  loyalty  that  defied 
tradition  and  prudence  as  well  as  gram- 
mar ;  and  for  years  the  best  blood  of 
Hungary  smoked  in  the  battle-fields  of 
Europe  as  incense  to  the  Hapsborg  ob- 
stinacy ffhd  pride.     Often  in  their  hi*- 
tory  has  this  scene  been  repeated  or 
paralleled.    As  long  as  Hungary  wai 
an  aristocracy,  it  was  liable  to  tbeM 
paroxysms  of  chivalrous  folly.     Xow 
that  there  is  a  Hungarian  people,  lei 
us  see  how  they  will  take  care  of  them- 
selves and  the  common  weal. 

We  stopped  for  dinner  at  the  station 
of  Neuhausel.  As  we  descended  from 
the  carriage,  we  were  greeted  by  wild 
strains  of  barbaric  melody  which  pro- 
ceeded from  a  band  of  gypsies  near  the 
door  of  the  restauratiou.  They  were 
dressed  in  soft,  fine  hides,  beautifiillj 
embroidered  in  bright  colors,  and  coni- 
cal hats  profusely  decked  with  stream- 
ing ribbons.  Around  the  platfona 
lounged  some  dozens  of  men  and  wom- 
en of  the  country,  nearly  all  dressed  in 
leather  more  or  less  shabby.  Aboot 
the  dress  of  the  men  there  was  usuaDj 
some  rude  attempt  at  ornament.  Tlie 
women  were  more  soberly  attired.  Wc 
had  gotten  so  far  East  that  woman  wu 
dethroned. 

We  entered  the  dark  and  smoky  din- 
ing-room with  a  little  shudder,  bat 
were  agreeably  disappointed  at  finding 
a  clean  and  wholesome  dinner.  Tlie 
Judge,  who  had  been  under  deep  de- 
pression all  the  morning  on  account  of 
the  semmdls  of  Vienna,  which  he  should 
see  nevermore,  was  instantly  rooMd  to 


1870.] 


Down  the  Daiojbe. 


627 


life  and  animation  by  the  Bigbt  of  this 
cherished  edible  beside  his  soup-plate. 
We  sat  there  in  a  conftision  of  many 
tongues — Germans,  Slayonians,  Mag- 
yars, Wallachians,  each  speaking  his 
own  jargon — and  would  have  enjoyed 
our  luncheon  entirely,  had  it  not  been 
that  the  Zigcuner-musik  jarred  on  the 
trained  nerves  of  Mr.  Hall,  accustomed 
to  the  classic  tones  of  the  Great  Organ. 

As  you  rattle  through  Waitzen,  you 
see  nothing  of  it  but  a  very  ugly  cathe- 
dral tTiming  its  apsides  to  you.  This  is 
a  sturdy  Republican  town.  It  saw  one 
of  the  great  Hungarian  battles  of  1848, 
and  still  keeps  the  faith  by  electing 
Kossuth  or  his  sons  to  the  Diet  when- 
ever there  is  an  election.  Thence  over 
a  wide  open  plain,  along  the  low  river- 
banks,  you  come  to  the  city  of  Pesth, 
the  metropolis  of  Hungary.  At  the  ho- 
tel we  asked  for  three  rooms,  and  were 
stared  at  for  the  unreasonable  demand. 
The  Landtag  was  in  session,  and  the 
town  was  full.  They  could  give  us  three 
beds,  and  they  escorted  us  solemnly  up- 
stairs, with  a  mute  and  respectful  pro- 
cession of  exquisite  young  gentlemen 
in  evening-dress  carrying  long  candles. 
The  room  was  a  superb  parlor  on  the 
second  floor,  with  three  beds,  and  room 
enough  for  three  more.  Mr.  Hall  was 
rather  disappointed  that  the  hardships 
of  the  journey  had  not  begun,  but  the 
Judge  and  I  consoled  him  by  the  prom- 
ise of  pirates  and  mosquitoes  on  the 
Lower  Danube.  He  had  read,  in  his 
guide-book,  that  you  could  get  noth- 
ing to  eat  in  Hungary  but  Fogasch  and 
Paprika  Hahn,  and  was  as  near  ill-na- 
ture as  his  sunny  temperament  could 
get,  when  we  came  to  dinner  and  found 
in  our  hands  a  menu  printed  in  French, 
Oerman,  and  Hungarian,  comprising  all 
the  luxuries  of  the  Parisian  cuisine.  He 
soon  recovered  from  his  disappointment, 
however,  and  gave  his  fine  teeth  a  lively 
hour's  work. 

As  the  waiter  brought  our  cofiee,  we 
asked  what  was  given  to-night  at  the 
theatre.  Something  very  fine  —  "Did 
Schona  ffeUne,''^  of  Oflfenbach.  We 
groaned.  Were  we  never  to  get  away 
from  Ofienbach?     All  over  GTermany 


they  have  gone  daft  over  his  music. 
In  every  provincial  theatre  you  will 
find  a  soubrette  who  aims  to  form  her- 
self on  the  model  of  Schneider,  and 
who  only  succeeds  in  aping  the  occa- 
sional coarseness,  with  no  suspicion  of 
the  grace,  of  the  blonde  goddess  of  the 
Yari^t^s.  One  dull  night  in  Leipsic  we 
had  to  take  La  Vie  Parinenne  or  noth- 
ing. In  Berlin  they  were  playing  Blue- 
beard. In  the  heart  of  Poland  I  found 
the  stage  occupied  on  alternate  nights 
by  the  peplum  of  Fair  Helen  and  the 
tapageous  toilettes  of  the  Benoiton 
family.  Ofienbach  has  conquered  the 
world,  and,  unsatisfied,  has  invaded  at 
last  the  island-realm  of  Robinson  Crusoe, 
and  taught  those  virgin  solitudes  to 
echo  the  seducing  strains,  "^8'*  c^est 
aimer,'''* 

Was  there  nothing  else  ?  Oh,  yes,  he 
said,  something  at  the  National  Hun- 
garian Theatre.  This  rather  slighting- 
ly, as  if  it  was  not  the  thing.  Would 
my  Grace  like  to  see  the  journal  ?  My 
grace  would.  When  the  journal  came, 
we  found  the  opera  was  the  ever-fresh, 
inexhaustible  Barber  of  Seville.  Here 
was  a  novelty  worth  while :  Figaro  in- 
triguing in  the  Magyar  language.  It 
was  a  very  pretty  and  well-filled  thea- 
tre. The  play  was  well  put  on  the  stage, 
and  the  singing  was  not  bad.  The  act- 
ing was  admirable.  The  language  is 
rather  too  consonantal  for  melody.  Mr. 
Hall,  whose  eyes  were  ofi"  on  an  explor- 
ing expedition  after  Hungarian  beauty 
during  the  entre-actety  assured  us  that 
the  result  of  his  observations  was  very 
satisfactory.  The  average  of  beauty 
among  the  better  classes  of  Hungary  is 
very  high.  The  prettiest  and  most 
piquant  faces  in  the  first  Vienna  salons 
are  seen  to  be  from  the  families  of  the 
Magyar  magnates.  They  did  not  seem 
to  care  much  for  the  music,  for  the 
boxes  were  full  of  soft  feminine  chat- 
ter and  laughter  all  the  evening.  They 
were  winsome  damsels,  and  their  voices 
sweet  and  clear,  but  we  elderly  people 
would  have  prefeired  the  unmixed  mu- 
sic of  Rossini. 

The  Ebtd  de  V Europe  we  had  chosen 
from  its  name,  and,  as  usual,  had  reason 


628 


Putstam's  Magazine. 


9m, 


to  felicitate  ourselves  upon  the  success 
of  the  augury.  I  do  not  know  why  the 
Hotd  de  V Europe  is  always  a  good  house, 
but  it  is  yery  clear  why  the  Hotel  d^An- 
gleterre,  or  A  la  Beine  Vietoria^  or  the 
Engliseher  Hof^  is  always  a  bad  one.  In 
the  desperate  attempt  to  make  an  Eng- 
lish inn,  they  lose  the  simple  comforts 
of  the  true  Continental  hostel ;  and  the 
fragmentary  English  of  the  waiters  is  a 
poor  compensation  for  the  lack  of  every 
thing  else.  But  everywhere  in  Europe 
the  weak  point  of  the  hotel  system  is 
breakfast.  The  waiters  are  moony,  hazy, 
half-daft.  They  bring  only  one  thing 
at  a  time,  apparently  unconscious  of 
any  connection  between  tea  and  sugar, 
and  incapable  of  comprehending  the 
earnestness  with  which  you  insist  on 
having  your  bread  and  your  butter  to- 
gether. They  only  get  fairly  awake  at 
noon,  and  life  attains  for  them  its  flush 
and  heyday  at  the  early  dinner-hour,  to 
sink  again  into  torpor  and  apathy  with 
the  shades  of  evening. 

So  it  was  not  in  the  best  posBible 
humor  that  we  set  off  in  the  mornings 
on  our  explorations  of  the  city  of  Pesth. 
The  city  is  not  a  very  attractive  one. 
It  is  a  wide,  level  town,  with  streets 
spreading  out  like  a  fan  from  the  coro- 
nation square  by  the  suspension  bridge. 
The  streets  are  long  and  wide;  the 
buildings  rather  low  in  general.  The 
signs  produce  a  curious  effect  upon 
strangers,  the  baptismal  names  always 
bringing  up  the  rear  in  Hungary.  There 
is  a  great  fancy,  also,  for  painting  some- 
what elaborate  pictures  on  the  outside 
of  shops,  to  serve  as  a  sign  and  adver- 
tisement at  once.  A  certain  pictur- 
esqueness  is  given  to  the  streets  by  the 
crowds  of  people  wearing  the  neat  and 
striking  national  costume.  The  Magyar 
revival  is  everywhere  triumphant  in  the 
matter  of  dress.  During  our  stay  in 
Pesth  we  saw  no  hat  but  once.  We 
ourselves  had  tamely  submitted  to  the 
national  spirit,  and  indulged  in  the 
luxury  of  the  Talpak. 

But  the  evening  before  we  left,  I  saw 
in  the  clear  sunset  a  strangely  familiar 
apparition  mount  the  coronation  tumu- 
lus by  the  Quai,  and  stand  surveying, 


with  stubby  independence,  the  Bceneof 
the  imperiid  circnft-riding  of  a  flnmncr 
or  two  ago.  He  tamed  to  the  eut  ad 
the  north,  to  the  south  and  tibe  woL 
He  brought  his  umbrella  to  a  *'  preaegt* 
in  aU  four  directions,  as  Mr.  F.  J.  Hi|ii> 
burg  did  with  the  sword  of  8t  Stqte 
on  the  interesting  occasion  in  qnestka, 
and  then,  having  satisfied  his  a|nritof» 
inquiry  and  experiment,  went  off  hnsU^ 
for  his  hotel.  There  was  no  qaestifli 
about  him:  the  well-worn  tile,  tiie  kxi^ 
country-made  overcoat,  the  dkort,  M 
trowsers,  warped  a  littie  out  from  tib 
perpendicular,  the  square-toed  booli^ 
the  heels  worn  down  on  the  oatside 
angle,  and  the  spry,  independent  vsf 
of  getting  around,  all  spoke  his 
ality  better  than  the  eagle  that 
ed  on  his  passx>ort. 

Mr.  Hall  caught  sifrht  of  the  castor 
as  it  went  slanting  round  a  comer,  nd 
shouted,  "  By  Jove !  that  old  felknr 
might  have  come  from  Dedham.^ 

Pesth  is  a  lively,  pleasant  town,  bst 
Buda,  the  twin  city,  is  fan  more  inter- 
esting. It  stands  perched  upon  its  grim 
•rocks,  proud,  inaccessible,  seemingly  in- 
vincible. But  nothing  is  invincible  to 
the  armed  people.  Gorgcy  and  his 
volunteers  stormed  that  almost  perpeo- 
dicular  height,  and  wrested  the  fortrai 
from  the  regular  Austrian  troops,  after 
one  of  the  bloodiest  sieges  that  eren 
the  scarlet  pages  of  revolution  record- 
In  the  centre  of  the  great  square,  inside 
the  fort,  stands  an  iron  monument  to 
Hentzi  and  his  men,  who  fell  over- 
whelmed by  the  irresistible  wave  of 
Hungarian  valor.  The  imperial  de^- 
ism  crushed  the  infant  Republic,  and 
set  up  a  monument  to  its  own  servants 
who  fell  at  their  master's  work.  The 
Hungarian  heroes  who  here  defied  the 
impossible,  have  no  monument  except 
in  the  dim  memories  of  compromising 
survivors  and  the  early  speeches  of 
Kossuth ;  he  called  them  "  the  unnamed 
demigods." 

High  and  steep  as  the  fortress  of 
Buda  is,  it  is  entirely  conmianded  hj 
the  neighboring  hills.  The  Blocksberg 
is  especially  insolent  and  domineering 
in  aspect.     Nobody  seemed  to  hare 


1870.] 


Down  thb  Danijbb. 


629 


noticed  tliis,  howeyer,  until  GOrgey, 
with  his  reyolutionar3(  force,  seized 
and  fortified  it.  To  eaye  the  city  of  i 
Pesth  from  bombardment,  he  for  a  long 
time  refrained  from  firing  on  the  fort-  i 
ress  of  Buda ;  but  when  Hentzi  fired 
on  the  city,  Gorgey  opened  his  artillery 
on  the  Festung,  and  soon  knocked  the 
Palatine  palace  and  the  barracks  about 
the  ears  of  the  garrison. 

We  drove,  one  pleasant  afternoon, 
to  the  Blocksberg.  A  squalid  Tillage 
clings  like  a  parasite  to  its  base,  and 
a  long  zigzag  road  winds  to  its  summit. 
On  either  side  of  the  road  lie  the  fa- 
mous vineyards  that  produce  the  Ofner 
wine.  We  passed  one  large  plantation, 
which  occupied,  in  joint  tenancy  with 
mouldering  tomb-stones,  a  grave-yard 
centuries  old.  The  vine-stakes  and  the 
hie  jacets  crowded  each  other  on  the 
hillside.  "  Rum  place  to  plant  a  vine- 
yard," said  Mr.  Funnell  Hall.  "  They 
want  the  wine  to  have  body,"  said  the 
Judge,  calmly.  All  along  the  way  were 
strewn  these  cheap  and  tawdry  shrines, ' 
with  staring  colors  and  hideous  statu- 
ettes, such  as  one  sees  in  every  moun-  ■ 
tainous  country.  The  crest  of  the  hill 
is  crowned  with  a  fort  in  solid  masonry. 
It  is  entirely  dismantled,  not  a  man  nor 
a  gun  in  position.  Some  wild-looking 
men,  dressed  in  skins,  with  unwieldy 
wagons  drawn  by  long-homed,  fawn- 
colored  cattle,  and  attended  by  black 
dogs  nearly  as  tall  as  the  oxen,  were 
engaged  removing  rubbish  from  the 
casemates.  The  Danube  lay  warm  in 
the  light  of  evening,  writhing  over  long 
stretches  of  valley  and  plain.  The  city 
of  Pesth  spread  out  its  fan-like  streets 
over  the  level  before  us,  looking  twice 
its  size.  In  the  court  of  the  vast  bar- 
racks, called  the  New  Building,  built 
about  a  century  ago,  we  could  see  a 
dress-parade  going  on,  and  the  sound 
of  the  bugles  floated  up  to  us  "  thin 
and  clear  like  horns  of  Elf-Land." 

One  beautiful  moonlight  night  we 
left  Pesth  and  went  still  eastward.  At 
the  station  we  found,  in  the  waiting- 
room,  a  heterogeneous  mass  of  fantas- 
tically assorted  humanity  silently  group- 
ed around  the  stoves.    A  porter  ap- 


proached us  and  asked  '*  if  we  liked  to 
be  at  our  ease  in  travelling."  Touched 
by  the  kind  interest  displayed  in  the 
question,  we  replied  that  there  was 
nothing  we  liked  better.  He  instantly 
shouldered  our  shawls  and  carpet-bags, 
unlocked  the  door  that  led  to  the  train, 
and,  immindful  of  the  grumbling  world, 
locked  it  again  behind  us,  and  led  us 
to  a  compartment  over  which  was  paint- 
ed the  word  that  your  true  Austrian  or 
Hungarian  shuns  as  unhallowed,  Nicht- 
Baudier,  "  But  we  smoke,"  roared  Mr. 
Hall  in  angry  protest.  "  Schon  I "  he 
gently  responded;  **in  there  you  will 
not  be  smoked."  We  gave  the  philan- 
thropic porter  some  Austrian  currency, 
and  he  locked  us  into  the  compartment 
and  went  back  to  find  more  Enghlnder 
who  liked  to  be  at  ease.  Family  par- 
ties came  storming  at  the  door  from 
time  to  time,  but  the  glamor  of  the 
tiflf  weighed  heavily  on  guards  and 
porters,  and  we  were  held  sacred.  The 
Judge  took  out  his  meerschaum,  black 
as  ebony,  and  Mr.  Hall  his  bundle  of 
Vienna  Virginias,  and  poisoned  the  few 
cubic  feet  of  atmosphere  set  aside  for 
non-smokers,  without  fear  and  without 
reproach. 

Of  all  vices,  there  is  none  so  selfish 
as  the  use  of  tobacco.  No  man,  except 
the  murderer,  so  projects  upon  others 
the  consequences  of  his  own  fault  as 
the  smoker.  I  have  a  thousand  times, 
in  travelling,  seen  a  man,  apparently  of 
good  breeding  otherwise,  take  out  a 
cigar  in  a  crowded  compartment,  smile 
blandly,  say  to  the  women  present,  "  I 
hope  smoking  is  not  offensive,"  to  which 
the  submissive  ireply  is  always  the  same 
on  the  continent ;  he  then  proceeds  to 
fill  the  close  air  with  subtle  poison, 
while  women  become  pale  and  faint, 
and  children  fiushed  and  fevered,  and 
the  journey,  which  might  have  been  a 
pleasure,  a  penance —all,  that  one  selfish 
fellow  may  retune,  with  a  noxious  weed, 
the  nerves  that,  by  the  use  of  this  weed, 
he  has  senselessly  shattered.  And  near- 
ly every  smoker  will  say,  "  I  am  not  a 
E^ave  to  tobacco.  I  smoke  because  I 
like  it."  Can  selfishness  be  more  shame- 
less and  cynical  ?    In  America,  as  yet, 


680 


PUTNAM^B  MaOAZINS. 


[i^ 


no  one  but  a  blackguard  smokes  in  the 
presence  of  womeu.  But,  with  the  grad- 
ual blunting  of  consciences  through  con- 
tinued vice,  we  may  find  ourselyes  where 
Austria  and  Hungary  are. 

It  was  day  as  we  drew  near  the  great 
river  again  at  Baziasch.  On  paper  and 
in  the  hopes  of  property-holders  this  is 
an  important  place ;  but  the  impartial 
tourist  sees  nothing  but  a  shabby  land- 
ing, and  a  warehouse,  too  big  for  its 
work,  crouched  at  the  foot  of  a  great 
bleak  hill.  There  is  a  railway  station 
near  the  shore,  and  a  small  fleet  of  the 
Danubian  Company's  boats  moored  be- 
side it,  and  swarming  between  was  the 
population  of  the  city  of  Baziasch — a 
dozen  or  two  mean-visaged  rascals  in 
gaudy-colored  skins,  who  pick  up  a 
lazy  livelihood  by  carrying  portman- 
teaus from  the  station  to  the  boat. 
They  crowd  into  the  cars  and  seize 
your  light  baggage  with  a  grave  and 
official  air  that  imposes  upon  weak 
nerves.  One  takes  your  travelling-bag, 
another  severely  shoulders  your  um- 
brella, and  a  third  muscular  rogue  stag- 
gers under  the  weight  of  your  Murray. 
If  you  protest,  they  explain  in  digni- 
fied but  voluble  Magyar;  and  if  you 
are  not  fluent  in  the  tongue  of  Attila, 
there  is  nothing  to  do  but  to  walk  in 
solemn  procession  with  these  panting 
and  over-loaded  porters  to  the  boat. 
Your  ignorance  of  their  grammar  comes 
into  better  play  when  you  pay  them  ac- 
cording to  the  measure  of  their  work, 
and  they  demand  a  supplement. 

The  morning  was  hazy  and  cold. 
The  boat  lay  idly  by  the  wharf.  The 
captain  sleepily  superintended  the  em- 
barkation of  the  baggage,  which  was 
brought  on  by  the  same  labor-saving 
machines  who  had  accompanied  us  from 
the  station.  The  Judge  and  I,  who  felt 
frowsy  and  tumbled  from  the  night  in 
the  train,  went  below.  Mr.  Hall  paced 
the  deck,  encouraging  the  captain  about 
his  work,  making  every  body's  acquaint- 
ance, and  shedding  abroad  in  the  damp, 
shivering  air  the  influence  of  his  invin- 
cible health  and  youth.  In  an  hour  he 
came  down  to  breakfast,  with  his  hair 
standing  out  for  mere  frosty  good-na- 


ture, and  the  keen  hunger  of  a  sckwi- 
boy.  He  knew  already  every  bodj  oi 
board.  There  were  two  Greeks,  he  sud, 
Smymioter  merchants  —  an  Armoiiia 
bagman — a  Turkish  banker,  with  tmf 
dozen  little  pine  boxes  of  money  oa 
deck,  which  Jiiad  just  been  broogltt  <hi 
board  after  being  counted  and  eeafed 
on  the  wharf  by  three  official  people 
with  no  end  of  gold-lace — a  young  nai 
from  Paris,  with  dyed  whiskers  and  bad 
teeth — a  solid  Wallachian  tradeniiB 
and  a  ffighty  Wallachian  student— and 
our  friend  finom  Dedham  with  the  hat! 
He  had  been  found  in  a  heated  cootn>> 
versy  with  two  furry  gen  tlemen  in  sheqh 
skins,  who  insisted  on  being  paid  sqa- 
rately  for  bringing  each  one  ovenhoe 
from  the  station,  while  Dedham  logic- 
ally contended,  with  a  cogency  wUdi 
would  have  been  conclusive  if  the  foiiy 
men  had  understood  English,  that  car- 
rying a  pair  of  overshoes  was  an  act 
which,  in  contemplation  of  law  and 
bucksheesh  custom,  was  indivisible,  aad 
not  susceptible  of  a  dual  interpretatioL 
We  breakfasted  at  a  little  table  apart, 
at  one  end  of  the  cabin.  Near  us  mi 
a  larger  table,  at  which  were  sodahiy 
grouped  most  of  the  persons  whom  Hall 
had  described.  During  the  hour  ve  at 
there,  it  was  curious  to  see  how  the  con- 
versation drifted  through  at  least  a  half- 
dozen  different  languages.  Nearly  CTwy 
one  on  board  spoke  fluently  all  the  lan- 
guages of  Southern  Europe,  and  I  haie 
since  found  that  talent  very  general  ia 
the  southeast.  They  seemed  scarcely 
conscious  of  a  change  in  the  speech 
they  used,  but  the  conversation  foUow- 
ed  with  instant  readiness  a  word  thrown 
into  the  air  by  the  Frenchman,  the  Tnrk, 
the  Greek,  or  by  the  Italian,  whose  fiidle 
tongue  is  perhaps  the  most  universaQj 
spoken  in  the  Orient.  The  subject  un- 
der discussion,  rather  than  the  national- 
ity of  the  speaker,  suggestecl  the  choice 
of  language.  While  they  were  talking 
of  the  Reichsrath,  they  spoke  Ckrmaii, 
but  a  remark  about  the  Exposition 
switched  the  talk  at  once  off  int<^ 
French.  The  Smymiote  merchant,  who 
up  to  that  moment  had  spoken  no  Eng- 
lish,  now  approached  us,  and  Raid  that. 


1870.] 


Down  the  Danube. 


681 


in  his  daily  business,  he  was  compelled 
to  speak  English,  French,  German,  Ital- 
ian, Turkish,  Greek,  and  Armenian.  He 
thought  English  was  gaining  every  day 
as  a  business  language,  though  still  far 
behind  French.  English  was  the  easi- 
est of  all  tongues  to  speak  badly,  and 
French  the  easiest  to  speak  well. 

**  Ye  gentlemen  of  Yankee-land,"  said 
Hall,  "who  live  at  home  at  ease,  and 
go  from  Maine  to  Texas  ^'ith  only  a 
revolver  and  Webster's  spelling-book,  I 
hope  you  appreciate  your  advantages." 

We  got  under  way  after  an  inordi- 
nately long  time  had  been  spent  stow- 
ing away  the  light  load — the  Huns, 
who  acted  as  stevedores,  seeming  to 
suffer  under  a  deep  sense  of  the  curse 
of  labor,  and  to  struggle  to  incur  as 
little  of  it  as  possible  in  a  given  time. 

I  know  of  no  river  so  much  neglect- 
ed by  the  poets  and  romancers,  which 
is  so  rich  in  the  materials  of  poetry  and 
romance,  as  the  Lower  Danube.  In  the 
short  stretch  that  reaches  from  Baziasch 
to  the  tower  of  Severinus,  you  will  find 
almost  every  conceivable  variety  of  river 
scenery.  There  are  portions  as  beauti- 
ful as  the  Hudson,  as  picturesque  as  the 
Rhine,  and  others  as  wild  and  savage  as 
the  St.  Lawrence.  Now  it  winds  through 
vast  corn-fields  and  among  gently-roll- 
ing plains  that  irresistibly  recall  the 
Mississippi ;  and  again,  it  seems  to  lie 
like  a  mountain-lake  locked  fast  by 
beetling  cliffs.  But  there  was  to  me  a 
singular  impression  of  loneliness  always 
present — not  as  of  a  land  unpeopled, 
but  depopulated.  There  were  very  few 
ruins.  You  saw  nowhere,  as  on  the 
Rhine,  those  wonderful  piles  of  masonry 
standing  mute  witnesses  of  the  glory 
and  crimes  of  the  past.  The  solitude 
of  the  Danube  is  more  profound.  Even 
its  memories  are  vague.  Through  all 
this  long  meandering  course,  if  we  ex- 
cept the  towns  of  Skela-Gladova  and 
Rustchuk — straggling  new  villages  call- 
ed into  life  by  the  Austrian  Steamboat 
Company — there  is  rarely  a  sign  of  hu- 
man occupation.  There  rests  upon  the 
land  the  shadow  of  a  great  secret,  a 
distant  and  mighty  past.  The  tawny 
waves  of  the  Danube  roll  turbid  with 


troubled  memories  which  will  never  be 
made  clear. 

A  hint  of  this  strange  past  you 
catch  from  time  to  time.  Once  a  group 
of  peasants  came  down  to  the  landing 
where  we  lay,  dressed  in  skins  and  high 
conical  fur  caps,  precisely  like  those  the 
conquered  Dacians  wear  in  the  reliefs  of 
the  Column  of  Trajan — a  fashion  which 
has  lasted  in  this  neighborhood  for  two 
thousand  years.  You  may  see,  near  the 
village  of  Tumu-Severin,  two  piles  of 
masonry  by  the  shore,  and  others  rip- 
pling the  waves  in  mid-channel — the 
remains  of  a  bridge  built  by  the  Ro- 
man invaders.  But  there  is  another 
relic  of  that  wonderful  age  and  of  those 
incomparable  warriors  more  remarkable 
still,  on  the  right  bank  of  the  river,  ex- 
tending several  miles.  This  is  a  system 
of  mortices,  and  of  the  remains  of  a 
covered  gallery  cut  in  the  solid  rock, 
to  form  the  military  road  by  which  the 
Roman  army  shortened  and  secured  its 
communications  in  the  vast  outlying 
Dacian  territories.  I  have  never  been 
brought  so  near  in  spirit  to  that  mar- 
vellous x>eople  as  in  seeing,  in  these 
wild  and  utterly  lonely  solitudes,  these 
vividly  startling  traces  of  their  majestic 
passage.  There  is  no  Dacia — there  is  no 
Senate  and  people  of  Rome.  Roman  his- 
tory is  a  playground  of  scholars,  where 
each  builds  what  airy  castles  he  may. 
But  here,  at  the  world's  end,  is  a  fresh, 
undeniable  proof  of  the  awful  vigor  of 
those  gigantic  footsteps  that  made  the 
earth  tremble  for  centuries.  But  the 
civilization  that  Trajan  found,  if  he 
found  any,  and  that  which  he  carried, 
if  the  mailed  fist  con  hold  such  a  bur- 
den, have  alike  vanished  from  these 
waste  places,  and  Nature  has  resumed 
her  ancient  savagery. 

As  we  drew  near  the  pass  of  Kazau, 
the  banks  of  the  Danube  suddenly  con- 
tracted, the  grassy  and  wooded  slopes 
of  the  hills  turned  to  perpendicular 
crags  of  red  sandstone,  whose  broad 
surfaces  presented  a  mass  of  fused  and 
twisted  strata,  that  looked  as  if  a  vast 
coil  of  preadamite  serpents  had  sud- 
denly been  fixed  upon  the  mountain- 
walL   Sharp  monumental-looking  spurs 


683 


PUTNAH^B  MaGAZIKB. 


[JUM, 


of  rock  shot  up  here  and  there  from  the 
clifb.  Before  and  behind  us  a  thick 
blue  veil  of  flying  mist  darkened  the 
sky.  The  current  of  the  riyer  grew 
rapid  and  troubled  in  the  narrowing 
channeL  As  we  came  to  the  Pass, 
where  the  river  dashes  through  a  gorge 
of  only  fifty  yards  in  width,  a  wild  and 
furious  storm  of  wind  and  rain  rushed 
howling  from  between  the  black  walls 
and  struck  us  full  in  the  face,  as  if  the 
Spirit  of  the  Place  was  making  his  last 
desperate  stand  against  intrusion.  The 
wind  roared  and  lashed  the  excited  wa- 
ters into  foam ;  the  rain  was  hurled  in 
level  lines  through  the  gorge  like  a  vol- 
ley of  whistling  bullets.  On  either  side 
the  dim  crags  rose  higher  in  the  mist, 
until  the  last  one  sprang  sheer  and  clean 
two  thousand  feet  in  the  air,  its  head 
bound  in  tattered  clouds.  We  came  out 
upon  a  broad  and  lovely  valley  where 
the  river  broadened  to  a  lake,  and  the 
storm,  exhausted  and  spent,  sank  away 
into  a  bright  and  quiet  simset. 

We  landed  for  the  night  at  the  town 
of  Orsova,  the  frontier  town  of  Hun- 
gary, on  the  Wallachian  border.  It  was 
not  considered  safe  to  attempt  to  shoot 
the  Iron  Gate  before  morning.  The 
Judge,  acting  upon  his  unvarying  plan 
of  always  leaving  a  boat  when  he  could, 
went  ashore,  and  occasioned  a  general 
stampede  to  the  Hotel  Ungarn. 

We  went  aboard  at  six  in  the  morn- 
ing. The  hills  were  blue  and  dim  in 
the  clear  autumnal  dawn.  The  rising 
sun  touched  the  sleeping  river  to  a  rosy 
tinge.  The  cool,  fresh  air  was  vibrating 
to  the  sound  of  distant  bells,  and  the 
great  high  road  upon  the  Servian  shore 
was  thronged  with  groups  of  peasants 
in  their  holiday  dress,  going  to  early 
mass.  We  came,  in  a  half-hour^s  sail, 
to  New  Orsova,  the  military  post  which 
guards  the  Wallachian  frontier.  Here, 
on  a  low  marshy  level  by  the  river-side, 
Kossuth  buried  the  Iron  Crown  of  Hun- 
gary when  all  was  lost  and  his  nation 
seemed  dying.  He  fled  into  Turkey, 
taking  his  secret  with  him.  Several 
years  afterward  the  precious  relic  was 
discovered  by  accident,  and  a  chapel 
built  on  the  spot  to  commemorate  the 


event.  A  little  yalley  here  marki  flte 
border  of  Christianity  and  Tslamian, 
and  a  snow-clad  moimtain  doses  the 
view,  whence  a  keen  cold  wind  sweqn 
down  the  river. 

We  now  came  to  the  Iron  Gat«  of  the 
Danube.  This  dangerous  rapid  consisU 
of  two  almost  vertical  falls  of  eight  feet 
each.    The  boiling  and  foaming  nu» 
of  waters  looks  exceedingly  formidable, 
but  is  rarely  fatal  to  yessels.     Disafitera 
are  scarcely  ever  heard  of  with  good 
pilots  in  the  daytime.      The  weather 
became  instantly  milder  by  several  de- 
grees when  we  had  passed  the  r&pidi 
We  changed  boats  again  at  Tumu-Sere* 
rin,  and  made  the  rest  of  the  jooinej 
in  the  superbly-appointed  steamer  ^'  So- 
phie ^*  of  the  Austrian  Navigation  Com- 
pany.   Here  Mr.  Funnell  Hall  gave  up 
finally  his  search  for  priyations,  and  con- 
tented himself  with  enjoying  the  loxo- 
ries  of  traveL    His  pirates  he  foond  in 
dress-coats  and  white  crayats.   His  tenti 
and  caves  were  carpeted  from  Bel^nm, 
and  frescoed  like  committce-roonu  in 
Washington.     He  even  found  means  of 
gratifying  his  depraved  Bostonian  taste 
for  cold  water,  and  splashed  about  in 
his  chamber  to  the  horror  of  hydro- 
phobic Huns. 

We  steamed  along  all  day  in  the  soft 
Fall  weather,  the  river  skirting  desolate 
grassy  downs  and  villages  of  wattled 
huts  with  long  fine  names.  There  is  a 
wonderful  sameness  of  color  in  these 
worn-out  lands.  I  saw,  on  the  dull 
dun  background  once  a  dusty  stone 
fountain,  on  one  side  a  family  in  light 
butternut  gowns,  on  the  other  a  few 
dirt-colored  cows.  Mr.  Hall  made  a 
sketch  of  the  group,  which  he  called 
"  A  Symphony  in  Drab." 

We  had  some  talk  of  politics  with 
the  Servians  and  Wallachians  on  board. 
They  sj)eak* without  the  slightest  reser- 
vation, and  without  the  least  pretence 
of  concealing  their  contempt  and  de- 
testation of  the  Turkish  rule.  In  both 
Wallachia  and  Servia  the  authority  of 
the  Sultan  has  long  ceased  to  be  any 
thing  more  than  nominal ;  and  if  there 
were  any  concert  of  action  in  European 
Turkey,  the  yoke  of  Moslem  suzerainty 


1870.] 


Down  tiib  Danube. 


688 


could  be  shaken  off  at  any  day.  Bat 
all  efforts  to  build  up  a  party  which 
should  haye  cohesion  enough  to  sustain, 
in  the  seyeral  provinces,  the  weight  of 
a  simultaneous  rebellion,  have  been,  as 
yet,  unavailing.  The  different  princes 
cannot  trust  each  other.  The  liberal 
Servians  cannot  trust  their  prince.  In 
the  dominions  of  Prince  Charles  of 
HohenzoUcrn,  there  is  the  most  curious 
complexity  of  parties.  The  Hospodar 
himself  dreams  of  a  Danubian  king- 
dom. His  Moldavian  subjects  are  plot- 
ting for  independence,  or,  failing  that, 
for  the  removal  of  the  capital  to  Jassy. 
A  few  cracked  spirits,  who  have  read 
a  little  of  Roman  history,  arc  agitating 
for  a  Pan-Dacian  movement.  And  gene- 
rally throughout  Jthe  principality  the 
Romanians  find  it  more  amusing  to 
plunder  and  jay-hawk  the  Jews,  than  to 
spend  time  and  money  in  any  form  of 
political  agitation. 

Russia  waits  always  over  the  border, 
ready,  at  the  slightest  signal,  to  assist 
the  revolt ;  but  in  spite  of  the  intrigues 
of  her  agents,  the  Russian  cause  is  not 
gaining  much  in  the  principalities.  The 
Danubians  shrewdly  prefer  to  continue 
their  connection  with  a  dying  despot- 
ism too  weak  to  oppress  them,  rather 
than  give  themselves  up  to  the  ursine 
protection  of  the  hungry  Colossus  of 
the  North. 

On  Monday  morning  we  went  ashore 
at  Rustchuk.  The  town  is  sprinkled 
along  the  hillside  in  a  ravishing  site — 
a  pretty  place,  with  neat  white  cottages, 
and  eighteen  slender  minarets  bearing 
witness  to  their  piety.  In  the  airy 
piazzas  sat  the  placid  Turks  gravely 
smoking.  Women,  enveloped  in  their 
long  jashmaks,  were  bringing  wood  and 
water  up  the  steep  hill-path ;  and  loung- 
ing and  loafing  in  picturesque  protest 
against  being  forced  to  work  in  such 
lovely  weather,  were  a  dozen  porters 
strewed  over  the  little  wharf. 

"  Mon  Dieu  1 "  shouted  the  French- 
man. '*  It  is  like  a  scene  of  carnival. 
These  fellows  dress  seriously  en  Ture^ 

After  all  one's  preparation,  it  comes 
with  a  little  shock  upon  you  to  see  men 
in  comic-opera  costume  with  sober  faces. 


These  dramatic-looking  loafers,  in  their 
green  and  yellow  turbans,  blue  jackets, 
wide  red  sashes,  and  vast  flowing  trow- 
sers,  their  dirty  fingers  holding  ciga- 
rettes, or  idly  toying  with  the  daggers 
and  pistols  with  which  their  belts  were 
crowded,  had  something  singularly  un- 
practical about  their  air.  They  seemed 
to  have  stepped  ready-accoutred  out  of 
the  Arabian  Nights.  As  our  luggage 
was  put  ashore,  they  swarmed  about  it 
and  carried  it  to  the  Custom-House,  dis- 
tant a  hundred  yards  or  so.  The  idea 
of  the  whole  thing  being  a  masquerade 
was  irresistible.  My  trunk  w^as  carried 
by  a  princely-looking  giant  blazing  with 
purple  and  gold.  He  carried  in  his 
ample  girdle  a  pair  of  silver-mounted 
pistols  of  exquisite  workmanship,  and 
two  daggers  of  a  pure  steely  glitter.  A 
superb  moustache  swept  in  a  huge  cres- 
cent over  lip  and  jaw ;  clear  gray  eyes 
shone  under  straight  statuesque  brows. 
It  was  the  face  of  a  major-general ;  but 
it  broke  up  into  servile  delight,  when 
I  gave  him  a  franc  for  lifting  my  bag- 
gage. 

At  the  Custom-Uouse  we  saw  the  Con- 
stantinopolitan  banker  putting  his  ef- 
fects through  the  oflicial  mill,  and  con- 
scientiously copied  his  procedure.  He 
gave  a  bribe  of  about  ten  cents  in  Turk- 
ish piastres  to  each  of  the  oflBicial  gentle- 
men who  stood  near,  and  who  there- 
upon rapped  the  trunks  and  marked 
them  with  chalk,  and  tied  little  leaden 
checquers  on  them,  and  dropped  little 
dabs  of  red  wax  on  them,  and  then  an- 
nounced them  en  r^gle  for  the  dominions 
of  the  Padisha.  As  w^o  left  these  facile 
functionaries,  I  saw  the  Judge  giving  a 
disproportionately  large  fee  to  a  dreamy- 
eyed  porter,  whose  air  of  noble  melan- 
choly clearly  indicated  him  as  a  de- 
throned caliph,  addicted  to  moonlights 
and  dulcimers. 

We  remonstrated  with  the  Judge  on 
his  lavishness,  and  he  answered  in  me- 
lodious Tennysonese : 

*'  I  could  not  offer  him  a  dime — 
For  it  was  in  the  golden  prime 
Of  good  Haroun  Alraschid.'* 

The  past  and  the  present  were  mixed 
in  this  curious  town  as  in  a  schoolboy's 


684 


Putnam's  Magazine. 


[Jane, 


dream.  In  this  purely  Oriental  scene  I 
stumbled  on  a  shabby  hack  that  might 
have  stood  in  front  of  the  Astor  House, 
surmounted  by  a  disreputable  charioteer 
who  looked  so  like  a  Manhattan  hack- 
man,  that  I  expected  him  to  address  me 
in  a  Fenian  accent,  and  to  ask  me  five 
dollars  for  a  drive  round  the  comer.  It 
was  the  only  hack  in  Bulgaria,  I  believe, 
and  doubtless  found  in  this  stylish  pre- 
eminence some  reparation  for  the  blows 
of  fortune  which  had  reduced  it,  in  dis- 
tant Vienna,  from  private  carriage  to 
fiaher  and  comfortcibel^  and  at  last  ban- 
ished it  from  civilization,  to  spend,  like 
the  poet  Ovid,  its  lost  days  in  these 
barbarous  solitudes. 

Rustchuk  is  one  terminus  of  the  Bul- 
garian railway,  connecting  the  Danube 
with  the  Black  Sea,  and  very  materially 
shortening  the  time  and  increasing  the 
comfort  of  a  journey  to  Constantinople. 
The  trip  from  Vienna,  which  once  occu- 
pied ten  tedious  days  by  river  and  sea, 
is  now  reduced  to  four,  agreeably  di- 
vided between  rail  and  steamer.  This 
Bulgarian  railway,  so  far  the  only  in- 
road of  the  sort  as  yet  made  upon  Ot- 
toman conservatism,  is  Turkish  only  in 
name.  It  was  built  by  English  capital, 
is  managed  by  English  directors,  run 
by  English  engineers  and  Italian  con- 
ductors. The  employes  of  the  road  are 
regarded  with  the  utmost  respect  and 
awe  by  the  ignorant  populations  through 
which  it  runs.  I  saw  once,  at  a  little 
way-station,  the  engineer,  a  fiery  little 
Scotchman,  vexed  at  some  delay  in  wood- 
ing-up,  go  into  a  group  of  Turks  with 
a  stout  cudgel,  pounding  and  thwack- 
ing to  his  heart's  content,  and  not  a 
Moslem  of  them  all  resisting  any  more 
than  they  would  have  resisted  a  flash 
.  of  lightning. 

"  Allah  is  great,  and  the  Johnbull  is 
incomprehensible,"  they  muttered,  as 
they  rubbed  their  bruises  and  went  on 
hewing  wood  and  drawing  water  for  the 
Iron  Horse  of  the  Infidel. 

The  road  traverses  the  entire  province 
of  Bulgaria,  crossing  the  easterly  ex- 
tremity of  the  Balkan  range  of  moun- 
tains. The  ascent  and  descent  is  so 
gradual  as  scarcely  to  be  perceptible. 


In  fact,  the  Balkan  mountains,  is  a 
topographical  fact,  have  very  gretilj 
lost  caste  since  the  explorations  of  late 
years.  They  could  be  crossed  almogt 
anywhere  by  an  army  in  any  thing  like 
fair  weather. 

There  are  a  score  of  little  viH&gei 
strung  along  the  line  of  the  nulwaj^ 
of  various  degrees  of  inaignificanoe  and 
wretchedness.  In  very  few  was  there  a 
single  house  to  be  seen  with  any  preten- 
sions, not  to  luxury,  but  bare  oomfbrt 
Often  on  the  hillsides,  we  saw,  (aintlj 
discernible  in  the  mud,  a  honeycomb  of 
wattled  huts  half  above  and  half  below 
ground,  with  dirt-colored  Turks  crawl- 
ing about  like  parasites  among  tkm. 
Along  the  valleys,  on  wretched  roada, 
wound  long  caravans  of  ox-teams  load- 
ed with  merchandise  or  produce,  (k- 
casionally  a  wealthy  proprietor  rode  by 
on  a  horse  weighed  down  with  trap- 
pings, attended  by  a  body-guard  of  a 
half-dozen  followers. 

All  day  we  rode  on  over  the  bare- 
shaven  hills  and  level  downs.  There 
was  not  a  refreshment  saloon  anywhere 
on  the  route,  but  the  conductor  drore 
a  busy  traffic  in  cold  mutton  and  stale 
bread — several  pounds  of  which  appe- 
tizing provisions  were  soon  deliveied 
over  by  Mr.  Hall's  white  teeth  to  Mr. 
Hall's  sprightly  liver,  while  the  Judge 
and  I  drank  a  bottle  of  acrid  purplish 
wine  of  the  country,  watching  the  en- 
peptic  Hall  with  apathetic  admiration, 
envying  the  stomach  of  youth. 

At  every  station  the  passengers  rushed 
out  en  masse  to  the  platforms  to  stretch 
their  cramped  limbs  and  enjoy  the  freah, 
bright  air.  There  was  scarcely  a  nation- 
ality of  Europe  unrepresented  among 
us,  and  scarcely  two  who  were  country- 
men. On  one  occasion  our  friend  from 
Dedliam  approached  us,  and  asked  if 
we  knew  any  body  connected  with  the 
drug-trade  in  these  parts.  Mr.  Hall 
avowed  his  ignorance  of  the  Bulgarian 
faculty,  but  generously  offered,  in  case 
Mr.  Dedham  needed  any  thing,  to  place 
his  brandy-flask  at  his  disposal.  This 
kind  offer  was  somewhat  coldly  reject- 
ed— Dedham  observing  that  he  had 
been  a  temperance  man  for  going  on 


1870.] 


Down  the  DikNUBs. 


685 


twenty  years,  and  was,  besides,  sound 
as  a  dollar ;  didnH  want  no  medicine 
liimself,  personally,  but  was  agent  for 
the  Celebrated  Pierian  Eye-Water  and 
Vesuvian  Cathartic,  which  he  wanted 
to  interduce  into  these  here  benighted 
and  God-forsaken  regions ;  there  waVt 
no  money  into  it ;  he  didn^t  make  no 
two  per  cent,  on  sales,  but  he  wanted 
to  start  the  thing,  and — 

"  Partenza ! " 

In  the  afternoon,  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Shumla,  we  passed  a  long  line  of 
bills  of  a  remarkable  formation.  They 
looked,  in  the  softening  light,  like  a 
Tast  system  of  fortifications  guarding 
the  valley.  At  Shumla  we  saw  the 
strange  phenomenon  that  afterwards 
grew  so  common — a  graveyard  ten  times 
as  large  as  the  town.  Piety  toward  the 
dead  is  a  sentiment  so  universal  in  the 
East — the  graves  are  kept  so  long  and 
CfU'efuUy — and  Time  is  so  powerful  an 
ally  of  Death,  that,  together,  they  fill 
the  cemeteries  far  faster  than  the  worn- 
out  civilization  can  fill  the  towns. 

As  evening  was  settling  over  the  low 
shores  of  the  Euxine,  and  the  red  light 
of  sunset  burned  along  the  reedy  marsh- 
es, we  drew  near  the  town  of  Varna,  well 
known  as  the  Allied  D6p6t  of  Supplies 
during  the  Crimean  War.  Night  was 
on  us  as  we  left  the  station  to  drive  to 
the  town,  but  the  rising  moon  brought 
out  into  soft  relief  every  thing  worth 
seeing,  leaving  in  shadows  the  sordid 
and  commonplace.  We  found  the  city- 
gate  closed  for  the  night,  but  at  last 
succeeded  in  rousing  the  drowsy  por- 
ter, who  let  us  through,  saving  his  dig- 
nity by  grumbling.  We  drove  through 
execrable  and  narrow  streets,  tenanted 
only  by  noisy  dogs,  and  here  and  there 
lighted  by  dim  windows  that  revealed, 
as  we  dashed  by,  glimpses  of  Turkish 


interiors.  We  came,  at  last,  to  the  wharf, 
where  we  were  at  once  assaulted  by  a 
swarm  of  porters  that  seemed  to  start 
from  the  ground.  We  selected  an  ebony 
man  and  brother,  and  followed  him  to 
the  water-side,  where  we  took  a  boat, 
which  brought  us,  after  a  half-hour*s 
row  through  the  stil],  clear  night,  to 
the  Black  Sea  steamer  that  was  panting 
to  be  ofiL 

In  the  morning,  when  we  came  on 
deck,  we  saw  before  us  the  Bosphoms ; 
behind,  the  shoreless  expanse  of  the 
Euxine.  From  the  moment  we  entered 
the  Straits  till  we  dropped  anchor  in 
the  Qolden  Horn,  every  minute  revealed 
some  fresh  and  enchanting  spectacle  of 
loveliness.  Nature  is  here  in  her  most 
prodigal  mood :  as  if  working  in  har- 
mony with  man,  she  has  given  to  the 
most  superb  of  cities  the  most  faultless- 
ly beautiful  approaches.  Picturesque 
hills  ftume  the  lake-like  stretches  of  the 
Bosphoms,  their  rocky  summits  crown- 
ed with  the  ruins  of  the  fortresses  built 
long  ago  by  the  "  world-seeking  Geno- 
ese." Villages  here  and  there  nestle  in 
the  ravines;  the  villas  of  the  aristoc- 
racy shine  reflected  in  the  placid  water 
more  and  more  frequently,  till,  at  last, 
they  run  into  one  continuous  suburb, 
which  grows  denser  every  moment.  At 
length  the  quarantine  is  past,  and  we 
glide  into  that  vast  and  incomparable 
harbor,  filled  with  a  confusion  of  tongues 
and  of  flags;  and  glorious  before  us, 
displayed  in  amphitheatrical  pomp  on 
its  seven  hills,  the  morning  sun  resplen- 
dent on  its  palaces  and  domes  and  slen- 
der-springing minarets,  white  and  pure 
as  jets  of  devout  aspiration  from  unsul- 
lied souls — a  picture  matchless  on  earth 
in  its  vastness,  its  beauty,  and  its  unut- 
terable strangeness — ^the  City  of  the  Pa- 
disha,  Stamboul  I 


686 


PlITHAll'S  UaQAXESE, 


[Jfloe, 


BIRDS  OF  THE  NORTH. 


"  Ths  abundance  of  tropical  life  "  is 
often  contrasted  with  the  desert  of  snow 
and  ice  in  the  far  North. 

There  are  places  in  Greenland,  Ice- 
land, and  even  in  Newfoundland,  where 
one  is  oppressed  with  the  dreariness  of 
the  scene,  as  he  looks  upon  the  desola- 
tion of  firost  and  feels  that  no  change 
of  season  will  bring  verdure  and  life 
to  the  winter-scathed  hills.  There  are 
found  yast  expanses  with  no  tree  or 
shrub  except  the  creeping  willow,  fir, 
or  alder,  that  seem  nestling  in  the  moss 
as  though  fearing  the  sudden  return  of 
the  wintry  storm.  In  such  a  pla<;e,  the 
plaintive  note  of  curlew  or  plover  only 
renders  the  scene  more  mournfully  sad 
and  depressing. 

But  there  is  another  side  to  Northern 
life.  Let  one  visit  the  coast  of  Green- 
land, or  any  of  the  icy  islands  of  the 
Northern  seas,  and  he  will  be  astonished 
at  the  abundance  of  life,  and  will  con- 
stantly wonder  how  such  myriads  of 
beings  can  live  in  such  a  zone.  As  his 
vessel  glides  over  the  clear  waters  of 
some  of  the  Labrador  bays,  he  will  see 
the  bottom  fairly  paved  with  sea-urchins 
and  star-fishes;  and  again,  vast  shoals 
of  cod  making  the  waters  boil  as  they 
follow  the  shoals  of  caplin  upon  which 
they  feed.  Huge  whales  arc  seen  gath- 
ering their  thousands  of  tiny  clios  at 
every  plunge,  and  early  in  the  season 
the  floe-ice  is  swarming  with  seals.  As 
he  reaches  the  coast  of  Greenland,  be- 
neath the  clear,  ice-cold  waters  he  sees 
a  forest  of  gigantic  sea-weeds  waving 
in  rich  luxuriance,  as  though  the  vege- 
tation of  the  land  had  retreated  beneath 
the  waves  from  the  fury  of  the  winds 
and  frosts  of  winter.  Floating  near  the 
surface  are  countless  numbers  of  jelly- 
fishes  of  various  forms  and  tints — some 
huge  and  Gorgon-like,  with  their  snake- 
like tentacles  streaming  through  the 
waters;  others  as  beautiful  as  grace- 
ful form  and  brilliant  colors  can  make 


them.  To  one  safe  from  the  perik  of 
his  battles  with  ice,  that,  in  fknttftx 
forms,  seems  now  retreating  from  its 
battle-field,  surrounded  by  these  new 
forms  of  life,  with  the  icy  mountaias 
piled  like  cumulous  clouds  against  the 
midnight  sky,  all  gorgeous  with  crim- 
son and  gold,  there  is  here  a  charm  that 
no  other  part  of  the  world  can  give. 

Among  the  birds  of  the  North  mut 
be  reckoned  the  myriads  that  freqneDi 
the  *^  Bird  Islands  '^  on  the  coast  of 
Newfoundland  and  Labrador.  These 
islands  have  been  described  often  bj 
naturalists,  but  no  description  can  do 
them  justice.  The  egg-hunters  gather 
the  eggs  by  thousands  in  a  day,  and 
make  cruel  havoc  among  the  birds;  yet, 
in  spite  of  man  and  all  their  other  ene- 
mies, their  numbers  ure  not  apparently 
affected.  If  we  judge  by  the  diminiah- 
ing  numbers  of  such  birds  on  our  own 
coast,  and  the  entire  destruction  of  the 
great  auk  even  in  Greenland  and  Ice- 
land, we  must  conclude  that  the  con- 
stant warfare  of  man  on  eggs  and  birds 
will  soon  make  a  perceptible  impression 
upon  the  numbers  in  these  ^eat  North- 
em  breeding-places. 

But  all  along  the  coast  of  Greenland, 
among  the  hundreds  of  islands  never 
visited  except  perhaps  by  the  scattered 
Esquimaux,  the  birds  seem  in  numbers 
and  activity  like  bees  in  honey-harvest 

Upon  the  hills  and  mountain-sideB 
the  willow  ptarmigan  browse  in  Som- 
mer,  as  the  moss  and  heath,  in  Winter 
white  as  the  snow  itself,  is  found  in 
such  numbers  that  the  missionary  at 
Gothaab  informed  me  that  not  less 
than  five  thousand  were  killed  upon  one 
hillside  in  a  single  winter.  It  is  curi- 
ous to  observe  that  birds  of  this  kind, 
that  remain  near  the  glaciers  during 
Summer,  retain  a  portion  of  their  white 
winter-dress,  and  some  of  their  eggs 
are  partly  white,  and  others  entirely  so. 
I  was  informed  by  the  natives  that  white 


1870.] 


Birds  of  thx  Nobth. 


687 


eggs,  of  which  I  obtained  seyeral,  are 
Beyer  found  except  in  nests  so  near  the 
glaciers  that  the  air  would  be  constantly 
affected  by  them. 

In  sheltered  places  is  often  found  the 
nest  of  the  beautiful  white  snow-bunt- 
ing, that  in  winter  makes  its  way  to  us 
from  the  far  North.  Her  eggs,  like 
those  of  many  other  birds  in  that  cold 
country,  are  laid  in  nests  of  softest  feath- 
ers. If  we  robbed  the  birds,  pleading 
science  as  an  excuse,  the  moths  have 
avenged  the  birds,  and  left  us  nothing 
but  the  remnants  of  our  booty  without 
form  or  beauty. 

The  snowy  owl,  that  only  braves  the 
heat  of  our  winter  months,  finds  in 
Greenland  his  appropriate  home,  though 
there  is  not  a  man  there  that  I  could 
find  who  ever  saw  its  nest.  "  The  nests 
are  in  the  great  glacier,"  the  people 
said;  but  why  they  believed  so,  was 
because  their  boldest  hunters  had  never 
seen  one. 

Here,  too,  a  terror  to  the  harmless 
ptarmigan  and  sea-fowl,  sweep  along  the 
swift  peregrine  and  jer  falcons*,  both  re- 
nowned in  the  royal  sport  of  falconry. 
The  latter  is  the  tiger  among  birds.  It 
is  impossible  to  conceive  of  a  more  per- 
fect instrument  of  destruction  than  this 
bird,  darting  through  the  air  like  light- 
ning, and  almost  as  deadly,  to  the  quarry 
against  which  she  swoops ;  for  it  is  the 
female  of  these  birds,  as  with  all  birds 
of  prey,  that  are  most  powerful  and  de- 
structive. Their  mates  are  so  insignifi- 
cant and  weak,  compared  with  them, 
as  to  be  readily  mistaken  for  different 
species  by  those  unacquainted  with  or- 
nithology. 

We  shall  long  remember  the  splendid 
specimens  of  these  birds  in  Governor 
Kink^s  collection,  and  every  ornitholo- 
gist will  understand  the  temptation, 
when  Madam  Kink,  throwing  open  the 
cases,  invited  us  to  take  as  many  speci- 
mens as  we  pleased !  We  wondered  if 
she  had  confidence  in  the  unbounded 
generosity  of  her  husband,  or  whether, 
in  the  simplicity  of  her  Greenland  life, 
she  had  as  yet  learned  nothing  of  the 
unbounded  rapaciousness  of  a  collector 
of  natural-history  specimens.    We  have 


good  reason  to  believe,  Arom  the  many 
kind  offices  since  received  firom  Gov- 
ernor Rink,  that  he  thought  himself 
well  used  by  one  who  had  a  chance  to 
rob  him  of  all  his  fine  specimens,  and 
was  content  with  taking  an  armful  I 

On  the  high  clifis,  the  European  sea- 
eagle,  the  HaliatuB  alhiciUa  of  Linnffius, 
finds  its  aerie.  Huge  and  powerful  as 
this  bird  is,  it  allows  its  nest  to  be 
robbed  without  show  of  fight.  But  a 
young  bird  nearly  full-grown  showed 
all  the  fight  that  any  coward  would 
when  driven  into  a  comer  from  which 
he  could  not  escape.  Although  unable 
to  fiy  from  the  nest,  he  hissed,  and 
screamed,  and  bit  and  struck  with  his 
I)owerful  talons,  so  that  he  Was  cap- 
tured only  after  a  hard-fought  battle ; 
while  the  old  eagles  soared  above,  pru- 
dently keeping  out  of  gun-shot.  The 
young  fellow  was  captured  and  brought 
in  by  some  of  our  company,  who  were 
anxious  I  should  visit  the  place — ^which 
I  was  very  willing  to  do.  On  one  of 
the  high  cliffs  overlooking  the  ocean  we 
found  a  pointed  rock,  like  a  disman- 
tled tower,  which,  on  one  side,  could 
be  ascended  without  difficulty,  and 
from  the  top  of  which  could  be  seen 
one  of  the  grandest,  deary  scenes  that 
human  eye  ever  looked  upon.  Lofty 
mountains  crowned  with  snow  and  ice 
form  the  background,  while  barren 
rocks,  with  here  and  there  a  tuft  of 
moss  and  arctic  herbage,  extend  to  the 
ocean  on  either  side.  Bold,  broken 
islands  dot  the  coast,  and  sweeping 
between  them,  and  stretching  far  at 
sea,  is  the  fioe-ice,  borne  north  by  the 
upper  shore-current ;  and  towering  up 
like  phantom-ships  in  the  horizon,  are 
tall  icebergs  slowly  drifting  to  the 
south.  All  this  scene,  checkered  with 
the  light  and  shadow  of  a  Greenland 
summer's  twilight,  formed  a  picture 
never  to  be  forgotten. 

On  this  nest  of  rock,  eagles  must 
have  reared  their  young  for  ages.  The 
record  of  the  time  is  marked  by  the 
piles  of  mouldering  bones  and  refuse 
of  the  nest  slowly  decaying  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  diff.  We  doubt  not  this 
old  crag  was  the  dwelling-place  of' the 


688 


PuTNAM'a  Magazine. 


[Jnne, 


eagles  before  tne  I'oundation-stoDes  "were 
laid  of  the  oldest  castle  on  the  Rhine. 

But  it  is  at  the  water's  edge  that  we 
find  the  home  of  the  birds.  The  thou- 
sands that  congregate  here  are  a  mar- 
vel,— auks  and  puffins,  terns  and  gulls, 
ducks  and  divers,  dotting  the  water  in 
every  direction,  flitting  through  the  air 
from  point  to  point,  and  swarming  upon 
the  rocks  and  breeding-islands.  The 
birds  of  the  North  are  often  spoken  of 
as  of  a  sombre  hue ;  and  so  they  are, 
compared  with  some  of  the  glittering 
specimens  from  the  torrid  zone.  But 
the  harlequin-duck,  the  males  of  the 
king  and  common  eider,  and  the  metal- 
lic gloss  of  the  mallard,  would  hardly 
strike  one  as  sombre  in  coloring,  if  they 
are  not  brilliant.  The  skins  of  these 
birds,  when  dressed  and  arranged  in 
muffs  and  robes  by  the  Esquimaux,  are 
rarely  surpassed  in  elegance. 

Birds  of  the  same  kind  generally  ap- 
propriate an  island  to  themselves,  unless 
it  is  large.  Their  distribution  among 
the  islands  is  probably  determined  by 
the  fitness  of  the  island  to  the  habits 
of  the  bird.  The  puffin  must  have  a 
soil  in  which  she  can  burrow  like  a  rab- 
bit to  form  her  nest;  and  the  islands 
frequented  by  them  are  tunnelled  in  all 
dkections  like  ant-hills.  The  eider- 
duck  forms  its  nest  among  the  grass  or 
stones  on  the  larger  islands,  and  may 
be  found  near  the  breeding-places  of 
other  birds  of  kindred  habits.  Tlie 
tern  seem  to  monopolize  the  small 
grassy  islands.  On  some  of  these,  in 
the  height  of  the  breeding  season,  you 
can  gather  an  abundance  of  eggs  and 
young  tern  of  every  size— some  just 
from  the  shell,  and  others  representing 
every  day's  growth  to  the  full-fledged 
bird.  All  sizes  not  able  to  fly  are  scam- 
pering through  the  grass  like  crickets, 
while  hundreds  of  old  tern,  making 
common  cause  against  the  intruder,  fill 
the  air  with  their  screams,  and  often 
pounce  upon  their  enemy's  head.  How 
they  distinguish  their  own  young  in  the 
mixed  crowd  of  birds  is  a  mystery. 
That  they  do,  I  somewhat  doubt ;  for 
one  young  tern,  perched  by  himself 
upon  a  pock,  I  saw  fed  by  three  old 


tern  in  rapid  succession.  DoabUen 
they  have  some  method  of  doing  tike 
work  correctly.  Either  instinct  enablei 
the  parent  to  know  its  own  in  the 
crowd,  or  the  community  of  old  birds 
are  able  to  distribute  their  favors  ac- 
cording to  the  needs  of  the  young. 

This  abundance  of  birds  is  of  no 
slight  importance  to  the  inhabitants  of 
those  northern  countries,  Greenhmd, 
Iceland,  and  the  islands  near  them. 
They  furnish  eggs  and  flesh  for  food, 
and,  some  of  them,  feathers  and  down 
for  sale.  Their  skins,  when  dressed, 
are  highly  prized  by  the  Esquimaax 
for  clothing.  A  bird-skin  shirt  inth 
down  next  to  the  l>ody  seemed  to  be  t 
favorite  article  of  dress  even  in  a  GreeD- 
land  summer.  The  washing  of  soch  i 
garment  would  not  be  convenient  Bat 
this  never  troubles  an  Esquimaux,  for 
it  is  doubtful  if  he  knows  what  the 
word  means. 

Dr.  Kane  tells  us  he  engaged  his 
hunter  because  he  could  spear  a  bird 
on  the  wing.  Any  well-trained  Esqui- 
maux would  be  very  much  ashamed  of 
himself  not  to  be.  able  to  do  this.  Con- 
cealing himself  near  some  high  blofi^ 
around  which  the  birds  often  fly  to  and 
from  their  feeding-grounds,  his  bird- 
spear  darts  like  an  arrow  through  the 
air,  and  seldom  misses  its  aim.  The 
great  northern  divers,  or  loons,  that 
often  baffle  our  best  gunners,  are  cap- 
tured in  large  numbers  by  these  skilful 
spearmen.  You  can  purchase  moS^ 
and  robes  made  entirely  of  the  skin 
taken  from  the  necks  of  these  birds. 

Other  birds  arc  killed  in  still  greater 
numbers.  To  manufacture  a  single 
robe  of  male  cider-skins  now  in  my 
possession,  the  missionary  informed  me 
that  he  purchased  more  than  seven  hun- 
dred skins,  that  he  might  select  thoee 
of  proper  quality,  and  free  from  injuiy 
of  spear  or  blood.  This  robe  was  made 
by  the  natives,  and  consists  of  gmill 
pieces  cut  from  the  breast  of  the 
dressed  skins  of  the  male  eider.  The 
feathers  are  carefhlly  removed^  to  leave 
the  beautiful  thick  down  upon  the  akin, 
and  the  edge  of  the  robe  is  adoned 
with  a  border  of  the  rich-colored  akin 


1870.] 


The  Talk  of  a  Combt. 


689 


taken  from  the  head  of  the  same  bird. 
The  skilM  workmanship,  as  well  as 
beauty  of  material,  has  delighted  every 
one  who  has  yisited  the  cabinet  of 
Williams  College,  where  it  is  deposited. 
The  eider-duck  justly  attracts  the  at- 
tention of  every  lover  of  birds.*  She 
contributes  largely  to  the  comfort  of 
the  poor  northern  people,  so  much  so 
that  eider-down  is  one  of  the  most  con- 
siderable sources  of  revenue  to  the  ice- 
landers.  This  down,  so  highly  valued, 
is  taken  from  the  nest,  where  the  mo- 
ther-bird has  placed  it  as  a  protection 
for  her  eggs.  She  plucks  it  from  her 
breast,  but,  as  it  was  her  winter  protec- 
tion, no  doubt  she  is  relieved  by  the 
process,  and  has  no  need  of  the  pity 
that  has  been  bestowed  upon  her  by 
those  who  suppose  she  tortures  herself 
for  the  comfort  of  her  young.  The 
males  leave  the  breeding-places  very 
early  in  the  season,  and  spend  their 
time  among  the  sea-islands,  enjoying 
themselves  and  moulting:  Among  all 
the  breeding-places  I  have  visited,  I 
have  never  been  in  season  to  see  a  single 
male  bird  there. 


In  Iceland  these  birds  are  so  protect- 
ed that  they  have  become  semi-domesti- 
cated. At  the  breeding  season  no  gun 
can  be  fired  near  them,  lest  the  "  fowls,'* 
as  the  ducks  are  called,  should  be  fright- 
ened. They  have  thus  become  so  tame 
that  the  natives  can  walk  near  them, 
sometimes  even  among  the  nests,  with- 
out frightening  them  from  their  places. 
'On  the  Greenland  coast,  and  in  other 
places  where  they  are  subjected  to  the 
usual  annoyance  of  men  and  animals, 
they  are  among  the  most  waiy  birds  to 
be  found. 

When  we  think  of  birds,  our  mind 
almost  instinctively  reverts  to  the  cav- 
erns of  the  Faroe  Islands,  the  crum- 
bling clififs  of  the  Westman,  the  coast 
of  Iceland  and  Greenland.  Probably 
in  all  these  places  they  have  reached 
nearly  to  the  natural  limit  of  their 
numbers  as  determined  by  the  means 
of  living.  And  the  vastness  of  their 
numbers,  in  contrast  with  the  dreary 
waste  and  solitude  of  the  land,  makes 
an  impression  which  no  wealth  of  life 
in  the  midst  of  fertile  fields  and  luxu- 
riant forests  can  ever  give. 


•*♦»- 


THE  TALE  OP  A  COMET. 


OON'CLIJSION. 


T.     THB  VIEMXA  PE0BLK3I. 


Day  and  night  the  summer  deepened, 
clear  and  warm.  And  the  comet  came 
on  closer,  closer  every  night,  a  mystic 
shaft  of  splendor,  set  above  a  star. 
And  Raimond  and  Cherry,  gazing  at  it 
nightly,  grew  more  confidential  and  in- 
timate ;  while  I,  with  bitter,  bitter  feel- 
ings, watched  them,  nursing  my  woe  in 
darkness. 

One  day  there  came  a  letter  to  me 
froni  my  good  friend  Professor  Paral- 
lax, to  whom  I  had  sent  several  reports 
of  my  pupil's  progress.  After  thank- 
ing me  for  my  zealous  guardianship, 
and  congratulating  me  upon*  having 
such  a  brilliant  charge  to  keep — I 
goawed  my  lips  with  taij  every  time  I 


thought  of  my  having  accepted  it! — 
he  wrote  as  follows : 

"The  astronomical  world  is  all  on 
the  qui  Hve  in  regard  to  a  strange  thing 
that  has  lately  happened  at  Vienna, 
and  which  I  find  reported  in  Herr 
Doctor  Cometenbahnen's  Astronomkche 
SehwdrmereieTiy  a  leading  scientific  pe- 
riodical published  in  that  city.  It 
seems  that  Doctor  Cometenbahnen,  who 
is  one  of  the  most  promising  of  our 
young  astronomers,  has  been  making 
some  very  important  and  careful  obser- 
vations upon  the  brilliant  new  comet, 
and  has  succeeded  in  obtaining  several 
exceedingly  accurate  pictures  of  it  by 
means  of  the  camera.  One  night,  while 
he  was  acyusting  the  focus,  which  re- 


fiiO 


Potnam'b  Magazine. 


[Jnne, 


quires  to  be  very  carefully  done,  an  un- 
usual brightness  seemed  to  illuminate 
his  instrument,  so  that  he  fancied  a 
meteor  must  have  crossed  the  field  of 
vision.  He  instantly  closed  his  glass, 
took  out  the  plate,  and  proceeded  to 
develop  the  image.  But,  to  his  great 
surprise,  instead  of  having  a  photo- 
graphic image  of  the  comet,  his  plate 
contained  the  representation  of  a  series 
of  strange  characters  or  symbols,  ar- 
ranged in  order,  in  a  circumscribed  loz- 
enge, very  much  like  the  ideographic 
writing  of  the  ancient  Egyptians.  How 
it  came  there  he  could  not  imagine,  nor 
what  it  meant.  The  characters  are  not 
those  of  any  known  language,  nor  have 
the  works  of  Champollion  or  Young  or 
Rawlinson  aflfbrded  any  key  to  them — 
if,  indeed,  they  be  characters  at  all, 
which  I  am  inclined  to  doubt.  But 
Doctor  Cometenbahnen  not  only  claims 
that  they  are  demonstrably  characters, 
but  also  that  they  are  mathematical 
symbols,  and  that  they  contain  a  prob- 
lem of  importance  to  the  world,  if  a 
solution  can  only  be  found.  And,  as 
he  truly  says,  the  human  ingenuity  that 
has  deciphered  the  strange  monuments 
of  Egypt  and  the  cuneiform  inscriptions 
of  Assyria,  need  not  be  staggered  be- 
fore the  text  of  any  language,  even 
though  it  embody  the  songs  of  the  very 
stars. 

"  I  send  you  a  copy  of  the  Astrono- 
mlscJie  Schudrma'cien,  containing  Herr 
C.'s  account  of  the  occurrence  in  full, 
together  with  what  ho  says  is  an  accu- 
rate lithograph  of  the  strange  inscrip- 
tion. You  may  puzzle  over  it  if  you 
please,  but  I  suspect  you  will  not  make 
more  of  it  than  I  did.  If  Herr  C.  be 
right,  however,  it  will  be  of  use  to  show 
it  to  Raimond  Letoile.  He  will  certain- 
ly be  able  to  solve  it  if  it  contains  a 
mathematical  problem.  Pray  show  it 
to  him,  and  write  me  what  he  savs 
about  it." 

— I  was  much  too  busy  with  my  own 
dark-brooding  fancies  to  undertake  the 
solution  of  a  mathematical  rebus.  I 
placed  the  plate  and  magazine  where 
Raimond  would  be  likely  to  see  them — 
for  he  was    gone  out — and    then,  to 


smoothe  the  wrinkles  out  of  my  boqI, 
saddled  my  horse  and  went  for  a  loog 
ride. 

That  night,  as  I  was  writing  in  mj 
study,  Raimond  came  suddenly  dowi 
to  me.  with  the  book  and  the  diagma 
in  his  hands.  He  seemed  very  modi 
startled,  and  was  pale  and  hagg^ud. 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  he  cried,  holdiof 
the  problem  out  to  me ;  *'  whence  did 
it  <iome  ?    What  does  it  mean  ? " 

"  Can  you  interpret  it  ?  "  I  asked. 
"  The  Professor  sent  it  to  me  to-daj, 
trusting  that  you  would  be  able  to 
make  it  out." 

^^  Can  it  be  !  Sent  to  me  !  Ezplaii 
me  this  mystery  I  " 

I  read  the  Professor's  letter  to  him; 
then,  taking  the  magazine,  I  translated 
Doctor  Cometenbahnen^s  history  of  tk 
strange  occurrence. 

"  From  the  comet !  "  be  cried,  sdll 
more  pale ;  *^  it  must  be  authentic,  thea 
— it  must  be  true  I  " 

He  scanned  the  mysterious  paper 
with  a  long,  anxious,  eager,  baraiog 
gaze,  as  one  would  read  over  his  owa 
indictment  for  treason,  seeking  if  he 
might  detect  some  flaw. 

"  Can  you  solve  the  thing,  Raimond  ? 
Have  you  a  key  to  the  puzzle  ? " 

He  did  not  answer — did  not  hear  me. 
He  raised  his  face,  very  pale,  like  mar- 
ble in  moonlight,  and  put  the  paper 
reverently  to  his  forehead. 

"  I  will  obey  !  "  he  said,  and  went 
out  into  the  open  air. 

I  followed  him,  for  his  manner  was 
strangely  disturbed,  and  I  had  never 
before  seen  him  so  agitated.  He  walked 
rapidly  down  to  the  brink  of  the  river, 
and  stood  there  gazing  earnestly  up- 
wards, while  the  white  silvery  image 
of  the  comet  streamed  across  the  water 
to  his  feet,  almost  as  brightly  as  it  shone 
above— almost  as  bright  as  the  sheeny 
reflection  of  a  full  moon. 

He  stood  there,  and,  murmuring, 
shuddered.  Then,  still  gazing  up- 
wards, he  lifted  his  hands  and  apos- 
trophized the  stars  and  the  vaulted  sky 
in  wild,  passionate  words,  the  import 
of  which  I  could  not  gather. 

"  O  golden  clusters  of  the   parent 


1870.] 


Thb  Tale  or  a  Comet. 


m 


world  I  O  stars,  ye  wombs  of  thought, 
strange  parents  of  your  lost  yet  still 
remembered  child,  forgive  me !  For- 
give me  that  I  rebelled  one  moment, 
bewildered  by  a  fairy-dream  of  earth  I 
Sweet-smiling,  swift-rushing  bride  of 
my  soul,  thou  shalt  not  smile  nor  come 
in  vain  I  I  yearn  for  thee  with  rapture 
unspeakable,  O  thou  inscrutable  one, 
serenely  smiling  I  I  yearn  for  thee  and 
the  old-remembered  joys  of  roaming 
ever  by  thy  side,  a  kindred  sphere  I  I 
obey,  O  messenger — ^gladly  I  obey !  " 

But,  even  then,  a  bitter,  burning  re- 
gret seemed  to  make  'him  writhe  in  an- 
guish. He  tore  the  sheet  of  paper  with 
the  problem  on  it  into  a  hundred  frag- 
ments, and  scattered  them  abroad  over 
the  ripples. 

*'  O  Cherry  I  "  he  cried,  "  O  Cherry  I 
Cherry  I "  and  flung  himself,  face  down- 
wards, upon  the  pebbly  sand.  At 
sound  of  that  name  I  made  a  step 
towards  him.  He  turned  and  saw  me, 
and  motioned  with  his  hand. 

"  Away  I  "  he  said,  passionately, 
"away;  I  will  not  talk  to-night  I  I 
wish  to  be  alone !    Away  I  " 

So  I  left  him,  still  crying,  "  Cherry  I 
Cherry  I "  and  beating  his  clenched 
fists  on  the  pebbled  shore. 

— "  Were  you  mad,  last  night  ? "  I 
asked  him  when  he  came  to  breakfast 
next  morning ;  "  have  the  vapors  of  the 
comet  got  into  your  brain,  or  was  there 
really  something  in  Cometenbahnen's 
problem  to  give  you  concern  ?  " 

He  looked  at  me  pleasantly,  yet  per- 
plexed. 

"  I  read  the  problem,"  he  said,  "  and 
what  it  told  me  was  so  strange,  I  could 
not  help  but  show  my  excitement." 

"You  read  it?  You  have  the  key, 
then?    What " 

"  Stop  there,  my  kind  master,"  said 
he,  interrupting.  "  I  am  not  at  liberty 
to  explain  that  message— for  message  it 
certainly  was — ^because  it  concerns  my 
own  private  matters.  Besides,  neither 
you  nor  any  like  you  would  either  un- 
derstand it  or  believe  me,  since  the 
whole  thing  is  not  only  outside  of,  but 
contrary  to,  your  ordinary  experiences. 
So  I  will  keep  it  to  myself^  for  I  do  not 
VOL.  V. — 42 


wish  you  to  treat  me  cither  as  an  im- 
postor or  a  lunatic." 

"  Yery  well,  Mr.  Letoile,"  I  answered 
gravely,  "  I  am  glad  you  do  not  pro- 
pose to  carry  your  poetic  &ncie8  into 
practice  while  you  reside  with  me.  Be 
sure  always  to  adb  so  that  you  cannot  be 
charged  with  imposition  or  with  mad- 
ness, and  you  will  not  fail  of  proper 
credit  at  my  hands." 

He  thanked  me  in  kind  tones,  but  I 
could  not  feel  kindly  towards  him. 
Always  I  thought  of  him  prostrate  on 
the  river-shore,  crying,  "  Cherry  I  Cher- 
ry I"  Always  I  dreaded  something, 
and  hated  him  for  being  the  cause  of 
that  dread. 

— Two  or  three  days  later  than  this, 
when  I  was  at  the  cottage,. Cherry  came 
close  to  me,  and,  dropping  her  eyes  a 
little,  said : 

"Raimond  has  had  a  message  sent 
him,  Bemie."  (Sometimes  she  gave  me 
that  dear  diminutive  title.) 

"  Ah  I "  I  answered ;  "  so  he  said  to 


»» 


me. 

"  But  you  do  not  believe  it,  Bemie. 
I  do  I  1  know  it  all  by  heart,  but  am 
not  at  liberty  to  tell.  Oh,  it  is  a  very 
beautiful  message,  Bernard — ^very,  very 
beautlM  I  And  he  will  be  very  hap- 
py I  Bernard,"  she  cried,  suddenly 
clasping  my  two  hands  in  hers,  and 
gazing  entreatingly  into  my  face,  "  you 
do  not  like  Raimond  1  You  do  not  be- 
lieve in  him  I  Do  so,  for  my  sake— for 
your  own  sake  I  He  is  not  to  be  with 
us  long,  Bernard;  and  oh,  you  will 
never  know  until  after  he  is  gone  what 
a  privilege  it  is  to  us  to  have  this  free 
intercourse  with  a  being  so  pure  and 
bright  and  far  above  us  1  Trust  him^ 
Bernard,  and  love  him,  as  I  do  I  " 

"  He  is  going  away,  you  say  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  is  going  away — away,  ever 
so  far,  and  very,  very  soon !  Yes,  he 
is  going  away,  Bernard — ^he  is  going 
away  I " 

And  as  her  voice  lingered  iteratively 
upon  those  plaintive  words,  they  sound- 
ed like  the  refrain  of  a  nocturne,  while 
a  dreary  desolation  came  into  her  face» 
filling  it  with  inexpressible  sadness. 

Yet  she  smiled. 


MS 


Putnam's  Hagazins. 


P«^ 


TX.     WXIFDrO  WILLOWS. 


Baimond  Letoile  now  had  a  little 
canoe  of  his  own,  so  that  he  was  no 
longer  dependent  upon  me  to  take  him 
acroBS  to  the  cottage.  He  did  not  time 
his  visits  by  mine,  indeed,  but  went 
and  came  just  as  it  suited  him.  And, 
as  was  natural  in  such  a  case,  the  oftener 
he  went  the  less  firequent  my  visits  be- 
came. 

One  evening,  when  he  was  across  the 
liver  as  usual,  my  books  excited  a  great 
loathing  in  me,  and,  tossing  them  aside, 
I  went  to  the  river-shore,  stepped  into 
my  boat,  and,  slowly  paddling,  pushed 
myself  geiitly  down  the  stream,  until  I 
had  gone  a  mile.  I  ceased  from  pad- 
dling then,  and,  slowly  borne  home- 
ward by  the  flooding,  gurgling  tide,  sat 
and  mused,  drinking  in  the  moist  night- 
air.  It  was  a  very  calm  night,  serene 
and  gentle  as  a  sleeping  infant.  The 
sickle-moon  had  not  yet  risen,  and  the 
stars  shone  around  with  deep  brilliancy, 
while  the  comet,  now  evidently  not  far 
V  from  its  perigee,  streamed  aloft  like  an 
airy  veil  of  silver  lace,  such  as  young 
brides  wear  at  the  very  altar.  It  sheer- 
ed through  the  clustering  constellations 
like  a  spectral  sword  of  silvery  flame, 
beautiful  yet  terrible — the  angel's  sword 
that  kept  the  gate  from  Adam,  and 
would  not  let  him  enter  any  more.  I 
gazed  long  and  earnestly  upon  the 
strange,  lustrous  phantom,  and  thought 
of  Raimond  and  of  Cherry,  until  my 
heart  ached  shrewdly,  and  the  grating 
beneath  my  feet  warned  me  my  boat 
had  drifted  to  the  shore. 

Pushing  off  again,  a  few  vigorous 
strokes  of  the  paddle  drove  the  light 
boat  up  the  river,  and  close  by  the 
shore  in  front  of  the  cottage.  I  was 
about  to  moor  as  usual,  and  refresh  my 
weary  spirit  with  a  sight  at  least  of 
Cherry,  when,  from  under  the  willows, 
I  heard  the  sound  of  voices,  and  saw 
that  it  was  Kaimond  and  Cherry,  seat- 
ed in  his  canoe  at  the  trees.  I  kept  my 
boat  quiet  in  the  shadows  of  the  bank, 
and  watched  them. 

I  had  begun  to  notice  a  great  change 
in  Cherry,  It  was  not  merely  that  a 
new  depth  had  come  into  her  eyes,  not 


merely  that  a  more  womanly  sweeten 
tempered  the  vivid  glow  of  her  eids 
bloom,  for   these  were    developniBili 
which  had  been  going  on  in  her  a  good 
while.    The  change  I  mean  was  one  I 
had  remarked  from  the  day  whea  ahi 
told  me  Raimond  was  going  away.  It 
was  a  change  similar  to  that  of  tki 
evening  from  the  first  pink  flushes  of 
sunset  into  the  less  lustrous  violet-gnj 
of  twilight — a  change  from  one  kind 
of  loveliness  into  another  kind  equOj 
pure,  yet  not  so  bright  and  joyous.  A 
deep  earnestness  had  settled  in  her  eyes, 
which  now  met  yours  as  if  soiae  spirit 
behind  them  was  looking  forth  vith 
serious  importunity  to  question  yoa  to 
your  very  souL     There  was  a  certaa 
quaver  in  her  voice,  as  if  its  choEd  hsd 
suffered  over-strain   fW>m  pienare  of 
emotion.    The  roses  upon  her  dieeb 
had  grown  pale  and  dim,  and  threst- 
ened  to  depart  altogether;  and  thai 
was  a  languor  in  her  step,  and  a  dretori^ 
listless,  sad  sort  of  halo  all  aboit  ha, 
which  betokened  dreary  thoughts  tad 
unwholesome  consciousness,  andathnog 
of  beckoning  shapes  and  stiaoge  phan- 
toms that  haunted  her  coach  by  ni^ 
and  vexed  her  from  her  rest 

Suffering  was  a  new  experience  in  ths 
life  of  this  once  happy  little  conntiy 
maiden,  yet  she  bore  the  burden  pi* 
ticntly,  nay,  did  not  know  she  soffend, 
but,  smiling,  fancied  this  was  some  new 
kind  of  joy,  too  rapturous  for  the  cob- 
tcntment  of  her  simple  soul.  And,  ss 
the  new  being  passed  into  her  frame, 
even  while  she  shivered  and  stood  heo- 
tating,  drooping,  lost  iu  pensive  revezie, 
a  new  beauty  dawned  within  her  aln^ 
and  all  the  secret,  inscrutable  depQa 
of  her  pure,  radiant  womanliness  grev 
more  wondrous  in  their  loveliness. 

Yet  the  change  did  not  please  oe, 
for  my  blossom  grew  paler  while  h 
waxed  more  lovely.  ^Ter  languor  w» 
none  the  less  the  languor  of  illness  thiS 
it  was  beautiful  to  see.  I  hated  Btt- 
mond  Letoile  for  being  the  cause  of 
this  illness,  and  I  hated  him  none  the 
less  for  being  the  cause  why  she  turned 
away  from  me  and  the  simple,  fervid 
love  I  lavished  at  her  feet,  to  stray,  like 


1870.] 


The  Talk  of  a  Oohbt. 


648 


a  lost  and  forlorn  maiden,  among  the 
•dim  shapes  that  his  enchantment  had 
power  to  smnmon  up  around  her.  And 
liatred  bred  suspicion.  What  had  he 
done  to  her  to  change  her  bright  cheer- 
fulness into  such  "sad  dreariment?" 
Could  he  love  her,  he  that  was  lithe 
and  cold  as  steel  ?  Assuredly  not  with 
a  love  to  compensate  her  for  the  self- 
consuming  devotion  she  was  pouring 
out  for  him.  What  was  this  man,  who 
had  come  to  share  my  home  and  steal 
away  my  love?  Was  ho  merely  some 
clever  madman,  some  half-crazed  en- 
thusiast, whose  ravings  culminated  with 
'  the  moon ;  or  was  he  a  shrewd,  deep- 
scheming,  subtle  impostor,  stolen  into 
Cherry's  confidence  like  a  wolf  into  a 
«heep-fold?  I  had  heard  of  such — 
those  dazzling,  dark,  incomprehensible 
libertines — ^men  who  devote  half  the  en- 
ergies of  a  rare  and  multiplex  life  to 
compassing  the  ruin  of  some  poor  trust- 
ing woman,  her  innocence  and  purity 
the  spur  that  goads  them  on — ^men  whose 
feces  nevertheless  remain  as  smooth  and 
clear  and  lovely  as  if  their  thoughts 
abided  always  with  the  angels.  Was 
llaimond  Letoile  one  of  these  tempters, 
with  their  arts  of  hell  ?  I  had  no  fears 
for  Cherry — for  what  could  smutch  the 
simple,  flawless  crystal  ? — yet,  I  clutch- 
ed my  paddle  as  I  watched  them,  and 
thought,  were  such  a  suspicion  true,  I 
could  brain  him  then  and  there. 

Screened  by  the  deep,  dark  shadows 
of  the  shore,  I  watched  them  as  they 
sat  in  the  little  boat  and  talked.  The 
great  weeping  willows,  solemn  and  black 
in  the  night,  hung  far  above  them,  their 
long  branches  drooping  down  into  the 
water  like  a  boWer  around  the  boat, 
and  scarcely  a  breath  of  zephyr  made 
the  long  branches  and  leaves  rustle. 
The  comet  was  not  visible  from  where 
they  sat,  but  its  image  on  the  water 
was,  fleeing  across  the  river  like  a  flit- 
ting ghost.  It  was  a  still  and  witching 
scene,  and  their  voices,  as  they  spoke, 
were  in  accord  with  it,  murmuring  out 
low  and  seldom  but  long-drawn  tones 
as  they  sat  motionless  in  the  motionless 
boat — an  enchanted  couple  in  a  fairy 
craft  upon  some  magic  lake  hid  deep 


in  the  pathless  woods,  inaccessible  to 
mortals  unless  the  wand  of  Vivian  or 
Urgana  pointed  out  the  way.    They  sat 
motionless,  gazing  out  upon  the  waters, 
and  I  saw  that  she  held  his  hand  in 
hers,  with  a  clasp  light  as  the  touch  of 
floating  thistle-down.  Tet,  light  as  that) 
touch  was,  I  would  have  given  ten  yearaJ 
of  my  life  to  feel  my  hand  resting  in) 
hers  that  Way  I 

A  dim,  pallid  ndst  came  up  from  the 
water  and  floated  softly  through  the 
air,  until  the  stars  hung  vaguely  as 
when  one  gazes  upon  them  through 
tears,  and  the  comet  shone  with  a  red, 
lurid,  smoky  glare,  quite  unlike  its 
former  pearly  radiance.  Then  sudden- 
ly Raimond  unmoored  his  little  shallop, 
and  with  a  stroke  sent  it  out  into  the 
stream,  while  Cherry  bent  a  long,  lov- 
ing look  upon  his  face.  The  boat  hung 
thete  where  he  had  propelled  it  into  the 
mist  like  a  motionless,  painted  thing, 
while  he  turned  his  eyes  towards  the 
lurid  meteor,  and  made  salutations  to  it, 
like  some  pagan  at  his  vesper  worship. 

"  She  is  angry.  Cherry,"  he  murmur- 
ed ;  "  her  pure  brow  wears  a  frown,  her 
veil  is  dulled  and  angry  with  the  spray 
of  tears !  My  bride  is  angry,  Cheny ; 
I  have  given  her  ofience  I  " 

She  answered  nothing,  but,  with  a 
growing  wanness  and  a  deepening  pal- 
lor in  her  face,  which  even  the  gloomy 
night  could  not  hide,  sought  silently  to 
take  his  hand  again,  which  he  silently 
drew  away,  renewing  those  wild  ges- 
tures and  wild  words.  He  rose,  and, 
standing  upright,  like  a  statue  against 
the  sky,  made  mystic  invocations  to  the 
mysterious  stars ;  while  she,  rising  also, 
bent  forward  upon  her  knees,  and  with 
clasped  hands  and  sad  white  face,  yet 
Ml  of  rapt  wonder  and  wild,  bursthig 
love,  watched  at  his  feet,  like  a  Virgin 
with  an  aureole  at  the  Transfiguration 
— the  parent  of  a  God,  yet  the  mother, 
the  weary  mother  of  a  man  I  Here  was 
a  picture  for  some  silent,  musing  sculp- 
tor, to  steal  into  the  marble,  fixing  im- 
mortal Beauty,  radiant,  evanescent,  with 
one  cunning  touch  that  should  make 
his  hand  immortal  and  his  ntoie  a 
thing  ef  wonder! 


644 


PUTKAM^S  MAaAZINE. 


Pw, 


— Then,  after  a  while,  the  boi^t  was 
tuEoed  towards  the  shore  again  and 
moored  among  the  willow  branches, 
while  she  stepped  upon  the  terrace  with- 
out a  word.  Then  Raimond,  with  swift 
strokes  of  his  paddle,  returned  across 
the  river  to  the  tower;  while  Cherry, 
with  heavy  feet,  walked  through  the 
dewy  grass  towards  her  home.  I  lin- 
gered still,  watching  the  light  that 
twinkled  in  her  little  windows,  imtil  it 
ceased  to  shine.  And,  long  after  mid- 
night, I  stole  slowly  homewards,  sad  as 
Cherry. 

Vn.     A  CUL-DE-SAC. 

The  comet  was  very  near  its  perigee, 
when  I  received  a  hurried  and  agitated 
note  from  the  Professor,  asking  me  to 
come  to  see  him  at  once. 

*^  I  wish  to  consist  you  in  regard  to 
your  pupil,  Raimond  Letoile,  about 
whom  I  have  made  a  very  strange  and 
perplexing  discovery,"  he  wrote.  "  You 
must  come  to  me  at  once,  and  help  me 
to  find  a  way  out  of  the  greatest  diffi- 
culty I  have  ever  encountered  in  my 
life." 

The  note  was  despatched  from  a  ho- 
tel in  a  neighboring  city ;  so,  the  next 
morning,  I  took  the  steamboat,  and 
joined  my  friend  that  afternoon.  He 
immediately  began  upon  the  object  for 
which  he  had  sunmioned  mo. 

"You  recollect,  my  dear  Bernard," 
said  he,  "that  you  wrote  to  me  that 
you  were  not  altogether  satisfied  with 
your  pupil^s  demeanor,  and  that  he  was 
a  burden  to  you  of  which  you  would 
fain  be  rid.  You  hinted,  at  the  same 
time,  of  very  strange  behavior — con- 
duct, in  fact,  which,  although  you  did 
not  say  it,  I  could  not  in  my  own  mind 
divest  from  the  suspicion  of  something 
like  mental  aberration.  I  wished  to 
ascertain  whether  this  was  a  new  thing 
with  him,  or  whether  any  such  singu- 
larities had  been  before  observed  in  his 
conduct,  and,  for  that  purpose,  I  sought 
to  communicate  with  the  persons  who 
had  represented  themselves  to  be  his 
guardians.  Now  here  began  the  mys- 
tery, to  solve  which  I  have  summoned 
your  aid 


"  Strange  as  it  may  appear  to  ^foo,* 
said  the  Professor,  in  a  yery  agititol 
way,  ^'I  cannot  find  tboee  giiaidi«i! 
I  cannot  discover  that  Baimond  LetoQi 
has  any  connectiona,  acqualntaneei,  or 
any  antecedents  whatsoever  1 " 

"  You  mean,"  said  I,  bitterly,  '^wliat 
I  hfltve  often  suspected,  that  he  euot  t» 
you  under  false  pretences,  and  is  ma^^ 
a  cunning  impostor,  who  has  plaimel 
to  deceive  us  for  some  purpose  of  Ini 
own.  (}od  grant  that  purpose  be  not 
the  one  I  fear  I "  added  I,  thbking  of 
Cherry,  while  a  flood  of  wild  i^ipn- 
hensions  made  my  heart  beat  nola^j. 

"  I  mean,  that  there  is  an  ineoapn- 
hensible  mystery  about  the  whole  mat- 
ter—a mystery  that  fills  me  with  affii^ 
old  man  as  I  am  and  good  Chiistia&ti 
I  hope  I  ami"  replied  Mr.  PuiQu^ 
catching  his  breath  and  looking  tt  m 
with  a  face  full  of  perplexity,  ^'ll 
these  days,  when  the  devil  seens  to  bi 
unloosed,  and  goes  abroad  like  a  mi^ 
ing  lion — in  these  days  of  strange  prodi- 
gies, of  animal  magnetism,  and  diir- 
voyance,  and  spiritualism,  my  old-fiuli- 
ioned  reason  feels  as  if  it  had  draggpii 
its  anchors  and  gone  adrift  like  a  rud- 
derless ship  upon  a  stormy  midnight 
sea  I  What  if  all  we  have  conqnend 
from  the  past  should  turn  out  to  be  no 
knowledge,  after  all  I  " 

"  We  must  examine  the  resources  of 
roguery  first,"  said  I,  "before  we  jhi 
our  faith  to  the  supernatural.  Tell  me 
about  this  young  man  Letoile." 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  eagerly,  "we 
must  deal  with  the  obvious — ^we  mint 
exclude  shadows  I  About  the  young 
man,  then.  You  may  remember  that  I 
wrote  to  you  his  recommendatioDS  were 
good,  and  that  he  seemed  amply  toi- 
nished  with  funds.  Here  are  all  the 
papers  which  concern  him,  including 
the  letters  we  received ; "  and  he  placed 
them  on  the  table  before  me. 

"  In  cases  of  imposture,"  said  I,  gath- 
ering them  up  in  my  hand,  "the  cru- 
cial test  is  generally  the  financial  ona 
Bogues  are  most  counterfeit  when  ihen 
is  question  of  actual  coin." 

"That  test  fails  here,  Bernard,"  re- 
plied the  Professor.    "  Hie  College  has 


1870.] 


ThB  TaLB  07  A  OOKBT. 


(M 


in  hand  several  hnndred  dollars  of  the 
money  sent  to  be  applied  to  this  young 
man's  uses.  See,  here  is  the  memoran- 
dum of  a  draft  of ,  bankers,  of  this 

dty,  drawn  to  order  of  the  College 
Treasurer.  That  draft  was  duly  credit- 
ed and  duly  cashed.  I  have  consulted 
with  the  utterers  of  the  draft,  but  their 
books  simply  notice  an  ordinary  busi- 
ness transaction,  the  sale  of  the  draft 
that  day  to  ^  cash.'  Examine  the  other 
papers,  and  see  if  you  can  discoyer  any 
clue.    They  all  refer  ta  this  dty." 

These  were  extracts  fh)m  the  business 
and  memorandum  books  of  the  College, 
and,  besides  these,  several  letters.  One, 
"which  the  Professor  told  me  to  read 
first,  was  firom  a  legal  firm,  giving  a 
odrtain  address  in  the  city,  and  enclos- 
ing two  other  letters,  one  from  a  rever- 
end gentleman,  who  claimed  to  have 
been  Raimond  Letoile's  pastor,  the  oth- 
er from  a  professional  gentleman,  his 
former  physician.  This  first  letter  was 
the  one  which  Haimond  had  brought 
with  him  when  he  came  to  the  college. 
The  legal  firm  addressed  the  college 
authorities  as  the  constituted  guardians 
of  Raimond  Letoile,  a  young  man  want- 
ing a  few  months  of  his  majority.  They 
stated  it  to  be  the  wish  of  his  parents, 
who  dwelt  in  a  distant  land,  to  have 
his  education  completed  at Col- 
lege. At  the  same  time,  they  wrote, 
they  feared  the  young  man  would  not 
prove  far  enough  advanced  to  enter  at 
once  upon  the  regular  curriculum,  '*a 
severe  and  protracted  fever  (see  medi- 
cal certificate  accompanying)  having  so 
seriously  impaired  his  memory  as  to 
deprive  him  of  all  the  fruits  of  previous 
studies."  Still,  as  he  was  said  to  be  a 
youth  of  great  talent  and  exemplary 
conduct,  and  as  the  writers  were  total- 
ly inexperienced  in  such  matters,  they 
hoped  they  would  not  be  requiring  too 
much  of  the  college  authorities  in  ask- 
ing them  either  to  undertake  his  school- 
ing themselves,  or  provide  him  with  a 
reputable  and  adequate  tutor.  Ample 
funds  should  be  forthcoming,  of  which 
the  enclosed  draft  was  an  earnest  All 
accounts  and  reports  should  be  sent  to 
them,  and,  when  further  supplies  were 


needed,  they  were  prepared  to  honor  a 
draft  for  any  reasonable  amount.   Their 

address  was.  Box ,  Post-oflice,  — — 

city. 

The  pastor's  letter  spoke  of  the  young 
man  as  having  been  under  his  spiritual 
charge  from  boyhood,  and  testified  to  a 
high  ai^nreoiation  of  his  many  virtues. 

The  physician's  letter  corroborated 
what  the  lawyers  had  said  in  regard  to 
the  young  man's  illness,  and  his  loss  of 
memory.  His  health  was  entirely  re- 
stored, and  all  he  had  lost  would  very 
speedily  be  regained,  it  said. 

There  was  also  a  second  letter  from 
the  legal  firm,  acknowledging  receipt 

of  news  of  Raimond's  arrival  at  

College,  and  expressing  entire  satisfac- 
tion with  the  arrangements  made  to 
place  him  under  my  tuition. 

*^  This  seems  all  very  plain  and  sim- 
ple," I  said ;  "  there  can  be  no  difficulty 
here." 

"  But  there  m  insuperable  dificulty," 

retorted  the  Professor.    "Doctor 

and  Reverend  Doctor ■  both  posi- 
tively deny  that  they  ever  wrote  any 
such  letters,  or  ever  loiew  any  such  per- 
Bon,  whoBe  Bame,  they  say,  they  now 
hear  for  the  first  time.  Both  are  greatly 
surprised  that  their  handwritings  should 
have  been  so  closely  imitated.    Doctor 

said,  very  naively,  that  he  would 

have  sworn  to  the  signature  of  the  let- 
ter pretending  to  be  his.  These  gentle- 
man have  such  position  in  society  that 
we  cannot  think  of  challenging  thdr 
denials.  As  for  the  legal  firm,  the 
pseudo-guardians  of  Raimond  Letoile, 
neither  they,  nor  their  place  of  business, 
have  any  existence,  nor  have  they  ever 
had  any  existence  whatsoever  I " 

"  Aha ! "  said  I,  "  this  puts  quite  an- 
other face  upon  it,  Mr.  Parallax.  This 
becomes  now  a  matter  of  police.  We 
must  employ  a  detective." 

"  A  detective !  There  is  nothing  for 
the  police  to  seize  upon.  We  can  give 
them  no  data.    We  are  in  a  ettlrde-tac,^^ 

"There  is  the  young  man,"  said  I, 
gloomily,  "  and  we  must  let  the  police 
sift  him  and  his  antecedents.  Th^ 
may  be  able  to  tell  us  more  than  yov 
suspect.    Let  us  go  and  see  Markleigh.^ 


646 


Putnam's  Magazinb. 


[JUM, 


Markleigh  was  the  most  ingenious 
detecidve  I  haye  ever  encountered,  and 
Tras,  besides,  an  honorable,  kindly  man. 
To  him  we  went  and  told  him  all  we 
knew. 

He  shook  his  head. 

«  A  doubtful  case ! "  he  said.  "  The 
doctor  and  the  divine  are  t^bove  sus- 
picion; the  bogus  lawyers  are  likely 
beyond  our  reach.  Have  you  question- 
ed the  lad  himself  ?  How  do  you  know 
he  is  an  impostor  ? '' 

I  mentioned  my  suspicion  of  Rai- 
mond's  designs  against  Cherry.  Mark- 
leigh asked  the  Professor  if  they  were 
in  the  habit  of  sending  pupils  to  me, 
and  if  my  name  had  been  mentioned 
in  connection  with  such  a  thing,  in 
such  a  way  that  Raimond  or  some  one 
about  him  might  have  chanced  to  hear 
it.    The  Professor  answered  no. 

'^Then  that  suspicion  must  fall  to 
the  ground,''  said  Markleigh ;  ^^  for  how 
could  Lctoile  hope  to  forward  his  de- 
signs against  the  lady  by  going  to  the 
College,  unless  he  had  reason  to  believe 
the  College  would  send  him  to  you  ? 
Now,  I'll  tell  you  what,  gentlemen,  I 
suspect  this  youDg  man  is  more  sinned 
against  than  sinning.  He  is  probably 
a  little  touched  in  the  upper  story,  or 
has  been,  and  some  of  his  rights  of 
property  or  person  arc  being  plotted 
against  by  parties  determined  to  keep 
both  him  and  themselves  out  of  sight. 
Nine  times  out  ot  ten  such  cases  turn 
out  just  that  way.  We  must  find  out 
who  the  real  parties  are  who  have  used 
the  name  of  the  bogus  firm." 

"How  can  we,  when  there  is  no 
clue  ? " 

"  How  do  you  know  the  young  man 
won't  tell  you,  when  you  question  him 
seriously  ? " 

I  mentioned  Haimond's  romantic  ver- 
'sion  of  his  past  history. 

"  Ah,  I  see  I "  said  Markleigh ;  "  plain- 
ly cracked  I  But  how  do  you  know  his 
own  papers  will  not  reveal  what  he  re- 
flises  to  tell  you  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  he  has  any  papers. 
He  has  never  received  any  letters,  and 
he  never  locks  his  trunk — ^he  has  only 
one." 


*' Papers  there,  for  all  that,"  aid 
Markleigh.  ^^  Besides,  tiiere  is  the  poat- 
office  box;  let  ns  go  and  see  about 
that" 

"The  post-office  box  I "  We  had  not 
thought  of  that. 

"  Yes,"  said  Markleigh.  ''Uncle  Sia 
helps  us  to  unear&  many  a  John  Doe 
who  thinks  his  xnole-trackB  too  intri- 
cate for  him  ever  to  be  caught  Tov 
letter  from  the  CoU^^  was  received,  and 
answered.  By  whom  f  Who  took  tiuit 
letter  from  the  oflSUfe  ?  Who  rented  Box 
,  last  May  f  " 

We  went  to  the  ofiice  ftdl  of  hope^ 
but  met  with  an  unexpected  nlnSL 
There  was,  indeed,  a  box  of  the  Bom- 
ber given,  but  only  of  recent  oomtno- 
tion.  At  the  date  of  the  connpood- 
ence  no  such  box  existed  I  The  xniB- 
bers  then  did  not  run  so  high  hytio 
hundred.  There  could  be  no  ndstab 
about  this,  we  were  assured  by  fte 
highest  authority.  The  box  with  fte 
number  given  had  not  been  in  use  two 
months. 

^^The  letter  was  directed  to  a  box 
bearing  that  number,"  said  Mlrkleig^ 
stubbornly ;  *^  it  must  have  heen  i«- 
ceived  as  sent,  for  here  is  the  answer, 
which  came  in  due  course  of  maiL" 

"  We  cannot  help  that,"  was  aU  the 
answer  we  received ;  "  the  box  was  cer 
tainly  not  in  existenpe  at  that  date." 
And  official  records  were  shown  to  w 
making  the  statement  incontestable. 

Markleigh  came  away  with  us,  in 
silence.  At  last  he  said :  ^'  I  must  con- 
fess this  thing  puzzles  me,  gentlemen. 
The  plot  hides  deeper  than  I  thought 
The  motive  for  concealment  must  be 
strong,  and  the  art  displayed  is  consid- 
erable. I  will  study  the  matter  over  t 
little.  There  is  only  one  thing  for  yon 
to  do,  and  that  is,  make  what  you  can 
out  of  the  young  man.  Go  home  at 
once  and  question  him  closely.  What- 
ever you  do,  be  sure  to  get  possession 
of  his  trunk  and  papers  before  he  sup- 
poses he  is  suspected.  If  you  need  me, 
let  me  know.  I  think  I  will  drop  down 
to  see  you,  in  a  day  or  two.  You  have 
made  me  curious  about  the  lad.  I  want 
to  look  at  him,  to  see  if  his  countenance 


1870.] 


Thb  Taxi  of  a  Oomst. 


Wl 


reminds  me  of  any  of  my  old  acquaint- 
ances.   So,  good  day,  gentlemen." 

The  next  morning  I  went  aboard  the 
steamboat  for  my  home,  accompanied 
by  the  Professor.  He  was  morbidly 
anxious  about  the  condition  of  affiEdrs, 
and  deeply  regretted  haying  induced 
me  to  take  the  young  man  under  my 
charge.  I  was  devoured  with  appre- 
hensions. I  could  not  tell  what  fears 
possessed  me,  what  doubts,  suspicions, 
and  dark  dreads  tortured  me  with  their 
yiolent  urgency.  The  steamboat  was 
all  too  slow  for  my  swift-running  cares, 
and  all  day  long  I  paced  the  deck,  and 
watched  out  forward  to  see  what  prog- 
ress we  were  making.  There  was  con- 
siderable delay,  for  there  was  much 
freight  to  be  landed,  and  many  passen- 
gers, and  I  chafed  and  fumed  in  vain. 

The  steamboat  landing  was  about  two 
miles  from  my  windmiU,  and  we  did 
not  reach  the  wharf  until  after  seyen 
o'clock  in  the  eyening.  I  had  no  con- 
yeyance,  so  the  Professor  was  obliged  to 
follow  me  on  foot,  along  a  sandy  road. 
Driyen  by  I  knew  not  what  of  anxiety 
and  terror,  I  walked  on  furiously,  for- 
\^tfal  of  my  companion's  years  and  in- 
firmities, until,  panting  and  breathless, 
he  told  me  he  could  go  no  further  un- 
less I  went  more  slowly.  I  adapted  my 
step  to  his,  while  my  heart  beat  fear- 
fully, and  the  yeins  in  my  temples  throb- 
bed as  if  they  would  burst.  The  night 
had  quite  faUen  before  we  reached  the 
windmill,  and  twilight  was  faded  all 
away. 

"How  brilliantly  the  comet  shines 
to-night,"  said  the  Professor,  as  at  last 
we  stood  before  the  door  after  mount- 
ing the  long  steps.  "  This  is  her  peri- 
gee, certainly.  I  am  glad  it  is  so  clear. 
We  must  take  an  obseryation  before  we 
sleep  this  night,  Bernard." 

ioid  we  entered  my  study  as  he  spoke. 

Tin.    TO  AscTuarsI 

Old  Nanny  met  us,  weeping  loudly, 
in^. mopping  her  fat,  bacon-colored  face 
nitiL  the  ends  of  a  not  oyer-clean  check 
apron. 

"  I'm  glad  you  come,  Marse  Bemie  I 
rm  glad  you  come ! " 


**  What  is  the  matter,  Nanny  f  " 

"Oh,  he's  gone  away,  sir!  He's 
gone  away ! " 

"  Raimond  gone  away  I    Where  to  ?  " 

"  I  dunno !  I  dunno  1  He  kim  to  me 
and  says  as  how  I  was  weny  good  to 
him  "  (sotibing),  "  and  he  was  goin'  away 
a  long  y'yage  dis  werry  night,  and  neyer 
comin'  back  no  more,  so  here's  some- 
thin'  to  remember  me  by  I  An'  he  giye 
me  dis,  poor  dear  innocent  I "  said  she, 
opening  her  hand  and  shpwing  several 
large  gold  coins. 

"  Did  he  take  his  trunk  ? " 

"  No— he  hain't  gone  yit.  He's  across 
de  creek,  now — I  reckon  sayin'  good- 
by  to  Miss  Cherry." 

I  turned  to  the  Professor.  "  An  elope- 
ment I "  said  L  "  We  are  still  in  time  I 
Nanny,  go  up-stairs  and  bring  down 
Raimond's  trunk — at  once!  We  will 
forestall  the  gentleman's  intentions," 
said  I  to  the  Professor,  who  had  taken 
a  seat  in  the  nearest  chair. 

Presently,  old  Nanny  came  down 
again,  dragging  behind  her  Raimond's 
moderate-sized  trunk. 

"»Tain't  locked,"  she  said— " 'tain't 
packed.  Mebbe  he  ain't  goin'  to-night, 
arter  all." 

"  Put  the  trunk  in  the  closet,"  said  I, 
"  and  give  me  the  key." 

"  I  hope  he  hain't  been  doin'  nothin' 
bad,"  said  she,  peering  anxiously  into 
my  face  after  she  had  locked  the  closet 
door. 

"That  remains  to  be  seen!  Now, 
Mr.  Parallax,"  said  I,  briskly,  turning 
to  the  Professor,  "  let  us  go  across  the 
river  at  once." 

He  followed  me  out  of  the  house  to 
the  little  wharf  where  my  canoe  was 
tied  up.  When  we  got  there,  I  found 
that  the  paddle  was  not  in  the  boat. 

"Nanny  1 "  I  called,  " bring  me  my 
paddle — quick  1 " 

While  we  waited  for  her  to  come,  I 
looked  across  the  river,  and  out  upon 
the  night.  All  around  the  vaulted  sky 
the  brilliant  constellations  hung 


**  Like  captaio-jewelB  in  a  coroanct ; 


f» 


while  the  comet,  its  nucleus  large  upon 
the  very  verge  of  the  horizon,  and  its 


«48 


FUTNAX^S  MaQAZEETS. 


[Jim, 


tail  sweeping  upwards  at  a  great  angle, 
blazed  with  a  clearer,  brighter  gleam 
than  ever  before.  The  black  shadows 
of  the  great  willows  across  the  stream 
rose  gloomily  against  the  sky,  and  in 
those  shadows  I  could  not  see  if  Rai- 
mond's  boat  was  there  or  not. 

"  What  you  goin'  'cross  de  creek  for, 
'fore  you  gits  your  supper  ? "  asked 
Kanny,  as  she  trotted  up,  panting,  and 
gave  me  the  paddle. 

"  We  will  soon  be  back,"  I  answered ; 
"  keep  a  cup  of  tea  hot  for  us.  Step 
in,  Mr.  Parallax — ^gently — the  boat  is 
very  light,  a  touch  wiU  capsize  her — sit 
tiiere — sit  low ; "  and  I  proceeded  to 
untie  the  painter. 

*'What  a  strange  smoke  that  is  I" 
cried  the  Professor,  suddenly,  pointing 
behind  me. 

"  O  Lord  I  "  screamed  old  Nanny ; 
"  come  back,  Marse  Bemie  I  come  back  I 
de  house's  a-fire  I  de  smoke's  all  a-bust^ 
in'  out  under  de  eaves  1 " 

I  turned.  There  was  a  huge  volume 
of  smoke  bursting  out  from  every  cranny 
of  the  roof  of  my  poor  old  windmill — 
such  smoke  as  told  plainly  enough  the 
blaze  was  not  far  behind  I 

I  sprang  from  the  boat.  But,  at  that 
instant,  from  the  region  of  sky  where 
the  pearl-bright  comet  reigned,  with  a 
rushing  sound,  and  a  broad,  unholy 
blaze  of  light  that  turned  all  things 
into  a  sulphurous  day,  and  a  long,  scin- 
tillating track  of  flame,  there  came  a 
mighty  meteor,  swift  and  furious  as  a 
thunderbolt.  With  a  whirling  curve  it 
swept  along,  and  in  its  ghastly  light 
we  saw  our  faces,  white,  and  dumb,  and 
terror-stricken.  With  a  whirling  curve 
it  came,  and  dipped  towards  the  river 
till  it  seemed  the  very  fishes  underneath 
the  waves  must  go  blind  in  all  that 
glare.  It  dipped  towards  the  river, 
then,  poising  one  moment  in  increasing 
splendor  over  the  willows,  the  drooping 
weeping  willows,  it  soared  aloft  again 
with  its  mighty  train  of  fire,  upwards, 
upwards,  until  it  was  out  of  sight ! 

"  God  !  "  shrieked  old  Nanny,  drop- 
ping to  her  knees,  "  de  world's  come  to 
its  end  I  de  night  o'  judgment's  here ! 
Glory  I  oh,  glory  1"  and  she  clapped 


her  hands  and  shouted  in  a  sort  of  ds- 
lirious  awe. 

"  *  He  is  terrible  exceedingly  in  all  Bi 
works  1 ' "  said  the  Professor's  sokm 
voice.    "  A  fearful  meteor,  Bernard ! " 

But  I — ^I  grasped  my  paddle  widi 
frantic  fingers,  and,  crying  ^^Chenjl 
Cherry  I "  sprang  from  the  wharf  agiiii, 
and  tore  the  knotted  rope  loose,  aad 
in  hot  haste  dashed  the  rocking  boit 
along! 

'*  Your  house  is  burning  1  The  fimake 
increases,  Bernard ! "  said  the  ProfesBor, 
wondering  at  my  madness. 

But  "  Cherry  I  Cherry  !  "  I  scresmed 
out,  and  forced  the  boat  along.  For, 
in  that  moment  when  the  x>oisisg  me- 
teor had  shaken  its  white  defiance  h 
the  face  of  night,  and  all  its  lurid  hor- 
rors burst  forth  like  a  gleam  from  heXL, 
I  had  seen  Cherry— seen  her  upon  the 
opposite  shore — betwixt  the  trailing 
drooping,  weeping  willows,  upon  tbe 
long  dewy  slope  of  grass  I  I  had  sea 
herthere,  rapt,  transfi^ored,  dying  I  Bf 
her  side  I  saW  Raimond  Letoile  stand- 
ing, the  meteor's  blue  fame  dressiDg  ik 
white  brow  with  an  aureola.  I  saw  him 
standing  there,  his  eyes  turned  Jipwarda/ 
a  smile  of  conscious  supernatural  power 
lighting  all  his  face,  while  his  figure 
was  magnified  and  seemed  exahang  it- 
self like  an  angel's  on  tiptoe  for  a  flight 
And,  like  a  saint,  adoring,  face  pale, 
upturned,  glorified,  hands  clasped,  knees 
humbly  bent,  I  saw  Cherry,  a  votiye  of- 
fering at  his  feet  I  One  moment  I  saw 
them  thus,  and  then,  it  was  dreary  darL 
One  moment — ^but  forever ! 

**  Cherry  1 "  I  cried,  and  urged  the 
boat  on  till  the  water  foamed,  while  the 
Professor  per  force  sat  still,  and  old 
Nanny's  wailing  shouts  and  clappings 
followed  us  as  we  went. 

The  boat's  keel  grated,  and  I  sprvng 
ashore,  bidding  the  Professor  tie  the 
boat  and  follow. 

Five  steps  up  the  slope,  and  through 
the  long  dewy  grass,  and  I  was  beside 
the  white,  kneeling  figure — the  figan 
in  pure  white  muslin  limp  with  dew 
who  knelt  there,  hands  clasped  and 
face  upturned,  seraphic — the  figoHB  of 
Cherry,  kneeling  there,  alone  I  kaeeliBg 


1870.] 


Thb  Outlook  of  cub  English  Litbbatube. 


640 


there,  alone,  and  gazing  upward  tow- 
ards the  comet  with  a  wliite  face  full 
of  joy,  with  the  rapt  face  of  her  who 
sees  a  QodI  with  liading  eyes,  indeed, 
but  full  of  love  and  peace  !  Oh,  Cherry ! 
oh,  my  Cherry ! 

By  her  side  I  knelt  me  down,  there 
'in  the  comet's  chilly  light,  and  she  knew 
me  with  that  smile  of  fading  sweetness, 
and  turned  her  face  to  mine,  whisper- 
ing, 

"  Kiss  mo,  Bernie  I " 

So  I  kissed  her  cold,  white  lips,  and 
she  heaved  a  little  sigh,  still  smiling 
towards  the  comet.  Then,  as  I  put 
xhy  arm  about  her  waist,  to  keep  her 
from  falling,  her  world-weary  head  sunk 


drooping  to  my  shoulder,  and  a  littld 
shiver  ran  through  all  her  fhune. 

"He  will  know  me  in  ArcturusI'* 
she  said,  and  so,  was  still. 

— "  Your  house  is  all  in  flames,"  said 
the  Professor,  coming  near  me.  "  You 
will  save  nothing,  Bernard." 

"  Hush  !  »  1  cried.  "  Let  there  be 
peace  I    She  sleeps  I " 

He  seized  Cherry's  limp  hand  quickly, 
then  gently  let  it  fall  again. 
.    "She  sleeps,  indeed,  my  poor  Ber- 
nard I    She  is  dead — quite  dead  I " 

— There  was  ardent  quest  for  Rai- 
mond  Letoile,  but  he  had  disappeared, 
nor  was  there  any  trace  of  him  discoy- 
ered  ever  after. 


•♦• 


THE  OUTLOOK  OF   OUR  ENGLISH  LrrERATURE. 


We  hear  it  said  that  the  time  has 
come  for  American  literature  to  assume 
a  national  character,  and  to  begin  for 
itself  a  new  life  expressive  of  a  free 
spirit,  of  a  broader  idea  of  humanity, 
than  the  Old  World,  and  even  England, 
has  taught  us.  We  are,  politically,  two 
nations  —  why  not  mentally?  Why 
should  we  continue  to  be  nourished  by 
the  bread  that  comes  over  the  sea  ?  We 
have  unreaped  fields  of  our  own  of  in- 
credible fertility.  And  we  have  already 
possessed  some  authors  who  have  pro- 
duced works  mainly  inspired  by  Ameri- 
can ideas,  society,  nature.  The  greatest 
works  and  triumphs  of  such  original 
writers  as  Cooper,  Hawthorne,  Whit- 
tier,  are  drawn  directly  from  American 
soil.  This  is  true,  and  we  heartily  re- 
joice in  the  fact ;  but  we  do  not  draw 
from  it  the  conclusion  that  America  can 
at  once  issue  a  proclamation  of  inde- 
pendence in  thought,  and  set  up  a  new 
American  literature.  English  litera- 
ture is  a  slow-growing  tree.  Its  seed, 
brought  from  the  far  East,  was  sown 
long  ago  in  German  soil;  it  shot  its 
roots  under  the  sea  into  the  little 
island;  it  was  watered  with  the  tears 
of  the  Celt  and  the  blood  of  the  Sax- 
on; it  was  grafted  by  the  Norman 
sword  and  the  French  steel;  it  was 


tossed  by  the  winds  and  tempests  of 
revolutions ;  it  felt  the  quickening  heats 
of  the  Reformation;  its  fruits  were 
borne  over  the  ocean  into  distant  re- 
gions, and  they  have  sprung  up  among 
us.  The  old  stock  is  flourishing  here 
under  brighter  suns  in  its  tender  and 
rapidly-growing  renewed  life.  We  can- 
not forget  this  if  we  would,  nor  would 
we  if  we  could. 

But  while  we  cannot  lose  sight  of  the 
origin  of  English  literature,  and  while 
we  would  draw  continual  strength  and 
nourishment  from  those  original  springs, 
yet  we  do  also  recognize  the  possibility 
— and,  more  than  that,  the  hopefulness 
and  the  great  desirableness — of  the 
growth  of  a  true  American  literature. 
The  literature  of  the  English  language 
in  all  ages  has  been  characterized  by 
movement,  change,  the  evolution  of 
new,  vigorous  life,  if  not  always  by 
actual  progress.  The  varied  and  com- 
posite nature  of  the  language  itself  has 
fkvored  this.  Coleridge  classified  Eng« 
lish  literature  into  three  epochs :  from 
Chaucer  to  Dryden,  from  I^yden  indQ- 
sive  to  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  cein- 
tury,  and  from  that  time  to  the  present. 
In  ^imating  the  characters  of  these 
epochs,  it  will  be  seen  that  the  adraneo 
has  been  in  the  manner  of  a  rotation. 


650 


PunTAii's  Maoazixs. 


pone, 


like  that  of  a  vast  cyclone,  sweeping 
and  gathering  in  new  qualities  of  power 
as  it  progresses,  but  ever  turning  on  a 
moving  axis.  New  ages  of  thought  and 
elements  of  progress,  haying  one  or- 
gi^iic  life,  yet  highly  dissimilar  in  their 
outward  aspects  and  manifestations, 
have  ever  been  characterized  by  great 
representative  minds,  such  as  Chaucer, 
Shakespeare,  Dryden,  Wordsworth,  that 
have  formed  the  turning-points  in  the 
history  of  English  literature;  for  in 
them  have  revived  in  fresh  forms  the 
old  creative  power.  What  could  be 
more  unlike  than  the  literature  of  the 
reign  of  James  I.  and  that  of  Queen 
Anne,  or  the  age  of  Puritan  ascendancy 
in  England  and  that  of  the  Restoration  ? 
and  yet  there  were  great  writers  in  the 
lowest  and  least  creative  of  these  pe- 
riods. The  age  of  Swift,  Steele,  Addi- 
son, Defoe,  Pope,  was  no  puny  age ;  but 
yet,  what  was  it  compared  with  the 
epoch  that  produced  a  Bacon,  a  Hook- 
er, a  Shakespeare  ? 

And  a  greater  age  may  not  only  pre- 
cede, but  follow,  a  lesser ;  so  that  there 
seems  to  be  an  endlessly  recreative  pow- 
er in  English  literature.  It  is  the  litera- 
ture of  progress  and  free  ideas.  Unlike 
the  Latin  and  Greek,  which  have  reached 
their  culmination,  and  which  are  inca- 
pable of  the  least  change — or  even  the 
French,  which,  with  its  gravitating  ten- 
dency toward  Parisian  French,  and  its 
aversion  to  all  dialectic  freedom  and 
expansion,  seems  almost  to  have  come 
to  its  farthest  possible  limit  of  improve- 
ment, not  only  in  style,  but  thought — 
unlike  these,  we  ought  to  expect  that, 
as  the  Anglo-Saxon,  or  we  might  say 
the  Anglo-American,  race,  advances  and 
assimilates  other  nations,  cultures,  and 
languages  to  its  own  civilization,  its 
language  will  continue  to  show  changes, 
to  acquire  new  forces,  to  enrich  its  treas- 
ures of  words  aud  ideas,  and,  on  the 
whole,  to  gain  power  and  beauty  as  an 
instrument  of  the  thought  and  spirit  of 
the  race. 

In  regard  to  the  outloo^c  of  modem 
literature,  while,  in  some  respects,  there 
is  a  decided  advancement,  yet  it  seems 
to  us  that  the  English  language  at  the 


present  day  haa  lost  something  o(  ib 
old  spirit  and  strengtli ;  that  it  hit  be- 
come more  formal  tlian  instromeDti], 
more  of  the  character  of  an  end  tbia  a 
meana.  The  language  of  writos  be- 
longing to  the  best  epochs — of  the  last 
half  of  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  for  ex- 
ample—was a  plastic  instrument  in  the 
hand  of  the  writer ;  he  regarded  les 
the  form  than  the  thought;  he  stroie 
to  express  himself,  not  hide  hinuelf  in 
language ;  he  had  a  mnd^  and  conad- 
ered  himself  to  be  of  more  impoitanoe 
than  the  dressing  of  his  soul--Jii8  lan- 
guage ;  hence  the  spiritual  ridmeai^  the 
lactea  ubertas,  as  Qointilian  calb  it,  of 
the  writing  of  that  period,  not  only  of 
the  greatest  writers,  but  of  the  leaser 
dramatists  and  the  later  -writera,  soch  aa 
Jeremy  Taylor,  Sir  Thomas  Browne, 
and,  above  all,  Milton  in  his  prose. 
Notwithstanding  the  extravagant  nux- 
ture  of  classical  words  and  TAtimwmi  in 
their  style,  those  writers  used  langoage 
as  primarily  subject  to  thought  And 
to  this  same  period,  or  circle,  of  the 
English  language, — in  which,  howerer 
false  the  thought  and  burdened  the 
style  with  learned  words  and  conceite, 
the  language  was  more  noble,  individ- 
ual, spiritual,  than  it  now  is, — ^to  this 
period,  such  original  writers  as  Bnnyin, 
Swift,  Defoe,  belong.  The  air  is  freah 
and  spicy,  the  winds  blow  free  and  bois- 
terous, and  there  is  bold  movement,  life, 
and  power. 

Another  marked  .  distinction  which 
m^y  be  mentioned  between  the  andeat 
and  modem  styles  is,  that,  in  the  older 
writers,  or  the  greatest  of  them,  the 
representative  quality — the  imagination 
— had  free  play,  which  gave  the  style 
its  creative  energy ;  while  the  period  in 
which  we  live,  or,  at  least,  the  last  half 
century  of  it,  more  peculiarly  represents 
the  literature  of  knowledge ;  it  marks 
the  development  of  a  scientific  age ;  it 
is  a  critical  rather  than  a  creative  pe- 
riod; and  while  this  condition  brings 
with  it  some  positive  improvements  of 
style,  such  as  precision,  analytic  fineness, 
realness,  logical  method,  yet,  in  other 
respects,  the  language  loses  some  of  the 
great  qualities  of  the  former  poiod. 


1870.] 


Thb  Outlook  of  oub  Enqush  Litjuliitube. 


601 


Buch  as  vividness,  vital  beauty,  original- 
ity. Mr.  John  Stuart  Mill  remarks — 
we  tbink  ratber  dogmatically — "  Nearly 
all  tbe  thoughts  which  can  be  reached 
by  mere  strength  of  original  faculties, 
have  long  since  been  arrived  at;  and 
originality,  in  any  high  sense  of  the 
word,  is  now  scarcely  ever  attained  but 
by  minds  which  have  undergone  elabo- 
rate discipline,  and  are  deeply  versed  in 
the  results  of  previous  thinking ;  and 
it  is  Mr.  Maurice,  I  think,  who  has  re- 
marked on  the  present  age,  that  its  most 
original  thinkers  are  those  who  have 
known  most  thoroughly  what  has  been 
thought  by  their  predecessors ;  and  this 
will  always  henceforth  be  the  case." 

There  is,  however,  at  the  present  day, 
in  some  departments  of  literature,  a 
great  gain  in  the  direction  of  a  richer 
subjectivity  of  thought.  This,  doubt- 
less, we  owe  to  the  wonderful  analysis 
of  Germany,  which  is  penetrating  and 
influencing  all  kinds  of  literature.  In- 
deed, some  of  the  second-rate  novels 
now,  and  those  written  by  women  (the 
best  novels  we  have  are  by  women), 
would  have  made  a  brilliant  reputation 
in  the  last  century.  They  could  not 
have  been  written  in  the  last  century. 
A  deeper  consciousness  has  been  opened. 
Walter  Scott,  with  his  peerless  superior- 
ity in  every  natural  and  objective  ele- 
ment, is  a  child,  compared  with  some 
modem  writers,  in  grasp  of  character, 
in  the  psychology  of  temper,  motive, 
and  action.  Novel-reading  is  the  curse 
of  this  age ;  but  it  is  also,  in  some 
points  of  view,  a  power  of  instruction, 
and  even  of  good.  Love  of  fiction  is 
not  necessaiily  the  love  of  what  is  false ; 
it  may  be  the  love  of  what  is  true,  or 
truer  than  the  common  reality.  It  may 
be  a  desire  to  satisfy  a  real  want,  or  a 
true  ideal  that  springs  from  the  deepest 
instincts  of  the  soul.  This  may  not  be 
a  pronounced  feeling  in  the  case  of 
novel-readers  generally,  especially  of 
the  younger  class,  who  read  only  for 
amusement  and  excitement ;  but  it  has 
its  influence  in  leading  many  to  read 
works  of  the  imagination,  where  the  air 
is  keen,  where  the  sentiments  have  a 
clear  play,  and  nature  has  some  chance 


to  breathe  and  live.  Yet  this  can  be 
said  of  but  few  novels;  for  oftener  a 
totally /a2M  ideal  is  set  forth,  one  below 
instead  of  beyond  the  true  one,  perhaps 
wholly  "  earthly,  sensual,  devilish."  A 
true  novel  is  a  work  of  art,  and  must 
be  based  upon  truth ;  it  is  something 
that  may  be  true,  if  it  is  not.  It  is  the 
heart's  beautiful  hope,  the  brave  strug- 
gle, the  victory  of  love  and  faith,  the 
golden,  unclouded  peace.  And  is  not 
this  sometimes  realized  in  actual  life! 
Can  the  best  fiction  that  ever  was  writ- 
ten come  up  to  the  heroism,  sorrows, 
rewards,  and  joys  of  tbe  soul  itself? 
But  a  good  novel{  made  by  a  true  artist, 
who  has  studied  nature  with  the  intui- 
tion of  genius,  and  who  loves  man  and 
loves  God,  is  a  good  thing;  and  we 
need  not  go  to  the  Jean  Paul  Kichters, 
or  the  marvellously  skilful  but  subtly 
materialistic  Berthold  Auerbachs  of 
Germany,  for  such;  we  can  find  them 
nearer  home.  Fiction  blossomed  late 
in  England,  and  the  better  and  deeper 
tone  of  the  best  modem  form  of  this 
kind  of  literature  was  long  in  reaching 
its  present  perfection ;  in  which,  what 
once  belonged  to  the  separate  and  dis- 
tinct schools  of  humor,  morals,  romance, 
and  the  drama,  seem  now  to  be  all 
blended. 

In  attempting  to  say  a  word  charac- 
teristic of  the  features  of  modem  Eng- 
lish poetry,  we  will  quote  a  few  sen- 
tences from  Kuskin  as  our  text.  *'0f 
modem  poetry,  keep  to  Scott,  Words- 
worth, Keats,  Crabbe,  Tennyson,  the 
two  Brownings,  Lowell,  Longfellow, 
and  Covefatry  Patmoro,  whose  *  Angel 
in  the  House '  is  the  most  finished  piece 
of  writing,  and  the  sweetest  analysis  we 
possess  of  quiet,  modem  domestic  feel- 
ing; while  Mrs.  Browning's  'Aurora 
'  Leigh '  is,  as  far  as  I  know,  the  greatest 
poem  the  century  has  produced  in  any 
language.  Cast  Coleridge  aside,  as 
sickly  and  useless ;  and  Shelley,  as  shal- 
low and  verbose ;  and  Byron,  until  your 
taste  is  fully  formed,  and  you  are  able 
to  discover  the  magnificence  in  him 
from  the  wrong.  Nefoer  readi  had  or 
common  poetry^  nor  write  any  poetry 
yourself;  there  is,  perhaps,  rather  too 


U!b 


[Joe, 


much  titan  too  little  in  tbe  worid  al- 
ready." Some  tense  and  mndi  non- 
ante  are  mixed  np  in  tfaia  paaaage. 
WbOf  fonooth,  will  obey  tbe  nnqnali- 
fied  command  to  ^cast  Colendge  at 
once  aaide  ?  "  Wbile  some  of  bis  poet- 
ry is  like  metrical  metapbysica,  bis 
^  Ancient  Mariner  ^  is 

".,.ot  imagtnstion  all  compact.** 

And  Sbelley,  notwithstanding  lus  bias- 
pbemons  rayings,  is  not  to  be  snnffed 
ont  by  Mr.  Raskin's  dictam.  Tbe 
spirit,  tbe  pneuma  of  poetry,  floats 
tbrougb  bis  verses  as  tbrongb  one  of 
Beetboyen's  sympbonies.  It  is  tbe  rare 
and  indefinable  mnsic  of  poetry.  Tbe 
advice,  also,  to  stick  to  reflective  poetry 
and  to  avoid  tbe  drama,  sounds  strange- 
ly wben  we  consider  that  tbe  English 
mind  is  essentially  dramatic,  and  that 
its  highest  poetic  expression  is  to  be 
found  in  dramatic  Uterature. 

But  tbe  suggestion  of  tbe  critic,  that 
**  one  should  never  read  bad  or  conmion 
poetry,"  is  sound;  since  poor  poetry 
teaches  us  nothing,  while  it  desecrates 
the  noblest  of  our  mental  sensibilities, 
the  love  of  the  beautiful  and  the  true. 

Prose  deals  with  facts,  while  poetry 
deals  with  ideas  and  feelings,  the  mind's 
blossom  and  perfume,  tbe  rarest  anil 
most  beauteous  thing  about  it.  If  not 
the  best,  then  poetry  is  worse  than  noth- 
ing— it  is  a  scentless  or  nauseous  weed. 

Prose,  indeed,  cares  more  for  the  fact 
than  the  form;  but  poetry  is  naught 
without  the  form;  and  Wordsworth 
himself,  whose  pet  theory  was  to  treat 
the  form  as  worthless  in  comparison  to 
the  truth  or  thought  which  it  enshrined, 
is  held  by  the  best  judges  to  owe  hjis 
chief  charm  to  the  wonderful  fitness, 
melody,  and  grace  of  his  diction.  Cole- 
ridge says:  ** Prose  is  words  in  their 
best  order,  while  poetry  is  the  best 
words  in  their  best  order."  Poor  poet- 
ry, therefore,  is  like  unripe  fruit,  nei- 
ther good  for  the  sight  or  taste. 

Poetry  is  the  choice  fruit  of  that 
power  of  the  mind  which  reproduces 
objects,  even  the  most  familiar,  in  such 
a  loving,  true,  and  yet  uncommon  light 
cf/eelingy  as  to  awaken  universal  sym- 


pathy and  delight.  It  ia  not  tbe  pn- 
dvctioa  of  ordinary  sympatby  or  mere- 
ly tenaoooa  emotion,  but  of  noble  fe^ 
ing;  of  admiratioii,  joy,  heroic  paaiiaB, 
love,  or  of  unselfish  hatred,  indigna- 
tion, sorrow.  Tbe  poet,  dowered  with 
the  bate  of  hate,  the  scorn,  of  scorn,  the 
love  of  lovCj  awakes  these  passions  ia 
tbe  hearts  of  those  who  hear  or  read 
him ;  as  Tennyson's  best  poetry  tondies 
powerfully,  though  delicately,  tbepnreBt 
springs  of  love,  loyalty,  duty,  sactifioe^ 
the  bidden  life.  If  onr  standard  or 
measure  of  a  man's  greatness  is  whst 
we  ourselves  get  from  him  of  newpover 
and  suggestion,  then  Tennyson  is  a  greit 
poet  He  has  not  only  clothed  thoog^ 
in  as  perfect  and  musical  forms  of  words 
as  any  poet  has  done,  but  he  has  had 
true  Uiougbt  springing  from  true  feel- 
ing. The  imagination,  roused  by  aad 
reacting  upon  the  emotions,  is  the  chief 
factor  of  such  noble  and  true  poetiy. 
This  penetrating  quality  enters  into  tbe 
interior  of  things,  grasps  their  secnt, 
creates  them  anew ;  and  thus  we  call 
the  products  of  the  imagination,  mwf- 
flrcr,  poetry — something  made  It  li 
pure  invention.  It  does  not  copy,  but 
creates.  It  does  not  simply  recall,  or 
recollect,  but  re-presents — ^bodies  forth 
in  new  forms  the  subjects  of  its  per- 
ception, memory,  thought.  It  creates 
through  that  divine  power  which  seizes 
upon  the  universal  principles  of  things, 
and  which  awakens  universal  sympathy. 
It  works,  in  fact,  by  love,  **  holding  dXi 
things  by  the  heart."  By  this  sympa- 
thy the  poet  becomes  a  seer ;  and  if  be 
does  not  thus  see  the  interior  truth,  he  is 
no  poet,  and  had  better  doff  bis  singing- 
robes  and  put  on  honest  broadcloth. 
Tbe  poet  is,  in  fact,  the  highest  intelli- 
gence, almost  prophetic;  not,  indeed, 
the  scientific  intelligence — for  be  sees 
more  by  the  intuition  of  feeling  than 
by  the  process  of  intellectual  percep- 
tion and  analysis — but  rising  above  sci- 
ence, entering  into  the  invisible  heart 
of  things,  and  using  science  aa  his  ser- 
vant Poetry  thus,  as  tbe  pure  product 
of  tbe  imagination,  calling  np  new  crea- 
tions out  of  the  old,  does  not  repressnl 
tbe  superficial  mind,  or  tbe  mere  simple 


1«70.] 


Tnx  Outlook  of  oub  English  Litsbatxtsx. 


653^ 


truth,  but  the  deeper  insight,  the  spirit- 
ual truth,  come  at  by  subtler  combina- 
tions and  by  pure  force  of  contempla^ 
tion  and  feeling. 

Now  judge  the  present  age  by  these 
standards,  and  who  are  the  poets? 
Who  speak  to  the  universal  heart! 
Who  put  forth  in  any  high  or  sustained 
degree  this  divine  creative  energy  of 
the  imagination,  like  the  great  ones  of 
the  past?  The  present  age  is  not  to 
blame  because  it  does  not  produce  a 
Ohaucer,  a  Shakespeare,  a  Milton,  or 
because  its  intellectual  force  mainly 
runs  in  other  and  more  practical  chan- 
nels. Wordsworth,  the  greatest  poet 
of  the  period,  has  but  just  passed  away, 
and  the  world  can  afford  to  live  upon 
the  fresh  productions  of  his  genius  for 
a  while  longer.  He  is  the  creator  of  a 
new  era.  This  has  been  called  the  Ten- 
nysonian  age,  but  it  is  more  truly  the 
Wordsworthian  age,  of  poetry ;  for  the 
reformation  in  the  right  direction,  which 
was  begun  by  Gowper  and  Bums,  Words- 
worth perfected,  bringing  into  poetry 
higher  elements  of  beauty.  He  intro- 
duced the  love  and  the  loving  study  of 
Nature,  freeing  poetry  from  the  tyran- 
nical conventionality  of  a  former  pe- 
riod ;  and  once  more  poetry  went  forth 
into  the  fields,  climbed  the  mountains, 
breathed  the  pure  air  of  their  heathery 
summits,  and  became  the  playmate  of 
cloud,  rain,  lightning,  the  flowers,  the 
streams,  the  winds.  He  found  once 
more  the  fountains  of  Ufe.  He  made 
poetry  the  language  of  common  life 
and  of  common  nature,  as  well  as  the 
instrument  of  thought  and  of  the  affec- 
tions. He  stooped  to  sing  the  humble 
daisy  of  the  meadows, 

**  TboQ  imasflnming  oommonplaoe 
Of  Nature,  with  that  homely  fooe. 
And  yet  with  something  of  a  grace. 
Which  love  makes  for  thee.** 

And  he  touched  his  harp  to  strains  in 
which  a  higher  spirit  than  nature  moved 
in  praise  of  Duty : 

"And  the  most  ancient  heaTons,  through  thee,  are 
fresh  and  strong." 

Tennyson  followed  in  the  track  of 
Wordsworth,  but  with  less  of  that  large 
vision  which  reads  the  universe,  though 
with  a  more  genuine  sympathy  with  the 


human  heart.  Keats  was  a  rich  poet ; 
but  he,  too,  with  all  his  tropical  growth 
of  luxuriant  flEuicies,  was  but  a  fra£^ 
ment  broken  off  from  the  mountain- 
mass  of  Wordsworth.  Robert  Brown- 
ing has  apparently  struck  out  for  him- 
self an  independent  path ;  but  it  is  a 
question  whether  his  original  power  as 
a  poet  is  not  enfeebled  by  his  growing 
tendency  to  philosophy,  leaving  the 
sweet  familiar  paths  of  true  poetry. 
Nothing  is  to  be  more  honored  than 
metaphysics  in  their  right  place;  but, 
with  their  abstruse  conceptions,  l^ieir 
place  is  surely  not  in  the  living  products 
.  of  poetry,  even  if  it  may  be  in  the 
studies  and  contemplations  of  tiie  poet. 
Some  of  the  yoimgcr  poets  of  the 
day,  as,  for  example,  Arthur  Hugh 
Clough,  William  Morris  (we  don't  men- 
tion Swinburne,  because  we  have  not 
read  him),  and,  in  some  respects,  Mat- 
thew Arnold,  represent  a  peculiar  phase 
of  poetry — ^that  of  a  high  culture — 
wherein,  as  in  golden  channels  of  classic 
language,  deeper  and  bitterer  currents 
flow,  like  the  foaming  dark  wine  of  the 
vintage,  in  which  a  marked  and  pro- 
phetic though  often  destructive  energy 
is  shown.  The  bold  doubt,  the  vague, 
voluptuous  naturalism  of  sentiment,  the 
ironical  spirit  of  an  unsatisfied  thought, 
are  mingled  with  what  is  noble,  deli- 
cate, and  freshly  beautiful.  Fitfully 
and  wildly  breathes  the  music  from  the 
strings,  now  sweet,  now  harsh,  now  low, 
now  loud,  now  airs  from  heaven,  and 
now  wails  from  hell. 

William  Morris  is* assuredly  the  most 
original  poet  whom  these  days  have 
seen,  if  not  also  in  many  respects  the 
most  remarkable.  He  sings  simply  be- 
cause he  loves  to  sing,  like  the  wood- 
thrush  in  the  deepening  shadows  of  the 
summer  even.  On  his  easily-sustained 
and  abounding  outflowings  of  song,  as 
if  they  came  from  an  exhaustless  source, 
the  mind  of  the  reader  floats  as  do  birds 
of  calm  on  the  gently-heaving  deep, 
peacefril  because  calm.  He  resembles 
Spenser  in  the  opulence  of  the  creative 
flieulty,  although  he  is  rightly  compared 
for  freshness  and  nature,  for  a  certain 
morning   light   of  pur^   poetry,  to 


•54 


PiTTXAll'ft  ICAeAZDkS* 


y«e. 


Chancer.  But  why  does  he  nng  t  Does 
he  nog  with  the  hi^  and  sfHiitnal  in- 
tent of  Spenaert  Does  he  sow  seeds 
of  healthy  life,  as  Chancer  did,  in  the 
heart  of  the  age  ?  Does  his  poetry,  like 
Tennyson's,  make  men  better,  stronger, 
pnrer  ?  But  we  haye  the  earnest  hope 
that,  in  the  fotnre,  this  remarkable  and 
sweet  poet  will  develop  higher  qualities 
and  a  nobler  and  truer  moral  purpose. 

The  age  needs  a  diyine  afflatus  to 
purify  and  tone  it,  to  driye  firom  it 
the  heayy,  obstructiTe  spirit  of  denial, 
which  is  always  barren  in  the  greatest 
literary  production,  and  to  bring  back 
again  hope,  loye,  awe,  joy,  in  which  Art  • 
can  alone  flourish,  and  eren  for  any 
time  maintain  itself.  It  seems  as  if 
there  were  needed,  in  the  poetic  thought 
of  the  age,  a  certain  robust  objectiTe 
strength,  a  simple  repose  on  the  firm 
things  of  nature  and  spirit,  and  less  of 
brittle  and  attenuated  sentiment.  Bet- 
ter the  old  bards  who  flung  forth  out 
of  their  burning  hearts  their  terrible 
burdens  upon  corrupt  cities  and  na- 
tions, or  who  sang  of  mighty  wars  and 
bloody  battles,  rejoicing  in  the  stormy 
elements  of  real  life  and  passion,  than 
the  everlasting  wail  of  unrest  and  of 
self-consuming  distrust.  While  we  re- 
cognize the  rich  depth  and  new  intense 
interest  of  this  highly  intellectual  poet- 
ry, moving  almost  entirely  in  the  realm 
of  pure  thought,  yet  we  believe  the  ten- 
dency to  be  not  altogether  a  healthful 
one,  and  we  fear  that  our  poets  are  get- 
ting away  from  the  living  fountains  of 
inspiration,  and  are  on  the  way  to  bar- 
renness and  disappointment. 

In  regard  more  especially  to  the  form 
that  modern  literature  has  taken,  there 
are  also  notable  changes  going  on ;  and 
since  the  character  of  the  age  and  its 
pursuits  are  reflected  with  exactness  in 
a  language  so  flexible  and  impression- 
able as  the  English,  and  since  every  age 
has  its  own  work  to  do  and  its  own 
position  to  take  in  regard  to  the  prob- 
lems of  life  and  duty,  should  we  not 
expect  to  find  some  element  in  the  lan- 
guage peculiar  to  the  times?  In  the 
manner  of  speaking  and  T^riting  there 
are  significant  indications  of  this  truth. 


Hie  vast  mental  actiTity  and  pndkil 
energy  of  the  age  mjJEe  themselTeB  fidi 
in  all  the  forms  of  epeeth.  *  Style  ii 
rapid.  Men  have  no  time  to  ded  is 
lengthy  discourse.  The  literatore  thil 
packs  much  in  a  small  space,  that  is  the 
literature  that  sells — thai  is  read;  tod 
it  almost  seems  a  question  iHiether  these 
will  be  many  more  extremely  bulky  sad 
elaborate  books,  or  whether  our  litera- 
ture will  not  come  to  be  that  of  the 
magazine  and  journal  exclusiTely;  tnd, 
indeed,  already  some  of  the  bert  as 
well  as  the  worst  writing  we  haTC^  k  to 
be  found  in  the  newspapers ;  it  is  good 
because  it  is  real,  practical,  contesed. 

The  late  war,  while  for  the  timehdng 
it  extinguished  literature,  because  ma 
had  something  of  more  importance  to 
do  than  even  to  write — the  war  sowed 
seed  potential  of  great  things  in  Hten- 
ture.  It  ploughed  under  the  smftce. 
It  freed  the  national  mind  Gmm  narrow, 
false,  and  oppressive  ideas,  and  intro- 
duced a  manly  spirit  into  all  depart- 
ments of  literature.  Style  is  concentra- 
ted and  invention  quickened.  Though 
has  grown  bold,  and  the  sympathies  are 
widened  and  filled  with  a  new  q>irit  of 
universal  hope.  One  of  the  obvious  fianlts 
of  style  however  which  this  new  state  of 
things  has  brought  with  it,  is  the  ten- 
dency to  a  sensational  writing ;  and  in 
the  very  mechanism  of  style  itself,  in- 
stead of  the  calm  sweep  and  the  long, 
pliant,  and  rhythmical  sentences  of  the 
earlier  writers,  there  is  the  short,  Bpts- 
modic,  and  inteijectional  style,  each 
sentence  standing  by  itself^  and  thus, 
if  not  weighty,  proclaiming  its  own 
barrenness. 

If  we  should  attempt  to  speak  more 
comprehensively  of  the  false  tendencies 
of  moxlem  literature,  we  would  say  that 
it  seems  to  be  losing  that  spiritual  ele- 
ment in  which  the  English  language 
has  always  been  rooted,  and  from  which 
it  has  drawn  its  vital  power.  It  is  be- 
coming too  much  the  language  of  the 
intellect  rather  than  of  the  heart,  keen- 
ly and  nervously  fine ;  and  it  has  lea 
and  less  of  that  calmness  in  which 
there  is  strength,  and  that  completenos 
which  always  comes  from  a  simple  and 


1870.] 


Thb  Outlook  of  oub  English  Litsbatitse. 


655 


healthy  moral  tone.  It  fails  in  the  great 
qualities  of  genialness  and  repose.  In 
many  English  and  American  writers 
who  ape  the  most  perverted  schools  of 
Germany  and  France,  how  little  do  we 
see  of  the  sweet,  wholesome  humor,  and 
the  hearty  and  sound  sentiment  of  the 
best  English  writers  and  humorists, 
such  as  Scott  and  Charles  Lamb,  Thack- 
eray and  Dickens. 

But,  at  the  same  time,  to  this  ebb 
there  is  also  a  flow,  and  a  decided  im- 
provement in  many  respects.  The  lan- 
guage, as  a  whole,  wo  believe,  is  writ- 
ten and  spoken  with  more  signiflcanco 
and  force  than  Addison  wrote  and  spoke 
it.  It  is  true  ^  that  Dryden,  Addison, 
Steele,  Pope,  and  the  writers  of  that 
age,  in  some  subordinate  qualities  im- 
proved the  language,  a^d  introduced 
an  easier,  more  purely  idiomatic  and 
graceful  style  than  the  cumbrous  or- 
namental diction  of  the  preceding  age ; 
but,  nevertheless,  for  models  in  all  the 
incomparably  higher  and  more  vital 
qualities  of  style,  the  present  day  goes 
back  of  Addison  and  his  period  to  a 
greater  age.  The  best  modem  English 
writers  have  come,  in  many  particulars, 
nearer  to  the  style  of  the  English  Bible, 
and  of  Bacon  and  Shakespeare,  than 
the  Queen  Anne  writers,  or  any  of  the 
writers  of  the  last  century.  There  was 
not  a  writer  of  the  moral  vigor  and 
rugged  picturesque  beauty  of  Motley  in 
all  the  so-called  "Augustan  age"  of 
English  literature.  Where  can  be  found 
purer  English  than  in  the  sermons  of 
P.  W.  Newman,  or,  in  truth,  of  the 
brothers  Newman?  What  classic  ele- 
gance in  the  style  of  Walter  Savage 
Landor,  what  vitality  in  Charles  Kings- 
ley,  what  magnificent  rhetoric  in  De 
Quincey,  what  strength  in  Carlyle !  In 
fact,  every  body  now  writes  and  speaks 
stronger  and  better  English  than  those 
who  wrote  and  spoke  a  hundred  years 
ago.  The  great  writers,  it  is  true,  were 
in  the  past,  but  the  great  number  of . 
good  writers  and  speakers  will  be  in  the 
fature. 

And  in  the  future  of  our  own  coun- 
try, what  may  we  not  look  for  as 
«;ience,  the  arts  of  legislature  and  gov- 


ernment, the  deeper  appreciation  of  the 
principles  and  philosophy  of  history, 
the  cultivation  of  the  sesthetical  arts, 
and  the  more  purely  literary  and  hu- 
mane training  of  the  mind  in  our  col- 
leges and  higher  schools  of  education, 
make  advance.  The  influences  of  a 
more  thorough  culture  are  already  be- 
ginning to  be  seen  in  recent  American 
writers  upon  English  philology,  history, 
philosophy,  the  natural  sciences,  and 
the  criticism  of  art;  The  peculiar  and 
almost  novel  field  of  philosophic  criti- 
cal travel  has  nowhere  been  better  illus- 
trated than  in  the  elegant  pages  of  Hil- 
lard's  "  Italy,"  and  the  artistic,  lifelike 
sketches  of  such  writers  as  Story  and 
Howells.  That  such  books  are  written 
and  read,  shows  that  a  finer  spirit  is  be- 
ginning to  dififuse  itself  throughout  the 
national  mind,  and  we  cannot  but  hope 
that  this  culture  is  becoming  itself  more 
genuinely  national,  original,  and  home- 
bred— less  and  less  dependent  upon  for- 
eign influences  and  a  foreign  civilization. 
The  peculiar  simplicity,  breadth,  and 
freshness  noticeable  already  in  American 
art,  will  doubtless  show  itself  in  Ameri- 
can literature — the  calm  consciousness 
of  strength,  the  loving  spirit  of  a  nation 
at  peace  with  itself  and  the  world — of 
a  nation  that  has  mastered  its  deadliest 
foes,  its  meanest  passions,  its  wrong, 
vanity,  pride,  hate. 

But  where  and  whence  is  the  ^reat 
poet  to  come,  for  whom  we  have  been 
so  long  and  anxiously  looking,  as  for 
some  marvellous  planetary  phenomenon 
that  wheels  into  vision  once  in  ages? 
If  such  a  one  come  at  all,  he  will  not 
be,  we  fancy,  a  star  in  the  East,  where 
many  planets  are  now  shining  in  serene 
splendor,  but  a  star  in  the  West.  The 
great  poet  of  our  country  will  spring  up 
somewhere  in  the  central  territories,  in 
some  one  of  those  beautiful  valleys  in 
the  neighborhood,  or,  perhaps,  on  the 
other  side,  of  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
where  the  skies  are  clearer,  nature 
larger,  life  freer,  more  sympathetic,  and 
more  national.  There  he  will  read  the 
scrolls  of  heavenly  wisdom  under  purer 
lights,  and  in  the  heart  of  a  mightier 
and  younger  civilization.    Touth  and 


656 


PunrAii's  Magasnb. 


Vm. 


hope  will  be  his.  He  will  be  far  enoogh 
inland,  to  be  Continental,  to  be  cot  oS 
from  Europe;  and,  it  nxay  be,  near 
enough  to  feel  something  of  tbe  air 
that  blows  from  the  old  original  sum- 


mits of  inspiration,  from  Asia,  frmtbe 
birthplace  of  the  race  and  of  song.  Bi 
will,  at  all  events,  be  a  true  -ptodwid 
American  soil,  American  ideas,  fiuik, 
and  aspiration. 


•♦• 


A  WOMAN'S  RIGHT. 


yi. 


THX  PLB16UBX  VOKTIL 


Afteb  OommeDcement  Dick  mode  up 
a  gay  party  for  his  new  yacht  the  Nau- 
tilus, which  sailed  from  Boston  for  an 
island  off  the  coast  of  Maine. 

The  Cuban  lieiresa  wont,  accompanied 
by  her  brother  Sefior  Oredo,  and  Helena 
Majnard  went  also  as  one  of  the  brides- 
mlkids  of  a  bridal  party.  Miss  Bella 
Presoott's  nominal  protector  was  her 
brother  Dick,  but  her  escort  of  course 
was  Mr.  Paul  Mallane. 

The  real  history  of  that  pleasure  month 
off  the  coast  of  Maine  cannot  be  written 
in  words ;  for  with  some  of  its  actors  it 
was  nil  lived  in  heart-throbs,  in  thrills  of 
joy,  in  deep  stabs  of  pain,  and  while  these 
must  be  lived  they  can  never  be  told. 
After  a  suuny  voyage  the  Nautilus  rested 
in  a  quiet  cove,  and  its  festal  party  re- 
treated to  a  summer  cottage  on  the  island 
open  for  guests.  But  this  was  only  a 
partial  retreat,  where  they  slept  and 
sometimes  eat, — their  holiday  was  spent 
in  the  open  air. 

They  fished  and  boated,  rode  and 
drove ;  picnicked,  loitered,  and  rested, 
after  the  fashion  of  all  pleasure  parties ; 
and  in  the  sultry  July  nights  the  gentle- 
men swung  hammocks  from  the  trees 
and  went  to  sleep  under  the  stars.  The 
island  was  full  of  lovely  and  lonely 
haunts,  where  Noture  wrought  her  deli- 
cious alcliemies  alone,  and  only  her  voices 
were  heard. 

Her  crickets  piped  in  the  long  waving 
grasses;  her  birds  twittered  to  each 
other  from  their  solitary  boughs;  her 
waves  ran  up  and  talked  with  the  rust- 
ling sedge  and  pearly  pebbles  on  the 
shore,  and  there  were  none  to  molest  or 
to  make  them   afraid.     What   wonder 


that  beauty  and  yoath,  that  love  aod  id- 
mance,  discovered  these  nnaccostomed 
haunts,  and  made  them  their  own  I 

What  roads  were  those  nmuiig 
through  cool  forests,  bordered  by  braid 
beds  of  fragrant  fern,  walled  tad  kt- 
tooned  with  wild  vines,  roofed  witk 
panoplies  of  interfacing  leaves  throogii 
which  the  midsummer  sunshine  twioUed 
in  stars  I  And  what  paths  were  then 
winding  through  groves  of  cedar  aad 
spruce  and  pine,  ending  at  last  oa  the 
sheltered  beach, where  yon  might  sit  aad 
rest  while  the  waves  of  the  ooean  pkyei 
with  the  shells  at  your  feet.  I  most 
believe  that  God  meant  such  a  spot  is 
this  for  love  and  rest,  and  for  that  serene 
content  which  is  the  ftilness  of  peace. 
But  since  sin  has  come  into  His  worid, 
wherever  His  creatures  go,  goes  also  dis- 
content, unrest,  and  that  mighty  yean- 
ing of  the  heart  for  what  is  not,  and  lor 
what  cannot  be,  which  so  often  desbroyi 
the  satisfaction  of  all  present  possesson. 

Thus,  excepting  the  newly  -  marriid 
pair,  who  were  thoroughlj  in  love  and 
wholly  absorbed  in  each  other's  sode^, 
it  is  doubtful  if  in  all  Dick  Presoott's  gi^ 
party  there  was  one  who  at  heart  was 
perfectly  satisfied  and  happy.  Whers 
half  a  dozen  human  beings  meet  and 
mingle,  and  the  give-and-take  of  society 
is  going  on,  it  is  curious  and  often  sad  to 
watch  the  subtle  forces  which  move 
them ;  the  secret  passions  which  draw 
them  together,  and  drive  them  asunder; 
which  make  them  love  and  bate,  mis- 
judge and  wrong,  bless  ond  destroy  each 
other  I 

Dick  and  his  Cuban  heiress  were 
probably  the  best  contented  of  the  com- 
pany.    For  he  had  Delora  entirely  to 


1870.] 


A  Woman's  Bionr. 


657 


himself,  and  althongh  she  did  not  care 
a  fig  for  him,  she  was  too  indolent  to 
trouble  herself  about  any  body  else.  In 
a  sort  of  a  sleepy  way  she  admired  the 
SeQor  Malane,  but  it  did  not  annoy  her 
at  all  to  see  him  constantly  by  the  side 
of  another,  while  her  own  cavalier  ser- 
vante  was  so  exclasively  devoted,  that  he 
anticipated  all  her  desires,  and  saved  her 
the  exertion  of  thinking  at  all.  llius 
she  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  enjoy ;  to 
drink  in  all  light  and  warmth,  all  odor 
and  sound  through  her  luxurious  senses. 
Her  most  positive  emotion  was  manifest- 
ed when  the  wind  swept  cool  from  the 
sea ;  then  she  would  shudder  in  her  thick 
wrappings  of  India  shawls,  and  wonder 
'^how  people  could  live  so  near  the 
North  pole."  Her  brother,  the  Sefior, 
was  not  quite  as  content.  This  dark 
Don  had  conceived  a  positive  admiration 
for  the  white  beauty  of  the  Massachu- 
setts blonde ;  her  vivacity  was  in  pleas- 
ant contrast  to  his  own  heaviness,  and 
charmed  him  exceedingly. 

Paul,  who  was  in  no  way  oblivious  to 
the  Cuban's  admiration,  redoubled  his 
own  attentions  through  sheer  rivalry; 
otherwise  he  would  certainly  have  con- 
ferred at  least  half  of  them  upon  Helena 
Maynard. 

But  as  he  graphically  expressed  it, 
*^  with  thai  confounded  Spaniard  always 
about,"  Miss  Frescott  received  his  almost 
exclusive  devotion,  and  Helena  Maynard 
and  Setlor  Ovedo  were  left  to  make  the 
most  of  each  other.  The  latter  was  not 
devoid  of  a  latent  admiration  for  her 
Cleopatra-like  beauty,  which  might  have 
been  greatly  enhanced  if  she  had  taken 
the  slightest  pains  to  please  him,  which 
she  did  not  do.  Helena  had  devoted 
years  to  flirting  and  was  tired  of  it,  and 
now  the  real  passion  in  her  heart  ad- 
mitted of  no  room  for  pastime. 

Besides,  the  Don  was  heavy  and  slow 
both  in  thought  and  movement,  with  a 
positive  preponderance  of  the  senses  in 
his  organism ;  just  the  style  of  man 
which  she  did  not  admire.  Helena, 
though  a  belle,  was  also  a  Blue,  and  was 
much  vainer  of  her  intellect  than  of  her 
beauty.  Yet  the  mental  cleverness  on 
which  she  prided  herself  was  that  por- 
VOL.  V. —  i') 


tion  of  her  being  to  which  Sefior  Ovedo 
was  perfectly  oblivious.  He  could  ap- 
preciate mirth  and  vivacity  like  Miss 
Prescott's ;  but  real  intellectual  acumen 
in  a  woman  was  a  power  of  which  the 
Sefior  had  no  comprehension.  Thus 
the  finest  quality  of  a  Boston  belle 
was  all  lost  upon  the  dull  Don.  Miss 
Maynard  had  the  mortification  of  per- 
ceiving that  the  man  who  escorted  her, 
could  only  regard  her  as  a  fine  animal  to 
admire  or  as  a  pretty  toy  to  entertain  him. 
Her  most  brilliant  repartees  quickened 
in  him  no  like  response ;  the  little  glan- 
cing arrows  of  her  wit  flew  all  about  him 
— yet  he  did  not  seem  to  see,  much  less 
to  feel  them,  although  it  was  very  evi- 
dent that  he  saw  with  perfect  distinct- 
ness the  saucy  curls  dancing  under  Bella 
Prescott's  little  hat.  It  was  very  aggra- 
vating to  be  doomed  to  such  a  compan- 
ion, even  if  he  were  a  rich  and  high-bom 
Don — while  she  saw  constantly  before 
her  eyes,  wasting  his  brightness  on  *'  that 
silly  Bell  Prescott,"  a  young  man  whom 
she  admired,  yes,  much  more  than  ad- 
mired, although  he  advanced  many  law- 
less ideas,  and  did  |u>t  believe  in  the 
New  Testament  miracles. 

The  charming  discussions  which  she 
had  anticipated  with  him,  which  her 
imagination  had  presented  to  her  so 
many  times  with  all  the  poetic  acces- 
sories of  summer  woods,  and  of  the  sigh- 
ing sea  blending  with  gentle  tones  and 
tender  looks  and  soft  silences,  did  not 
take  place.  In  these  discussions  the 
young  lady  had  intended  to  have  taken 
very  orthodox  grounds  against  Paul's 
Spinoza.  Paul  was  all  the  more  inter- 
esting to  her  for  his  religious  unbelief. 
It  was  very  becoming  to  a  clever  young 
man  to  be  sceptical ;  it  indicated  an  orig- 
inal and  investigating  mind ;  but  she  as 
a  woman  must  of  course  believe  in  the 
Bible.  Besides  being  safer,  it  was  much 
pleasanter  to  do  so ;  it  enabled  her  to  be 
in  one  sense  a  missionary  and  a  defender 
of  the  Faith  to  this  erring  youth,  who 
was  audacious  enough  to  question  Mosea 
and  the  prophets.  But  contrary  to 
all  her  expectations  Helena  found  very 
slight  opportunity  for  setting  Paul  right 
in  the  Christian  faitli.    Purposely  he 


658 


PuTNAM^B  Magazine. 


[JOD^ 


seemed  to  keep  himself  remote  from  her. 
Yet  not  a  day  passed  bat  she  witnessed 
some  act  of  his  which  seemed  more  than 
she  conld  bear.  He  and  Miss  Bella  had 
a  fashion  of  separating  from  the  remain- 
der of  the  party,  and  of  wandering  away 
by  themselves.  Often,  some  unexpected 
turn  in  the  road  brought  the  Don  and 
Helena  into  the  presence  of  this  devoted 
pair,  and  a  pang  like  a  stab  would  strike 
through  her  heart  when  she  beheld  the 
fair  hair  of  her  rival  crowned  with 
flowers  by  the  hands  which  she  loved. 
Or  when  she  saw  the  eyes  whose  mean- 
ing looks  were  so  dear  to  her,  turned 
upon  the  trivial  face  before  her  in  appar- 
ent unconsciousness  of  her  presence, 
something  very  like  hate  swelled  in  her 
breast  toward  the  aggravating  creature 
who  had  come  between  her  and  her  su- 
preme joy.  How  keenly  she  felt  this 
hate  one  day  when  Bell  called  out  in  a 
tone  of  tantalizing  sweetness :  '*  O 
Helena!  see  these  lovely  wild  flowers 
which  Mr.  Mallane  has  gathered  for  me  I 
Do  take  enough  for  a  bouquet  I" 

Any  casual  observer  seeing  Don  Ovcdo 
and  Helena  Maynard  cantering  side  by 
side  through  those  wooded  roads  would 
have  thought  them  a  perfectly  stylish  and 
satisfied  pair.  The  light  laugh  that  came 
back  on  the  breeze,  which  each  heard 
so  distinctly,  seemed  in  no  way  to  break 
the  tenor  of  their  talk  or  to  arrest  their 
attention.  Yet  each  heard  it  with  a  start- 
ling distinctness;  and  as  they  listened, 
each  became  more  assiduously  polite  to 
the  other,  from  the  very  consciousness 
one  felt  that  he  longed  to  go  in  search 
of  that  gay  laugh,  indeed  that  he  was  de- 
frauded by  its  being  bestowed  upon  an- 
other ;  and  the  consciousness  the  other 
felt  that  she  hated  it,  with  an  almost  ir- 
resistible impulse  to  rush  on  and  take 
the  place  which  she  felt  was  her  own 
beside  Paul  Mallane.  Yet  to  a  super- 
ficial glance  they  seemed  perfectly  con- 
tented, and  were  probably  as  well  satis- 
fied with  each  other  as  most  people  are 
who  get  together  in  this  world. 

At  last  there  came  to  Helena  a  mo- 
ment of  triumph  to  set  against  her  long 
days  of  waiting  and  disappointment 
One  evening,  the  last  before  they  went 


away,  Paul  asked  her  to  walk  on  tbft 
beach.  They  walked  slowly  down  tk 
path  winding  through  the  fir-balsazss, 
and  Miss  Prescott,  sitting  on  the  verao- 
da,  watched  them  as  they  went  with  no 
slight  vexation  of  heart.  SeQor  Credo 
was  by  her  side,  and  his  heavy  connto- 
nance  wore  an  unwonted  degree  of  illn- 
mination  at  the  unusual  prospect  ci  i 
t^te-d-tSte  free  from  the  presence  of  tbo 
handsome  Paul. 

The  band  on  the  lawn  were  playing 
the  sweetest  au^  in  H  Trovatore,  yet  tba 
pretty  blonde  neither  looked  on  her  de- 
voted cavalier,  nor  listened  to  ber  fivor- 
ite  music.  There  was  no  mistaking  tha 
pout  on  her  childish  lips,  nor  the  look  in 
her  twinkling  eyes,  fixed  for  once,  asth^ 
followed  the  two  figures,  now  lost,  nor 
visible  amid  the  trees,  as  they  went 
slowly  on  toward  the  sen. 

She  knew  it  was  said  in  their  partj 
that  she  and  Paul  Mallane  were  ^a 
match,^'  and  hitherto  appearances  lad 
been  very  positively  in  favor  of  sodi  a 
supposition.  This  young  lady  had  taken 
great  delight  in  making  the  most  of  then 
appearances,  yet  in  her  secret  heart  sho 
by  no  means  felt  sure  of  her  conquest 

With  all  Paul's  attentions  she  still  feh 
dissatisfied.  She  knew  that  he  had  one 
sort  of  admiration  for  her ;  knew  then 
were  moments  when  she  almost  en- 
thralled him;  yet  what  came  of  it  alll 
She  never  felt  sure  of  her  power,  h 
the  very  midst  of  her  spells  did  he  not 
seem  to  slip  far  away,  as  if  thinking  of 
some  one  afar  off?  She  knew  that  be 
had  some  positive  motive  for  paying  bor 
so  much  attention,  as  she  had  hen  in  re- 
ceiving it.  What  was  it  ?  He  was  bor 
admirer  certainly,  but  not  her  lonr. 
Bell  knew  this  certainly  also,  althoi^ 
she  would  not  have  owned  it  to  any  one 
else  in  the  world  but  herself. 

All  this  uncertainty  concerning  her 
own  relation  to  Paul  made  her  watchfol 
and  even  suspicious  of  the  slightest  at- 
tention which  he  paid  to  another. 

^'  What  is  there  between  him  and  He- 
lena? "  she  soliloquized,  as  her  eyes  still 
followed  the  receding  figures. 

'*  There  U  something.  If  he  were  to 
deny  it  forever,  I  should  not  bdiere  him. 


1870.] 


A  WoMAN^B  Bight. 


650 


I  know  he  told  me  this  very  morning  that 
she  is  not  his  style.  Bat  what  of  that? 
Why  do  they  look  so  conscious  whenever 
they  meet,  especially  she  ?  "What  a  look 
she  gave  me,  to  be  sure,  the  other  day 
when  I  asked  her  to  take  some  of  my 
flowers!  I  knew  that  she  would  not 
touch  one,  unless  to  tear  it  to  pieces  the 
moment  she  was  out  of  sight.  For  an 
instant  she  looked  as  if  she  would  like  to 
tear  me.  It  was  delightful.  I  love  to 
tormeut  her.  Helena  has  queened  it 
long  enough.  It  is  time  that  she  should 
see  somebody  else  admired  besides  her- 
self. Why,  she  is  twenty-five !  I  hadn't 
long  dresses  on  when  she  came  so  near 
killing  Dukehart.  I  remember  Dick  tell- 
ing about  it,  when  I  was  home  at  vaca- 
tion, and  of  thinking  how  splendid  it 
must  be  to  have  a  very  handsome  man 
frantically  in  love  with  one.  And  I  re- 
member, too,  how  long  it  seemed  before 
I  should  be  through  school  and  have  my 
ohance.  Well,  it  has  come  at  last.  And 
I  intend  to  make  the  most  of  appearances. 
I  will  have  so  much  compensation  for 
the  real  fact  that  my  knight  is  not  half 
so  much  in  love  with  me  as  he  seems. 
I  will  teaze  Helena  every  chance  I  get 
I  will  have  that  consolation — no  very 
satisfactory  one,  if  I  am  to  see  them  very 
often  walking  in  this  style.  V\\  pay  you 
for  this,  t7ion  pritice,  some  day," 

"  Sefior,  will  you  walk  urith  me  on  the 
beach?  See,  it  is  a  perfectly  lovely 
evening ! "  she  asked  in  a  pleading  tone, 
as  if  a  walk  on  the  beach  had  been  the 
one  subject  of  her  desire  and  of  her  medi- 
tation. 

Nothing  save  a  promise  to  become  liis 
wife  could  have  made  Sefior  Ovedo  so 
happy  as  this  unexpected  request.  It 
brightened  his  face  wonderfully,  and  all 
the  more  that  a  moment  since  he  had 
stood  beside  her  perfectly  disconsolate, 
because  he  could  think  of  nothing  what- 
ever to  say  or  do  that  would  make  the 
pouting  blonde  look  less  discontented. 


THS  rUETATIOX. 


By  this  time  Paul  and  Helena  were 
slowly  walking  up  and  down  the  beach. 
The  scarlet  fires  of  sunset  had  gone  out 
upon  the  sea,  and  lovely  twilight  ptu- 


ples  ran  along  the  waves,  that  plashed 
with  a  cool,  soughing  sound  against  the 
warm  pebbles  and  shells  on  the  shore. 

This  T7as  the  first  time  that  Helena 
had  been  alone  with  Paul  since  their 
coming  to  the  island,  and  they  were  to 
go  away  to-morrow!  She  realized  it 
all,  as  she  looked  down  at  the  Nautilus 
still  resting  in  the  cove  below. 

She  fancied  already  that  there  was 
something  of  expectancy  and  of  eager- 
ness in  its  gay  streamers  as  they  rippled 
out  to  meet  the  home-sailing  breeze. 
Then  this  was  to  be  the  end  of  the  beau- 
tiful excursion  which  she  had  dreamed 
so  vainly  would  give  her  heart  not  only 
rest,  but  certain  joy ! 

The  perfect  days  and  nights  had 
mocked  her  with  their  peace.  They 
were  burdened  with  their  own  content ; 
while  she,  she  was  unrest  itself,  in  her 
passionate  longing  for  the  love  which 
she  did  not  possess.  She  had  trifled 
with  plenty  of  hearts;  she  had  even 
trampled  on  them,  not  maliciously,  but 
heedlessly,  even  cruelly,  because  she  did 
not  care,  and  because  her  own  time  to 
love  had  not  come.  But  she  knew  all 
about  it ;  she  felt  it  now,  that  exquis- 
ite torture  of  spirit,  bom  of  the  neg- 
lect or  the  indifierence  of  the  one  loved 
best. 

For,  mortifying  as  it  was  to  her  pride, 
cruel  as  it  was  to  her  love,  there  was  no 
evading  or  forgetting  the  fact  that  be 
had  neglected  her ;  indeed,  at  times  had 
seemed  studiously  oblivious  of  her  ex- 
istence. She  coi:dd  not  forget  this,  al- 
though now  he  stood  by  her  side,  and 
talked  with  all  his  old-time  familiaritiy 
and  interest,  just  as  if  he  had  conversed 
with  her  every  day  since  their  coming 
in  the  same  manner.  Every  word  that 
he  spoke  only  made  her  more  keenly 
conscious  of  the  companionship  that 
she  had  missed ;  and  they  were  to  go 
to-morrow  I  She  could  not  forget  this. 
And  as  she  looked  again  toward  the 
Nautilus,  she  saw  him  already  prome- 
nading the  little  deck,  with  BeUa  Pres- 
cott  by  his  side,  and  she  once  more 
playing  the  farce  which  had  grown  to 
be  so  pitifhl— that  of  appearing  gay 
and  happy  with  the  Don.    She  had  sue- 


660 


PuTKAM^s  Magazine. 


Pane^ 


cceded,  she  kiicw,  and  had  hidden  her 
torture  from  all  eyes  but  his.  She  did 
not  wish  to  hide  it  from  hun ;  8he  want- 
ed him  to  know  that  she  suffered  for 
his  sake.  She  would  not  humiliate  her- 
self before  the  world,  for  she  was  a 
proud  woman ;  but  the  proudest  wom- 
an is  humble  with  the  man  whom  she 
loves.  In  proportion  as  she  prized  her 
love  as  a  very  high  gift,  which  many 
had  fruitlessly  sought  to  win,  she  took 
pleasure  in  making  him  realize  that  she 
had  withheld  it  from  all  others,  that 
she  might  lavish  it  wholly  upon  him  I 
She  was  one  of  those  exceptional  wom- 
en, by  no  means  the  most  sensitive  nor 
the  most  delicate-natured,  yet  romantic 
and  passionate  women,  who  do  not  wait 
to  surrender  their  hearts  in  coy  return 
to  man^R  long  wooing,  but  who  choose 
rather  the  bliss  to  give  them  up  un- 
claimed. She  felt  no  maidenly  shame 
that  a  man  who  had  never  positively 
sought  her  love,  still  should  know  that 
she  loved  him  with  all  fervor  and  pas- 
sion. She  gloried  in  the  thought  that 
to  him  she  gave  her  love:  "As  God 
gives  light  aside  from  merit  or  from 
prayer." 

Yet,  in  proportion  as  she  compared 
the  gifts  which  she  lavished  upon  him, 
with  the  scanty  measure  doled  out  to 
her  in  return,  she  suffered. 

As  she  looked  toward  the  Nautilus, 
Paul  saw  where  her  eyes  rested,  and 
divined  their  meaning,  yet  he  asked : 

"  Why  look  so  sad,  Helena  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  look  otherwise,  Paul  ?  " 
she  answered,  "  when  I  remember  that, 
to-morrow,  the  Nautilus  will  carry  us 
from  this  lovely  spot,  and  that  this  is 
the  first  time  that  you  have  walked  with 
me,  and  must  be  the  last  ?  Why  have 
you  neglected  me  so  utterly?  As  a 
friend,  how  could  you  treat  me  so  un- 
kindly ?  " 

Something  like  compunction  rose  up 
in  Paul  as  he  felt  the  real  pain  which 
vibrated  through  her  voice.  But  the 
haughtiest  woman,  when  she  makes  a 
man  conscious  that  she  is  dependent 
upon  him  for  happiness,  makes  him  feel 
also  that  he  is  her  master,  and  in  so 
much  she  loses  something  of  her  finest 


power — ^the  power  which  makes  the  tb- 
accepted  lover  seek  a  woman's  love  « 
the  supreme  object  of  his  desire,  if  onlj 
because  it  seems  remote  and  almost  rat- 
attainable. 

Paul  was  man  enough  to  know  tad 
to  accept  his  advantage,  and  answered 
her  accordingly  in  a  wise,  superior 
voice : 

"  Helena,  you  are  too  dear  a  fiieod 
for  me  to  treat  unkindly.  I  have  onlj 
taken  that  course  which  seemed  to  ne 
to  be  the  wiser.  Ton  know,  it  is  dan- 
gerous to  our  happiness  that  we  abookl 
be  much  together.  Your  feelinge  nm 
too  deep  to  admit  of  the  surface  uAa- 
course  of  society,  at  least  with  me.  Toi 
know,  when  together,  you  and  I  alwin 
fall  upon  the  most  serious  themes.  If 
we  begin  away  out  in  the  univenal,  ire 
always  end  in  the  personaL  And  yoor 
emotions  are  so  absorbing,  so  magnetic 
— I  may  say,  so  tragic — they  aflisct  ne 
very  much;  indeed,  they  wear  upon  mc^ 
and  upon  yourself,  and  you  know  we 
came  here  for  rest  and  recreation.  Do 
you  know,  I  thought  Don  Ovedo  a  god- 
send to  you.  He  is  too  sluggish  to  roue 
in  you  any  emotion  whatever,  so  your 
whole  nature  has  had  a  chance  to 
rest." 

''  Best  I "  Helena  did  not  finish  the 
sentence.  A  fine  ripple  of  scorn  lu 
along  her  scarlet  lips,  which  would 
have  broken  into  brilliant  sarcasm  if 
any  one  else  had  spoken  thus  to  her. 

There  was  nothing  but  the  most  piiB- 
ful  anxiety  in  face  and  tone  when  she 
spoke  again,  and  asked : 

"Tell  me  the  simple  truth,  Ftnl: 
what  is  there  between  you  and  BeDi 
Prescott  ? " 

«  Nothing." 

"  You  are  not  engaged  to  her  ? " 

"  No." 

"  Shall  you  propose  to  her  I " 

"  I  have  not  decided  to  do  so." 

**  Do  you  love  her  t " 

"  No,  I  do  not  love  her.** 

"Then,  if  she  is  only  a  friend,  no 
more  to  you  than  I  am,  why  are  you 
hovering  about  her  eontinoally  I  Why 
do  you  pay  her  every  attention,  wfafle 
yon  neglect  me  altogether?    She  doei 


1870.] 


A  Woman's  Bight. 


6«1 


not,  slie  is  not  capable  of  loving  you  as 
I  do,  Paul." 

"I  know  that,  Helena,  and  I  don't 
•  "want  her  to  love  me  a$  you  do.  It 
would  oppress  and  torment  me,  if  she 
did.  You  know  you  have  grown  to  be 
exacting  and  melancholy.  Bell  is  bright 
and  amusing,  and  makes  me  forget  un- 
pleasant things.  Your  feelings  have  be- 
come so  intense,  that  now  you  upbraid 
me  whenever  we  are  alone.  When  shared 
with  others,  I  enjoy  your  society  as  much 
as  I  ever  did;  but  I  have  spared  my- 
self all  tcte-drtetes — acting  on  the  rule 
I  adopted  long  ago,  whenever  it  is  pos- 
sible, to  avoid  every  thing  disagree- 
able." 

Helena  made  no  reply.  But,  as  she 
looked  on  him,  her  memory  reached 
back  over  their  years  of  acquaintance, 
and  took  up  a  few  of  the  numberless 
looks  and  words  and  deeds  by  which 
Paul  Mallane  at  the  first  made  him- 
self attractive,  then  necessary,  and, 
at  last,  infinitely  dear  to  her.  She 
could  not  forget  that,  when  her  heart 
was  free,  and  she  ruled  a  queen  in  her 
little  realm,  happy  in  the  devotion  of 
her  willing  subjects,  that  this  young 
law-student,  whose  only  prestige  was 
his  fine  person  and  showy  talents,  look- 
ed up  and  made  her  preference  the  ob- 
ject of  his  special  pursuit.  And  for 
what  ?  Was  it  that,  after  he  had  made 
the  attentions  of  other  men  seem  to 
her  insipid  and  spiritless— after  he  had 
won  her  heart,  and  he  knew  it — ^that 
he  might  neglect  her  for  a  girl  as  tri- 
fling as  she  was  pretty  ? 

True,  he  had  never  told  her  that  he 
loved  her.  No,  he  had  studiously  im- 
pressed upon  her  mind  the  fact  that  he 
was  only  her  friend.  Then  why  had 
he  taken  the  course  and  exerted  just 
the  influence  which  he,  with  his  psy- 
chical knowledge,  must  liave  known 
would  cause  her  to  love  him?  And 
now  that  she  did  love  him,  her  love 
was  only  irksome;  it  flretted  and  an- 
noyed him  I  She  had  ceased  to  be  the 
merely  brilliant  companion,  and  he  had 
forsaken  her  because  ho  wished  only  to 
be  entertained  I  She  would  give  her 
whole  life  to  him,  and  ho — ^he  was  not 


willing  to  share  with  her  one  unhappy 
moment. 

All  this  thought  and  emotion  rushed 
through  her  brain  and  heart  in  conflict- 
ing tumult,  and  would  have  found  ut- 
terance in  burning  words,  only  love 
made  this  high-strung  creature  timid. 
If  she  spoke  at  all,  she  knew  how  pas- 
sionate would  be  her  reproaches,  and 
she  saw  before  her  a  man  who  would 
not  hear  them.  No,  at  the  very  first 
utterance  he  might  rush  from  her  pres- 
ence; and  only  to  stand  so  near  him, 
and  to  gaze  on  him,  sent  a  trembling 
delight  quivering  through  all  her  pain. 
She  looked  on  him  as  Venus  might  have 
looked  on  Adonis. 

The  moon,  just  commg  up  from  the 
ocean,  threw  a  shifting  bridge  of  flame 
across  the  waves  to  their  feet. 

The  air  was  full  of  shimmering  radi- 
ance, and  as  it  fell  on  Paul,  it  enveloped 
him  in  a  halo  which  at  once  brightened 
and  spiritualized  his  beauty.  '  There 
was  nothing  effeminate  in  it.  It  was 
the  beauty  of  rare  statute  and  of  sym- 
metrical form.  All  the  alluring  charms 
of  color  trembled  in  the  warm  tints, 
contrasting  and  blending  on  lip  and 
cheek,  in  the  bearded  bloom  and  in  the 
deep  shadow  of  his  waving  hair.  In- 
tellect, passion,  and  youth  looked  to- 
gether from  his  eyes.  As  he  gazed 
on  Helena,  unmistakable  admiration 
brightened  his  whole  erpression,  but 
not  a  ray  of  love  kindled  in  its  light. 
The  same  subdued  atmosphere  which 
spiritualized  his  beauty,  softened  hers^ 
refining  an  outline  which,  in  the  coarser 
daylight,  all  lovers  of  a  spirituelle  loveli- 
ness would  have  called  too  strongly  pro- 
nounced and  positive. 

Paul  thought  that  he  had  never  seen 
her  look  so  beautiful  before — and  he 
never  had.  He  had  never  beheld  her 
through  such  a  radiance,  nor  seen  her 
when  her  whole  being  was  moved  with 
emotion  and  passion,  and  all  for  him  I 

The  hood  of  the  scarlet  cloak  which 
she  had  thrown  over  her  white  robe,  had 
fallen  from  her  head,  loosening  the  jetty 
bands,  which  now  rippled  about  cheek 
and  throat  The  passion  in  her  heart 
had  given  a    '.ch  bloom  to  her  olive 


662 


Potna^'b  Magazine. 


[Jon^ 


cheeks,  and  an  intenser  glow  to  eyes  in 
Trhich  there  seemed  always  to  bom  a 
half-smothered  flame.  There  was  every 
thing  to  move  him — the  breathing  swell 
with  which  the  scarlet  mantle  rose  and 
foil;  the  dimpled  hand  which  held  it 
across  her  bosom;  the  Circean  face 
tamed  up  to  his.  As  he  looked,  he 
felt  a  sense  of  oppression.  Something 
in  her  seemed  almost  to  stifle  him,  like 
the  over-burdened  atmosphere  of  a  mid- 
summer noon.  She  increased  his  own 
unrest,  because  he  found  in  her  the 
same  qualities  which  already  existed  to 
excess  in  himself.  She  could  influence, 
she  could  oppress  him ;  she  could  never 
soothe  him,  nor  give  him  peace. 

Tct  she  made  a  glorious  picture, 
standing  there  in  the  moonlight  beside 
the  sea  I  And  all  this  love  and  passion 
was  for  him  I  He  could  not  forget  this. 
He  did  not  love  her ;  but  he  was  a  man, 
and  no  man  is  ever  insensible  to  the  de- 
licious 'flattery  of  a  beautiful  woman's 
love,  even  if  ho  does  not  love  her  in 
return.  The  very  thought,  "  She  loves 
me,''  makes  him  unconsciously  tender. 
As  Paul  looked  into  those  brooding 
eyes,  with  their  burden  of  unshed  tears, 
he  experienced  a  sensation  half  regret, 
half  deb'ght,  that  this  impassioned  crea- 
ture, who  had  triumphed  over  so  many 
men,  was  now  suflering  all  this  torture 
of  love  for  him  I  "  For  me  I "  he 
thought,  as  he  felt  once  more  the  con- 
sciousness so  delightful  to  him,  that  he 
was  gifted  with  an  inherent  power  over 
women  of  the  higher  type.  He  was 
man  enough  and  weak  enough  to  be 
ambitious  for  this  power,  and  vain 
when  he  had  won  it.  It  was  very  flat- 
tering, this  picture  before  him.  Vanity 
and  sense  were  satisfied.  When  ho 
spoke  again,  all  loftiness  had  vanished 
from  his  voice.  It  was  low  and  tender, 
as  he  said : 

"  Helena,  if  you  could  know  how  dear 
you  are  to  me,  how  sincerely  I  desire  to 
Bee  you  happy,  you  would  never  allow 
any  seeming  neglect  to  trouble  you.  It 
is  not  because  I  do  not  care  for  you,  but 
because  you  have  such  power  over  me, 
that  I  do  not  trust  myself  with  you 
oftener.    You  know  why  it  is ;  we  are 


too  much  alike.  We  might  loreeid 
other  passionately,  but  it  would  alimi 
be  a  troubled,  maddening  lore.  Nei- 
ther can  give  the  repose  which  the  ote 
craves.  Tet  yon  know  jou  are  nvsc  to 
me  than  a  hundred  Bell  Prescotts.  Ton 
could  think  and  feel  more  in  one  hour 
than  she  could  conceive  of  in  a  lifie- 
time.  She  entertains  me — she  keq» 
me  from  feeling  too  serious ;  but  joi 
are  perfectly  certain  that  she  could  nth 
er  be  to  me  the  absorbing  creature  tliat 
you  are.  You  know,  before  I  tdl  yoa, 
that  she  is  not  at  all  the  woman  wfao0e 
love  could  satisfy  me.  Indeed,  I  do 
not  believe  that  she  can  love  as  job 
and  I  understand  love,  Helena.'' 

The  white  hand  rising  and  filling  oa 
the  scarlet  cloak — its  tantalizing  jewdi^ 
which  seemed  at  once  to  mock  aiidt» 
allure  him  toward  it — was  here  ineait- 
ible  to  Paul.  He  took  it  gently  isto 
his,  that  too  willing,  that  too  h^pfy 
little  hand. 

And  then  that  mysterious  siknee 
which  £gi11s  on  a  man  and  woman  onlj 
where  one  or  both  love;  that  aabfle 
silence,  so  much  deeper,  so  much  man 
dangerous  than  all  speech,  covered  them 
with  its  spell. 

The  sudden  revulsion  from  angidili 
to  triumph,  from  the  most  exquiiite 
pain  to  the  more  exquisite  happinoi^ 
for  a  moment  seemed  to  Helena  more 
than  she  could  bear.  In  a  calmer  mo- 
ment she  would  remember  that  no  prooh 
ise  of  coming  happiness,  no  assaraaoe 
of  such  a  love  as  she  yearned  for,  had 
been  expressed  in  one  word  that  he  had 
uttered.  But  she  was  not  consciooa  of 
this  now ;  she  only  knew  that  he  had 
said  what  she  at  this  time  had  longed 
most  and  hoped  the  least  to  hear— that 
s?i€  was  more  to  him  than  Isabella  Pm- 
cott  I— that,  after  all,  Bell  Prescott  was 
only  a  pretty  toy,  that  wiled  him  for 
the  time  to  forget  Helena  Maynard*8 
deeper  power.  He  had  acknowledged 
this  power,  and  what  was  it  but  the 
power  of  love  I 

If  he  was  compelled  to  shun  her  in 
order  to  And  strength  to  resist  it  now, 
in  time  might  she  not  win  from  him  the 
utmost  that  she  desired — ^liis  undivided 


1870.] 


A  "Woman's  Rionx. 


608 


heart?  At  the  very  thought,  she  felt 
her  own  beat  as  if  it  would  escape  from 
her  breast ;  her  eyes  grew  more  lumin- 
ous, her  face  radiated  a  joy  which  no 
language  could  declare.  Her  whole 
being,  brain,  and  spirit  were  eloquent 
with  emotion.  That  moment  there  was 
a  dangerous  splendor  in  her  beauty,  an 
almost  fatal  magnetism  in  the  hand 
which  fluttered  in  Paul's.  He  slowly 
said: 

"  Bella  Prescott  is  a  pretty  plaything, 
but  you  I " 

That  delicious  sentence  was  never 
ended. 

A  light,  mocking  laugh  broke  through 
the  cedars.  Paul  dropped  her  hand  as 
if  he  had  been  struck.  Quickly  as  he 
did  it,  the  act  was  seen  by  the  acute 
eyes  of  Bell  Prescott. 

The  artless  young  lady,  who  had 
made  it  her  business  to  approach  very 
quietly,  that  moment  apx>eared  upon  the 
beach,  leading  Don  Ovedo  by  a  hand- 
kerchief which  she  had  tied  to  one  of 
his  wrists.  With  the  most  innocent  air 
possible,  she  led  the  delighted  and  ap- 
parently demented  Don  up  to  the  con- 
scious couple,  exclaiming,  with  all  her 
usual  naivete : 

"  Helena,  here's  your  prisoner.  I  have 
done  my  best  to  comfort  him,  and  he  is 
inconsolable.  So  I  have  brought  him 
back  to  you." 

Don  Ovedo  was  too  gallant  a  gentle- 
man to  deny  this  accusation  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  lady  for  whom  he  was  said 
to  mourn.  Nevertheless,  he  hardly  knew 
how  to  bear  this  finale  to  the  last  heav- 
enly half  hour.  When  Bell  Prescott 
tied  her  laced  and  perAimed  handker- 
chief around  his  wrist,  with  so  many 
bewitching  glances,  the  Sellor  thought 
that  he  would  like  to  have  her  lead 
him  up  and  down  forever,  provided  she 
would  continue  to  look  at  him  from  un- 
der her  lashes  as  she  did  that  moment. 

It  was  a  sore  disappointment  to  be 
led  directly  back  to  the  handsome  Hiss 
Haynard.  Pretty  Miss  Prescott  not 
only  entertained,  she  delighted  him; 
how  cruel  of  her,  then,  to  doom  him 
again  to  the  overpowering  company  of 
la  petUe  duehetie^  just  because  she  her- 


self was  uneasy  out  of  the  society  of 
the  handsome  Yankee.  Even  the  stupid 
Seflor  was  bright  enough  to  know  this. 

Other  parties  coming  up,  the  com- 
pany became  general,  to  the  great  relief 
of  Paul,  who  felt  any  thing  but  com- 
fortable standing  between  two  young 
ladies,  to  each  of  whom,  during  the  last 
twenty-four  hours,  he  had  committed 
the  pleasant  little  confidence  that  the 
other  was  not  at  all  the  style  of  woman 
that  he  admired,  and,  consequently, 
nothing  at  all  to  him  I 

Helena's  love,  so  intense  and  real,  had 
moved  him  to  a  half  pitiful,  half  pas- 
sionate tenderness  which  had  not  been 
simulated,  therefore  he  did  not  find  it 
easy  to  rebound  instantly  to  the  surface 
of  Bell  Prescott's  chatter.  She  was  the 
only  one  of  the  three  perfectly  uncon- 
strained. At  the  sight  of  her,  a  pang 
of  positive  hate  shot  through  Helena's 
heart.  She  could  not  bear  the  sight 
of  the  trivial  faxie  that  had  come 
once  more  between  her  and  her  joy. 
For  the  first  time  in  all  their  inter- 
course the  intensity  of  her  feeling  made 
her  powerless  to  feign  a  kindliness  which 
she  did  not  feel.  She  regarded  Bell's 
intrusion  as  impardonable,  almost  an 
insult.  87ie,  with  all  that  she  had  suf- 
fered, had  never  broken  in  upon  any 
of  Paul  and  Bell's  tete-drUte9.  She  had 
been  too  proud  and  too  respectful,  at 
least  toward  him.  The  disgust  and  in- 
dignation which  she  felt  were  perfectly 
apparent  upon  her  haughty  features. 
Paul  saw  the  expression,  and  it  made 
him  very  uncomfortable.  Isabella  Pres- 
cott saw  it,  and  the  sight  filled  her  with 
delighjb.  Her  gayety  increased  Paul's 
discon^fiture.  He  by  no  means  felt  cer- 
tain of  so  much  unconscious  artlessness. 
Somehow  he  could  not  rid  himself  of 
a  mortifying  consciousness,  that,  after 
all  he  had  said  to  her  of  his  non-admi- 
ration of  Helena's  "stylo,"  that  Miss 
Bella  did  see  him  hold  and  then  drop 
Helena's  hand ;  for  he  remembered  that 
his  face  had  been  turned  from  her,  and 
that  she  and  the  Don  were  very  near 
before  he  heard  them  at  all.  Was  it 
to  convince  her  that  what  she  had  seen 
meant  nothing  whatever,  that,  a  few 


664 


Putnam's  Maqazinb. 


[JVM^ 


moments  after,  he  allowed  her  to  ob- 
tain precisely  what  she  had  all  the  time 
intended  to  sccnrc — ^himself  as  an  es- 
cort back  to  the  cottage  ? 

Helena  returned  with  the  Don,  the 
perfect  bliss  of  a  few  moments  before 
supplanted  by  a  bitterness  which  could 
not  be  fathomed. 

Was  it  true,  or  was  it  only  a  dream, 
that  she  stood  with  him  alone,  so  near 
in  person,  so  near  in  spirit,  in  joy  so 
complete  ?  Why  had  he  been  so  near, 
now  only  to  be  so  far — so  far,  that  all 
the  universe  seemed  to  be  between 
them? 

Her  keenest  pain  came  from  her  dis- 
trust of  him — from  a  stinging  conscious- 
ness that,  in  some  way,  he  was  playing 
a  double  part  between  Isabella  Prescott 
and  herself.  She  could  not  forget,  at 
the  sound  of  BelPs  voice,  with  what  a 
shock  he  dropped  her  hand,  nor  how 
constrained  he  looked  at  the  sight  of 
Bell's  face;  nor,  after  all  that  he  had 
said,  how  ready  he  had  been  to  leave 
her  and  walk  back  with  her  rival. 

Meanwhile,  Bell,  coquetting  by  his 
side,  delighted  with  her  triumph,  was 
thinking  as  well  of  the  lover-like  atti- 
tude in  which  she  had  seen  him  stand 
by  Helena — of  the  way  in  which  he 
held  her  hand.  ^*  He  is  a  flirt,*'  she 
said,  mentally.  ^^  When  he  finds  an 
opportunity,  he  says  the  same  fine 
things  to  Helena  which  he  says  to  me ; 
.and,  no  doubt,  says  sweeter  things  to 
the  shop-girl  than  he  says  to  either. 
Never  mind.  Sir  Knight  I  I  shall  pun- 
ish you  in  the  proper  time." 

Each  girl  distrusted  him  thoroughly, 
and  each  was  affected  according  to  her 
nature.  Helena's  tortured  love  cried  out, 
and  only  loved  him  the  more  for  its 
cruel  doubts.  BelPs  piqued  and  angry 
vanity  leaped  out  to  the  future,  and 
foresaw  bis  punishment  and  her  own 
triumph. 

As  for  Paul,  he  walked  on  perfectly 
conscious  that,  while  he  had  spoken 
truth  to  both  of  these  girls,  he  had 
been  sincere  with  neither.  After  the 
evil  in  his  soul  had  triiunphed,  his 
good  angel  always  came  back  to  him 
and  told  him,  with  tearfld  pity,  just 


how  he  had  sinned.  Some  ove^-niat* 
tering  bent  of  bis  nature  was  foKm 
forcing  him  on  to  do  that  which  be 
afterward  regretted.  For,  no  matter 
how  far  he  was  carried  by  impulse, 
his  brain  never  let  him  conmiit  aaj 
act  unconsciously.  lie  would  do  some 
ignoble  deed,  and  then  despise  hiia- 
self,  hate  himself,  and  resolve  to  do 
better.  Yet  he  invariably  went  sad 
did  the  same  thing  again,  or  sometliing 
worse,  if  at  the  time  it  only  pleased 
him  so  to  do.  Thus  nearly  the  whole 
of  his  life  had  been  spent  in  sinnicg 
against  his  better  nature,  and  in  hating 
himself  for  doing  it. 

An  hour  or  two  after  the  walk  from 
the  beach,  Bell  Prescott  having  seen  the 
sleepy  Dolores  close  her  eyes  for  the 
night,  turned  to  her  mirror  and  com- 
menced brushing  out  her  curls  sad 
making  pretty  mouths  to  herself  in  the 
glass.  But  every  few  moments  an  ex- 
pression would  come  over  her  face  whidi 
contrasted  oddly  with  Ler  anthoughtfiil 
features.  Yet  it  must  have  meant  somft- 
thing  positive ;  for  at  last  she  exdum- 
ed :  "  Yes ;  he  will  do  it  yet  I  Then  I 
will  have  my  revenge.  Bell  Prescott, 
you  can  afford  to  wait" 

At  the  same  time  Helena  Havnird 
was  sitting  alone  in  an  adjoining  room. 
A  candle  was  burning  dimly  on  the  ta- 
ble by  which  she  sat-,  or  rather  leaned, 
her  cheek  resting  on  her  hand.  Her 
loosened  hair  fell  over  her  white  ilr^ 
peries  and  about  her  whiter  face,  its 
blackness  making  her  beauty  seem  si- 
most  ghastly.  She  held  one  hand  on 
her  heart,  and  her  breath  seemed  stifled, 
as  if  she  were  suffering  physical  pain. 

"  Retribution !  retribution  ! "  she  said 
slowly.  "I  deserve  it  all.  I  trifled 
with  Dukehart.  I  trampled  on  him, 
and  ho  was  a  noble  man ;  he  was  truth 
itself  I  made  him  wretched ;  I  short- 
ened his  days  because  he  loved  me. 
This  is  my  recompense.  Then^  how  wis 
I  to  knoW  that  I  could  ever  love  like 
this  ?  Had  I  known  how  a  heart  can 
suffer  because  it  loves,  at  least  I  should 
have  been  pitiful,  I  should  have  been 
kind.  I  was  cruel,  and  I  take  my  re- 
ward.   How  true  it  is,  that  no  wrong 


1870.] 


A  WoMAN'B  Right. 


665 


which  we  do  another  can  escape  its  pen- 
alty even  in  this  life.    Paul,  Panl  I  " 

Paul,  who  had  reAised  DickPrescott^s 
invitation  to  play  a  game  of  billiards, 
was  also  in  his  room  sitting  alone  in 
the  dark.  The  glowing  crest  of  his 
cigar  revealed  where  he  sat,  leaning 
back  in  his  chair,  his  feet  on  the  low 
window-ledge.  To  turn  away,  to  flee 
from  whatever  chafed  or  annoyed  him, 
was  an  instinct  of  his  nature.  After 
the  evening's  experience,  he  was  begin- 
ning to  feel  that  both  Bell  and  Helena 
teased  him  more  than  they  amused  him ; 
and  that  moment  he  felt  heartily  tired 
of  both,  and  glad  that  the  pleasure-trip 
was  nearly  at  an  end.  Beside,  as  he  sat 
there  smoking  and  thinking,  he  des- 
pised himself  more  and  more,  as  he 
realized  the  pitiful  subterfuges  to  which 
a  man  is  driven,  who,  in  order  to  retain 
a  certain  power  over  both,  without  lov- 
ing either,  acts  a  double  part  between 
two  women.  He  realized,  too,  the  pet- 
tiness of  word  and  deed  to  which  two 
women  sink,  who  regarding  each  other 
as  rivals,  struggle  against  each  other  to 
possess  the  exclusive  devotion  of  one 
man.  Oh,  the  littleness,  the  bitterness, 
the  misery  bom  of  rivalry,  insincerity, 
and  misplaced  passion  I 

Paul  made  no  ejaculations  over  it,  yet 
felt  conscious  of  it  all.  He  liked  to 
flirt — it  was  his  favorite  pastime;  but 
the  moment  it  merged  into  any  thing 
serious,  it  ceased  to  amuse  him,  it  fa- 
tigued and  worried  him,  and  then  his 
supreme  desire  was  to  be  well  rid  of  it. 
He  felt  no  compunction  over  Bell.  "  She 
is  quite  my  match,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"  I  must  keep  my  eyes  open,  or  the  lit- 
tle minx  will  play  me  a  game. 

"  But  Helena  I  "Who  could  have  be- 
lieved that  love  would  so  subdue  her. 
And  for  me  I  How  superbly  handsome 
she  looked  on  the  beach.  I  think  that 
I  showed  great  self-command  in  only 
taking  her  hand.  Tet  I  cannot  love 
her.  I  will  not  marry  her ;  she  would 
torment  me  to  death.  But  TU  stop 
treating  her  meanly.  I  am  a  scamp  to 
do  it,  when  she  is  so  generous  to  me. 
Yet  I  could  never  help  it,  if  Bell  Pres- 
cott  were  near  us.    I  believe  there  is  a 


devil  in  that  ^1.  She  certainly  sets 
me  to  acting  like  one.  There's  some- 
thing in  her  that  calls  out  the  worst  in 
me.  Confound  it  I  How  did  she  make 
me  walk  back  with  her  to-night  ?  I  did 
not  intend  to  do  it.  It  was  a  shabby 
trick,  leaving  Helena  after  I  had  invited 
her  to  a  walk.  The  trouble  was,  I  had 
told  Bell  so  many  times,  that  Helena 
was  not  my  style ;  and  yet  I  Jcnow  she 
saw  me  holding  her  hand  and  standing 
beside  her  like  a  lover ;  and  more  is  the 
wonder  if  she  did  not  hear  me  tell  Hel- 
ena the  very  same  thing  about  herself^ 
that  she,  Bell  Prescott,  is  not  at  all  my 
style ;  that  was  what  I  call '  a  fix.'  I 
was  caught,  sure  enough;  and  served 
me  right  for  being  two-faced.  Yet  it  is 
for  my  interest  to  keep  Bell  good-na- 
tured. She  is  a  match.  Once  married, 
we  could  quarrel  to  our  heart's  content. 
It  wouldn't  hurt  her,  nor  me  either ;  she 
could  go  her  way,  and  I  mine.  But 
that  could  never  be  with  Helena ;  we 
should  kill  each  other." 

The  longer  he  thought  of  each,  the 
more  weary  he  felt  of  both.  He  had 
been  playing  a  part,  and  for  the  present, 
at  least,  was  very  tired  of  it.  But  it 
was  a  necessity  of  his  pleasure-loving 
nature  always  to  possess  some  object  to- 
ward which  he  could  turn  with  satisfac- 
tion, if  not  delight.  In  the  same  pro- 
portion that  the  complication  between 
Bell  and  Helena  grew  annoying,  came 
back  the  fisu^e  which  for  weeks  and 
months  he  had  persistently  banished. 
This  moment  he  did  not  resist  it ;  he 
welcomed  it.  He  was  no  longer  amused, 
nor  even  pleasantly  occupied.  No,  lie 
was  fretted  and  discontented,  and  the 
supreme  mission  of  this  face  was  to 
soothe  and  to  satisfy.  His  restless  heart 
yearned  for  something  to  rest  on  ;  and 
what  in  all  his  life  had  he  found  so  suf- 
ficing as  this  face,  with  its  promise  of 
utter  love,  and  of  perfect  peace  ?  With 
the  soft  sea-air  fiowing  over  the  pines  it 
came  in  to  him,  with  the  old  vlvidneB8| 
the  old  thrill,  half  wonder,  half  ecstacy 
which  strikes  through  a  man's  being, 
when  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he 
feels  that  he  supremely  loves. 

"Darling,  my  brown-eyed   darling, 


666 


Putkah's  Maoazikb. 


[Jou^ 


I  lave  you.  You  I  will  never  deceive. 
To  you  I  will  be  only  true,"  he  mur- 
mured, leaning  forward,  as  if  an  actual 
presence  came  in  through  the  darkness 
ftom  the  outer  air,  to  whom  he  gave 
this  greeting. 

His  mind  was  too  wearied  to  assert 
its  wise  plans,  his  heart  too  eager  to  be 
denied.  It  might  all  be  different  to- 
morrow. But  this  night,  at  least,  the 
dear  vision  remained  with  him,  and 
Paul  passed  out  into  tbe  realm  of  sleep, 
gazing  into  its  eyes. 

One  week  later,  the  Nautilus  had 
folded  its  sails,  and  rested  on  the  low 
tide  below  the  Charles. 

Dick  Prescott  and  Dolores,  Bell  and 
Don  Ovcdo  had  gone  to  Saratoga.  Hel- 
ena Maynard  was  with  her  parents  in 
their  cottage  at  Kahant.  Both  girls 
thought  of  Paul  more  than  of  any  body 
else ;  one  with  a  latent  hope,  the  other 
with  a  clearly  defined  and  secretly 
avowed  purpose. 

Paul  had  written  a  long  letter  to  Hel- 
ena, in  which  he  called  her  "  dear  girl " 
and  **  dearest  sister.^'  In  this  letter  he 
sincerely  intended  to  make  some  repara- 
tion for  the  subtle  wrong  which  his  con- 
science very  clearly  informed  him  that  he 
had  done  her.  The  result  was,  that  he 
made  the  matter  worse  by  unconsciously 
causing  himself  to  seem  to  her  more 
noble  and  precious  than  ever  before. 
Her  reply  was  full  of  characteristic  gen- 
erosity. She  exonerated  him  fVom  the 
faintest  blame.  It  was  not  Ai«  fault  that 
he  possessed  so  many  manly  qualities ; 
BO  many  mental  and  personal  attractions 
that  she  could  not  choose  but  love  him. 
She  had  been  unreasonable,  she  had 
done  him  injustice.  He  must  forgive 
her.  Bhe  saw  so  distinctly  now  that 
his  course  on  the  island  was  pursued 
only  for  the  good  of  both ;  a  fresh  proof 
of  his  fine  sense  of  honor,  and  his  kindly 
care  for  her  happiness.  Bhe  had  chosen 
her  future  life.  She  should  never  marry. 
Life  spent  alone  for  his  sake,  would  be 
dearer  and  happier  than  any  life  could 
be  shared  with  another.  She  felt  that 
hitherto  her  whole  existence  had  been 
artificial  and  fisilse. 

She  had  lived  to  allure  men ;  to  win 


their  homage,  to  conquer  them ;  yes,  to 
trifle  with  them. 

She  should  never  do  this  agfun.  She 
had  ceased  to  care  for  admiration,  and 
longed  only  for  the  love  of  one.  Sie 
had  been  a  great  sinner,  but  had  repent- 
ed, and  henceforth  should  live  a  life 
devoted  to  piety  and  good  works.  Like 
all  women  of  her  nature,  weaiy  of  am- 
bition, or  disappointed  in  love,  Helena 
turned  for  consolation  to  religion.  She 
almost  wished  Herself  a  nun,  that  she 
might  retire  to  a  convent  for  a  season. 
But  as  it  was,  she  should  seclude  he^ 
self  irom  society ;  she  should  devote  the 
winter  to  teaching  in  ragged  schools,  in 
visiting  the  poor,  in  attending  meedngi 
for  prayer,  and  in  writing  articles  kx 
the  magazines.  Before  Helena  knew  it, 
she  found  not  only  unconscious  consola- 
tion, but  real  delight  in  these  pictnzei 
of  a  new  life. 

For  some  way  in  the  foregroimd  of 
all  she  saw  a  very  handsome  young 
woman,  whoso  strong  beauty  was  sub- 
dued by  a  nun-like  garb. 

What  was  stranger  still,  not  veiy  far 
in  the  background  there  hovered  a  hand- 
some young  man.  And  there  still  lin- 
gered in  Helena's  heart,  though  she  did 
not  know  it,  a  delicious  hope  that  when 
the  young  man  crossed  the  path  of  this 
beautiful  sister  of  mercy,  as  he  sorely 
would,  that  he  would  succumb  to  the  sub- 
dued eyes  and  the  dovelike  dress,  as  he 
never  had  done  when  she  loved  him  and 
sought  him  in  the  apparel  of  the  world. 


AT  BUSTTZLLK  AOAISr. 


One  week  from  the  evening  when 
Paul  walked  with  Helena  on  the  beach^ 
the  d6p6t-coach  of  Busyville  rolled  up 
to  the  white  house  under  the  maples, 
opposite  John  Mallanc's  factories,  and 
Paul  alighted. 

He  had  entered  the  gate,  and  was 
passing  with  quick  steps  toward  the 
house,  w^hcn  he  heard  his  name  called 
with  a  clear,  shrill  cry :  "  Paul  I  Paul ! 
pretty  Paul  I  "  Turning  around,  he  saw 
Homo  sitting  in  his  cage  in  Seth  Oood* 
love's  window,  and  beside  it,  on  a  low 
seat,  apparently  busy  with  something 
before  her,  he  saw  Eirenc. 


1870.] 


FULFILMKST. 


667 


She  looked  up  when  the  coach  stop- 
ped ;  but  this  same  coach,  with  its  roll 
and  rumble  and  bustle  of  dbburdening 
luggage  and  passenger  had  started 
Momo  from  his  blinking  meditation 
into  this  loud  outcry,  and  she  did  not 
look  up  now.  If  Paul  had  been  near 
enough,  he  would  have  seen  that  her 
cheeks  were  scarlet  with  blushes. 

She  saw  Paul  when  he  alighted,  and 
Memoes  cries  filled  her  with  consterna- 
tion. "  Oh  Tilda,"  she  said  involunta- 
rily ;  "  tcill  Mr.  Mallane  think  that  I 
taught  Momo  to  call  his  name  in  such  a 
saucy  way  ? " 

Whereupon  Tilda  commenced  a  lec- 
ture upon  the  folly  of  possessing  a  par- 
rot, and  the  sin  of  caring  what  Mr.  Paul 
Mallane  thought,  ending  with  an  ejacu- 


lation of  pious  gratitude  that  to-morrow 
morning  was  "  camp-meeting  morning," 
and  then,  she  "  blessed  the  Lord."  This 
camp-meeting  was  her  only  hope  of  say- 
ing Eirene  from  destruction.  The  wolf 
had  come,  and  she  was  ready  to  fly  with 
her  lamb  to  the  arms  of  the  Good  Shep- 
herd. 

Meanwhile,  Mr.  Paul  Mallane  had 
disappeared  inside  of  his  father's  house. 
He  did  so,  saying  to  himself :  '^  Can  it 
be  that  she  has  taught  that  bird  to  call 
my  name  ? "  An  instant  afterwards  he 
thought :  "  No,  Confound  it  1  It  was 
the  young  ones.  I  remember,  I  heard 
them  at  it  myself.  But,  I  think  that 
she  might  have  looked  up,"  he  added, 
with  a  sense  of  injury.  "  She  knew  that 
it  was  I." 


•♦• 


FULFILMENT. 

Sink  down  the  western  sky,  O  summer  Sun, 

Folded  in  purple  and  in  majesty ; 

Thy  fiery  color  lives  within  my  yeins, 

Thy  noon  of  gold  and  warmth  remains  with  mo. 

Die  from  the  pendant  boughs,  O  summer  Wind, 
Wake  not  the  tremulous  leayes  to  ecstacy ; 
Thy  yelvet  wings  droop  to  my  throbbing  heart. 
And  ^ve  thy  slumberous,  languid  calm  to  me. 

Fly  from  the  golden  swaying  lily  bell. 

Keeling  in  riotous  rapture,  happy  bee ; 

Thy  murmurous  sighs,  thy  sweet  persuasiye  power. 

Thy  honey  thirst  insatiate,  give  to  me. 


Oh  I  still  warm  twilight  hours,  in  misty  peace 
Draw  near,  stoop  down  in  thy  tranquillity, 
Veiled  in  the  dim  gray  shadows  let  me  lie. 
Till  all  of  life  and  loye  abide  with  me. 


I  hear  his  step  ux>on  the  meadow-grass, 
My  blood  leaps  madly  like  the  heaying  sea ; 
His  arms  enfold  me ;  sight  and  sense  are  lost 
Ah,  God!    Infinity  1 


ws 


PuTxrAii's  Magazinb. 


[Jme, 


SHALL  WE  HAVE  A  MORE  READABLE  BIBLE  t 


Wk  do  not  ask  tliis  question  irrever- 
ently, but  conscientiously ;  for  there  is 
BO  book  that  is  so  frequently  printed  as 
the  Bible,  none  that  is  so  universally 
read,  none  that  is  so  highly  prized,  and 
none  that  is  so  badly  printed.  If  we 
were  asked  to  select  a  form  for  a  book, 
to  limit  its  influence  and  readableness, 
we  should  select  the  form  in  which  our 
English  Bible  is  almost  universally  pub- 
lished. 

What  other  book  is  put  before  the 
reader  in  such  guise?  Here  we  have 
poetry  printed  as  prose,  and  prose  print- 
ed as  poetry ;  long,  involved,  and  com- 
pacted logical  sentences  cut  up  into 
epigrammatic  forms ;  and  simple,  child- 
like narrative,  which,  in  the  original, 
flows  as  smooth  and  clear  as  a  meadow- 
stream,  dammed,  rendered  turbid  and 
intermittent  by  innumerable  obstruc- 
tions of  verses.  In  all  other  books  the 
paragraph  ends  with  the  sense ;  in  the 
Scriptures,  whatever  the  sense  may  be, 
every  line  or  two  brings  the  reader  to 
a  halt.  The  sign  of  the  paragraph  is 
indeed  prefixed,  but  it  serves  no  prac- 
tical purpose,  and  is  a  positive  blemish. 
Should  we  dare  to  treat  any  other  book 
80  ill  t  Don  Quixote  or  Robinson  Cru- 
soe would  never  have  outlived  such 
"hewing  to  pieces  before  the  Lord." 
Imagine  Pope's  **  Hiad  "  printed  as  we 
print  Isaiah  I  Dissect  ^^  Samson  Ago- 
nistes  "  as  Job  is  dissected !  How  long 
would  they  survive  such  mutilations? 
One  half  of  our  Scriptures  is  poetry — 
a  poetry  which  brings  its  structure  with 
it — a  structure  so  stroDg  and  charac- 
teristic that  it  lives  even  in  the  prosaic 
moulds  into  which  it  has  been  run  in 
our  Bible.  If  read  appreciatingly,  the 
•ear  may  catch  the  tones  of  the  Hebrew 
Muse;  but  when  the  eye  turns  to  see 
her  fair  form,  it  is  marred  beyond  recog- 
nition. Before  the  hap-hazard,  horse- 
back versification  of  Stephens  every 
thing  must  give  way— the  current  of 


narrative,  the  glow  of  fancy,  the  cbain 
of  reasoning,  and  even  the  mechanim 
of  grammar.  And  then,  as  if  to  aggn- 
vate  the  evils  of  these  nnmerou  and 
inept  divisions,  ever  since  the  Generu 
translation  of  1557,  each  verse  is  set  by 
itself— a  jet  of  inspiration  isolated  like 
an  apothegm. 

Then,  again,  it  is  printed  in  nanow 
columns,  as  if  it  were  a  cheap  novd  or 
a  newspaper;  and  these  columns  tn 
'^  notched  and  scored  to  tally  with  thi 
Concordance,"  or  to  suit  the  taste  and 
convenience  of  commentators  and  con- 
troversialists. A  writer  in  the  Edth- 
hurgh  Beview  afSrms  that  a  very  intelli- 
gent friend  of  his  declared  that  "he 
never  could  comprehend  the  drift  of 
the  Epistle  to  the  Romans,  till  he  reid 
it  without  the  interruptions  of  chap- 
ter and  verse,  in  Shuttieworth^s  trau- 
lation."  This  man  would  be  found  to 
express  the  feelings  of  thousands,  if 
they  could  once  have  his  experience  in 
reading  Paul's  great  letter  as  Tertioa 
wrote  it,  instead  of  reading  it  as  print- 
ers, for  the  last  three  hundred  yean, 
have  printed  it.  When  James  Mur- 
dock  published  his  translation  of  the 
Peshito,  an  intelligent  layman,  ^^who 
had  known  the  Scriptures  from  a  child 
up,"  but  had  for  forty  years  seen  only 
its  diftjeda  membra^  as  they  lay  scattered 
up  and  down  the  columns  of  our  Bible, 
on  reading  that  version  in  the  paragraph 
form,  said  to  us:  *'The  Bible  seemed 
like  a  new  book  to  me ;  I  couldn't  get 
done  reading  it."  We  do  not  wonder 
at  his  enthusiasm,  for  until  that  day 
"  remained  the  veil  untaken  away  "  in 
the  reading  of  the  New  Testament 
We  are  sure,  if  Dickens  or  Thackeray 
should  be  "  got  out "  in  our  Bible-style^ 
the  people  would  veiy  soon  give  iqp 
reading  them,  and  no  house  in  Boston  or 
New  York  could  command  capital 
enough  to  make  such  an  edition  a  sao- 
cess,  whatever  they  might  lavish  on  it 


1870.] 


Shall  Wk  hayb  a  mobb  bbadable  Bibls? 


d6» 


in  the  way  of  paper,  binding,  print,  or 
illustration.  They  would  fall  still-bom 
from  the  press,  as  they  would  deserve, 
and  only  bibliomaniacs  would  want 
copies  as  "  curiosities  of  literature,^'  and 
as  waymarks  along  the  road  of  folly. 
And  yet,  private  publishers,  and  the 
Baptist  Union,  and  the  British  and 
Foreign  Bible  Society,  and  the  Ameri- 
can Bible  Society,  print  millions  of  such 
volumes,  and  distribute  and  sell  them  I 
Do  you  ask  why  the  people  buy  them, 
and  even  read  them?  Because  they 
know  of  no  better  Bibles ;  because  there 
is  nothing  better  within  their  reach  in 
the  market;  because  it  is  useful  as  a 
family  register,  and  because  it  is  the 
Holy  Bible,  indispensable  to  every  well- 
regulated  housel^old. 

Any  one  who  has  been  a  member  of 
a  family,  or  a  visitor  in  a  family  where 
the  Scriptures  are  read  verse-about,  can- 
not help  knowing  what  a  limping,  halt- 
ing process  it  is— how  the  sense  was  ob- 
scured, and  all  spirituality  dissipated, 
by  the  verse-mutilations.  The  child 
invariably  reads  according  to  these  di- 
visions, dropping  its  voice,  and,  with 
it,  the  sense,  at  the  end  of  each  verse. 
Then,  the  next  reader  begins,  not  with 
the  tone  and  inflection  of  continuity, 
but  as  if  a  new  idea  were  introduced ; 
and  so  on  to  the  end  of  the  chapter. 
It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that,  in 
this  kind  of  reading,  <*the  Word  of 
the  Lord"  has  not  the  *'free  course" 
for  which  we  are  taught  to  pray ;  nor 
can  it  "be  glorified"  in  such  treatment. 
Or,  if  one  has  no  such  domestic  experi- 
ence as  this,  let  him  go  to  our  schools, 
in  which  the  Bible  is  a  text-book,  and 
mark  how  it  is  read,  and  it  will  be  im- 
possible to  resist  the  conviction  that 
the  arbitrary  division  into  chapters  and 
verses  is  a  very  serious  mistake.  The 
persons  who  most  need  to  be  assisted 
in  the  reading  of  the  Word,  and  to 
whom  it  should  be  made  "  sweeter  than 
honey  or  the  honeycomb,"  the  young 
and  the  unlettered  are  they  whose  books 
are  thus  marred  and  maimed;  while, 
for  the  Greek  scholar,  we  print  our  Tes- 
taments as  we  print  other  books— di- 
viding them  by  the  sense  and  according 


to  the  sense,  and,  in  the  printing,  im* 
part  to  them  the  appearance  of  other 
books. 

But  a  few  examples  of  these  verse- 
divisions  according  to — ^what  shall  we 
say?  not  the  sense,  but,  perh9.ps,  the 
joltings  of  Robert  Stephens'  horse  on 
the  road  from  Lyons  to  Paris,  will  show 
how  arbitrary  and  obstructive  they  are. 
Take  a  passage  from  Paul's  first  letter  to 
the  Corinthians,  1.  4-8 : 

4.  I  thank  my  God  always  on  your 
behalf,  for  the  grace  of  God  which  is 
given  you  by  Jesus  Christ ; 

5.  That  in  every  thing  ye  are  enrich- 
ed by  him,  in  all  utterance,  and  (in)  all 
knowledge ; 

6.  Even  as  the  testimony  of  Christ 
was  confirmed  in  you : 

7.  So  that  ye  come  behind  in  no  gift ; 
waiting  for  the  coming  of  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ : 

8.  Who  shall  also  confirm  you  unto 
the  end  (that  ye  may  he)  blameless  in 
the  day  of  bur  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 

Now,  imagine  this  sentence,  fervid  in 
feeling,  impetuous  in  movement,  and 
logical  in  structure,  parcelled  out  among 
five  readers  in  the  family  or  the  school, 
and  what  must  become  of  it  ?  Or,  sup- 
pose your  reader  is  one  and  the  same 
person,  but  unskilled,  is  it  likely  that 
he  will  get  the  same  sense  out  of  those 
five  aphorisms,  that  he  would  get  if 
they  were  printed  in  the  following  fa- 
miliar form  ? 

"I  thank  my  God  always  on  youi 
behalf^  for  the  grace  of  God  which  is 
given  yon  by  Jesus  Clirist;  that  in 
every  thing  ye  are  enriched '  by  him,  in 
all  utterance,  and  in  all  knowledge; 
even  as  the  testimony  of  Christ  was 
confirmed  in  ^ou :  so  that  ye  come  be- 
hind in  no  gift ;  waiting  for  the  com- 
ing of  our  Lord  Jesus  Chnst ;  who  shall 
also  confirm  you  unto  the  end,  that  yo 
may  be  blameless  in  the  day  of  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ." 

Take  another  illustration ;  it  shall  bo 
narrative  instead  of  logical  Let  it  be 
lh>m  the  vivadons  Mark,  and  see  how 
dull  and  prosaic  these  division-marks 
make  him  to  simple  folk.  We  select 
that  animated  parenthesis  of  the  wom- 
an who  had  "  an  issue  of  blood."    This 


670 


PcTSTAJi's  Magazine. 


[Jane, 


dramatic  description  is  set  before  the 
reader  in  the  following  five  acts : 

Mark  v.  25.  And  a  certain  -woman 
wMch  had  an  issue  of  blood  twelve 
years, 

26.  And  had  suffered  many  things  of 
many  physicians,  and  had  spent  all  that 
she  had,  and  was  nothing  better,  but 
rather  grew  worse, 

27.  When  she  had  heard  of  Jesus, 
came  in  the  press  behind,  and  touched 
his  garment. 

28.  For  she  said.  If  I  may  but  touch 
his  clothes,  I  shall  be  whole. 

29.  And  straightway  the  fountain  of 
her  blood  was  dried  up ;  and  she  felt  in 
(her)  body  that  she  was  healed  of  that 
plague. 

But  perhaps  no  parts  of  the  Bible 
win  serve  to  set  the  infelicity  of  our 
yerse-divisions  more  clearly  before  us 
than  the  parables  of  our  Lord.  Each 
parable  is  complete  in  itself— an  or- 
ganic whole.  It  is  a  picture  in  minia- 
ture. Who  would  ever,  from  their  in- 
ternal structure,  have  thought  of  dis- 
secting them  into  verses,  any  more  than 
one  would  think  of  shredding  a  lily  to 
get  at  its  fragrance,  or  dividing  into 
squares  a  Ruggles*  gem  to  see  its  beau- 
ties? Yet  these  "apples  of  gold  in 
pictures  of  silver "  have  suffered,  and 
are  daily  suffering,  at  the  hands  of  our 
Bible-publishers,  outrages  which  no  one 
would  dare  to  inflict  on  ^sop  or  Erum- 
macher. 

In  the  divisions  into  chapters,  the 
same  fatality  to  the  sense  often  prevails. 
Sometimes  these  are  so  mal-apropoSy  that 
nothing  but  the  reverence  of  the  intel- 
ligent reader  saves  them  from  ridicule ; 
but  what  tends  to  excite  the  ridicule 
or  contempt  of  the  learned,  may  be  a 
blind  to  mislead,  or  a  barrier  to  stop 
the  unlearned.  In  illustration  of  our 
remarks,  take  the  story  of  the  vision  of 
the  angel,  as  told  in  Joshua,  chapters  v. 
and  vi.  How  does  our  Bible  give  it  ? 
They  cut  it  in  two.  One  part  is  left  in 
chapter  y.,  and  the  other  part  is  fonnd 
in  chapter  vi.,  the  fifth  chapter  ending 
with  the  edifying  words,  '^Joshua  did 
so ; ''  that  is,  took  off  his  shoe.  Of  the 
foil  import  of  the  narrative,  the  reader 
of  the  fifth  chapter  will  know  nothing; 


and  the  same  is  true  of  the  reader  of 
the  sixth  chapter.     Unless  read  in  cob- 
nection,  they  cannot  be  understood,  b 
Isaiah  the  dread  significance  of  mon 
than  one  of  his  "  burdens  ^'  is  obscured 
by  these  arbitrary  interruptions^    Eadi 
prophecy  is  a  poem,   and  should  be 
printed  as  distinctly  by  itself  as  a  pedm 
of  David.    But  the  Burden  of  Babj/lm 
is  cut  in  two — ^part  is  in  one  chipta; 
part  in  another ;  while  the  Burdm  of 
PaUstlna  is  tagged  to  the  end  of  chap- 
ter xiv.  as  an  appendage  to  the  Bvrim 
of  Babylon,    In  chapter  xxL,  three  dii- 
tinct  prophecies  concerning  three  diA 
fercnt  countries  are  rolled  into  on&  It 
would  be  far  less  misleading  to  print 
three  psalms  in  one  chapter,  than  th» 
to  confuse  and  confound  three  propihS' 
cies.    Of  the  same  character  is  the  cot- 
ting  off  of  the  twenty-first  chapter  of 
Acts  from  the  twenty-second  chapio. 
The  former,  like  a  sensation-novd  pub- 
lished in  parts,  breaks  off  in  the  r^dit 
of  the  interest.    The  same  offence  is  re- 
peated at  the  end  of  the  twenty-thhd 
chapter.    Of  course,  no  such  unworthy 
motives  influenced  Stephens,  who  hap- 
pily lived  before  the  days  of  dime  nov- 
els ;  and  it  was  only  a  heavier  jolt,  or 
a  more  hazardous  stumble,  that  broke 
the  thread  of  Luke^s  narrative  in  these 
most  inopportune  places.    The  Bible  k 
a  household  volume,  given  to  the  peo- 
ple, and  for  private  reading.    It  is  read, 
and  heard  read,  a  dozen  times  as  often 
as  it  is  used  for  verifying  quotatioiUb 
Let  it,  therefore,  be  printed  in  the  in- 
terest of  the  people,  rather  than  in  the 
interest  of  the  polemic.     What  defence 
can  be  made  for  amputating  the  lait 
part  of  the  eighth  chapter  of  Mark, 
and  adding  it  to  chapter  ix.  ?    It  is  the 
conclusion  of  a  most  touching  appeal, 
♦*  the  immediate  jewel "  of  Christie  difr 
course.    The  man  who  perpetrated  it, 
robbed  the  eighth  chapter  of.  that  which 
did  not  enrich  the  ninth,  and  made  the 
fisrmer  poor  indeed. 

There  is  another  change  which,  if 
made,  would  greatly  improve  our  Bibli^ 
and  greatly  commend  it  to  plain  peo- 
ple—that is,  in  reference  to  the  bedd- 
ings of  the  chapters.  These  "contcnti* 


3870.] 


Shall  TVe  hays  ▲  kobb  beadabls  Bible? 


671 


are  of  no  more  authority  tlian  ore  the 
divisions  into  chapters  and  yerses,  and 
yet  they  arc  as  fully  and  as  scrupulous- 
ly printed  as  if  they  formed  part  of  the 
inspired  text.  They  are,  if  not  a  super- 
fluity in  themselves,  yet,  in  their  super- 
nhundancc,  they  become  such.  In  the 
issues  of  the  American  Bible  Society, 
one  of  whose  copies  lies  before  me,  it 
is  safe  to  say  that  one  twentieth  of  the 
matter  consists  of  these  "  contents  " — 
and  this  exclusive  of  the  two  running 
titles  at  the  head  of  each  page.  In  a 
volume  so  cumbrous  and  cumbersome 
as  our  Bible  is  when  printed  in  small 
pica  or  long  primer,  this  is  a  very  seri- 
ous waste  of  paper,  type,  labor,  time, 
and  money.  In  the  matter  of  brief 
headings,  a  good  lesson  might  be  learn- 
ed from  De  Wette's  Bible,  and  also  from 
the  Bible  published  under  the  auspices 
of  the  Archbishop  of  Baltimore,  in  1837. 
The  latter,  for  instance,  sums  up  the 
contents  of  Psalm  v.  in  one  line ;  the 
American  Bible  Society  in  ^ye  lines — 
and  italics  at  that.  The  phraseology 
of  these  headings  is  as  antiquated  and 
as  obscure  as  the  language  of  the  chap- 
ters which  they  summarize ;  and  there- 
fore they  not  only  hide  the  true  light, 
but  not  unfrequently  hang  out  a  false 
one.  When  it  is  said,  at  the  beginning 
of  1  Cor.  i.  1-0,  that  "  the  Corinthians 
must  not  vex  their  brethren  in  going  to 
law  with  them,  especially  under  infi- 
deU^  the  common  reader  is  liable  to 
two  misapprehensions :  one  arising  from 
his  associations  with  *'vex,"  and  the 
other  with  ^^  infidels.^'  In  reading  the 
text,  he  finds  tha^  "  to  vex  "  is  to  ha- 
rass, not  to  provoke;  and  that  <Hhe 
infidels  "  are  simply  persons  who  were 
not  members  of  the  Church.  In  the 
caption  to  the  thirteenth  chapter  of 
this  same  letter,  he  is  informed  that,  in 
verse  18,  he  will  find  something  about 
**  the  prelation  of  charity  before  hope 
and  faith ; ''  and  in  turning  to  the  pas- 
sage, he  learns  that,  of  the  three  graces, 
faith,  hope,  and  charity,  the  greaUtit  is 
charity.  We  read  the  headings  of  Eph. 
T.,  and  are  told,  under  verse  7,  ''not  to 
eonuTH  with  tl^  wicked,'*  but,  in  the 
text,  there  is  nothing  said  of  talking 


with  bad  men.  Now,  it  may  be  replied 
that  every  body  knows  that  "  converse," 
in  Scripture  phraseology,  means  inter- 
course. But  the  common  people  do  not 
know  it ;  children  do  not  know  it ;  the 
people  for  whom  Bible  societies  are 
founded  do  not  know  it ;  and  it  is  for 
just  these  persons  that  we  demand  this 
better  Bible. 

Then,  too,  some  of  these  heads  are 
inept,  because  so  highly  figurative.  For 
example,  1  Cor.  iiL  2 :  "  Milk  is  tit  for 
children ; "  v.  7 :  "  The  old  leaven  is  to 
be  purged  out ; "  xiv.  1 :  "  Prophecy  is 
commended  and  preferred  before  speak- 
ing with  tongues,  by  a  comparison  drawn 
from  musical  inatruments ;  "  xvi.  16 : 
"  He  shutteth  up  his  epistle  with  divers 
salutations ; "  Eph.  vi.  13 :  "  The  com- 
plete armor  of  the  Christian,  and  how 
it  ought  to  be  used."  With  one  excep- 
tion, these  are  a  few  random  selections 
from  a  single  letter.  Their  absence 
would  be  better  than  their  presence. 

But  a  more  serious  objection  to  these 
summaries  is  their  doctrinal  bias.  Rom. 
iv.  1  tells  the  reader  that  ^'  Abraham^s 
faith  was  imputed  to  him  for  righteous- 
ness." Bom.  viii.  29  teaches  us  to  look 
for  the  "  decrees  of  Qod:'  In  Eph.  i.  4-6 
we  are  informed  that  Paul  ^^treateth 
of  our  election  and  adoption  by  grace." 
Now,  all  these  words  have  the  genuine 
dogmatic  ring.  Some  of  them,  it  is 
true,  are  found  in  the  text,  but,  in  their 
technical  sense,  they  belong  to  theology 
as  a  science,  and  to  a  particular  school 
of  theology— Calvinism.  If  the  Bible, 
"  without  note  or  comment,"  is  the  Prot- 
estant standard,  then  these  summaries 
are  a  violation  of  the  Protestant  princi- 
ple; and  an  undenominational  society 
publishing  them  is  guilty  of  a  breach 
of  trust  For  example :  suppose  that, 
in  Luke  ziii.  8,  instead  of  ^*  Christ 
preached  repentance  upon  the  punish- 
ment of  the  Galileans  and  others,"  the 
Bible  Society  should  put  the  Douay 
heading, ''  Theneeesntyo/penance^^  what 
an  excitement  would  be  roused  against 
such  a  concession  to  papistic  notions. 
The  Bible  is  emphatically  the  people^s 
hook ;  and  the  masses  need  it,  and  de- 
serve it,  as  near  as  possible  to  the  one 


67d 


PuTXAM^s  Magazine. 


[Jon^ 


which  "  the  common  people  "  heard  so 
gladly  from  the  Saviour's  lips. 

Again,  we  think  our  English  Bible 
might  be  very  much  improved  and  pop- 
ularized, by  relieving  the  present  trans- 
lation of  its  superfluous  words — ^its  ver- 
biage, shall  we  say  its  verbosity  ?  It  is 
well  known,  though  far  from  universal- 
ly known,  that  the  italicised  words  form 
no  part  of  the  original  and  authorita- 
tive text.  Tbc  translators  conscientious- ' 
ly  and  charitably  introduced  them  to 
guard  the  reader  against  misapprehen- 
sion, and  to  explain  and  render  intel- 
ligible foreign  idioms.  The  error  is  in 
the  excess,  and  a  judicious  pruning  of 
this  part  of  their  work  would  add  to 
both  the  beauty  and  the  strength  of  our 
excellent  version.  Taking  all  these  ital- 
ics along  with  him  in  his  daily  reading, 
"  the  unlearned  "  gets  a  conscience  con- 
cerning them,  and  superstition  becomes 
twin-sister  to  knowledge.  The  textvs 
receptus  is  encumbered  in  the  same  way, 
and  has  been  a  sad  grievance  to  the 
critical  student.  Take,  for  example, 
the  addition  of  words  to  strengthen 
or  to  explain  a  sentence.  The  itali- 
cised words  are  wanting  in  the  older 
MSS. 

Matt.  xiii.  51 :  ^^  Jesus  mith  mito  them, 
Have  ye  understood  all  these  things  ?  " 
Mark  iii.  5 :  "  And  he  stretched  it 
out,  and  his  hand  was  restored,  wlioU  as 
the  others  The  copyist  seems  to  have 
added  these  last  words  to  show  how  ex- 
actly complete  the  miracle  was.  Mark 
V.  40 :  "  He  eutereth  in  where  the  dam- 
sel was  lyinr;^  and  he  took  the  damsel 
by  the  hand,  and  said,  *  *  *  Arise ; 
and  straightway  the  damsel  arose.'' 
Though  verse  43  makes  it  clear  that 
the  dead  child  was  in  a  prostrate  posi- 
tion, the  coypyist,  fearing  that  a  doubt 
as  to  the  posture  might  spring  up  in 
the  reader's  mind  before  reaching  the 
42d  verse,  inserted  **  lying."  These 
copyists,  who  were  the  old  printers, 
loaded  the  Greek  text  with  their  cheap 
and  superfluous  additions ;  and  the 
translators,  who  are  the  modem  copy- 
ists, have  superadded  their  superfluous 
and  cheap  English  additions ;  and, 
from  under  this  dou])le  covering,  the 


Word  of  God  gives  forth,  in  nutj 
places,  but  a  mnflied  Bound. 

In  some  cases,  a  difference  of  idkn 
requires  an  additional  word.  For  ex- 
ample, we  cannot  say  intelligiblj,  vdA 
in  good  English,  '^  The  Lord  opeoetk 
the  blind."  We  must  add  "  eyes,"  and 
therefore  our  translators  render  PsafaD 
cxlvi  8,  "  The  Lord  openeth  the  ef/m 
of  the  blind."  But  they  are  not  so  for- 
tunate in  their  addition  to  verse  1 
"Kor"  rather  hinders  than  helps.  It 
teaches  that  there  are  two  classes  of  per- 
sons in  whom  men  are  tempted  to  tnut^ 
"  princes  "  and  "  the  sons  of  men,^  and 
suggests  a  climax  of  ideas  in  which  ^t 
son  of  man"  is  a  more  trustworthy  re- 
liance than  a  "  prince."  The  Donay  Vb>- 
sion  is  better,  because  it  puts  the  two 
phrases  in  apposition,  thus  contrastiiig 
man  with  Jehovah. 

Psalm  Ix.  12:  "Through  God  we 
shall  do  valiantly,  for  he  (U  u  tiaS) 
shall  tread  down  our  enemies." 

Psalm  Ixxxiv.  11 :  "  No  good  (tiinfi 
will  he  withhold  from  them  that  walk 
uprightly."  "  Thing  "  adds  neither  to 
the  force  nor  clearness  of  the  original 
How  much  better  to  print  it, 

The  Lord  is  a  sun  and  shield ; 

The  Lord  will  give  grace  and  gloiy ; 

No  good  will  he  withhold  from  them 
that  walk  uprightly. 

Mark  v.  20:  "And  he  departed, 
*  *  *  and  all  (men)  did  marvd." 
The  addition  of  "  men  "  is  not  mcrdy 
useless,  but  it  is  wrong.  The  text  does 
not  teach  that  men  universally  marvd- 
led,  but  only  that  the  inhabitants  of 
the  Decapolis  marvelled.  The  same 
kind  of  error  is  committed  and  perpet- 
uated in  Mark  xi.  82 :  "  But  if  we  shall 
say.  Of  men,  they  feared  the  people: 
for  all  (men)  counted  Jphn  a  prophet" 

Another  favorite  superfluity  is  **  cer- 
tain." Mark  xii.  1 :  '*  A  (certain)  man 
planted  a  vineyard."  Now,  there  is  no 
particular  individual  referred  to  in  the 
original,  and  yet  the  addition  of  "  cer- 
tain "  makes  that  impression.  Mark  viL 
25 :  "  A  (certain)  woman ; "  in  fact,  it  was 
an  uncertain  person,  and  so  the  Greek 
has  it.  Conscientious  Oruden  does  not 
know  these  italics  in  his  Concordance. 


1870.] 


SnALL  We  have  a  mobb  Readable  Bible? 


673 


How  much  the  cagcmes3  and  im- 
portunity of  the  afllictcd  father  is 
marred  in  the  following  passage  by  the 
italics : 

Mark  v.  23  :  "  He  fell  at  his  feet  and 
besought  him  greatly,  saying :  My  little 
daughter  lieth  at  the  point  of  death : 
(/  pray  thee)  come,  and  lay  thy  hands 
on  her." 

Luke  xiii.  13  :  "  And  when  Jesus  saw 
her,  he  called  (her  to  him)^  and  said 
unto  her :  Woman,  thou  art  loosed  from 
thine  infirmity."  Jesus  called  to  her, 
because  she  could  not  go  to  Him  until 
she  was  healed,  for  "she  was  bowed 
together,  and  could  in  nowise  lift  up 
herself."  The  Greek  represents  Jesus 
as  first  speaking  the  promised  aid  to 
the  helpless  cripple,  and  then  laying 
His  healing  hands  upon  her  bent  form. 
The  translators,  by  their  italics,  lead  us 
to  suppose  that  Jesus  expected  her  to 
drag  herself  to  His  feet  before  she  could 
be  "  made  straight." 

It  is  needless  to  multiply  examples ; 
they  thrust  themselves  into  the  eye  from 
every  page.  Our  citations  have  been 
only  ttom  the  Psalms  and  Gospels — ^the 
simplest  and  most  frequently-read  parts 
of  the  Scriptures.  Redundant  pronouns, 
superfluous  prepositions,  and  useless  con- 
junctions, abound  to  mar  the  beauty  of 
the  letter-press,  and  to  obscure,  obstruct, 
and  pervert  the  sense  of  the  authors. 

The  last  change  suggested  as  an  im- 
provement on  our  present  Bible,  is,  uni- 
formity in  spelling  proper  names.  This 
may  seem  a  small  matter,  and,  in  many 
books,  it  would  be ;  but  in  the  Bible  it 
is  one  of  the  gravest  importance.  The 
Bible  is  full  of  proper  names — ^namcs 
of  persons  and  names  of  places.  It  is 
a  sacred  biographical  and  geographical 
gazetteer.  There  are  upwards  of  four 
thousand  proper  names  on  its  pages — 
one  third  as  many  as  the  whole  number 
bequeathed  to  us  by  classic  antiquity. 

Wherever  names  have  been  identified 
as  belonging  to  the  same  individual, 
unless  there  is  a  special  reason  for  two 
or  more  ways  of  spelling,  they  should, 
for  the  comfort  and  benefit  of  the  plain 
reader,  be  always  spelled  uniformly. 
When  Ahram  is  changed  into  Ahraham^ 
VOL.  V. — 41 


there  is  a  historical  reason  for  writing 
the  same  man^s  name  differently.  So 
also  of  Sarah  and  Sarai.  But  why  write 
the  king  of  Tyre  sometimes  Hiram^  and 
then,  again,  Uuram  f  Why  is  it  neces- 
sary sometimes  to  say  that  Sem  was  the 
son  of  JVoe,  and  then,  again,  that  Shem 
was  the  son  of  Noah  t  Why,  when  we 
read  the  New  Testament,  must  we  say, 
ElioBy  Fluetts,  and  Eaaiasf  and,  when 
we  read  the  Old  Testament,  always  be 
careful  to  say,  Elijah^  ElUiha^  and  Isai- 
ah ?  Why  not  spell  the  name  of  these 
prophets  the  same  way  in  both  Testa- 
ments ?  And  what  adds  to  the  embar- 
rassment is,  that  nobody  ever  quotes 
Esaias,  but  always  Isaiah  ;  no  one  ever 
speaks  of  Ellas,  but  only  of  Elijah.  To 
the  question,  Wlio  was  translated  ?  what 
Protestant  child  would  ever  think  of 
answering,  Ellas?  Kone.  It  was  the 
great  Elijah  that  went  up  in  a  chariot 
of  fire,  and  dropped  his  mantle  on  Elisha 
— ^never  on  Eliseus.  Talk  to  them  of 
Eliseus  as  the  Lord^s  prophet,  and  of 
the  naughty  children  whom  the  bears 
devoured  because  they  mocked  him, 
and  they  would  suspect  you  of  trying 
to  introduce  a  new  Drophet  into  the 
canon. 

Noah  and  Noe  sound  enough  alike, 
though,  to  young  eyes,  they  look  suffi- 
ciently unlike  to  be  mistaken.  Why 
should  they  always  be  printed  Noe,  in 
Matthew  and  Luke,  and  Noah,  in  Peter 
and  Paul  ?  This  matter  of  the  eyes  is 
not  to  be  overlooked,  least  of  all  in  our 
day.  When  "  the  Word  came  by  hear^ 
ing,^^  it  mattered  less ;  but  now  it  comes 
by  Kcing,  and  every  day  more  eyes  and 
fewer  ears  are  addressed.  Sem,  in  Luke 
iii.  86,  would  not  necessarily  be  taken 
to  be  the  same  as  Shem  everywhere  else. 
And  certainly  not  one  in  a  hundred  of 
the  common  people,  except  on  second 
thought,  would  take  "  Chanaan  "  to  be 

Canaan— £ur  and  hnppy  land, 
Where  hL«i  po««e95ious  liu. 

Ask  any  bright  Sunday-school  whose 
son  King  Saul  was,  and  how  many  wiU 
guess  that  he  was  "the  son  of  Cis," 
though  all  might  know  that  Ki%h  was 
his  father.     But  what  sad    obscurity 


674 


Putnam's  Maoazine. 


[Jane^ 


must  rest  on  Acts  yii  45  and  Heb.  iv. 
8,  whero  JetiM — the  child's  name  for  the 
Saviour,  and,  indeed,  to  all  of  us  the 
household  name  of  the  blessed  Redeem- 
er—is used  for  Joshua.  Truly,  the  let- 
ter Mlleth.  What  adequate  excuse  can 
there  be  for  such  confusion  ?  Joshua 
seems  a  very  Pantaloon  among  Scrip- 
ture names.  It  is  spelled  a  dozen  dif- 
ferent ways — Osee,  Osea,  Oseas,  and 
Oshea ;  Hosea  and  Hoshca ;  Joshua,  Je- 
hoshua,  Jehoshuah,  Jehcshua,  Jeshuah, 
Jeshua,  and  Jesus  I 

To  put  this  objection  in  its  true  light, 
suppose  wo  construct  a  sentence,  using 
these  names  as  they  are  spelled  in  the 
New  Testament :  how  would  it  be  likely 
to  affect  the  common  Bible-reader  ?  We 
will  begin  with  It06  and  his  son  ^S^, 
and  then  pass  on  to  Abraham,  who 
dwelt  in  Charran  before  he  came  to 
Chanaariy  which  is  Jewry.  We  will  also 
make  mention  of  Agar  and  Nacfior^  and 
the  prophets  EliseuSy  Osee,  Esaias,  Jere- 
my, and  Elias.  Tou  will  want  to  hear 
of  Bodama  and  the  Mount  Sinn,  but  the 
time  would  fail  me  to  tell  of  Saul  the 
son  of  Cw,  Lucas  the  good  physician, 
Marcus  the  Evangelist,  young  Timo- 
theus,  and,  last  of  all,  Jesus,  who  led  the 
Israelites  through  "  the  river  of  Jordan." 

With  the  exception  of  Abraham,  there 
is  not  one  of  these  names  that  is  ever 
written  or  pronounced  in  the  above 
manner ;  and  yet  there  they  stand,  year 
after  year,  in  our  Bibles.  The  Kethibh 
is  New  Testament,  the  Kcri  is  Old  Tes- 
tament. Wo  print  the  Greek,  and  pro- 
nounce the  Hebrew.  The  Douay  Bible 
docs  these  things  better.  Grote  and 
Thirlwall  offended  every  eye  when  they 
"wrote  JleraJcle^  for  Hercules ;  .2ka6  every 
ear,  when  they  would  call  JEsculapius, 
AsHepius.  They  had  good  reasons  for 
the  change ;  and  their  histories  are  not 
household  books,  as  is  the  New  Testa- 


ment. But  when  Lane,  in  his  new  traos- 
lation  of  the  '^  Arabian  Night^,-^  trans- 
formed "  Sinbad  the  Sailor  "  into  •*  Es- 
Sindibad  of  the  Sea,"  and  "Aladdin" 
into  Ala-ed-Deen,"  the  change  was  great- 
er than  the  people  would  bear,  and  the 
publishers  were  compelled  to  make  ccn- 
cession  to  the  eyes  and  cars  of  the  pub- 
lic, because  "The  Thousand  Nights'* 
was  the  people's  book.  Yet  the  peopk 
submit  to  such  and  similar  jargon  in  the 
volume  which,  of  all  others,  lies  nearest 
their  hearts. 

If,  now,  the  Christian  public  ask, 
"  Whose  duty  is  it  to  put  the  Word  be- 
fore the  American  people  in  a  readable 
form  ?  " — we  answer  unhesitatingly,  The 
American  Bible  Society's.  Its  posiuon, 
its  wealth,  its  power,  and  its  prestige, 
call  upon  it  to  do  this  work.  No  other 
house  can  do  it  as  well  and  so  cffectiTe- 
ly  as  the  Bible-House.  IIow  much  it 
can  do,  may  be  inferred  from  the  fact 
that  it  has  the  confidence  of  the  Prot- 
estant world.  It  has  the  patronage  of 
the  whole  American  Church,  save  a 
portion  of  the  Baptist  denoniinatioQ. 
It  has  the  market  of  the  entire  country. 
How  much  it  can  hinder  by  mere  in- 
difference, may  be  gathered  from  the 
limited  success  of  Reeves'  Paragraph 
Bible,,  first  published  in  England  in  the 
beginning  of  the  present  century,  and 
republished  in  a  cheaper  form  a  few 
years  since  by  the  University  of  Oxfoid. 
That  Bible  "  not  having  been  adopted 
by  the  Societies  through  which,  by  far, 
the  largest  number  of  English  Bibles 
is  circulated,  the  advantages  of  this 
form  of  division  into  paragraphs  was 
neither  sufficiently  known  nor  duly  ap- 
preciated." Unless,  therefore,  this  work 
is  undertaken  and  done  by  these  great 
Societies,  what  was  said  fiflteen  yean 
ago  must  continue  to  be  true :  "  There 
is  no  such  thing  as  a  rcadaUe  Bible." 


1870.] 


A  DoMBsno  BoacAKCB. 


675 


A  DOMESTIC  ROMANCE. 


Z.      TUB  FOUR  MISSES  UATXE. 

There  is  an  orthodox  and  respecta- 
ble sneer  at  people  who  try  to  "  keep 
up  appearances ; "  and  should  any  un- 
kind chance  expose  the  painful  skill 
and  piteous  ingenuity  by  which  a  fam- 
ily of  slender  means  try  to  keep  pace  in 
externals  with  their  richer  neighbors, 
they  are  condemned  with  very  prompt 
contempt. 

We  are  one  of  those  families  who 
Laye  always  kept  up  appearances,  for 
by  this  method  alone  the  faces  of 
friends  w^hose  speech  is  witty  and  wise 
shine  in  our  house.  The  lecture,  the 
concert,  the  best  of  social  life  are  ours ; 
and  if  our  souls  are  fed  better  than  our 
bodies,  so  we  choose. 

With  the  same  money  we  might  take 
an  apartment  in  a  back  street  along 
with  butcher  and  baker  and  candlestick- 
maker,  and  have  unlimited  roast  meat 
and  leisure ;  for  it  would  not  then  be 
needful  to  save  from  dinner  and  dessert 
the  wherewithal  to  serve  the  friends  with 
coffee  and  ice-cream  in  the  evening. 
Neither  should  we  fag  as  now  in  the 
secret  chambers  at  millinery  and  the 
remodelling  of  black  alpacas ;  for  the 
friends,  to  vie  with  whom  our  fifty  dol- 
lars must  stretch  as  far  as  their  five  hun- 
dred, would  not  follow  us  to  the  back 
street.  We  think  we  are  a  genial  family 
enough,  yet  know  "  there  are  within  our 
realm  a  thousand  good  as  we,"  and 
should  have  no  right  whatever  to  expect 
to  be  sought  out  should  we  cease  to  be 
readily  available.  Never  for  us  the  long 
idle  days  and  vacant  evenings  of  the 
back  street  I  We  shall  dress  ourselves 
to  be  in  trim  for  the  parlor,  and  yet 
bake  and  brew  that  our  one  servant 
may  have  leisure  for  the  door-bell  and 
polite  messages. 

Do  you  despise  this  programme  of 
the  mother  and  four  daughters,  of 
whom  I  am  one?  or  is  it  not  barely 
possible  that  in  our  case  at  least  this 


"  keeping  up  appearances  "  may  rise  to 
the  dignity  of  "  a  high  and  holy  work 
of  love  ? "  For  know  that,  after  all,  it  is 
to  spare  our  father,  now  that  the  white 
is  thick  in  his  hair,  the  knowledge  that 
all  his  life  of  hard,  honorable  work 
— ^has  not  been  successful  enough  to 
keep  his  girls  from  losing  their  birth- 
right of  social  place.  Never  shall  odors 
of  boiling  cabbage  and  the  hundred 
kindred  aromas  of  tenements  in  the  back 
street  salute  him.  From  his  very  mod- 
erate salary  he  shall  believe  we  have  all 
and  that  our  resources  are  abundant. 
It  must  be  so  while  mother  lives,  for  it 
is  she  who  stands  between  him  and  the 
world. 

I  picked  up  a  Burke^s  peerage  one  day, 
and  found  the  ancestry  of  the  ancient 
and  honorable  house  of  Marriott.  That 
was  how  the  farmer's  girl,  my  mother, 
came  to  be  fashioned  so  nobly,  that  all 
her  young  years  of  hard  common  work 
could  not  put  a  trace  of  peasant  clum- 
siness in  the  frame  nature  never  meant 
should  be  there. 

There  was  the  Gideon  Marriott,  who 
came  over  from  England  to  build  the 
fortunes  of  a  younger  son  in  the  back- 
woods. 

Gradually,  under  the  hard  straggle 
of  such  a  life,  the  old  traditions  of  fam- 
ily importance  died  out,  and  in  the 
fourth  generation  father  Marriott's 
handsome  daughters  were  just  country 
lasses,  without  a  particle  of  prestige  be- 
yond smartness  and  good  looks.  And 
in  due  time,  alas  I  they,  all  but  my 
mother,  merged  the  "  ancient  and  hon- 
orable name  "  into  those  of  the  Dick- 
sons  and  Tom-sons  of  our  rustic  neigh* 
borhood — slow-witted  sons  of  the  soil, 
with  the  bovine  blood  of  a  hundred 
peasant  generations  in  their  veins. 

I  do  not  remember  Mrs.  Ilayne  to 
have  been  ill,  even  with  a  headache,  in 
my  life.  I  wish  I  could  describe  to  you 
her  strong,  joyftil  spirit,  the  quaint  per- 


676 


PUTNAM^B  MaOAZINB. 


[Jonr, 


fection  of  her  love  for  my  father,  and 
the  complete  trust  of  his  heart  in  her. 
Ko  wonder  the  four  Misses  Hayne  grew 
up  with  the  impression  that  the  one 
possible  completion  of  life  was  to  bo 
also  wives.  And  surely  if  ever  circum- 
stances render  it  desirable  for  a  conclu- 
sion of  this  kind  to  be  acted  upon,  it  is 
in  a  family  of  four  girls,  whoso  never 
ample  support  must  cease  with  one 
waning  life. 

So  I  thought,  one  day — the  eldest 
Miss  Hayne  at  twenty-three — as  I  sat  at 
the  window  and  looked  a  little  way 
down  the  street.  My  eyes  stopped  at 
Theophilus  Portman's  goodly  abode, 
but  my  fancy  went  up  the  grand  stone 
steps,  and  showed  myself  looking  out 
between  the  lace  curtains  from  the 
solid  vantage-ground  of  a  rich  man's 
wife. 

The  rich  man  came  out  as  I  sat  there 
— "  a  little,  thin,  yellow  man,"  as  one  of 
my  sisters  had  truly  described  him,  his 
hair  partaking  of  the  general  scantncss 
of  his  material,  and  his  eyebrows  and 
lashes  almost  invisible.  lie  drank  tea 
three  times  a-day — liis  only  dissipation 
— and  increased  the  size  of  his  feet  with 
arctic  overshoes  whenever  the  smallest 
suspicion  of  dampness  could  warrant  it. 
He  crossed  the  street  and  rang  at  the 
bell,  and  with  the  perfect  understanding 
that  he  was  come  to  see  Miss  Hayne,  the 
three  younger  sisters  escaped  tlirough 
the  dining-room  while  he  was  struggling 
with  the  arctics  in  the  hall. 

Well,  we  talked  about  such  things  as 
are  apt  to  interest  a  mercantile  man  of 
forty  who  has  "built  up  a  business," 
instead  of  reading  Ruskin  and  Mrs. 
Browning  and  a  good  many  other  books 
now  in  fashion.  I  studied  him  and  his 
words,  as  he  sat  there,  with  all  the  care 
I  could,  and  concluded  that  he  was 
worthy,  and  ordinary,  in  equal  degrees. 
I  also  was  confirmed  in  my  suspicion 
that  he  wished  to  marry  me,  and  knew 
that  his  sole  object  in  appointing  to 
come  next  evening  was  to  make  known 
his  request. 

All  the  family  knew  it  too ;  the  good 
parents  were  highly  satisfied;  for  to 
elderly  eyes  "Mr.  Philo  Portman  was  a 


man  to  be  desired,  and  the  settlement 
in  life  he  could  offer  the  eldest  Mis 
Hayne  entirely  satisfactory.  And  the 
eldest  Miss  Hayne  in  her  chamber  that 
night  mentally  accepted  Mr.  Portman, 
and  then  forgot  for  fire  hours  to  go  to 
bed  while  she  sat  on  the  little  old  sofa 
of  her  own  upholstering  and  looked  tlie 
deed  in  the  face. 

This,  then,  was  "my  story;"  no 
wonder  the  bells  could  not  ring  it  nor 
the  birds  sing  it  I  Was  I  to  be  a  be- 
trothed wife  to-morrow  night  ?  Then 
where  was  all  that  tumult  of  surpassing 
emotions  Mrs.  Browning  thrills  us  with 
in  the  "  Sonnets,"  and  which  all  poets 
assign  to  this,  life's  crowning  honrt 
Were  not  such  things,  after  all,  just  fic- 
tion and  romance  ?  I  turned  back  to 
plain  life.  Naturally,  I  thought  first  of 
my  mother,  and  my  mind  traveUed 
back  over  the  chance  indications  she 
had  given  of  how  things  were  with  her, 
and  applied  them  one  by  one  to  mj 
own  case.  She  was  not  a  sentimental 
woman,  and  never  tried  fancy  pictures ; 
so  what  she  had  mentioned  now  and 
then  was  always  the  plainest  fact  I 
remembered  how  she  had  told  of  their 
early  life,  when  my  father  had  brought 
her,  a  perfect  stranger,  to  the  great  city ; 
of  the  long  days  alone  which  were  not 
lonesome,  from  the  sole  thought  that 
their  close  would  bring  him  back  to 
her;  and  then,  of  how  goldenly  the 
hours  went  on  when  they  were  together 
— how  the  simple  fact  of  their  mutual 
presence — the  sound  of  their  voices 
reaching  and  talking  to  each  other— 
seemed  to  fill  up  every  social  need  or 
ambition,  and  make  life  as  complete  a 
satisfaction  as  it  can  be  here. 

I  applied  this  picture  to  myself  and 
Mr.  Theophilus  Portman.  Could  it  be 
that  I  should  ever  listen  with  fond  ex- 
pectation for  the  tread  of  those  India- 
rubbers,  and  gaze  upon  that  little  sandy 
man  as  mother  did  to  this  day  upon 
father  ?  How  curiously  she  loves  him ! 
She  said  if  he  had  died  during  that  last 
illness,  she  should  never  have  had  his 
dear  old  hat  moved  from  the  rack  in 
the  hall  I  Was  it  not  Miss  Hayne  who 
had  unguardedly  called  the  outer  wrap- 


1870.] 


A  Domestic  Romanoe. 


677 


pings  of  her  lover  a  lot  of  fussy  old 
things? 

Might  not  love  come  ?  Such  things 
had  been — ^read  of.  Her  mother  had 
waited  three  years  till  her  poor  clerk 
could  save  enough  to  marry  her,  and 
not  all  the  dissatisfaction  of  the  old 
folks  nor  the  scoffing  comparisons  of 
her  sisters  of  her  "  baby-faced  clerk," 
with  their  beef  and  brawn  landholding- 
lovers,  could  shake  for  an  hour  her  glad 
fidelity. 

Mr.  Portman  was  a  most  kind  and 
worthy  man,  and  she  esteemed  him 
highly,  and  doubted  not  the  time  must 
come  when  she  should  regard  him  with 
most  affectionate  interest ;  but  down  in 
the  bottom  of  Miss  Hayne's  honest 
heart  lay  a  faint,  cold  certainty,  that 
never  in  any  year  of  life  the  time  could 
come  when  she  should  feel  as  her  moth- 
er had  done  before  she  was  bom.  She 
thought  of  the  young  wife,  Christian 
though  she  were,  pulling  aside  with 
blank  horror  the  thought  of  her  own 
l^ossibly  approaching  death,  solely  be- 
cause it  must  separate  her  from  him. 
She  could  not  imagine  a  rest,  a  joy,  or 
music  in  heaven  if  it  shut  her  out  fh>m 
the  sight  of  his  clear  eyes  I  And  the 
eldest  Miss  Hayne  was  the  child  of  such 
love  as  this.  In  all  her  veins  flowed  the 
impulses  which  had  made  life  so  bright- 
ly worth  while  to  the  authors  of  her 
own  existence.  Yet  when  at  three 
o'clock  she  crept  wearily  to  bed  she  had 
resolved  to  marry  Mr.  Theophilus  Port- 


man. 


IL     THB  JIBBZ  DICK80XB. 


I  did  not  seem  to  have  closed  my  eyes 
when  mother  brought  a  telegram  and  a 
mourning  face  into  my  room.  Aunt 
Elaty  was  dead,  and  only  thirty-five 
years  old ;  how  could  it  be  the  strong 
young  farmer's  wife  had  not  lived  out 
half  her  days  ?  It  seemed  sorrowlully 
strange,  and  when  at  nine  o'clock  moth- 
er and  I  took  our  seats  in  the  train  for 
a  long  day's  journey  to  the  house  of 
mourning  we  were  full  of  sad  conjec- 
ture. We  had  not  been  very  familiar 
with  the  lives  of  these  relatives,  no  one 
seeming  to  be  in  the  way  of  writing  let- 
ters at  the  DickBons,  and  aunt  Katy, 


with  her  five  little  girls  and  no  servant, 
being  too  overwhelmed  with  work,  for 
much  visiting  or  receiving  visits. 

"  I  suppose  you  never  conceived  how 
much  there  really  was  of  your  aunt 
Katy,"  my  mother  remarked  as  we  sped 
along.  I  never  had;  I  had  last  seen 
her  when  I  was  about  seventeen,  and 
was  full  of  notions  of  sentimental  refine- 
ments which  her  appearance  and  avoca- 
tions greatly  shocked.  In  common  with 
the  other  housewives  of  her  region,  we 
had  found  her  arrayed  in  a  calico  dress 
just  below  the  knee,  and  hideous  pan- 
talets of  the  same.  She  did  not  see  the 
advantage,  she  said,  of  dragging  a  long 
calico  tail  after  her  every  step  she  went, 
and  she  could  not  possibly  do  the  work 
she  did  in  one.  That  seemed  true 
enough.  Every  incumbrance  of  toilet 
needed  to  be  put  out  of  the  way  to  en- 
able her  to  make  the  butter  and  cheese 
from  fifteen  cows,  weave  carpet  and 
cloth  for  home  use,  bear  and  rear  five 
children,  wash  and  cook  and  scrub  for 
them  and  her  husband  and  his  parents 
who  lived  with  them.  All  these  things 
she  had  done  without  any  assistance 
whatever  for  fifteen  years,  from  the  very 
day  of  her  marriage,  when  her  bridal 
tour  had  been  a  jolt  of  fifty  miles  over 
the  stony  hUls  to  the  bare,  paintless 
house  where  she  to-day  lay  dead. " 

It  seemed  to  me  a  hard  record  for  a 
life  blessed  with  the  brightest  love ;  but 
mother's  next  words  gave  me  a  fUrther 
hint. 

**  Eaty  really  had  the  most  ambition 
and  imagination  of  any  of  us.  If  she 
could  have  married  an  educated  man 
who  helped  her  along  as  your  father 
did  me,  she  would  have  turned  her 
energies  to  other  directions  than  the 
scrubbing-brush,  and  been  a  really  bril- 
liant woman.  I  suppose  she  did  the 
best  she  could ;  but  it  has  always  seem- 
ed to  me  as  if  her  match  had  been  a 
dreadful  mistake,  though  I  hope  she 
never  found  it  out  for  herself;  Jabes 
Dickson  was  in  no  way  her  equal,  and 
the  children  are  all  just  like  him ;  not 
a  Marriott  in  the  uihole  lot" 

Not  one.  When  we  arrived,  there 
were  the  t^e  chubby  faces,  variously 


678 


Putnam's  Magazine. 


[JoMi 


modified,  but  all  with  the  round,  tm- 
meaning  eyes  and  heavy  features  of  the 
house  of  Dickson.  The  father,  after 
remarking  that  it  was  a  miserable 
night,  made  no  further  effort  at  conver- 
sation,  and  mother  and  I  went  alone  to 
the  chamber  of  the  dead. 

It  moved  me  as  it  had  never  done  in 
life,  this  noble  Marriott  face,  with 
•very  plebeian  care  swept  out  of  it  by 
death.  Unconsciously,  I  stood  there 
with  a  longing  to  read  the  riddle  of  her 
life.  Tired  she  looked — ^too  tired  to 
bear  even  the  weight  of  her  hands  on 
her  breast — ^it  was  my  fancy,  and  I  laid 
them  softly  by  her  side.  What  was  it 
had  loosed  the  yitals  of  her  strong  life 
that  she  lay  hero  dead  in  her  prime, 
leaving  her  girls  for  other  hands  to 
train  to  womanhood  and  worth?  I 
could  not  tell,  and  I  turned  away  at 
last  to  the  little  room  adjoining,  where  a 
neighbor,  low.-toned,  but  voluble,  was 
giving  mother  the  particulars  of  "  Miss 
Dickson^s  last  sickness." 

"  She  jest  worked  herself  to  death. 
Miss  Hayne,  that  was  all.  The  way  she 
has  been  goin*  on  the  last  ^ye  years 
r'al'y  don't  seem  natural.  Jabcz  Dickson 
he  meant  well ;  but  he  was  brought  up, 
you  know,  to  think  there  waVt  nothiu' 
in  this  world  worth  tliinkin'  of  but 
work  and  scrapin'  together.  And  it 
never  'peared  to  'cur  to  him  that  any 
body  could  overdo.  Every  thing  kind 
of  come  on  to  once  this  summer.  They 
was  puttin'  up  the  big  bam  and  board- 
in' all  the  hands.  The  last  child  ought 
to  have  been  weaned,  but  it  was  kind 
of  ailin',  and  she  let  it  hang  on  for  fear 
of  hnrtin'  it.  Her  rest  was  broke  with 
it  nights,  though  she  never  got  through 
in  any  kind  of  season  to  go  to  bed. 
Well,  the  upshot  of  it  was  she  took  a 
kind  o'  low  fever  and  went  right  out  o' 
her  mind.  We  couldn't  keep  her  on  the 
bed,  nor  do  nothin'  with  her.  She  jest 
roved  'round  the  house  talkin'  the 
strangest  kind,  till  finally  she  got  too 
weak  for  that  and  laid  down  and  died 
without  ever  comin'  to  herself  again." 

Could  any  story  be  more  mournful  ? 
I  did  not  wonder  my  mother  wept  so 
sorely ;  but  I  set  myself  to  the  problem 


of  why  aunt  Katy  worked  herself  to 
death. 

In  the  first  place,  she  had  posaeued 
an  inherited  capacity  for  a  large  and 
generous  cultivation,  and  this  had  never 
been  brought  out,  but  sorely  repressed— 
repressed  with  a  pertinacity  that  seem- 
ed painful  to  consider,  as  I  made  some 
study  of  Jabez  Dickson.  Without  the 
native  advantage  of  a  mind,  he  hid 
read  nothing,  heard  nothing,  seen  noth- 
ing, and  consequently  knew  nothing. 
A  less  improving  and  elevating  com- 
panion for  any  woman  could  hardly 
have  been  found. 

The  worst  thing  to  contend  with, 
however,  was  his  small,  pitiful  pemij- 
wisdom.  He  seemed  possessed  by  a 
demon  of  parsimony  that  watched  over 
every  expenditure,  and  restricting  tlie 
family  surroundings  to  the  barest  nec- 
essaries, carefully  shut  out  every  avenue 
of  culture  that  might  have  come  from 
the  proceeds  of  all  those  weariful  chnni- 
ings,  had  aunt  Eaty  been  encouraged  to 
follow  her  own  instincts  in  any  single 
thing.  I  remember  overhearing  him 
hint  at  wasteful  extravagance,  and  seri- 
ously predict  the  poorhousc,  because 
she  asked  him  to  have  the  molasscs-jog 
filled  and  to  buy  a  pound  of  raisins  1 

Then  her  children  came.  3Ir.  Tenny- 
son talks  very  prettily  about  this,  and 
promises  that  *^  baby-lips  shall  give  her 
rest,'*  who  joins  her  lot  to  one  with 
"  the  straitened  forehead  of  a  fool."  He 
tells  her  *^  the  child  shall  clothe  the  fath- 
er with  a  dcamess  not  his  own,"  be- 
cause **  half  is  hers  and  half  is  his."  Why, 
with  aunt  Eaty  that  was  the  very  sting 
of  it !  The  eldest  was  fourteen  when 
she  died,  and  as  I  looked  at  her  and  the 
two  next  in  age,  I  saw  how  their  moth- 
er must  have  given  up  any  hope  she 
might  have  had  of  an  outlet  of  the 
music  dying  in  herself,  through  them. 
They  reminded  me  of  nothing  so  much 
as  a  lot  of  pretty  sleek  young  heifers. 
There  was  in  them  an  almost  entire  ab- 
sence of  all  that  restless  yearning  and 
inquiry  which  marks  every  mind  that 
grows  strongly.  They  would  sit  demure 
on  their  crickets  and  knit  socks  for  sale, 
without  an  apparent  thought  beyond 


1870.] 


A  DoMSSTio  Romance. 


679 


their  occupation  and  the  approbation 
of  the  parental  Jabez. 

Shall  you  ever  forgive  me  if  I  say  I 
saw  in  imagination  five  little  Portmans, 
with  white  eyelashes  and  rubber  shoes, 
demonstrating  that  two  and  two  make 
four  on  five  little  slates,  while  papa 
looked  over  the  price-lists  in  the  news- 
paper ? 

I  looked  back  upon  that  long  dull 
grind  of  fifteen  years,  and  saw  how  the 
prospect  of  rest  and  reward  in  her 
heavy  toil  must  have  surely  died  out  of 
aunt  Katy^s  heart,  and  did  not  any 
longer  wonder  in  the  least  that  body 
and  mind  gave  way  together. 

We  laid  her  away  under  the  briers  in 
a  graveyard  bare  and  bleak  as  her 
life  had  been,  and  I  turned  away  with  a 
sore  heartache  for  her,  but  my  own  les- 
son learned. 

The  little  heifers  were  much  pleased 
with  the  dignity  of  their  first  veils,  but 
had  not  imagination  enough  to  feel 
their  loss  very  keenly.  As  to  uncle 
Jabez,  my  mother  departed  with  burn- 
ing indignation  in  her  soul  at  him.  We 
had  been  there  but  three  days  in  all,  yet 
in  bemoaning  his  own  desolate  condi- 
tion he  had  contrived  to  hint  how  im- 
possible it  was  for  a  man  to  get  along 
without  a  com-pa-nion.  It  is  enough  to 
say  that  in  seven  months  more  he  found 
a  new  "  womcm,^'  as  he  always  called  a 
wife.  A  female  with  red  hair,  who 
smoked  a  pipe,  was  chosen  to  replace 
Catherine  Vernon  Marriott 

On  our  journey  homeward,  without 
^ving  her  a  hint  of  my  final  drift,  I 
t^ld  my  mother  all  the  theory  of  aunt 
Elaty,  and  when  she  had  assented  thor- 
oughly, "  made  the  application  "  to  my- 
self and  Mr.  Portman. 

My  lot  in  life,  as  his  wife,  I  told  her, 
however  different  in  detail,  would  bo 
founded  upon  as  real  a  mistake  as  aunt 
Katy's  marriage  had  been.  There  was 
nothing  in  him  that  could  enlarge  my 
life — ^I  did  not  want  or  need  him. 

Mr.  Portman  promptly  reported  him- 
self and  his  offer  upon  my  return.  After 
the  first  instant  of  morticed  surprise,  I 
saw  he  found  consolation  in  the  convic- 
tion that  I  was  a  Cool.    And  with  this 


comfortable  reflection  the  arctic  shoes 
crossed  our  threshold  never  more  to 
return. 

Had  I  been  a  fool  ?  Sometimes  it 
halt  seemed  so,  outwardly.  Fixed  sala- 
ries did  not  expand  as  the  great  woe 
of  the  war  deepened,  and  every  neces- 
sary of  life  trebled  in  price.  In  vain 
we  reduced  our  domestic  staff  to  one 
small  colored  youth,  from  a  public 
charity,  who  made  a  feint  of  going  er- 
rands and  waiting  while  we  did  the 
work.  Our  future  ability  to  "  keep  up 
appearances''  was  becoming  involved 
in  real  doubt,  when  our  old  maiden 
cousin,  Harriet  Lane — ^rich,  literary,  and 
lonesome — proposed  that  Jocelynda 
should  come  and  spend  the  winter  with 
her.  This  was  the  eldest  Miss  Hayne— 
myself.  No  need  to  say  how  joyfully 
this  proposal  was  accepted,  nor  how  I 
acquiesced  in,  if  I  did  not  agree  with, 
her  other  proposition  that  my  company 
was  to  be  enjoyed  upon  the  condition 
that  she  might  furnish  my  winter  outfit 

III.     MRS.  TAN  HATTA3I^8  COOK. 

The  journey  of  three  hundred  miles 
from  our  inland  town  completed,  I  stood 
at  the  door  of  Miss  Lane's  tall  city-house 
and  rang,  while  the  hackman  brought 
up  my  trunk.  After  ten  minutes'  wait- 
ing and  pulling  the  bell  I  stepped  back, 
and  looking  up  at  the  house,  found  with 
a  chill  surprise  every  shutter  closed. 
The  driver  seeing  the  state  of  affitirs,  re- 
placed my  trunk,  and  we  drove  straight 
to  the  business-place  of  Miss  Lane's 
bachelor  brother,  Mr.  Josiah.  There  I 
found  his  partner,  and  learned  from  him 
the  astounding  fact  that  Mr.  Lane  had 
sailed  for  England  with  hb  sister  a  week 
ago.  The  gentleman  seeing  my  entire 
surprise,  explained  that  this  departure 
had  been  quite  unanticipated  by  Mr. 
Lane  twe  weeks  before,  but  business 
rendering  it  desirable,  he  had  taken  the 
opportunity  for  the  year's  vacation 
abroad,  long  projected  by  himself  and 
Miss  Lane. 

The  letter  in  which  Miss  Lane  ap- 
prised mo  of  this  sudden  change  in  her 
plans  had  not  reached  me  when  I  left, 
and  in  fact  never  arrived.    She  told  me 


680 


Putnak'b  Magazine. 


[Jiin% 


long  after  that  on  her  retam  she  had 
found  it  behind  a  sideboard,  on  which 
it  had  been  hastily  placed  to  be  mailed 
among  others,  in  the  confusion  of  de- 
parture. 

Once  more  I  took  refuge  in  the  hack, 
and  reaching  a  hotel,  as  eyeoing  came 
on,  and  a  little  bewildered  and  a  great 
deal  disappointed,  sat  down  to  plan 
what  next. 
.  It  did  not  seem  possible  for  me  to  go 
back  to  that  oyerburdcned  home. 

Lack  of  opportunity,  as  well  as  our 
social  position,  had  always  made  paid 
occupation  there  seem  out  of  the  ques- 
tion, ,Was  it  equally  so  here?  By 
morning  I  had  decided  no ;  and  as  a 
result  the  daily  papers  set  forth  "  Miss 
Martha  Jocelyn,"  as  open  to  engagement 
as  teacher  or  governess,  with  due  accom- 
plishments and  references.  I  wuted  a 
whole  week  for  applications,  and  not 
one  came,  while  my  slender  means  grew 
daily  slenderer,  till  only  enough  was 
left  to  take  me  back  to  my  home. 

It  was  a  long  ride  in  a  street-car  to 
the  d6p6t  next  morning,  and  as  we  rat- 
tled along,  I  was  attracted  to  the  talk 
of  a  woman  beside  me,  who  was  confid- 
ing to  a  friend  yarious  particulars  con- 
cerning the  cook's  place  she  was  about 
leaving.  I  was  struck  by  the  amount 
of  the  wages  compared  with  the  light- 
ness of  the  services ;  but  this,  she  re- 
marked, '*  could  be  had  in  other  places 
where  the  folks  were  not  so  dreadful 
pertikeler." 

People  can  think  a  great  deal  in  a 
short  space  sometimes,  and  in  the  fifteen 
minutes  before  the  car  stopped  to  de- 
posit Mrs.  Van  Hattan's  cook  at  her 
mistress'  door,  I  had  gone  through  a 
course  of  reasoning  which  resulted  in 
my  alighting  at  the  same  spot.  Ui^ng 
housework  upon  women,  rather  than 
teaching  or  sewing,  I  knew  was  a  favor- 
ite modem  topic,  but  brought  face  to 
face  with  it  here,  how  I  shrank.  Miss 
Jocelynda  Hayne  a  cook !  impossible  ! 

And  yet  the  time  had  come  when 
father,  carefully  as  we  had  concealed  it 
from  him,  could  no  longer  support  us 
all  at  home.  The  question  resolved  it- 
self finally  into  two  alternatives:  go 


home  and  recall  Thcophilus  Portmio, 
as  I  knew  I  could  in  a  moment,  or  seek 
employment  as  a  cook.  The  forms 
course  would  close  once  for  all  thepige 
of  my  life's  music ;  the  latter,  thoogh 
for  the  present  grievous,  might  open  to 
brighter  possibilities  in  the  future. 
Then  I  remembered  Katy  Maniott'i 
face,  which  had  answered  back  mj 
yearning  i)ity  with  that  look  of  **  Too 
late ! — ^the  mischiefs  done  !  "  and  it  re- 
solved me  as  nothing  else  could. 

The  area-door  had  scarcely  closed 
after  the  portly  form  of  the  cook,  when 
I  rang  at  it,  and  asked  for  Mrs.  Van  Hit- 
tan,  and  presently  was  sent  for  into  the 
presence  of  an  entirely  majestic  dame 
in  regulation  heavy  dead-black  silk  and 
laces.  She  waited  calmly  for  my  errud, 
which  I  stated,  with  a  sort  of  stonj 
courage.  Whether  she  was  surprised  bj 
my  appearance,  coupled  with  the  re- 
quest for  a  place  as  her  cook,  I  do  not 
know,  and  never  have  known.  True,  I 
was  plainness  itself,  in  my  old  wate^ 
proof  and  brown  straw  hat ;  but  if  ihe 
saw  *^  a  difierencc,"  she  did  not  show  it 
She  put  me  through  a  close  catechism 
as  to  my  culinary  acquirements,  to  which 
I  gave  straight  enough  answers ;  for  Mrs. 
Haync's  daughter  had  prepared  the 
same  dishes  for  her  guests  as  graced  the 
table  of  Mrs.  Van  Hattan.  3Iv  name  I 
gave  as  Martha  Jocelyn,  and  referred  to 
Mrs.  Alfred  Hayne,  for  whom  I  had 
worked  for  several  years,  and  was  now 
leaving  only  in  hope  of  higher  wages  in 
the  city.  In  pressing  need  of  a  cook, 
Mrs.  Van  llattan  engaged  Martha  Joce- 
lyn, and  graciously  permitted  her  to 
come  at  once,  pending  her  letter  of  in- 
quiry to  Mrs.  Hayne. 

I  went  to  the  depot,  to  change  the 
destination  of  my  trunk,  and  that  after- 
noon, in  Mrs.  Van  Hattan's  respectable 
attic,  took  from  it  pen  and  paper,  and 
mixed  with  a  letter  to  my  mother  some 
very  salt  tears.  I  marked  it  with  a  con- 
spicuous "  Private,"  for  my  strong,  com- 
mon-sensible mother  was  the  one  and 
the  only  one  to  confide  in.  Announcing 
what  I  could  do  for  myself,  I  left  it  to 
her  to  decide  whether  I  should  stay  and 
do  it,  or  come  directly  home.    Explain- 


1870.] 


A  DOMESTIO  KOMANGB. 


681 


ing  cousin  Lane's  unlucky  aeparture,  I 
reminded  her  that  our  friends  in  general 
had  only  a  yague  idea  that  I  had  gone 
to  spend  the  winter  witli  a  relative,  and 
need  never  know  that  I  had  not  reached 
the  safe  oblivion  of  my  destination. 
Need  father  and  the  girls  know  it,  even  ? 
Indeed,  it  was  a  main  feature  of  my  plan, 
that  it  should  be  a  secret  from  all  but 
mother.  The  sorrow  and  bitterness  to 
father,  and  the  spoiling  the  enjoyment 
of  the  dear  young  sisters,  was  not  to  be 
contemplated. 

In  four  days  two  letters  came  to  the 
Van  Hattan  mansion.  One  the  lady  of 
the  house  found  an  excellent "  charac- 
ter "  for  "  the  young  woman  Martha 
Jocelyn,"  as  she  was  styled  by  the  Mrs. 
Hayne  who  wrote.  The  other  was  for 
cook,  read  in  her  attic  with  tears  proba- 
bly not  half  so  bitter  as  had  hidden  the 
paper  often  from  the  sight  of  the  moth- 
er writer.  Yes,  my  mother  approved,  re- 
luctantly, yet  sincerely,  from  the  hard 
needs  of  the  case ;  and  I  read  carefUlly 
her  wise  advice  to  be  always  resolutely 
"  cook,"  and  never  by  the  least  assertion 
of  myself  impose  on  my  employers  the 
irksome  courtesy  due  to  "  better  days." 

There  seemed  little  danger  of  such  a 
chance  coming.  The  Van  Hattans  scarce- 
ly glanced  at  the  new  cook  as  she  help- 
ed serve  the  dinner.  You  have  all  seen 
people  like  them.  Without  one  particle 
of  talent,  or  other  than  ordinary  acquire- 
ments, such  as  they  take  unquestioned 
precedence  everywhere  from  old  family 
tradition  and  inherited  fine  noses.  The 
paternal  Van  Hattan  was  a  business  man, 
and  more  American  than  the  rest,  who 
gave  their  whole  minds  to  keeping  up 
the  family  state.  There  were  Misses  Hen- 
rietta and  Beatrice,  and  Mr.  Diedrich 
Knickerbocker  Van  Hattan,  all  tolera- 
ble, though  weakened  copies  of  the 
grand  dame,  their  mother.  There  was, 
in  fact,  about  the  young  gentleman  that 
suggestion  of  feebleness  common  to  such 
youth  of  our  country,  whose  Btrongest 
discipline,  mental  and  bodily,  is  pkying 
billiards  and  studying  the  possibilities 
of  the  whisker.  To  but  one  Van  Hat- 
tan I  became,  or  wished  to  be,  more 
than  *'  cook.'^  The  little  lonesome  seven- 


year  old  Suydam,  who  bored  his  rela- 
tives and  tormented  the  servants,  seem- 
ed to  find  the  one  rest  for  the  sole  of 
his  foot  at  cook  Jocelyn's  side.  Perhaps 
I  might  have  become  convinced  that  my 
life  there  was  totally  unworthy  of  my 
powers,  if  it  had  not  been  for  this  little 
lad ;  but  he  became  so  truly  mine,  that 
it  seemed  a  right  good  work  and  mis- 
sion to  work  for  him  and  the  manhood 
to  come. 

You  will  want  some  plain  details  of 
my  life.  I  had  enough  skill  and  fore- 
thought at  the  start  to  lighten  drudgery 
by  no  means  heavy  in  itself.  There  were 
plenty  of  servants ;  mine  was  the  one 
branch  of  the  tabic,  and  I  never  found 
a  trace  of  the  particularity  which  had 
offended  my  predecessor. 

The  books  in  the  plainer  bindings  I 
asked  and  gained  leave  to  read.  Little 
Suy^s  company  made  feasible  many  a 
ramble  I  should  hardlv  have  liked  to' 
take  alone ;  he  constantly  declined  the^ 
formal  drive  in  the  elegant  barouche, 
saying,  "  I'm  going  to  the  Park  with 
cook  I " 

But  oh,  the  difference  in  the  life  of 
Martha  Jocelyn  and  that  of  Jocelynda 
Hayne  !  Yet  does  not  Sartor  Kesartus 
tell  us  "  we  may  give  up  happiness  and 
instead  thereof  find  blessedness?"  I 
thought  I  had  it,  especially  after  moth- 
er's letters.  And  then  the  things  I 
bought  and  sent  home  to  the  girls ! 
Cooks'  wardrobe  need  little  replenishing. 
I  wrote  them  long  letters  about  the  city, 
and  they  thought,  dear  simple  things, 
their  presents  were  all  the  overflowings 
of  cousin  Lane's  good  will  to  sister  Jo. 

The  long  months  passed,  and  my  po- 
sition in  the  Van  Hattan's  family  remain- 
ed apparently  the  same  as  the  day  I  en- 
tered. I  was  their  servant — that  fixed 
the  gulf.  They  saw  and  desired  to  see 
in  me  no  fturther  merit  than  honesty  and 
nice  cookery.  That  was  just  enough ; 
I  asked  no  more ;  but  was  it  not  a  little 
forlorn  to  mark  those  young  folks  going 
in  and  out  before  me,  talking  their  mer- 
ly  talks,  while  cook,  who  was  "  to  the 
manor  bom,"  must  keep  her  lips  sealed 
and  silent  t  I  confess  I  entered  upon 
my  second  year  of  service  with  bitter 


1682 


PCTNAM^S  MaOAZINE. 


IJOM, 


tears.  If  I  could  only  have  gone  home 
on  a  yisit,  even,  it  would  have  been  less 
hard;  but  how  account  to  the  sisters 
three  for  the  leanness  of  my  wardrobe 
when  theirs  had  been  supplied  ?  The 
way  before  me  was  growing  very,  very 
long. 

IV.     BSXDXn  TO  TTCEIR  KXCBLLBlCCIEd. 

I  have  all  this  time  neglected  to  men- 
tion grandpapa  Van  Hattan,  a  personage 
whose  own  careful  dignity,  old  age  and 
infirmities  never  tempted  him  to  forget. 
His  son  and  the  family  paid  him  formal 
visits,  at  stated  intervals,  in  the  massive- 
ly furnished  old-fashioned  rooms  he  oc- 
cupied, and,  taking  it  for  granted  his 
man  Thomas  attended  to  all  his  whims, 
troubled  themselves  no  further.  And 
yet,  ailing  and  failing,  he  needed  care 
and  sympathy  almost  as  much  as  a  child, 
and  he  was  more  forlorn  in  his  solitary 
state  than  the  poorest  old  soul  gossiping 
at  the  one  fireside  with  his  grandchil- 
dren clamoring  at  his  knees.  Of  course, 
to  knowingly  accept  this  sympathy  from 
a  servant  would  have  been  impossible  ; 
but  though  it  was  not  in  my  proyincc,  I 
fell  into  the  habit  of  giving  him  little 
attentions  money  certainly  never  bought. 
He  came  to  miss  me  if  I  did  not  accom- 
pany the  invalid's  dishes  I  prepared; 
and  sending  forme  on  sometiifling  pre* 
text,  would  keep  me  fussing  about  him 
as  long  as  my  other  work  would  allow 
me  to  remain. 

He  liked  to  have  bright  little  Suy 
about;  but  he  only  fancied  grandpa's 
dull  old  rooms  when  I  w^as  there.  I 
hardly  know  by  what  imperceptible  de- 
grees I  became  sufficiently  conversant 
with  the  old  man's  mind  to  talk  and 
read  to  him — always,  of  course,  with 
the  deference  due  to  the  immense  dis- 
tance between  a  Van  Hattan  and  a  cook. 
The  footing  implied  was  always  that  of 
a  trusty  servant,  allowed  access  to  the 
invalid's  room  as  reward  of  merit.  I 
sometimes  thought  I  should  have  liked 
more  time  to  myself;  but,  after  all,  it 
might  have  made  me  morbid  and  more 
lonesome.  As  it  was,  Suy  was  for  the 
most  part  inevitable;  and  as  grandpa 
Van  Hattan  was  in  some  respects  almost 


in  his  second  childhood,  I  really  aSaa- 
tained  them  together  very  well 

Certxdnly,  if  my  life  were  monotoDon^ 
there  was  to  be  some  variety  in  the 
routine.  By  the  time  winter  was  oto, 
we  had  a  new  invalid.  A  gay  setsoi 
of  party-going,  late  hours  and  petir 
dissipations  proved  too  much  for  }t. 
Diedrich,  and  he  fell  ill  with  a  tedioos 
fever.  The  long  days  of  early  Spring 
found  him  confined  to  the  house,  a  moit 
resourceless  and  miserable  mortal  Muh 
ma  and  the  girls  had  more  importint 
work  than  humoring  his  whims,  nd 
the  servants  kept  out  of  his  way,  be  wm 
80  terribly  cross.  When  he  sent  former 
to  describe  the  fantastic  dishes  he  wm- 
ed  prepared,  he  was  as  rude  as  the  Tai 
Hattan  breeding  would  allow  him  to 
be.  I  did  not  care,  but  repairing  the 
housemaids^  neglects  in  the  room,  tried 
to  give  things  a  more  heartening  shape; 
and  silent  when  no  reply  was  needed,  I 
answered  when  I  must,  as  pleasantly  ts 
if  the  invalid  were  all  heart  could  irish, 
instead  of  a  cross  young  spoony. 

Mrs.  Browning  says,  "  Was  never  & 
lament  begun  which  ere  it  endeth  smta 
but  one ;  "  yet  I  certainly  had  no  idea 
as  I  sat  in  grandpa  Van  Hattan^s  room 
one  weary  rainy  day,  with  the  litUe 
lad  at  my  knee,  how  plainly  my  low 
enough  voice  was  floating  into  the  room 
where  the  younger  invalid  lay  solitary 
and  sad. 

I  had  taken  up  one  of  the  true,  simple 
strains  breathed  up  out  of  the  doing 
and  enduring  heart  of  the  war ;  wound- 
ed sore,  it  may  be  to  death,  the  won 
soldier  sighs, 

"  My  half-day*8  work  I9  done. 
And  if  His  all  my  pnrt, 
I  give  my  patient  Ood 
My  patient  heart, 

**  And  grasp  his  banner  still. 
Though  all  the  blue  be  dim ; 
Those  stripes,  no  loan  than  stare. 
Lead  after  Him  I" 

Of  how  different  a  life,  of  what  diffid- 
ent aims  and  regrets,  these  words  must 
have  told  the  idler  and  pleasure-seeker 
who  heard  them.  The  edmple  rhyme  be 
never  would  have  noticed  in  health  con- 
veyed a  rebuke  that  made  him  ashamed. 


1870.] 


A  DOMXSTIO  BOMANOE. 


ess 


He  knew  he  had  not  even  done  the  half- 
day's  work,  nor  desired  to  do  it,  but 
had  turned  away  from  the  noble  banner 
when  its  splendors  trailed,  and  were  in 
Bore  need  of  strong,  upbearing  hands. 

Buy,  pattering  by  his  door  a  moment 
after,  was  called  in,  but  refused  to  stay. 
He  was  going  for  the  book  cook  pro- 
mised to  finish  before  supper.  "Oh 
dear,"  groaned  he  at  his  wits^-end,  for  a 
resource  from  long  dull  thoughts ;  "  sup- 
pose you  let  tliis  wearisome  cook  come 
and  read  to  you  here."  Cook  did  not 
want  to ;  but  grandpa  dozed  peaceftilly, 
and  she  pitied  the  frightful  tedium  of 
this  convalescence,  and  went ;  sitting 
down,  with  quiet  sense  of  humor,  in 
true  servant-fashion  on  a  hard  chair  by 
the  door.  Buy  dragged  up  a  sumptuous 
ottoman,  and  with  his  head  on  his  knee 
listened  to  the  wonderful  adventures 
and  ever-perfect  good  fortune  of  Mayne 
Reid's  dwellers  in  the  desert-home. 

This  book  ended,  the  invalid  held 
forth  his  own  novel,  and  Martha  Jocelyn 
read  till  the  stoppage  of  the  Van  Hat- 
tan  chariot  at  the  door  warned  her  alike 
of  the  situation  and  of  the  tea  to  get. 

V.     A  DECLARATION,  ItOT  OF  WAB. 

Dicdrich's  eyes  were  too  weak  to  ad- 
mit of  reading  for  himself;  Beatrice 
dozed  after  the  first  six  pages ;  and  the 
state  of  his  affairs  grew  so  desperate, 
that  his  mother,  apprehensive  of  being 
called  on  for  personal  sacrifice,  bethought 
herself  of  having  heard  Martha  Jocelyn 
reading  quite  decently  to  Buy,  and  pro- 
posed her  being  called  in.  I  felt  that 
this  honor,  not  coming  in  the  range  of 
my  cook's  contract,  might  reasonably  be 
declined,  and  I  felt  sorely  tempted  to 
decline.  When  I  did  assent,  it  was  with 
the  one  purpose  of  emphasizing  a  sub- 
stantial truth  or  two  to  a  youth  who 
needed  such  bracing  exceedingly.  Young 
"Mr,  Van  Ilattanhad  no  relish  for  litera- 
ture containing  truths,  and  after  a  washy 
novel  or  two,  I  quietly  let  him  see 
that  cook's  reading  could  not  be  com- 
manded like  a  beef  tea,  and  must  be  on 
condition  of  a  choice  in  the  selections. 
Bather  than  be  bereft  of  all  resource,  he 
acquiesced,  and  we  finally  became  a  trio, 


prosperous  with  the  wealth  of  many 
pleasant  hours — ^these  native  Van  Hat- 
tans  and  their  cook. 

But,  after  all,  there  was  no  real  wis- 
dom in  these  proceedings,  and  I  might 
have  seen  it,  had  I  not  rated  one  thing 
too  high  and  another  too  low.  The 
overrated  thing  was  the  Van  Hattan 
pride  of  this  member  of  a  family,  who, 
were  their  cook  as  lovely  as  the  beggar- 
maid  Copbetua  espoused  from  his 
throne,  would  cast  no  second  glance  at 
her.  The  thing  underrated  was  my  be- 
ing constantly  in  the  society  of  a  youth 
whose  apparently  superior  social  advan- 
tage was  subtly  balanced  by  my  own 
better  mind  and  really  complete  equal- 
ity. For  as  I  sat  there  I  was  not,  after 
all,  Martha  Jocelyn  but,  spite  of  prim- 
med hair  and  CiUico  dress,  just  Joce- 
lynda  Hayne. 

Affectation,  as  it  would  be,  not  to  ad- 
mit my  leading  nature  of  the  two,  I 
truly  did  not  know  how  fast  he  was 
learning  to  follow.  Nor,  I  suppose,  did 
he.  No  doubt  it  took  more  than  a  day 
for  him  to  fling  "  the  claims  of  long 
descent "  to  the  winds.  Nor  do  I  be- 
lieve he  ever  fully  did  it  till,  in  the 
duskening  glow  of  a  late  sunset,  I  read 
to  him  Gail  Hamilton's  "Men  and 
Women."  My  own  experience  may  have 
led  me  to  emphasize  the  exhortation 
to  girls  to  withhold  always  the  step 
which  can  make  it  possible  '^  to  exclaim 
more  bitterly  than  the  dame  of  the 
baUad,"— 

•*  Yesterday  I  waa  JjBidj  O'Lynn ; 
To-day  I  am  John  o*  the  scale's  wife." 

I  suppose  I  looked  enthusiastic.  At 
any  rate,  it  seemed  to  flash  into  his 
mind  that  here  would  be  a  fitting  chance 
to  reverse  the  fate  and  lift  me  from  my 
John  o'  the  scales  sphere  to  the  height 
of  Lady  O'Lynn — ^Van  Hattan !  At  any 
rate,  be  rose,  and  taking  the  steps  be- 
tween us,  lifted  my  hand  to  his  lips. 
And  so  doing,  closed  the  final  page  of 
the  "  readings  of  the  cook ; "  for  com- 
prehending and  not  approving,!  rose  in 
an  instant  and  left  the  room,  starting 
up  Buy,  who  appeared  to  be  sleeping 
beside  me. 


684 


PUTNAM^B  MaQAZINS. 


[Jb», 


Needless  to  say,  I  did  not  enter  the 
sitting-room  again ;  and  I  so  contrived, 
that  Mr.  Diedrich  could  only  have  seen 
me  in  the  kitchen  among  tlie  servants. 
The  knowledge  that  he  was  constantly 
on  the  watch  to  speak  with  me  alone,  did 
not  add  to  my  comfort,  even  had  not 
the  general  peace  been  presently  under- 
mined by  the  little  Guy  Fawkes  of  a 
Suy. 

"  Tliat  young  woman  has  too  many 
airs  for  a  cook,"  I  heard  Miss  Henrietta 
remark  one  day,  as  I  arranged  the  des- 
sert in  the  china  closet.  "When  you 
give  her  an  order,  she  will  listen  and 
answer  so  tranquilly  as  if  she  were  hear- 
ing your  A  B  C's.  If  she  were  to  blush 
and  seem  a  little  fidgetted  now  and  then 
it  would  seem  quite  as  befitting." 

Diedrich  uttered  a  suppressed 
"  Pooh  1 "  which  set  off  Suy :  "  I  say 
cook  is  nice — just  as  nice  as  she  can  be ; 
I  know  brother  Diedrich  thinks  so  too, 
for  I  saw  him  kissing  her  hand." 

Had  Suy  announced  his  witness  of  a 
murder,  he  could  hardly  have  rendered 
his  family  more  painfully  speechless. 
Diedrich  turned  flagrantly  red,  and 
with  a  muttered  "  Dem  the  boy,"  lefk 
the  room.  Mrs.  Van  Hattan  knew  that 
was  a  passed  age  where  her  ancestors 
kissed  pretty  servants,  who  took  it  for 
compliment.  In  a  time  when  tailors 
were  Presidents,  who  could  feel  even  a 
Van  Hattan  safe  in  kissing  a  cook's 
hand  ?  I  received  no  warning,  but  felt 
myself  watched,  till  in  spite  of  all  the 
day  came.  Rcadiug  one  aflemoon  out 
of  a  quaint  old  favorite  of  grandpa  Van 
Hattan's,  my  even  voice  lulled  him  final- 
ly to  sleep.  I  lingered  to  finish  a  page 
to  myself  before  going  down.  In  this 
interval,  imperceived  by  me  in  the  wan- 
ing light,  and  unheard  on  the  soft  car- 
pet, young  Van  Hattan  came  in— came 
straight  to  the  high-armed  chair  where 
I  sat,  and  kneeling  upon  the  stool  at  my 
feet,  cut  me  off  from  escape. 

"I  toiU  hear,"  said  he,  earnestly, 
"whether  you  avoid  me  because  you 
fear  my  intentions  are  not  worthy,  or 
because  you  decline  to  listen  in  any 
ease." 

"  In  any  case,  Mr.  Van  Hattan,  they 


cannot  be  worthy.  The  eldest  son  of  i 
family  like  your^s  has  no  right  to  inffia 
on  it  a  marriage  they  would  r^ud  i 
keen  disgrace." 

"  Dem  my  family,"  be  returned,  Mtt> 
talini-like;  "I  want  vou  for  mnd£ 
You  can  make  me  more  than  they  viO 
ever  do ;  more  of  a  man  than  I  daH 
ever  be  without  yoa.  You  are  the  fink 
woman  I  have  ever  loved,  or  mean  to 
love." 

The  poor  fellow  took  my  hand  vd 
pressed  it  fondly,  beggingly,  in  bott 
his.  Was  it  not  tempting  ?  A  loTiiig,if 
not  a  very  strong  man^s  heart ;  t  soi 
shelter  in  a  beautiful  home  firom  thi 
world's  rough  work.  It  may  haye  look- 
ed so  to  lonely  me  for  an  instant;  bit 
it  was  really  only  the  Theophiliu  Fort- 
man  question  over  again,  and  alter  om 
moment's  thought,  I  answered : 

"  For  the  reason  given,  and  for  othn 
I  need  not  give,  with  all  gratitude  aad 
respect,  I  decline." 

In  vain  he  urged  for  these  '*  xnMsomP 
I  would  not  deepen  his  wound  by  Bi|> 
ing  he  was  not  quite  man  enough  to  in- 
spire me  with  real  love.  At  last,  sceiog 
farther  pressing  useless,  he  flung  him- 
self out  of  the  room  full  of  aagn 
trou])le. 

VI.     ▲  W:U.  AXD   ▲  VAT. 

Neither  of  us  were  aware  of  a  Usteixr; 
but  grandpa  Van  Hattan  had  wakened 
quietly  at  the  first  sound  of  Diedridi'i 
voice,  and  had  heard,  to  his  deep  chi- 
grin,  a  son  of  his  house  oficr  maniage 
to  a  servant.  Too  proud  to  poUiib 
even  to  his  relatives  this  unlucky  ^ 
covery,  the  poor  old  gentleman  most 
have  felt  much  secret  trouble,  lest  Mtf^ 
tha  Jocelyn  might  after  all  find  the 
temptation  to  exchange  servitude  for 
prosperous  case  too  much  for  her  princi- 
ple. Discharging  me,  he  probaUj 
thought,  might  rouse  my  indignatioa 
and  precipitate  the  catastrophe  he,  so 
doubt,  anxiously  planned  to  prevcni 

Thus  matters  went  on  for  some  timCL 
Grandpapa's  health,  though  not  impzor- 
ing,  scarcely  grew  perceptibly  wone; 
and  the  ladies,  coming  home  late  froiA 
a  party  one  night,  were  quite  startled 


1870.] 


A  DoMESTio  Romance. 


685 


to  find  he  had  departed  in  the  quiet 
death  of  the  aged,  with  only  his  son 
and  Martha  Jocelyn  in  the  room.  Un- 
limited crape  and  carriages,  with  three 
clergymen,  made  the  funeral  most  im- 
posing ;  and  his  kindred  returned  from 
laying  him,  with  duo  solemnity,  in  the 
family  vault,  to  enter  on  his  possessions. 
It  is  hardly  customary,  in  these  days, 
to  call  in  the  Biddy  of  a  week,  or  the 
equally  transient  footman,  to  hear  the 
reading  of  the  master^s  will.  So  when 
the  Van  II  at  tan's  were  convened  in  state, 
with  none  but  the  great  legal  luminary, 
the  old-time  friend  and  keeper  of  their 
honored  relative's  last  will  and  testa- 
ment, they  were  surprised  by  his  inquiry 
for  a  person  named  Martha  Jocelyn. 
Thinking  it  possible,  however,  some 
trifling  services  had  prompted  a  keep- 
sake from  grandpapa's  abundant  porta- 
bles, the  bell  was  rung,  and  cook  sum- 
moned. "Whereupon  the  lawyer  formal- 
ly began  the  ceremonious  document,  de- 
scribing the  possessions  of  the  ]at«  Regi- 
nald Van  Hattan,  and  their  diversion 
among  his  beloved  children  and  grand- 
children, who  were  thus  enriched  to  the 
extent  of  some  hundred  thousand  a-piece. 
Finally  the  will  closed  with  this  codicil : 

**I  bequeath  to  Martha  Jocelyn,  a 
young  person  who  has  declined  to  raise 
nerself  from  her  proper  position  at  the 
expense  of  the  happiness  of  others,  the 
sum  of  $20,000,  on  the  sole  condition 
that  she  remain  true  to  her  decision  in 
future." 

Besides  myself,  Diedrich  alone  knew 
the  occasion  of  this  amazing  codicil, 
and  amid  the  awful  stillness  that  fol- 
lowed its  reading,  I  left  the  room  and 
ran  to  my  attic,  to  consider  the  bearings 
of  this  most  unlooked-for  event. 

The  legal  luminary  must  have  been 
less  shrewd  than  a  lawyer  of  his  repu- 
tation should  be,  if  he  failed  to  conjec- 
ture the  nature  of  the  **  decision  "  of  the 
"  young  person,"  which  called  for  twenty 
thousand  to  confirm  and  reward  it.  But, 
as  a  matter-of-course,  he  made  no  audi- 
'ble  surmise,  but  folded  up  the  will  and 
blandly  bowed  himself  out,  leaving  the 
mourners  to  the  rich  consolation  of  their 
hnndred  thousand  a-piece. 


There  has  lately  been  a  case  before  the 
courts  of  a  man,  who  leaving  one  legacy 
of  fifty  thousand,  bequeathed  the  odd 
million  of  his  fortune  to  a  lady,  who  is 
now  earnestly  contesting  the  will  to  re- 
cover the  whole  sum.  "What  wonder, 
then,  that  the  ladies  Van  Hattan,  to 
whom  diamonds  were  dear,  expressed 
their  solemn  conviction  that  poor  dear 
grandpapa's  mind  had  been  failing  of 
late,  and  must  have  been  mischievously 
tampered  with  by  the  young  woman 
Jocelyn ;  ergo^  the  propriety  of  declin- 
ing to  abide  the  codicil. 

Then  up  spoke  Diedrich  with  an  in- 
dignant pluck,  which  did  him  vast 
credit. 

"  I  fancy  I  can  explain  away  any  sus- 
picion of  imbecility  on  the  old  gentle- 
man's part,  and  give  you  a  tolerable 
theory  of  the  codicil.  I  asked  Martha 
Jocelyn  to  marry  me,  and  she  refused ; 
the  sole  reason  she  would  give  being  her 
reluctance  to  distress  the  people,  who 
are  handsomely  returning  the  compli- 
ment by  proposing  to  take  her  little 
morsel  to  add  to  their  heap.  I  had  the 
privilege  of  being  declined  in  grandpa's 
room,  lie  being,  as  I  supposed,  asleep ; 
but  there  is  no  doubt  he  heard  every 
word.  If  you  want  the  money  back  in 
the  family,  you  can  persuade  her  to 
marry  me.  That  is  the  only  way ;  for 
if  you  contest  the  will,  I  will  tell  the 
truth,  if  I  have  to  do  it  in  open  court." 

The  twenty  thousand  was  dust  in  the 
balance  compared  with  the  dreadful 
contingencies  in  Diedrich's  speech ;  so 
when  I  came  down  to  express  grave 
doubts  as  to  my  right  to  the  money, 
they  met  me  with  the  most  admirably- 
feigned  smiles,  and  assured  me,  that  as 
their  late  relative  was  the  sole  arbiter 
of  his  own  fortime,  he  had  a  perfect 
right  to  bestow  a  share  of  it  upon  me. 
Furthermore,  that  nothing  could  induce 
them  to  touch  a  shilling  of  this  trifling 
bequest,  to  which  I  was  most  welcome. 

Certainly,  then,  I  had  little  disposi- 
tion to  throw  away  this  delightful  piece 
of  good  fortune,  which  was  so  very 
great  a  thing  to  me.  How  iUimitably 
bright  the  world  began  to  stretch  out 
once  more  before  me  as  I  knelt  before 


«86 


PuTNAK^B  Magazine. 


Um, 


my  trunk  and  bestowed  in  it  my  little 
possessions  to  go  home !  I  had  inquired, 
at  long  interyals,  at  Mr.  Lane's  place  of 
business  for  news  of  their  return,  and 
now  on  my  way  to  the  d6p6t  I  paused 
again  at  the  door,  where  I  had  met  my 
great  disappointment.  Lo  !  Mr.  Josiah 
Lane  himself  opened  the  door,  and  see- 
ing me,  seized  his  hat  and  insisted  on 
driving  straight  to  liis  sister's.  What 
tears  the  tender-hearted  old  maid  wept 
as  I  told  my  story  I  No  going  home  for 
me  for  two  weteks  yet.  The  letter  had 
just  been  found  behind  the  beaufet,  and 
the  handsome  check  it  had  contained  to 
console  me  for  my  disappointment  in 
not  spending  a  city-winter,  was  declared 
to  be  still  mine.  I  do  not  belieyc  those 
little  elderly  folks  ever  spent  two  hap- 
pier weeks  than  those  in  which  they  ar- 
rayed me  in  glorious  apparel  and  en- 
dowed me  with  endless  bijous  brought 
from  abroad. 

I  did  not  write  home  of  my  coming, 
having  been  en  route  for  the  d^pot  in 
half  a  day  after  the  reading  of  that  tre- 
mendous wilK  So  when  the  grand  pro- 
cession of  Mr.  Josiah,  Miss  Harriet,  and 
myself  drew  up  before  the  door  the  sur- 
prise was  wonderful.  Oh,  what  honor 
and  peace  and  length  of  days  there  may 
be  in  twenty  thousand  dollars  when  it 


comes  into  families  like  that  of  thefov 
Misses  Hayne  I  What  tears,  too,  of  joy 
and  sorrow,  interspersed  with  ferrent 
hugs  from  the  sisters,  were  seen  in  tke 
secret  chambers  where  mo  had  toned 
the  alpacas,  when  they  beard  how  it 
had  all  come  about. 

Maybe  you  will  smile ;  but  my  father 
never  knew  that  his  cldest-bom  spcst 
that  long  city-year  in  *'  a  place.''  It 
seemed  natural  enough  to  his  not  toj 
practical  mind  that  upon  cousin  Lane^ 
absence  I  should  have  found  opportu- 
nity to  transfer  the  advantage  of  mj 
society  to  another  family.  That  the 
ministrations  he  in  his  fond  partialit| 
prized  so  highly  should  likewise  ben- 
warded  by  a  rich  man's  bequest,  was  not 
very  wonderful. 

Was  not  this  well  ?  There  was  no 
greater  happiness  in  the  whole  thing 
than  that  there  need  be  no  slightesl 
suggestion  of  his  own  failure  in  my 
much-lcss-deserved  snooesa. 

Like  a  very  egotist,  I  hmve  written  all 
these  pages  about  myseU^  and  yon,  fed- 
ing  it  time  the  tale  should  close,  most 
chide  me,  I  know,  when  I  say,  that, 
heart-free  and  rich  in  content  as  I  am, 
I  still  "  wait  for  my  story ;  "  for  not  yet 
the  long  years  have  brought  it  quUe  a» 
I  wish  it  to  be  I 


■•♦♦ 


"ON  TIME." 


It  is  a  profound  question,  whether 
the  awful  announcement  of  the  apoca- 
lyptic angel,  "  that  there  should  be  time 
no  longer  "  (Rev.  x.  6),  is  not,  like  so 
many  other  passages  in  the  Scripture,  a 
form  of  an  ontological  truth ;  whether 
it  does  not  imply  that  what  we  call 
Time,  and,  for  that  matter,  what  we  call 
Space  likewise,  are  mere  conditions  of 
our  limited  human  existence.  If  this  be 
so,  we  shall  pass,  at  death,  not  merely 
into  another  portion  of  space— not  mere- 
ly into  a  further  allowance  of  time — not 
merely  into  a  protraction  of  the  present 
existence,  modified  by  omissions;  we 
shall  remove  inward;  it  will  appear  that 


existence  and  consciousness  covered  im- 
suspected  depths  as  inconceivable  as  a 
foujth  dimeubion  for  a  cube.  In  such  a 
state  there  will  be  no  motion,  and  do 
succession  of  events. 

For  the  present,  however,  we  deal 
with  the  infinites  of  space  and  of  tima 
in  the  manner  appropriate  to  our  little 
ness.  We  cut  off  a  limited  piece  of  the 
inconceivable,  and  agree  to  deal  with 
the  whole  (so  far  as  we  can  deal  with  it 
at  all)  in  pieces  of  just  this  length.  We 
call  one  a  mile,  the  other  an  hour ;  and 
then  we  proceed  as  if  we  understood 
them«  It  is  with  no  irreverence^  bat 
with  a  profoundly  opponte  feeling,  that 


1870.] 


"On  Time." 


687 


a  further  analogy  Ib  licre  suggested.  As 
the  infinites  of  space  and  time  are  nec- 
essarily dealt  with  under  agreed  limits 
cognizable  by  humanity,  in  order  to  be 
dealt  with  at  all,  is  it  not  in  like  man- 
ner that,  if  the  Divine  was  ever  to  be 
intelligently  cognizable  by  Humanity,  it 
must  needs  present  itself  under  human 
conditions  ?  An  incarnation,  to  give  us 
a  conscious  relation  to  the  Infinite  Be- 
ing, is  as  necessary,  in  thought,  as  a 
conventional  measure  for  infinite  space 
and  infinite}  time. 

The  fundamental  measurements  for 
partioniDg  out  to  ourselves  the  atom  of 
eternity  which  we  call  time,  are  given 
along  with  the  rest  of  our  existence. 

Existence  alone  would  not  enable  us 
to  apprehend  time.  Nor  would  succes- 
sion of  thought  alone.  Many  an  ab- 
sorbed thinker,  and  even  a  mere  drudg- 
ing worker  if  only  absorbed  enough, 
has  awakened  after  intent  activity,  to 
find  that  so  many  hours  have  dropped 
out  of  his  conscious  life  as  instantane- 
ously as  the  deepest  sleep  or  the  pro- 
foundest  insensibility. 

Matter,  moving  in  space,  is  the  solo 
means  that  enables  us  to  mark  time.  It 
is  the  steady  whirling  of  the  great  globe 
on  whose  outside  we  stick,  and  its  regu- 
lar swingings  around  the  gigantic  melt- 
ed Sim,  that  mark  time  for  us.  Any  fur- 
ther subdivisions  must  be  done  irregular- 
ly by  the  moon,  or  regularly  by  some 
machine. 

The  natural  succession  of  the  human 
nse  of  cosmic  motions  to  mark  the  pas- 
sage of  time  seems  likely  to  have  corre- 
sponded with  a  natural  progress  of  ac- 
quirement in  knowledge  and  refinement 
in  thought.  Day  and  night  come  first ; 
they  are  the  whirling  of  the  very  ground 
beneath  our  feet ;  i,  e,,  of  the  cosmic 
body  nearest  us,  and  to  which  our  rela- 
tions are  most  intimate.  Next  would  be 
observed  the  seasons  and  the  year ;  these 
depend  upon  the  sun,  the  most  promi- 
nent and  obviously  influential  of  all  the 
heavenly  bodies. 

Third  in  order  would  come  that  imper- 
fect subdivision  of  the  year  which  is 
marked  by  the  motions  of  the  moon ; 
and  last  of  all,  the  wholly  artificial  sub- 


divisions of  the  day  and  night,  which 
have  proceeded  from  hours  to  minutes, 
seconds,  and  thousandths  of  a  second. 
These  artificial  divisions  come  last,  and 
proceed  further  and  further  as  economy 
of  time  becomes  more  and  more  impor- 
tant. Life  is  lengthening,  the  statistical 
physiologists  say,  from  century  to  cen- 
tury, from  hygienic  causes.  It  lengthens 
in  another  way ;  l^y  the  number  of  ex- 
periences crowded  into  it.  The  prog- 
ress of  knowledge,  the  development  of 
intellect,  increase  this  number ;  and  we 
lengthen  our  life  by  acutely  perceiving, 
intensely  appreciating,  and  filling  full  of 
activities,  its  successive  moments,  far 
more  than  by  adding  on  an  average  year 
or  two  to  our  decrepitudes. 

In  accordance  with  this  order  of  rec- 
ognitions, we  find  that  day  and  night 
are  mentioned  at  once  among  the  pro- 
cesses of  creation,  in  the  first  chapter  of 
Genesis.  The  year  and  the  seasons  are 
ordained  almost  immediately  afterwards, 
as  they  would  naturally  be  observed  al- 
most immediately.  The  month  is  refer- 
red to  in  giving  the  date  of  the  Flood, 
as  if  tradition  had  related  the  habitual 
observfition  of  it  by  that  time ;  the  He- 
brew figurative  week  of  seven  years, 
which  presupposes  a  received  week  of 
seven  days,  is  named  in  the  story  of  Ja- 
cob's servitude  for  Rachel.  Indeed,  the 
week  is  very  commonly  supposed  to  have 
been  fixed,  and  the  Sabbath  also,  by  an 
express  Divine  ordination,  at  the  com- 
pletion of  the  Mosaic  creative  days; 
which  would  give  the  week  a  priority 
over  the  month.  But  the  hour  is  not 
named,  nor  any  similar  sulsdivision  of 
day  or  night,  until  the  Book  of  Daniel, 
written  (Usher's  Chronology)  not  later 
than  about  559  B.  C.  This  date  comes 
pretty  near  that  usually  attributed  to 
Anaximander's  invention  of  the  sun-dial 
(B.  C.  550) ;  and  it  is  very  natural  to 
suppose  that  this  invention  may  have 
been  accompanied  with  the  fixing  of  a 
set  of  subdivisions  of  the  day,  proper  to 
be  designated  by  it.  By  the  way,  how- 
ever, the  "  sun-dial "  or  "  degrees  "  of 
Ahaz  (the  two  tenns  are  given  by  the 
same  word  in  Hebrew)  belongs  to  the 
date  742-717  B.  C,  nearly  two  centuries 


688 


PUTNAM^S  MaOAZUTB. 


[j™, 


before  Anaximander ;  and  if  this  traii»- 
lation  be  correct,  we  may  with  proba- 
bility carry  back  the  recognition  of  the 
hour  to  this  earlier  date  of  the  machine 
for  marking  it. 

As  for  minutes  and  seconds,  the  Bible 
does  not  mention  them,'  although  it  has 
frequent  references  to  instantaneous  ac- 
tions ;  and  they  may  naturally  be  sup- 
posed to  haye  been  neglected  until  the 
means  of  ascertaining  them  were  invent- 
ed. Indeed,  the  Bible,  we  believe,  men- 
tions no  definite  period  less  than  an 
hour,  excc2)t  the  half-hour  of  silence  re- 
ferred to  in  Revelation  viiL  1. 

Thus,  the  longest  measure,  and  the 
most  obvious  natural  measures  of  time, 
are  named  in  the  very  first  book,  and, 
indeed,  in  the  first  chapter,  of  the  Bible ; 
while  the  strictly  artificial  subdivision 
of  time  is  not  even  named  until  four 
fifths  at  least  of  the  usually  accepted 
duration  of  the  growth  of  the  Scrip- 
tures have  passed ;  and  the  smallest  par- 
tition of  time  named  in  it  is  mentioned 
only  in  the  very  last  book  of  it,  which 
treats  of  the  last  things. 

There  1  that  is  a  swift  progress  from 
eternity  to  a  second,  and  from  the  crea- 
tion to  the  Apocalypse. 

It  is,  of  course,  for  the  artificial  divis- 
ions of  time  only  that  machines  are 
used.  Its  natural  divisions  are  marked 
by  the  cosmic  machines  of  God.  If  we 
seek  to  imagine  how  man  would  have 
marked  the  progress  of  time  if  our  world 
and  the  heavenly  bodies  were  stationary, 
if  the  i^ervading  periodicity  of  things 
were  absent,  and  we  lived  in  one  still 
unbroken  glow  of  sunshine,  or  in  one 
silent  darkness,  we  shall  find  it  neces- 
sary to  re-imagine  a  universe,  and  our 
own  beings  too.  "Wo  shall  find  it  dif- 
ficult to  discover  any  point  at  which 
the  Motionless  Man  could  have  begun 
his  idea  of  a  regular  process  of  time. 
Time-marking  has  been  executed  by  the 
following  contrivances,  succeeding  each 
other  in  the  following  order : 

1.  Sun-dial,  supposed  invented  by 
Anaximander,  B.  C.  about  650 ;  possibly 
as  old  as  Ahaz,  B.  C.  743.  Herodotus 
ascribes  it  to  the  Babylonians,  but  with- 
out fixing  any  particular  time.     This 


would  apparently  support  the  idea  tbt 
Ahaz  had  one ;  since  there  was  inter* 
course  between  the  Assyrian  monudiki 
and  the  nations  on  the  Mediternman 
coast. 

3.  Water-clock,  or  clepsydra.  Com- 
monly said  to  have  been  invented  bj 
Ctesibius  of  Alexandria,  about  B.  C.  135. 
But  the  article  was  common  in  the  tioe 
of  Aristophanes,  B.  C.  about  444-36(K 

3.  Sand-glass,  or  hour-glass.  Said  to 
be  mentioned  by  one  Baton,  a  Greek 
dramatist,  B.  C.  380.  Ajiother  accooBt 
says,  B.  C.  149 ;  and  another  adds,  tirat 
the  invention  was  lost,  and  rediscoToed 
by  the  monks  during  the  Middle  Agea. 
They  were  in  use  in  the  time  of  Jerome, 
at  any  rate — A.  D.  about  845-420. 

4.  Clocks.  Turret-clocks,  viz.,  clock! 
BO  large  as  to  be  set  up  permanently  in  a 
tower  or  other  part  of  a  building,  are  va- 
riously and  uncertainly  said  to  have  been 
first  invented  by  Boethius,  A.  D.  510 ; 
first  used  under  Pope  Sabinianus,  AD. 
613;  first  sent  by  Pope  Paul  to  King 
Pepin,  A.  D.  756 ;  made  so  as  to  strike 
by  the  Arabians,  about  A.  D.  801 ;  first 
made  in  Geneva,  in  the  ninth  centuij; 
invented  by  Pacificus,  Archdcacoa  of 
Verona,  A.  D.  849 ;  first  used  in  cborchcs 
about  A.  D.  913 ;  invented  by  Gerbeit 
(Sylvester  II.),  A.  D.  996.  Please  to  »- 
lect  from  the  above  any  date  which  sidti 
your  own  little  theory  about  clocki 
Meanwhile,  it  is  pretty  certain  that,  h 
the  beginning  of  the  eleventh  century, 
large  stationary  wheel-clocks,  moved  by 
weights,  were  used  in  the  European 
monasteries. 

As  for  movable  or  portable  clocks, 
they  appear  to  have  been  introduced 
some  two  centuries  later;    8:iy  aboat 

A.  D.  1300. 

6.  Candle-burning.  This  idea  of  King 
Alfred^s  must  be  put  in  here,  because  it 
is  a  good  deal  later  than  some  of  those 
early  clock-dates.  (Indeed — parenthet- 
ically—the wheel-clock  idea  has  been 
carried  back  to  Archimedes,  who  died 

B.  C.  313 ;  and  it  would  not  be  surpris- 
ing at  all  to  find  some  fervent  theorist 
arguing  that  Tubal-Cain  himself  invent- 
ed clocks).  Alfred  took  73  dwt.  of 
wax,  and  made  it  into  six  candles,  each 


1870.] 


«  On  Time." 


680 


twelve  inches  long,  with  the  inches 
marked.  There  was  a  chaplain  (of  the 
name  of  Chandler,  or  Candlisb,  doubt- 
less) who  waited  on  this  service.  An 
inch  of  candle  burned  away  in  twenty 
minutes ;  the  candle  lasted,  of  course, 
four  hours,  and  the  half-dozen  just  filled 
out  the  twenty-four.  At  proper  inter- 
vals. Rev.  Mr.  Chandler  bawled  forth 
the  time  of  day — or,  what  is  more  like- 
ly, gave  his  master  confidential  notice, 
80  that  nobody  else  should  have  the  ad- 
vantage of  it.  Thus  Alfred  was  able  to 
carry  out  his  purpose  of  using  his  day 
in  even  thirds— one  for  religious  acts, 
one  for  public  business,  and  one  for 
sleep,  study,  and  refreshment. 

6.  Watches.  There  is  a  fair  share  of 
the  same  pleasing  freedtm  of  choice, 
about  the  invention  of  wabches,  as  about 
clocks  (and  anaesthesia,  and  the  author- 
ship of  "  Rock  Me  to  Sleep,  Mother," 
and  the  electric  telegraph,  and  most 
other  creditable  and  contested  inven- 
tions ;  so  that  the  discreditable  inven- 
tions must  be  the  comfortable  ones). 
Not  to  mention  our  old  friend  Tubal- 
Cain,  the  invention  of  watches  has  been 
credited  to  the  Cliincse — to  some  un- 
known Frenchman  of  Blois — to  one 
Lorenzo  di  Yulparia,  an  Italian  astrono- 
mer— and,  most  commonly,  to  an  anony- 
mous German  at  Nuremberg,  A.  D.  1477. 

This  order  of  inventions  agrees  with 
the  order  of  economy  in  the  subdivision 
of  time,  and  with  a  similar  law  of  ex- 
tensive application,  that  of  economy  in 
the  use  of  material ;  for  a  later  inveii> 
tion  in  any  given  line  is  pretty  sure  to 
accomplish  its  purposes  with  the  use  of 
a  less  quantity  of  material  in  proportion 
to  the  effect  produced.  Thus,  an  Amer- 
ican watch  keeps  time  by  means  of  a  less 
weight  of  metals  and  minerals  than  was 
used  in  making  the  great  Strasburg 
clock,  which  is  twenty  feet  high  (the 
first  one  was  begun  A.  D.  1357) ;  and, 
in  like  manner,  the  Great  Eastern  uses 
a  far  less  weight  of  materials  per  ton  of 
full  cargo  conveyed,  than  a  Spanish 
galleon  of  A.  D.  1*588. 

The  order  of  invention  of  the  chief 
parts  of  wheel-timepieces  is  as  follows : 

A.    In  Clocks. 
VOL.  V. — 45 


1.  The  wheel-train  itself,  with  dial 
and  hand  or  hands,  and  driven  by  a 
weight. 

2.  A  fan-wheel,  such  as  is  even  now 
often  used  for  the  striking  part  of 
clocks,  to  regulate  the  going  part  or 
main  train.    Date  unknown. 

3.  A  crown-wheel  escapement.  This 
was  certainly  used  in  the  turret-clock 
erected  by  Henry  Vick,  or  De  Vick,  for 
Charles  V.  of  France,  about  1379. 

4.  The  pendulum,  applied  to  clocks 
by  Huyghens,  or  Hooke,  about  tho  mid- 
dle of  the  seventeenth  century.  Up  to 
this  time  clocks  could  not  be  relied  on 
to  go  with  a  less  error  than  about  forty 
minutes  a-day.  The  pendulum  may  be 
said  to  have  completed  the  clock-idea, 
for  subsequent  improvements  have  been 
minor  ones,  in  arranging  the  machinery, 
improving  materials,  perfectiqg  escape- 
ments and  compensations,  &c. 

B.    In  Watches. 

1.  The  main-spring.  This  is  the  cen- 
tral thought  of  the  portable  timepiece ; 
for  evidently  the  weights  and  pendulum 
of  a  clock  cannot  advantageously  be  car- 
ried about.  No  spring,  no  watch.  The 
spring  was,  of  course,  invented  not  far 
from  1477,  supposing  that  to  be  the  cor- 
rect date  for  the  first  watches.  But  it  is 
likely  enough  that  it  was  applied  to 
portable  clocks  first ;  for  a  natural  order 
of  invention  is  from  greater  to  smaller. 

2.  The  balance-spring,  invented  by 
Dr.  Hooke,  in  1658,  about  the  time  of 
the  invention  of  the  pendulum ;  so  that 
accuracy  in  time-keeping  first  became 
possible  in  clocks  and  watches  at  about 
the  same  date. 

8.  Various  escapements.  The  first,  or 
"  crown-wheel "  escapement,  is  substan- 
tially the  same  as  the  old  clock-escape- 
ment of  De  Vick.  The  original  "  lever  " 
escapement  was  invented  by  a  French- 
man, Berthoud,  in  the  third  quarter  of 
the  last  century.  What"  is  now  called 
the  "  lever "  escapement  was  invented 
by  Mudge,  not  far  from  1800,  and  was 
then  called  the  "  detached  lever."  Whfit 
is  now  called  the  "detached  lever"  was 
invented  by  Le  Roy,  a  Frenchman,  and 
perfected  by  the  English  watchmakers, 
Arnold  and  Eamshaw,  in  the  latter  part 


«90 


Putnam's  Magazine. 


P«o^ 


of  the  last  centnry  and  the  beginning 
of  this. 

4.  Jeweling,  which  seems  to  have 
been  inyented,  or  certainly  made  prac- 
ticable, about  1700,  by  Nicholas  Faccio, 
a  Swiss,  who  obtained  an  English  patent 
for  the  inyention  in  1704. 

Events  and  dates  might  be  added  to 
those  eight  items,  until  they  became 
eight  thousand,  or  eight  million,  for 
that  matter;  for  the  combinations  in 
arranging  clock  and  watch  machinery, 
the  fanciful  contrivances  for  cases,  sub- 
sidiary machinery,  concealment  of  pow- 
er, compensation  in  pendulums  and  bal- 
ance-wheels, escapements,  &c.,  &c.,  have 
been  practically  innumerable.  Le  Roy, 
the  French  watchmaker,  as  long  ago  as 
in  1750,  knew  of  more  than  fifty  kinds 
of  watch-escapements  alone.  A  good 
inventor,  who  had  received  a  reward 
from  the  English  Society  of  Arts  for  a 
new  watch-escapement,  once  remarked 
that  he  could  invent  a  new  one  every 
morning  before  breakfast.  This  was 
meant  only  to  show  how  great  a  variety 
was  possible  in  the  matter ;  for  he  knew 
perfectly  well  that  it  would  be  very 
hard  to  invent  a  better  watch-escape- 
ment than  the  best  now  used,  i.  c.,  the 
« lever." 

The  latest  important  application  of 
human  ingenuity  to  the  making  of  time- 
pieces is  not  within  the  clock  or  watch, 
but  without  it.  It  has  not,  perhaps,  im- 
proved the  quality  of  the  single  time- 
piece ;  yet  it  is  greatly  and  rapidly  im- 
proving the  quality  as  well  as  the  cheap- 
ness of  timepieces.  This  is  the  use  of 
machinery  to  form  the  separate  parts  of 
clocks  and  watches  in  identical  hundreds 
and  thousands,  instead  of  hand-finish  to 
cut  them  out  one  at  a  time.  This  is  the 
same  idea — ^a  favorite  American  one — 
which  has  been  so  successful  in  the 
manufacture  of  the  Springfield  musket 
and  the  Coifs  revolver.  The  story  of 
its  application  to  Connecticut  clocks  is 
perhaps  quite  as  well  known.  Its  em-  . 
ployment  in  making  watches  is  the  lat- 
est in  time  and  the  most  advanced  in 
ingenuity  of  the  whole  series. 

In  a  third  of  a  century— from  1826  to 
1858— the  United  States  paid  to  Europe, 


for  watches,  the  sum  of  forty-fire  mt 
lion  eight  hundred  and  twenty  thomaad 
dollars.    The  watches  thus  poichMei 
were  made  one  at  a  time,  or,  rather,  t 
half  at  a  time — the  movements  in  Eng- 
land or  Switzerland,  the  finishing  ind 
casing  in  London  or  Paris.    To  secure  i 
share  of  this  great  expenditure  by  in- 
vesting American  brain  against  Swia 
and  British  poverty,  was  the  problea 
set  before  the  projectors  of  the  Americss 
watch  companies,  and  it  has  been  satu- 
factorily  solved.     A  few  watches  were 
made  by  hand  in  Worcester,  MasEacha- 
setts,  as  long  ago  as  daring  the  tw  of 
1812,  but  the  business  did  not  last  The 
originator  of  the  American  maduDe- 
watch  manufacture  was  a  Yankee  witdi- 
maker,  A.  L.  Denison,  of  Boston,  who, 
in  1852,  thought  out  a  combination  of 
single  machines  into   a  factory  whidt 
should  supply  ten  watches  a-day.  From 
this  small  beginning  grew  up  the  Ameri- 
can Watch  Company  of  WaJtham— «aid 
to  be  the  largest  establishment  of  iht 
kind  in  the  world — making  over  two 
hundred  watches  per  day.     The  second 
in  point  of  age  is  E.  Howard  &  Ca  of 
Boston.    The  National  Watch  Company 
of  Elgin,  Illinois,  make,  it  is  reported, 
over  one  hundred  watches  per  day.  The 
United  States  Watch  Company,  of  Ma- 
rion, N.  J. ;  the  Newark  Watch  Com- 
pany, and  others,  arc  doing  a  large  and 
prosperous    business;     and    AmericaB 
watches    are    rapidly   superseding  aU 
others ;  not  only  because  they  are  go«4 
but  they  arc  sold  at  less  profit  than  the 
imported  watches,  and  the  manufactiu^ 
ers  arc  present  always  ready  to  make 
good  their  guarantee.* 

Such  institutions  as  these  great  fac- 
tories afford  the  best  instances  of  iht 
splendor  and  strength,  the  beauty  and 
usefulness,  of  human  thought.  The 
subjugation  of  matter,  the  combination 

*  The  "  good  name"  of  American  watches  hacaov 
travelled  so  lar,  and  is  bo  largely  recoffaiied,  that  it 
begins  to  suffer  by  its  oim  Tirtneo.  It  is  said  thil 
recent  importations  of  £aroi>can  watches  show 
an  extensive  system  of  oonnterfeitin^: — ^the  trade- 
marks of  the  American  companies  being  rathlesslj 
copied  by  the  European  imitators.  On  the  oiha 
hand,  the  foime  of  the  American  handiwork  has 
reached  China  and  Japan.  The  Elgin  Company  it 
now  receiving  direct  orders  from  those  conntriek 


1870.] 


"  On  Time." 


«91 


of  knowledges,  the  perfecting  of  means, 
the  ulti mating  of  economy,  the  greatest 
supply  at  the  least  cost,  and  the  result 
of  a  maximum  of  benefit  for  a  minimum 
of  toil,  are  magnificently  exemplified  in 
these  great  organizations,  compounded 
of  brain,  hand,  eye,  and  machinery. 

The  application  of  this  large  method 
of  generalizing  the  mechanics  of  watch- 
making has  been  accompanied  with 
numerous  collateral  advantages  and  im- 
provements, of  which  wo  may  mention 
a  few.  For  one  thing,  the  cases  are  fur- 
nished much  cheaper  than  heretofore, 
and  with  one  very  peculiar  advantage 
besides,  in  being  interchangeable  to  any 
movement  All  the  American  compa- 
nies make  the  "movements"  or  works 
of  their  watches  of  the  same  size  exter- 
nally. The  American  Watch  Company 
of  Waltham  make  gold  and  silver  cases 
not  only  for  their  own  watches,  but  sup- 
ply dealers  with  cases  for  other  Ameri- 
can watches.  If  you  wear  an  American 
watch,  and  want  a  gold  case  instead  of 
a  silver  one,  or  the  other  way,  or  one 
design  rather  than  another,  you  can 
have  the  movement  shifted  into  any 
American  case  in  your  jeweller's  store, 
until  you  are  suited.* 

No  such  interchange  can  be  made 
among  the  foreign  watches,  but  each 
has  its  own  case,  which  fits  it  as  an  egg- 
shell does  its  egg,  and  will  go  with  no 
other  shell.  Yet  the  foreign  folks  are 
by  no  means  above  learning  from  us,  for 
they  have  actually  begun  to  join  forces 
and  organize  companies  on  the  Ameri- 
can model,  to  make  machine  watches 
and  cases  to  a  fixed  universal  scale. 

Gold  and  silver  are  the  only  metals 
from  which  cases  can  be  made  that  will 
not  rust.  A  case  can  be  made  of  any 
metal ;  but  as  all  other  metals  rust,  the 
cases  will  rust,  and  consequently  will 
not  fit  as  exactly  as  they  do  at  first,  and 
a  good  movement  would  be  injurcjd.  A 

•  Ladd'8  ''  Patent  Stiffonod  Gold  Watch  Caae," 
manufactured  by  James  Broim  &  Co.  of  Froridfmoe, 
H.  I.— an  Amerloan  inTention—was  brought  before 
the  public  some  three  yean  ago,  and  is  now  gen- 
erally recognlred  as  a  standard  article.  It  is  made 
of  thick  plates  of  gold  and  nickel  obmpositian 
"  welded"  together,  rolled  to  the  required  thickness* 
and  is  sold  at  about  one  half  the  price  of  a  heavy 
solid  gold  case,  no  more  beautiAil  or  serviceable. 


silver-cased  watch,  costing"  say  $50,  may 
have  the  same  movement  as  a  tKK) 
watch  in  a  gold  case. 

One  of  the  subordinate  points  in 
which  the  construction  of  the  Ameri- 
can watches  is  distinctly  superior  to  the 
foreign  ones  is,  in  the  framing  of  the 
movements;  that  is,  the  two  circular 
plates  within  which  the  wheels  and 
springs  are  held,  are  much  less  liable  to 
be  pushed  out  of  their  true  opposition 
to  each  other,  than  in  foreign  work; 
and  accordingly,  the  going  of  the  watch, 
is  less  liable  to  be  disordered.  The 
means  of  this  improvement  are  as  sim- 
ple as  the  device  for  casing  the  works. 
It  is  only  to  use  plates  instead  of  the 
various  little  prongs  which  hold  the 
jewels  in  many  foreign  watches,  and  to' 
make  the  pillars  between  the  plates 
stouter  than  in  the  foreign  work.  This, 
of  course,  gives  them  more  bearing 
against  the  plates,  and  thus  the  framing 
has  greater  power  to  resist  a  thrust. 
,  Again :  the  wheels  of  the  American 
watches  are  thicker  than  in  the  foreign 
ones,  and  the  teeth  do  not  mesh  so  far 
within  each  other.  This  arrangement 
is  found  to  lessen  greatly  the  friction 
of  the  train,  and,  of  course,  to  make  the 
watch  run  more  easily  and  last  longer. 

Once  more :  the  jewels  of  the  Ameri- 
can watches  are  all  turned  to  the  same 
size,  and  are  set  in  holes  drilled  to  a 
uniform  size.  In  these  holes  the  jewels 
are  merely  fitted,  and  then  held  snug 
by  the  quiet  nip  of  a  little  screw  at 
each  side.  Bat  in  the  foreign  watches 
the  jewels  are  pressed  in  by  force,  and 
held  in  by  a  continuance  of  it.  This 
causes  a  fracture  or  chipping  of  the  sub- 
stance of  the  jewel  to  be  quite  common 
among  foreign  watches,  whereas  it  is  an 
unheard-of  complaint  among  the  Ameri- 
can ones.  Again :  these  jewel-holes  are 
drilled  under  a  machine  so  set  that, 
flrst,  the  holes  must  be  exactly  in  the 
right  places,  and  secondy  they  must  be 
exactly  of  the  right  size.  This  makes  it 
unavoidable  that  the  axles  of  the  wheels 
stand  true  and  at  their  right  distances ; 
and  therefore  that  the  wheels  match  cor- 
rectly, have  the  right "  depthing  "  or  in- 
terlacing of  teeth,  and  run  easily  and 


692 


PUTXAM^S  MaQAZINR. 


[JUM, 


true.  In  the  foreign  hand-made  watches, 
the  object  must  be  accomplished,  if  at 
mil,  by  a  tedious  scries  of  adjustments 
and  alterations  in  each  indiyidual  watch. 

Once  more :  in  the  American  watch, 
the  main-spring  is  attached  to  the  bar- 
rel, not  by  an  inflexible  fastening  as  in 
foreign  work,  but  by  a  little  hinge-joint. 
When  the  watch  is  wound,  the  spring, 
as  it  gradually  curls  closer  around  the 
Btem  in  the  middle  of  the  barrel,  of 
course  draws  from  the  inside  of  the 
barrel  at  a  greater  and  greater  angle. 
The  hinge  gives  to  this  angle,  and  thus 
saves  a  violent  wrench  in  the  substance 
of  the  spring,  which  risks  bending  or 
breaking  it,  or  more  commonly  a  grad- 
ual distortion  of  that  part  of  tho  barrel 
where  it  was  fisistcned. 

The  American  "Watch  Company  of 
Waltham,  since  their  organization  in 
1852,  made  over  five  hundred  thousand 
watches ;  and  we  are  told  that  the  num- 
ber now  made  in  the  United  States  aver- 
ages at  least  140,000  yearly. 

The  diflferencc  in  the  cost  of  Ameri- 
can and  foreign  watches  of  the  same 
grade  is  to  be  accounted  for,  first,  and 
chiefly,  by  the  large  extra  cost  of  skilled 
hand-labor  over  that  by  machinery ;  and 
secondly,  by  the  expenses  of  importa- 
tion, the  duty,  and  the  several  profits 
of  the  intermediate  dealers. 

More  than  once,  in  this  short  i)aper, 
reference  has  been  made  to  the  natural 
progress  of  the  intellect  and  of  the 
works  of  men's  hands  accordingly,  from 
the  whole  to  parts ;  from  the  largo  to 
the  small,  from  the  coarse  to  the  finish- 
ed. Nothing,  perhaps,  can  better  illus- 
trate the  idea,  than  a  comparison  of  the 
extremes  of  horology.  The  idea  of  the 
hour  itself— the  first  regulated  subdivis- 
ion which  showed  that  man  needed  to 
economize  his  day — cannot  be  traced,  as 
we  have  shown,  until  more  than  half  of 
man's  recorded  existence  on  the  earth 
had  passed.  Hour-telling— for  this  is 
the  English  of  horology— could  not  ex- 
ist until  there  were  hours  to  telL  But 
for  our  present  comparison  we  need  not 
go  even  to  the  beginning  of  horology. 
Tlie  era  of  wheel-timepieces  alone  suf- 
£ces;  and  that  covers  only  about  one 


third  of  the  history  of  houn— thatia, 
one  sixth  of  the  history  of  man.  Wi&> 
in  that  brief  time  the  advance  has  bees 
made,  which  is  wonderful  enongfa  for 
the  present  purpose.  At  its  beginniTtg, 
the  only  timepiece  was  a  tnrretrdock; 
it  could  be  afforded  only  by  princes,  or 
by  great  and  wealthy  corporate  bodies, 
such  as  a  city  or  a  monastery.  Its  cosfc 
was  a  fortune  by  itself;  its  stmctnn 
occupied  months,  and  even  years;  it 
required  to  be  watched  and  tended  tl- 
most  as  constantly  as  a  steamboat's  en- 
gine ;  and  it  could  not,  at  the  best,  di- 
vide time  truly  within  two  thirds  of  an 
hour  a-day.  Its  dial  was  from  tea  to 
forty  feet  across ;  its  works  were  (so  to 
speak)  a  mill ;  and  its  weight  was  oonh 
puted  by  hundreds  of  pounds. 

To-day,  a  laboring  man  can  can,  bj 
the  wages  of  a  week,  a  timepiece  ▼hich 
he  keeps  in  motion  by  the  use  of  a  min- 
ute daily;  which  tells  him  the  time 
vdthin  a  second  daily ;  which  weighs  a 
few  ounces,  and  is  carried  in  his  pocket 

Indeed,  machinery  has  outstripped 
mind  in  the  subdivision  of  time;  for, 
while  the  keenest  and  the  quickeai 
senses  cannot  mark  with  certainty  the 
twentieth  part  of  a  second,  macbioeiy 
has  marked  the  three  hundredth  part 
And  the  extreme  of  this  strange  pro- 
phetic subdividing,  which  reaches  be- 
yond the  domain  of  observation,  thoo^ 
not  beyond  that  of  thought,  is  as  won- 
derful in  matters  of  space  as  in  matten 
of  time.  Some  of  the  balances  used  in 
the  watch-factories  will  indicate  one  fif- 
ty-millionth of  a  pound  ;  some  of  the 
gauges,  one  twenty-five  thousandth  of 
an  inch. 

From  a  dial  forty  feet  across,  a  pen- 
dulum twenty  feet  long,  a  driving 
weight  of  hundreds  of  pounds,  to  screws 
at  three  hundred  thousand  to  the  pound, 
jewels  measured  to  the  ten-thousandth 
part  of  an  inch,  hair-springs  that  are 
only  half  as  large  as  hair,  and  worth 
four  thousand  dollars  a  pound, — within 
the  realm  of  mechanics  imagination  can- 
not suggest  any  vaster  range  of  thought 
This  nearest  approach  to  the  mastexy 
of  time  by  mechanism  is  American 
work,  both  in  the  unimaginable  preds- 


1870.] 


QUA£EB  QUIBZS. 


698 


ion  of  its  details  and  in  the  broad  and 
comprehensivo  nature  of  its  business 
organization.  It  is  appropriate  to  our 
actiye  brains,  our  sensitive  appreciation 


of  the  importance  of  that  time  which 
is  the  foundation  of  life,  that  we  should 
thus  use  the  least  of  it  in  making  the 
most  of  it. 


■•♦• 


(iUAKER  QUTRKS. 


When  I  was  in  England,  I  spent 
some  months  in  a  large  town,  the  name 
of  which — as  this  sketch  is  more  than 
half  true — ^I  had  better  keep  to  myself. 

While  there,  I  contracted  an  intimate 
firiendship  with  an  outwardly  prim  but 
inwardly  fun-loving  and  charming  wom- 
an of  the  Quaker  persuasion,  and  de- 
luded her  into  many  confidences  con- 
cerning her  people. 

Oh,  what  a  darling  she  was  1  Her 
wickedly  bright  eyes  were  always  sweet- 
ly cast  down  and  overshadowed  by  the 
regulation  drab  bonnet.  The  fun  that 
was  in  her  received  a  piquant,  irresisti- 
ble flavor,  from  its  solemn  peppering  of 
**  thee  "  and  *'  thou  "  in  her  utterance ; 
and,  except  her  own  family,  her  people 
were  completely  taken  in  by  the  saintly 
gravity  of  her  Madonna-like  face. 

Thus,  when  I  knew  her,  she  was  an 
«xemplary  member  of  the  Society.  It 
was  even  "  born  in  "  upon  the  minds  of 
some  of  the  older  Friends  that  some 
day  Lydia  Underhill  would  have  a 
preaching-gift  equal  unto  Abigail  Shoe- 
tie,  the  then  great  gun-feminine  of  the 
meetings. 

But  Lydia  fell  from  grace,  and  went 
over  to  the  camp  of  the  alien.  Sharp 
prickings  of  conscience  force  me  to  con- 
fess, that  the  flesh  and  the  devil,  as  rep- 
resented in  my  person,  }ed  to  this  down- 
fall. I  acknowledge  that  I  did  take  a 
vicious  delight  in  displaying  before  her 
longing,  admiring  gaze,  the  exquisite 
worldly  apparel  which  I  had  ordered 
from  Paris ;  and  it  proved  beyond  the 
power  of  the  feminine  heart  to  with- 
stand. 

Her  particular  fall  consisted  of  a  love- 
ly round  hat,  with  feather-tips  of  a  rich 
deep  purple.  The  tips  rested  against 
the  crimped  hair,  which  Lydia  crimped 
expressly,  with  an  effect,  soft,  firesh, 
crushy,  such  as  only  a  French  modist<% 


can  give.  I  am  told  that  it  is  sitting 
upon  a  hat  that  docs  it ;  but  it  is  very 
high  art  also,  and  I  would  not  recom- 
mend the  experiment  to  any  one  less  ac- 
complished. 

Of  course,  a  costume  of  purple  silk 
and  velvet  accompanied  the  hat;  and 
though  some  foolish,  ignorant  man-poet 
wrote  that "  Beauty  unadorned  is  adorn- 
ed the  most,"  he  only  showed  his  horri- 
ble ignorance ;  for  Lydia's  beauty  grew 
dazzling  and  dangerous  in  this  exquisite 
French  setting. 

For  just  wearing  these  simple  things, 
Lydia  Underhill  was  formally  *'  read  out 
of  meeting,"  with  a  sighing  and  a  sor- 
rowing of  the  good  old  broadbrim  who 
did  it,  which  would  have  done  honor  to 
a  far  graver  offence ;  and  inmiediately , 
she  beca^ne,  by  a  sort  of  mysterious 
paradoxical  sequence,  a  high-church 
Episcopalian.  Quakers  invariably  fall 
high-church  Episcopalians;  will  not 
some  delinquent  Friend  kindly  explain 
and  exx)ound  the  why  and  the  where- 
fore? 

But  long  before  this  happened,  Lydia 
and  I  spent  many  a  pleasant  hour  to- 
gether. With  unselfish  sweetness,  or  per- 
haps because  of  innate  depravity,  she 
gave  me  plenty  of  opportunities  for 
gratifying  my  uncivil  propensity  of 
watching  for  contradictory  or  startling 
pointe  of  character  among  her  people. 
I  soon  learned  that  not  a  few  of  these 
grave,  undemonstrative  Friends  were 
keenly  alive  to  a  joke.  There  was  Ly- 
dia^s  father,  a  quiet,  stern-looking  man. 
Ho  would  sometimes  utter  a  remark, 
ponderous,  sombre,  the  muscles  of  his 
face  immovable,  and  slowly  teetering 
on  his  toes  and  heels  as  he  spoke. 

In  the  depths  of  my  literal  soul  1 
would  observe,  "  It  is  getting  truly  sol- 
emn," when  catching  an  almost  imper- 
ceptible twinkle  in  the  steely  blue  eyes 


694 


Putztam'b  Maoazinb. 


[J«^ 


beneath  the  broad-brim,  saddenlj  an  in- 
tense flash  of  Am  would  burst  from 
under  that  solemn  remark ;  and,  except 
the  speaker,  we  would  all  be  conyulsed 
with  laughter. 

One  day  I  asked  Lydia  if  she  could 
get  me  an  inyitation  to  one  of  her  moth- 
er's tea-parties.  It  was  then  quarterly 
meeting.  At  quarterly  meeting,  Friends 
gather  together  in  this  wise :  A  Friend, 
say  from  York,  comes  to  Bristol  with 
all  his  family  and  their  boxes.  He  has 
a  right  to  knock  at  the  door  of  any 
Friend's  mansion,  and  when  it  is  opened 
to  him,  he  proceeds  gravely  to  announce 
to  the  master  thereof:  "My  name  is 
Ezra.  What  is  thy  name  ?  " 
;    **  My  name  is  Reuben." 

"  Well,  Reuben,  I  have  come  to  tarry 
with  thee  awhile." 

"  Thee  is  welcome,  Ezra ; "  and  straight- 
way the  kettle  is  put  on,  and  milk  and 
honey  flow,  for  Quakers  know  what  is 
good  for  the  inner  man  ;  and,  perhaps, 
it  should  be  accepted  as  a  consistent 
part  of  their  belief,  that  they  put  out 
of  sight  with  such  commendable  haste 
the  rich  brown  of  the  roasted  turkey, 
the  glowing  crimson  of  the  cranberry 
sauce,  and  the  delicate  gold  of  custards 
and  cake. 

While  quarterly  meeting  lasts,  extra 
servants  are  hired,  extra  beds  put  up, 
and  the  ability  of  mistress  and  mansion 
is  taxed  to  the  utmost  to  provide  gener- 
ous fare,  with  the  cordial  welcome  al- 
ways ofiered. 

I  had  heard  that  these  tea-i)arties 
were  miracles  of  good  eating.  I  am 
very  fond  of  good  eating ;  but  I  said 
to  Lydia,  "  I  have  *  a  concern,'  as  you 
call  it,  to  go  to  one  of  these  very  im- 
proving and  desirable  companies.  It 
has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the 
*  flesh-pots  of  Egypt;'  so  don't  bo 
satirical,  but  get  your  mother  to  invite 


me." 

"Thee  knows  how  glad  mother  would 
be  to  have  thee,"  she  answered  ;  "  but 
thy  worldly  apparel  might  be  unplcas- 
ing  in  the  eyes  of  our  people." 

"Nonsense!  I  shall  put  on  a  plain 
black  gown,  and  borrow  a  cap  of  your 
mother." 


"  Thee  will  say  something,"  with  i 
demure  twinkle  in  her  eyes,  "whidi 
will  tempt  me  into  unseemly  mirth.'* 

"  I  will  not.  I  shall  hold  my  tongue, 
It  is  much  more  likely  that  you,  <v  yoor 
man-monster  of  a  brother,  will  5et  me 
laughing." 

I  got  a  cordial  inyitation  for  the 
fourth  day,  which  was  the  next  day,  it 
7  F.  M.,  to  my  great  glee. 

Dressing,  as  I  had  promised,  idth 
scrupulous  plainness,  and  weariog  a 
Quaker-cap,  which  lent  to  me  an  expres- 
sion of  most  edifying  goodness,  I  drove 
to  the  spacious,  comfortable-lookiiig 
house  occupied  by  Lydia's  father  md 
mother,  in  a  very  complacent  frame  of 
mind. 

On  entering  the  large  drawing-rocn, 
I  saw  a  row  of  serene-looking  women 
sitting  all  around  the  walls,  while  their 
husbands  stood  about  and  talked  to 
each  other.  In  a  few  minutes  we  woe 
invited  to  tea,  and  HSfimrod,  Lydis'i 
brother,  who  was  truly  named,  grsTdj 
handed  me  down.  It  was  as  if  the  6ei- 
gian  giant  were  paying  this  delicate  tt- 
tention  to  Tom  TliumVs  wife;  forliim- 
rod  was  six  feet  four,  and  I,  what  good 
old  General  Scott  used  to  call  "  a  mor- 
sel of  a  woman." 

The  dining-room  was  a  very  luge 
one,  but  the  tea-table  was  set  diagonal- 
ly, to  get  more  space ;  and  oh,  whit 
bright  and  flne  silver  beamed  and  glii- 
tened  thereon  I  all  of  the  plainest  pat- 
terns, but  solid,  sterling  ware.  The 
room  was  filled  with  delicious  scents, 
and  we  did  not  take  long  to  seat  om- 
selves.  Lydia  was  on  my  left  hand,  and 
Nimrod  on  my  right. 

I  had  commenced  telling  a  funny 
story  in  a  low  tone  to  Lydia,  just  as  tea 
was  announced,  and  went  on  with  it  at 
the  table  in  the  midst  of  a  peculiar  and 
utter  silence,  which  somewhat  discon- 
certed me.  I  could  see  Lydia-s  eyes 
flashing  with  suppressed  mirth,  though 
she  too  was  very  still. 

At  last  I  stopped,  whispering,  "  For 
pity's  sake,  Lydia,  what  makes  them  all 
so  solemn  ?  why  don't  somebody  begin 
to  eat  something  ? 

^^  I  thought  thee  knew  they  were  say- 


1870.] 


QUAKEB  QuiBKS. 


690 


ing  silent  grace,"  returned  this  wicked 
one. 

Oh,  what  a  shame  I  It  was  too  bad ! 
I  was  covered  with  confusion.  I  gave 
her  a  pinch,  which  made  her  squeak  like 
a  mouse  in  the  wall ;  and  Nimrod  cough- 
ed behind  his  pocket-handkerchief,  to 
hide  the  fit  of  laughter  with  which  he 
was  shaking.  Never  would  I  have 
knowingly  shown  such  disrespect ;  and 
I  corked  up  a  big  vial  of  wrath  to  pour 
out  on  Lydia^s  head  at  a  more  befitting 
season. 

The  next  moment  I  became  aware  that 
my  host  at  the  foot  o£  the  table  was  re- 
garding me  with  earnest,  perplexed  eyes. 
I  looked  down  at  my  dress ;  that  was 
all  right.  I  assumed  an  aspect  of  sweet 
serenity.  I  passed  my  hand  to  the  back 
of  my  head  to  discover  if  the  hairpins 
were  sticking  out,  or  my  poor  wisp  of 
hair  had  come  down.  I  had  left  my 
sinfbl  false  hair  at  home,  not  being  able 
to  get  it  under  the  Quaker-cap,  and  was 
conscious  of  an  exposed  airy  sensation 
at  the  back  of  my  head.  But  every 
thing  was  in  order,  and  still  that  gaze. 

"  Oh,  what  is  he  looking  at  me  so  for  ? 
Oh,  what  have  I  done  ?  "  I  whispered 
at  last. 

That  wicked  Lydia  I  She  knew  all 
the  time.  With  a  little  trilling  laugh 
she  said,  "  Father,  her  name  is  Fanny." 

"  Fanny,  shaU  I  help  thee  to  some  of 
the  stewed  oysters?"  asked  the  good 
man. 

It  was  my  Christian  name  that  he 
wanted.  Lydia  had  told  him  before 
tea,  but  he  had  forgotten  it ;  and  until 
he  could  recall  it,  I  was  not  to  have 
any  thing  to  eat ;  for  addressing  me  by 
my  last  name,  after  the  fashion  of 
world's-people,  was  utterly  out  of  rule. 

How  they  did  enjoy  the  good  things! 
Little  wavelets  of  delicate  rose-color 
mounted  up  into  the  peaceful,  serene 
faces  of  the  women,  while  the  men^s 
grew  red  and  shiny.  Fat  capons  and 
rich  pastries  disappeared  like  magic. 
Little  birds  brought  up  on  toast,  hot 
and  hot,  melted  like  butter  on  the 
tongue.  MufliDs  made  of  rice-flour  white 
as  snow,  and  light  as  foam,  and  maids 
of  honor,  which  are  most  delicate  and 


delicious  cheese-cakes,  were  speedily  loot 
to  sight,  but  can  never  be  forgotten  by 
me. 

After  tea,  for  this  feast  was  called 
only  "  tea,"  we  went  up  again  into  the 
drawing-room ;  but  the  good  people  left 
very  soon ;  and  the  family,  who  were 
staying,  or  "tarrying,"  with  Friend 
Samuel,  retired,  while  I  was  kindly  en- 
treated to  remain  awhile.  I  fancy  it 
was  "bounden  upon"  Friend  Samuel 
to  examine  the  world's  woman,  and  try 
to  understand  why  his  daughter  Lydia 
had  grown  so  fond  of  her. 

So  I  talked  away  for  dear  life,  saying 
all  the  good  things  I  could  think  of^ 
and  even  venturing  on  a  little  fun.  The 
placid  blue  eyes  fixed  upon  my  face 
twinkled,  and  he  was  just  saying, "  Fan- 
ny, thee  has  a  preaching-gift ;  thee  had 
better  join  the  Society,"  when  the  door 
slowly  opened. 

You  may  imagine  that  there  are  no 
elements  of  fun  in  a  Quaker  family,  and 
you  will  bo  very  much  mistaken,  for 
they  are  full  of  it. 

In  the  open  doorway  stood  the  giant 
counterpart  of  Frijsnd  Samuel,  whose 
short  figure  was  of  aldermanic  propor- 
tions. The  other  bowed  gravely,  and 
walking  up  to  his  father — for  it  was  that 
bad  boy  Nimrod,  with  a  great-coat  on, 
stufifed  out  in  front  with  pillows — he  pro- 
ceeded to  take  the  good  man  off  to  his 
face — voice,  manner,  a  certain  lifting  up 
of  the  head,  and  compression  of  the 
under  lip  at  the  end  of  a  sentence ;  hia 
fingers  interlocked  over  his  ample  waist- 
coat, and  slowly  teetering  on  his  heels 
and  toes,  all  perfect  as  it  could  be  t 

It  was  wonderful  I  It  was  a  great 
actor  lost  to  fame  by  force  of  circum- 
stances I  I  had  a  quicker  heart-beat  at 
the  commencement  of  the  performance, 
for  it  did  seem  such  a  piece  of  impu- 
dence ;  but  Friend  SamuePs  fat  sides 
shook  with  laughter ;  and  although  his 
mother  threw  up  her  hands  and  eyes, 
and  ejaculated,  "  Oh,  grievous  I "  she 
slyly  made  capital  out  of  the  play  by 
saying, 

"  If  thee  wishes  to  deceive  us  com- 
pletely, if  thee  is  really  Samuel,  thee 
will  straightway  give  me  the  money  to 


606 


Putnam's  MAaAznrs. 


[JOM, 


bny  that  silver  soup-tureen  wliich  I  so 
greatly  desire." 

"  Will  thee  let  me  abide  with  a  Friend 
to-morrow  night,  if  I  bestow  it  upon 
thee  ? " 

"  Yea,  verily." 

"Nimrod,"  said  the  young  scamp, 
turning  to  his  father,  "thee  has  my 
check-book  in  thy  desk.  Thee  takes 
proper  care  of  it,  to  be  sure.  It  is 
not  convenient,  sometimes,  for  mc  to 
be  without  it.  Will  thee  get  it  for 
me?" 

The  play  went  on;  for  the  check- 
book was  taken  from  the  desk  and 
gravely  handed  to  him  by  his  father ; 
and  as  gravely,  the  pseudo  Samuel  filled 
up  and  tore  out  a  check  of  the  sum  re- 
quired, and  presented  it  to  his  mother, 
but  not  signed;  that,  as  I  afterward 
learned,  was  really  done  by  the  right 
one  after  I  left,  to  the  great  contentment 
of  the  good  lady. 

If  Nimrod's  mother  had  known  why 
he  desired  to  stay  out  all  the  next  night, 
she  would  have  cried  "  oh,  grievous  I " 
in  terrified  earnest.  The  big,  bad  boy 
was  crazy  to  go  to  a  certain  fancy-dress 
party.  Well,  I  might  as  well  own  it ; 
so  were  Lydia  and  I ;  and  the  thing  was 
how  to  get  her  also  for  all  night.  With 
a  great  deal  of  coaxing  and  promising  I 
persuaded  her  mother  to  let  her  spend 
the  night  with  me ;  and  when  she  hoped 
that  we  would  think  of  the  saints,  and 
have  it  on  our  minds  to  make  an  improv- 
ing season  of  it,  we  incontinently  turned 
conscience  into  a  "convenient  scare- 
crow," and  said  we  would. 

I  got  Lydia  up  as  a  lovely  nun,  her 
sweet,  shining  eyes  and  Madonna  face 
exactly  suiting  the  character.  Nimrod 
went  off"  and  hired  a  gorgeous  Louis- the- 
Fourtecnth  costume,  man-like,  never  try- 
ing it  on ;  and  oh  I  didn't  we  have  to 
work  over  it  to  make  it  big  enough  1 
We  cut  open  every  thing,  and  introduced 
five-corned  pieces  in  a  fashion  and  with 
a  passion  perfectly  reckless.  It  required 
many  flights  of  inspiration  to  cover  all 
of  him,  and  genius  and  agility  in  equal 
parts  to  carry  them  out ;  for  he  bobbed 
around  like  a  teetotum,  declaring  that  we 
stuck  pins  and  needles  all  up  and  down 


his  spine.  We  did.   And  wc  sewed  him 
up  tight  in  his  costume. 

What  it  looked  like  when  finished,  I 
am  sure  I  cannot  describe.  If  we  could 
only  have  disposed  of  the  calves  of  hii 
legs  as  sacrificial  offerings,  and  kept  tltt 
rest  of  him  with  his  back  against  the 
wall,  he  might  have  passed  muster,  u 
most  of  the  enlargements  were  behind; 
but  the  great  triangular  pieces  wbich 
we  were  obliged  to  put  into  the  backs 
of  his  long  stockings  made  the  seam 
wriggle  all  around  his  legs  like  a  cork- 
screw, and,  as  a  well-educated  EogUsIk- 
man  would  observe,  they  looked  so 
"jolly  funny"  that  we  screamed  iridi 
laughter. 

"Thee  had  better  settle  down  into 
quietness,"  said  Louis-the-Fourteenth. 
"  If  thee  look  once  at  iny  legs,  at  ths 
party,  I  will  straightway  dance  a  b.u1oi^ 
hornpipe." 

Fancy  Louis-the-Fourteenth  with  those 
ridiculous  legs,  and  dancing  a  honipipe ! 

But  how  I  did  enjoy  the  intense,  \SDr 
spcakable  delight  of  those  two  youDg 
Quakers  at  the  ball  I  How  wicked  and 
pleasant  it  was  to  give  them  this  forbid- 
den glimpse  into  fairy-land*.  Lydia 
even  went  through  the  figures  of  a  qn*- 
drillc  with  a  little  rapturous  teaching 
of  her  partner,  a  handsome  young  bii- 
gand ;  while  Kimrod,  with  his  patched- 
up  back  against  a  door,  and  those  ab- 
surd legs  drawing  corks  down  among 
the  chairs  of  the  musicians,  made  one 
of  the  fiddlers  tumble  off  his  seat  with 
laughter,  at  his  comments  on  the  scene 
in  the  "  thee  "  and  **  thou  "  language. 

I  do  not  think  that  we  were  ever 
found  out  in  this  adventure ;  and  we 
never  did  so  any  more ;  for  soon  after, 
Nimrod,  whom  I  have  called  a  big  boy, 
but  wh«was  in  reality  twenty-one  years 
of  age,  with  a  moustache  that  could  only 
be  seen  in  a  strong  side-light,  got  mar- 
ried I 

I  am  certain  that  Nimrod^s  parents 
were  pleased  to  have  him  safely  married 
so  young ;  and  he  was  nowise  loth,  for 
Ruth  Gumble  was  a  sweet,  prim  little 
maiden,  who  demurely  knotted  and 
knitted  for  her  kith  and  kinsfolk,  and 
looked  bewitchingly  pretty  under  bon- 


1870.1 


QujIeeb  Quires. 


607 


nets  of  the  most  boiled-down,  coal-scut- 
tle-y  pattern.  But,  oh  !  she  had  a  very 
square  cJiin;  and  the  raylshing  little 
dimple  in  it  could  not  hide  the  fact, 
from  one  Icjimed  as  I  in  physiognomy, 
that  Nimrod's  six  feet  four,  which  bow- 
ed and  fell  at  her  beck  now,  would  bow 
and  fall  at  her  peck  when  thoy  twain 
became  one. 

Of  course,  I  was  burdened  with  the 
weight  of  my  concern  to  go  to  his  wed- 
ding ;  and  with  this  end  in  view  I  told 
Samuel,  if  he  should  be  moved  to  speak 
on  this  most  important  occasion,  it 
would  surely  be  "  blessed  on  my  wait- 
ing mind."  This  piece  of  solemn  flat- 
tery went  straight  to  the  mark,  and  I 
got  the  invitation  and  thanked  him, 
with  a  face  of  sober  decorum,  feeling  all 
the  time  like  Topsy, 

"  Ob,  isn't  I  drcfful  wicked, 
Chirig-a-ring-hng-ring  ricked." 

But  that  light-minded  Lydia,  who  had 
had  her  ann  locked  in  mine,  while  I  was 
praising  her  father's  preaching-gift,  rush- 
ed into  the  hall,  her  cheeks  and  throat 
puffed  out  with  bottled-up laughter;  and 
when  I  joined  her,  she  had  the  cruelty 
to  say,  "  Oh  Fanny,  *  that  figment  of  the 
brain,*  thy  '  waiting  mind,*  overcame  mo 
utterly.  Thee  is  deceitful  above  all 
things  and  desi>erately  wicked ;  yet  thee 
fascinates  me ;  "  and  she  took  my  face 
between  her  two  small  hands  and  kissed 
me. 

"  Lydia,"  I  answered  sternly,  and  givr 
ing  her  a  good  pinch,  **  if  you  want  to 
see  desperate  wickedness,  combined  with 
distracting  beauty,  look  in  the  glass; 
then  put  on  your  sugar-scoop  bonnet, 
and  come  out  with  me,  for  I  wish  to 
buy  some  teaspoons  for  the  bride." 

The  inconsistent,  unsympathetic  sun 
shone  gloriously  bright  on  the  wedding- 
day  ;  but  the  meeting-house  did  its  best 
^-crowded,  one  side  with  black,  the 
other  with  drab-colored  Friends — ^to  as- 
sert itself.  It  was  what  a  well-edu- 
cated young  Englishman  would  call  "  a 
Bwell-wedding,"  for  Friends  Samuel  and 
Gumble  were  "jolly  rick"  (more  well* 
educated  young  Englishman),  and  Abi- 
gail Shoetie,  the  great  preacher,  was 
Nimrod's  aunt. 


The  bride  and  groom  sat  by  them- 
selves on  a  long  bench,  pew  we  should 
call  it,  facing  the  preachers'  seats,  which 
was  filled  on  this  occasion  with  an  alarm- 
ing row  of  broad-brims  and  drab-bon- 
nets. According  to  the  rules  of  the 
Society,  the  couple  were  to  marry  each 
other ;  that  is,  when  they  could  pluck 
up  the  courage  to  rise,  they  promised, 
one  to  the  other,  in  the  best  original 
words  that  might  come  to  them  in  such 
a  moment  of  homble  embarrassment,  to 
love,  honor,  «fcc.,  and  to  live  together 
till  death  did  them  part. 

"  But  what  is  that  footstool  for  ? "  I 
asked  Lydia  in  a  whisper. 

"  Ruth  is  to  stand  upon  it  when  they 
rise  ;  she  c«n  hear  him  the  better,  thco 
knows." 

"  Oh  I  and  perhaps  ho  can  hear,  if 
she  puts  in  the  word  '  obey.'  Lydia, 
she'll  never  do  it !  I'll  give  you  my 
pressed  rcse-lcaf  beads,  if  she  docs." 

*'  Will  thee,  indeed  ?  Oh,  may  she 
then  be  led  in  the  right  path  !  " 

It  threatened  to  be  a  **  silent  meet- 
ing ; "  so  silent,  that  I  had  an  almost 
irresistible,  giggling  sort  of  concern  to 
get  up  and  speak  myself.  I  felt  so  sorry 
for  those  two  poor  souls  sitting  on  the 
bench.  The  silence  must  havo  been  ap- 
palling to  them  ;  a  sort  of  purgatory,  a 
waitijig,  not  for  doomsday,  but  for  the 
bliss,  which  could  only  come  after 
speaking. 

Nimrod  kept  turning  white  and  red. 
We  could  see  him  open  his  mouth  with 
a  gulp,  rise  an  inch  or  two  from  his  seat 
— Ruth  giving  a  little  sympathetic  cor- 
responding bob  of  her  body — and  sink 
down  again,  his  courage  oozing  out. 
He  would  half  pull  off  one  glove,  then 
grabble  and  scratch  it  on  again  in  a 
great  flurry.  He  favored  the  congregct- 
tion  with  what  seemed  to  be  an  organ- 
ized series  of  these  performances,  the 
preachers  gravely  observing  him,  and 
the  congregation  silent  and  watching ; 
when,  lo  I  he  had  a  spasm  I  he  tore  off 
his  glove  I  he  shot  bolt  upright  in  the 
air  on  top  of  Ruth's  stool  I  ho  seized 
her  hand,  nearly  upsetting  himself  by 
diving  for  it,  pulled  her  up  all  in  a  flut- 
ter, and  mumbled  out  something  bo- 


698 


Putni.m'8  MioAzniB. 


[Jim^ 


tween  a  cry  and  a  croak,  for  he  was  in 
each  a  paroxysm  of  fright.  Then  he 
leaned  over  nearly  double,  and  listened 
to  a  little  squeak  f^om  Rntb,  communi- 
cating to  him  her  intentions  to  hen-peck 
him  T7cll  for  the  rest  of  his  days,  for 
taking  away  her  stool,  and  stsjiding 
upon  it.  I  know  that  this  was  what 
she  meant,  if  the  words  were  different. 
And  so,  at  last,  all  the  misery  was  oyer ; 
and  after  signing  their  names  to  a 
parchment  scroll,  which  was  witnessed 
by  some  of  the  preachers,  they  walked 
out  of  meeting,  man  and  wife. 

At  first  Nimrod  and  his  wife  lived 
with  Samuel ;  and  during  all  the  honey- 
moon his  conduct  was  drab-colored  and 
most  exemplary. 

But  one  day  Lydia  told  me  that  the 
bad  boy  had  not  yet  mended  his  ways. 
There  had  been  a  meeting  of  Friends  at 
her  father's  house  on  special  business, 
and  on  that  afternoon,  Nimrod  saunter- 
ing home,  saw  an  organ-grinder  and  his 
monkey  passing  the  door;  stopping 
him,  he  said,  '^Does  thee  see  that 
house  with  the  blinds  drawn  down  ?  " 

The  sunny  and  dirty  Italian  nodded, 
with  a  flourish  of  his  white  teeth. 

"Well,  whatever  happens,  do  thee 
play  before  that  door  until  I  desire  thee 
to  leave." 

With  another  intelligent  nod,  and  a 
jerk  at  the  monkey,  who  took  off  its 
hat,  and  made  a  solemn,  reproachful 
bow,  he  commenced  to  grind  out  the 
drinking-song  in  Lucrezia  Borgia,  with 
a  dislocating  energy,  when  the  door 
slowly  opened,  and  Samuel  appeared. 

"  Friend,"  he  called,  and  the  drink- 
ing-song came  to  a  melancholy,  howling 
stop.  "  Friend,  thy  music  is  not  desira- 
ble to  me ;  here  is  sixpence ;  go  away 
speedily,"  and  the  door  was  shut. 

Delighted  with  such  a  gratuity,  the 

man  was  preparing  to  obey,  when  Nim- 

Tod  strode  up  to  him  from  his  ambush 

round  the  comer,  shaking  his  huge  fist 

savagely,  retired. 

Down  wemt  the  organ,  a  new  stop  was 
turned  or  put  on,  and  this  time  "  Cap- 
tain Jinks  of  the  Horse  Marines  "  was 
teaching  the  ladies  V  how  to  dance,  how 
to  dance,  how  to  dance,"  and  the  jwor 


little  monkey  was  bowing,  scraping,  and 
dancing  also  with  a  solenm  elegaaa 
worthy  of  Sir  Charles  Grandiaon,  whea 
the  door  opened,  and  Samuel  once  more 
appeared. 

'*  Friend,"  he  mildly  remonstnte^ 
'*  have  I  not  told  thee  already  that  tfaj 
music  has  nothing  to  recommend  it  is 
my  eyes?  Here  is  another  sixpence.  I 
wish  thee  well ;  but  thee  mtut  go  awaj.'* 

Again  the  delighted  Italian  was  pack- 
ing up  to  leave,  when  his  avenging  Xe- 
mesis,  in  the  shax>e  of  Nimrod^a  giazzt 
fist,  caught  his  eye.  Another  stop  vaa 
turned  on,  and  the  organ  struck  up 
"  Pat  Malloy,"  to  the  vociferous  joy  of 
a  dozen  little  ragamufiins,  who  had  col- 
lected to  stare  at  the  monkey.  They  all 
knew  this  elegant  ditty,  and  taking  bold 
of  hands,  they  danced  around  the  oigan- 
grinder,  with  the  monkey  in  the  middle 
making  twenty  bows  a  minute,  and 
sang  at  the  tops  of  their  voices : 

***Ti8  Pat  I  am,  for  fourteen  jean  I  tu  i^ 
mother*!  joj* 
She  keepe  a  little  huckfiter^i  shop ;  her  name  it  ii 

Malloy. 
*  I've  fourteen  children,  Fat,'  aaya  ahe,  *  they  an  % 

blessing  sent, 
Bat  then,  you  see,  they're  not  like  |Migs,  tbrj  ca>- 
not  pay  the  rent." 

This  was  too  much  1  The  door  open- 
ed, this  time  with  a  bang,  just  as  lum- 
rod,  with  a  serene  aspect,  was  approacb- 
ing  it. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  father  ? "  he 
calmly  inquired. 

**  I  have  requested  this  sinful  man  to 
go  away  twice,"  he  answered,  his  eyes 
darting  steely-blue  lightning.  "  I  hare 
given  him  money  each  time,  and  yet 
with  innate  depravity  he  persists  in 
sorely  disturbing  the  meeting." 

"  Why,  father,  thee  did  not  take  the 
right  way." 

"  What  else  could  I  do,  Nimrod  ? "" 

"  Wilt  thee  let  me  try  ?  " 

"  Surely." 

With  a  bound  like  a  tiger,  scattering 
the  ragged  children  right  and  left,  Nim- 
rod was  on  the  astounded  organ-grind- 
er. "  Off,  rascal  1 "  he  shouted ;  *'  ofl^ 
or  I  will  break  every  bone  in  thy  misera- 
ble body  an.d  make  mincemeat  of  thy 
long-tailed  brother,"  catching  up  the 


1870.] 


The  AiVNUAL  ExiiiBinoir  of  thb  Aoadimt. 


609 


monkey  and  flinging  it  at  him ;  and  ki 
less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it,  man, 
organ,  and  monkey  had  disappeared 
head  over  heels  round  the  comer  with 
such  crashes  and  bangs  against  the  pave- 
ment, that  it  was  a  wonder  that  fe  lo 
de  86  was  not  committed  by  all  three. 

"  There,  father,"  said  Nimrod ;  "  thee 
seest  how  he  went  forme,"  coming  back 
langhing  and  breathless. 

"  I  thank  thee,  Nimrod,"  he  gravely 
answered ;  "  thee  hast  a  most  persuasive 
manner."  His  blue  eyes  laughed,  but 
the  mouth  was  sober,  as  was  befitting, 
when  he  went  back  to  the  meeting, 
which,  it  is  needless  to  mention,  was 
now  conducted  without  further  inter- 
ruption. 

•  •  •  •  . 

I  was  sorry  enough  when  I  had  to 
leave  my  dear  Quaker  fHends,  to  cross 
the  wide  ocean ;  the  chance  was  so  re- 
mote that  we  should  ever  see  each  other 
again. 

And  I  tried  to  be  sorry  when  Lydia 


announced  her  intention  of  becoming 
one  of  the  "  world's  peof>le." 

It  was  not  all  from  love  of  gay  ap- 
parel, believe  me.  It  was  from  a  desire 
to  enjoy  the  beautiful  things  of  this 
world — ^music,  painting,  sculpture — 
which  like  rainbow-tints  brighten  many 
a  darkening,  drab-colored  life.  I  could 
not  help  being  glad  of  it  from  my 
standpoint;  nevertheless,  it  was  with 
rather  a  humble  and  crest-fallen  manner 
that  I  acknowledged  to  her  father  and 
mother  my  part  and  lot  in  the  matter. 
Glad  as  I  was,  I  shed  tears,  which,  like 
the  Scotch  hodge-podge  soup,  composed 
of  a  little  of  every  thing,  had  all  sorts 
of  regrets  in  them,  when  the  kind  souls 
so  benignly  forgave,  and  bade  me  fare- 
well. 

Oh,  why  cannot  Quakers  be  Episco- 
palians, or  Episcopalians  be  Quivers? 
No,  I  don't  mean  that — I'd  better  stop  I 
I  am  floundering  beyond  my  depth,  and 
this  article  is  long  enough. 


»»• 


THE  ANNUAL  EXHIBITION  OF  THE  ACADEMY. 


MoDEBN  art  has  become  so  dependent 
upon  literature,  that  is  to  say,  the  written 
statement  of  it  has  become  so  necessary 
to  complete  or  herald  its  influence,  that 
a  picture  not  criticised,  a  painter  incapa- 
ble of  starting  a  discussion,  or  of  gene- 
rating in  the  mind  of  a  writer  his  own 
sentiment  of  nature,  may  be  said  to  be 
impotent ;  such  a  painter  or  picture  is 
the  mere  beginning,  the  echo  or  ghost 
of  some  fact  in  art,  but  not  an  issue,  not 
a  radiant  incarnation  of  beauty,  not  a 
striking  expression  of  personal  force. 

The  present  exhibition  of  pictures  at 
the  Academy  of  Design  necessarily 
abounds  in  such  beginnings,  echoes  and 
ghosts  of  art,  and  affords  but  few  exam- 
ples of  art,  while  it  holds  all  sorts  of  at- 
tempts, all  sorts  of  feeble,  awkward, 
commonplace  and  germless  specimens, 
which  may  be  taken  for  much  or  little 
according  to  our  understanding  of  them. 
Now  with  these  pictures — ^the  result  of 
illusion,  of  creative  desire,  of  need  of 


beauty,  or  of  mere  need  of  mechanical 
activity  in  a  direction  flattering  and 
seductive  to  minds  even  of  the  most 
rudimentary  art-instinct — we  do  not 
propose  to  entertain  our  readers;  for 
these  pictures,  supplemented  by  critical 
comments,  would  constitute  a  double 
sacriflce  to  art;  and  wounded  vanity 
and  slaughtered  self-love  would  make 
of  the  galleries  of  the  Academy  a  place 
of  crucifixion.  Painters,  young  or  old, 
do  not  send  pictures  to  our  annual  ex- 
hibition as  geese  are  sent  to  market,  to 
be  plucked— -to  make  the  dinner  of  some 
critic,  or  come  back  shivering,  ridicu- 
lous, and  curable  only  by  time.  Those 
who  may  be  under  bad  conditions  for 
art  may  be  helped  by  time.  If  we  can- 
not encourage  struggling  and  obscure 
and  immature  workers,  we  can,  at  least, 
let. them  pass  unsmitten.  If  they  be 
without  force,  time  will  deliver  us  fh)m 
them ;  and,  likewise,  it  will  rid  Ameri- 
can art  from  the  imitative  and  literal 


700 


Putnam's  Maoazins. 


[June, 


litter  'wliich  takes  so  large  a  space  of 
the  Academy  Trails.  We  hold.it  to  be 
a  poor  business  to  strike  these  men  from 
a  public  place.  Withered  and  tasteless 
as  many  pictures  are,  they  are  the  work 
of  men  who  have  feelings,  and  therefore 
we  cannot  thro,w  them  aside,  as  we 
throw  the  windfalls  of  the  fruit-trees  of 
our  orchards  to  the  pigs.  We  are  to 
occupy  ourselves  with  pictures  that  are 
strikingly  beautiful  or  expressive,  and 
that  do  really  represent  art,  or  which 
are  hurtful  to  art  as  understood  under 
any  of  its  great  historic  or  possible 
forms. 

Mindful  of  the  actual  condition  of 
American  art,  we  shall  solicit  your 
attention  to,  and  hope  to  give  you 
a  statement  of,  the  works  of  the  live 
men  of  the  present  year.  And  first 
let  us  dispose  of  the  portrait-art  of 
the  exhibition.  Messrs.  Ames,  Page, 
Brandt,  Btone,  Staigg,  Gray,  Hunting- 
ton, and  Morse,  have  the  principal 
claim  upon  us  in  this  examination.  It 
is  due  to  Mr.  Joseph  Ames  to  say  that 
he  has  contributed  the  simplest  and 
most  vigorous  example  of  portrait-art. 
In  the  hal.-length  of  a  lady  (No.  865)  in 
the  south  gallery, — understood  to  be  the 
daughter  of  General  Butler, — we  have  a 
picture  which  just  faUs  of  being  a  mas- 
terly work.  .  But  because  of  the  lack  of 
purity  and  clearness  of  color,  because 
of  the  feebleness  of  the  shadow-side  of 
the  face,  and  the  rank  red  of  the  mouth, 
because  a  good  motive  of  color  is  not 
worked  out  into  something  exquisite, 
because  nothing  lovely  and  transparent 
in  tone  meets  the  eye  in  Mr.  Ames'  work, 
we  must  withhold  the  unstinted  compli- 
ments with  which  we  should  like  to  wel- 
come the  portrait  of  a  beautiful  woman. 
But  we  have  to  congratulate  Air.  Ames 
because  of  the  living  expression  of  the 
eyes,  the  admirable  painting  of  the 
dress,  the  good  movement  of  the  figure, 
especially  the  action  of  the  hands.  If 
all  this  just  falls  short  of  the  finest  art, 
it  is  at  least  effective  and  weU  under- 
stood ;  the  portrait  is  treated  in  a  sim- 
ple manner,  and  it  is  painted  with  a 
vigor  second  only  to  the  work  of  Mr. 
Richard  Hunt    Mr.  Ames  seems  to  be 


following  3Ir.  Hout-s  method,  aiid,i& 
doing  so,  subjects  himself  to  comparison 
with  a  master ;  but,  so  far  as  his  wo± 
resembles  Mr.  Hunt^s,  he  is  doomed  to  a 
secondary  place.  All  great  and  penna- 
nent  art  is  a  personal  expression ;  if  it 
is  not  that,  but  a  trick,  or  a  method  of 
expression  which  we  have  adopted,  it  is 
only  so  much  decoratdon,  so  much  faisi- 
ture  for  our  parlors,  which  owes  its  ex- 
istence to  our  ignorance  or  to  our  imme- 
diate needs ;  but  this  is  not  the  art  of 
the  immortal  masters. 

The  portrait  of  HL«s  Blanche  Butler 
is  not  commonplace,  and  if  the  mamiff 
of  the  painter  is  suggestive  of  another 
man's  work,  the  action,  the  expresdoc, 
the  spirit  of  the  picture,  is  3Ir.  Ames'; 
and  it  must  be  said  that  he  has  gira 
us  a  idtal,  effective,  almost  a  gracefd 
and  charming,  half-length  portrait  If 
Mr.  Ames  would  accept  a  suggestion, 
we  should  say  that  it  would  be  well  for 
him  to  get  rid  of  a  certain  dryness  in 
his  method,  and  to  seek  for  quality  and 
transparency  and  luminousness  in  ]m 
color. 

From  Mr.  Ames'  work  to  the  full- 
length  portrait  of  Ex-Govemor  Fcnton, 
opposite  the  main  entrance  of  the  south 
gallery,  we  turn  to  one  of  the  least  sat- 
isfactory of  Mr.  Page's  peculiar  and 
sometimes  admirable  portraits.  3Ir. 
Page's  work  is  clear  and  low  and  deep 
in  tone^  a  tone  which  he  always  gets  at 
the  cost  of  much  that  properly  occupies 
the  modem  artist.  But  the  only  spot 
of  color  in  his  portrait  that  seems  to  us 
to  have  its  full  value  is  a  spot  of  red, 
the  seal  of  the  document  under  the  hand 
of  the  figure,  and  the  colors  in  the  rng 
on  the  floor.  Even  accepting  Mr.  Page's 
theory  of  painting,  it  does  not  seem  to 
us  that  the  flesh-color  is  sufficiently 
luminousj  it  is  veiled,  and  without  its 
full  value  as  light.  Mr.  Page's  talent 
commands  our  respect;  we  know  him 
to  be  a  convinced  and  serious  artist; 
and  we  know  that  he  has  painted  some 
wonderfully  subtle  and  profound  por- 
traits ;  but  this  full-length  of  £z-Gov- 
emor  Fenton  is  stiff^  awkward,  unsatis- 
factory in  more  particulars  than  we  care 
to  mention.    It  shows  Mr.  Page's  want 


1870.] 


Tub  Annual  Exhibition  of  the  Aoademt. 


701 


of  inyention,  his  want  of  style ;  it  shows 
his  method  of  painting,  unaccompanied 
by  a  sense  of  the  body  and  local  color 
of  things.  But)  as  in  most  of  his  work, 
here  is  a  plain  and  subdued  rendering 
of  his  subject ;  no  bluster,  no  vulgarity, 
no  pretension ;  yet,  compared  with  the 
direct,  simple,  open,  frank  stylo  of  a 
Velasquez,  or  with  the  gracility  and 
ease  and  substance  of  a  portrait  by 
Vandyke,  this  full-Jcngth  example  of 
"Mi,  Page's  style  in  the  art  of  portrait- 
painting  seems  vicious.  To  go  into 
detailed  criticism  of  Mr.  Page's  work 
would  force  us  to  remark  a  feeble  sense 
of  form,  an  inadequate  sense  of  the 
body  and  make  of  a  man ;  and  while  we 
accepted  his  work  as  a  fine  example  of 
taney  as  a  serious  and  conscientious 
study  of  expression,  we  should  turn 
from  it  for  the  reasons  we  have  given 
above.  Without  precision  and  beauty, 
a  painter  has  only  reached  a  maimer  of 
painting;  and  a  better  result  of  Mr. 
Page's  theory  seems  to  us  to  be  in  Mr. 
Perry's  "  Story  of  the  Tiles  "  (No.  295) ; 
which  is  not  only  pure,  clear,  deep  in 
tone,  but  vivid  and  varied  in  color,  and 
with  the  exception  of  the  color  and 
texture  of  the  hair  of  the  mother  and 
boy,  and  a  want  of  masterly  drawing,  it 
is  a  wholly  charming  and  beautiful 
piece  ef  art. 

The  best  example  of  purity,  precision, 
regularity,  exactitude  in  portrait-paint- 
ing, is  to  be  found  in  Mr.  Carl  Brandt's 
head  of  a  child  (No.  869)  in  the  south 
gallery.  Mr.  Brandt's  work  has  the  in- 
evitable hardness  of  texture  which  is 
the  weak  side  of  all  elaborate  and  imi- 
tative art.  Mr.  Stone's  portrait  of  a 
young  girl  (No.  887),  in  the  west  gal- 
lery, illustrates  a  directly  opposite  aim 
in  art — ^an  aim  not  to  imitate  and  real- 
ize, but  to  render,  to  express,  to  suggest, 
by  a  happy  and  yet  a  slight  style,  the 
exquisite  delicacy,  the  fleeting  grace, 
the  softness  and  bloom  of  the  faces  of 
children  and  girls.  Mr.  Stone's  girl  is 
exquisitely  painted,  and  the  expression 
IS  l^vclv ;  Mr.  Brandt's  child  is  a  more 
studied,  we  should  say  a  more  intellec- 
tual, work ;  but,  so  long  as  a  vivid  and 
pure  impression  counts  for  as  much  in 


art  as  study,  or  elaborate  effort,  in  which 
some  zest,  some  freshness  is  lost,  while 
we  careftilly  and  curiously  consider  Mr. 
Brandt's  admirable  work,  we  think  no 
less  how  charming  and  genuine  is  Mr. 
Stone's  exquisite  appreciation  of  the 
lightness,  ft*eshness,  and  softness  of  the 
face  of  his  pretty  little  girl;  yet,  we 
regret  that  the  moment  Mr.  Stone  treats 
more  than  a  head,  his  drawing  puts  a 
point  of  interrogation  in  our  mind,  and 
we  wish  for  what  he  has  never  given  us. 
The  same  is  true  of  Mr.  R  M.  Staigg's 
drawing  in  the  lovely  head  of  a  young 
lady  (No.  877)  which  hangs  in  the  large 
gallery ;  a  head  which  Mr.  Staigg  has 
rendered  with  much  of  the  sweet,  lumi- 
nous, and  varied  color  of  nature,  but 
which  wants  a  little  more  fusion  of 
tint;  a  little  less  of  the  broken  and 
spotty  touch  with  which  the  artist  has 
kept  his  flesh-tints  exquisitely  pure  and 
deliciously  fresh.  Mr.  Staigg  has  placed 
on  his  canvas  a  head  of  a  beautiful 
young  girl,  whose  face  is  suggestive  of 
the  conscious  and  cool  flavor  of  straw- 
berries, and  of  the  fragrance  and  warmth 
of  acacia-blossoms.  This  head  illus- 
trates  Mr.  Staigg's  very  rare  gift,  and 
yet,  like  most  of  his  work,  fails  of  being 
a  flawless  and  perfect  work  of  art  be- 
cause of  a  want  of  thoroughness  and 
knowledge  on  the  part  of  the  artist. 
The  impression  of  the  head  is  flne  and 
individual;  the  gift  of  the  artist  is 
manifestly  gracious  and  pure ;  but  the 
training  of  his  hand  has  been  deficient. 
Tet  here  is  expression,  here  is  sensibil- 
ity, here  is  that  essential  sensuaumesa 
without  which  we  cannot  have  a  beauti- 
ful result  in  painting  ^  and,  lacking  that 
sensuousness,  all  the  power  to  render 
form,  all  the  knowledge  of  drawing  of 
a  Vemet  or  a  Delarocho,  is  not  equal 
to  the  expression  of  the  beauty  of  a 
flower;  much  less  is  it  equal  to  that 
happy  and  magic  gift,  by  which  the 
weakest  hand  sometimes  renders  the 
vivid  and  subtle  and  luminous  beauty 
of  the  flesh-forms  of  a  child's,  a  girl's, 
or  a  woman's  face.  But  these  cur- 
tailed, these  limited,  one-sided  men, 
these  gifts  which  are  but  rarely  associ- 
ated with  severe  and  thoroughly-train- 


702 


B 


[Jxa^ 


ed  artists,  make  us  hamble  and  grateful. 
Mr.  Staigg  has  a  gift,  the  gift  of  a  deli- 
cate and  fine  organization ;  be  can  paint 
a  girl's  head  with  a  rare  sense  of  its 
soft  exquisiteness  and  pure  sentiment. 

We  are  before  Mr.  Huntington's  family 
group,  which  pleases  and  interests  us, 
for  it  is  well  composed,  it  is  treated 
with  a  certain  degree  of  elegance,  it  is 
ftdly  up  to  the  art-level  of  Washington 
Irving ;  it  has  a  refined,  well-bred,  ge- 
nial, unobtrusive,  yet  attracting  charac- 
ter ;  it  represents  a  family  of  handsome 
Americans,  with  just  a  little  suspicion 
of  aristocratic  feeling,  but  which  is 
manifested  with  so  much  that  is  mild 
and  benignant  in  temper,  that  it  is  not 
in  our  democratic  mind  to  take  alarm 
at  it.  But  Mr.  Huntington's  group  is 
dificult  to  place  in  America.  Fiction 
pushes  honest  homeliness  aside.  The 
group  appears  to  be  on  the  terrace  of 
an  Italian  villa,  but  the  costume  does 
not,  save  the  black  coats  of  the  gentle- 
man, localize  them.  The  merits  of  Mr. 
Huntington^s  picture  are  good  honest 
brush  work  and  agreeable  color ;  and  in 
the  first  place  of  the  figures  and  natural- 
ness of  expression  without  any  thing  like 
realism,  or  mere  imitation,  as  in  ]^Ir. 
Gray's  remarkable  family-picture  in  the 
east  room.  It  seems  to  us  that  Mr. 
Huntington's  background  sufiers  from  a 
want  of  lightness  and  looseness  in  the 
touch,  and  from  too  much  negative  col- 
or ;  and  wo  would  like  to  see  a  little 
less  dryness  and  sameness  in  the  texture 
of  objects  throughout  the  picture.  In 
spite  of  these  all  but  confirmed  charac- 
teristics of  Mr.  Huntington's  work,  the 
picture  before  us  is  noble  and  agreeable. 
Especially  charming  is  the  color  and 
figure  and  action  and  expression  of  the 
young  lady  in  satin  and  gold.  The  one 
piece  of  red  in  the  picture  is  not  a  good 
red  ;  it  can  be  improved.  Mr.  Hunting- 
ton is  represented  by  several  half-length 
portraits;  the  heads  are  well  painted, 
but  the  treatment  of  the  pictures  seems 
to  us  somewhat  tame  and  ordinary ;  but 
who  is  the  American  portrait-painter 
that  can  really  make  a  new  picture  from 
every  sitter  ?  Mr.  Henry  Peters  Gray  is, 
represented  best  by  a  single  study  of  a 


head,  "^  Normandy  Girl "  (373),  winch  u 
a  very  beantifol  example  of  flesh-punt- 
ing; it  is  round  and  fine  and  luminooii 
and  it  is  pleasing  in  expression,  and,  liks 
hifl  best  work  as  a  colorist,  is  free  bam, 
the  very  common  defect  of  coanenea 
and  earthiness,  which  is  so  often  fomid 
in  more  solidly  modelled  and  more 
efiective  heads. 

From  these  notable  examples  of  por- 
trait-art we  turn  to  the  fi^ure-pictoPBi 
of  the  exhibition.  The  best,  the  most 
natural  and  original  figure  or  genie 
painting  of  the  exhibition  is  by  Mr. 
Winslow  Homer ;  the  most  elaborate  ii 
by  Mr.  Gray.  Mr.  Homer  is  one  of  tks 
few  young  men  who  appear  to  have  a 
manly  aim,  and  to  be  in  directly  person- 
al relations  with  nature ;  other  young 
painters  seem  feeble  or  affected  or  grop- 
ing. 

..  We  are  before  Mr.  Homer's  best  piQ> 
ture  (No.  173),  the  girl  on  horseback, 
just  at  the  top  of  Mount  Washington. 
It  is  so  real,  so  natural,  so  efiiectiTe,  lo 
full  of  light  and  air ;  it  is  so  individual; 
it  is  so  simply,  broadly,  vigorously 
drawn  and  painted ;  the  action  of  the 
horse  is  so  good,  the  girl  sits  so  well ; 
she  is  so  truly  American,  so  delicate 
and  sunny,  that,  of  course,  you  surren- 
der yourself  to  the  pleasure  of  her 
breezy,  health-giving  ride ;  you  look  at 
her  with  gusto ;  you  see  she  is  a  little 
warm,  perhaps  too  warm,  from  her  ride 
up  the  mountain ;  but  then  she,  like  us, 
lets  herself  be  refreshed  with  all  the 
coolness  and  light  about  her,  with  the 
rising  vapors  that  make  a  white,  a  dai- 
zling  veil  between  her  and  the  shining, 
glittering  valleys,  all  hidden  by  mist, 
and,  as  it  were,  under  a  river  of  light 
This  is  something  of  contemporary  na- 
ture, something  that  will  never  become 
stale ;  this  is  the  picture  of  a  man  who 
has  the  seeing  eye— an  eye  which  will 
never  suffer  him  to  make  pictures  that 
look  like  "  sick  wall-paper,"  the  elabo- 
rate expression  of  mental  imbecility  and 
a  mania  for  pre-Haphaelite  art.  Here 
is  no  faded,  trite,  flavorless  figure,  as  if 
from  English  illustrated  magazines ;  but 
an  American  girl  out-of-doors,  by  ml 
American  artist  with  American  charac- 


1870.] 


Tbb  Annual  Exhibition  of  the  Aoademt. 


708 


teristicB — a  picture  by  a  man  who  goes 
direct  to  his  object,  sees  its  largQ  and 
obvious  relations,  and  works  to  express 
them,  untroubled  by  the  past  and  with- 
out thinking  too  curiously  of  the  pres- 
ent. Mr.  Homer  is  a  positive,  a  real,  a 
natural  painter.  His  work  is  always 
good  as  far  as  it  goes ;  and  generally  it 
falls  below  the  standard  of  finish  and 
detail  which  is  within  the  reach  of  our 
most  childish  and  mediocre  painters, 
and  which  misleads  many,  and  deceives 
painters  with  the  thought  that  by  going 
from  particular  to  particular,  of  itself 
insures  a  fine  result  in  art. 

Our  best  genre  painter  said  to  us  the 
other  day,  that  many  picture-buyers  were 
too  stupid  to  appreciate  Mr.  Homer^s 
girl  on  horseback ;  and  we  agreed  with 
him.  2dr.  Homer  may  be  called  a  down- 
right painter  of  nature ;  as  an  artist,  he 
has  yet  to  reach  the  exquisite  and  beau- 
tiful ;  he  is  now  in  the  good  and  true. 
He  has  invention,  he  is  fresh  and  just 
in  his  observation,  and  he  has  but  to 
attain  the  beautiful  to  become  our  mas- 
ter figure-painter.  We  have  no  figure- 
painter  who  can  put  a  figure  in  action 
better  than  Mr.  Homer ;  not  one  who 
sees  the  actuality  of  his  subject  better; 
not  one  who  is  closer  to  the  objective 
fact  of  nature.  Mr.  Homer  is  represent- 
ed by  eight  or  nine  pictures,  including 
his  sketches,  each  of  which  is  remarka- 
ble for  the  truth  of  local  color  and  the 
striking  rendering  of  the  efiiect  of  light. 
But  the  three  girls  on  the  beach  in  the 
large  picture  in  the  north  gallery  are 
not  beautiful ;  their  legs  are  not  well 
drawn,  nor  are  they  fine  or  elegant  in 
form. 

The  moment  a  painter  selects  a  girl 
for  a  subject,  the  lovely,  the  beautiful  is 
his  object ;  happy  if,  like  Greuze,  he  can 
delight  his  contemporaries,  and  go  down 
to  posterity  as  the  master  of  an  exquis- 
ite and  immortal  type  of  human  sweet- 
ness and  graciousness—master  pf  a  lu- 
minous and  perfumed  and  soft  and  melt- 
ing face  expressive  of  purity  and  desire, 
like  the  girl-heads  of  Diderot's  painter- 
friend. 

Mr.  Homer's  three  girls  are  awkward ; 
not  very  interesting,  but  very  natural ; 


his  "Manners  and  Customs  on  the 
Coast "  in  the  east  gallery  is  very  real, 
bright,  efiective ;  but  an  objection  may 
be  made  to  the  Siamese  twins  dressed 
like  two  coast-swells ;  and  prudish  eyes 
may  question  the  modesty  of  the  two 
girls  in  the  foreground,  who,  of  all 
bathers  that  we  have  ever  seen  on  this 
side  of  the  Atlantic,  alone  may  be  said 
to  bo  prettily  costumed  for  a  little  sea- 
sport. 

No  people  in  the  world,  save  the 
English,  are  so  far  as  the  Americans 
from  the  natural  life  and  the  artistic 
expression  of  life.  "We  have  one  avenue 
of  deliverance ;  it  is  that  of  art,  which 
begins  in  nature.  An. artist  is  a  being 
in  whom  the  primitive  man  is  not  whol- 
ly dead ;  but  the  primitive  man  lives, 
trained  to  express  his  desires,  to  mani- 
fest himself,  to  use  his  faculties,  through 
organs  that  have  been  disciplined  to  pro- 
duce beautiful  and  enchanting  things, 
and  which  beguile  us  from  the  stupid 
and  barren  and  monotonous  conditions 
of  mere  order  and  imitation  to  which 
we  are  commonly  committed.  The  syren 
of  nature  lives  in  the  poet,  the  child  of 
nature  lives  in  the  artist ;  and  without 
the  seeing  eye,  the  hearing  ear,  the  per- 
suasive tongue  and  magic  touch  of  both 
poet  and  painter,  into  what  an  unmiti- 
gated bondage  to  the  narrow  utilitarian- 
ism of  modern  civilization  should  we  be 
plunged  I  This  thought  leads  us  direct- 
ly to  Mr.  Homer  Martin's  landscape  (No. 
187)  in  the  north  gallery — that  cool,  soli- 
tary pond,  with  its  fringe  of  water-plants 
and  cool,  dark,  dim  trees,  and  lovely, 
dying  tints  in  the  sky.  It  is  a  fresh  and 
charming  picture,  owing  much  of  its 
very  charm  to  its  slightness.  But  step 
into  the  east  gallery ;  we  are  before  Mr. 
Homer  Martin's  "  View  from  a  Moun- 
tain-Top in  the  Wilderness."  This  pic- 
ture (No.  279)  seems  to  us  but  little 
more  than  a  large  sketch.  But  you  have 
a  very  narrow  and  unintelligent  sense  of 
art,  if  the  fact  of  finish,  or  completeness, 
if  the  fact  that  a  representation  of  na- 
ture is  sketchy,  lessehs  its  importance  to 
you  and  makes  you  forego  the  pleasure 
to  be  derived  from  it.  The  great  merit 
of  Mr.  Homer  Martin  is  not  that  he  is  a 


704 


PuTNAai's  Magazine. 


[JOB^ 


complete  picture- maker,  or  a  master;  it 
is,  that  TV'bat  he  does  is  expresaiye  of  a 
personaUixpericnce  with  nature,  that  he 
gives  us  something  in  his  pictures  not 
suggestive  of  something  better  in  the 
-work  of  another  artist,  but  rather  some- 
thing that  announces  to  the  seeing  eye 
hii  reason  of  being,  and  refreshes  us  by 
its  suggestions  of  loveliness,  tenderness, 
and  mystery.  We  arc  standing  before  a 
picture  which  is  not  composed,  which 
is  not  pretty  and  precise  and  common- 
place, but  a  picture  that  is  light  and 
airy,  and  tender  and  lovely  in  color.  Mr. 
Martin  has  peculiar  gifts  as  a  landscape 
painter;  it  would  be  easy  enough  for 
him  to  reach  a  conventionally  complete 
expression  ;  but  like  a  great  many  men, 
he  might  reach  it  at  the  expense  of  the 
freshness  and  suggcstiveness  of  his  pres- 
ent manner— freshness  as  of  morning 
hours,  as  of  springtime,  as  of  every  thing 
yet  untouched  by  the  cabinet-maker's 
idea  of  art,  or  the  pedagogue's  idea  of 
poetry.  Mr.  Martin  is  on  the  way  to  be- 
come a  master;  but  a  painter  is  not 
acknowledged  to  be  a  master  save  when 
he  sustains  himself  year  after  year  at  a 
level,  where,  however,  much  as  we  may 
cavil  at  his  method,  he  makes  us  know 
beyond  question  that  he,  at  least,  is  sure 
of  himself,  and  understands  what  he  is 
about,  and  knows  what  to  paint,  and 
when  to  stop  painting. 

In  looking  at  Mr.  ^lartin's  landscapes 
we  are  to  be  reminded  that  he  is  one  of 
the  few  young  landscapists  who  do  not 
paint  after  any  fashionable  receipt  for 
picture-making ;  and  there  are  receipts 
for  making  a  certain  kind  of  agreeable 
paintings  as  there  are  receipts  for  mak- 
ing pills  and  puddings,  alike  to  be  ac- 
quired with  time  and  patience,  alike  ac- 
quired by  the  most  docile  and  colorless 
and  purposeless  minds.  But  such  pic- 
tures, in  high  favor  in  chromo-factories, 
are  pictures,  but  not  works  of  art.  They 
are  the  despair,  the  mortification  of 
every  true  lover  of  art,  and  the  boast  of 
every  mere  picture^maker.  Mr.  Martin 
is  not  one  of  them ;  he  belongs  to  the 
best  section  of  the  younger  men  of  the 
Academy. 

Another  vital  and  interesting  painter 


who  gives  us  some  art,  is  Mr.  John  Ii 
Farge,  whose  one  chicfest  accompliab- 
ment,  whose  one  rarest  attainment,  ii 
exquisite  refinement  of  color;  call  it 
sweetness,  quality,  any  term  you  choose, 
expressive  of  the  subtlety  and  mtisic  of 
happily  ordered  tones  and  tints.  In  tlus 
one  particular  of  the  mingled  and  fn? 
and  vivid  and  veiled  delicacies  of  color, 
of  color  and  form  seen  as  it  were 
through  transparent  tones,  we  hsre 
what  IS  not  to  be  found  in  the  work  of 
any  other  American  artist. 

Mr.  La  Farge's  scrupulous  and  fine 
and  much-sought-for  color,  is  justlj  ex- 
pressed as  a  visible  correspondence  to 
the  hidden  harmonies  of  music.  There 
is  in  his  pictures  the  same  undefiuftble 
charm,  the  same  occasional  melting 
away  of  definite  form,  the  same  sudden 
but  harmonious  masses  and  neat  ac- 
cents, the  same  loss  of  the  mere  fomiAl 
logic  of  his  subject,  as  in  music.  See 
the  bright  little  picture  (No.  435)  near 
the  door  in  the  west  gallery;  the  ex- 
quisite gray  and  green  and  brown  of 
the  little  picture  (No.  302)  in  the  east 
gallery.  Then  look  at  the  fine  grada- 
tion, the  unity  and  mystery  of  mingled 
tint  and  tone  in  the  large  picture  in  the 
south  gallery.  How  well  the  ground 
and  rocks  are  modelled  !  bow  justly  is 
the  apparent  substanco  of  things  ren- 
dered I  how  far  off  the  sky,  how  level j 
the  peaceful  light  that  pervades  sky  and 
distance  !  Mr.  La  Farge  is  an  artist  by 
his  particular  impression  of  nature. 
He  is  an  artist  as  distinguished  from  a 
poet.  We  should  say  his  senses  are  ex- 
quisitely adjusted  to  nature.  The  moral 
element  which  enters  into  every  poet, 
that  something  which  makes  the  pathos 
of  a  man^s  work,  which  is  nature  fiyu 
the  moral  experience  of  a  human  soul, 
is  not  in  Mr.  La  Farge*s  works ;  it  is  in 
Mr.  Martin's ;  it  is  in  Kousseau ;  it  is 
not  in  Keats'  verses — Keats,  the  one 
artist  or  painter-poet. 

The  remarks  to  be  made  on  Mr.  La 
Farge's  large  picture  are,  that  we  owe 
but  little  to  his  subject,  and  every  thing 
to  his  art.  If  we  cannot  see  his  art,  his 
subject  must  seem  badly  chosen  and  un- 
interesting.   In  the  hands  of  a  man  leas 


1870.] 


Tub  Annual  EzmBiTiON  of  the  Acadbmt. 


705 


Bcrapulous,  less  sure  of  his  aim,  in  the 
hands  of  a  mere  literal  copyist  of  the 
features  of  his  subject,  it  would  hare 
been  an  awkward  and  common  picture, 
a  literal  rendering  of  a  mere  piece  of 
nature.  As  it  is,  it  takes  rank  with  the 
undisputed  art,  the  masterly  work  of 
Mr.  S.  R  Qiflford,  our  supreme  poet- 
painter  and  master  landscapist. 

Mr.  S.  K.  Gifford  is  represented  by 
two  very  beautiful  pictures;  one  the 
"  Venetian  Isle  of  San  Giorgio  "  (183), 
the  other  "  A  View  near  Tivoli."  The 
first  is  vision-like,  and  quite  perfect. 
These  sunny  walls  and  placid  waters, 
these  towers  and  roofs,  these  lazy-look- 
ing boats,  are  painted  by  the  hand  of  a 
master.  What  a  picture  to  hang  in  a 
sick  man^s  room,  to  make  life  seem  an 
easy  and  divinely  harmonious  thing  1 
What  a  picture  to  look  at  on  a  cold, 
raw  day,  when  blinding  sleet  and  blus- 
tering winds  are  outside  I  What  a  pic- 
ture to  sec  at  any  time  1  it  is  so  still,  so 
mellow,  so  harmonious,  in  a  word  so 
beautiful  I  Mr.  Gifford  is  the  painter 
who  is  most  uniformly  happy  in  his 
choice  of  subject,  fine  in  his  impression, 
and  complete  in  his  expression  of  it. 
He  seems  to  have  passed,  long  ago,  be- 
yond the  period  of  struggle  and  search ; 
he  seems  to  have  reached  that  heaven 
of  an  artist's  life,  when  he  lives  wholly 
by  his  personal  impressions  of  nature, 
and  reproduces  them  without  apparent 
effort.  He  is  our  simplest  and  surest 
landscape-painter,  a  master  of  drawing 
and  composition,  and  he  has  an  unfiEkil- 
ing  and  exquisite  sense  of  gradation^ 
and  he  lives  in  lights  He  is  a  poet,  be- 
cause whatever  his  subject,  it  becomes 
transfigured  in  kia  mind.  The  "  Tivoli " 
(362)  in  the  large  gallery  is  a  wonder- 
fully glowing  landscape.  The  sunshine 
seems  literally  to  flood  in  one  vast 
stream  of  light  the  whole  valley.  Each 
of  Mr.  Gifibrd^s  pictures  Is  painted  in  a 
sure,  judicious,  sustained,  fine,  and  ele- 
gant style.  Looking  at  the  two  speci- 
mens of  his  distinguished  genius,  one 
might  naturally  question  if  the  painter 
ever  groped  about  and  struggled ;  rath- 
er whether  he  did  not  suddenly  wake 
up  into  the  full  perfection  of  his  fine 
VOL.  V. — 46 


art  expression f  as  a  dragon-flyj  from  its 
obscure  cradle,  rises  gauzy-winged,  to 
live  in  light,  with  no  trace  of  its  earth- 
bound  prison,  bat  is  all  glittering  and 
gold,  for  golden  hours  and  a  divine 
climate. 

Mr.  C.  C.  Griswold's  "Purgatory 
Point,  Newport "  (808),  is  not  up  to  the 
mark  made  by  this  serious  and  consci- 
entious young  painter  in  former  exhibi- 
tions of  the  Academy.  It  is  a  tame,  but 
not  a  bad,  picture.  Mr.  Griswold  can 
yet  make  it  a  fine  one ;  it  is  now  unfin- 
ished. For  example :  take  the  note  of 
color  made  by  the  blue  of  the  sea  in  the 
distance ;  it  is  a  bit  of  nature  which,  to 
quote  the  felicitous  expression  of  a 
brother-artist,  should  sing:  it  would 
sing  too  to  the  eye  in  nature.  But  in 
Mr.  Griswold^s  landscape  this  is  a  pas- 
sage that  does  not  seem  felt  as  color ; 
and  the  whole  picture  is  suggestive  of 
a  languid  or  listless  hand.  How  dififer- 
ent  the  lovely  and  vivid  color  and  deli- 
cate execution  of  Mr.  Griswold's  spring 
landscape  of  last  year.  Mr.  Griswold's 
study  of  the  sea  in  the  corridor  (126)  is 
breezy  and  bright. 

Mr.  R  W.  Hubbard's  picture  (178),  in 
the  north  gallery,  is  an  admirable  land- 
scape, well  painted,  full  of  nature,  and 
very  effective.  The  artist  well  under- 
stands the  sun  and  the  sky  as  the  source 
of  light ;  a  thing,  sometimes,  yes  very 
often,  lost  sight  of  by  good  painters. 
Mr.  Hubbard  has  only  to  get  rid  of  a 
little  of  the  obtrusiveness  of  mere  pig- 
ment in  his  middle  gpround,  and  a  little 
heaviness  in  his  touch  in  painting  de- 
tails, to  be  counted  not  only  a  charming 
landscape-painter,  as  he  is,  but  a  mas- 
terly one.  These  mountains,  this  sky 
with  its  flocks  of  douds,  these  autumn 
trees,  and  this  mountain-creek  (we  are 
speaking  of  No.  178),  make  a  noble 
American  picture. 

Mr.  Kensett's  single  marine  in  the 
large  gallery  is  a  clear,  pure,  and  refined 
painting  ;,  especially  noticeable  is  the 
painting  of  the  beach  and  sea,  and  the 
drawing  of  "  the  tender  curving  lines  of 
creamy  spray."  It  sustains  Mr.  Kensett's 
reputation;  but  the  autumn  sketch  in 
the  west  gallery  is  not  so  good ;  it  is 


706 


PUTNAU^B  MaOAZIKB. 


[June. 


below  Mr.  Kensett^s  level.  Some  of  our 
most  venerated  painters  are  in  danger 
of  forgetting  that  not  to  keep  up  to 
their  highest  level  is  to  expose  them- 
selves to  many-voiced  detraction,  which 
has  neither  memory  nor  hope. 

Mr.  Wyant's  large  picture  in  the  sonth 
gallery  is  a  good  picture;  but  it  is 
without  unity  in  effect,  and  without 
refinement  or  quality  in  its  color.  The 
clouds  are  heavy  and  painty ;  the  pic- 
ture lacks  atmosphere,  and  looks  '*  made 
up,"  rather  than  like  an  impression  of 
nature.  The  two  passages  of  effect, 
effect  of  light  in  the  sky,  and  effect  of 
light  on  the  rocks,  have  about  the  same 
value,  which  is  false  to  nature.  But  in 
spite  of  these  defects,  Mr.  Wyant^s  land- 
scape is  one  of  the  most  notable  of  the 
year,  and  is  to  be  characterized  as  a 
solid,  vigorous,  and  effective  picture. 

Mr.  R  Swain  Gifford  is  one  of  the 
best  of  the  rising  landscapists.  Yet  he 
seems  too  much  under  the  influence  of 
Mr.  S.  Colman,  who  is  a  clever  artist, 
but  whose  manner  sometimes  degene- 
rates into  a  cheesy  and  battery  style ;  a 
style  that  is  often  satisfactory,  but  never 
so  in  its  debased  form,  when  it  is  a 
mere  mannerism.  Mr.  R  Swain  Gifford 
has  caught  Mr.  Colman's  manner;  but  he 
has  found  new  subjects,  and  so  escapes 
classification  under  Mr.  Colman.  Both 
artists  have  yet  to  push  ahead,  and 
away  from  each  other.  Swain  Gifford^s 
little  picture  in  the  west  gallery  is  well 
painted,  and  his  large  picture  in  the 
south  gallery  is  remarkable  for  its  broad 
and  simple  treatment  and  for  the  novel- 
ty of  its  subject. 

We  next  turn  our  attention  to  the 
figure-pictures  of  Messrs.  Guy  and 
Henry,  and  the  battle-picture  of  Mr. 
Julian  Scott.  Both  of  the  first-named 
painters  represent  the  literal  and  real- 
istic in  our  American  art,  and  represent 
it  with  a  success  that  is  flattering  to 
themselves  and  a  matter  of  pleasure  to 
all  who  sympathize  with  the.  restricted 
but  easily  understood  aim  of  these 
painters. 

Mr.  Guy's  picture  is  thoroughly  stu- 
died ;  full  of  admirable  painting  of  the 
literal  and  imitative  kind,  it  is  carcAil, 


it  is  elaborate,  it  is  real ;  the  imitatiffli 
of  the  color  and  grain  of  the  bedstead, 
the  painting  of  the  fVuniture  and  cnr- 
tains  and  carpet  is  to  be  praised ;  the 
expression  of  the  joxing  mother  in  bed, 
the  drawing  of  her  face  and  hands,  is 
better  than  the  work  of  any  of  our  ml- 
ists  or  pre-Haphaelites,  or  literal  copy- 
ists of  nature.  We  shall  not  enter  into 
the  question  of  taste  in  painting  such  i 
subject ;  we  shall  not  raise  a  discassion 
of  the  value  of  all  this  prosaic  art,  of 
all  this  mere  industry.  It  is  instructiye, 
it  is  interesting ;  bat  it  is  tiresome,  tod 
without  charm ;  it  gives  no  suggestioB 
of  the  mystery  and  magic  and  undefinft- 
ble  grace  of  art  8nch  a  style  of  art 
would  not  have  carried  even  a  G^rome, 
without  his  very  pronounced  and  noiel 
dramatic  and  tragic  conceptions,  his 
severe  sense  of  beauty,  beyond  a  pnblie 
of  cabinet-makers  and  photographers 
and  upholsterers.  How  then  can  it  be 
any  thing  more  than  a  mere  exercise  of 
the  imitative  talent  of  Mr.  Guy  t  Tht 
same  remarks  apply  to  Mr.  Henry's 
work.  The  divine  idea  of  beauty,  the 
liberating  influence  of  delicious  sensa- 
tions arising  from  the  color  and  labor- 
less  look  of  natural  objects,  can  never 
come  to  us  from  such  unsensuous  art, 
such  hard  and  literal  and  purely  imita- 
tive paintings  as  Mr.  Quy's  and  Mr. 
Henry's.  The  very  beginning  of  such 
work  is  not  in  the  living  look  of  ob- 
jects, but  in  the  rigid,  the  fixed,  the 
dead ;  for  this  reason  the  still-life  is  ren- 
dered better  than  the  living  figures ;  for 
this  reason,  chairs,  beds,  and  carpets  and 
curtains  are  painted  with  extraordinary 
success;  while  all  the  noblest  part  of 
painting,  that  part  whioh  has  made  the 
world  sound  with  the  name  of  ancient 
and  modem  masters,  is  not  reached. 
The  very  origin  of  this  art,  so  instruc- 
tive to  insensible  people,  to  people  with- 
out the  need  of  beauty,  without  a  glim- 
mering of  the  ideal,  is  questionable ;  it 
is  brought  forth  after  long  effort,  and 
the  labor-pains  of  the  production  very 
often  kill  the  mother,  art.  But  such  art 
is  in  keeping  with  people  who  sit  on 
machine-made  flimiture,  who  think  the 
last  result  of  a  picture  is  to  make  a 


1870.] 


The  Annual  Exhibition  of  the  Aoadsmt. 


707 


good  cliromo ;  as  if  no  impassable  gulf 
were  between  the  magic  of  the  highest 
art  and  the  matter-of-fact  look  of,  and 
positive  skil fulness  illustrated  by,  the 
best  imitation !  In  justice  to  Mr.  Henry, 
we  wish  to  say  his  large  interior  is  cred- 
itable to  his  knowledge  and  skill,  that  it 
shows  uncommon  capacity  for  that  kind 
of  picture-making ;  into  the  question  of 
taste  raised  by  the  portrait  of  a  woman 
in  bed — a  curious  sick-room,  full  of 
mixed  suggestions,  and  interesting — we 
have  not  the  space  to  enter  and  consider 
here. 

Mr.  Julian  Scott's  picture  of  a  Skir- 
mish in  the  Wilderpess,  in  the  large 
gallery,  is  highly  creditable  to  so  young 
a  painter ;  it  has  the  merit  of  being  a 
group  of  portraits  in  action,  of  Ameri- 
can soldiers ;  it  has  the  vice-like  tena- 
ciousness  of  expression  of  a  very  young 
man's  work ;  and  it  is  an  interesting,  a 
promising,  and  a  striking  production. 
Mr.  Scott  will  himself  discover  that  his 
figures  look  posed  and  fixed,  as  if  to  be 
photographed  rather  than  as  if  sudden- 
ly caught  in  action.  The  most  remarka- 
ble success  of  Mr.  Scott  is  in  giving 
character  and  expression  to  the  faces  of 
his  soldiers. 

Of  Mr.  Ilennessy's  picture  of  the 
"Poet  of  our  Woods,"  in  the  north 
gallery,  we  can  say  the  artist  has  spared 
no  pains  to  make  a  complete  picture ;  it 
is  carefully  executed  throughout,  but  not 
agreeable  in  the  impression  it  makes 
either  as  color  or  composition.  The 
other  example  of  Mr.  Hennessy's  pecu- 
liar talent,  in  the  same  gallery,  is  char- 
acteristic of  the  artist's  method  and  aim 
in  art  during  the  last  five  years.  Mr. 
Loop  is  represented  by  two  charming 
pictures;  a  landscape  full  of  light, 
broad  and  slight,  yet  delicate  in  execu- 
tion (No.  285),  and  a  green,  grassy,  sun- 
ny picture  (No.  116)  in  the  north  gal- 
lery. Mr.  Cranch  exhibits  a  fine  study 
of  pomegranates,  in  the  corridor ;  Bre- 
voort,  several  good  landscapes,  agreea- 
ble and  simple  in  effect;  Jervis 
McEntcc,  a  View  of  Venice,  and  a  bit 
of  the  snow-dimmed  woods  of  late  au- 
tunm — a  picture  generally  liked.  Mr. 
Weeks  exhibits  a  study  of  a  head  in  the 


east  gallery,  near  the  entrance  to  the 
large  gallery ;  his  picture  is  painted  in 
the  manner  of  Leys  of  Antwerp ;  it  is 
very  true,  strong,  and  interesting,  but 
dull  in  color.  Mr.  Tiffany  is  represent- 
ed by  a  picture  in  the  north  gallery — ^it 
hangs  next  to  Mr.  Homer's  girl  on  horse- 
back— which  is  beautiful  in  color,  and 
full  of  what  the  French  call  cAic.  Let 
us  hope  that  Mr.  Tiffany  will  not  stop 
with  it ;  for  chic  is  attractive  and  decep- 
tive ;  it  is  the  semblance  of  knowledge, 
the  trick  of  art,  the  knack  of  power,  the 
suggestion  of  suggestion.  Honorable 
mention  is  to  be  made  of  Mr.  E.  John- 
son, who  comes  to  us  from  £couen  and 
the  influence  of  Frere ;  of  Mr.  Wiggins ; 
of  Miss  Virginia  Granbery,  for  her  study 
of  a  magnolia  blossom ;  of  Mr.  Whit- 
taker,  who  advances ;  of  Mr.  Parker  and 
Mr.  Forbes.  Mr.  Shattuck  is  up  to  his 
level  in  former  years ;  he  is  a  careflil 
and  conscientious  painter,  as  may  be 
seen  in  the  large  picture  in  the  south 
gallery.  The  venerable  Mr.  Morse  shows 
how  well  he  painted  many  years  ago,  in 
the  ruddy  and  vital  portrait  in  the 
south  gallery. 

After  taking  a  long  breath,  let  us 
ask  what  Mr.  Whittredge  means  by 
degenerating  into  so  thin  and  dry 
and  colorless  a  style  of  painting  as  his 
view  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  (No. 
446)  in  the  west  gallery  ?  We  prefer 
his  "Trout-Brook"  (410)  in  the  same 
gallery ;  it  is  a  good,  a  pleasing  picture, 
but  not  what  we  expect  from  Mr.  Whit- 
tredge. We  appeal  to  Csesar.  We  do 
not  wish  to  make  his  funeral  sermon, 
but  how  shall  he  escape  the  knife  of  the 
envious  Casca  and  the  thrust  of  the 
well-beloved  Brutus?  It  is  not  that  wo 
love  Whittredge  less,  but  art  more. 

Among  the  studies  and  sketches,  E. 
W.  Perry,  F.  Randel,  0.  Fisk,  A.  Bald- 
win, J.  Fitch,  W.  Homer,  H.  Martin,  J.  O. 
Eaton,  and  J.  La  Farge,  exhibit  very  in- 
teresting works.  In  fact,  the  whole  east 
side  of  the  corridor  is  covered  with  ad- 
mirable studies  and  sketches,  not  the 
last  notable  of  which  are  several  by 
Kruseman  Van  Etlen. 

Mr.  J.  B.  Irving  has  advanced  this 
year;  witness  his  vivacious  and  clear 


706 


FUTNAM^S  MaOAZIKK. 


[JOBt, 


picture  (No.  23d)  in  the  east  gallery. 
Mr.  F.  B.  Meyer,  of  Baltimore,  a  man 
Tirho  takes  hold  of  art  on  the  side  of 
character,  who  draws  and  paints  with  a 
power  and  force  second  to  none  of  our 
American  figure-painters,  is  represented 
by  a  good  study  of  character  in  the. 
well-posed  figure  of  the  blacksmith  us- 
ing his  anyil  as  a  reading  desk.  The 
picture  is  well  called  the  '^  Nineteenth 
Century"  (No.  255).  Messrs.  Cropsey 
and  Church  and  Bierstadt  and  Durand 
are  represented  by  characteristic  pic- 
tures. Mr.  Le  Clear  is  not  up  to  his 
mark  in  the  head  of  the  sculptor,  Mr. 
Palmer,  although  the  likeness  seems 
good ;  his  Dr.  Vinton  is  better,  and  is 
admirable.  Mr.  C.  T.  Dix's  picture* 
entitled  "  Scene  at  Capri "  (848),  is  a 
thoroughly  good  picture.  Mention  must 
be  made  of  the  landscapes  of  Messrs. 
Cole  and  Rowland  and  Anderson ;  also 
of  the  very  carefully  studied  picture 
(311)  by  Arthur  Parton,  and  a  beautifiil 
piece  of  color  by  Miss  Rose  (No.  262), 
representing  flowers  twined  about  a  harp. 


Finally,  the  present  exhibition  g^yes 
us  no  new  name ;  it  announces  no  new 
hope  in  art.  The  best  of  the  younger 
men  have  met  our  expec^tations ;  lome 
of  them  have  made  us  suffer  by  the  de> 
testable  manner  and  sick  color  with 
which  they  have  treated  good  snbjecU. 
American  art  rests  upon  the  same  men 
that  it  has  rested  upon  sereral  yens 
back.  We  have  considered  the  pidnres 
of  painters  who  have  been  doing  the 
best  work  during  the  last  five  ^eusL 
But  Messrs.  Yedder,  Coleman,  Eaitmui 
Johnson,  Boughton,  and  Hunt,  an  not 
represented  at  the  Academy  galkriei 
We  are  sorry  not  to  see  them  at  the 
front  this  year.  But  we  turn  to  thoM 
who  have  done  what  they  could,  grate- 
ful and  hopeful,  and  we  beliere  that  the 
Forty-Fifth  Annual  HxhibitioQ  holds 
works  that  bear  witness  to  persomsl  in- 
tercourse with  nature^  that  are  the  mani- 
festation of  a  personal  gift,  and  that 
these  works  constitute  a  .good  claim 
for  what  may  be  called  American 
art. 


->»» 


DINNER  tx  RUFFLES  AND  TUCKS. 


In  the  eager  struggle  to  widen  wom- 
an^s  sphere  beyond  the  home,  our  liter- 
ary monitors  seem  in  danger  of  relaxing 
their  watch  over  those  whose  fortunate 
allotment  has  been  ^^the  sweet  safe  shel- 
ter of  the  household  hearth  behind  the 
heads  of  children."  Beyond  the  irre- 
pressible topic  of  grievances  involved 
in  the  reign  of  Princess  Biddy,  few 
other  details  of  home  living  and  doing 
are  just  now  being  discussed. 

We  have  barely  begun  to  discover 
that  another  equally  potent  destroyer 
of  domestic  peace  has  crept  into  the 
household,  and  as  you  read  probably 
not  half  of  you  will  guess  that  I  mean 
no  less  than  the  sewing-machine.  The 
peerless  Queen  of  the  needle  I  My  ad- 
miration of  the  wonder-working  thing 
is  as  complete  to-day  as  when  I  saw  it 
flash  off  its  flrst  seam,  and  cried  exult- 


^Ifomoro  to  be  a  slare. 

Along  with  the  barbarous  Tfoafu 
Where  womaa  ha*  Berera  sool  to  «Tt; 
J^r  tkU  U  Ckrittian  work!** 

How  could  I  foresee  that  we  were  only 
to  exchange  the  yard's  l^igth  of  stitches 
wrought  by  the  quiet  hand  for  the 
twenty  yards  that  must  put  a  thousaiid 
additional  nerves  and  muscles  to  the 
stretch  ?  The  direful  disGovery  has  duly 
been  made  that  no  form  of  labor  more 
surely  and  irretrievably  undermines  the 
health  than  that  of  this  same  invaluable 
sewing-machine,  when  used  at  the  rate 
now  almost  universal 

"  I  never  could  get  alon^  without  my 
machine,"  says  the  weary  young  mother, 
looking  around  upon  her  mflled  and  be- 
tucked  little  brood.  No,  poor  little 
woman,  nor  with  it  either.  That  thought 
comes  to  me  new  every  morning  as  I  tiy 
to  lure  you  out  into  the  sunshine  and 
firesh  air.    ^No,"  you  always  say;  ^I 


1870.] 


Dinner  vs.  Ruffles  and  Tucks. 


700 


do  wish  I  could ;  but  if  I  go  out  in  the 
morning,  I  am  so  tired  directly,  I  can- 
not settle  down  to  sew,  and  get  nothing 
accomplished  all  day.  And  just  look 
at  my  work,  here." 

I  do  look  at  it,  and  oh,  the  pity  of  itl 
Hound  and  round,  till  yards  on  yards  of 
tucks  load  eight-year-old  Daisy^s  small 
petticoat,  while  flounce  upon  flounce, 
scalloped  and  bound,  garnish  the  dress 
without  adding  one  whit  to  its  beauty 
or  use. 

No  wonder,  at  this  rate,  though  you 
have  a  servant  in  the  kitchen,  and 
another  in  the  nursery,  all  you  can  do  is 
to  get  time  to  sew.  No  wonder,  when 
these  helpers  are  of  the  class  described 
in  the  Biddy-essays,  the  husband^s  step 
in  the  hall  brings  no  lighting  up  of  your 
face,  but  rather,  alas !  a  little  cloud  of 
apprehension  as  you  wonder  how  affiEiirs 
may  be  in  the  dining-room  to-day.  For 
you  know  you  have  not  "  had  time  "  to 
run  down  to  see  to  things.  No,  little 
dame,  no  inclination;  for  you  know, 
and  every  woman  who  will  tell  the 
truth  admits,  that  nothing  gives  quite 
so  complete  a  disrelish  for  housework 
of  every  description  as  steady  sewing. 

"  I  had  rather  be  whipped  than  go 
down  into  that  kitchen,"  I  have  heard  a 
wife  sigh,  rising  from  a  long  session  at 
her  machine.  It  is  very  apt  to  end  in 
not  going  down.  Then  the  dinner  is 
Irish,  and  the  swill-cart  carries  off  daily 
a  pailful  of  viands  that  a  few  hours  be- 
fore were  the  pick  of  the  market,  and 
paid  for  in  extremely  hard  cash. 

Of  course,  the  children  want  to  be 
where  mamma  is;  but  they  and  the 
machine  together  are  more  than  she  can 
bear.  So  nurse  drags  them  off  to  fret 
and  bicker  away  profitless  hours  in  the 
other  rooms,  or  marshals  them  forth  to 
the  scanty  resources  of  the  sidewalk, 
where  they  catch,  under  her  manage- 
ment, those  omnipresent  "  colds  "  which 
scourge  out  children's  lives. 

Meanwhile  mamma  sews  on,  with  a 
sense  of  home-aflairs  in  general  not  go- 
ing as  well  as  they  should,  and  perhaps 
a  vague,  unrest ful  feeling  that  life  is 
sliding  away  without  her  gaining  or 
giving  what  she  ought,  standing  as  she 


does  on  the  heights  of  the  world,  no    ^ 
childless  '*  woman  without  honor,"  but 
wife  and  mother  beloved,  with  ample 
room  in  life  to  live  and  love  in. 

As  her  feet  pause  after  a  long  breath- 
less race  with  that  indispensable  ma- 
chine, do  her  aching  head  and  weaken- 
ing limbs  never  warn  her  that  it  is  a 
trd>le  thread  this  wearing  motion  reels 
away  ?  That,  with  every  additional  yard 
of  ornamental  and  needless  stitching  she 
runs  oS,  there  shortens,  by  one  subtle 
and  sure  atom,  the  thread  of  her  life  ? 
No  s^hit  less  surely  than  Hood's  gaunt 
starveling  in  her  garret,  she  too  is 

<*  Sewiog  at  onoe^  witk  a  double  thread, 
A  shroud  as  wcU  as  a  chirf* 

Now  that  the  physical  results  of 
much  labor  on  the  sewing-machine 
have  become  apparent,  the  question  of 
how  far  a  woman  who  is  bearing  and 
rearing  children  is  justified  in  its  use, 
rises  into  a  question  alike  of  morals  and 
expedience. 

When  I  review  the  days  many  of  our 
most  conscientious  and  diligent  young 
mothers  pass,  I  only  wonder  that  they ' 
do  not  fade  faster — that  more  chords  of 
their  mental  and  physical  being  do  not 
grow  utterly  **  out  of  tune  and  harsh." 
And  I  only  marvel  that  it  is  not 
oftener,  rather  than  so  often,  that  "  the 
children  come  to  the  birth  and  there  is 
no  strength  to  bring  forth." 

Dear  little  mother,  shall  we  not  rea- 
son together  t  And  must  you  not  first 
confess  that  it  has  come  to  that  morbid 
pass,  that,  however  you  may  deprecate 
what  you  call  the  "necessity"  of  so 
much  sewing,  you  would  rather  spend 
six  hours  at  the  ruffles  and  tucks  than 
four  in  your  kitchen  and  about  your 
house? 

And  yet  those  daily  four  hours,  with 
a  reasonable  vigilance  over  the  cooking 
and  general  disposal  of  provisions, 
would  make  all  the  diflerenco  between 
a  satisfactory  table  at  fair  expense,  and 
wilful  waste  of  materials  with  woeftil 
want  of  comfortable  meals. 

And  here  a  remark  of  Dr.  Duryea 
reminds  me  where  the  inevitable  "  mor- 
il "  comes   in.     He  says   that  regular, 


710 


Pdtnam'b  Magazine. 


[JoDe, 


inyitiDg,  and  digestible  meals  would  go 
farther  to  do  away  with  that  uneasy 
wish  for  **  something  to  take,''  among 
our  men,  than  all  the  temperance  elo- 
quence and  effort  in  the  world. 

Do  you  say  you  have  not  strength  for 
housework?  Probably  not  with  the 
sewing-machine  to  run  also ;  but  turn 
your  back  resolutely  on  that,  and  per- 
severe in  the  first,  and  the  days  will 
surely  come  when  you  find  your  strength 
up  to  the  level  of  every  need. 

**  But  the  sewing  must  be  done,  and 
hiring  two  girls  and  a  seamstress  is  put 
of  the  question.'' 

Quite,  and  so  it  ought  to  be;  but 
suppose  you  leave  out  one  of  the  girls  ? 
Here,  in  one  of  the  largest  towns  in  the 
Eastern  States,  the  highest  pay  of  our 
skilled  dressmakers  who  go  out  by  the 
day,  is  a  dollar  and  twenty-five  cents. 
And  a  woman  competent  to  stitch  all 
sorts  of  work  upon  your  machine  re- 
ceives but  a  dollar  a-day.  8he  expects 
(alas  for  her!)  to  sew  steadily  from 
eight  till  six.  It  is  for  you  to  consider 
that  she,  too,  has  l^ealth  to  lose,  and  by 
tempering  justice  with  judgment,  to  see 
that  as  little  as  possible  is  wasted  in 
your  service.  Suppose  you  take  the 
hundred  dollars  a-year  you  pay  your 
second  girl,  Imd  hire  the  sewing-woman 
at  six  dollars  a-week,  eight  weeks  in 
the  Spring  and  eight  in  the  Fall.  See 
that  she  does  not  overwork,  no  matter 
how  nervously  "  willing  "  she  may  be ; 
and  with  fair  diligence  on  her  part,  do 
you  not  think  she  will  accomplish  in 
those  sixteen  weeks  all  it  spoils  your 
whole  year  to  do  ? 

True,  to  do  this  you  will  have  to  con- 
quer bravely  your  repugnance  to  "see 
to  things  "  about  the  house.  And  once 
get  into  the  habit  of  seeing  to  them 
daily,  and  you  will  find  a  surprising 
improvement  in  the  quantity  and  qual- 
ity of  the  work  of  your  remaining  girl, 
if  you  are  thus  omnipresent. 

When  things  have  fallen  into  system, 
and  the  whole  incubus  of  sewing  is  lift- 
ed off,  there  will  come  sure  days  of 
peace;  the  children  will  have  their 
mother.  She,  and  not  an  ignorant  nurse, 
will  be  transfused  into  their  souls. 


It  occurred  to  nie  the  other  day,  u  1 
passed  along  the  street,  how  rare  a  thing 
it  has  become  to  see  a  mother  abroad 
with  her  own  little  ones.  ^^  She  has  no 
time,"  may  be  the  reply,  "to  range 
about  in  that  aimleaa  way."  But  what 
is  she  doing  with  her  time  9  Is  it  any 
more  aimfully  spent  if  she  uses  it  to 
prepare  little  Miss  to  mince  abroad 
alone  in  such  fantastic  guise  as  plain 
old  grandma  epitomized  the  other  daj, 
when  she  saw  her  grandchild  thus  pie- 
pared,  and  said : 

"  Now,  daughter,  just  tie  a  string  to 
her,  and  she  will  be  all  ready  to  travd 
with  the  hand-organ." 

It  may  be  that  a  force  is  at  wori^ 
which  for  ages  has  accomplished  what 
the  most  earnest  preaching  against  ipe- 
cific  follies  has  fiailed  to  do.  If  FadiloQ 
has  a  mischief,  it  has  no  less  at  times  a 
mission.  The  windows  of  the  dieap 
shops  are  now  fhll  of  coarse,  flim^ 
Hiaterials,  loaded  with  machine-work  in 
every  respect  as  profuse  as  the  richer 
fabrics  they  imitate.  These  caricatures 
may  lead  to  the  sorely-needed  discovery 
that  excessive  elaboration  is  «>ui^,  and 
that  may  prove  the  happy  beginning  of 
the  end. 

Hasten  the  day  when  we  have  learned 
to  put  away  from  the  sewing-machine 
what  our  foolishness  makes  "  the  worsa 
part  of  it,"  and  let  it  be  to  us  all  the 
perfect  gift  that  it  is  I 

Finally,  let  us  insist  that  whatever  in 
the  domestic  economy  ought  to  be  sub- 
ordinate, it  is  "  the  fine  sewing."  Never 
let  husband,  or  children,  or  dinner,  or 
house,  give  way  to  it.  If  yon  cannot 
afford  to  hdre  one  girl  and  the  sewing 
too,  then  hire  the  sewing  and  do  the 
work.  At  least  make  the  fair  trial  If 
all  were  to  make  this  beginning,  the 
great  army  of  workers  for  bread  would 
soon  find  it  out,  and  the  result  would  be 
much  greater  certainty  and  economy  in 
tfiiis  branch  of  work  than  at  present 
exists. 

Not  only  to  the  younger  wives,  but 
to  mothers  who  have  growing  and 
grown-up  daughters,  does  the  word 
come.  Do  not  let  these  young  fair  ones 
make  "  loads  of  sewing  "  an  excuse  iot 


1870.] 


PBOPORnoNAL  Repbesbntatioit. 


711 


crooking  their  spines  and  dwarfing 
their  minds  while  you  and  Biddy  do 
the  work.  Don^t  let  there  be  a  Biddy 
in  such  a  case. 

I  wish,  indeed,  that  words  might 
come  to  me  strong  enough  to  prove  to 
every  woman  in  this  land  the  foolish- 
ness of  such  reckless  multiplication  of 


ruffles  and  tucks.  The  time  it  takes  to 
make  them  is  not  our  own,  but  bought 
time,  believe  it  I  and  given  us  for  the 
soul's  life  of  ourselves  and  children. 
And  it  takes  much  healthftil  work  and 
air  and  sunshine  to  train  all  bodies  so 
that  they  may  yield  up  the  soul  uncrip- 
pled for  the  long  Eternity. 


••• 


PROPORTIONAL  REPRESENTATION. 


Wb  call  ours  a  popular,  representative 
government,  that  is,  a  government  of 
the  people  acting  by  their  representa- 
tives. The  theory  of  every  law  in  any 
one  of  the  States  is  expressed  in  the  en- 
acting clai6e  of  New  York  statutes, 
which  is  that  "  The  people  of  the  State 
of  New  York,  represented  in  Senate  and 
Assembly,  do  enact  as  follows."  The 
purpose  of  the  present  essay  is  to  show 
how  far  this  is  true,  and  if  not  true,  how 
it  can  be  made  so.  It  is  no  part  of  our 
plan  to  examine  the  reasons  for  regard- 
ing the  theory  of  our  institutions  as  the 
true  one.  That  belongs  properly  to  an- 
other discussion.  We  are  not  now  to 
compare  republican  governments  with 
those  which  are  monarchical,  nor  the 
different  kinds  of  either  class.  The 
fundamental  principle  of  American  pol- 
ity is,  that  all  government  comes  from 
the  people,  to  be  exercised  by  them,  and 
for  them.  The  motto  supposed  to  be 
written  here  upon  every  symbol  of  au- 
thority is,  "from  the  people,  by  the  peo- 
ple, for  the  people."  The  conformity, 
or  rather  nonconformity,  of  our  practice 
to  our  theory  is  the  subject  for  present 
discussion.  In  pursuing  it,  we  will,  for 
illustration,  begin  with  our  own  State, 
New  York — ^that  great  commonwealth, 
which  stamps  the  name  of  the  supposed 
lawgiver  upon  the  front  of  all  its  statutes. 

Our  Legislature  is  composed  of  a  Sen- 
ate and  Assembly,  the  former  consisting 
of  82  members,  the  latter  of  128.  Each 
member  of  either  House  is  chosen  by  the 
electors  of  a  district,  the  limits  of  which 
may  be  changed  every  ten  years,  so  as 
to  make  those  of  each  class  equal  in 
population.  Each  district  is  single,  and 


at  each  election  the  candidate  having 
the  largest  number  of  votes  is  declared 
elected,  though  that  number  may  not 
be  a  majority  of  all  the  votes  belonging 
to  the  district,  or  even  of  the  votes  cast 
If,  for  example,  there  be  three  candi- 
dates, two  of  whom  receive  each  one 
third  of  the  votes,  less  one,  the  third 
candidate  wiU  be  chosen,  though  he 
has  received  only  one  third  of  the 
votes^  with  two  added.  The  Senate  is 
chosen  every  two  years,  the  Assembly 
every  year.  In  1868  eight  hundred  and 
eighty-one  statutes  were  passed ;  in  1869 
nine  hundred  and  twenty.  We  now  be- 
gin to  perceive  how  truly,  or  rather  un- 
truly, speaks  the  enacting  clause  of  each 
of  these  eighteen  hundred  and  one  stat- 
utes. Apart  from  the  fact  that  the  Sen- 
ate chosen  in  the  autunm  of  1867  for 
the  next  two  years  may  not  be  the  Sen- 
ate which  the  people  would  have  chosen 
in  the  autumn  of  1868,  we  see  that  each 
election  must  have  resulted  in  giving 
the  representation  to  a  majority  or  plu- 
rality in  each  district,  leaving  all  the  rest 
of  the  voters  unrepresented.  Thus  it 
may  happen,  and  does  in  fact  often  hap- 
pen, that,  inasmuch  as  a  bill  may  be 
passed  by  a  majority  of  the  members 
elected  to  each  House,  17  Senators  and 
65  Members  of  Assembly  may  enact  a 
law,  and  these  82  men  may,  in  fiict,  hold 
their  seats  by  the  votes  oi  a  minority  of 
the  electors  of  the  State.  If  the  enact-, 
ing  clause  were  then  to  speak  truly,  it 
would  run  in  this  wise :  "  One  third  (or 
one  fourth,  or  one  fifth,  as  the  case  may 
be)  of  the  people  of  the  State  of  New 
York,  represented  in  Senate  and  Assem- 
bly, do  enact  as  foUowsJ' 


712 


PUTVAlf'B  MAGAznrs. 


[Jto^ 


This  comes  of  perverting  what  should 
be  a  personal  selection  into  one  that  is 
local  or  territorial,  and  makes  a  L^^ 
latnre  almost  as  likely  to  misrepresent 
as  to  represent  the  will  of  the  people. 
Let  us  see  how  the  system  works. 

We  will  look  at  the  state  governments 
first,  and  the  federal  government  after- 
ward. In  doing  so,  we  will  take  for  the 
most  part  the  election  of  1868,  the  time 
of  the  last  presidential  election,  and 
therefore  most  likely  to  bring  out  a  ftill 
vote.  In  the  Senate  of  New  York  17 
Republican  Senators  had  been  elected 
the  year  before  by  824,687  yotes,  and  15 
Democratic  Senators  by  858,186  votes. 
In  the  Assembly  76  Republican  mem- 
bers were  elected  in  1868  by  897,899 
votes,  while  only  62  Democratic  mem- 
bers were  elected  by  481,510  votes.  There 
were  thus  28,449  more  votes  cast  for  the 
15  Democrats  in  the  Senate  than  were 
cast  for  the  17  Republicans,  and  if  the 
representation  had  been  faithful  to  the 
principle,  there  would  have  been  17 
Democrats  and  15  Republicans,  and  the 
majority  of  2  for  the  latter  would  have 
been  reversed  and  made  2  for  the  former. 
There  were  at  the  next  year's  election 
83,611  more  votes  cast  for  the  52  Demo- 
cratic members  of  Assembly  than  for 
the  76  Republican  members.  If  the 
representation  here  had  been  propor- 
tional to  the  votes,  the  number  of 
Democrats  elected  would  have  been  67 
instead  of  52,  the  number  of  Repub- 
licans 61  instead  of  76 ;  and  the  major- 
ity, instead  of  being  24  for  the  Repub- 
licans, would  have  been  6  for  the 
Democrats. 

Turning  to  other  States,  we  find  the 
following  results:  in  Maryland  the 
Democrats  cast  62,857  votes,  and  elect- 
ed every  member  of  both  Houses,  111  in 
number ;  while  the  Republicans  polled 
80,438  votes,  and  elected  nobody.  In 
Delaware  the  Republicans  elected  only 
2  members  by  7,623  votes,  while  the 
Democrats  elected  28  by  10,980.  In 
Kansas  the  Republicans  elected  108 
members  by  81,046  votes,  while  the 
Democrats  elected  only  7  by  14,019 
votes.  In  Nevada  the  Republicans  cast 
JB,480  votes,  and  elected  61  members; 


the  Democrats  cast  5,218,  and  elected 
only  6  members.  In  California  the  Be- 
publicans  elected  23  members  by  54,692 
votes,  while  the  ^Democrats  elected  97 
members  by  a  less  number,  that  is,  bj 
54,078.  In  Vermont  240  Republktm 
were  elected  by  44,167  yotcn,  and  28 
Democrats  by  13,045.  In  Maine  70,486 
Republicans  elected  248  members^  and 
42,896  Democrats  only  37.  Maryland^ 
Republicans  thus  cast  nearly  a  third  of 
all  the  votes  in  tbe  State,  without  get- 
ting a  single  representative  in  either 
branch  of  the  Legislatare.  In  Delawue 
the  Republicans  gave  over  40  per  cent 
of  the  popular  yote,  and  gained  but  6 
per  cent,  of  the  Legislature,  while  in 
California  they  gaye  an  actual  majority, 
but  gained  less  than  one  fifth.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  Democrats  in  Kansts 
gave  a  third  of  the  yotes,  and  obtained 
but  6  per  cent  of  the  Legislature;  in 
Vermont  they  cast  21  per  cent  of  the 
yote,  and  obtained  but  9  per  cent  of 
the  Legislature;  in  Maine  they  cast 
37  per  cent,  of  the  yote,  and  obtained 
only  18  per  cent,  of  the  Legislature ;  in 
Nevada,  with  nearly  half  the  vote,  they 
had  but  10  per  cent  of  the  Le^sta- 
ture. 

Passing  now  to  the  federal  govern- 
ment, we  find  that  the  representation  in 
the  House  of  Representatives  for  tbe 
State  of  New  York  consists  of  17  Re- 
publicans and  14  Democrats;  though 
the  former  received  but  416,492  votes, 
while  the  latter  received  423,865 ;  that 
is  to  say,  the  popular  majority  was  7,073 
for  the  Democrats,  while  tbe  congres- 
sional majority  in  the  delegation  is  3  on 
the  side  of  the  Republicans  instead  of 
being,  as  it  should  have  been,  1  on  the 
side  of  the  Democrats.  Taking  the  whole 
House  of  Representatives  without  the  un- 
represented States,  we  find  148  Republi- 
cans and  71  Democratic  members ;  the 
former  having  received  2,654,048  votes 
and  the  latter  2,037,178;  that  is  to  say,the 
Republicans  on  56  per  cent,  of  the  pop- 
ular vote  have  67  per  cent  of  the  con- 
gressional vote ;  and  the  Democrats  on 
43  per  cent,  of  the  former  have  32  per 
cent  of  the  latter. 

In  the  Senate  the  representation  It 


1870.] 


Proportional  Bepressktation. 


718 


still  further  removed  from  the  people, 
as  the  following  statement  will  show. 

There  are  87  States  entitled  to  74 
Senators. 

This  table  gives  the  vote  of  the  18 
States  having  the  largest  population 
and  entitled  to  be  represented  in  the 
Senate  by  36  Senators : 

New  York,  840,750;  Pennsylvania, 
665,602 ;  Ohio,  618,828 ;  Illinois,  449,- 
486 ;  Indiana,  843,632 ;  Michigan,  225,- 
619 ;  Virginia,  220,789 ;  Massachusetts, 
195,911;  Iowa,  194,489;  Wisconsin, 
193,584 ;  North  Carolina,  176,824 ;  New 
Jersey,  162,645 ;  Georgia,  168,926 ;  Ken- 
tucky, 155,466 ;  Alabama,  147,781 ;  Mis- 
souri, 147,186;  Mississippi,  114,283; 
Maine,  112,822.  Total  vote,  6,022,- 
871. 

The  following  table  shows  the  vote  of 
the  19  States  having  the  smallest  popu- 
lation and  entitled  to  be  represented  in 
the  Senate  by  88  Senators : 

California,  108,660;  South  Carolina, 
108,135 ;  Texas,  107,780 ;  Connecticut, 
98,947;  Maryland,  92,795;  Tennessee, 
82,757;  Minnesota,  71,620;  Louisiana, 
71,100 ;  New  Hampshire,  69,415 ;  Ver- 
mont, 66,224 ;  West  Virginia,  49,897 ; 
Kansas,  43,648 ;  Arkansas,  42,148 ;  Ore- 
gon, 22,086;  Florida,  22,022;  Rhode 
Island,  19,641;  Delaware,  18,675;  Ne- 
braska, 16,298 ;  Nevada,  11,698.  Total 
vote,  1,111,885. 

16  Statss,  with  82  Senators,  cast  787,- 
310  votes.  New  York,  with  2  Sena- 
tors, cast  849,760. 

26  States,  with  62  Senators,  cast  1,948,- 
189 ;  3  States,  with  6  Senators,  cast  2,024,- 
240. 

The  City  of  New  York  casts  more 
votes  than  the  6  States  of  Oregon,  Flor- 
ida, Rhode  Island,  Delaware,  Nebraska, 
and  Nevada. 

Before  passing  from  the  subject  of  rep- 
resentation in  the  federal  government, 
let  us  pause  a  moment  to  consider  how 
far  the  presidential  electoral  colleges 
represent  the  people.  At  the  election  of 
1868,  214  Republican  presidential  elec- 
tors were  themselves  elected  by  8,018,188 
votes,  while  the  eighty  Democratic  elec- 
tors received  2,703,600  votes  from  the 
people ;  that  is  to  say,  the  Republicans 


on  52  per  cent,  of  the  popular  vote  ob- 
tained 72  per  cent,  of  the  electoral  vote ; 
while  the  Democrats  on  47  per  cent,  of 
the  popular  vote  obtained  only  27  per 
cent,  of  the  electoral. 

These  statements  serve  to  show  that 
our  practice  and  our  theory  are  irrecon- 
cilable. We  must  accept  one  of  two  con- 
clusions ;  either  the  practice  or  the  the- 
ory is  wrong.  According  to  the  latter 
the  state  governments  are  republican  and 
representative  in  respect  to  persons ;  the 
general  government  is  federal,  national^ 
and  representative  in  respect  to  both  per- 
sons and  corporations — ^the  States.  There 
was  a  time  when  representation  in  some 
of  the  States  was  largely  corporate.  That 
was  so  in  Massachusetts.  It  is  easy  to 
see  how  corporate  representation  began. 
In  England  the  municipalities  were  sum- 
moned by  their  representatives  to  Par- 
liament for  the  purpose  chiefly  of  grant- 
ing aids  to  the  Crown.  In  New  England 
the  town  took  the  place  of  the  munici- 
pality. It  was  counted  as  the  unit  in  the 
composition  of  the  Legislature.  The 
representation  there  was  of  the  towns  as 
corporations,  and  the  majority  in  each 
not  only  ruled  in  town  affairs,  but  sent 
a  representative  to  speak  for  the  town  in 
the  General  Court,  or  council  of  towns. 
But  they  have  changed  the  theory  and 
the  practice.  Corporate  representation 
is  nearly  gone  even  there,  and  in  most  of 
the  States  there  is  not  a  trace  of  it.  As 
a  general  rule,  the  person  is  now  taken 
as  the  unit,  for  the  arrangement  of  rep- 
resentation in  all  the  States.  The  fed- 
eral government  meantime  depends  upon 
the  representation  of  the  States  in  the 
Senate,  and  of  persons  in  the  House  of 
Representatives.  But  so  faulty  are  the 
contrivances  for  carrying  out  either 
theory,  that  neither  in  the  federal  nor  in 
the  state  government  is  there  a  represen- 
tation fJEuthM  to  the  principle  on  which 
it  rests.  Where  the  representation  is  in- 
tended to  be  personal,  it  so  happens  that 
some  persons  only,  and  not  all,  are  rep- 
resented. And  when  the  representation 
is  intended  to  be  coix>orate,  that  is  in 
the  federal  Senate,  the  State  may  fail  of 
representation,  because  the  Senators  are 
chosen  by  the  Legislature,  which  in  its 


714 


Putnam's  Maoazzks. 


[Jtae. 


tnrn  is,  or  may  be,  chosen  by  a  minority 
of  the  people  of  the  State. 
\/  Onr  practice  thus  contrayenea  the 
fundamental  principle  of  republican 
government,  which  is  that  the  majority 
must  rule.  This  principle  is  essential  to 
the  idea  of  such  a  goyermnent.  Where 
the  power  resides  in  all  the  citizens,  the 
yoice  of  the  greater  number  must  pre- 
vail, or  the  minority  will  rule.  This 
principle,  carried  to  its  legitimate  result, 
requires  that  every  question  shall  be 
decided  by  the  majority  of  those  in 
whom  resides  the  ultimate  power.  As 
all  citizens  are  equal  in  rights,  the  con- 
sent of  the  larger  number  must  necessa- 
rily overbear  the  consent  of  the  smaller 
number.  This,  however,  is  applicable 
only  to  the  whole  governing  body ;  for 
when  you  apply  it  to  a  body  or  number 
less  than  the  whole,  you  may  create  a 
government  of  minorities.  That  is  to 
say,  when  the  city  of  New  York  is  ex- 
ercising the  functions  of  local  self-gov- 
ernment, the  voices  of  a  majority  of  her 
citizens  should  prevail  upon  every  ques- 
tion ;  but  when  she  comes  to  participate 
in  the  government  of  the  State,  and  for 
that  purpose  elects  representatives  to 
the  State  Legislature  who  are  to  vote 
upon  State  questions,  if  the  electoral 
machinery  is  such  as  to  express  only  the 
choice  of  a  majority  of  the  city's  voters, 
the  minority  is  lost.  In  other  words, 
all  the  persons  concerned  in  a  question 
and  having  the  right  to  decide  it  should 
be  heard  in  person  or  by  representation. 
Therefore,  when  the  question  is  local, 
the  local  majority  should  govern ;  but 
when  the  question  is  general,  it  should 
be  decided  by  the  general  majority,  and 
not  by  local  majorities,  or  a  combination 
of  local  majorities,  which  may  come  to 
be  in  cfifect  the  same  as  a  general  minor- 
ity. 

This  can  be  made  plain  by  the  exam- 
ple of  a  private  partnership.  Suppose 
it  to  consist  of  26  partners.  In  a  con- 
flict of  opinion,  13  may  rightfully  con- 
trol 12 ;  but  if  it  were  arranged  at  the 
beginning  of  the  year,  that  the  partners 
should  be  divided  into  6  sections,  and 
each  select  one  of  a  managing  conmiit- 
tce  of*  5,  by  which  the  whole  business 


of  the  year  should  be  conducted ;  irko 
does  not  see  that  each  one  of  the  man- 
aging committee  xnig^ht  be  chosen  by  % 
of  the  6  partners  in  the  section,  uid 
that  thus  the  whole  5  of  the  committee 
would  be  really  the  representativeB  of 
16  partners,  and  a  majorilty  of  the  com- 
mittee, that  iSy  8  out  of  5,  might  in  fiKt 
represent  only  9   of  the  25  partoos. 
Would  any  thing  come  of  such  an  u- 
rangement  but  discontent  and  diaees- 
sion  before  the  end  of  the  year  f  Wlit 
would  happen  in  a  private  partnoihip, 
upon  so  fiiulty  a  scheme  of  maoige- 
ment,  does  happen,  and  must  ineritablj 
happen,  in  the  State  where  a  like  faoltj 
system  of  goyemment  is  maiDtaiaei 
We  think  a  carefhl  examination  of  the 
irregularities  and  excesses  of  ourpoUtka 
will  show  that  most  of  them  have  come 
from  our  disproportionate  representi- 
tion.    The  government  of  a  repubiktn 
country  must  represent  the  people,  or 
the  people  will  be  dissatisfied.    Tboee 
who  have  no  voice  in  legislation,  whose 
opinions  are  not  heard  or  heeded,  win 
be  restive  under  authority.    And  it  it 
not  the  minority  only  which  B\sSka\ 
the  m^ority  suffers  also  from  having  no 
proper  or  sufficient  check,  and  when  tt 
last  the  scale  turns,  the  reyulsion  is  vio- 
lent and  dangerous.    If  the  antislaveij 
minority  could  haye  been  heard  bj  its 
representatives  from  the  beginning,  id- 
creasing  in  numbers  as  the  minority  in- 
creased, not  only  they,  but  the  proshr- 
ery  majority  would  haye  been  braefited; 
and  who  knows  but  the  emancipation 
of  the  slaves  might  haye  been  procured 
through  peaceful  legislation,  at  a  cost 
in  treasure,  to  say  nothing  of  the  cost 
in  blood,  of  less  Chan  half  the  ezp«)di- 
ture  of  the  war  ?    With  how  mudi  leas 
friction  would  the  machineiy  of  gorem- 
ment  move,  if  all  the  parts  were  care- 
fully adjusted ! 

Thus  hx  we  haye  looked  at  the  mat- 
ter in  a  party  light ;  but  that  by  no 
means  gives  us  all  there  is  of  it.  The 
statutes  which  proceed  fix>m  our  legis- 
lative chambers  are  often  the  acts,  not 
of  parties  or  of  party  minorities,  but  of 
schemers  and  traffickers  in  l^^slation, 
to  whom  our  present  system  gives  scope. 


1870.] 


Pboportional  Repbesentatiok. 


716 


Of  tho  1801  statutes  passed  by  the  Leg- 
islature of  New  York  in  the  last  two 
years,  not  a  hundred  were  general,  and 
of  these  scarce  a  tenth  were  passed  upon 
party  grounds.  We  have  thus  not  only 
a  misrepresentation  of  parties,  with  its 
tremendous  consequences,  but  a  repre- 
sentation of  private  interests  struggling 
for  private  legislation,  and  converting 
our  legislative  halls  into  scenes  of  job- 
bery and  intrigue.  Under  the  false  pre- 
tences of  party,  the  elector  is  cheated 
or  seduced  into  voting  for  one  of  two 
men,  neither  of  whom  he  likes  or  would 
trust  in  the  management  of  his  private 
affairs.  He  is  reduced  to  a  choice  of 
evils,  and  he  makes  it  under  the  pres- 
sure of  party  discipline.  We  all  know, 
that  it  is  the  custom  for  two  conven- 
tions, Bupposiug,  as  is  generally  the  case, 
the  division  of  the  electors  into  two 
parties,  to  select  each  a  candidate,  and 
for  the  voter  to  choose  between  the  two, 
or  lose  his  vote  altogether.  This  is  the 
system  in  its  best  estate,  which  sup- 
poses the  primary  meetings  to  contain 
only  the  voters  of  the  party,  and  the 
delegates  to  be  fairly  chosen,  and  these 
in  their  turn  to  discharge  fairly  their 
own  duties  of  nominating  candidates. 
Such  is  doubtless  the  fact  in  some  dis- 
tricts of  New  York,  and  in  some  or  per- 
haps all  of  Massachusetts.  But  since 
there  is  no  legal  or  adequate  provision 
for  the  regulation  of  primary  assembliea 
or  nominating  conventions,  they  are  in 
other  districts  carried  by  fraud  or  vio- 
lence, 80  that  it  may  be  said  of  not  a 
few,  that  the  scheme  there  established 
is  for  two  bodies  of  incompetent  or  ill- 
intentioned  men  to  put  up  each  a  man, 
and  for  the  rest  of  the  community  to 
take  their  choice  between  these  two.  A 
system  so  vicious,  can  beget  nothing 
but  vice.  The  man  who  thus  obtains  a 
seat  in  a  legislative  chamber  repays  the 
fraudulent  instruments  of  his  elevation 
by  defirauding  for  them,  and  represents 
not  even  the  voters  whose  enforced  bal- 
lots were  cast  in  his  favor,  but  knots  or 
rings  of  speculators,  office-seekers,  and 
plunderers.  It  is  time  to  look  these 
evils  in  the  foce.  The  frauds  of  elec- 
tions— the  illegal  voting  and  the  false 


counting — ^have  grown  to  be  a  scandal 
and  a  curse.  But  even  these  are  less 
than  the  scandal  and  curse  of  legisla- 
tive corruption.  To  betray  any  trust  is 
disgraceful ;  to  betray  a  public  trust  is 
both  a  disgrace  and  a  crime.  No  just 
man,  no  man  of  honor,  none  indeed  but 
a  wretch,  forsaken  of  Qod  and  accursed 
of  men,  can  falsify  his  convictions  and 
give  his  vote  for  money  or  personal  ad- 
vantage. He  to  whom  a  father  entrusts 
his  daughter  for  protection,  and  who 
abuses  his  trust  by  corrupting  her,  is 
accounted  a  monster  of  depravity ;  but 
his  crime  is  less  than  that  of  the  legis- 
lator, who,  entrusted  by  his  constituents 
'  with  the  great  function  of  representing 
them  in  the  making  of  laws,  abuses  that 
trust  by  selling,  or  bartering,  or  giving 
away  his  vote.  And  yet  the  miscreants 
who  do  this  walk  the  streets,  hold  up 
their  heads,  look  honest  men  in  the  face, 
and  even  get  themselves  returned  from 
year  to  year.  How  does  this  happen  ? 
The  majority  does  not  approve  their 
conduct ;  it  must  be  a  small  minority 
which  does.  How  then  do  they  manage 
to  gain  and  regain  their  seats  ?  They 
do  it  not  by  the  free,  unbiassed  choice 
of  the  electors,  but  by  the  contrivances 
and  tricks  of  our  present  system  of  local 
or  district  elections  with  their  machin- 
ery of  partisan  nominating  conventions. 
Good  men  have  long  bewailed  these 
evils,  but  have  failed  to  arrest  them.  We 
see  no  chance  of  doing  so  but  through 
a  better  system  of  representation. 

The  choice  of  bad  men  is,  however, 
not  the  only  evil  of  the  system.  The 
good  men  who  find  their  way  into  our 
Legislatures  are  crippled  by  it.  Their 
influence  is  weakened  and  their  inde- 
pendence menaced.  When  one  of  them 
opposes  a  favorite  scheme  of  the  party 
managers  of  his  dist^ct,  he  is  sure  to 
receive  a  warning  as  well  as  a  remon- 
strance. Thus  the  representative  and 
the  constituent  are  both  demoralized. 

These  evils  do  not  spring  fh>m  a  cor- 
rupt community.  The  majority  of  the 
people  are  not  debauched.  The  fault 
lies  in  a  vicious  electoral  system,  which 
produces  a  representation  neither  of 
parties  nor  of  tiie  general  public,  which 


716 


PUTNAM^S  MaOAZINB. 


constrains  the  majority,  and  stifles, 
the  voices  of  large  portions  of  the 
people. 

The  importance  of  representation,  or 
rather  the  evil  of  nonrepresentation,  is 
measured  by  the  value  of  popular  gov- 
ernment. By  leaving  large  numbers  of 
citizens  without  voice  in  the  State,  we 
not  only  lose  the  benefit  of  their  coun- 
sel and  cooperation,  but  we  make  them 
discontented.  The  fraud  and  falsehood 
of  the  system  beget  other  fhiuds  and 
falsehoods,  and  lower  the  moral  tone  of 
the  whole  community.  The  vast  power 
and  patronage  of  government  often  de- 
pend upon  a  few  votes.  Need  we  won- 
der that  force  and  fraud  should  both  be 
used  to  procure  them?  Parties  are 
themselves  deceived  by  their  prepon- 
derance in  Legislatures,  without  con- 
sidering how  far  it  rests  upon  a  like 
preponderance  out  of  doors.  The  opin- 
ions and  wishes  of  large  portions  of  the 
people  are  disregarded.  They  see  mea- 
sures of  great  significance  adopted 
which  they  disapprove,  but  are  power- 
less to  prevent,  while  they  are  unable  to 
procure  a  consideration  of  others  which 
they  think  indispensable  to  the  general 
good.  If  we  can  devise  a  remedy,  if  we 
can  by  any  means  procure  an  electoral 
system,  by  which  the  wishes  of  the 
whole  people  will  be  made  known,  and 
the  votes  of  their  real  representatives 
taken,  on  all  measures  of  legislation,  we 
shall  have  saved  the  State  from  the 
danger  which  seems  now  to  be  impend- 
ing over  it. 

Various  plans  have  been  proposed,  of 
which  we  will  now  proceed  to  give  an 
account.  The  problem  is,  how  to  pro- 
cure a  legislative  body,  which  at  the 
time  of  its  election  will  faithftilly  repre- 
sent the  whole  body  of  electors.  The 
point  to  be  gained  is  the  giving  to 
every  elector  a  representative,  so  that 
when  the  Legislature  meets  the  former 
may  feel  that  he  can  point  to  some  one 
on  the  fioor,  to  whom  he  has  given 
authority  to  speak  and  act  for  him,  and 
that  the  latter  may  represent  only  the 
voters  who  have  given  him  their  suf- 
frages. 

Li  this  country,  as  we  have  said  al- 


ready, the  basis  of   representation  is 
generally  population,  except  in  the  fed- 
eral Senate ;  that  is  to  say,  the  repie- 
sentatives  are  apportioned  among  the 
people  in  the  ratio  of  their  numbers.  Id 
the  federal  House  of  Representatives  the 
ratio  must  be  determined  b  j  populatioB, 
instead  of  electors,  because  the  States 
difier  in  the  distributioD  of  the  suffinge, 
some  admitting  more  persons  and  some 
less  to  the  priyil^e  of  voting.    In  the 
States  the  representatives  may  be  ap- 
portioned among  the  electors  as  eaalj 
as  among  the  population.    It  does  not 
matter,  however,  so  far  as  the  principle 
is  concerned,  whether  we  take  the  quota 
of  population  or  of  electors,  since  in  eith- 
er case  we  adhere  to  the  quota.   In  this 
respect,  the  remedy  we  are  seeking  n 
more  easily  applied  here  than  it  can  be 
in  England,  where  corporate  represen- 
tation so  largely  obtains.     The  pecu- 
liarity of  our  system  is,  that  when  the 
quota  is  ascertained  we  a8sig:n  it  to  giTca 
territorial  limits,  the  effect  of  which  ii 
to  disftunchise  the  minorities  In  the 
districts,  whether  the  districts  be  singk 
or  plural,  since  we  require  each  rote  to 
be  cast  for  all  the  representatiyes  to  be 
elected  fix>m  the  district,  be  they  seyeral 
or  one.     What  we  have  to  do  is,  to 
divorce  the  quota  from  the   district, 
either  by  dispensing  with  the  districts 
altogether,  or  by  enlarging  the  districts 
to  the  limits  of  several  quotas,  and  al- 
lowing ihe  ballots  to  be  divided,  mak- 
ing the  number  equal  to  the  quota  suf- 
ficient in  all  cases  to  elect  a  representa- 
tive. 

Speculations  on  the  subject  were  be- 
gun as  early  as  the  latter  part  of  the 
last  century.  A  bill  for  English  parlia- 
mentary reform,  introduced  by  the  Duke 
of  Richmond  in  the  year  1780,  contained 
a  clause  looking  to  a  representation  of 
local  minorities.  In  the  former  part  of 
the  present  century  a  scheme  having  the 
same  object  was  broached  by  the  late 
Mr.  Hill:  In  1855  a  plan,  proposed  by 
M.  Androe,  was  introduced  into  the  rep- 
resentative system  of  Denmark.  In  1859 
Mr.  Hare  published  his  great  work  on 
the  election  of  representatives  parlia- 
mentary and  municipaL   Since  then  the 


1870.] 


Pbopobtional  Bepbesentation. 


717 


subject  has  received  mucli  attention  and 
given  rise  to  many  discussions  in  this 
country,  and  in  England,  France,  Swit- 
zerland, Germany,  Belgium,  Sweden,  and 
Australia. 

Mr.  Harems  scheme  is  one  which,  for 
the  sake  of  distinction,  may  be  called 
that  o( preferential  voting.  It  ascertains 
the  quota  by  dividing  the  whole  num- 
ber of  voters  by  the  whole  number  of 
representatives.  Thus,  if  the  number 
of  voters  should  be  800,000,  and  the 
number  of  representatives  to  be  chosea 
200,  the  quota  of  voters  to  each  repre- 
sentative would  be  4,000.  Then  the 
voter  is  to  deposit  at  the  polls  a  voting 
paper,  on  which  ho  shall  have  placed,  in 
the  order  of  his  preference,  the  names 
of  the  candidates,  or  of  so  many  of 
them  as  he  pleases.  No  vote  is  to  be 
counted  for  more  than  one  candidate ; 
any  candidate  receiving  4,000  votes  is 
to  be  declared  elected ;  if  the  candidate 
first  on  a  voting  paper  fails  to  obtain 
the  quota,  or  has  already  obtained  it, 
the  vote  descends  to  the  next  in  order 
of  preference;  when  a  candidate  has 
obtained  the  quota,  his  votes  up  to  that 
number  are  to  be  laid  aside,  and  the 
remaining  votes  are  to  be  counted  for 
the  candidate  next  in  the  order  of  pre- 
ference, and  so  on  till  all  the  votes  are 
appropriated,  and  the  whole  number  of 
representatives  is  obtained.  If  there  be 
not  200  persons  credited  each  with  4,000 
votes,  and  the  representative  body  is  con- 
sequently deficient  in  number,  the  de- 
ficiency is  to  be  made  up  by  taking  the 
candidates  who  come  nearest  to  the  re- 
quired quota.  This  method,  which  we 
have  called  that  of  preferential  voting, 
is  also  called  by  the  Swiss  reformers 
that  of  the  electoral  quotient  {le  quotieat- 
electoral), 

A  second  plan  is  that  of  eumulatks 
voting.  The  theory  of  this  is,  that  a 
quota  being  ascertained  as  before,  eacH 
voter  shall  have  as  many  votes  as  there 
are  representatives  to  be  elected  (either 
from  the  whole  State,  or  from  electoral 
districts  less  than  the  State,  aa  may  be 
determined),  and  shall  be  at  liberty  to 
cast  them  all  for  one  candidate,  or  di- 
vide them  among  several,  as  he  pleases. 


This  plan  has  been  proposed  in  Con- 
gress by  Kr.  Buckalew,  of  Pennsylvania, 
and  in  the  Blinois  State  Convention 
by  Mr.  Medill  aud  others.  Its  opera- 
tion may  be  illustrated  thus :  Massachu- 
setts has  10  representatives  in  the  lower 
House  of  Congress ;  each  voter  has  10 
votes ;  he  may  give  them  to  10  candi- 
dates, one  to  each,  or  he  may  cumulate 
them  upon  a  less  number  than  ten,  even 
upon  one.  One  tenth  of  the  voters  may 
so  be  sure  of  a  representative,  if  they 
choose  to  unite  upon  one  person.  Thus, 
suppose  the  number  of  voters  to  be 
200,000,  and  each  with  10  votes,  mak- 
ing 2,000,000  votes  in  all,  of  which  200,- 
000  shall  be  sufficient  to  elect  The 
friends  of  any  one  candidate  might 
secure  the  concentration  or  cumulation 
of  the  200,000  votes,  cast  by  20,000  vot- 
ers, and  these  would  have  a  representa- 
tive, though  all  the  remaining  votes 
were  cast  for  one  person.  In  practice, 
no  doubt,  tickets  would  be  made  up  by 
the  two  parties,  and  each  party  would 
send  representatives  nearly  proportion- 
ate to  its  constituency. 

A  third  plan  is  that  of  limited  voting ; 
by  which  is  to  be  understood  that  of 
requiring  the  votes  to  be  cast  for  a  less 
number  of  candidates  than  the  whole. 
Thus,  if  the  number  of  voters  were  100,- 
000  and  the  number  of  candidates  to  be 
elected  frt>m  the  State  or  district  10,  and 
each  voter  were  allowed  to  give  only 
one  vote  for  one  candidate,  the  result 
would  be  that  every  10,000  persons 
might  have  a  representative,  if.  they 
would.  This  plan  is  generally  men- 
tioned in  connection  with  several  can- 
didates, sometimes  in  connection  with 
single  ones. 

For  example :  in  what  are  called  the 
three-cornered  districts  of  England,  that 
is,  the  districts  which  send  three  mem- 
bers to  Parliament,  it  has  been  provided 
that  each  voter  shall  vote  only  for  two 
candidates.  And  in  the  late  amendment 
to  the  Constitution  of  New  York,  it  is 
provided  in  respect  to  the  first  election 
of  seven  judges  of  the  Court  of  Appeals, 
which  election  is  by  general  ticket  for 
the  whole  State,  that  each  ticket  shall 
contain  the  names  of  only  ^ye  candi- 


718 


Putnam's  Kaoazins. 


[JOM, 


dates.  Of  course,  there  will  be  two 
tickets,  each  nominated  by  a  party  con- 
vention; but  the  minority  party  will 
certainly  elect  two  of  the  judges. 

The  fourth  plan  is  that  of  mbstitute 
voting;  which  permits  candidates  to 
cast  anew  the  useless  votes  given  to 
them,  and  substitute  a  third  person  in 
their  place.  A  plan  of  this  sort  has  been 
recommended  by  Mr.  Fisher,  of  Phila- 
delphia. Thus,  supposing  again  the 
number  of  electors  to  be  100,000  and  of 
representatives  10,  and  10,000  votes  to 
be  sufficient  for  election,  and  then  sup- 
posing 6  candidates  to  have  received 
each  15,000,  that  is,  90,000  in  all,  and 
two  others  each  6,000.  Here  are  80,000 
surplus  votes,  cast  for  the  elected  candi- 
dates, and  10,000  insufficient  votes,  di- 
vided between  two  persons,  so  as  to  give 
neither  of  them  enough  to  elect  him ; 
the  plan  we  are  speaking  of  allows  the 
three  elected  candidates  to  cast  the  80,- 
000  surplus  votes,  and  the  two  defeated 
candidates  to  cast  the  10,000  insufficient 
votes,  for  new  candidates.  These  eight 
][)er8ons  would  then  substitute  four  other 
persons  as  the  candidates  to  receive  the 
40,000  votes,  and  would  elect  them,  to 
serve  with  the  six  first  elected. 

Thejlfth  plan  is  sometimes  called  that 
oi proxy  voting;  which  permits  every 
voter  to  give  his  vote  or  proxy  to  any 
person  he  pleases,  and  that  person  to 
represent  him  in  the  representative  cham- 
ber if  he  can  unite  upon  himself  other 
proxies  sufficient  to  make  up  the  elec- 
toral quota,  and  if  he  receives  more  than 
this  sufficient  number,  then  to  cast  addi- 
tional votes  in  the  chamber,  proportion- 
ate to  the  number  of  proxies  received. 
This  is  the  plan  put  forth  three  years 
ago  by  the  Personal  Representation  So- 
ciety of  New  York. 

The  nxth  plan  is  that  of  Zt«f-voting, 
or  what  is  called  the  free  concurrence 
of  lists,  or  the  open  list,  a  plan  recom- 
mended by  M.  Naville  of  Geneva,  as 
second  in  merit  only  to  the  plan  of  pre- 
ferential voting.  It  supposes  lists  of 
candidates  containing  each  the  names 
of  as  many  as  there  are  representatives 
to  be  chosen,  ranged  in  the  order  of  pre- 
ference, to  be  deposited  with  the  proper 


authorities  a  certain  time  before  the  de^ 
tion  and  numbered.  Bach  elector  giiei 
his  vote  for  a  particular  list  Thewhok 
number  of  votes  for  that  list  is  diTided 
by  the  electoral  quotient^  and  the  resok 
gives  the  number  of  candidates  choeen 
on  that  list.  For  example :  if  there  be 
15  representativeis  to  be  elected,  15,000 
voters^  and  5  lists  of  candidates,  list 
A,  receiving  5,000  votes,  secures  5  rep- 
resentatives;  list  B,  receiving  4,000 
votes,  secures  4  representatives ;  list  C, 
receiving  8,000  votes,  secures  8  repce- 
sentatives ;  list  D,  receiving  2,000  vofeei, 
secures  2  representatives ;  list  £,  reoeh- 
ing  1,000  votes,  secures  1  representatiTe: 
In  case  of  a  vacancy  caused  by  deaiii 
or  resignation,  election  on  more  tbia 
one  list,  or  other  cause,  the  place  is  to 
be  supplied  by  the  candidate  next  in 
order. 

This  plan  would  operate  thus,  in  i 
State  having  100,000  voters  and  10  rep- 
resentatives in  Congress  to  choose,  ind 
8  parties  with  each  a  list,  list  A  re- 
ceiving 60,000  votes ;  list  B  receifii^ 
80,000  votes;  list  C  receiving  10,000 
votes.  The  quota,  or  electoral  qaotient, 
being  10,000,  list  A  would  be  entitled  to 
6  representatives,  list  B  to  8,  and  list  C 
to  1.  The  6  highest  names  on  list  A, 
the  8  highest  on  list  B,  and  the  1  high- 
est on  Hst  C,  would  then  be  chosen  is 
the  representatives  of  the  State  in  Con- 
gress. 

We  have  given  these  different  plans, 
in  general  terms,  with  very  little  detail; 
but  sufficient,  we  think,  to  show  the 
principle  on  which  each  of  them  resU. 
They  are  not  always  presented  in  tlie 
form  in  which  we  have  given  them. 
Modifications,  greater  or  less,  have  been 
suggested.  But  we  think  we  have  given 
the  substance  of  all  the  plans  which 
have  been  proposed  for  the  amendmez^t 
of  the  electoral  system.  All  of  them  are 
large  reforms ;  but  they  are  not  alike  in 
merit.  That  of  preferential  voting  is 
theoretically  the  most  perfect,  and  if 
faithfully  executed  would  give  the  best 
representative  chamber.  It  would  com- 
pel a  certain  degree  of  deliberation  be- 
fore voting;  would  insure  to  two  or 
more  parties  proportional  representation 


1870.] 


Pbofortional  Refbbsxntation. 


719 


in  the  Legislature,  and  would  insure  a 
certain  degree  of  non-partisan  represen- 
tation. Whether  it  would  proye,  as  has 
been  predicted,  too  complicated  in  its 
working  among  a  large  constituency, 
can  hardly  be  determined  before  actual 
experiment.  We  should  fear  that  under 
it  there  would  be  opportunity  for  much 
fraudulent  counting,  and  while  it  would 
give  to  each  party  its  proper  weight  in 
legislation,  it  would  leave  much  in  the 
power  of  party  managers.  The  proxy 
system  would  give  the  most  complete  rep- 
resentation. The  objections  to  it  are  that 
there  would  bo  a  loss  of  the  deficient 
votes ;  that  is  to  say,  the  votes  given  for 
a  candidate  who  could  not  concentrate 
upon  himself  sufficient  to  make  a  quota, 
would  be  thrown  away,  unless  a  transfer 
to  other  candidates  were  permitted. 
Preferential  voting  avoids  both  the  ob- 
jection of  too  great  concentration  of 
votes  upon  one  person,  and  the  loss  of 
votes  below  the  quota,  since  no  candidate 
can  have  counted  in  his  favor  more  than 
enough  to  elect  him,  and  every  vote 
will  be  counted,  except  the  number  less 
than  a  quota  left  after  electing  all  of  the 
required  number  of  candidates.  Other 
difficulties,  however,  might  appear  in 
the  actual  working  of  any  of  the  plans 
which  we  do  not  now  foresee. 

Indeed,  though  we  arc  confident  that 
any  one  of  them  would  go  far  to  purify 
our  elections  and  our  legislation,  we 
think  the  preference  among  them  can 
only  be  decided  by  actual  experiment. 
Borne  of  them  may  be  best  in  a  large 
constituency,  and  others  in  a  small  one. 

If  we  might  choose  which  to  begin 
with,  and  where  to  begin,  we  would  try 
the  plan  of  cumulative  voting  for  mem- 
bers of  Congress  in  the  State  of  Massa- 
chusetts, and  that  of  limited  voting  for 
Aldermen  in  the  City  of  New  York, 
restricting  in  the  latter  case  each  voter 
to  one  candidate.  The  former  might 
require  concurrent  legislation  of  Con- 
gress and  of  the  General  Court;  the 
latter,  only  an  Act  of  the  New  York 
Legislature.  In  either  case,  the  pro- 
cess would  be  simple  enough.  To 
begin  with  the  Congressional  election 
in  Massachusetts,  which  sends  10  mem- 


bers to  the  House  of  Representatives,  and 
has  about  200,000  voters.  Every  voter 
would  give  10  Totes,  which  he  might 
scatter  among  10  candidates,  or  cumu- 
late them  upon  a  less  number,  even 
upon  one.  The  whole  number  of  votes 
to  be  counted  would  be  2,000,000. 
Parties  are  divided  between  the  Repub- 
licans aud  Democrats  in  nearly  the  pro- 
portion of  two  thirds  to  the  former  and 
one  third  to  the  latter,  giving  the  Re- 
publicans about  184,000  voters  and  the 
Democrats  about  66,000,  though  the  lat- 
ter have  not  a  single  member  of  Con- 
gress. Each  party  would  calculate  its 
strength  beforehand,  and  nominate  as 
many  candidates  as  it  was  confident  of 
electing.  If  the  Republicans  were  to 
nominate  a  full  ticket  of  ten  candidates, 
they  could  give  each  only  184,000  votes ; 
while  the  Democrats,  if  they  nominated 
four  candidates,  could  give  each  of  them 
165,000  votes.  The  result  would  be  that 
the  Republicans  would  nominate  only 
7  or  8  candidates,  and  the  Democrats  8 
or  4.  There  would  also  be  an  oppor- 
tunity for  any  number  of  voters  wher- 
ever obtained  throughout  the  State,  not 
less  than  20,000  in  all,  to  elect  their  own 
candidate,  vnthout  regard  to  either 
party.  If  by  any  chance,  a  most  im- 
probable one,  the  votes  should  be  cumu 
lated  upon  a  less  number  of  candidates 
than  10,  a  new  election  would  have  to 
be  ordered  to  supply  the  deficiency. 

Then  in  regard  to  the  trial  of  limited 
voting.for  Aldermen  in  the  City  of  New 
York,  the  process  should  be  this :  sup- 
posing 16  Aldermen  to  be  elected  by 
general  ticket,  which  is  the  scheme 
of  the  new  charter  just  enacted  by 
our  Legislature,  each  voter  should  be 
limited  to  one  candidate,  and  each  bal- 
lot should  have  only  one  name  upon  it. 
There  being  about  150,000  yoters  in  the 
city,  every  10,000  of  them,  wherever 
residing  and  of  whatever  party,  might 
have  a  representative  in  the  chamber  of 
Aldermen.  If  there  should  happen  to 
be  a  large  concentration  of  votes  upon 
one  person,  that  would  not  be  a  very 
great  evil,  since  it  could  scarcely  happen 
that  there  would  not  be  candidates  suf- 
ficient to  fill  the  board.    If  that  very 


T30 


PuTKAu's  Uaoaohz. 


Improbable  event  Bhonld  come  to  pass,  nation  woni 

a  new  election  would  aupptj  tlie  defi-  of  noininatil 

dene;.  Iq  practice,  partieawonldprob-  agera.    Ere 

ably  distribute  their  ticket))  about  the  their  good  1 

citj  in  Buch  manner  as  not  to  waste  that  tb^  ft 

their  votes.  Buccess  of  ai 

Thatthesechangeswouldbegreatim-  dates  being 

provementB  upon  our  present  BjBtem,  we  men  indepc 

venture  to  think  ne  have  already  shown,  have  to  be  a 

If  irregularities  or  difficoltieB  ahould  ap-  to  their  fitn 

pear  in  the  practical  working,— and  Bttch  the  con£dei 

areiikelyto  occnrintbeintroductionof  could   be   ei 

any  new  scheme, — they  can  be  remedied  whatever  pa 

afterward,  as  occasion  oSbrs,     When  ter,  might  b 

once  the  theory  of  proportional  repre-  riea,  no  tern] 

sentation  ia  reduced   to  practice,  and  of  party,  v 

mode  familiar  to  the  people,  it  will  as-  him. 
sert  ita  superiority.    If  one  of  the  metb-        We  boast 

ods  of  practical  application  is  found  im-  tive  repnbli< 

perfect,  it  will  g^ve  way  to  another  and  in  the  world 

better.    All  the  plans  which  have  been  how  for  in  ] 

explained,  are  kindred  in  general  theory  theory.  To 

and  in  purpose.  Anyofthemvonldgive  degree  tfae< 

to  a  minority  party  a  representation  strous,  whi' 

proportional  to  its  numbers ;  and  most  saved  the  lit 

of  them  would  give  to  electors  who  are  glo  with  si 

not  partisans  an  opportunity  of  being  have  now  ti 

heard  and  felt  in  representative  halls,  my  more  au1 

The  elector  would-  be  independent  of  official  and  • 

part;  in  Iiis  choice  of  a  candidate ;  and  is  no  time  t 

the  person  elected  without  apartynomi-  once. 


THE  COMING  OP  THE  DJ 

Toe  hage  o'erarching  dark  upon  t 
With  deeper  blackness  falls;  the  t 
Flow  drowsily,  whispering  as  thef 
"  The  dawn  is  coming,"  to  the  wav« 
The  t^rtive  silent  dawn — tin  pale 
That  grows  into  the  blatjcnesa  like 
And  then,  relenting  to  a  purplish 
With  wonderful  gradations  is  with< 
And  now,  the  Bky  becomes  intense] 
And  now,  'tis  luminous  with  th'  at 
Of  airy  glory.  The  fair  moming-ai 
In  fading  beauty,  dies  in  the  afar. 
Streaks  of  keen  gold,  with  hushed, 
Invade  the  blue— inclose  the  heave 
Till  the  last  wave  of  darkness  ebbs  i 
Id  the  fre^h  woader  of  the  new-bom 


1870.1 


Editobzal  NoTia. 


781 


EDITORIAL  NOTES. 


DIMOCRATZO  RSr&SSBirTATlOS. 

No  more  important  question  is  befpre 
the  public  than  that  "which  relates  to 
the  proper  mode  of  arriving  at  a  fair 
and  adequate  expression  of  the  popular 
mind.  The  theory  of  this  goyemment 
is  that  the  people,  i  e.  the  aggregate 
of  the  inhabitants  of  proper  age  and 
competent  intellect,  rule  the  afiairs  of 
the  state ;  but  the  practice  is,  as  it  is 
shown  elsewhere,  that  only  an  incon- 
siderable minority  have  any  real  and 
effective  political  existence.  The  nation 
is  not  governed  by  the  nation,  but  by  a 
party,  and  that  party  by  cliques,  and 
those  cliques  by  a  few  leaders.  This  is 
not  democracy,  then,  any  more  than  the 
class-rule  of  England  or  the  imperial 
domination  of  France.  It  is  the  many 
controlled  by  the  few,  and,  of  course,  as 
is  always  the  case  in  such  circumstances, 
in  the  interests  of  the  few  and  not  of 
the  many. 

But  how  are  we  to  correct  the  evil  ? 
That  is  the  question.  Our  correspond- 
ent discusses  the  various  schemes  that 
have  been  proposed,  all  more  or  less 
practicable,  but  not  entirely  without 
objection.  An  integral  representation 
of  all  the  voters  of  a  community  is 
hardly  possible  under  any  combination 
that  can  be  devised ;  but  a  proportional 
representation  that  shall  be  more  com- 
plete and  just  than  that  of  a  mere  ma- 
jority is  both  possible  and  desirable. 
Mr.  Hare's  plan  of  "  preferential  voting," 
which  on  the  whole  is  the  best,  is  yet 
slightly  complicated ;  but  it  might  be 
simplified,  if  instead  of  using  <'  voting 
papers,**  the  electors  were  required  to 
inscribe  their  names  on  certain  lists  of 
candidates,  to  be  kept  at  the  town-house 
of  each  electoral  district  Let  the  books 
be  kept  open  for  a  week,  under  the  su- 
pervision of  judges  of  election ;  let  each 
voter,  when  he  comes  to  inscribe  his 
name  on  the  list  of  the  candidates,  as- 
certun  the  precise  state  of  the  poll ;  if 
VOL.  Y.— 47 


his  favorite  candidate  has  already  re- 
ceived the  requisite  quota,  he  can  then 
vote  for  some  other ;  or  if  his  favorite 
has  no  chance,  he  need  not  throw  away 
his  vote,  but  cast  it  for  his  next  best, 
who  may  have  a  chance.  By  this  means 
no  fraudulent  votes  could  be  given,  as 
they  would  all  be  written  out  and  open 
to  the  inspection  of  the  public ;  and  few 
votes  woidd  be  lost,  either  by  voting  for 
one  who  has  already  enough  to  elect  him, 
or  for  one  who  by  no  possibility  could 
get  enough. 

Under  the  present  system,  we  know 
of  an  intelligent  and  patriotic  gentle- 
man, who  has  been  a  voter  for  nearly 
thirty  years,  who  has  voted  at  nearly 
every  election ;  and  yet,  who  has  never 
voted  for  a  successful  candidate,  save  in 
the  presidential  elections  for  Lincoln 
and  Grant.  He  has  never  had  a  repre- 
sentative in  Congress,  nor  in  the  State 
Legislature,  nor  in  the  Common  Coun- 
cil, and  to  all  intents  and  purposes, 
practically,  might  as  well  nut  have 
voted  at  all.  Not  disfranchised  by  law, 
he  has  been  so  virtually,  and  will  be, 
probably,  so  long  as  he  keeps  his  pres- 
ent residence.  Surely,  human  reason  is 
able  to  devise  something  better  than 
that  for  a  society  which  proclaims  the 
will  of  the  whole  the  rule  of  its  action 
and  the  source  of  all  governmental  au- 
thority. To  that  end,  let  our  readers 
ponder  the  article  we  publish  else- 
where. 


▲  iTAJt  ur  TRB  wan. 


Again  California  sends  us  something 
more  valuable  than  her  gold,  a  little  of 
the  sterling  ore  of  genius.  Hr.  Bret 
Hart6*s  book  has  the  ring  in  it  of  the 
finest  metal  of  the  mountains.  Once 
before  in  the  eloquent  Senator  from  Ore- 
gon, Colonel  Bakei^  who  perished  so 
untimely  in  the  war,,  she  gave  us  a  man 
of  mark— eloquent  in  speech  as  he  was 
noble  in  spirit — ^whose  fame  the  nation 
should  cherish.  Bret  Harte  is  of  a  higher 


722 


POTNiJC'B  ICaOAZIRS. 


[i^ 


order  still,  and  his  stories  and  sketches 
are  better  for  us  than  any  oratory,  be- 
cause they  go  deeper  into  the  new  life 
of  those  far  Western  slopes.  They  illna- 
trate,  indeed,  what  we  have  so  often  de- 
manded in  these  columns— the  capability 
of  our  American  experience  of  an  origi- 
nal and  fine  artistic  treatment.  Mr. 
Harte  takes  the  commonest  incidents  of 
wild  border-life— the  birth  of  a  child  in 
a  camp  of  rough  miners,  the  expulsion 
of  gamblers  from  a  rude  settlement,  an 
inundation,  a  solitary  stage-ride — and 
out  of  them  makes  a  tale  that  touches 
the  deepest  feelings  of  the  heart.  Ri- 
gidly faithftd  in  his  local  color,  neither 
hiding  nor  heightening  the  characters 
of  the  outcasts  of  civilization,  who  are 
apt  to  gather  in  the  remoter  camps,  he 
yet  reveals  new  and  unexplored  depths 
of  our  human  nature-^vicea  and  virtues, 
heroisms  and  degradations,  that  show 
the  old  comedies,  or  the  old  tragedies, 
of  existence  over  again,  on  theatres 
where  we  little  expected  to  find  them. 
The  ranches,  the  gulches,  the  mines,  the 
plains,  and  the  mountains,  are  as  full 
of  humors  and  heart-rendings  as  any  of 
the  crowded  cities  of  the  antique  civili- 
zations. It  only  needs  the  eye  and  the 
sympathy  of  genius  to  bring  them  out 
of  their  vulgar  relations,  and  transplant 
them  into  a  realm  of  beauty.  What  ore 
the  incidents,  the  stories  of  the  greatest 
literary  productions — the  struggle  be- 
fore Troy,  the  murder  of  Duncan  by 
Macbeth,  the  jealousy  of  Othello— but 
very  commonplace  and  often  repulsive 
events  in  themselves,  disgusting  even  at 
times ;  and  what  are  the  characters  of 
world-renowned  fictions,  but  very  com- 
mon characters,  till  the  forging  imagi- 
nation transmutes  them  into  the  imper- 
ishable types  of  literature  ?  As  realities, 
these  characters  are  to  be  found  every- 
where; they  are  the  Oakhursts,  the 
Yuba  Bills,  the  miners  of  Poker  Flat 
and  Red  Dog;  but  as  idealities  they 
live  in  the  brains  of  the  poets,  and 
afterward  in  the  memories  of  all 
men. 

We  hail  -these  works  of  Mr.  Harte 
with  more  pleasure,  because  we  claim 
for  the  old  series  of  Pxttnah^b  Maga- 


ziKE  some  credit  for  haying  broken  tbe 
virgin  soil  of  California  as  a  litoizj 
field.  Mr.  J.  W.  Palmer,  we  remember, 
— then  one  of  our  co-laborers, — strnd 
the  vein,  in  his  *'  Fate  of  the  Farleighi," 
his ''  Old  Adobe,"  and  his  '*  Karl  Joseph 
E[rafft,"  which  Mr.  Harte  has  ainoe 
worked  with  so  mncli  effect.  Mr.  PiJ- 
mer's  stories,  gathered  into  a  vohune, 
had  a  considerable  Bacceaa  in  this  coixb- 
try,  and  even  &r  more  in  Engimd, 
where  they  were  received  as  a  new  tod 
quite  brilliant  contribntion  to  the  fit^ 
rature  of  the  New  World* 


uMvmxa  A 


Our  readers  may  perhaps  recall  i 
pretty  little  story,  which  we  published 
a  month  or  two  since,  under  the  naae 
of  "  A  Queen  of  Society."  It  repraeiii' 
ed  a  desperately  fashionable  and  Mfo- 
lous  young  lady  as  having  sold  hamii 
to  a  very  wickcKl  person,  who,  in  reward 
for  her  devotion  to  him,  gave  her 
wealth,  splendor,  and  name  such  as  it 
was ;  but  she,  having  grown  weaiy  of 
his  service,  finding  it  stale,  fiat,  sad 
unprofitable,  at  length  escaped  his  toib 
by  devoting  her  own  life  to  the  salfa- 
tion  of  that  of  another.  It  waa,  it 
seems  to  us,  an  agreeable  way  of  incul- 
cating a  very  important  truth,  viz.,  that 
one  is  bound,  if  he  would  live  aright, 
not  to  live  for  himself,  not  to  pursue  his 
own  selfish  ends,  but  to  live  for  othen, 
or  for  ends  that  are  general  and  self-aae- 
rificing;  but  we  are  informed,  by  a 
learned  Boston  critic,  that  in  this  ve 
were  greatly  mistaken.  Our  story,  in- 
stead of  being  of  a  good  tendency,  or 
even  harmless,  concealed  a  horrible  theo- 
logical error.    He  says : 

"Putnam's  MAGAznrE  shows  gain 
under  its  new  editor ;  but  the  theology 
of  one  of  its  stories,  in  which  the  devil 
figures  as  *■  Mr.  Heller,  is  out  of  joint 
and  objectionable.  What  right  has  this 
journal  to  enter  our  houses  with  a  the- 
ory of  the  atonement — in  the  guise  of  a 
novelette — which  both  ignores,  and  is 
destructive  of,  that  of  the  Bible.  We 
had  hoped  better  things  of  this  month- 
ly." 

Our  contributors  will  henceforth  stand 
duly  admonished ;  and  when  they  con- 


1870.] 


Editobial  Kotss. 


798 


template  writing  any  pleasant  little  tale 
for  the  amusement  of  our  readers,  will 
please  prepare  themselyes  for  the  task 
by  a  diligent  perusal  of  the  Westmin- 
ster Catechism,  or  Dr.  Dwight^s  disser- 
tations on  the  yarious  points  of  polem- 
ics. As  for  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount, 
let  them  beware  of  that,  lest  they  offend 
the  nostrils  of  the  critics  "  who  expect 
better  things  of  this  Monthly." 

COSBVPTIMO  TBS  LAMQUiaE. 

During  Easter-week  we  attended  sev- 
eral Episcopal  churches,  in  which  there 
was  a  promise  of  fine  music,  in  addition 
to  the  usual  attractions  of  an  imposing 
religious  service.  The  music  was  fine, 
and  the  services  were  imposing;  but 
there  was  one  drawback  upon  the  com- 
plete enjoyment  of  the  occasion,  and 
that  was  the  careless  and  slipshod  way 
in  which  parts  of  the  ritual  were  often 
read.  One  young  clergyman  hurried 
through  the  lessons  in  such  a  muffled 
and  rapid  way,  that  it  was  impossible 
to  understand  one  word  in  ten  of  what 
he  was  uttering.  Had  the  language 
been  the  original  Hebrew,  or  Greek,  or 
the  Latin  of  the  Roman  Vulgate,  it 
could  not  have  been  more  incompreheur 
sible  to  the  audience.  Another  reader, 
with  a  tolerably  clear  voice  and  good 
manner,  persisted  in  pronouncing  door- 
posts as  if  it  was  daw-posts^  and  the  first- 
born appeared  always  in  the  disguise  of 
the  fust-baton,  A  third,  we  remarked, 
had  the  habit  of  pronouncing  hearts 
TumtSy  and  other  analogous  words  in  the 
same  way.  Lord  was  always  laud,  and 
holy  sometimes  hovoly.  Now,  it  is  true 
we  do  not  go  to  church  to  learn  rheto- 
ric; we  go  there  for. other  and  better 
purposes,  we  trust;  but  as  clergymen 
are  supposed  to  be  educated  men,  we 
expect  from  them  some  degree  of  pre- 
cision in  the  use  of  their  native  tongue. 
They  have  no  right  to  set  the  example 
of  a  vicious  or  affected  pronunciation 
to  the  large  number  of  people  whom 
they  address  and  influence.  It  is  just 
as  easy  to  speak  correctly  as  it  is  to 
speak  incorrectly ;  just  as  easy  to  enun- 
ciate distinctly  as  it  is  indistinctly ;  and 
when  they  do  not  observe  the  simplest 


rules  of  elocution,  we  are  inclined  to 
ascribe  it  to  ignorance  or  laziness. 


▲  WOnO  TO  THE  CXJlLa. 


Do  our  young  women  know  what  it 
is  that  strikes  one  who  has  been  away 
from  the  country  for  a  time  the  most 
unpleasantly  on  his  return  ?  It  is  not 
their  laces,  assuredly,  which  for  regular- 
ity of  outline,  and  delicacy  and  fresh- 
ness of  tint,  are  unsurpassed,  indeed  are 
not  equalled,  by  any  thing  that  one  sees 
abroad,  save  in  the  finest  pictures.  Nor 
is  it  their  forms,  which  are  lithe,  supple, 
and  graceful,  with  a  spring  in  the  step 
and  a  freedom  of  carriage  that  are  al- 
ways a  delight  to  the  eyes.  Nor  can  it 
be  said  to  be  their  dress ;  for  though 
they  dress  too  much,  in  colors  too  posi- 
tive and  decided,  and  are  in  this  respect 
fiir  behind  the  French  women,  they  are 
yet  in  advance  of  all  others,  English, 
German,  or  Italian.  But  it  is  the 
voice,  and  the  management  of  the  voice. 
After  looking  at  our  American  girls,  it  is 
almost  always  a  disappointment  to  hear 
them  speak.  What  they  say  is  perhaps 
well  enough,  but  the  tone  and  mode  in 
which  they  say  it  is  not  well  enough. 
Their  voices  are  commonly  too  thin  and 
shrill,  and  when  they  are  not,  are  pitch- 
ed in  too  high  a  key.  Sometimes  they 
come  through  the  nose  a  good  de^ 
more  than  is  desirable.  They  have  a 
metallic  ring,  or  at  least  a  reedy  quality, 
like  the  wx  humana  of  the  organs,  and 
not  that  soft,  low,  and  gentle  quality, 
which  Shakespeare  proclaimed  so  **  ex- 
cellent in  woman."  Climate  has  no 
doubt  a  good  deal  to  do  with  this  re- 
sult, for  the  fault  is  most  perceptible  at 
the  North  and  East,  and  least  percepti- 
ble at  the  South ;  but  carelessness  has 
quite  as  much  to  do  with  it  Our  moth- 
era  and  teachers,  we  suspect,  do  not 
take  much  pains  to  train  their  children 
and  pupils  into  good  habits  of  enuncia- 
tion, "iniey  are  carefully  taught  to  sing, 
but  they  are  not  carefhlly  taught  to 
read  and  to  speak.  Tet  more  than  half 
the  charm  of  all  social  intercourse  de- 
pends upon  the  agreeable  or  disagreea- 
ble use  of  the  voice.  How  repulsive, 
when  one  has  been  lost  in  admiration  of 


724 


PUTNAM^B  MaOAZINB. 


[Jiae, 


a  beantiM  face  and  a  noble  fignre,  to 
hear  the  mouth  open  like  the  grating  of 
a  hinge,  or  the  "squawk"  of  a  guinea- 
fowl!  How  delicious  when  it  opens 
with  the  sweet  trill  of  a  flute,  or  with 
the  warble  of  birds,  or  with  that  deep, 
rich,  mellow,  and  sympathetic  liquidity, 
which  no  other  instrument  but  the 
human  throat  eyer  attains  I 

TBK  PX.SA  OF  IK8AHITT. 

The  course  recently  adopted  by  a 
Brooklyn  Court,  in  the  case  of  the  mur- 
derer Chambers,  who  was  acquitted  on 
the  ground  of  insanity  by  the  jury,  but 
immediately  sent  to  the  lunatic  asylum 
by  the  judge,  ought  to  be  made  a  uni- 
versal practice.  If  there  is  no  provision 
of  law  to  that  effect,  there  ought  to  be 
one  made  instantly,  to  save  society  from 
the  dangerous  characters  that  are  now 
turned  loose  upon  us.  It  ought  to  be  en- 
acted that  in  every  capital  case,  in  which 
the  plea  of  insanity  is  allowed  in  bar  of 
conviction,  the  accused  should  be  sent 
ip8o  facto  and  at  once  to  a  place  of  safe- 
keeping. Insane  men  are  even  more  dan- 
gerous than  men  of  criminal  intent,  and 
need  to  be  secluded  from  society  just  as 
much  as  criminals.  If  a  person  is  pro- 
nounced by  a  jury,  after  a  due  investi- 
gation of  the  evidence,  not  to  be  re- 
sponsible for  the  murder  or  arson  he 
may  have  committed,  he  is  not  sufS- 
ciently  responsible  to  be  permitted  to 
run  at  large.  He  should  be  confined, 
under  judicious  keepers,  until  his  dis- 
ease abates.  In  most  cases,  we  believe 
that  this  plea  of  insanity  is  a  mere  ruse 
on  the  part  of  lawyers  for  the  defence. 
A  man  is  in  the  habit  of  drinking  rum 
until  his  nervous  system  is  quite  shat- 
tered ;  in  his  fits  of  intoxication  or  dur- 
ing the  process  of  recovery,  he  does 
things  that  are  quite  delirious ;  he  puts 
a  knife,  in  an  excess  of  drunken  rage, 
into  the  bowels  of  his  neighbor,  or 
breaks  his  wife^s  head  with  a  hammer, 
or  shoots  some  one  of  whom  an  irrita- 
ble fancy  has  made  him  jealous ;  and 
then  when  he  is  arraigned  for  the  crime, 
there  are  thousands  of  persons  to  swear 
that  they  have  known  him  to  be  out  of 
his  mind.  He  is  released  as  insane ;  but 


we  say  that  in  every  such  case,  whs 
the  prisoner  is  not  hung  or  sent  to  Sing 
Bing,  he  should  be  sent  for  a  definite 
term  of  years  at  least  to  an  asyhnn. 
Whether  insane  or  not,  he  ia  unfit  for 
any  social  relations,  and  t>n  the  strength 
of  his  plea,  should  be  taken  at  hiswori 


IMOAi.  BTKICS. 


A  witty  old  clergyman  is  representtd 
to  have  asked  a  younger  one,  who  boait- 
ed  that  he  had  never  received  a  regukr 
education,  ^'  what  amount  of  fgnonsoe 
he  supposed  necessary  to  a  good  preach- 
er of  the  gospel  f  "  In  the  same  spirit 
we  should  like  to  ask  how  mudi  inso- 
lence and  blackguardiam  it  takes  to 
make  a  first-rate  criminal  lawyer.  Jadg^ 
ing  by  some  recent  examples  that  we 
have  had  in  this  city,  we  should  ny 
that  a  man  must  have  had  a  pretty  con- 
siderable intercourse  with  its  most  bra- 
tal  classes,  to  be  qualified  to  defend  the 
accused  in  the  spirited  way  that  seems 
to  be  expected  of  him  now.  He  most 
know  not  only  how  to  browbeat  and 
insult  witnesses,  how  to  delude  juiia 
by  a  thousand  suggested  falsehoods, 
how  to  belabor  his  opponents  as  if  thej 
were  in  the  dock  for  the  most  serious 
offences,  but  also  how  to  indulge  in  fisti- 
cuffs on  occasions,  and  even  take  the 
bench  to  task  in  a  rude  way,  when  the 
bench  happens  to  interfere  in  behalf  of 
decorum  and  decency. 

An  association  has  been  recently  form- 
ed among  the  members  of  the  bar,  to 
raise  the  standard  of  professional  honor 
and  etiquette;  and  we  suggest  to  it 
that  one  of  the  first  questions  to  be  dis- 
cussed by  it  should  be  this :  Whether 
a  man,  because  he  is  acting  for  anotber, 
is  privileged  to  depart  from  all  those 
rules  of  morals  and  self-respect  wMch 
gentlemen  habitually  prescribe  to  them- 
selves in  their  private  intercourse.  Has 
a  lawyer,  before  a  court  which  ought  to 
be  one  of  the  most  sacred  of  presences, 
a  right  to  deport  himself,  in  the  interests 
of  a  client,  in  a  manner  that  in  other  re- 
lations would  get  him  drummed  out  of 
respectable  society  9  Has  he  a  right  to 
assail  reputation  not  yet  before  the 
court ;  has  he  a  right  to  intimate  that 


1870.] 


£ditobial  Notbb. 


795 


eridence  is  suborned,  simply  because  it 
does  not  concur  with  his  yiew  of  the 
case ;  has  he  a  right  to  make  the  wit- 
ness-stand a  place  of  "  torture  "  for  tim- 
id, sensitive,  or  ignorant  persons  ?  A 
timely  discussion  of  these  topics  might 
do  much  toward  accomplishing  the  ob- 
jects which  the  new  association  is  said 
to  have  in  view. 

A  court  of  justice  is  a  place  where, 
as  the  name  implies,  the  whole  study  of 
those  who  are  officially  connected  with 
it  should  be  to  elicit  truth  and  establish 
the  light  It  is  not  an  arena  for  the  dis- 
play of  smartness,  brutality,  and  vulgar- 
ism of  all  sorts.  The  lawyers,  no  less 
than  the  judges,  are  bound  to  give  ex- 
amples of  fairness,  impartiality,  integ- 
rity, love  of  honor  and  equity.  They 
are  not  bullies,  though  their  positions 
sometimes  force  them  to  be  belligerents. 
Nor,  because  they  are  advocates  of  a  cli- 
ent, do  they  cease  to  be  investigators  of 
truth.  The  whole  object  of  a  trial  at 
law  is  to  determine  the  real  state  of  the 
facts,  and  not  to  suffuse  the  community 
with  falsehoods  and  calumny. 

Formerly,  courts  were  terrors  to  evil- 
doers ;  they  are  getting  to  be  terrors  to 
people  of  refinement  and  decency. 

A  MUSICAL  TAItAT  XN  WtOMM, 

We  learn  by  a  letter  firom  Miss  Chris- 
tine Nilsson,  the  vocalist,  that  she  in- 
tends to  visit  the  United  States  the  next 
Fall,  and  we  can  promise  the  lovers  of 
music  a  treat  of  which  they  have  not 
had  the  equal  since  the  days  of  Jenny 
Lind.  A  native  of  the  same  country, 
and  not  unlike  her  in  sincerity  and  ear- 
nestness of  character,  as  well  as  in  mar- 
vellous vocal  ability.  Miss  Nilsson,  we 
believe,  will  revive  ttte  musical  enthusi- 
asm of  the  old  days.  With  a  voice 
scarcely  inferior  to  that  of  Lind,  in 
compass  and  purity,  thoroughly  train- 
ed in  the  best  continental  schools,  a 
much  greater  actress  than  Jenny  Lind, 
and  no  less  at  home  in  the  deep  and 
solemn  music  of  the  oratorio  than  «be  is 
in  the  lighter  styles  of  the  opera,  she  is 
capable  of  pleasing  all  classes  of  the 
lovers  of  music.  She  will  please  the 
domestic  circle  even  more  tlian  the  pub- 


lic audience,  by  her  refined  and  graceAil 
manners  and  her  self-respecting  dignity. 
Under  what  auspices  Miss  Nilsson  wiU 
come  among  us  is  not  yet  determined ; 
but  whenever  she  comes,  and  with 
whomever  she  comes,  we  predict  for  her 
a  certain  triumph. 

A  8UOOBSTI02f  VOK  SCHOOLS. 

They  have  a  delightfhl  custom  in  the 
Swiss  schools  for  boys,  which  might  be 
adopted  with  great  advantage  to  all 
concerned  in  this  country.  During  the 
weeks  of  the  summer  vacation,  it  is  the 
habit  of  the  teachers  to  make,  with 
their  pupils,  what  are  called  voyages  en 
Bigwg  ;  i  e.  pedestrian  tours  among  the 
sublime  mountains  and  charming  valleys 
of  that  '^  land  of  beauty  and  grandeur.'' 
Squads  of  little  fellows  in  their  blouses, 
with  their  tough  boots  drawn  on,  and 
knapsacks  on  their  back,  may  be  met, 
during  the  season,  on  all  the  highways, 
and  sometimes  in  the  remotest  passes 
of  the  Alps,  as  chirrupy  as  the  birds  on 
the  boughs,  and  as  light  and  bounding 
as  the  chamois  who  leap  from  crag  to 
crag.  They  are  perfect  pictures  of 
health  and  happiness,  and  tlie  treasures 
of  fine  sights  that  they  lay  up  in  their 
memories,  during  these  perambulations, 
it  would  be  difficult  to  describe.  We 
know  of  more  than  one  urchin  that  has 
thus  scaled  the  summits  of  the  Faul- 
hom,  looked  down  firom  the  precipices 
of  the  Bevent,  walked  over  the  frozen 
oceans  of  the  glaciers,  and  gazed  in 
rapture  upon  the  sunsets  on  the  Jung- 
firau  or  Mont  Blanc.  Their  tramps  are 
made  without  danger  and  without  much 
expense,  and  the  life  is  one  of  incessant 
enjoyment  and  rapture.  But  why  could 
not  the  same  thing  be  done  here,  where 
we  have  the  Catskills,  the  Adirondacks, 
and  the  White  Mountains,  the  exquisite 
lakes  of  the  North,  the  river  St.  Law- 
rence with  its  rapids,  Niagara,  and  the 
lovely  scenery  of  Western  Virginia, 
which,  we  are  told,  is  scarcely  surpass- 
ed on  the  continent?  Over  the  long 
intervening  stretches  the  railroad  will 
bridge  the  distance ;  while  the  country 
inns  are  not  expensive,  and  the  country 
fare  wholesome  and  nutritious. 


726 


Ptjtnaic^s  Maoazinb. 


[JUM, 


TWO  XIIPOSTAICT  BOOKS. 


"  The  Nation,"  by  Mr.  Mulford  (Hurd 
&  Houghton,  publishers),  and  *'  Ameri- 
can Political  Economy,"  by  Professor 
Bowen  (Scribner  &  Co.),  are  among  the 
books  of  the  month  to  which  we  pro- 
posed to  devote  a  paragraph ;  but  look- 
ing into  them,  we  found  them  too  im- 
portant to  be  dismissed  in  any  summary 
way.  They  are  serious,  thoughtful,  and 
instructive,  and  with  so  much  in  them 
that  we  approve,  and  so  much  that  does 
not  suit  us  as  well,  that  we  hope  to  find 
occasion  for  an  elaborate  consideration 


of  their  merits.  At  ibis  time  they  an 
both  opportune,  relating  as  they  do  to 
questions  that  abaorb  more  or  less  die 
attention  of  Congress  and  that  of  the 
public.  Kow,  when  so  large  a  part  of 
the  country  is  undergoing  a  pditical 
reconstruction,  and  wben  matters  of 
finance  and  taxation  are  the  leading 
topics  of  the  day,  it  is  desirable  that 
men  of  all  parties  sbould  be  able  to 
form  their  opinions  in  the  eolidesc 
grounds  of  philosophy  and  sdence.  Mr. 
Mulford's  book,  particularly,  we  ccno- 
mend  to  the  attention  of  all  students 
of  the  higher  politics. 


••• 


LrrERATURE—AT  HOME. 


That  the  lighter  kinds  of  verse  which 
abound  so  largely  in  France  have  never 
succeeded  in  fixing  themselves  for  any 
length  of  time  in  England,  speaks  well 
for  the  English  mind.  There  have  been 
witty,  there  have  been  comic  poets  in 
England  ;  but  the  number  of  those  who 
have  distinguished  themselves  in  this 
way  is  small  indeed.  They  have  in- 
creased in  the  present  century  (as  versi- 
fiers in  general  have  increased),  Byron 
setting  the  fashion  in  one  direction,  and 
Hood  and  Praed  in  another  direction. 
As  between  Hood  and  Praed  in  the 
walks  of  humorous  verse,  we  prefer  the 
last,  for  the  reason  that  through  his 
humor  runs  an  undercurrent  of  melan- 
choly, while  the  humor  itself  is  much 
less  forced  and  artificial.  Whatever 
poetry  can  be  found  in  blending  the 
grave  and  the  gay  was  found  by  Praed, 
who  at  his  best  was  a  true  poet,  though 
by  no  means  so  tender  and  so  beautiful 
a  poet  as  Hood.  We  can,  indeed  we 
must,  laugh  at  much  of  Hood^s  comic 
verse ;  but  we  feel,  all  the  time,  that  it  is 
unworthy  of  the  man  who  wrote  "  Fair 
Inez  "  and  "  Ruth,"  and  "  The  Song  of 
the  Shirt."  We  have  no  such  feeling 
over  the  grim  diableries  of  Barham,  or 
the  droll  imitations  of  Bon  Gaul  tier, 
nor  over  The  "  Bab'^  Ballads,  by  W.  8. 
Gilbert,  which  are  reprinted  by  Messrs. 
Porter  &  Coates.    Our  recollection  of 


Mr.  Gilbert  is  of  the  sligbtest  sort,  rest- 
ing mainly  on  "  The  Magic  Minor,''  a 
volume  by  his  father  (such,  we  beliere, 
is  the  relationship),  for  which  he  made 
a  number  of  grotesque  drawings.  We 
have  not  met  him  as  an  author  outside 
of  his  '**  Ballads,''  and  in  these  we  hard- 
ly know  how  to  classify  hinu  A  poet 
he  is  not,  as  Praed  and  Hood  are,  aod 
he  does  not  strike  us  as  being  properly 
either  a  witty  or  a  comic  versifier.  What 
he  most  excels  in  is  something  like  bur- 
lesque— ^the  turning  of  the  romantic  into 
the  ridiculous,  and  of  the  serious  into 
the  absurd.  We  have  no  great  liking 
for  this  sort  of  thing ;  but  when  it  b 
well  done  we  are  bound  to  admit  what- 
ever merit  it  may  possess.  In  the  hands 
of  Mr.  Gilbert  it  possesses  merit  of  no 
common  order,  as,  first,  the  merit  of 
originality ;  and,  second,  the  merit  of 
intellectual  healthiness.  If  Mr.  Gilbert 
is  funny,  it  is  at  the  expense  of  nothing 
which  the  world  has  agreed  to  consider 
sacred ;  nothing  which  is  not  a  fair  ob- 
ject for  a  good,  hearty  laugh.  He  is 
sound-minded,  and  he  is  clean-minded. 
To  say  that  this  last  quality,  in  other 
words  decency,  is  characteristic  of  a 
writer,  ought  not  to  be  praise ;  but  un- 
fortunately it  is  high  praise  at  present  for 
many  writers,  especially  those  who  pro- 
fess to  be  humorous.  Mr.  Gilbert, 
though  English,  is  not  above  laughing 


1870.] 


LiTBBATUBS  AT  HOMS. 


7vr 


at  some  of  the  follies  of  hifl  countryxneD. 
In  '^  The  Three  Kings  of  Chickeraloo,"  a 
ballad  which  narrates  the  exploits  of 
three  "  niggers  "  (the  word  is  Mr.  Gil- 
bert's, not  ours),  who  steal  three  casks, 
out  of  which  they  extemporize  three 
islands  near  a  beach,  of  which  islands 
they  are  the  kings,  he  chaffs  the  Eng- 
lish tendency  to  recognize  the  most  in- 
significant of  distant  potentates— aa  the 
Mosquito  King,  for  example — some  fif- 
teen or  twenty  years  ago.  ''Captain 
Beece  "  is  a  delicious  bit  of  chaff  at  the 
old  naval  officer  of  England : 

*'  He  was  adored  by  all  his  men, 
Por  worthy  Captain  Beece,  R.  N., 
Did  all  that  lay  within  him  to 
Promote  the  comfort  of  his  erew. 

"  If  eyer  they  were  dull  or  sad, 
Their  captain  danced  to  them  like  mad. 
Or  told,  to  make  the  time  pass  by, 
Droll  legends  of  his  iofEmcy*" 

This  worthy  captain  called  his  men 
one  suDuner  eve,  and  asked  them  what 
he  could  do  to  gratify  them : 

'*  By  any  reosonable  plan 
I'll  make  you  happy  if  I  can , 
Hy  own  conyenienoe  count  as  nil ; 
It  is  my  AvLty,  and  I  tiill.*' 

Whereupon  the  coxswain,  William 
Lee,  declares  that  U  would  be  fHendly- 
like  on  the  captain^s  part  if  he  would 
marry  his  female  relatives,  cousins, 
nieces,  sisters,  aunts,  &c.,  to  sucVof  the 
crew  as  were  unmarried ;  for  himself,  he 
said: 

"  Oire  me  yonr  own  enchanting  gnrl ;  '* 

which,  of  course,  the  captain  did, 
though  the  "  gurl "  was  already  prom- 
ised to  an  earl,  as  the  rest  of  the  family 
were  promised 

*'  To  peers  of  yarions  degree." 

Then  the  boatswain  suggests  that  his 
mother  shall  be  married  to  the  captain : 

M  She  long  has  loyed  yon  flrom  afiir ; 
She  washes  for  you,  Captain  H." 

The  captain  consents,  of  course,  as  do 
likewise  his  relatives : 

**  It  was  their  duly,  and  they  did." 

**  General  John,*'  a  burlesque  on  the 
aff&bUity  of  the  English  army  officer,  is 
equally  absurd.  Still  funnier  is  *'The 
Bishop  of  Rumti-Foo,''  with  its  nonsensi- 
cal and  unconsequential  repetition  of 
his  name  in  brackets : 


[*'  Por  Peter  was  that  bishop's  name."; 

['*  They  called  bim  Peter,  people  say, 
Booanse  it  was  his  name.^] 

['*m  tell  you,  if  you  care  to  ask, 
That  Peter  was  his  name."]    . . 

[**His  name  was  Peter,  I  repeat*' 

Not  the  least  amusing  feature  of  this  droll 
book  is  Mr.  Gilbert's  illustrations,  which 
are  conceived  in  the  same  spirit  as  the 
text,  and  are  unrivalled  for  whimsical- 
ity. 

The  English  have  a  fancy  for 

books  which  depend  for  their  success 
upon  the  interest  we  may  be  supposed 
to  have  in  regard  to  certain  professions, 
and  the  natural  desire  to  learn  some- 
thing concerning  those  who  practise 
thenu  Hence  their  entertaining  ana 
about  doctors,  divines,  lawyers,  artists, 
actors,  &c.,  the  last  including  even  jock- 
eys and  detectives.  We  have  not  the 
same  taste  here,  or  not  to  the  same  ex- 
tent,  for  at  this  moment  we  can  recal  no 
work  of  the  character  we  have  referred 
to  of  strictly  American  origin,  before 
Mr.  J.  K.  Medbeny's  Men  arid  Mannen 
in  WaU  Street^  of  which  Messrs.  Fields, 
Osgood  &  Co.  are  the  publishers.  If  the 
object  of  Mr.  Medberry's  volume  is  not 
sufficiently  indicated  by  its  title,  noth- 
ing that  we  can  say  will  be  likely  to 
render  it  much  clearer;  but,  briefly, 
while  it  is  not  exactly  narration,  de- 
scription, or  discussion,  it  is  a  com- 
pound of  all  three — an  oUa  podrida  in 
which  each  man  will  find  a  few  scraps 
of  his  favorite  dishes.  Without  ex- 
hausting any  portion  of  his  subject,  Mr. 
Medben^  has  illustrated  most,  telling 
most  of  ua  all  that  we  care  to  know 
about  the  chief  Shrine  of  Mammon  in 
the  New  World,  and  the  priests  and 
high-priests  who  assist  at  its  endless 
worship.  We  behold,  or  can,  its  cere- 
monies every  day  of  our  lives ;  but  to 
many  they  are  as  unintelligible  as  the 
prayers  of  a  certain  people  in  the  East, 
which  they  have  repeated  by  rote  for 
centuries  without  understanding  a  word 
of  what  they  mean.  We  have,  however, 
an  interpreter  of  our  Mammon-worship 
in  Mr.  Medberry,  who  tells  us  whether 
we  are  bulls  or  bears,  or,  worse  than 


728 


PXTTSAM^B  MiaAznffx. 


[* 


all,  lame  ducks.  Undor  his  ministra- 
lions  we  can  make  comers,  put  up  our 
collaterals,  pay  our  differences,  fly  our 
kites,  milk  the  street,  get  into  a  pool, 
saddle  the  market,  twist  on  the  shorts, 
water  stock,  and  wipe  out  operators. 
That  is,  we  might  attempt  all  this,  if 
we  had  both  the  money  and  the  wish 
to  do  so,  and  were,  let  us  say, — for  slang 
is  appropriate  her&— flat  enough  to  try 
it  on ;  but  we  are  not ;  for  if  Mr.  Med- 
berry^s  entertaining  volume  has  no  other 
merit,  it  certainly  has  the  merit  of  show- 
ing a  man  of  sense  what  enonnous  risks 
he  runs  with  his  money,  when  he  is  rash 
enough  to  connect  hiinself  with  the 
"Men  and  Mysteries  of  Wall  Street." 
It  is  as  good  in  this  respect  as  the  fam- 
ous recipe  fbr  mixing  cucumbers,  which 
was  minute  and  explicit  in  regard  to 
the  quantities  of  oil  and  vinegar  and 
salt  and  pepper  to  be  used ;  the  time 
the  dish  should  stand  on  the  ice ;  the 
whole  winding  up  with,  **  Then  throw 
it  out  of  the  window ! " 

The  reading  of  a  collection  of 

proverbs  is  generally  as  dull  work  as 
the  reading  of  a  collection  of  jests ;  yet 
we  all  like  good  jests  and  good  pro- 
verbs. They  are  in  this  way,  which 
must  be  admitted  to  be  a  small  one, 
among  the  choicest  fruits  of  the  human 
intellect.  As  regards  the  last,  Bacon 
says  that  "  the  genius,  wit,  and  spirit 
of  a  nation  are  discoverable  in  its  pro- 
verbs.'' He  might  have  added,  its  bit- 
terness and  cruelty  also ;  for  of  all  the 
bad  thoughts  that  have  welled  out  of 
the  depths  of  sinless  natures,  the  worst 
have  taken  the  form  of  proverbs,  such 
cynical  proverbs,  for  example,  as  are 
crystallized  in  the  "  Maxims  "  of  Roche- 
foucauld. We  are  reminded  of  the  fact 
by  A  Colleetum  of  the  Pratferbs  of  all 
Nations^  Compared^  Explained^  aud  lUu^ 
tratedy  by  Walter  K.  Kelly,  an  English 
work,  reprinted  by  Mr.  Warren  F. 
Draper,  of  Andover.  It  is  an  excellent 
little  book,  full  of  wit,  full  of  spirit, 
fall  of  genius,  and,  in  the  main,  bitter  as 
gall.  It  is,  the  preface  assures  us,  the 
first  complete  collection  of  proverbs 
adapted  to  general  use  in  the  language. 
There  are  collections  enough  of  one  sort 


and  another;  in  the  words  of  Dea 
French,  an  ^  ^mmtmask  numbn  and  va- 
riety of  books  bearing  on  the  aabject;" 
but  there  are  many  reaaona  why  tiMj 
are  not  and  cannot  be  popular ;  some 
on  account  of  their  indelicacy ;  othen 
because  they  are  addressed  to  scfaoUn 
alone;  and  others  again  because  thej 
contain  bare  lists  of  proTerbs  with  ao 
endeavor  to  compare,  illnstrate,  or  ex- 
plain them.  Mr.  Kelly  has  avoidsd 
these  defects,  we  think ;  for  his  hook 
not  only  contains 

"Ko  line  which  dying  he  ooold  vishtohlot;" 

but  addresses  its^  to  the  unleaned  in 
a  way  that  the  learned  might  envy,  tod 
leaves  little  to  be  desired  in  the  sh^ 
of  comment  and  illustration. 

Whether  or  no  it  Is  wise  to  con- 
tinue the  study  of  the  dassacs,  as  it  was 
pursued  in  the  past,  and  as  it  is  BtQl 
pursued  in  the  higher  seats  of  lesinisg, 
is  a  question  upon  whicA  the  lettered 
world  has  been  divided  for  some  time 
in  most  of  the  countries  of  Europe,  ind 
to  some  extent  here  also.  The  conflict 
between  the  divisions  was  long  and 
spirited  in  Prussia  and  Germany,  and  it 
can  hardly  be  said  to  be  over  yet, 
though  the  Classicists  have,  so  far,  the 
better  of  it,  both  in  the  support  thej 
receive  from  government,  and  in  the 
buflrages  of  the  people  graierally.  In 
England  the  strife  is  still  bitter,  as  may 
be  gathered  trom  the  many  clever  es- 
says and  papers  which  have  been  pub- 
lished on  both  sides.  Among  those  who 
deprecate  the  predominance  usoally 
given  to  classical  studies  are  the  Hon. 
Robert  Lowe,  the  Rev.  F.  W.  Faiiar, 
Professor  Atkinson,  and  the  writers  of 
the  essays  collected  by  Professor  Ton- 
mans  in  ''The  Culture  Demanded  by 
Modem  Life.^  The  array  of  names  in 
opposition  to  these  embraces  some  of 
the  most  thoughtful  minds  in  England. 
Their  views  are  set  forth  in  a  volume 
entitled  Ckusic  Stttdp ;  lU  Valw  U- 
luUraUd  hy  ExtraeU  from  the  Writmg9 
of  Eminent  Scholars^  of  which  Samuel 
H.  Taylor,  LL.D.,  is  the  editor,  and  Mr. 
Warren  F.  Draper  the  publisher.  It 
contains  twenty-two  papers,  whole  or 


1870.] 


LiTXBATUBB  AT  HoiOB. 


729 


in  part,  of  which  the  most  notable  are 
by  Dr.  Whewell,  Mr.  John  Stuart  Ifill, 
and  Professors  Ooyington,  Pillans,  Mas- 
son,  D'Arcy,  Thompson,  and  Gk>ldwin 
Smith,  not  fotgetting  the  late  Professor 
Felton,  Professor  Porter,  Dr.  Loring, 
and  other  leaders  of  American  thought. 
A  subject  which  has  set  so  many  emi- 
nent men  by  the  ears  is  manifestly  too 
large  to  be  discussed  here;  we  will  say, 
however,  that  our  sympathies  are  with 
those  who  belieye  that  a  thorough 
knowledge  of  the  classics  is  one  of  the 
noblest  of  intellectual  possessions.  Mere- 
ly regarding  them  as  the  repositories  of 
dead  languages,  we  cannot  but  ask, 
with  Dr.  Whewell, ''  In  what  condition 
should  we  be  if  our  connection  with 
the  past  were  snapped ;  if  Greek  and 
Latin  were  forgotten  ?  What  should  we 
then  think  of  our  own  languages  ?  They 
would  appear  a  mere  mass  of  incoherent 
caprice  and  wanton  lawlessness.  The 
several  nations  of  Europe  would  be,  in 
this  respect  at  least,  like  those  tribes  of 
savages  who  occupy  a  vast  continent, 
speaking  a  set  of  jargons,  in  which 
scarcely  any  resemblance  can  be  traced 
between  any  two,  or  any  consistency  in 
any  one.  The  various  European  lan- 
guages appear  to  us  obviously  connect- 
ed, mainly  because  we  hold  the  Latin 
thread  which  runs  through  them;  if 
that  were  broken,  the  pearls  would  soon 
roll  asunder.  And  the  mental  connec- 
tion of  the  present  nations  with  each 
other,  as  well  as  with  the  past,  would 
thtis  be  destroyed.  What  would  this 
be  but  a  retrograde  movement  ?  "  Your 
words  are  fine  things,  no  doubt,  the  real- 
ists answer,  but  we  propose  to  go  furth- 
er, and  teach  things.  "  This,"  says  Pro* 
fessor  Masson,  '^  is  the  favorite  form  of 
expression  with  the  anti-classicists — 
things  tersiiB  words,  t  am  sorry  to 
find  Mr.  Lowe,  with  his  great  strength 
and  wit,  leading  some  of  the  worst 
forms  of  Philistinism,  and  lending  his 
authority  to  this  particular  clap-trap. 
Things,  indeed  I  Are  things  only  pok- 
ers, shovels,  rocks,  trees,  fields,  harbors 
at  home,  and  townships  in  Australia  t 
Are  not  the  thoughts  of  Plato  things, 
andHomer^s  heroes  and  battles,  and  the 


grand  imaginations  and  choral  wails  of 
Sophodes,  and  Demosthenes'  bolts  of 
reasoning,  and  Livy's  fine  l^ends,  and 
Horace's  consummate  lyrics  and  max- 
ims, and  what  Yirgil  musically  chants, 
and  the  versatile  speculations  of  Cicero, 
or  the  more  ferocious  flamings  of  Lucre- 
tius t  Li  not  the  whole  life  of  the  an- 
cient world  into  which  the  classics  ad- 
mit us  also  a  world  of  things  t  May  not 
commerce  vrith  some  of  those  things — 
let  us  say  the  things  in  one  of  Sopho- 
cles' tragedies — be  as  edif^g,  leave  as 
many  flakes  and  recollections  of  prec- 
ious substance  in  the  mind,  as  an  hour 
among  the  pokers  and  shovels  and  all 
the  commercial  statistics  of  our  colo- 
nies?" 

The  publication  of  the  journal 

of  the  American  Geographical  and  Star 
tittieal  Society^  which  was  suspended 
during  the  war,  has  been  resumed,  and 
we  now  have  the  second  part  of  its  sec- 
ond volume.  It  consists  of  upward  of 
two  hundred  and  fifty  pages,  about  one 
half  of  which  are  filled  with  the  Char- 
ter and  By-Laws  of  the  Society,  a  list 
of  its  officers,  members,  &c.,  and  the 
Annual  Address  of  the  President,  the 
Hon.  Charles  P.  Daly,  the  remainder  be- 
ing devoted  to  the  papers  read  before  it 
during  the  last  year ;  Dr.  Hayes  furnish- 
ing an  '^  Address  on  Arctic  Explora- 
tions;" Captain  Silas  Bent,  of  whom 
our  readers  have  heard,  communications 
on  "  The  Routes  to  be  Pursued  to  the 
North  Pole ; "  Rev.  B.  P.  De  Costa,  a 
paper  on  '*  Tlie  Northmen  in  America ; " 
Professor  Hartt  another  '*  On  the  Geol- 
ogy of  Brazil ;  **  Mr.  John  G.  Parker,  a 
thb'd  on  ^  Polar  Magnetism ;  Its  Astro- 
nomical Origin,  &c. ; "  D.  Hunt  follow- 
ing with  '^Volcanoes  and  Earthquakes," 
and  Mr.  Paul  B.  Du  Chaillu  with ''  Equa- 
torial Africa,  with  an  Account  of  the 
Race  of  Pigmies."  We  are  neither  geo- 
graphical nor  statistical  enough  to  sit 
in  judgment  upon  these  papers;  all 
that  we  shall  venture  to  say  is,  that  we 
have  found  them  all  interesting;  the 
most  interesting,  to  our  literary  sense, 
being  the  accounts  of  the  Northmen  and 
the  Pigmies.  The  Annual  Address  is 
able,  and  crammed  with  facts,  embrac- 


780 


FUIHAM^S  MlOAZINB. 


Pm, 


ing  a  brief  narratiYe  of  the  most  im- 
portant geographical  and  scientific 
erents  of  1869.  Of  the  most  noisy  of 
these — as  the  completion  of  the  Pacific 
Railroad  and  the  Suez  Canal — we  have 
heard  all  that  we  wish  to.  Not  so  of 
such  quiet  achicyements  as  the  deep-sea 
dredgings  of  Professors  Thompson  and 
Carpenter.  What  they  hare  accom- 
plished is  thus  summed  up :  ^'  The  deep- 
sea  dredgings  of  the  last  year  have  told 
a  tale  that  will  revolutionize  some  of 
the  conclusions  of  the  geologist,  and 
the  order  of  arrangement  of  the 
naturaUst.  Animals,  the  remains  of 
which  the  geologist  has  found  in  fossi- 
liferous  rocks  belonging  to  a  species 
supposed  to  have  been  extinct  for  thou- 
sands of  years,  are  now  found  living  at 
great  depths  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea, 
as  actively  engaged  beneath  the  waters 
as  their  ancestors  were,  whose  sepulchres 
are  on  the  land,  in  the  composition  of 
rocks,  which  are  to  be  their  resting-place 
and  the  record  of  their  life  and  labors, 
if  these  rocks  should  hereafter  be  lifted 
up  and  become  a  part  of  the  land.  It 
has  been  a  settled  conclusion  of  the 
geologist  that  the  chalk  and  the  sand- 
stone were  formed  beneath  the  sea  at 
different  geological  periods ;  but  these 
dredgings  show  that,  in  places  at  the 
bottom  of  the  sea,  not  ten  miles  apart, 
both  the  chalk  and  the  sandstone  are 
now  actually  in  the  process  of  forma- 
tion. This,  with  the  facts  that  there 
are  not,  as  has  been  supposed,  zones  of 
temperature  beneath  the  ocean,  and  that 
at  the  enormous  depth  of  three  miles, 
where  the  cold  is  intense,  where  no 
light  could  be  supposed  to  penetrate, 
and  where  the  pressure  is  three  tons  to 
the  square  inch,  animals  are  living,  that 
have  eyes,  are  among  the  contributions 
which  the  year  1869  has  added  to  the 
stock  of  human  koowledge.'' 

From  Messrs.  Leypoldt  &  Holt 

we  have  the  second  number  of  the  Jour- 
nal  of  Social  Science,  a  well  printed  oc- 
tavo of  three  hundred  pages,  containing 
the  *^  Transactions  of  the  Association  at 
their  Annual  Meeting  held  in  Boston  on 
the  18th  of  October  last,  and  at  their 
General  Meeting,  held  in  this  city  on 


the  26th,  27th,  and  28th  days  of  the 
same  month.  After  the  Camnt  Becoid 
of  the  Society  comes  twelre  papers, « 
fi>llow8 :  "  Immigntilon,"  Friedikh 
Eapp ;  "  The  American  Censoa,''  James 
A.  Garfield ;  ^  The  Mode  of  Procednre 
in  Cases  of  Contested  Silectiona,''Henij 
L.  Dawes; ''  The  Public  Charities  of  tiie 
State  of  New  Yoi^^  Theodore  W. 
Dwight ;  ''  The  Public  labrariee  of  the 
United  States,"  Ainsworth  R  Spofbid; 
**  The  Science  of  Transportation,''  Jo- 
seph D.  Potts;  *^  Vaccination,"  a  Re- 
port presented  by  Francis  Bacon,  Wil- 
liam A.  Hammond,  and  David  P.  lia- 
ooln;  ''The  Slections  of  Presidents,' 
Charles  Francis  Adams;  ^life  Insur- 
ance," Shepard  Homans ;  '*  The  Ad- 
ministration of  Criminal  Jnstioe,'' 
George  C.  Batiett ;  ''  Health  Laws,  and 
their  Administration,"  Elisha  Huiis; 
and ''An  International  Code,"  D.  D.  lieU. 
The  importance  of  many  of  these  sub- 
jects, and  the  ability  of  the  writers  who 
have  discussed  them,  giro  these  pq)en 
a  value  beyond  what  usually  attaches  to 
similar  productions  in  the  pmodicals 
of  the  day.  They  are  well  thought  out 
and  ably  written.  Mr.  Spofford's  ac- 
count of  our  "Public  Libraries '^  will 
be  most  likely  to  interest  the  aven^ 
reader.  It  should  be  read  in  connection 
with  the  list  of  these  institutions  under 
the  head  of  ''Qeneral  Intelligence- 
Home."  The  number  concludes  with 
the  Bibliography  of  the  various  works 
bearing  upon  social  science,  published 
in  the  past  year,  which  occupies  six 
closely  printed  pages,  containing  the 
titles  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  difierent 
works,  in  French,  German,  Italian,  and 
English. 

—  Thomas  Paine  once  described 
the  Revolution  as  "  the  time  that  tried 
men's  souls,"  and,  no  doubt,  justly; 
but  it  was  not  the  only  soul-tr3ring 
time  in  our  history,  nor,  in  our  way 
of  thinking,  the  worst  Were  the  past 
to  return,  we  should  ourselves  pre- 
fer fighting  for  Freedom  against  the 
minions  of  the  British  Crown,  to  emi- 
grating westward  after  the  war  was 
over,  and  fighting  Indiana.  In  the 
one  case  we  should  suffer  privations  and 


1870.] 


LiTBBATUBB  AT  HoMS. 


781 


dangers,  be  ill-armed,  ill-clad,  ill-fed; 
ehoald,  perhaps,  march  barefoot  in  the 
snow,  as  at  Valley  Forge,  or  b^  shot 
down  and  bayoneted,  as  on  Bunker's 
Hill;  in  the  other  case,  we  should 
"  clear  "  the  primeval  forests,  and  build 
log-cabins  and  stockade-forts,  plough 
our  fields,  sow  our  seed,  and  possibly 
gather  our  harvests.  We  say  possibly, 
for  there  is  no  telling  when  ihe  redman 
would  be  upon  us — ^when  we  should 
hear  the  sharp  crack  of  his  rife,  or  the 
whizzing  of  his  tomahawk,  from  his  am- 
bush in  the  woods,  followed  by  his  war- 
whoop,  and  then  by  himself,  painted  hid- 
eously, and  meaning  destruction  to  our- 
selves—and our  wives  and  little  ones— to 
the  whole  settlement,  from  the  old  grand- 
sire  of  eighty,  whose  white  hairs  would 
soon  dangle  bloodily  at  the  belt  of  some 
savage  brave,  to  the  unborn  child,  whose 
innocent  life  would  only  begin  in  heaven. 
Better,  a  thousand  times  better,  the  death 
of  the  soldier  at  the  hands  of  soldiers, 
than  the  death  of  the  pioneer  at  the 
hands  of  Indians.  Should  the  reader 
think  otherwise,  we  advise  him  to  turn 
to  Pioneer  Biography ;  Sketches  of  the 
Lives  of  some  of  the  Early  Settlers  of 
Butler  Countpy  Ohio,  by  James  McBride, 
published  by  Robert  Clarke  &  Co.,  Cin- 
cinnati. Its  writer,  who  has  now  joined 

*'  The  iDnnmerable  oaravan  which  moves 
To  that  xnyBtertoaB  realm/* 

was  an  early  settler  in  the  locality  named, 
who  underwent  the  usual  adventures  of 
the  pioneers,  a  bold  and  hardy  race, 
whom  we  cannot  sufficiently  honor,  and 
to  whom  is  due  much  of  the  subsequent 
greatness  of  the  West.  That  Mr.  McBride 
in  his  age  was  deeply  interested  in  the 
times  that  tried  his  soul,  is  evident  from 
the  sketch  which  he  drew  up  of  his  life, 
as  well  as  from  the  sketches  prepared  by 
him  of  a  number  of  pioneers  of  his  own 
stamp,  of  which  last  there  are  seven  in 
the  present  volume.  The  second  and 
concluding  volume  will  contain  as  many 
more,  with  memoranda  for  the  history 
of  Hamilton,  Mr.  McBride's  place  of  resi- 
dence, of  Oxford  County,  and  of  the 
Miami  University.  The  least  that  we 
can  say  of  this  spirited  work  is,  that, 


compared  with  it,  the  romances  of  such 
of  our  novelists  as  have  written  of  pio- 
neer and  Indian  life  are  *^  flat,  stale,  and 
unprofitable.^' 


BOOKS  EECEIVED 

""Pari*  by  Hun-light  and  OoM-UghV'  A  Work 
Deecriptlte  of  the  Mjsterles  Rnd  Mlteries,  the  Ylr- 
tnes  and  the  Yloee,  the  Splendors  and  the  Crimei, 
of  the  City  of  Paris.  By  Jambs  D.  McCabs,  aa 
thor  of  the  **  Aide-de-Gamp,"*  6uu  III  osUated  with 
OTer  150  fine  engraTloga.  *^  lissned  by  subecrlptlon 
only,  and  not  for  sale  at  the  bookAtoros."*  NaUooal 
Pah.  Co.,  Phila.    8to,  cloth. 

*^MeUn  norlands  Fbir.**  By  Louis  Msiibbocub, 
author  of  '<  Saffrage  fur  Women,**  etc.  12inOk  Hoe- 
ton  :  Wm.  White  Si  Co.,  Banner  of  Light  olBce. 

**  The  Firtt  Book  of  Botany:^  Designed  to  oultl- 
Tate  the  Observing  Powers  of  Children.  By  Eli* 
lABSTH  YouMAXB.  ISoio.  N.  Y.;  D.  Appleton 
ACo. 

^naydn  and  other  Poonu,'"  By  the  aathor  of 
<*Llfe  Below.**  12ino.    N.  Y. :   Ilurd  Si.  Houghton. 

*^  Wonders  ef  Italian  Art,"^  By  Louis  Viabdot. 
IIlQStrated  with  28  engravingii.  12mo.  N.  Y.:C. 
Seribner  A  Co. 

**  CcMor^s  Commmtarif  on  the  Gallic  War  ;  "  wHh 
Explanatory  Notes,  a  Cuptons  Dictionary,  and  a 
Map  of  GauU  By  Aldkbt  Habkmkbs,  LL.D., 
Professor  in  Brown  University.  12mo.  D.Apple* 
ton  4k  Co. 

**  The  neart  of  the  OonHnent ;  **  a  Eeoord  of  Travel 
Across  the  Plains  and  In  Oregon.  By  Fits  Huqb 
Ludlow.    8vo,  lllostrated.    Uurd  «k  Houghton. 

**In  Spain  and  a  Vieit  to  PortuffaL''  By  Haxs 
Christiam  AifDBBSBX.  12nio,  illustrated.  Hard 
&  fionghton. 

**  Koee  CoBlum^  or  Parish  Astronomy^*  By  a  Con- 
neetioot  Pastor.    12Dia    Nichols  &  Noyea. 

**■  The  Woman  of  Bueineea ;  or  the  Lady  and  the 
Lawyer^  a  novel  by  MAMnov  Bataob.  8vo, 
paper,  288  pp.    D.  Appleton  it  Co. 

**  The  Private  Li^e  <if  Galileo,'^  complied  principally 
from  his  correspondence  and  that  of  his  eldest 
daughter,  sister  Mabia  Celbsts.  12mo.  Nichols 
ANoyes. 

**  Leateefrom  AwiraUan  Foreete^  Poems  by  n*T 
Kbitdall.   16mo.   Geo.  Robertsra,  Melbourne. 

"  Behind  the  Soenea,  a  story  of  the  Stage,'*  by  Ybbztt 
YiOTOB,  16ma    N.  B.  News  Co. 

**  Sbeleton  Toure  through  England^  Scotland^  Ire-- 
landt  Walee,  eto^  with  some  of  the  principal 
thlDgs  to  see.  H.  W.  Sabobbt.  16mo.  D.  Applo« 
ton  &Co. 

**  Vale  of  Oedare^  and  Home  Influence^  by  Graob 
Aquilab.    D.  Appleton  ft  Co. 

*^  Marion  Berhdey,^  a  story  ibr  Girls,  by  Laurs 
Caztoo.   Loring,  Boston. 

^A  Praetieal  Grammar  of  the  German  Lam- 
gttage,  by  Prof.  Hbbjiavs  D.  Wbaob.  12mo.  D. 
Appleton  &  Co. 


782 


Putvam's  Maoazisx. 


[Joi^ 


LITERATURE,  SCIENCE,  AND  ART  ABROAD. 


The  announcement  of  a  new 

noYel  by  Mr.  B.  Disraeli  is  decidedly 
the  literary  event  of  the  month  of  May ; 
and  long  articles  are  written  about  it 
before  its  publication,  which  serve  only 
to  show  that  the  author  has  kept  his 
own  secret  well.  The  title  is  "  Lothair ; " 
the  story  fills  three  volumes ;  the  motto 
on  the  title-page  is  from  Terence :  "  yo»- 
M  hcBc  omnia  Bolus  est  adoUscenttdis,^ 
which  may  be  done  into, ''  acquaintance 
with  all  this  is  the  salvation  of  young 
folks ; "  but  what  "  all  this  "  may  be  is 
as  impossible  to  foretell  as  the  windings 
of  Mr.  Disraeli's  policy  in  the  Reform 
Bill  were  before  1867.  But  good  or 
bad,  it  will  soon  be  the  best  known 
book  of  this  generation.  Public  expec- 
tation is  hungry  for  it,  and  ten  thousand 
pounds  sterling  have  been  offered  for 
the  copyright.  Some  of  the  journals 
have  been  guessing  at  the  political 
aim  of  the  conservative  statesman  in 
entering  the  literary  field  again.  But 
there  is  no  probabUity  that  the  work 
has  any  more  to  do  with  contemporary 
party  struggle^  than  the  Homeric  essays 
of  his  great  liberal  rival,  Mr.  Gladstone. 
Not  so,  however,  with  Garibaldi's  so- 
called  "  novel,"  entitled  "  The  Rule  of 
the  Monk ;  or,  Rome  in  the  Nineteenth 
Century."  This  has  been  criticised  by 
the  journals  as  a  literary  work,  as  if  the 
fiery  democrat  meant  to  rival  the  fame 
of  Thackeray  or  George  Sand,  and  has 
been  condemned  as  plotless,  character- 
less, styleless,  witless.  But,  in  point 
of  fact,  the  form  of  a  novel  is  merely  a 
disguise,  to  make  a  political  manifesto 
of  unusual  length  readable  in  Italy, 
among  a  people  whose  critical  powers 
Garibaldi  understands  as  well  as  he  does 
their  passions.  It  is  a  red-hot  invective 
against  the  priestcraft  and  kingcraft, 
which,  united  in  the  papacy,  curse  Rome, 
Italy,  atfd  Europe,  with  a  burden  upon 
men's  bodies,  minds,  and  souls  which  be 
wishes  them  to  cast  off.    In  this  view. 


it  is  written  with  skill  and  power ;  and 
it  may  be  doubted  whether  any  litemy 
art  could  add  to  ihe  influence  it  will 
exert,  in  teaching  the  people  both  horn 
they  suffer  from  the  tyranny  that  is  over 
them,  and  how  they  may  do  without  iti 
real  or  pretended  flerrioeeL  It  has  il- 
ready  been  translated  into  nine  or  ten 
languages,  and  is  read  whererer  kisgi 
and  priests  axe  hatedL  It  is  tfans  one  of 
many  forces  which  oombine  to  warn  die 
rulers  of  Europe  that  when  1848  eomes 
again,  it  will  come  to  stay. 

France  and  England  are  discos- 
sing  hard  problems  in  political  economy 
with  a  zeal  and  interest  never  before 
known.  The  questions  which  ^ill  agi- 
tate us  here,  such  as  free  trade,  princi- 
ples of  taxation,  banking,  and  cunenq', 
are  there  far  in  the  past,  and  an  apolo^ 
for  a  protective  tariff  or  a  legal-tender 
bill  is  regarded  by  European  economists 
just  as  a  defence  of  astrology,  or  of  the 
Ptolemaic  system  of  the  universe,  would 
be  by  astronomers.  Bat  what  is  the 
true  cure  of  strikes  ?  How  shall  the  in- 
terests of  capital  and  those  of  labor  be 
reconciled  ?  What  laws  or  institutions 
will  counteract  the  centralizing  tenden- 
cies of  capital,  and  secure  to  the  pro- 
ductive classes  a  fair  share  of  the  w^th 
they  create  ?  On  what  principles  shall 
the  tenure  and  succession  of  land  be 
justly  settled  ?  Through  what  channels, 
legislative,  educational,  or  literary,  will 
economical  truths  obtain  their  best  in- 
fiuence  on  civilization?  What  is  the 
effect  of  different  occupations  on  moral- 
ity ?  These  are  some  of  the  questions 
discussed  in  the  books  and  journals  of 
the  last  month  by  the  first  thinkers  of 
these  two  nations. 

The  practical  question  of  land- 
tenure  in  Ireland,  now  before  Parlia- 
ment, has  suggested  a  great  many  pa- 
pers and  several  books ;  two  of  which, 
at  least,  are  of  permanent  value.  The 
Irish   correspondent    of   the    London 


1870.] 


LiTBBATOim  Abboad. 


788 


TimeBy  Mr.  James  Godkin,  publishes 
"  The  Land- War  in  Ireland ;  a  History 
of  the  Times"  (Macmillan  A  Co.),  a 
volume  as  entertaining  as  it  is  usefUl, 
and  more  satisfactory  as  an  explanation 
of  the  real  condition  of  Ireland  than 
any  that  has  appeared;  not  even  ex- 
cepting the  life-like  sketches  of  the 
agent  Trench  ('^Realities  of  Irish 
Life ''),  which  were  read  so  widely  last 
summer,  and  accepted  as  faithM ;  but 
which  have  been  since  successfully 
shown  to  be  exaggerated  or  distorted, 
in  some  particulars  of  importance. 

The  Cobden  Club  publishes  a 

volume  of  Essays,  giving  an  account  of 
the  systems  of  land-tenure  in  England, 
Belgium,  Holland,  Prussia,  France,  Rus- 
sia, the  United  States,  and  Ireland,  that 
of  each  country  depicted  by  an  able 
man,  who  has  made  it  a  special  study; 
and  the  whole  forming  a  most  instruc- 
tive mass  of  information  on  difficult 
subjects. 

Strikes  are  the  topic  of  the  day 

in  Paris,  where  all  trades  are  eith^ 
«<  out "  or  in  a  chronic  state  of  threaten- 
ing "  to  turn  out.**  M.  Charles  Robert, 
of  the  Council  of  State,  vindicates  the 
cooperative  system  in  a  little  book  fhll 
of  candor  and  broad  toleration.  M. 
Julien  le  Rousseau  has  just  published  a 
volume  in  favor  of  the  same  plan  Q*^  De 
I'Association  de  V  (Euvrier  aux  b6n6fices 
du  Patron,"  Hachette  &  Co.),  of  which 
we  have  seen  but  the  title. 

The  excitement  in   the   great 

Economical  field  has  called  out  two  new 
editions  of  the  great  fountain  of  modem 
political  economy,  Adam  Smith*s  *'  In- 
quiry into  the  Nature  and  Causes  of  the 
Wealth  of  Nations."  Messrs.  Murray 
&  Son  publish  simply  the  text,  in 
one  volume;  Macmillan  gives  an  edition 
in  two  volumes,  beautifhlly  printed  at 
the  Oxford  Clarendon  press,  and  care- 
fhlly  edited  with  valuable  notes,  by  J. 
E.  Thorold  Rogers.  The  latter,  though 
costly,  ought  to  be  in  the  hands  of 
every  student.  But  that  the  notes  are 
so  rigidly  limited  to  the  few  points  re- 
garded by  the  editor  as  indispensable, 
it  might  safely  be  welcomed  as  the  final 
and  standard  edition  of  the  most  in- 


fluential book  produced  by  the  eight- 
eenth century.  The  index  is  by  far  the 
best  we  have  seen  with ''  The  Wealth 
of  Nations,"  and  makes  it  convenient 
for  reference. 

Professor  Rogers   is   about  to 

publish  a  new  edition  of  his  '*  Manual 
of  Political  Economy,"  for  schools  and 
colleges.  We  shall  notice  it  when  it  ap- 
pears, and  hope  to  find  it  both  thorough 
and  attractive.  When  such  accomplish- 
ed scholars  and  broad  thinkers  devote 
themselves  to  the  propagation  of  hand- 
books of  this  science  in  England,  it  is 
not  surprising  that  educated  young 
men  know  more  of  the  subject  there 
than  here,  nor  that  their  inteliigence 
soon  becomes  an  important  element  of 
public  opinion.  Why  can  we  not  put 
into  American  schools  a  simple  treatise 
on  political  economy  to  be  compared 
with  any  of  the  best  recent  British  or 
French  works  of  this  class  ? 

The  family  of  the  late  Hugh 

Miller  have  collected  his  "Leading 
Articles  on  Various  Subjects"  (Edin- 
burgh, Nimmo),  in  a  volume  which 
relates  chiefly  to  controversies  long 
past,  and  is  of  interest  only  to  his 
personal  admirers. 

Moxon  announces  new  editions 

of  Byron,  Longfellow,  and  Wordsworth, 
to  be  followed  by  other  popular  poets 
in  a  series,  all  ^  edited,  with  explanatory 
notes  and  memoirs,  by  William  Michael 
Rossetti,"  who  has  just  mutilated  Shel- 
ley in  two  of  the  most  pretentious  and 
slovenly  volumes  ever  issued,  and  ^*  whose 
name,"  as  the  announcement  with  un- 
conscious irony  states,  "  will  be  a  suf- 
ficient g^uaranty  for  the  general  accuracy 
of  the  various  texts."  But  as  Mr.  Ros- 
setti*s  ''name"  is  to  appear  on  the 
works  of  three  poets  a-month,  it  is  evi- 
dent that  putting  ''his  name"  on  as 
editor  is  what  he  undertakes  personally 
to  do  ;  so  that  we  may  have  tolerable 
books,  after  alL 

Mr.  Alfred  Austin  has  struck  up 

some  discussion  on  "  The  Poetry  of  the 
Period,"  by  a  volume  of  essays  publish- 
ed by  Bently,  in  which  he  attacks  Tenny- 
son, Browning,  Swinburne,  Morris,  and 
Arnold,  as  mere  voices  of  a  degenerate 


784 


PUTNAU^B  MaGAZI2;E. 


[Jane, 


age,  with  no  element  of  great  art 
in  it  His  attack  is  weak,  however,  and 
if  his  case  be  a  good  one,  it  has  an 
unfortunate  advocate. 

Warne  issues  a  cheap  and  handy 

edition  of  Pepys*s  Diary,  edited  by  Lord 
Braybrooke,  which  ought  to  make  this 
favorite  and  entertaining  account  of 
English  life  at  the  time  of  the  restora- 
tion of.the  monarchy  under  Charles  IL 
as  familiar  as  Scott's  novels. 

Brockaus  (Leipsic)  has  in  press 

a  volume  of  *' Essays  on  Comparative 
Philology,"  by  Dr.  Adolf  Bastian,  who 
has  risen  so  rapidly  of  late  to  the  fh)nt 
rank  of  anthropologists.  He  must  not 
be  confounded  with  Dr.  H.  C.  Bastian, 
of  London,  who  is  preparing  a  book 
called  **  The  Beginnings  of  Life,"  con- 
taining a  summary  of  the  great  contro- 
versy on  ^*  spontaneous  generation," 
which  is  also  looked  for  with  deep  in- 
terest. It  is  the  former,  the  German 
Professor,  who  wrote  two  years  ago  the 
essay  on  **  The  Permanent  in  the  Races 
of  Men,  and  the  Limits  of  their  Varia- 
tions," which  is  still  the  standard  au- 
thority on  the  subject. 

Mr.    Alfred     Russell     Wallace, 

whose  first  introduction  to  the  general 
public  as  a  naturalist  of  high  standing 
was  made  when  Mr.  Darwin,  only  ten 
years  ago,  in  his  "  Origin  of  Species," 
generously  recognized  Mr.  Wallace  as 
having  independently  discovered  sub- 
stantially the  same  doctrine  of  natural 
selection  with  himself,  seems  now  to  be 
the  most  indefatigable  student  of  na- 
tural history  and  the  allied  sciences  in 
the  world.  We  have  had  scarcely  time 
to  become  familiar  with  his  great  work 
on  **  The  Malay  Archipelago,"  perhaps 
the  most  important  book  of  scientific 
travels  in  this  generation ;  and  to  follow 
him  in  the  lively  and  varied  criticisms 
on  current  topics  with  which  he  enlivens 
some  of  the  journals,  when  he  surprises 
us  by  announcing  a  volume  of  "  Contri- 
butions to  the  Theory  of  Natural  Selec- 
tion "  (Macmillan).  Whatever  Mr.  Wal- 
lace thinks  worthy  of  publication  is 
sure  to  be  valuable. 

The  discussion  of  the  social  and 

political  duties  and  position  of  woman. 


in  which  this  oonntry  took  the  lead,  in 
time,  if  not  in  merit,  is  extending  np- 
idly    over   Europe.     Mr.    J.  8.  MilTi 
^Emancipation   of   Women"  has  ap- 
peared in  two    C(erman    tranalatioiia; 
Fanny  Lewald  defends  the  same  vievi 
in  fourteen  lettera,  '^For  and  Against 
the  Ladies  "  (Berlin,  Otto  Janke) ;  Loo- 
ise  BUchner  publiahea  a  ^  Practical  & 
say  toward  the  Solution  of  the  WoBia 
Question  "  (Berlin,  Otto  Janke),  whi^ 
takes  the  opposite  side  on  purely  prM- 
tical  grounds,  especially  on  that  men 
fhlly  stated  in  a  little  work  by  Dr.  F. 
Runge  (Berlin,  A.  Charisins)  on  "The 
Care  of  the  Sick,''  regarded  as  a  spedsl 
field  of  work  for  women.     The  sobjeet 
of  the  higher  education  of  woman  hai 
also  been  brought  into  new  prominenee 
in  Europe  of  late.   A  little  book  by  Ul- 
rike  Henschke  (Berlin,  Chaiisius)  is  said 
to  treat  it,  so  far  as  Prussia  is  concerned, 
with  great  intelligence.     In  France,  tbe 
report  upon  '^  Public  Instruction  in  the 
United  States,"  just  presented  to  tbe 
Minister  of  Education,  by  M.  C.  Hip- 
pean,  and  an  article  by  the  same  writer 
in  theBevtte  dea  Deux  Mondesin  Septem- 
ber last,  upon  the  education  of  women 
in  the  United   States,   have  attracted 
special  attention.      The   report  of  H. 
Hippeau  gives  the  most  intelligent  gen- 
eral view  of  the  schools  and  coU^es  of 
this  country  at  the  present  time  to  be 
found  in  any  language ;  and  unless  the 
same  work  is  soon  done  better  by  some 
native  American,  it  might  advantage- 
ously be  translated  into  English.    We 
have  observed  a  few  errors  in  details, 
easily  corrected,  but  the  spirit  of  our 
educational  system  as  a  whole  is  under- 
stood and  expressed  with    surprising 
accuracy  by  this  Frenchman. 

Earl  Stanhope,  who,  as   Lonl 

Mahon,  is  well  known  as  the  author  of 
a  useful  "  History  of  England  from  the 
Peace  of  Utrecht,"  has  just  published  a 
new  volume  under  the  title  of  **  History 
of  England,  comprising  the  Reign  of 
Queen  Anne  until  the  Peace  of  Utrecht** 
It  really  begins  nearly  two  years  before 
the  death  of  William  lU.,  at  the  point 
at  which  Lord  Macaulay^s  work  was 
interrupted  by  his  death,  and  extendi 


1870.] 


LlTBBATUBE  ABROAD. 


785 


to  the  period  at  whicli  his  own  former 
work  began.  It  is  unfortunate  for  the 
reader's  interest  that  he  will  take  this 
book  up,  in  the  natural  order,  after  that 
of  Macaulay,  whose  brilliant,  epigram- 
matic style,  viyid  descriptions,  and  dra- 
matic narrative  contrast  so  strongly 
with  the  quiet,  guarded  statements,  and 
unrhetorical,  even  unfinished  writing  of 
Earl  Stanhope.  But  the  new  yolume 
rests  on  such  wide  research  and  unques- 
tioned ability  that,  as  an  authority  in 
English  history,  it  is  at  least  equal  to 
the  more  striMng  work  by  which  the 
great  essayist  won  his  peerage. 

Students  of  "  Method,"  as  the 

basis  of  all  scientific  knowledge,  will 
rejoice  to  hear  that  Prof.  Alexander 
Bain,  unquestionably  the  leader  of  the 
most  influential  and  progressiye  school 
of  philosophy  in  Europe,  has  completed 
his  long-expected  treatise  on  "  Logic," 
and  that  it  has  been  published  by  Long- 
mans &  Co.  The  reader  will  not  expect 
a  review  of  such  a  book  in  this  place ; 
enough  that  it  is  by  far  the  strongest 
statement  ever  yet  made  of  the  fhn  da- 
mental  laws  of  thought  as  understood 
by  those  who  "  cling  to  experience  as 
the  only  standard  of  truth."  The  trea- 
tise on  induction,  which  forms  the  sec- 
ond part  of  the  work,  and  is  published 
separately,  is  by  far  the  most  novel  and 
valuable  part  of  it)  and  appears  to  be 
more  thorough  and  less  difficult  to  mas- 
ter than  Mr.  MilPs  chapters  on  the  same 
subject. 

Students  of  the  English  language 

will  look  with  interest  for  the  new  edi- 
tion of  Wedgewood's  "Dictionary  of 
English  Etymology,"  which  the  author 
is  now  preparing,  assisted  by  Rev.  J.  A. 
Atkinson.  It  is  to  be  greatly  enlarged^ 
and  will  appear  early  in  the  summer. 

"  A  Life  of  the  great  Lord  Fair- 
fax," the  Parliamentary  Conmiander-in- 
chief  in  the  war  against  Charles  I.,  by 
Mr.  C.  R.  Markham,  has  just  appeared 
from  the  press  of  Macmillan.  It  is  easy 
reading,  and  contains  much  that  is  new 
to  the  general  reader ;  but  the  style  is 
loose  and  careless,  and  some  of  the 
chapters  seem  to  us  wofully  confused. 
We  have  tried  in  vain  to  construct  even 


an  intelligible  genealogical  tree  out  of 
his  long  and  tedious  notices  of  the  Fair- 
fax family;  and  Mrs.  Somervillc,  the 
famous  woman  of  science,  and  the  most 
able  representative  of  the  family  in  this 
century,  is  not  mentioned  at  all.  Many 
British  critics  praise  the  work  as  ex- 
travagantly as  it  praises  its  subject. 

The  current  taste  in  art  was  fairly 

shown  in  the  recent  sale  of  the  famous 
gallery  of  Prince  Demidoff  in*  Paris. 
Collectors  were  present  from  all  parts 
of  Christendom;  but  English  wealth 
and  French  pride  took  nearly  all  the 
prizes.  "  The  Broken  Eggs,"  by  Greuze, 
a  picture  on  the  merits  of  which  critics 
are  by  no  means  agreed,  brought  126,000 
francs;  and  a  half-length  portrait  by 
the  same  artist  sold  for  89,000  francs ; 
by  far  the  highest  prices  ever  obtained 
for  works  of  this  class.  Delaroche^s 
"  Death  of  Lady  Jane  Grey "  and  Ary 
Scheffer's  "  Francesca  da  Rimini "  were 
the  next  favorites,  and  brought  more 
than  100,000  francs  each. 

The  French  Academy  again  at- 
tracts attention  by  filling  some  of  its 
vacancies.  It  was  formed  in  1635  by 
Cardinal  Richelieu;  and  the  constitu- 
tion given  by  his  charter,  which  has 
never  been  changed,  defined  its  object 
as  the  establishment  of  a  standard  of 
the  French  language,  both  by  rules  and 
examples.  There  can  be  but  forty  mem- 
bers, and  vacancies  are  filled  for  life  by 
election,  exclusively  on  the  ground  of 
merit  as  men  of  letters.  Each  new  mem- 
ber delivers  a  eulogy  on  his  predecessor. 
It  is  commonly  said  that  members  live 
longer  than  any  other  men ;  vacancies 
are  extremely  rare,  and  hundreds  of 
authors,  each  '*  among  the  first  of  the 
age,"  are  always  waiting  at  the  doors. 
There  were  lately  five  vacancies;  the 
place  of  Lamartine  has  just  been  filled 
by  the  choice  of  Emile  Ollivier,  the 
Prime-Minister ;  and  Napoleon  ni.  and 
George  Sand  are  both  talked  of  for  other 
scats,  although  emperors  and  women 
have  not  heretofore  been  regarded  as 
candidates. 

The  most  credulous  books  of 

this  century  are  unquestionably  **Tho 
Mystical  Phenomena  of  Human  Nature," 


786 


Putnah'b  Maoazikk. 


[JOM 


written  many  years  ago,  and  *^  Glimpses 
of  the  Hidden  Life  of  the  Human  Spirit," 
which  appeared  last  year,  both  by  Maxi- 
milian Perty,  to  whom  the  world  is 
brimful  of  ghosts,  resurrections,  and 
miracles  and  the  "  Lives  of  the  Saints  *' 
would  contain  nothing  hard  to  belieye. 
Unfortunately,  his  style  is  as  tedious 
and  heavy  as  his  judgment  is  weak, 
and  it  is  surprising  that  his  new  book, 
"Nature  in  the  Light  of  Philosophic 
Oontemplation "  {Die  Natwr  im  Liekte 
Phihiophieeher  Anschauunffy  Heidelberg, 
C.  F.  Winter),  should  be  seriously  re- 
viewed by  important  journals.  Herr 
Perty  writes,  he  says,  "for  philoso- 
phers and  people  of  scientific  educa* 
tion ; "  but  the  long  introduction  to  his 
"  Mystical  Phenomena  "  proves  him  to 
be  utterly  incapable  of  understanding 
what  either  philosophy  or  science  is. 
Andrew  Jackson  Davis  is  worthy  to  be 
his  master. 

Ludwig  BQchner^s  "Position  of 

Man  in  Nature"  {Die  Stellung  dee 
Ifensehen  in  ier  Nat/WTy  in  VergangenhHt, 
Gegenwarty  und  Zukurtft^  Leipsic,  Theo- 
dore Thomas)  undertakes  to  answer,  on 
scientific  evidence,  the  three  great  ques- 
tions, "  Whence  do  we  come  ?  who  are 
we  ?  whither  do  we  go  ? "  and  that  in 
three  little  pamphlets  or  parts,  which 
will  together  make  but  a  pocket-volume. 
We  have  received  but  the  first  two  of 
these,  and  do  not  find  them  equal  to 
the  earlier  works  of  the  author.  Surely 
the  man  who  wrote  "  Eraft  and  StofF" 
and  the  famous  "  Six  Lectures  on  Dar- 
win's Theory,"  ought  to  write  more 
originally  and  impressively  on  this  great 
theme.  Mr.  BQchner,  however,  is  always 
lively,  clear  and  forcible ;  and  there  is 
much  accurate  and  valuable  truth  in  the 
book,  though  its  tone  is  often  overbear- 
ing toward  opponents,  and  ofiensive  to 
all  who  are  not  atheists  or  skeptics. 

The  art  of  "  puffing "  has  re- 
cently been  carried  to  a  degree  of  per- 
fection which  would  have  astonished  a 
former  generation.  The  Yankees  have 
lost  the  ascendancy  they  long  enjoyed 


in  it,  and  England  now  takes  the  lad. 
For  example :  a  series  of  works  of  i 
high  sdentlflc  character  have  just  been 
published  by  Longmans,  London,  upon 
the  economy  of  fltel  in  dwelling-bous», 
under  the  titles,  "  Oar  Domestic  FiI^ 
places,"  "  The  Extravagant  Use  of  Fuel 
in  Cooking,"  "  The  Ventilation  of  Dwell- 
ing-Houses,"  "  Smoky  Chinmeys ; "  dis- 
cussing these  subjects  with  more  intelli- 
gence than  most  standard  works  on 
such  suljjects,  yet  in  language  intel- 
ligible to  the  general  reader;  and 
yet  so  ingeniously  contrived,  that  each 
of  them  is  an  advertisement  of  a  psr- 
ticular  stove.  The  books,  we  repeat,  are 
really  good;  they  sell  readily  and  at  fall 
prices ;  they  are  noticed  favorably  by 
the  b^  journals,  and  admitted  every- 
where to  be  the  best  contributions  ever 
made  to  the  popular  knowledge  of  the 
subjects  treated ;  yet  each  of  them  is  a 
systematic  and  telling  '^pufi^^  and  if 
t^e  stovemakers  whose  wares  are  re- 
commended, have  not  paid  Mr.  Frede- 
rick Edwards,  Jr.,  the  author,  more  than 
his  copyright,  they  are  cheaply  served. 
But  of  what  infinite  applications  this 
plan  of  connecting  real  science  and 
saleable  information  with  *'  pu&  ^'  may 
yet  prove  susceptible,  we  cannot  pre- 
dict. • 

Susanna  Winkworth's  excellent 

translation  of  Bunsen's  ''God  in  His- 
tory "  is  just  completed,  forming  three 
volumes,  and  Dean  Stanley  has  written 
a  preface.  Bunsen^s  great  name  will  set 
the  book  on  the  shelves  of  many  libra- 
ries, but  will  not  avail  to  get  it  read. 
As  a  theological  event,  the  recent  ap- 
pearance of  the  Hindoo  philosopher,  the 
Baboo  Eeshub  Chunder  Sen,  in  the  lib- 
eral pulpits  of  London,  as  a  sort  of  mis- 
sionary of  Buddhist  ethics,  is  of  more 
importance.  TrQbner  &  Co.  take  advan- 
tage of  it  to  publish  a  translation  of  a 
work  by  Ohao  Phya  Praklang,  late  For- 
eign Minister  of  Siam,  called ''  the  Mod- 
em Buddhist,"  giving  his  criticisms 
upon  the  principal  religions  of  the 
world.