The world's progress;

presented to the
UNIVERSITY LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
SAN DIEGO

by

MRS. THOMAS E. PIPER

OXEN PLOUGHING— Rosa Bonk«*.

HIS, like many of Millet's painting*, is a poem of labor.
Rosa Bonheur loved the country and the various phases
of country life. A certain description of rural France
found in one of George Sand's novels strongly appealed to
her and after pondering long upon it, she painted her first
great picture — Oxen Ploughing, fdr the Salon exhibition in
1849. Her father, also an artist and her painstaking teacher,
was now in failing health. He lived to see this work com-
pleted and died content! There is probably no other painting
which so sets forth the beauty of ploughed fields and iht
strength of patient oxen,

lo M»O<I R ai ,88iwteifin
mohsv sri* bn«- vijnno

io uoitqtisaal) nir>n3o A
ol bjfsaqns ^ignoiJe alavon a'brrcS a
teid 73d bsJnisq aria ,Ji noqs;
tidirixs noUS aril lit ,
iarf bns i
oJ

-moo

airfj »
on

WITH

'ILLUSTRATIVE TEXTSN
'FROM MASTERPIECES OF
'EGYPTIAN. HEBREW GREEKS
'LATIN, MODERN EUROPEAN
AND AMERICAN
LITERATURE

FULLY ILLUSTRATED,

EDITORIAL STAFF

VERY RBV. J. K. BRENNAN Missouri

GiSLE BOTHNE, M.A. • • • University of Minnesota
CHAS. H. CAFFIM New York

JAMES A. CRAIG, M.A., B.D., PH.D., University of Michigan
MRS. SARAH PLATT DECKER .... Colorado
ALCEE FORTIER, D.L/r. - - - Tulane University

ROSWELL FIELD Chicago

BRUCE G. KINGSLEX - Royal College of Oreanists, England

D. D. LUCKENBILL, A.B., PH.D. - University of Chicago

KENNETH MCKENZIE. PH.D. -

FRANK B. MARSH, PH.D. • • -

DR. HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE

W. A. MERRILL. PH.D., L.H.D.

T. M. PASROTT, PH.D.

GRANT SHOWEHMAN. Ph.D -

H. C. TOLMAN, PH.D., D.D. •

I. E. WING, M.A. -

Yale University
University of Texas
• New York
University of California
Princeton University
University of Wisconsin
Vanderbilt University
Michigan

VOL.X

$

&

ft

THE DELPHIAN SOCIETY

COPYRIGHT 1913

BY

THE DELPHIAN SOCIETY
CHICAGO

COMPOSITION. ELECTfiOTYPING, PRiNTINO
AND BINDING BY THE

W. B. CON KEY COMPANY

HAMMOND. INDIANA

UNITED STATES HISTORY

CHAPTER I.
Age of Discovery and Exploration 2

CHAPTER II.
Age of Settlement 8

CHAPTER III.
Beginnings of a Nation 15

CHAPTER IV.
Establishment of an Efficient Government 21

CHAPTER V.

The Early Republic

CHAPTER VI.

From Jackson to Lincoln

CHAPTER VII.
The Latter Part of the Nineteenth Century

FAMOUS HISTORICAL ADDRESSES.

26
33

39

CHAPTER VIII.

Call to Arms 45

Boston's Place in History 48

Hayne- Webster Debate 51

Speech of Gettysburg 73

Lincoln's Second Inaugural Address 74

The Martyr President 76

The New South.. 79

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS

CHAPTER IX.
Early International Fairs

83

CHAPTER X.
The Centennial 91

III

IV TABLE OF CONTENTS — PART X.

CHAPTER XI.
The Columbian Exposition 103

CHAPTER XII.

The World's Fair Congresses Ill

The Educated Woman 113

The Kindergarten 115

Women and Politics 118

Self Government 121

Woman's Suffrage 123

The Right to Vote 125

The Moral Initiative 129

Marriage 131

Domestic Service 134

Salvation Army 138

The Stage and Its Women 140

Polish Women 144

Women in Spain • 147

CHAPTER XIII.
The Pan-American Exposition 15'3

CHAPTER XIV.
Louisiana Purchase Exposition 160

CHAPTER XV.
Lewis and Clark Exposition 168

CHAPTER XVI.
Jamestown Exposition 184

CHAPTER XVII.
Alaska- Yukon-Pacific Exposition 196

CHAPTER XVIII.
Panama- Pacific Exposition 201

AMERICAN PAINTING

CHAPTER XIX.
Early American Painters 207

CHAPTER XX.
Recent American Painters 214

CHAPTER XXI.
Art Centers in America 225

CHAPTER XXII.
Mural Painting in America >. 235

AMERICAN LITERATURE

Prefatory Chapter 247

CHAPTER I.
Colonial Literature . 255

OF CONTENTS — PART x. v

CHAPTER II.

Nineteenth Century Literature 279

-Irving 283

CHAPTER III.
Cooper 304

CHAPTER IV.
Hawthorne 322

CHAPTER V.
Emerson 350

AMERICAN POETRY

CHAPTER VI.
Bryant 363

CHAPTER VII.
Longfellow 372

CHAPTER VIII.
Lowell; Holmes 396

CHAPTER IX.
Foe 412

CHAPTER X.
Whittier 421

CHAPTER XI.
Aldrich; Taylor 438

CHAPTER XII.
Recent Poets 445

CHAPTER XIII.
Recent Poems 458

CHAPTER XIV.

American Life in American Fiction 466

Howells 466

Warner 473

James 482

Harte 489

Jackson 498

Description of Illustrations 512

INDICES

FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS

PART X

PAGE

OXEN PLOUGHING (Water Color) Frontispiece

A BUSY STREET AT THE NIJNI NOVGOROD FAIR 14

LANDSCAPE — COROT (Photogravure) 48

FOUR THOUSAND SHEEP CHANGING PASTURE 80

INDIAN GIRLS WEAVING BASKETS 112

COLUMBUS' FIRST LANDING PLACE 131

SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTE 168

AMONG THE HYDAH INDIANS 192

HELEN HUNT FALLS 224

OLD FAITHFUL — YELLOWSTONE 256

ROTUNDA GALLERY — CONGRESSIONAL LIBRARY 304

GARDEN OF THE SANTA BARBARA MISSION (Photogravure) 352

LOOKING DOWN THE CANON 416

A MEXICAN CATHEDRAL 464

MAP SHOWING UNITED STATES' GROWTH vni

VII

103 Longitude Wast 89 from G

MAP SHOWING THE

TERRITOlllAL

lA R

OF THE UNITED STATES

1776-1887

fwte seen tfje glories of art anti
architecture, anti mountain anti
rtoer; f Imte seen t!)e sun set on
3fungfrau> anti tfje full moon rise
ober jHont Blanc; 6ut fairest Vision
on tol)ic!) tijese ej>es e\)er loofcefc teas
t|)e flag of mj country in a foreign
lanfc, Beautiful as a flotoer to
tjose toijo lotoe it, terrible as a
meteor to tfjose to|)o fjate it> it is a
spmfcol of tfje potoer anlr jjlorp anti
tfje ijonor of ninety millions of
Americans,

George F. Hoar.

— \

RESUME OF UNITED STATES
HISTORY

CHAPTER I.
THE AGE OF DISCOVERY AND EXPLORATION.

The history of civilization, to a far greater degree than
has been realized until recently, is the history of trade. For
the last few centuries the wars that have been fought — what-
ever the causes set forth in formal proclamations — have been
waged for commercial reasons; and the demands of trade, at
the close of the fifteenth century, led to the discovery of a
new world.

From very early times the luxuries of Europe had been
imported from the East. Silks, spices, ivory, costly woods
and incense were brought across the deserts of Asia by cara-
vans and were reloaded upon vessels for various European
ports. At best this was a costly undertaking, and only the
wealthy could afford to buy the precious wares when at last
they were displayed for sale. However, the Turks had grad-
ually extended their territory westward, and after the fall of
Constantinople, in 1453, the well-established caravan routes
were no longer even moderately secure from marauding
bands. As a consequence, it became apparent that if the
profitable trade of the Orient were not to be wholly lost,
some new way of reaching the desired land must be found.

The Renaissance had awakened the minds of men and set
them thinking. Some read diligently the writings and philoso-
phies of the ancients, and, under their inspiration, brought
forth literary masterpieces of their own. Painters caught
the spirit of the Greeks and created wonderful pictures which
astonish and mystify the world today. Men of more prac-
tical bent applied their attention to matters of every day con-
cern, and mariners, grown more venturesome, were much
assisted by the invention of the compass and the astrolabe.
The Portuguese produced many bold sailors and one of their

2

UNITED STATES HISTORY.

number succeeded in circumnavigating Africa. Yet
this new waterway gave access to the East, it was so inter-
minably long as to be hardly practical.

The Travels of Marco Polo had stimulated Europeans
with a desire to know more of a land which had impressed the
illustrious Venetian as so remarkable and full of resources.
The invention of printing led to the more general diffusion of
such literature, and, take it all in all, many were pondering
upon various plans which might lead to the working out of a
new route thither.

Christopher Columbus, a native of Genoa, Italy, studied
the writings of Polo and all the maps and charts then avail-
able. He was persuaded that if one should sail due west, he
must come at last to the countries visited by Polo on his pro-
longed journey to the Orient — to Cathay (China), and
Cipango (Japan). The story of his weary striving to enlist
the interest of kings in his enterprise is well known, — how he
wandered from court to court, vainly trying to procure funds
necessary for the fitting out of an expedition. The truth was
that European monarchs were concerned with matters vitally
affecting their kingdoms and had scant time for men like
Columbus, who appeared to his contemporaries to be almost
mentally unbalanced, so intense was he in promoting his
scheme.

It was Isabella of Castile who finally offered to aid Colum-
bus, and every child in America who has had even a few
years in school remembers the names of the three small vessels
at last placed at his command — the Pinta, the Nina and the
Santa Maria. Slight, fragile crafts they were, in the like of
which no one would attempt an ocean voyage today. And yet
the discovery of two unknown continents fell to the share of
those who sailed in the three light barks.

To understand the disappointment, neglect and shame that
overtook Columbus' later life, one must ever keep in mind the
object with which he first set out — to find a new route to the
Indies, as the East was often called. On that memorable
morning when he planted the Spanish flag on the new-found
land and took possession of it in the name of the king and
queen of Spain, Columbus firmly believed he had touched
upon the shores of the country concerning which Marco Polo

4 THE WORU/S PROGRESS.

had written : Cathay, or possibly the islands which Polo had
said skirted its eastern coast. Slight investigation, to be sure,
did not reveal the much-desired riches, but it was quite enough
to have given reality to a dream and, having taken such
trophies as the region afforded, the vessels soon put about to
carry the glad tidings back to Spain. High honors were
accorded the great admiral upon his return, and the imagina-
tions of Spanish adventurers were enkindled with wild fancies
and extravagant hopes. The news of the great discovery
was not heralded about very widely, for naturally Spain
wished to keep her recently- found territory for herself.

Columbus made three later voyages. He visited some of
the islands belonking to the West Indies group and coasted
along South America and Central America. Because he sup-
posed he had reached the Indies, the people found inhabiting the
lands were called Indians. Thus we see that the name by
which the American red man is commonly known was given
him by mistake. In vain did Columbus search for the coveted
wares of the Orient; in vain did he attempt to reach that
portion of the country of which travellers had written. Then,
dejected, reproached by the sovereigns who had made his
great work possible, poor and broken-hearted, he died in 1506,
never knowing what a boon he had conferred upon humanity.

For many years this mistaken idea of Columbus was kept
alive. Spaniards, French and English came thither, not with
the desire to learn of a strange country, but with the hope of
being the first to reach the Orient and point the way to a new
trade route. To be sure, the more they searched, the more
they learned about the continent and at last the truth was
borne in upon them that this was not Cathay. Even then
the desire to get through a land which hindered their progress
was paramount. We may read how the sixteenth century
was filled with adventures made with the hope of finding an
outlet to the land beyond. The St. Lawrence, Mississippi,
Amazon, de la Plata, and many other rivers were traced with
the vain purpose. Even Captain John Smith, of Virginia,
thought that the little James river might be the way through
the country to a western ocean.

And yet, as we read the strange story, and see how lives
were wasted and fortunes spent with a mistaken purpose, it

UNITED STATES HISTORY. 5

need not seem so remarkable that it took men at least one
hundred years to believe what was long thought beyond cre-
dence : that a great, unappropriated world had been brought to
light. It must ever seem marvellous, when reflected upon,
that civilization after civilization had been born, kingdom after
kingdom had risen and fallen, and the human race, whose
progress is recorded since about 4777 B. cv remained for the
most part in ignorance of a great undiscovered country.
There were, to be sure, people living in the new land, but they
dwelt apart from the great stream of human progress.

Spain had issued forth victorious in a terrible war with the
Moors — a war which had been finally waged for life or death.
Having driven the Mohammedans from Christian Spain, there
were many devoted Spaniards who saw another religious mis-
sion opening before them: to convert the simple people of the
newly found lands to the orthodox faith. For this reason,
among others, the Pope was besought to make Spain a grant
of the world discovered by Columbus. Alexander VI, utterly
unscrupulous about important matters, was not likely to dis-
cern that in this comparatively unimportant matter — as it was
then viewed — he was acting beyond any authority he possessed,
when he gave to the king of Spain, and his heirs forever, such
lands as lay west of an imaginary line drawn through the
Atlantic ocean.

Now Spain entered upon a wonderful chapter of her
development. Only in late years has the world awakened to
the tremendous part she played in the early history of America.
With a courage not exceeded by men at any time, her proud-
hearted subjects threw themselves into the prodigious task of
exploration and discovery. While other European nations
still went their ways, as though no momentous change had
taken place in the world, Spanish leaders and priests were
pressing through the well-nigh impenetrable forests and deserts
of America, making their conquests and founding their
settlements.

"She was the only European nation that did not drowse.
Her mailed explorers overran Mexico and Peru, grasped their
incalculable riches, and made those kingdoms inalienable parts
of Spain. Cortez had conquered and was colonizing a savage
country a dozen times as large as England years before the

WORtD'S PROGRESS.

first English-speaking expedition had ever seen the mere coast
where it was to plant colonies in the New World ; and Pizarro
did a still greater work. Ponce de Leon had taken possession
for Spain of what is now one of the States of our Union a gen-
eration before any of those regions were seen by Saxons.
That first traveller in North America, Alvar Nunez Cabeza de
Vaca, had walked his unparalleled way across the continent
from Florida to the Gulf of California half a century before
the first foot of our ancestors touched our soil. . . .

"They were Spaniards who first saw and explored the
greatest gulf in the world ; Spaniards who discovered the two
greatest rivers ; Spaniards who found the greatest ocean ; Span-
iards who first knew that there were two continents of
America; Spaniards who first went round the world! There
were Spaniards who had carved their way into the far interior
of our own land, as well as of all to the south, and founded
their cities a thousand miles inland long before the first
Anglo-Saxon came to the Atlantic sea-board. That early
Spanish spirit of finding out was fairly superhuman. Why,
a poor Spanish lieutenant with twenty soldiers pierced an
unspeakable desert and looked down upon the greatest natural
wonder of America or of the world — the Grand Canon of
the Colorado — three full centuries before any 'American' eyes
saw it ! And so it was from Colorado to Cape Horn. Heroic,
impetuous, imprudent Balboa had walked that awful walk
across the Isthmus, and found the Pacific Ocean, and built
on its shores the first ships that were ever made in the Ameri-
cas, and sailed that unknown sea, and had been dead more
than half a century before Drake and Hawkins saw it." 1

The Spanish explored Florida, the Gulf of Mexico, found
the great ocean, — called by them for some time the South
Sea, — the Pacific, and crossed it. They traced the Father of
Waters — the Mississippi — to its mouth, and from Florida
crossed the continent to New Mexico, Arizona and California.
Brazil was explored and the silver mines of Peru soon made
to yield up their treasure.

The French joined in the search to the Indies. Following
the St. Lawrence from its mouth, Cartier landed at the rapids,
which he named Lachine (Chinese), and spent the winter at

a Lummis, The Spanish Pioneers, 20.

UNITED STATES HISTORY. 7

Mont Royal — Montreal. Soon after Columbus' great dis-
covery, John and Sebastian Cabot sailed across the Atlantic
from England and coasted along the shores of Newfoundland.
For thus reaching the supposed "China" John Cabot was given
ten pounds — about $500 — and a yearly pension amounting to
about $1,000.

By great injustice the new world was called America. It
happened in this way: An Italian by the name of Amerigo
Vespucci made several visits to the shores of Brazil. Upon
his last return to Europe he wrote extensively of his voyages.
He said that only three-quarters of the world had been known
to the ancients and that the other fourth had now been found.
A German map maker suggested that this fourth be called
America, and so named Brazil on his map. In time the whole
of South America was thus designated, and when it was at
last understood that the two continents were connected, the
whole of the new world came to be known by this name.

After the lapse of fifty years the coasts of the two conti-
nents had been quite generally visited. No permanent settle-
ments had yet been made, and for fifty years longer the hope
of finding an inside passage to China deterred men from
making the most of their opportunities.

FROM A DRAWING MADE ABOUT

1450.

8 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

CHAPTER II.
THE AGE OF SETTLEMENT.

The great pioneers in America — the Spanish — were unceas-
ing in their activities during the first two centuries after the
discovery of the new world. For the first century they were
almost alone here; during the second century they were still
foremost. The Portuguese made some settlements in South
America, but the Spanish made more, and still more numer-
ous were their settlements in Mexico. In what is now the
United States, fewer towns were founded, although the first
permanent colony planted here was the one that grew up
around the fort at St. Augustine — founded in 1565. Through
New Mexico, Arizona, Texas and California their tremendous
strength was felt and the later development of the southern
Pacific slope was deeply affected by the Spanish. In 1769 the
Franciscans landed near the present site of San Diego and
began their tireless efforts to civilize the Indians. , The final
suppression of their work resulted disastrously indeed.

"That later times have reversed the situation; that Spain
(largely because she was drained of her best blood by a con-
quest so enormous that no nation even now could give the men
or the money to keep the enterprise abreast with the world's
progress) has never regained her old strength, and is now a
drone beside the young giant of nations that has grown, since
her day, in the empire she opened — has nothing to do with the
obligation of American history to give her justice for the
past. Had there been no Spain four hundred years ago, there
would be no United States today. It is a most fascinating
story to every genuine American, — for every one worthy of
the name admires heroism and loves fair-play everywhere,
and is first of all interested in the truth about his own
country." *

Spain's enormous profits from the mines of Peru soon,
aroused the lethargy of England. Adventurous spirits begar,

1Lummis, Spanish Pioneers in America, go.

UNITED STATES HISTORY. 9

to intercept Spanish galleons on the seas, and, finding that their
sovereign made slight inquiry as to the means by which they
gained their wealth, they laid in wait for the stately ships
that were returning with much treasure. The buccaneering of
Hawkins, Drake and men of similar spirit, did much to stimu-
late a feeling of hostility between the two countries. Spain
stood for a united Church; the Holy See found Spanish sov-
ereigns among the staunchest suppo'rters of Catholicism.
England had shaken herself free from Rome, and for religious
causes Spain wanted to strike a blow at the sturdy island.
However, rivalry in trade has always been as potent a factor
as religion in provoking a war — today it is the stronger of the
two, but even in former ages its force was not to be despised.
Spain laid claim to all the new world with the exception of
certain districts in Brazil, settled by Portugal. Between Eng-
land and Spain it was to be war to the death, and the resources
of the latter were bountifully expended in preparing the
Spanish Armada which was to strike at the heart of the rival
country.

For many years Spain had been draining her country of
its fighting strength in prosecuting wars on the continent.
Recently her men of vigor had been plunging into the unknown
world, and while the fact was not wholly realized by the king,
Spain was ill prepared to enter upon a terrible struggle with
sturdy England. When the ministers, filled with alarm for
England's safety, called for soldiers, practically the whole
island responded — Catholic and Protestant alike — ready to
fight for native land.

Utterly defeated on the seas, both countries understood
the meaning of Spain's defeat and England's victory. Hence-
forth Spain must hold what she could. Having attempted
too much, she was doomed to lose everything. Confident of
their strength, the English were now free to plant their
colonies at will.

The attempts made by the English to establish colonies in
Newfoundland and on the island of Roanoke failed. The
early English settlements were managed by companies of mer-
chants in London, who were looking for prompt returns for
investments and did not comprehend the conditions prevailing
in a remote wilderness. Those who responded to the call for

io THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

men to go out into a new country were, as a rule, those who
had failed at home. Successful business men were not likely to
entertain the idea of beginning in a strange land. Men who had
recently served in continental wars and were now without em-
ployment ; men who found themselves out of work because land
in England was being thrown into large holdings for sheep pas-
tures; sons of nobles who wished to seek their fortunes but
who knew nothing of actual work — such were the men who
responded to the opportunity given by companies promoting
colonies in America.

In 1907 there was held in Jamestown, Virginia, an expo-
sition commemorating the three hundredth anniversary of the
founding of that little town. In 1607, on the banks of the
James river, the first permanent English settlement was made
in America. Men of all sorts and conditions came hither, but
one tendency characterized nearly all: a strong aversion to
work. Even the ones who were willing did not know how to
proceed, and lack of food, bad water, fevers and dissensions
worked them woe. Had it not been for Captain John Smith
the whole colony might have been destroyed. As it was, in
1610 the survivors had already set sail for England when
they met Lord Delaware bringing food and other necessities,
and were persuaded to turn back to the homes they had just
abandoned.

In time prosperity came to Virginia. There were many
rivers affording water and fertile soil. Along these streams
great fields of tobacco soon were planted. This commodity
found a ready sale in England, and the Virginian planters
became the wealthy men of the eastern sea-board. The very
conditions of life explain the political organization that sprang
up among them almost unnoticed. Living far apart, rivers
rather than roads afforded them means of communication.
Ships came up to the planter's private wharf, loaded on his
tobacco for shipment to England, and gave him in exchange
such articles, commodities and products as he could not pro-
cure at home. A visit between planters involved quite a
journey. As a natural result, towns were few, roads poor,
and the political unit became, not the township, as in New
England, but the county.

In 1619 three events significant for the future transpired.

UNITED STATES HISTORY. II

in Virginia : a goodly number of maidens were brought out to
become the wives of the colonists and make possible the estab-
lishment of permanent homes; the first colored slaves were
brought to Jamestown and sold to the planters; and the first
legislative assembly convened in the little Jamestown church
to make laws for the community. To be sure, the charter of
Virginia was afterwards withdrawn and the colony became
a royal province, but the spirit of representation, justice and
freedom had been fostered and was destined to assert itself in
the future.

In 1620 the Mayflower made its memorable voyage, bring-
ing to the cold, inhospitable shores of New England that little
company of brave men and women who came hither for the
purpose of worshipping as they thought right. Even little
children in America today know the story of their wanderings ;
how, persecuted in England, they found a place of refuge in
Holland, but soon realized that in course of time their nation-
ality would there be lost. Then with a mighty effort and a
staunch courage they resolutely turned their faces toward the
new world, hoping to be able there to remain Englishmen and
enjoy freedom of religious thought and service. Among them
the faults of idleness and indolence were not found, but they
landed in the month of December and were ill prepared for
the intense cold, miserable shelter and scanty food. Small
wonder that more than half died before spring. Their diffi-
culties with the Indians, their trials and dangers need no recital
here. Like other stories of Colony Days, they are early
implanted in the minds of all American citizens.

There was no single commodity to be grown here which
would bring prosperity to New England. The soil of this
section had been made poor and stony by great glaciers which
spread over the whole region twice, at least, in ages long
passed away. The deposits that were brought down by these
rivers of ice filled up the old river beds and when the ice at
length subsided, new streams set to work to cut down their
channels. Young rivers are generally characterized by water-
falls, and these were especially plentiful in New England. As
a result of its topography, then, this region became, not a
farming section, but a manufacturing district. Towns sprang
up everywhere. Roads led from one to another. Each

12 THE WORU>'S PROGRESS.

locality possessed its own peculiar needs. Consequently the
township, and not the county, became the political unit of New
England.

Conditions in England accounted for the large migration
westward during the latter part of the seventeenth century.
Religious persecution affected in turn Catholics, Puritans, Dis-
senters and Quakers. Maryland was settled as a refuge for
Catholics, and in 1649 tne ^rst act °f religious toleration ever
enacted in America was passed in this colony. William Penn
founded Philadelphia — City of Brotherly Love — as a home
for Quakers. Rhode Island was settled by people who were
driven out of Puritan Massachusetts because they would not
conform to the ideas of that sect. In the latter part of the
century, political reasons were as potent as those pertaining to
religion. The Stuarts were trying to give the theory of the
Divine Right of kings a material reality in England. Many
independent spirits found submission intolerable and migrated
to other lands. Again, during the Commonwealth, the royal-
ists did not feel safe at home, and they in turn looked across
the ocean and felt that it was best to try their fortunes in the
western land.

While the English were swarming to the Atlantic sea-
board, other nations were not idle. As early as 1604 the
French tried to plant colonies in Nova Scotia and Port Royal,
but neither was successful. However, forts were established
at Montreal and Quebec, and Jesuit Fathers, in company with
French traders and explorers, journeyed all through the St.
Lawrence basin, around the Great Lakes and down the Mis-
sissippi, founding a station near the mouth of the great river —
New Orleans. From Quebec to the Gulf of Mexico they thus
blocked out a highway through the continent. Conditions
within France prevented a firm and aggressive policy in the
new world at a time when this alone could have won lasting
possessions.

The Dutch, who had become to a considerable extent the
carriers for Europe on the high seas, looked eagerly toward
the new world. In 1909 the Hudson-Fulton celebration in
New York commemorated the three hundredth anniversary
since Henry Hudson had sailed up the Hudson River in his
vessel, the Half -Moon, in search for a passage to China. The

UNITED STATES HISTORY. 13

Dutch, like the French, found the fur trade with the Indians
profitable. There was scarcely any limit to the number of
pelts to be bought for a trifling amount from the natives.
Simple-minded people, the Indians were satisfied to exchange
the most valuable furs for gaudy scarfs or brightly colored
beads.

To encourage settlement, the Dutch trading company
offered any one who would take a little colony of fifty families
to the new world at his own expense, sixteen miles along the
bank of a river or eight miles along both banks, the tract to
reach inland almost any distance. They were given rights
corresponding in some respects to those exercised by feudal
lords and were called Patroons. Even with such inducements
the Dutch did not come thither in very large numbers. They
early came into conflict with the Swedes in Delaware and
were driven out of that colony. Their settlements at Fort
Orange, Albany and New Amsterdam, New York, were very
prosperous. However, Charles II granted all this region to
his brother, the Duke of York, who came over to take posses-
sion of it. The Dutch were too wedded to their commerce to
launch upon war. War destroys trade and their interest was
to build it up; consequently, in 1664 the Dutch governor
surrendered the colony to the English.

The dawn of the eighteenth century found thirteen Eng-
lish colonies stretching along the Atlantic coast. The French
were strong to the north, and there was still a struggle to be
waged for the Mississippi basin. However, in that struggle
the English were destined to win. Spain, foremost in early
discovery, had no part in the settlement of the East. Florida,
to be sure, remained a Spanish province, but it was not strong
enough to make itself felt.

From this time forward, save for the rivalry with France,
interest in America was to center for years in the welfare of
those colonies that reached from Massachusetts to Georgia.
Considered geographically, they were distinguished as the
New England, Middle and Southern Colonies. Classified
according to their government, some were charter, some royal,
some proprietary. The colonies. of Massachusetts, Connecti-
cut and Rhode Island were governed by charters which had
been granted by English sovereigns and which designated cer-

14 THE WORU>'S PROGRESS.

tain provisions concerning the administration of each. Local
affairs were left largely in the hands of the colonists. The
royal colonies were provinces governed directly by the king;
New Hampshire, New York, New Jersey, Virginia, North
and South Carolina and Georgia being of this kind. Penn-
sylvania, Delaware and Maryland were proprietary colonies
and were under the immediate control of the proprietors who
had received these tracts as grants from the king. The town-
ship system, as has been noted, prevailed in the north; in the
south the county system, and in the Middle colonies a com-
bination of the two grew up.

A SPANISH GALLEON.

Copyright by Underwood and Underwood, N. Y.

A BUSY STREET AT THE NIJNI NOVGOROD FAIR.

UNITED STATES HISTORY. 15

CHAPTER III.
THE BEGINNINGS OF A NATION.

During the latter part of the seventeenth and the first half
of the eighteenth centuries, England and France were at war
with one another. Rivalries in trade and for imperial posses-
sions were the real points of difficulty between them, although
other reasons were set forth upon the various outbreaks of
hostilities. This strife between the two countries invariably
spread into the colonies and in America these wars became
known as King William's, Queen Anne's or King George's
war, according to the particular sovereign who chanced to be
on the English throne at the time.

The French allied themselves with the Indians more firmly
and more uniformly than did the English. For this reason
war between the English colonies and the French in America
meant Indian raids and massacres. The towns on the fron-
tiers always suffered most. The Indians were semi-barbarous
and, while they had been docile and kind in their attitude
toward the first white explorers, the utter greed and injustice
displayed by these men aroused feelings of deepest distrust
and hatred on the part of the Red men. When outbreaks of
war gave them confidence to fight at all, they shot out from
behind trees, burned dwellings, scalped women and children
and in every particular followed the same methods by which
they had always fought each other.

For these reasons the recitals of Indian raids are invariably
similar. Harrowing deeds, fiendish delight in causing suffer-
ing, lack of sympathy for the helpless, characterized the
attacks made upon the little English hamlets along the eastern
coast during these years and the ones made later upon settlers
who pressed farther west, making them more fearful
than ever of the natives and mor? determined to
drive them back, away from their settlements. We today are
sufficiently removed to view the matter fairly and to realize
how mistaken has been the policy pursued toward the Ameri-
can Indians, For that reason the government today is doing

1 6 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

what it can to educate and protect the survivors of this fast
disappearing race; but for the most part the blunders belong
to the past and must remain a dark page on our history.

The French held New France — the St. Lawrence basin and
the Great Lake region — together with the Mississippi basin,
which was known as Louisiana. This territory they were
determined to keep. By the last of the seventeenth century
the English had made a long line of settlements along the
Atlantic. Whenever war broke out between the French and
English colonies, the English made what effort they could to
get control of the region in the vicinity of Quebec, with the
hope of ultimately gaining the mouth of the St. Lawrence;
and the land west of the Appalachian range, — thus to have
room for expansion. Success attended now one, now the
other of the two nations. Finally the French began to build
a chain of forts along the eastern Mississippi valley, the better
to protect their possessions. Encouraged by success, they soon
laid claim to the Ohio valley, the Ohio being a mighty tribu-
tary of their great water-way. At this the people of Virginia
took alarm. A Virginian company had already formed for
the purpose of controlling and settling this region. The gov-
ernor of the colony sent word to the French to remove their
forts in this vicinity. When the request was refused, hostili-
ties broke out between the French and English colonies.

Heretofore the wars which had occurred in America had
been started in Europe. This one, often called the French
and Indian war, alone originated in the New World.

It is interesting at the start to see the relative situation of
the two nations in America. The English had settled at points
most convenient and accessible for themselves. Clinging at
first to the coast, they built up an almost continuous line of
towns and villages. They had been chartered by the king and
local affairs were generally managed by representative bodies
within the colonies themselves. The French were not so for-
tunate. With utter lack of understanding concerning life in
this new land, an attempt was made by the French government
to manage each detail of administration from the home-
country. Colonists were sent out to settle in places desig-
nated before they left France. In order to hold a vast terri-
tory, these colonists were scattered apart, wide distances inter-

UNITED STATES HISTORY. 17

vening between them. In case of war they were weak, for
early forts were in the very necessity of the case simple affairs,
unable to withstand serious attack. Again these Frenchmen
in America had not become accustomed to meeting emergen-
cies themselves. They were used to receiving instructions
and to carrying them out. It was largely this mistaken policy
of colonization that finally brought the French disappointment
and loss of territory.

The English government deemed it necessary to send Gen-
eral Braddock with a detachment of regulars to resist -the
French in this last war waged against them by the colonies.
George Washington, a young Virginian who had come into
notice for efficient service, was chosen to assist him. In vain
did Washington try to make plain the method of attack to be
expected in the wilds of America. By adhering to tactics
which had proved effectual in Europe, Braddock met with total
defeat and was himself killed. The later movements of the
war were better managed, owing to the fact that William Pitt
was called to the head of English administration. The last
great battle was fought at Quebec, where both French and
English generals lost their lives.

Spain had been drawn into the struggle as an ally of
France. When the formal treaty was signed in 1763 the
French were obliged to withdraw from America, while Great
Britain received New France and Louisiana, with the exception
of New Orleans and vicinity, and some minor islands. Spain
gave Florida up to Great Britain, while she herself was com-
pensated by New Orleans and the region west of the Missis-
sippi. How much this implied none understood at that time.

For some years after the conclusion of this struggle the
English colonists were busy building roads, improving the
means of internal communication and plying their trade.
Nevertheless, while these years were prosperous, there was a
growing discontent because of trade laws which greatly ham-
pered commerce.

It must be remembered that a spirit of unity had been fos-
tered among the English colonies by the recent war. The
defeat of the French had been largely due to the colonists,
who fought bravely and stubbornly. The outcome of the
struggle had been highly gratifying to them and had given

the first signal indication of their strength,
x— 2

1 8 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

From this it would be possible to draw inferences that
would be quite misleading. Virginia was one of the leaders
through these years and no colony was ever more loyal. It
was something of a cross to be forbidden to sell tobacco in
any but English markets; nevertheless, the southern colonies
adjusted themselves very well to this condition. Even New
England, principally engaged in trade, conformed outwardly
at least to the trade laws. To protect English manufacturers,
the colonists were forbidden to manufacture steel, woolen
goods and certain other articles for colonial or foreign trade.
Sugar and molasses had to be imported from the British West
Indies, or otherwise were subject to a heavy duty. Many
productions of America were forbidden markets other than
those of England, and all goods destined for the colonies from
European ports had to be reshipped from England.

In every particular these regulations were enacted for the
benefit of the mother-country; the welfare of colonial com-
merce was quite ignored. While bitter feeling was thus cre-
ated, nothing immediately came of it, but the laws were
systematically evaded. In 1764, consequently, notification
was given that smuggling must cease and that special courts
were to be established for punishing offenders. Furthermore,
for protection against the Indians, it was purposed to send ten
thousand regulars to be quartered in times of peace upon the
colonies. To partly defray the expense of maintaining this
army, in 1765 Parliament passed the notorious Stamp Act.
This required all legal papers to bear government stamps
according to the value represented by the documents, and all
newspapers to be printed upon paper stamped by the govern-
ment. This has been a very common method of raising an
internal tax in times of special need as, for example, during
our recent Spanish war, at which time not only legal papers
but many drugs were required to bear a stamp, as means of
raising a war fund.

The English colonies had been chartered by the king,—
not by Parliament. While their foreign affairs had been
managed in England, they had been accustomed to electing
representatives to local assemblies for the consideration of
their internal affairs. In the course of their deliberations,
these legislative assemblies heard and approved of measures

UNITED STATES HISTORY. IQ

involving internal taxes. Long years before, the matter of
taxation without representation had been fought out in
England, and representation was a right dearly loved by
all Britains. Now it had not seemed possible for English
colonists so far remote to have representation in the Parlia-
ment of England, but they held that their local assemblies took
the place of the general Parliament, for that reason. When,
therefore, the Stamp Act was read in the House of Burgesses
in Virginia, Patrick Henry delivered his famous oration from
which the phrase "Give me liberty or give me death!" is so
often quoted. A series of resolutions were passed, denying
the right of Parliament to levy internal taxes upon the Ameri-
can colonies. It has well been said that as copies of these
resolutions and Henry's address spread through the towns
along the sea-board, none who read them could ever see mat-
ters in quite the same light again. A feeling of common inter-
est once more permeated the land — this time not against a for-
eign nation, but against the attitude hitherto tolerated : that the
trade of the colonies existed only for the convenience and
benefit of England.

When we condemn the policy of England at this time it
should be kept in mind that the members of Parliament were
themselves divided on this question. There were many men
in England who admitted that in taking their stand the
colonists were but proving themselves true Englishmen. Some
of the most influential speeches in favor of representation for
the colonists were made by men who never saw our shores.
Again, it should be recalled that the reigning sovereign,
George III, was less an Englishman than he liked to believe.
His policy, not alone in this matter, but in many others,
brought manifold difficulties upon his kingdom.

The Stamp Act, with its attendant experiences and demon-
strations, is well remembered by all Americans. So strenuous
was the opposition against it that it was soon repealed. Yet
it was impossible for members of Parliament generally to
immediately grasp the real issue. They felt it unreasonable
for the colonists to object to contribute toward the support of
soldiers furnished for their own protection, losing sight of
the fact that the colonists had not asked for the soldiers,
resented their presence, and felt abundantly able to protect

2o THE; WORLD'S PROGRESS.

themselves. They thought it but right that the colonies should
help to raise a needed sum of money, but failed to understand
'that it was the method of raising the money — not the amount
— that was contested. Temporary good feeling was restored
by the revocation of the Stamp Act, but this was again
destroyed by the Townsend Acts of 1767. Victory here again
tended to crystallize a general determination to stand together
against any form of injustice or oppression. Men who had
hewn their freedom out of a wilderness could not be expected
to relinquish it on slight provocation. It happened to be a
tax on tea that led to the final disruption. It might as well
have been any other. The colonists had taken their stand on
the platitude: "no taxation without representation," and it
mattered not whether the tax was little or great, the com-
modity essential or not.

This is not a place for a rehearsal of the vicissitudes of
the Revolution of 1775. All know the story of the final
rupture that led to war; of the weary struggle that lasted
almost beyond the strength of the colonists; of the courage
born of necessity; and the ultimate recognition on the part of
King George of the independence of the United States. Lex-
ington, Bunker Hill, Valley Forge, Brandywine, Yorktown —
how many stories are suggested by the mere enumeration of
these names! In the trials of dark years filled with anxiety,
distress and suffering, a consciousness of the great mission
'of a free country was borne upon the vision of a few noble,
unselfish men and by it they were transformed into statesmen
whose part it was to guide the infant republic. Today we
give little heed to battles, and the array of soldiery on fields
where differences long since were fought out is left to the
student of military affairs ; but it is wholesome to occasionally
review the trials that have been endured, the burdens that have
been borne by generous patriots in years gone by, in order that
the freedom and liberty of the present time may be the better
understood and appreciated. Only by a continued vigilance
and loyal devotion to country can the structure raised by our
forefathers be preserved.

UNITED STATES HISTORY. 21

CHAPTER IV.
THE ESTABLISHMENT OF AN EFFICIENT GOVERNMENT.

During the years of the Revolution (1775-1781) the gen-
eral government of the thirteen states was vested in a Conti-
nental Congress. The powers and functions of this body were
not defined, but the exigencies of war allowed the delegates,
who convened from time to time, to take such measures as
they thought best for the common good. However, it would
be a mistake to suppose that the administration of affairs
during the war was directed in the main by the Continental
Congress. Each colony sent representatives to the different
Congresses which assembled (each state, after the Declaration
of Independence) ; but long intervals elapsed between the con-
vocations of these bodies, and public opinion was largely molded
by individuals. Washington in reality exercised general con-
trol, as his position of Commander-in-Chief of the Army
allowed him to do. When money was urgently needed and
could not be supplied by the Continental Congress, Washing-
ton, Robert Morris, and others borrowed on their personal
accounts.

It had been understood that some new form of govern-
ment would be necessary after the independence of the states
was assured. To this end a convention was assembled and the
Articles of Confederation framed. The system of federal
administration that these provided could not go into effect until
all the states signed them. Two years elapsed before the last
state gave consent. Maryland was the one to hold out longest.
With good reason, she, together with certain of the smaller
states, refused to come into a union until the states which in
the beginning had been given "sea-to-sea" grants should cede
any claim upon lands west of the Appalachian Mountains to
the general government. These states were Massachusetts,
Connecticut, Virginia, North and South Carolina, and Georgia.
So many complications had arisen concerning territories over-
lapping each other that any subsequent adjustment of them
would have been impossible. It may be noted in this connec-
tion that this indefinite reach of country which thus became
the property of the federal government, and so beneficial to
all, supplied the one strong bond that held discordant states
together when others failed.

22 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

We must repeatedly go back to the early situation of the
English colonies in America if we would understand the prob-
lems that were involved in any union of them. Each had
been settled for some particular reason, chartered by some
English sovereign, or had started under the guidance of some
proprietor who was the recipient of a royal grant. Maryland
was founded as a refuge for Catholics; Georgia, as a home
for debtors ; Massachusetts was settled for the most part by
men who desired religious freedom; political oppression had
driven them thither. Pennsylvania had been a place of safety
for Quakers; New York was founded by the Dutch. In like
manner, one might recall the circumstances that led in the
beginning to the peopling of the thirteen states. While in the
course of one hundred and fifty years these original motives
had been gradually lost from sight, still, each continued to be
in many respects isolated. In time of danger the colonies
had acted together. When the danger was passed, each
turned again to its own concerns. Thus when the independ-
ence of the "United States" was declared, this meant little
to the majority of the people. There were, to be sure, men
who stood above provincial jealousies and saw far into the
future. They realized that local feeling must give way to that
of a national character. However, at the start such men
were comparatively few.

The government provided by the Articles of Confedera-
tion was just such as might logically have been expected, past
history of the states being taken into consideration. It was ex-
pressly stated that "each state retained its sovereignty, free-
dom and independence." A Congress composed of delegates
from each state was provided, any state sending from two to
seven, as it pleased. This Congress was to take measures for
internal improvements, establish a postal system, etc. The
regularity of trade was still left to the states; in the matter
of foreign affairs Congress was to act freely, but the states
must sanction its actions. Congress could advise, but not com-
mand; it could pass ordinances, but could not enforce them.
It was even powerless to levy taxes for the payment of fed-
eral debts or the support of the federal government. Nine
out of thirteen states had to approve of all measures before
these became binding.

UNITED STATES HISTORY. 23

One who reads in detail the records of these years is ap-
palled by the situation in which our country found itself.
There was a debt of $92,000,000 that had been contracted
by the Continental Congress and passed over to the new gov-
ernment; the states owed at lea§t $21,000,000 more. It was
impossible to pay the interest on the money, and the states
would not tax their people for federal obligations. It was
soon seen that Congress could only advise, and in time few
heeded its counsel at all. There was always great anxiety
to know what the states would do, since with them rested the
ultimate decision of all matters. Trade was prostrated, hav-
ing been ruined during the war. The future looked dark in-
deed to all who had the welfare of the young republic deeply
at heart.

English troops were still quartered in America, for it was
maintained, and with truth, that all the provisions of the
peace treaty had not been met. One of these provisions was
that those who had supported the king in the recent war, and
whose property had been confiscated when they fled to Can-
ada and other places of refuge, should be compensated by
the United States for possessions thus lost. The people gen-
erally felt very bitter that this condition should have been al-
lowed by the commissioners and had no intention of discharg-
ing such obligations.

While at home affairs were in such a precarious condi-
tion, foreign powers merely waited for the disruption of the
states, hoping at that time to profit by the catastrophe.

"England, apparently, expected the weak structure pres-
ently to fall to pieces. She would not withdraw her troops
from the western points because the debts of the British mer-
chants were not paid and the property rights of the exiled
Tories were not restored. Neither would she send a diplo-
matic representative to America, seeming to regard the Con-
federation as of no international importance. France, and
Spain and Holland, seeing the Confederation utterly unable to
repay the moneys they had loaned it, scarcely able to pay so
much as the interest on its debts, alternated between anger
and contempt in their treatment of it ; and confidently expected
to see it very soon in ruinous collapse and final disintegra-
tion. France and Spain were somewhat hopefully wonder-

24 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

ing, it was evident, what the spoils and plunder of the wreck
would be, and to whom it would fall to do the plundering."1

By most delicate advances and tactful management, men
like Washington, Hamilton, Jefferson, Madison and others,
presented the idea of taking concerted a'ction in the matter
of trade and of revising the Articles of Confederation so
that they might prove adequate; while the states generally
approved they did not take sufficient interest to elect delegates.
Finally it was agreed that a convention should be called for
May, 1787. This was attended by delegates from all the states
except Rhode Island — "the home of the otherwise-minded."
This proved to be the famous Constitution Convention whose
proceedings were kept secret until its work was finished.

Affairs had reached such a state that all seriously minded
people feared for the new republic. In Massachusetts a man
by the name of Shays had raised a rebellion to prevent the
courts from trying suits for recovery of debts. It had re-
quired prompt action on the part of the state militia to put
down this demonstration of anarchy. It looked as though
certain of the states might seek the protection of European
powers. For these reasons, the men who came together, care-
fully chosen by the various twelve states, firmly intended to
do their utmost to save the union. It may well be believed
that had their debates been made public at the time, no power
could have brought order out of the chaos that would have
followed. As it was, men from large states and small states,
free states and slave states, from liberal-minded states and
the more conservative, fought out their difficulties in hot de-
bates and settled upon their compromises. In certain respects
the views of Hamilton and Jefferson might be set over against
one another as two extremes. Hamilton had small faith in
any government which did not bear close resemblance to a
monarchy: Jefferson was such an advocate of freedom and
liberty that he jealously watched each movement lest it should
curtail the rights of the people.

There were many public-spirited men who vigorously op-
posed the new constitution when drafts of it were brought
home to each of the states. Patrick Henry had refused to
attend the Convention because he had feared that an attempt

1 Wilson: Hist, of the American People, v. 3, 56.

UNITED STATES HISTORY. 2$

would be made to set aside the Articles of Confederation
which he, with others, had framed. Mason of Virginia, Sam-
uel Adams of Massachusetts and Lee thought the states would
be endangered by the establishment of so strong a central
government. We can easily see the force of this argument.
The fact was that the time had come when the question was
no longer the preservation of the rights of thirteen states,
but the possibility of maintaining the integrity of one gov-
ernment in the face of almost overpowering obstacles.

It was evident, upon close study, that no strange or un-
usual features had been incorporated into this new instrument
of government. A chief executive, two legislative houses and
federal courts were plainly necessary. The small states were
placed on an equality with the large ones in the upper legis-
lative house ; the people retained their right of election. The
powers of officers were clearly stated and their terms were
to be short. The situation had to be relieved in some way and
as speedily as possible. Delaware accepted the Constitution first
and was soon followed by Pennsylvania. New York yielded last
— July, 1788, and the new government went into operation. It
was fortunate that Washington, who bore the confidence of
the whole nation, could be at the helm for the next eight years
and by his true statesmanlike qualities and strong personality
give character and dignity to the United States, at home and
abroad.

26 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

CHAPTER V.
THE EARLY REPUBLIC.

The republic, newly organized under a strong centralized
government, had need of clear-sighted, public-spirited men.
Not only was it necessary to put the new machinery for fed-
eral administration into operation, but in each state recon-
struction was required to meet the provisions of the federal
constitution. States had hitherto regulated their own trade,
levied import and export duties, coined money, and performed
many of the functions surrendered now to the United States
government. Bitter opposition was encountered when the
new government assumed the old Continental indebtedness,
together with the various state debts. Many felt that the
obligation had been incurred by a government no longer exist-
ing, and that to saddle the new republic with such a heavy
load was to place it at once in jeopardy. On the other hand,
there were not lacking able financiers and men with a deep
sense of responsibility who saw instantly that if our nation
were to gain standing abroad it must discharge every legitimate
claim against it, and that if, taking advantage of a discarded
form of government, such claims were dishonored, European
powers would have no assurance whatever that loans they
might be asked to make in the future would be paid.

A site for the capital was secured, convenient and central
for the states then making up the Union. It was not pos-
sible at that time to foresee a day when men would have
to journey 3,000 miles and more through that republic in order
to reach the District of Columbia.

Washington was a man of dignified and courtly manners
and he imparted to the presidency a certain reserve and
charm that gained for it respect in an age when condi-
tions at best were primitive in a world still new. Many of
the sensible rules he laid down have never been changed, such,
for example, as that the President receives calls, but does not
pay them; that he extends invitations, but does not accept
them; that he must be approached by foreign representatives.

UNITED STATES HISTORY. 27

not directly, but through the Department of State. Kindly
and courteous to all, deeply impressed with the consciousness
that he was but serving the people, none have ever borne
themselves with greater fortitude and patience than Wash-
ington, the Father of our Country. He wrote : "I walk upon
untrodden ground. There is scarcely an action the motive
of which may not be subjected to a double interpretation.
There is scarcely any part of my conduct which cannot here-
after be drawn into precedent."

As it was, Jefferson and his followers, who had caught
the spirit of equality which was being over-accentuated by
the French during this age of revolution, accused Washing-
ton of introducing aristocratic manners into democratic Amer-
ica. They criticised the justices of the Supreme Court for
wearing robes. They clamored for the maintenance of all
institutions, political and social, on a common level. The
Teutonic peoples are not capable of going to the extremes
reached occasionally by the Latin peoples. In America this
expression was but a faint demonstration of that feeling which
in France went to the length of declaring the title "Citizen"
too distinguishing, and suggesting that "Biped" be substi-
tuted.

There was another view of the case, not to be ignored.
Just as the Romans of early days were ready to kill as a
traitor any who should wish a king to again rule over them,
so in the United States, having withdrawn from the kingdom
of England, the people generally were determined to eliminate
everything suggestive of royalty. After a few years the
fear died out in America because there was nothing to keep
it alive.

When Washington's first term expired the country turned
to him as unanimously as it had at first. However, political
parties were coming to be fairly well defined. Those who
approved of the administration were called Federalists. John
Adams, Alexander Hamilton, Robert Morris, and others of
prominence were of this party. Those who disapproved of
the administration were called Anti-Federalists, or Repub-
licans. Thomas Jefferson was their leader. James Madison
and Edmund Randolph were also found among them. These
men disapproved of the salaries voted by Congress for various

28 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

governmental officials; they did not believe that the United
States should assume the state debts, and they disliked the
"aristocratic" bearing of the President, his Secretaries and
other officials.

One of the hardest problems with which Washington had
to cope during his second term was that of preventing the
country from taking sides in the French Revolution. As a
young republic, it was natural that we should feel much sym-
pathy with another nation which was trying to throw off the
oppression of monarchical government. France had aided us
somewhat in the Revolutionary war — less from a desire to
help us than a hope of injuring Great Britain. It was now
expected that we would be ready to repay our obligations.
However, the situation of the United States was still pre-
carious. She had won slight recognition abroad and at home
her government was not yet firmly established. English troops
were still stationed along the western frontier, waiting for de-
velopments. Were the United States to declare for France,
war with England would be inevitable and none could foresee
the issue. Our indebtedness was already too great to make it
in the least prudent to embark upon such an uncertain course.

Popular feeling is always hard to withstand. Washing-
ton saw clearly that the United States must remain neutral.
Even Jefferson realized this necessity. Nevertheless, when
Genet landed upon our shores and enlisted popular sympathy
for the French republic, prudence was cast to the winds and
Jefferson, who loved the French nation, found himself car-
ried along with the tide. These were trying days for the
President. Popular sentiment condemned his attitude and he
was grossly maligned. Having offered his life freely in the
service of his country, he found it hard to bear the censure
now heaped upon him. Jay was sent to England to make a
treaty, and while he did the best he could, the result was far
from satisfactory. That we should make a treaty of friend-
ship with England at this time gave deep offense to France.

Declining to serve a third term, Washington delivered his
Farewell Address and retired to his home at Mount Vernon,
while John Adams became our second president. A war with
France seemed inevitable, but the coup d'etat of Napoleon re-
versed conditions there.

UNITED STATES HISTORY. 29

The Alien and Sedition laws, soon passed by the Federal-
ists, who predominated in Congress, brought their party into
odium. The first of these laws provided that foreigners must
live here fourteen years before they could become citizens and
also gave the President power to send out of the country any
foreigner whom he deemed dangerous to the peace of the
United States. The second law provided for the punishment
of any who wrote, spoke, or printed anything that defamed
the government or its officials.

An early Amendment to the Constitution had established
free speech in our country, and this Sedition Act appeared
to threaten it, particularly as Adams vigorously enforced the
new law. Because of these two laws, the Kentucky and Vir-
ginia Resolutions were passed by the legislatures of the two
states. While not in themselves important, they were the first
links in a long chain of statecraft, which finally endangered
the whole country and led on to civil war. For that reason
it will be helpful to grasp at once their significance. The
Kentucky Resolutions, passed by the legislature of Kentucky,
held that the Constitution of the United States was a com-
pact whereby the various states had created a general gov-
ernment, conceding to it certain definite and clearly expressed
powers, reserving to themselves all others, that each state,
as party to this compact, had the right to judge for itself
whether or not the general government usurped rights not
accorded it and to declare unconstitutional powers exercised
in excess of those granted. These Resolutions declared that
the Alien and Sedition laws were unconstitutional, judged
by this test, and hence "null and void." The Virginia Resolu-
tions, while more delicately worded, held that in case of dan-
gerous exercise of power by the federal government, the states
had the right to interfere.

These Resolutions, together with the addition made by
the Kentucky legislature in 1799 "that nullification (by the
states) of all unauthorized acts done under color of the con-
stitution is the rightful remedy," sufficiently explain the doc-
trine of States Rights and Nullification. The clear mind of
John C. Calhoun of South Carolina, so logical in all but his
first premise, was to later give additional fire and force to
the argument, but immediately many saw danger ahead. They

3O THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

knew the Federalist party had gone too far and were glad
to have the objectionable laws forgotten.

Jefferson's administration is remembered for two events,
prominent in our history. The first was the war waged
against Great Britain for a free and unhampered commerce.
With an unwarrantable boldness, she was impressing our sea-
men on the ground that "once an Englishman, always an Eng-
lishman," and was searching our vessels under the pretext of
suspecting they carried contraband goods. The conditions
became intolerable, and unprepared as we were for the exigen-
cies of war, it became impossible to avoid it. Fighting on land
was disastrous; in 1814 the eastern coast was blockaded and
marching to Washington the British burned the Capitol and
other public buildings. However, the victories of Perry and
Lawrence on the seas did much to win us the respect of our
adversaries. Strange to say, when peace was signed in De-
cember, 1814, nothing was said about those matters for which
the nations had gone to war. Nevertheless, our commerce
was no longer molested.

The second event of importance — far more significant for
the future than this short war — was the purchase of Louisi-
ana in 1803. Spain by a secret treaty had ceded Louisiana
to France in 1800. In 1803 it became known that Napoleon
was about to send an army thither to take possession of the
Mississippi and close it to American commerce. This was
not to be thought of and Monroe was sent to France to secure
what territory and rights he could. Then it became known,
to the surprise of all, that Napoleon, needing funds, would
sell the entire territory. Although many objected to the pur-
chase, it was finally made for $15,000,000. Inestimable ad-
vantage was thereby given to the United States. The terri-
tory was indefinite and none had any clear idea of its mag-
nitude. Several entire states and portions of others have been
blocked out of this wide-reaching land.

After the war of 1812, attention turned from the east to
the west. Immediately after the Revolutionary war, migra-
tion across the mountains began. Once started it has never
ceased. "To the West," the cry has been for generations. At
first "the West" meant Kentucky and Tennessee, then Ohio,
Indiana and Illinois. Farther and farther have the streams

UNITED STATES HISTORY. 3!

of humanity gone westward, until, reaching the coast at last,
Alaska today lies open to those who wish to find homes in
a new country. By 1821 the Union had expanded to in-
clude twenty-four states, Louisiana, Missouri and Illinois be-
ing the most western.

The "Era of Good Feeling" came in with Monroe, pros-
perity being the natural result of much that had gone before.
In 1819, Spain, finding it impossible to hold Florida advan-
tageously, hemmed in as it had come to be by the United
States, ceded it for the sum of $5,000,000 to our government.
Another matter of importance during the administration of
Monroe was the promulgation of the Monroe Doctrine.

It may be recalled that the Congress of Vienna attempted
to set aside the ideas of liberty inculcated by the revolutionary
period of 1789 and the years following. Hoping to wipe
out the results of Napoleon's quickly established republics,
boundaries were set back as they had been before the out-
break of disturbance and rulers restored to their thrones.
Under the direction of Prince Metternich of Austria, the
Holy Alliance was formed between Austria, Russia and Prus-
sia. Whatever the objects of this alliance as published to the
world, its real object was to suppress any demonstration of
independence on the part of European subjects. To be sure,
the original motive of the three allies was to protect them-
selves, but they compelled the king of Naples to withdraw
a constitution he had granted his people under threatened
revolution, and lent their aid willingly for similar assistance
wherever it was needed. Spain now besought the Holy Alli-
ance to assist her in rewinning certain colonies in South Amer-
ica which had declared themselves free and independent. Their
independence had already been recognized by the United
States. It would be plainly a menace to have European pow-
ers open a war so near for the purpose of recovering lost
territory. More particularly, Russia was making aggressive
moves in the northwestern part of North America. There-
upon Monroe issued a proclamation to the effect that the new
world was no longer open to colonization by European pow-
ers, and that any attempt on the part of such powers to inter-
fere in the affairs of republics already recognized by our
government would be interpreted by the United States to be

32 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

an unfriendly act. This had an immediate effect. Spain
gave up her plan for coercing her erstwhile possessions and
Russia ceased to creep farther down the Pacific coast.

Throughout the eight years that Monroe served as Presi-
dent, and the term filled by John Quincy Adams — singularly
uneventful — the growth of material prosperity and the west-
ward expansion were most significant for the future. Five
new states were admitted during Monroe's administration
alone. The west was fairly teeming with activity.

"Every year the mere scale of affairs, if nothing more,
was enlarged and altered, by the tidelike movement of popu-
lation into the western country, the setting up of new states,
the quick transfigurements of economic conditions, the incal-
culable shif tings and variations of a society always making
and to be made. The restless, unceasing, adventurous move-
ment of the nation made a deeper impression upon its poli-
tics than did its mere growth. The boatman's song on the
long western rivers, the crack of the teamster's whip in the
mountain passes, the stroke of the woodman's axe ringing out
in the stillness of the forest, the sharp report of the rifle of
huntsman, pioneer, and scout on the fast advancing frontier,
filled the air as if with the very voices of change, and were
answered by events quick with fulfillment of their prophecy."

UNITED STATES HISTORY. '33

i

CHAPTER VI.
FROM JACKSON TO LINCOLN.

The election of Andrew Jackson in 1828 was indicative
of the change which unnoticed had gradually come about in
the United States. Although not a westerner, the West liked
him, feeling that he was one of the people. John Quincy
Adams had been a president whom all had found difficult
to approach; the West had merely tolerated him. With
patriotic intentions and tireless devotion to the round of du-
ties encumbent upon the Chief Executive, he had neverthe-
less impressed men as belonging to an age already passed
away. Jackson was in all senses of the term a self-made man.
Self-educated, he had risen into prominence and won dis-
tinction in a war with the Indians. In the Seminole war he
had acted in such a high-handed way that he had embarrassed
the administration and nearly brought on serious trouble with
Spain. Yet everyone knew that he had acted from the best
motives. His election was hailed by the people generally as
a triumph. At last they had a president whom they could
understand — who was one of them.

With Jackson came in the "Spoils System," rotation in
office, based on the theory that to the victor belongs the spoils.
It was popularly believed that the man who had secured the
presidency through the instrumentality of his party and his
friends was in duty bound to favor the adherents of that
party and those friends by dismissing all who held federal
offices and giving the positions to his supporters. Accord-
ingly, office holders great and small were summarily turned
aside and their places taken by Jackson's friends and co-work-
ers. Until recent years this policy, so extravagant for the
country, was followed. Every four years inexperienced men
were given federal offices left vacant by others who had just
learned the routine of the positions. Thus the government
was always educating men, then dismissing them when they
had learned their work so they could perform it expeditibusly.
President Cleveland vigorously opposed the Spoils system,

34 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

placing as many offices as possible upon the Civil Service list
and allowing the office-holder to remain at his post during
good behavior.

As has already been noted, the North had become a manu-
facturing section; the South, an agricultural region. The
culture of cotton was becoming more extensive each year,
while rice and tobacco were staple crops. It had been demon-
strated that the colored people could thrive well in the warm,
moist atmosphere of the southern states, while white laborers
found the climate oppressive and often unhealthy. Conse-
quently the South had built up on slave labor, while the North
had almost entirely abolished it.

In 1828, congressmen of the North passed a new tariff
bill, placing a high duty upon imports, which they wished to
keep out of the country for the purpose of encouraging the
manufactures of New England. This bill was strenuously
fought by southerners, because it appeared to be ruinous to
their section. When the bill went into effect its disastrous
features were immediately apparent to the South. While cot-
ton brought no more than before, the goods which the South
had to buy in exchange cost much more. The condition
seemed unbearable. Now it was that the afflicted states harked
back to the theory of State Sovereignty and Nullification.
South Carolina was foremost in the defense. John C. Cal-
houn resigned his position as Vice-President, went home and
was returned to the United States Senate, there to debate the
matter in the interests of his constituents who looked to him
for help. Calhoun hoped to see a peaceful adjustment, but
he went to the full length of his argument and showed that
if one section of the country set up conditions unbearable
to the other the afflicted states must seek redress. He held
that the Constitution was a compact by which the states rele-
gated certain of their functions to a federal government ; that
if this federal government usurped other functions, the states
might nullify its exercise of power in these directions. He
held that Congress had no authority to levy tariffs except
for revenue, hence those levied for the fostering of home in-
dustries were unconstitutional. While the whole South shared
these ideas, they are often spoken of as the Hayne or Calhoun
doctrines because these men advocated them so strenuously.

UNITED STATES HISTORY. 35

Daniel Webster took the opposing side. He said that
nullification on the part of a state of any act passed by Con-
gress was nothing short of rebellion. The speeches made by
Hayne, Calhoun and Webster are masterpieces of oratory,
and have passed into our recorded history.

Clay came forward with a compromise, providing that the
objectionable tariff should be reduced each year until 1842,
and thereafter 20 per cent duty should be levied on articles
which had been placed upon the dutiable list. This would
not be sufficient to "protect" home industries, so the South
acquiesced and harmony was again restored. Nevertheless,
the theory of Nullification had been only set aside, not ex-
ploded.

Jackson opposed the idea of a national bank, so when
the charter came up for renewal in 1836, he vetoed it. In-
stead, the deposits of the government were to be distributed
among the various states. As collected, the revenue was de-
posited in a few favored banks which made such hazardous
speculations that during the next administration the whole
country was thrown into a serious panic. Plainly finance was
a department in which this man of the people was not at
home.

The great question which agitated the country from this
time forward concerned the extension of slavery. To be
sure, marked prosperity attended the United States after the
effects of the great panic were passed. Inventions of vari-
ous kinds opened the way for the utilization of the vast re-
sources abounding in the new land. In spite of such mate-
rial advancement, however, there was growing a momentous
subject of contention, which, brushed aside for the time, as-
serted itself again and again, and finally expanded to such
proportions that it overshadowed all else.

In 1619, it will be recalled, a Dutch trading vessel brought
the first boat-load of Negro slaves to Virginia. They con-
tinued to be imported until the year 1808, that being the date
specified in the Constitution to terminate such importation.
Before the Revolutionary war the North, for the most part,
had discontinued slave labor. The social and industrial or-
der gave no such opportunity for slaves to be profitably used
as was the case in the South. The Ordinance of 1789 for-

36 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

bade slavery in the Northwest Territory, but provided that
fugitive slaves, taking refuge there, should be returned.

The westward migration of people from the seaboard and
from the states that had grown up across the mountains,
brought the subject up repeatedly. The South wanted to
extend its territory; the North was gradually becoming op-
posed to the whole system. In 1819 there were twenty-two
states in the Union — eleven free, eleven slave states. The
Ohio river became the boundary between the two sections,
and there were many who thought it advisable to keep the
balance then existing. When Missouri applied for admission
into the Union, therefore, as a slave state, violent opposition
was encountered. The matter went over to the next session
of Congress, whereupon Maine was ready for admission.
Thus the two states came in together with the famous Com-
promise of 1820, which provided that slavery should not ex-
ist in the territory procured from France in 1803 north of
the latitude 36° 30', with the exception of Missouri. Thus
was a sensitive problem settled for the time.

In 1833 the Antislavery Society was organized in Phila-
delphia. By the distribution of literature of various kinds
this society did what it could to win sympathy for the slaves
of the South and to create an anti-slavery sentiment. Slave
owners were indignant and did all they could to prevent this
society in accomplishing its ends. Violence frequently re-
sulted, presses which printed these documents being destroyed
and the mails searched for objectionable matter. The South
tried in vain to have a law passed prohibiting the circulation
of anti-slavery material through the mails, but succeeded in
passing a bill which forbade Congress to receive petitions per-
taining to slavery.

The Anti-slavery Society failed to enlist the aid of many
thoughtful men who personally opposed the extension of slav-
ery, even the very system, indeed. Such men saw that the
Constitution had left the regulation of slavery to each state
and believed that its abolition was not a question to be set-
tled by Congress at all. Besides, they disliked the lawless
methods of the anti-slavery men, who used any means to at-
tain their ends.

In 1845 Texas was admitted as a state. The history of

UNITED STATES HISTORY. 37

our acquisition of this Mexican territory is more or less com-
plicated. Many southerners had moved over the border line
and settled. After Mexico declared herself free from Spain,
quite a section of territory declared itself free from Mexico
and formed a separate country. Those who had settled
here desired to become a part of the United States and
appealed to Congress for admission. To comply with this
request, since Texas claimed much disputed land, was to
precipitate war with Mexico. Popular feeling favored the ac-
quirement of this territory and the war of 1848 brought a large
tract of land into the possession of the country. Immediately
the question arose as to whether this should be free or slave
territory. Rumors of all kinds were afloat. It was said that
the South would secede if it failed to gain some part of this
acquisition. Finally the Compromise of 1850 settled once
more the difficulties which were dividing the people. This
provided that California was to be admitted as a free state,
but that the remainder of the Mexican territory should be
open for both free and slave settlers; that the slave trade
should be abolished in the District of Columbia and a fugi-
tive slave law should permit slave owners to recover slaves that
escaped to free states.

To the surprise of all, when Congress assembled after
the election of Pierce, Stephen A. Douglas brought forward
a bill which provided for the formation of two territories:
Kansas and Nebraska. Although both lay north of 36° 30',
Douglas intended to satisfy the South, and declared that
the Missouri Compromise had been unconstitutional at the
outset, and secured its repeal. Kansas was to be free or
slave, according to the will of the settlers.

Now men North and South rushed in to populate the new
territory. Nebraska was too far north to make slavery profit-
able, but Kansas might become a prosperous slave state. For
some time scenes of lawlessness were enacted in this new
territory, as hot-headed partisans struggled for supremacy.

Abraham Lincoln came into prominence during these years
in his debates with Douglas, while both were candidates for
the United States Senate. Lincoln's clear, homely sentences
went straight to the hearts of the northerners. "A house di-
vided against itself cannot stand." So well understood was

38 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

his position upon this question that when his election to the
presidency was known South Carolina seceded from the
Union. Six other states followed her example and the Con-
federacy of the South was organized. Many hold today that
the South thought by thus withdrawing that she could exact
better terms from the Union than if she remained within. It
is said that it was still expected that a compromise might
be made. Although secession had been argued about and
threatened for many years, it came as a great surprise. Finally
feeling ran so high that war seemed imminent. Four more
states withdrew and in April of 1861 word reached the capi-
tal that an army of the Confederacy had fired upon Fort Sum-
ten From that day both sides realized that peace was no
longer to be expected.

1775. EARLY FLAGS. 1777.

UNITED STATES HISTORY. 39

CHAPTER VII.
THE LATTER PART OE THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.

The war which had divided North and South caused tre-
mendous loss of life and property. It has been estimated that
for each day during the four years that war waged, the lives
of seven hundred men were sacrificed. The federal govern-
ment poured out approximately $2,500,000 for each of those
fearful days — about $34,000,000,000 in all — and was left with
an additional debt of $2,600,000,000. The Confederacy gave
lavishly of its stores and was still left with a debt of $1,400,-
000,000. While the burden of debt was serious, the loss of life
was more serious still. Up to 1861 the progress of civilization
in America had gone steadily forward. By the elimination of
a rising generation, progress received a back-set at this time,
particularly as the population was soon increased by a large
emigration from the more backward states of Europe. Through
the seventies, eighties and nineties, Slavs, Lithuanians, Poles,
etc., infiltrated into the social structure of this country in sur-
prising numbers. "Defeated men of a defeated race," they have
been called. Mentally and physically inferior, it was quite
natural that their arrival just after the terrible loss of American
blood should have been disastrous to continued advancement.

The first colossal task confronting the government at the
close of the war was : what disposition should be made of the
states which had seceded? Under what conditions were they
to be received once more into the Union? Any fair and un-
biased examination into the Reconstruction period must make
convincingly plain the great calamity that the South received
when Lincoln fell by the hand of a mad assassin. He, and he
alone, was perhaps great enough to have guided the nation
through the storm and stress of years characterized by intense
sectional feeling. He was gifted with a generosity of heart and
a delicacy of feeling seldom met. He was the leader of the
entire nation — not a faction of it. Believing in the sovereignty
of the state, the South had finally withdrawn from the Union
and entered into a civil war to give reality to the theory. In

4O THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

the struggle made to preserve the Union, the North had lost
much, but the South had lost more. In the North, affairs had
gone on to some extent apart from the war; in the South the
war had been the one engrossing matter. In the North, four
men out of every nine of suitable age had enlisted ; in the South,
nine out of every ten had gone to the front. Again, destruc-
tion of property was greatest in the South, since the war was
principally waged there; and finally, the slaves who were set
free had been the property of their owners. The South had
lost utterly.

Realizing all this, the President set to work to bind up the
wounds of a nation. With a kindliness and nobility of spirit,
he discouraged the idle arguments that were put forward:
Were the states of the Confederacy out of the Union, or had
they, in fact, been in it throughout? Lincoln went so far as to
say that the welfare of the country would be better served if
a solution of such problems were not attempted. However, his
broad policy did not meet the wishes of the Republican leaders.
Filled with exultation, now that the strain was over, with
coarser instincts and shorter vision, they wished the defeated
states to suffer still greater humiliation. It is possible that
Lincoln, whose words in his second inaugural address rang
clear and true : "With malice toward none, with charity for all .
with firmness in the right, as Cod gives us to see the right, let
us strive to finish the work we are in, ... to do all which
may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among our-
selves," might have won opponents to his way of thinking and
restored in briefer time peace and good will among men. This
Johnson, who succeeded him, was wholly unable to do.

Provisional government was set up in the southern states
until new constitutions should be prepared to meet the changes
that had taken place. The whole country knew that some
measures must be taken immediately concerning the negroes
who might become a menace to society if they remained in idle-
ness. The southern states brought forward regulations by
which the colored people should be bound out to service, with
wages fixed by law. Such disposition had been common in
England at an earlier time and was not of necessity oppressive.
However, the North, failing quite to understand the conditions
in the South, found the idea astounding. Men away from the

UNITED STATES HISTORY. 4!

region involved, saw only in this movement an attempt on the
part of southerners to withhold freedom from those whose sorry
plight had moved the North to espouse their cause. Men of
the North became imbued with the idea that with citizenship
alone could the negro be protected in a country now hostile to
him, and the crime of conferring the right of suffrage upon a
race until now held in bondage was committed. It must be
said to Johnson's credit that he violently opposed this measure
but it was passed in spite of him.

While the ballot had been thus extended to a great ignorant
mass of humanity, all the leaders of the South — all who were
possessed of $20,000 worth of property — were for some time
debarred from citizenship. While the most able, most ex-
perienced were thus disqualified, adventurers from the North
hurried into the southern states and, having only personal profit
at stake, did what they could to intensify the bitterness which
was growing up between the franchised negro and the un-
franchised southerner, meantime shaping matters so that they
themselves filled all remunerative positions.

Month by month conditions became more unbearable in the
South. It was useless to complain because each complaint was
long misinterpreted. To be sure, there were men in the North
who saw that the policy followed by Congress in regard to the
South was mistaken, but they made small impression upon the
sentiment of their day. The Constitution was amended by the
Fifteenth Amendment, which gave the right of franchise to the
negro, and no state could be received again into the Union until
it recognized and conceded the same privilege.

Prevented from making use of regular methods for ac-
complishing their ends, southern men shortly resorted to un-
usual methods. In sport a band of young men had hit upon
the idea of going about masked among the colored people, bent
upon amusement. They found it easy to intimidate them so
that they would yield to whatever was required of them. The
spirit of jest soon gave way to earnestness. Here, apparently,
was a means by which conditions might be made more endur-
able, and they made the most of it. The youths who originated
the plan had styled themselves the Kuklos — meaning the circle;
this was soon corrupted into Ku Klux, and Klan was added.
Going about among the negroes in the night, on horses, masked

42 THE WORIvD's PROGRESS.

and wrapped in sheets, the ignorant darkies were so frightened
that they obeyed injunctions to remain away from political
meetings, and to cease to meddle in affairs of which they knew
practically nothing. This lawless method of attaining an end
worked out differently, according to the neighborhood. Prudent
men did not go too far; they confined themselves to threats
which they had small intention of executing. Nevertheless, as
will always happen under such circumstances, the more im-
passioned and fearless went to the full length of the oppor-
tunity thus offered and many crimes were committed in the
name of the Ku Klux Klan. Northerners who were thought
to believe in the right of suffrage for the negro were treated
severely whenever they came into the territory where the secret
society operated. It was remarkable to see how rapidly this
lawless system spread. During Grant's administration the fed-
eral government was obliged to institute a regular crusade to
stamp it out.

For its failure in the policy sustained toward the South,
and for many other reasons, the Republican party, which had
come out of the war with great prestige, fell into disfavor.
The construction of western railroads was begun shortly after
the war closed, and while these roads did much to open up the
country, it was found that incredible graft was involved in the
matter and while Congress censured those who were shown to
have been involved, they still held their seats. Finally, in 1873,
a serious panic swept over the country, due largely to the im-
prudent loans which had been negotiated in connection with
western railroad building Grant's administration was a dis-
appointment to many — most of all, to himself. Gradually the
country came into a normal condition again, and with the open-
ing of Hayes' administration the period of Reconstruction
may be said to close.

In 1867 the territory of the United States was materially
increased by the purchase of Alaska from Russia. The re-
sources of that region were little appreciated at the time, and
it was commonly declared that we had purchased merely ice-
bergs and glaciers. Even today, when the wealth of the north-
ern land has been shown to be rich in coal deposits, minerals
and fisheries, many of the possibilities of Alaska are still to be
revealed.

UNITED STATES HISTORY. 43

The last important encounter with the Indians occurred in
1876. Enraged by the steady advance of the white man toward
their remaining tracts, Sitting Bull induced his tribesmen to
make an attack upon them. The outbreak was soon quelled but
General Custer and his soldiers perished, almost to a man, in
one of the ambushes laid for them. Hope of victory being no
longer possible, recent years have found the remnant of the
Red men reconciled to their fate. While the government is
doing much today to educate the young generation, disease fre-
quently overtakes them as a result of radically changed life and
makes heavy inroads upon their numbers.

We are still too near the events of the past forty years to
view them in a wholly impartial way. The industrial growth of
the country has been paramount, casting into secondary im-
portance the political life of the nation. Inventions of many
kinds have tended to eliminate distances; the telephone, tele-
graph cable, improved application of steam, and the discovery
of the possibilities of electricity have transformed all enlight-
ened lands, but especially have they wrought changes in a
country so vast as this. New farm implements and machinery
have given opportunity for the cultivation of wide tracts of
prairies hitherto untilled ; appliances for mining have led to the
rapid accumulation of precious ores. Devices for facilitating
manufactures have lessened the cost of production. Because
the lot of the day-laborer is far better in America than in Euro-
pean countries, hundreds of thousands of emigrants have
flocked to our shores every year. In spite of the steady influx,
there is still room for all and work for those who wish it.

Only once since 1865 has the sturdy spirit for arbitrating
difficulties given way before provocation for war. In 1898 a
wave of hysterical feeling plunged the country into a brief war
with Spain. Subsequent events showed that this war was no
exception to the general statement — that modern wars have
been fought for commercial purposes.

The United States celebrated its first centennial in 1876.
That a century had witnessed a complete change in the relations
existing between the two countries was sufficiently evident by
the fact that Great Britain took a prominent part in the expo-
sition held in Philadelphia. Many beneficial results of this
first great exposition in America followed. Heretofore Amer-

44

THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

leans had been too deeply engrossed in shaping a country for
habitation to give special attention to the finer arts of living.
Now for the first time beauty was emphasized ; comparison of
workmanship stimulated the people to put forth fresh efforts.
Architecture which had previously been little more than an
accident, became a study. From that year may be said to date
a new era in the development of culture and refinement, and
any particular study of American art must start from that
time.

THIRTY-HORSE HARVESTER.

FAMOUS HISTORICAL ADDRESSES

CHAPTER VIII.

THE CAM, TO ARMS.
PATRICK HENRY.

(1775)

No MAN thinks more highly than I do of the patriotism,
as well as abilities, of the very worthy gentlemen who have
just addressed the House. But different men often see the
same subject in different lights; and, therefore, I hope it will
not be thought disrespectful to those gentlemen, if, entertaining
as I do opinions of a character very opposite to theirs, I shall
speak forth my sentiments freely and without reserve. This
is no time for ceremony.

The question before the House is one of awful moment
to this country. For my own part, I consider it as nothing
less than a question of freedom or slavery; and in proportion
to the magnitude of the subject ought to be the freedom of
the debate. It is only in this way that we can hope to arrive
at truth, and fulfil the great responsibility which we hold to
God and our country. Should I keep back my opinions at
such a time, through fear of giving offense, I should con-
sider myself as guilty of treason toward my country, and of
an act of disloyalty toward the Majesty of Heaven, which I
revere above all earthly kings.

Mr. President, it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions
of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth,
and listen to the song of that siren, till she transforms us into
beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and
arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be of the
number of those, who, having eyes, see not, and having ears,
hear not, the things which so nearly concern their temporal
salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may
cost, I am willing to know the whole truth ; to know the worst,
and to provide for it.

45

46 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided ; and that
is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of
the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish
to know what there has been in the conduct of the British min-
istry, for the last ten years, to justify those hopes with which
gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the
House? Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has
been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare
to your feet. Suffer not yourself to be betrayed with a kiss.
Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition com-
ports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters
and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a
work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves
so unwilling to be reconciled, that force must be called in to
win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These
are the implements of war and subjugation ; the last arguments
to which kings resort.

I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its
purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen
assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain
any enemy in this quarter of the world to call for all this accu-
mulation of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They
are meant for us : they can be meant for no other. They are
sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains, which the
British ministry have been so long forging. And what have
we -to oppose to them ? Shall we try argument ? Sir, we have
been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new
to offer upon the subject ? Nothing. We have held the subject
up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in
vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication?
What terms shall we find, which have not been already ex-
hausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves
longer. Sir, we have done everything that could be done, to
avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned ;
we have remonstrated; we have supplicated; we have pros-
trated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its inter-
position to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and Par-
liament. Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances
have produced additional violence and insult ; our supplications
have been disregarded; and we have been spurned, with con-

FAMOUS HISTORICAL, ADDRESSES. 47

tempt, from the foot of the throne ! In vain, after these things,
may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation.
There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free —
if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges
for which we have been so long contending — if we mean not
basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been
so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never
to abandon, until the glorious object of our contest shall be
obtained — we must fight ! I repeat it, sir, we must fight ! An
appeal to arms and to the God of Hosts is all that is left us!

They tell us, sir, that we are weak — unable to cope with
so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger?
Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when
we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be
stationed in every house?, Shall we gather strength by irreso-
lution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual
resistance by lying supinely on our backs and hugging the de-
lusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound
us hand and foot?

Sir, we are not weak if we make a proper use of those
means which the God of nature has placed in our power. Three
millions of people armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in
such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any
force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we
shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who pre-
sides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends
to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong
alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir,
we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it
is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat
but in submission and slavery ! Our chains are forged ! Their
clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston ! The war is
inevitable — and let it come ! I repeat it, sir, let it come !

It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may
cry Peace, Peace — but there is no peace. The war is actually
begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring
to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are
already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it
that gentlemen wish ? What would they have? Is life so dear,
or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and

48 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course
others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me
death !

BOSTON'S PLACE IN HISTORY.
EDWARD EVERETT HALE.

FANEUIL HALL is the cradle of liberty, and the child was
born not far away. It was in the council chamber of the old
Statehouse yonder that "American independence was born."
These are the words of John Adams, whose features you are
looking on. He assisted at the birth, and he has told for us
the story.

He says, speaking of that day: "Otis was a flame of fire;
Otis hurried everything before him. American independence
was then and there born. In fifteen years the child grew up
to manhood, and declared himself free."

When that moment came, the Congress of the United States
was sitting in Philadelphia. It had been summoned two years
before, on the seventeenth of June, 1774 — St. Botolph's day,
be it remembered, the Saint's day of Boston. On that day,
Samuel Adams, of Boston, moved in the Provincial Assembly,
sitting at Salem, that a Continental Congress should be called
at Philadelphia — at Philadelphia, observe, because there was
no English garrison there! Samuel Adams took the precau-
tion to lock the door of the Salem Assembly chamber on the
inside. While the motion was under discussion, the English
governor, Gage's secretary, appeared at the outside of the door
to dissolve the Assembly. But Sam Adams was stronger than
he. The delegates were chosen — he was one; James Bowdoin,
John Adams, Thomas Cushing, and Robert Treat Paine were
the others. All these were from Boston.

Two years were to pass before the declaration was drawn
and signed. When that time came, our delegation had been
changed by the substitution of Hancock for Bowdoin, and
Gerry for Cushing. Franklin, another Latin School boy, served
with John Adams and Thomas Jefferson, Roger Sherman and
Robert Livingston, on the committee which made the draft
of the Declaration. And when the time came for its signa-
ture, John Hancock's name "stands at the top of freedom's
roll."

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LANDSCAPB-£orot.

IOROT proved himself one of the most successful paint-
er* of trees. He frequently Included a bit of coun-
try life, a cottage, a fisherman and his boat, a vision
of nymphs — some additional indication of life or habita-
tion, but always it was the trees that he saw, loved and,
loving them, blew them upon the canvas as he found them
all wet with dew in early morning or falling into the ob-
scurity of twilight. He never cared to paint at noon-day
when the earth lay flooded with light "Then," he said,
"one sees too much." But before sleepers had shaken out
the dreams of night, when birds and animals were just
rousing to greet the new day, then Corot might have been
seen with his easel and his brushes, setting up his canvas
where he could best b'ehold the awakening — the oft-
repeated resurrection. Again at eventide, when tl\e toiler
turned homeward with his team, then once more Corot
would be found out watching nature as it sank to sleep.

FAMOUS HISTORICAL ADDRESSES. 49

We need not be over-modest in Boston when we speak of
such men and such times. American independence was born
in our old Statehouse. Sam Adams was the father of Ameri-
can independence. Liberty was cradled in this hall. Franklin
and Adams, of those who drew the Declaration, were born
here. John Hancock was sent to preside over that Assembly,
and accepted bravely the honors and the perils of his great
position. I could not anywhere give any history, however suc-
cinct, of the Declaration; I could not account for the America
of to-day without saying all this, — no, not if I were addressing
the Shah of Persia in his palace in Ispahan.

I believe, if I were in your Honor's chair next January, on
one of those holidays which nobody knows what to do with,
I would commemorate the first great victory of 1775. To do
this well, I would issue an order that any schoolboy in Boston
who would bring his sled to School Street, might coast down
hill all day there, in memory of that famous coasting in Jan-
uary, 1775, when the Latin School boys told the English gen-
eral that to coast on School Street was their right "from time
immemorial," and when they won that right from him.

We have made a pleasure park of the Old Fort Inde-
pendence, thanks, I believe, to our friend Mr. O'Neil. Let no
man take his sweetheart there, where sheep may be grazing
between the useless cannon, without pointing out to her the
birth of the Somerset on St. Botolph's day, the day democracy
began her march around the world. Let him show her the bas-
tions on Dorchester heights. Let him say to her: "It was
here that Lord Percy gathered the flower of King George's
army to storm the heights yonder. And it was from this beach
that they left Boston forever."

When he takes her to his old schoolhouse he shall ask first
to see the handwriting of some of our old boys — of Franklin,
of Sam Adams, of John Hancock, of Paine, of Bowdoin, and
of Hooper. They shall not stop the car at Hancock Street
without a memory of the man who signed the Declaration.
They shall cross the pavement on Lynde Street, and he shall
say: "These stones have been red with blood from Bunker
Hill." And when this day of days comes round, the first fes-
tival in our calendar, the best boy of our High School, or of
our Latin School, shall always read to us the Declaration in

which the fathers announced the truth to the world.
x-t

WORLD'S PROGRESS.

And shall this be no homage to the past — worship deaf
and dumb? As the boy goes on his errand he shall say: "To
such duty I, too, am born. I am God's messenger." As the
young man tells the story to his sweetheart, he shall say : "We
are God's children also, you and I, and we have our duties."
They look backward only to look forward. "God needs me
that this city may still stand in the forefront of his people's
land. Here am I, God may draft me for some special duty,
as he drafted Warren and Franklin. Present! Ready for
service? Thank God I came from men who were not afraid
in battle. Thank God I was born from women whose walk
was close to him. Thank God, I am his son." And she shall
say: "I am his daughter."

He has nations to call to his service. "Here am I."

He has causeways to build for the march forward of his
people. "Here am I."

There are torrents to bridge, highways in deserts. "Here
am I."

He has oceans to cross. He has the hungry world to
feed. He has the wilderness to clothe in beauty. "Here am I."

God of heaven, be with us as thou wert with these fathers.

God of heaven, we will be with thee, as the fathers were.

WASHINGTON'S COAT OF ARMS.

FAMOUS HISTORICAL ADDRESSES. 5 1

THE HAYNE-WEBSTER DEBATE.
SPEECH of MR. HAYNE,

In the Senate, on Mr. Foote's Resolution, Thursday, January 21, and
Monday, January 25, 1830.

WHEN I took occasion, Mr. President, two days ago, to
throw out some ideas with respect to the policy of the govern-
ment in relation to the public lands, nothing certainly could
have been further from my thoughts than that I should be
compelled again to throw myself upon the indulgence of the
Senate. Little did I expect to be called upon to meet such
an argument as was yesterday urged by the gentleman from
Massachusetts [Mr. Webster]. Sir, I questioned no man's
opinions, I impeached no man's motives, I charged no party,
or State, or section of country with hostility to any other;
but ventured, I thought in a becoming spirit, to put forth my
own sentiments in relation to a great national question of pub-
lic policy. Such was my course. The gentleman from Mis-
souri [Mr. Benton], it is true, had charged upon the Eastern
States an early and continued hostility toward the West, and
referred to a number of historical facts and documents in
support of that charge. Now, sir, how have these different
arguments been met? The honorable gentleman from Massa-
chusetts, after deliberating a whole night upon his course,
comes into this chamber to vindicate New England; and, in-
stead of making up his issue with the gentleman from Missouri
on the charges which he had preferred, chooses to consider me
as the author of those charges, and, losing sight entirely of
that gentleman, selects me as his adversary and pours out all
the vials of his mighty wrath upon my devoted head. Nor
is he willing to stop there. He goes on to assail the institu-
tions and policy of the Southland calls in question the prin-
ciples and conduct of the State which I have the honor to
represent. When I find a gentleman of mature age and ex-
perience, of acknowledged talents and profound sagacity, pur-
suing a course like this, declining the contest from the West
and making war upon the unoffending South, I must believe,
I am bound to believe, he has some object in view that he has

52 THE WORU>'S PROGRESS.

not ventured to disclose. Mr. President, why is this? Has
the gentleman discovered in former controversies with the gen-
tleman from Missouri that he is overmatched by that Senator ?
And does he hope for an easy victory over a more feeble ad-
versary? Has the gentleman's distempered fancy been dis-
turbed by gloomy forebodings of "new alliances to be formed,"
at which he hinted? Has the ghost of the murdered Coali-
tion come back, like the ghost of Banquo, to "sear the eyeballs"
of the gentleman, and will it not "down at his bidding" ? Are
dark visions of broken hopes and honors lost forever still float-
ing before his heated imagination? Sir, if it be his object to
thrust me between the gentleman from Missouri and himself,
in order to rescue the East from the contest it has provoked
with the West, he shall not be gratified. Sir, I will not be
dragged into the defense of my friend from Missouri. The
South shall not be forced into a conflict not its own. The gen-
tleman from Missouri is able to fight his own battles. The
gallant West needs no aid from the South to repel any attack
which may be made on them from any quarter. Let the gen-
tleman from Massachusetts controvert the facts and arguments
of the gentleman from Missouri if he can; and if he win the
victory, let him wear its honors; I shall not deprive him of his
laurels.

The gentleman from Massachusetts, in reply to my remarks
on the injurious operations of our land system on the prosperity
of the West, pronounced an extravagant eulogium on the pa-
ternal care which the government had extended toward the
West, to which he attributed all that was great and excellent
in the present condition of the new States. The language of
the gentleman on this topic fell upon my ears like the almost
forgotten tones of the Tory leaders of the British Parliament
at the commencement of the American Revolution. They, too,
discovered that the colonies had grown great under the foster-
ing care of the mother country; and I must confess, while lis-
tening to the gentleman, I thought the appropriate reply to
his argument was to be found in the remark of a celebrated
orator, made on that occasion: "They have grown great in
spite of your protection."

The gentleman, in commenting on the policy of the govern-
ment in relation to the new States, has introduced to our notice

FAMOUS HISTORICAL ADDRESSES. 53

a certain Nathan Dane of Massachusetts, to whom he attributes
the celebrated Ordinance of '87, by which he tells us "slavery
was forever excluded from the new States north of the Ohio."
After eulogizing the wisdom of this provision in terms of the
most extravagant praise, he breaks forth in admiration of the
greatness of Nathan Dane; and great indeed he must be, if
it be true, as stated by the Senator from Massachusetts, that
"he was greater than Solon and Lycurgus, Minos, Numa Pom-
pilius, and all the legislators and philosophers of the world,"
ancient and modern. Sir, to such high authority it is certainly
my duty, in a becoming spirit of humility, to submit. And yet
the gentleman will pardon me when I say that it is a little un-
fortunate for the fame of this great legislator that the gentle-
man from Missouri should have proved that he was not the
author of the Ordinance of '87, on which the Senator from
Massachusetts has reared so glorious a monument to his name.
Sir, I doubt not the Senator will feel some compassion for
our ignorance when I tell him that so little are we acquainted
with the modern great men of New England that, until he
informed us yesterday that we possessed a Solon and a Ly-
curgus in the person of Nathan Dane, he was only known to
the South as a member of a celebrated assembly called and
known by the name of "Hartford Convention." In the pro-
ceedings of that assembly, which I hold in my hand (at page
19), will be found, in a few lines, the history of Nathan Dane;
and a little further on there is conclusive evidence of that
ardent devotion to the interest of the new States which, it
seems, has given him a just claim to the title of "Father of
the West." By the second resolution of the "Hartford Con-
vention" it is declared "that it is expedient to attempt to make
provision for restraining Congress in the exercise of an un-
limited power to make new States and admit them into this
Union." So much for Nathan Dane of Beverly, Massachusetts.
In commenting upon my views in relation to the public
lands, the gentleman insists that, it being one of the conditions
of the grants that these lands should be applied to "the common
benefit of all the States, they must always remain a fund for
revenue;" and adds, "they must be treated as so much treas-
ure." Sir, the gentleman could hardly find language strong
enough to convey his disapprobation of the policy which I had

54 THS WORUJ'S PROGRESS.

ventured to recommend to the favorable consideration of the
country. And what, sir, was that policy, and what is the dif-
ference between that gentleman and myself on this subject?
I threw out the idea that the public lands ought not to be re-
served forever as "a great fund for revenue;" that they ought
not to be treated "as a great treasure;" but that the course of
our policy should rather be directed toward the creation of
new States, and building up great and flourishing communi-
ties. . . .

We are ready to make up the issue with the gentleman as
to the influence of slavery on individual and national charac-
ter,— on the prosperity and greatness either of the United
States or of particular States. Sir, when arraigned before the
bar of public opinion on this charge of slavery, we can stand
up with conscious rectitude, plead not guilty, and put ourselves
upon God and our country. Sir, we will not consent to look
at slavery in the abstract. We will not stop to inquire whether
the black man, as some philosophers have contended, is of an
inferior race, nor whether his color and condition are the ef-
fects of a curse inflicted for the offenses of his ancestors. We
deal in no abstractions. We will not look back to inquire
whether our fathers were guiltless in introducing slaves into
this country. If an inquiry should ever be instituted into these
matters, however, it will be found that the profits of the slave
trade were not confined to the South. Southern ships and
Southern sailors were not the instruments of bringing slaves
to the shores of America, nor did our merchants reap the profits
of that "accursed traffic." But, sir, we will pass over all this.
If slavery, as it now exists in this country, be an evil, we of
the present day found it ready made to our hands. Finding
our lot cast among a people whom God had manifestly com-
mitted to our care, we did not sit down to speculate on ab-
stract questions of theoretical liberty. We met it as a prac-
tical question of obligation and duty. We resolved to make
the best of the situation in which Providence had placed us,
and to fulfill the high trust which had devolved upon us as
the owners of slaves, in the only way in which such a trust
could be fulfilled without spreading misery and ruin through-
out the land. We found that we had to deal with a people
whose physical, moral, and intellectual habits and character
totally disqualified them for the enjoyment of the blessings

FAMOUS HISTORICAL ADDRESSES. 55

of freedom. We could not send them back to the shores from
whence their fathers had been taken; their numbers forbade
the thought, even if we did not know that their condition here
is infinitely preferable to what it possibly could be among the
barren sands and savage tribes of Africa; and it was wholly
irreconcilable with all our notions of humanity to tear asunder
the tender ties which they had formed among us, to gratify
the feelings of a false philanthropy. What a commentary on
the wisdom, justice, and humanity of the Southern slave-owner
is presented by the example of certain benevolent associations
and charitable individuals elsewhere ! Shedding weak tears
over sufferings which had existence only in their own sickly
imaginations, these "friends of humanity" set themselves sys-
tematically to work to seduce the slaves of the South from
their masters. By means of missionaries and political tracts,
the scheme was in a great measure successful. Thousands of
these deluded victims of fanaticism were seduced into the en-
joyment of freedom in our Northern cities. And what has
been the consequence ? Go to these cities now and ask the ques-
tion. Visit the dark and narrow lanes, and obscure recesses,
which have been assigned by common consent as the abodes of
those outcasts of the world, the free people of color. Sir, there
does not exist, on the face of the whole earth, a population
so poor, so wretched, so vile, so loathsome, so utterly destitute
of all the comforts, conveniences, and decencies of life, as the
unfortunate blacks of Philadelphia, and New York, and Bos-
ton. Liberty has been to them the greatest of calamities, the
heaviest of curses. Sir, I have had some opportunities of
making comparison between the condition of the free negroes
of the North and the slaves of the South, and the comparison
has left not only an indelible impression of the superior ad-
vantages of the latter, but has gone far to reconcile me to
slavery itself. Never have I felt so forcibly that touching de-
scription, "the foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have
nests, but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head,"
as when I have seen this unhappy race, naked and houseless,
almost starving in the streets, and abandoned by all the world.
Sir, I have seen in the neighborhood of one of the most moral,
religious, and refined cities of the North a family of free blacks
driven to the caves of the rock, and there obtaining a precarious
subsistence from charity and plunder. . . .

56 TH£ WORUD'S PROGRESS.

But, Mr. President, to be serious, what are we of the South
to think of what we have heard this day? The Senator from
Massachusetts tells us that the tariff is not an Eastern measure,
and treats it as if the East had no interest in it. The Senator
from Missouri insists it is not a Western measure, and that
it has done no good to the West. The South comes in, and,
in the most earnest manner, represents to you that this measure,
which we are told "is of no value to the East or the West,"
is "utterly destructive of our interests." We represent to you
that it has spread ruin and devastation through the land, and
prostrated our hopes in the dust. We solemnly declare that
we believe the system to be wholly unconstitutional, and a vio-
lation of the compact between the States and the Union; and
our brethren turn a deaf ear to our complaints, and refuse to
relieve us from a system "which not enriches them, but makes
us poor indeed." Good God! Mr. President, has it come to
this? Do gentlemen hold the feelings and wishes of their
brethren at so cheap a rate that they refuse to gratify them at
so small a price ? Do gentlemen value so lightly the peace and
harmony of the country that they will not yield a measure of
this description to the affectionate entreaties and earnest re-
monstrances of their friends ? 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 af-
fection ? And has it come to this ? Is this the spirit in which
this government is to be administered? If so, let me tell gen-
tlemen, the seeds of dissolution are already sown, and our
children will reap the bitter fruit.

Who then, Mr. President, are the true friends of the Union?
Those who would confine the federal government strictly within
the limits prescribed by the Constitution; who would preserve
to the States and the people all powers not expressly delegated ;
who would make this a federal and not a national Union, and
who, administering the government in a spirit of equal justice,
would make it a blessing and not a curse. And who are its
enemies? Those who are in favor of consolidation; who are
constantly stealing power from the States, and adding strength
to the federal government; who, assuming an unwarrantable
jurisdiction over the States and the people, undertake to regu-
late the whole industry and capital of the country. But, sir,

FAMOUS HISTORICAL, ADDRESSES. 57

of all descriptions of men, I consider those as the worst ene-
mies of the Union who sacrifice the equal rights which belong
to every member of the Confederacy to combinations of in-
terested majorities for personal or political objects. But the
gentleman apprehends no evil from the dependence of the
States on the federal government; he can see no danger of
corruption from the influence of money or of patronage. Sir,
I know that it is supposed to be a wise saying that "patronage
is a source of weakness ;" and in support of that maxim it has
been said that "every ten appointments make a hundred ene-
mies." But I am rather inclined to think, with the eloquent
and sagacious orator now reposing on his laurels on the banks
of the Roanoke, that "the power of conferring favors creates
a crowd of dependents." He gave a forcible illustration of
the truth of the remark when he told us of the effect of holding
up the savory morsel to the eager eyes of the hungry hounds
gathered around his door. It mattered not whether the gift
was bestowed on Towser or Sweetlips, "Tray, Blanch, or
Sweet-heart;" while held in suspense, they were governed by
a nod, and, when the morsel was bestowed, the expectation of
the favors of to-morrow kept up the subjection of to-day.

The Senator from Massachusetts, in denouncing what he
is pleased to call the Carolina doctrine, has attempted to throw
ridicule upon the idea that a State has any constitutional reme-
dy, by the exercise of its sovereign authority, against "a gross,
palpable, and deliberate violation of the Constitution." He
called it "an idle" or "a ridiculous notion," or something to
that effect, and added that it would make the Union a "mere
rope of sand." Now, sir, as the gentleman has not conde-
scended to enter into any examination of the question, and has
been satisfied with throwing the weight of his authority into
the scale, I do not deem it necessary to do more than to throw
into the opposite scale the authority on which South Carolina
relies; and there, for the present, I am perfectly willing to
leave the controversy. The South Carolina doctrine, that is
to say, the doctrine contained in an exposition reported by a
committee of the Legislature in December, 1828, and published
by their authority, is the good old Republican doctrine of '98, —
the doctrine of the celebrated "Virginia Resolutions" of that
year, and of "Madison's Report" of '99. It will be recollected

58 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

that the Legislature of Virginia, in December, '98, took into
consideration the Alien and Sedition laws, then considered by
all Republicans as a gross violation of the Constitution of the
United States, and on that day passed, among others, the fol-
lowing resolutions : —

"The General Assembly . . . doth explicitly and
peremptorily declare that it views the powers of the federal
government, as resulting from the compact to which the States
are parties, as limited by the plain sense and intention of the
instrument constituting that compact; as no farther valid than
they are authorized by the grants enumerated in that compact ;
and that, in case of a deliberate, palpable, and dangerous exer-
cise of other powers not granted by the said compact, the States
who are parties thereto have the right, and are in duty bound,
to interpose for arresting the progress of the evil, and for main-
taining, within their respective limits, the authorities, rights,
and liberties appertaining to them."

Thus it will be seen, Mr. President, that the South Carolina
doctrine is the republican doctrine of '98; that it was promul-
gated by the fathers of the faith; that it was maintained by
Virginia and Kentucky in the worst of times; that it consti-
tuted the very pivot on which the political revolution of that
day turned; that it embraces the very principles the triumph of
which, at that time, saved the Constitution at its last gasp, and
which New England statesmen were not unwilling to adopt
when they believed themselves to be the victims of unconstitu-
tional legislation. Sir, as to the doctrine that the federal gov-
ernment is the exclusive judge of the extent as well as the
limitations of its powers, it seems to me to be utterly subversive
of the sovereignty and independence of the States. It makes
but little difference, in my estimation, whether Congress or
the Supreme Court are invested with this power. If the federal
government, in all or any of its departments, is to prescribe
the limits of its own authority, and the States are bound to
submit to the decision, and are not to be allowed to examine
and decide for themselves when the barriers of the Constitu-
tion shall be overleaped, this is practically "a government with-
out limitation of powers." The States are at once reduced to
mere petty corporations, and the people are entirely at your
mercy. I have but one word more to add. In all the efforts

FAMOUS HISTORICAL, ADDRESSES. 59

that have been made by South Carolina to resist the uncon-
stitutional laws which Congress has extended over them, she
has kept steadily in view the preservation of the Union by the
only means by which she believes it can be long preserved, —
a firm, manly, and steady resistance against usurpation. The
measures of the federal government have, it is true, prostrated
her interests, and will soon involve the whole South in irre-
trievable ruin. But even this evil, great as it is, is not the chief
ground of our complaints. It is the principle involved in the
contest, a principle which, substituting the discretion of Con-
gress for the limitations of the Constitution, brings the States
and the people to the feet of the federal government, and leaves
them nothing they can call their own. Sir, if the measures
of the federal government were less oppressive, we should still
strive against this usurpation. The South is acting on a prin-
ciple she has always held sacred, — resistance to unauthorized
taxation. These, sir, are the principles which induced the im-
mortal Hampden to resist the payment of a tax of twenty shil-
lings. "Would twenty shillings have ruined his fortune ? No !
but the payment of a tax of twenty shillings, on the principle
on which it was demanded, would have made him a slave."
Sir, if, acting on these high motives, — if, animated by that
ardent love of liberty which has always been the most promi-
nent trait in the Southern character, — we should be hurried
beyond the bounds of a cold and calculating prudence, who is
there, with one noble and generous sentiment in his bosom,
that would not be disposed, in the language of Burke, to ex-
claim, "You must pardon something to the spirit of liberty"?

SPEECH OF MR. WEBSTER IN REPLY TO MR. HAYNE,

In the Senate, on Foote's Resolution, Tuesday and Wednesday, January

26 and 27, 1830.

MR. PRESIDENT. — When the mariner has been tossed for
many days in thick weather and on an unknown sea, he
naturally avails himself of the first pause in the storm, the
earliest glance of the sun, to take his latitude and ascertain
how far the elements have driven him from his true course.
Let us imitate this prudence, and, before we float farther on
the waves of this debate, refer to the point from which we

60 THE WORTH'S PROGRESS.

departed, that we may at least be able to conjecture where we
now are. I ask for the reading of the resolution before the
Senate.

The secretary read the resolution, as follows : —

"Resolved, That the committee on public lands be instructed
to inquire and report the quantity of public lands remaining
unsold within each State and Territory, and whether it be
expedient to limit for a certain period the sales of the public
lands to such lands only as have heretofore been offered for
sale, and are now subject to entry at the minimum price. And,
also, whether the office of surveyor-general, and some of the
land offices, may not be abolished without detriment to the
public interest; or whether it be expedient to adopt measures
to hasten the sales and extend more rapidly the surveys of the
public lands."

We have thus heard, sir, what the resolution is which is
actually before us for consideration; and it will readily occur
to every one that it is almost the only subject about which
something has not been said in the speech, running through
two days, by which the Senate has been entertained by the
gentleman from South Carolina. Every topic in the wide range
of our public affairs, whether past or present, — everything
general or local, whether belonging to national politics or party
politics, — seems to have attracted more or less of the honorable
member's attention, save only the resolution before the Senate.
He has spoken of everything but the public lands; they have
escaped his notice. To that subject, in all his excursions, he
has not paid even the cold respect of a passing glance.

When this debate, sir, was to be resumed on Thursday
morning [January 21], it so happened that it would have been
convenient for me to be elsewhere. The honorable member,
however, did not incline to put off the discussion to another
day. He had a shot, he said, to return, and he wished to dis-
charge it. That shot, sir, which he thus kindly informed us
was coming, that we might stand out of the way or prepare
ourselves to fall by it and die with decency, has now been
received. Under all advantages, and with expectation awak-
ened by the tone which preceded it, it has been discharged and
has spent its force. It may become me to say no more of its
effect than that, if nobody is found, after all, either killed or

FAMOUS HISTORICAL ADDRESSES. 6l

wounded, it is not the first time in the history of human
affairs that the vigor and success of the war have not quite
come up to the lofty and sounding phrase of the manifesto.

The gentleman, sir, in declining to postpone the debate,
told the Senate, with the emphasis of his hand upon his heart,
that there was something rankling here which he wished to
relieve. [Mr. Hayne rose and disclaimed having used the word
rankling, but according to Gales and Seaton's "Register of
Debates" the word was used.] It would not, Mr. President, be
safe for the honorable member to appeal to those around him
upon the question whether he did in fact make use of that
word. But he may have been unconscious of it. At any rate,
it is enough that he disclaims it. But still, with or without
the use of that particular word, he had yet something here, he
said, of which he wished to rid himself by an immediate reply.
In this respect, sir, I have a great advantage over the honor-
able gentleman. There is nothing here, sir, which gives me the
slightest uneasiness; neither fear, nor anger, nor that which is
sometimes more troublesome than either, the consciousness of
having been in the wrong. There is nothing, either originating
here, or now received here by the gentleman's shot. Nothing
originating here, for I had not the slightest feeling of unkind-
ness towards the honorable member. Some passages, it is true,
had occurred since our acquaintance in this body, which I could
have wished might have been otherwise ; but I had used philoso-
phy and forgotten them. I paid the honorable member the
attention of listening with respect to his first speech; and when
he sat down, though surprised, and I must even say astonished,
at some of his opinions, nothing was farther from my intention
than to commence any personal warfare. Through the whole
of the few remarks I made in answer, I avoided, studiously and
carefully, everything which I thought possible to be construed
into disrespect. And, sir, while there is thus nothing originating
here which I wished at any time or now wish to discharge, I
must repeat also, that nothing has been received here which
rankles, or in any way gives me annoyance. I will not accuse
the honorable member of violating the rules of civilized war;
I will not say that he poisoned his arrows. But whether his
shafts were or were not dipped in that which would have caused
rankling if they had reached their destination, there was not,

62 THE WORD'S PROGRESS.

as it happened, quite strength enough in the bow to bring them
to their mark. If he wishes now to gather up those shafts,
he must look for them elsewhere ; they will not be found fixed
and quivering in the object at which they were aimed.

The honorable member complained that I had slept on his
speech. I must have slept on it, or not slept at all. The mo-
ment the honorable member sat down, his friend from Missouri
[Mr. Benton] rose, and, with much honeyed commendation
of the speech, suggested that the impressions which it had
produced were too charming and delightful to be disturbed by
other sentiments or other sounds, and proposed that 'the Senate
should adjourn. Would it have been quite amiable in me, sir,
to interrupt this excellent good feeling? Must I not have been
absolutely malicious if I could have thrust myself forward to
destroy sensations thus pleasing? Was it not much better and
kinder both to sleep upon them myself and to allow others also
the pleasure of sleeping upon them? But, if it be meant by
sleeping upon his speech that I took time to prepare a reply to
it, it is quite a mistake. Owing to other engagements, I could
not employ even the interval between the adjournment of the
Senate and its meeting the next morning in attention to the
subject of this debate. Nevertheless, sir, the mere matter of
fact is undoubtedly true. I did sleep on the gentleman's speech
and slept soundly. And I slept equally well on his speech of
yesterday, to which I am now replying. It is quite possible that
in this respect, also, I possess some advantage over the honor-
able member, attributable, doubtless, to a cooler temperament
on my part ; for, in truth, I slept upon his speeches remarkably
well.

But the gentleman inquires why he was made the object of
such a reply. Why was he singled out. If an attack has been
made on the East he, he assures us, did not begin it; it was
made by the gentleman from Missouri [Mr. Benton]. Sir, I
answered the gentleman's speech because I happened to hear
it; and because, also, I chose to give an answer to that speech
which, if unanswered, I thought most likely to produce injuri-
ous impressions. I did not stop to inquire who was the original
drawer of the bill. I found a responsible indorser before me,
and it was my purpose to hold him liable, and to bring him to
his just responsibility without delay. But, sir, this interroga-

FAMOUS HISTORICAL, ADDRESSES. 6$

tory of the honorable member was only introductory to an-
other. He proceeded to ask me whether I had turned upon
him in this debate from the consciousness that I should find
an overmatch if I ventured on a contest with his friend from
Missouri. If, sir, the honorable member, modestiae gratia, had
chosen thus to defer to his friend and to pay him a compliment
without intentional disparagement to others, it would have been
quite according to the friendly courtesies of debate, and not at
all ungrateful to my own feelings. I am not one of those, sir,
who esteem any tribute of regard, whether light and occa-
sional or more serious and deliberate, which may be bestowed
on others, as so much unjustly withholden from themselves.
But the tone and manner of the gentleman's question forbid
me thus to interpret it. lam not at liberty to consider it as
nothing more than a civility to his friend. It had an air of
taunt and disparagement, something of the loftiness of asserted
superiority, which does not allow me to pass it over without
notice. It was put as a question for me to answer, and so put
as if it were difficult for me to answer, whether I deemed the
member from Missouri as overmatch for myself in debate
here. It seems to me, sir, that this is extraordinary language
and an extraordinary tone for the discussions of this body.

Matches and overmatches ! Those terms are more applicable
elsewhere than here, and fitter for other assemblies than this.
Sir, the gentleman seems to forget where and what we are.
This is a senate, a senate of equals, of men of individual honor
azwi personal character and of absolute independence. We know
no masters, we acknowledge no dictators. This is a hall for
mutual consultation and discussion; not an arena for the exhi-
bitions of champions. I offer myself, sir, as a match for no
man; I throw the challenge of debate at no man's feet. But
then, sir, since the honorable member has put the question in a
manner that calls for an answer, I will give him an answer;
and I tell him that, holding myself to be the humblest of the
members here, I yet know nothing in the arm of his friend
from Missouri, either alone or when aided by the arm of his
friend from South Carolina, that need deter even me from
espousing whatever opinions I may choose to espouse, from
debating whenever I may choose to debate, or from speaking
whatever I may see fit to say on the floor of the Senate. Sir,

\
64 THE WORI^D'S PROGRESS.

when uttered as matter of commendation or compliment, I
should dissent from nothing which the honorable member
might say of his friend. Still less do I put forth any preten-
sions of my own. But when put to me as matter of taunt, I
throw it back, and say to the gentleman that he could possibly
say nothing less likely than such a comparison to wound my
pride of personal character. The anger of its tone rescued the
remark from intentional irony, which otherwise, probably,
would have been its general acceptation. But, sir, if it be
imagined that by this mutual quotation and commendation;
if it be supposed that, by casting the characters of the drama,
assigning to each his part, to one the attack, to another the cry
of onset; or if it be thought that by a loud and empty vaunt of
anticipated victory, any laurels are to be won here; if it be
imagined, especially, that any or all of these things will shake
any purpose of mine, — I can tell the honorable member, once
for all, that he is greatly mistaken, and that he is dealing with
one of whose temper and character he has yet much to learn.
Sir, I shall not allow myself on this occasion, I hope on no
occasion, to be betrayed into any loss of temper; but if pro-
voked, as I trust I never shall be, into crimination and recrimina-
tion, the honorable member may perhaps find that, in that con-
test, there will be blows to take as well as blows to give; that
others can state comparisons as significant, at least, as his own ;
and that his impunity may possibly demand of him whatever
powers of taunt and sarcasm he may possess. I commend him
to a prudent husbandry of his resources.

We approach at length, sir, to a more important part of the
honorable gentleman's observations. Since it does not accord
with my views of justice and policy to give away the public
lands altogether, as a mere matter of gratuity, I am asked by
the honorable gentleman on what ground it is that I consent to
vote them away in particular instances. How, he inquires, do
I reconcile with these professed sentiments my support of meas-
ures appropriating portions of the lands to particular roads,
particular canals, particular rivers, and particular institutions
of education in the West? This leads, sir, to the real and wide
difference in political opinion between the honorable gentleman
and myself. On my part, I look upon all these objects as con-
nected with the common good, fairly embraced in its object

FAMOUS HISTORICAL, ADDRESSES. 65

and its terms; he, on the contrary, deems them all, if good at
all, only local good. This is our difference. The interrogatory,
which he proceeded to put, at once explains this difference.
"What interest," asks he, "has South Carolina in a canal in
Ohio?" Sir, this very question is full of significance. It de-
velops the gentleman's whole political system, and its answer
expounds mine. Here we differ. I look upon a road over the
Alleghanies, a canal round the falls of the Ohio, or a canal or
railway from the Atlantic to the western waters, as being an
object large and extensive enough to be fairly said to be for the
common benefit. The gentleman thinks otherwise, and this is
the key to his construction of the powers of the government.
He may well ask what interest has South Carolina in a canal
in Ohio. On his system, it is true, she has no interest. On that
system, Ohio and Carolina are different governments and dif-
ferent countries, connected here, it is true, by some slight and
ill-defined bond of union, but in all main respects separate and
diverse. On that system, Carolina has no more interest in a
canal in Ohio than in Mexico. The gentleman, therefore, only
follows out his own principles; he does no more than arrive
at the natural conclusions of his own doctrines; he only an-
nounces the' true results of that creed which he has adopted
himself, and would persuade others to adopt, when he thus
declares that South Carolina has no interest in a public work
in Ohio.

Sir, we narrow-minded people of New England do not rea-
son thus. Our notion of things is entirely different. We look
upon the States, not as separated, but as united. We love to
dwell on that union, and on the mutual happiness which it has
so much promoted, and the common renown which it has so
greatly contributed to acquire. In our contemplation, Carolina
and Ohio are parts of the same country; States united under
the same general government, having interests common, asso-
ciated, intermingled. In whatever is within the proper sphere
of the constitutional powers of this government, we look upon
the States as one. We do not impose geographical limits to
our patriotic feeling or regard; we do not follow rivers and
mountains and lines of latitude to find boundaries beyond which

X— 5

66 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

public improvements do not benefit us. We, who come here as
agents and representatives of these narrow-minded and selfish
men of New England, consider ourselves as bound to regard
with an equal eye the good of the whole, in whatever is within
our power of legislation. Sir, if a railroad or canal, beginning
in South Carolina and ending in South Carolina, appeared to
me to be of national importance and national magnitude, believ-
ing, as I do, that the power of government extends to the en-
couragement of works of that description, if I were to stand
up here and ask, What interest has Massachusetts in a rail-
road in South Carolina? I should not be willing to face my
constituents. These same narrow-minded men would tell me
that they had sent me to act for the whole country, and that
one who possessed too little comprehension, either of intellect
or feeling, one who was not large enough, both in mind and in
heart, to embrace the whole, was not fit to be intrusted with
the interest of any part.

Sir, I do not desire to enlarge the powers of the government
by unjustifiable construction, nor to exercise any not within a
fair interpretation. But when it is believed that a power does
exist, then it is, in my judgment, to be exercised for the gen-
eral benefit of the whole. So far as respects the exercise of
such a power, the States are one. It was the very object of
the Constitution to create unity of interests to the extent of the
powers of the general government. In war and peace we are
one; in commerce one; because the authority of the general
government reaches to war and peace, and to the regulation of
commerce. I have never seen any more difficulty in erecting
lighthouses on the lakes than on the ocean; to improving the
harbors of inland seas than if they were within the ebb and
flow of the tide; or in removing obstructions in the vast streams
of the West, more than in any work to facilitate commerce on
the Atlantic coast. If there be any power for one, there is
power also for the other; and they are all and equally for the
common good of the country.

I must now beg to ask, sir, Whence is this supposed right of
the States derived ? Where do they find the power to interfere
with the laws of the Union ? Sir, the opinion which the honor-

FAMOUS HISTORICAL ADDRESSES. 67

able gentleman maintains is a notion founded in a total mis-
apprehension, in my judgment, of the origin of this govern-
ment, and of the foundation on which it stands. I hold it to
be a popular government, erected by the people; those who
administer it responsible to the people; and itself capable of
being amended and modified, just as the people may choose it
should be. It is as popular, just as truly emanating from the
people, as the State governments. It is created for one pur-
pose; the State governments for another. It has its own
powers; they have theirs. There is no more authority with
them to arrest the operation of a law of Congress than with
Congress to arrest the operation of their laws. We are here
to administer a Constitution emanating immediately from the
people, and trusted by them to our administration. It is not the
creature of the State governments. It is of no moment to the
argument that certain acts of the State legislatures are neces-
sary to fill our seats in this body. That is not one of their
original State powers, a part of the sovereignty of the State.
It is a duty which the people, by the Constitution itself, have
imposed on the State legislatures, and which they might have
left to be performed elsewhere, if they had seen fit. So they
have left the choice of President with electors; but all this
does not affect the proposition that this whole government —
President, Senate, and House of Representatives — is a popular
government. It leaves it still all its popular character. The
governor of a State (in some of the States) is chosen, not
directly by the people, but by those who are chosen by the peo-
ple for the purpose of performing, among other duties, that of
electing a governor. Is the government of the State, on that
account, not a popular government? This government, sir, is
the independent offspring of the popular will. It is not the
creature of State legislatures: nay, more, if the whole truth
must be told, the people brought it into existence, established it,
and have hitherto supported it for the very purpose, amongst
others, of imposing certain salutary restraints on State sov-
ereignties. The States cannot now make war ; they cannot con-
tract alliances ; they cannot make, each for itself, separate regu-
lations of commerce; they cannot lay imposts; they cannot coin
money. If this Constitution, sir, be the creature of State legis-

68 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

latures, it must be admitted that it has obtained a strange con-
trol over the volitions of its creators.

The people, then, sir, erected this government. They gave
it a Constitution, and in that Constitution they have enumerated
the powers which they bestow on it. They have made it a
limited government. They have defined its authority. They
have restrained it to the exercise of such powers as are granted ;
and all others, they declare, are reserved to the States or the
people. But, sir, they have not stopped here. If they had, they
would have accomplished but half their work. No definition
can be so clear as to avoid possibility of doubt; no limitation so
precise as to exclude all uncertainty. Who, then, shall construe
this grant of the people ? Who shall interpret their will, where
it may be supposed they have left it doubtful? With whom do
they repose this ultimate right of deciding on the powers of the
government? Sir, they have settled all this in the fullest man-
ner. They have left it with the government itself, in its ap-
propriate branches. Sir, the very chief end, the main design
for which the whole Constitution was framed and adopted was
to establish a government that should not be obliged to act
through State agency, or depend on State opinion and State
discretion. The people had had quite enough of that kind of
government under the Confederation. Under that system, the
legal action, the application of law to individuals, belonged
exclusively to the States. Congress could only recommend;
their acts were not of binding force till the States had adopted
and sanctioned them. Are we in that condition still ? Are we
yet at the mercy of State discretion and State construction?
Sir, if we are, then vain will be our attempt to maintain the
Constitution under which we sit.

But, sir, the people have wisely provided, in the Constitu-
tion itself, a proper, suitable mode and tribunal for settling
question of constitutional law. There are in the Constitution
grants of powers to Congress, and restrictions on these powers.
There are, also, prohibitions on the States. Some authority
must, therefore, necessarily exist, having the ultimate jurisdic-
tion to fix and ascertain the interpretation of these grants, re-
strictions, and prohibitions. The Constitution has itself pointed
out, ordained, and established that authority. How has it
accomplished this great and essential end? By declaring, sirs

FAMOUS HISTORICAL ADDRESSES. 69

that "the Constitution, and the lazvs of the United States made
in pursuance thereof, shall be the supreme law of the land,
anything in the Constitution or laws of any State to the con-
trary notwithstanding."

This, sir, was the first great step. By this the supremacy
of the Constitution and laws of the United States is declared.
The people so will it. No State law is to be valid which comes
in conflict with the Constitution, or any law of the United
States passed in pursuance of it. But who shall decide this
question of interference? To whom lies the last appeal? This,
sir, the Constitution itself decides also, by declaring "that the
judicial power shall extend to all cases arising under the Con-
stitution and laws of the United States." These two pro-
visions cover the whole ground. They are, in truth, the key-
stone of the arch! With these it is a government; without
them it is a confederation. In pursuance of these clear and
express provisions, Congress established, at its very first session,
in the judicial act, a mode for carrying them into full effect,
and for bringing all questions of constitutional power to the
final decision of the Supreme Court. It then, sir, became a
government. It then had the means of self-protection; and
but for this, it would, in all probability, have been now among
things which are past. Having constituted the government and
declared its powers, the people have further said that, since
somebody must decide on the extent of these powers, the gov-
ernment shall itself decide; subject always, like other popular
governments, to its responsibility to the people. And now, sir,
I repeat, how is it that a State legislature acquires any power
to interfere? Who or what gives them the right to say to the
people, "We, who are your agents and servants for one pur-
pose, will undertake to decide that your other agents and serv-
ants, appointed by you for another purpose, have transcended
the authority you gave them !" The reply would be, I think,
not impertinent, — "Who made you a judge over another's serv-
ants ? To their own masters they stand or fall."

Sir, I deny this power of State legislatures altogether. It
cannot stand the test of examination. Gentlemen may say that,
in an extreme case, a State government might protect the peo-
ple from intolerable oppression. Sir, in such a case the people
might protect themselves without the aid of the State govern-

~7o THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

ments. Such a case warrants revolution. It must make, when
it comes, a law for itself. A nullifying act of a State legisla-
ture cannot alter the case, nor make resistance any more law-
ful. In maintaining these sentiments, sir, I am but asserting
the rights of the people. I state what they have declared, and
insist on their right to declare it. They have chosen to repose
this power in the general government, and I think it my duty
to support it, like other constitutional powers.

For myself, sir, I do not admit the competency of South
Carolina, or any other State, to prescribe my constitutional
duty, or to settle, between me and the people, the validity of
laws of Congress for which I have voted. I decline her
umpirage. I have not sworn to support the Constitution
according to her construction of its clauses. I have not stipu-
lated, by my oath of office or otherwise, to come under any
responsibility, except to the people, and those whom they have
appointed to pass upon the question whether laws supported by
my votes conform to the Constitution of the country. And,
sir, if we look to the general nature of the case, could anything
have been more preposterous than to make a government for the
whole Union, and yet leave its powers subject, not to one inter-
pretation, but to thirteen or twenty- four interpretations? In-
stead of one tribunal, established by all, responsible to all, with
power to decide for all, shall constitutional questions be left to
four-and-twenty popular bodies, each at liberty to decide for
itself, and none bound to respect the decisions of others; and
each at liberty, too, to give a new construction on every new
election of its own members? Would anything with such a
principle in it, or rather with such a destitution of all principle,
be fit to be called a government? No, sir. It should not be
denominated a Constitution. It should be called, rather, a
collection of topics for everlasting controversy; heads of debate
for a disputatious people. It would not be a government. It
would not be adequate to any practical good, or fit for any
country to live under.

To avoid all possibility of being misunderstood, allow me
to repeat again, in the fullest manner, that I claim no powers
for the government by forced or unfair construction. I admit
that it is a government of strictly limited powers; of
enumerated, specified, and particularized powers; and that

FAMOUS HISTORICAL ADDRESSES. 71

whatsoever is not granted is withheld. But notwithstanding all
this, and however the grant of powers may be expressed, its
limit and extent may yet, in some cases, admit of doubt; and
the general government would be good for nothing, it would be
incapable of long existing, if some mode had not been pro-
vided in which those doubts, as they should arise, might be
peaceably but authoritatively solved.

The people have preserved this, their own chosen Consti-
tution, for forty years, and have seen their happiness, pros-
perity, and renown grow with its growth and strengthen with
its strength. They are now, generally, strongly attached to it.
Overthrown by direct assault it cannot be ; evaded, undermined,
NULLIFIED, it will not be, if we and those who shall succeed us
here as agents and representatives of the people shall con-
scientiously and vigilantly discharge the two great branches of
our public trust, — faithfully to preserve and wisely to admin-
ister it.

Mr. President, I have thus stated the reasons of my dissent
to the doctrines which have been advanced and maintained. I
am conscious of having detained you and the Senate much too
long. I was drawn into the debate with no previous delibera-
tion, such as is suited to the discussion of so grave and im-
portant a subject. But it is a subject of which my heart is
full, and I have not been willing to suppress the utterance of
its spontaneous sentiments. I cannot, even now, persuade my-
self to relinquish it without expressing once more my deep
conviction that, since it respects nothing less than the Union of
the States, it is of most vital and essential importance to the
public happiness. I profess, sir, in my career hitherto, to have
kept steadily in view the prosperity and honor of the whole
country, and the preservation of our Federal Union. It is to
that Union we owe our safety at home and our consideration
and dignity abroad. It is to that Union that we are chiefly
indebted for whatever makes us most proud of our country.
That Union we reached only by the discipline of our virtues
in the severe school of adversity. It had its origin in the neces-
sities of disordered finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined
credit. Under its benign influences these great interests im-
mediately awoke as from the dead, and sprang forth with

72 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

newness of life. Every year of its duration has teemed with
fresh proofs of its utility and its blessings; and although our
territory has stretched out wider and wider, and our popu-
lation spread farther and farther, they have not outrun its
protection or its benefits. It has been to us all a copious foun-
tain of national, social, and personal happiness.

I have not allowed myself, sir, to look beyond the Union,
to see what might lie hidden in the dark recess behind. I have
not coolly weighed the chances of preserving liberty when the
bonds that unite us together shall be broken asunder. I have
not accustomed myself to hang over the precipice of disunion,
to see whether, with my short sight, I can fathom the depth
of the abyss below; now could I regard him as a safe counselor
in the affairs of this government whose thoughts should be
mainly bent on considering, not how the Union may be best
preserved, but how tolerable might be the condition of the
people when it shall be broken up and destroyed. While the
Union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying prospects spread
out before us for us and our children. Beyond that I seek
not to penetrate the veil. God grant that in my day, at least,
that curtain may not rise ! God grant that on my vision never
may be opened what lies behind! When my eyes shall be
turned to behold for the last time the sun in heaven, may I
not see him shining on the broken and dishonored fragments
of a once glorious Union; on States dissevered, discordant,
belligerent ; on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may
be, in fraternal blood ! Let their last feeble and lingering glance
rather behold the gorgeous ensign of the republic, now known
and honored throughout the earth, still full high advanced,
its arms and trophies streaming in their original lustre, not a
stripe erased or polluted nor a single star obscured, bearing
for its motto no such miserable interrogatory as "What is all
this worth?" nor those other words of delusion and folly,
"Liberty first and Union afterwards;" but everywhere, spread
all over in characters of living light, blazing on all its ample
folds, as they float over the sea and over the land, and in every
wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment, dear to
every true American heart, — Liberty and Union, now and for-
ever, one and inseparable!

FAMOUS HISTORICAL ADDRESSES. 73

ADDRESS DEUVERED AT THE DEDICATION OP THE
CEMETERY AT GETTYSBURG.

Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth
upon this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedi-
cated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now
we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation,
or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure.
We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come
to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting-place for
those who here gave their lives that that nation might live.
It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But,
in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate — we cannot consecrate —
we cannot hallow— this ground. The brave men, living and
dead, who struggled here have consecrated it, far above our
power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long
remember, what we say here, but it can never forget what they
did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here
to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus
far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated
to the great task remaining before us, — that from these hon-
ored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which
they gave the last full measure of devotion — that we here
highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain —
that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom
— and that government of the people, by the people, and for
the people, shall not perish from the earth.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN.

November 19, 1863.

LETTER TO HORACE GREELEY.

EXECUTIVE MANSION, WASHINGTON,

August 22, 1862.

HON. HORACE GREELEY. — Dear Sir: I have just read yours
of the 1 9th, addressed to myself through the New York Trib-
une. If there be in it any statements or assumptions of fact
which I may know to be erroneous, I do not now and here
controvert them. If there be in it any inferences which I may
believe to be falsely drawn, I do not now and here argue against
them. If there be perceptible in it an impatient and dictatorial

74 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

tone, I waive it in deference to an old friend, whose heart
I have always supposed to be right.

As to the policy I "seem to be pursuing," as you say, I
have not meant to leave any one in doubt.

I would save the Union. I would save it in the shortest
way under the Constitution. The sooner the National author-
ity can be restored, the nearer the Union will be "The Union
as it was." If there be those who would not save the Union
unless they could at the same time destroy Slavery, I do not
agree with them. My paramount object in this struggle is to
save the Union and is not either to save or destroy Slavery.
If I could save the Union without freeing any slave, I would
do it; and if I could save it by freeing all the slaves, I would
do it; and if I could do it by freeing some and leaving others
alone, I would also do that. What I do about Slavery and the
colored race, I do because I believe it helps to save this Union;
and what I forbear, I forbear because I do not believe it would
help to save the Union. I shall do less, whenever I shall be-
lieve what I am doing hurts the cause; and I shall do more,
whenever I shall believe doing more will help the cause. I shall
try to correct errors when shown to be errors; and I shall
adopt new views so fast as they shall appear to be true views.
I have here stated my purpose according to my view of official
duty, and I intend no modification of my oft-expressed personal
wish that all men, everywhere, could be free.

Yours,

A. LINCOLN.

THE SECOND INAUGURAL ADDRESS.

FELLOW-COUNTRYMEN : At this second appearing to take
the oath of the Presidential office, there is less occasion for
an extended address than there was at the first. Then, a state-
ment, somewhat in detail, of a course to be pursued, seemed
fitting and proper. Now, at the expiration of four years, dur-
ing which public declarations have been constantly called forth
on every point and phase of the great contest which still ab-
sorbs the attention and engrosses the energies of the nation,
little that is new could be presented. The progress of our
arms, upon which all else chiefly depends, is as well known to

FAMOUS HISTORICAL, ADDRESSES. 75

the public as to myself; and it is, I trust, reasonably satisfactory
and encouraging to all. With high hope for the future, no
prediction in regard to it is ventured.

On the occasion corresponding to this four years ago, all
thoughts were anxiously directed to an impending civil war.
All dreaded it ; all sought to avert it. While the inaugural ad-
dress was being delivered from this place, devoted altogether
to saving the Union without war, insurgent agents were in
the city seeking to destroy it without war — seeking to dissolve
the Union, and divide effects, by negotiation. Both parties
deprecated war; but one of them would make war rather than
let the nation survive; and the other would accept war rather
than let it perish. And the war came.

One-eighth of the whole population were colored slaves,
not distributed generally over the Union, but localized in the
southern part of it. These slaves constituted a peculiar and
powerful interest. All knew that this interest was, somehow,
the cause of the war. To strengthen, perpetuate, and extend
this interest was the object for which the insurgents would
rend the Union, even by war; while the Government claimed
no right to do more than to restrict the territorial enlargement
of it. Neither party expected for the war the magnitude or
the duration which it has already attained. Neither antici-
pated that the cause of the conflict might cease with, or even
before, the conflict itself should cease. Each looked for an easier
triumph, and a result less fundamental and astounding. Both
read the same Bible, and pray to the same God; and each in-
vokes His aid against the other. It may seem strange that
any men should dare to ask a just God's assistance in wring-
ing their bread from the sweat of other men's faces; but let
us judge not, that we be not judged. The prayers of both
could not be answered ; that of neither has been answered fully.
The Almighty has His own purposes. "Woe unto the world
because of offenses! for it must needs be that offenses come;
but woe to that man by whom the offense cometh." If we
shall suppose American Slavery is one of those offenses which,
in the providence of God, must needs come, but which, having
continued through His appointed time, He now wills to remove,
and that He gives to both North and South this terrible war,
as the woe due to those by whom the offense came, shall we

76 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

discern therein any departure from those divine attributes which
the believers in a living God always ascribe to Him ? Fondly
do we hope, fervently do we pray, that this mighty scourge
of war may speedily pass away. Yet, if God wills that it
continue until all the wealth piled by the bondman's two hun-
dred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until
every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by an-
other drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years
ago, so still it must be said, "The judgments of the Lord are
true and righteous altogether."

With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firm-
ness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive

THE WHITE HOUSE IN 1861.

on to finish the work we are in ; to bind up the nation's wounds ;
to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his
widow, and his orphan ; to do all which may achieve and cherish
a just and a lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.

THE MARTYR PRESIDENT.
HENRY WARD BEECHER.

(Brooklyn, April 15, 1865.)

THERE is no historic figure more noble than that of Moses,
the Jewish law-giver. There is scarcely another event in
history more touching than his death. He had borne the great
burdens of state for forty years, shaped the Jews to a nation,
filled out their civil and religious polity, administered their laws,

FAMOUS HISTORICAL ADDRESSES. 77

r

guided their steps, or dwelt with them in all their journeyings
in the wilderness; had mourned in their punishment, kept step
with their march, and led them in wars, until the end of their
labors drew nigh. The last stage was reached. Jordan only
lay between them and the promised land. Then came the word
of the Lord unto him, "Thou mayest not go over: Get thee
up into the mountain, look upon it, and die."

From that silent summit, the hoary leader gazed to the
north, to the south, to the west, with hungry eyes. The dim
outlines rose up. The hazy recesses spoke of quiet valleys
between the hills. With eager longing, with sad resignation,
he looked upon the promised land. It was now to him a for-
bidden land. It was a moment's anguish. He forgot all his
personal wants, and drank in the vision of his people's home.
His work was done. There lay God's promise fulfilled.

Again a great leader of the people has passed through toil,
sorrow, battle, and war, and come near to the promised land
of peace, into which he might not pass over. Who shall re-
count our martyr's sufferings for this people? Since the No-
vember of 1860, his horizon has been black with storms. By
day and by night he trod a way of danger and darkness. On
his shoulders rested a government dearer to him than his own
life. At its integrity millions of men were striking at home.
Upon this government foreign eyes lowered. It stood like a
lone island in a sea full of storms; and every tide and wave
seemed eager to devour it. Upon thousands of hearts great
sorrows and anxieties have rested, but not on one such, and in
such measure, as upon that simple, truthful, noble soul, our
faithful and sainted Lincoln. He wrestled ceaselessly, through
four black and dreadful purgatorial years, wherein God was
cleansing the sin of his people as by fire.

At last the watcher beheld the gray dawn for the country.
The mountains began to give forth their forms from out the
darkness ; and the East came rushing toward us with arms full
of joy for all our sorrows. Then it was for him to be glad
exceedingly, that had sorrowed immeasurably. Peace could
bring to no other heart such joy, such rest, such honor, such
trust, such gratitude. But he looked upon it as Moses looked
upon the promised land. Then the wail of a nation proclaimed
that he had gone from among us. Not thine the sorrow, but
ours, sainted soul.

78 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

Never did two such orbs of experience meet in one hemi-
sphere, as the joy and the sorrow of the same week in this land.
The joy was as sudden as if no man had expected it, and as
entrancing as if it had fallen a sphere from heaven. In one
hour it lay without a pulse, without a gleam, or breath. A sor-
row came that swept through the land as huge storms sweep
through the forest and field, rolling thunder along the sky,
dishevelling the flowers, daunting every singer in thicket or
forest, and pouring blackness and darkness across the land and
up the mountains. Did ever so many hearts, in so brief a time,
touch two such boundless feelings? It was the uttermost of
joy; it was the uttermost of sorrow — noon and midnight, with-
out a space between.

The blow brought not a sharp pang. It was so terrible
that at first it stunned sensibility. Citizens were like men
awakened at midnight by an earthquake, and bewildered to find
everything that they were accustomed to trust wavering and
falling. The very earth was no longer solid. The first feeling
was the least. Men waited to get straight to feel. They wan-
dered in the streets as if groping after some impending dread,
or undeveloped sorrow, or some one to tell them what ailed
them. They met each other as if each would ask the other,
"Am I awake or do I dream ?" There was a piteous helpless-
ness. Strong men bowed down and wept. Other and common
griefs belonged to some one in chief: this belonged to all. It
was each and every man's. Every virtuous household in the
land felt as if its first-born were gone. Rear to his name monu-
ments, found charitable institutions, and write his name above
their lintels; but no monument will ever equal the universal,
spontaneous, and sublime sorrow that in a moment swept down
lines and parties, and covered up animosities, and in an hour
brought a divided people into unity of grief and indivisible fel-
lowship of anguish.

And now the martyr is moving in triumphal march, migh-
tier than when alive. The nation rises up at every stage of his
coming. Cities and states are his pall-bearers, and the cannon
beats the hours with solemn progression. Dead, dead, dead,
he yet speaketh! Is Washington dead? Is Hampden dead?
Is David dead? Is any man that ever was fit to live dead?
Disenthralled of flesh, and risen in the unobstructed sphere

FAMOUS HISTORICAL ADDRESSES. 79

where passion never comes, he begins his illimitable work. His
life now is grafted upon the infinite, and will be fruitful as no
earthly life can be. Pass on, thou that hast overcome! Your
sorrows, or people, are his peace ! Your bells, and bands, and
muffled drums, sound triumph in his ear. Wail and weep here ;
God makes it echo joy and triumph there. Pass on !

Four years ago, oh Illinois, we took from your midst an
untried man, and from among the people. We return him to
you a mighty conqueror. Not thine any more, but the nation's ;
not ours, but the world's. Give him place, oh ye prairies ! In
the midst of this great continent his dust shall rest, a sacred
treasure to myriads who shall pilgrim to that shrine to kindle
anew their zeal and patriotism. Ye winds that move over the
mighty places of the West, chant requiem ! Ye people, behold
a martyr whose blood, as so many articulate words, pleads for
fidelity, for law, for liberty!

THE NEW SOUTH.
HENRY W. GRADY.

"THERE was a South of slavery and secession — that South
is dead. There is a South of union and freedom — that South,
thank God, is living, breathing, growing every hour." These
words, delivered from the immortal lips of Benjamin H. Hill,
at Tammany Hall, in 1866, true then, and truer now, I shall
make my text to-night.

In speaking to the toast with which you have honored me,
I accept the term, "The New South," as in no sense disparag-
ing to the old. Dear to me, sir, is the home of my childhood,
and the traditions of my people. I would not, if I could, dim
the glory they won in peace and war, or by word or deed take
aught from the splendor and grace of their civilization, never
equaled, and perhaps never to be equaled in its chivalric strength
and grace. There is a new South, not through protest against
the old, but because of new conditions, new adjustments, and,
if you please, new ideas and aspirations.

Doctor Talmage has drawn for you, with a master's hand,
the picture of your returning armies. He has told you how,
in the pomp and circumstance of war, they came back to you,

8o THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

marching with proud and victorious tread, reading their glory
in a nation's eyes! Will you bear with me while I tell you
of another army that sought its home at the close of the late
war — an army that marched home in defeat and not in victory
— in pathos and not in splendor, but in glory that equaled
yours, and to hearts as loving as ever welcomed heroes home ?
Let me picture to you the foot-sore Confederate soldier, as,
buttoning up in his faded gray jacket the parole which was to
bear testimony to his children of his fidelity and faith, he turned
his face southward from Appomattox in April, 1865.

Think of him as ragged, half -starved, heavy-hearted, en-
feebled by want and wounds, having fought to exhaustion,
he surrenders his gun, wrings the hands of his comrades in
silence, and lifting his tear-stained and pallid face for the last
time to the graves that dot old Virginia hills, pulls his gray
cap over his brow and begins the slow and faithful journey.
What does he find — let me ask you who went to your homes
eager to find, in the welcome you had justly earned, full pay-
ment for four years' sacrifice — what does he find when, having
followed the battle-stained cross against overwhelming odds,
dreading death not half so much as surrender, he reaches the
home he left so prosperous and beautiful?

He finds his house in ruins, his farm devastated, his slaves
free, his stock killed, his barns empty, his trade destroyed, his
money worthless, his social system, feudal in its magnificence,
swept away; his people without law or legal status, his com-
rades slain, and the burdens of others heavy on his shoulders.
Crushed by defeat, his very traditions are gone. Without
money, credit, employment, material, or training, and, besides
all this, confronted with the gravest problem that ever met hu-
man intelligence, — the establishing of a status for the vast body
of his liberated slaves.

What does he do — this hero in gray, with a heart of gold ?
Does he sit down in sullenness and despair? Not for a day.
Surely God, who had stripped him of his prosperity, inspired
him in his adversity. As ruin was never before so overwhelm-
ing, never was restoration swifter. The soldiers stepped from
the trenches into the furrow ; horses that had charged Federal
guns marched before the plough; and the fields that ran red
with human blood in April were green with the harvest in June.

Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, N. Y.

FOUR THOUSAND SHEEP CHANGING

PASTURE. — AUSTRALIA.

FAMOUS HISTORICAL, ADDRESSES. 8l

From the ashes left us in 1864 we have raised a brave and
beautiful city. Somehow or other we have caught the sun-
shine in the bricks and mortar of our homes, and have builded
therein not one ignoble prejudice or memory.

The old South rested everything on slavery and agriculture,
unconscious that these could neither give nor maintain healthy
growth. The new South presents a perfect Democracy, the
oligarchs leading in the popular movement — a social system
compact and closely knitted, less splendid on the surface but
stronger at the core; a hundred farms for every plantation,
fifty homes for every palace, and a diversified industry that
meets the complex needs of this complex age.

The new South is enamoured of her new work. Her soul
is stirred with the breath of a new life. The light of a grander
day is falling fair on her face. She is thrilling with the con-
sciousness of a growing power and prosperity. As she stands
upright, full-statured and equal among the people of the earth,
breathing the keen air and looking out upon the expanding
horizon, she understands that her emancipation came because
in the inscrutable wisdom of God her honest purpose was
crossed, and her brave armies were beaten.

This is said in no spirit of time-serving or apology. The
South has nothing for which to apologize. She believes that
the late struggle between the States was war and not rebellion,
revolution and not conspiracy, and that her convictions were as
honest as yours. I should be unjust to the dauntless spirit of
the South and to my own convictions if I did not make this
plain in this presence. The South has nothing to take back.
In my native town of Athens is a monument that crowns its
central hills — a plain, white shaft. Deep cut into its shining
side is a name dear to me above the names of men, that of a
brave and simple man who died in a brave and simple faith.
Not for all the glories of New England — from Plymouth Rock
all the way — would I exchange the heritage he left me in his
soldier's death. To the feet of that shaft I shall send my chil-
dren's children to reverence him who ennobled their name with
his heroic blood. But, sir, speaking from the shadow of that
memory, which I honor as I do nothing else on earth, I say
that the cause in which he suffered and for which he gave his
life was adjudged by higher and fuller wisdom than his or

X— 6

82 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

mine, and I am glad that the omniscient God held the balance
of battle in His Almighty Hand, and that human slavery was
swept forever from American soil — the American Union saved
from the wreck of war.

This message, Mr. President, comes to you from conse-
crated ground. Every foot of the soil about the city in which
I live is sacred as a battle-ground of the Republic. Every hill
that invests it is hallowed to you by the blood of your brothers
who died for your victory, and doubly hallowed to us by the
blood of those who died hopeless, but undaunted, in defeat —
sacred soil to all of us, rich with memories that make us
purer and stronger and better, silent but stanch witnesses in
its red desolation of the matchless valor of American hearts
and the deathless glory of American arms — speaking an elo-
quent witness, in its white peace and prosperity, to the indis-
soluble union of American states and the imperishable brother-
hood of the American people.

Now, what answer has New England to this message?
Will she permit the prejudice of war to remain in the hearts
of the conquerors when it has died in the hearts of the con-
quered? Will she transmit this prejudice to the next genera-
tion, that in their hearts, which never felt the generous ardor
of conflict it may perpetuate itself? Will she withhold, save
in strained courtesy, the hand which, straight from his soldier's
heart, Grant offered to Lee at Appomattox ? Will she make the
vision of a restored and happy people, which gathered above
the couch of your dying captain, filling his heart with grace,
touching his lips with praise, and glorifying his path to the
grave — will she make this vision on which the last sigh of his
expiring soul breathed a benediction, a cheat and delusion? If
she does, the South, never abject in asking for comradeship,
must accept with dignity its refusal ; but if she does not refuse
to accept in frankness and sincerity this message of good-will
and friendship, then will the prophecy of Webster, delivered
in this very society forty years ago amid tremendous applause,
become true, be verified in its fullest sense, when he said:
"Standing hand to hand and clasping hands, we should remain
united as we have been for sixty years, citizens of the same
country, members of the same government, united, all united
now and united forever."

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS

CHAPTER IX.
EARLY INTERNATIONA^ FAIRS.

EXHIBITIONS date far back in the world's history. Even
the celebration of the Olympic Games might be considered in
this light, for, outside the precinct sacred to the gods, wares
were displayed and sold. Until modern facilities for conven-
ient transportation were devised, markets could not be sup-
ported continuously ; instead it was customary to hold periodic
Fairs — the word fair being in all probability derived from the
Latin feria, meaning holiday. Such gatherings for the bene-
fits of trade were held in Asia and in southern Europe in early
times and in the seventeenth century seem to have found their
way into Gaul ; hence into England in .the age of Alfred the
Great. By the tenth century they were well established
throughout Europe. From the beginning they appear to have
been associated with religious festivals — the gathering of un-
usual numbers of people doubtless first suggesting the advan-
tage of such occasions for exhibiting wares and effecting
sales.

The largest fair of this description perpetuated to this day
in Europe is the one held yearly at Nijni Novgorod, located
at the junction of the Oka and Volga, 715 miles from St.
Petersburg. This is officially opened on the 27th of July,
but owing to the uncertainty of travel, some do not arrive
with their goods until later. Many of the transactions on
these fair grounds are still conducted by barter. Tea is the
chief commodity of commerce although silks, rugs, cloth,
hides and morocco are greatly in evidence.

Persian rugs, tea, costly spices and other wares are sent
by caravans from interior Asia to be transferred to boats
when the chain of interlinking water ways giving final access
to Nijni Novgorod is reached. Those who have sold their
goods and are returning each year pass those en route for the
coming fair before they arrive home.

83

84 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

The Russian government warns foreigners against re-
maining in this little town over night while the fair is
continued, for it is impossible to provide police supervision
for the numerous nationalities that camp in the vicinity. Tea
to the value of more than a million dollars is frequently dis-
played at once and large sums of money constantly change
hands.

On the Ganges a great fair is annually held and each
year during the season when faithful pilgrims gather to visit
the spot sacred to Mohamed, one of these prolonged mar-
kets is provided. Years ago, before shops existed in Mexico,
upon the site of the present capital such a fair was regularly
held and attracted more than fifty thousand people.

While fairs of this kind have been numerous in centuries
past and are still observed in remote places, industrial expo-
sitions purely for the purpose of exhibit are of recent date —
the first international exposition being held in London in
1851.

The London Exposition of 1851 resulted from a desire
of Prince Albert to provide an exhibit which should illustrate
British industrial development. Although but national as
first conceived, it was later thought an excellent idea to invite
other nations to cooperate and give the event international
significance. Being the first undertaking of the kind, novelty
and innovation attended all features. Having estimated the
space required for such a showing, architects were asked to
submit designs for a building which should be adequate to
cover 700,000 and not exceed 900,000 square feet. While
but one month was allowed for preparation, more than two
hundred competitors offered plans. The one offered by Sir
Joseph Paxton was adopted. He was a landscape gardener
and the form and shape of the Crystal Palace is said to have
been based on that of the giant leaf of the African water lily.
The building was made 1851 feet long, to correspond with
the year, and 450 feet broad. It was erected in about four
months at an approximate cost of $1,000,000. It covered
twenty acres.

The following lines from a speech made by the Prince
Consort at a banquet given by the Lord Mayor of London
in the interest of this coming event convey an excellent idea

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 85

of the hopes which were entertained for the project by those
most intimately associated with it.

"I conceive it to be the duty of every educated person
closely to watch and study the time in which he lives, and,
as far as in him lies, to add his humble mite of individual
exertion to further the accomplishment of what he believes
Providence to have ordained. Nobody, however, who has
paid any attention to the particular features of our present
era, will doubt for a moment that we are living at a period
of most wonderful transition, which tends rapidly to accom-
plish that great end — to which, indeed, all history points — •
the realization of the unity of mankind; not a unity which
breaks down the limits and levels the peculiar characteristics
of the different nations of the earth, but rather a unity, the
results and products of these very national varieties and an-
tagonistic qualities. The distances which separated the dif-
ferent nations and parts of the globe are gradually vanishing
before the achievements of modern invention and we can
traverse them with incredible speed; the languages of all
nations are known; and their acquirement placed within the
reach of everybody; thought is communicated with the rapid-
ity and even by the power of lightning. On the other hand,
the great principle of the division of labor, which may be
called the moving power of civilization, is being extended
to all branches of science, industry and art. Whilst formerly
the greatest mental energies strove at universal knowledge,
and that knowledge was confined to few, now they are directed
to specialties, and in these again even to the minutest points.
Moreover, the knowledge now acquired becomes the property
of the community at large. Whilst formerly discovery was
wrapt in secrecy, it results from the publicity of the present
day, that no sooner is a discovery or invention made, than it
is already improved upon and surpassed by competing effort.
. . . The exhibition of 1851 is to give us a true text and
a living picture of the point of development at which the
whole of mankind has arrived in this great task, and a new
starting point, from which all nations will be able to direct
their further exertions."

The Crystal Palace was opened on the first day of May
by Queen Victoria, who from the beginning had manifested

86 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

deep interest in the industrial exhibit, which was continued
until the following October. The United States was offered
40,000 feet for display; France was accorded 65,000 feet.
England and her colonies entered 7381 exhibits; the rest of
the world, 6556. Five thousand people from the United States
visited this remarkable showing and 499 exhibits were made
from this country. In comparison with the splendid exhibits
made by Great Britain in manufactured goods, the twelve
samples of cotton and three of woolen goods from the United
States were indeed meager but attention was won by the
McCormick reapers, by wagons and racing sulkies and by the
Chickering pianos, which excelled anything in these lines
offered by European countries. Our metallic life-boats were
then unknown in Europe, where wood alone was used. The
American daguerreotypes were acknowledged to be better than
those made abroad and Whipple displayed the first photograph
of the moon, thus giving to this land the honor of having first
applied the "new art" to astronomy.

The exhibits were grouped under four divisions : raw
materials, which fell into four classes; manufactured articles,
separated into nineteen groups; machinery, divided into six
groups, and fine arts — but one group in thirty.

The average number of daily visitors to the Crystal Palace
was 42,809, while the largest day swelled this number to
109,915. Financially, the undertaking was thoroughly suc-
cessful, several million dollars being cleared. Of far greater
importance was the impetus given the industrial world by
interchange of ideas which resulted from a comparison of ex-
hibits in London and the discussion of them in journals
throughout the reading world. However, it has to be ad-
mitted that the hope of perpetuating peace by more intimate
acquaintance between men of different nations was not real-
ized— wars following the event seemingly as easily as they had
preceded it.

While other fairs of national and slight international im-
portance followed, the next one of note was held in France in
1867 in the city of Paris. The symmetrical form of the Crystal
Palace had rendered it difficult to arrange the exhibits of sev-
eral countries in a way to avoid confusion. The main build-
ing in Paris was designed to facilitate this end. It consisted

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 8/

of seven concentric ovals arranged in such a way that one
might continue around one gallery or oval and see all exhibits
of one kind made by the various competing nations, or might
follow one avenue or radius and see all the exhibits entered
by one nation alone. The building was 1550 feet long, 1250
feet wide and covered eleven acres. Around it were grouped
other buildings of interest and minor importance — a Turkish
mosque, a Swiss chalet, a Swedish cottage, an English light-
house and an Egyptian temple.

The exposition was opened on the first day of April and
continued until November. Probably no greater splendor has
ever accompanied an exposition, for the court of Emperor
Napoleon compared favorably with any in Europe and such
distinguished rulers as the Czar of Russia, Sultan of Turkey,
Khedive of Egypt, King of Germany, with Bismarck, and the
kings of Denmark, Portugal and Sweden were invited thither
and as honored guests of the French court witnessed the
spectacle.

Thirty nations contributed 50,026 exhibits. These were
arranged into seven groups in the main building, to corres-
pond with the seven galleries. First came the Gallery of the
History of Labor. This was designed to give a living picture
of civilization. Beginning with the crude stone implements
made by prehistoric man, the history of human labor was here
set forth through stone, bronze, iron periods and our present
steel age. Next came the Materials and Appliances in the
Liberal Arts. This exhibition included the type and paper and
books of the printer ; the instruments of the medical profession ;
musical instruments and sundry other things. Third was
shown Furniture and other objects used in dwellings. In ad-
dition to all kinds of furniture, glass, pottery, carpets and
tapestries, apparatus for heating and lighting and watches and
clocks were displayed. The fourth gallery was given over to
Garments, tissues for clothing and other articles of Wearing
Apparel — such as shawls, laces, ornaments of different vari-
eties. The fifth group was comprised of Products, raw and
manufactured, of Extracted Industries — mining, forestry par-
ticularly. Sixth, Instruments and process of Common Arts
— apparatus in mining, whatever pertained to railroads, for

88 THE; WORLD'S PROGRESS.

example. The last group was comprised of Foods — fresh or
preserved, in various stages of preparation.

In other buildings were to be seen live stock and agricul-
tural implements, horticultural displays of plants and flowers,
and, important from the standpoint of progress, the last class
of exhibits: those whose special object was the improvement
of the physical and moral conditions of people. Improved
methods of education, sanitary houses and the like were here
included.

This classification has been enumerated at length because
it has generally been conceded to be one of the best groupings
ever provided by any exposition.

The exhibits entered from the United States numbered
536. Grand prizes were awarded Cyrus W. Field for the
Trans-Atlantic cable; David E. Hughes of New York for the
printing telegraph; and C. H. McCormick for his harvester.
By an imperial decree, McCormick was made Chevalier of the
Imperial Order of the Legion of Honor. The exhibit of
minerals sent from this country awakened considerable interest
in Europe. American farm implements, pianos, sewing ma-
chines and locomotives were highly commended and American
glass found to compare favorably with that shown by older
countries.

Appreciating the wonderful opportunity such a display
afforded workmen of various callings, the British Society of
Art sent mechanics and artisans chosen by a system of careful
selection to spend a week in Paris during this summer to study
each his special work and upon return to report the result of
his investigation to his less favored fellow-workmen.

The third great international exhibition to precede any in
our own country was held in Austria in 1873. The city of
Vienna had been undergoing a complete change in the ten
years just passed and from an old town of almost mediaeval
appearance, had become a modern city with fine buildings and
broad streets. It was thought fitting to celebrate this transfor-
mation, and, furthermore, the successful expositions previ-
ously held in Paris and elsewhere convinced ambitious Aus-
trians that they would do well to emulate the example of their
neighbors. Accordingly, nations were invited to participate
in an exhibit "having for its object to represent the present

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 89

state of modern civilization and the entire sphere of national
economy, and to promote its further development and pro-
gress."

A park known as the Prater, including- 286 acres, was set
aside for the various uses of the fair. The buildings were
more substantially made than those which had been previously
used for purposes of this kind. In addition to the main build-
ing, known as the Palace of Industry, another building was
provided for machinery and a third for agricultural purposes.

From the first it appeared as though the fates were not
auspicious. The exposition was opened in May, when it was
expected that the weather would be fine. On the contrary, for
several weeks cold days, often dull and rainy, followed. Vis-
itors were as a rule unfamiliar with the language spoken and
had recourse to such French as they could command. Finding
the number of guests materially affected by the inclement
weather, innkeepers became exorbitant in their charges and
so constant were the demands upon strangers for the veriest
comforts that many who had intended to visit the fair were
moved to change their plans and spend vacations elsewhere.
Finally, before the summer was over, cholera broke out in
Vienna, ending effectually any further tide of visitors thither.

About 50,000 exhibits were shown. Of these 654 were
entered by the United States. They followed in the main the
lines which had been shown in Paris and London. American
farm implements and machinery aroused far more interest
than manufactured cotton and wool — wherein the country was
still weak. The extensive agricultural interests of Austria
were emphasized by the showing of stock. Many breeds of
cattle, horses and other domestic animals were entered, includ-
ing grey oxen and 250 kinds of pigs — "deemed sufficient to
represent the grunters of all nations" — among them the wild
red pigs of the Don.

Financially this exposition was a failure. However, it
brought to a land remote from western Europe a display of
industrial activity and concerns which could not fail to bear
fruit later.

90 THE WORU>'S PROGRESS.

THE CENTENNIAL

TO ALI, NATIONS.

BRIGHT on the banners of lily and rose,

Lo, the last sun of the century sets!
Wreathe the black cannon that scowled on our foes ;

All but her friendships the nation forgets !
All but her friends and their welcome forgets !

These are around her, but where are her foes?
Lo, while the sun of the century sets,

Peace with her garlands of lily and rose !

Welcome! a shout like the war-trumpet's swell,

Wakes the wild echoes that slumber around !
Welcome! it quivers from Liberty's bell;

Welcome ! the walls of her temple resound !
Hark ! the gray walls of her temple resound !

Fade the far voices o'er river and dell;
Welcome ! still whisper the echoes around ;

Welcome ! still trembles on Liberty's bell !

Thrones of the continents ! Isles of the sea !

Yours are the garlands of peace we entwine !
Welcome once more to the land of the free,

Shadowed alike by the palm and the pine.
Softly they murmur, the palm and the pine,

"Hushed is our strife in the land of the free."
Over your children their branches entwine,

Thrones of the continents ! Isles of the sea !

— Oliver Wendell Holmes.

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 91

CHAPTER XI.
THE CENTENNIAL.

As THE first hundred years of American independence were
fast drawing to an end, it was generally conceded that some
fitting celebration of so momentous an occasion should be
undertaken. Just what form this should assume was long
discussed. Patriotic meetings, to be held in every hamlet of
the land, were suggested. Others thought that each state
should provide some special celebration. Finally a national
exhibition was talked about but when the idea was advanced
that foreign nations as well be invited to join, there was a
strong impression that England would be loathe to share in
any commemoration of American independence, and that her
attitude would influence other European states. However,
this erroneous conception was soon dispelled when preliminary
investigation was guardedly made. It was found that Euro-
pean countries would welcome an opportunity such as an
exposition in America would afford.

No previous exhibition had commemorated an anniversary
or historical event, and in those lands where international
fairs had earlier been held, there had arisen no question as
to where such exhibits should properly be made. The capitals
of England, France and Austria were most appropriate in
each case. But in the United States the situation was quite
different. Several cities contested for the honor. New York
maintained that its position on the country's threshold should
insure it preference; although Washington was not then able
to provide such accommodation for strangers as would be re-
quired there were many who felt that it was the most suitable
place for the fair. However, when it was remembered that
Philadelphia had been the seat of the Continental Congress,
that it had once been the capital of the republic, and that it was
midway between north and south, popular sentiment settled
upon it as the most acceptable location. Accordingly, an act
of Congress provided for "celebrating the One Hundredth

92 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

Anniversary of American Independence by holding an Inter-
national Exhibition of Arts, Manufactures, and Products of
the Soil and Mine, in the City of Philadelphia and State of
Pennsylvania in the year 1876."

In 1853 New York had attempted to hold a fair modelled
after that of London. This had not been successful, for while
its promoters tried to advertise it as a national undertaking,
it received no financial aid and little influence from the gen-
eral government. Moreover, such an industrial showing in
New York at this time aroused bitter antagonism in other
states. Europeans were invited to enter exhibits, but knowing
well that few from their own lands would visit our distant
shores in those days of retarded travel, they exhibited only
for American spectators.

A building in the form of a Greek cross was erected in what
is now Bryant Park. It covered 170,000 square feet. Of the
4,100 exhibits entered, a considerable number were provided
by the various states. Such farm implements and machinery
as were brought from Europe proved to be far more clumsy
than ours. In the departments of silks, broadcloths and glass
there were no rivals for European products in this country.
Little art was shown. The doubtful success of this project
counted against New York when the site for the Centennial
Exposition was under consideration.

Philadelphia generously raised $1,500,000 and the state of
Pennsylvania $1,000,000. Congress appropriated $1,500,000
besides $500,000 for the erection of a Federal Building. The
success of the fair was soon assured and in 1874 invitations
were extended in the name of the President to the govern-
ments of foreign countries to participate — it being expressly
stated that no expense should attach to the United States for
any exhibits made by foreign nations. England immediately
appropriated $250,000 for the purpose of making a creditable
showing and little Japan $600,000.

The special event which this exhibition commemorated
was not forgotten. In periodicals and various publications of
the time the experiences that these hundred years had brought
were summarized. This historic feature should be borne in
mind in any study of this first world's fair held within our
borders.

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 93

Dwelling at length upon the vicissitudes of our country-
men, one wrote: "They have reached their first resting-place,
and pardonably enjoy the opportunity of looking back at the
road they have traversed. They pause to contemplate its
gloomy beginnings, the perilous precipices along which it
wound, and the sudden quagmires that often interrupt it, all
now softened by distance and by the consciousness of success.
Opening with a forest-path, it has broadened and brightened
with a highway of nations."

Fairmount Park, including 450 acres, was chosen for the
exhibition grounds. The city of Philadelphia expended a
considerable amount in providing good roads and a fine bridge
to give access thither. In addition to the Main Building —
1880 feet in length and 464 feet wide — Machinery Hall, Hor-
ticultural Hall, and Agricultural Building, Government Build-
ing, the Woman's Building and an Art Gallery were erected.
Furthermore, twenty-six states provided each its own building
and several foreign countries were represented. In compari-
son with buildings which subsequent expositions have been
able to show, the state buildings of the Centennial were like
dwellings of modest proportions. Twenty-one acres were
roofed by the various structures.

The exhibits numbered 30,864 and were contributed by
the various states and territories and by forty-nine foreign
powers or their colonies. Spain and her colonies entered
3822 ; England and her dependencies 3584. The United
States furnished 8525 — excelling as before in her display of
machinery. Five South American states were represented.

The lighting facilities of the age did not permit the build-
ings to be opened in the evening. Gas was piped to various
parts of the grounds to accommodate night watchmen. In
view of our present day conveniences, a smile is provoked by
reading the self-congratulatory comment of that day to the
effect that whereas in 1851 the Cornelius chandeliers for burn-
ing lard oil had been favorably received in London, "now
that is the light of other days, thanks to our new riches in
kerosene."

One of the new devices that interested Europeans was the
signal service, which for the first time was shown in 1876, in-
terpreting the weather and predicting storms. Unusual condi-

94 THE WORUD'S PROGRESS.

tions in the United States, where one wire under the same
control extended throughout the breadth of a continent, per-
mitted the trial of this system as no European country could
have done. It was the proud boast of this service at the
Centennial that it was able to have daily observations made at
one hundred stations scattered over the continent.

The Bell telephone was now for the first time exhibited
and excited much interest because one was thereby enabled to
speak with someone in a different portion of a building. Soon
after the fair the American bicycle manufacture developed —
this country having profited by the English cycles exhibited.

Among educational innovations, we note with interest the
advent of the kindergarten — today everywhere regarded with
favor and generally required. A journal of the times com-
mented upon it thus : "Of the divers species of Garten — Blu-
men-, Thier-, Bier-, rife in Vaterland, the Kinder- is the
latest selected for acclimation in America. If the mothers of
our land take kindly to it, it will probably become something
of an institution among us." That its efficiency might be
demonstrated among people to whom it was wholly strange,
children from an orphanage were brought each day to a little
building and given kindergarten training for the entertainment
of visitors.

This was the first time in the history of the world that any
complete collection of women's work had been arranged. A
woman designed the building and throughout plans for this
exhibit were made by the women themselves. Again, the
Centennial afforded the first opportunity for Japanese art and
goods to become generally known in America.

It is difficult to estimate the exhilarating and educative in-
fluence of this exposition upon the life of the American people
alone. Their fathers had hewn homes out of a wilderness ;
gradually a nation had been welded together. Before any
marked degree of material prosperity had overtaken the coun-
try, it had been plunged into the horrors of civil war. Now
came this great fair on the wave of material progress that
followed the period of reconstruction.

Before the Centennial there had been little that was artistic.
Houses had been made substantial and useful rather than
attractive; there was little art to be seen. For the first

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 95

time a large number of people at this exhibition discovered
what means might provide when accompanied with cultivated
taste. Nearly forty years of steady improvement in knowledge
and culture enable us to view our earlier shortcomings with
much indulgence and some amusement. That Prance and
Vienna had both been compelled to close their doors on two
or three occasions because zealots took exception to their
"images," as they chose to call some of the statues, and
smashed them, was denied quickly for reasons of expediency,
but was nevertheless true. Critics commented that while the
nude in art shocked the earlier visitors to the art gallery, yet
before the summer had passed people had outgrown provin-
cialism and become able to appreciate beauty wherever found —
particularly beauty as revealed by the wonderful lines of the
human body. It was found necessary to forbid people to take
canes or umbrellas into the gallery because it happened on
several occasions that with the best intentions enthusiasts in-
sisted on pointing out features of canvases that pleased them,
only to bring disaster and ruin upon the work of art when the
pressure of the crowd forced these appurtenances through the
pictures. Journals of the day commented upon the fact that
those countries wherein Americans were least known sent the
finest collection of pictures thither. Spain and England con-
tributed their treasures; while Italy and France which at-
tracted the greater number of travellers in those days by their
mild winter climates, sent poor although numerous displays.
However, this first opportunity to witness the art of many
lands simultaneously was gratefully appreciated.

The Art Gallery, afterwards known as the Memorial
Building, was erected at a cost of $1,500,000 — which sum was
contributed by Philadelphia and the state legislature to pro-
vide a permanent museum for the city.

Enthusiasm was sustained throughout the summer by vari-
ous "state days" that were instituted. These brought delega-
tions from remote sections of the country and receptions were
held in the state buildings. The most successful of these occa-
sions was the day assigned to Pennsylvania — September 28th.
250,000 people visited the grounds and at night were enter-
tained by the finest fireworks up to that time ever displayed in
the United States.

96 THE WORU)'S PROGRESS.

While the amusement concessions which have become such
an important part of world's fairs were not yet thought of,
much amazement was caused among the prudent when it was
made known that a citizen of Dayton, Ohio, had paid $7,000
for the exclusive right to sell popcorn on the grounds. More-
over 450 roll chairs were taxed $40 each for the season and it
was questioned as to whether this venture might prove safe
for the syndicate providing them.

The following lines from one of the addresses made at
the close of the exposition sets forth the results as seen by
those who had been closely connected with the fair through-
out:

"The exhibition has concentrated here specimens of the
varied products of the United States and made better known
to us our vast resources. It has brought to us the repre-
sentatives of many nations, — men skilled, accomplished, and
experienced, — and they have brought with them stores of
treasures in all the forms given to them by long-practiced
industry and art. And others are here from new lands,
even younger than our own, giving full promise of a bright
and glorious future. It has placed side by side, for com-
parison, the industries of the world. In viewing them the
utilitarian revels in the realization that man is striving
earnestly to make all things contribute to his convenience and
comfort ; the philosopher stands in awe at their contemplation
as he dwells upon the cherished thought of the possible unity
of nations ; and he who looks at the grandeur of the scene from
a spiritual standpoint is filled with the hope that the day is
near 'when the glory of the Lord shall cover the earth as the
waters cover the sea/

"It has taught us in what others excel, and excited our
ambition to strive to equal them. It has taught others that
our first century has not been passed in idleness, and that at
least in a few things we are already in the advance. It has
proved to them as to us that national prejudices are as unprof-
itable as they are unreasonable; that they are hindrances to
progress and to welfare, and that the arts of peace are most
favorable for advancing the condition, the power, and the
true greatness of a nation. It has been the occasion of a de-
lightful union among the representatives of many nations,

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 97

marked by an intelligent appreciation of each other, rich in
instruction and fruitful in friendships. It has placed before
our own people, as a school for their instruction, a display —
vast and varied beyond precedent — comprising the industries
of the world, including almost every product known to science
and to art.

"The international exhibition is to be regarded as a rever-
ential tribute to the century which has just expired. That
century has been recalled. Its events have been reviewed. Its
fruits are gathered. Its memories hallowed. Let us enter on
the new century with a renewed devotion to our country,
with the highest aims for its honor and for the purity, integ-
rity, and welfare of its people."

CENTENNIAL ORATION.

THE event which today we commemorate supplies its
own reflections and enthusiasms, and brings its own plaudits.
They do not all hang on the voice of the speaker, nor do they
greatly depend upon the contacts and associations of the
place. The Declaration of American Independence was, when
it occurred, a capital transaction in human affairs; as such it
has kept its place in history; as such it will maintain itself
while human interest in human institutions shall endure. . .

This day has now been celebrated by a great people, at each
recurrence of its anniversary, for a hundred years, with every
form of ostentatious joy, with every demonstration of respect
and gratitude for the ancestral virtue which gave it its glory,
and with the firmest faith that growing time should neither
obscure its lustre nor reduce the ardor or discredit the sin-
cerity of its observance. . . .

In the great procession of nations, in the great march of
humanity, we hold our place. Peace is our duty, peace is our
policy. In its arts, its labors, and its victories, then, we find
scope for all our energies, rewards for all our ambitions,
renown enough for all our love of fame. In the august pres-
ence of so many nations, which, by their representatives, have
done us the honor to be witnesses of our commemorative joy
and gratulation, and in sight of the collective evidences of the
greatness of their own civilization with which they grace our

X— 7

98 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

celebration, we may well confess how much we fall short,
how much we have to make up, in the emulative competitions
of the times. Yet, even in this presence, and with a just defer-
ence to the age, the power, the greatness of the other nations
of the earth, we do not fear to appeal to the opinion of man-
kind whether, as we point to our land, our people, and our
laws, the contemplation should not inspire us with a lover's
enthusiasm for our country.

Time makes no pauses in his march. Even while I speak
the last hour of the receding is replaced by the first hour of
the coming century, and reverence for the past gives way to
the joys and hopes, the activities and the responsibilities of the
future. A hundred years hence the piety of that generation
will recall the ancestral glory which we celebrate today, and
crown it with the plaudits of a vast population which no man
can number. By the mere circumstance of this periodicity
our generation will be in the minds, in the hearts, on the
lips of our countrymen at the next Centennial commemoration,
in comparison with their own character and condition and with
the great founders of the nation. What shall they say of us ?
How shall they estimate the part we bear in the unbroken line
of the nation's progress? And so on, in the long reach of
time, forever and forever, our place in the secular roll of the
ages must always bring us into observation and criticism.
Under this double trust, then, from the past and for the
future, let us take heed to our ways, and, while it is called
today, resolve that the great heritage we have received shall
be handed down through the long line of the advancing gener-
ations, the home of liberty, the abode of justice, the strong-
hold of faith among men, "which holds the moral elements of
the world together," and of faith in God, which binds that
world to His throne. — William M. Evarts.

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS.

CENTENNIAL HYMN.

OUR fathers' God ! from out whose hand
The centuries fall like grains of sand,
We meet today, united, free,
And loyal to our land and Thee,
To thank Thee for the era done,
And trust Thee for the opening one.

Here, where of old, by Thy design,
The fathers spake that word of Thine,
Whose echo is the glad refrain
Of rended bolt and falling chain,
To grace our festal time, from all
The zones of earth our guests we call.

Be with us while the New World greets
The Old World thronging all its streets,
Unveiling all the triumphs won
By art or toil beneath the sun;
And unto common good ordain
This rivalship of hand and brain.

Thou, who hast here in concord furled
The war-flags of a gathered world,
Beneath our Western skies fulfill
The Orient's mission of good-will,
And, freighted with Love's Golden Fleece,
Send back the Argonauts of peace.

For art and labor met in truce,
For beauty made the bride of use
We thank Thee, while, withal, we crave
The austere virtues strong to save,
The honor proof to place our gold,
The manhood never bought nor sold!

O ! make Thou us, through centuries long,
In peace secure, in justice strong;
Around our gift of freedom draw
The safeguards of Thy righteous law ;
And, cast in some diviner mould,
Let the new cycle shame the old !

— John Greenleaf Whittier.

'loo THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

COLUMBIAN ODE.

COLUMBIA, on thy brow are dewy flowers

Plucked from wide prairies and from mighty hills.
Lo! toward this day have led the steadfast hours.

Now to thy hope the world its beaker fills.
The old earth hears a song of blessed themes,
And lifts her head from a deep couch of dreams.
Her queenly nations, elder-born of Time,

Troop from high thrones to hear,
Clasp thy strong hands, tread with thee paths sublime,

Lovingly bend the ear.

Spain, in the broidered robes of chivalry,

Comes with slow foot and inward brooding eyes.
Bow to her banner ! 'twas the first to rise

Out of the dark for thee.
And England, royal mother, whose right hand

Molds nations, whose white feet the ocean tread,
Lays down her sword on thy beloved strand

To bless thy wreathed head ;
Hearing in thine her voice, bidding- thy soul
Fulfill her dream, the foremost at the goal.
And France, who once thy fainting form upbore,
Brings beauty now where strength she brought of yore,

France, the swift-footed, who with thee

Gazed in the eyes of Liberty,
And loved the dark no more.

Around the peopled world

Bright banners are unfurled.
The long procession winds from shore to shore.

The Norseman sails

Through icy gales

To the green Vineland of his long-ago.
Russia rides down from realms of sun and snow.

Germany casts afar

Her iron robes of war,
And strikes her harp with thy triumphal song.

Italy opens wide her epic scroll,
In bright hues blazoned, with great deeds writ long,

And bids thee win the kingdom of the soul.
And the calm Orient, wise with many days,
From hoary Palestine to sweet Japan

Salutes thy conquering youth ;

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 101

Bidding thee hush while all the nations praise,
Know, though the world endure but for a span,

Deathless is truth.
Lo ! unto these the ever-living Past

Ushers a mighty pageant, bids arise
Dead centuries, freighted with visions vast,
Blowing dim mists into the Future's eyes,
Their song is all of thee,
Daughter of mystery.

Alone ! alone !
Behind wide walls of sea!
And never a ship has flown
A prisoned world to free.
Fair is the sunny day

On mountain and lake and stream,
Yet wild men starve and slay

And the young earth lies adream.

Long have the dumb years passed with vacant eyes,
Bearing rich gifts for nations throned afar,
Guarding thy soul inviolate as a star,
Leaving thee safe with God till man grow wise.
At last one patient heart is born
Fearless of ignorance and scorn ;
His strong youth wasteth at the sealed gate —

Kings will not open to the untrod path.
His hope grows sear while all the angels wait,
The prophet bows under the dull world's wrath;
Until a woman fair
As morning lilies are
Brings him a jeweled key —
And lo! a world is free.

Wide swings the portal never touched before,
Strange luring winds blow from an unseen shore.
Toward dreams that cannot fail
He bids the three ships sail,
While man's new song of hope rings out against the gale.

Over the wide unknown,

Far to the shores of Ind,
On through the dark alone,

Like a feather blown by the wind;

IO2 THE WORU>'S PROGRESS.

Into the west away,

Sped by the breath of God,
Seeking the clearer day

Where only his feet have trod:
From the past to the future we sail;

We slip from the leash of kings.
Hail, spirit of freedom — hail!

Unfurl thine impalpable wings!
Receive us, protect us, and bless

Thy knights who brave all for thee.
Though death be thy soft caress

By that touch shall our souls be free.
Onward and ever on,

Till the voice of despair is stilled,
Till the haven of peace is won

And the purpose of God fulfilled!

— Harriet Monroe.

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 103]

CHAPTER XL

THE COLUMBIAN EXPOSITION.

SINCE the birth of Christ, no single event has had for
subsequent history the importance of the discovery of 1492.
Even today we can scarcely credit the fact that a populated
eastern hemisphere could pass through several thousand years
of recorded life while another in the west, embracing one-third
the land surface of the earth, remained unknown. It is now
generally acknowledged that our continent was visited at least
once — perhaps several times — before Columbus landed upon
its shores; but this does not in the slightest degree detract
from his abiding glory. In spite of such possible early visits
thither, resulting from chance or storm-driven barks, Europe
remained in her long stupor regarding two continents. And
Columbus died broken-hearted because his dream of reaching
India was shattered, since he had but reached a continent
which lay inconveniently in his path! Every school-boy
knows for how many years the delusion inspired men to ex-
ploration, always with the hope that some water way might
be found which should at last give access to coveted Cathay.

The first hundredth anniversary of the discovery of the
New World found little attempted in it but exploration. By
1692 a chain of colonies were planted along the Atlantic sea-
board. The third hundredth anniversary fell sixteen years
after the little fringe of English colonies had declared them-
selves free from the mother country. Yet, notwithstanding
that they were still suffering from privations resulting from
the recent war and were struggling with problems of a newly
organized government, it is gratifying to know that they did
not permit this momentous event to pass unnoticed, but in
so far as they were able, did honor to the great discoverer.
Few newspapers were established in our land at that time,
else it is probable that many hamlet celebrations would be
recorded. We know that New York, Boston, Philadelphia
and Baltimore observed the day and old files of their papers

io4 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

still preserved in the Congressional Library chronicle with
some detail the commemoration ceremonies.

It is interesting to read some of the toasts drunk at the
banquet held in New York. The first was appropriately given
to the memory of "Christopher Columbus, the discoverer of
the New World;" another "May peace and liberty ever per-
vade the United Columbian States." The third was prophetic :
"May this be the last celebration of this discovery that finds
a slave on this globe." The last quoted from quite a long list
expressed a hope that "the fourth century be as remarkable
for the improvement and knowledge of the rights of man as
the first was for the development and improvement of nautic
science."

The oration delivered in Boston in memory of the match-
less discovery calls to mind the pervading religious tone of
early New England. The speaker took a text found in
Daniel, xii, 4, "Many shall run to and fro and knowledge
shall be increased." Glanced at casually today the oration
might be easily mistaken for a sermon.

In the late eighties the grateful duty of honoring the
memory of Columbus at the four hundredth anniversary was
discussed in papers and journals. An exposition that should
adequately reveal the amazing progress of the last few years
was conceded by general consent to be appropriate. It was
commonly agreed that no ordinary effort would suffice but
that it devolved upon our country to provide a creditable
showing.

At first several cities contended for the exhibition but it
shortly resolved itself into a contest between New York and
Chicago — the two financial centers of the republic. It is
amusing today to read the arguments pro and con, some being
excellent and others farfetched. Citizens of the eastern
metropolis felt that their city was most accessible and conse-
quently more convenient to all European powers. They re-
garded Chicago somewhat in the light of an agricultural
center and warmly maintained that if this was to be made an
international event, it was mistaken counsel that argued in
favor of making the fair accessible merely to western farmers.
Those who regarded Chicago as the most desirable location
pointed out that should we hold the fair on the Atlantic sea-

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 105

board, little else would be seen by the majority of foreign
visitors, whereas the journey inland could not fail to give
some conception of a great and resourceful continent. They
cited the advantages of their summer climate and their recent
progress which justly asked recognition. Congress had indi-
cated that $5,000,000 would have to be pledged by the city
to which should be entrusted so much responsibility and the
Chicago delegates were prepared to show that amount already
subscribed. Suddenly one of the municipalities eager to
secure the fair offered $10,000,000 when time for telegraphic
communication with the interior was no longer available.
Quickly the Chicago representatives offered the same amount
and were upheld by their townsmen as soon as the matter
became known. Prom the start the Lake City determined that
it would surpass everything previously known in the history
of expositions.

It was felt in the east, and with good reason, that there
was likely to be "more material breadth than aesthetic height"
in this center of successful packers and tradesmen, but the
citizens of Chicago were themselves not unconscious of many
crudities that had long provoked disparaging criticism and
they reached out in every direction for the finest architects,
and most gifted decorators to supervise their new under-
taking.

The World's Columbian Exposition was placed under dual
control, or as one commentator has happily expressed it, the
two controlling bodies bore a relation similar to that of the
business and editorial departments of a journal. Congress
provided that a National Commission should be chosen, to
consist of two delegates from each state and territory, these
to be nominated by the respective governors and appointed
by the President, with eight others appointed wholly by him.
All matters between ours and foreign countries in so far as
they pertained to the fair were settled by this Commission —
all questions relative to the exhibits, their classification, selec-
tion and countless other relevant concerns. The financial
affairs were vested in a board of forty-five Chicago citizens,
whose responsibility it was to provide grounds, buildings and
direct the general business of the fair. Besides these two
governing bodies, a Board of Lady Managers was chosen

106 TH£ WORU>'S PROGRESS.

in the same way as the National Commission and had control
of woman's interests as involved in the Exposition, and
finally the World's Congress Auxiliary was chosen, having
nothing whatever to do with the exhibits or related matters,
but created for the purpose of arranging a series of congresses
to be held in Chicago during the exposition months, — these to
consider all lines of mental endeavor.

Jackson Park, a triangular piece of ground embracing
approximately 586 acres, and having a lake frontage of one
and a half miles, was selected as a suitable site. It was simply
a barren waste of sand and marsh and had nothing to com-
mend it from the standpoint of scenic beauty. However,
when Frederick Law Olmsted, the leading landscape gardener
in the United States, was appointed to take charge of its
improvement, he found possibilities for it previously
undreamed. The proximity of the lake solved the problem.
By dredging out canals and lagoons, the displaced sand used
to create an island, later unsuspected "wooded" beauties began
to appear.

It was quickly seen that if each building should exemplify
some individual style of architecture, the final showing would
be most heterogeneous and discordant. Consequently it was
determined that all the important buildings should adhere to
Renaissance and classic styles — these conceded by the best
authorities to be the finest architectural expressions known.
Moreover, the height of the buildings was limited to approxi-
mately sixty-five feet. These regulations insured the harmo-
nious effect which so charmed the eye in the "White City."

The Manufactures and Liberal Arts was the largest and
most important building. It covered nearly forty acres, was
several times as large as the Coliseum and three times the area
of the Great Pyramid's base. Its general style was modelled
after the Temple of Jupiter Stator in Rome. More than twice
as much steel was used in its construction as in the Brooklyn
bridge and several carloads of nails were needed to put down
the flooring. Its aisles were laid off as streets and illuminated
by arc lights. Its very size determined that it must be simple
and dignified, impressing more by its massiveness than it could
by embellishment.

The Administration Building was placed in a central posi-

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 107

tion, and, since it was little used for exhibition purposes, could
be more elaborate in its decoration. With the exception of the
Fine Arts Building, it was the most richly adorned.

Volumes might have been written simply on the progress
of civilization as demonstrated in the Transportation Building.
Romanesque in style, it had the general form of three large
train sheds and covered nine and one-half acres. Its main
entrance was an immense arch which was covered with gold-
leaf and called the "golden door." Over one entrance was
the quotation from Bacon: "There be three things which
make a nation great and prosperous — a fertile soil, busy work-
shops, and easy conveyance for men and things from place
to place." Over another, these lines from Macaulay : "Of all
inventions, the alphabet and the printing press alone excepted,
those inventions which abridge distance have done most for
civilization." In this original and attractive structure were
displayed whatever pertained to transporting men and things.
Early mail stages might be contrasted with palace cars and
ocean greyhounds. Canoes hollowed from the trunks of trees
exemplified man's first feeble endeavors and models of present
floating palaces and battleships the attainments of the nine-
teenth century.

The splendor of many of the exhibits in the Mines and
Mining Building attracted spectators constantly. Here were
shown whatever pertained to the extraction of ores themselves.
The ends of the earth lent their riches. A large collection of
gold nuggets from New South Wales was shown, not far
away from 10,000 carats of uncut diamonds from the Kim-
berley diamond fields of South Africa. Mexico sent the model
of the Castle of Chapultepec wrought in pure gold. A statue of
Justice in silver represented a mine in Montana and a globe of
copper, twelve feet in diameter, came from the Michigan cop-
per region.

The Agricultural Building covered nineteen acres. It was
pleasing as an example of classic Renaissance architecture,
while its contents were probably exhausted by few. The very
immensity defied minute examination.

Whereas at the Centennial a very small area had sufficed
for the telegraphic display that was made in the field of
electricity, in the fair of 1893 a large and effective building

io8 THS WORLD'S PROGRESS.

was needed to display the various uses to which this natural
force had been applied.

The Fine Arts Building was the most beautiful on the
grounds and in its classic simplicity might have been erected
by the Greeks themselves had they known and used the dome.
It afforded the most remarkable opportunity that has ever been
given for Americans to see in their own borders the treasured
works of art from other lands.

The Woman's Building, designed by a woman and man-
aged throughout by the Board of Lady Managers, was
worthy of place by the beautiful buildings surrounding it.
Mrs. Alice Freeman Palmer pointed out in an article written
somewhat later, that on this occasion women demonstrated
beyond question their executive ability and power to cope
with baffling and perplexing conditions; that having thus
given evidence of their independent power, henceforth their
work might well be placed on its merits by that of men, with-
out further differentiation.

One of the innovations was the Children's Building — an
after-thought, requiring strenuous effort on the part of the
Board of Lady Managers, which in the press of time stood
temporary sponsor for the requisite funds to insure it place.
Children throughout the land were asked to contribute;
private movements of one kind and another were initiated to
raise money; states were called upon to help and finally a
bazaar held at the home of Mrs. Potter Palmer, President of
the Ladies' Board, realized the amount still needed. The
building cost about $25,000. It was 150 feet long by 90 feet
wide and its exterior was decorated by sixteen medallions of
children of other lands in native costume. One hundred babies
could be cared for in its creche. A kindergarten was main-
tained and talks were given older children on foreign coun-
tries, then groups of them taken to see the exhibits made by
nations previously discussed. Whatever pertained to the
moral and physical welfare of the child was dealt with for the
instruction of mothers. A collection of toys from many lands
was displayed. On top of the building a model playground
for the little ones was provided. The educational benefit of
the undertaking was unquestioned. Moreover, weary mothers

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 109

could leave children here in safety while they went about the
grounds.

The President's invitation to foreign nations to participate
in this world exposition, issued in December of 1890, elicited
a hearty response. Forty-six entered exhibits and nineteen
erected buildings. These with the various state buildings
filled a wide area with exhaustless interest. Only natural
products and relics were shown in these — the regular exhibits
being entered in the buildings provided for them. Much
variety was displayed in the foreign and state sections. Virginia
copied the home of Washington at Mount Vernon, heirlooms
of old Virginian families being displayed therein; Pennsyl-
vania built an appropriate Colonial house; Massachusetts, a
model of John Hancock's old home in Boston ; New York, a
restored Van Rensselaer mansion; Florida represented the
oldest building in the United States — Fort Marion at St.
Augustine; while California built a mission in the main fol-
lowing the one best preserved today, at Santa Barbara.

Historically the Convent La Rabida, erected at a cost of
$25,000, and reproducing faithfully the actual convent where
Columbus, disheartened and worn, sought shelter, and where
hope for him dawned at last, held first place. In it were shown
documents, maps, and relics of the Admiral.

To rest the eye and relax nerves strained by close atten-
tion to this wealth of industrial achievement and material gain,
amusement was provided by a Bazaar of Nations. The
Midway Plaisance was located on a strip of land comprising
about 85 acres. A Street of Constantinople, Street in Cairo,
a Moorish Palace, Villages of Laplanders, South Sea Islanders,
Germans, and other nationalities, Indian Camps, a California
Ostrich Farm, and the Ferris Wheel were among its numer-
ous attractions. The amount realized from these concessions
helped materially to defray exorbitant expenses of the fair.

It is impossible to convey the faintest impression of the
transcendent beauty of the Columbian Exposition. In the
day time it presented, as one well-known commentator said,
"frozen history of the world's achievement." Its buildings
amazed the beholder and the general effect was stupendous.
But it was by night that the White City became a dream, a
vision of loveliness. All imperfections shadowed by night,

no THS WORID'S PROGRESS.

the glory of the Court of Honor, with its feathery sprays and
gorgeous colors, fascinated and charmed. This was the first
exposition to revel in electricity for illumination and the out-
lines of the buildings threaded with tiny lights created an
impression which could not surprise the people so greatly
today, so accustomed have we become to striking displays of
light in all large cities.

A cry of dismay spread over the land that so much beauty
should be eliminated by the termination of the fair, but it was
convincingly shown that while these buildings charmed by
their fresh appearance, they were only constructed for short
duration and could not be perpetuated. However, the Fine
Arts building, having been erected with an idea of perma-
nency, was retained as a memorial and is known today as the
Field Museum, Marshall Field having generously contributed
$1,000,000 for its uses.

This memorable exposition was such an overwhelming
success that it brought great credit upon the city which had
so substantially contributed and worked to make it possible.
That it has had a far-reaching influence upon our industries,
art, education and life cannot be questioned.

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. in

CHAPTER XII.
THE WORLD'S FAIR CONGRESSES.

THE World's Congress Auxiliary arranged for twenty
different Congresses to assemble in Chicago during the sum-
mer months of 1893. The first to hold its session was the
Congress of Representative Women. Congresses of Art,
Education, Music, Literature, Commerce and Finance, Peace
and Arbitration, Social Reform and, most remarkable of all,
a Parliament of Religions, which continued its meetings for
seventeen days. For the first time in the world's history,
Catholic and Protestant adherents of Christianity, Hebrews,
Mohamedans, Buddhists, followers of Confucius, and such
other religious sects as are found throughout the civilized world,
sat down together to hear each belief explained sympathetically
by one who loved it.

"I dreamed

That stone by stone I reared a sacred fane,
A Temple, neither Paged, Mosque nor Church,
But loftier, simpler, always open-doored
To every breath from Heaven ; and Truth and Peace
And Love and Justice came and dwelt therein."

Akbar's vision seemed for a moment about to be fulfilled,
and many a broad-minded religious teacher exclaimed that it
seemed too good to be true.

It was explained that the place of assembly was no de-
bating ground. Each was to state as clearly as possible his
own views — not to quarrel with those of his neighbor. It
was stated that all these religions were not for a moment
assumed to be of equal importance in the world, but that as
beliefs of devout worshippers, they were all interesting.

While it is impossible to say what influence this conven-
tion exerted, it is safe to assume that none who participated
or listened to addresses by men inspired to give their own
religion noblest expression, could ever find his spiritual out-
look quite so circumscribed as before. Simple faith is always

ii2 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

appealing and powerful. One minister exclaimed when invited
to share in the program: "It is gratifying to know we are
to have a chance to view religion as a whole — we are so
accustomed to seeing fragments of it." Acquaintance among
people tends to lessen misunderstanding and hostility, and
when we finally come to be able to see all worshippers, how-
ever blindly, reaching toward one final goal we shall but
approach the exalted attitude of Akbar, the great Asiatic ruler
contemporaneous with the wise Elizabeth and worthy to rank
with the broad visioned of all time. A Mohamedan by inher-
itance, the following was his favorite prayer — merely polished
by the poet :

"O God, in every temple I see people that see Thee, and in every

language

I hear spoken, people praise thee.
Polytheism and Islam feel after thee.
Each religion says, 'Thou art one, without equal.'
If it be a mosque, people murmur the holy prayer, and if it be

a Christian Church, people ring the bell from love to

Thee.

"Sometimes I frequent the Christian cloister, and sometimes the

mosque,

But it is thee whom I seek from temple to temple.
Thy elect have no dealings with heresy or with orthodoxy: for

neither of them stands behind the screen of thy truth.
Heresy for the heretic, and religion to the orthodox.
But the dust of the rose-petal belongs to the heart of the

perfume-seller."

Never before in the world's history have been assembled
more gifted and distinguished women than those who gath-
ered from the quarters of the globe for the Congress of
Representative Women. From across the seas came those
talented from many lands, and in our own, women closely
associated with various social movements as well as personally
renowned. Madame Modjeska, Clara Morris and Julia Mar-
lowe had something to say regarding women in their relation
to the drama. Susan B. Anthony and Mrs. Elizabeth Cady
Stanton advocated citizens' rights for their sex; Frances
Willard was concerned in her life interest, temperance. The
aged and venerated Mrs. Julia Ward Howe took the long

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 113

journey to be present at the illustrious meeting1. Mrs. Maude
Ballington Booth explained the hopes of that organization
with which she has long been identified in her adopted country ;
and Miss Jane Addams, already a deep student of social
science, advocated social reform.

Many of slight acquaintance outside their own localities
save among1 people of allied work, whether educational or
philanthropic, presented papers. The kindergarten, which had
been accorded experimental trial at the Centennial, had be-
come a strong force in education. Mrs. Potter Palmer, the
efficient President of the Board of Lady Managers, carried
the outlook of the educated woman into the dedicatory pro-
gram of the Exposition.

Because of its significance as being the first movement of
the kind, illustrative citations have been made from the most
important addresses presented before the Congress of Repre-
sentative Women. No one can reread them now without
realizing how prophetic they were — how the thoughtful and
discerning of the day already saw the dawn of light upon
many a problem which is still vexing men and women of our
country.

ADDRESS: THE EDUCATED WOMAN.

(Mrs. Potter Palmer on Dedication Day.)

OF all the changes that have resulted from the ingenuity
and inventiveness of the race, there is none that equals in
importance to woman the application of machinery to the per-
formance of the never-ending tasks that have previously been
hers. The removal from the household to the various facto-
ries where each work is now done of spinning, carding,
dyeing, knitting, the weaving of the textile fabrics, sewing-,
the cutting and making of garments, and many other laborious
occupations, has enabled her to lift her eyes from the drudg-
ery that has oppressed her since prehistoric days.

The result is that women as a sex have been liberated.
They now have time to think, to be educated, to plan and
pursue courses of their own choosing-. Consider the value to
her race of one half its members being enabled to throw aside
the intolerable bondage of ignorance that has always weighed
them down! See the innumerable technical, professional, and

X— 8

H4 THS WORLDS PROGRESS.

art schools, academies, and colleges that have been suddenly
called into existence by the unwonted demand! It is only
about one hundred years since girls were first permitted to
attend the free schools of Boston. They were then allowed
to take the place of boys, for whom the schools were insti-
tuted, during the session when the latter were helping to
gather in the harvest.

It is not strange that woman is drinking deeply of the long-
denied fountain of knowledge. She had been told, until she
almost believed it, by her physician, that she was too delicate
and nervous an organization to endure the application and
mental strain of the school room; by the scientist, that the
quality of the grey matter of her brain would not enable her
to grasp the exact sciences, and that its peculiar convolutions
made it impossible for her to follow a logical proposition
from premise to conclusion ; by her anxious parents, that there
was nothing man so abominated as a learned woman, nothing
so unlovely as a bluestocking, and yet she comes smiling from
her curriculum, with her honors fresh upon her, healthy and
wise, forcing us to acknowledge that she is more than ever
attractive, companionable, and useful.

What is to be done with this strong, self-poised creature of
glowing imagination and high ideals, who evidently intends,
as a natural inherent right, to pursue her self -development
in her chosen line of work? Is the world ready to give her
industrial and intellectual independence, and to open all doors
before her? The human race is not so rich in talent, genius
and useful creative energy that it can afford to allow any
considerable proportion of these valuable attributes to be
wasted or unproductive, even though they may be possessed
by women.

The sex which numbers more than half the population of
the world is forced to enter the keen competition of life, with
many disadvantages both real and fictitious. Are the legiti-
mate compensations and honors that should come as the
result of ability and merit to be denied on the untenable
ground of sex aristocracy? . . .

Even more important than the discovery of Columbus,
which we are gathered together to celebrate, is the fact that
the General Government has just discovered women. It has

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 115

sent out a flash-light from its heights, so inaccessible to us,
which we shall answer by a return signal when the Exposition
is opened. What will be its next message to us?

THE KINDERGARTEN.

(Mrs. Sarah B. Cooper, President International Kindergarten Union.)

THE kindergarten is the best agency for setting in motion
the physical, mental and moral machinery of the little child,
that it may do its own work in its own way. It is the rain,
and dew, and sun that evoke the sleeping germ and bring it
into self-activity and growth. It is teaching the little child to
teach himself. The kindergarten devotes itself more to ideas
than to words; more to things than to books. Children are
taught words too much, while they fail to catch ideas. Give
a child ideas. The world does not need fine rhetoric, valuable
as that is, half so much as it needs practical, useful ideas. A
famous inventor's counsel to a young man was: "Study to
have ideas, my boy; study to have ideas. I have always
found that if I had an idea I could express it on a shingle
with a piece of chalk and let a draughtsman work it out
handsomely and according to rule. I generally had ideas
enough to keep three or four draughtsmen busy. You can
always hire draughtsmen, but you can not hire ideas. Study
to have ideas, my boy." The man should be the master, not
the slave, of his learning, and whether he is the one or the
other depends very largely on the way his knowledge has
been gained. It is better to be the master of a little knowl-
edge, with the capacity to use it creatively, than to be the
unproductive carrier of all the learning in the libraries. Study
to have ideas ; life will give no end of opportunities for using
them. That is exactly the aim of the kindergarten — to make
the mind creative, to stimulate thought, to beget ideas.
Habits of observation are cultivated. Observing is more than
seeing. The child in the kindergarten is taught to observe —
that is, to notice with attention, to see truly. What he learns
in the schoolroom is calculated to make him keep his eyes
wide open to the world about him. He is taught to think and
that is the primary thing. The kindergarten makes the knowl-
edge of ideas wait upon the knowledge of facts, just as it

n6 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

subordinates the cultivation of the memory to the development
of faculty. . . .

Bodily vigor, mental activity, and moral activity are indis-
pensable to a perfected life. All these are cherished and
developed in the true kindergarten; all these make the man,
and prepare him for efficient work in every department of
life. Every child should have the privilege of making the
most of himself by unfolding all that is in him. As one of
the most noted among the disciples of the great Froebel, Miss
Emily Sheriff, of London, says: "The poor man suffers
wrong when his education is so defective that he can not use
his faculties aright, when his senses are blunted, his observa-
tion and judgment insecure. This wrong to the poor may be
avoided by early methodical training in the kindergarten, thus
fitting them for industrial pursuits. As it is now," she goes
on, "when boys and girls leave school to go to some trade,
they go with hands and eyes absolutely" uncultivated; they
begin with clumsy fingers, with that untrue habit of vision
which belongs to those who have never learned the difference
between accurate and inaccurate impressions." Suppose these
children had been first trained in the kindergarten — taught
there to observe resemblances and differences of forms and
colors, to reproduce accurately what they have observed ac-
curately, to have acquired a certain sureness and delicacy of
handling, which would be further cultivated by drawing at
school, — then these boys and girls would enter an industrial
apprenticeship, or any technical school, in a very different
condition ; they would be able to grapple at once with ordinary
difficulties, instead of beginning the education of their hands
and senses, and would in consequence reach much sooner the
degree of proficiency that insures payment for work. When
we withhold this cultivation of the senses and of manual
dexterity, we actually maim children in the use of some of
the most important faculties; we rob them of what nature
designed for them. It is a fact that too little thought is given
to boys and girls who upon leaving school will enter industrial
ranks. Too large a share of training is paid to mere intel-
lectual development ; too little to practical morality and manual
training. It is charged by some that our public schools tend
to unfit our boys and girls for good, honest work. Is the

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS.

charge true? I do not believe it is. It ought not to be so.
But a thoughtful observer and educator wisely says that four
years of study without labor, wholly removed from sympathy
with the laboring world, during the period of life when tastes
and habits are rapidly formed, will almost inevitably produce
disinclination, if not inability, to perform the work and duties
of the shop or farm. There must be something wrong where
such a feeling exists. That notable nation from which we
have derived more good sense and more examples worthy of
imitation than from all others, the Jewish nation, stands
preeminent in this, that it has always honored labor. Every
child was taught some manual craft, so that if his resources
failed there should be no Jewish child who should not be able
to do something, or make something. It is not necessary to
be a drudge in order to be a workman. The kindergarten
ennobles toil. It teaches the little child to work with his hand,
but to control his work with his head. Let this purpose and
spirit pervade industrial education until the child reaches man-
hood's estate, and his labor will be full, not only of manly
quality, but of moral quality as well. The coordination of
the work-shop and the school-house would be the emanci-
pation of labor from present prejudices. . . .

We must call the little children from the very earliest
years, and prepare them for useful and honorable citizenship.
I have tried to outline the plan. Let me briefly summarize.
Take the very little child into the kindergarten and there
begin the work of physical, mental, and moral training. Put
the child in possession of his powers; develop his faculties;
unfold his moral nature; cultivate mechanical skill in the use
of the hands; give him a sense of symmetry and harmony,
a quick judgment of number, measure, and size; stimulate his
inventive faculties; make him familiar with the customs and
usages of well-ordered lives; teach him to be kind, courteous,
helpful, and unselfish; inspire him to love whatsoever things
are true, and right, and kind, and noble; and thus equipped,
physically, mentally, and morally, send him forth to the wider
range of study, which should include within its scope some
kind of industrial training. This training should put the boy
or girl into the possession of the tools for technical employ-
ment, or for the cultivation of the arts of drawing and kindred

n8 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

employments; still further on the boy and girl should have
a completed trade. Thus will they be prepared to solve the
rugged problem of existence by earning their own living
through honest, faithful work. Throw open the kindergarten
and the schools for industrial and art training to every child,
and, with the heart pure, the head clear, the hand skillful and
ready, we shall hear no more of the mutterings of mob vio-
lence and internecine strife. Our fair land shall take its place
in the very front ranks of nations distinguished for their
industrial achievements. There must be more of genuine
human sympathy between the top and the bottom of society.
The prosperous and the happy must join hand and heart with
the toilers and strugglers. The living, loving self is wanted.
The heart must be the missionary. The life must be the
sermon. All mankind must be brethren. The children must
be taught these great principles, and aided in putting them
into practice.

WOMEN AND POLITICS.

(Countess of Aberdeen.)

I WOULD like to explain from the outset that it is a
mystery to me how any woman who has faced the matter can
think it anything else but her plain matter-of-course duty to
take an interest in politics, as far as she is able; and when
one comes to look at the matter from a Christian point of
view, the obligation becomes a hundredfold more imperative.
So, in answer to the question, I reply, in words which I have
often used on my own behalf and on behalf of hundreds and
thousands of other women in our country who have taken up
political work during the last six years, — "We are politicians
because it has been shown to us that we can not do our duty,
either to our own homes or to our country, without being so."

Friends and foes alike will often tell us that politics will
always mean dirty work, and that fine sentiments and high
aims are all very well for public platforms, but that they will
not go down in practical daily life; and that this being so,
we had better keep clear of what will inevitably tend to lower
our standards of right and wrong. Our action in taking up
politics is regarded in this light not only by those whose gibes
and sneers we mav very easily ignore, but it pains and grieves

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 119

many good men and women — some, indeed, of the best men
and women, and some of these may be very dear friends of
our own. We have to meet their remonstrances. They tell
us sadly that in their eyes we have come off our pedestal ; that
we have disappointed them; that a woman's influence and
power were meant to be exerted at home, not in the din of
public life ; and that they can not bear the idea that any woman
for whom they have any regard should be mixed up with the
rough-and-tumble of politics. They want to keep us apart
from all that; they want to build a temple for us where they
can enshrine us apart from and above the world's rough ways
and evils. And we, feeling to the full the value of their esti-
mate of womanhood and their chivalrous feeling for us, shrink
from their reproaches, and from the thought that we are be-
coming unwomanly in their sight and perhaps, indeed, taking
away their ideal of womanhood. But we must face it out, and
see on what these objections are founded. That they do point to
a possible danger we must admit, and we must beware of it.
But, as a rule, I think we may say that we shall find that the ob-
jections proceed principally from two sources : First, a very
partial idea of what a woman's life should be; and second, a
low estimate of politics. Let us look at the last first. When
we go to political meetings — men's political meetings — we
hear often a great deal of what politics should accomplish;
that the end of all politics is the well-being of the people. We
hear of all the good and noble things that such and such a
policy has accomplished and will accomplish for the people —
things that affect the lives and homes of the people, that make
a vast difference to their happiness and to their power of
living good and healthy lives. Many are the eloquent speeches
we hear on the subject. And yet they come home and tell
us that politics are not for women, that they would debase
and degrade women; these politics which are to raise the
whole people would contaminate us.

How do we reconcile these two statements? Do those
who make the speeches believe in what they are saying pub-
licly, or do they say it only to catch the ear of the people, and
do they really believe in their hearts that political life as a
matter of fact means only a race between men and between
parties for power, influence, place and fame? With such an

I2O TH£ WORLD'S PROGRESS.

estimate of political life we can have nothing to do, and we
do not wonder that any who incline toward such a view
should use their best endeavor to keep us out of it. But we
believe there are grand principles which may and which
should inspire the government of the people, by the people,
for the people; we believe implicitly in their power, when
properly applied, to reform, and ennoble, and uplift; and that
it is our duty as citizens to help forward such application.
We desire to carry out these principles faithfully in our own
lives, and we look upon those who follow politics for selfish
and unworthy ends as traitors to the cause. And the reason
why the vast majority of us who take up political work claim
the suffrage, is because we believe we cannot do our duty in
these directions until we have it.

Any of us who know anything of the lives of the poor,
know how the social questions which we discuss backward and
forward are living, pressing, realities to them. Questions
about education, labor, the sweating system, licensing evils,
the workhouse system, are all sternly real to them, and
especially so to the women. We must so believe in our politics
that we shall both believe and act as if politics must deal with
these questions. We are not content to talk about these
problems; we desire to understand them, and to help our fel-
low-women, who have such hard lives and so little leisure, to
understand them too, so that they may decide what is to be
done — they who will have the power when the time comes.

We must also believe in the power of right political
thought in foreign politics. We must not give way to the idea
that what is wrong in private life can ever be right in political
life. We must not believe that what would be dishonorable or
unjust in dealing one with another can be right and honorable
in dealing with nations.

Then, as to the other misconception, which lies often at
the root of the objections of which we have been speaking — a
partial ideal for woman. A true standard for womanhood is
a great need; for the good of both women and men it is
needed. The ideal women in poetry and fiction are generally
represented in their own homes, spreading a bright and holy
influence as sister, daughter, wife and mother. Woman at her
own fireside is enshrined as woman at her best. Far be it

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 121

from me to disparage such an ideal. I only venture to say
that it is an ideal which does not include the whole of a
woman's life, and that true ideals are always expanding- and
enlarging. Woman is a human being as well as a woman,
and must have duties as such toward human beings outside of
her own home circle, and toward her country.

GOVERNMENT.

(Elizabeth Cady Stanton.)

THE basic idea of the republic is the right of self govern-
ment ; the right of every citizen to choose his own representa-
tives and to make the laws under which he lives; and as this
right can be secured only by the exercise of the right of suf-
frage, the ballot in the hands of every qualified person indicates
his true political status as a citizen in a republic.

The right of suffrage is simply the right to govern one's
self. Every human being is born into the world with this
right, and the desire to exercise it comes naturally with the
responsibilities of life. "The highest earthly desire of a
ripened mind," says Thomas Arnold, "is the desire to take
an active share in the great work of government." Those
only who are capable of appreciating this dignity can measure
the extent to which women are defrauded as citizens of this
great republic ; neither can others measure the loss to the coun-
cils of the nation of the wisdom of representative women.

When men say that women do not desire the right of
suffrage, but prefer masculine domination to self-government,
they falsify every page of history, every fact of human
nature. The chronic condition of rebellion, even of children
against the control of nurses, elder brothers, sisters, parents,
and teachers, is a protest in favor of the right of self govern-
ment. Boys in schools and colleges find their happiness in dis-
obeying rules, in circumventing and defying teachers and
professors; and their youthful pranks are so many protests
against a government in which they have no voice, and afford
one of the most pleasing topics of conversation in after life.

The general unrest of the subjects of kings, emperors, and
czars, expressed in secret plottings or open defiance against
self-constituted authorities, shows the settled hatred of all

122 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

people for governments to which they have not consented.
But it is said that on this point women are peculiar, that they
differ from all other classes, that being dependent they nat-
urally prefer being governed by others. The facts of history
contradict the assertion. These show that women have
always been, as far as they dared, in a state of half -concealed
resistance to fathers, husbands, and all self-constituted authori-
ties; as far as good policy permitted them to manifest their
real feelings they have done so. It has taken the whole power
of the civil and canon law to hold woman in the subordinate
position which it is said she willingly accepts. If woman had
no will, no self-assertion, no opinions of her own to start with,
what mean the terrible precautions of the sex in the past ?

So persistent and merciless has been the effort to dominate
the female element in humanity, that we may well wonder at
the steady resistance maintained by woman through the cen-
turies. She has shown all along her love of individual free-
dom, her desire for self-government; while her achievements
in practical affairs and her courage in the great emergencies of
life have vindicated her capacity to exercise this right.

These, one and all, are so many protests against absolute
authority and so many testimonials in favor of self-govern-
ment; and yet this is the only form of government that has
never been fairly tried.

The few experiments that have been made here and there
in some exceptional homes, schools, and territories have been
only partially successful, because the surrounding influences
have been adverse. When we awake to the fact that our schools
are places for training citizens of a republic, the rights and
duties involved in self-government will fill a larger place in
the curriculum of our universities.

Woman suffrage means a complete revolution in our gov-
ernment, religion, and social life; a revision of our Constitu-
tion, an expurgated edition of our statute laws and codes,
civil and criminal. It means equal representation in the halls
of legislation and in the courts of justice; that woman may
be tried by her own peers, by judges and advocates of her
own choosing. It means light and sunshine, mercy and peace,
in our dungeons, jails, and prisons; the barbarous idea of
punishment superseded by the divine idea of reformation. It

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 123'

means police matrons in all our station-houses, that young
girls when arrested during the night, intoxicated and other-
wise helpless, may be under the watchful eye of judicious
women, and not left wholly to the mercy of a male police.

In religion it means the worship of humanity rather than
of an unknown God ; a church in which the feminine element
in Christianity will be recognized, in which the mother of
the race shall be more sacred than symbols, sacraments, and
altars ; more worthy of reverence than bishops and priests.

A government and a religion that do not recognize the
complete equality of woman are unworthy our intelligent sup-
port. And what does woman suffrage mean in social life?
Health and happiness for women and children; one code of
morals for men and women ; love and liberty, peace and purity,
in the home; cleanliness and order in the streets and alleys;
good sanitary arrangements in the homes of the poor; good
morals and manners taught in the schools ; the crippling influ-
ence of fear of an angry God, a cunning devil, censorious
teachers, severe parents, all lifted from the minds of children,
so long oppressed with apprehensions of danger on every side.
We can not estimate the loss to the world in this repression of
individual freedom and development through childhood and
youth.

Woman suffrage means a new and nobler type of men
and women, with mutual love and respect for each other; it
means equal authority in the home; equal place in the trades
and professions ; equal honor and credit in the world of work.

Our civilization today is simply masculine. Everything1
is carried by force, and violence, and war, and will be until
the feminine element is fully recognized and has equal power
in the regulation of human affairs.

WOMAN'S SUFFRAGE.

IT has often been stated that if the majority of women
wanted their civil rights they could have them. This is doubt^
less true, since a whole nation could not, in the nature of
things, be decapitated, nor the combined and persistent claim
of a whole class in a community be ignored.

124 TH£ WORLD'S PROGRESS.

But the majority of women do not as yet appear to desire
civil and political privilege. It seems, in fact, that more men
than women are in favor of granting such privilege. The
men who are of this opinion believe in citizenship, and recog-
nize that strength comes from the resolute shouldering of
responsibility, as the long, slender stem of the date-palm grows
steady when the leafy bough becomes heavy. They regard
suffrage as an expression of the true republican sentiment that
those who obey the law should understand it, and help to
frame it. They believe that with the help of women civili-
zation would move on with faster and longer strides.

What is the reason that so many women are indifferent
or averse to the assumption of civic duties? I think their
natural conservativeness and their conscientiousness stand in
the way. They already find in the complexity of our life num-
berless demands upon thought and strength. Their aspirations
for increased knowledge and culture, their aesthetic cravings,
urge them to the limits of physical and mental endurance, and
they feel that they can undertake nothing more. If man is a
little world, woman is expected to be a little universe — "all
things by turns and nothing long." A woman must be versatile,
and ready to fill any niche at a irTSment's notice. She must sew
on a button or write a poem, must roast herself in the kitchen
or receive guests in a drawing-room, with equal grace and
facility; and what with keeping up her geography and her
accomplishments she will beg to be excused from what she
thinks the dry and uninteresting subjects of business, current
events, and politics.

It is easier under such circumstances to lead the natural,
old-fashioned life of daughter, wife, and mother in a sheltered
home than to strike out upon the sea of life as a bread-winner
in business or profession.

The former course keeps us in the beaten track of prece-
dent, and holds us in what is particularly agreeable to timid
and conservative people, a goodfellowship with the majority.
In Howell's "Undiscovered Country" we notice that the
heroine gets tired of being phenomenal, and throws herself
into the pleasures of dress and luxury with keen zest. It takes
courage to go against the stream, to be independent and ahead
of your generation; it needs a strong moral muscle to snap

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 125

the withes of prejudice; it demands heroism to obey a law
higher than the laws of sympathy and imitation; and if
women, somewhat by nature and certainly by education, are
lacking in such fiber, we can not be surprised by their slowness
in rising to the emergencies of the hour. . . .

Either obstacles must be removed or women must cultivate
strength to overcome them ; and, more than all, they must be
made to see that they are of the people, and that the state
belongs equally to them with men, and therefore must claim
from them intellectual recognition and moral support.

THE RIGHT TO VOTE).

(Ida Harper.)

WHEN the young people of the present generation read
Uncle Tom's Cabin, and the speeches of Garrison and Phil-
lips, and the history of ante-bellum days, they are filled with
amazement. They are unable to comprehend that the mon-
strous evil of slavery existed and flourished in this beautiful
countrv, and found its defenders among ministers and church

./ ' o

members and the so-called best element of society. "And
you named this the land of the free," they exclaim, "when
three million human beings were held in bondage!" And we
scarcely know how to explain to them the peculiar condition
of public sentiment whose finer perceptions had become dulled
by long familiarity with this crime. So indignant do they
grow over the thought, we scarcely can persuade them that
they owe any respect to ancestors who tolerated such an evil.
just like this will it be, a few generations hence, as the
youth of that age read of a time when the women of the
nation were held in a state of political bondage. "Do you
mean to say women were compelled to pay taxes and yet were
refused all representation?" they will inquire. "Did they col-
lect taxes from women to pay public officials and then not
permit them to hold any of the offices or vote for those who
did?" "Did they compel women to obey the laws and not let
them help make the laws or select the lawmakers?" "Did
they allow men who had no property to vote taxes on the
property of women, to build railroads, sewers, etc., and not
let the women express their wishes in respect to these im-,

126 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

provements?" "Did the most ignorant and degraded
foreigners, the lowest and most vicious of Americans, the
paupers and vagrants, and saloon-keepers and drunkards, who
happened to be men, have the privilege and the power of the
ballot, while the hosts of church women, and the army of
school-teachers, and all the wives and mothers were disfran-
chised because they were women ?" And when all these ques-
tions are answered in the affirmative, these broad-minded and
liberally educated young people will be filled with contempt
for the generations that sanctioned this terrible injustice. Then
they will begin to study the family history, and one will shout
with triumphant joy, "My father and mother protested
against these wrongs and fought long and bravely until they
were abolished ;" and another will discover, with deep humilia-
tion and a shame which can never be eradicated, that his
father voted against equal rights for women, and that his
mother was a "remonstrant."

Future generations never can understand the social and
political conditions which would not permit all citizens to have
a voice in the municipal government of the city in which they
lived, owned property, and paid taxes. Even we who are
living under these conditions can not quite comprehend that
absolute defiance of equity, justice, and right on the part of
men who, having the power, refuse to grant to women the
same privileges in the municipality which they themselves
enjoy. There is not an interest which men have in the good
government of the town or city that is not shared by women.
Take, for instance, the question of street improvement, and
we find women even more anxious for well-paved and cleanly
kept streets. It is their dresses which must sweep up the
debris; it is their thinly shod feet which must suffer from
the cobble-stones between the street railroad-tracks, and from
the inequalities of sidewalks and curbstones. Cleanliness is
an essential characteristic of women, and if they were invested
with the power to bring it about, the littered and dirty streets
of our cities would be a thing of the past in a very short time.
The woman who looks well to the ways of her own household
would give equally as good attention to the ways of the city
in which she and her family must live. There is a crying
need for women in municipal housekeeping. In the making

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 127

of parks, the building of fountains, the planting of shade-
trees, women would feel even greater interest than do men.

Then we come to the subject of public health; here women
are vitally interested. If sewers are defective, if drainage is
bad, if water is impure, women and children, as well as men,
must suffer; and it is highly probable that women, being less
engrossed in business, would look into these things with more
care than men. There is an idea that women are not deeply
interested in these things, which would not be strange, as they
have always been debarred from having any part in them,
but facts do not bear out this theory. The Association of
Collegiate Alumnae, composed of a good many hundreds of
the most highly educated women in the United States, with
all the great questions of the day before them, selected the
subject of drainage and sewerage for their investigations.
They have brought forward a collection of valuable statistics-
and suggestions which have attracted the respectful attention
of those best acquainted with these matters, and promise
fruitful results. In New York, Indianapolis, Chicago, and
a number of cities, the women have formed sanitary associa-
tions, and petitioned the boards of health to permit them to
cooperate in the effort to keep the city clean and to enforce
the rules of the board. This, at first, has been refused, or
grudgingly granted, although after a trial their assistance has
always been pronounced to be desirable. But here we have
the spectacle, first, of women begging permission to do what
is plainly their duty and right as citizens to do; second, per-
forming without pay a work which men are receiving a salary
for doing, and this salary women are taxed to pay. "But,"
they say, "women do not know how to construct sewers, lay
off streets, build pavements, etc. Neither do men, except
the few who have learned the business. But women have
quite as much ability as men to select a good workman, to
hold him to a contract, and to punish him for dishonesty.

128 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

JULIA WARD HOWE.

Her eyes have seen the glory of the presence of the Lord,
He was waiting in the garner where the fruits of life are stored :
He was mindful of the war song that was mightier than the

sword :
Of the Truth that marches on.

She had seen Him in the turning of her ninety golden years,
In the press of human struggle, human want and human tears ;
She had seen His Kingdom growing in the midst of woes and

fears —
His day that marches on.

, She had read a gracious gospel writ in many a gracious life —
Toiler, statesman, trader, poet: hero husband, hero wife —
She had found the peace eternal in the midst of mortal strife,
Since God is marching on.

Where He sounded forth His trumpet, she would never call

retreat :

Where he led his worn battalions in the weary dust and heat ;
How swift her soul to answer him ! How jubilant her feet !
For God was marching on.

In the beauty of the autumn, by the shining of the sea,
She has found the great Enfranchisement; the Christ of Lib-
erty.

As he died to make men holy, so she lived to make men free,
Her soul is marching on.

Oct. 18, 1910. —Amos R. Wells.

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS.
THE MORAL INITIATIVE AS RELATED TO WOMAN.

(Julia Ward Howe.)

THIS title indicates a topic which has come to me in hours
of thought and of study, attracting me both by its philo-
sophical and its practical aspect. The present century has seen
great progress in these two departments. The old philoso-
phies have been taken up, sometimes in a reverent, often in
a sceptical spirit, and the critical procedure has acknowledged
no barriers beyond which it is forbidden to pass. Rules of
life, On the other hand, have also been sharply reviewed and
amended. The salient points of morals have been distinctly
sought out and emphasized, and the two great orders of
thought, philosophy and ethics, have been brought into new
relations of nearness and dearness. Religious teaching has
passed from the observation of rites and the inculcation of meta-
physical views and doctrines to the illustration of the intrinsic
essence of Christianity; and the subtleties of mysticism, ritual-
ism, and what not, have been forgotten in the sympathetic
uprising of the heart of the multitude.

Now, what do I mean by this moral initiative as belonging
to women? Is it a wise phrase that sounds metaphysical and
means nothing? My thought of it is simply this : The world
has had much good to say of its women, and much evil, and
both with reason. The first woman has been credited with all
the woes which have befallen humanity, and with all the sins
into which it has fallen.

Buddhism considers the principle of evil in nature as resi-
dent in the female sex, and ascetics in all lands have held the
same view. The legends of the mother of Christ have no
doubt exercised a potent influence in elevating the moral posi-
tion of the sex; yet in romance and stage-play today, as well
as in ordinary society pleasantry, the question is common,
Where is the woman who is at the bottom of the mischief?
I think that wise people now ask the opposite question. When
we meet with a man who is without fear and without reproach,
whose blameless life seems to have gone on from strength to
strength, upbuilding the community, and honoring humanity

by his own noble image and conduct, we are apt to ask where
x— 9

130 THE; WORUD'S PROGRESS.

the woman is. And our thoughts go back to the cradle in
which his helpless infancy was tended, — even further, to the
heart to which his own was the nearest thing on earth, to the
breast from which he was fed with the essence of a pure life.
Happy is the man whose mother has been a tower of strength
to herself and her family. The first precious lessons it has
been hers to give. No matter what storms may have raged
without, how mean the home or how wild the street, he has
first seen the light in an atmosphere of celestial purity. The
mother love has watched at the gates of his childish Eden with
a drawn sword. No evil counsel or influence has been
allowed to come near him. And when in the necessary course
of things he has passed out of her keeping, he has gone ac-
companied by the Christ-prayer, "I pray not that thou shouldst
take him out of the world, but that thou shouldst keep him
from the evil." This I call the moral initiative, the man's
start in life. The nucleus of all that he is to believe, to aim at,
and to do, has been delivered to him, like a sealed packet full
of precious things, by a mother who honors supremely all that
honors humanity, who dreads and despises all that dishonors
and deforms it.

No one will deny that this type of woman is most precious.
The question will rather be how we may maintain and multiply
it. And here the whole horizon of the past confronts us, as
well as the veiled heaven of the future. In this past we read
that all that is slavish in human institutions is demoralizing;
and that while discipline forms and exalts, despotism degrades
and deforms, appealing back to the lower instincts, which have
their place in animal life — fear, cunning, low self-love, and the
low attachments of mere habit and interest. From the tyran-
nies of the old order into the liberty wherewith Christ has
made us free the world is slowly passing, but all that detains
humanity on its lower levels retards the progress of the race.
Oh, that men, themselves enfranchised, should wish to detain
their women in the bondage from which they themselves have
been delivered! In true Christianity there is no moral dis-
tinction of sex, neither male nor female; but in the political
life even of free America the man opens the door for himself
and shuts it against his wife, opens the door for his son and
shuts it upon his daughter. And this, I say, is demoralizing.

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 131

It compels one-half of the human race to look back toward the
old barbarism, while the other insists upon looking1 forward
to the new civilization. The man to whom the woman's freedom
of soul is the first condition of his own, puts on that freedom
a fatal barrier, and defrauds himself thereby. His mother
should be his superior; his wife should be his equal and com-
panion. He invites them to acquiesce in a lower position, to
exercise a self-control which he does not dream of exacting
from himself, but also to sacrifice the self-respect out of which
should spring the very power of self-control, of self-sacrifice,
of subordinating the pleasurable to the ethical, the caprice of
self-indulgence to the steady purposes of duty. . . .

I believe in the political enfranchisement of women be-
cause I see in it the key to all that is rightly expected of them
in the world's economy. I believe in it because I believe in
logic; not so much in the short-sighted syllogisms which we
teach as in the great logic which life teaches us, in which
effects follow causes, and moral principles confirm themselves
in moral results.

MARRIAGE.
(Rev. Anna Shaw.)

THE question before us is this, "What is marriage?" Is
it a mere coming together of two people who have fallen in
love? Do you know that love is the only thing people ever
fall into? If a man undertakes any form of business in the
world he deliberates upon the business, his attainments, his
preparation to manage and master it, and the possibility of
his success — the whole ground is studied over carefully; but
when two people undertake to enter upon the most serious
business in life — that from which they can not well ever be
rescued — instead of deliberating they "fall" into it. A young
man sees a young woman "with marvelous bangs," and that
is the last of him. A young woman sees a young man with
"a marvelous mustache," and that is the last of her. They
have fallen in love. After they are married they find that
marriage means something besides bangs and mustache. My
idea of marriage is of the highest and holiest kind. I believe
marriage, and the home that is the result of marriage, is the
holy of holies this side of the throne of God; and that any

132 TH£ WORLD'S PROGRESS.

two people who enter upon this sacred relation should be
those who are fitted to found in this world a home which is a
type of the home which awaits us all beyond. I believe that
whatever broadens and enlarges woman, whatever develops
any of the capacities which God has given her, fits her to
become a founder of this kind of home. Anything which
makes a woman free, anything which develops her physical,
mental, moral, or spiritual life, makes her better fitted to be
the founder of a home.

Now the whole thought upon this question is that
women develop, but that during this age of development
which has come to woman, men have remained station-
ary. As women grow broader, men are also growing
broader, and I believe the man of the future will demand
for his wife the woman of the future, as the man of
today demands the woman of today. As our boys and
girls are reared together, as they become educated in our
institutions of learning together, as they go out in trades and
professions together, our young men will never know any other
kind of womanhood than that with which they are reared;
and so I believe a woman's marriage prospect is equally good
with a man's marriage prospect, for if a woman loses her
prospect here a man must lose his prospect also. Since men
will not give up marriage, women also, you see, can not give
up marriage; so the marriage prospect of one sex is equally
good with the marriage prospect of the other under any con-
dition in life. But I believe the man of today is beginning to
demand a nobler woman for his wife ; and although in the past
men considered that absolute ignorance and innocence and in-
ability to do anything but entertain them were admirable traits
in a sweetheart, it is marvelous how much good sense they
expected of the woman after she became a wife. The difference
between what a man demands of the woman with whom he is
passing a few of his leisure hours and what he demands of her
when she becomes his wife is wonderful ; and I believe the man
of the future will demand of the woman of the future that kind
of training which will make her not only a good cook and a
good housekeeper, but also his companion in all that interests
and concerns him.

,Why should we care for marriage unless it is the highest

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS.

state into which men and women can enter? Why should one
seek marriage unless it is better to her than the unmarried
state? If marriage offers nothing better than the conditions
out of which one goes, unless marriage has something that it
can hold up as an inducement over against these conditions,
we can not expect the modern woman to give up her leisure,
her independence, and all that comes to a woman outside of
marriage.

I am not one who believes that motherhood is the highest
crown of glory which a woman can wear. I must confess Is
have heard that poetry all my life. It is good poetry ; it sounds
well, and it comforts us, but it is not true. Woman is some-
thing more and greater than a mother. Woman is something
more and greater than any of the external conditions of her
life. The highest crown of glory that any woman can wear is
pure, strong, noble, virtuous, dignified womanhood. After a
woman has attained to that fullness of perfect womanhood,
then let come to her what will, motherhood or spinsterhood,
either will be equally with the other a crown of glory.

I say again that marriage must have something to offer to
the average woman of today, the woman of culture, the woman
of education, the woman able to earn a good salary and make
for herself a beautiful home. Marriage must have something
in it worthy of that woman, and worthy of the sacrifice which
she shall make of her independence. I believe that marriage
has much to offer. The ideal, the marriage which I believe
God has in his mind when he conceives of home, is the marriage
made by two who enter into the home as equal partners. So
long as in the marriage ceremony of any church there remains
the command on the part of one to obey, and of the other to
compel or demand obedience, the home founded can not be
the highest and best place for men and women. When public
sentiment has arisen to that high plane which shall demand
that no woman shall become subservient to her husband or
commit perjury, we shall have the ideal marriage, and until we
have ideal marriage we can not tell what effect any change in
either business or social conditions can have upon woman's
marriage prospect.

/ believe that underlying the perfect marriage must be per-
fect equality of the two entering upon this estate; perfect

134 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

equality everywhere and perfect respect ; neither to rule as head
over the other, neither to be submissive and subordinate to
the other, but each to be the equal, the comrade and the friend
of the other.

Now concerning this whole change in woman's life, I admit
frankly that there may be some little harm, some little hurt,
resulting from it. There has never been any great reformation
without some harm in the transition period. In giving liberty
to the slave some harm came to both slave and master. From
any great movement we expect some evil to follow. There
has never been a great revival of religion but some evil came
in its train. So in this transition stage from subordination and
dependence to self-respect and independence there will be some
friction.

DOMESTIC SERVICE.

(Jane Addams.)

EVER since we entered upon the industrial revolution of
the eighteenth century, factory labor — work done in factories —
has been increasingly competing in the open market with house-
hold labor — work done in private houses. Taking out of
account women with little children or invalids dependent upon
them, to whom both factory and household labor are impos-
sible and who are practically confined to the sewing trades, to
all untrained women seeking employment a choice is open be-
tween these two forms of labor. There are few women so
dull that they cannot paste labels on a box or do some form
of factory work ; few so dull that some perplexed housekeeper
will not receive them, at least for a trial, into the household.
Household labor, then, has to compete with factory labor not
only in point of hours, in point of permanency of employment,
in point of wages, but in point of the advantage it affords for
family and social life; and all women seeking employment
more or less consciously compare the two forms of labor in
all these points.

The three points are easily disposed of. First : In regard
to hours there is no doubt that the factory has the advantage.
The average factory hours are from seven in the morning to
six in the evening, with a chance of working over-time, which,
in busy seasons, means until nine o'clock. This leaves most

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 135

of the evenings and Sundays free. The average hours of
household labor are from six in the morning to eight at night,
with little difference in seasons. There is one afternoon a
week, with an occasional evening, but Sunday is never wholly
free.

Second: In regard to permanency of position the ad-
vantage is found clearly on the side of the household employe.

Third: In regard to wages the household is again fairly
ahead, if we consider not alone the money received but also
the opportunity offered for saving money. This is greater
among household employes, because they do not pay board,
the clothing required is simpler, and the temptation to spend
money in recreation is less frequent. The average minimum
wage paid an adult in household labor may be fairly put at two
dollars and fifty cents a week; the maximum at six dollars,
this excluding the comparatively rare opportunities for women
to cook at forty dollars a month and the housekeeper's posi-
tion at fifty dollars a month. The factory wages, viewed from
the savings bank point of view, may be smaller in the average,
but this I believe to be counterbalanced in the minds of the
employes by the greater chance which the factory offers for
increased wages. A girl over sixteen seldom works in a fac-
tory for less than four dollars a week, and she always cherishes
the hope of being at last a forewoman with a permar *nt salary
of from fifteen to twenty-five dollars a week. Whether she
attains this or not she runs a fair chance, after serving a prac-
tical apprenticeship, of earning ten dollars a week as a skilled
worker. A girl finds it easier to be content with four dollars
a week when she pays for board, with a scale of wages rising
toward ten dollars, than to be content with four dollars a week
and board, the scale of wages rising toward six dollars; and
the girl well knows that there are scores of liberally paid fore-
women at fifteen dollars a week for one forty-dollar cook or
fifty-dollar housekeeper. In many cases this position is well
taken economically, for, although the opportunity for saving
may be better for the employe in the household than in the
factory, her family saves more when she works in a factory
and lives with them. The rent is no more when she is at home.
The two dollars and fifty cents which she pays into the family
fund more than covers the cost of her actual food, and at

136 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

night she can often contribute toward the family labor by
helping her mother wash and sew.

This brings us easily to the fourth point of comparison,
that of the possibilities afforded for family life. It is well to
remember that women, as a rule, are devoted to their families ;
that they want to live with their parents, their brothers and
sisters, and kinsfolk, and will sacrifice a good deal to accomplish
this. This devotion is so universal that it is impossible to
ignore it when we consider women as employes. Young un-
married women are not detached from family claims and re-
quirements as young men are, and, so far as my observation
goes, are more ready and steady in their response to the needs
of the aged parents and helpless members of the family. But
women performing labor in households have peculiar difficul-
ties in enjoying family life, and are more or less dependent
upon their employers for possibilities to see their relatives and
friends. Curiously enough, the same devotion to the family
life and quick response to its claims on the part of the em-
ployer operate against the girl in household labor, and places
her in the unique position of isolation. The employer of
household labor, to preserve her family life intact and free
from intrusion, acts inconsistently in her zeal, and grants to
her cook, for instance, but once or twice a week such oppor-
tunity for untrammeled association with her relatives as the
employer's family claims constantly. So strongly is the em-
ployer imbued with the sanctity of her own family life that
this sacrifice of the cook's family life seems to her perfectly
justifiable. If one chose to be jocose one might say that it
becomes almost a religious devotion, in which the cook figures
as a burnt offering and the kitchen range as the patriarchal
altar.

This devotion to family life the men of the family also
share. A New York gentleman who lunches at Delmonico's,
eats food cooked by a cook with a salary of five thousand
dollars a year. He comes home hungry, and with a tantalizing
memory of the lunch, to a dinner cooked by a cook who is
paid at most forty dollars a month. The contrast between
lunch and dinner is great, and the solace of the family is needed
to make the dinner endurable, but the aforesaid gentleman
quiets discontent with the reflection that in eating a dinner

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 137

cooked by an individual cook they are in some occult manner
cherishing the sanctity of the family life, though his keen
business mind knows full well that in actual money he is pay-
ing more for his badly cooked dinner than for his well-cooked
lunch.

To return from the digression — this peculiar isolation of
the household. In addition to her isolation from her family,
a woman finds all the conditions of her social life suddenly
changed when she enters the service of a household. It is well
to remember that the household employes for the better quarters
of the city and the suburbs are largely drawn from the poorer
quarters, which are nothing if not gregarious. The girl is
born and reared in a tenement house full of children. She
knows them almost as well as she knows her brothers and
sisters, ami plays with them almost as constantly. She goes
to school, and there learns to march, to read, and to write in
constant companionship with forty other children. If she lives
at home until she is old enough to go to parties, those she goes
to are mostly held in a public hall and are crowded with dancers.
If she works in a factory she walks home with many other
girls, in much the same spirit as she formerly walked to school
with them. Most of the young men she knows are doing much
the same sort of work, and she mingles with them in frank
economic and social equality. If she is a cloak-maker, for
instance, she will probably marry a cutter, who is a man with
a good trade, and who runs a chance of some day having a
shop of his own. In the meantime she remains at home, with
no social break or change in her family and social life.

If she is employed in a household this is not true. Suddenly
all the conditions of her life are changed. The individual
instead of the gregarious instinct is appealed to. The change
may be wholesome for her, but it is not easy ; and the thought
of the savings bank does not cheer us much when we are
twenty. She is isolated from the people with whom she has
been reared, with whom she has gone to school, with whom
she has danced, and among whom she expects to live whet?
she marries. She is naturally lonely and constrained.

Added to this is a social distinction, which she feels keenly,
against her and in favor of the factory girls, in the minds of
the young men of her acquaintance. A woman who has worked

138 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

in households for twenty years told me that when she was a
young and pretty nurse-girl the only young men who paid her
attention were coachmen and unskilled laborers. The skill
in the trades of her suitors increased as her position in the
household increased in dignity. When she was a housekeeper,
forty years old, skilled mechanics appeared, one of whom she
married. Women seeking employment understand perfectly
well this feeling, quite unjustifiable, I am willing to admit,
among mechanics, and it acts as a strong inducement toward
factory labor.

I have long since ceased to apologize for the views and
opinions of working-people. I am quite sure that, on the
whole, they are just about as wise and just about as foolish
as the views and opinions of other people; but that this par-
ticularly foolish opinion of young mechanics is widely shared
by the employing class can be demonstrated easily. It is only
necessary to remind you of the number of Chicago night
schools for instruction in stenography, in typewriting, teleg-
raphy, bookkeeping, and all similar occupations, fitting girls
for office work, and the meager number provided for acquiring
skill in household work.

The contrast is further accentuated by the better social
position of the office girl, and the advantages which she shares
with factory girls, of lunch clubs, social clubs, and vacation
homes, from which girls performing household labor are prac-
tically excluded by their hours of work, their geographical
situation, and a curious feeling that they are not as interesting
as factory girls.

SALVATION ARMY.
(Maude Ballington Booth.)

HERE, in this our dear country, during the last six years,
the Army has forced itself into recognition by the public ; and
even those who care little for religion, or who dissent from our
doctrines and object to our measures, have learned to hail us
as a powerful social factor in the upraising of the criminal and
almost hopeless classes. Among our officers we have a larger
number of women than men.

That woman is especially fitted by God for this work

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 139

through the gifts of tenderness, affection, and persistency, is
becoming more and more a recognized fact. We make no
difference in our work between the man and the woman. We
do not give her a separate sphere of the work, or organize her
efforts as though she were in any way disqualified for stand-
ing shoulder to shoulder with man at the battle's front. Every
position that can be held by man — every office and duty that
can be performed by him — we throw open to her; and we
have but one gauge by which to test the qualifications for
responsibility, namely — success.

I have watched the field of labor, and I have seen much
energy, much good talent thrown away — much good (desire
expended without result — until organization has put each
worker into her right place and brought to all the one aim and
object. Our women are organized for war. In the hardness
of the struggle, the devotion and self-sacrifice needed can be
understood only by those who have looked face to face with
the great social and moral questions, and have wrestled hand
to hand with the vice and sin which are our enemies and the
enemies of our King. Daily are coming to my ears tributes
of praise and admiration to the noble way our women, in the
slums or on the street, in the saloons or in their ordinary
corps work, are carrying this war — this battle — to the gates,
and gaining the laurels of well-earned victory. The New York
Herald, a little while ago, remarked that it had become an
established fact in New York City that two wearers of the poke
bonnet could quell a street riot more effectively than a squad of
police; while a policeman himself acknowledged to our slum
worker that she and her women could lead with ease a ruffian
whom it would take six policemen to drag.

^ In connection with our slum and rescue work, we have
found that it can be accomplished far more effectually by
women than would ever be possible to the men of our organ-
ization. The very fact that women courageously and lovingly
enter these strongholds of vice and iniquity unprotected, so
far as the human eye can see — are fearless in the face of what
many might consider danger — arouses in the hearts of these
criminal and outcast men the little spark of chivalry and honor
which lies dormant in their depraved nature. To take into
such places our men warriors might indicate fear on the part

140 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

of women— while courage is one of woman's most beautiful
attributes, coupled as it is with less vigor and strength of
muscle. It is women who must be organized into battalions
to seek out the woman whose honor and purity have been
trampled in the dust, for in their pure faces and loving words
alone can the outcast woman read that there is hope for her;
and they alone are qualified to kneel at the side of the aban-
doned one and plead with her whose life has been so embittered
by wrong and shame. We have proved that women are not
only capable of being thoroughly organized to lead, but also
capable of being controlled and united to follow. Our op-
ponents say that in organization each woman would want to
be herself a leader, and that chaos would result from her
inability to obey and follow. We find this absolutely incorrect ;
for the discipline of army organization has proved to us that
woman, as a private, as an officer, or as a commander, can
quite as well and methodically fill her place as any man that
ever took the field. . .

THE STAGE AND ITS WOMEN.

(Georgia Cay van.)

THE terrible tension of stimulation, the restlessness and
lack of repose which has come upon the American people
through our rapid growth and formation as a nation, our
intensity of interest and concentration of desire for the best
of life, amounts to a disease which physicians call "American-
itis," and which makes essential a form of recreation which
shall satisfy in the majority the intellectual craving at small
expense of mental effort. Such recreation the stage supplies.

It is for us to take the tired men and women, to lift them
out of the rush and struggle for a brief space, to help them
forget the strife and ambition, the disappointment and sadness
of their lives, in the world of the stage, where the glamour
and romance bring rest fulness, where ideal love and worthy
deeds and noble sentiments are happily shown, and where
griefs are only agreeably pathetic because they are not real
agony, and everything comes out all right in the last act. And
so we send them back to you, preachers and teachers and re-
formers, rested and refreshed, to take up the exactions of life.

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 14!

And on these lines the stage becomes a popular educator, in
that it presents to men and women who are too worn and
weary, perhaps too indifferent and thoughtless, to read for
themselves, literature in a form pleasing and easy of compre-
hension— gives them three volumes before eleven o'clock, tells
whether he marries her or not in the last chapter, and sends
them home satisfied.

It is not an ignoble mission to poetize the prose of simple
things and lend a touch of romance to the practical for the
inspiration of the masses too limited in mind, or too much
occupied with the world's work, to grasp the splendor of
great thoughts set in classical language. Remembering the
drama's honorable service in the past, when it was the temple
of art, the highest exponent of culture, perpetuating and dis-
seminating the thought of the great teachers and philosophers
before printing had made literature an inheritance of the
common people, I claim for it also a place in the intellectual
life of today, because it interprets for us in the classical drama
the life of the past, which is the literature of the present, and
presents to us with nice exactness in the modern play the life
of today, which will be the literature of the future. .

Moreover, the stage reaches a class of people which the
pulpit cannot influence. Those most in need of ministration,
the bitter, world-worn, pessimistic men and women, the heart-
broken and hopeless, the gay and frivolous, as well as the
immoral, come to us when they will not go to you. You
seek out some of them with your vigilance and zeal; they
come to us of their own accord. We speak to them in a
language they understand; we appeal to their better natures
by presenting pictures of true nobility of character, by making
our villains more unfortunate and repulsive than the genuine
article, and by always seeing to it that the hero marries a rich
heiress, that the wronged wife is recompensed, and the be-
trayer of innocence is punished. Seriously, the influence of
the stage upon the morals of the community is too valuable
to be lightly considered. It should be guarded, and protected,
and encouraged.

There is much talk of the elevation of the stage among
some of those who devote themselves to it. But the real
elevation of the stage must come from tha people, not from

142 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

the profession. It must come from a grander art-view, which
shall refuse to narrow the art down to the personality of the
artist. It must come from a purification of public sentiment
which shall refuse to accept women whose only qualification
for stars in the dramatic firmament is an appeal to morbid
curiosity. It must come from a better understanding of the
stage and its prerogatives, which shall demand and indorse
legitimate drama rather than the sensational, the degrading,
the sensual; which shall distinguish between talent and noto-
riety; and shall honor gifted womanliness rather than brain-
less beauty.

POTTERY IN THE HOUSEHOLD.

(M. Louise McLaughlin.)

WHETHER our sex can lay claim to the idea which re-
sulted in the addition of household utensils to the home of
primitive man, we do not know. The solution of that question
is forever lost in the mists of antiquity. We know only that
since prehistoric ages woman has figured largely as the maker
and decorator of the vessels in which the food provided by
her liege lord has been served. Now, when her rights and
privileges have been increased in a measure undreamed of
by her aboriginal predecessor, we find her still the conserver,
and happily frequently the producer, of beauty in the house-
hold.

In the complication of modern life it is not given to every
woman to devote herself to the pleasing task of providing
with her own hands, and at the same time rendering beautiful,
the household utensils. Let not the woman, however, who
may be engaged in the practice of one of the learned profes-
sions, or busy in the reformation of the abuses which have
become ingrained in the polish of this old world, look down
upon her sister upon whom has descended the time-honored
profession of her foremothers. In our time many a woman
finds in the decoration of pottery, not only the gratification
of her sense of beauty, but also the wherewithal for the sup-
port of her family. While from this point of view the
practice of the art may be considered one of the lucrative
occupations for women, it is from that of the household that
we are to regard it. Viewed within the narrow circle of the

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 143

home, the matter assumes almost paramount importance.
From its more practical side, the ceramic art is seen to fill
the necessity which was probably the first to arise, in furnish-
ing the most satisfactory receptacle for food. In this capacity
its importance in our households can scarcely be overestimated.
Whatever may be said of the abuses of the table — the inter-
ference of high living with high thinking — the consumption
of food is a daily necessity, and no substitute by which our
civilized brains can be kept in good working order has been
found. No change in the good old custom of families meeting
around the common table has proved desirable, nor is there
anything so delightful as the assembling of kindred spirits
round the festal board.

Many refinements have been added since our forefathers
gathered around the primitive bowl in which the household
food was served, and helped themselves without other utensils
than those which nature had provided them. Much of the
grossness of the satisfaction of this natural appetite has been
taken away. How much, we who are accustomed only to the
manners of the latter part of the nineteenth century can
scarcely realize.

Shorn of its grosser aspects, bounded with limits of tem-
perance and common sense, this appetite for food should not
be considered something which an intelligent being can pass
over without consideration. Upon its proper gratification de-
pends life itself, and during life the health of body and mind.
Considered in this light, the art of the cook is the highest,
and as an adjunct the ceramic art comes not far behind. That
the palatableness of food has an actual influence upon its
digestion and consequent benefit, is a fact acknowledged by
medical authorities. How much of the benefit is derived from
the tasteful serving of the viands has not been computed, but
the effect is something of which people of refined tastes are
keenly conscious. Good food served upon coarse ugly dishes
loses half its savor. How much, then, does the art of cooking
owe to the beautiful china in which its products may be pre-
sented? As a very essential aid in the serving of our daily
food, decorated china plays a very important part, and thus
may be considered a practically useful art.

Very early was the sense of beauty manifested in the

144 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

decoration of necessary utensils. We, following in the line
of what should be progress, are inclined sometimes so to
decorate these articles that the original use is lost sight of.
In this, to our shame be it said, we fall behind our aboriginal
models, who in their simplicity never lost sight of the fitness
of things, and whose work consequently ranks high in true
artistic beauty. The principle which underlies all good
work — the abrogation of self — is applicable to this branch of
art as well as to all others. The questions which must be
answered by all decorative art are these: Is it suited to its
purpose? Does it really beautify the object upon which it is
applied ?

To the decoration of household pottery these questions
appeal with more than usual force. Here there is no room for
the exhibition of skill unless it is subordinated to use. That
is the all-important point of view, and from it all personal
display becomes impertinent. We have much to learn upon
this whole subject, but much has already been accomplished.
In the light of the present exposition of woman's work it will
be seen that a wonderful progress has been made. We can
not here enter into the question of what constitutes the best
decorative art, or what are the best means of developing the
talent which, as has been demonstrated, woman has in her
keeping.

Let us hope that the time will come when she will exercise
this talent, freed from the shackles of custom and fashion;
the time when she will not tie ribbons on jugs, paint pictures
on plates, or transform her home into the likeness of a bric-a-
brac shop. To paraphrase a well-known saying, let me dec-
orate the homes of a people and I care not who teaches them.

POLISH WOMEN. ^

(Madame Helena Modjeska.)

FIRST, I must ask your permission for a personal remark.
When I was invited to appear in the congress as one of the
representatives of women on the stage, I was not aware that
two days later I should again step on the platform as a repre-
sentative of Polish women.

This task fell to my share very unexpectedly, and found

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 145

me unprepared. The regular delegate was prevented at the
last moment from arriving here, and as I am one of the mem-
bers of the advisory Polish committee, I agreed to appear
before you in her place, taking upon me the risk of coming
before you unprepared, rather than suffering our Polish
womanhood to remain unrepresented at this great gathering.

Being deprived of its political independence, Poland is
hampered in every manifestation of its vitality. Those who
have taken away from us our national existence try to make
the whole world believe that there is not, that there never
was, such a thing as a Polish nation. They endeavor to
obliterate from the annals of humanity the history of Poland ;
to restrict, if not entirely prohibit, the use of our language;
to hinder the development of every progress, be it economic,
intellectual, or social.

In such conditions it is only natural that any organized
movement of women toward improving their situation should
be considered as a political crime, and punished accordingly.
Whatever is done must be done in secret, and therefore I am
prevented from giving you evidences of the work done by my
countrywomen, and must confine myself to generalities, for
fear that any personal allusion may bring on very serious
consequences.

And yet we have in our country a splendid array of
women, distinguished in every branch of human activity, with
great minds and greater hearts, who work both individually
and by combined efforts with the view of raising the level of
Polish womanhood. Some of them would certainly be in-
vited to figure on the Advisory Council lists of the divers
empires to whose governments they are subjected, but they
scorn to be enlisted otherwise than as Polish women. They
would a hundred times prefer to have their names remain in
oblivion, and left out of the golden book of deserving women,
than to appear there as representatives of the nationality of
their oppressors. The greater number of the Polish women
who would be entitled to appear here are subjects of the
Russian government.

In the present days the instruction and education of the
Polish woman stand on a level equal to man — sometimes above

it — and yet it is admitted that our men are distinguished by
x— 10

146 THE WORU)'S PROGRESS.

their encyclopedic knowledge. Our women are great readers,
and, as may be proved by the statistics of our public libraries,
their reading is not confined to novels, but to earnest books;
and therefore scientific, literary, social, and political questions
are familiar to them. Public lectures on serious subjects are
a prominent feature of our city life, and certainly women
make by far the larger part of their audiences.

Another element which tends to sharpen woman's intellect
is the special character of Polish sociability. Probably social
life is nowhere developed to such an extent as in Poland. Our
men do not desert the house for the attractions of the club,
the cafe, or the saloon. They remain at home, or gather to-
gether with women at the houses of their friends. Hospitality
is essentially a virtue of the nation, but it is a hospitality free
from any kind of display, as frequent in the humble abodes
of the poor as in the palaces of aristocracy and plutocracy.
The old Polish proverb is, "A guest in the house is God in
the house." The main feature of these private reunions or
parties is general conversation, directed by the lady of the
house, but participated in equally by men and women — a con-
versation turning on serious topics, and where personal gossip
is almost unknown.

This sociability, spread to all classes of our nation, has
important advantages, as it reflects among other relations
among them, as upon marriages. In other European coun-
tries it is only too often the case that the forming of marriages
is purely a business transaction between two parties hardly
known to each other. With us, on account of the frequent
social intercourse, marriages are based on thorough acquaint-
ance, and concluded through natural sympathy. While it
can not be said that money considerations are always the
moving cause, they yet figure in a small degree in the tying
of matrimonial bonds. Thus it happens that in Poland the
poor girl has suitors as well as the rich one; if the latter has
the advantage as to their number, the former has a better
chance in regard to the quality of her choice.

The unmarried girl in my country enjoys a position, if not
so independent as in America, still much better than in the
rest of the European continent.

In recent times especially there has been marked progress —

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 147

her social standing and her freedom of action are gaining
ground every day. As a natural consequence there is a great
movement among our unmarried girls to obtain independent
livelihood, and not to look upon marriage as the ultimate
goal of their ambition.

Our enemies are making a great mistake if they think
that they can kill patriotism. As long as there is one Polish
woman left alive Poland will not die, and the more they per-
secute us the better it is for us now. We may have deserved
punishment for the faults and mistakes of the past; we must
pay the penalty, and God only knows at what expense we
pay it.

WOMEN IN SPAIN.

(Catalina D'Alcala.)

I SALUTE all the women of this great republic, and their
glorious flag, the stars and stripes, designed by a woman. In
tracing the pages of the past we find that each nation has had
some special mission for women to perform. To America
has been intrusted the privilege of developing the highest
qualities of womanly character and granting unrestrained ac-
tion to them.

In carrying out the duty assigned me of reviewing the
women of my country from the beloved Isabella's time, I
must briefly notice the history of Spain previous to that illus-
trious reign and on down to the present day. For several
hundred years after the great Saracen invasion Spain was
broken up into a number of small but independent states,
divided in their interests, and often in deadly hostility with
one another. The country was inhabited by races the most
dissimilar in their origin, religion, and government, the least
important of which has exerted a sensible influence on the
character and institutions of the present inhabitants. They
regarded each other with a fiercer hatred than that with which
they viewed the enemies of their faith. More Christian blood
was wasted in these national feuds than in all their encounters
with the infidels. The zeal which did at last unite them in a
common warfare against the invaders was inevitably that of
a religious fanaticism. The arts used by the ecclesiastical
leaders to control the common people naturally resulted in

148 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

giving Spain the deep tinge of superstition which has ever
distinguished her among the nations of Europe. Yet our
historians tell us that whatever were the vices of the Spaniards
at that date they were not those of effeminate sloth. The
privations which they had suffered at the hands of the spoilers
had developed in them many hardy, sober qualities. It was
under these conditions that the character of Isabella was
formed. That with all her admirable virtues she had inherited
some of the prevailing fanaticism is true. The fact that such
a reign, so successful in bringing about the union of many
conflicting elements, and stimulating special enterprises, was
not followed by the permanent elevation of Isabella's own
sex, points to some firmly fixed retarding influence in the
economy of the nation. What the Spaniards have already
accomplished in the way of learning and development of the
higher mental and moral qualities is truly marvelous, in face
of all the obstacles they have been forced to encounter.

It is well known that Isabella, as soon as she could bring
order out of the chaos in which she found the government,
devoted herself diligently to educational matters; and stimu-
lated by her noble and intellectual influence, the women con-
tributed much to the general illumination of that period.
Female education embraced a broader field in the ancient
languages than is common now. The learning of the women
equaled their piety, and, far from contenting themselves with
superficial attainments, they held professorships of Latin and
rhetoric, and widened the domain of philosophical speculation.
The queen's instructor in Latin was a woman, Dona Galinda.
Another light was Isabel Losa. She mastered Greek, Latin,
and Hebrew, and founded the hospital of Loretto. Sigea
Aloysia of Toledo wrote letters to the pope in Latin, Greek,
Hebrew, Arabic and Syrian. Even poetry and romance were
not shunned by the gentler sex. Indeed, so strong became
woman's position under this wonderful reign that Isabel de
Rosores was permitted to preach in the great church in Bar-
celona. However, in this period, as ever since, a mistake was
made in importing so many foreign teachers for the youth, thus
bringing a mixture of ideas and influences, confusing national
characteristics and depressing individual identity. Educa-
tional authorities everywhere claim the benefits of native

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 149

instructors, the lack of whom truly has been a curse to Spain.
With Isabella's death departed much of the wisdom of her
administration, and the unstable rulers we have since had give
rise to the saying that the royal palace became an insane
asylum. Yet we find that many women of the time of Charles
V. were noted for their political ability. All were eminently
domestic in their homes — sewing, embroidering, and com-
pounding home-made remedies for all known infirmities. . .

The Spaniard is a jealous being. He has suspiciously
watched the late marvelous achievements of women in other
nations. He is like a child, inclined to act contrary to the
thing his attention is called to. In old times there were so
many "woman's movements" he thought little about being
excelled. Now in the present age of broad ideas he realizes
the danger; that unless he strictly defines woman's position
she may excel him, not only in intellectual attainments, but in
political management.

The women of Spain are divided into four classes, those
of the royal family, the nobility, the middle, and the lower
class or peasantry. The daughters of the nobility as a rule
are superficially educated, speak a little poor French and dabble
in music and painting. Those of the middle class are great
imitators of the nobility, although no amount of money will
admit them to court society without the badge of a govern-
ment office. A poor government clerk on two hundred a year
can dance with a duchess, whereas the family of a millionaire
without official position is excluded from the aristocracy. The
women of this class are for the most part educated in convents.
The peasant woman is truly a child of nature, with goodness
of heart, caring for all who come within her reach, sharing
her last morsel with Christian or heretic, and never accepting
any remuneration. Be she rich or poor, the heart of the
Spanish woman is a vast storehouse of Christian graces,
cheerfulness, devotion, simplicity, and self-denial. The home
influence is today what it always has been, pure and ennobling,
Spanish women, so far as devotion is concerned, are model
wives and mothers. When a woman once accepts a man's
heart or his name she will die rather than be unfaithful.

Divorces are almost unknown. The uncertainty attending
domestic life in some other nations is not felt in Spain. The

150 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

family relation when once formed is permanent. Whatever
may be said against the authority of the Church in affairs of
State, all must admit that its control in family matters has a
salutary effect on the social fabric. When even a member of
the demimonde marries, which frequently occurs, she never
returns to her previous life, but remains true to her family
ties. I may say right here that this class of woman is not
nearly so numerous in Spain as is generally supposed, and
fewer still would be the departures from rectitude if there
were as many avenues of self-support open to women there
as in the United States. Women are taught from childhood
to depend on their natural protectors. In Spain every man
expects to provide for some woman of his household; if not
for a wife or daughter, then for a mother or sister.

Necessity makes the opportunity. The fact that so many
women are self-supporting in America does not argue favor-
ably for the gallantry or ability of the men. The few Spanish
women who are thrown upon their own resources scarcely
know where to turn for an honest living. Housework and
cigar-making are their principal occupations. Even sewing
is not much of a public employment, as the majority of women,
both of the wealthy and the poorer classes, make their own
garments. They do not care for reading or any other mental
improvement, so how else should they spend their time but in
sewing? Much of the needlework is done by the nuns in the
convents. There is no other country able to furnish such
fine work in this particular.

Those who have not the health or inclination to become
servants turn to the factories. The cigarette-makers are de-
serving of more sympathy than they receive. Many of them
are true-hearted women with children to support, and they
rock the cradle with grace and tenderness while they roll the
cigars. The stage does not include as many classes of women
as it does in almost any other country, for the reason that
when a Spanish actress marries she always retires. The re-
ports which have been circulated concerning our hospitals are
sadly untrue. They have been for many years past conducted
by women, and the Spanish Sister of Charity has proven her-
self to be a superior nurse. The prisons of Spain include one

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 15!

exclusively for women, which is said to be well managed by
the sisters, and is never, I am glad to add, overcrowded.

A woman's resources are naturally limited in proportion
as her education is restricted. The great need of Spain is
widespread primary instruction. A compulsory law was en-
acted in 1877 for children between the ages of six and nine,
free schooling being provided for the poor ; but the law is not
enforced, and even if it were, its provisions are too meager
to meet the wants of a practical education. The universities
are open only to men. Educated college women are the ex-
ception, not the rule, and the number of university-educated
women is very small.

I do not wish to leave the impression that there is no
longer any intellectual individuality or personal ambition
among my countrywomen. Their meager advantages, their
scanty education, their few chances to mingle on equal terms
with the talented and good of the opposite sex have brought
down upon them a long night of darkness. But we shall
emerge from the shadows.

152 THE WORU>'S PROGRESS.

CHAPTER XIII.
THE PAN-AMERICAN EXPOSITION.

"EXPOSITIONS are the time-keepers of progress. They re-
cord the world's advancement. They broaden and brighten
the daily life of the people. They stimulate the energy, enter-
prise, and intellect of the people and quicken human genius.
They open mighty storehouses of information to the student.
Every exposition, great or small, has helped to some onward
step. Friendly rivalry follows, which is the spur to wonderful
improvement, to inspiration, to useful invention, and to high
endeavor in all departments of human activity. . . .
"These buildings will disappear, this creation of art and
beauty and industry will perish from sight, but the influence
will remain. Who can tell the new thoughts that may have
been awakened, the ambitions fired, and the high achievements
that will be wrought through this exposition ?" — From Presi-
dent McKinley's speech at Buffalo.

Expositions have been happily called "new editions of a
world encyclopedia." Every year adds its mite to the great
fund of world knowledge and a decade finds industrial life
noticeably modified and improved. Unlike the Centennial and
Columbian exhibitions, this one did not commemorate a his-
torical event but turned toward the future. Furthermore,
while the commercial value of the two earlier fairs had not
been lost sight of, it has to be acknowledged that in the Pan-
American this feature was paramount.

The situation was that America had departed from her
former policy and become involved in conflict with a European
power. While it was afterwards shown conclusively that
every advantage gained by the war might have been secured
without it, the Spanish war is another story. Suffice it to say
that it had been fought and that several Latin states to the
south of us resented it and sympathized with Spain. This
sentiment naturally did not prompt them to increase their
trade with the United States ; rather, they did their buying in

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 153

Europe. Expositions of national consequence had followed
the Chicago triumph in several states, and at a dinner held
in Buffalo in 1899, at which matters vital to the city were
discussed, the conception of holding an exhibition simply for
this hemisphere originated. Nearly a million dollars were
subscribed before the banquet ended and the idea was eagerly
adopted by townspeople.

Buffalo's situation on Lake Erie has given her remark-
able advantage; on the other hand, she is ever overshadowed
by the great metropolis of the state and union. Such a fair
as the one which had recently been held in Omaha could not
be expected to bring particular result, but when the novel
notion of excluding the Old and accentuating the New World
was discussed, great possibilities were immediately foreseen.

To hope to surpass the Chicago Fair in magnitude, im-
posing grandeur, or dignity was regarded as idle. It remained
for the directors of this new undertaking to think of other
ways in which they might create a worthy spectacle and win
the approval of their countrymen. To their lasting credit it
may be said that they were successful to an unexpected degree.

An undeveloped region embracing about 350 acres lay
beyond Buffalo Park and this was taken for the exposition
site, the beautiful Park furnishing a pleasing background. In
a measure previously unknown in such an enterprise architects,
decorators, landscape gardeners and sculptors worked together
to produce unity. Instead of striving each to outdo his fellow
worker, the contest was to see which could most perfectly
merge his work into the unified plan. What is known in art
as composition — the general design in which one portion is
balanced against another — gave charm to the arrangement
of buildings which was shortly evolved. "We must provide
a beautiful spectacle," said the chief director, and that thought
was never forgotten.

To convey a general conception of the plan, it was given
the form of a cross, the transepts rather to the south of the
center. At the entrance was erected the Triumphal Cause-
way— or bridge which was thrown across the canal which
surrounded the grounds. At the opposite end was the Electric
Tower. Around the fountain court at the end of the right
transept were the Government buildings; around the corre-

154 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

spending left fountain court, the Horticultural group. Beyond
the Electric Tower was a section known as the Plaza, bounded
on the north by a circular peristyle, known as the Propylaeum.
This shut the cars which led thither from view. On the right
of the Plaza was the Stadium, built in a few brief months, ac-
commodating 12,000 people and given over to athletics, under
the control of college men. The various exhibition buildings
were artistically grouped throughout the grounds — the Eth-
nology and Agricultural and Liberal Arts Buildings on the
right and north of the right transept offsetting the Temple
of Music and Transportation Buildings on the left.

It is intended here to dwell upon those features which
distinguished this exposition and gave it individuality which
those who saw will never quite forget — not to enter upon any
description of buildings commonly seen at exhibitions and
described minutely in government reports. One peculiarity
has already been noted: the harmonizing of many architec-
tural efforts into a unified whole. The prevailing style exem-
plified in these buildings was Spanish Renaissance, out of
delicate deference to the visitors from southern countries
where this is so generally found.

The second feature which called forth surprise was the
fact that color was used on the buildings. We today are ac-
customed to seeing public and business structures devoid of
paint. On the other hand, in many parts of the country, an
unpainted dwelling is rare. Even brick and cement residences
are frequently painted. What is customary fails to arouse
notice ; whatever is unusual is likely to elicit disapproval. We
fail to remember that the fact that a custom is observed among
us does not signify that it has always been a custom. The
Greeks, who have given us our most perfect models of beauty,
did not leave their sculpture white and bare, as is the case
today; they gave statues warm colors and made them lifelike.
In the same way, they gave color to their buildings. However,
these colorings disappeared long before the dawn of modern
history.

The artist, Mr. Turner, who had general charge of decora-
tion, determined to carry out a scheme of color, such having
been considered in times past by architects but invariably
abandoned. The entire Pan-American Exposition might be

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 155

said to have had as its theme : Man's struggle with Nature.
Man's triumph reached its climax in the Electric Tower, for
which the mighty Falls of Niagara had been bridled. As-
sociated with this idea, the entrance buildings were given
deep and pronounced colors, to illustrate the ones used by
primitive man; they modulated as one continued and in the
Tower became mellow tints. It should not be inferred that
a crude use of paint was employed; quite on the contrary.
Miniature models of each building were painted again and
again before the exact shades were attained. The body of
the building was faintly tinted, deeper coloring used effectively
around its adornments and trimmings. The warm colors that
greeted the visitor were felt to bespeak welcome. The ma-
jority of those who witnessed the display accepted the plan
provided as offered and found it agreeable. Others could not
become accustomed to such an innovation. The green of the
river was everywhere employed with gratifying results. Just
what effect this experiment may have eventually in our land
is something for future years to reveal.

A third feature was that sculpture more pronouncedly than
before carried out the conception of the architects. To cite
one or two examples, the Horticultural group of buildings
stood as monuments to our natural resources, and taking the
theme Nature's Bounty, the sculptor produced the Fountain
of Wealth, with groups of Mineral Wealth, Floral Wealth
and Animal Wealth. On the opposite side, the Government
group glorified our institutions — man's creation — and on this
side stood the Fountain of Man, with its statues portraying
the savage age, age of despots and present enlightenment. It
should not be implied that in times previous workers in stone
and marble failed to conform to the underlying idea of build-
ings decorated else, but nowhere had this been so uniformly
the case as at Buffalo.

And finally and by far most important, it remains to speak
of the fourth innovation — the use of light. Chicago had
shown the beauty of electrical light in making a night splendid.
It remained for the Directors of the Pan-American, uniquely
situated as they were with the mighty generating force of the
Falls near at hand, to substitute living fire for lines of light.
Instead of turning the full blaze on at once in the evening,

156 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

it came more like a gorgeous dawn — first a blush of color, this
deepening into richest red, and finally the full splendor of fire.
Buildings were no longer outlined ; they stood forth revealed ;
fountains tossed sprays that formed as lilies and sheaves of
wheat. Children danced for joy and entreated their elders
to tell whether or not it all was true, but these were quite as
hopelessly bewildered. They no longer gazed upon a fairy
scene ; they actually stood and breathed and moved in a verit-
able fairy land as enchanting and unbelievable as they had
known long ago when everything seemed possible. Nor did
the wonder lessen by nightly repetition. Such a spectacle
might have satisfied night-loving Whistler and given him an
artist's rare joy. The poet's dream of "light that never was
on land or sea" hovered for a few brief months as marvel-
lously as perhaps it ever will on this terrestrial ball.

Congress appropriated $500,000 to provide an exhibition
of its various departments at Buffalo. Those who object, as
many always do, to having public funds thus expended forget
that expositions supply almost the only opportunity the federal
government has to bring home to the minds of the average
citizen its various functions. All are taxed indirectly for
national expenditures, but those dwelling in interior states
have slight conceptions of harbor improvements or protec-
tion of human life at sea. There are states wherein Indian
Reservations mean little, for while governmental reports of
various descriptions are printed, comparatively few are read.

Of the amount provided for the Pan-American fair,
$200,000 was expended in necessary buildings; the rest, in
supplying a creditable display. The Board in charge of the
federal exhibit was composed of twelve members, one from
each of the eight Executive Departments, one from the Smith-
sonian, one from the Commission of Fish and Fisheries, one
from the Bureau of American Republics and one from the
Department of Labor. One of the novel features on this
occasion was the collection procured at considerable expense
from the Philippines, recently acquired, and from Hawaii.
These probably attracted more spectators than other parts of
the federal exhibit. The Bureau of Education for the first
time used moving pictures to show military drills, the teaching
of deaf mutes and other interesting features. The Depart-

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 157

ment of the Interior showed voting- machines, and the telauto-
graph that transmits pictures by wire. On the lake in the
Park a life-saving crew was stationed to give frequent demon-
strations of its efficiency in time of wrecks. Imagination was
needed to transform the placid lake into a storm-tossed sea.
Whatever is newly acquired for such exhibits, as for example,
the Philippine collection, is afterwards given permanent place
in the National Museum.

It was early seen that the hope earnestly entertained for
this fair was not to be largely realized in so far as it involved
response from the Latin states to the south. Cuba, San
Domingo, Ecuador, Chili, Honduras and Mexico erected build-
ings. Several other states were represented in the general
exhibits.. The Director-General of the Exposition, Mr.
Buchanan, had formerly been minister to Argentine Republic
and by his wide acquaintance was able to arouse considerable
interest. However, the Latin states have been accustomed to
trade with European countries, partly because of our high
tariff, and partly — as they have not hesitated to acknowledge —
because they find the brusque manner predominating our com-
mercial life intolerable. Marked courtesy in dealing with
others has long been the heritage of the Latin race. One of
the finest exhibits made by southern countries was a complete
collection of food-plants, transported alive and throughout the
summer growing to the edification of those who could never
hope to see them in their native land.

The hope couched in the dedicatory panels on the Propy-
Iseum: "Here, by the great waters of the north, are brought
together the peoples of the two Americas, in exposition of
their resources, industries, products, inventions, arts and
ideas" ; and "May the century now begun unite in the bonds
of peace, knowledge, goodwill, friendship and noble emulation
all the dwellers in the Continents and Islands of the New
World" may not have shown material realization as rapidly
as had been expected, but there can be no doubt that some
gain resulted from better understanding and acquaintance.
The sentiment lately voiced by one of our educators: "The
man I don't like is the man I don't know/' is quite as ap-
plicable to nations, and it must never be forgotten that this
flourishing nation in the north has overshadowed the younger

158 THE; WORLD'S PROGRESS.

and less experienced ones on the south and with characteristic
assurance has not been hesitant to boast its superiority — a fact
which is likely to be more quickly overlooked at home than
abroad.

While Canada erected a building, her own journals criti-
cised the slight showing she made, although to be sure certain
provinces sent excellent specimens of their products.

Failing to receive as many foreign contributions as had
been anticipated, exhibits of the United States filled every
conceivable niche and much had to be turned away for lack
of space. The Electrical Building contained the greatest
promise for the future. Wireless telegraphy was demon-
strated here for the first time in the history of expositions.
X-ray machines were also first shown. Various appliances
for utilizing this great and mysterious force in the household
were displayed. The beautiful tower, 389 feet high, bore the
inscription: "To those painters, sculptors and architects,
tellers of tales, poets and creators of music, to those actors
and musicians, who, in the New World, have cherished and
increased the love of beauty."

The Art Building was erected in Buffalo Park by funds
subscribed by loyal citizens, for the purpose of giving the
city, after the Fair, a permanent home for the Buffalo Fine
Arts Society. It was constantly visited by strangers — each
succeeding exposition giving evidence of a growing love of
pictures and statuary.

The Graphic Arts received greater attention than pre-
viously. Germany long surpassed us in the art of paper making
but recently fine qualities have been forthcoming in the United
States. Automatic typesetting machines were shown to have
been cheapened and accelerated. A machine for folding,
numbering, stitching, and covering magazines and pamphlets
by one operation was for the first time displayed. Another
printing 50,000 sixteen page forms of paper an hour in four
colors filled the beholder with amazement.

The Machinery Building was dedicated "To those who in
the deadly mine, on stormy seas, in the fierce breath of the
furnace and in all perilous places, working ceaselessly, bring
to their fellowmen comfort, sustenance and the grace of life."
Three facts were impressed upon those who thoughfully gazed

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 159

upon its wonders: That more and more hand labor is being
replaced by machinery and no one can yet foresee to what
lengths this may finally lead. That electricity is steadily en-
croaching upon the realm once dominated by steam and may
some time supersede it. And finally, that speed is every year
decreasing distance.

The Centennial was severely educational. There was less
conscious strife for beauty and no attempt to amuse. One
may judge how great a change time has wrought in this re-
spect when he meditates upon the fact that the Pan-American
Exposition cost $10,000,000 and that $3,000,000 were spent
by the Directors on the Midway. Various new devices for
entertainment were introduced which even now are antiquated.
Life in America is strenuous and the populace turns for relief
to places of amusement where it in turn is taken quite as
strenuously.

The death of President McKinley, resulting from a shot
fired by a fanatic as he was leaving the Temple of Music,
threw the nation mto mourning and cast into shadow the
closing days of the- exposition. While Buffalo was left with a
deficit of $3,000,000, beyond this temporary financial burden,
the Pan-American Exposition unquestionably taught the fair
lake city many a useful lesson and gave it prestige. The
legends graved on tablets and placed, where he who ran might
read, embodied the spirit of the whole plan: that peace is
better than war and its fruits alone worth gaming; that it is
better for nations to forget prejudices and stand shoulder to
shoulder in the forward march; that isolation engenders sus-
picion and acquaintance and understanding dispels it. "The
brotherhood of man — the federation of nations — the peace of
the world." "Between nation and nation, as between man and
man, lives the one law of right."

160 THE WORD'S PROGRESS.

CHAPTER XIV.
LOUISIANA PURCHASE EXPOSITION.

IT will be remembered that American settlements hugged
the Atlantic coast for many years. When in the early nine-
teenth century men ventured over the Alleghenies to cut homes
out of the wilderness, uninhabited save by roving tribes of
Indians who retreated before them, these undertakings were
regarded with misgivings by the less venturesome. Then set-
tlements reached into the Mississippi basin, and there are men
yet living who recall that the removal of a family from the
New England states or New York to Michigan or Ohio,
occasioned strong remonstrance on the part of relatives that
they should thus leave civilization and go into the far west.

Trade usually precedes permanent location, and before
homes were made beyond the mountains, the value of the
Mississippi river for purposes of commerce was already plain
to fur traders. Washington appreciated its significance as
an artery to the sea and as early as 1790 said: "We must
have and certainly shall have the full navigation of the
Mississippi."

Spain claimed the territory west of the river and by the
beginning of Jefferson's administration had practically placed
an embargo upon it by forbidding Americans use of New
Orleans as a shipping port. The anxiety and indignation of
Americans whose trade was thus interrupted could not be
ignored and the President found the situation of the country
embarrassing. Relations with England were far from friendly
and France had been offended by the refusal of the United
States to accept the proposals made not long before by Genet.
The new government was not situated to inspire confidence
among the powers.

It so happened that Robert R. Livingston, our minister to
France, learned that a secret treaty had been negotiated be-
tween France and Spain whereby Louisiana had been ceded to
France in exchange for other territory less desired by Napo-

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. l6l

Icon. The treaty was carefully guarded because France and
England were on the verge of war and Napoleon foresaw
that were it made public, the English would try to strike a
blow at unprotected New Orleans. This information being
communicated to Jefferson, he instructed Livingston to do all
in his power to facilitate the acquisition of New Orleans, with
the Floridas which were erroneously supposed to have been
included in the treaty. He was authorized to pay $2,000,000
for this district and lest he might fail to accomplish this deli-
cate task, Monroe was dispatched as special envoy to assist
him. Livingston was offended by the insinuation that he
might prove inadequate to meet the exigencies of the situation,
but like a true patriot, put aside all personal consideration in
face of his country's need. Approaching Talleyrand, the
crafty French minister, the latter at first denied the existence
of the treaty. Discovering that its terms were known, he
became evasive. Others interviewed by Livingston were
equally noncommital. Finally Livingston boldly stated that
any attempt to cut the United States off from free use of the
Mississippi would be met by force.

Napoleon's situation changed even from day to day. Al-
though his dream of empire had included the New World, an
uprising. in San Domingo requiring him to send thither sol-
diers needed at home, led him suddenly to determine to be rid
of all territories across the Atlantic. War with England was
imminent, and in this gigantic game of chess which he played,
he saw that pawns must be sacrificed. It was idle to attempt
to protect Louisiana and so he decided to offer it to the United
States. Livingston, wearied with two months' fruitless di-
plomacy, was suddenly bewildered by receiving a call from
Talleyrand during which the Frenchman asked what the
United States would give for Louisiana. The most our
country had hope to attain was territory around the mouth of
the river which would insure free use of its waters and the
ambassador was deeply perplexed. He deliberated with Mon-
roe, the two grasping some faint conception of what this
territory might come to mean to the republic, and at the same
time in doubt as to what would be the attitude of Congress
toward negotiations made beyond the instructions given them.

It was useless to wait for further direction in those days of
x— 11

1 62 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

belated travel and they resolved that here was a chance not
to be lost However, they showed marked coolness in refusing
the first offer made to them — that the United States pay
$20,000,000 and assume the payment of claims which had
been entered by American citizens against French privateers.
Thoroughly alarmed lest the scheme should fail, realizing that
he could not hope to save the territory and needing money,
Napoleon through his minister offered Louisiana for
$15,000,000 from which amount the French claims might be
deducted. These amounted to more than $4,000,000 and this
offer was accepted, the formal transfer of Louisiana from
France to the United States being made April 30, 1803.

No one realized what this would later mean to the nation
in added resource. While Congress sanctioned the purchase
and met the cost by an issue of six per cent bonds, there was
strong outcry against money being thus expended. The region
stretched away toward the Pacific coast. Rumor alone gave
data regarding it. Jefferson was confident that it would prove
advantageous because he had been told that a great salt region
was included and this it was hoped Lewis and Clark would
find on their expedition, undertaken later. Even astute states-
men failed utterly to grasp the wonderful significance of the
newly acquired lands. These lines from an address by Daniel
Webster indicate the utter lack of knowledge that long pre-
vailed concerning the west:

"What do we want with this vast worthless area, this
region of savages and wild beasts, of deserts, of shifting sands
and whirlwinds of dust, of cactus, and prairie dogs ? To what
use could we ever hope to put those great deserts or those end-
less mountain ranges, impenetrable and covered to their very
base with eternal snow? What can we ever hope to do with
the western coast — a coast of 2,000 miles, rockbound, cheer-
less, uninviting, and not a harbor on it. What use have we
for that country?"

From this area, including 864,944 square miles, twelve
states and two territories have been carved, wholly or in part.
Louisiana, named for Louis XIV., was the first state to be
received into the Union from the tract. It was admitted in
1812. Missouri — Big Muddy — was admitted in 1821 ; Ar-
kansas— bow of smoky water — in 1836; Minnesota — cloudy

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 163

water — was received in 1858; Kansas — smoky water — in
1 86 1, and the same year, Nebraska. Iowa came in in 1846;
Colorado — red earth — was partly included in earlier Louisana
and was admitted to statehood in 1876; Montana, North and
South Dakota — united tribes — were all three admitted in 1899 ;
Wyoming — broad plain — in 1890; Oklahoma — home of the
red man — and Indian Territory were also formed from this
great region. The sale of a single commodity in a very small
portion of this district brings a larger price each year than was
once paid for the entire tract.

On the 20th of December, 1803, the actual transfer of
New Orleans and Lower Louisiana was made to the United
States. At St. Louis, the center of Upper Louisiana, Spain
made some pretense of opposing the sale. For that reason it
was regarded as expedient to defer the transfer until the fol-
lowing spring. On the 9th of March, 1804, at the little fort
there located, in the morning the Spanish flag was lowered
and that of France raised ; at noon the French flag came down
and the stars and stripes were run up.

Although there was some discussion of commemorating
this signal event in American history, until 1896 little was
definitely considered. Finally it was agreed to hold an inter-
national exposition in memory of the purchase and Mr.
Francis, formerly governor of the state, was made president
of the directors of the Louisiana Purchase Exposition. Con-
gress agreed to make an appropriation of $5,000,000 for this
object provided $10,000,000 should be otherwise secured.
$5,000,000 was raised by subscription in St. Louis and the
city bonded for the other $5,000,000. Thus at the outset
greater funds were available than had been in the case of any
previous exposition.

Finding the response from the states rather feeble, dele-
gates were sent to confer with the legislatures of twelve of
them. Not content to trust to such co-operation as the usual
invitation offered in the name of the President would elicit
on the part of foreign governments, President Francis made
a flying trip to Europe, was granted an interview with King
Edward in England, President Loubet in France, Kaiser
William in Germany, the king of Belgium and the ministers
of Spain. He was invited to go to St. Petersburg but lack of

164 THE WORU/S PROGRESS.

time prevented. In each case he was successful in convincing
rulers that this exposition was not intended to duplicate those
previously held in our country, but had even a wider scope,
and each of these countries made ample provision for the St.
Louis Fair.

It gradually became plain that April 30, 1903 could not
find the great exhibition ready and President Roosevelt an-
nounced to the world that it would be postponed until the
following year. However, that momentous day was celebrated
in St. Louis by fitting commemoration ceremonies by digni-
taries from all participating nations.

Forest Park was decided upon for the exposition site.
Unlike those earlier chosen, it had many natural beauties.
Hills, ravines, lakes and fine groves supplied the landscape
gardeners with much to develop. Including more than 1200
acres, it allowed still greater scope than the Chicago site,
which it was long thought could scarcely be surpassed in point
of magnitude. It was so vast that it was found necessary to
provide electric cars to transfer visitors from one portion of
the grounds to others.

It was determined to make Education the great feature of
the exposition, it being fundamental to commerce and in-
dustry— the competitive fields between nations. For the first
time in the history of expositions, Education was given a
separate building and the most conspicuous place on the
grounds. The exhibits were divided into sixteen departments
which were highly commended — Education, Art, Liberal Arts ;
Varied Industries; Agriculture, Horticulture, Forestry, Min-
ing; Manufactures, Machinery, Transportation, Electricity;
Anthropology, Social Economy and Physical Culture.

To make the picture of human progress and recent im-
provement the more striking and evident, it was determined to
show processes. Wherever possible, things were shown in the
doing.

In the Educational exhibit, students were at work in the
laboratories ; classes in domestic science and manual arts were
watched by spectators who found pleasure in witnessing the
actual steps by which results were gained. Model schools for
the blind and the deaf were conducted daily. Illustrated lec-
tures were constantly given in Educational Hall.

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 165

In the building of Varied Industries, it was possible to see
men at work tanning leather; see them cut soles for shoes;
see others busy with other portions of the making and finally
see the complete articles turned out ready for shipment. A
similar plan was followed in other buildings. A ravine com-
prising several acres was given over to mining interests.
Shafts were sunk and those wholly unacquainted with the
various means employed for extracting the ore from the earth
might watch men thus occupied.

The government had long furnished tanks for the ob-
servation of fish of every kind in the Fishery Buildings. Now
for the first time a huge cage 300 feet by 150 feet in height
was constructed to provide a place for every kind of bird avail-
able in the United States and many from other lands.

Festival Hall was devoted to music which was supplied
liberally. For the first time in the history of expositions, a
Temple of Fraternity was erected for members of all fraternal
societies throughout the world. This was built by voluntary
offerings from societies represented.

The Transportation Building at the Columbian Exposition
had shown wonderful developments in methods for transport-
ing people and freight. And yet, it is doubtful if in 1893
there was a single automobile in Chicago. In 1904 many fine
motors were displayed. Electric cars had undergone marvel-
lous change since the Fair of '93, and the fastest locomotive
of that time would no longer be acceptable. While wood was
largely used then for construction of cars, steel had superseded
it almost entirely. Freight cars at that time carried as many
as 20,000 pounds. In St. Louis they were shown to carry
100,000 pounds. Even more surprising, the first display of
airships was now made. While the races arranged for dirig-
ibles and aeroplanes were disappointing, still air navigation
had to be accepted as a fact and no longer a dreamer's wild
fancy.

In its display of new inventions, the Government showed
means for photographing colors, although it must remain for
a future fair to exhibit methods of accomplishing this with
the cost sufficiently reduced to make it practical for general
use. The telegraphone for the recording of sound waves was
exhibited. This when sufficiently developed will make it pos-

1 66 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

sible for a telephone message delivered during one's absence
to be recorded and reproduced at will. The telautograph,
whereby the sender's own writing may be transmitted to the
recipient was another of the remarkable inventions which suc-
ceeded the Columbian Exposition.

The Louisiana Purchase Exposition was very costly. In
addition to the amount originally procured, that appropriated
by the government for its own special exhibits, by the states,
and by foreign governments, it was found necessary before
the completion of the buildings to negotiate a loan of
$4,600,000 from the general government, giving a lien on the
gate receipts. This was a new expedient. However, the fact
remains as was at the time pointed out : at such a remarkable
showing of world concerns, one person may conceive a plan,
invention or idea that may enrich the world beyond the entire
expense involved. If this great undertaking demonstrated one
fact more clearly than others it was that in those countries
where education is most valued, there is to be found greatest
commercial and industrial proficiency; that in countries that
continue to compel classical training without the choice of
scientific and modern courses, there is noticeable backwardness
in commerce and industry.

The educational exhibit was particularly interesting in that
it showed a unity in American educational training, although
this is everywhere left to state provision. The National
Educational Association which convenes each year has provided
a channel through which whatever of advantage is discovered
in one state becomes the property of all. In fact, in spite of
many state systems, there was demonstrated greater similarity
of work done in east and west of our wide country than in
foreign countries where one system is maintained throughout.

It has long been conceded that the training of the young
is vital to the well being of a country but this exposition went
farther than that. It proved beyond the shadow of a doubt
that supremacy among nations in the future will depend less
upon their far reaching guns and well disciplined armies and
more upon the general enlightenment and intelligence of their
workmen ; that the social problems that beset each land will be
adequately understood and disposed of when each home is a
cultural and educative center. Efficiency is the demand of the

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 167

age and to develop efficient children, parents must be efficient.
"The education of men and women within their homes is fully
as important as the education of children," was said and
demonstrated. It is gratifying to note that women's work
found its place with that of men — placed not to arouse surprise
at what mere woman hath wrought but to be judged solely
on its merits.

Finally, it served to deepen the impression already made
by the Pan-American Exposition, that when these tiny exposi-
tion cities can be made so beautiful by co-operation of trained
architects and decorators, it is manifestly unnecessary for man-
kind to continue to dwell in such unsightly cities as fill our
land. The average citizen constructs his own dwelling with-
out a thought as to that of his neighbor, beside which it must
stand. If it is painted, the color is chosen without regard to
the surroundings ; thus a red house may stand beside a yellow,
green or white one, one often increasing the ugliness of the
other. We have already grown to compel pleasing and unified
spectacles inside the exposition gates and this idea needs only
to be carried a little further to insure us pleasing and unified
effects within the towns and cities which are our permanent
abodes. Nor is it purely fanciful, as it would once have been
considered, to predict that a time may come when it will be
denied that a man has the right to erect a house that by its
architectural form and color scheme is injurious to the effect
of the neighborhood as a whole and repellent to the trained
eye.

1 68 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

CHAPTER XV.
LEWIS AND CLARK EXPOSITION.

THE Louisiana Purchase, as has been noted, occasioned
much bitter criticism. The newly acquired territory was
described as a region of jungle, swamp, desert, fit only for the
habitation of savages, reptiles and fierce wild beasts. With a
desire to modify some of the calumny that was heaped upon
his head, but more particularly with a hope of ascertaining
whether or not water connection with the Pacific might be
found, President Jefferson determined to send out an expedi-
tion into the northwest. Accordingly, Congress appropriated
$2,500 to defray the cost. This, at the time, was regarded as
liberal provision.

Captain Meriweather Lewis, twenty-nine years of age, then
acting as the President's private secretary, was eager to
accompany the proposed expedition. Captain William Clark,
another officer in the United States Army, and four years
older, was appointed to share responsibilities with him. Hav-
ing received full instruction to make a record of their
experiences, to observe the nature of the country traversed,
its vegetation, minerals where these could be discovered, and
above all, to use the utmost diplomacy in dealing with the
Indians, striving ever to win them by kindness, Lewis departed
to meet Captain Clark in St. Louis. They arrived at this
center of Upper Louisiana in December, 1803, and spent the
winter in preparation and recruiting a party. Nine hardy
young Kentuckians, fourteen volunteer soldiers, two French
boatmen, an interpreter, a hunter and a negro servant made
up the party proper, while to accompany them to the land of
the Mandans — North Dakota — six additional soldiers, one cor-
poral and nine rowers were also engaged.

The outfit when ready included a keel boat, fifty-five feet
long, with cabin and forecastle, propelled by twenty-two oars
and a square sail; two long skiffs, clothing, provisions, guns,
powder and fourteen bales of gewgaws designed to attract the

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 169

Indians — tinkling bells, bright colored calicoes, and such other
gay novelties as quickly appealed to these Forest Children.

On the 1 4th of May, 1804, the exploring party departed
from St. Louis to laboriously ascend the Missouri. For weeks
they proceeded through a region inhabited on either side the
stream by semi-barbarous tribes. They landed at frequent
intervals to cultivate the good will of the Indians and to make
observations of the land surrounding the river. Herds of
buffalo, many snakes, wolves, a few elk and plenty of deer
were seen. There was no lack of fresh meat and wild fowl
were abundant.

Council Bluff takes its name from the fact that near the
site of that present city, Lewis and Clark met with representa-
tives of the Ottoes and Missouri Indians ; smoked the pipe of
peace and presented gifts in the name of the great White
Father of the United States. This meeting took place on the
3rd of August, 1804.

By the 25th of that month, they had ascended the stream
to within twenty miles of Sioux City. Here a great mound
held their attention. They found the Indians regarded it with
superstitious fears, believing it to be inhabited by spirits. It
measured nine hundred feet in length, two hundred in width
and rose by steep elevation to a height of seventy feet. In
this vicinity they saw many buffalo, prairie dogs, wild turkeys
and ducks.

The first of November found the cold of winter closing in
upon them and it seemed best to prepare winter quarters. The
site of their camp was three miles below Bismarck, in North
Dakota. Around them were villages of Mandans — Indians
whom certain authorities have claimed to bear affinity to the
Jewish race. Their remote connection to the Lost Tribes of
Israel has been advocated. The tribe today is nearly extinct.
Next to the Sioux, they were at that time the strongest in the
northwest, being able to muster one thousand fighting warriors.
They were friendly to the Lewis and Clark party and aided as
they were able. The winter was very cold — the mercury often
hovering around forty below zero. The leaders spent the
months investigating the country to the slight extent they were
able — covered as it was by its snowy blanket. They studied
the habits of the Mandans, whose immorality they thought

170 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

appalling; yet they themselves fared well among this nation,
which was intelligent and thrifty.

April 7, 1805, they broke camp, sending back the keel-
boat to St. Louis with thirteen men. The rest began the ascent
of the river in light canoes and skiffs. One important fact is
to be noted: they engaged a French guide, Chaboneau, to
accompany them. While he was cowardly and of slight use,
his Indian wife, Sacajawea — Bird Woman — proved of invalu-
able assistance and time and again in his journal Lewis credits
the success of the difficult passages to her instinctive guidance
in discovering mountain passes and portages. Her child was
born during the journey, she carrying him on her back during
much of the way. She had been stolen from her own people
and sold as a slave, having become one of the wives of this
half-breed. While he continually complained about the diffi-
culties of the way, never a murmur passed her lips and the
little party found her undaunted courage and fearlessness
inspiring.

By the 26th of April they reached the junction of the Mis-
souri and Yellowstone Rivers. Great Falls was reached by the
1 6th of June and the Fourth of July was celebrated by a great
feast of elk and bear meat. By September i2th the site of the
present town of Missoula was gained. The Shoshones inhab-
ited this region. They were poor but honest, and Lewis found
them entirely trustworthy. The abundance of fresh berries
and plants had made the entire party ill and for a time they
were obliged to recuperate. By the first of November they
had descended the Columbia to within one hundred miles of
Portland. Six days later they gained sight of the great ocean
and in December went into winter quarters near Astoria.

Having exhausted their supply of salt fish, several men
were occupied during the winter months in evaporating ocean
water to extract the salt and thus prepare a stock of dried
fish to maintain them during the homeward journey. This
proved to be somewhat slow and laborious work.

Eager to start back, now that they had accomplished their
purpose they broke camp in March, gratifying the Indians by
dividing among them the huts they had constructed. On the!
23rd they began to retrace their way, with faces set toward
home; the expedition party reached St. Louis September 23,

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 171

1806, having covered a journey of 2555 miles to the ocean
and the same distance in return.

So long a time had passed without a word from them that
the party had been given up as lost. When their successful
exploration was made known, great rejoicing throughout the
Union followed and the journals of the men were read with
tremendous interest.

Paint conception of this remarkable undertaking is con-
veyed by a perusal of these bare facts. No expedition has ever
been fraught with greater dangers or filled with more absorb-
ing interest. A little handful of men set out to traverse an
unknown land. Uncivilized tribes might at any step prevent
their passage and overcome them. Instead, with but few
occasions when it was necessary to fire among them, they
accomplished this long trip and added three states of today
by right of discovery : Idaho, Washington, Oregon. Many a
time their very lives were threatened by unforeseen catas-
trophes. Once in the mountains Clark and several of his
companions stepped into a cave to await the passage of a
shower. Suddenly there was a cloudburst and water in this
apparently protecting cave arose many feet in five minutes —
forcing them to hurry for their lives. Only by reading their
diaries can the numerous dangers of the way be conceived.
Yet they reached civilization with the loss of but one member
of the party, who died during the first part of the trip.

The Fair, held in Portland in 1905, commemorated this
heroic and momentous expedition, particularly celebrating the
discovery of Oregon and the great Northwest. It was the
first exhibition to be held west of the Rockies and was the
means of bringing a rich and resourceful district before the
attention of those dwelling in the eastern and middle states.
Even today the vast possibilities of this part of our country
are unguessed by those most conversant with the Pacific Coast,
and by the majority of American citizens they are not in the
least realized.

The Lewis and Clark Exposition was not intended to rival
the big fairs previously held in Chicago and St. Louis. In
some respects it was more wonderful than either, but in others
it did not even excite comparison. In the natural beauty of its
location no exposition held away from the western coast could

172 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

rival it. The exposition grounds lay at the foot of Wil-
lamette Heights, on the outskirts of Portland and over a dark
fringe of trees the eternal snows of the Cascades towered
majestically. Land and water were amply included, a long
bridge joining the mainland with a peninsula that reaches far
into the water. It was merely a question of clearing away
underbrush, and developing natural beauty bountifully pro-
vided by a prodigal nature. The government assisted only
by its own exhibit — made in five buildings which were grouped
on the peninsula. One of these buildings was devoted to irri-
gation— the subject of such vital interest to the west. Only
in recent years have the possibilities of irrigation been realized
and the government has already expended large sums in re-
claiming land that previously was regarded as valueless. It
has now been conclusively proved that desert areas without
fertilization can be made to blossom and yield fruit if they are
but supplied with sufficient water. When the Federal govern-
ment provided means for irrigation near Yuma, 105,000 acres
of land, before a wilderness, were rendered arable and the
yield since has been remarkable. Several other districts have
been similarly dealt with and hundreds of thousands lie waste
which will some day be converted into habitations for men.
There is little doubt but that provision for saving the melting
snow in Montana would supply adequate means for the culti-
vation of many of its present desolate regions.

For the first time in the history of expositions, irrigation
was thoroughly displayed — dams, sluices, canals and irrigating
ditches being shown in operation. This taught easterners more
than volumes of wearisome treatises upon the subject could
have ever done.

Foreign nations were invited to participate in this exhibi-
tion, their exhibits being shown largely in two buildings — the
Foreign Exposition Building, devoted to European displays,
and the Oriental Palace, in which several nations displayed
their products liberally, but most completely were to be seen
the products of Japan. It was said that the Mikado had not
been satisfied with the exhibits made by his people at St. Louis
and was determined that no effort should be spared to make
their representation at Portland creditable.

No other structure excited greater interest than the For-

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 173

estry Building — a typical Oregon creation. Excepting Old
Faithful Inn, in the Yellowstone, it was the largest log building
ever erected. 205 feet in length, 108 feet wide and 50 feet
high, the fifty-two giant trees that, like columns, supported the
roof were worthy examples of western primeval forest Not
a nail or bit of metal was used throughout; wooden pins
joined together portions of the building. In galleries lining
the interior, a large variety of woods, finished and unfinished,
were ready for examination. All trees used in the structure
were cut not very far from the exposition site, protected that
their bark might not be bruised, branches lopped off and
raised as they had recently stood for generations beneath the
skies.

For the edification of those unacquainted with the lumber-
ing industry, this exposition afforded a chance to see logging
and manufacture of lumber in the doing.

Many states put up buildings on the grounds. Far-away
Maine reproduced the birthplace of Longfellow. Inside was
a Hiawatha Room and an Evangeline Room. No elaborate
exhibition was provided, but the house constituted the head-
quarters for Maine guests. The legislature made no appropria-
tion for this effort ; instead, lovers of the poet throughout the
state raised the money necessary by popular subscription.

Illinois reproduced Lincoln's log cabin, where as a boy he
read such books as he could procure before the firelight by the
hearth. More elaborate state buildings were visited less fre-
quently than this — beloved by a whole nation.

The Lewis and Clark Exposition was regarded as thor-
oughly successful. It furnished an excellent opportunity for
pioneers to rally and compare their early experiences, when
the matter of traveling from one part of a state to another
was a greater undertaking than traversing a continent to-day.
It called the attention of Americans everywhere to the expedi-
tion of two brave men, who were not alone in being animated
with the spirit of adventure but were typical of an age when
exploration was the consuming interest of the courageous.
While our histories have hitherto passed over the work of
western pathfinders as of slight concern, it is probable that
those written in the future will give western history more
attention, while not lessening the importance of historical

174 TH£ WORLD'S PROGRESS.

development in the eastern and' middle states. Various his-
torical societies have already begun to mark the trails of
the early explorers for the instruction of future generations.
Finally, and most important, it riveted the attention for a few
brief months upon the achievements of men in the west, show-
ing the marvellous progress made in a single century and
making known the fact that the days of the pioneer in the
northwest are over. Thousands of acres in the states accru-
ing to the Union by right of discovery on this occasion are
ready for homeseekers today who would enjoy the oppor-
tunities the northwest offers and insure them for their chil-
dren's children.

The amusement concessions were allotted space at the ter-
mination of the long bridge; this district was known as The
Trail. While including the usual features found these days at
amusement parks, a few were typically western. In one of
these places, one could see men "panning" out metal, as they
did in the Klondike.

EXTRACTS FROM THE JOURNALS AND FIELD BOOKS OE THE

EXPLORERS.

The navigation is now very laborious. The river is deep,
but with little current, and from 70 to 100 yards wide; the
low grounds are very narrow, with but little timber, and that
chiefly the aspen tree. The cliffs are steep, and hang over the
river so much that often we could not cross them, but were
obliged to pass and repass from one side of the river to the
other, in order to make our way. In some places the banks
are formed of dark black granite rising perpendicularly to a
great height, through which the river seems, in the progress
of time, id have worn its channel. On these mountains we
see more pine than usual, but it is still in small quantities.
Along the bottoms, which have a covering of high grass, we
observed the sunflower blooming in great abundance. The
Indians of the Missouri, more especially those who do not
cultivate maize, make great use of the seed of this plant for
bread, or in thickening their soup. They first parch and then
pound it between two stones, until it is reduced to a fine meal.
Sometimes they add a portion of \vater, and drink it thus
diluted; at other times they add a sufficient portion of mar-

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 175

row-grease to reduce it to the consistency of common dough,
and eat it in that manner. This last composition we preferred
to all the rest, and thought it at that time a very palatable
dish. . . .

Being now very anxious to meet with the Shoshones or
Snake Indians, for the purpose of obtaining the necessary
information of our route, as well as to procure horses, it was
thought best for one of us to go forward with a small party
and endeavor to discover them, before the daily discharge of
our guns, which is necessary for our subsistence, should give
them notice of our approach. If by an accident they hear us,
they will most probably retreat to the mountains, mistaking us
for their enemies, who usually attack them on this side. . . .
July 22d. We set out at an early hour. The river being
divided into so many channels, by both large and small islands,
that it was impossible to lay down accurately by following
in a canoe any single channel, Captain Lewis walked on shore,
took the general courses of the river, and from the rising
grounds laid down the situation of the islands and channels,
which he was enabled to do with perfect accuracy, the view
not being obstructed by much timber. At I J4 miles we passed
an island somewhat larger than the rest, and four miles fur-
ther reached the upper end of another, on which we break-
fasted. This is a large island, forming in the middle of a
bend to the north a level fertile plain, ten feet above the sur-
face of the water and never overflowed. Here we found
great quantities of a small onion (Allium cernuum), about
the size of a musket-ball, though some were larger ; it is white,
crisp, and as well flavoured as any of our garden onions
(A. cepa) ; the seed is just ripening, and as the plant bears a
large quantity to the square foot, and stands the rigors of the
climate, it will no doubt be an acquisition to the settlers. From
this production we called it Onion Island.

During the next 7^4 miles we passed several long circular
bends, and a number of large and small islands which divide
the river into many channels, and then reached the mouth
of a creek on the north side (right hand, left bank). It is
composed of three creeks, which unite in a handsome valley
about four miles before they discharge into the Missouri, where
it is about 15 feet wide and eight feet deep, with clear, trans-

176 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

parent water. Here we halted for dinner, but as the canoes
took different channels in ascending, it was some time before
they all joined.

We were delighted to find that the Indian woman recog-
nizes the country; she tells us that to this creek her country-
men make excursions to procure white paint on its banks, and
we therefore call it White-earth Creek. She says also that the
Three Forks of the Missouri are at no great distance — a piece
of intelligence which has cheered the spirits of us all, as we
hope soon to reach the head of that river. This is the warmest
day, except one, we have experienced this summer. In the
shade the mercury stood at 80°, which is the second time it
has reached that height during this season. We camped on an
island, after making 19^ miles.

In the course of the day we saw many geese, cranes, small
birds common to the plains, and a few pheasants. We also
observed a small plover or curlew of a brown color, about the
size of a yellow-legged plover or jack-curlew, but of a different
species. It first appeared near the mouth of Smith's River,
but is so shy and vigilant that we were unable to shoot it.
Both the broad- and narrow-leaved willow continue, though
the sweet willow has become very scarce. The rosebush,
small honeysuckle, pulpy-leaved thorn, southern-wood, sage,
box-elder, narrow-leaved cottonwood, redwood, and a species
of sumach, are all abundant. So, too, are the red and black
gooseberries, service-berry, choke-cherry, and the black, yellow,
red, and purple currants, which last seems to be a favorite
food of the bear. Before camping we landed and took on
board Captain Clark, with the meat he had collected during
this day's hunt, which consisted of one deer and an elk; we
had, ourselves, shot a deer and an antelope. The mosquitoes
and gnats were unusually fierce this evening. . . .

Sacajawea, our Indian woman, informs us that we are
camped on the precise spot where her countrymen, the Snake
Indians, had their huts five years ago, when the Minnetarres
of Knife River first came in sight of them, and from which
they hastily retreated three miles up the Jefferson, and con-
cealed themselves in the woods. The Minnetarees, however,
pursued and attacked them, killed four men, as many women
and a number of boys, and made prisoners of four other boys

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 177

and all the females, of whom Sacajawea was one. She does
not, however, show any distress at these recollections, or any
joy at the prospect of being restored to her country ; for she
seems to possess the folly or the philosophy of not suffering
her feelings to extend beyond the anxiety of having plenty to
eat and a few trinkets to wear. . . .

July 30th. Captain Clark was this morning much restored ;
and, therefore, having made all the observations necessary to
fix the longitude, we reloaded our canoes and begun to ascend
Jefferson River. The river now becomes very crooked and
forms bends on each side; the current is rapid, and cut into a
great number of channels and sometimes shoals, the beds of
which consist of coarse gravel. The islands are unusually
numerous. On the right are high plains, occasionally forming
cliffs of rocks and hills; while the left is an extensive low
ground and prairie, intersected by a number of bayous or
channels falling into the river. Captain Lewis, who had
walked through it with Chaboneau, his wife, and two invalids,
joined us at dinner, a few miles above our camp. Here the
Indian woman said was the place where she had been made
prisoner. The men being too few to contend with the Minne-
tarees, mounted their horses and fled as soon as the attack
began. The women and children dispersed, and Sacajawea,
as she was crossing at a shoal place, was overtaken in the
middle of the river by her pursuers. As we proceeded, the
low grounds were covered with cottonwood and thick under-
brush ; on both sides of the river, except where the high hills
prevented it, the ground was divided by bayous ; and these were
dammed up by the beaver, which are very numerous here.
We made 12 54 miles, and camped on the north side. . . .

On our right is the point of a high plain, which our Indian
woman recognizes as the place called the Beaver's Head, from
a supposed resemblance to that object. This, she says, is not
far from the summer retreat of her countrymen, which is on
a river beyond the mountains, running to the west. She is
therefore certain that we shall meet them either on this river,
or on that immediately west of its source, which, judging from
its present size, cannot be far distant. Persuaded of the abso-
lute necessity of procuring horses to cross the mountains, it

was determined that one of us should proceed in the morning
x— 12

178 THE WORW/S PROGRESS.

to the head of the river, and penetrate the mountains till he
found the Shoshones, or some other nation, who could assist
us in transporting our baggage, the greater part of which we
should be compelled to leave, without the aid of horses.

August i$th. Captain Lewis rose early, and having eaten
nothing yesterday except his scanty meal of flour and berries,
felt the inconveniences of extreme hunger. On inquiry (of
McNeal) he found that his whole stock of provisions consisted
of two pounds of flour. This he ordered to be divided into
two equal parts, and one-half of it to be boiled with the
berries into a sort of pudding. After presenting a large share
to the chief, he and his three men breakfasted on the remain-
der. Cameahwait was delighted at this new dish; he took a
little of the flour in his hand, tasted and examined it very
narrowly, and asked if it was made of roots. Captain Lewis
explained the process of preparing it, and the chief said it was
the best thing he had eaten for a long time.

This being finished, Captain Lewis now endeavored to
hasten the departure of the Indians, who still hesitated and
seemed reluctant to move, although the chief addressed them
twice for the purpose of urging them. On inquiring the
reason, Cameahwait told him that some foolish person had
suggested that he was in league with their enemies, the Pah-
kees, and had come only to draw them into ambuscade; but
that he himself did not believe it. Captain Lewis felt uneasy
at this insinuation; he knew the suspicious temper of the
Indians, accustomed from their infancy to regard every stran-
ger as an enemy, and saw that if this suggestion were not
instantly checked, it might hazard the total failure of the
enterprise. Assuming, therefore, a serious air, he told the
chief that he was sorry to find they placed so little confidence
in him, but that he pardoned their suspicions because they were
ignorant of the character of white men, among whom it was
disgraceful to lie, or entrap even an enemy by falsehood ; that
if they continued to think thus meanly of us, they might be
assured no white man would ever come to supply them with
arms and merchandise ; that there was at this moment a party
of white men waiting to trade with them at the forks of the
river; and that, if the greater part of the tribe entertained any
suspicion, he hoped there were still among them some who

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 179

were men, who would go and see with their own eyes the
truth of what he said, and who, if there was any danger, were
not afraid to die. To doubt the courage of an Indian is to
touch the tenderest string of his mind, and the surest way
to rouse him to any dangerous achievement. Cameahwait
instantly replied that he was not afraid to die, and mounting
his horse, for the third time harangued the warriors. He told
them that he was resolved to go if he went alone, or if he were
sure of perishing; that he hoped there were among those who
heard him some who were not afraid to die, and who would
prove it by mounting their horses and following him. This
harangue produced an effect on six or eight only of the war-
riors, who now joined their chief. With these Captain Lewis
, smoked a pipe ; and then, fearful of some change in their
capricious temper, set out immediately.

It was about twelve o'clock when his small party left the
camp, attended by Cameahwait and the eight warriors. Their
departure seemed to spread a gloom over the village; those
who would not venture to go were sullen and melancholy, and
the women were crying and imploring the Great Spirit to
protect their warriors, as if they were going to certain destruc-
tion. Yet such is the wavering inconsistency of these savages,
that Captain Lewis' party had not gone far when they were
joined by ten or twelve more warriors; and before reaching
the creek which they had passed on the morning of the thir-
teenth, all the men of the nation and a number of women had
overtaken them, having changed, from the surly ill-temper in
which they were two hours ago, to the greatest cheerfulness
and gayety. When they arrived at the spring on the side of
the mountain, where the party had camped on the I2th, the
chief insisted on halting to let the horses graze; to which
Captain Lewis assented, and smoked with them. They were
excessively fond of the pipe, in which, however, they are not
able to indulge much, as they do not cultivate tobacco them-
selves, and their rugged country affords them but few articles
to exchange for it. Here they remained for about an hour,
and on setting out, by arranging to pay four of the party,
Captain Lewis obtained permission for himself and each of his
men to ride behind an Indian. But he soon found riding
without stirrups was much more tiresome than walking, and

180 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

therefore dismounted, making the Indian carry his pack.
About sunset they reached the upper part of the level valley,
in the cove through which he had passed, and which they
now called Shoshone Cove. The grass being burnt on the
north side of the river, they crossed over to the south, and
camped about four miles above the narrow piss between the
hills, noticed as they traversed the cove before. The river was
here about six yards wide, and frequently dammed up by the
beaver.

Drewyer had been sent forward to hunt ; but he returned in
the evening unsuccessful, and their only supper therefore was
the remaining pound of flour, stirred in a little boiling water,
and then divided between the four white men and two of the
Indians. . . .

We soon drew near the camp, and just as we approached
it a woman made her way through the crowd toward Saca-
jawea; recognizing each other, they embraced with the most
tender affection. The meeting of these two young women
had in it something peculiarly touching, not only from the
ardent manner in which their feelings were expressed, but
also from the real interest of their situation. They had been
companions in childhood; in the war with the Minnetarees
they had both been taken prisoners in the same battle; they
had shared and softened the rigors of their captivity till one of
them had escaped from the Minnetarees, with scarce a hope of
ever seeing her friend relieved from the hand of her enemies.
While Sacajawea was renewing among the women the friend-
ships of former days, Captain Clark went on, and was re-
ceived by Captain Lewis and the chief, who, after the first
embraces and salutations were over, conducted him to a sort
of circular tent or shade of willows. Here he was seated on a
white robe, and the chief immediately tied in his hair six small
shells resembling pearls, an ornament highly valued by these
people, who procure them in the course of trade from the
sea-coast. The moccasins of the whole party were then taken
off, and after much ceremony the smoking began. After this
the conference was to be opened. Glad of an opportunity of
being able to converse more intelligibly, Sacajawea was sent
for; she came into the tent, sat down, and was beginning to
interpret, when, in the person of Cameahwait, she recognized

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS.

her brother. She instantly jumped up, and ran and embraced
him, throwing over him her blanket, and weeping profusely.
The chief was himself moved, though not in the same degree.
After some conversation between them she resumed her seat
and attempted to interpret for us ; but her new situation seemed
to overpower her, and she was frequently interrupted by her
tears. After the council was finished the unfortunate woman
learned that all her family were dead except two brothers, one
of whom was absent, and a son of her eldest sister, a small
boy, who was immediately adopted by her.

The canoes arriving soon after, we formed a camp in a
meadow on the left-hand side, a little below the forks, took
out our baggage, and by means of our sails and willow-poles
formed a canopy for our Indian visitors. About four o'clock
the chiefs and warriors were collected and, after the customary
ceremony of taking off the moccasins and smoking a pipe, we
explained to them in a long harangue the purposes of our visit,
making themselves the one conspicuous object of the good
wishes of our government, on whose strength, as well as
friendly disposition, we expatiated. We told them of their
dependence on the will of our government for all their future
supplies of whatever was necessary either for their comfort
or defense ; that, as we were sent to discover the best route by
which merchandise could be conveyed to them, and no trade
would be begun before our return, it was mutually advanta-
geous that we should proceed with as little delay as possible;
that we were under the necessity of requesting them to furnish
us with horses to transport our baggage across the mountains,
and a guide to show us the route; but that they should be
amply remunerated for their horses, as well as for every other
service they should render us. In the meantime our first wish
was, that they should immediately collect as many horses as
were necessary to transport our baggage to their village,
where at our leisure we would trade with them for as many
horses as they could spare.

The speech made a favorable impression. The chief, in
reply, thanked us for our expressions of friendship toward
himself and his nation, and declared their willingness to render
us every service. He lamented that it would be so long before
they should be supplied with firearms, but that till then they

1 82 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS. -

could subsist as they had heretofore done. He concluded by
saying that there were not horses enough here to transport
our goods, but that he would return to the village to-morrow,
bring all his own horses, and encourage his people to come
over with theirs. The conference being ended to our satisfac-
tion, we now enquired of Cameahwait what chiefs were among
the party, and he pointed out two of them. We then dis-
tributed our presents; to Cameahwait we gave a medal of
small size, with a likeness of President Jefferson and on the
reverse a figure of hands clasped with a pipe and tomahawk ;
to this was added an uniform coat, a shirt, a pair of scarlet
leggings, a carrot of tobacco, and some small articles. Each
of the other chiefs received a small medal struck during the
presidency of General Washington, a shirt, handkerchief,
leggings, knife, and some tobacco. Medals of the same sort
were also presented to two young warriors, who, though not
chiefs, were promising youths and very much respected in the
tribe. These honorary gifts were followed by presents of
paint, moccasins, awls, knives, beads, and looking-glasses. We
also gave them all a plentiful meal of Indian corn, of which
the hull is taken off by being boiled in lye; as this was the
first they had ever tasted, they were very much pleased with it.
They had, indeed, abundant sources of surprise in all they
saw — the appearance of the men, their arms, their clothing, the
canoes, the strange looks of the negro, and the sagacity of our
dog, all in turn shared their admiration, which was raised to
astonishment by a shot from the air-gun. This operation was
instantly considered "great medicine," by which they, as well
as the other Indians, mean something emanating directly from
the Great Spirit, or produced by his invisible and incompre-
hensible agency. The display of all these riches had been
intermixed with inquiries into the geographical situation of
their country; for we had learned by experience that to keep
savages in good temper their attention should not be wearied
with too much business, but that serious affairs should be enliv-
ened by a mixture of what is new and entertaining. Our
hunters brought in, very seasonably, four deer and antelope, the
last of which we gave to the Indians, who in a very short time
devoured it. ...

November ^th. The morning was rainy, and the fog so

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 1 83'

thick that we could not see across the river. We observed,
however, opposite our camp, the upper point of an island
(Puget's), between which and the steep hills on the right we
proceeded for five miles (site of Cathlamet). Three miles
lower is the beginning of an island separated from the right
shore by a narrow channel ; down this we proceeded under the
direction of some Indians, whom we had just met going up
the river, and who returned in order to show us their village.
It consists of four houses only, situated on this channel behind
several marshy islands formed by two small creeks. On our
arrival they gave us some fish, and we afterward purchased
some wappatoo-roots, fish, three dogs, and two otter-skins,
for which we gave fish-hooks chiefly, that being an article of
which they were very fond. . . .

We had not gone far from this village when the fog
cleared off, and we enjoyed the delightful prospect of the
ocean — that ocean, the object of all our labors, the reward of
all our anxieties. This cheering view exhilarated the spirits
of all the party, who were still more delighted on hearing the
distant roar of the breakers. We went on with great cheerful-
ness under the high mountainous country which continued
along the right bank (passing Three Tree and Jim Crow
Points) ; the shore was, however, so bald and rocky, that we
could not, until after going 14 miles from the last village,
find any spot fit for a camp (opposite Pillar Rock). At that
distance, having made during the day 34 miles, we spread our
mats on the ground, and passed the night in the rain. Here
we were joined by our small canoe, which had been separated
from us during the fog this morning. Two Indians from the
last village also accompanied us to the camp; but, having
detected them in stealing a knife, they were sent off.

184 THE WORU/S PROGRESS

CHAPTER XVI.
THE JAMESTOWN EXPOSITION.

IN 1607 the first permanent English colony was success-
fully planted in Virginia, on the James River. The story of
its trials and sufferings is known to every school boy. So
little was the true nature of the new continent understood in
the Old World that chevaliers and gentlemen, hoping to
retrieve their fortunes, set out upon a voyage thither with the
sole desire of becoming rich. Captain John Smith's arduous
task in converting such a company into thrifty workers has
been explained in every American history. Sickness, dissen-
sion and want so reduced the colony that they were about to
return to the mother country when help arrived just in time
to save the settlement for a future nation. The first and second
hundredth anniversary had passed without particular attention
and it was determined to celebrate the third centennial by
holding an exposition as near the site of the original settlement
as possible.

There was no attempt to rival the great expositions which
this country had already produced. Rather, from the outset
the idea of developing a kind of historical exposition which
should set forth graphically the story of old colony days was
emphasized. Believing that the strength of armies and battle-
ships had been important in days bygone, it was stipulated in
the beginning that "Such exposition should be adjacent to the
waters of Hampton Roads, whereupon the navies of all nations
may rendezvous in honor of the hardy mariner who braved
the dangers of the deep to establish the first colony."

Congress appropriated approximately $1,700,000 for vari-
ous exposition purposes and an invitation was extended in the
name of the President to foreign nations to take part in a
naval and military display which should be made in connec-
tion with the exhibition.

The district chosen for the exhibit included about 400
acres and was open to the view of Hampton Roads. The

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 185

government constructed two huge piers out from the shore
one-half mile, these being 200 feet in width. They were
joined at the outer ends by a third, arched in the center to
allow small boats to enter the area of water thus enclosed.
These three piers were threaded with one million incandescent
bulbs which, with searchlights, bathed the whole into white
splendor at night.

The buildings were colonial in character. The Adminis-
tration Building was centrally located and contained the
auditorium — accommodating about six thousand people. Near
it were the Twin Palaces — of History and Historic Art. This
first was made fireproof and housed rare and valuable his-
torical papers during the exposition months.

The two sides of the grounds not open to the water were
enclosed by trellises of roses, honeysuckle, creepers and other
vinery, supported by invisible wire to the height of eight feet,
the top being capped by barbed wire to prevent intrusion.
These two flowery walls were most effective. Moreover, all
available space within the grounds was laid out in old-fash-
ioned gardens.

A group of seven buildings constituted the Arts and Crafts
Village — the Textile Building; Copper, Silver and Wooden
Shops; Pottery Shop; Iron Shop; Model School; Mothers
and Children's Building and the Pocahontas Hospital. These
quaint, dignified, colonial buildings — like most of the others —
were erected as permanent structures and have since been sold
as residences, hotels, clubs and the like. In the Textile Build-
ing were set up looms and skilled workers carded wool, spun
it and wove it into fabrics, after the fashion of long ago. In
the workshops, furniture such as that used in the colonial
houses of the seventeenth century was manufactured for the
interest of visiting guests. Iron and copper kettles, pewter
spoons, andirons, knockers, and every article of use in the
early American home were reproduced as in the days gone by.
Nails were pounded out; horse shoes wrought. Indeed, any-
one who wished to study the social and industrial life of Old
Colony days might here find it brought back for his leisurely
study. Vessels came but rarely then from the Old World,
and there was much that these must needs bring. The self-
reliant colonist could not depend upon imported articles. It

1 86 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

was necessary for him to become skillful in fashioning these
for himself, or at least, in every settlement some one must be
able to produce articles of various descriptions. It will be
remembered that upon the Virginian plantation workshops of
different kinds were maintained and the independent planter
lived in a little world of his own — the ships that carried away
his tobacco in many instances coming to his very wharf. How-
ever, all this came about somewhat later.

Nearly all the original thirteen states erected buildings —
Pennsylvania reproducing Independence Hall. Four western
states, Washington, Oregon, Idaho and Nevada, built one
jointly, giving it the form of a maltese cross and each occupy-
ing one of the arms with its exhibits. Several of these build-
ings were also erected with the plan of later usefulness.

In the fireproof buildings devoted to old papers and other
valuable historical evidence, fac-similes of the Declaration of
Independence, Articles of Confederation and Constitution were
shown, together with original papers of great value. Each
state searched its archives for interesting matter to loan for
the exhibit. One of the most interesting historical displays
was the reproduced village of Jamestown, with its stockade,
forts and Indian houses.

Due to the constant encroachments of the river, the site of
early Jamestown is now a marsh. It lies about forty miles up
the stream from the exposition grounds and many who visited
the latter availed themselves of the day excursions offered
by small crafts to see the spot thus identified with our early
beginnings. The old church stands now in ruins and there is
little else to distinguish the memorable spot.

In view of the splendid motives that led to this under-
taking, it is almost a pity to touch upon the other side of the
matter and show why this exposition failed to realize the hopes
at first entertained for it. Intending to place only moderate
stress upon military concerns, these soon were found to be
wholly in the ascendency. Great Britain, Germany, France,
Russia, Japan, Denmark, Belgium, Mexico, Costa Rica and
other nations dispatched gunboats and troops thither. Some
of the ones promoting the Fair, imbued with true American
enterprise, sought to make each military pageant as imposing
as possible and spread advertisements of this nature through

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. ig/

the land. "This will be the greatest military display the world
has ever seen;" "This will bring before the eyes of American
citizens the greatest gathering of warships the world has ever
known." "It will give us living pictures of war, with all its
enticing splendors." And so extracts from flaming posters
might be made indefinitely. In some countries such promises
as these might have elicited great enthusiasm and joy, but in
the United States where war is abhorred, they called out the
condemnation of the discerning press and dismayed the
thoughtful citizen. Many a man knew from personal experi-
ence that war has no attending splendors and many a house-
hold still mourns those whose lives went out in noble .sacrifice
for a great cause. It is all very well to rehearse the oft-
repeated sentence that the greatest safeguard of peace is a large
and well equipped army and navy. Many believe it, but never-
theless, the sight of a great fleet of battleships gives comfort
and assurance far less than it inspires awe. These mighty
contrivances are meant to destroy human life ; the far penetra-
tion of their guns is the boast of the age. For two thousand
years the doctrine of peace on earth, good will toward men
has been preached, and in face of it manifestations of war
must alway imply flat contradiction and inconsistency. It
would be unsafe for one nation to disarm while its neighbors
perfected their gunboats and armies, but at least long extended
display of military pomp will find scant welcome in this
country. Especially were the advertised mock battles com-
memorating critical times in our history resented.

It cannot help the popularity of a national exposition to
have many of the nation's publications decrying some features
of its plan — however they may seek to do justice to the rest —
and it cannot be denied that this over-emphasizing military
affairs alienated many who otherwise might have availed
themselves of the chance to spend some time at Norfolk.
Added to this was the disadvantage of summer climate in
sultry Virginia from the last of April until fall. Furthermore,
the effort seemed to demonstrate that however our nation may
be at fault for not valuing highly historical things and relics of
the past, the attention of the general public is won far more
quickly by anything that points toward the future.
, There was dearth of means for promoting the exposition

WORLD'S PROGRESS.

and the government was asked to loan $1,000,000 to the
Jamestown Exposition Company, taking a lien upon the gate
receipts, 40% of these to be reserved to make good this
amount. The daily admissions during the fair were not
allowed to become public, as has generally been the case.
Various efforts were made to estimate them — all too high it
turned out when the final showing to the government was
made. The average daily admissions were only 1,500 and of
the million loaned, $140,000 was returned. This occasioned
some public discussion as to whether loans of this nature were
justifiable or not.

For the first time in the history of expositions, the negroes
made a separate showing. In a building designed by a negro
architect and constructed by negro workmen, three thousand
exhibits were made. The Fisk Jubilee Singers provided fre-
quent concerts; the various schools for the colored children
and older students made fine exhibits. The needlework done
by the girls was excellent. Inventions made by them ; books
written by Booker T. Washington and other clever thinkers
were to be seen. On one side of the entrance to their building
was a windowless cabin of the kind provided for the slaves in
1860; on the other side, a pleasant wooden cottage commonly
built by the enterprising among them to-day. Never in history
has a race shown such remarkable progress in forty-five years.
There are to-day in Virginia alone 47,000 homes owned by
the colored people. August 3rd was observed as Negro Day,
but while some six thousand of this race gathered in their
building, other visitors to the grounds appeared to give slight
attention to the occasion.

Someone recalling the early struggle with the Indians
suggested the name The War-path for the amusement quarter
and it clung to it. The shows were not all warlike in nature
but were not patronized as constantly as they are in the north.
The New South has had a great burden to meet in its reconstruc-
tion and money is not so plentiful among the middle class as
in the north. Many found the expense of the trip thither and
the admission all they cared to undertake.

The government set aside $50,000 for a permanent monu-
ment to be erected in memory of the first English settlement
made in the United States. Built of light New Hampshire

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 189

granite, it has the form of an obelisk, and rests upon a heavy
base, approached from every side by a flight of stairs. The
base bears but one inscription — a bit of advice of the London
Company :

"Lastly and chiefly the way to prosper and achieve good
success is to make yourselves all of one mind for the good of
your country and your own, and to serve and fear God, the
giver of all goodness, for every plantation which our Heav-
enly Father hath not planted shall be rooted out." — Advice of
London Council for Virginia to the Colony — ipod.

Low down on the obelisk, near the base on the four sides
is an eagle carved in the granite, with wings outspread stand-
ing on a pedestal between two torches. Beneath is a scroll
which on the south side, reads :

Jamestown

The First Permanent

Colony of the

English People

The Birthplace of

Virginia

and of

The United States
May 13, 1607.

In similar form are the other inscriptions : Virginia Col-
ony of London, Chartered April 10, 1607, founded James-
town and sustained Virginia 1607-1624. Another: Repre-
sentative Government in America began in the First House
of Burgesses assembled here July 30, 1619.

Finally, the commemoration inscription: This monument
was erected by the United States, A. D. 1907, to commemo-
rate the three hundredth anniversary of the settlement here.

The shaft is about 103 feet high above the base and is sur-
mounted by an aluminum cap.

EXPOSITION ORATION.

WE have met today to celebrate the opening of the Exposi-
tion which itself commemorates the first permanent settlement
of men of our stock in Virginia, the first beginning of what

190 TH£ WORLD'S PROGRESS.

has since become this mighty Republic. Three hundred years
ago a handful of English adventurers, who had crossed the
ocean in what we should now call cockle boats, as clumsy as
they were frail, landed in the great wooded wilderness, the
Indian-haunted waste, which then stretched down to the water's
edge along the entire Atlantic coast. They were not the first
men of European race to settle in what is now the United
States, for there were already Spanish settlements in Florida
and on the head waters of the Rio Grande; and the French,
who at almost the same time were struggling up the St.
Lawrence, were likewise destined to form permanent settle-
ments on the Great Lakes and in the valley of the mighty
Mississippi before the people of English stock went westward
of the Alleghenies. Moreover, both the Dutch and the Swedes
were shortly to found colonies between the two sets of English
colonies, those that grew up around the Potomac, and those
that grew up on what is now the New England coast. Never-
theless, this landing at Jamestown possesses for us of the
United States an altogether peculiar significance and this with-
out regard to our several origins. The men who landed at
Jamestown and those who, thirteen years later, landed at Ply-
mouth, all of English stock, and their fellow-settlers who dur-
ing the next few decades streamed in after them, were those
who took the lead in shaping the life history of this people
in the Colonial and Revolutionary days. It was they who
bent into definite shape our nation while it was still young
enough most easily, most readily, to take on the characteristics
which were to become part of its permanent life habit.

Yet let us remember that while this early English Colonial
stock has left deeper than all others upon our national life
the mark of its strong twin individualities, the mark of the
Cavalier and of the Puritan, nevertheless this stock, not only
from its environment but also from the presence with it of
other stocks, almost from the beginning began to be differen-
tiated strongly from any English people. As I have already
said, about the time the first English settlers landed here the
Frenchman and the Spaniard, the Swede and the Dutchman,
also came hither as permanent dwellers, who left their seed
behind them to help shape and partially to inherit our national
life. The German, the Irishman, and the Scotchman came

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 19!

later, but still in Colonial times. Before the outbreak of the
Revolution the American people, not only because of their
surroundings, physical and spiritual, but because of the mix-
ture of blood that had already begun to take place, repre-
sented a new and distinct ethnic type. This type has never
been fixed in blood. All through the Colonial days new waves
of immigration from time to time swept hither across the
ocean, now from one country, now from another. The same
thing has gone on ever since our birth as a nation; and for
the last sixty years the tide of immigration has been at the
full. The newcomers are soon absorbed into our eager na-
tional life, and are radically and profoundly changed thereby,
the rapidity of their assimilation being marvellous. But each
group of newcomers, as it adds to the life, also changes some-
what, and this change and growth and development have gone
on steadily, generation by generation, throughout three cen-
turies.

The pioneers of our people who first landed on these
shores on that eventful day three centuries ago had before
them a task which, during the early years, was of heart-
breaking danger and difficulty. The conquest of a new conti-
nent is iron work. People who dwell in old civilizations and
find that therein so much of humanity's lot is hard are apt to
complain against the conditions as being solely due to man
and to speak as if life could be made easy and simple if there
were but a virgin continent in which to work. It is true that
the pioneer life was simpler, but it was certainly not easier.
As a matter of fact, the first work of the pioneers in taking
possession of a lonely wilderness is so rough, so hard, so dan-
gerous, that all but the strongest spirits fail. The early iron
days of such a conquest search out alike the weak in body and
the weak in soul. In the warfare against the rugged stern-
ness of primeval nature only those can conquer who are them-
selves unconquerable. It is not until the first bitter years
have passed that the life becomes easy enough to invite a mass
of newcomers, and so great are the risk, hardship, and toil
of the early years that there always exists a threat of lapsing
back from civilization.

The history of the pioneers of Jamestown, of the founders
of Virginia, illustrates the truth of all this. Famine and pesti-

192 TH£ WORIJ/S PROGRESS.

lence and war menaced the little band of daring men who had
planted themselves alone on the edge of a frowning continent.
Moreover, as men ever find, whether in the tiniest frontier com-
munity or in the vastest and most highly organized and com-
plex civilized society, their worst foes were in their own
bosoms. Dissension, distrust, the inability of some to work
and the unwillingness of others, jealousy, arrogance and envy,
folly and laziness; in short, all the shortcomings with which
we have to grapple new were faced by those pioneers, and at
moments threatened their whole enterprise with absolute ruin.
It was some time before the ground on which they had landed
supported them, in spite of its potential fertility, and they
looked across the sea for supplies. At one moment so hope-
less did they become, that the whole colony embarked, and
was only saved from abandoning the country by the oppor-
tune arrival of help from abroad.

At last they took root in the land, and were already pros-
pering when the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth. In a few years
a great inflow of settlers began. Four of the present states
of New England were founded. Virginia waxed apace. The
Carolinas grew up to the south of it, and Maryland to the
north of it. The Dutch colonies between, which had already
absorbed the Swedish, were in their turn absorbed by the
English. Pennsylvania was founded and, later still, Georgia.
There were many wars with the Indians and with the daunt-
less captains whose banners bore the lilies of France. At last
the British flag flew without a rival in all eastern North
America. Then came the successful struggle for national in-
dependence.

For half a century after we became a separate nation there
was comparatively little immigration to this country. Then
the tide once again set hither, and has flowed in ever-increas-
ing size until in each of the last three years a greater number of
people came to these shores than had landed on them during
the entire Colonial period. Generation by generation these
people have been absorbed into the national life. Generally
their sons, almost always their grandsons, are indistinguish-
able from one another and from their fellow- Americans de-
scended from the Colonial stock. For all alike the problems
of our existence are fundamentally the same, and for all alike
these problems change from generation to generation.

Copyright by Underwood and Underwood, N. Y.

AMONG THE HYDAH INDIANS — ALASKA.

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 193'

In the Colonial period, and for at least a century after its
close, the conquest of the continent, the expansion of our
people westward to the Alleghenies, then to the Mississippi,
then to the Pacific, was always one of the most important
tasks, and sometimes the most important, in our national life.
Behind the first settlers the conditions grew easier, and in the
older-settled regions of all the colonies life speedily assumed
much of comfort and something of luxury; and though gen-
erally it was on a much more democratic basis than life in the
Old World, it was by no means democratic when judged by
our modern standards ; and here and there, as in the tide-
water regions of Virginia, a genuine aristocracy grew and
flourished. But the men who first broke ground in the virgin
wilderness, whether on the Atlantic coast or in the interior,
fought hard for mere life. In the early stages the frontiers-
man had to battle with the savage, and when the savage was
vanquished there remained the harder strain of war with the
hostile forces of soil and climate, with flood, fever, and famine.
There was sickness and bitter weather; there were no roads;
there was a complete lack of all but the very roughest and
most absolute necessaries. Under such circumstances the men
and women who made ready the continent for civilization were
able themselves to spend but little time in doing aught but the
rough work which was to make smooth the ways of their suc-
cessors. In consequence, observers whose insight was spoiled
by lack of sympathy always found both the settlers and their
lives unattractive and repellant. In Martin Chuzzlewit the
description of America, culminating in the description of the
frontier town of Eden, was true and life-like from the stand-
point of one content to look merely at the outer shell; and
yet it was a community like Eden that gave birth to Abraham
Lincoln ; it was men such as were therein described from whose
loins Andrew Jackson sprang.

Hitherto each generation among us has had its allotted
task, now heavier, now lighter. In the Revolutionary War
the business was to achieve independence. Immediately after-
wards there was an even more momentous task ; that to achieve
the national unity and the capacity for orderly development,
without which our liberty, our independence, would have been
a curse and not a blessing. In each of these two contests,
x— i?

194 TH£ WORLD'S PROGRESS.

while there were many great leaders from many different
States, it is but fair to say that the foremost place was taken
by the soldiers and the statesmen of Virginia ; and to Virginia
was reserved the honor of producing the hero of both move-
ments, the hero of the war and of the peace that made good
the results of the war — George Washington; while the two
great political tendencies of the time can be symbolized by the
names of two other great Virginians — Jefferson and Marshall
— from one of whom we inherit the abiding trust in the people
which is the foundation stone of democracy, and from the
other the power to develop on behalf of the people a coherent
and powerful government, a genuine and representative nation-
ality. . . .

The corner stone of the Republic lies in our treating each
man on his worth as a man, paying no heed to his creed, his
birthplace, or his occupation ; asking not whether he is rich
or poor; whether he labors with head or hand; asking only
whether he acts decently and honorably in the various rela-
tions of his life, whether he behaves well to his family, to his
neighbors, to the State. We base our regard for each man on
the essentials and not the accidents. We judge him not by his
profession, but by his deeds ; by his conduct, not by what he
has acquired of this world's goods. Other republics have fallen
because the citizens gradually grew to consider the interests
of a class before the interests of the whole ; for when such was
the case it mattered little whether it was the poor who plun-
dered the rich or the rich who exploited the poor; in either
event the end of the republic was at hand. We are resolute
in our purpose not to fall into such a pit. This great "Republic
of ours shall never become the Government of plutocracy, and
it shall never become the Government of a mob. God willing,
it shall remain what our fathers who founded it meant it to be
— a Government in which each man stands on his worth as a
man, where each is given the largest personal liberty con-
sistent with securing the well-being of the whole, and where,
so far as in us lies, we strive continually to secure for each
man such equality of opportunity that in the strife of life he
may have a fair chance to show the stuff that is in him. We
are proud of our schools and of the trained intelligence they
give our children the opportunity to acquire. But what we

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS.

195

care for most is the character of the average man ; for we be-
lieve that if the average of character in the individual citizen
is sufficiently high, if he possesses those qualities which make
him worthy of respect in his family life and in his work out-
side, as well as the qualities which fit him for success in the
hard struggle of actual existence — that if such is the charac-
ter of our individual citizenship, there is literally no height of
triumph unattainable in this vast experiment of government
by, of, and for a free people. — From President Roosevelt's
speech at the opening of the Jamestown Exposition.

PUBLIC LIBRARY, BOSTON, MASS.

196 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

CHAPTER XVII.
ALASKA- YUKON-PACIFIC EXPOSITION.

THE exposition held in Seattle in 1909 commemorated no
historical event. It was planned and undertaken wholly for
commercial reasons, to emphasize the value of the Pacific trade
and help to direct it into American channels, and to exploit
the resources of Alaska and the Northwest.

When Secretary Seward bought Alaska for the sum of
$7,200,000 — which Russia asked to cede it to the United
States — there was a general outcry against the expenditure
of so much money for a region of glaciers and icefields. One
member of Congress was aggressive in attempting to force an
investigation as to what portion of the money Seward himself
received from Russia for negotiating such a transaction, con-
sidering the whole affair insupportable. Since 1880 Alaskan
commerce has amounted to $292,000,000. Not more than one
person in a thousand in the United States comprehends the
tremendous resources in this northern territory. Even those
most familiar with the region cannot estimate them, for they
lie for the most part untouched. The discovery of gold in
the Klondike in 1896 and in Nome in 1899 started the tide of
venturesome humanity northward, and while more returned
spent and broken than realized their hopes, yet this constant
journeying back and forth led to a more general understanding
of the facts concerning Alaska. Since those astonishing years,
several towns have sprung up along the southern coast and
every year the number of people who choose to spend vacation
weeks skirting along the inland passage or journeying up the
Yukon, increases. Magnificent scenery, comparable only with
that of Switzerland in point of mountains, and Scandinavia
in point of fjords, repays the traveler. Primitive Indian
villages, salmon fisheries, whaling stations and totem poles
offer sufficiently novel features. Sitka, once the capital, rich
in history and beautiful in setting, is worth going far to see.
Juneau, nestling at the foot of a lofty mountain, is astir with

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 197

importance as the political center of the territory. Skagway,
"home of the north wind," is the most northern point visited
by those who choose to cling to the shores rather than leave
the comfort of their steamer for the inconveniences of inland
travel in a new country.

However, it was not scenic advantages that the Exposition
of 1909 attempted to reveal. This exhibition was directed by
hard-headed business men who never lost sight of the objective
point, to so graphically display the opportunities Alaska offers
the homeseeker and capitalist that sturdy spirits might be
prompted to settle there or to make investments.

Seattle was the natural place for the holding of such an
exhibition. In the first place, her phenomenal growth resulted
from the exodus to the gold-fields. Here the gold-seekers
were fitted out for the exposures of their journey; here they
returned, when successful, to spend some of the precious metal
they had won. Prom a town of 40,000, within eight years
Seattle became a city of 200,000, and the building carried on
during that period amazed a nation. But the advantage of
being the gateway to Alaska is but one of many possessed by
this enterprising center. Its position is enviable. It stands
on Puget Sound, the finest body of deep water in the western
hemisphere. While many harbors have been created at great
cost, Seattle possesses miles of natural wharfage adequate for
the largest ocean vessels. At the present time the government
is digging a canal which shall admit ships from the Sound to
the fresh water lakes within the city itself, Lake Union and
Lake Washington. When this was first begun, it was advo-
cated that our battleships could thus come into fresh water and
be freer of barnacles without the costly scraping. Far more
important than that will be the fact that materials can thus
be transported to the very factories and manufactures which
will spring up around these lakes.

Furthermore, Seattle is convenient to the trade of the
Orient. Ships from Japan and China are constantly in and out
the harbor. The trade with Australia is already considerable
and it was hoped to stimulate greater commercial intercourse
with Central and South Americas.

It is doubtful whether an American city rivals Seattle in
its situation. Built on a series of hills, it brings to mind

198 THE; WORLD'S PROGRESS.

Scriptural phraseology that a city so placed cannot be hid.
Its lights are visible many miles away. In front, the Sound ;
across this great sheet of quiet water, a line of firs against the
sky and above them, the Cascades in eternal loveliness. In
another direction lie the placid lakes and in the sky beyond
Lake Washington, Mount Ranier, 14,500 feet high, suddenly
appears, huge, round, like an inverted sugar-bowl.

The campus of the University of Washington was chosen
for the exposition site. Nothing man could do to produce a
beautiful spectacle could compare with what nature had already
done. For this reason moderation characterized all adornment
of grounds. The ones promoting the enterprise determined
that funds expended should not be wasted but contribute to
the permanent welfare of the state university. Several of the
buildings erected were designed for future purposes when the
fair should be concluded.

Twelve exhibit palaces were constructed : Government
Building, Alaska Building, Yukon, Hawaii, and the Philippine
Buildings ; Forestry, Fine Arts, Agricultural and Horticultural,
Mines, Fisheries, Manufactures and Machinery Buildings.

European nations were asked to exhibit whatever would
illustrate their interest in Pacific trade. There was an earnest
effort made to have every land that faces the Pacific Ocean
represented. Save for its own exhibit and that of Alaska and
the Philippines, the government contributed nothing. It was
desired by the promoters that the exposition receive no out-
side aid.

Ground was broken on the 25o-acre campus for the first
building June i, 1907. "Ready on Time" was the slogan.
President Roosevelt sent the following message, being unable
personally to take part in the celebration of the work actually
begun : "You can say in strongest terms that I am a staunch
believer in the great Pacific Northwest and the Alaska-Yukon
country. It has a future of unlimited opportunity, backed up
by limitless resources and possibilities. Seattle and other
cities of Puget Sound and the Northwest are fortunate in
facing the Pacific Ocean, with its vast commerce, and having
everything to make them great and prosperous centers of
population, trade and influence. The Alaska-Yukon-Pacific
Exposition will be typical of the spirit and progress of the
section it represents, and I wish it great success."

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 199

The center of the Alaska Building was the magnet that
attracted all eyes. Upon black velvet and under a secure case
was exhibited more than one million dollars worth of gold
in nuggets. It was shown that in the last twelve years Alaska
had produced enough gold to make a pile of twenty-dollar
pieces ten miles high — twice as high as the Himalayas.
Salmon exported in 1908 realized nearly $11,000,000; other
fish reached half a million; copper is an important mineral and
steadily increasing in annual yield.

British Columbia has unguessed resources. It is estimated
that it could supply enough coal for the civilized world for
one hundred years to come. Only one-tenth of its arable land
has been taken up and but a small portion of that is under
cultivation, yet its fruit yield amounts to $4,000,000 per year.

The government made special exhibits of its lighthouses,
roast surveys and safeguards for navigation. These are im-
portant in view of merely Alaskan trade which amounts to
$50,000,000 per year. The Philippine exhibit attracted many
spectators. Fine and costly woods are here obtained. The
pearl fisheries are important. Native huts were reproduced.
A relief map of the islands was instructive.

Fresh pineapple was served by native girls in the Hawaiian
Building at the slight charge of ten cents, made merely to
defray the cost. Those who tasted the fruit which had ripened
under favorable conditions can testify to how different it was
from that gathered long before it is ready for general ship-
ment. A sugar palace, reproducing in miniature the palace of
native kings before the new government was instituted,
attracted much attention and was sadly encroached upon be-
fore the summer ended. It was made entirely of native brown
sugar. The rice industry was well illustrated.

The Forestry Building outdid the one built previously at
Portland. This was 320 by 144 feet and the roof was sup-
ported by tree trunks forty feet in height and five in diameter.
It would have been a simple thing to have procured immense
trees for this purpose, but the promoters of the fair refused to
consider such an idea. They wished to use logs the size of
those cut every day into lumber at the Tacoma mills. The
slogan, "The truth is good enough," was constantly seen at this
exposition, and the moderation exercised elicited the admiration

2OO THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

of those who saw it far more than any extravagant displays
could have done. As a matter of fact, those who had con-
tracted to supply the necessary number of logs found it hard
to find enough whose diameter should not exceed five feet, but
they were bound by their contract to eliminate all others. This
building has since become the home of the Forestry Depart-
ment of the University.

Machinery Hall was a place where great machines might
be watched crushing rock to free the ore, or achieving some
other end. It seemed unlike other buildings of a similar
purpose in that it was a busy place where operations were in
the doing. The lumber industry which employs one hundred
thousand men in the state of Washington, was illustrated in all
stages at this fair. The building has become the home of the
engineering department. It was built of solid brick.

The Auditorium, a brick structure costing $300,000, has
become the Assembly Hall of the campus. The Fine Arts
Building, costing $200,000, has been taken over by the chemis-
try department. It was made fireproof. The Arctic Brother-
hood Building is now a museum of Natural History and a
fraternity house for Alaskan students.

The western states particularly made fine displays.

In every way the Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exposition was
successful. As at Portland, when all the bills were paid, there
was still money remaining. More than 42,000 people were on
the grounds daily and they have done much to make the
wonders of the west known to those who could not be present.
Although there is not likely to be any unnatural growth such
as that which preceded 1909, there is a steady stream of
people pressing westward to find new homes. The mining
regions, agricultural centers, the apple districts of Idaho,
Washington and Oregon, the citrus regions of California, all
receive their share.

Of the trade of the Pacific, which amounts to $4,000,-
000,000, it was stated at this exposition that the United States
has one-fifth. Commercial intercourse with Australia is very
satisfactory, this country supplying an important lumber
market. It is hoped to stimulate and extend the trade with
South American countries as well as with the republics of
Central America.

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 2OI

CHAPTER XVIII.
PANAMA-PACIFIC EXPOSITION.

ASIDE from the Pan-American Exposition, the intent of
which was to unite more closely the nations and peoples of the
American continents, and the Alaskan- Yukon Exposition,
which was intended to illustrate the vast resources of Alaska
and the Northwest, all expositions held in the United States
have commemorated some historical event of signal impor-
tance. The Panama-Pacific Exposition, on the contrary, com-
memorated a physical achievement, whose influence carried
with it world-wide significance. By opening new trade routes
and modifying old ones, the Panama Canal has affected the
commerce of every nation, to a greater or less degree.

The history of the Canal, conceived as early as 1520 by
Charles V. of Spain, seriously begun by a French company in
1878, has become a familiar story. During the years in which
the United States government carried on the work of con-
struction, and before this was actually begun — when, indeed,
the Sanitary Commission was making the surrounding region
suitable for habitation — questions of policy, expediency and
safety were argued frequently before Congress and were dis-
cussed by the public press throughout the land. Suffice it to
say that the cost of the Canal, approximating $400,000,000,
was greater than any previous expenditure made by this nation
for a single achievement.

Several cities contended for the honor of the international
exposition which was to celebrate the Canal completed. It was
due to the enterprise and activity of San Francisco's leading
citizens that Congress accorded it to the metropolis of the
Pacific Coast.

An area comprising six hundred and twenty-five acres, ex-
tending for more than two miles along the water front, was
chosen as the site, and on the I4th of October, 1911,
President Taft turned the first spade of earth on the grounds.
On the 2d of February the year following the nations of
the world were invited to participate in the great fair designed

2O2 THE WORLDS PROGRESS.

to give fitting observance to the triumph of man over nature
in making the long-cherished dream of the Canal a reality.

The general plan for exposition buildings was entrusted to
an Architectural Commission, which at once set aside earlier
methods of treating each exhibit palace a's a separate unit. In-
stead, eight of the fifteen palaces were designed almost as
though comprising one structure. Some idea can be gained of
this by mentally picturing a vast structure, one-half mile in
length, one-quarter mile in width, its walls pierced by courts,
one longitudinal and three lateral. At one end of this gigantic
block the great Palace of Machinery was located ; at the other
end, separated by a beautiful lagoon, the Palace of Fine Arts.
Near by were placed Transportation and Horticultural build-
ings and Festival Hall.

The outbreak of the war in Europe during the summer of
1914 caused various foreign countries to withdraw from par-
ticipation ; yet, in spite of the dubious situation, several coun-
tries erected buildings and supplied a wide variety of exhibits.

The series of courts which allowed visitors to pass from
one Exhibit Palace to another without encountering the winds
which in summer months are often disagreeable in San Fran-
cisco, added materially to the comfort of all, and their arrange-
ment and decorations rendered them very pleasing to the eye.
At the center of the great group of buildings first mentioned
the Court of the Universe, six hundred by nine hundred feet in
size, furnished seating capacity for seven thousand people. In
its midst was a sunken garden, which, when the Exposition
opened in February of 1915, was paved with rose-colored hya-
cinths. Their beauty and fragrance, together with the rose-
colored vapor wafted from numerous urns around the Court,
combined to make this a veritable dream when seen by eve-
ning lights.

To the right, and reached through a small court of access,
was the Court of Ages — a Gothic shrine ; to the left, the Court
of the Four Seasons. The Tower of Jewels, rising to a height
of 435 feet and surmounted by a huge sphere, gave accent to
the architectural scheme.

To the east, somewhat removed from the Exhibit Palaces
and the Pavilions of States and Nations, reached the Zone —

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 203

home of the amusement concessions, covering an area of sixty-
five acres.

A carefully conceived color scheme, made to harmonize
with sea, sky and landscape, enhanced the beauty of the Dream
City. Even the sand sprinkled over drives and roadways
was burned to give it the desired tone.

Were one to inquire what was the dominant note sounded
by this Exposition, set by the rim of land upon which the
setting sun gives his daily parting benediction, it might be
answered that those who planned this City of Dreams harked
back to the circumstances that first pointed westward — to the
first ventures of the white race thither ; to the aspirations which
led to discovery ; to the tragedies of exploration. The coming
of the white man to America, his search for the fabled Fountain
of Youth, and his vain quest for the fabulous wealth of the new
land, mirrored in a play popular in Elizabethan days, wherein
one enthusiast exclaims to another : "Why, man, in that coun-
try their very frying pans are made of gold !" The coming of
the pioneers across the plains and over mountains — such and
kindred themes suggested themselves immediately to the minds
of those at work upon this Exposition. Sculptors exalted
these stories in stone and painters put them on canvas.
Pirates, buccaneers, priests, philosophers, explorers, pioneers —
all who played a part in the movement which terminated in the
union of the two oceans, were given prominent place.

The Fountain of Energy was immediately to be observed
upon entering the main gate. The group set forth the uncon-
querable spirit in which the Canal was built. Energy, Lord of
the Isthmian Way — a triumphant youth, mounted upon a
charger, with arms extended as though to command a passage
through the rugged backbone of the continent, rose from the
pedestal of the fountain. From his shoulders sprang Fame and
Valor, whose trumpets heralded his coming. In the basin of the
fountain were four sculptured groups symbolizing the North
and South Seas, and the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans.

From the Fountain of Energy, the way led direct to the
Court of the Universe, above whose entrance rose the Tower of
Jewels, Equestrian statues of Pizarro and Cortez placed in
front. Within this Court were two noble mural fountains, of

WORLD'S PROGRESS.

El Dorado and Youth. El Dorado was a fabled king of the
Aztecs; he was believed to rule a kingdom paved with gold.
The Fountain of Youth recalled the search of Ponce de Leon.
Surmounting arches which marked east and west entrances to
this Court were the great sculptured groups — Nations of the
East, the Orient, and Nations of the West, the Occident. A
giant elephant, flanked by camel riders, priests and slaves and
warriors, too, upon proud Arabian horses, lavish and ornate,
conveyed a sense of Oriental power and a trace of its religious
mysticism. Across the Court and contrasted strongly with this
group was another — an ox team and prairie schooner, flanked
by outriders, mounted American Indians, French and Spanish
pioneers. This portrayed the westward march of the pioneer
across the American continent.

In this Court were also appropriately placed the Fountains
of Rising and Setting Sun. No figure was more loved than the
female form with head drooped, and wings folded, sug-
gesting repose at close of day. The Fountain of the Rising Sun
symbolized aspiration, with which all things are possible.

The Court of Ages was a mighty epic poem expressing by
medium of sculpture the theory of evolution. In its center was
placed the Fountain of Earth, symbolizing the birth of life and
its struggle upward and onward. In the Court of the Four
Seasons, contrasting with the evolution of man, a bounteous
nature was depicted bestowing her wealth upon him and minis-
tering always to his needs. At the entrance stood the Fountain
of Ceres, and four fountains of the seasons adorned the cor-
ners of the Court.

No other exposition has ever emphasized mural paintings
to the extent that these were brought out at the San Francisco
Exposition. Here were shown the finest conceptions of the fore-
most formal decorative painters of the age. Huge panels 125
feet long and from ten to fifteen feet in width ornamented the
vast recesses of triumphal arches or formed the end of long
colonnades.

The murals by Brangwyn were most striking. The sub-
jects of these four famous productions were the elements —
Earth, Air, Fire and Water. They revealed the elements in
their relation to man, indicating the services which they render

EXPOSITIONS AND PROGRESS. 205

humanity. Two panels exemplified each subject, as for example,
in treating Air, one of the panels depicted a huge windmill,
rising amid a field of golden grain. The garments of workers
are tossed to and fro ; leaves are flying ; the mill is being turned
and grain ground for the harvesters. The other panel pictured
hunters, whose arrows, together with the flight of birds, indi-
cated the element of Air. Two panels devoted to Grapes and
Fruit Pickers symbolized Earth, with its copious yield for
mankind. Lavish nature is displayed. In treating the element
Water, Brangwyn was able to show the muscled fishermen he
adequately paints. They are hauling in their nets from the sea.
Clouds above are about to pour down their moisture upon the
earth. The companion panel revealed a fountain, whither peo-
ple come to fill their jugs. Always the people in these murals
are peasants — those of brawn who toil for their daily bread.
The Brangwyn murals are now the possession of the Palace of
Fine Arts in the Exposition city.

The largest and most significant murals, however, were
those expressing the spirit of courage which led to the dis-
covery of the western continent and made the triumphal water-
way possible. They did honor to the endurance and toil which
bequeathed so much to posterity. Two were devoted entirely to
the Canal and the union of the two oceans.

"The Western race is indicated by pioneers and laborers
who have wrested civilization from the wilderness, a vigorous
group ; but while they have accomplished this result, they have
all but crowded the Alnierican Indian from his native land —
in spite of his vain though courageous resistance. ... In
these Dodge murals we find the Herculean effort involved in
the construction of the Panama Canal, with its record of dis-
aster, death, strife against surpassing obstacles, spiritualized —
almost immortalized. In the panel Discovery, for example, the
figure of Balboa, booted and holding high the flag of Spain as
he gazes toward a new ocean, and from an eminence confronts
the figure of an Indian who, in the stern and taut personality
of the adventurer, foresees as with a touch of impending proph-
ecy the doom of his own race."

Mention should be made in any consideration, however
cursory, of Childe Hassam's charming panel Fruits and Flow-

206 THE WORUD'S PROGRESS.

ers, placed over the entrance to the Palace of Education. It
typifies the wealth of these in California.

"Vitality and exuberance, guided by a distinct sense of
order, were the dominant notes of the Arts of the Exposition
and pre-eminently of the sculpture. It proclaimed with no un-
certain voice that 'all is well with this Western world' — it is
not too much to claim that it supplied the humanizing ideality
for which the Exposition stood — the daring, boastful, mas-
terful spirits of enterprise and imagination — the frank enjoy-
ment of physical beauty and effort — the fascination of danger ;
as well as the gentler, more reverent of our attributes, to this
mysterious problem that is Life."

When we turn from the pleasing architecture, inspiring
statuary and masterful painting to the exhibits which make
up so large a part of any exposition, the opening of the war
and its attendant absorption prevented these from being either
as satisfying or as varied as would otherwise have been the
case. The mighty strides of science were visible in the great
Hall given over entirely to Motor Transportation. Ten years
before scarcely any object there displayed could have been
shown with any such degree of perfection and many were still
unknown. Previous expositions have shown us every ore the
veins of earth can yield, but in the machinery devised for ob-
taining and preparing gems and minerals for use, every ten
years shows marked progress.

In manufactured articles, whatever the United States could
furnish was widely exhibited. France made a heroic effort to
send what she could hurriedly provide — her country invaded
and the lives of her people in danger. Italy, Switzerland and
the Scandinavian countries did what they were able and the
Netherlands made a pleasing showing.

There is no question, however, that the abiding contribu-
tions to the future, and especially to the West, were in the realm
of architecture and art. For the first time in the extreme West
was an international exposition provided and the exquisite
beauty of the Dream City will only be understood by those who
saw. For years to come along the Pacific Slope effects of its
lessons will be found, and upon a rising generation the rare
opportunity it provided is certain to bear fruit a hundred fold.

AMERICAN PAINTING

CHAPTER XIX.
EARLY AMERICAN PAINTERS.

ART never timidly raised its head amid more austere and
forbidding circumstances than in colonial America. It is idle
to say that an untouched continent with limitless wilds peopled
by naive and dusky folk should have stimulated some latent
genius to produce new and surprising pictures. The fact was
that the early settlers did not look upon these sights with the
sympathetic eye of painter or poet. Having sought religious
freedom on the rocky shores of New England, the Puritans
were soon absorbed in denying to others the privilege for
which they had risked their all — that of worshipping as they
desired. Their whole life became engrossed in a belief so
exacting and prohibitive that it deemed all the gracious attri-
butes of life worldly and hence reprehensible. Having torn
away from the Established Church because of its ceremony and
costly accessories, they abhorred these and looked upon pictures
as allurements of Satan. Their reading was in the main con-
fined to religious books and treatises, their music to religious
hymns; while drama and art were regarded as insupportable.
The Quakers, similarly, from whose sect the first American
painter sprang, while less austere and certainly less inclined
to judge their neighbors, were people of utmost simplicity.
No better illustrations of their lack of indulgence could be
cited than the stories told concerning West, who as a little
child discovered by his Quaker mother with a crude sketch of his
sleeping baby sister, feared to show her the paper lest he incur
her deep displeasure ; and again when a youth determined upon
pursuing his beloved painting, the meeting of Friends held to
consider his course wherein his parents struggled with the
doubting villagers until these were inclined to accept the fa-
ther's firm belief that the boy had a God-given gift and the
right to exercise it.

Benjamin West (1738-1820) was born in Springfield,

207

2C>8 TH£ WORLD'S PROGRESS.

Pennsylvania. Without contact whatsoever with pictures, he
early gave indication of a strong gift for drawing. The amus-
ing story of his first paint brush, made from the hairs he pulled
from the kitten's fur and his paints, gathered from surprising
sources — blue, for example, from the laundry indigo, has been
many times related. Self-taught, he began as a boy to paint
portraits in Philadelphia and later went to New York. An
unusual opportunity to go to Europe as companion to young
Allen gave him a chance to visit Italian art centers, where ru-
mors of the gifted, self-instructed American painter won him
much attention. Fortunately this did not unsettle his own
ideas or conceptions. Taken to see the Apollo Belvedere by
those who wished to watch its effect upon one untrammeled
by conventional opinions, they were shocked to hear his first
exclamation that it looked like a Mohawk Chief! Realizing
how deeply he had perplexed his friends, he explained that
with similar ease of motion and freedom of muscle the lithe
and perfectly developed Red Men glide along and by his sin-
cerity persuaded his friends that his criticism was justifiable
as well as original.

Removing to England, West shortly fell under the king's
patronage. It must always be granted that the story of his
life reads like a fairy tale. The distance from the rough
Quaker village on the American frontier to the position of
Court painter was quickly spanned. Until the closing years of
his life Fortune smiled upon the first American painter and
favored him.

It was he who suggested to King George the advisability
of establishing an Academy of Art under royal patronage and
thus led to the founding of the Royal Academy in 1768. After
the death of Reynolds, West succeeded as its president.

Primarily a portrait painter, West undertook several his-
torical pieces. Best known among them is the Death of Wolfe.
In painting this picture he called out warm criticism on every
hand because instead of garbing his figures in classical drapery,
he set them on canvas in costumes true to the age. This one
innovation led ultimately to a revolution in art.

The needs of a new hospital founded in Philadelphia were
presented to West who gave answer that he had no money,
but would paint a picture for it. He took for his subject Christ

AMERICAN PAINTING. 2OQ

Healing the Sick. Such an alluring price was offered for it
when completed that the struggling artist could not refuse,
but he made a replica* for the hospital which was exhibited
for some time, the admission fee accruing to the hospital fund
and increasing it by several thousand pounds.

West's gallery in London was always open to American
students and his kindly interest and advice widely sought. In
the later years of his life the king's failing health caused the
withdrawal of royal favor which seriously curtailed his re-
sources. Loss of family, friends and fortune saddened his ad-
vanced life and hastened his death.

Today the art student finds more to avoid than emulate in
West's pictures. His canvases were unwieldy in size, crowded
with figures and his paint was too thin. Nevertheless, it would
be difficult to cite a more successful career among modern
painters and his influence in various directions was used on the
side of progress. Particularly did his generous attitude to-
wards struggling painters and the recognition of their work
tend to stimulate this wholesale sentiment in England. His
portraits are regarded as second only to those of Reynolds
and Gainsborough, while superior to those of Romney.

John Singleton Copley (1737-1815) belonged to New Eng-
land. It has often been stated that he also was self-taught,
but this must be modified to the extent that his stepfather
gave him such instruction as he was able, being an engraver
who had himself painted several portraits. Moreover, Copley
had opportunity to study such pictures as Boston then afforded.
Upon the outbreak of the Revolution he went to Italy, where
his family later joined him. Subsequently he removed to Eng-
land. While never enjoying the popularity or good fortune
of West, he was nevertheless in favor as a portrait painter.
Although his tints were praised by West as equal to those of
Titian, these have faded now to whiteness, thus changing en-
tirely the former appearance of his work.

Copley did not leave America until after his thirtieth year,
thus his work falls into two natural divisions; the portraits
painted during his early life and his paintings after study of
European models. Among the early portraits those of John
Adams and John Hancock are best known. While in Italy

* The copy of a picture by the artist.
X— 14

2IO THE WORLD S PROGRESS.

he executed a group of his own family which is pleasing today
in spite of its stiffness and lack of flexibility. Among his his-
toric pictures the Death of Lord Chatham and the Siege of
Gibraltar are most important.

The third and last of these early portrait painters of first
rank was Gilbert Stuart (1755-1828), born in Rhode Island.
He was very different in temperament from the others. Copley
was the aristocrat, West the broad-minded, kindly painter.
Stuart was eccentric and lacking in what might be indefinitely
termed moral responsibility. In financial matters he was as
little to be depended upon as the playwright Sheridan. Perhaps
no sentence summarizes his shortcomings better than one used
by his biographer that1 he "would neither settle down nor
settle up." Largely self taught, he tramped about in Europe
from time to time, never relating to others his experiences.
Finally induced to go to West's Gallery, he became his pupil
for four years. The master recognized his native ability and
overlooked his peculiarities. His particular strength lay in
his power to divine the character of his sitter and to render
the face true to life. So popular did he become in England
that for a time he prospered. Thereupon he summoned his
friends to dinner and informed them that his limited quarters
forbade his usual entertainment of them simultaneously, but
that he had contrived a method for making the matter entirely
simple. Seven hat pegs would be placed in his hallway. When
the eighth guest repaired thither he would find these filled and
be careful to come earlier the next night. This plan was ac-
cepted and for some months Stuart dispensed hospitality to
his own satisfaction. But life glided along far too smoothly
now to gratify him and he set out for Ireland, where he is re-
ported to have spent some time in jail, painting during his in-
carceration some of the noted of the land. Upon his return
to America he produced the two portraits of Washington so
well known that it was once humorously remarked should the
Father of his Country reappear and fail to resemble the Stuart
Portrait, he would be disowned by his countrymen.

Several other painters of this early period, while less emi-
nent, deserve mention. Most of them studied art with West.
Among these Charles Wilson Peale (1741-1827) did cred-
itable work. Another pupil of West's was Robert Fulton, who

AMERICAN PAINTING. 211

after painting several portraits became more interested in boats
and navigation. John Trumbull (1756-1843) is remembered
for his pleasing portrait of Alexander Hamilton and more par-
ticularly perhaps for his four historical pictures produced to
fill compartments in the Rotunda of the Capitol in Washing-
ton. It may well be doubted whether these would today bring
the $32,000 he received for them.

Landscapes had been attempted by the first painters, but
these were copies of European prints as a rule rather than
sketches from nature. Among the first to catch the charm that
natural beauty possesses and to put this upon canvas was
Thomas Doughty (1793-1856). His view of the Hudson is
gratifying today when landscape painting in America has be-
come elevated beyond the dreams of those early years.

Durand and Thomas Cole were noteworthy among the ear-
liest landscape painters. Durand worked first as an engraver,
pounding out copper pennies for his plates and originating his
own designs. After a sojourn in Europe he turned to portraits
and afterwards to landscapes. Cole, though of English birth,
became identified with the American school. He chose lofty
themes : the rise and fall of nations, the swift passing of life,
often producing several scenes to complete one series. In his
Course of Empire he included five pictures, these showing the
same general scene, a harbor and mountains protectingly near.
A little village is founded, develops into a prosperous com-
munity, is pillaged by invaders and finally falls in ruins. The
Voyage of Life was depicted in four pictures, these exempli-
fying childhood, youth, maturity, old age. Allegories of this
description were much in favor and Cole's productions were
quickly purchased. But it is in his simple sketches of the
Catskills that he is best seen.

The early group of landscape painters became known as
the Hudson River or White Mountain School. Among them
were Rossiter, Kensett, Whittredge, Cropsey and Richards.
Some of Whittredge's sketches of trees, with light piercing
through them to moss-covered rocks, are particularly good.
Richards made sketches around Lake George and in the White
Mountains. Although his flowers are accurately done from
a botanical standpoint, the harmony and sense of distance is
sacrificed to that end.

212 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

The Hudson River School culminated in the work of Wy-
ant, Martin and Inness. Wyant was limited in his scope,
liking best to paint rolling country meadows flanked by tall,
slender trees. Martin's best work was done in the Adiron-
dacks. Greater than either was Inness, varied in his themes,
versatile in his treatment.

George Inness (1825-1894) was born on the Hudson. As
a child and youth he was delicate in health and for this reason
the more easily gained his father's consent to his study of
art. Although he was sent to a teacher for instruction he was
never able to follow others or work in ways other than his
own. He loved the meadows and lived for some time near the
marshes of New Jersey, in sight of flat, moist districts fre-
quented by wild fowl. He went to Europe several times, less
to study than to compare methods and styles of painting and
thus better arrive at conclusions regarding his own work. The
second time he visited France he fell under the charm of the
Barbizon painters, who influenced him, although he never imi-
tated them.

Inness was a deep thinker and subject to the artist's moods
of intense power and corresponding despair. When under the
spell of his possibilities he could paint ceaselessly for fifteen
hours together — talking often with congenial friends as he
worked. At other times he was restless and at war with pre-
vailing ideas of the age, scoffing at the folly of attaching value
to medals and prizes bestowed by juries and committees.

"Work, work, do your best. If the world does not then
appreciate you, what satisfaction can a diploma or a medal
bring? They are only the recognition of a few men who ap-
preciate you anyhow, and they go to so many who are not
worthy of them that they do not carry any real significance to
those who may deserve them. Pass your verdict upon yourself
if you are capable of criticising yourself. The verdict of the
world will be passed in due time, and it will be a just one, even
if it does not sustain that of prize committees and juries of
award."

This man of moods found his unfailing relief in nature,
and his health was improved and his years prolonged by his
tramps over hill and dale, by river and mountain. The public
did not at once understand him and inferior ability was valued

AMERICAN PAINTING. 213

above his own. Yet before his life closed he had won his way
and his pictures met a ready demand.

Just as he himself could not be taught by others, neither
could he instruct those who would have chosen to come to him.
Indeed, he did not believe in the teaching of art. He held that
"the purpose of the painter is simply to reproduce in other
minds the impression which a scene has made upon him. A
work of art does not appeal to the intellect. It does not appeal
to the moral sense. Its aim is not to instruct, not to edify,
but to awaken an emotion."

A friend whose studio was near his own relates that upon
many occasions Inness would drop in upon him, feverish in his
attempt to fathom the mystery of art, or better, perhaps, the
mystery of life. "What is it all about — art, painting? For
what reason do men paint away their lives?" And then some
ray of light would dawn upon him and thus did he once de-
fine art under similar circumstances. "Art is the endeavor
on the part of Mind (Mind being the creative faculty) to ex-
press, through the senses, ideas of the great principles of unity."

Inness' work falls into two periods. In his earlier years
he was painstaking and careful of details. Afterwards he
strove for general effects. His later work is more generally
prized, indicating deeper thought, broader knowledge and ma-
turity.

While he painted in all seasons and every hour of the day,
he was most fond of the rich colors of regal autumn. The
names of his pictures give but slight indication of his work,
being indefinite for the most part : An Old Roadway ; A Sum-
mer Morning ; A Sunset ; A Day in June — these are important
among them. Sometimes they are merely called A Landscape.

214 THE WORIJ/S PROGRESS.

CHAPTER XX.
RECENT AMERICAN PAINTERS.

THERE having been as yet no schools of art developed and
generally recognized in this country, it is necessary to consider
modern painters individually. Certain of them have been asso-
ciated with others of lesser ability who have sympathized with
their conceptions and adhered to their principles, but not in
sufficient numbers to give rise to a school of painting. This is
to be explained in part by the fact that several of our most
gifted painters have felt obliged to spend their years in the art
centers of the Old World, because these supplied an atmosphere
stimulating to them, and unfortunately, too, because America
has often been tardy in recognizing home talent and left her
artists to seek commissions and patronage in other lands. Be-
yond these reasons, it must never be forgotten that the tradi-
tions and associations of old countries are lacking here and,
although this is advantageous when viewed from certain stand-
points, it presents corresponding disadvantages.

As the country becomes more settled and the pioneering of a
continent belongs to the past instead of the present, beyond
doubt the spirit of the American people will foster the fine arts
to a degree unknown in the world for centuries. The last
twenty-five years have witnessed a remarkable change in the
general attitude toward the arts of peace and the next twenty-
five are likely to show .marked advance over anything so far
indicated in our civilization. Generally diffused prosperity is
likely to provide the means for home adornment and civic em-
bellishment beyond that ordinarily found in European countries.
Once the desire for such manifestations of culture be aroused,
it may easily entail surprising results.

Elihu Vedder was born in New York in 1836, of Dutch
parentage. It was expected that he would become a merchant,
or perhaps follow the profession of his father — a dentist.
However, the young Elihu gave evidence of no liking for
either career. It was soon observed that he "chewed sticks
into paint brushes" and invested all his spending money in

AMERICAN PAINTING. 215

paints. Finally his father reluctantly consented to his receiv-
ing instruction in drawing and he made fair progress. Thrown
largely upon his own initiative by the death of his mother
and withdrawal of his father to Cuba, as a youth Vedder trav-
eled in Europe, spending several years in Italy. He returned
home to enlist in the army upon the outbreak of the Civil
War, but owing to a slight disability resulting from an acci-
dental discharge of a gun in his arm years before, he was not
accepted for field service.

His sketches and paintings did not attract particular atten-
tion until he painted the "Lair of the Sea-Serpent" during a
visit to his father — then in Florida. The mysterious creature
was felt by all who viewed it to be symbolic of the subtle ocean,
unfathomable, direful, alluring. Another early and character-
istic painting was the Questioner of the Sphinx, with a mean-
ing but half revealed.

Perhaps his greatest work has been his illustrations for the
Rubaiyat produced in 1884. Lacking color, merely drawings in
black and white, these give proof of Vedder's originality and
creative genius. They also possess the strange fascination
peculiar to his work, always appealing to the mind, always as
vague and mysterious as life itself. Never have illustrations
blended more perfectly with the spirit of a production than his.
First Omar, the Persian poet, is pictured with his friends, gaz-
ing down at the student, the theologian, the warrior, and the
miser — these typifying humanity. Those insistent lines:

"For some we loved, the loveliest and the best
That from his Vintage rolling Time has prest,

Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before
And one by one crept silently to rest!"

are accompanied by a figure sinking into unconsciousness deeper
than that of sleep. The needless poppies fall from the lifeless
hand, the lamps but one are all gone out. That last deep and
unbreaking rest could scarcely be more eloquently symbolized.
All the vain searchings, the feverish, ceaseless study of
philosopher and sage summarized by those potent words :

"There was a Door for which I found no Key;
There was a Veil through which I could not sec,

216 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee
There was, and then no more of Thee and Me."

— these are to be found as well in the illustration of the alchem-
ist trying to find the secret of life; and in the skulls mingled
with old tomes.

Finding no solace in learning, Omar gazes at the bowl
fascinated, enchanted, and words are scarcely needed: the
genius of the wine looks into his eyes and whispers to him :

"Then to the lip of the poor earthen Urn
I leaned, the Secret of my Life to learn :

And Lip to Lip it murmured, 'While you live,
Drink ! — for once dead, you never shall return !' "

The Present listening to the Past, a youth intently holding
a seashell to his ear, suggests the inarticulate murmur — the
futile questioning of what Eternity shall reveal.

"Strange, is it not , that of the myriads who
Before us passed the door of Darkness through

Not one returns to tell us of the Road
Which to discover we must travel, too ?"

Best known in America are the panels and the mosaic exe-
cuted for the Congressional Library. The Enemy Sowing
Tares, the Cumaean Sibyl, and the Keeper of the Threshold
are conspicuous among his productions.

In late years Vedder has maintained his studio in Rome,
but from its confines he loves well to escape to his old favorite,
the sea, or to the spirit of the hills.

Utterly different has been the life of Winslow Homer. No
painter has been more American, less -influenced by European
art, less imbued with European tenets.

Winslow Homer (1836-1910) was born in Boston. Like
many another embryo artist, he spent more time in school deco-
rating his books than in assimilating their contents. It is grati-
fying to find that he did not have to struggle against parental
opposition before satisfying his soul for drawing. His father
provided substitutes for the margins of his books and allowed
him to expand as Nature prompted. It was thought best for

AMERICAN PAINTING. 217

him to learn engraving— from which he, like several other
painters of note, have found it but a step to the brush. After
a time this was set aside for free-hand drawing. Harper's
Weekly was now in its beginnings and accepted some of
Homer's first work. So promising did its promoters find him
that a place on the staff was offered him, but this he declined,
not wishing to bind himself to routine labor. However, when
the war opened and the new magazine rallied its forces to meet
the arduous demands now laid upon it, Homer was asked to go
to the front and keep the paper supplied with scenes of the
conflict. For two years he sent pictures from the battlefield,
camp and hospital. Of all these sketches Prisoners from the
Front is best known. It is said that many of the faces are
portraits. The response it awakened is to be explained by the
excitement of the times.

Besides his war illustrations, Winslow Homer made a
study of the colored people and even aroused the antagonism
of the more rabid by his genre pictures of them. The Visit
from the Old Mistress, wherein the lady from the plantation
house bestows a gracious call upon her former slaves, deferen-
tial in attention; The Carnival, representing several members
of the family getting another ready for the festivity, and Sun-
day Morning in Virginia, wherein colored children with diffi-
culty spell out their lesson, are best among them.

Homer never married, nor did he assume the slightest
obligation that might even remotely interrupt his work. He
was bound to his art with the most powerful ties of his life,
leaving civilization and living for years at a time on the rocky,
storm-swept coast of Maine. Some of his finest productions
are pictures of the sea — found in all its moods among his can-
vases. He painted just what he saw, holding his canvas near
the rocks to judge of its truthful colorings. No artist ever
spent less time inquiring into the nature of art and its proper
methods of expression. He simply painted prolifically. Some
of his pictures tell a story — which critics would have us believe
no artistic picture should do. But they tell it subtly and well ;
the story gives significance to the whole and is whatever one
remembers when he views it. The Fog Warning, for example,
depicts an old rugged fisherman in his dory; two or three
large halibut are already beside him. A fog is rising over the

2i8 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

waters, bringing a forecast of an enshrouding mist which ere
long will endanger the little craft unless it puts in for shore.

The Life Line is a masterly production, showing little, but
telling much. A strong cable, which holds the lifebuoy sus-
pended from the invisible wreck to the shore, a sturdy old
salt bearing a fainting woman in his arms, and the angry sea
are all that is shown. Neither the water-tossed wreck nor the
rescuers are included, yet the presence of both is felt. The
Undertow shows a fortunate. rescue just before it was too late.
The Gulf Stream is a picture of horror. A waterspout is
sweeping in from the distance. A colored man lies on the deck
of a helpless craft, already disabled by the tempestuous sea.
Frightened sea creatures have come to the surface because of
the unusual conditions and the sharks are almost exulting over
the impending misery. A vessel some distance away, which
at first sight suggests hope, is found upon closer examination
to be receding. High Seas, Eight Bells, West Wind — these
and many others bring vividly before us the vast waters in
their limitless extent, or the waves as they break upon the
rocks. Homer spent months together in lighthouses, persuad-
ing the keepers to take him in, experiencing all the moods of the
ocean and growing to understand its mysterious voice.

Few painters have ever shunned publicity more than Homer.
He neither valued nor enjoyed the effusive praise which is
lavished upon the successful artist. Strongly attached to his
brothers and his friends, generous to everyone, he preferred
solitude for the greater portion, emerging from it sometimes,
but slipping back into it again without warning. Letters sent
to his summer home after he returned to the city for the win-
ter were found by him the following year — for he never
troubled to have mail forwarded. Six months often passed
before a friend might receive a reply to a matter of some
special concern. His pictures were turned over to his dealer,
for he would not suffer the annoyance of visitors around his
studio. Few members of the Academy knew him even by
sight. He founded no school, yet his influence upon American
painting cannot be disputed.

John La Farge (1835-1910) was as thoroughly American
as Winslow Homer. Here in America his life was largely spent
and his fame established. His father as a young French soldier

AMERICAN PAINTING. 219

went to San Domingo, where he was made lieutenant. By dint
of good fortune he escaped impending destruction in the island
and took passage to the United States. Belonging to a well-
established family, he soon found his place with the French
colony in New York, composed of emigres seeking safety from
the horrors of the French Revolution and refugees from San
Domingo. He married the daughter of a former San Domingo
planter and settled in comfort in the growing metropolis, where
his son was born.

As the boy grew older his grandfather, Binsse de St. Vis-
tor, a miniature painter, instructed him in the rudiments of
painting, although there was no thought of his pursuing the
subject further. After finishing his law course he was sent
abroad to visit his father's people and gain what he could from
travel. While in Paris his father suggested his taking lessons
in painting, and for a few weeks he went regularly to one of
the studios. Upon his return he opened a law office in New
York, but shortly after met William Hunt, then returning from
extended art study abroad. La Farge was influenced by his en-
thusiasm to abandon law and go with him to the coast of Rhode
Island. He soon discovered that his own ideas were broader than
those of his teacher and he began to experiment for himself.
Years after he explained his reluctance to undertake painting as
his life-work, because he thought he might be better adapted to
other work, and settled upon it only when he found it more
appealing than anything else.

After a serious illness he went again to Europe, now meet-
ing Rossetti and Burne-Jones. However, he was more inter-
ested in mural painting and in the study of stained glass
windows.

When he returned to America he was commissioned to
decorate a Boston church. He found it necessary to train
painters to carry out his plans, and, wall decoration being
wholly new in this country, was hampered on every hand.
About this time he set up a furnace and began to manufacture
opalescent glass. Battle Window, in Memorial Hall, Harvard,
first called the attention of the general public to his skill in
this direction. Later he produced the Watson Memorial Win-
dow in Trinity Church, Buffalo. This was exhibited in Paris
in 1889 and won for him the insignia of the Legion of Honor.

22O THS WORU/S PROGRESS.

This was especially gratifying to the artist, because it was an
expression of appreciation from his father's countrymen.

Failing health led him to travel, first to Japan, later to the
South Sea Islands. Often he was confined to his bed and
frequently his burning genius impelled him to work when he
was far from well. His fresco in the Church of the Ascension,
New York, was executed immediately after his return from the
Orient, and the refreshment of the voyage gave him unusual
vigor for the undertaking, which is generally acknowledged as
being his finest mural painting.

His work in the State Capitol of Minnesota is characteris-
tic of his style and treatment.

Among mural decorations done for private persons, his
Music and Drama, commissioned by Whitelaw Reid for his
New York home, are excellent.

La Farge produced more than one thousand windows, the
famous Peacock Window being most splendid; he painted
flower pieces and figures as well as mural pictures. Further-
more, he is known for his writings concerning art and the
ancient masters. He was a deep and insatiable scholar and
surprised Chinese students by his acquaintance with Confucius
and his teachings. In his treatment of Socrates he revealed
his familiarity with Greek life and thought. More than most
men he tried to analyze his opinions and the methods by which
he reached them. He was an innovator and inventor, whose
originality was remarkable. While his work was somewhat
experimental, he has done much to give force to the doctrine
of William Morris: that beauty might and should surround
us. The recollection of bare walls in American churches led
him to press on in his study of mural paintings. He discovered
that decadence in mediaeval windows was simultaneous with
the separation of artist and his workmen. He saw that unless
he would have the charm of individuality eliminated from his
designs, he must remain with the work in its execution, im-
buing those entrusted to do it with his spirit.

James McNeill Whistler (1834-1903) is classified with
American painters simply from the fact that he happened to be
born in this country. His art was developed in Europe, where
his life was spent and his reputation won.

His father was a skillful engineer, who was commissioned

AMERICAN PAINTING. 221

by the Russian government to lay out a railroad in that coun-
try. As a boy of nine Whistler was taken thither by his family,
where he remained for some years. He received some instruc-
tion in drawing at St. Petersburg, and at the Hermitage had
opportunity to study paintings of Velazquez and other artists
of note. After his return to America he was sent to West
Point, but was ill-fitted by Nature for the routine of a cadet's
life. Even in his youth many of his eccentricities were mani-
fest. He had grown up in the midst of luxury and was as
sensitive as a girl about his appearance and apparel. He was
uniformly late, regarding exact time as much too hampering
for his temperament. Any rule was an intolerable restraint.
Favor brought him an appointment in the office of the United
States Coast Survey, but he adorned government sheets with
heads and during the two months he remained, was fined by
deducted time for constant tardiness and frequent absence.
At the age of twenty-one he went abroad, never to return.

For years Whistler wrestled with poverty that hampers the
average art student and struggling painter. His life was one
prolonged protest and the world gives its ear grudgingly to
messages set in this key. Realism was in the ascendancy : paint
things as you see them; do not idealize; do not throw a haze
about an object to enhance its beauty; paint all as it appears.
This was the spirit of the day. Whistler believed that beauty
might be everywhere seen, but not in all objects at all times.
The attitude of the naturalist, that it is wrong for the painter
to seek beauty, but rather that he should portray reality — the
object as it is — was torture to this delicately poised genius. He
felt that there are moments when Nature and men are at their
best; those are the supreme moments that only the true artist
sees and can portray.

Much has been made of Whistler's idiosyncrasies, and there
is no doubt but that he was individual both by nature and culti-
vation. He liked to feel that he was the cynosure of all eyes. He
denied the artificial demands of time as something too galling
to his nature. When a director of an art association set a
meeting for "four-thirty, precisely," Whistler replied that he
never had nor ever would be able to attend any meeting at four-
thirty, precisely. He never hesitated, after he became a lion,
to keep dinner parties waiting hours at a time, if he became

222 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

interested in his work. He forgot his age, and when his model
questioned one day: "Mr. Whistler, where were you born?"
he answered: "My child, I never was born; I came from on
high." But nothing daunted came the reply from one who
knew his moods : "How we mortals flatter ourselves. I should
have imagined that you came from below." His friends were
invited to his Sunday breakfasts, where such dishes as harmon-
ized with his color schemes were served to them — in due time.
His rooms were beautiful to look at, and if they lacked chairs
and means of comfort, that did not in the slightest degree dis-
turb the tranquillity of the designer. Beyond question his
striving for effect and his egotism made him blind to the com-
fort of others, but his friends understood him and a wonder-
ing public found him all the more interesting because of his
peculiarities.

Notes, Harmonies and Nocturnes he announced on exhi-
bition, when his drawing and paintings were ready to be
viewed. The Falling Rocket, called a Nocturne in black and
gold, was the picture that precipitated Ruskin's wrath and led
to the libel suit which Whistler brought against him wherein
he received a verdict of damages to the amount of one farthing.
This Whistler wore the remainder of his life on his watch
chain.

A Symphony in Gray and Green — the Ocean; Harmony
in Green and Rose; The Music Room — titles of this kind
attracted attention; at first criticism was harsh indeed, but
gradually it was seen that there was something in these pic-
tures more than had at first been recognized and finally an
enthusiastic coterie was ready for the artist's creations.

Whistler wrote as well as painted, and the following extract
indicates his poetical conceptions:

"When the evening mist clothes the river-side with poetry
as with a veil, and the poor buildings lose themselves in the dim
sky and the tall chimneys become campanile, and the ware-
houses are palaces in the night, and the whole city hangs in the
heavens, and the fairy land is before us — then the wayfarer
hastens home, the workman and the cultured one, the wise and
the one of pleasures ceased to understand as they have ceased
to see, and Nature, who for once has sung in tune, sings her
exquisite song to the artist alone, her son and her master ; her

AMERICAN PAINTING. 223

son in that he loves her, and her master in that he knows
her."

Of all his paintings, the Portrait of His Mother, in Luxem-
bourg, is the one that the world at large has accepted. In it
each finds the idea of mother, in a wholly different but quite as
true a sense as it is found in Rembrandt's Mother. When once
the mental attitude of the protesting painter is understood and
the key to his art thus given, his pictures are less bewildering,
less baffling. Of his work it may be truly felt that time alone
can give the final verdict.

John Singer Sargent is included with American painters
merely because his parents were Americans. He was born in
Italy in 1856, was educated in Florence, studied painting in
Paris and has for years maintained his studio in London. He
has spent very little time in America ; yet when Queen Victoria
graciously offered him the privileges of citizenship, he deli-
cately declined them.

His mother was skillful in water colors and there was no
lack of sympathy with Sargent when his talent for drawing
was indicated. Neither has he been obliged to struggle against
poverty. He has been favored by fortune and his work was
accepted from the start.

Quite as systematically as Winslow Homer evaded pub-
licity, so has Sargent held himself aloof, watching humanity,
studying them en masse, but not mingling with them. He is
widely known as the greatest living portrait painter and when
he visited New York in 1884 many flocked to him for por-
traits. Perhaps there is noticeable a lack of the kindly sympathy
that Reynolds held for his subject, instantly putting one at his
best. Sargent paints what he sees and views his subject as ob-
jectively and dispassionately as a scientist examining a speci-
men. His mural work in the Boston Public Library has made
him well known in this country, his frieze of the Prophets being
found in households from coast to coast. The exhibition
of his paintings at the Exposition in Chicago was representa-
tive and gave him fame. Perhaps his rendering- of Ellen Terry
as Lady Macbeth is known best among his portraits.

Edwin Austin Abbey (1852-1911) might be called the
story-teller among modern artists. As a boy his ambitious
father was irritated by his lack of enthusiasm over his studies,

224 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

since he wished him to follow one of the professions. Set
to learn the printer's trade, he proved ill adapted for it and
George W. Childs helped him to become an illustrator for
Harper's Weekly. In 1883 he went abroad to study and after
1883 made his home in England. He was commissioned
to decorate the delivery room of the Boston Public Library and
is known today best by his pictures which tell the story of the
Quest for the Holy Grail. After his successful work in this
library he was appointed to paint the Coronation scene of
Edward VII.

While as has been pointed out, the distance is considerable
between the experiences of the boy set to learn typesetting to
the man honored at home and the favorite of England's king,
Abbey was the second among aspiring American youths to
compass it. After his European study he abandoned his earlier
illustrating to work in oils and his productions were favorably
received among critics in foreign lands.

In contrast to those Americans who have found their in-
terest in art centers of Europe, William Merritt Chase may be
mentioned. No other modern painter has won such gratitude
from American art students. He was born in 1849 and his
father wished him to become a business man, like himself.
However, when it developed that Chase had real ability, no
opposition was put in his way and he was sent to Munich to
study. He returned to America in 1879 and has since main-
tained his studio in New York, although his vacations have
been spent largely abroad.

It is gratifying to note that his students provided a fund
with which to have his portrait painted by Sargent. This ex-
cellent expression of appreciation hangs in the Metropolitan
Museum.

He is known best as a portrait painter and among his best
portraits are those of Whistler, Choate, Seth Low, and Ruther-
ford Hayes. He paints landscapes occasionally and does both
still-life and figure pieces.

Copyright by Underwood and Underwood, N. Y.

HELEN HUNT FALLS — NORTH CHEYENNE CANON.

AMERICAN PAINTING. 225

CHAPTER XXI.
ART CENTERS OF AMERICA.

ALTHOUGH the Metropolitan was by no means one of the
earliest museums of art to be established in this country, it is
usually mentioned first in any enumeration of American galleries.
Its foundation was first suggested by John Hay and was seriously
considered by a meeting of representative men held in New
York in 1869. The first exhibition of pictures was held in
1871 — some of them being loaned, others having been pur-
chased in Europe for the Trustees. Funds were later raised for
a new building to be erected in Central Park and this was
opened to the public in 1880. Since that time it has been en-
larged and remodeled.

In 1904 the late J. Pierpont Morgan was made President
of the Board of Trustees. Himself a famous collector of rare
art treasures, his private pictures have frequently been loaned
to the Metropolitan. Various private collections have been
bequeathed to this Museum, the Marquand and Hearn collec-
tions important among them. Sometimes collections have been
given with the understanding that they should be kept intact,
which has led to confusion attendant upon unrelated pictures
of varying merit being shown together.

It is frequently deplored that our country should possess so
few worthy examples of European art, but each year it becomes
more difficult to acquire paintings by the masters. When
private collections are sold, bidders for the great galleries are
ready to pay large sums — often far in excess of the value of a
canvas. A few generations ago when these conditions did not
exist, Americans had little time and less means to procure
works of art, nor had the desire for beautiful pictures found
opportunity to develop in a new land where the winning of a
livelihood demanded the attention of all. Moreover, it will be
remembered that our earliest painters found scant encourage-
ment in austere New England and in Quaker Pennsylvania for
the production of pictures, although, to be sure, the vanity of
our ancestors prompted them to have their portraits painted.

Jx. — 15

226 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

The Metropolitan owns no noteworthy example of early
Italian painting. Among Flemish artists, Rubens is repre-
sented, though not always at his best. One of Van Dyck's best
portraits, that of James Stuart, Duke of Richmond and Lenox,
is here, and others less important. Several Dutch painters may
be seen — Rembrandt in one excellent portrait, in his landscape
The Mills, and in the Adoration of the Shepherds — a preliminary
study for the picture by this name in the National Gallery. One
of Ruysdael's, two by Cuyp and several by Frans Hals are for-
tunately here.

Holbein's portrait of the Archbishop Cranmer is one of the
most valuable canvases in this gallery. Several paintings of
Reynolds are found, but nearly all of them in the bad state of
preservation common to his works. He used a kind of varnish
to give added lustre to his pictures which has proved most
disastrous. Gainsborough is represented; also Turner. Mod-
ern French painters are to be seen, among them notably Corot,
Diaz, Daubigney, Breton, Troyon and Dupre, while Rosa
Bonheur's great Horse Fair greets the visitor familiarly — it
being widely reproduced in prints. It was presented to the
Metropolitan by Vanderbilt, who paid over $50,000 for it.

Among early American painters, West is represented by
two pictures — neither in his best style. Hagar and Ismael, a
biblical painting, bears evidences of his Italian period. Por-
traits by Copley, one of Stuart's portraits of Washington and
a replica of another and his excellent portraits of Don Josef de
Jaudenes y Nebot and his wife, painted while this diplomat
represented the Court of Spain in the United States, should be
mentioned.

Thomas Doughty's On the Hudson and Thomas Cole's Val-
ley of Vanchuse are included among the early landscapes; also
Inness' Peace and Plenty and Autumn Oaks. Peace and
Plenty portrays a wide reach of country, the trees riotous in
autumn's rich tones. The fields lie wrapped in the silence of
fall ; the wheat stands in shocks. Flowing water indicates the
cause of an abundant harvest. In the distance, farm buildings
are visible.

In recent years the endowment of George A. Hearn has
provided for the purchase of pictures by living American ar-
tists. It has too often been the case that struggling painters

AMERICAN PAINTING. 227

have been neglected until they have won recognition abroad, or
have been obliged to turn from their chosen work for lack of
appreciation. The United States was slow to recognize Whist-
ler's unusual gifts, although the Metropolitan now possesses
three of his paintings : A Lady in Gray, the Nocturne in Green
and Gold, and the Nocturne in Black and Gold — this last one
of the night scenes in Cremorne Gardens.

Winslow Homer, regarded by many as foremost among
American painters, has been said to bear the relationship to
our art that Walt Whitman does to our poetry or Lincoln to
statesmanship. His Gulf Stream and Cannon Rock are here.

La Farge's wonderful skill in use of colors is apparent in
a little Samoan Island scene — here with some of his flower
pieces. Chase, having been identified with New York for
years, is seen to advantage.

Sargent may be studied in five pictures: his portraits of
Chase, of Marquand, former president of the Museum's Board
of Trustees, and of Robert Louis Stevenson are best among
them.

The Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts was founded
in 1805 and is the oldest institution of its kind in America.
Its early foundation was largely due to the untiring efforts of
Charles Wilson Peale to stimulate an interest for art and
to provide opportunity for the training of the youth who mani-
fested ability for drawing. There was in early times a lamenta-
ble dearth of pictures and statuary, but a series of casts was ob-
tained from the Louvre and a cast of Venus de Medici from
Italy. This Venus long constituted the greatest treasure and
was kept concealed except on rare occasions — partly because it
was regarded as very valuable and partly because it was hard
for the early inhabitants of Philadelphia to grow accustomed
to undraped statuary. In delicate consideration for feminine
folk, Mondays were reserved for them alone.

The present building was completed in 1876, having cost
more than five hundred thousand dollars. The Academy has
been fortunate in its presidents, these having worked relent-
lessly for the furtherance of the plan which led originally to
its establishment. While a portion of this sum was realized
from the sale of the earlier site and a small sum left as a be-
quest, the greater part was raised through the tireless efforts

228 THE WORUD'S PROGRESS.

of President Claghorn, who aroused sentiment and pride suf-
ficiently to secure the new building. Since its completion it
has been endowed by subscriptions and bequests.

The purpose of the Academy is best explained by quoting
from the pledge of the association when organized : "To pro-
mote the cultivation of the Fine Arts, in the United States of
America, by introducing correct and elegant copies from works
of the first masters in sculpture and painting and by thus fa-
cilitating the access to such standards, and also by occasionally
conferring moderate but honorable premiums, and otherwise
assisting the studies and exciting the efforts of the artists
gradually to unfold, enlighten and invigorate the talents of our
countrymen." This it has accomplished and while not a reposi-
tory of valuable canvases or marbles, by various private do-
nations and bequests a few pictures by eminent painters have
been acquired.

Van der Heist (1613-1670), like Hals a native of Haarlem,
is represented by The Violinist, one of his best productions.
Van der Heist fell under the influence of Frans Hals, his
drawing being free and bold. One of Jan der Goyen's land-
scapes is found among the examples of Dutch painting.

There are no pictures illustrative of the best years of Italian
art. For the decadent period, Guido Reni's beautiful Ganymede
and five of Salvator Rosa's canvases may be seen, three being
landscape with some mythological significance.

Ribera's style and characteristic treatment may be seen in
his The Cid. Specimens of early Spanish and French paintings
are lacking, but the Academy possesses several pictures by the
recent painters of France — three of Corot's — the River Scene,
South of France, and a Landscape, — a landscape by Rousseau,
another by Dupre, Breton's Potato Harvester, and Rosa Bon-
heur's Highland Sheep, while with the Gibson Collection, Mil-
let's Return of the Flock was secured. The chill of night hav-
ing fallen, the shepherd is huddled in his heavy cloak, followed
by the sheep that crowd together, while the faithful dog, ever
alert, watches to see that none stray away.

The Academy is fortunate in having portraits by the early
American School, these being more valuable from a historical
than an artistic point of view. Stuart is here seen at his best,
being adequately represented by twenty-four canvases. He

AMERICAN PAINTING. 22Q

maintained a studio in Philadelphia from 1785 to 1805 and
many citizens came to him for their portraits. In many in-
stances these have been donated in late years to the Academy.
It has long been a matter of dispute as to whether the portrait
of Washington which hangs in this gallery is an original or
a replica.

Peale, an enthusiastic collector of curios, gathered together
much of interest for his museum which was preserved in his
home. His self-portrait standing in this museum is now in
the Academy. Twelve portraits by Thomas Sully (1783-1872)
are worthy of mention. One of these portrays George Fred-
erick Cooke, an actor of some note, in his role of Richard III.,
and another represents Fanny Kemble as Beatrice.

West is seen to greater advantage here than at the Metro-
politan. Three of his large canvases : Death on a Pale Horse,
Paul and Barnabas, and the Rejected Christ being in the Acad-
emy. The last is regarded as one of his best productions. It
was sold for .three thousand guineas after his death and was
presented in late years to this gallery. The artist caught the
tension of the moment when Pilate caused Christ to be brought
before the multitude that they might, should it so please them,
exercise the privilege which custom had granted them — that of
pardoning one prisoner on this holiday. Like so many of
West's historical pictures, the canvas is crowded with people —
all kinds and conditions of society being revealed in this par-
ticular case.

Death on a Pale Horse compels attention by its title. The
painter conceived of Death, mounted on a horse, riding about
and bringing destruction wherever he went. It is another
version of the Mediaeval story of the Dance of Death.

Several excellent paintings by modern American artists are
found. The Lady with the White Shawl, by William Merritt
Chase is here; the Fox Hunt by Winslow Homer, before which
the Adirondack guide who had glanced idly at other pictures
paused to say: "By Jove, I've seen things that looked like
that !", a portrait by Sargent and Phyllis, one of Walter Mac-
Ewen's old fashioned, charming, flowered-gowned maidens are
here. Here also are two examples of William Hunt's work,
one the original sketch of his Flight of Night — the subject of
his mural painting in the New York Capitol. This is the more

230 TH£ WORLD'S PROGRESS.

highly prized today because of the sad destruction of the beauti-
ful painting executed so shortly before his death.

A board of Trustees was chosen in Boston in 1870 to con-
sider the building of a museum which should furnish fire-proof
quarters for several collections of various kinds, all allied with
art. The Institute of Technology possessed a number of archi-
tectural casts which were not displayed to advantage ; Harvard
University could provide no suitable place for the Gray Col-
lection of Prints ; paintings owned by the Athenaeum had been
crowded out of their former gallery by increasing demands of
books and the Lowell Institute had various possessions which
needed housing. Without state or municipal aid, private funds
were forthcoming for the erection of the first Museum, dedi-
cated on the Fourth of July, 1876. Although enlarged in 1890,
it became too crowded and the beautiful Boston Museum of
today was begun in 1902. Its architectural plan has been
widely commended, providing as it does for the best possible
display of curio's. It consists of a series of courts, off of which
small rooms open. Thus large objects may be given desirable
space and smaller ones studied at close range.

No American city affords the visitor better opportunities
for the study of painting than Boston. Native painters are
well represented and examples of various European schools
are shown as well, in some instances, better, here than else-
where.

Although the great Italian masters are wholly lacking, the
Museum possesses work of obscure painters illustrative of sev-
eral Italian schools. Even the style of Giotto is well portrayed
in a small Giottoesque Nativity. A replica of St. Luke Paint-
ing the Virgin, now in Munich, illustrates the character of early
Flemish painting. It is supposed to be the work of Roger van
der Weyden. Rembrandt's portraits of Nicolas Tulp and his
wife are the most valuable of the Dutch exhibits. Maes'
Jealous Husband is here also.

El Greco, Goya, and best of all Velazquez, are represented
— the last in a portrait of Philip IV., which has been the occa-
sion of much discussion, some maintaining that it is genuine,
others questioning it. ' At present the predominating opinion of
conservative critics is that this is the work of Velazquez. Re-
cently this great master's Don Baltasar Carlos and his Dwarf
have most fortunately been acquired.

AMERICAN PAINTING. 23!

English canvases by Reynolds — in their usual state of par-
tial ruin — , by Gainsborough, Constable and a landscape by
Wilson — a View of Tivoli, are here. A head by Burne-Jones
has found its way thither ; but more renowned than any of these
pictures is the Slave Ship, by Turner.

Modern French art is characteristically shown. The Death
of Hector is ascribed to David. Chardin is represented by
some of his still-life work. The modern landscape school is fit-
tingly set forth in pictures by Rousseau, Diaz, Daubigny,
Dupre, and Corot. Greatest of modern French painters, Millet
is represented by The Shepherdess. Henri Regnault's paint-
ing, the Horses of Achilles, known well by reproductions, is
here. This was painted when the artist was but twenty-four.
His untimely death three years later prevented fulfilment of
liis early promise.

The early portrait school of America is well shown. Cop-
ley's Portrait of John Quincy Adams, of Dorothy Quincy and
the Group of his own family give a fair idea of his labored
style. West's Group of the Hope Family and Stuart's Wash-
ington, owned by the Athenaeum and loaned to the Museum,
may be seen by the side of Martha Washington's portrait. An-
other excellent Stuart is the portrait of General Knox. A
landscape by Inness is illustrative of the early school.

The mysticism of Vedder is noticeable in his Sphynx and
in the Sea Serpent. La Farge's Halt of the Wise Men, Wins-
low Homer's Fog Warning and two small panels by Whistler
—the Blacksmith of Lyme Regis and the Little Rose of Lyme
Regis — are exhibited. One of Chase's pieces of still life, Dead
Fish, is here and William Hunt, well loved by Bostonians, may
be seen in his self-portrait and the Fortune Teller. John A.
Alexander, who has achieved fame in comparatively recent
years, is to be seen in his Pot of Basil and Isabel. Nor should
Edmund C. Tarbell, closely identified with the School of Art
maintained in connection with this Museum, be forgotten. He
was chosen to paint the portrait of General Loring who for
thirty years was connected with the Boston Museum as a Trus-
tee.

The Corcoran Gallery of Art was founded by William Wil-
son Corcoran, long a resident of Washington. He knew the
Capital when it was a crude town, suffering in constant com-

232 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

parison with Philadelphia, the earlier center of government.
He believed in the future of the city, in spite of the backsets
it received during the Civil War, when all business buildings
were appropriated by the government for temporary use and
the place presented the appearance of a large military camp.

Mr. Corcoran was one of the first collectors of art in the
United States and was interested in fostering native talent.
His collection was largely composed of American paintings and
he left this and an endowment of nine hundred thousand dol-
lars "to be used solely for the purpose of encouraging Ameri-
cans in the production of works pertaining to art."

The Corcoran Gallery was incorporated in 1870 and the
first exhibition held in the old building in 1874. This in time
proved to be insufficient and in 1893 the present building was
begun. It was finished in 1897 and opened on the anniversary
of Washington's Birthday. It is built in Neo-Grecian style,
of white Georgian marble set on pink granite foundations.
Two stories in height, the second story, used for the picture
gallery, is lighted entirely from above.

In addition to providing an art repository for the city, it
has a greater and far-reaching significance. Every two years
exhibitions are held of paintings by living American artists.
Over three hundred were entered for the first one, held in 1907.
Sales that year from pictures purchased by patrons amounted
to $49,000. Prizes are offered; Senator Clark has provided
sums for these at the last three exhibits. There can be no
doubt but that such exhibitions as these will grow to have a
stimulating effect upon American art and will serve mutually
the public, by developing a deeper love for artistic
beauty and a cultivated sense for judging, and, at the same
time, inspire painters to greater effort since they are assured
fair-minded, appreciative audiences.

The pictures owned by the Corcoran Gallery give a very
good idea of American painting as it developed, at first timidly
and slowly, and recently with more rapid stride. There are
but few examples of the early portrait school. Sully's Portrait
of Andrew Jackson is here and Morse's paintings are to be
seen as nowhere else. Samuel B. Morse (1791-1872) is so
intimately associated with the telegraph today in the minds of
people generally that his earlier work as an artist has been over-

AMERICAN PAINTING. 233-

shadowed. He painted many portraits and finally executed the
large production, the House of Representatives, showing the
room in the old Capitol with the representatives seated and
occupied in various ways. The picture he hoped would be pur-
chased by Congress, as indeed it should have been ; this failing,
Morse turned to electricity, although he never wholly broke
his connections with art interests. West's Cupid and Psyche
is here but does not show him at his best. One of the numerous
replicas of Washington by Stuart belongs to this portrait col-
lection.

The Hudson River School is well represented. Four can-
vases by Thomas Doughty are here : Autumn on the Hudson,
a Landscape, Welsh Scenery, and Tintern Abbey. Durand
is to be seen in the Edge of the Forest, and Cole's Departure
and Return are true to the vein in which much of his work
was done. The Departure shows a young knight, riding away
in the morning of life with gay banners floating, nor little
heeding the warning of the pious friar. The Return shows the
conclusion of the story — he being borne home dead. Alle-
gories of this kind were popular in Cole's generation.

The culmination of the early landscape school is found in
the more finished paintings of Inness, whose Sunset in the
Woods hangs in this gallery, near one by Wyant — his View
from Mount Mansfield, one of his most perfect pictures.

Among figure painters of earlier years George Fuller
(1822-1886) deserves mention. His Lorette is characteristic
of his treatment.

Winslow Homer's Light on the Sea, English Cod — a still
life study by Chase, and Edmund Tarbell's Josephine and Mer-
cie merit admiration. One of the most recent artists to attract
attention by the honors bestowed upon him at late exhibitions
has been Edward W. Redfield — born in Delaware in 1869.
His Delaware River belongs to this collection.

A few pictures by modern French artists have been donated
to the Corcoran, but they are not extensive enough to form
any important element in this Gallery established wholly in the
interest of American painters. Indeed it is probable that as
time goes on such canvases will be sent to the National Gallery,
recently completed in Washington and designed by Congress
as a respository for paintings by artists of every land.

234 THE WORLD S PROGRESS.

Among American art centers, the Art Institute of Chicago
deserves mention. It was incorporated in 1879 for the "found-
ing and maintenance of schools of art and design, the forma-
tion and exhibition of collections of objects of art, and the cul-
tivation and extension of the arts of design by any appropriate
means."

The present building was opened to the public in 1893.
Like the other Museums where schools of art are maintained,
it provides exhibits from time to time that frequently have
great merit and give the Institute an importance greater than
that accorded it by pictures regularly shown.

A few valuable paintings are exhibited at the Art Institute —
being in most cases loaned by the owners for this purpose.
Among these is the Family Concert by Jan Steen ; The Castle
by Ruysdael ; Rembrandt's Portrait of a Girl and Frans Hals'
portrait of his son. Rubens is represented by his Portrait of
Marquis Spinola, Van Dyck by the Portrait of Helena, and
Hobbema by his Watermill, worth perhaps fifty thousand
dollars today.

The modern French painters are several of them to be
seen in one or more pictures. Landscapes by Rousseau, Dupre
and three of Corot's; Breton's Song of the Lark and Millet's
Woman Feeding Chickens and Bringing Home the Newborn
Calf are most important among them. Troyon's Pasture in
Normandy and Returning - from Market both glow with the
country life and spirit this painter subtly reveals.

There are but few pictures by the foremost American
artists. Whistler's Nocturne — Southampton Water, Vedder's
Storm in Umbria, landscapes by Inness and Wyant, and Alice,
a bright charming girl by Chase, which brightens a sombre
wall, are best among them.

AMERICAN PAINTING. 235

CHAPTER XXII.
MURAI, PAINTING IN AMERICA.

IN 1817 Congress gave Trumbull a commission to paint
four pictures for the adornment of the Capitol, these to com-
memorate important historical events. The subjects developed
by the artist were the Declaration of Independence, Surrender
of Burgoyne, Surrender of Cornwallis and the Resignation of
Washington at Annapolis. Congress was prompted to appro-
priate $32,000 for these pictures more from a desire to give
due importance to events of deep significance to the young re-
public than to adorn walls of the building.

Nearly sixty years later, La Farge was besought by the
architect, Mr. Richardson, to decorate the walls of Trinity
Church, which building he was then constructing in Boston.
This was in the nature of an experiment, mural painting being
almost unknown in the United States at the time. La Farge
had long entertained the desire to undertake work of this de-
scription, but the mural painter must await the coming of com-
missions before resources or inspiration contribute to make
his work a possibility. Although there were no trained painters
to assist, although the time as stipulated was very limited, and,
particularly, in spite of the fact that the work must be begun
in an unfinished building in the severity of a New England
winter, La Farge plunged into it with determination.

The church was built in Romanesque style, so La Farge
appropriately chose subjects associated with the period when
buildings formerly dedicated to pagan worship were used by
followers of the new faith. Small scenes above the windows
were chosen with this period in view. Two panels, Christ and
Nicodemus and The Woman of Samaria were both done by
La Farge and are indicative of his simplicity of composition.
On the side walls were painted heroic figures of St. Peter and
St. Paul and Moses, Jeremiah, Isaiah and Daniel. Over the
arches scrolls were supported by child angels. In spite of dis-
couraging obstacles, the artistic effect of the decoration when

236 THE; WORLD'S PROGRESS.

completed surprised even La Farge and had a far-reaching in-
fluence in the country. Order now followed order and the pos-
sibilities for this kind of decoration were brought home to many.

The Columbian Exposition gave a great impetus to mural
painting in this country. Experiments of various kinds were
tried and the results proved to be not only pleasing but stimu-
lating. People from different parts of the United States wit-
nessed the artistic effects of wall decoration and were led to
take a more vital interest later when the question of beautifying
public buildings arose in individual states. All the large under-
takings in this field have been done since the Exposition of
1893, or have been completed since that time if already under
way — consequently benefiting by the display of mural paint-
ings there provided.

Boston was the first town in the United States to establish
a public library. In recent years a new building has been erec-
ted to meet the needs of a growing municipality. Long recog-
nized as one of the art centers of America, it was natural that
unusual care should be taken to make the building artistic as
well as serviceable.

Elmer E. Garnsey, who has been chosen to direct the in-
terior decorations of so many public buildings, M. Puis de
Chavannes, greatest of modern mural painters, Sargent and
Abbey were commissioned to beautify Boston's new Library
and it is today noteworthy among public buildings of this coun-
try. Puis was more than seventy years of age when this com-
mission was received — too advanced in years and too delicate
in health to justify his crossing the ocean to study the spaces
allotted to him. Charts and photographs were used as guides
instead, while the modern custom of having mural paintings
done upon canvas and then "rolled" upon surfaces, enabled
him to execute his work in his own studio in France. On the
landing of the Grand Stairway his large painting, The Genius
of Enlightenment, is seen to advantage. Under the general
themes : Science and Letters, he provided eight panels to
adorn the Staircase corridor. Grouped under the name of
Science are represented Physics, Chemistry, History and As-
tronomy. A telegraph pole with its transmitting wires is seen
in the lower corner of the panel representing Physics — Amer-
ica being the country to first develop uses of electricity; the

AMERICAN PAINTING. 237

inspiring figure floating through the air symbolizes Good News ;
the baneful creature with face concealed, 111 Tidings. The
genius of Chemistry stands in a niche cut in living rock, watch-
ing an experiment, while winged boys gaze intently upon it.
History, a classic figure, stands mournfully on the site of old
ruins, trying to evoke the past; failing alone, she is accom
panied by a youth — Science — bearing a torch in one hand, a
book in the other. Puis was happily successful in his land-
scape backgrounds, this one being very pleasing. Astronomy
is portrayed by primitive men gazing in bewildered earnestness
at the heavens, while from a wattled hut a woman's face looks
up. These are Chaldean shepherds who first studied the stars
and conceived of influences exerted by them upon this planet.
The four panels grouped under Letters include Philosophy and
Poetry — Pastoral, Dramatic and Epic. Philosophy is repre-
sented by Plato, who stands in a garden discoursing to a pupil,
while other disciples study in porticoes near by; Pastoral
Poetry, by Virgil leaning against a tree with an expanse of blue
ocean before him. Bee hives are conspicuous in the foreground
and peaceful rural life is admirably portrayed.

Dramatic Poetry is perhaps the noblest of all these masterly
pictures ; it reveals Prometheus bound to a rock in the sea, the
vulture hovering over him ; moved by his sufferings, the Daugh-
ters of the Ocean rise from the waves, chanting soothing melo-
dies. In the foreground Aeschylus is to be seen writing his
great tragedy. Finally, Epic Poetry is shown in the person of
Homer, accompanied by two figures symbolizing the Iliad and
Odyssey. The Corridor wherein these panels are placed pro-
vided sufficient space for ocean and sweep of sky, hills and
groves where Muses wander. Yellow marble was used in
the construction of the Corridor and the colors of the paintings
are subdued and gray.

The Pompeian Lobby has been so named because of Garn-
sey's exquisite Pompeian designs, covering its walls with bands
and arabesques. This admits to the so-called Delivery Room,
where books are brought to readers. This was entrusted to
Abbey. The commission for its decoration was received by
him just before his marriage and he held it in mind during a
somewhat extended trip which followed. Various plans were
considered, he particularly wishing to develop certain of the

238 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

Shakespeare stories. However, he decided that something of
Anglo-Saxon origin would be most appropriate and determined
upon the Quest of the Holy Grail — known in general outline
by every school boy. The important scenes in the life of Gala-
had are depicted, beginning with the convent in which he was
reared. In front of a wall tapestried in blue and gold, one of
the nuns holds the babe in swaddling clothes, to whose vision
an angel appears with the Holy Grail. The Oath of Knight-
hood is impressive. As the youth in a red robe kneels on the
altar steps, Sir Launcelot and Sir Bors in full armor wait to
fasten on his spurs. The sisters who have reared him watch
the ceremony, bearing candles in their hands. The Court of
King Arthur attracts with manifold interests. Evidently a
banquet has just been served, for the Round Table is still cov-
ered with a white cloth. Crowds of people are engaged in con-
versation as the young knight is brought thither. The De-
parture for the Search for the Grail shows all the knights in
full armor gathered in the chapel to receive the blessing of the
Church before setting out on their adventures.

The Grail frieze consists in reality of a series of tableaux
exemplifying Mediaeval life. The superb use of rich colors,
the variety of costume, the trappings of knight-errantry and
the inclusion of all classes of society, bewilder and fascinate.
These people seem to live and to be even now engaged upon
undertakings of the middle ages.

Finally, Sargent Hall — named in honor of its decorator,
contains the splendid work of this greatest of modern portrait
painters. He was originally commissioned to prepare decora-
tions for both ends of the Hall. Later he was asked to unite
these by ceiling decoration as well. The first finished portion
exemplifies the Triumph of Religion. The gods of polytheism
and idolatry are first shown, the figures of Moloch and Astarte
being marvelously done. Sargent studied Egyptian and Assy-
rian art before undertaking this work until he was able to ex-
press himself admirably in Eastern forms. The confusion re-
sulting from the strife between pagan worship and the faith
of the Hebrews is revealed with masterly skill. Below is a
lunette picturing the Hebrews in captivity and underneath this,
the famous frieze of the Prophets — so widely known.

The painting which fills the opposite end was finished some

AMERICAN PAINTING. 239

years later and is called the Dogma of Redemption. It is done
in Byzantine style. The figure of Christ on the cross occupies
the central portion of the scene; above are three figures exactly
alike and representing the personages of the Trinity; the cen-
tral one crowned like the pope, the others representing royalty
and empire. Below the picture and corresponding to the frieze
of Prophets is a frieze of the Angels of the Passion. This
entire work, which had been highly commended by critics, is
illustrative of religious belief of the Middle Ages.

The Congressional Library in Washington is the most beau-
tiful library in America and among the finest in the world.
It has only recently been completed and contains some of the
best mural painting found in the United States. As in the Bos-
ton Library, Elmer E. Garnsey was given charge of all interior
painting. He studied the available spaces and divisions of the
building for three years before the various commissions were
assigned.

, The building consists of three stories: the ground floor, the
second story, containing the Library, and the third, containing
the Museum. In the lower story two corridors extend on either
side of the Grand Stairway. One was decorated by Charles
Sprague Pearce, and portrays the primitive Family. His draw-
ing is weak, but the lunettes recall the story of prehistoric man.
The one entitled religion is considered best. The correspond-
ing corridor assigned to Henry Oliver Walker is pleasing, he
having grouped his pictures under the general title of Lyric
Poetry. Seven scenes compose the series. First is shown the
Muse of Lyric Poetry, who is found attended by Passion,
Beauty, Mirth, Pathos, Truth and Devotion. The second is
entitled: Shakespeare's Adonis — slain by the wild boar; the
third, Tennyson's Ganymede, borne to Olympus by Jove in the
guise of an eagle. Keats' Endymion comes next — sleeping
shepherd, on Mount Latmos. The fifth is Emerson's Uriel ; the
sixth, Wordsworth's Boy of Winander — at twilight by a gleam-
ing lake, and last, Milton's Comus — listening to a song. An-
other corridor decorated by Edward Simmons contains the nine
Muses — each shown in characteristic pose and surroundings.
These are all excellent and Calliope perhaps the most impres-
sive.

One of the corridors on the second floor was assigned to

240 TH£ WORI^D'S PROGRESS.

John W. Alexander, who has portrayed six splendid paintings
under the general title : Evolution of the Book. In the Build-
ing of the Cairn, primitive men are seen engaged in constructing
a pile of boulders which shall serve as a memorial of some sig-
nal event. In the second, Egyptian Hieroglyphics, a maiden
watches a workman while he cuts an inscription on a tomb;
perhaps the most fascinating is the third — Oral Tradition,
wherein hooded Arabs give close attention to one who relates
a story for their edification; Picture Writing belongs to our
own continent; an American Indian draws pictures on a hide
to convey his meaning. The Manuscript Book is set back in a
monastery of the Middle Ages, while the sixth and last of
these graphic scenes commemorates the Invention of the Print-
ing Press.

Another corridor is made beautiful by Walter McEwen's
Stories of Greek Heroes. The first relates to Prometheus, who
urges Epimetheus to beware of Pandora and her mysterious
box; in the next, Orpheus lies in a woodland dying — slain by
the Bacchantes. In the third, Perseus confronts Polydectes
with the head of the Medusa; in the fourth, Theseus deserts
the sleeping Ariadne. Hercules is to be seen with the distaff,
spinning for Queen Omphale, and Bellerophon receives the
winged Pegasus from Minerva. A picture of particular in-
terest is the one wherein Jason seeks to enlist the attention of
the Argonauts in his quest of the Golden Fleece; Paris — a
doubtful hero — is shown at the home of Menelaus, whose hos-
pitality he so shortly outrages. Last, Achilles, disguised as a
school girl, is discovered by Ulysses.

The vestibule admitting to the Reading Room contains five
pictures by Vedder. Their colors are subdued and well suited
to this dimly lighted lobby. Government is the general sub-
ject of the series ; Good Government is accompanied on the right
by Peace and Prosperity. Corrupt Legislation by its attendant,
Anarchy. The artist's fine drawing and sweeping lines prevail
throughout.

The adornment of the rotunda was left to Edwin Blash-
field. In the crown he painted the Human Understanding and
in the collar of the dome twelve figures that make up the series
illustrating the Evolution of Civilization. These seated fig-
ures symbolize twelve countries or periods, each having con-

AMERICAN PAINTING. 24!

tributed to present civilization. Egypt contributes written rec-
ords; Judea, religion; Rome, administration; Greece, philoso-
phy; Islam, physics; Italy, the fine arts; Middle Ages, modern
languages; Germany, art of printing; England, literature;
France, emancipation ; Spain, discovery ; America, science — this
last represented by a workman with a dynamo.

The task of making this beautiful rotunda a fitting crown
to the whole lavishly decorated structure was not an easy one
and it must always be a matter of gratification to his country-
men that Mr. Blashfield was able to discharge it admirably.

It is not possible to enter upon any exhaustive discussion
of this remarkable building. Among its finest gems should
be mentioned the two paintings by Kenyon Cox in the Mu-
seum. One represents The Arts. Poetry holding a large pic-
ture is enthroned ; Sculpture, Painting, Architecture and Music
attend. The other picture represents the Sciences. As-
tronomy in the center is flanked on the right by Botany and
Zoology; on the left by Physics and Mathematics. The room
is flooded with light and the artis.t has painted in a high key
with faint shadows that his work might not appear too dark
and heavy.

Every available space has been utilized by the ambitious
painter for some picture or decorative scheme. These repre-
sent the different tendencies among present American painters.
The Congressional Library in the matter of embellishment is
true to the age in which it has been done and will be remem-
bered as marking an important step in American decorative
art.

In 1905 the largest commission for mural decoration ever
given a single painter was assigned to John W. Alexander by
the Trustees of the Carnegie Institute of Pittsburg.

This building was planned in the beginning as the munici-
pal library for Pittsburg, from which branches were to be es-
tablished later. With the intention of making the opening of
the library the more agreeable and praiseworthy, those in
charge of it engaged an orchestra to dispense music and pro-
vided for a loan exhibition of pictures for the occasion. There-
upon, the founder of the institute promptly provided the Trus-
tees with a fund, the interest of which was to provide for tru,
establishment of a School of Music and a Department of Fine
Arts.

X— 16

242 THE WORLD S PROGRESS.

Unhampered by lack of funds, it has been possible for the
Trustees to carry out ideas in connection with the practical
administration of this Institute with a freedom unusual in edu-
cational institutions. As a result of enlarging the building to
supply additional space, the redecorating of the Institute was
necessary and this fell to Alexander, who strange to say, hap-
pened to be a native of Pittsburg. However, it was because of
honors which he had already won at home and abroad and his
recognized merit that led to his appointment as decorator. It
was gratifying in addition to remember that Pittsburg was
his native home.

It has often been noted that in spite of a continent filled
with suggestive themes, our painters have preferred subjects
found in classical tradition or at least in distant lands. This
criticism can never be made regarding the decorations on the
walls of Carnegie Institute. Recognizing keenly the fact that
prosperity has overtaken Pittsburg because of her rich deposits,
their removal from the earth and conversion into serviceable
commodities, the entire scheme is shown as the city's triumph.
Two series of pictures, one erf them about ten feet above the
entrance floor, the other higher up, are closely associated with
her labor — the first containing fifteen scenes typifying the in-
dustries of the city, such as operations at the mills, foundries,
work-shops, and coke-ovens. The smoke and steam that fre-
quently envelop the workmen are shown in these pictures. Just
as the murky brown smoke breaks above the foundries often-
times, so in these pictures it scatters to reveal sturdy men at
work, with muscles strong and minds alert. The union of mind
and muscle is everywhere apparent. The city itself is typified
as a man in armor — perhaps suggested by the abundance of
steel ore — while to convey the idea that as a result of labor
come prosperity, and all that wealth can bring, feminine forms
approach this city symbol, bearing in th«ir hands fruits of
looms, and workshops of the world. Costly fabrics, beautiful
works of art, graceful vases and costly urns — everything in
short that may be found accompanying prosperity, they offer
to the Spirit of the City.

The second series of pictures have to do with the means
of approach to Pittsburg, by water and by land — these having
been important IP the past and still vital to its welfare.

AMERICAN PAINTING. 243

The decorations in this thoroughly efficient Institute are
both American and local in spirit. They accord dignity and
honor to the brawn of strong, healthy men engaged in duties
worthy of time and intelligence; they are local since they per-
tain to the region that has made such a monument of prosperity
possible.

So general have mural decorations become that almost every
large city can boast one or more buildings thus beautified.
The Ponce de Leon at St. Augustine was one of the earlier
hotels to engage the assistance of mural painters; today many
through the country have followed a similar plan. Court-
houses, schools, colleges and state capitols are not infrequently
adorned by talented painters. Excellent mural painting can
be found in the Appellate Courts Building in New York ; banks
in the east and middle west are appropriately decorated. The
Capitol buildings in Iowa and in Pennsylvania both merit at-
tention and praise, but the Capitol of Minnesota is mentioned
here because it belongs to the north-west and thus far remains
unsurpassed in interior beauty.

The legislature of Minnesota appropriated $250,000 for
the mural decorations of its new Capitol at St. Paul. Garnsey,
because of his splendid achievements elsewhere, was entrusted
with them.

The first matter to be considered by a decorator is the. style
of architecture employed, that the interior adornment may seem,
not something imposed upon it, but an integral part of the
building itself. The quality and color of the marble, the stone,
metal and woodwork are also questions of greatest importance.
Color schemes must be carried out harmoniously if the eyes
of future generations are not to be offended. The present
method of having mural paintings done upon canvas and after-
wards adhered to walls has lessened the risk of rapid de-
struction. The unfortunate fate of William Hunt's fine pic-
tures in the New York Capitol, destroyed within ten years by
the settling of the building, proved that precaution was neces-
sary if public funds were to be forthcoming for such purposes.

The Governor's Reception Room is Venetian in style and
contains six pictures, the subjects of which are closely asso-
ciated with the history of the state. The Treaty of Traverse
the Sioux was done by F. D. Millet ; the Discovery of the Falls

244 TH£ WORU/S PROGRESS.

of St. Anthony by Douglas Volk. The other four pertain to
Minnesota's part in the Civil War. Howard Pyle produced
the one entitled the Minnesota Regiment at Nashville; Rufus
Zogbaum, the First Regiment at Gettysburg; Millet, the First
Regiment at Vicksburg, and Vclk, the Second Regiment at
Mission Ridge.

On the second floor are located the Senate Chamber, House
of Representatives, and the Supreme Court. Over the en-
trance to the Senate Chamber, H. O. Walker painted the pic-
ture called: Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow, in which the
torch of progress is being handed along, from one age to an-
other. Over the entrance to the Supreme Court, Kenyon Cox
produced another of similar proportions; Contemplation, Law
and Letters. In the halls twelve small paintings give honor
to twelve industries through which Minnesota has pros-
pered: Milling, Stone-cutting, Winnowing, Commerce, Min-
ing, Navigation, Hunting, Agriculture, Horticulture, Logging,
Dairying, and Pioneering.

The Senate Chamber is finished in French Fleur de Peche
marble, providing a creamy ground. Mahogany furniture is
used and the decorations are in ivory, gold, and old blue. Two
beautiful paintings by Blashfield are here. These are entitled
Discoverers and Civilizers led to the Source of the Mississippi,
and Minnesota the Grain State. Four others by Garnsey repre-
sent Courage, Freedom, Justice and Equality.

The room used by the Supreme Court is done in white
Vermont marble. The paintings here are the work of La
Farge and done in his best style. Over the Judge's bench is
the first of the series pertaining to Law. It is called Moral
and Divine Law and portrays Moses kneeling on Mount Sinai ;
the second, the Relation of the Individual to the State, is illus-
trated by Socrates discoursing to his friends on the Republic;
the third, the Recording of Precedents, by Confucius reading
from a scroll while pupils inscribe words of ancient wisdom;
and the Adjustment of Conflicting Interest, by Count Raymond
of Toulouse, swearing in the presence of state and ecclesias-
tical dignitaries to observe the liberties of the city.

The House of Representatives, also in white Vermont
marble, is decorated by a frieze of green, red, and ivory. The
ceiling is covered with designs of foliage, emblems and eagles.

AMERICAN PAINTING. 245

Two paintings, Record and History, were done by Mackaye.

The building is crowned by a dome and in the large span-
drels over its four arches are paintings by E. E. Simmons;
The American Genius guarded by Wisdom following Hope;
Wisdom banishing Savagery; Wisdom breaking the Ground;
Wisdom as Minnesota distributing her products. Between the
twelve windows of the dome are panels in deep blue, done by
Garnsey.

Throughout the decorations are appropriate to Minnesota
alone, and more and more is the thesis being accepted that sub-
jects for decorations of public buildings in a great common-
wealth should be found in local history and industrial condi-
tions, without having to import to a new continent themes
which have been repeatedly and more appropriately illustrated
in foreign lands.

AMERICAN LITERATURE

Two GOLDEN DAYS.

THERE are two days of the week upon which and about
which I never worry. Two care-free days, kept sacredly free
from fear and apprehension.

One of these days is yesterday. Yesterday, with all its
cares and frets, with all its pains and aches, all its faults, its
mistakes and blunders, has passed forever beyond the reach of
my recall. I cannot undo an act that I wrought; I cannot
unsay a word that I said on yesterday. All that it holds in
my life, of wrongs, regret, and sorrow, is in the hands of the
Mighty Love that can bring honey out of the rock, and sweet
waters out of the bitterest desert — the love that can make the
wrong things right, that can turn weeping into laughter, that
can give beauty for ashes, the garment of praise for the spirit
of heaviness, joy of the morning for woe of the night.

Save for the beautiful memories, sweet and tender, that
linger like the perfume of roses in the heart of the day that is
gone, I have nothing to do with yesterday. It was mine;
it is God's.

And the other day I do not worry about is to-morrow.
To-morrow, with all its possible adventures, its burdens, its
perils, its large promise and poor performance, its failures and
mistakes, is as far beyond the reach of my mastery as its dead
sister, yesterday. It is a day of God's. Its sun will rise in
roseate splendor, or behind a mask of weeping clouds. But it
will rise. Until then — the same love and patience that hold
yesterday and hold to-morrow, shining with tender promise
into the heart of to-day — I have no possession in that unborn
day of grace. All else is in the safe-keeping of the Infinite
Love that holds for me the treasure of yesterday. The love
that is higher than the stars, wider than the skies, deeper than
the seas. To-morrow — it is God's day. It will be mine.

— Burdette.
246

PREFATORY CHAPTER.

MERICAN literature may be regarded from two
.' quite different points of view, either as a con-

tributory stream to the great river of English

literature, or as an independent organism, derived
indeed from the old world, but mainly interesting because
of its revelation of American life. Our estimate of
American literature and the tests by which we arrive at such
an estimate necessarily differ according to the point of view
which we adopt. If we regard it from the first standpoint, we
must apply neither the historical nor the personal test, but
must compare American literature, man for man and book for
book, with the authors and works of the corresponding period
of English literature, Cooper with Scott, Longfellow and Poe
with Browning, Tennyson, and Swinburne, the Scarlet Letter
with Vanity Fair, David Copper-field, and Adam Bede. Such
a comparison, we must frankly admit, American literature can-
not sustain. Interesting and delightful as have been our con-
tributions to the whole body of English literature, they have
been, with a few exceptions, hardly of the first order of merit.
A standard collection of the masterpieces of literature produced
in English since the beginning of the seventeenth century
would include comparatively few American works. We should
outrank the other English settlements and conquests, Canada,
Australia, and South Africa, but should still fall far behind
the mother country. Yet, after all, this is only what is to be
expected, and no American except one whose patriotism blinds
his judgment would dream of making such a comparison.

There is, however, another test which we may apply to
American literature and another reason for our interest and
delight in it. American literature springs naturally from that
of Great Britain, but almost from the beginning it has sought
its themes in American life, and with the development of civil-
ization on this continent our literature has developed in variety,

247

248 THE WORUD'S PROGRESS.

in originality of subject and form, in ability to represent Amer-
ican life. We have a right, a duty even, to interest ourselves in
American literature, simply because it is American — because
it reflects for us the varied phases of our national existence.

This is especially true of the first period of our literature,
the Colonial. The memoirs, histories, poems, and sermons
of this time have for us Americans an interest which they
can have for no others. The great revival in recent years of
interest in American origins has called the attention of hun-
dreds to these well-nigh forgotten works of our ancestors.
Such a book as Cotton Mather's Magnolia Christi Americana,
for example, has for us something of the interest which Bede's
Ecclesiastical History has for the student of old English times.
"It does," to quote Professor Trent's words, "for the early
New England saints what Hakluyt and Purchas did for
the Elizabethan seamen," and it has, for the average reader at
least, the immense advantage of being written in quaint seven-
teenth century English, not in medieval Latin. Longfellow's
poem, The Phantom Ship, is but one example of the many
legends which it has furnished to later writers.

In the writings of Benjamin Franklin, scientist, statesman,
philosopher, and man of letters, we find for the first time in
American literature work which has an absolute value and
makes its appeal to other than American readers. Franklin
was the first great representative of the American spirit, indus-
trious, practical, liberty-loving, humanitarian, and humorous.
He was also a citizen of the world of the approved eighteenth
century type. His works still live because they embody and
reveal the man himself and the spirit of his age. His Autobi-
ography is one of the masterpieces of this branch of literature
and has been well styled a "cosmopolitan classic."

The stormy days of the Revolution and the hardly less
troubled period that followed were not favorable to the produc-
tion of pure literature. The genius of the new born 'nation
turned toward war, diplomacy, and constitution-making rather
than to humane letters. Yet it is precisely in this period that
the first gleams of pure literature appear. A handful of lyrics
by Freneau, a group of novels by Brockden Brown, give us the
first evidence that the genius of literature, imaginative, poetic
and creative, had flitted across the Atlantic to find an abiding

AMERICAN UT3RATURS. 249

place in the New World. There is nothing strikingly original
in the work of either of these writers ; in sentiment and form
Freneau's poetry corresponds closely to the general run of
mid-eighteenth century verse in England, and Brown's novels
are strongly reminiscent of Mrs. Radcliffe and William Godwin.
But the very titles of Freneau's best lyrics, The Wild Honey-
suckle, The Indian Burying-Ground, The Elegy on Those Who
Fell at Hutaw, show that he did not seek abroad for inspira-
tion, and the most vivid passages in Brown's rather artificial
romances are those that depict with startling realism the ravages
of yellow fever in his native town and the horrors of an Indian
raid along the Pennsylvania borders.

A great development of literary form, a still greater ad-
vance in range of action and positive achievement is seen in
the work of three writers born toward the close of the eighteenth
century. Washington Irving is the first American man of
letters who was purely a man of letters, who owed his reputation
solely to his writings. And his reputation, even in his own
day, was world-wide, "the first ambassador," Thackeray calls
him, "whom the New World of letters sent to the Old." An
admirable literary artist, it might be said of him, as of his pre-
decessor and model, Goldsmith, that he touched nothing which
he did not adorn. His range, to be sure, was far less wide
than Goldsmith's; he was neither a pOet nor a dramatist, but
he was a delightful essayist, a sunny humorist, and a picturesque
historian. His supreme achievement, however, was the dis-
covery, one might almost say the creation, of a new form of
literature, the only form, perhaps, in which the work of Amer-
ican authors may fairly challenge comparison with the rest
of the world — the short story. And Irving's most famous
stories, Rip Van Winkle and The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, are
genuinely American in subject, atmosphere, and temper.

Cooper presents in many ways a striking contrast to Irving.
He lacks Irving's humor, his love of old romance, his charm
of style. He was no literary artist, rather a country gentleman
who almost by accident stumbled into literature. But he had
a rich fund of experiences on sea and shore such as the quiet
city-bred Irving quite lacked, and he had a still more important
gift, the faculty of creation on a large scale. He was a born
story-teller. In spite of his detestable prose style his great

250 THS WORU)S PROGRESS.

romances of the sea and the forest move swiftly and surely on
their way. And in the highest sphere of all, that of character
creation, Cooper's best work has been rarely equalled and never
surpassed by any of his successors. "Leather stocking", Uncas,
Hardheart, Tom Coffin," says Thackeray, "are quite the equals
of Scott's men ; perhaps Leatherstocking is better than any one
in Scott's lot. La Longue Carabine is one of the great prizemen
of fiction. He ranks with your Uncle Toby, Sir Roger de
Coverly, Falstaff — heroic figures all." Thackeray's praise may
be, perhaps, a little high-pitched, but it is hardly becoming for an
American to cavil at foreign praise of a writer whose works
have made a triumphal procession through all European
countries.

It is with a sense of disappointment that we turn from the
work of Cooper's contemporary, William Cullen Bryant, the
first American poet who obtained a hearing across the Atlantic.
Bryant has nothing of Irving's easy grace or Cooper's creative
power. He is limited in range, deficient in passion ;

If he stirs you at all, it is just, on my soul,
Like being stirred up with the very North Pole

Lowell wrote mockingly, but not untruly in his Fable for
Critics. In theme and manner Bryant seems by turns a young
disciple of Wordsworth and a late survivor of the elegiac school
of the eighteenth century. It is not easy at first to define the
original and American element in his work. Yet Emerson was
right when he called Bryant "this native, original and patriotic
poet ... a true painter of the face of this country and
of the sentiment of his own people." Bryant's fame is largely
due to his position as the father of American poetry. His
sense of style, his gift of lyrical utterance, was far superior
to that of any of his predecessors; and his work, from his
precocious early poems to the fruit of his ripe old age, was
singularly equable. He was at once accepted as the first real
poet of America, and he never gave his followers cause to dis^
avow him. But quite apart from the historic estimate of his
position, we may note in Bryant the elements of simplicity,
moral sincerity, devotion to Nature, particularly in her graver
aspects, and sober love of liberty, which go far to justify
Emerson's eulogy.

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 25!

Lack of space forbids any detailed discussion of later phases
of American literature. We can only touch briefly on the great
movement to which the name of the New England Renaissance
has been applied. In essence it was a spiritual and intellectual
revolution, breaking the chains which for nearly two centuries
had been imposed upon that region by Calvinistic theology and
Puritanic convention. It asserted the right of the individual
to judge and act for himself, to prove all things and hold fast
that which was good. It threw open the long closed doors of
the old world treasuries of Art, Music, and Literature. It dealt
a shattering blow at the traditional system of education and
introduced into our academic life that "free elective system"
against which our colleges are only now beginning to react.
Above all it gave birth to a noble body of literature of which
Emerson is the prophet, Longfellow the poet, Hawthorne the
romancer, and Lowell the scholar, critic, and representative
citizen.

Two of the greatest figures of American literature stand
altogether apart from this movement, Poe the Bohemian poet
and romancer, Whitman the singer of democratic brotherhood.
The two have little in common except their aloofness from the
dominant New England intellectualism and didacticism of their
day. Poe is the least American of our writers, a fact which
goes far to explain the cold indifference of his contemporaries
and the slight esteem which he enjoys even today in this coun-
try when compared with the generous recognition of his genius
in foreign lands. He was from the beginning to the end of his
unhappy life a Pegasus struggling in an ill-fitting harness. An
artist first and last he had no "message" for his age, and his
age was on the one side too clamorous for moral messages, and
on the other too absorbed in material progress to open its heart
to this rare artist of the grotesque and the beautiful, this poet
of melancholy, madness, and death. Nor was the period of the
Civil War and Reconstruction that followed more fitted to ex-
tend him its sympathy. It is only by degrees as we have shaken
off our Puritan prejudice against the artist that we have learned
to overcome our antipathy to the man, and to recognize the
surpassing craftsmanship and power of his tales, the passion,
pathos, and lyrical cry of his poems.

Of all American authors it is Whitman who has provoked

252 THS WORU>'S PROGRESS.

the most heated discussion at home and abroad. During his
life he was pelted with all the hard and foul words of the
vocabulary, and words were the mildest of the weapons em-
ployed against him. The law was invoked to prohibit the pub-
lication of his works; a persecuting bureaucrat stripped him
of his scanty means of subsistence. To his lovers, on the other
hand, "the good gray poet" seemed a super-human and almost
sacred figure. This fierce clash of opinion, due in the first
place to the freedom of speech with which the poet proclaimed
a gospel that was as offensive to some as it was enlightening to
others, goes back ultimately to the personality of the man. Just
as Poe is an objective poet-artist whose work has a value alto-
gether independent of his personality, so Whitman is essentially
a subjective poet-prophet whose highest message was a revela-
tion of his own personality. And his personality was a strange
blend of strength with coarseness, fearlessness with brag,
colossal egoism with a love for humanity that in action and
speech often passed all bounds of convention. From his own
personality sprang his gospel, a religion of humanity in which
individualism joined hands with brotherly love in a triumphant
march toward the goal of an all-embracing democracy. Some
curious attempts have been made to show that Whitman's ideas
are un-American. To me, at least, it seems quite plain both
his personality and his message spring directly from his Amer-
ican environment and could nowhere else have taken just the
form they did. Perhaps the most American thing about him
is the joyous optimism with which he attempts to master,
interpret, and spiritualize the vast surrounding materialism of
America.

The great struggle of the Civil War produced curiously
little permanent literature. Apart from a few fine lyrics, per-
haps the only lasting contributions of that age to our literature
are Lincoln's Gettysburg Oration, Lowell's Commemoration
Ode and Whitman's Drum Taps, Specimen Days and the
noble elegy on Lincoln, When Lilacs Last in the Doorway
Bloomed. The literature produced since the Civil War is too
varied, too large in bulk, and still too close to us to admit of
wide generalization or impartial judgment. One thing seems
tlear, however, that it contains only one figure of the first class,
he great humorist known and loved the world over under th/?

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 253

name of Mark Twain. Some years before his death I attempted
an appreciation of his work to which an editor prefixed the
title, Mark Twain — Made in America. No phrase could more
briefly and completely summarize the man and his work. He
was American to the finger tips in his naivete, his humor, his
prejudices, his optimism, and his prose style, as American as
Dickens, whom of all British writers he most closely resembles,
was English. His very Americanism, while it endeared him
to thousands of unsophisticated readers, went far to blind the
eyes of the professional critic who sought in literature only a
reflex of foreign models. It is too early as yet to affirm with
certainty how much of Twain will live, but I believe that in his
best work, Roughing It, Life on the Mississippi and the inim-
itable Huckleberry Finn, he has left us imperishable records of
American life along the great river and upon the plains and
mountains of the West.

A few words only are needed to summarize this brief review
of American literature. It is plain that in some of the highest
branches America has produced little or nothing. We have
made no contribution to the drama of the world ; we have no
epic of the settlement, of the Civil War, or of the conquest of
the West. Our best work has been done along lines indicated
by our earliest writers, the lyric, the short story, and the novel,
to which we should probably add the rhapsodies in prose and
verse of Emerson and Whitman. Imagination of the highest
creative type has been on the whole lacking; perfection of form
has been oftener obtained than is generally supposed. From
the beginning our literature has been marked by a didactic note.
Our writers, with but few exceptions, have cherished the desire
to instruct or to exhort. This is clearly apparent in our first
great author, Franklin, and is not altogether wanting in Mark
Twain. Twain himself realized this and like a true artist seems
to have regretted it: "Information appears to stew out of me
naturally," he says. "The more I calk up my sources and the
tighter I get the more I leak wisdom."

Closely connected with this note is the popular, not to say
the democratic character of American literature. It has little
of the esoteric. No American author has wished, like Milton,
for an audience "fit, though few." There is no literary caste
in this country for every American is at least a potential reader,

254 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

and it is to this not impossible everyman that our literature has
been addressed.

This intimate connection between writer and reader is
mainly responsible, I think, for the note of optimism so clearly
heard in American literature. Cheerful confidence in the future
has been from the beginning1 an American characteristic. Even
in these days of "muck-raking" when every cheap magazine
breaks out once a month with some fresh eruption of scandal,
there seems to be a general feeling that all will be well in the
end, that evils have only to be made known in order to be ended.
"Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished; whether it is in
accord with the teachings of history or not is another question.

Finally American literature, making again a few necessary
exceptions, has been realistic. Hampered as it has been by tra-
dition and convention it has none the less sought its themes at
home, not abroad, in the real present, not in the romantic past.
From Franklin to Mark Twain is a long distance, but the way
is filled with a series of works that picture the life of our coun-
trymen, give voice to their thoughts, and record their aspira-
tions. And if I may close where I began, I would repeat that
the main value and .chief interest of American literature con-
sists in the fact that it is a true reflection of American life.

CHAPTER I.
COLONIAL LITERATURE.

[DLONIAL AMERICA is divided historically into
two periods. The first beginning with the settle-
ment of Jamestown, Virginia, in 1607, ends with
the date of Bacon's Rebellion and King Philip's
War, in 1676. In those seventy years a section of the
English people snatched from country towns and busy
cities made new dwellings in a primitive and dangerous wilder-
ness, where they were home-sick and yearning to keep in touch
with absent friends; or, as in the case of the Puritans, in love
with their freedom, perilous as it was, and anxious to coax and
win others to try the dangers of the deep and of their environ-
ment, for sweet Liberty's sake. Naturally enough, their rec-
ords were, at first, in the form of letters, the daily happenings,
work, perils of the colonists, with accounts of strange fauna and
flora, and descriptions of that horrible man-monster, the Ameri-
can Indian. Yet Captain John Smith wrote a book called "The
True Relation of Virginia" (1608), enlarged later into "The
General History of Virginia," mostly a compilation, vigorously
colored with his own personality, and containing the rude germ
of the charming legend of Pocahontas. In the second period
Robert Berkeley wrote a "History of Virginia," published in
London in 1705, less personal, full of observation of plants,
animals and Indians, but not free from prejudice. The Vir-
ginians were churchmen and royalists, a wealthy, worldly,
cheerful, gaming, hunting, and often illiterate set. Still the
records of that colony, whether in letter, diary, or book, bear

255

256 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

the impress of their surroundings, and were directly valuable
in broadening and enriching the English literature of that day.

The Puritan colonies were theocracies, the mass of the
people being men of the middle class, mechanics and farmers.
But their leaders were clergymen, educated at the universities,
who, to use the language of Mather, "felt that without a college
these regions would have been mere unwatered places for the
devil." Harvard College was accordingly founded in 1638, and
a printing press set up in Cambridge in 1639, under the oversight
of the university authorities.

The first English book issued in America was a collection
of David's Psalms in metre, called "The Bay Psalm Book,"
and intended for singing in divine worship, public and private.
Ere long new writers employed the press, mostly divines,
famous and useful in their own congregations and town and
time, whose themes were the vanity of life, impending doom
and the immanence of sin ; their names form the lists in for-
gotten catalogues ; their books moulder in the dimness of attic
libraries, or on the shelves of octaogenarian bibliophiles.

A different personality does stand out in this first Puritan
period, that of Mrs. Anne Bradstreet, not because of the
beauty of her verse, as we judge poetry nowadays, but be-
cause of the sweet and powerful influence it exerted during a
long life, and by reason of the grief of her disciples, John Nor-
ton and John Rogers, who commenced the second colonial per-
iod of Puritan literature with graceful and mournful elegies on
her death.

This second period began in 1676, and ended with the early
struggles of the American Revolution. It contains such names
as that of Michael Wigglesworth, "the explicit and unshrinking
rhymer of the Five Points of Calvinism." The Puritan relig-
ion, as developed amid the hardships of the American wilder-
ness, became narrow, intense, and gloomy ; and these poems of
anguish and of the wrath of God, were read and studied with the
Bible and the Shorter Catechism.

The Mather family ruled intellectually in New England for
three generations, the greatest of the great name being Cotton
Mather, who was born in 1663, and died in 1728. He had an
enormous memory, enormous industry, and enormous vanity.
He was devout in all the minutise of life: poking the fire, wind-

Copyright by Underwood £ Underwood, N. Y.

OLD FAITHFUL — YELLOWSTONE.

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 257

ing the clock, putting out the candle, washing his hands, and
paring his nails, with appropriate religious texts and medita-
tions. He knew Hebrew, Latin, Greek, French, Spanish, and
one Indian tongue. He had the largest private library in Amer-
ica. He wrote many books, the names of some being as follows :
"Boanerges. A Short Essay to Strengthen the Impressions
Produced by Earthquakes;" "The Comforts of One Walking
Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death ;" "Ornaments for
the Daughters of Zion;" "The Peculiar Treasure of the Al-
mighty King Opened," etc. He also compiled the most famous
book produced by any American during the colonial time : "Mag-
nalia Christi Americana ; or, The Ecclesiastical History of New
England, from its first planting in the year 1620 unto the year
of Our Lord, 1698." It is a history of the settlement of New
England, with lives of its governors, magistrates and divines ; a
history of Harvard College and the churches ; an account of the
"Wars of the Lord," narrating the troubles of the New Eng-
landers with "the Devil, Separatists, Familists, Antinomians,
Quakers, clerical imposters, and Indians." It is an ill-digested
mass of personal reminiscences, social gossip, snatches of con-
versation, touches of description, traits of character and life, that
help us to paint for ourselves some living pictures of early New
England.

Jonathan Edwards, the most acute and original thinker yet
born in America, was graduated at Yale College in 1720, after
a marvellous boyhood of intense and rigid intellectual discipline.
As a student at college and afterwards as tutor there, his re-
searches and discoveries in science were so great that had he
not preferred theology he would have made a distinguished in-
vestigator in astronomy and physics. He was the pastor of a
church at Northampton until he was dismissed on account of
the strictness of his discipline, then missionary to the Indians
near Stockbridge, and in 1758 was called to be president of
Princeton College. As a man Jonathan Edwards was simple,
meek, spiritual, gentle, and disinterested ; as a metaphysician he
was acute, profound, and remorselessly logical ; as a theologian
he was the massive champion of John Calvin and all the rigors
of his creed.

There were many distinguished names in the various colo-
nies during the second period — governors, divines, lawyers, pro-

X— 17

THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

fessors, physicians, and college presidents. There were also
forty-three newspapers and magazines in Philadelphia, Boston,
and New York, together with the necessary and utilitarian al-
manac. But the only really renowned authors were Cotton
Mather and Jonathan Edwards, and they contributed to eccles-
iastical history and theology rather than to literature. Benja-
min Franklin, whose literary work began in this period, became
yet more distinguished in the next, and is reserved for later
treatment. But colonial history, as reproduced in letters, diar-
ies, and state and family records, and in Mather's book, has
been the great storehouse from which Hawthorne, Whittier, and
Longfellow drew the materials for their familiar romances, tales,
or verse, and has thus formed the sturdy foundations of a purely
American literature.

CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH.

No name is more indelibly impressed on the early history
of Virginia than that of the adventurous Captain John Smith
(1580-1631). He was a redoubtable warrior and experienced
navigator, who has told his own story in such a way as to excite
some doubts as to its truth. After abundance of adventures
in the East of Europe, he took part in the English attempt to
colonize Virginia. In exploring the country he was captured
by the Indians, and, as he asserted, was saved by the interces-
sion of Pocahontas. He was made president of the colony of
Jamestown, but in 1609 was obliged to return to England, hav-
ing been disabled by an explosion of gunpowder. Yet he after-
wards resumed his explorations and was made Admiral of New
England. Finally he settled down in his native land and wrote
a number of books describing Virginia and New England, and
reciting his own history. This humble successor of Sir Walter
Raleigh is favorably mentioned by Fuller among the worthies of
England.

AMERICAN LITERATURE:. 259

CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH'S CAPTIVITY.

SMITH'S "General History of Virginia, New England and the Summer
Isles" (1624), gives an account of voyages, discoveries and settlements
from 1584 to 1624. Book III., which was edited by the Rev. W. Simmonds,
D. D., from Smith's account, gives the following narrative. The spelling
is here modernized except in proper names.

But our comedies never endured long1 without a tragedy;
some idle exceptions being muttered against Captain Smith
for not discovering the head of Chickahamania River, and being
taxed by the Council [of the Virginia Company] to be too slow
in so worthy an attempt. The next voyage he proceeded so far
that with much labor by cutting of trees asunder he made his
passage ; but when his barge could pass no farther, he left her
in a broad bay, out of danger of shot, commanding none should
go ashore till his return : himself with two English and two sav-
ages went up higher in a canoe ; but he was not long absent, but
his men went ashore, whose want of government gave both occa-
sion and opportunity to the savages to surprise one George
Cassen, whom they slew, and much failed not to have cut off the
boat and all the rest.

Smith, little dreaming of that accident, being got to the
marshes at the river's head, twenty miles in the desert, had
his two men slain (as is supposed) sleeping by the canoe, whilst
himself by fowling sought them victual: who finding he was
beset with two hundred savages, two of them he slew, still de-
fending himself with the aid of a savage, his guide, whom he
bound to his arm with his garters, and used him as a buckler,
yet he was shot in his thigh a little, and had many arrows that
stuck in his clothes, but no great hurt, till at last they took him
prisoner.

When this news came to Jamestown, much was their sorrow
for his loss, few expecting what ensued.

Six. or seven weeks those barbarians kept him prisoner,
many strange triumphs and conjurations they made of him, yet
he so demeaned himself amongst them, as he not only diverted
them from surprising the Fort, but procured his own liberty,
and got himself and his company such estimation amongst them,
that those savages admired him more than their own Quiyouc-
kosucks.

260 THE WORLDS PROGRESS.

At last they brought him to Meronocomoco, where was
Powhatan their Emperor. Here more than two hundred of
those grim courtiers stood wondering at him, as he had been
a monster; till Powhatan and his train had put themselves in
their greatest braveries. Before a fire upon a seat like a bedstead,
he sat covered with a great robe, made of rarowcun [raccoon]
skins, and all the tails hanging by. On either hand did sit a
young wench of sixteen or eighteen years, and along on each
side the house, two rows of men, and behind them as many
women, with all their heads and shoulders painted red : many of
their heads bedecked with the white down of birds; but every
one with something : and a great chain of white beads about their
necks.

At his entrance before the king, all the people gave a great
shout. The Queen of Appamotuck was appointed to bring
him water to wash his hands, and another brought him a bunch
of feathers, instead of a towel, to dry them : having feasted him
after their best barbarous manner they could, a long consultation
was held, but the conclusion was, two great stones were brought
before Powhatan: then as many as could laid hands on him,
dragged him to them, and thereon laid his head, and being ready
with their clubs, to beat out his brains, Pocahontas, the King's
dearest daughter, when no entreaty could prevail, got his head
in her arms, and laid her own upon his to save him from death :
whereat the Emperor was contented he should live to make him
hatchets, and her bells, beads and copper ; for they thought him
as well of all occupations as themselves. For the King himself
will make his own robes, shoes, bows, arrows, pots ; plant, hunt,
or do anything so well as the rest.

They say he bore a pleasant show,

But sure his heart was sad,
For who can pleasant be, and rest,

That lives in fear and dread :
And having life suspected, doth

It still suspected lead?

Two days after, Powhatan having disguised himself in the
most fearfullest manner he could, caused Captain Smith to be
brought forth to a great house in the woods, and there upon a
mat by the fire to be left alone. Not long after from behind a

AMERICAN UV6RATURE. 261

mat that divided the house, was made the most dolefullest noise
he ever heard; then Powhatan more like a devil than a man,
with some two hundred more as black as himself, came unto him
and told him now they were friends, and presently he should go
to Jamestown, to send him two great guns, and a grindstone,
for which he would give him the country of Capahowosick, and
forever esteem him as his son Nantaquoud.

So to Jamestown, with twelve guides, Powhatan sent him.
That night they quartered in the woods, he still expecting (as
he had done all this long time of his imprisonment) every hour
to be put to one death or other : for all their feasting. But Al-
mighty God (by His divine providence) had mollified the hearts
of those stern barbarians with compassion. The next morning
betimes they came to the Fort, where Smith having used the
savages with what kindness he could, he showed Rawhunt, Pow-
hatan's trusty servant, two demi-culverins and a millstone to
carry [to] Powhatan : they found them somewhat too heavy ;
but when they did see him discharge them, being loaded with
stones, among the boughs of a great tree loaded with icicles,
the ice and branches came so tumbling down, that the poor
savages ran away half dead with fear. But at last we regained
some conference with them, and gave them such toys ; and sent
to Powhatan, his women, and children such presents, as gave
them in general full content.

NEW ENGLAND.

REV. WILLIAM MORELL, an English clergyman, spent a year or two
(1623)at Plymouth, and after his return wrote a Latin poem "Nova Anglia"
to which he added an English version. The opening contains the follow-
ing passage :

FEAR not, poor Muse, 'cause first to sing her fame
That's yet scarce known, unless by map or name ;
A grandchild to earth's Paradise is born,
Well limb'd, well nerv'd, fair, rich, sweet, yet forlorn.
, Thou blest director, so direct my verse
That it may win her people friends' commerce.
Whilst her sweet air, rich soil, blest seas, my pen
Shall blaze, and tell the natures of her men.
New England, happy in her new, true style,
Weary of her cause she's to sad exile

;2t)2 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

Exposed by hers unworthy of her land ;
Entreats with tears Great Britain to command
Her empire, and to make her know the time,
Whose act and knowledge only makes divine.
A royal work well worthy England's king,
These natives to true truth and grace to bring ;
A noble work for all these noble peers,
Which guide this State in their superior spheres.
You holy Aarons, let your censers ne'er
Cease burning till these men Jehovah fear.

MRS. ANNE BRADSTREET.

AMONG the earliest and therefore most honored verse
writers of New England was Mrs. Anne Bradstreet (1612-
1672). She was the daughter of Governor Thomas Dudley,
and her husband, Simon Bradstreet, also became Governor of
Massachusetts. When her poems were printed in London
in 1650, the publishers prefixed the title, "The Tenth Muse,
lately sprung up in America." They were didactic and medi-
tative, treating of the Four Elements, the Seasons of the Year,
and ended with a political dialogue between Old and New
England. An enlarged edition, published at Boston in 1678,
was superior to the first in literary merit. Mrs. Bradstreet
was the mother of eight children, whom she commemorated
in these homely lines :

I had eight birds hatcht in the nest;
Four cocks there were, and hens the rest
I nurst them up with pains and care,
Nor cost nor labor did I spare ;
Till at the last they felt their wing,
Mounted the trees, and learnt to sing.

AMERICAN LITERATURE.

A LOVE-LETTER TO HER HUSBAND.
PHCEBUS, make haste, the day's too long, begone,
The silent night's the fittest time for moan,
But stay this once unto my suit give ear,
And tell my griefs in either Hemisphere :
(And if the whirling of thy wheels don't drownd
The woful accents of my doleful sound),
If in thy swift career thou canst make stay,
I crave this boon, this errand by the way :
Commend me to the man more loved than life,
Show him the sorrows of his widow'd wife,

263

My dumpish thoughts, my groans, my brackish tears,

My sobs, my longing hopes, my doubting fears

And if he love, how can he there abide?

My interest's more than all the world beside.

He that can tell the stars or ocean sand,

Or all the grass that in the meads do stand,

The leaves in the woods, the hail or drops of rain,

Or in a cornfield number every grain,

Or every mote that in the sunshine hops,

May count my sighs and number all my drops.

Tell him, the countless steps that thou dost trace,

That once a day thy spouse thou may'st embrace ;

And when thou canst not treat by loving mouth.

Thy rays afar salute her from the south,

264 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

But for one month I see no day (poor soul),
Like those far situate under the pole,
Which day by day long wait for thy arise,
Oh, how they joy when thou dost light the skies !
O Phoebus, hadst thou but thus long from thine
Restrained the beams of thy beloved shrine,
At thy return, if so thou couldst or durst,
Behold a Chaos blacker than the first.
Tell him here's worse than a confused matter,
His little world's a fathom under water,
Nought but the fervor of his ardent beams,
Hath power to dry the torrent of these streams.
Tell him I would say more, but cannot well,
Oppressed minds abrupted tales do tell.
Now post with double speed, mark what I say,
By all our loves conjure him not to stay.

MICHAEL WIGGLESWORTH.

THIS "little feeble shadow of a man" was the pastor of
Meldon for about fifty years, though occasionally obliged by
physical weakness to suspend preaching. He died in 1705,
aged seventy-four. His poem "The Day of Doom," describing
the last judgment, remains a monument of the severest Puri-
tanical theology. Another of his poems "Meat out of the
Eater," is a series of meditations on afflictions as useful to
Christians. The following verses are given as an appendix to
the former poem.

A SONG OF EMPTINESS. — VANITY OF VANITIES.

VAIN, frail, short-lived, and miserable man,
Learn what thou art, when thy estate is best,

A restless wave o' th' troubled ocean,
A dream, a lifeless picture finely dressed.

A wind, a flower, a vapor and a bubble,

A wheel that stands not still, a trembling reed,

A trolling stone, dry dust, light chaff and stuff,
A shadow of something, but truly nought indeed.

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 265

Learn what deceitful toys, and empty things,
This world and all its best enjoyments be:

Out of the earth no true contentment springs,
But all things here are vexing vanity.

For what is beauty but a fading flower,

Or what is pleasure but the devil's bait,
Whereby he catcheth whom he would devour,

And multitudes of souls doth ruinate?

And what are friends, but mortal men as we,
Whom death from us may quickly separate?

Or else their hearts may quite estranged be,
And all their love be turned into hate.

And what are riches^ to be doated on ?

Uncertain, fickle, and ensnaring things;
They draw men's souls into perdition,

And when most needed, take them to their wings.

Ah, foolish man ! that sets his heart upon

Such empty shadows, such wild fowl as these,

That being gotten will be quickly gone,

And whilst they stay increase but his disease.

COTTON MATHER.

No family was more prominent in the ecclesiastical history
of New England than that of the Mathers. The non-con-
formist minister, Richard Mather, emigrated to Massachusetts
in 1635. His son, Increase Mather, for a time resided in
England, but returned to America and was made pastor of the
North Church, Boston. He was also president of Harvard
College and obtained from William III. a new charter for the
colony. Still more famous was his son Cotton Mather (1663-
1728), noted for his learning, industry and piety, yet full of
vanity. His fluency in writing was shown in the production
of nearly four hundred books. But his fatal delusion about
witchcraft has affixed an indelible stigma on his name. He
had written "Memorable Providences relating to Witchcraft"

•256 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

in 1685, and when the mania broke out in Salem in 16^2 he
eagerly promoted the agitation, and wrote his "Wonders of
the Invisible World," which was controverted by Robert
Calef's "More Wonders of the Invisible World," published
in London in 1700. When the witch-hunting epidemic
had passed away, it was found that Mather's reputation had
suffered. He was unable to obtain the object of his ambition,
the presidency of Harvard. His chief work, the ecclesiastical
history of New England, he called "Magnalia Christi Ameri-
cana."

BISHOP GEORGE BERKELEY.

AMERICA is indebted to Bishop Berkeley (1684-1753), not
only for his gracious prophecy of her future importance, but
for what he tried to do to bring about its fulfillment, though
his residence in America did not last three years. George
Berkeley, born near Kilkenny, Ireland, and educated at
Trinity College, Dublin, early manifested a strong predilection
for metaphysical speculation. His opposition to philosophic
materialism led him to use arguments so subtle that he was
popularly supposed to deny the existence of matter. But his
aim was rather to establish the doctrine that a continual ex-
ercise of creative power is implied in the world presented to
the senses. His views were set forth in a "Treatise on the
Principles of Human Knowledge" (1710), and in "Dialogues
between Hylas and Philonous" (1713). After publishing
these works Berkeley went to London, where he enjoyed the
society of the wits who gave literary fame to the reign of Queen
Anne. Then he spent some years in travel on the Continent.
After his return to Ireland he was made Dean of Derry, and
married the daughter of the Speaker of the Irish House of
Commons. Having received a bequest of nearly £4000 from
Miss Vanhomrigh, Dean Swift's "Vanessa," he offered to
devote his talents and fortune to the promotion of education
in America. Relying on the promises of the king and his
ministers, he crossed the ocean to found a college at Newport,
Rhode Island. During his residence here he meditated and
composed his "Alciphron, or the Minute Philosopher," a dia-
logue in defence of religion. Receiving no parliamentary
grant, he was obliged to return, but transferred the library of
880 volumes he had brought for his own use to Yale College^

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 267

where they had the startling effect of converting the president
to Episcopacy. Berkeley was made Bishop of Cloyne in 1734,
and held this position for nearly twenty years. Being subject
to fits of melancholia, he had recourse to the use of tar water.
This led to his writing "Siris, a Chain of Philosophical Reflec-
tions and Inquiries concerning the Virtues of Tar Water." He
died at Oxford, where he had removed six months before in
order to be near his son. This learned and liberal Irish clergy-
man was most warmly praised by his contemporaries, even the
satirist Pope ascribing to him "every virtue under heaven."

AMERICA.

(On the Prospect of Planting Arts and Learning in America, A. D. 1732.)
THE Muse, disgusted at an age and clime

Barren of every glorious theme,
In distant lands now waits a better time,
Producing subjects worthy fame.

In happy climes, where from the genial sun

And virgin earth such scenes ensue,
The force of art by nature seems outdone,

And fancied beauties by the true:

In happy climes, the seat of innocence,

Where nature guides and virtue rules;
Where men shall not impose for truth and sense

The pedantry of courts and schools,

There shall be sung another golden age,

The rise of empires and of arts,
The good and great, inspiring epic rage,

The wisest heads and noblest hearts.

Not such as Europe breeds in her decay,
Such as she bred when fresh and young,

When heavenly flame did animate her clay,
By future poets shall be sung.

Westward the course of empire takes its way;

The four first acts already past,
A fifth shall close the drama with the day —

Time's noblest offspring is the last.

From 1765-1800.

'ROM the first English settlement in America,
problems of government had occupied the col-
onists. In the cabin of the Mayflower the
Pilgrim Fathers formed themselves into a body
politic by a solemn compact. In several of the
colonies constitutions were framed, which afterwards
served as models for those of the States and of the Federal
Government. In their town meetings, provisional assemblies
and legislatures the people and their representatives discussed
the fundamental principles of government. These earnest
Christians found in the Bible directions for public affairs as
well as for private conduct, and gladly adopted the Laws of
Moses as far as they seemed applicable. In New England
the people sympathized with the Parliament in its resistance
to the arbitrary exercise of power by the Stuart kings. The
same struggle was repeated on a smaller scale in the colonies
when the assemblies sought to curb the royal and proprietary
governors.

When George III. and his subservient Parliament sought
to shift part of the burdens of the mother country on the
colonies, now showing some degree of prosperity, they were
amazed at the steadfast resistance of the Americans, who had
become accustomed to regulate their public affairs. The
colonies had been drawn closer together during the war with
the French and Indians, and now made common cause against
British injustice. Political discussion took the place that had
once been occupied by theological controversy. Liberty and
Union were the favorite themes of speakers and writers.

268

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 269

They produced the brilliant oratory of Patrick Henry, the
state papers of Jefferson and Dickinson, and the elaborate
defense of the new constitution by Hamilton and Madison.
Most of these writings, admirable as they are in style and
valuable as historical documents, lie outside of the domain of
literature proper. But the progress of the Revolution was
enlivened by satires and burlesques, and diversified by occa-
sional poems. The careful student will note that the literary
attempts of America closely corresponded to the style then
prevailing in England, despite some attempts to give a native
smack in words or facts.

Though Benjamin Franklin was a conspicuous actor in
the public events of this period, his literary activity belonged
rather to the earlier colonial time, yet his interesting "Auto-
biography" and his witty letters were written during his resi-
dence in France. Of the outburst of oratory which preceded
the Revolution much has perished. Even the speeches on
which rest the fame of James Otis and Patrick Henry and
John Adams, were reconstructed by later writers from vague
traditions. The "Pennsylvania Farmer's Letters," by John
Dickinson, and the stirring pamphlet, "The Crisis," by
Thomas Paine, stimulated the patriotism of the colonists. The
satires of John Trumbull and the ballads of Francis Hopkinson
gave zest to the Whigs and threw contempt on the Tories.
The best poet of the period was the fluent Philip Freneau,
who wrote odes, hymns, satires and ballads. Most of these
writers continued to use the press after the national independ-
ence was acknowledged and the Federal government fully
established. The Federalist was a series of essays by Hamilton,
Madison and Jay, intended to explain and commend the pro-
posed constitution to the people of New York for ratification.
So ably were they written that they have since maintained
their place as a valuable exposition of the aims and intentions
of the founders of the Republic.

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. VX^ ~~ ID

THE public career and private life of Benjamin Franklin
(1706-1790) are familiar throughout Europe as well as Amer-
ica. The early part is charmingly recorded with characteris-
tic frankness in his entertaining "Autobiography," and later
writers have taken pleasure in narrating the whole fully in
various biographies. This work is concerned not with his
honorable achievements as statesman and diplomatist, nor
with his public-spirited activity as a citizen, nor with his dis-
coveries in science and their practical applications to human
convenience, but with his modest contributions to literature.

Benjamin Franklin, the youngest son in the large family
of a Boston tallow-chandler, read every book he could lay his
hands on, using for that purpose his infrequent leisure, and
even his time of sleep. Early employed in his brother's print-
ing-office, he began to write for the press. Subsequently, in
Philadelphia, in his own paper, The Pennsylvania Gazette,
he wrote articles month after month and year after year,
notable for their clear and sprightly style, and their
sentiments of liberality and good will. One of his jocular
efforts is the "Drinker's Dictionary," a catalogue of slang
words expressive of intoxication, of which some sound strangely
modern and familiar, as rocky, jag, and the like.

In December, 1732, appeared the first issue of "The Penn-
sylvania Almanac, by Richard Saunders," afterwards known
as "Poor Richard." It was full of humor, from the announc-
ing advertisement, the exquisite fooling of the annual pre-
face, the statements of eclipses and forecasts of the weather,
to the verses and proverbs, inculcating industry and economy.

270

AMERICAN LITERATURE.

Some of the wisdom of "Poor Richard" is borrowed from
Bacon, Rochefoucauld, and others; but most of it is the
expression of Franklin's own shrewd, homely sense reduced
to saws. For twenty-five years the annual sale of "Poor
Richard" was not less than ten thousand copies. It was quoted
all over the colonies, reprinted in England, and translated into
French, Spanish, and even into modern Greek.

In 1741 Franklin founded the first literary periodical in
America. It was called The General Magazine and Histor-
ical Chronicle for all the British Provinces in America. It
lasted but six months, and is interesting only as marking a
new development in this country.

When Franklin went to England in 1757 as agent for the
colony, he made use of the press as before, and often wrote
under an assumed name. An essay of his, published in the
Annual Register, London, in 1760, and entitled, "Extract
from a Piece written in Pennsylvania," gave Adam Smith
arguments which he reproduced in his "Wealth of Nations."
So likewise an important pamphlet, entitled, "The Interests
of Great Britain Considered with regard to her Colonies and
the Acquisition of Canada and Guadaloupe," had considerable
influence on the policy of England, and helped to secure for
that country the possession of Canada.

Franklin was deeply outraged by the fact that the English
officers employed savages during the progress of the Revolu-
tionary War, and while in Paris, in order to bring the horrors
of Indian warfare home to the minds of the rulers of England
he published what purported to be the supplement of a Boston
newspaper, with all Defoe's minuteness of statement. This
"Extract of a letter from Captain Gerrish of the New Eng-
land Militia" contained an account of eight packs of scalps,
taken from the inhabitants of the frontier colonies, "cured,
dried, hooped, and painted, with all the Indian triumphal
marks," and sent as a present to the Governor of Canada, to
be by him transmitted to England. This hoax was widely
scattered, and was soon quoted as a description of facts.

While in Paris, too, Franklin wrote to Madame Brillon
his well known story of "Paying too dear for the Whistle," and
the trifles— "Ephemera," "The Petition of the Left Hand,"
"The Handsome and Deformed Leg," "Morals of Chess," and

272 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

the "Dialogue between Franklin and the Gout ;" together with
the celebrated "Letter to Madame Helvetius."

Franklin corresponded with the most learned men of his
day, and all of his scientific discoveries were communicated
in letters. These have been collected and published, together
with his short, frank, and extremely interesting "Autobi-
ography." When he left his father's home, he abandoned
Puritanism in creed and conduct. He accepted the free-think-
ing tone then popular in England as well as France, yet he
easily accommodated himself to the conventionalities of the
society in which he lived.

Franklin's passion was a love of the useful. He brought
to every subject — the homely business of the day, a scientific
theory, or the tragic severance of a nation from its mother
country — that clear sense which, stripping every proposition
of disguising entanglements, revealed the naked ultimate for
all to see and pass judgment upon. He had a luminous person-
ality and a humorous tongue. Much of his power arose from
an unfailing courtesy which chose to persuade rather than
dominate.

Franklin's name was signed to four of the most important
documents of American history — the Declaration of Inde-
pendence, the Treaty of Alliance with France, the Treaty of
Peace with Great Britain, the Federal Constitution.

For fifty years, on two Continents, social, scientific and
political thought felt the impact of his shrewd and tolerant
spirit. Count Mirabeau announced Franklin's death to the
French nation in the following significant words : "The genius
which has freed America and poured a flood of light over
Europe, has returned to the bosom of Divinity."

POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC.

(From his "Autobiography.")

IN 1732 [at the age of twenty-seven] I first published my
Almanac, under the name of "Richard Saunders." It was
continued by me about twenty-five years, and commonly called
Poor Richard's Almanac. I endeavored to make it both enter-
taining and useful; and it accordingly came to be in such
demand that I reaped considerable profit from it, vending

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 273

annually Tiear ten thousand. And observing that it was gen-
erally read — scarce any neighborhood in the Province being
without it — I considered it a proper vehicle for conveying
instruction among the common people, who bought scarcely
any other books. I therefore filled all the little spaces that
occurred between the remarkable days in the Calendar with
proverbial sentences, chiefly such as inculcated industry and
frugality as the means of procuring wealth, and thereby secur-
ing virtue ; it being more difficult for a man in want to always
act honestly, as, to use here one of those proverbs, "It is hard
for an empty sack to stand upright."

These proverbs, which contained the wisdom of many ages
and nations, I assembled and formed into a connected discourse
prefixed to the Almanac of 1757, as the harangue of a wise old
man to the people attending an auction. The bringing of all
these scattered counsels thus into a focus enabled them to
make greater impression. The piece being universally approved
was copied in all the newspapers of the American continent,
reprinted in Britain on a large sheet of paper to be stuck up
in houses. Two translations were made of it in France; and
great numbers of it were bought by the clergy and gentry, to
distribute gratis among their poor parishioners and tenants.
In Pennsylvania, as it discouraged useless expense in foreign
superfluities, some thought it had its share of influence in
producing that growing plenty of money which was observable
several years after its publication.

THE WAY TO WEALTH.
(From "Poor Richard's Almanac.")

COURTEOUS reader, I have heard that nothing gives an
author so great pleasure as to find his works respectfully
quoted by others. Judge, then, how much I must have been grati-
fied by an incident I am going to relate to you. I stopped
my horse lately where a great number of people were col-
lected at an auction of merchants' goods. The hour of the
sale not being come, they were conversing on the badness of
the times; and one of the company called to a plain, clean
old man, with white locks; — "Pray, Father Abraham, what
think you of the times? Will not these heavy taxes quite

X— 18

274 THE WORLDS PROGRESS.

ruin the country? How shall we ever be able to pay them?
What would you advise us to?" Father Abraham stood up
and replied, "If you would have my advice, I will give it you
in short ; for A word to the wise is enough, as Poor Richard
says." They joined in desiring- him to speak his mind, and,
gathering round him, he proceeded as follows :

"Friends," said he, "the taxes are indeed very heavy, and,
if those laid on by the government were the only ones we had
to pay, we might more easily discharge them; but we have
many others, and much more grievous to some of us. We are
taxed twice as much by our idleness, three times as much
by our pride, and four times as much by our folly; and from
these taxes the commissioners cannot ease or deliver us, by
allowing an abatement. However, let us harken to good ad-
vice, and something may be done for us; God helps them that
help themselves, as Poor Richard says.

"It would be thought a hard government that should tax
its people one-tenth part of their time, to be employed in its
service; but idleness taxes many of us much more; sloth, by
bringing on diseases, absolutely shortens life. Sloth, like rust,
consumes faster than labor wears; while the used key is always
bright, as Poor Richard says. But dost thou love life? Then do
not squander time, for that is the stuff life is made of, as Poor
Richard says. How much more than is necessary do we spend
in sleep, forgetting that The sleeping fox catches no poultry,
and that There will be sleeping enough in the grave, as Poor
Richard says.

"If time be of all things the 'most precious, westing time
must be, as Poor Richard says, the greatest prodigality; since,
as he elsewhere tells us, Lost time is never found again; and
what we call time enough always proves little enough. Let
us then up and be doing, and doing to the purpose; so by
diligence shall we do more with less perplexity.

"But with our industry we must likewise be steady, set-
tled and careful, and oversee our own affairs, with our own
eyes, and not trust too much to others; for, Three removes
are as bad as a fire; and again, Keep thy shop, and thy shop
will keep thee; and again, // you would have your business
done, go; if not, send.

"So much for industry, my friends, and attention to one's

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 275

own business ; but to these we must add frugality, if we would
make our industry more certainly successful. A man may, if
he knows not how to save as he gets, keep his nose all his life
to the grindstone, and die not worth a groat at last. A fat
kitchen makes a lean will.

"Away, then, with your expensive follies, and you will
not then have so much cause to complain of hard times, heavy
taxes, and chargeable families.

"And further, What maintains one vice would bring up
two children. You may think, perhaps, that a little tea or a
little punch now and then, diet a little more costly, clothes a
little finer, and a little entertainment now and then, can be
no great matter ; but remember, Many a little makes a mickle.
Beware of little expenses: A small leak will sink a great
ship, as Poor Richard says; and again, Who dainties love,
shall beggars prove; and moreover, Fools make feasts, and
wise men eat them.

"Here you are all got together at this sale of fineries and
knickknacks. You call them goods; but, if you do not take
care, they will prove evils to some of you. You expect they
will be sold cheap, and perhaps they may for less than they
cost ; but, if you have no occasion for them, they must be dear
to you. Remember what Poor Richard says : Buy what thou
hast no need of, and ere long thou shalt sell thy necessaries.
And again, At a great pennyworth pause a while. He means,
that perhaps the cheapness is apparent only, and not real; or
the bargain, by straitening thee in thy business, may do thee
more harm than good. For in another place he says, Many
have been ruined by buying good pennyworths. Again, It is
foolish to lay out money in a purchase of repentance; and yet
this folly is practised every day at auctions, for want of mind-
ing the Almanac. Many a one, for the sake of finery on the
back, have gone with a hungry belly and half-starved their
families. Silks and satins, scarlet and velvets, put out the
kitchen fire, as Poor Richard says.

"But what madness must it be to run in debt for these
superfluities! We are offered, by the terms of this sale, six
months' credit; and that, perhaps, has induced some of us to
attend it, because we cannot spare the ready money, and hope
now to be fine without it. But, ah ! think what you do when

276 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

you run in debt ; you give to another power over your liberty.
If you cannot pay at the time, you will be ashamed to see your
creditor ; you will be in fear when you speak to him ; you will
make poor, pitiful, sneaking excuses; and, by degrees, come to
lose your veracity, and sink into base, downright lying; for
The second vice is lying, the -first is running in debt, as Poor
Richard says; and again, to the same purpose, Lying rides upon
Debt's back; whereas a free-born Englishman ought not to be
ashamed nor afraid to see or speak to any man living. But
poverty often deprives a man of all spirit and virtue. It is hard
for an empty bag to stand upright.

"What would you think of that prince, or of that govern-
ment, who should issue an edict forbidding you to dress like
a gentleman or gentlewoman, on pain of imprisonment or servi-
tude ? Would you not say that you were free, have a right to
dress as you please, and that such an edict would be a breach
of your privileges, and such a government tyrannical? And
yet you are about to put yourself under such tyranny, when you
run in debt for such dress! Your creditor has authority, at
his pleasure, to deprive you of your liberty, by confining you in
jail till you shall be able to pay him. When you have got your
bargain, you may perhaps think little of payment ; but, as Poor
Richard says, Creditors have better memories 'than debtors;
creditors are a superstitious sect, great observers of set days and
times. The day comes round before you are aware, and the de-
mand is made before you are prepared to satisfy it ; or, if you
bear your debt in mind, the term, which at first seemed so long,
will, as it lessens, appear extremely short. Time will seem to
have added wings to his heels as well as his shoulders. Those
have a short Lent, who owe money to be paid at Easter. At
present, perhaps, you may think yourselves in thriving circum-
stances, and that you can bear a little extravagance without in-
jury; but,

For age and want save while you may;
No morning sun lasts a whole day.

Gain may be temporary and uncertain, but ever, while you live,
expense is constant and certain; and It is easier to build two
chimneys, than to keep one in fuel, as Poor Richard says ; so,
Rather go to bed supperless, than rise in debt.

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 277

''This doctrine, my friends, is reason and wisdom; but,
after all, do not depend too much upon your own industiy, and
frugality, and prudence, though excellent things ; for they may
all be blasted, without the blessing of Heaven ; and, therefore,
ask that blessing humbly, and be not uncharitable to those that
at present seem to want it, but comfort and help them. Re-
member, Job suffered, and was afterwards prosperous."

Thus the old gentleman ended his harangue. I resolved to
be the better for it ; and though I had at first determined to buy
stuff for a new coat, I went away resolved to wear my old one
a little longer. Reader, if thou wilt do the same, thy profit will
be as great as mine. I am, as ever, thine to serve thee,

RICHARD SAUNDERS.

TURNING THE GRINDSTONE.

WHEN I was a little boy, I remember, one cold winter's
morning, I was accosted by a smiling man with an axe on his
shoulder. "My pretty boy," said he, "has your father a grind-
stone?" "Yes, sir," said I. "You are a fine little fellow,"
said he ; "will you let me grind my axe on it ?" Pleased with
the compliment of "fine little fellow," "Oh yes, sir," I answered :
"it is down in the shop." "And will you, my man," said he,
patting me on the head, "get me a little hot water?" How
could I refuse? I ran, and soon brought a kettleful. "How
old are you? and what's your name?" continued he, without
waiting for a reply : "I am sure you are one of the finest lads
that ever I have seen : will you just turn a few minutes for me?"

Tickled with the flattery, like a little fool, I went to work,
and bitterly did I rue the day. It was a new axe, and I toiled
and tugged till I was almost tired to death. The school-bell
rang, and I could not get away ; my hands were blistered, and
the axe was not half ground. At length, however, it was sharp-
ened ; and the man turned to me with, "Now, you little rascal,
you've played truant : scud to the school, or you'll rue it !"
"Alas!" thought I, "it is hard enough to turn a grindstone this
cold day ; but now to be called a little rascal is too much."

It sank deep in my mind; and often have I thought of it
since. When I see a merchant over-polite to his customers, —
begging them to take a little brandy, and throwing his goods

278

THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

on the counter, — thinks I, That man has an axe to grind. When
I see a man flattering the people, making great professions of
attachment to liberty, who is in private life a tyrant, methinks,
Look out, good people ! that fellow would set you turning grind-
stones. When I see a man hoisted into office by party spirit,
without a single qualification to render him either respectable
or useful, — alas! methinks, deluded people, you are doomed
for a season to turn the grindstone for a booby.

AN AMERICAN CAMPUS.

NINETEENTH CENTURY
LITERATURE

CHAPTER II.

GENERAL, SURVEY; IRVING.

MERICAN literature could not properly exist until
the American nation had entered on its independ-
ent career. During the colonial period the people
were occupied in subduing the wilderness and
adapting themselves to new conditions of life. Few
but the scholarly preachers of the gospel had in-
clination or leisure for writing, and the chief printed produc-
tions of the times were religious and theological. For books
of other kinds the people looked to the mother country.
In the Revolutionary period questions of human rights and
government were urgent and drew forth treatises of marked
ability. Yet there were some evidences of literary activity in
other directions. Newspapers, now struggling into existence,
furnished a ready means for circulating satires and occasional
verses.

With the beginning of the new century the turbulence of
war had ceased, a stable government was formed, and the minds
of Americans were turned from their former dependence on
the writers of England. There came an original tone of
thought, a deep reflection on the new aspects of the world, a
wholesome independence of mind. For a time Philadelphia
seemed likely to become the literary centre, as it was the cap-
ital, of the nation. Charles Brockden Brown was the first
American novelist, and Joseph Dennie, the editor of the Port-
folio, was hailed as the American Addison, but his writings are
now forgotten. Philadelphia continued to be the place of pub-
lication even for New England authors, and Graham's Magazine

27Q

280 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

was the medium through which Longfellow ^.nd others reached
the public.

But the pioneers of the new era of American literature be-
longed to New York, if not by birth, by choice of residence.
Three men stand forth as representatives of this class — Irving,
Cooper and Bryant. Widely different in their nature and train-
ing, as in their finished work, they were yet all distinctively
American. The cheerful Irving began as a playful satirist and
delineator of oddities, and became a skillful sketcher of the
pleasant features of merry England and picturesque Spain, as
well as of his beloved Hudson. In much of his work he exhibits
the contrast of the past with the present, producing sometimes
humorous, and sometimes pathetic scenes. Cooper belonged
to that lake region of New York where the Indians and whites
came into closest contact and unequal conflict. He revealed
to Europe the romance of the American forest. Again, as an
officer in the navy, he acquired such familiarity with sea-life,
as to make him the foremost sea-novelist of the language. Ex-
cellent in description and well furnished with material, he yet
rated his own abilities too highly, and wrote much which may
readily be ignored. Bryant early displayed his power as a
meditative poet on nature, but the duties of active life sum-
moned him to quite different work in New York City. As
editor of a daily newspaper, he battled strenuously and honor-
ably for righteousness until in old age he received the loving
veneration of his fellow-citizens. But in literature he remains
the author of "Thanatopsis" and a translator of Homer.

The influence of Harvard College as a promoter of learn-
ing tended to give Boston a supremacy in literature. Here the
North American Review was early established, and the study
of German and other foreign literatures was promoted. The
Unitarian movement, apart from its theological effects, had a
distinct uplifting effect on American culture. Channing and
Emerson, Longfellow and Lowell, assisted, each in his own
way, in broadening and elevating the minds of their country-
men. As an outgrowth of this humanitarian tendency came
the anti-slavery movement, which stirred some of these writers
to passionate outbursts, but could not draw them from their
literary pursuits. At a later period, the civil war left a more
lasting- impression on their characters and work, yet when it

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 281

had passed, the survivors made still nobler contributions to lit-
erature. Whittier, the Quaker poet and anti-slavery lyrist,
wrote the most popular ballad of the war, and afterwards showed
his best art in peaceful themes. So also Mrs. Harriet Beecher
Stowe was able to present the wrongs of slavery in a popular
romance, and thus urge on the war, yet later contented herself
with mild pictures of domestic life. Apart from most of the
foregoing, and by a method peculiarly his own, Hawthorne
studied the spiritual facts of New England life, and unveiled
its mysteries and romance. Others more quickly won recog-
nition; his subtler genius required longer time for correct ap-
preciation. Gradually his true worth has been discerned, and
now he is acknowledged to be the chief representative of Amer-
ican romance.

In remarkable contrast with Hawthorne in life and char-
acter and work stands the brilliantly gifted, but miserably un-
fortunate, Edgar A. Poe. He not only proved himself the
greatest metrical artist of the English language, weaving words
into music at his pleasure, but he was the skillful producer of
weird romances and cunningly devised tales, usually gloomy
and terrible, sometimes extravagant. His erratic course and
untimely death have drawn the pity of the world. His melodi-
ous verses have been models for Tennyson and Swinburne, as
well as French poets. W. G. Simms was the prolific romanticist
of the South, seeking to rival Cooper in the delineation of the
Indians, and in reproducing the Revolutionary scenes of his
native State. John P. Kennedy wrote also a novel of the Rev-
olution, and sketched country life in Virginia.

Of American poets Longfellow has been the most popular,
partly from his choice of subjects easily understood by all,
and partly from his artistic treatment of them. His sympa-
thetic heart and his generous culture have enabled him to give
adequate expression to the common human emotions.

Lowell is distinctly the most cultured of American poets,
and has excelled as essayist and critic. Yet he has not reached
the popularity of Longfellow or Whittier, and is perhaps most
widely known as a humorist and writer of Yankee dialect. In
his later years he was a noble representative of America in for-
eign courts.

Dr. O. W. Holmes was noted as a skillful writer of occa-

282 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

sional verses before his peculiar merits as a prose-writer were
displayed in the Atlantic Monthly. Here his "Autocrat of
the Breakfast-Table" was a brilliant combination of humor,
satire and scholarship, and interspersed were some of his best
poems. He was devoted to Boston, which he celebrated as
"the hub of the solar system."

The size of the present work has not afforded sufficient room
for the adequate treatment of history and historians. But the
work of Americans in this department must at least be men-
tioned, as they -have attained special fame and are truly repre-
sentative of the country. William H. Prescott (1796-1859),
in spite of the affliction of blindness, devoted his life to histori-
cal studies, and produced standard works on the history of
Spain, Mexico, and Peru. Written in a stately and dignified
style, they have stood the test of time and the investigation of
later students. George Bancroft (1800-1891), after studying
in German universities and teaching a classical school in Mas-
sachusetts, undertook to prepare an exhaustive history of the
United States down to the adoption of the Constitution. The
many public positions, which he held, partly helped and partly
hindered the completion of his great work. Almost fifty years
elapsed before the twelfth and final volume appeared. While
the whole forms a lasting monument to the author's industry,
its very length has prevented it from attaining the highest suc-
cess.

Most successful in securing popular attention and applause
was John Lothrop Motley (1814-77), who, after ten years of
patient research, published in 1856, "The Rise and Fall of the
Dutch Republic." Other works connected with the history of
the Netherlands occupied his later years, except so far as he was
engaged in diplomatic service. His thorough mastery of his
subject and his power of pictorial presentation of the past make
vivid the men and events of a critical period in European his-
tory.

WASHINGTON IRVING.

WASHINGTON IRVING was born in New York City in 1783
and died in 1859, at tne aSe °f seventy-six. His books are
still so popular, and in feeling so modern, that it is hard to
realize that his birth immediately followed the close of the
Revolution, and that he did not see even the beginnings of the
present generation. To read some of his stories, one might
think they were written yesterday — were there any one com-
petent to write them.

He was the son of a rigid Scotch Presbyterian and of a
gentle English woman ; his childhood and youth were delicate,
but his enjoyment of life was unfailing, and the indulgence
which he always received never hurt him. His aspect and
manners were refined, graceful and charming; by organization
he was an aristocrat, though he was democratic in intention.
At the outset of his career he amused himself in society, and
satirized it in good-natured sketches in the Spectator vein, as
the pages of the brilliant but short-lived Salmagundi still bear
witness. His first important work was the famous "Knicker-
bocker's History of New York," a permanent piece of humor,
the fairy godchild, so to say, of Rabelais and Swift. The
author went to Europe for a pleasure trip. In the midst of his
social successes in London the firm with which he was connected
failed, and he turned to literature, which hitherto had been the
diversion of his leisure, as the means of livelihood. In 1819,
Washington, then six-and-thirty, sat seriously down and pro-
duced the book of tales called "The Sketch Book," containing
that "primal story" — "Rip Van Winkle." His success was
immediate, great and lasting; but he was too modest to admit
that it could be fully deserved. He remained alone in that
opinion ; his work was like himself, and, like himself, was nearly

283

284 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

perfect in its degree. During the forty remaining years of his
life he continued to delight his contemporaries and build up his
fortunes with imaginative and historical work, much of it with
a Spanish background. From 1826 to 1829 he lived in Spain
writing "The Alahambra," the "Life of Columbus," and other
books. In the latter year he returned to London as secretary
of legation ; but two years later homesickness brought him back
to New York and he fixed his residence at Sunnyside. During
the next ten years he wrote five volumes on American and
English subjects, of which the collection of tales, "Wolfert's
Roost," is the best known. In 1842 he was appointed Amer-
ican Minister to Spain, and the duties of his office chiefly occu-
pied him during his four years' sojourn at Madrid. On his
return home he began the "Life of Washington," which was the
chief work of his declining life, the last volume appearing in
the year of his death.

Irving's personal character and history were as delightful
as are his works. His mental constitution was serene and har-
monious ; nothing was in excess ; he was at peace with himself
and optimistic towards the world ; he had no theories to venti-
late, and was averse to contentions and strife of every kind.
The easy amiability of his nature and his strong social tenden-
cies might have formed an element of weakness, had he not
been assailed and strengthened by bereavement and misfortune,
which developed the man in him. The girl to whom he was
betrothed died, and he lived a bachelor all his life. Irving was
manly with men ; with women, refined and chivalrous ; and sin-
cere and sane in literature. He regarded his species with a
humorous tenderness ; saw the good and slighted the evil in life;
hence sunshine, abiding, but not intense, radiates from all he
wrote.

Altogether nearly a third of Irving's life was passed abroad,
where he was as much loved and appreciated as here. But no
more patriotic American lived than he. In him the human
and the literary instincts made a rounded whole. His style is
clear, easy and flexible ; his standpoint, tranquil ; his humor, ever
smiling; his pathos, true; his sentiment, sometimes thin, but
never sickly. The generous impulses and moral beauty of his
character warm and vitalize his work. So long as taste, re-
pose, and simplicity please the mind, Irving's contribution to
our literature will be remembered and valued.

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 285

DEATH OF PETER STUYVESANT.

(From "Knickerbocker's History of New York.")

IN process of time, the old governor, like all other children
of mortality, began to exhibit tokens of decay. Like an aged
oak, which, though it long has braved the fury of the elements,
and still retains its gigantic proportions, yet begins to shake
and groan with every blast — so was it with the gallant Peter;
for, though he still bore the port and semblance of what he was
in the days of his hardihood and chivalry, yet did age and infir-
mity begin to sap the vigor of his frame — but his heart, that
most unconquerable citadel, still triumphed unsubdued. With
matchless avidity would he listen to every article of intelligence
concerning the battles between the English and Dutch — still
would his pulse beat high whenever he heard of the victories of
De Ruyter — and his countenance lower, and his eyebrows knit,
when fortune turned in favor of the English. At length, as
on a certain day he had just smoked his fifth pipe, and was
napping after dinner in his arm-chair, conquering the whole
British nation in his dreams, he was suddenly aroused by a
fearful ringing of bells, rattling of drums, and roaring of can-
non, that put all his blood in a ferment. But when he learnt
that these rejoicings were in honor of a great victory obtained
by the combined English and French fleets over the brave De
Ruyter and the younger Von Tromp, it went so much to his
heart that he took to his bed, and in less than three days was
brought to death's door by a violent cholera morbus! But,
even in this extremity, he still displayed the unconquerable
spirit of Peter the Headstrong; holding out to the last gasp
with the most inflexible obstinacy against the whole army of old
women, who were bent upon driving the enemy out of his
bowels, after a true Dutch mode of defence, by inundating the
seat of war with catnip and pennyroyal.

While he thus lay, lingering on the verge of dissolution,
news was brought to him that the brave De Ruyter had suffered
but little loss — had made good his retreat — and meant once
more to meet the enemy in battle. The closing eye of the old
warrior kindled at the words — he partly raised himself in bed — «
a flash of martial fire beamed across his visage — he clinched his
withered hand, as if he felt within his gripe that sword which

286 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

waved in triumph before the walls of Fort Christina, and, giv-
ing a grim smile of exultation, sunk back upon his pillow and
expired.

Thus died Peter Stuyvesant, a valiant soldier — a loyal sub-
ject— an upright governor, and an honest Dutchman — who
wanted only a few empires to desolate to have been immortal-
ized as a hero !

His funeral obsequies were celebrated with the utmost gran-
deur and solemnity. The town was perfectly emptied of its
inhabitants, who crowded in throngs to pay the last sad honors
to their good old governor. All his sterling qualities rushed in
full tide upon their recollections, while the memory of his foibles
and his faults had expired with him. The ancient burghers
contended who should have the privilege of bearing the pall ; the
populace strove who should walk nearest to the bier — and the
melancholy procession was closed by a number of gray-headed
negroes, who had wintered and summered in the household of
their departed master for the greater part of a century.

With sad and gloomy countenances the multitude gathered
around the grave. They dwelt with mournful hearts on the
sturdy virtues, the signal services, and the gallant exploits of
the brave old worthy. They recalled with secret upbraidings
their own factious opposition to his government — and many an
ancient burgher, whose phlegmatic features had never been
known to relax, nor his eyes to moisten — was now observed to
puff a pensive pipe, and the big drop to steal down his cheek —
while he muttered with affectionate accent and melancholy shake
of the head — "Well den ! — Hardkoppig Peter ben gone at last !"

RIP VAN WINKLE.

WHOEVER has made a voyage up the Hudson must remem-
ber the Kaatskill Mountains. They are a dismembered branch
of the great Appalachian family, and are seen away to the west
of the river, swelling up to a noble height, and lording it over
the surrounding country. Every change of season, every change
of weather, indeed every hour of the day, produces some change
in the magical hues and shapes of these mountains, and they
are regarded by all the good wives, far and near, as perfect
barometers. When the weather is fair and settled, they are

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 287'

clothed in blue and purple, and print their bold outlines on the
clear evening sky; but sometimes, when the rest of the land-
scape is cloudless, they will gather a hood of gray vapors about
their summits, which, in the last rays of the setting sun, will
glow and light up like a crown of glory.

At the foot of these fairy mountains the voyager may have
descried the light smoke curling up from a village, whose
shingle-roofs gleam among the trees, just where the blue tints
of the upland melt away into the fresh green of the nearer
landscape. It is a little village of great antiquity, having been
founded by some of the Dutch colonists in the early times of
the province, just about the beginning of the government of
the good Peter Stuyvesant (may he rest in peace!), and there
were some of the houses of the original settlers standing within
a few years, built of small yellow bricks brought from Holland,
having latticed windows and gable fronts, surmounted with
weathercocks.

In that same village, and in one of these very houses,
(which, to tell the precise truth, was sadly time-worn and
weather-beaten,) there lived many years since, while the coun-
try was yet a province of Great Britain, a simple, good-natured
fellow, of the name of Rip Van Winkle. He was a descendant
of the Van Winkles who figured so gallantly in the chivalrous
days of Peter Stuyvesant, and accompanied him to the siege
of Fort Christina. He inherited, however, but little of the
martial character of his ancestors. I have observed that he
was a simple, good-natured man; he was, moreover, a kind
neighbor, and an obedient henpecked husband. Indeed, to the
latter circumstance might be owing that meekness of spirit which
gained him such universal popularity; for those men are most
apt to be obsequious and conciliating abroad, who are under
the discipline of shrews at home. Their tempers, doubtless,
are rendered pliant and malleable in the fiery furnace of domes-
tic tribulation, and a curtain lecture is worth all the sermons
in the world for teaching the virtues of patience and long-
suffering. A termagant wife may, therefore, in some respects,
be considered a tolerable blessing; and if so, Rip Van Winkle
was thrice blessed.

Certain it is, that he was a great favorite among all the
good wives of the village, who, as usual with the amiable

288 THE WORUD'S PROGRESS.

sex, took his part in all family squabbles; and never failed,
whenever they talked those matters over in their evening gos-
sipings, to lay all the blame on Dame Van Winkle. The chil-
dren of the village, too, would shout with joy whenever he
approached. He assisted at their sports, made their playthings,
taught them to fly kites and shoot marbles, and told them long
stories of ghosts, witches, and Indians. Whenever he went
dodging about the village, he was surrounded by a troop of
them, hanging on his skirts, clambering on his back, and play-
ing a thousand tricks on him with impunity; and not a dog
would bark at him throughout the neighborhood.

The great error in Rip's composition was an insuperable
aversion to all kinds of profitable labor. It could not be from
the want of assiduity or perseverance; for he would. sit on a
wet rock, with a rod as long and heavy as a Tartar's lance, and
fish all day without a murmur, even though he should not be
encouraged by a single nibble. He would carry a fowling-
piece on his shoulder for hours together, trudging through
woods and swamps, and up hill and down dale, to shoot a few
squirrels or wild pigeons. He would never refuse to assist a
neighbor even in the roughest toil, and was a foremost man at
all country frolics for husking Indian corn, or building stone
fences : the women of the village, too, used to employ him to
run their errands, and to do such little odd jobs as their less
obliging husbands would not do for them. In a word, Rip
was ready to attend to anybody's business but his own ; but as
to doing family duty, and keeping his farm in order, he found
it impossible.

In fact, he declared it was of no use to work on his farm ;
it was the most pestilent little piece of ground in the whole
country ; everything about it went wrong, and would go wrong,
in spite of him. His fences were continually falling to pieces ;
his cow would either go astray, or get among the cabbages;
weeds were sure to grow quicker in his fields than anywhere
else; the rain always made a point of setting in just as he had
some outdoor work to do ; so that though his patrimonial estate
had dwindled away under his management, acre by acre, until
there was little more left than a mere patch of Indian corn and
potatoes, yet it was the worst conditioned farm in the neigh-
borhood.

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 289

His children, too, were as ragged and wild as if they be-
longed to nobody. His son Rip, an urchin begotten in his own
likeness, promised to inherit the habits, with the old clothes
of his father. He was generally seen trooping like a colt at his
mother's heels, equipped in a pair of his father's cast-off galli-
gaskins, which he had much ado to hold up with one hand, as
a fine lady does her train in bad weather.

Rip Van Winkle, however, was one of those happy mortals,
of foolish, well-oiled dispositions, who take the world easy,
eat white bread or brown, whichever can be got with least
thought or trouble, and would rather starve on a penny than
work for a pound. If left to himself, he would have whistled
life away in perfect contentment; but his wife kept continually
dinning in his ears about his idleness, his carelessness, and the
ruin he was bringing on his family. Morning, noon, and night
her tongue was incessantly going, and everything he said or did
was sure to produce a torrent of household eloquence. Rip
had but one way of replying to all lectures of the kind, and
that, by frequent use, had grown into a habit. He shrugged
his shoulders, shook his head, cast up his eyes, but said noth-
ing. This, however, always provoked a fresh volley from his
wife, so that he was fain to draw off his forces, and take to the
outside of the house, — the only side which, in truth, belongs to
a henpecked husband.

Rip's sole domestic adherent was his dog Wolf, who was
as much henpecked as his master; for Dame Van Winkle re-
garded them as companions in idleness, and even looked upon
Wolf with an evil eye, as the cause of his master's going so
often astray. True it is, in all points of spirit befitting an
honorable dog, he was as courageous an animal as ever scoured
the woods; but what courage can withstand the ever-during
and all-besetting terrors of a woman's tongue? The moment
Wolf entered the house his crest fell, his tail drooped to the
ground or curled between his legs, he sneaked about with a
gallows air, casting many a sidelong glance at Dame Van
Winkle, and at the least flourish of a broomstick or ladle, he
would fly to the door with yelping precipitation.

Times grew worse and worse with Rip Van Winkle as
years of matrimony rolled on; a tart temper never mellows
with age, and a sharp tongue is the only edged tool that grows

X— 19

290 THE WORIJ/S PROGRESS.

keener with constant use. For a long while he used to console
himself, when driven from home, by frequenting a kind of
perpetual club of the sages, philosophers, and other idle per-
sonages of the village, which held its sessions on a bench before
a small inn, designated by a rubicund portrait of his Majesty
George the Third. Here they used to sit in the shade through
a long lazy summer's day, talking listlessly over village gossip,
or telling endless sleepy stories about nothing. But it would
have been worth any statesman's money to have heard the
profound discussions that sometimes took place, when by
chance an old newspaper fell into their hands from some pass-
ing traveler. How solemnly they would listen to the contents,
as drawled out by Derrick Van Bummel, the schoolmaster, a
dapper, learned little man, who was not to be daunted by the
most gigantic word in the dictionary; and how sagely they
would deliberate upon public events some months after they
had taken place!

The opinions of this junto were completely controlled by
Nicholas Vedder, a patriarch of the village, and landlord of the
inn, at the door of which he took his seat from morning till
night, just moving sufficiently to avoid the sun and keep in the
shade of a large tree ; so that the neighbors could tell the hour
by his movements as accurately as by a sun-dial. It is true he
was rarely heard to speak, but smoked his pipe incessantly.
His adherents, however (for every great man has his ad-
herents), perfectly understood him, and knew how to gather
his opinions. When anything that was read or related dis-
pleased him, he was observed to smoke his pipe vehemently,
and to send forth short, frequent, and angry puffs; but when
pleased, he would inhale the smoke slowly and tranquilly, and
emit it in light and placid clouds; and sometimes, taking the
pipe from his mouth, and letting the fragrant vapor curl about
his nose, would gravely nod his head in token of perfect
approbation.

From even this stronghold the unlucky Rip was at length
routed by his termagant wife, who would suddenly break in
upon the tranquillity of the assemblage and call the members
all to naught ; nor was that august personage, Nicholas Vedder
/fimself, sacred from the daring tongue of this terrible virago,
who charged him outright with encouraging her husband in
habits of idleness.

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 29 1

Poor Rip was at last reduced almost to despair; and his
only alternative, to escape from the labor of the farm and
clamor of his wife, was to take gun in hand and stroll away
into the woods. Here he would sometimes seat himself at the
foot of a tree, and share the contents of his wallet with Wolf,
with whom he sympathized as a fellow-sufferer in persecution.
"Poor Wolf," he would say, "thy mistress leads thee a dog's
life of it; but never mind, my lad, whilst I live thou shalt never
want a friend to stand by-thee!" Wolf would wag his tail,
look wistfully in his master's face, and if dogs can feel pity, I
verily believe he reciprocated the sentiment with all his heart.

In a long ramble of the kind on a fine autumnal day, Rip
had unconsciously scrambled to one of the highest parts of the
Kaatskill Mountains. He was after his favorite sport of squir-
rel shooting, and the still solitudes had echoed and re-echoed
with the reports of his gun. Panting and fatigued, he threw
himself, late in the afternoon, on a green knoll, covered with
mountain herbage, that crowned the brow of a precipice. From
an opening between the trees he could overlook all the lower
country for many a mile of rich woodland. He saw at a dis-
tance the lordly Hudson, far, far below him, moving on its
silent but majestic course, with the reflection of a purple
cloud, or the sail of a lagging bark, here and there sleeping
on its glassy bosom, and at last losing itself in the blue high-
lands.

On the other side he looked down into a deep mountain
glen, wild, lonely, and shagged, the bottom filled with frag-
ments from the impending cliffs, and scarcely lighted by the
reflected rays of the setting sun. For some time Rip lay
musing on this scene; evening was gradually advancing; the
mountains began to throw their long blue shadows over the
valleys; he saw that it would be dark long before he could
reach the village, and he heaved a heavy sigh when he thought
of encountering the terrors of Dame Van Winkle.

As he was about to descend, he heard a voice from a dis-
tance, hallooing, "Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!" He
looked round, but could see nothing but a crow winging its
solitary flight across the mountain. He thought his fancy must
have deceived him, and turned again to descend, when he heard
the same cry ring through the still evening air: "Rip Van

TH£ WORLD'S PROGRESS.

Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!"— at the same time Wolf bristled
up his back, and, giving a loud growl, skulked to his master's
side, looking fearfully down into the glen. Rip now felt a
vague apprehension stealing over him; he looked anxiously in
the same direction, and perceived a strange figure slowly toil-
ing up the rocks, and bending under the weight of something
he carried on his back. He was surprised to see any human
being in this lonely and unfrequented place, but supposing it to
be some one of the neighborhood in need of his assistance, he
hastened down to yield it.

On nearer approach he was still more surprised at the sin-
gularity of the stranger's appearance. He was a short, square-
built old fellow, with thick bushy hair and a grizzled beard.
His dress was of the antique Dutch fashion, — a cloth jerkin
strapped round the waist, several pairs of breeches, the outer
one of ample volume, decorated with rows of buttons down
the sides, and bunches at the knees. He bore on his shoulder a
stout keg, that seemed full of liquor, and made signs for Rip
to approach and assist him with the load. Though rather shy
and distrustful of this new acquaintance, Rip complied with his
usual alacrity; and mutually relieving one another, they
clambered up a narrow gully, apparently the dry bed of a
mountain torrent. As they ascended, Rip every now and then
heard long rolling peals, like distant thunder, that seemed to
issue out of a deep ravine, or rather cleft, between lofty rocks,
toward which their rugged path conducted. He paused for an
instant, but supposing it to be the muttering of one of those
transient thunder-showers which often take place in mountain
heights, he proceeded. Passing through the ravine, they came
to a hollow, like a small amphitheatre, surrounded by perpen-
dicular precipices, over the brinks of which impending trees shot
their branches, so that you only caught glimpses of the azure
sky and the bright evening cloud. During the whole time Rip
and his companion had labored on in silence; for though the
former marveled greatly what could be the object of carrying
a keg of liquor up this wild mountain, yet there was something
strange and incomprehensible about the unknown, that inspired
awe and checked familiarity.

On entering the amphitheatre, new objects of wonder pre-
sented themselves. On a level spot in the center was a com-

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 293

pany of odd-looking personages playing at ninepins. They were
dressed in a quaint outlandish fashion; some wore short
doublets, others jerkins, with long knives in their belts, and
most of them had enormous breeches, of similar style with that
of the guide's. Their visages, too, were peculiar : one had a
large beard, broad face, and small piggish eyes; the face of
another seemed to consist entirely of nose, and was surmounted
by a white sugar-loaf hat, set off with a little red cock's tail.
They all had beards, of various shapes and colors. There was
one who seemed to be the commander. He was a stout old
gentleman, with a weather-beaten countenance ; he wore a laced
doublet, broad belt and hanger, high-crowned hat and feather,
red stockings, and high-heeled shoes, with roses in them. The
whole group reminded Rip of the figures in an old Flemish
painting, in the parlor of Dominie Van Shaick, the village
parson, and which had been brought over from Holland at the
time of the settlement.

What seemed particularly odd to Rip was, that though these
folks were evidently amusing themselves, yet they maintained
the gravest faces, the most mysterious silence, and were, withal,
the most melancholy party of pleasure he had ever witnessed.
Nothing interrupted the stillness of the scene but the noise of
the balls, which, whenever they were rolled, echoed along the
mountains like rumbling peals of thunder.

As Rip and his companion approached them, they suddenly
desisted from their play, and stared at him with such fixed
statue-like gaze, and such strange, uncouth, lacklustre counte-
nances, that his heart turned within him, and his knees smote
together. His companion now emptied the contents of the keg
into large flagons, and made signs to him to wait upon the com-
pany. He obeyed with fear and trembling; they quaffed the
liquor in profound silence, and then returned to their game.

By degrees Rip's awe and apprehension subsided. He even
ventured, when no eye was fixed upon him, to taste the bever-
age, which he found had much of the flavor of excellent Hol-
lands. He was naturally a thirsty soul, and was soon tempted
to repeat the draught. One taste provoked another; and he
reiterated his visits to the flagon so often that at length his
senses were overpowered, his eyes swam in his head, his head
gradually declined, and he .fell into a deep sleep.

294 THE WORI4/S PROGRESS.

RIP VAN WINKLE'S RETURN.

ON waking, Rip found himself on the green knoll from
whence he had first seen the old man of the glen. He rubbed
his eyes — it was a bright sunny morning. The birds were
hopping and twittering among the bushes, and the eagle was
wheeling aloft, and breasting the pure mountain breeze.
"Surely," thought Rip, "I have not slept here all night." He
recalled the occurrences before he fell asleep. The strange
man with the keg of liquor — the mountain ravine — the wild
retreat among the rocks — the woe-begone party at nine-pins —
the flagon — "Oh! that wicked flagon!" thought Rip — "what
excuse shall I make to Dame Van Winkle?"

He looked round for his gun, but in place of the clean well-
oiled fowling-piece, he found an old fire-lock lying by him, the
barrel encrusted with rust, the lock falling off, and the stock
worm-eaten. He now suspected that the grave roysterers of
the mountain had put a trick upon him, and having dosed him
with liquor, had robbed him of his gun. Wol.f, too, had dis-
appeared, but he might have strayed away after a squirrel or
partridge. He whistled after him, and shouted his name, but
all in vain ; the echoes repeated his whistle and shout, but no dog
was to be seen.

He determined to revisit the scene of the last evening's
gambol, and if he met with any of the party, to demand his dog
and gun. As he rose to walk, he found himself stiff in the
joints, and wanting in his usual activity. "These mountain
beds do not agree with me," thought Rip, "and if this frolic
should lay me up with a fit of rheumatism, I shall have a blessed
time with Dame Van Winkle." With some difficulty he got
down into the glen ; he found the gully up which he and his com-
panion had ascended the preceding evening; but to his aston-
ishment a mountain stream was now foaming down it, leaping
from rock to rock, and filling the glen with babbling murmurs.
He, however, made shift to scramble up its sides, working his
toilsome way through thickets of birch, sassafras, and witch-
hazel ; and sometimes tripped up or entangled by the wild grape
vines that twisted their coils and tendrils from tree to tree, and
spread a kind of network in his path.

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 2Q5

At length he reached to where the ravine had opened through
the cliffs to the amphitheatre; but no traces of such opening
remained. The rocks presented a high impenetrable wall, over
which the torrent came tumbling in a sheet of feathery foam,
and fell into a broad deep basin, black from the shadows of the
surrounding forest. Here, then, poor Rip was brought to a
stand. He again called and whistled after his dog; he was
only answered by the cawing of a flock of idle crows, sporting
high in the air about a dry tree that overhung1 a sunny preci-
pice; and who, secure in their elevation, seemed to look down
and scoff at the poor man's perplexities. What was to be done?
The morning was passing away, and Rip felt famished for want
of his breakfast. He grieved to give up his dog and gun ; he
dreaded to meet his wife; but it would not do to starve among
the mountains. He shook his head, shouldered the rusty fire-
lock, and, with a heart full of trouble and anxiety, turned his
steps homeward.

As he approached the village, he met a number of people,
but none whom he knew, which somewhat surprised him, for
he had thought himself acquainted with every one in the coun-
try round. Their dress, too, was of a different fashion from
that to which he was accustomed. They all stared at him with
equal marks of surprise, and whenever they cast eyes upon him,
invariably stroked their chins. The constant recurrence of this
gesture induced Rip, involuntarily, to do the same, when, to
his astonishment, he found his beard had grown a foot long.

He had now entered the skirts of the village. A troop of
strange children ran at his heels, hooting after him, and point-
ing at his gray beard. The dogs, too, not one of which he rec-
ognized for an old acquaintance, barked at him as he passed.
The very village was altered : it was larger and more populous.
There were rows of houses which he had never seen before, and
those which had been his familiar haunts had disappeared.
Strange names were over the doors — strange faces at the win-
dows— everything was strange. His mind now misgave him ;
he began to doubt whether both he and the world around him
were not bewitched. Surely this was his native village, which
he had left but a day before. There stood the KaatskiJl moun-
tains— there ran the silver Hudson at a distance — there was
every hill and dale precisely as it had always been — Rip was
sorely perplexed — "That flagon last night," thought he, "has
addled my poor head sadly !"-,

296 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

It was with some difficulty that he found the way to his
own house, which he approached with silent awe, expecting
every moment to hear the shrill voice of Dame Van Winkle.
He found the house gone to decay — the roof fallen in, the win-
dows shattered, and the doors off the hinges. A half-starved
dog, that looked like Wolf, was skulking about it. Rip called
him by name, but the cur snarled, showed his teeth, and passed
on. This was an unkind cut indeed. — "My very dog," sighed
poor Rip, "has forgotten me!"

He entered the house, which, to tell the truth, Dame Van
Winkle had always kept in neat order. It was empty, forlorn,
and apparently abandoned. This desolateness overcame all
his connubial fears — he called loudly for his wife and children
— the lonely chambers rang for a moment with his voice, and
then all again was silence.

He now hurried forth, and hastened to his old resort, the
village inn — but it too was gone. A large rickety wooden
building stood in its place, with great gaping windows, some
of them broken, and mended with old hats and petticoats, and
over the door was painted, "The Union Hotel, by Jonathan
Doolittle." Instead of the great tree that used to shelter the
quiet little Dutch inn of yore, there now was reared a tall
naked pole, with something on the top that looked like a red
night-cap, and from it was fluttering a flag, on which was a sin-
gular assemblage of stars and stripes — all this was strange and
incomprehensible. He recognized on the sign, however, the
ruby face of King George, under which he had smoked so many
a peaceful pipe, but even this was singularly metamorphosed.
The red coat was changed for one of blue and buff, a sword was
held in the hand instead of a sceptre, the head was decorated
with a cocked hat, and underneath was painted in large char-
acters, GENERAL WASHINGTON.

There was, as usual, a crowd of folk about the door, but
none that Rip recollected. The very character of the people
seemed changed. There was a busy, bustling, disputatious
tone about it, instead of the accustomed phlegm and drowsy
tranquillity. He looked in vain for the sage Nicholas Vedder,
with his broad face, double chin, and fair long pipe, uttering
clouds of tobacco smoke, instead of idle speeches; or Van
Bummel, the schoolmaster, doling forth the contents of an

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 297

ancient newspaper. . In place of these a lean, bilious-looking
fellow, with his pockets full of handbills, was haranguing1 ve-
hemently about the rights of citizens — election — members of
Congress — liberty — Bunker's hill — heroes of seventy-six — and
other words, that were a perfect Babylonish jargon to the be-
wildered Van Winkle.

The appearance of Rip, with his long, grizzled beard, his
rusty fowling-piece, his uncouth dress, and the army of wo-
men and children that had gathered at his heels, soon attracted
the attention of the tavern politicians. They crowded round
him, eying him from head to foot with great curiosity. The
orator bustled up to him, and drawing him partly aside, in-
quired, "on which side he voted?" Rip stared in vacant stu-
pidity. Another short but busy little fellow pulled him by the
arm, and rising on tiptoe, inquired in his ear, "whether he was
Federal or Democrat." Rip was equally at a loss to compre-
hend the question ; when a knowing, self-important old gentle-
man, in a sharp cocked hat, made his way through the crowd,
putting them to the right and left with his elbows as he passed,
and planting himself before Van Winkle, with one arm a-kimbo,
the other resting on his cane, his keen eyes and sharp hat pene-
trating, as it were, into his very soul, demanded in an austere
tone, "what brought him to the election with a gun on his shoul-
der, and a mob at his heels, and whether he meant to breed a
riot in the village ?"

"Alas! gentlemen," cried Rip, somewhat dismayed, "I am
a poor, quiet man, a native of the place, and a loyal subject of
the King, God bless him !"

Here a general shout burst from the bystanders — "A tory!
a tory ! a spy ! a refugee ! hustle him ! away with him !"

It was with great difficulty that the self-important man in
the cocked hat restored order; and having assumed a tenfold
austerity of brow, demanded again of the unknown culprit,
what he came there for, and whom he was seeking. The poor
man humbly assured him that he meant no harm, but merely
came there in search of some of his neighbors, who used to keep
about the tavern.

"Well — who are they ? — name them."

Rip bethought himself a moment, and inquired, "Where's
Nicholas Vedder?"

298 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

There was a silence for a little while, when an old man re-
plied, in a thin, piping voice, "Nicholas Vedder? why, he is
dead and gone these eighteen years. There was a wooden
tomb-stone in the church-yard that used to tell all about him,
but that's rotten and gone too."

"Where's Brom Butcher?"

"Oh, he went off to the army in the beginning of the war ;
some say he was killed at the storming of Stony Point — others
say he was drowned in the squall, at the foot of Antony's Nose.
I don't know — he never came back again."

Where's Van Bummel, the schoolmaster?"

"He went off to the wars, too ; was a great militia general
and is now in Congress."

Rip's heart died away, at hearing of these sad changes in
his home and friends, and finding himself thus alone in the
world. Every answer puzzled him, too, by treating of such
enormous lapses of time, and of matters which he could not
understand: war — Congress — Stony Point! — he had no cour-
age to ask after any more friends, but cried out in despair,
"Does nobody here know Rip Van Winkle?"

"Oh, Rip Van Winkle !" exclaimed two or three. "Oh to
be sure! that's Rip Van Winkle yonder, leaning against the
tree."

Rip looked and beheld a precise counterpart of himself as
he went up the mountain ; apparently as lazy, and certainly as
ragged. The poor fellow was now completely confounded.
He doubted his own identity, and whether he was himself or
another man. In the midst of his bewilderment, the man in
the cocked hat demanded who he was, and what was his name ?

"God knows," exclaimed he, at his wit's end ; "I'm not my-
self— I'm somebody else — that's me yonder — no — that's some-
body else, got into my shoes — I was myself last night, but I
fell asleep on the mountain, and they've changed my gun, and
everything's changed, and I'm changed, and I can't tell what's
my name, or who I am !"

AMERICAN LITERATURE.

299

ICHABOD CRANE AND KATRINA VAN TASSEL.

IN this by-place of
nature there abode,
in a remote period
of American history,
that is to say, some
thirty years since, a
^•worthy wight of the
name of Ichabod
Crane, who sojourned,
or, as he expressed it,
"tarried," in Sleepy
Hollow, for the pur-
pose of instructing
the children of the
vicinity. He was a
native of Connecticut,
a State which supplies
the Union with pio-
neers for the mind as
well as for the forest,

and sends forth yearly its legions of frontier woodsmen and
country schoolmasters. The cognomen of Crane was not in-
applicable to his person. He was tall, but exceedingly lank,
with narrow shoulders, long arms and legs, hands that dangled
a mile out of his sleeves, feet that might have served for
shovels, and his whole frame most loosely hung together. His
head was small, and flat at top, with huge ears, large green,
glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it looked like a weath-
ercock perched upon' his spindle neck, to tell which way the wind
blew. To see him striding along the profile of a hill on a windy
day, with his clothes bagging and fluttering about him, one
might have mistaken him for the genius of famine descending
upon the earth, or some scare-crow eloped from a cornfield.

The school-house was a low building of one large room,
rudely constructed of logs; the windows partly glazed, and
partly patched with leaves of copybooks. It was most ingen-
iously secured at vacant hours, by a withe twisted in the handle
of the door, and stakes set against the window-shutters; so

f3OO TH£ WORUS PROGRESS.

that though a thief might get in with perfect ease, he would find
some embarrassment in getting out; — an idea most probably
borrowed by the architect, Yost Van Houten, from the mystery
of an eelpot. The school-house stood in a rather lonely but
pleasant situation, just at the foot of a woody hill, with a brook
running close by, and a formidable birch-tree growing at one
end of it. From hence the low murmur of his pupils' voices,
conning over their lessons, might be heard of a drowsy sum-
mer's day, like the hum of a beehive ; interrupted now and then
by the authoritative voice of the master, in the tone of menace
or command; or, peradventure, by the appalling sound of the
birch, as he urged some tardy loiterer along the flowery path
of knowledge. Truth to say, he was a conscientious man, that
ever bore in mind the golden maxim, "spare the rod and spoil
the child." — Ichabod Crane's scholars certainly were not spoiled.

Among the musical disciples who assembled, one evening
in each week, to receive his instructions in psalmody, was Kat-
rina Van Tassel, the daughter and only child of a substantial
Dutch farmer. She was a blooming lass of fresh eighteen,
plump as a partridge; ripe and melting and rosy-cheeked as
one of her father's peaches, and universally famed, not merely
for her beauty, but her vast expectations. She was withal a
little of a coquette, as might be perceived even in her dress,
which was a mixture of ancient and modern fashions, as most
suited to set off her charms. She wore the ornaments of pure
yellow gold, which her great-great-grandmother had brought
over from Saardam ; the tempting stomacher of the olden time,
and withal a provokingly short petticoat, to display the prettiest
foot and ankle in the country round.

Ichabod Crane had a soft and foolish heart toward the sex ;
and it is not to be wondered at, that so tempting a morsel soon
found favor in his eyes, more especially after he had visited her
in her paternal mansion. Old Baltus Van Tassel was a perfect
picture of a thriving, contented, liberal-hearted farmer. He
seldom, it is true, sent either his eyes or his thoughts beyond
the boundaries of his own farm ; but within these, everything
was snug, happy and well-conditioned. He was satisfied with
his wealth, but not proud of it ; and piqued himself upon the
hearty abundance, rather than the style, in which he lived. His
stronghold was situated on the banks of the Hudson, in one of

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 301

those green, sheltered, fertile nooks, in which the Dutch farmers
are so fond of nestling. A great elm-tree spread its broad
branches over it ; at the foot of which bubbled up a spring of the
softest and sweetest water, in a little well, formed of a barrel ;
and then stole sparkling away through the grass, to a neighbor-
ing brook, that babbled along among alders and dwarf willows.
Hard by the farm-house was a vast barn, that might have served
for a church; every window and crevice of which seemed
bursting forth with the treasures of the farm; the flail was
busily resounding within it from morning to night; swallows
and martins skimmed twittering about the eaves ; and rows of
pigeons, some with one eye turned up, as if watching the
weather, some with their heads under their wings, or buried
in their bosoms, and others, swelling and cooing and bowing
about their dames, were enjoying the sunshine on the roof.
Sleek, unwieldy porkers were grunting in the repose and abund-
ance of their pens, from whence sallied forth, now and then,
troops of sucking pigs, as if to snuff the air. A stately squadron
of snowy geese were riding in an adjoining pond, convoying
whole fleets of ducks; regiments of turkeys were gobbling
through the farm-yard, and guinea-fowls fretting about it like
ill-tempered housewives, with their peevish, discontented cry.
Before the barn door strutted the gallant cock, that pattern of
a husband, a warrior, and a fine gentleman ; clapping his burn-
ished wings and crowing in the pride and gladness of his heart
— sometimes tearing up the earth with his feet, and then gener-
ously calling his ever-hungry family of wives and children to
enjoy his rich discovery.

The pedagogue's mouth watered, as he looked upon this
sumptuous promise of luxurious winter fare. In his devour-
ing mind's eye, he pictured to himself every roasting pig run-
ning about, with a pudding in its belly, and an apple in its
mouth ; the pigeons were snugly put to bed in a comfortable pie,
and tucked in with a coverlet of crust ; the geese were swimming
in their own gravy ; and the ducks pairing cosily in dishes, like
snug married couples, with a decent competency of onion sauce.
In the porkers he saw carved out the future sleek side of bacon,
and juicy relishing ham ; not a turkey, but he beheld daintily
trussed up, with its gizzard under its wing, and, peradventure,
a necklace of savory sausages ; and even bright chanticleer him-

3O2 THE WORLDS PROGRESS.

self lay sprawling on his back, in a side dish, with uplifted claws,
as if craving that quarter which his chivalrous spirit disdained
to ask while living.

As the enraptured Ichabod fancied all this, and as he rolled
his great green eyes over the fat meadow lands, the rich fields
of wheat, of rye, of buckwheat, and Indian corn, and the orch-
ards burthened with ruddy fruit, which surrounded the warm
tenement of Van Tassel, his heart yearned after the damsel
who was to inherit these domains, and his imagination expanded
with the idea, how they might be readily turned into cash, and
the money invested in immense tracts of wild land, and shingle
palaces in the wilderness. Nay, his busy fancy already realized
his hopes, and presented to him the blooming Katrina, with a
whole family of children, mounted on the top of a wagon loaded
with household trumpery, with pots and kettles dangling be-
neath ; and he beheld himself bestriding a pacing mare, with a
colt at her heels, setting out for Kentucky, Tennessee — or the
Lord knows where !

When he entered the house, the conquest of his heart was
complete. It was one of those spacious farm-houses, with high-
ridged, but lowly-sloping roofs, built in the style handed down
from the first Dutch settlers, the low projecting eaves forming
a piazza along the front, capable of being closed up in bad
weather. Under this were hung flails, harness, various uten-
sils of husbandry, and nets for fishing in the neighboring river.
Benches were built along the sides for summer use ; and a great
spinning-wheel at one end, and a churn at the other, showed
the various uses to which this important porch might be devoted.
From this piazza, the wonderful Ichabod entered the hall, which
formed the centre of the mansion, and the place of usual resi-
dence. Here, rows of resplendent pewter, ranged on a long
dresser, dazzled his eyes. In one corner stood a huge bag of
wool, ready to be spun ; in another, a quantity of linsey-woolsey
just from the loom; ears of Indian corn, and strings of dried
apples and peaches, hung in gay festoons along the walls, min-
gled with the gaud of red peppers ; and a door left ajar, gave
him a peep into the best parlor, where the claw-footed chairs
and dark mahogany tables shone like mirrors, andirons with
their accompanying shovel and tongs, glistened from their
covert of asparagus tops ; mock-oranges and conch shells dec-

AMERICAN LITERATURE.

303

orated the mantelpiece; strings of various-colored birds' eggs
were suspended above it ; a great ostrich egg was hung from the
centre of the room, and a corner cupboard, knowingly left open,
displayed immense treasures of old silver and well-mended
china.

From the moment Ichabod laid his eyes upon these regions
of delight, the peace of his mind was at an end, and his only
study was how to gain the affections of the peerless daughter
of Van Tassel.

INDIANS OF ARIZONA.

CHAPTER III.

JAMES FENIMORE COOPER.

DISTINCTIVELY American in theme and spirit was the last-
ing work of James Fenimore Cooper ; his attempts to portray
European scenes and characters are justly neglected. But
he is still the most prominent of American romancers of the old
frontier and the sea. He was born at Burlington, New Jersey,
September I5th, 1789, but his boyhood was spent at Coopers-
town, New York, a village founded by his father, Judge Cooper,
in 1790, when that portion of the state was a veritable wilder-
ness, inhabited chiefly by Indians, trappers and pioneers.
Cooper's early education was conducted by his father, a man of
strong character and some attainments, and the boy entered
Yale College at the early age of thirteen. Leaving college after
three years of study, he entered the navy as a midshipman, and
remained in the service until a short time after his marriage
in 1811.

Observation and experience on the New York frontier and
in the naval service had given him a mass of material available
for fiction, but he did not attempt authorship until he was thirty
years of age. His first romance, "Precaution," which at-
tempted to portray polite society, was a failure. Two years
later, however, "The Spy," based upon experiences of one of
Washington's secret agents in New York during the Revolu-
tionary War, made Cooper famous throughout his own country
and soon afterward in Europe.

In 1823 appeared "The Pioneers," an exciting story of
life at the outposts of civilization, and also "The Pilot," his
first sea story. These books were the forerunners of two series,
in their widely differing veins. Yet three years passed before

304

ROTUNDA GALLERY — CONGRESSIONAL LIBRARY.

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 305

the appearance of "The Last of the Mohicans," abounding in
sharp contrasts of Indians, pioneers and British and French
soldiers in the time of the French and Indian war. Cooper is
now charged with having greatly idealized his Indian characters,
but his contemporaries commended him for fidelity to the types
he had studied.

After publishing "The Red Rover," his second sea story,
Cooper went to Europe, where he remained six years, resid-
ing in different cities. Intensely patriotic, as well as easily
offended, he was greatly irritated by European comment on
his country and its people. He therefore printed in English
newspapers and reviews some vigorous corrections of misstate-
ments regarding America, and he also published a book with
the same purpose. His manner was so combative that the con-
troversy he provoked continued for years. Meanwhile he was
earnestly observant of European politics and published three
novels abounding in political speculation and action, which have
fallen into the background.

His first prominent work after his return to his native coun-
try was a "Naval History of the United States;" after which he
wrote novels in rapid succession, as well as his "Lives of Dis-
tinguished American Naval Officers." But unfortunately he
became again involved in useless controversy, attacking New
England and the Puritans. Always interested and active in
politics, he was an object of severe newspaper criticism. Cooper,
combative and proud, had some legal ability, and instituted
many libel suits, all of which were successful, and yet wasted
his time and talents. He died at Cooperstown, September I4th,
1851.

In Europe, Cooper has often been termed "the Walter
Scott of America," and the comparison is apt to the extent
that he, like Scott, took patriotic, passionate interest in embody-
ing in literature such interesting characters and experiences of
his native land as were vanishing. The value of his work be-
comes apparent when the reader now notes how small is the
remaining fiction of the periods treated by Cooper. The accu-
racy of Cooper's descriptions of men and scenes was sufficiently
attested in his own day, when there still survived participators
in wars with the Indians, French and British, and when the war
of 1812-15 was recent history. Cooper was weak in construe-

306 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

tion and had little sense of humor. His style is formal and he
indulges too much in detail. Though he created such appar-
ently real characters as Natty Burapo and Long Tom Coffin,
he was unable generally to individualize his characters by
appropriate speech. In chapters descriptive of incidents, how-
ever, he is almost equal to Scott, and was as highly admired by
the elder Dumas and other European writers of exciting ro-
mance.

THE DEERSLAYER.

THE ark, as the floating habitation of the Hutters was gen-
erally called, was a very simple contrivance. A large flat, or
scow, composed the buoyant part of the vessel ; and in its cen-
ter, occupying the whole of its breadth, and about two-thirds
of its length, stood a low fabric, resembling the castle in con-
struction, though made of materials so light as barely to be
bullet-proof. As the sides of the scow were a little higher than
usual, and the interior of the cabin had no more elevation than
was necessary for comfort, this unusual addition had neither a
very clumsy nor a very obtrusive appearance. It was, in short,
little more than a modern canal-boat, though more rudely con-
structed, of greater breadth than common, and bearing about it
the signs of the wilderness, in its bark-covered posts and roof.
The scow, however, had been put together with some skill, be-
ing comparatively light, for its strength, and sufficiently man-
ageable. The cabin was divided into two apartments, one of
which served for a parlor, and the sleeping-room of the father,
and the other was appropriated to the uses of the daughters.
A very simple arrangement sufficed for the kitchen, which was
in one end of the scow, and removed from the cabin, standing
in the open air; the ark being altogether a summer habitation.

The "and-bush," as Hurry in his ignorance of English termed
it, is quite as easily explained. In many parts of- the lake and
river, where the banks were steep and high, the smaller trees
and larger bushes, as has been already mentioned, fairly over-
hung the stream, their branches not infrequently dipping into
the water. In some instances they grew out in nearly hori-
zontal lines, for thirty or forty feet. The water being uni-
formly deepest near the shores, where the banks were highest
and the nearest to a perpendicular, Hutter had found no dif-

AMERICAN UTERATURE. 307

ficulty in letting the ark drop under one of these covers, where
it had been anchored with a view to conceal its position;
security requiring some such precautions, in his view of the case.
Once beneath the trees and bushes, a few stones fastened to the
ends of the branches had caused them to bend sufficiently to dip
into the river ; and a few severed bushes, properly disposed, did
the rest. The reader has seen that this cover was so complete
as to deceive two men accustomed to the woods, and who were
actually in search of those it concealed; a circumstance that will
be easily understood by those who are familiar with the matted
and wild luxuriance of a virgin American forest, more especially
in a rich soil.

The discovery of the ark produced very different effects on
our two adventurers. As soon as the canoe could be got round
to the proper opening, Hurry leaped on board, and in a minute
was closely engaged in a gay, and a sort of recriminating dis-
course with Judith, apparently forgetful of the existence of all
the rest of the world. Not so with Deerslayer. He entered
the ark with a slow, cautious step, examining every arrange-
ment of the cover with curious and scrutinizing eyes. It is
true, he cast one admiring glance at Judith, which was extorted
by her brilliant and singular beauty ; but even this could detain
him but a single instant from the indulgence of his interest
in Hutter's contrivances. Step by step did he look into the
construction of the singular abode, investigate its fastenings
and strength, ascertain its means of defense, and make every
inquiry that would be likely to occur to one whose thoughts
dwelt principally on such expedients. Nor was the cover
neglected. Of this he examined the whole minutely, his com-
mendation escaping him more than once, in audible comments.
Frontier usages admitting of this familiarity, he passed through
the rooms as he had previously done at the castle ; and, opening
a door, issued into the end of the scow opposite to that where he
had left Hurry and Judith. Here he found the other sister,
employed on some coarse needlework, seated beneath the leafy
canopy of the cover.

As Deerslayer's examination was by this time ended, he
dropped the butt of his rifle, and, leaning on the barrel with
both hands, he turned toward the girl with an interest the singu-
lar beauty of her sister had not awakened. He had gathered

308 TH£ WORLD'S PROGRESS.

from Hurry's remarks that Hetty was considered to have less
intellect than ordinarily falls to the share of human beings;
and his education among Indians had taught him to treat those
who were thus afflicted by Providence, with more than common
tenderness. Nor was there anything in Hetty Hutter's appear-
ance, as so often happens, to weaken the interest her situation
excited. An idiot she could not properly be termed, her mind
being just enough enfeebled to lose most of those traits that
are connected with the more artful qualities, and to retain its
ingenuousness and love of truth. It had often been remarked
of this girl, by the few who had seen her, and who possessed
sufficient knowledge to discriminate, that her perception of the
right seemed almost intuitive, while her aversion to the wrong
formed so distinctive a feature of her mind, as to surround her
with an atmosphere of pure morality; peculiarities that are
not infrequent with persons who are termed feeble-minded; as
if God had forbidden the evil spirits to invade a precinct so
defenseless, with the benign purpose of extending a direct pro-
tection to those who have been left without the usual aids of
humanity. Her person, too, was agreeable, having a strong
resemblance to that of her sister, of which it was a subdued and
humble copy. If it had none of the brilliancy of Judith's, the
calm, quiet, almost holy expression of her meek countenance,
seldom failed to win on the observer; and few noted it long,
that did not begin to feel a deep and lasting interest in the girl.
She had no color, in common, nor was her simple mind apt to
present images that caused her cheek to brighten; though she
retained a modesty so innate, that it almost raised her to the
unsuspecting purity of a being superior to human infirmities.
Guileless, innocent, and without distrust, equally by nature
and from her mode of life, Providence had, nevertheless,
shielded her from harm by a halo of moral light, as it is said
"to temper the wind to the shorn lamb."

"You are Hetty Hutter," said Deerslayer, in the way one
puts a question unconsciously to himself, assuming a kindness
of tone and manner that were singularly adapted to win the
confidence of her he addressed. "Hurry Harry has told me of
you, and I know you must be the child?"

"Yes, I'm Hetty Hutter," returned the girl, in a low, sweet
voice, which nature, aided by some education, had preserved

AMERICAN LITERATURE;. 309

from vulgarity of tone and utterance: "I'm Hetty; Judith
Hutter's sister, and Thomas Hutter's youngest daughter."

"I know your history, then, for Hurry Harry talks consid-
erable, and he is free of speech, when he can find other people's
consarns to dwell on. You pass most of your life on the lake,
Hetty?"

"Certainly. Mother is dead ; father is gone a-trapping, and
Judith and I stay at home. What's your name?"

"That's a question more easily asked than it is answered,
young woman; seeing that I'm so young, and yet have borne
more names than some of the greatest chiefs in all America."

"But you've got a name — you don't throw away one name
before you come honestly by another?"

"I hope not, gal — I hope not. My names have come nat'-
rally; and I suppose the one I bear now will be of no great
lasting, since the Delawares seldom settle on a man's r'al title,
until such time as he has opportunity of showing his true natur',
in the council or on the war-path ; which has never behappened
me; seeing, firstly, because I'm not born a redskin, and have
no right to sit in their councilings, and am much too humble
to be called on for opinions from the great of my own color;
and, secondly, because this is the first war that has befallen in
my time, and no inimy has yet inroaded far enough into the
colony to be reached by an arm even longer than mine."

"Tell me your names," added Hetty, looking up at him art-
lessly, "and, maybe, I'll tell you your character."

"There is some truth in that, I'll not deny, though it often
fails. Men are deceived in other men's characters, and fre-
quently give 'em names they by no means desarve. You can
see the truth of this in Mingo names, which, in their own
tongue, signify the same things as the Delaware names, — at
least, so they tell me, for I know little of that tribe, unless it
be by report, — and no one can say they are as honest or as
upright a nation. I put no great dependence, therefore, on
names."

"Tell me all your names," repeated the girl, earnestly, for
her mind was too simple to separate things from professions,
and she did attach importance to a name; "I want to know
what to think of you."

"Well, sartain; I've no objection, and you shall hear them

gio THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

all. In the first place, then, I'm Christian, and white-born,
like yourself, and my parents had a name that came down from
father to son, as is a part of their gifts. My father was called
Bumppo; and I was named after him, of course, the given
name being Nathaniel, or Natty, as most people saw fit to
tarm it."

"Yes, yes — Natty — and Hetty" — interrupted the girl
quickly, and looking up from her work again, with a smile:
"You are Natty, and I'm Hetty — though you are Bumppo,
and I'm Hutter. Bumppo isn't as pretty as Hutter, is it?"

"Why, that's as people fancy. Bumppo has no lofty sound,
I admit; and yet men have bumped through the world with
it. I did not go by this name, howsoever, very long; for the
Delawares soon found out, or thought they found out, that I
was not given to lying, and they called me, firstly, 'Straight-
tongue.' "

"That's a good name," interrupted Hetty, earnestly, and
in a positive manner; "don't tell me there's no virtue in
names !"

"I do not say that, for perhaps I desarved to be so called,
lies being no favorites with me, as they are with some. After
a while they found out that I was quick of foot, and then they
called me 'The Pigeon'; which, you know, has a swift wing,
and flies in a direct line."

"That was a pretty name!" exclaimed Hetty; "pigeons
are pretty birds !"

"Most things that God has created are pretty in their way,
my good gal, though they get to be deformed by mankind, so
as to change their natur's, as well as their appearance. From
carrying messages, and striking blind trails, I got at last to
following the hunters, when it was thought I was quicker and
surer at finding the game than most lads, and then they called
me the 'Lap-ear' ; as, they said, I partook of the sagacity of a
hound."

"That's not so pretty," answered Hetty ; "I hope you didn't
keep that name long."

"Not after I was rich enough to buy a rifle," returned the
other, betraying a little pride through his usually quiet and
subdued manner; "then it was seen I could keep a wigwam
in ven'son ; and in time I got the name of 'Deerslayer,' which

AMERICAN LITERATURE. '311

is that I now bear ; homely as some will think it, who set more
valie on the scalp of a fellow-mortal than on the horns of a
buck."

"Well, Deerslayer, I'm not one of them," answered Hetty,
simply; "Judith likes soldiers, and flary coats, and fine feath-
ers; but they're all naught to me. She says the officers are
great, and gay, and of soft speech; but they make me shudder,
for their business is to kill their fellow-creatures. I like your
calling better; and your last name is a very good one — better
than Natty Bumppo."

"This is nat'ral in one of your turn of mind, Hetty, and
much as I should have expected. They tell me your sister is
handsome — oncommon, for a mortal ; and beauty is apt to seek
admiration."

"Did you never see Judith ?" demanded the girl, with quick
earnestness; "if you never have, go at once and look at her.
Even Hurry Harry isn't more pleasant to look at; though she
is a woman, and he is a man."

Deerslayer regarded the girl for a moment with concern.
Her pale face had flushed a little, and her eye, usually so mild
and serene, brightened as she spoke, in the way to betray the
inward impulses.

"Ay, Hurry Harry," he muttered to himself, as he walked
through the cabin towards the other end of the boat; "this
comes of good looks, if a light tongue has had no consarn in
it. It's easy to see which way that poor creatur's feelin's are
leanin', whatever may be the case with your Jude's."

But an interruption was put to the gallantry of Hurry, the
coquetry of his mistress, the thoughts of Deerslayer, and the
gentle feelings of Hetty, by the sudden appearance of the canoe
of the ark's owner, in the narrow opening among the bushes
that served as a sort of moat to his position. It would seem
that Hutter, or Floating Tom, as he was familiarly called by
all the hunters who knew his habits, recognized the canoe of
Hurry, for he expressed no surprise at finding him in the scow.
On the contraiy, his reception was such as to denote not only
gratification, but a pleasure, mingled with a little disappoint-
ment at his not having made his appearance some days sooner.

"I looked for you last week," he said, in a half -grumbling,
half -welcoming manner; "and was disappointed uncommonly

3 12 THE WORTH'S PROGRESS.

that you didn't arrive. There came a runner through, to warn
all the trappers and hunters that the colony and the Canadas
were again in trouble; and I felt lonesome, up in these moun-
tains, with three scalps to see to, and only one pair of hands to
protect them."

"That's reasonable," returned March; "and 'twas feeling
like a parent. No doubt, if I had two such darters as Judith
and Hetty, my exper'ence would tell the same story, though in
gin'ral I am just as well satisfied with having the nearest neigh-
bor fifty miles off, as when he is within call."

"Notwithstanding, you didn't choose to come into the wil-
derness alone, now you knew that the Canada savages are likely
to be stirring," returned Hutter, giving a sort of distrustful,
and at the same time inquiring, glance at Deerslayer.

"Why should I ? They say a bad companion, on a journey,
helps to shorten the path ; and this young man I account to be
a reasonably good one. This is Deerslayer, old Tom, a noted
hunter among the Delawares, and Christian-born, and Christian-
edicated, too, like you and me. The lad is not parfect, perhaps,
but there's worse men in the country that he came from, and
it's likely he'll find some that's no better, in this part of the
world. Should we have occasion to defend our traps, and the
territory, he'll be useful in feeding us all; for he's a reg'lar
dealer in ven'son."

"Young man, you are welcome," growled Tom, thrusting a
hard, bony hand towards the youth, as a pledge of his sincerity;
"in such times, a white face is a friend's, and I count on you
as a support. Children sometimes make a stout heart feeble,
and these two daughters of mine give me more concern than all
my traps, and skins, and rights in the country."

"That's nat'ral !" cried Hurry. "Yes, Deerslayer, you and
I don't know it yet by experience; but, on the whole, I con-
sider that as nat'ral. If we had darters, it's more than prob-
able we should have some such feelin's; and I honor the man
that owns 'em. As for Judith, old man, I enlist, at once, as
her soldier, and here is Deerslayer to help you to take care of
Hetty."

"Many thanks to you, Master March," returned the beauty,
in a full, rich voice, and with an accuracy of intonation and
utterance that she shared in common with her sister, and which

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 313

showed that she had been better taught than her father's life
and appearance would give reason to expect ; "many thanks to
you; but Judith Hutter has the spirit and the experience that
will make her depend more on herself than on good-looking
rovers like you. Should there be need to face the savages, do
you land with my father, instead of burrowing in the huts,
under the show of defending us females, and — "

"Girl — girl," interrupted the father, "quiet that glib tongue
of thine, and hear the truth. There are savages on the lake
shore already, and no man can say how near to us they may be
at this very moment, or when we may hear more from them !"

"If this be true, Master Hutter," said Hurry, whose change
of countenance denoted how serious be deemed the information,
though it did not denote any unmanly alarm, "if this be true,
your ark is in a most mis fortunate position, for, though the
cover did deceive Deerslayer and myself, it would hardly be
overlooked by a full-blooded Injin, who was out seriously in
s'arch of scalps !"

"I think as you do, Hurry, and wish, with all my heart, we
lay anywhere else, at this moment, than in this narrow, crooked
stream, which has many advantages to hide in, but which is
almost fatal to them that are discovered. The savages are near
us, moreover, and the difficulty is, to get out of the river with-
out being shot down like deer standing at a lick !"

"Are you sartain, Master Hutter, that the redskins you
dread are ra'al Canadas?" asked Deerslayer, in a modest but
earnest manner. "Have you seen any, and can you describe
their paint?"

"I have fallen in with the signs of their being in the neigh-
borhood, but have seen none of 'em. I was down stream a
mile or so, looking to my traps, when I struck a fresh trail,
crossing the corner of a swamp, and moving northward. The
man had not passed an hour; and I know'd it for an Indian
footstep, by the size of the foot, and the intoe, even before I
found' a worn moccasin, which its owner had dropped as use-
less. For that matter, I found the spot where he halted to
make a new one, which was only a few yards from the place
where he had dropped the old one."

"That doesn't look much like a redskin on the warpath?"
returned the other, shaking his head. "An exper'enced war-

314 TH]£ WORLD'S PROGRESS.

rior, at least, would have burned, or buried, or sunk in the
river such signs of his passage; and your trail is, quite likely,
a peaceable trail. But the moccasin may greatly relieve my
mind, if you bethought you of bringing it off. I've come here
to meet a young chief myself; and his course would be much
in the direction you've mentioned. The trail may have been
his'n."

"Hurry Harry, you're well acquainted with this young man,
I hope, who has meetings with savages in a part of the country
•where he has never been before?" demanded Hutter, in a tone
and in a manner that sufficiently indicated the motive of the
question; these rude beings seldom hesitating, on the score of
delicacy, to betray their feelings. "Treachery is an Indian
virtue; and the whites, that live much in their tribes, soon
catch their ways and practices."

"True — true as the Gospel, old Tom; but not personable
to Deerslayer, who's a young man of truth, if he has no other
ricommend. I'll answer for his honesty, whatever I may do
for his valor in battle."

"I should like to know his errand in this strange quarter of
the country."

"That is soon told, Master Hutter," said the young man,
with the composure of one who kept a clean conscience. "I
think, moreover, you've a right to ask it. The father of two
such darters, who occupies a lake, after your fashion, has just
the same right to inquire into a stranger's business in his
neighborhood, as the colony would have to demand the reason
why the Frenchers put more rijiments than common along the
lines. No, no, I'll not deny your right to know why a stranger
comes into your habitation or country, in times as serious as
these."

"If such is your way of thinking, friend, let me hear your
story without more words."

"'Tis soon told, as I said afore; and shall be honestly told.
I'm a young man, and, as yet, have never been on a war-path ;
but no sooner did the news come among the Delawares, that
wampum and a hatchet were about to be sent in to the tribe,
than they wished me to go out among the people of my own
color, and get the exact date of things for 'em. This I did,
and, after delivering my talk to the chiefs, on my return, I

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 3*5

met an officer of the crown on the Schoharie, who had moneys
to send to some of the friendly tribes, that live farther west.
This was thought a good occasion for Chingachgook, a young
chief who had never struck a foe, and myself, to go on our first
war-path in company; and an app'intment was made for us,
by an old Delaware, to meet at the rock near the foot of this
lake. I'll not deny that Chingachgook has another object in
view, but it has no consarn with any here, and is his secret,
and not mine; therefore I'll say no more about it."

" 'Tis something about a young woman," interrupted Judith,
hastily; then laughing at her own impetuosity, and even hav-
ing the grace to color a little at the manner in which she had
betrayed her readiness to impute such a motive. "If 'tis
neither war nor a hunt, it must be love."

"Ay, it comes easy for the young and handsome, who hear
so much of them feelin's, to suppose that they lie at the bottom
of most proceedin's; but, on that head, I say nothin'. Chin-
gachgook is to meet me at the rock an hour afore sunset to-
morrow evening, after which we shall go our way together,
molesting none but the king's inimies, who are lawfully our
own. Knowing Hurry of old, who once trapped in our hunt-
ing-grounds, and falling in with him on the Schoharie, just as
he was on the p'int of starting for his summer ha'nts, we agreed
to journey in company; not so much from fear of the Mingos
as from good fellowship, and, as he says, to shorten a long
road."

"And you think the trail I saw may have been that of your
friend, ahead of his time?" said Hutter.

"That's my idee; which may be wrong, but which may be
right. If I saw the moccasin, however, I could tell in a minute
whether it is made in the Delaware fashion or not."

"Here it is, then," said the quick-witted Judith, who had
already gone to the canoe in quest of it; "tell us what it says;
friend or enemy. You look honest ; and / believe all you say,
whatever father may think."

"That's the way with you, Jude; forever finding out friends,
where I distrust foes," grumbled Tom; "but speak out, young
man, and tell us what you think of the moccasin."

"That's not Delaware-made," returned Deerslayer, examin-
ing the worn and rejected covering for the foot with a cautious

gi6 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

eye ; "I'm too young on a war-path to be positive, but I should
say that moccasin has a northern look, and comes from beyond
the great lakes."

"If such is the case, we ought not to lie here a minute longer
than is necessary," said Hutter, glancing through the leaves of
his cover, as if he already distrusted the presence of an enemy
on the opposite shore of the narrow and sinuous stream. "It
wants but an hour or so of night, and to move in the dark will
be impossible, without making a noise that would betray us.
Did you hear the echo of a piece in the mountains, half-an-hour
since?"

"Yes, old man, and heard the piece itself," answered Hurry,
who now felt the indiscretion of which he had been guilty, "for
the last was fired from my own shoulder."

"I feared it came from the French Indians ; still it may put
them on the look-out, and be a means of discovering us. You
did wrong to fire in war-time, unless there was good occasion."

"So I began to think myself, Uncle Tom; and yet, if a man
can't trust himself to let off his rifle in a wilderness that is a
thousand miles square, lest some inimy should hear it, where's
the use in carrying one?"

Hutter now held a long consultation with his two guests, in
which the parties came to a true understanding of their situ-
ation. He explained the difficulty that would exist in attempt-
ing to get the ark out of so swift and narrow a stream, in the
dark, without making a noise that could not fail to attract
Indian ears. Any strollers in their vicinity would keep near
the river or the lake; but the former had swampy shores in
many places, and was both so crooked and so fringed with
bushes, that it was quite possible to move by daylight without
incurring much danger of being seen. More was to be appre-
hended, perhaps, from the ear than from the eye, especially as
long as they were in the short, straitened, and canopied reaches
of the stream.

"I never drop down into this cover, which is handy to my
traps, and safer than the lake, from curious eyes, without pro-
viding the means of getting out ag'in," continued this singular
being; "and that is easier done by a pull than a push. My
anchor is now lying above the suction, in the open lake; and
here is a line, you see, to haul us up to it. Without some such

AMERICAN WTERATURE. 317

help, a single pair of hands would make heavy work in forcing
a scow like this up stream. I have a sort of crab, too, that
lightens the pull, on occasion. Jude can use the oar astarn as
well as myself; and when we fear no enemy, to get out of the
river gives us but little trouble."

"What should we gain, Master Hutter, by changing the
position?" asked Deerslayer, with a good deal of earnestness;
"this is a safe cover, and a stout defense might be made from
the inside of this cabin. I've never fou't unless in the way of
tradition ; but it seems to me we might beat off twenty Mingos,
with palisades like them afore us."

"Ay, ay; you've never fought except in traditions, that's
plain enough, young man ? Did you ever see as broad a sheet
of water as this above us, before you came in upon it with
Hurry?"

"I can't say that I ever did," Deerslayer answered, mod-
estly. "Youth is the time to 1'arn; and I'm far from wishing
to raise my voice in counsel, afore it is justified by exper'ence."

"Well, then, I'll teach you the disadvantage of fighting in
this position, and the advantage of taking to the open lake.
Here, you may see, the savages will know where to aim every
shot; and it would be too much to hope that some would not
find their way through the crevices of the logs. Now, on the
other hand, we should have nothing but a forest to aim at.
Then we are not safe from fire, here, the bark of this roof being
little better than so much kindling-wood. The castle, too,
might be entered and ransacked in my absence, and all my
possessions overrun and destroyed. Once in the lake, we can
be attacked only in boats or on rafts — shall have a fair chance
with the enemy — and can protect the castle with the ark. Do
you understand this reasoning, youngster ?"

"It sounds well — yes, it has a rational sound; and I'll not
gainsay it."

"Well, old Tom," cried Hurry, "if we are to move, the
sooner we make a beginning, the sooner we shall know whether
we are to have our scalps for nightcaps, or not."

As this proposition was self-evident, no one denied its jus-
tice. The three men, after a short preliminary explanation, now
set about their preparations to move the ark in earnest. The
slight fastenings were quickly loosened ; and, by hauling on the

318 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

nne, the heavy craft slowly emerged from the cover. It was no
sooner free from the encumbrance of the branches, than it
swung into the stream, sheering quite close to the western shore,
by the force of the current. Not a soul on board heard the
rustling of the branches, as the cabin came against the bushes
and trees of the western bank, without a feeling of uneasiness ;
for no one knew at what moment, or in what place, a secret
and murderous enemy might unmask himself. Perhaps the
gloomy light that still struggled through the impending canopy
of leaves, or found its way through the narrow, ribbon-like
opening, which seemed to mark, in the air above, the course of
the river that flowed beneath, aided in augmenting the appear-
ance of the danger; for it was little more than sufficient to
render objects visible, without giving up all their outlines at
a glance. Although the sun had not absolutely set, it had
withdrawn its direct rays from the valley; and the hues of
evening were beginning to gather around objects that stood
uncovered, rendering those within the shadows of the woods
still more sombre and gloomy.

No interruption followed the movement, however, and, as
the men continued to haul on the line, the ark passed steadily
ahead, the great breadth of the scow preventing its sinking into
the water, and from offering much resistance to the progress of
the swift element beneath its bottom. Hutter, too, had adopted
a precaution suggested by experience, which might have done
credit to a seaman, and which completely prevented any of the
annoyances and obstacles which otherwise would have attended
the short turns of the river. As the ark descended, heavy
stones, attached to the line, were dropped in the center of the
stream, forming local anchors, each of which was kept from
dragging by the assistance of those above it, until the uppermost
of all was reached, which got its "backing" from the anchor, or
grapnel, that lay well out in the lake. In consequence of this
expedient the ark floated clear of the incumbrances of the shore,
against which it would otherwise have been unavoidably hauled
at every turn, producing embarrassments that Hutter, single-
handed, would have found it very difficult to overcome.

Favored by this foresight, and stimulated by the apprehen-
sion of discovery, Floating Tom and his two athletic compan-
ions hauled the ark ahead with quite as much rapidity as com-

AMERICAN LITERATURE). 319

ported with the strength of the line. At every turn in the stream
a stone was raised from the bottom, when the direction of the
scow changed to one that pointed towards the stone that lay
above. In this manner, with the channel buoyed out for him,
as a sailor might term it, did Hutter move forward, occasionally
urging his friends, in a low and guarded voice, to increase their
exertions, and then, as occasions offered, warning them against
efforts that might, at particular moments, endanger all by too
much zeal. In spite of their long familiarity with the woods,
the gloomy character of the shaded river added to the uneasiness
that each felt; and when the ark reached the first bend in the
Susquehanna, and the eye caught a glimpse of the broader
expanse of the lake, all felt a relief, that perhaps none would
have been willing to confess. Here the last stone was raised
from the bottom, and the line led directly towards the grapnel,
which, as Hutter had explained, was dropped above the suction
of the current.

"Thank God!" ejaculated Hurry, "there is daylight, and
we shall soon have a chance of seeing our inimies, if we are to
feel 'em."

"That is more than you or any man can say," growled Hut-
ter. "There is no spot so likely to harbor a party as the shore
around the outlet, and the moment we clear these trees and get
into open water, will be the most trying time, since it will leave
the enemy a cover, while it puts us out of one. Judith, girl, do
you and Hetty leave the oar to take care of itself, and go within
the cabin; and be mindful not to show your faces at a window;
for they who will look at them won't stop to praise their beauty.
And now, Hurry, we'll step into this outer room ourselves, and
haul through the door, where we shall all be safe, from a sur-
prise, at least. Friend Deerslayer, as the current is lighter, and
the line has all the strain on it that is prudent, do you keep
moving from window to window, taking care not to let your
head be seen, if you set any value on life. No one knows when
or where we shall hear from our neighbors."

Deerslayer complied, with a sensation that had nothing in
common with fear, but which had all the interest of a perfectly
novel and a most exciting situation. For the first time in his
life he was in the vicinity of enemies, or had good reason to
think so ; and that, too, under all the thrilling circumstances of

32Q THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

Indian surprises and Indian artifices. As he took his stand at
the window, the ark was just passing through the narrowest
part of the stream, a point where the water first entered what
was properly termed the river, and where the trees fairly inter-
locked overhead, causing the current to rush into an arch of
verdure; a feature as appropriate and peculiar to the country,
perhaps, as that of Switzerland, where the rivers come rushing
literally from chambers of ice.

The ark was in the act of passing the last curve of this leafy
entrance, as Deerslayer, having examined all that could be seen
of the eastern bank of the river, crossed the room to look from
the opposite window, at the western. His arrival at this aper-
ture was most opportune, for he had no sooner placed his eye at
a crack than a sight met his gaze that might well have alarmed
a sentinel so young and inexperienced. A sapling overhung the
water, in nearly half a circle, having first grown towards the
light, and then been pressed down into this form by the weight
of the snows; a circumstance of common occurrence in the
American woods. On this no less than six Indians had already
appeared, others standing ready to follow them, as they left
room; each evidently bent on running out on the trunk, and
dropping on the roof of the ark as it passed beneath. This
would have been an exploit of no great difficulty, the inclination
of the tree admitting of an easy passage, the adjoining branches
offering ample support for the hands, and the fall being too
trifling to be apprehended. When Deerslayer first saw this
party, it was just unmasking itself, by ascending the part of the
tree nearest to the earth, or that which was much the most
difficult to overcome; and his knowledge of Indian habits told
him at once that they were all in their war paint, and belonged
to a hostile tribe.

"Pull, Hurry," he cried; "pull for your life, and as you love
Judith Hutter ! Pull, man, pull !"

This call was made to one that the young man knew had the
strength of a giant. It was so earnest and solemn, that both
Hutter and March felt it was not idly given, and they applied
all their force to the line simultaneously, and at a most critical
moment. The scow redoubled its motion, and seemed to glide
from under the tree as if conscious of the danger that was
impending overhead. Perceiving that they were discovered, the

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 321

Indians uttered the fearful war whoop, and running forward on
the tree, leaped desperately towards their fancied prize. There
were six on the tree, and each made the effort. All but their
leader fell into the river more or less distant from the ark, as
they came, sooner or later, to the leaping-place. The chief, who
had taken the dangerous post in advance, having an earlier
opportunity than the others, struck the scow just within the
stern. The fall proving so much greater than he had antici-
pated, he was slightly stunned, and for a moment he remained
half bent and unconscious of his situation. At this instant
Judith rushed from the cabin, her beauty heightened by the
excitement that produced the bold act, which flushed her cheek
to crimson, and, throwing all her strength into the effort, she
pushed the intruder over the edge of the scow, headlong
into the river. This decided feat was no sooner accomplished
than the woman resumed her sway; Judith looked over the
stern to ascertain what had become of the man, and the
expression of her eyes softened to concern, next, her cheek crim-
soned between shame and surprise, at her own temerity, and
then she laughed in her own merry and sweet manner. All this
occupied less than a minute, when the arm of Deerslayer was
thrown around her waist, and she was dragged swiftly within
the protection of the cabin. This retreat was not effected too
soon. Scarcely were the two in safety, when the forest was
filled with yells, and bullets began to patter against the logs.

The ark being in swift motion all this while, it was beyond
the danger of pursuit by the time these little events had
occurred; and the savages, as soon as the first burst of their
anger had subsided, ceased firing, with the consciousness that
they were expending their ammunition in vain. When the
scow came up over her grapnel, Hunter tripped the latter, in a
way not to impede the motion ; and being now beyond the influ-
ence of the current, the vessel continued to drift ahead, until
fairly in the open lake, though still near enough to the land to
render exposure to a rifle-bullet dangerous. Hutter and March
got out two small sweeps, and, covered by the cabin, they soon
urged the ark far enough from the shore to leave no inducement
to their enemies to make any further attempt to injure them.

x— 21

NATHANIEL. HAWTHORNE.

THE story of Hawthorne's life is a simple

one. He was born in Salem, Mass., in 1804,
and as a boy was brought up partly in that ancient town, and
partly on the shores of Sebago Lake, in Maine, where his
uncle, Richard Manning, had an estate. His father, who died
of fever in Surinam, when Nathaniel was four years old, was
an East India merchant, and captained his own vessel ; an uncle,
Daniel, had commanded a privateer in the Revolution; an
ancestor, John Hathorne (as the name was then spelled), had
been a judge in the witch trials ; and the first emigrant, William,
the elder son of the English family, was a man of note in the
Province, and a major in the Indian wars. His mother was a
woman of intellect and refinement ; but Nathaniel was the first
of the Hawthornes to evince literary proclivities.

He was an active, outdoor boy, though fond of reading and
with thoughts of his own. As a student he was not distin-
guished, either before or during his Bowdoin college career;
but he graduated well in the class of 1824; Longfellow was a
classmate, and Franklin Pierce was in the class ahead of him.
After graduating he lived in seclusion at his home in Salem for
twelve years, writing, meditating, and occasionally publishing
short sketches in Annuals and similar publications, uniformly
over a pseudonym. Before 1840 he met, and in 1842 he mar-
ried Sophia Peabody of Salem, and lived with her in "The Old
Manse" at Concord, Mass. He had already tried the Brook
Farm community life, and decided it was not suited to his re-
quirements. He obtained an appointment in the Salem Custom
House, and supported himself on the salary derived therefrom,
and by writing sketches and stories. These were collected

322

AMERICAN

under the title of "Mosses from an Old Manse," and "The
Snow Image and Other Stories." He was rotated out of office,
and in 1850 wrote "The Scarlet Letter," which brought him
fame here and abroad. Removing to Lenox, Mass., he pro-
duced "The House of the Seven Gables," "The Blithedale Ro-
mance," evolved from his Brook Farm observations, and "The
Wonder-Book" and "Tanglewood Tales" — stories for children
based on classic mythology. Taking up his residence for the
second time in Concord, at "The Wayside," he wrote a cam-
paign biography of his friend Franklin Pierce, and the latter,
on his election to the Presidency of the United States, appointed
Hawthorne consul at Liverpool, England. Shortly before the
end of his term he resigned the office and sojourned for two or
three years on the Continent. Returning in 1859 to England,
he wrote "The Marble Faun" (published in England under the
title of "Transformation"), and came back to America in 1860.
The outbreak of the Civil War the following year interrupted
his imaginative work; but he published a volume of English
studies, "Our Old Home," and the first chapters of a new ro-
mance, "The Dolliver Romance," in the Atlantic Monthly. He
died suddenly in Plymouth, New Hampshire, on a journey for
health undertaken with Franklin Pierce, and was buried in Con-
cord, May 23d, 1864.

The story of Hawthorne's mind and opinions may be gath-
ered from his writings, especially from the shorter pieces con-
tained in "Twice-Told Tales" and "The Mosses." These ap-
pear on the surface to be merely imaginative tales, exquisitely
wrought; but they embody profound, radical and sometimes
revolutionary views on all subjects of society and morals. He
probed deeply into the mystery of human sin; the revelations
thus evolved cast a tinge of sadness over much that he wrote ;
but Hawthorne was at heart an optimist, and his most searching
analyses result in conclusions the most hopeful. The more he
is studied, the more is the student impressed with his truth,
justice and sanity. Common sense and the sense of humor ex-
isted in him side by side with the keenest insight and the finest
imaginative gifts; and all that he wrote is rendered fascinating
by the charm of a translucent, nearly perfect literary style.
Everything that he produced was in its degree a work of art.

The four romances on which his reputation chiefly rests

324 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

belong in a class by themselves. No other writer has succeeded
in mastering the principle on which they are composed. There
is in them a living spirit which creates its own proper form.
They are wrought from within outwards, like the growths of
nature. The interest of outward events is in them subordinated
to that of the vicissitudes of mind and soul of the characters,
which are penetratingly interpreted. There is nothing arbi-
trary in Hawthorne's treatment; but in the end he has placed
clearly before the reader the elements of the problem, and has
suggested the solution. We rise from his books knowing more
of life and man than when we took them up, and with better
hopes of their destiny. The years which have passed since
they were written have confirmed and exalted their value ; and
Hawthorne is now held to be the foremost — instead of, as he
once wrote, "the obscurest" — man of letters in America.

Several studies of romances were published posthumously ;
and also the "Note-Books" which he kept all his life, and which
reveal the care with which he studied nature and mankind.
Their quality is objective, not subjective.

Personally Hawthorne was just short of six feet in height,
broad-shouldered and active and strikingly handsome, with a
large, dome-like head, black hair and brows, and dark blue
eyes. His disposition, contrary to the general impression of
him, was cheerful and full of sunny humor. His nature was
social and genial, but he avoided bores, and disliked to figure
in promiscuous society. His domestic life was entirely happy,
and the flowering of his genius is largely due to the love and
appreciation and creative criticism which he received from his
wife. His friends were the men of his time most eminent in
letters and art ; but perhaps the most intimate of all — Franklin
Pierce, Horatio Bridge and Albert Pike — were all workers on
other than literary lines. They were men whom he loved for
their manly and human qualities, and who were faithful to him
to the end.

THE AMBITIOUS GUEST.

ONE September night a family had gathered round their
hearth, and piled it high with the driftwood of mountain
streams, the dry cones of the pine, and the splintered ruins of
great trees that had come crashing down the precipice. Up the

AMERICAN LITERATURE.

chimney roared the fire, and brightened the room with its broad
blaze. . The faces of the father and mother had a sober glad-
ness; the children laughed; the eldest daughter was the image
of Happiness at seventeen; and the aged grandmother, who sat
knitting in the warmest place, was the image of Happiness
grown old. They had found the "herb, heart's-ease," in the
bleakest spot of all New England. This family were situated
in the Notch of the White Hills, where the wind was sharp
throughout the year, and pitilessly cold in the winter, — giving
their cottage all its fresh inclemency before it descended on the
valley of the Saco. They dwelt in a cold spot and a dangerous
one; for a mountain towered above their heads, so steep, that
the stones would often rumble down its sides and startle them
at midnight.

The daughter had just uttered some simple jest that rilled
them all with mirth, when the wind came through the Notch
and seemed to pause before their cottage — rattling the door,
with a sound of wailing and lamentation, before it passed into
the valley. For a moment it saddened them, though there was
nothing unusual in the tones. But the family were glad again
when they perceived that the latch was lifted by some traveler,
whose footsteps had been unheard amid the dreary blast which
heralded his approach, and wailed as he was entering, and went
moaning away from the door.

Though they dwelt in such a solitude, these people held
daily converse with the world. The romantic pass of the Notch
is a great artery, through which the life-blood of internal com-
merce is continually throbbing between Maine, on one side, and
the Green Mountains and the shores of the St. Lawrence, on
the other. The stage-coach always drew up before the door
of the cottage. The wayfarer, with no companion but his staff,
paused here to exchange a word, that the sense of loneliness
might not utterly overcome him ere he could pass through the
cleft of the mountain, or reach the first house in the valley.
And here the teamster, on his way to Portland market, would
put up for the night; and, if a bachelor, might sit an hour be-
yond the usual bedtime, and steal a kiss from the mountain
maid at parting. It was one of those primitive taverns where
the traveler pays only for food and lodging, but meets with a
homely kindness beyond all price. When the footsteps were

326 TH£ WORLD'S PROGRESS.

heard, therefore, between the outer door and the inner one, the
whole family rose up, grandmother, children, and all, as if about
to welcome some one who belonged to them, and whose fate
was linked with theirs.

The door was opened by a young man. His face at first
wore the melancholy expression, almost despondency, of one
who travels a wild and bleak road, at nightfall and alone, but
soon brightened up when he saw the kindly warmth of his re-
ception. He felt his heart spring forward to meet them all,
from the old woman, who wiped a chair with her apron, to the
little child that held out its arms to him. One glance and smile
placed the stranger on a footing of innocent familiarity with
the eldest daughter.

"Ah, this fire is the right thing !" cried he, "especially when
there is such a pleasant circle around it. I am quite benumbed ;
for the notch is just like the pipe of a great pair of bellows ;
it has blown a terrible blast in my face all the way from Bart-
lett."

"Then you are going towards Vermont?" said the master
of the house, as he helped to take a light knapsack off the young
man's shoulders.

"Yes; to Burlington, and far enough beyond," replied he.
"I meant to have been at Ethan Crawford's to-night; but a
pedestrian lingers along such a road as this. It is no matter;
for, when I saw this good fire, and all your cheerful faces, I
felt as if you had kindled it on purpose for me, and were wait-
ing my arrival. So I shall sit down among you, and make
myself at home."

The frank-hearted stranger had just drawn his chair to the
fire when something like a heavy footstep was heard without
rushing down the steep side of the mountain, as with long and
rapid strides, and taking such a leap in passing the cottage as
to strike the opposite precipice. The family held their breath,
because they knew the sound, and their guest held his by in-
stinct

"The old mountain has thrown a stone at us, for fear we
should forget him/' said the landlord, recovering himself. "He
sometimes nods his head and threatens to come down; but we
are old neighbors, and agree together pretty well upon the
whole. Besides we have a sure place of refuge hard by if he
should be coming in good earnest."

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 327,

Let us now suppose the stranger to have finished his supper
of bear's meat; and, by his natural felicity of manner, to have
placed himself on a footing of kindness with the whole family
so that they talked as freely together as if he belonged to their
mountain brood. He was of a proud, yet gentle spirit — haughty
and reserved among the rich and great ; but ever ready to stoop
his head to the lowly cottage door, and be like a brother or a
son at the poor man's fireside. In the household of the Notch
he found warmth and simplicity of feeling, the pervading in-
telligence of New England, and a poetry of native growth,
which they had gathered when they little thought of it from
the mountain peaks and chasms, and at the very threshold of
their romantic and dangerous abode. He had traveled far and
alone; his whole life, indeed, had been a solitary path; for, with
the lofty caution of his nature, he had kept himself apart from
those who might otherwise have been his companions. The
family, too, though so kind and hospitable, had that conscious-
ness of unity among themselves, and separation from the world
at large, which, in every domestic circle, should still keep a
holy place where no stranger may intrude. But this evening a
prophetic sympathy impelled the refined and educated youth to
pour out his heart before the simple mountaineers, and con-
strained them to answer him with the same free confidence.
And thus it should have been. Is not the kindred of a com-
mon fate a closer tie than that of birth ?

The secret of the young man's character was a high and ab-
stracted ambition. He could have borne to live an undistin-
guished life, but not to be forgotten in the grave. Yearning
desire had been transformed to hope, and hope, long cherished,
had become like certainty that, obscurely as he journeyed now,
a glory was to beam on all his pathway, — though not, perhaps,
while he was treading it. But when posterity should gaze back
into the gloom of what was now the present, they would trace
the brightness of his footsteps, brightening as meaner glories
faded, and confess that a gifted one had passed from his cradle
to his tomb with none to recognize him.

"As yet," cried the stranger — his cheek glowing and his
eye flashing with enthusiasm — "as yet, I have done nothing.
Were I to vanish from the earth to-morrow, none would know
so much of me as you : that a nameless youth came up at night-

328 THS WORLD'S PROGRESS.

fall from the valley of the Saco, and opened his heart to you in
the evening, and passed through the Notch by sunrise, and was
seen no more. Not a soul would ask, 'Who was he ? Whither
did the wanderer go ?' But I cannot die till I have achieved my
destiny. Then, let Death come ! I shall have built my monu-
ment!"

There was a continual flow of natural emotion, gushing
forth amid abstracted reverie, which enabled the family to un-
derstand this young man's sentiments, though so foreign from
their own. With quick sensibility of the ludicrous, he blushed
at the ardor into which he had been betrayed.

"You laugh at me," said he, taking the eldest daughter'o
hand, and laughing himself. "You think my ambition as non-
sensical as if I were to freeze myself to death on the top of
Mount Washington, only that people might spy at me from
the country round about. And, truly, that would be a noble
pedestal for a man's statue!"

"It is better to sit here by this fire," answered the girl,
blushing, "and be comfortable and contented, though nobody
thinks about us."

"I suppose," said her father, after a fit of musing, "there
is something natural in what the young man says; and if my
mind had been turned that way, I might have felt just the same.
It is strange, wife, how his talk has set my head running on
things that are pretty certain never to come to pass."

"Perhaps they may," observed the wife. "Is the man think-
ing what he will do when he is a widower ?"

"No, no!" cried he, repelling the idea with reproachful
kindness. "When I think of your death, Esther, I think of
mine, too. But I was wishing we had a good farm in Bartlett,
or Bethlehem, or Littleton, or some other township round the
White Mountains; but not where they could tumble on our
heads. I should want to stand well with my neighbors and be
called Squire, and sent to General Court for a term or two;
for a plain, honest man may do as much good there as a lawyer.
And when I should be grown quite an old man, and you an old
woman, so as not to be long apart, I might die happy enough
in my bed, and leave you all crying around me. A slate grave-
stone would suit me as well as a marble one — with just my
name and age, and a verse of a hymn, and something to let

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 329

people know that I lived an honest man and died a Christian."

"There now!" exclaimed the stranger; "it is our nature to
desire a monument, be it slate or marble, or a pillar of granite,
or a glorious memory in the universal heart of man."

"We're in a strange way, to-night," said the wife, with
tears in her eyes. "They say it's a sign of something, when
folks' minds go a wandering so. Hark to the children !"

They listened accordingly. The younger children had been
put to bed in another room, but with an open door between,
so that they could be heard talking busily among themselves.
One and all seemed to have caught the infection from the fire-
side circle, and were outvying each other in wild wishes, and
childish projects of what they would do when they came to be
men and women. At length a little boy, instead of addressing
his brothers and sisters, called out to his mother.

"I tell you what I wish, mother," cried he. "I want you
and father and grandma'm, and all of us, and the stranger too,
to start right away, and go and take a drink out of the basin of
the Flume!"

Nobody could help laughing at the child's notion of leaving
a warm bed, and dragging them from a cheerful fire, to visit
the basin of the Flume, — a brook which tumbles over the preci-
pice, deep within the Notch. The boy had hardly spoken when
a wagon rattled along the road, and stopped a moment before
the door. It appeared to contain two or three men, who were
cheering their hearts with the rough chorus of a song, which
resounded, in broken notes, between the cliffs, while the singers
hesitated whether to continue their journey or put up here for
the night.

"Father," said the girl, "they are calling you by name."

But the good man doubted whether they had really called
him, and was unwilling to show himself too solicitous of gain
by inviting people to patronize his house. He therefore did
not hurry to the door; and the lash being soon applied, the
travelers plunged into the Notch, still singing and laughing,
though their music and mirth came back drearily from the heart
of the mountain.

"There, mother !" cried the boy, again. "They'd have given
us a ride to the Flume."

Again they laughed at the child's pertinacious fancy for a

33O THE WORUD'S PROGRESS.

«

night ramble. But it happened that a light cloud passed over
the daughter's spirit; she looked gravely into the fire, and
drew a breath that was almost a sigh. It forced its way, in
spite of a little struggle to repress it. Then starting and blush-
ing, she looked quickly round the circle, as if they had caught
a glimpse into her bosom. The stranger asked what she had been
thinking of.

"Nothing," answered she, with a downcast smile. "Only I
felt lonesome just then."

"Oh, I have always had a gift of feeling what is in other
people's hearts," said he, half seriously. "Shall I tell the se-
crets of yours? For I know what to think when a young girl
shivers by a warm hearth, and complains of lonesomeness at
her mother's side. Shall I put these feelings into words ?"

"They would not be a girl's feelings any longer if they could
be put into words," replied the mountain nymph, laughing,
but avoiding his eye.

"All this was said apart. Perhaps a germ of love was
springing in their hearts, so pure that it might blossom in Para-
dise, since it could not be matured on earth ; for women worship
such gentle dignity as his; and the proud, contemplative, yet
kindly soul is oftenest captivated by simplicity like hers. But
while they spoke softly, and he was watching the happy sad-
ness, the lightsome shadows, the shy yearnings of a maiden's
nature, the wind through the Notch took a deeper and drearier
sound. It seemed, as the fanciful stranger said, like the choral
strain of the spirits of the blast, who in old Indian times had
their dwelling among these mountains, and made their heights
and recesses a sacred region. There was a wail along the road,
as if a funeral were passing. To chase away the gloom, the
family threw pine branches on their fire, till the dry leaves
crackled and the flame arose, discovering once again a scene
of peace and humble happiness. The light hovered about them
fondly, and caressed them all. There were the little faces of
the children, peeping from their bed apart, and here the father's
frame of strength, the mother's subdued and careful mien, the
high-browed youth, the budding girl, and the good old grandam,
still knitting in the warmest place. The aged woman looked up
from her task, and, with fingers ever busy, was the next to
speak.

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 331

"Old folks have their notions," said she, "as well as young
ones. You've been wishing and planning; and letting your
heads run on one thing and another, till you've set my mind a
wandering too. Now what should an old woman wish for,
when she can go but a step or two before she comes to her
grave ? Children, it will haunt me night and day till I tell you."

"What is it, mother?" cried the husband and wife at once.

Then the old woman, with an air of mystery which drew the
circle closer round the fire, informed them that she had pro-
vided her grave-clothes some years before, — a nice linen shroud,
a cap with a muslin ruff, and everything of a finer sort than
she had worn since her wedding day. But this evening an old
superstition had strangely recurred to her. It used to be said,
in her younger days, that if anything were amiss with a corpse,
if only the ruff were not smooth, or the cap did not set right,
the corpse in the coffin and beneath the clods would strive to
put up its cold hands and arrange it. The bare thought made
her nervous.

"Don't talk so, grandmother!" said the girl, shuddering.

"Now," — continued the old woman, with singular earnest-
ness, yet smiling strangely at her own folly, — "I want one of
you, my children— when your mother is dressed and in the cof-
fin— I want one of you to hold a looking-glass over my face.
Who knows but I may take a glimpse at myself, and see
whether all's right?"

"Old and young, we dream of graves and monuments,"
murmured the stranger youth. "I wonder how mariners feel
when the ship is sinking, and they, unknown and undistin-
guished, are to be buried together in the ocean — that wide and
nameless sepulchre?"

For a moment, the old woman's ghastly conception so en-
grossed the n/inds of her hearers that a sound abroad in the
r»ight, rising like the roar of a blast, had grown broad, deep,
and terrible, before the fated group were conscious of it. The
house and all within it trembled; the foundations of the earth
seemed to be shaken, as if this awful sound were the peal of
the last trump. Young and old exchanged one wild glance,
and remained an instant, pale, affrighted, without utterance, or
power to move. Then the same shriek burst simultaneously
from all their lips.

332 . THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

"The Slide! The Slide!"

The simplest words must intimate, but not portray, the un-
utterable horror of the catastrophe. The victims rushed from
their cottage, and sought refuge in what they deemed a safer
spot — where, in contemplation of such an emergency, a sort of
barrier had been reared. Alas ! they had quitted their security,
and fled right into the pathway of destruction. Down came the
whole side of the mountain, in a cataract of ruin. Just before
it reached the house, the stream broke into two branches — shiv-
ered not a window there, but overwhelmed the whole vicinity,
blocked up the road, and annihilated everything in its dreadful
course. Long ere the thunder of the great Slide had ceased to
roar among the mountains, the mortal agony had been endured,
and the victims were at peace. Their bodies were never found.

The next morning, the light smoke was seen stealing from
the cottage chimney up the mountain side. Within, the fire
was yet smouldering on the hearth, and the chairs in a circle
round it, as if the inhabitants had but gone forth to view the
devastation of the Slide, and would shortly return, to thank
Heaven for their miraculous escape. All had left separate
tokens, by which those who had known the family were made
to shed a tear for each. Who has not heard their name ? The
story has been told far and wide, and will forever be a legend
of these mountains. Poets have sung their fate.

There were circumstances which led some to suppose that
a stranger had been received into the cottage on this awful
night, and had shared the catastrophe of all its inmates. Others
denied that there were sufficient grounds for such a conjecture.
Woe for the high-souled youth, with his dream of Earthly Im-
mortality ! His name and person utterly unknown ; his history,
his way of life, his plans, a mystery never to be solved, his
death and his existence equally a doubt ! Whose was the agony
of that death moment?

THE OLD PYNCHEON FAMILY.

HALF-WAY down a side-street of one of our New England
towns stands a rusty wooden house, with seven acutely peaked
gables, facing towards various points of the compass, and a
huge, clustered chimney in the midst. The street in Pyncheon
Street ; the house is the old Pyncheon House ; and an elm-tree,

AMERICAN LITERATURE. $33

of wide circumference, rooted before the door, is familiar to
every town-born child by the title of the Pyncheon Elm. On
my occasional visits to the town aforesaid I seldom failed to
turn down Pyncheon Street, for the sake of passing through
the shadow of these two antiquities, — the great elm-tree and
the weather-beaten edifice.

The aspect of the venerable mansion has always affected
me like a human countenance, bearing the traces not merely
of outward storm and sunshine but expressive also of the long
lapse of mortal life, and accompanying vicissitudes that have
passed within. Were these to be worthily recounted, they
would form a narrative of no small interest and instruction,
and possessing, moreover, a certain remarkable unity, which
might always seem the result of artistic arrangement. But the
story would include a chain of events extending over the bet-
ter part of two centuries, and, written out with reasonable
amplitude, would fill a bigger folio volume, or a longer series
of duodecimos, than could prudently be appropriated to the
annals of all New England during a similar period. It conse-
quently becomes imperative to make short work with most of
the traditionary lore of which the old Pyncheon House, other-
wise known as the House of the Seven Gables, has been the
theme. With a brief sketch, therefore, of the circumstances
amid which the foundation of the house was laid, and a rapid
glimpse at its quaint exterior, as it grew black in the prevalent
east wind, — pointing, too, here and there, at some spot of
more verdant mossiness on its roof and walls, — we shall com-
mence the real action of our tale at an epoch not very remote
from the present day. Still, there will be a connection with
the long past, — a reference to forgotten events and person-
ages, and to manners, feelings, and opinions, almost or wholly
obsolete — which, if adequately translated to the reader, would
serve to illustrate how much of old material goes to make up
the freshest novelty of human life. Hence, too, might be
drawn a weighty lesson from the little-regarded truth, that the
act of the passing generation is the germ which may or must
produce good or evil fruit in a far-distant time; that, together
with the seed of the merely temporary crop, which mortals
term expediency, they evidently sow the acorns of a more endur-
ing growth, which may darkly overshadow their posterity.

334 TH3 WORLD'S PROGRESS.

The House of the Seven Gables, antique as it now looks,
was not the first habitation erected by civilized man on pre-
cisely the same spot of ground. Pyncheon Street formerly
bore the humbler appellation of Maule's Lane, from the name
of the original occupant of the soil, before whose cottage-door
it was a cow-path. A natural spring of soft and pleasant
water — a rare treasure on the sea-girt peninsula, where the
Puritan settlement was made — had early induced Matthew
Maule to build a hut, shaggy with thatch, at this point, al-
though somewhat too remote from what was then the center
of the village. In the growth of the town, however, after
some thirty or forty years, the site covered by this rude hovel
had become exceedingly desirable in the eyes of a prominent
and powerful personage, who asserted plausible claims to the
proprietorship of this, and a large adjacent tract of land, on
the strength of a grant from the legislature. Colonel Pyncheon,
the claimant, as we gather from whatever traits of him are
preserved, was characterized by an iron energy of purpose.
Matthew Maule, on the other hand, though an obscure man,
was stubborn in the defense of what he considered his right;
and, for several years, he succeeded in protecting the acre or
two of earth, which, with his own toil, he had hewn out of the
primeval forest, to be his garden-ground and homestead. No
written record of this dispute is known to be in existence. Our
acquaintance with the whole subject is derived chiefly from
tradition. It would be bold, therefore, and possibly unjust,
to venture a decisive opinion as to its merits; although it ap-
pears to have been at least a matter of doubt, whether Colonel
Pyncheon' s claim was not unduly stretched, in order to make
it cover the small metes and bounds of Matthew Maule. What
greatly strengthens such a suspicion is the fact that this con-
troversy between two ill-matched antagonists — at a period,
moreover, laud it as we may, when personal influence had far
more weight than now — remained for years undecided, and
came to a close only with the death of the party occupying
the disputed soil. The mode of his death, too, affects the
mind differently, in our day, from what it did a century and a
half ago. It was a death that blasted with strange horror the
humble name of the dweller in the cottage, and made it seem
almost a religious act to drive the plow over the little area

AMERICAN UfERATURS. 335

of his habitation, and to obliterate his place and memory from
among men.

Old Matthew Maule, in a word, was executed for the crime
of witchcraft. He was one of the martyrs to that terrible
delusion, which should teach us, among its other morals, that
the influential classes, and those who take among themselves
to be leaders of the people, are fully liable to all the passionate
error that has ever characterized the maddest mob. Clergy-
men, judges, statesmen, — the wisest, calmest, holiest persons
of their day, — stood in the inner circle roundabout the gallows,
loudest to applaud the work of blood, latest to confess them-
selves miserably deceived. If any one part of their proceedings
can be said to deserve less blame than another, it was the
singular indiscrimination with which they persecuted, not
merely the poor and aged, as in former judicial massacres, but
people of all ranks; their own equals, brethren, and wives.
Amid the disorder of such various ruin, it is not strange that a
man of inconsiderable note, like Maule, should have trodden
the martyr's path to the hill of execution almost unremarked
in the throng of his fellow-sufferers. But, in after days, when
the frenzy of that hideous epoch had subsided, it was remem-
bered how loudly Colonel Pyncheon had joined in the general
cry, to purge the land from witchcraft; nor did it fail to be
whispered that there was an invidious acrimony in the zeal
with which he had sought the condemnation of Matthew
Maule. It was well known that the victim had recognized
the bitterness of personal enmity in his persecutor's conduct
towards him, and that he declared himself hunted to death for
his spoil. At the moment of execution — with the halter about
his neck, and while Colonel Pyncheon sat on horseback, grimly
gazing at the scene — Maule had addressed him from the scaf-
fold, and uttered a prophecy, of which history, as well as fire-
side tradition, has preserved the very words. "God," said the
dying man, pointing his finger, with a ghastly look, at the un-
dismayed countenance of his enemy, "God will give him blood
to drink!"

After the reputed wizard's death, his humble homestead
had fallen an easy spoil into Colonel Pyncheon's grasp. When
it was understood, however, that the Colonel intended to erect
a family mansion — spacious, ponderously framed of oaken dm-

336 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

ber, and calculated to endure for many generations of his pos-
terity— over the spot first covered by the log-built hut of
Matthew Maule, there was much shaking of the head among
the village gossips. Without absolutely expressing a doubt
whether the stalwart Puritan had acted as a man of conscience
and integrity, throughout the proceedings which have been
sketched, they, nevertheless, hinted that he was about to build
his house over an unquiet grave. His home would include the
home of the dead and buried wizard, and would thus afford
the ghost of the latter a kind of privilege to haunt its new
apartments, and the chambers into which future bridegrooms
were to lead their brides, and where children of the Pyncheon
blood were to be born. The terror and ugliness of Maule's
crime, and the wretchedness of his punishment, would darken
the freshly plastered walls, and infect them early with the scent
of an old and melancholy house. Why, then, — while so much
of the soil around him was to be strewn with the virgin forest-
leaves, — why should Colonel Pyncheon prefer a site that had
already been accursed?

But the Puritan soldier and magistrate was not a man to be
turned aside from his well-considered scheme, either by dread
of the wizard's ghost, or by flimsy sentimentalities of any kind,
however specious. Had he been told of a bad air, it might have
moved him somewhat; but he was ready to encounter an evil
spirit on his own ground. Endowed with common sense, as
massive and hard as blocks of granite, fastened together with
stern rigidity of purpose, as with iron clamps, he followed out
his original design, probably without so much as imagining
an objection to it. On the score of delicacy, or any scrupu-
lousness which a finer sensibility might have taught him, the
Colonel, like most of his breed and generation, was impenetra-
ble. He, therefore, dug his cellar, and laid the deep founda-
tions of his mansion on the square of earth whence Matthew
Maule, forty years before, had first swept away the fallen
leaves. It was a curious and, as some people thought, an
ominous fact that, very soon after the workmen began their
operations, the spring of water, above mentioned, entirely lost
the deliciousness of its pristine quality. Whether its sources
were disturbed by the depth of the new cellar, or whatever
subtler cause might lurk at the bottom, it is certain that the

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 337

water of Maule's Well, as it continued to be called, grew hard
and brackish. Even such we find it now; and any old woman
of the neighborhood will certify that it is productive of intes-
tinal mischief to those who quench their thirst there.

The reader may deem it singular that the head carpenter of
the new edifice was no other than the son of the very man from
whose dead grip the property of the soil had been wrested.
Not improbably he was the best workman of his time ; or, per-
haps, the Colonel thought it expedient, or was impelled by some
better feeling, thus openly to cast aside all animosity against
the race of his fallen antagonist. Nor was it out of keeping
with the general coarseness and matter-of-fact character of the
age that the son should be willing to earn an honest penny, or,
rather, a weighty amount of sterling pounds from the purse
of his father's deadly enemy. At all events, Thomas Maule
became the architect of the House of the Seven Gables, and
performed his duty so faithfully that the timber framework,
fastened by his hands, still holds together.

Thus the great house was built. Familiar as it stands in the
writer's recollection, — for it has been an object of curiosity
with him from boyhood, both as a specimen of the best and
stateliest architecture of a long-past epoch, and as the scene of
events more full of human interest, perhaps, than those of a
gray feudal castle, — familiar as it stands, in its rusty old age,
it is therefore only the more difficult to imagine the bright
novelty with which it first caught the sunshine. The impres-
sion of its actual state, at this distance of a hundred and sixty
years, darkens inevitably, through the picture which we would
fain give of its appearance on the morning when the Puritan
magnate bade all the town to be his guests. A ceremony of
consecration, festive as well as religious, was now to be per-
formed. A prayer and discourse from the Rev. Mr. Higgin-
son, and the outpouring of a psalm from the general throat of
the community, was to be made acceptable to the grosser sense
by ale, cider, wine, and brandy, in copious effusion, and, as
some authorities aver, by an ox, roasted whole, or, at least, by
the weight and substance of an ox, in more manageable joints
And sirloins. The carcass of a deer, shot within twenty miles,
had supplied material for the vast circumference of a pasty.

A codfish of sixty pounds, caught in the bay, had been dis-
x— 22

338 THE WORI4>'S PROGRESS.

solved into the rich liquid of a chowder. The chimney of the
new house, in short, belching forth its kitchen-smoke, impreg-
nated the whole air with the scent of meats, fowls, and fishes,
spicily concocted with odoriferous herbs and onions in abun-
dance. The mere smell of such festivity, making its way to
everybody's nostrils, was at once an invitation and an appetite.

Maule's Lane, or Pyncheon Street, as it were now more
decorous to call it, was thronged, at the appointed hour, as with
a congregation on its way to church. All, as they approached,
looked upward at the imposing edifice, which was henceforth
to assume its rank among the habitations of mankind. There
it rose, a little withdrawn from the line of the street, but in
pride, not modesty. Its whole visible exterior was ornamented
with quaint figures, conceived in the grotesqueness of a Gothic
fancy, and drawn or stamped in the glittering plaster, com-
posed of lime, pebbles, and bits of glass, with which the wood-
work of the walls was overspread. On every side the seven
gables pointed sharply towards the sky, and presented the aspect
of a whole sisterhood of edifices, breathing through the spiracles
of one great chimney. The many lattices, with their small,
diamond-shaped panes, admitted the sunlight into hall and
chamber, while, nevertheless, the second story, projecting far
over the base, and itself retiring beneath the third, threw a
shadowy and thoughtful gloom into the lower rooms. Carved
globes of wood were affixed under the jutting stories. Little
spiral rods of iron beautified each of the seven peaks. On the
triangular portion of the gable, that fronted next the street,
was a dial, "put up that very morning, and on which the sun
was still marking the passage of the first bright hour in a his-
tory that was not destined to be all so bright. All around were
scattered shavings, chips, shingles, and broken halves of bricks;
these, together with the lately turned earth, on which the grass
had not begun to grow, contributed to the impression of
strangeness and novelty proper to a house that had yet its
place to make among men's daily interests.

The principal entrance, which had almost the breadth of a
church-door, was in the angle between the two front gables,
and was covered by an open porch, with benches beneath its
shelter. Under this arched doorway, scraping their feet on
the unworn threshold, now trod the clergymen, the elders, the

AMERICAN LITERATURE. [339

magistrates, the deacons, and whatever of aristocracy there
was in town or county. Thither, too, thronged the plebeian
classes, as freely as their betters, and in larger numbers. Just
within the entrance, however, stood two serving-men, pointing
some of the guests to the neighborhood of the kitchen, and
ushering others into the statelier rooms, — hospitable alike to
all, but still with a scrutinizing regard to the high or low
degree of each. Velvet garments, somber but rich, stiffly
plaited ruffs and bands, embroidered gloves, venerable beards,
the mien and countenance of authority, made it easy to dis-
tinguish the gentleman of worship, at that period, from the
tradesman, with his plodding air, or the laborer, in his leather
jerkin, stealing awe-stricken into the house which he had per-
haps helped to build.

One inauspicious circumstance there was, which awakened
a hardly concealed displeasure in the breasts of a few of the
more punctilious visitors. The founder of this stately mansion
— a gentleman noted for the square and ponderous courtesy of
his demeanor — ought surely to have stood in his own hall, and
to have offered the first welcome to so many personages as here
presented themselves in honor of his solemn festival. He was
as yet invisible; the most favored of the guests had not beheld
him. This sluggishness on Colonel Pyncheon's part became
still more unaccountable, when the second dignitary of the
province made his appearance and found no more ceremonious
a reception. The lieutenant-governor, although his visit was
one of the anticipated glories of the day, had alighted from his
horse, and assisted his lady from her side-saddle, and crossed
the Colonel's threshold, without other greeting than that of the
principal domestic.

This person — a gray-headed man, of quiet and most respect-
ful deportment — found it necessary to explain that his master
still remained in his study, or private apartment; on entering
which, an hour before, he had expressed a wish on no account
to be disturbed.

"Do you not see, fellow," said the high-sheriff of the
county, taking the servant aside, "that this is no less a man
than the lieutenant-governor? Summon Colonel Pyncheon at
once ! I know that he received letters from England this morn-
ing; and, in the perusal and consideration of them, an hour

34° THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

may have passed away without his noticing it. But he will be
ill-pleased, I judge, if you suffer him to neglect the courtesy
due to one of our chief rulers, and who may be said to represent
King William, in the absence of the governor himself. Call
your master instantly !"

"Nay, please your worship," answered the man, in much
perplexity, but with a backwardness that strikingly indicated
the hard and severe character of Colonel Pyncheon's domestic
rule. "My master's orders were exceeding strict ; and, as your
worship knows, he permits of no discretion in the obedience of
those who owe him service. Let who list open yonder door ; I
dare not, though the governor's own voice would bid me do it !"

"Pooh, pooh, Master High-Sheriff!" cried the lieutenant-
governor, who had overheard the foregoing discussion, and felt
himself high enough in station to play a little with his dignity.
"I will take the matter into my own hands. It is time that
the good Colonel came forth to greet his friends; else we
shall be apt to suspect that he has taken a sip too much of his
Canary wine, in his extreme deliberation which cask it were
best to broach in honor of the day! But since he is so much
behind-hand, I will give him a remembrancer myself !"

Accordingly, with such a tramp of his ponderous riding-
boots as might of itself have been audible in the remotest of the
seven gables, he advanced to the door, which the servant
pointed out, and made its new panels re-echo with a loud,
free knock. Then, looking round, with a smile, to the spec-
tators, he awaited a response. As none came, however, he
knocked again, but with the same unsatisfactory result as at
first. And now, being a trifle choleric in his temperament, the
lieutenant-governor uplifted the heavy hilt of his sword, where-
with he so beat and banged upon the door that, as some of the
bystanders whispered, the racket might have disturbed the dead.
Be that as it might, it seemed to produce no awakening effect
on Colonel Pyncheon. When the sound subsided the silence
through the house was deep, dreary, and oppressive, notwith-
standing that the tongues of many of the guests had already
been loosened by a surreptitious cup or two of wine or spirits.

"Strange, forsooth! — very strange!" cried the lieutenant-
governor, whose smile was changed to a frown. "But seeing
that our host sets us the good example of forgetting ceremony,

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 34!

I shall likewise throw it aside and make free to intrude on
his privacy!"

He tried the door, which yielded to his hand, and was flung
wide open by a sudden gust of wind that passed, as with a loud
sigh, from the outermost portal through all the passages and
apartments of the new house. It rustled the silken garments
of the ladies, and waved the long curls of the gentlemen's
wigs, and shook the window-hangings and the curtains of the
bed-chambers; causing everywhere a singular stir, which yet
was more like a hush. A shadow of awe and half- fearful
anticipation — nobody knew wherefore, nor of what — had all at
once fallen over the company.

They thronged, however, to the now open door, pressing
the lieutenant-governor, in the eagerness of their curiosity,
into the room in advance of them. At the first glimpse they
beheld nothing extraordinary ; a handsomely furnished room, of
moderate size, somewhat darkened by curtains ; books arranged
on shelves ; a large map on the wall, and likewise a portrait of
Colonel Pyncheon, beneath which sat the original Colonel him-
self, in an oaken elbow-chair, with a pen in his hand. Letters,
parchments and blank sheets of paper were on the table before
him. He appeared to gaze at the curious crowd, in front of
which stood the lieutenant-governor ; and there was a frown on
his dark and massive countenance, as if sternly resentful of the
boldness that had impelled them into his private retirement.

A little boy — the Colonel's grandchild, and the only human
being that ever dared to be familiar with him — now made his
way among the guests and ran towards the seated figure;
then, pausing half-way, he began to shriek with terror. The
company, tremulous as the leaves of a tree, when all are shak-
ing together, drew nearer, and perceived that there was an un-
natural distortion in the fixedness of Colonel Pyncheon's stare;
that there was blood on his ruff, and that his hoary beard was
saturated with it. It was too late to give assistance. The iron-
hearted Puritan, the relentless persecutor, the grasping and
strong-willed man, was dead ! Dead, in his new house ! There
is a tradition, only worth alluding to, as lending a tinge of
superstitious awe to a scene perhaps gloomy enough without it,
that a voice spoke loudly among the guests, the tones of which

342 THE WORU>'S PROGRESS.

were like those of old Matthew Maule, the executed wizard,
"God hath given him blood to drink!"

Thus early had that one guest, — the only guest who is cer-
tain, at one time or another, to find his way into every human
dwelling, — thus early had Death stepped across the threshold
of the House of the Seven Gables !

Colonel Pyncheon's sudden and mysterious end made a
vast deal of noise in its day. There were many rumors, some
of which have vaguely drifted down to the present time, how
that appearances indicated violence; that there were the marks
of fingers on his throat, and the print of a bloody hand on his
plaited ruff; and that his peaked beard was disheveled, as if it
had been fiercely clutched and pulled. It was averred, likewise,
that the lattice-window, near the Colonel's chair, was open;
and that, only a few minutes before the fatal occurrence, the
figure of a man had been seen clambering over the garden-
fence, in the rear of the house. But it were folly to lay any
stress on stories of this kind, which are sure to spring up
around such an event as that now related, and which, as in the
present case, sometimes prolong themselves for ages after-
wards, like the toadstools that indicate where the fallen and
buried trunk of a tree has long since mouldered into the earth.
For our own part, we allow them just as little credence as to
that other fable of the skeleton hand which the lieutenant-
governor was said to have seen at the Colonel's throat, but
which vanished away as he advanced farther into the room.
Certain it is, however, that there was a great consultation and
dispute of doctors over the dead body. One — John Swinnerton
by name — who appears to have been a man of eminence, upheld
it, if we have rightly understood his terms of art, to be a case
of apoplexy. His professional brethren, each for himself,
adopted various hypotheses, more or less plausible, but all
dressed out in a perplexing mystery of phrase, which, if it do
not show a bewilderment of mind in these erudite physicians,
certainly causes it in the unlearned peruser of their opinions.
The coroner's jury sat upon the corpse, and, like sensible men,
returned an unassailable verdict of "Sudden Death" !

It is indeed difficult to imagine that there could have been a
serious suspicion of murder, or the s1*0' '°st grounds for im-
plicating any particular individual u a nv roetrator. The

AMERICAN IJTERATUR3. 343'

rank, wealth, and eminent character of the deceased must have
insured the strictest scrutiny into every ambiguous circumstance.
As none such is on record, it is safe to assume that none existed.
Tradition, — which sometimes brings down truth that history
has let slip, but is often the wild babble of the time, such as was
formerly spoken at the fireside, and now congeals in news-
papers,— tradition is responsible for all contrary averments.
In Colonel Pyncheon's funeral sermon, which was printed, and
is still extant, the Rev. Mr. Higginson enumerates, among the
many felicities of his distinguished parishioner's earthly career,
the happy seasonableness of his death. His duties all performed,
— the highest prosperity attained, — his race and future genera-
tions fixed on a stable basis, and with a stately roof to shelter
them for centuries to come, — what other upward step remained
for this good man to take, save the final step from earth to the
golden gate of heaven! The pious clergyman surely would
not have uttered words like these had he in the least suspected
that the Colonel had been thrust into the other world with the
clutch of violence upon his throat.

The family of Colonel Pyncheon, at the epoch of his death,
seemed destined to as fortunate a permanence as can anywise
consist with the inherent instability of human affairs. It might
fairly be anticipated that the progress of time would rather
increase and ripen their prosperity than wear away and destroy
it. For not only had his son and heir come into immediate
enjoyment of a rich estate, but there was a claim, through an
Indian deed, confirmed by a subsequent grant of the General
Court, to a vast and as yet unexplored and unmeasured tract of
Eastern lands. These possessions — for as such they might
almost certainly be reckoned — comprised the greater part of
what is now known as Waldo County, in the State of Maine,
and were more extensive than many a dukedom, or even a reign-
ing prince's territory on European soil. When the pathless
forest, that still covered this wild principality, should give place
— as it inevitably must, though perhaps not till ages hence —
to the golden fertility of human culture, it would be the source
of incalculable wealth to the Pyncheon blood. Had the Colonel
survived only a few weeks longer, it is probable that his great
political influence, arj$ powerful connections, at home and
abroad, would bfeflected "ummated all that was necessary to

344 TH^ WORLD'S PROGRESS.

render the claim available. But, in spite of good Mr. Higgin-
son's congratulatory eloquence, this appeared to be the one thing
which Colonel Pyncheon, provident and sagacious as he was,
had allowed to go at loose ends. So far as the prospective
territory was concerned, he unquestionably died too soon. His
son lacked not merely the father's eminent position, but the
talent and force of character to achieve it : he could, therefore,
effect nothing by dint of political interest; and the bare justice
or legality of the claim was not so apparent, after the Colonel's
decease, as it had been pronounced in his lifetime. Some con-
necting link had slipped out of the evidence and could not any-
where be found.

Efforts, it is true, were made by the Pyncheons, not only
then, but at various periods for nearly a hundred years after-
wards, to obtain what they stubbornly persisted in deeming their
right. But, in course of time, the territory was partly re-
granted to more favored individuals, and partly cleared and
occupied by actual settlers. These last, if they ever heard of
the Pyncheon title, would have laughed at the idea of any
man's asserting a right — on the strength of mouldy parch-
ments, signed with the faded autographs of governors and
legislators long dead and forgotten — to the lands which they
or their fathers had wrested from the wild hand of Nature, by
their own sturdy toil. This impalpable claim, therefore, resulted
in nothing more solid than to cherish, from generation to gen-
eration, an absurd delusion of family importance, which all
along characterized the Pyncheons. It caused the poorest
member of the race to feel as if he inherited a kind of nobility,
and might yet come into the possession of princely wealth to
support it. In the better specimens of the breed, this peculiar-
ity threw an ideal grace over the hard material of human life,
without stealing away any truly valuable quality. In the baser
sort its effect was to increase the liability to sluggishness and
dependence, and induce the victim of a shadowy hope to remit
all self-effort while awaiting the realization of his dreams.
Years and years after their claim had passed out of the public
memory, the Pyncheons were accustomed to consult the
Colonel's ancient map, which had been projected while Waldo
County was still an unbroken wilderness. Where the old land-
surveyor had put down woods, lakej5 and riVers, they marked

./

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 345

out the cleared spaces, and dotted the villages and towns, and
calculated the progressively increasing value of the territory,
as if there were yet a prospect of its ultimately forming a
princedom for themselves.

In almost every generation, nevertheless, there happened
to be some one descendant of the family gifted with a portion
of the hard, keen sense, and practical energy, that had so re-
markably distinguished the original founder. His character,
indeed, might be traced all the way down, as distinctly as if
the Colonel himself, a little diluted, had been gifted with an
intermittent sort of immortality on earth. At two or three
epochs, when the fortunes of the family were low, this repre-
sentative of hereditary qualities had made his appearance, and
caused the traditionary gossips of the town to whisper among
themselves, — "Here is the old Pyncheon come again! Now
the Seven Gables will be new shingled !" From father to son,
they clung to the ancestral house with singular tenacity of home
attachment. For various reasons, however, and from impres-
sions often too vaguely founded to be put on paper, the writer
cherishes the belief that many, if not most, of the successive
proprietors of this estate were troubled with doubts as to their
moral right to hold it. Of their legal tenure there could be
no question; but old Matthew Maule, it is to be feared, trode
downward from his own age to a far later one, planting a
heavy footstep, all the way, on the conscience of a Pyncheon.
If so, we are left to dispose of the awful query, whether each
inheritor of the property — conscious of wrong, and failing to
rectify it — did not commit anew the great guilt of his an-
cestor, and incur all its original responsibilities. And suppos-
ing such to be the case, would it not be a far truer mode of
expression to say, of the Pyncheon family, that they inherited
a great misfortune, than the reverse ?

We have already hinted, that it is not our purpose to trace
down the history of the Pyncheon family, in its unbroken con-
nection with the house of the Seven Gables; nor to show, as
in a magic picture, how the rustiness and infirmity of age gath-
ered over the venerable house itself. As regards its interior
life, a large, dim looking-glass used to hang in one of the rooms,
and was fabled to contain within its depths all the shapes that
had ever been reflected there, — the old Colonel himself, and

346 THE WORUD'S PROGRESS.

his many descendants, some in the garb of antique babyhood,
and others in the bloom of feminine beauty or manly prime,
or saddened with the wrinkles of frosty age. Had we the
secret of that mirror, we would gladly sit down before it, and
transfer its revelations to our page. But there was a story,
for which it is difficult to conceive any foundation, that the
posterity of Matthew -Maule had some connection with the
mystery of the looking-glass, and that, by what appears to have
been a sort of mesmeric process, they could make its inner re-
gion all alive with the departed Pyncheons; not as they had
shown themselves to the world nor in their better and happier
hours, but in doing over again some deed of sin, or in the crisis
of life's bitterest sorrow. The popular imagination, indeed,
long kept itself busy with the affair of the old Puritan
Pyncheon and the wizard Maule; the curse, which the latter
flung from his scaffold, was remembered, with the very im-
portant addition, that it had become a part of the Pyncheon
inheritance. If one of the family did but gurgle in his throat,
a bystander would be likely enough to whisper, between jest
and earnest, — "He has Maule's blood to drink!" The sudden
death of a Pyncheon, about a hundred years ago, with cir-
cumstances very similar to what have been related of the Colo-
nel's exit, was held as giving additional probability to the re-
ceived opinion on this topic. It was considered, moreover,
an ugly and ominous circumstance, that Colonel Pyncheon's
picture — in obedience, it was said, to a provision of his will
— remained affixed to the wall of the room in which he died.
Those stern immitigable features seemed to symbolize an evil
influence, and so darkly to mingle the shadow of their presence
with the sunshine of the passing hour, that no good thoughts
or purpose could ever spring up and blossom there. To the
thoughtful mind, there will be no tinge of superstition in what
we figuratively express, by affirming that the ghost of a dead
progenitor — perhaps as a portion of his own punishment — is
often doomed to become the Evil Genius of his family.

The Pyncheons, in brief, lived along, for the better part of
two centuries, with perhaps less of outward vicissitude than has
attended most other New England families, during the same
period of time. Possessing very distinctive traits of their own,
they nevertheless took the general characteristics of the little

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 347

community in which they. dwelt; a town noted for its frugal,
discreet, well-ordered, and home-loving inhabitants, as well as
for the somewhat confined scope of its sympathies; but in
which, be it said, there are odder individuals, and, now and
then, stranger occurrences, than one meets with almost any-
where else. During the Revolution, the Pyncheon of that
epoch, adopting the Royal side, became a refugee; but re-
pented, and made his reappearance, just at the point of time to
preserve the House of the Seven Gables from confiscation.
For the last seventy years, the most noted event in the Pyncheon
annals had been likewise the heaviest calamity that ever be-
fell the race; no less than the violent death— for so it was
adjudged — of one member of the family, by the criminal act
of another. Certain circumstances, attending this fatal oc-
currence, had brought the deed irresistibly home to a nephew
of the deceased Pyncheon. The young man was tried and
convicted of the crime; but either the circumstantial nature
of the evidence, and possibly some lurking doubt in the breast
of the executive, or, lastly, — an argument of greater weight
in a republic than it could have been under a monarchy, — the
high respectability and political influence of the criminal's con-
nections, had availed to mitigate his doom from death to per-
petual imprisonment. This sad affair had chanced about thirty
years before the action of our story commences. Latterly,
there were rumors (which few believed, and only one or two
felt greatly interested in) that this long-buried man was likely,
for some reason or other, to be summoned forth from his living
tomb.

RALPH WALDO EMERSON.

EMERSON, dying in 1882, a few months after Long-fellow,
had lived seventy-nine years; his first essay, "Nature," the
matrix of all the subsequent ones, was published as early as
1836; his literary activity continued till within a few years
of the end, yet his published works at the time of his death
would have filled little more than a dozen volumes, and much
of them was practically repetition of leading ideas in his philos-
ophy. That philosophy, however, had made him the leader
of elevated thought in this country; and he stands to-day as
one of the few really original figures in the literature of mod-
ern times.

Mary Moody Emerson, his aunt, and Miss Sarah Bradford
prepared him for college ; but he would have his own way with
books, and was never remarkable as a student ; nor did outdoor
exercise attract him. From a long line of New England
Puritan clergymen he inherited a refined and sinless nature
and extraordinary spiritual insight ; his value to his fellow-men
lay not in worldly experience nor in logic, but in his luminous
intuitions; he comprehended without effort a large and lofty
region of thought or perception, and caused glimpses of it to
irradiate others. But his faculty lay in stating what he per-
ceived, not in explaining it ; he could not successfully argue or
draw deductions, and as soon as he attempts to do so he becomes
obscure and ceases to convince us. He was not fully under-
stood, partly because he did not understand himself — he did
not realize how different from other men he was. Men who
came to him for counsel were impressed and exalted, but not

348

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 549

definitely instructed; Emerson gave them what he had, but
what he had was significant rather to the disincarnate intelli-
gence than to the incarnate, every-day human being. Thus
we finally recognize a certain disappointment in Emerson ; but
for youth he is a stimulating and invaluable companion. Con-
templating the conceivable powers of the ideal man, he exag-
gerates the faculty of the actual individual ; hopes thus aroused
may help the young to rise higher than otherwise they might,
but do not console age for failure.

Emerson read Plato and Swedenborg, and studied the lives
of great men; he looked at modern science broadly and syn-
thetically, catching its drift and its relations to spiritual life.
He placed the goal of civilization at a high point, yet flattered
man by regarding him as the potential peer of Christ, to whom
he denied special divinity. Some of his insights have never
been surpassed by a mortal intelligence ; but some of his errors,
proceeding, generally, from attempts to reason upon premises
intuitively attained, are dreary lapses from his proper level. He
made his impression upon the world by his essays; they are
unique structures. They are not a woven tissue of consistent
argument, but a collection of separate sayings upon given sub-
jects, arranged in such order as seemed to their author naturally
consecutive. There is no gradual induction into comprehension
of the topic, but you begin and end on the same plane. Emerson
was a seer, but not an artist. You may start at any point in
his prose writings, and understand as much or as little as if you
had commenced with the first page of "Nature."

It is probable that Emerson's poems, few comparatively
though they are, will outlive his prose, and the poetry of most
of his contemporaries. In these, in spite of their ruggedness
of outward form, there is inspiration of the finest sort, and a
spiritual music of ineffable beauty and purity. They present
the essence of his best philosophy in terse and profound metrical
form ; they thrill with divine vitality. Strange to say, Emer-
son distrusted his own faculty in this direction : his ideal was
too high, and he recognized his occasional failure to give per-
fect incarnation to his thought. But the thought is so exquisite
and uplifting that the outward roughness is a relief, enabling
us to endure the better what would else be almost intolerable
bfauty.

350 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

Emerson was twice married, his second wife surviving him.
He twice visited Europe, and the friendship between him and
Carlyle is historical. One of his most interesting books to the
ordinary reader is "English Traits," in which he gives a singu-
larly just and keen account of English character. His life
was spent in Concord, near Boston ; and he, during his lifetime,
and his memory since his death, have helped to make it the
Mecca of all travelers who regard whatever is purest and worth-
iest in human life and thought.

THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR.

Mr. President and Gentlemen,

I GREET you on the recommencement of our literary year.
Our anniversary is one of hope, and, perhaps, not enough of
labor. We do not meet for games of strength or skill, for the
recitation of histories, tragedies, and odes, like the ancient
Greeks; for parliaments of love and poesy, like the Trouba-
dours, nor for the advancement of science, like our contem-
poraries in the British and European capitals. Thus far, our
holiday has been simply a friendly sign of the survival of the
love of letters amongst a people too busy to give to letters any
more. As such it is precious as the sign of an indestructible
instinct. Perhaps the time is already come when it ought to
be, and will be, something else; when the sluggard intellect
of this continent will look from under its iron lids and fill the
postponed expectation of the world with something better
than the exertions of mechanical skill. Our day of dependence,
our long apprenticeship to the learning of other lands, .draws
to a close. The millions that around us are rushing into life,
cannot always be fed on the sere remains of foreign harvests.
Events, actions arise, that must be sung, that will sing them-
selves. Who can doubt that poetry will revive and lead in
a new age, as the star in the constellation Harp, which now
flames in our zenith, astronomers announce, shall one day be
the pole-star for a thousand years?

In this hope I accept the topic which not only usage but
the nature of our association seem to prescribe to this day, —
the AMERICAN SCHOLAR. Year by year we come up hither
to read one more chapter of his biography. Let us inquire

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 35 1

what light new days and events have thrown on his character
and his hopes.

It is one of those fables which out of an unknown an-
tiquity convey an unlooked-for wisdom, that the gods, in the
beginning, divided Man into men, that he might be more help-
ful to himself; just as the hand was divided into fingers, the
better to answer its end.

The old fable covers a doctrine ever new and sublime ; that
there is One Man, — present to all particular men only par-
tially, or through one faculty ; and that you must take the whole
society to find the whole man. Man is not a farmer, or a pro-
fessor, or an engineer, but he is all. Man is priest, and scholar,
and statesman, and producer and soldier. In the divided or
social states these functions are parceled out to individuals,
each of whom aims to do his stint of the joint work, whilst
each other performs his. The fable implies that the individual,
to possess himself, must sometimes return from his own labor
to embrace all the other laborers. But, unfortunately, this
original unit, this fountain of power has been so distributed
to multitudes, has been so minutely subdivided and peddled
out, that it is spilled into drops, and cannot be gathered. The
state of society is one in which the members have suffered
amputation from the trunk, and strut about so many walking
monsters, — a good finger, a neck, a stomach, an elbow, but
never a man.

Man is thus metamorphosed into a thing, into many things.
The planter, who is Man sent out into the field to gather food,
is seldom cheered by any idea of the true dignity of his min-
istry. He sees his bushel and his cart, and nothing beyond,
and sinks into the farmer, instead of Man on the farm. The
tradesman scarcely ever gives an ideal worth to his work, but
is ridden by the routine of his craft, and the soul is subject
to dollars. The priest becomes a form ; the attorney a statute-
book; the mechanic a machine; the sailor a rope of the ship.

In this distribution of functions the scholar is the delegated
intellect. In the right state he is Man Thinking. In the de-
generate state, when the victim of society, he tends to become
a mere thinker, or still worse, the parrot of other men's think-
ing.

In this view of him, as Man Thinking, the theory of his

352 THE WORIO>'S PROGRESS.

office is contained. Him Nature solicits with all her placid, all
her monitory pictures; him the past instructs; him the future
invites. Is not indeed every man a student, and do not all
things exist for the student's behoof? And, finally, is not the
true scholar the only true master? But the old oracle said,
"All things have two handles: beware of the wrong one."
In life, too often, the scholar errs with mankind and forfeits
his privilege. Let us see him in his school, and consider him in
reference to the main influences he receives.

I. The first in time and the first in importance of the influ-
ences upon the mind is that of Nature. Every day, the sun;
and, after sunset, Night and her stars. Ever the winds blow ;
ever the grass grows. Every day, men and women, convers-
ing, beholding and beholden. The scholar is he of all men
whom this spectacle most engages. He must settle its value in
his mind. What is Nature to him? There is never a begin-
ning, there is never an end, to the inexplicable continuity of this
web of God, but always circular power returning into itself.
Therein it resembles his own spirit, whose beginning, whose
ending, he never can find, — so entire, so boundless. Far too
as her splendors shine, system on system shooting like rays,
upward, downward, without center, without circumference, —
in the mass and in the particle, Nature hastens to render ac-
count of herself to the mind. Classification begins. To the
young mind everything is individual, stands by itself. By
and by, it finds how to join two things and see in them one
nature; then three, then three thousand; and so, tyrannized
over by its own unifying instinct, it goes on tying things to-
gether, diminishing anomalies, discovering roots running under
ground whereby contrary and remote things cohere and flower
out from one stem. It presently learns that since the dawn of
history there has been a constant accumulation and classify-
ing of facts. But what is classification but the perceiving
that these objects are not chaotic, and are not foreign, but
have a law which is also a law of the human mind? The
astronomer discovers that geometry, a pure abstraction of the
Auman mind, is the measure of planetary motion. The chemist
inds proportions and intelligible method throughout matter;
and science is nothing but the finding of analogy, identity, in
the most remote parts. The ambitious soul sits down before

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GARDEN* OF THE SANTA BARBARA
MJSSION.

JHWE it no more absorbing study than th«u of the Mis-
sions which stand a> silent testimonials to a lift that
is passed Once there were two chains of these religious
centers reaching from San Diego to San Francisco, one ex-
tending along the coast, one following the valley. Thete were
located a day's journey apart. Vre know that each w*» once
a center of busy, wholesome activity and that the Indians
prospered under the padres. Most of these Missions are in
ruins today. The one at Santa Barbara is still occupied by
Franciscans wko pass their lives in far greater seclusion than
did those who built the Mission.

This garden is held in strict seclusion and wemea art not
allowed tp enter it, although many parts of tht Mission are
often to visitors. Exception wa* made of the wive* of two
Prtttdtnti who have in recent years made tripi to tht coMt
and they wtrt rtettved her*.

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 353

each refractory fact; one after another reduces all strange
constitutions, all new powers, to their class and their law,
and goes on forever to animate the last fiber of organization,
the outskirts of Nature, by insight.

Thus to him, to this schoolboy under the bending dome
of day, is suggested that he and it proceed from one root; one
is leaf and one is flower; relation, sympathy, stirring in every
vein. And what is that root? Is not that the soul of his soul?
A thought too bold ; a dream too wild. Yet when this spiritual
light shall have revealed the law of more earthly natures, —
when he has learned to worship the soul, and to see that the
natural philosophy that now is, is only the first gropings of
its gigantic hand, he shall look forward to an ever expanding
knowledge as to a becoming creator. He shall see that nature
is the opposite of the soul, answering to it part for part. One
is seal and one is print. Its beauty is the beauty of his own
mind. Its laws are the laws of his own mind. Nature then
becomes to him the measure of his attainments. So much
of Nature as he is ignorant of, so much of his own mind does
he not yet possess. And, in fine, the ancient precept, "Know
thyself," and the modern precept, "Study Nature," become at
last one maxim.

II. The next great influence into the spirit of the scholar
is the mind of the Past, — in whatever form, whether of litera-
ture, of art, of institutions, that mind is inscribed. Books are
the best type of the influence of the past, and perhaps we shall
get at the truth, — learn the amount of this influence more con-
veniently,— by considering their value alone.

The theory of books is noble. The scholar of the first age
received into him the world around; brooded thereon; gave it
the new arrangement of his own mind, and uttered it again. It
came into him life; it went out from him truth. It came to
him short-lived actions; it went out from him immortal
thoughts. It came to him business; it went from him poetry.
It was dead fact; now, it is quick thought. It can stand, and
it can go. It now endures, it now flies, it now inspires. Pre-
cisely in proportion to the depth of mind from which it issued,
so high does it soar, so long does it sing.

Or, I might say, it depends on how far the process had
gone, of transmuting life into truth. In proportion to the com-

X. — 23

354 TH3 WORU>S PROGRESS.

pleteness of the , distillation, so will the purity and imperish-
ableness of the product be. But none is quite perfect. As no
air-pump can by any means make a perfect vacuum, so neither
can any artist entirely exclude the conventional, the local, the
perishable from his book, or write a book of pure thought, that
shall be as efficient, in all respects, to a remote posterity, as to
contemporaries, or rather to the second age. Each age, it is
found, must write its own books; or rather, each generation
for the next succeeding. The books of an older period will not
fit this.

Yet hence arises a grave mischief. The sacredness which
attaches to the act of creation, the act of thought, is trans-
ferred to the record. The poet chanting was felt to be a divine
man: henceforth the chant is divine also. The writer was a
just and wise spirit: henceforward it is settled the book is
perfect; as love of the hero corrupts into worship of his statue.
Instantly the book becomes noxious : the guide is a tyrant. The
sluggish and perverted mind of the multitude, slow to open to
the incursions of Reason, having once so opened, having once
received this book, stands upon it, and makes an outcry if it is
disparaged. Colleges are built on it. Books are written on it
by thinkers, not by Man Thinking; by men of talent, that is,
who start wrong, who set out from accepted dogmas, not from
their own sight of principles. Meek young men grow up in
libraries, believing it their duty to accept the views from Cicero,
which Locke, which Bacon, have given; forgetful that Cicero,
Locke, and Bacon were only young men in libraries when they
wrote these books.

Hence, instead of Man Thinking, we have the bookworm.
Hence the book-learned class, who value books, as such ; not as
related to Nature and the human constitution, but as making a
sort of Third Estate with the world and the soul. Hence the
restorers of readings, the emendators, the bibliomaniacs of all
degrees.

Books are the best of things, well used ; abused, among the
worst. What is the right use ? What is the one end which all
means go to effect? They are for nothing but to inspire. I
had better never see a book than to be warped by its attraction
clean out of my own orbit, and made a satellite instead of a
system. The one thing in the world, of value, is the active

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 355

soul. This every man is entitled to; this every man contains
within him, although in almost all men obstructed, and as yet
unborn. The soul active sees absolute truth and utters truth,
or creates. In this action it is genius ; not the privilege of here
and there a favorite, but the sound estate of every man. In
its essence it is progressive. The book, the college, the school
of art, the institution of any kind, stop with some past utter-
ance of genius. This is good, say they, — let us hold by this.
They pin me down. They look backward and not forward.
But genius looks forward : the eyes of man are set in his fore-
head, not in his hindhead, man hopes : genius creates. What-
ever talents may be, if the man create not, the pure efflux of
the Deity is not his ; — cinders and smoke there may be, but not
yet flame. There are creative manners, there are creative
actions, and creative words; manners, actions, words, that is,
indicative of no custom or authority, but springing spontaneous
from the mind's own sense of good and fair.

On the other part, instead of being its own seer, let it re-
ceive from another mind its truth, though it were in torrents
of light, without periods of solitude, inquest, and self-recovery,
and a fatal disservice is done. Genius is always sufficiently the
enemy of genius by over influence. The literature of every
nation bears me witness. The English dramatic poets have
Shakespearized now for two hundred years.

Undoubtedly there is a right way of reading, so it be
sternly subordinated. Man Thinking must not be subdued by
his instruments. Books are for the scholar's idle times. When
he can read God directly, the hour is too precious to be wasted
in other men's transcripts of their readings. But when the
intervals of darkness come, as come they must, — when the sun
is hid and the stars withdraw their shining, — we repair to the
lamps which were kindled by their ray, to guide our steps
to the East again, where the dawn is. We hear, that we may
speak. The Arabian proverb says, "A fig tree, looking on a
fig tree, becometh fruitful."

It is remarkable the character of the pleasure we derive
from the best books. They impress us with the conviction that
one Nature wrote and the same reads. We read the verses
of one of the great English poets, of Chaucer, of Marvell, of
Dryden, with the most modern joy, — with a pleasure, I mean,

356 THE WORUD'S PROGRESS.

which is in great part caused by the abstraction of all time
from their verses. There is some awe mixed with the joy of
our surprise, when this poet, who lived in some past world, two
or three hundred years ago, says that which lies close to my
own soul, that which I also had well-nigh thought and said.
But for the evidence thence afforded to the philosophical doc-
trine of the identity of all minds, we should suppose some pre-
established harmony, some foresight of souls that were to be,
and some preparation of stores for their future wants, like the
fact observed in insects, who lay up food before death for the
young grub they shall never see. . . .

I have now spoken of the education of the scholar by na-
ture, by books, and by action. It remains to say somewhat of
his duties.

They are such as become Man Thinking. They may all
be comprised in self-trust. The office of the scholar is to
cheer, to raise, and to guide men by showing them facts amidst
appearances. He plies the slow, unhonored, and unpaid task
of observation. Flamsteed and Herschcl, in their glazed ob-
servatories, may catalogue the stars with the praise of all men,
and the results being splendid and useful, honor is sure. But
he, in his private observatory, cataloguing obscure and nebulous
stars of the human mind, which as yet no man has thought of
as such, — watching days and months sometimes for a few
facts ; correcting still his old records ; — must relinquish display
and immediate fame. In the long period of his preparation he
must betray often an ignorance and shiftlessness in popular
arts, incurring the disdain of the able who shoulder him aside.
Long he must stammer in his speech; often forego the living
for the dead. Worse yet, he must accept, — how often! pov-
erty and solitude. For the ease and pleasure of treading the
old road, accepting the fashions, the education, the religion of
society, he takes the cross of making his own, and, of course,
the self-accusation, the faint heart, the frequent uncertainty and
loss of time, which are the nettles and tangling vines in the
way of the self-relying and self-directed; and the state of
virtual hostility in which he seems to stand to society, and
especially to educated society. For all this loss and scorn, what
offset ? He is to find consolation in exercising the highest func-
tions of human nature. He is one who raises himself from

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 357

private considerations and breathes and lives on public and
illustrious thoughts. He is the world's eye. He is the world's
heart. He is to resist the vulgar prosperity that retrogrades
ever to barbarism, by preserving ,and communicating heroic
sentiments, noble biographies, melodious verse, and the con-
clusions of history. Whatsoever oracles the human heart, in
all emergencies, in all solemn hours, has uttered as its com-
mentary on the world of actions, — these he shall receive and
impart. And whatsoever new verdict Reason from her in-
violable seat pronounces on the passing men and events of to-
day,— this he shall hear and promulgate.

These being his functions, it becomes him to feel all con-
fidence in himself, and to defer never to the popular cry. He
and he only knows the world. The world of any moment
is the merest appearance. Some great decorum, some fetish of
a government, some ephemeral trade, or war, or man, is cried
up by half mankind and cried down by the other half, as if all
depended on this particular up or down. The odds are that the
whole question is not worth the poorest thought which the
scholar has lost in listening to the controversy. Let him not
quit his belief that a popgun is a popgun, though the ancient
and honorable of the earth affirm it to be the crack of doom.
In silence, in steadiness, in severe abstraction, let him hold by
himself; add observation to observation, patient of neglect,
patient of reproach, and bide his own time, — happy enough if
he can satisfy himself alone that this day he has seen some-
thing truly. Success treads on every right step. For the
instinct is sure, that prompts him to tell his brother what he
thinks. He then learns that in going down into the secrets of
his own mind he has descended into the secrets of all minds.
He learns that he who has mastered any law in his private
thoughts is master to that extent of all men whose language
he speaks, and of all into whose language his own can be trans-
lated. The poet, in utter solitude remembering his spontaneous
thoughts and recording them, is found to have recorded that
which men in crowded cities find true for them also. The
orator distrusts at first the fitness of his frank confessions, his
want of knowledge of the persons he addresses, until he finds
that he is the complement of his hearers; — that they drink his
words because he fulfils for them their own nature ; the deeper

558 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

he dires into his privatest, secretest presentiment, to his won-
der he finds this is the most acceptable, most public, and uni-
versally true. The people delight in it ; the better part of every
man feels, This is my music; this is myself.

In self-trust all the virtues are comprehended. Free should
the scholar be, — free and brave. Free even to the definition of
freedom, "without any hindrance that does not arise out of his
own constitution." Brave ; for fear is a thing which a scholar
by his very function puts behind him. Fear always springs
from ignorance. It is a shame to him if his tranquillity, amid
dangerous times, arise from the presumption that like children
and women his is a protected class; or if he seek a temporary
peace by the diversion of his thoughts from politics or vexed
questions, hiding his head like an ostrich in the flowering
bushes, peeping into microscopes, and turning rhymes, as a boy
whistles to keep his courage up. So is the danger a danger
still; so is the fear worse. Manlike let him turn and face it.
Let him look into its eye and search its nature, inspect its origin,
— see the whelping of this lion, — which lies no great way back;
he will then find in himself a perfect comprehension of its
nature and extent; he will have made his hands meet on the
other side, and can henceforth defy it and pass on superior.
The world is his who can see through its pretension. What
deafness, what stone-blind custom, what overgrown error you
behold is there only by sufferance, — by your sufferance. See
it to be a lie, and you have already dealt it its mortal blow.

Yes, we are the cowed, — we the trustless. It is a mis-
chievous notion that we are come late into nature; that the
world was finished a long time ago. As the world was plastic
and fluid in the hands of God, so it is ever to so much of his
attributes as we bring to it. To ignorance and sin, it is flint.
They adapt themselves to it as they may ; but in proportion as a
man has anything in him divine, the firmament flows before
him and takes his signet and form. Not he is great who can
alter matter, but he who can alter my state of mind. They are
the kings of the world who give the color of their present
thought to all nature and all art, and persuade men by the
cheerful serenity of their carrying the matter, that this thing
which they do is the apple which the ages have desired to pluck,
now at last ripe, and inviting nations to the harvest. The great

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 359

man makes the great thing. Wherever Macdonald sits, there is
the head of the table. Linnaeus makes botany the most alluring
of studies, and wins it from the farmer and the herb-woman;
Davy, chemistry, and Cuvier, fossils. The day is always his
who works in it with serenity and great aims. The unstable
estimates of men crowd to him whose mind is filled with a
truth, as the heaped waves of the Atlantic follow the moon.

For this self-trust, the reason is deeper than can be
fathomed, — darjcer than can be enlightened. I might not carry
with me the feeling of my audience in stating my own belief.
But I have already shown the ground of my hope, in adverting
to the doctrine that man is one. I believe man has been
wronged; he has wronged himself. He has almost lost the
light that can lead him back to his prerogatives. Men are
become of no account. Men in history, men in the world of
today, are bugs, are spawn, and are called "the mass" and
"the herd." In a century, in a millennium, one or two men;
that is to say, .one or two approximations to the right state of
every man. All the rest behold in the hero or the poet their
own green and crude being, — ripened; yes, and are content
to be less, so that may attain to its full stature. What a testi-
mony, full of grandeur, full of pity, is borne to the demands of
his own nature, by the poor clansman, the poor partisan, who
rejoices in the glory of his chief. The poor and the low find
some amends to their immense moral capacity, for their ac-
quiescence in a political and social inferiority. They are
content to be brushed like flies from the path of a great person,
so that justice shall be done by him to that common nature
which it is the dearest desire of all to see enlarged and glori-
fied. They sun themselves in the great man's light, and feel it
to be their own element. They cast the dignity of man from
their downtrod selves upon the shoulders of a hero, and will
perish to add one drop of blood to make that great heart beat,
those giant sinews combat and conquer. He lives for us, and
we live in him.

Men such as they are, very naturally seek money or power ;
and power because it is as good as money, — the "spoils," so
called, "of office." And why not? for they aspire to the high-
est, and this, in their sleep-walking, they dream is highest.
Wake them and they shall quit the false good and leap to the

360 THE; WORLD'S PROGRESS.

true, and leave governments to clerks and desks. This revolu-
tion is to be wrought by the gradual domestication of the idea
of Culture. The main enterprise of the world for splendor,
for extent, is the upbuilding of a man. Here are the materials
strewn along the ground. The private life of one man shall be
a more illustrious monarchy, more formidable to its enemy,
more sweet and serene in its influence to its friend, than any
kingdom in history. For a man, rightly viewed, comprehendeth
the particular natures of all men. Each philosopher, each bard,
each actor has only done for me, as by a delegate, what one day
I can do for myself. The books which once we valued more
than the apple of the eye, we have quite exhausted. What
is that but saying that we have come up with the point of view
which the universal mind took through the eyes of one scribe;
we have been that man, and have passed on. First one, then
another, we drain all cisterns, and waxing greater by all these
supplies, we crave a better and more abundant food. The man
has never lived that can feed us ever. The human mind cannot
be enshrined in a person who shall set a barrier on any one side
to this unbounded, unboundable empire. It is one central fire,
which, flaming now out of the lips of Etna, lightens the capes
of Sicily, and now out of the throat of Vesuvius, illuminates
the towers and vineyards of Naples. It is one light which
beams out of a thousand stars. It is one soul which animates
all men.

There is one man of genius who has done much for this
philosophy of life, whose literary value has never yet been
rightly estimated; — I mean Emanuel Swedenborg. The most
imaginative of men, yet writing with the precision of a mathe-
matician, he endeavored to engraft a purely philosophical
Ethics on the popular Christianity of his time. Such an attempt
of course must have difficulty which no genius could surmount.
But he saw and showed the connection between nature and the
affections of the soul. He pierced the emblematic or spiritual
character of the visible, audible, tangible world. Especially
did his shade-loving muse hover over and interpret the lower
parts of nature ; he showed the mysterious bond that allies moral
evil to the foul material forms, and has given in epical parables
a theory of insanity, of beasts, of unclean and fearful things.

Another sign of our times, also marked by an analogous

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 361

political movement, is the new importance given to the single
person. Everything that tends to insulate the individual, — to
surround him with barriers of natural respect, so that each man
shall feel the world is his, and man shall treat with man as a
sovereign state with a sovereign state, — tends to true union as
well as greatness. "I learned," said the melancholy Pestalozzi,
"that no man in God's wide earth is either willing or able to
help any other man." Help must come from the bosom alone.
The scholar is that man who must take up into himself all the
ability of the time, all the contributions of the past, all the
hopes of the future. He must be an university of knowledges.
If there be one lesson more than another which should pierce
his ear, it is, The world is nothing, the man is all; in yourself
is the law of all nature, and you know not yet how a globule
of sap ascends; in yourself slumbers the whole of Reason; it
is for you to know all; it is for you to dare all. Mr. Presi-
dent and Gentlemen, this confidence in the unsearched might
of man belongs, by all motives, by all prophecy, by all prepa-
ration, to the American Scholar. We have listened too long
to the courtly muses of Europe. The spirit of the American
freeman is already suspected to be timid, imitative, tame. Pub-
lic and private avarice make the air we breathe thick and fat.
The scholar is decent, indolent, complaisant. See already the
tragic consequence. The mind of this country, taught to aim
at low objects, eats upon itself. There is no work for any
but the decorous and the complaisant. Young men of the fair-
est promise, who begin life upon our shores, inflated by the
mountain winds, shined upon by all the stars of God, find the
earth below not in unison with these, but are hindered from
action by the disgust which the principles on which business is
managed inspire, and turn drudges, or die of disgust, some of
them suicides. What is the remedy? They did not yet see,
and thousands of young men as hopeful now crowding to the
barriers for the career do not yet see, that if the single man
plant himself indomitably on his instincts, and there abide, the
huge world will come round to him. Patience, — patience ; with
the shades of all the good and great for company; and for
solace the perspective of your own infinite life; and for work
the study and the communication of principles, the making
those instincts prevalent, the conversion of the world. Is it not

g62 AMERICAN LITERATURE.

the chief disgrace in the world, not to be an unit; — not to be
reckoned one character ; — not to yield that peculiar fruit which
each man was created to bear, but to be reckoned in the gross,
in the hundred, or the thousand, of the party, the section, to
which we belong; and our opinion predicted geographically, as
the north, or the south ? Not so, brothers and friends, — please
God, ours shall not be so. We will walk on our own feet ; we
will work with our own hands ; we will speak our own minds.
The study of letters shall be no longer a name for pity, for
doubt, and for sensual indulgence. The dread of man and the
love of man shall be a wall of defense and a wreath of joy
around all. A nation of men will for the first time exist,
because each believes himself inspired by the Divine Soul which
also inspires all men.

AMERICAN POETRY

CHAPTER VI.
WIUJAM CUIXEN BRYANT.

BRYANT was born of good New England stock, in Cum-
mington, Massachusetts, in 1794. His father, Peter Bryant,
was a village physician of more than ordinary culture, care-
fully educated, a student of English and French poetry,
and had a respectable talent for rhyming. His mother
was descended from John and Priscilla Alden. She was
a pious, dignified, sensible woman, to whom her son alludes,
in one of his poems, as the "stately lady." The boy was
named William Cullen from a celebrated physician in Edin-
burgh, and his father meant that he should be of that pro-
fession, but the son showed such a decided aversion to it that
the matter was dropped. The rugged and picturesque hill-
country around the Bryant homestead seems to have de-
veloped in the boy that absorbing love of nature which, in
after life, was one of his distinguishing characteristics. His
grandfather, Ebenezer Snell, was the resident terror of the
household. He gloried in his Puritan ancestors; and, as a
magistrate, sent offenders, with fierce willingness, to the
whipping-post, — then a common institution in Massachusetts;
and his home rule was hardly less rigorous. From his harsh
and severe discipline the boy fled to the hills and woods to be
soothed by "the love of nature." He took refuge, in after
life, in Unitarianism, and, as he grew to manhood, and beyond,
he developed a coldness of manner and of mind that made him
appear, outside of his intimates, and the intimate expression
of a few poems — somewhat austere.

After a good preparatory education, Bryant entered Wil-
liams College, but some family losses prevented his taking a

363

364 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

degree. One was afterwards conferred upon him, that of
A. M. ; and his name is enrolled as an alumnus of the College.
After leaving college he studied law for three years, and, in
1815, he was admitted to the bar and commenced the practice
of his profession in Great Barrington, Massachusetts. Here
also he married.

In 1825 Bryant removed to New York and began his real
life work, that of journalism; becoming, after some prelimi-
nary literary skirmishing, editor of the Evening Post. As
head of that singularly elevated and reliable paper he made
his mark as the foremost journalist of the United States ; the
Puritan austerity of his mind showing itself in his choice of
words, his exclusion of slang, trivialities, sensationalism, and
crude jokes, and in the intellectual clear-cut precision of his
editorials. He gave sixty years of his life to newspaper work ;
became rich and influential ; was celebrated as a critic ; crossed
the ocean several times, and allied himself to the best every-
where. While at home he spent the year between his house in
New York, and his beautiful estate at Roslyn, Long Island.

The management of the Evening Post was Bryant's life-
work; poetry was his recreation. The lad began to compose
verse when he was ten years old, and to publish in his early
teens. He wrote his most celebrated poem, "Thanatopsis,"
when not yet eighteen years of age. The first draft of the
poem lay among th« author's private papers for nearly five
years, was discovered by his father, and sent by him to the
North American Review, which accepted and published it in
September, 1817. It was received with a sort of rapture here
and on the other side of the Atlantic; it was the best poem
yet written in America. It was and is unique. It placed
Bryant in that goodly company, with Wordsworth and his
fellows, who opened to men the life of Nature and the truth of
Nature's God.

In 1874 Mr. Bryant was honored with an exquisite silver
vase, symbolical of his life and writings, procured by public
subscription, presented with appropriate ceremonies, and placed
in the Metropolitan Museum of New York. He died sud-
denly, in June, 1878, after reciting, with marvelous fire and
enthusiasm, a passage from Dante, at the unveiling of the bust
of Mazzini, in Central Park. He was in the eighty-fourth
year of his age.

AMERICAN POETRY. 365

Bryant wrote altogether one hundred and seventy-one orig-
ins! poems; one hundred of these treat exclusively of Nature,
the others, whatever their subject, include expressions of the
charms of Nature. He sings little of love, little of humanity,
nothing of the wrongs of mankind. Poetry is his retreat, his
temple, almost his religion; and many of his verses give that
still sense of seclusion as of distant nut-dropping woods. Bry-
ant's best known poems, after "Thanatopsis," are "The Death
of the Flowers," "A Forest Hymn," "The Fringed Gentian,"
"The West Wind," "The Wind and the Stream," "Autumn
Woods," "The Flood of Ages," and the hymn, "Blessed are they
that Mourn." In his old age he made a noble translation of
Homer's Iliad and Odyssey in blank verse.

THANATOPSIS.

To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language ; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart,
Go forth under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around —
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air —
Comes a still voice — Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,

366 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

And, lost each human trace, surrendering up

Thine individual being, shalt thou go

To mix forever with the elements,

To be a brother to the insensible rock

And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain

Turns with his share and treads upon. The oak

Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.

Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone, — nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world — with kings,
The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun; the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods ; rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all,
Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, —
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings
Of morning, traverse Barca's desert sands,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound
Save his own dashings — yet — the dead are there:
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care

AMERICAN POETRY. 367

Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed man, —
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side,
By those who in their turn shall follow them.

So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS.

THE melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,

Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and

sere.

Heaped in the hollows of the groves, the withered leaves lie dead :
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread.
The robin and the wren are flown, and from their shrubs the jay,
And from the wood-top calls the crow, through all the gloomy

day.

Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang

and stood

In brighter light and softer airs — a beauteous sisterhood?
Alas ! they are all in their graves : the gentle race of flowers
Are lying in their beds, with the fair and good of ours.
The rain is falling where they lie; but the cold November rain
Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.

368 THE WORIJ>'S PROGRESS.

The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago:
And the briar-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow :
But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood,
And the yellow sun-flower by the brook in autumn beauty stood,
Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague

on men,
And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, glade,

and glen.

And now when comes the calm mild day — as still such days will

come —

To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home,
When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees

are still,

And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill,
The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he

bore,
And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.

And then I think of one who in her youthf,ul beauty died,
The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side :
In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forest cast the leaf ;
And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief.
Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend of ours,
So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers.

WAITING BY THE GATE.

BESIDE a massive gateway, built up in years gone by,
Upon whose top the clouds in eternal shadow lie,
While streams the evening sunshine on quiet wood and lea,
I stand and quietly wait till the hinges turn for me.

The tree-tops faintly rustle beneath the breeze's flight,
A soft and soothing sound, yet it whispers of the night:
I hear the wood-thrush piping one mellow descant more,
And scent the flowers that blow when the heat of day is o'er.

Behold the portals open, and o'er the threshold now
There steps a weary one with a pale and furrowed brow;
His count of years is full, his allotted task is wrought:
He passes to his rest from a place that needs him not.

AMERICAN POETRY. 369

In sadness then I ponder, how quickly fleets the hour
Of human strength and action, man's courage and his power.
1 muse while still the wood-thrush sings down the golden day,
And as I look and listen the sadness wears away.

Again the hinges turn, and a youth, departing, throws
A look of longing backward, and sorrowfully goes:
A blooming maid, unbinding the roses from her hair,
Moves mournfully away from amidst the young and fair.

O glory of our race that so suddenly decays!

O crimson flush of morning that darkens as we gaze!

0 breath of summer blossoms that on the restless air
Scatters a moment's sweetness, and flies we know not where !

1 grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then withdrawn,
But still the sun shines round me ; the evening bird sings on,
And I again am soothed, and, beside the ancient gate,

In this soft evening sunlight, I calmly stand and wait.

Once more the gates are open ; an infant group go out,

The sweet smile quenched forever, and stilled the sprightly shout.

0 frail, frail tree of Life, that upon the green sward strows
Its fair young buds unopened, with every wind that blows !

So come from every region, so enter, side by side,
The strong and faint of spirit, the meek and men of pride,
Steps of earth's great and mighty, between those pillars gray,
And prints of little feet mark the dust along the way.

And some approach the threshold whose looks are blank with fear,
And some whose temples brighten with joy in drawing near,
As if they saw dear faces, and caught the gracious eye
Of Him, the Sinless Teacher, who came for us to die.

1 mark the joy, the terror; yet these, within my heart,
Can neither wake the dread nor the longing to depart ;
And, in the sunshine streaming on quiet wood and lea,

I stand and calmly wait till the hinges turn for me.

X— 24

37° THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

THE

ONCE this soft turf, this rivulet's sands,
Were trampled by a hurrying crowd,

And fiery hearts and armed hands
Encountered in the battle-cloud.

Ah! never shall the land forget

How gushed the life-blood of her brave —
Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet,

Upon the soil they fought to save.

Now all is calm, and fresh, and still,

Alone the chirp of flitting bird,
And talk of children on the hill,

And bell of wandering kine are heard.

No solemn host goes trailing by

The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain;
Men start not at the battle-cry;

Oh, be it never heard again!

Soon rested those who fought; but thou

Who minglest in the harder strife
For truths which we receive not now,

Thy warfare only ends with life.

A friendless warfare ! lingering long
Through weary day and weary year.

A wild and many-weaponed throng

Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear.

Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof,

And blench not at thy chosen lot;
The timid good may stand aloof,

The sage may frown — yet faint thou not.

Nor heed the shaft too surely cast,
The foul and hissing bolt of scorn;

For with thy side shall dwell, at last,
The victory of endurance born.

AMERICAN POETRY.

Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again:
The eternal years of God are hers;

But Error, wounded, writhes in pain,
And dies among his worshippers.

Yea, though thou lie upon the dust,
When they who helped thee flee in fear,

Die full of hope and manly trust,
Like those who fell in battle here.

Another hand thy sword shall wield,
Another hand thy standard wave,

Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed
The blast of triumph o'er thy grave.

371

THE KENTUCKY LOG CABIN IN WHICH LINCOLN WAS BORN ON
FEBRUARY 12TH, 1809.

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

, born in 1807 and dying in 1882, lived through
the period of the first and, so far, the best American literature.
A New Englander of excellent family, he graduated in a famous
class at the old New England college of Bowdoin, and spent his
life in one of the most renowned New England towns, as Pro-
fessor in Harvard for seventeen years, and thenceforward as
the most widely known of New England poets. Twice — in
1831 and in 1843 — he was happily married ; four times, with an
interval of forty years between the first and last visit, he so-
journed in Europe. Though not rich, he never knew poverty ;
he was orthodox in his social and moral views ; with the excep-
tion of the terrible tragedy of the burning of his second wife
in 1861, his life was a studious, uneventful peace. He contem-
plated with intelligence and sympathy the life around him, and
it is reflected in his poetry, enriched and enlarged with the tints
and chiaroscuro derived from catholic culture. Without a trace
of vulgarity, without stooping to the arts of the demagogue or
falling into the crudity of didacticism, he is the poet of the peo-
ple. The abiding perception of the disproportion between
human facts and universal truths, which we call humor, was
lacking in him ; but he was always sincere and often eloquent
and elevated. Imagination he had, gently romantic rather than
grand and creative ; but his success was due to the harmony of
his nature, in which was nothing discordant or out of measure ;
poetry was his normal utterance. During his long career he
produced much that lacks permanent value, but much also that
is true and lasting poetry. His translations from the German
and other foreign languages attest his scholarship, but do not

372

AMERICAN POETRY.

illustrate his faculty; his "Dante's Divine Comedy," in spite
of its dignity and frequent felicities, is not as a poem within
measurable distance of the original. His prose books — "Outre-
Mer," in 1834, "Hyperion" in 1839, and "Kavanagh," ten years
later, are amiable but feeble books; "The Spanish Student"
(1843) and "The Golden Legend" (1851) are essays in drama
which indicate the limitations of the writer. The lyric, the
ballad and the narrative poems are Longfellow's true field, and
to them he thenceforward restricted himself. In each of them
he touched high levels. During the Abolition epoch he wrote
effective poems against slavery, and the Civil War elicited such
fine ballads as "The Cumberland" and "Paul Revere," the latter
aiming to stimulate the soldier of to-day by recalling the simple
heroism of the night-rider of the past. But in general he pre-
ferred to moralize on life, and to depict its homely pathos and
familiar charms and picturesqueness. "Excelsior," "The
Psalm of Life," "The Day is Done," "The Open Window,"
"The Old Clock on the Stairs," "The Village Blacksmith" and
many another, have entered into the language, and deservedly.
But occasionally he showed, as in "Pegasus in Pound," that he
could make pure allegory vibrate with tenderest life ; and ever
and anon he would summon his energies and achieve such long
and lofty flights as "Evangeline" or "Hiawatha," which contain
poetry to be long remembered among the honorable achieve-
ments of American literature.

In "Evangeline" the two Acadian lovers, parted by the edict
of exile, seek each other for years, sometimes passing, unknow-
ing, almost within arm's reach; and meet at last only when
Gabriel, dying in the hospital, is found by Evangeline, who,
for the sake of her lost lover, had dedicated herself to the suc-
cor of the suffering. This beautiful story suited the writer's
genius, and the long, unrhymed verses gave opportunity for the
music of words which was among his fortunate gifts. There
are many passages of exquisite and haunting loveliness; that
describing the lovers' meeting is Longfellow's best work ; and
the character of the Acadian maiden herself, gentle, faithful
and strong, is the finest he ever drew.

"Hiawatha" has the short meter and quaint simplicity of
the Norse eddas; it unites in an artistic group the most pic-
turesque of our Indian legends. Nature and wild animals play

374 TH3 WORLD'S PROGRESS.

their parts with men, women and supernatural creatures, as
personages in the drama ; the Indian spirit is preserved through-
out, and in this strange world nothing is familiar but the beating
of the universal human heart, which harmonizes and reconciles
all. The figure of Hiawatha is noble, impressive and lovable,
and Minnehaha wins our affections as she won his. The canto
in which her death is described (The Famine) is deeply mov-
ing and beautiful. The poem, ridiculed at its first appearance,
has conquered respect ; it is a bold and unique achievement, and,
of itself, secures the author's renown. Longfellow is one of
the least pretentious of poets, but his importance may be esti-
mated by imagining the gap which would be caused by thf ath
sence of his blameless and gracious figure.

THE OPEN WINDOW.

THE old house by the lindens

Stood silent in the shade,
And on the gravelled pathway

The light and shadow played.

I saw the nursery windows

Wide open to the air ;
But the faces of the children,

They were no longer there.

The large Newfoundland house-dog

Was standing by the door;
He looked for his little playmates,

Who would return no more.

They walked not under the lindens,

They played not in the hall;
But shadow, and silence, and sadness,

Were hanging over all.

The birds sang in the branches,

With sweet, familiar tone ;
But the voices of the children

Will be heard in dreams alone!

AMERICAN POETRY. 375

And the boy that walked beside me,

He could not understand
Why closer in mine, ah! closer,

I pressed his warm, soft hand!

MY LOST YOUTH.

Often I think of the beautiful town

That is seated by the sea;
Often in thought go up and down
The pleasant streets of that dear old town,
And my youth comes back to me.
And a verse of a Lapland song
Is haunting my memory still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I can see the shady lines of its trees,

And catch, in sudden gleams,
The sheen of the far-surrounding seas,
And islands that were the Hesperides
Of all my boyish dreams.

And the burden of that old song,
It murmurs and whispers still :
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the black wharves and the slips,

And the sea-tides tossing free;
And Spanish sailors with bearded lips,
And the beauty and mystery of the ships,
And the magic of the sea.

And the voice of that wayward song
Is singing and saying still :
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the bulwarks by the shore,

And the fort upon the hill ;
The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar,
The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er,

R76 THE WORUJ'S PROGRESS.

•*»-

And the bugle wild and shrill.
And the music of that old song
Throbs in my memory still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the sea-fight far away,

How it thundered o'er the tide!
And the dead captains, as they lay
In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil bay
Where they in battle died.
And the sound of that mournful song
Goes through me with a thrill :
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I can see the breezy dome of groves,
The shadows of Deering's Woods ;
And the friendships old and the early loves
Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of doves
In quiet neighborhoods.
And the verse of that sweet old song,
It flutters and murmurs still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

.
I remember the gleams and glooms that dart

Across the school boy's brain;
The song and the silence in the heart,
That in part are prophecies, and in part
Are longings wild and vain.
And the voice of that fitful song-
Sings on, and is never still :
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

There are things of which I may not speak ;

There are dreams that cannot die;
There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,
And bring a pallor to the cheek,

AMERICAN POETRY. (377

And a mist before the eye.
And the words of that fateful song
Come over me like a chill ;
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

•
Strange to me now are the forms I meet

When I visit the dear old town;
But the native air is pure and sweet,
And the trees that o'ershadow each well-known street,
As they balance up and down,
Are singing the beautiful song,
Are sighing and whispering still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair,

And with joy that is almost pain
My heart goes back to wander there,
And among the dreams of the days that were,

I find my lost youth again.

And the strange and beautiful song,
The groves are repeating again:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

CHAUCER.

An old man in a lodge within a park;
The chamber walls depicted all around
With portraitures of huntsmen, hawk, and hound,

And the hurt deer. He listeneth to the lark,

Whose song comes with the sunshine through the dark
Of painted glass in leaden lattice bound;
He listeneth and he laugheth at the sound,

Then writeth in a book like any clerk.

He is the poet of the dawn, who wrote
The Canterbury Tales, and his old age
Made beautiful with song-; and as I read

I hear the crowing cock, I hear the note
Of lark and linnet, and from every page
Rise odors of ploughed field or flowery mead.

378 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

PAUL REVERE'S RIDE.

MEANWHILE, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred with a heavy stride
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse's side,
Now gazed at the landscape far and near,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry-tower of the Old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
And lo ! as he looks, on the belfry's height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light !
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns !

A hurry of hoofs in a village street,

A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,

And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing a spark

Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet :

That was all ! And yet, through the gloom and the light,

The fate of a nation was riding that night ;

And the spark struck out by that steed in his flight

Kindled the land into flame with its heat.

He has left the village and mounted the steep,
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides ;
And under the alders, that skirt its edge,
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,
Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.
It was twelve by the village clock
When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.
He heard the crowing of the cock,
And the barking of the farmer's dog,
And felt the damp of the river fog,
That rises after the sun goes down.

AMERICAN POETRY.

It was one by the village clock,

When he galloped into Lexington.

He saw the gilded weathercock

Swim in the moonlight as he passed,

And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare,

Gaze at him with a spectral glare,

As if they already stood aghast

At the bloody work they would look upon.

679

It was two by the village clock,

When he came to the bridge in Concord town.

He heard the bleating of the flock,

And the twitter of birds among the trees,

And felt the breath of the morning breeze

Blowing over the meadows brown.

And one was safe and asleep in his bed

Who at the bridge would be first to fall,

Who that day would be lying dead,

Pierced by a British musket ball.

'380 THE WORLD'S

You know the rest. In the books you have read,
How the British Regulars fired and fled, —
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and farmyard wall,
Chasing the red-coats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load.

So through the night rode Paul Revere ;

And so through the night went his cry of alarm

To every Middlesex village and farm, —

A cry of defiance and not of fear,

A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,

And a word that shall echo for evermore !

For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,

Through all our history, to the last,

In the hour of darkness and peril and need,

The people will waken and listen to hear

The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,

And the midnight message of Paul Revere.

WALTER VON DER VOGELWEID.

Vogelweid the Minnesinger,

When he left this world of ours,

Laid his body in the cloister,
Under Wurtzburg's minster towers.

And he gave the monks his treasures,
Gave them all with this behest:

They should feed the birds at noontide
Daily on his place of rest;

Saying, "From these wandering minstrels
I have learned the art of song;

Let me now repay the lessons

They have taught so well and long."

Thus the bard of love departed;

And, fulfilling his desire,
On his tomb the birds were feasted

By the children of the choir.

AMERICAN POETRY.

Day by day, o'er tower and turret,
In foul weather and in fair,

Day by day, in vaster numbers,
Flocked the poets of the air.

On the tree whose heavy branches
Overshadowed all the place,

On the pavement, on the tombstone,
On the poet's sculptured face.

On the cross-bars of each window,
On the lintel of each door,

They renewed the War of Wartburg,
Which the bard had fought before.

There they sang- their merry carols,
Sang their lauds on every side;

And the name their voices uttered
Was the name of Vogelweid.

Till at length the portly abbot

Murmured, "Why this waste of food ?

Be it changed to loaves henceforward
For our fasting brotherhood."

Then in vain o'er tower and turret,
From the walls and woodland nests,

When the minster bells rang noontide,
Gathered the unwelcome guests.

Then in vain, with cries discordant,
Clamorous round the Gothic spire,

Screamed the feathered Minnesingers
For the children of the choir.

Time has long effaced the inscriptions
On the cloister's funeral stones,

And tradition only tells us
Where repose the poet's bones.

382 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

But around the vast cathedral,
By sweet echoes multiplied,

Still the birds repeat the legend,
And the name of Vogelweid.

TWILIGHT.

The twilight is sad and cloudy,
The wind blows wild and free,

And like the wings of sea-birds
Flash the white caps of the sea.

But in the fisherman's cottage
There shines a ruddier light,

And a little face at the window
Peers out into the night.

Close, close it is pressed to the window,

As if those childish eyes
Were looking into the darkness

To see some form arise.

And a woman's waving shadow

Is passing to and fro,
Now rising to the ceiling,

Now bowing and bending low.

What tale do the roaring ocean.

And the night-wind, bleak and wild,
As they beat at the crazy casement,

Tell to that little child?

.

§
And why do the roaring ocean,

And the night-wind, wild and bleak,
As they beat at the heart of the mother
Drive the color from her cheek?

AMERICAN POETRY. '383

NUREMBERG.

In the valley of the Pegnitz, where across broad meadow-lands
Rise the blue Franconian mountains, Nuremberg, the ancient,
stands.

Quaint old town of toil and traffic, quaint old town of art and

song,
Memories haunt thy pointed gables, like the rocks that round

them throng:

Memories of the Middle Ages, when the emperors, rough and

bold,
Had their dwelling in thy castle, time-defying, centuries old ;

And thy brave and thrifty burghers boasted, in their uncouth

rhyme,
That their great imperial city stretched its hand through every

clime.

In the court-yard of the castle, bound with many an iron band,
Stand the mighty linden planted by Queen Cunigunde's hand ;

On the square the oriel window, where in old heroic days
Sat the poet Melchior singing Kaiser Maximilian's praise.

Everywhere I see around me rise the wondrous world of Art:
Fountains wrought with richest sculpture standing in the common
mart;

And above cathedral doorways saints and bishops carved in stone,
By a former age commissioned as apostles to our own.

In the church of sainted Sebald sleeps enshrined his holy dust,
And in bronze the Twelve Apostles guard from age to age their
trust ;

In the church of sainted Lawrence stand a pix of sculpture rare,
Like the foamy sheaf of fountains, rising through the painted

384 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

Here, when Art was still religion, with a simple reverent heart,
Lived and labored Albrecht Diirer, the Evangelist of Art ;

Hence in silence and in sorrow, toiling still with busy hand,
Like an emigrant he wandered, seeking for the Better Land.

Emigravit is the inscription on the tombstone where he lies ;
Dead he is not, but departed, — for the artist never dies.

Fairer seems the ancient city, and the sunshine seems more fair,
That he once has trod its pavement, that he once has breathed
its air.

EvANGEUNE.

MANY a weary year had passed since the burning of Grand-Pre,
When on the falling tide the freighted vessels departed,
Bearing a nation, with all its household gods, into exile,
Exile without an end, and without an example in story.
Far asunder, on separate coasts, the Acadians landed ;
Scattered were they, like flakes of snow, when the wind from

the northeast

Strikes aslant through the fogs that darken the Banks of New-
foundland.

Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered from city to city,
From the cold lakes of the North to sultry Southern savannas —
From the bleak shores of the sea to the lands where the Father

of Waters

Seizes the hills in his hands, and drags them down to the ocean,
Deep in their sands to bury the scattered bones of the mammoth.
Friends they sought and homes; and many, despairing, heart-
broken,
Asked of the earth but a grave, and no longer a friend nor a

fireside.

Written their history stands on tablets of stone in the church-
yards.

Long among them was seen a maiden who waited and wandered,
Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently suffering all things.
Fair was she and young; but, alas! before her extended,
Dreary and vast and silent, the desert of life, with its pathway
Marked by the graves of those who had sorrowed and suffered

before her,
Passions long extinguished, and hopes long dead and abandoned,

AMERICAN POETRY. 385

As the emigrant's way o'er the Western desert is marked by
Camp-fires long consumed, and bones that bleach in the sunshine.
Something there was in her life incomplete, imperfect, unfinished;
As if a morning of June, with all its music and sunshine,
Suddenly paused in the sky, and, fading, slowly descended
Into the east again, from whence it late had arisen.
Sometimes she lingered in towns, till, urged by the fever within

her,

Urged by a restless longing, the hunger and thirst of the spirit,
She would commence again her endless search and endeavor ;
Sometimes in churchyards strayed, and gazed on the crosses and

tombstones,

Sat by some nameless grave, and thought that perhaps in its bosom
He was already at rest, and she longed to slumber beside him.
Sometimes a rumor, a hearsay, an inarticulate whisper,
Came with its airy hand to point and beckon her forward.
Sometimes she spake with those who had seen her beloved and

known him,

But it was long ago, in some far-off place or forgotten.
"Gabriel Lajeunesse !" they said ; "Oh, yes ! we have seen him.
He was with Basil the blacksmith, and both have gone to the

prairies ;

Coureurs-des-bois are they, and famous hunters and trappers."
"Gabriel Lajeunesse !" said others ; "Oh, yes ! we have seen him.
He is a voyageur in the lowlands of Louisiana."
Then would they say, "Dear child! why dream and wait for him

longer ?

Are there not other youths as fair as Gabriel? others
Who have hearts as tender and true, and spirits as loyal ?
Here is Baptiste Leblanc, the notary's son, who has loved thee
Many a tedious year ; come, give him thy hand and be happy I
Thou art too fair to be left to braid St. Catherine's tresses."
Then would Evangeline answer, serenely but sadly, " I cannot !
Whither my heart has gone, there follows my hand, and not

elsewhere.
For when the heart goes before, like a lamp, and illumines the

pathway,

Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden in darkness."
Thereupon the priest, her friend and father confessor,
Said, with a smile, "O daughter! thy God thus speaketh within

thee!

Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted;
If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returning

X— 25

386 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refresh-
ment;

That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.

Patience ; accomplish thy labor ; accomplish thy work of affection 1

Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is godlike.

Therefore accomplish thy labor of love, till the heart is made
godlike,

Purified, strengthened, perfected, and rendered more worthy of
heaven 1"

Cheered by the good man's words, Evangeline labored and waited.

Still in her heart she heard the funeral dirge of the ocean,

But with its sound there was mingled a voice that whispered,
"Despair not!"

Thus did that poor soul wander in want and cheerless discomfort,

Bleeding, barefooted, over the shards and thorns of existence.

Let me essay, O Muse ! to follow the wanderer's footsteps ; —

Not through each devious path, each changeful year of existence ;

But as a traveler follows a streamlet's course through the valley :

Far from its margin at times, and seeing the gleam of its water

Here and there, in some open space, and at intervals only ;

Then drawing nearer its banks, through sylvan glooms that con-
ceal it,

Though he behold it not, he can hear its continuous murmur ;

Happy, at length, if he find a spot where it reaches an outlet.

IT.

It was the month of May. Far down the Beautiful River,
Past the Ohio shore and past the mouth of the Wabash,
Into the golden stream of the broad and swift Mississippi,
Floated a cumbrous boat, that was rowed by Acadian boatmen.
It was a band of exiles : a raft, as it were, from the shipwrecked
Nation, scattered along the coast, now floating together,
Bound by the bonds of a common belief and a common mis-
fortune ;

Men and women and children, who, guided by hope or by hearsay,
Sought for their kith and their kin among the few-acred farmers
On the Acadian coast, and the prairies of fair Opelousas.
With them Evangeline went, and her guide, the Father Felician.
Onward o'er sunken sands, through a wilderness sombre with

forests,

Day after day they glided adown the turbulent river :
Night after night, by their blazing fires, encamped on its borders.
Now through rushing chutes, among green islands, where plume-
like

AMERICAN POETRY. 387

Cotton-trees nodded their shadowy crests, they swept with the

current,

Then emerged into broad lagoons, where silvery sandbars
Lay in the stream, and along the wimpling waves of their margin,
Shining with snow-white plumes, large flocks of pelicans waded.
Level the landscape grew, and along the shores of the river,
Shaded by china-trees, in the midst of luxuriant gardens,
Stood the houses of planters, with negro cabins and dove-cots.
They were approaching the region where reigns perpetual sum-
mer,
Where through the Golden Coast, and groves of orange and

citron,

Sweeps with majestic curve the river away to the eastward.
They, too, swerved from their course; and, entering the Bayou

of Plaquemine,

Soon were lost in a maze of sluggish and devious waters,
Which, like a network of steel, extended in every direction.
Over their heads the towering and tenebrous boughs of the

cypress

Met in a dusky arch, and trailing mosses in midair
Waved like banners that hang on the walls of ancient cathedrals.
Deathlike the silence seemed, and unbroken, save by the herons
Home to their roosts in the cedar-trees returning at sunset,
Or by the owl, as he greeted the moon with demoniac laughter.
Lovely the moonlight was as it glanced and gleamed on the water,
Gleamed on the columns of cypress and cedar sustaining the

arches,
Down through whose broken vaults it fell as through chinks in

a ruin.
Dreamlike, and indistinct, and strange were all things around

them;

And o'er their spirits there came a feeling of wonder and sad-
ness,—

Strange forebodings of ill, unseen and that cannot be compassed.
As, at the tramp of a horse's hoof on the turf of the prairies,
Far in advance are closed the leaves of the shrinking mimosa,
So, at the hoof-beats of fate, with sad forebodings of evil,
Shrinks and closes the heart, ere the stroke of doom has at-
tained it.

But Evangeline's heart was sustained by a vision, that faintly
Floated before her eyes, and beckoned her on through the moon-
light.

It was the thought of her brain that assumed the shape of a
phantom.

388 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

Through those shadowy aisles had Gabriel wandered before her,
And every stroke of the oar now brought him nearer and nearer..

Then in his place, at the prow of the boat, rose one of the

oarsmen,

And, as a signal sound, if others like them peradventure
Sailed on those gloomy and midnight streams, blew a blast on

his bugle.
Wild through the dark colonnades and corridors leafy the blast

rang,

Breaking the seal of silence and giving tongues to the forest.
Soundless above them the banners of moss just stirred to the

music.

Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the distance,
Over the watery floor, and beneath the reverberant branches ;
But not a voice replied ; no answer came from the darkness ;
And when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the

silence.

Then Evangeline slept ; but the boatmen rowed through the mid-
night,

Silent at times, then singing familiar Canadian boat-songs,
Such as they sang of old on their own Acadian rivers,
While through the night were heard the mysterious sounds of

the desert,

Far off, — indistinct, — as of wave or wind in the forest,
Mixed with the whoop of the crane and the roar of the grim

alligator.

Thus ere another noon they emerged from the shades; and

before them

Lay, in the golden sun, the lakes of the Atchafalaya.
Water-lilies in myriads rocked on the slight undulations
Made by the passing oars, and, resplendent in beauty, the lotus
Lifted her golden crown above the heads of the boatmen.
Faint was the air with the odorous breath of magnolia blossoms,
And with the heat of noon ; and numberless sylvan islands,
Fragrant and thickly embowered with blossoming hedges of roses,
Near to whose shores they glided along, invited to slumber.
Soon by the fairest of these their weary oars were suspended.
Under the boughs of Wachita willows, that grew by the margin,
Safely their boat was moored ; and scattered about on the green-
sward,
Tired with their midnight toil, the weary travellers slumbered.

AMERICAN POETRY. 389

Over them vast and high extended the cope of a cedar.

Swinging from its great arms, the trumpet-flower and the grape-
vine

Hung their ladder of ropes aloft like the ladder of Jacob,

On whose pendulous stairs the angels ascending, descending,

Were the swift humming-birds, that flitted from blossom to
blossom.

Such was the vision Evangeline saw as she slumbered beneath it.

Filled was her heart with love, and the dawn of an opening
heaven

Lighted her soul in sleep with the glory of regions celestial.

Nearer, ever nearer, among the numberless islands,
Darted a light, swift boat, that sped away o'er the water,
Urged on its course by the sinewy arms of hunters and trappers.
Northward its prow was turned, to the land of the bison and

beaver.

At the helm sat a youth, with countenance thoughtful and care-
worn.

Dark and neglected locks overshadowed his brow, and a sadness
Somewhat beyond his years on his face was legibly written.
Gabriel was it, who, weary with waiting, unhappy and restless,
Sought in the Western wilds oblivion of self and of sorrow,
Swiftly they glided along, close under the lee of the island,
But by the opposite bank, and behind a screen of palmettos;
So that they saw not the boat, where it lay concealed in the

willows ;
All undisturbed by the dash of their oars, and unseen, were the

sleepers ;

Angel of God was there none to awaken the slumbering maiden.
Swiftly they glided away, like the shade of a cloud on the prairie.
After the sound of their oars on the tholes had died in the dis-
tance,

As from a magic trance the sleepers awoke, and the maiden
Said with a sigh to the friendly priest, "O Father Felician !
Something says in my heart that near me Gabriel wanders.
Is it a foolish dream, an idle and vague superstition ?
Or has an angel passed, and revealed the truth to my spirit ?"
Then, with a blush, she added, "Alas for my credulous fancy !
Unto ears like thine such words as these have no meaning."
But made answer the reverend man, and he smiled as he

answered, —

"Daughter, thy words are not idle; nor are they to me without
meaning,

390 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS

Feeling is deep and still ; and the word that floats on the surface
Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor is hidden.
Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions.
Gabriel truly is near thee ; for not far away to the southward,
On the banks of the Teche, are the towns of St. Maur and St.

Martin.
There the long-wandering bride shall be given again to her

bridegroom,

There the long-absent pastor regain his flock and his sheepfold.
Beautiful is the land, with its prairies and forests of fruit trees ;
Under the feet a garden of flowers, and the bluest of heavens
Bending above, and resting its dome on the walls of the forest.
They who dwell there have named it the Eden of Louisiana."

With these words of cheer they arose and continued their

journey.

Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon
Like a magician extended his golden wand o'er the landscape ;
Twinkling vapors arose ; and sky and water and forest
Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together.
Hanging between two skies, a cloud with edges of silver,
Floated the boat, with its dripping oars, on the motionless water.
Filled was Evangeline's heart with inexpressible sweetness.
Touched by the magic spell, the sacred fountains of feeling
Glowed with the light of love, as the skies and waters around

her.
Then from a neighboring thicket, the mocking-bird, wildest of

singers,

Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water,
Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious music,
That the whole air and the woods and the waves seemed silent to

listen.

Plaintive at first were the tones and sad ; then soaring to madness
Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of frenzied Bacchantes.
Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low lamentation ;
Till, having gathered them all, he flung them abroad in derision,
As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through the treetops
Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower on the branches.
With such a prelude as this, and hearts that throbbed with emo-
tion,
Slowly they entered the Teche, where it flows through the green

Opelousas,
And, through the amber air, above the crest of the woodland,

AMERICAN POETRY. 39 1

Saw the column of smoke that arose from a neighboring dwell-
ing I—
Sounds of a horn they heard, and the distant lowing of cattle.

in.

Near to the bank of the river, o'ershadowed by oaks from

whose branches

Garlands of Spanish moss and of mystic mistletoe flaunted,
Such as the Druids cut down with golden hatchets at Yuletide,
Stood, secluded and still, the house of the herdsman. A garden
Girded it round about with a belt of luxuriant blossoms,
Filling the air with fragrance. The house itself was of timbers
Hewn from the cypress tree, and carefully fitted together.
Large and low was the roof ; and on slender columns supported,
Rose-wreathed, vine-encircled, a broad and spacious veranda,
Haunt of the humming bird and the bee, extended around it.
At each end of the house, amid the flowers of the garden,
Stationed the dove-cotes were, as love's perpetual symbol,
Scenes of endless wooing, and endless contentions of rivals.
Silence reigned o'er the place. The line of shadow and sunshine
Ran near the tops of the trees ; but the house itself was in shadow,
And from its chimney top, ascending and slowly expanding
Into the evening air, a thin blue column of smoke rose.
In the rear of the house, from the garden gate, ran a pathway
Through the great groves of oak to the skirts of the limitless

prairie,

Into whose sea of flowers the sun was slowly descending.
Full in his track of light, like ships with shadowy canvas
Hanging loose from their spars in a motionless calm in the

tropics,
Stood a cluster of trees, with tangled cordage of grapevines.

Just where the woodlands met the flowery surf of the prairie,
Mounted upon his horse, with Spanish saddle and stirrups,
Sat a herdsman, arrayed in gaiters and doublet of deerskin.
Broad and brown was the face that from under the Spanish

sombrero

Gazed on the peaceful scene, with the lordly look of its master.
Round about him were numberless herds of kine that were

grazing

Quietly in the meadows, and breathing the vapory freshness
That uprose from the river, and spread itself over the landscape.

392 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

Slowly lifting the horn that hung at his side, and expanding
Fully his broad, deep chest, he blew a blast, that resounded
Wildly and sweet and far, through the still damp air of the

evening.

Suddenly out of the grass the long white horns of the cattle
Rose like flakes of foam on the adverse currents of ocean.
Silent a moment they gazed, then bellowing rushed o'er the

prairie,

And the whole mass became a cloud, a shade in the distance.
Then, as the herdsman turned to the house, through the gate of

the garden
Saw he the forms of the priest and the maiden advancing to

meet him.
Suddenly down from his horse he sprang in amazement, and

forward

Pushed with extended arms and exclamations of wonder ;
When they beheld his face, they recognized Basil the blacksmith.
Hearty his welcome was, as he led his guests to the garden.
There in an arbor of roses with endless question and answer
Gave they vent to their hearts, and renewed their friendly em-
braces,

Laughing and weeping by turns, or sitting silent and thoughtful.
Thoughtful, for Gabriel came not; and now dark doubts and

misgivings

Stole o'er the maiden's heart ; and Basil, somewhat embarrassed,
Broke the silence and said, "If you came by the Atchafalaya,
How have you nowhere encountered my Gabriel's boat on the

bayous ?"

Over Evangeline's face at the words of Basil a shade passed.
Tears came into her eyes, and she said, with a tremulous accent,
"Gone? is Gabriel gone?" and, concealing her face on his

shoulder,

All her o'erburdened heart gave way, and she wept and lamented.
Then the good Basil said, — and his voice grew blithe as he said

it —

"Be of good cheer, my child ; it is only today he departed.
Foolish boy ! he has left me alone with my herds and my horses.
Moody and restless grown, and tried and troubled, his spirit
Could no longer endure the calm of this quiet existence.
Thinking ever of thee, uncertain and sorrowful ever,
Ever silent, or speaking only of thee and his troubles,
He at length had become so tedious to men and to maidens.
Tedious even to me, that at length I bethought me, and sent

AMERICAN POETRY. "393

Unto the town of Adayes to trade for mules with the Spaniards.
Thence he will follow the Indian trails to the Ozark Mountains,
Hunting for furs in the forests, on rivers trapping the beaver.
Therefore be of good cheer ; we will follow the fugitive lover ;
He is not far on his way, and the Fates and the streams are

against him.

Up and away tomorrow, and through the red dew of the morning,
We will follow him fast, and bring him back to his prison."

Then glad voices were heard, and up from the banks of the

river,

Borne aloft on his comrades' arms, jcame Michael the fiddler.
Long under Basil's roof had he lived, like a god on Olympus,
Having no other care than dispensing music to mortals.
Far renowned was he for his silver locks and his fiddle.
"Long live Michael," they cried, "our brave Acadian minstrel !"
As they bore him aloft in triumphal procession ; and straightway
Father Felician advanced with Evangeline, greeting the old man
Kindly and oft, and recalling the past, while Basil, enraptured,
Hailed with hilarious joy his old companions and gossips,
Laughing loud and long, and embracing mothers and daughters.
Much they marveled to see the wealth of the ci-devant black-
smith,

All his domains and his herds, and his patriarchal demeanor ;
Much they marveled to hear his tales of the soil and the climate,
And of the prairies, whose numberless herds were his who would

take them;
Each one thought in his heart, that he, too, would go and do

likewise.

Thus they ascended the steps, and, crossing the breezy veranda,
Entered the hall of the house, where already the supper of Basil
Waited his late return ; and they rested and feasted together.

Over the joyous feast the sudden darkness descended.
All was silent without, and, illuming the landscape with silver,
Fair rose the dewy moon and the myriad stars ; but within doors,
Brighter than these, shone the faces of friends in the glimmering

lamplight.

Then from his station aloft, at the head of the table, the herdsman
Poured forth his heart and his wine together in endless profusion.
Lighting his pipe, that was filled with sweet Natchitoches tobacco.
Thus he spake to his guests, who listened, and smiled as they

listened : —

894 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

"Welcome once more, my friends, who long have been friendless

and homeless,
Welcome once more to a home, that is better perchance than the

old one !

Here no hungry winter congeals our blood like the rivers ;
Here no stony ground provokes the wrath of the farmer ;
Smoothly the ploughshare runs through the soil, as a keel through

the water.
All the year round the orange groves are in blossom ; and grass

grows

More in a single night than a whole Canadian summer.
Here, too, numberless herds run wild and unclaimed in the

prairies ;

Here, too, lands may be had for the asking, and forests of timber
With a few blows of the axe are hewn and framed into houses.
After your houses are built, and your fields are yellow with

harvests,
No King George of England shall drive you away from your

homesteads,
Burning your dwellings and barns, and stealing your farms and

your cattle."

Speaking these words, he blew a wrathful cloud from his nostrils,
While his huge, brown hand came thundering down on the table,
So that the guests all started ; and Father Felician, astounded,
Suddenly paused, with a pinch of snuff half-way to his nostrils.
But the brave Basil resumed, and his words were milder and

gayer :—

"Only beware of the fever, my friends, beware of the fever!
For it is not like that of our cold Acadian climate,
Cured by wearing a spider hung round one's neck in a nutshell !"
Then there were voices heard at the door, and footsteps

approaching

Sounded upon the stairs and the floor of the breezy veranda.
It was the neighboring Creoles and small Acadian planters,
Who had been summoned all to the house of Basil the herdsman.
Merry the meeting was of ancient comrades and neighbors :
Friend clasped friend in his arms ; and they who before were as

strangers,

Meeting in exile, became straightway as friends to each other,
Drawn by the gentle bond of a common country together.
But in the neighboring hall a strain of music, proceeding
From the accordant strings of Michael's melodious fiddle,
Broke up all further speech. Away, like children delighted,

AMERICAN POETRY.

395

All things forgotten beside, they gave themselves to the mad-
dening

Whirl of the dizzy dance, as it swept and swayed to the music,
Dreamlike, with beaming eyes and the rush of fluttering garments.

Meanwhile, apart at the head of the hall, the priest and the

herdsman

Sat, conversing together of past and present and future ;
While Evangeline stood like one entranced, for within her
Olden memories rose, and loud in the midst of the music
Heard she the sound of the sea, and an irrepressible sadness
Came o'er her heart, and unseen she stole forth into the garden.
Beautiful was the night. Behind the black wall of the forest,
Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon. On the river
Fell here and there through the branches a. tremulous gleam of

the moonlight,

Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and devious spirit.
Nearer and round about her, the manifold flowers of the garden
Poured out their souls in odors, that were their prayers and con-
fessions
Unto the night, as it went its way, like a silent Carthusian.

CONGRESSIONAL LIBRARY, WASHINGTON.

CHAPTER VIII.
HOLMES.

"!N a liberal sense," wrote Mr. Edmund Clarence Stedman
some years ago, "and somewhat as Emerson stands for Ameri-
can thought, the poet Lowell has become our representa-
tive man of letters." Lowell still stands as America's repre-
sentative man of letters, not because he has struck the highest
note, but because he has the greatest breadth and versatility,
and has woven into his prose and verse more of the warp and
woof of American life and thought than any one else. It is
a far cry from the noble and lofty strain of the "Commemora-
tion Ode" to the quaint humor and shrewdness of Hosea Big-
low, and yet both have made a strong appeal in widely different
ways, not only to America, but to all the English-speaking
world.

James Russell Lowell was born in Cambridge, Mass., on
February 22, 1819. His father was the Rev. Charles Lowell,
and his grandfather was the Judge John Lowell who founded
the Lowell Institute in Boston. He graduated at Harvard
College in 1838, and was admitted to the bar in Boston in 1840.
He never practiced law, however, but began his career as an
author shortly after his admission to the bar, by publishing
a volume of poems under the title of "A Year's Life." His
first book was never republished, though a few of the poems
in it were preserved by the author. In 1844 Lowell married
Maria White, the gifted woman who had inspired "A Year's
Life." Being an ardent abolitionist, she influenced Lowell into
becoming a warm advocate of this cause, which he espoused
with his whole heart and soul, and advocated with glowing
words and flaming pen.

Indignation at the Mexican War and hatred of slavery
were the direct inspiration of the humorous but caustic "Big-

396

AMERICAN POETRY. 397

low papers," which Lowell began in 1846 and continued till
1848. A second, but less successful series appeared during
the Civil War, in 1864. In both his mastery of the Yankee
dialect and insight into the Yankee mind contributed to the
effect intended.

Notwithstanding his intense interest in the issues of the
day, slavery and the Civil War, Lowell found time for general
literary work. As early as 1845 appeared one of the most
beautiful of his poems, "The Vision of Sir Launfal," a poem
on the quest of the Holy Grail. In another vein was the "Fable
for Critics," which appeared anonymously, and keenly criti-
cised the writers of the day, including himself.

In 1851 Lowell and his second wife traveled in Europe,
remaining for over a year, the fruits of this residence abroad
being essays on Italian art and literature and studies of Dante.
In 1855 Lowell was appointed Professor of Modern Languages
and Belles-Lettres at Harvard University; he was the first
editor of the Atlantic Monthly, founded in 1857, and for ten
years he was joint editor of the North American Review. His
critical and miscellaneous essays in these periodicals he sub-
sequently collected and published under the titles of "Among
my Books" and "My Study Windows." On July 21, 1865,
he delivered his noble "Commemoration Ode," in honor of the
graduates of Harvard University who had fallen in the Civil
War. This is Lowell's greatest poetical achievement, and im-
measurably the finest poem called forth by the war. In 1869
appeared "Under the Willows and other Poems," and in 1870
"The Cathedral," one of the highest expressions of the poet's
genius. In 1877 Lowell was appointed by President Hayes
American Minister to Spain, and afterwards he was transferred
to the Court of St. James, where he remained until 1885.
During his residence in England, Oxford and Cambridge con-
ferred upon him the degrees of D. C. L. and LL. D. On re-
turning to the United States, he took up his residence at Cam-
bridge, where he died August 12, 1891. Three years before
his death he published "Heartsease and Rue," and "Political
Essays," "American Ideas for English Readers," "Latest
Literary Essays and Addresses," and "Old English Dramat-
ists," were issued posthumously in 1892.

THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL.
PRELUDE TO PART FIRST.

OVER his keys the musing organist,

Beginning doubtfully and far away,
First lets his fingers wander as they list,

And builds a bridge from Dreamland for his lay :
Then, as the touch of his loved instrument

Gives hope and fervor, nearer draws his theme,
First guessed by faint auroral flushes sent

Along the wavering vista of his dream.

Not only around our infancy
Doth heaven with all its splendors lie ;
Daily, with souls that cringe and plot,
We Sinais climb and know it not.

Over our manhood bend the skies ;

Against our fallen and traitor lives
The great winds utter prophecies ;

With our faint -hearts the mountain strives ;
Its arms outstretched, the Druid wood

Waits with its benedicite;
And to our age's drowsy blood

Still shouts the inspiring sea.

Earth gets its price for what Earth gives us ;

The beggar is taxed for a corner to die in,
The priest hath his fee who comes and shrives us,

We bargain for the graves we lie in ;
At the Devil's booth are all things sold,
Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold ;

For a cap and bells our lives we pay,
Bubbles we buy with a whole soul's tasking:

'T is heaven alone that is given away,
'T is only God may be had for the asking;
No price is set on the lavish summer ;
June may be had by the poorest comer.

AMERICAN POETRY. 399

And what is so rare as a day in June ?

Then, if ever, come perfect days;
Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune,

And over it softly her warm ear lays :
Whether we look, or whether we listen,
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten;
Every clod feels a stir of might,
' An instinct within it that reaches and towers,
And, groping blindly above it for light,

Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers;
The flush of life may well be seen

Thrilling back over hills and valleys;
The cowslip startles in meadows green,

The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice,
And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean

To be some happy creature's palace ;
The little bird sits at his door in the sun,

Atilt like a blossom among the leaves,
And lets his illumined being o'errun

With the deluge of summer it receives;
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings,
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings ;
He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest, —
In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best?

Now is the high-tide of the year,

And whatever of life hath ebbed away
Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer,

Into every bare inlet and creek and bay ;
Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it,
We are happy now because God wills it ;
No matter how barren the past may have been,
'T is enough for us now that the leaves are green ;
We sit in the warm shade and feel right well
How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell;
We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing
That skies are clear and grass is growing;
The breeze comes whispering in our ear,
That dandelions are blossoming near,

That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing,

40O TH£ WORLD'S

That the river is bluer than the sky,
That the robin is plastering his house hard by ;
And if the breeze kept the good news back,
For other couriers we should not lack ;

We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing,-
And hark ! how clear bold chanticleer,
Warmed with the new wine of the year,

Tells all in his lusty crowing!
Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how ;
Everything is happy now,

Everything is upward striving;
'T is as easy now for the heart to be true
As for grass to be green or skies to be blue, —

'T is the natural way of living :
Who knows whither the clouds have fled ?

In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake ;
And the eyes forget the tears they have shed,

The heart forgets its sorrow and ache;
The soul partakes the season's youth,

And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe
Lie deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth,

Like burnt-out craters healed with snow.
What wonder if Sir Launfal now
Remembered the keeping of his vow ?

PART FIRST

i
"Mv golden spurs now bring to me,

And bring to me my richest mail,
For tomorrow I go over land and sea

In search of the Holy Grail ;
Shall never a bed for me be spread,
Nor shall a pillow be under my head,
Till I begin my vow to keep ;
Here on the rushes will I sleep,
And perchance there may come a vision true
Ere day create the world anew."

Slowly Sir Launfal's eyes grew dim,
Slumber fell like a cloud on him,
And into his soul the vision flew.

X— 26

AMERICAN POETRY. 40!

II

The crows flapped over by twos and threes,

In the pool drowsed the cattle up to their knees,

The little birds sang as if it were

The one day of summer in all the year,
And the very leaves seemed to sing on the trees :
The castle alone in the landscape lay
Like an outpost of winter, dull and gray :
'T was the proudest hall in the North Countree,

And never its gates might opened be,
Save to lord or lady of high degree ;
Summer besieged it on every side,
But the churlish stone her assaults defied ;
She could not scale the chilly wall,
Though around it for leagues her pavilions tall
Stretched left and right,
Over the hills and out of sight ;

Green and broad was every tent,

And out of each a murmur went
Till the breeze fell off at night.

in

The drawbridge dropped with a surly clang,
And through the dark arch a charger sprang,
Bearing Sir Launfal, the maiden knight,
In his gilded mail, that flamed so bright
It seemed the dark castle had gathered all
Those shafts the fierce sun had shot over its wall

In his siege of three hundred summers long,
And, binding them all in one blazing sheaf,

Had cast them forth : so, young and strong,
And lightsome as a locust-leaf,
Sir Launfal flashed forth in his maiden mail,
To seek in all climes for the Holy Grail.

IV

It was morning on hill and stream and tree,
And morning in the young knight's heart;

Only the castle moodily

Rebuffed the gifts of the sunshine free,
And gloomed by itself apart ;

4°2 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

The season brimmed all other things up
Full as the rain fills the pitcher-plant's cup.

As Sir Launfal made morn through the darksome gate,

He was 'ware of a leper, crouched by the same,
Who begged with his hand and moaned as he sate ;
And a loathing over Sir Launfal came;
The sunshine went out of his soul with a thrill,

The flesh 'neath his armor 'gan shrink and crawl,
And midway its leap his heart stood still

Like a frozen waterfall ;
For this man, so foul and bent of stature,
Rasped harshly against his dainty nature,
And seemed the one blot on the summer morn, —
So he tossed him a piece of gold in scorn.

VI

The leper raised not the gold from the dust :
"Better to me the poor man's crust,
Better the blessing of the poor,
Though I turn me empty from his door;
That is no true alms which the hand can hold ;
He gives nothing but worthless gold

Who gives from a sense of duty ;
But he who gives but a slender mite,
And gives to that which is out of sight,

That thread of the all-sustaining Beauty
Which runs through all and doth all unite, —
The hand cannot clasp the whole of his alms,
The heart outstretches its eager palms,
For a god goes with it and makes it store
To the soul that was starving in darkness before."

AMERICAN POETRY. 403

PRELUDE TO PART SECOND

DOWN swept the chill wind from the mountain peak,

From the snow five thousand summers old;
On open wold and hilltop bleak

It had gathered all the cold,

And whirled it like sleet on the wanderer's cheek ;
It carried a shiver everywhere
From the unleafed boughs and pastures bare ;
The little brook heard it and built a roof
'Neath which he could house him, winter-proof;
All night by the white stars' frosty gleams
He groined his arches and matched his beams ;
Slender and clear were his crystal spars
As the flashes of light that trim the stars ;
He sculptured every summer delight
In his halls and chambers out of sight ;
Sometimes his tinkling waters slipt
Down through a frost-leaved forest-crypt,
Long, sparkling aisles of steel-stemmed trees
Bending to counterfeit a breeze ;
Sometimes the roof no fretwork knew
But silvery mosses that downward grew;
Sometimes it was carved in sharp relief
With quaint arabesques of ice-fern leaf;
Sometimes it was simply smooth and clear
For the gladness of heaven to shine through, and here
He had caught the nodding bulrush-tops
And hung them thickly with diamond-drops,
That crystalled the beams of moon and sun,
And made a star of every one :
No mortal builder's most rare device
Could match this winter-palace of ice;
'T was as if every image that mirrored lay
In his depths serene through the summer day,
Each fleeting shadow of earth and sky,

Lest the happy model should be lost,
Had been mimicked in fairy masonry

By the elfin builders of the frost.

404 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

Within the hall are song and laughter,

The cheeks of Christmas grow red and jolly,
And sprouting is every corbel and rafter

With lightsome green of ivy and holly ;
Through the deep gulf of the chimney wide
Wallows the Yule-log's roaring tide ;
The broad flame-pennons droop and flap

And belly and tug as a flag in the wind ;
Like a locust shrills the imprisoned sap,

Hunted to death in its galleries blind;
And swift little troops of silent sparks,

Now pausing, now scattering away as in fear,
Go threading the soot-forest's tangled darks

Like herds of startled deer.

But the wind without was eager and sharp,
Of Sir Launfal's gray hair it makes a harp..
And rattles and wrings
The icy strings,
Singing, in dreary monotone,
A Christmas carol of its own,
Whose burden still, as he might guess,
Was "Shelterless, shelterless, shelterless!"
The voice of the seneschal flared like a torch
As he shouted the wanderer away from the porch,
And he sat in the gateway and saw all night
The great hall-fire, so cheery and bold,
Through the window-slits of the castle old,
Build out its piers of ruddy light
Against the drift of the cold.

PART SECOND

i

THERE was never a leaf on bush or tree,
The bare boughs rattled shudderingly ;
The river was dumb and could not speak,

For the weaver Winter its shroud had spun ;
A single crow on the tree-top bleak

From his shining feathers shed off the cold sun ;

AMERICAN POETRY. 405

Again it was morning, but shrunk and cold,

As if her veins were sapless and old,

And she rose up decrepitly

For a last dim look at earth and sea.

ii

Sir Launfal turned from his own hard gate,

For another heir in his earldom sate ;

An old, bent man, worn out and frail,

He came back from seeking the Holy Grail ;

Little he recked of his earldom's loss,

No more on his surcoat was blazoned the cross,

But deep in his soul the sign he wore,

The badge of the suffering and the poor.

in

Sir Launfal's raiment thin and spare

Was idle mail 'gainst the barbed air,

For it was just at the Christmas time ;

So he mused, as he sat, of a sunnier clime,

And sought for a shelter from cold and snow

In the light and warmth of long-ago ;

He sees the snake-like caravan crawl

O'er the edge of the desert, black and small,

Then nearer and nearer, till, one by one,

He can count the camels in the sun,

As over the red-hot sands they pass

To where, in its slender necklace of grass,

The little spring laughed and leapt in the shade,

And with its own self like an infant played,

And waved its signal of palms.

IV

" For Christ's sweet sake, I beg an alms ;" —
The happy camels may reach the spring,
B'dt Sir Launfal sees only the grewsome thing,
The leper, lank as the rain-blanched bone,
That cowers beside him, a thing as lone
And white as the ice-isles of Northern seas
In the desolate horror of his disease.

4°6 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

And Sir Launfal said, "I behold in thee

An image of Him who died on the tree ;

Thou also hast had thy crown of thorns,

Thou also hast had the world's buffets and scorns,

And to thy life were not denied

The wounds in the hands and feet and side :

Mild Mary's Son, acknowledge me ;

Behold, through him, I give to Thee !"

VI

Then the soul of the leper stood up in his eyes

And looked at Sir Launfal, and straightway he
Remembered in what a haughtier guise

He had flung an alms to leprosie,
When he girt his young life up in gilded mail
And set forth in search of the Holy Grail.
The heart within him was ashes and dust ;
He parted in twain his single crust,
He broke the ice on the streamlet's brink,
And gave the leper to eat and drink :
'T was a mouldy crust of coarse brown bread,

'T was water out of a wooden bowl, —
Yet with fine wheaten bread was the leper fed,

And 't was red wine he drank with his thirsty soul.

VII

As Sir Launfal mused with a downcast face,

A light shone round about the place ;

The leper no longer crouched at his side,

But stood before him glorified,

Shining and tall and fair and straight

As the pillar that stood by the Beautiful Gate, —

Himself the Gate whereby men can

Enter the temple of God in Man.

VIII

His words were shed softer than leaves from the pine,
And they fell on Sir Launfal as snows on the brine,
That mingle their softness and quiet in one

AMERICAN POETRY. 407

With the shaggy unrest they float down upon;
And the voice that was calmer than silence said,
"Lo, it is I, be not afraid !
In many climes, without avail,
Thou hast spent thy life for the Holy Grail ;
Behold, it is here, — this cup which thou
Didst fill at the streamlet for Me but now ;
This crust is My body broken for thee,
This water His blood that died on the tree ;
The Holy Supper is kept, indeed,
In whatso we share with another's need:
Not what we give, but what we share, —
For the gift without the giver is bare ;
Who gives himself with his alms feeds three, —
Himself, his hungering neighbor, and Me."

IX

Sir Launfal awoke as from a swound : —
" The Grail in my castle here is found !
Hang my idle armor up on the wall,
Let it be the spider's banquet-hall;

He must be fenced with stronger mail
Who would seek and find the Holy Grail."

The castle gate stands open now,
And the wanderer is welcome to the hall

As the hangbird is to the elm-tree bough ;
No longer scowl the turrets tall,

The Summer's long siege at last is o'er ;

When the first poor outcast went in at the door,

She entered with him in disguise,

And mastered the fortress by surprise ;

There is no spot she loves so well on ground,

She lingers and smiles there the whole year round;

The meanest serf on Sir Launfal's land

Has hall and bower at his command ;

And there's no poor man in the North Countree

But is lord of the earldom as much as he.

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

HOLMES, born in 1809 and dying in 1894, was the de-
scendant of a scholarly New England ancestry. After grad-
uating at Harvard, he began life as a professor and practi-
tioner in medicine; he was married in 1840, and lived all his
life in Boston. He twice visited Europe, first as a young
fellow of one-and-twenty, and again, after more than half a
century, as a veteran of letters, known and loved in both hem-
ispheres. Of all our writers, he is the sunniest, the wittiest,
and most discursive, and one of the least uneven.

Until 1857, Holmes had written nothing beyond occa-
sional poems, excellent of their kind, but not of themselves
sufficient to make a reputation. But in that year, the Atlan-
tic Monthly was started and Holmes contributed to it a series
of unique essays entitled, "The Autocrat of the Breakfast
Table." They had the form of familiar dialogues between a
group of diverse but common types in a boarding-house, upon
all manner of topics. They immediately caught the fancy of
all readers, and lifted Holmes to a literary altitude where he
ever after remained. Two years later "Elsie Venner," his
first novel, a study in heredity and in American village char-
acter, was published ; it is good, but not in the same class with
the best imaginative work. The same criticism must be passed
on "The Guardian Angel," his second effort in fiction, which
appeared in 1867. Both have so much merit that one wonders
not to find them better. But they make it plain that Holmes's
proper field was the discursive essay and the occasional poem ;
and here his fame is solid and secure.

Wit rather than humor characterizes Holmes; yet he has
the tenderness which usually accompanies only the latter. His

408

AMERICAN POETRY. 409

mind is swift in movement, and catches remote, analogies; he
brings together the near and the far, with the effect of a pleas-
ing surprise. His thought tends to shape itself in epigram;
he says more "good things" — which are not merely good,
but often wise — than any of his contemporaries. The habit
of his mind was discursive and independent, rather than deeply
original; he had opinions on all subjects; he stated them so
brightly and aptly that they often seemed new; but in truth
Holmes is orthodox. His quick sympathies and excellent
taste, combined with the harmony of nature which creates the
synthetic attitude, make him a poet whose productions not sel-
dom reach a high plane, as for example in "The Chambered
Nautilus." He is an optimist, and a moralizer, and turns both
characteristics to sound literary advantage. The comic bias
of his general outlook upon life leads him to be so constantly
funny and acute, that the reader is in some danger of losing
the fine edge of appreciation ; the writer becomes his own rival.
Once in a while, however, as in "Old Ironsides," the fervor of
his patriotism, or of some other high emotion, thrills him into
seriousness, and then he strikes a pure and lofty note. There
is something lovable in all that he has done; and no man of
letters among us has been the object of more widespread per-
sonal affection than has Holmes.

We return from other appreciations to the Autocrat series
— for he wrote a number of books of a character similar to
these first essays. The untrammeled plan of them suits his
genius; he can spring here and there as chance or humor
suggests, and entertain us in a hundred different ways one
after another. He preaches charming lay sermons, on a score
of texts at once, and unless unintermittent entertainment can
be tedious, tediousness is impossible to Holmes. He opens no
unknown worlds, but he makes us see the world we know bet-
ter. He penetrates beneath the surface of human nature,
though he falls short of creative insight. After reading him,
we rise with a kindlier feeling towards men and things, and a
wiser understanding of them.

410 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS.

This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign,

Sails the unshadow'd main, —

The venturous bark that flings
On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings
In gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings,

And coral reefs lie bare,
Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.

Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl ;

Wrecked is the ship of pearl !

And every chambered cell,
Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell,
As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell,

Before thee lies revealed, —
Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed !

Year after year beheld the silent toil

That spread his lustrous coil ;

Still, as the spiral grew,
He left the past year's dwelling archway through,

Built up its idle door,
Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.

Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee,

Child of the wandering sea,

Cast from her lap, forlorn !
From thy dead lips, a clearer note is born
Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn !

While on mine ear it rings,
Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings : —

Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,

As the swift seasons roll !

Leave thy low-vaulted past !
Let each new temple, nobler than the last,
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,

Till thou at length art free,
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea !

AMERICAN POETRY. '411

CONTENTMENT.

Little I ask ; my wants are few ;

I only wish a hut of stone
(A very plain brown stone will do)

That I may call my own ;
And close at hand is such a one,
In yonder street that fronts the sun.

Plain food is quite enough for me;

Three courses are as good as ten ; —
If Nature can subsist on three,

Thank Heaven for three. Amen!
I always thought cold victual nice ; —
My choice would be vanilla ice.

I care not much for gold or land ; —
Give me a mortgage here and there, —

Some good bank-stock, — some note of hand,
Or trifling railroad share; —

I only ask that Fortune send

A little more than I can spend.

Honors are silly toys, I know,

And titles are but empty names ; —
I would, perhaps, be Plenipo, —

But only near St. James ; —
I'm very sure I should not care
To fill our Gubernator's chair.

Jewels are baubles ; 'tis a sin

To care for such unfruitful things ; —
One good-sized diamond in a pin, —

Some, not so large, in rings, —
A ruby, and a pearl, or so,
Will do for me, — I laugh at show.

p

My dame should dress in cheap attire

(Good, heavy silks are never dear) ;
I own, perhaps I might desire

Some shawls of true cashmere, —
Some marrowy crapes of China silk,
Like wrinkled skins on scalded milk.

412 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

CHAPTER IX.
EDGAR ALLEN POE.

AFTER more than fifty years, Poe is still something of a
riddle ; he was unfortunate in his biographers, who were either
eulogists or enemies. He was more unfortunate in himself;
he had not the capacity of truth, and mystified the events of his
career. The son of actors, his inherited histrionic instinct
prompted him to act many parts, until he lost the sense of his
own individuality. He applied the great force of his imagi-
nation not only to the production of stories, but to the facts
of real life; and his morbid vanity accented the distortion thus
produced. In him a small and selfish nature was ever at war
with a powerful and curious intellect ; his character was a med-
ley, fickle, weak and inconsistent. His career is a story of
petty vicissitudes and ignoble misfortunes ; of brilliant successes
counteracted by perverse and unworthy follies. He was un-
faithful to his friends and rancorous against his enemies; an
unhappy man, driven to and fro by storms largely of his own
raising. A congenital tendency to intemperance, ever confirm-
ing its hold upon him, darkened his life and hastened his death,
which occurred in 1849, m ms forty-first year. His wife, "An-
nabel Lee," had died two years before. So far as his personal
acts and passions are concerned, Poe might be pronounced in-
sane ; but in the domain of intellect as applied to literature he
was a unique and towering genius, author of some of the most
exquisite and fascinating poetry, and of many of the most orig-
inal and ingenious tales ever written in this country. His fame
traveled far beyond his own country, and he is to-day more read
in France than any other American author.

He was born in Boston in 1809; his parents both died in
Richmond, Va., in 1815. He was then adopted by Mr. Allan,
a rich Virginian. From the age of six to twelve he was at
school in England ; he attended the University of Virginia for
a year, lost money by gambling, and then disappeared for a
year. According to his own story, he went to aid Greece, but
he probably never got further than London. In 1827 he pub-
lished, at Boston, his first volume of poems, "Tamerlane."
He enlisted as a private in the army, then was for nine months
a cadet at West Point, but was dismissed for bad conduct.

AMERICAN POETRY. 413

Mr. Allan had hitherto supported Poe; but they now quar-
reled, and the young man of twenty-one set out to make a living
by literature. A prize story, "A Manuscript Found in a Bot-
tle," gained him the friendship of J. P. Kennedy, who made him
editor of a Southern literary paper at a salary of $10 a week.
The circulation of the magazine increased under his care, and
he married his young cousin, Virginia Clemm. He soon
after resigned his position and went to Philadelphia. He had
already written "Hans Pfaal" and "Arthur Gordon Pym," and
he now published the "Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque,"
which confirmed his fame. He was also fitfully connected with
two or three other periodicals. He wrote the "Murders in the
Rue Morgue" in 1841, and two years later his "Gold Bug" won
another prize of $100. At the age of five and thirty he was
back in New York, writing for N. P. Willis's Mirror and other
magazines; and in 1845 he wrote his famous poem "The
Raven." He also lectured and wrote critiques, generally of a
scathing character, but many of which posterity has justified.
After his wife's death, his only work of importance was "Eure-
ka," a speculative analysis of the universe.

Poe's stories fall into two classes, the analytical, of which
the "Gold Bug" is an example, and the supernatural, such as
"Ligeia." In many of his tales, however, these qualities are
commingled. He was neither a humorist nor a character-
painter, and none of his stories touch the heart ; the man was
deficient in human sympathies. They are to a high degree
strange, impressive and ingenious, faultless in workmanship
and structure, and masterpieces of art. They are finished, like
gems, and of permanent literary worth; yet they can hardly
be called works of inspiration; they are gems, not flowers.
Poe's style is clear, succinct and polished, but self-conscious
and artificial. The stories are by no means all of equal merit ;
Poe lacked good taste, and frequently overstepped the bound-
aries between the terrible and the revolting, the commonplace
and the simple, fun and buffoonery. All his humorous tales
are dismal failures. But when he is at his best, no writer can
surpass him ; we may say that he is unrivalled. In poetry, Poe
is if possible more original and solitary than in his prose. The
eerie and elfin beauty of some of his verses is magical ; one is
enchanted one knows not how. He had theories in poetry, as

THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

in prose ; but it is probable that he squared his theories with his
compositions, more often than the opposite. But there is more
of art than of heart even in Poe's poetry; and we find that we
go to him to be entertained and stimulated, but not for the needs
of the deeper soul. His career was pathetic ; but his genius is
triumphant.

THE BELLS.

HEAR the sledges with the bells —

Silver bells —

What a world of merriment their melody foretells !

How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,

In the icy air of night!

While the stars that oversprinkle

All the heavens, seem to twinkle

With a crystalline delight;

Keeping time, time, time,

In a sort of Runic rhyme

To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells

From the bells, bells, bells, bells,

Bells, bells, bells, —

From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

Hear the mellow wedding bells —

Golden bells!

What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!

Through the balmy air of night

How they ring out their delight!

From the molten-golden notes,

And all in tune,

What a liquid ditty floats

To the turtle-dove that listens while she gloats

On the moon!

Oh, from out the sounding cells,

What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!

How it swells!

How it dwells !

On the future ! How it tells

Of the rapture that impels

To the swinging and the ringing

AMERICAN POETRY. 415

Of the bells, bells, bells,

Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,

Bells, bells, bells—

To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells !

Hear the loud alarum-bells —

Brazen bells !

What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells !

On the startled ear of night

How they scream out their affright !

Too much horrified to speak,

They can only shriek, shriek,

Out of tune,

In a clamorous appeal to the mercy of the fire,

In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,

Leaping higher, higher, higher,

With a desperate desire,

And a resolute endeavor

Now — now to sit, or never,

By the side of the pale-faced moon.

Oh, the bells, bells, bells !

What a tale their terror tells

Of despair !

How they clang, and clash, and roar!

What a horror they outpour

On the bosom of the palpitating air !

Yet the ear, it fully knows,

By the twanging

And the clanging,

How the danger ebbs and flows;

Yet the ear distinctly tells,

In the jangling and the wrangling,

How the danger sinks and swells,

By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells —

Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,

Bells, bells, bells—

In the clamor and the clangor of the bells !

Hear the tolling of the bell
Iron bells!

416 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

What a world of solemn thought their melody compels !

In the silence of the night,

How we shiver with affright

At the melancholy menace of their tone :

For every sound that floats

From the rust within their throats

Is a groan.

And the people — ah, the people,

They that dwell up in the steeple,

All alone,

And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,

In that muffled monotone,

Feel a glory, in so rolling

On the human heart a stone :

They are neither man nor woman —

They are neither brute nor human—

They are Ghouls;

And their king it is who tolls;

And he rolls, rolls, rolls,

Rolls

A paean from the bells !

And his merry bosom swells

With the paean of the bells !

And he dances and he yells ;

Keeping time, time, time,

In a sort of Runic rhyme,

To the paeans of the bells ;

Keeping time, time, time,

In a sort of Runic rhyme

To the throbbing of the bells —

Of the bells, bells, bells—

To the sobbing of the bells !

Keeping time, time, time,

As he knells, knells, knells,

In a happy Runic rhyme,

To the rolling of the bells —

Of the bells, bells, bells ;

To the tolling of the bells —

Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,

Bells, bells, bells—

To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

Copyright by Underwood and Underwood, N. Y.

LOOKING DOWN THE CANON FROM INSPIRATION POINT.

AMERICAN POETRY. 417

THE RAVEN.

ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and

weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore ;
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
" 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door —
Only this and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow ; vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore —
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore —
Nameless here forever more.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before ;
So that now, to still the beating ?f my heart, I stood repeating,
' 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door ;
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;
This it is, and nothing more."

Presently n?v soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently came your rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my Chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you" — here I opened wide the
door : —

Darkness there and nothing more !

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering,

fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before ;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word

"Lenore!"

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word "Lenore !"
Merely this, and nothing more.

X. — 2t t

418 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

Back into my chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice ;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore —
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore ;
'Tis the wind, and nothing more !"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore ;
Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or

stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door —
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door —
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure

no craven,
Ghastly, grim and ancient Raven, wandering from the Nightly

shore —

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore !"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore !"

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore ;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door —
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered — not a feather then he fluttered —
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown

before —

On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

AMERICAN POETRY. 419

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore —
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never — nevermore.' "

But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust,

and door;

Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore —
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of

yore

Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core ;
This, and more, I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose violet velvet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, never more !

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen

censer

Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee — by those angels he

hath sent thee

Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore 1
Quaff, oh, quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore !"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or

devil ! —
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here

ashore,

Desolate, yet undaunted, on this desert land enchanted —
On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore —
Is there — is there balm in Gilead? — tell me — tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven. 'Nevermore."

420 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil — prophet still, if bird or devil!"
By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God we both

adore —

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels call Lenore —
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked

upstarting —

"Get thee back into the tempest, and the Nights Plutonian shore !
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken !
Leave my loneliness unbroken I quit the bust above my door !
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my

door!"

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door ;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the

floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted — nevermore!

ff_- IT cannot be denied that the poet, though born
and not made, must be strongly influenced by
his early surroundings. John Greenleaf
Whittier was but little indebted to scholarly culture or to art
or to literary companionship; he was self-made and largely
self-taught. Born near Haverhill, Mass., on December I7th,
1807, he worked on his father's farm and received the rudi-
ments of education at home. After he was seventeen years
old, he attended the Haverhill Academy for two terms, and
at nineteen he began to contribute anonymous poems to the
Free Press, edited by Wm. Lloyd Garrison. Then began a
friendship between the editor and the young poet which was
cemented by their joint activity in the great Abolition Contest.
Whittier wrote fervid anti-slavery lyrics, edited newspapers
in Boston, Haverhill and Hartford, and was for a year a mem-
ber of the Massachusetts legislature. In 1831, he published
his first collection of poems, "Legends of New England," a
number of Indian traditions, and shortly afterwards a poetical
tale, "Mogg Megone." In 1836 he was appointed secretary of
the American Anti-Slavery Society, and later became editor
of the Pennsylvania Freeman, in Philadelphia. But the aboli-
tion cause was intensely unpopular; the printing office was at
one time sacked and burned, and the editor was forced many
times to face enraged mobs. In the Freeman appeared some
of Whittier's best anti-slavery lyrics. There was crude force
in these scornfully indignant lyrics, for though Whittier inher-
ited Quaker blood, and adhered to the Quaker practice, he was
a fiery apostle of human brotherhood. His health was
always delicate, which he attributed to the "toughening" pro-
cess, common when he was a boy. In 1840, he settled down at

421

422 THE WORU>'S PROGRESS.

Amesbury, Mass., where his sister and afterwards his niece
abode with him. But for the last twenty years of his life he
was deprived of the campanionship of relatives.

Poems inspired by the passion of political events as a rule
are not of a lasting quality, — they pass away when the politi-
cal questions that evoked them have been settled. Few readers
to-day dip into the anti-slavery lyrics. But in writing them
Whittier thought of other things than literary fame. He him-
self said that though he was not insensible to literary reputa-
tion, he set a higher value on his "name as appended to the
anti-slavery declaration of 1833 than on the title page of any
book."

Whittier wrote with ease and freedom and was a volumin-
ous author. Among his best known books are, "Voices of
Freedom," "Songs of Labor," "National Lyrics," "Snow-
Bound," "Ballads of New England," "The Pennsylvania
Pilgrim," "The King's Missive" and "At Sundown." A
complete collection of the poet's writings in prose and verse
revised by himself appeared a few years previous to his death,
which took place on September 7th, 1892.

Whittier will always be best remembered for his charming
New England idyl "Snow-Bound," into which his own early
life and experiences on the farm were woven, and for such
poems as "Maud Muller," "Barbara Fritchie," "In School
Days," "Skipper Ireson's Ride" and "Telling the Bees." He
is at his best in depicting peaceful and simple country scenes
and characters. He lived close to the homely heart and life
of the New England country people, and was to them a kind
of lesser Robert Burns, not a writer of songs, yet a laureate
of the woodlands, and of farm life, and of inland lakes and
streams. His life was as simple and sweet as is most of his
poetry. There was a harmony rarely found that intimately
blended the poet's life with his poems.

AMERICAN POETRY. 423

THE WORSHIP OF NATURE.

THE harp at Nature's advent strung

Has never ceased to play ;
The song the stars of morning sung

Has never died away.

And prayer is made, and praise is given,

By all things near and far;
The ocean looketh up to heaven,

And mirrors every star.

Its waves are kneeling on the strand,

As kneels the human knee,
Their white locks bowing to the sand,

The priesthood of the sea!

They pour their glittering treasures forth,

Their gifts of pearl they bring,
And all the listening hills of earth

Take up the song they sing.

The green earth sends her incense up

From many a mountain shrine ;
From folded leaf and dewy cup

She pours her sacred wine.

The mists above the morning rills

Rise white as wings of prayer ;
The altar curtains of the hills

Are sunset's purple air.

The winds with hymns of praise are loud,

Or low with sobs of pain, —
The thunder-organ of the cloud,

The dropping tears of rain.

With drooping head and branches crossed

The twilight forest grieves,
Or speaks with tongues of Pentecost

From all its sunlit leaves.

424 TH£ WORLD'S PROGRESS.

The blue sky is the temple's arch,

Its transept earth and air,
The music of its starry march

The chorus of a prayer.

So Nature keeps the reverent frame

With which her years began,
And all her signs and voices shame

The prayerless heart of man.

THE GRAVE BY THE LAKE.

At the mouth of the Melvin River, which empties Into Moultonboro
Bay in Lake Winnipesaukee, is a great mound. The Ossipee Indians
had their home in the neighborhood of the bay, which is plentifully stocked
with fish, and many relics of their occupation have been found.

WHERE the Great Lake's sunny smiles
Dimple round its hundred isles,
And the mountain's granite ledge
Cleaves the water like a wedge,
Ringed about with smooth, gray stones,
Rest the giant's mighty bones.

Close beside, in shade and gleam,
Laughs and ripples Melvin stream;
Melvin water, mountain-born,
All fair flowers its banks adorn ;
All the woodland's voices meet,
Mingling with its murmurs sweet.

Over lowlands forest-grown,
Over waters island-strown,
Over silver-sanded beach,
Leaf-locked bay and misty reach,
Melvin stream and burial-heap,
Watch and ward the mountains keep.

Who that Titan cromlech fills ?
Forest-kaiser, lord o' the hills ?
Knight who on the birchen tree
Carved his savage heraldry?
Priest o' the pine-wood temples dim,
Prophet, sage, or wizard grim?

AMERICAN POETRY. 425

Rugged type of primal man,
Grim utilitarian,

Loving woods for hunt and prowl,
Lake and hill for fish and fowl,
As the brown bear blind and dull
To the grand and beautiful :

Not for him the lesson drawn
From the mountains smit with dawn.
Star-rise, moon-rise, flowers of May,
Sunset's purple bloom of day, —
Took his life no hue from thence,
Poor amid such affluence?

Haply unto hill and tree
All too near akin was he :
Unto him who stands afar
Nature's marvels greatest are ;
Who the mountain purple seeks
Must not climb the higher peaks.

Yet who knows in winter tramp,
Or the midnight of the camp,
What revealings faint and far,
Stealing down from moon and star,
Kindled in that human clod
Thought of destiny and God?

Stateliest forest patriarch,

Grand in robes of skin and bark,

What sepulchral mysteries,

What weird funeral-rites, were his?

What sharp wail, what drear lament,

Back scared wolf and eagle sent?

Now, whate'er he may have been,
Low he lies as other men;
On his mound the partridge drums,
There the noisy blue- jay comes ;
Rank nor name nor pomp has he
In the grave's democracy.

THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

Part thy blue lips, Northern lake!
Moss-grown rocks, your silence break!
Tell the tale, thou ancient tree !
Thou, too, slide-worn Ossipee!
Speak, and tell us how and when
Lived and died this king of men !

Wordless moans the ancient pine;
Lake and mountain give no sign ;
Vain to trace this ring of stones ;
Vain the search of crumbling bones:
Deepest of all mysteries,
And the saddest, silence is.

Nameless, noteless, clay with clay
Mingles slowly day by day;
But somewhere, for good or ill,
That dark soul is living still ;
Somewhere yet that atom's force
Moves the light-poised universe.

Strange that on his burial sod
Harebells bloom, and golden-rod,
While the soul's dark horoscope
Holds no starry sign of hope!
Is the Unseen with sight at odds ?
Nature's pity more than God's?

Thus I mused by Melvin's side,
While the summer eventide
Made the woods and inland sea
And the mountains mystery;
And the hush of earth and air
Seemed the pause before a prayer, —

Prayer for him, for all who rest,
Mother Earth, upon thy breast, —
Lapped on Christian turf, or hid
In rock-cave or pyramid:
All who sleep, as all who live,
Well may need the prayer, "Forgive 1"

AMERICAN POETRY. 427

SNOW-BOUND.
A WINTER IDYI^.

THE sun that brief December day
Rose cheerless over hills of gray,
And, darkly circled, gave at noon
A sadder light than waning moon.
Slow tracing down the thickening sky
Its mute and ominous prophecy,
A portent seeming less than threat,
It sank from sight before it set.
A chill no coat, however stout,
Of homespun stuff could quite shut out,
A hard, dull bitterness of cold,
That checked, mid-vein, the circling race
Of life-blood in the sharpened face,
The coming of the snow-storm told.
The wind blew east ; we heard the roar
Of Ocean on his wintry shore,
And felt the strong pulse throbbing there
Beat with low rhythm our inland air.

Meanwhile we did our nightly chores, —

Brought in the wood from out of doors,

Littered the stalls, and from the mows

Raked down the herd's-grass for the cows:

Heard the horse whinnying for his corn;

And, sharply clashing horn on horn,

Impatient down the stanchion rows

The cattle shake their walnut bows ;

While, peering from his early perch

Upon the scaffold's pole of birch,

The cock his crested helmet bent

And down his querulous challenge sent

Unwarmed by any sunset light

The gray day darkened into night,

A night made hoary with the swarm

And whirl-dance of the blinding storm,

As zigzag wavering to and fro

Crossed and recrossed the winged snow:

And ere the early bedtime came

The white drift piled the window frame,

And through the glass the clothes line posts

Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts.

428 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

So all night long the storm roared on :

The morning broke without a sun ;

In tiny spherule traced with lines

Of Nature's geometric signs,

In starry flake and pellicle

All day the hoary meteor fell ;

And, when the second morning shone,

We looked upon a world unknown,

On nothing we could call our own.

Around the glistening wonder bent

The blue walls of the firmament,

No cloud above, no earth below, —

A universe of sky and snow !

The old familiar sights of ours

Took marvelous shapes; strange domes and towers

Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood,

Or garden wall or belt of wood ;

A smooth white mound the brush pile showed,

A fenceless drift what once was road ;

The bridle post an old man sat

With loose flung coat and high cocked hat ;

The well-curb had a Chinese roof ;

And even the long sweep, high aloof,

In its slant splendor, seemed to tell

Of Pisa's leaning miracle.

A prompt, decisive man, no breath
Our father wasted: "Boys, a path!"
Well pleased (for when did farmer boy
Count such a summons less than joy?)
Our buskins on our feet we drew ;
With mittened hands, and caps drawn low,
To guard our necks and ears from snow,
We cut the solid whiteness through ;
And, where the drift v/as deepest, made
A tunnel walled and overlaid
With dazzling crystal : we had read
Of rare Aladdin's wondrous cave,
And to our own his name we gave,
With many a wish the luck were ours
To test his lamp's supernal powers.
We reached the barn with merry din,
And roused the prisoned brutes within.

AMERICAN POETRY. 429

The old horse thrust his long head out,
And grave with wonder gazed about ;
The cock his lusty greeting said,
And forth his speckled harem led ;
The oxen lashed their tails, and hooked,
And mild reproach of hunger looked;
The horned patriarch of the sheep,
Like Egypt's Amun roused from sleep,
Shook his sage head with gesture mute,
And emphasized with stamp of foot.

All day the gusty north wind bore

The loosening drift its breath before ;

Low circling round its southern zone,

The sun through dazzling snow-mist shone.

No church bell lent its Christian tone

To the savage air, no social smoke

Curled over woods of snow-hung oak.

A solitude made more intense

By dreary-voiced elements,

The shrieking of the mindless wind,

The moaning tree boughs swaying blind,

And on the glass the unmeaning beat

Of ghostly finger tips of sleet.

Beyond the circle of our hearth

No welcome sound of toil or mirth

Unbound the spell, and testified

Of human life and thought outside.

We minded that the sharpest ear

The buried brooklet could not hear,

The music of whose liquid lip

Had been to us companionship,

And, in our lonely life, had grown

To have an almost human tone.

As night drew on, and, from the crest
Of wooded knolls that ridged the west,
The sun, a snow-blown traveler, sank
From sight beneath the smothering bank,
We piled with care our nightly stack
Of wood against the chimney back, —
The oaken log, green, huge, and thick,
And on its top the stout back-stick ;

430 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

The knotty forestick laid apart,
And filled between with curious art
The ragged brush ; then, hovering near,
We watched the first red blaze appear,
Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam
On whitewashed wall and sagging beam,
Until the old, rude-furnished room
Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom ;
While radiant with a mimic flame
Outside the sparkling drift became,
And through the bare-boughed lilac tree
Our own warm hearth seemed blazing free.
The crane and pendent trammels showed,
The Turks' heads on the andirons glowed;
While childish fancy, prompt to tell
The meaning of the miracle,
Whispered the old rhyme: "Under the tree
When fire outdoors burns merrily,
There the witches are making tea."

The moon above the eastern wood
Shone at its full ; the hill-range stood
Transfigured in the silver flood,
Its blown snows flashing cold and keen,
Dead white, save where some sharp ravine
Took shadow, or the somber green
Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black
Against the whiteness of their back.
For such a world and such a night
Most fitting that unwarming light,
Which only seemed where'er it fell
To make the coldness visible.

Shut in from all the world without,
We sat the clean-winged hearth about,
Content to let the north wind roar
In baffled rage at pane and door,
While the red logs before us beat
The frost-line back with tropic heat ;
And ever, when a louder blast
Shook beam and rafter as it passed,
The merrier up its roaring draught
The great throat of the chimney laughed,

AMERICAN POETRY. 43!

The house dog on his paws outspread
Laid to the fire his drowsy head,
The cat's dark silhouette on the wall
A couchant tiger's seem to fall ;
And, for the winter fireside meet,
Between the andirons' straddling feet,
The mug of cider simmered slow,
The apples sputtered in a row,
And, close at hand, the basket stood
With nuts from brown October's wood.

What matter how the night behaved ?

What matter how the north wind raved ?

Blow high, blow low, not all its snow

Could quench our hearth fire's ruddy glow.

O Time and Change! — with hair as gray

As was my sire's that winter day,

How strange it seems, with so much gone

Of life and love, to still live on !

Ah, brother ! only I and thou

Are left of all that circle now, —

The dear home faces whereupon

That fitful firelight paled and shone.

Henceforward, listen as we will,

The voices of that hearth are still ;

Look where we may, the wide earth o'er,

Those lighted faces smile no more.

We tread the paths their feet have worn,

We sit beneath their orchard trees,

We hear, like them, the hum of bees
And rustle of the bladed corn ;
We turn the pages that they read,

Their written words we linger o'er,
But in the sun they cast no shade,
No voice is heard, no sign is made,

No step is on the conscious floor !
Yet Love will dream and Faith will trust
(Since He who knows our need is just)
That somehow, somewhere, meet we must.
Alas for him who never sees
The stars shine through his cypress trees !
Who, hopeless, lays his dead away,
Nor looks to see the breaking day

432 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

Across the mournful marbles play!
Who hath not learned, in hours of faith,

The truth to flesh and sense unknown,
That Life is ever lord of Death,

And Love can never lose its own !

We sped the time with stories old,
Wrought puzzles out, and riddles told,
Or stammered from our school-book lore
"The chief of Gambia's golden shore."
How often since, when all the land
Was clay in Slavery's shaping hand,
As if a far-blown trumpet stirred
The languorous, sin-sick air, I heard
"Does not the voice of reason cry,

Claim the first right which Nature gave,
From the red scourge of bondage fly

Nor deign to live a burdened slave!"
Our father rode again his ride
On Memphremagog's wooded side;
Sat down again to moose and samp
In trapper's hut and Indian camp ;
Lived o'er the old idyllic ease
Beneath St. Frangois' hemlock trees ;
Again for him the moonlight shone
On Norman cap and bodiced zone ;
Again he heard the violin play
Which led the village dance away,
And mingled in its merry whirl
The grandam and the laughing girl.
Or, nearer home, our steps he led
Where Salisbury's level marshes spread
Mile-wide as flies the laden bee ;
Where merry mowers, hale and strong,
Swept, scythe on scythe, their swaths along

The low green prairies of the sea.
We shared the fishing off Boar's Head,

And round the rocky Isles of Shoals
The hake-broil on the driftwood coals ;
The chowder on the sand-beach made,
Dipped, by the hungry, steaming hot,
With spoons of clam-shell from the pot.
We heard the tales of witchcraft old,

AMERICAN POETRY. 433

And dream and sign and marvel told
To sleepy listeners as they lay
Stretched idly on the salted hay,
Adrift along the winding shores,

When favoring breezes deigned to blow

The square sail of the gundalow,
And idle lay the useless oars.
Our mother, while she turned her wheel
Or run the new-knit stocking heel,
Told how the Indian hordes came down
At midnight on Cochecho town,
And how her own great-uncle bore
His cruel scalp-mark to fourscore.
Recalling, in her fitting phrase,

So rich and picturesque and free

(The common unrhymed poetry
Of simple life and country ways),
The story of her early days, —
She made us welcome to her home ;
Old hearths grew wide to give us room;
We stole with her a frightened look
At the gray wizard's conjuring-book,
The fame whereof went far and wide
Through all the simple countryside ;
We heard the hawks at twilight play,
The boat-horn on Piscataqua,
The loon's weird laughter far away ;
We fished her little trout-brook, knew
What flowers in wood and meadow grew,
What sunny hillsides autumn-brown
She climbed to shake the ripe nuts down,
Saw where in sheltered cove and bay
The du.cks' black squadron anchored lay,
And heard the wild geese calling loud
Beneath the gray November cloud.
Then, haply, with a look more grave,
And soberer tone, some tale she gave
From painful SeweFs ancient tome,
Beloved in every Quaker home,
Of faith fire-winged by martyrdom,
Or Chalkey's Journal, old and quaint, —
Gentlest of skippers, rare sea-saint ! —
Who, when the dreary calms prevailed,

X— 28

434 TH^ WORI4>*S PROGRESS.

And water-butt and bread-cask failed,
And cruel, hungry eyes pursued
His portly presence, mad for food,
With dark hints muttered under breath
Of casting lots for life or death,
Offered, if Heaven withheld supplies,
To be himself the sacrifice.
Then, suddenly, as if to save
The good man from his living grave,
A ripple on the water grew,
A school of porpoise flashed in view.
"Take, eat," he said, "and be content;
These fishes in my stead are sent
By Him who gave the tangled ram
To spare the child of Abraham."

Our uncle, innocent of books,
Was rich in lore of fields and brooks,
The ancient teachers never dumb
Of Nature's unhoused lyceum.
In moons and tides and weather wise,
He read the clouds as prophecies,
And foul or fair could well divine,
By many an occult hint and sign,
Holding the cunning-warded keys
To all the woodcraft mysteries ;
Himself to Nature's heart so near
That all her voices in his ear
Of beast or bird had meanings clear,
Like Apollonius of old,
Who knew the tales the sparrows told,
Or Hermes, who interpreted
What the sage cranes of Nilus said ;
A simple, guileless, childlike man,
Content to live where life began ;
Strong only on his native grounds,
The little world of sights and sounds
Whose girdle was the parish bounds,
Whereof his fondly partial pride
The common features magnified,
As Surrey hills to mountains grew
In White of Selborne's loving view,-—
He told how teal and loon he shot,

AMERICAN POETRY. 435

And how the eagle's eggs he got,

The feats on pond and river done,

The prodigies of rod and gun ;

Till, warming with the tales he told,

Forgotten was the outside cold,

The bitter wind unheeded blew,

From ripening corn the pigeons flew,

The partridge drummed i' the wood, the mink

Went fishing down the river brink.

In fields with bean or clover gay,

The woodchuck, like a hermit gray,

Peered from the doorway of his cell ;
The muskrat plied the mason's trade,
And tier by tier his mud-walls laid ;
And from the shagbark overhead

The grizzled squirrel dropped his shell.

Next, the dear aunt, whose smile of cheer
And voice in dreams I see and hear, —
The sweetest woman ever Fate
Perverse denied a household mate,
Who, lonely, homeless, not the less
Found peace in love's unselfishness,
And welcome wheresoe'er she went,
A calm and gracious element,
Whose presence seemed the sweet income
And womanly atmosphere of home, —
Called up her girlhood memories,
The huskings and the apple-bees,
The sleigh-rides and the summer sails,
Weaving through all the poor details
And homespun warp of circumstance
A golden woof-thread of romance.
For well she kept her genial mood
And simple faith of maidenhood ;
Before her still a cloud-land lay,
The mirage loomed across her way;
The morning dew, that dried so soon
With others, glistened at her noon ;
Through years of toil and soil and care,
From glossy tress to thin gray hair,
All unprofaned she held apart
The virgin fancies of the heart.

436 THE WORUD'S PROGRESS.

Be shame to him of woman born
Who had for such but thought of scorn.

There, too, our elder sister plied
Her evening task the stand beside ;
A full, rich nature, free to trust,
Truthful and almost sternly just,
Impulsive, earnest, prompt to act,
And make her generous thought a fact,
Keeping with many a light disguise
The secret of self-sacrifice.

0 heart sore-tried ! thou hast the best
That Heaven itself could give thee, — rest,
Rest from all bitter thoughts and things !

How many a poor one's blessing went
With thee beneath the low green tent
Whose curtain never outward swings !

As one who held herself a part
Of all she saw, and let her heart

Against the household bosom lean,
Upon the motley-braided mat
Our youngest and our dearest sat,
Lifting her large, sweet, asking eyes,
Now bathed within the fadeless green
And holy peace of Paradise.
Oh, looking from some heavenly hill,

Or from the shade of saintly palms,

Or silver reach of river calms,
Do those large eyes behold me still ?
With me one little year ago : —
The chill weight of the winter snow

For months upon her grave has lain ;
And now, when summer south winds blow

And brier and harebell bloom again,

1 tread the pleasant paths we trod,
I see the violet-sprinkled sod,
Whereon she leaned, too frail and weak
The hillside flowers she loved to seek,
Yet following me where'er I went
With dark eyes full of love's content.
The birds are glad ; the brier-rose fills
The air with sweetness ; all the hills

AMERICAN POETRY. 437

Stretch green to June's unclouded sky;

But still I wait with ear and eye

For something gone which should be nigh,

A loss in all familiar things,

In flower that blooms, and bird that sings.

And yet, dear heart ! remembering thee,

Am I not richer than of old ?
Safe in thy immortality,

What change can reach the wealth I hold?

What chance 'can mar the pearl and gold
Thy love hath left in trust with me ?

And while in life's late afternoon,

Where cool and long the shadows grow,
I walk to meet the night that soon

Shall shape and shadow overflow,
I cannot feel that thou art far,
Since near at need the angels are ;
And when the sunset gates unbar,

Shall I not see thee waiting stand,
And, white against the evening star,

The welcome of thy beckoning hand?

THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

CHAPTER XL
ALDRICH; TAYLOR.

ALDRICH has been an editor, novelist, and writer of travels,
but is properly classed as a poet. In spite of his dainty verse
and mildly humorous prose, he has not attained popularity,
though his tender "Ballad of Babie Bell" and his short story
of "Marjorie Daw," have been widely circulated.

Thomas Bailey Aldrich was born at Portsmouth, New
Hampshire, in 1837. He removed to New York at the age of
seventeen, and while employed in a publishing house began to
write for newspapers and magazines. In 1866 he was called
to Boston to become editor of Every Saturday, which position
he held for eight years. After a year of travel in Europe he
returned to Boston, but later fixed his residence at Ponkapog
in the vicinity. From 1881 to 1890 he was editor of the At-
lantic Monthly.

Aldrich's poems are usually short and carefully wrought,
subdued in tone and suggestive rather than strongly pictur-
esque. They exhibit a single phase or contrast of life, yet some-
times they run on in longer varied course, as in "Babie Bell,"
which relates sympathetically the advent and death of a child.
In some of his pieces he describes aspects of his native New
England, while others seem to belong to the remote East or
realms of pure fancy. He has occasionally used blank verse, as
in "Judith," and has even written a drama in prose. His short
stories have been more successful than his novels, and his
"Story of a Bad Boy," to some extent autobiographical, has
been widely accepted as a fair picture of an average American
boy.

Two MOODS

i.

BETWEEN the budding and the falling leaf

Stretch happy skies;

With colors and sweet cries

Of mating birds in uplands and in glades

The world is rife.

Then on a sudden all the music dies,

The color fades.

How fugitive and brief

Is mortal life

AMERICAN POETRY 439

Between the budding and the falling leaf !

O short-breathed music, dying on the tongue
Ere half the mystic canticle be sung !

0 harp of life, so speedily unstrung !

Who, if 'twere his to choose, would know again
The bitter sweetness of the lost refrain,
Its rapture, and its pain?

II.

Though I be shut in darkness and become
Insentient dust blown idly here and there,

1 count oblivion a scant price to pay
For having once had held against my lip
Life's brimming cup of hydromel and rue —
For having once known woman's holy love
And a child's kiss, and for a little space
Been boon companion to the Day and Night,
Fed on the odors of the summer dawn,

And folded in the beauty of the stars.

Dear Lord, though I be changed to senseless clay,

And serve the potter as he turns his wheel,

I thank Thee for the gracious gift of tears !

AT NlJNII-NOVGOROD

"A CRAFTY Persian set this stone;

A dusk Sultana wore it;
And from her slender finger, sir,
A ruthless Arab tore it.

"A ruby, like a drop of blood —

That deep-in tint that lingers
And seems to melt, perchance was caught
From those poor mangled fingers !

"A spendthrift got it from the knave,

And tost it, like a blossom,

That night into a dancing-girl's

Accurst and balmy bosom.

"And so it went. One day a Jew

At Cairo chanced to spy it

Amid a one-eyed peddler's pack

And did not care to buy it —

44° THE WORD'S PROGRESS.

"Yet bought it all the same. You see,

The Jew he knew a jewel.
He bought it cheap to sell it dear :
The ways of trade are cruel.

"But I— be Allah's all the praise !—

Such avarice, I scoff it !
If I buy cheap, why, I sell cheap,
Content with modest profit.

"This ring — such chasing! Look, milord,

What workmanship ! By Heaven,
The price I name you makes the thing
As if the thing were given !

"A stone without a flaw ! A queen

Might not disdain to wear it.
Three hundred roubles buys the stone ;
No kopeck less, I swear it !"

Thus Hassan, holding up the ring

To me, no eager buyer. —
A hundred roubles was not much

To pay so sweet a liar !

THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY

FOREVER am J conscious, moving here,

That should I step a little space aside

I pass the boundary of some glorified

Invisible domain — it lies so near !

Yet nothing know we of that dim frontier

Which each must cross, whatever fate betide,

To reach the heavenly cities where abide

(Thus Sorrow whispers) those that were most dear,

Now all transfigured in celestial light !

Shall we indeed behold them, thine and mine,

Whose going hence made black the noonday sun ? —

Strange is it that across the narrow night

They fling us not some token, or make sign

That all beyond is not Oblivion.

AMERICAN POETRY. 44!

BOOKS AND SEASONS

BECAUSE the sky is blue ; because blithe May
Masks in the wren's note and the lilac's hue ;
Because — in fine, because the sky is blue
I will read none but piteous tales today.
Keep happy laughter till the skies be gray,
And the sad season cypress wears, and rue ;
Them when the wind is moaning in the flue,
And ways are dark, bid Chaucer make us gay.
But now a little sadness ! All too sweet
This springtide riot, this most poignant air,
This sensuous sphere of color and perfume !
So listen, love, while I the woes repeat
Of Hamlet and Ophelia, and that pair
Whose bridal bed was builded in a tomb.

— T. B. ALDRICH.

BAYARD TAYLOR.

BAYARD TAYLOR was born in Chester County, Pennsyl-
vania, on January nth, 1825. His father was a farmer, be-
longing to the Society of Friends, and Bayard was appren-
ticed to a printing office. He soon began to contribute verses
to the papers, and a collection of these early poems entitled
"Ximena" was published in 1844. Then he made a pedestrian
tour through Europe, and his vivacious account of his travels
and experiences, entitled "Views Afoot; or Europe Seen with
Knapsack and Staff" (1846), gained him a position on the
staff of the New York Tribune in whose columns many of his
sketches of travel first appeared.

It is as a lyric poet that Bayard Taylor shows his best
qualities. Some of his songs, his Oriental idyls, and his Penn-
sylvania ballads are sure of an abiding place in American lit-
erature. His more elaborate poetical works are "The Poet's
Journal" (1862), "The Picture of St. John" (1866), "The
Masque of the Gods" (1872), "Lars" (1873), and "The
Prophet" (1874), "Home Pastorals" (1875), and "Prince
Deukalion" (1878),

442 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

NAPOLEON AT GOTHA.

We walk amid the currents of actions left undone,
The germs of deeds that wither before they see the sun.
For every sentence uttered, a million more are dumb:
Men's lives are chains of chances, and History their sum.

Not he, the Syracusan, but each impurpled lord
Must eat his banquet under the hair-suspended sword ;
And one swift breath of silence may fix or change the fate
Of him whose force is building the fabric of a state.

Where o'er the windy uplands the slated turrets shine,
Duke August ruled at Gotha, in Castle Friedenstein, —
A handsome prince and courtly, of light and shallow heart,
No better than he should be, but with a taste for Art.

The fight was fought at Jena, eclipsed was Prussia's sun,
And by the French invaders the land was overrun;
But while the German people were silent in despair,
Duke August painted pictures, and curled his yellow hair.

Now, when at Erfurt gathered the ruling royal clan,
Themselves the humble subjects, their lord the Corsican,
Each bade to ball and banquet the sparer of his line:
Duke August with the others, to Castle Friedenstein.

Then were the larders rummaged, the forest-stags were slain,
The tuns of oldest vintage showered out their golden rain ;
The towers were bright with banners, — but all the people said :
"We, slaves, must feed our master, — would God that he were
dead!"

They drilled the ducal guardsmen, men young and straight and

tall,

To form a double column, from gate to castle-wal) ;
And as there were but fifty, the first must wheel away,
Fall in beyond the others, and lengthen the array.

AMERICAN POETRY.

"Parbleu!" Napoleon muttered: "Your Highness' guards I prize,
So young and strong and handsome, and all of equal size."
"You, Sire," replied Duke August, "may have as fine, if you
Will twice or thrice repeat them, as I am forced to do !"

Now, in the Castle household, of all the folk, was one
Whose heart was hot within him, the Ducal Huntsman's son;
A bright and proud-eyed stripling; scarce fifteen years he had,
But free of hall and chamber; Duke August loved the lad.

He saw the forceful homage : he heard the shouts that came
From base throats, or unwilling, but equally of shame :
He thought: "One man has done it, — one life would free the land,
But all are slaves and cowards, and none will lift a hand !

"My grandsire hugged a bear to death, when broke his hunting-
spear,

And has this little Frenchman a muzzle I should fear ?
If kings are cowed, and princes, and all the land is scared,
Perhaps a boy can show them the thing they might have dared 1"

Napoleon, on the morrow, was coming once again,
(And all the castle knew it) without his courtly train;
And, when the stairs were mounted, there was no other road
But one long, lonely passage, to where the Duke abode.

None guessed the secret purpose the silent stripling kept:
Deep in the night he waited, and, when his father slept,
Took from the rack of weapons a musket old and tried,
And cleaned the lock and barrel, and laid it at his side.

He held it fast in slumber, he lifted it in dreams

Of sunlit mountain-forests and stainless mountain-streams ;

And in the morn he loaded — the load was bullets three :

"For Deutschland — for Duke August — and now the third for me !"

"What! ever wilt be hunting?" the stately Marshall cried;
"I'll fetch a stag of twenty !" the pale-faced boy replied,
As, clad in forest color, he sauntered through the court,
And said, when none could hear him : "Now, may the time be
short!"

444 TH£ WORLD'S PROGRESS.

The corridor was vacant, the windows full of sun ;

He stole within the midmost, and primed afresh his gun :

Then stood, with all his senses alert in ear and eye

To catch the lightest signal that showed the Emperor nigh.

A sound of wheels: a silence: the muffled sudden jar
Of guards their arms presenting: a footstep mounting far,
Then nearer, briskly nearer, — a footstep, and alone!
And at the farther portal appeared Napoleon !

Alone, his hands behind him, his firm and massive head
With brooded plans uplifted, he came with measured tread:
And yet, those feet had shaken the nations from their poise,
And yet, that will to shake them depended on the boy's !

With finger on the trigger, the gun held counter-wise,
His rapid heart-beats sending the blood to brain and eyes,
The boy stood, firm and deadly, — another moment's space,
And then the Emperor saw him, and halted, face to face.

A mouth as cut in marble, an eye that pierced and stung
As might a god's, all-seeing, the soul of one so young:
A look that read his secret, that lamed his callow will,
That inly smiled, and dared him his purpose to fulfil !

As one a serpent trances, the boy, forgetting all,

Felt but that face, nor noted the harmless musket's fall ;

Nor breathed, nor thought, nor trembled: but, pale and cold as

stone,
Saw pass, nor look behind him, the calm Napoleon.

And these two kept their secret ; but from that day began
The sense of fate and duty that made the boy a man ;
And long he lived to tell it, — and, better, lived to say :
"God's purposes were grander : He thrust me from His way !"

AMERICAN POETRY. 445

CHAPTER XII.
RECENT POETS.

EDWIN MARK HAM was born in the state of Oregon in
1852. While yet a child his father died and the family re-
moved to California. In very limited circumstances, his mother
was unable to give him the early opportunities which she de-
sired, but he developed an unusual fondness for nature and
a free, out-of-door life. Added to this liking for woods and
meadows and all living things was an insatiable love of read-
ing. This last was hard to satisfy, because of the scarcity
of reading material in a new country. Deprived of books in
boyhood, as soon as fortune permitted, Markham became a
book collector and acquired a fine private library.

By dint of hard effort, the future poet received first a
Normal, then a college education. Nevertheless he felt that
in many ways school life was less free and independent than
he might have wished. Believing that manual labor should
constitute a part of each one's work-a-day life, he applied him-
self to blacksmithing. However, during months passed as a
smithy, he dreamed out poems for leisure hours.

For some time Markham has made his home in New York.
His poems are known in many lands, for they have appealed
particularly to those who have the welfare of humanity at
heart and who look for some adjustment of present social
wrongs. The fraternity of man is Markham's watchword,
and in his Man with a Hog and The Sower he has sought
to bring home the misery of unceasing toil to those who re-
main deaf to all prayers and care for self alone. Inasmuch
has been compared to Lowell's Vision of Sir Launfal. In
lines like these the western poet continues to sing his songs
for the world:

There is a destiny that makes us brothers :

None goes his way alone:
All that we send into the lives of others

Comes back into our own.

446 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

BROTHERHOOD.

The crest and crowning of all good,

Life's final star, is Brotherhood;

For it will bring again to Earth

Her long-lost Poesy and Mirth;

Will send new light on every face,

A kingly power upon the race.

And till it come, we men are slaves,

And travel downward to the dust of graves.

Come, clear the way, then, clear the way;

Blind creeds and kings have had their day.

Break the dead branches from the path:

Our hope is in the aftermath —

Our hope is in heroic men,

Star-led to build the world again.

To this Event the ages ran:

Make way for Brotherhood — make way fol

THE BUTTERFLY.

O winged brother on the harebell, stay —
Was God's hand very pitiful, the hand
That wrought thy beauty at a dream's demand ?
Yea, knowing I love so well the flowery way,
He did not fling me to the world astray —
He did not drop me to the weary sand,
But bore me gently to a leafy land:
Tinting my wmgs, He gave me to the day.

Oh, chide no more my doubting, my despair !

I will go back now to the world of men.
Farewell, I leave thee to the world of air,

Yet thou hast girded up my heart again;
For He that framed the impenetrable plan,
And keeps His word with thee, will keep with man.

AMERICAN POETRY. 447

THE GOBLIN LAUGH.

When I behold how men and women grind
And grovel for some place of pomp or power,
To shine and circle through a crumbling hour,

Forgetting the large mansions of the mind,

That are the rest and shelter of mankind;

And when I see them come with wearied brains
Pallid and powerless to enjoy their gains,

I seem to hear a goblin laugh unwind.

And then a memory sends upon its billow
Thoughts of a singer wise enough to play,
Who took life as a lightsome holiday:
Oft have I seen him make his arm a pillow,
Drink from his hand, and with a pipe of willow
Blow a wild music down a woodland way.

IN POPPY FIELDS.

Here the poppy hosts assemble:
How they startle, how they tremble!
All their royal hoods unpinned
Blow out lightly in the wind.
Here is gold to labor for;
Here is pillage worth a war.

Men that in the cities grind,
Come! before the heart is blind.

EUGENE FIELD.

OF New England descent, but born in St. Louis in 1850,
Eugene Field was a curious mixture of classical culture, roving
fancy and wild West humor. He studied at more than one
college, and after graduating from the University of Michi-
gan in 1871, traveled in Europe. On his return he became
a journalist, and was thus employed in several places before
he settled in Chicago. Here for years Field filled a column
daily with such whims and fancies, prose and verse, as enter-

448 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

tained a host of readers. But this journalistic joker was an
indefatigable collector of works and curios, and his last volume
was "The Love Affairs of a Bibliomaniac." His fondness for
children was shown not only in writing numerous lullabies and
little folk's stories, but in his collection of their toys and trink-
ets. Field wrote Some notable poems in Western dialect, and
then varied his work by exquisite translations from Horace.
During his life he issued a dozen volumes, and after his death,
in 1895, his works were collected (10 vols., New York, 1896)
with affectionate tributes from his friends.

LITTLE BOY BLUE.

The little toy dog is covered with dust,

But sturdy and staunch he stands;
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,

And his musket moulds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new,

And the soldier was passing fair,
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue

Kissed them and put them there.

"Now, don't you go till I come," he said,

"And don't you make any noise!"
So toddling off to his trundle-bed

He dreamt of the pretty toys.
And as he was dreaming, an angel song

Awakened our Little Boy Blue —
Oh, the years are many, the years are long,

But the little toy friends are true.

Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,

Each in the same old place,
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,

The smile of a little face.
And they wonder, as waiting these long years through,

In the dust of that little chair,
What has become of our Little Boy Blue

Since he kissed them and put them there.

X— 29

AMERICAN POETRY. 449

•

WYNKEN. BLYNKEN AND NOD.

X

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night

Sailed off in a wooden shoe, —
Sailed off on a river of misty light

Into a sea of dew.
"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"

The old moon asked the three.
"We have come to fish for the herring-fish
That live in the beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we,"
Said Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.

The old moon laughed and sang a song,

As they rocked in the wooden shoe;
And the wind that sped them all night long

Ruffled the waves of dew;
The little stars were the herring-fish

That lived in the beautiful sea.
"Now cast your nets wherever you wish,

But never afeared are we!"

So cried the stars to the fishermen three,
Wynken,
Blynken,

And Nod.

.

All night long their nets they threw
For the fish in the twinkling foam,
Then down the sky came the wooden shoe,

Bringing the fishermen home;
'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed

As if it could not be ;

And some folks thought 'twas a dream they dreamed
Of sailing that beautiful sea ;
But I shall name you the fishermen three ;
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.

450 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,

And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies

Is the wee one's trundle-bed !
So shut your eyes while mother sings

Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
As you rock on the misty sea
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three,
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.

JOAQUIN MILLER.

Joaquin Miller (1841-1913) — Cincinnatus Hiner Miller-
was born in Indiana, but while yet a child his parents re-
moved to Oregon. He studied law and shortly became iden-
tified with newspaper work.

Joaquin Miller traveled quite extensively in his later life,
always attracting attention by the cow-boy costume he in-
variably wore. He is perhaps the boldest and most original
of all the western poets. With serious faults that he never
corrected, Miller displayed a certain spontaneity and freshness
that gave his poems a welcome wherever they went. It is
safe to say that they belong to a distinct stage of western
civilization and as a product of that civilization alone will re-
tain a place in the annals of American life.

COLUMBUS.

Behind him lay the gray Azores,
Behind the gates of Hercules;
Before him not the ghost of shores ;
Before him only shoreless seas.
The good mate said : "Now must we pray,
For lo! the very stars are gone.
Brave Adm'r'l, speak ; what shall I say ?"
"Why, say : 'Sail on ! sail on ! and on !' "

AMERICAN POETRY. 45!

"My men grow mutinous day by day ;
My men grow ghastly wan and weak."
The stout mate thought of home ; a spray
Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek.
"What shall I say, brave Adm'r'l, say,
If we sight naught but seas at dawn?"
"Why, you shall say at break of day :
'Sail on ! sail on ! and on !' "

They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow,
Until at last the blanched mate said :
"Why, now not even God would know
Should I and all my men fall dead.
These very winds forget their way,
For God from these dread seas is gone.
Now speak, brave Adm'r'l ; speak and say — "
He said: "Sail on! and on!"

They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate:
"This mad sea shows his teeth to-night.
He curls his lip, he lies in wait,
With lifted teeth, as if to bite!
Brave Adm'r'l, say but one good word :
What shall we do when hope is gone?"
The words leapt like a leaping sword:
"Sail on ! sail on ! sail on ! and on !"

Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck,
And peered through darkness. Ah, that night
Of all dark nights ! And then a speck —
A light! A light! A light! A light!
It grew, a starlit flag unfurled!
It grew to be Time's burst of dawn.
He gained a world ; he gave that world
Its grandest lesson: "On! sail on!"

BY THE BALBOA SEAS.
The golden fleece is at our feet,
Our hills are girt in sheen of gold ;
Our golden flower-fields are sweet
With honey hives. A thousand-fold
More fair our fruits on laden stem
Than Jordan tow'rd Jerusalem.

452

THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

Behold this mighty sea of seas!
The ages pass in silence by.
Gold apples of Hesperides
Hang at our God-land gates for aye.
Our golden shores have golden keys
Where sound and sing the Balboa seas.

WALT WHITMAN.

WALT WHITMAN was born at West
Hills, Long Island, on May 31, 1819.
He was first a printer, then a teacher
in country schools, and subsequently
learned the carpenter's trade. He also
contributed to newspapers and mag-
azines and was at intervals connected
with various papers in an editorial
capacity. In 1849 ne traveled through
the western States, and afterwards took
up his residence in New York City,
where he frequented the society of newspaper men and littera-
teurs. In 1855 he published his notable work, "Leaves of
Grass," in which he preaches the gospel of democracy and
the natural man. It is a series of poems without rhyme or
metrical form, dealing with moral, social and political prob-
lems. It was a new departure in literature, an unwonted
method of conveying frank and untrammeled utterances. The
book at first attracted but little attention, though it at once
found some staunch admirers. Ralph Waldo Emerson said
pf it : "I find it the most extraordinary piece of wit and wis-
dom that America has yet contributed." This book Walt
Whitman elaborated and added to for thirty years, and
several editions have been published. It has excited bitter
denunciation and warm approval. Original and forceful,
Whitman cannot be judged by ordinary literary standards.
His scornful trampling upon all metrical rules, and his free-
dom in treating of matters usually passed in silence, have so
far been a decided barrier to the approval of his work.

AMERICAN POETRY. 453

During the war, Whitman became an hospital nurse at
Washington. His experiences were wrought into a volume
called "Drum Taps," since embodied with "Leaves of Grass."
After the war he was for some years in the Government em-
ploy at Washington. He moved to Camden, New Jersey, in
1873. Besides adding to "Leaves of Grass," he published
"Specimen Days and Collects" in 1883, "November Boughs"
in 1885, "Sands at Seventy" in 1888, "Good-bye, my Fancy!"
1890.

Whitman died on March 26, 1892. His ambition was to
be something more than a mere singer; a prophet and seer
to his country and time. He has not yet been accepted by
the people at large. He has won the approbation of some
great minds, but so far he has not won the hearts of the peo-
ple, to whom he dedicated his labors.

IN Au,,

I AM the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul,
The pleasures of heaven are with me, and the pains of hell are

with me;
The first I graft upon myself, the latter I translate into a new

tongue.

I am the poet of the woman the same as the man,
And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man,
And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men.

I chant the chant of dilation or pride,

We have had ducking and deprecation about enough,

I show that size is only development.

Have you outstript the rest? are you the President?

It is a trifle, they will more than arrive there everyone, and still

pass on.

I am he that walks with the tender and growing night,
I call to the earth and sea, half-held by the night.
Press close bare-bosom'd night — press close magnetics nourishing

night !

Night of South winds — night of the large few stars !
Still nodding night — mad naked summer night.

154 THE WORU>'S PROGRESS.

Smile, O voluptuous cool-breathed earth !

Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees !

Earth of departed sunset — earth of the mountains misty-topt!

Earth of the vitreous pour of the full moon just tinged with blue !

Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river !

Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my

sake!

Far-swooping elbow'd earth — rich apple-blossom'd earth !
Smile, for your lover comes.

Prodigal, you have given me love — therefore to you I give love 1
O unspeakable passionate love.

THE P-#AN OF JOY.

Now, trumpeter ! for thy close,
Vouchsafe a higher strain than any yet;
Sing to my soul ! — renew its languishing faith and hope ;
Rouse up my slow belief — give me some vision of the future ;
Give me, for once, its prophecy and joy.
O glad, exulting, culminating song!
A vigor more than earth's is in thy notes !
Marches of victory — man disenthralled — the conqueror at last !
Hymns to the universal God from universal Man — all joy!
A re-born race appears — a perfect world — all joy !
Women and men in wisdom, innocence, and health — all joy !
Riotous laughing bacchanals, filled with joy!
War, sorrowing, suffering gone — the rank earth purged — nothing

but joy left!

The ocean filled with joy — the atmosphere all joy !
Joy ! joy ! in freedom, worship, love ! Joy in the ecstasy of life !
Enough to merely be ! Enough to breathe !
Joy ! joy ! all over joy !

THERE WAS A CHILD WENT FORTH.

THERE was a child went forth every day ;

And the first object he look'd upon, that object he became ;

And that object became part of him for the day, or a certain part

of the day, or for many years, or stretching cycles of years.
The early lilacs became part of this child,
And grass, and white and red raornuig-^lories. and white and red

clover, arid the song of the phoebe-bird,

AMERICAN POETRY. 455

And the Third-month lambs, and the sow's pink-faint litter, and
the mare's foal, and the cow's calf,

And the noisy brood of the barn-yard, or by the mire of the pond-
side,

And the fish suspending themselves so curiously below there — and
the beautiful curious liquid,

And the water-plants with their graceful flat heads — all became
part of him.

The field-sprouts of Fourth-month and Fifth-month became part
of him;

Winter-grain sprouts, and those of the light yellow corn, and the
esculent roots of the garden,

And the apple-trees cover'd with blossoms, and the fruit after-
ward, and wood-berries, and the commonest weeds by the
road;

And the old drunkard staggering home from the out-house of the
tavern, whence he had lately risen,

And the school-mistress that pass'd on her way to the school,

And the friendly boys that pass'd — and the quarrelsome boys,

And the tidy and fresh-cheek'd girls — and the barefoot negro boy
and girl,

And all the changes of city and country, wherever he went.

His own parents,

He that had father'd him, and she that had conceiv'd him in her
womb, and birth'd him,

They gave this child more of themselves than that ;

They gave him afterward every day — they became part of him.

The mother at home, quietly placing the dishes on the supper-
table ;

The mother with mild words — clean her cap and gown, a whole-
some odor falling off her person and clothes as she walks by ;

The father, strong, self-sufficient, manly, mean, anger'd, unjust;

The blow, the quick loud word, the tight bargain, the crafty lure,

The family usages, the language, the company, the furniture — the
yearning and swelling heart,

Affection that will not be gainsay'd — the sense of what is real —
the thought if, after all, it should prove unreal,

The doubts of day-time and the doubts of night-time — the curious
whether and how,

Whether that which appears so is so, or is it all flashes and specks ?

Men and women crowding fast in the streets — if they are not
flashes and specks, what are they?

456 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

The streets themselves, and the faqades of houses, and goods in

the windows,
Vehicles, teams, the heavy-plank'd wharves — the huge crossing

at the ferries,
The village on the highland, seen from afar at sunset — the river

between,
Shadows, aureola and mist, the light falling on roofs and gables

of white or brown, three miles off,
The schooner near by, sleepily dropping down the tide — the little

boat slack-tow'd astern,

The hurrying tumbling waves, quick-broken crests, slapping,
The strata of color'd clouds, the long bar of maroon-tint, away

solitary by itself — the spread of purity it lies motionless in,
The horizon's edge, the flying sea-crow, the fragrance of salt

marsh and shore mud ;
These became part of that child who went forth every day, and

who now goes, and will always go forth every day.

I SING —

ONE'S-SELF I sing — a simple, separate Person ;

Yet utter the word Democratic, the word en masse.

Of Physiology from top to toe I sing ;

Not physiognomy alone, nor brain alone, is worthy for the muse —

I say the Form complete is worthier far ;
The Female equally with the male I sing.
Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power,
Cheerful — for freest action form'd, under the laws divine,
The Modern Man I sing.

I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and

self-contain'd ;

I stand and look at them long and long.
They do not sweat and whine about their condition ;
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins ;
They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God ;
Not one is dissatisfied — not one is demented with the mania of

owning things ;
Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of

years ago ;
Not one is respectable or industrious over the whole earth.

—Walt Whitman.

AMERICAN POETRY.

O CAPTAIN ! MY CAPTAIN !

O CAPTAIN 1 my Captain ! our fearful trip is done ;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won ;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring :

But O heart ! heart ! heart !

O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain ! my Captain ! rise up and hear the bells ;

Rise up — for you the flag is flung — for you the bugle trills ;

For you bouquets and ribbon 'd wreaths — for you the shores

a-crowding ;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

Here Captain! dear father!

This arm beneath your head ;
It is some dream that on the deck,

You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still ;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will ;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done ;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won:

Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells !

But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

458 THE WORIJ/S PROGRESS.

CHAPTER XIII.
RECENT POEMS.

TOUJOURS AMOUR.

PRITHEE tell me, Dimple Chin,
At what age does love begin ?
Your blue eyes have scarcely seen
Summers three, my fairy queen,
But a miracle of sweets,
Soft approaches, sly retreats,
Show the little archer there,
Hidden in your pretty hair ;
When didst learn a heart to win ?
Prithee tell me, Dimple Chin !

"Oh!" the rosy lips reply,

"I can't tell you if I try.
Tis so long I can't remember :

Ask some younger lass than I !"

"Tell, O tell me, Grizzled-Face,
Do your heart and head keep pace?
When does hoary Love expire,
When do frosts put out the fire ?
Can its embers burn below
All that chill December snow?
Care you still soft hands to press,
Bonny heads to soothe and bless?
When does Love give up the chase?
Tell, O tell me, Grizzled-Face !

"Ah !" the wise old lips reply,

"Youth may pass and strength may die;
But of Love I can't foretoken :

Ask some older sage than I !"

"THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY."

Could we but know
The land that ends our dark, uncertain travel,

Where lie those happier hills and meadows low —
Ah, if beyond the spirit's inmost cavil,

Aught of that country could we surely know,
Who would not go?

AMERICAN POETRY. 459

Might we but hear
The hovering angels' high imagined chorus,

Or catch, betimes, with wakeful eyes and clear,
One radiant vista of the realm before us —
With one rapt moment given to see and hear,
Ah, who would fear?
•

Were we quite sure

To find the peerless friend who left us lonely,
Or there, by some celestial stream as pure,
To gaze in eyes that here were lovelit only —
This weary mortal coil, were we quite sure,
Who would endure?

— C. E. Stedman.

THE SYMPHONY.

"O TRADE ! O Trade ! would thou wert dead !

The Time needs heart — 'tis tired of head :

We're all for love," the violins said.
"Of what avails the rigorous tale

Of bill for coin and box for bale?

Grant thee, O Trade ! thine uttermost hope :

Level red gold with blue sky-slope,

And base it deep as devils grope :

When all's done, what hast thou won

Of the only sweet that's under the sun ?

Ay, canst thou buy a single sigh

Of true love's least, least ecstasy?"

Then, with a bridegroom's heart-beats trembling,

All the mightier strings assembling

Ranged them on the violins' side

As when the bridegroom leads the bride,

And, heart in voice, together cried :
"Yea, what avail the endless tale

Of gain by cunning and plus by sale?

Look up the land, look down the land

The poor, the poor, the poor, they stand

Wedged by the pressing of Trade's hand

Against an inward-opening door

That pressure tightens evermore :

They sigh a monstrous foul-air sigh

For the outside leagues of liberty,

Where Art, sweet lark, translates the sky

460 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

Into a heavenly melody.
'Each day, all day' (these poor folks say),
'In the same old year-long, drear-long way,
We weave in the mills and heave in the kilns,
We sieve mine-meshes under the hills,
And thieve much gold from the Devil's bank tills,
To relieve, O God, what manner of ills ? —
The beasts, they hunger, and eat, and die ;
And so do we, and the world's a sty ;
Rush, fellow-swine: why nuzzle and cry?
Swinehood hath no remedy
Say many men, and hasten by,
Clamping the nose and blinking the eye.
But who said once, in the lordly tone,
Man shall not live by bread alone
But all that cometh from the Throne?

Hath God said so?

But Trade saith No:

And the kilns and the curt-tongued mills say Go!
There's plenty that can, if you can't: we know.
Move out, if you think you're underpaid.
The poor are prolific; we're not afraid;

Trade is trade.' "

Thereat this passionate protesting
Meekly changed, and softened till
It sank to sad requesting
And suggesting sadder still:
"And oh, if men might some time see
How piteous false the poor decree
That trade no more than trade must be !
Does business mean, Die, you — live, 1?
Then 'Trade is trade' but sings a lie :
'Tis only war grown miserly.
If business is battle, name it so:
War-crimes less will shame it so,
And widows less will blame it so.
Alas, for the poor to have some part
In yon sweet living lands of Art,
Makes problem not for head, but heart.
Vainly might Plato's brain revolve it:
Plainly the heart of a child could solve it."

— Sidney Lanier.

AMERICAN POETRY. 461

THE RAIN.

The rain sounds like a laugh to me —
A low laugh poured out limpidly.
MY very soul smiles as I listen to

The low, mysterious laughter of the rain,

Poured musically over heart and brain
Till sodden care, soaked with it through and through,
Sinks ; and, with wings wet with it as with dew,

My spirit flutters up, with every stain

Rinsed from its plumage, and as white again
As when the old laugh of the rain was new.

Then laugh on, happy Rain ! laugh louder yet ! —
Laugh out in torrent-bursts of watery mirth ;

Unlock thy lips of purple cloud, and let
Thy liquid merriment baptize the earth,

And wash the sad face of the world, and set

The universe to music dripping-wet!

THE FISHING PARTY.

WUNST we went a-fishin' — Me
An' my Pa an' Ma, all three,
When they wuz a picnic, 'way
Out to Ranch's Woods, one day.

An' they wuz a crick out there,
Where the fishes is, an' where
Little boys 't ain't big an' strong
Better have their folks along!

My Pa he ist fished an' fished !
An' my Ma she said she wished
Me an' her was home ; an' Pa
Said he wished so worse'n Ma

Pa said ef you talk, er say
Anything, er sneeze, er play,
Hain't no fish, alive er dead,
Ever go' to bite ! he said.

Purt' nigh dark in town when we
Got back home ; an' Ma, says she,
Now she'll have a fish f er shore !
An' she buyed one at the store.

462 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

Nen at supper, Pa he won't

Eat no fish, an' says he don't

Like 'em. — An' he pounded me

When I choked ! . . . Ma, didn't he ?

— /. W. Riley.
ODIUM THEOLGICUM.

I.

THEY met and they talked where the cross-roads meet,

Four men from the four winds come,
And they talked of the horse, for they loved the theme,

And never a man was dumb.
And the man from the North loved the strength of the horse,

And the man from the East his pace,
And the man from the South loved the speed of the horse,

The man from the West his grace.

So these four men from the four winds come,

Each paused a space in his course
And smiled in the face of his fellow-man

And lovingly talked of the horse.
Then each man parted and went his way

As their different courses ran ;
And each man journeyed with peace in his heart

And loving his fellow-man.

II.
They met the next year where the cross-roads meet,

Four men from the four winds come ;
And it chanced as they met that they talked of God,

And never a man was dumb.
One imaged God in the shape of a man,

A spirit did one insist ;
One said that Nature itself was God,

One said that He didn't exist.

But they lashed each other with tongues that stung,

That smote as with a rod :
Each glared in the face of his fellow-man,

And wrathfully talked of God.
Then each man parted and went his way,

As their different courses ran :
And each man journeyed with war in his heart,

And hating his fellow-man.

AMERICAN POETRY. 463

MIRACLES.
SINCE I have listened to the song

The melted snow-bank sings,
I've roamed the earth a credulous man,

Believing many things.
The snow which made the mountains white

Made green the babbling lea ;
And since that day have miracles

Been commonplace to me.

Sprung from the slime of sluggish streams,

Inert, and dark, and chilly,
Have I not seen the miracle

And glory of the lily ?
Have I not seen, when June's glad smile

Upon the earth reposes,
The cosmic impulse in the clod

Reveal itself in roses?

Have I not seen the frozen hill,

Where snowy chaos tosses,
Smile back upon the smiling sun

With violets and mosses ?
Have I not seen the dead old world

Rise to a newer birth,
When fragrance from the lilac blooms

Rejuvenates the earth?

Have I not seen the rolling earth,

A clod of frozen death,
Burst from its grave-clothes of the snow

Touched by an April breath ?
Have I not seen the bareboughed tree,

That from the winter shrinks,
Imparadised in apple blooms

And loud with bobolinks ?

Now who can riddle me this thing?

O.r tell me how or where
The tulip stains its crimson cup

From the transparent air ?
So from the wonder-bearing day

I take the gifts it brings,
And roam the earth a credulous man,

Believing many things. — S. W . Foss.

464 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

i.

I asked no other thing,

No other was denied.
I offered Being for it ;

The mighty merchant smiled.

Brazil? He twirled a button,
Without a glance my way:

"But, madam, is there nothing else
That we can show today?"

ii.

Will there really be a morning?

Is there such a thing as day?
Could I see it from the mountains

If I were as tall as they ?

Has it feet like water-lilies ?

Has it feathers like a bird?
Is it brought from famous countries

Of which I have never heard ?

Oh, some scholar ! Oh, some sailor !

Oh, some wise man from the skies!
Please to tell a little pilgrim

Where the place called morning lies !

in.

Have you a brook in your little heart,
Where bashful flowers blow,

And blushing birds go down to drink,
And shadows tremble so?

And nobody knows, so still it flows,

That any brook is there ;
And yet your little draught of life

Is daily drunken there.

AMERICAN POETRY. 465

Then look out for the little brook in March,

When the rivers overflow,
And the snows come hurrying from the hills,

And the bridges often go.

And later, in August it may be,

When the meadows parching lie,
Beware, lest this little brook of life

Some burning noon go dry !

— Emily Dickinson.

AMERICAN FICTION

CHAPTER XIV.
AMERICAN LIFE IN AMERICAN FICTION.

THE RISE OF SILAS LAPHAM.

Lapham had the pride which comes of self -making, and
he would not openly lower his crest to the young fellow he
had taken into his business. He was going to be obviously
master in his own place to every one; and during the hours
of business he did nothing to distinguish Corey from the
half dozen other clerks and bookkeepers in the outer office,
but he was not silent about the fact that Bromfield Corey's
son had taken a fancy to come to him. "Did you notice that
fellow at the desk facing my typewriter girl ? Well, sir, that's
the son of Bromfield Corey — old Phillips Corey's grandson.
And I'll say this for him, that there isn't a man in the office
that looks after his work better. There isn't anything he's
too good for. He's right here at nine every morning, before
the clock gets in the word. I guess it's his grandfather com-
ing out in him. He's got charge of the foreign correspond-
ence. We're pushing the paint everywhere." He flattered
himself that he did not lug the matter in. He had been
warned against that by his wife, but he had the right to do
Corey justice, and his brag took the form of illustration.
"Talk about training for business. I tell you it's all in the
man himself! I used to believe in what old Horace Greeley
said about college graduates being the poorest kind of horned
cattle, but I've changed my mind a little. You take that fel-
low Corey. He's been through Harvard, and he's had about
every advantage that a fellow could have. Been everywhere,

466

AMERICAN FICTION. 467

and talks half a dozen languages like English. I suppose he's
got money enough to live without lifting a hand, any more
than his father does; son of Bromfield Corey, you know.
But the thing was in him. He's a natural born business
man; and I've had many a fellow with me that had come
up out of the street, and worked hard all his life, without
ever losing his original opposition to the thing. But Corey
likes it. I believe the fellow would like to stick at that
desk of his night and day. I don't know where he got it.
I guess it must be his grandfather, old Phillips Corey ; it often
skips a generation, you know. But what I say is, a thing
has got to be born in a man; and if it ain't born in him,
all the privations in the world won't put it there, and if it is,
all the college training won't take it out."

Sometimes Lapham advanced these ideas at his own table,
to a guest whom he brought to Nantasket for the night. Then
he suffered exposure and ridicule at the hands of his wife,
when opportunity offered. She would not let him bring Corey
down to Nantasket at all.

"No, indeed!" she said. "I am not going to have them
think we're running after him. If he wants to see Irene,
he can find out ways of doing it for himself."

"Who wants him to see Irene?" retorted the Colonel an-
grily.

"I do," said Mrs. Lapham. "And I want him to see her
without any of your connivance, Silas. I'm not going to
have it said that I put my girls at anybody. Why don't you
invite some of your other clerks?"

"He ain't just like other clerks. He's going to take charge
of a part of the business. It's quite another thing."

"Oh, indeed!" said Mrs. Lapham vexatiously. "Then you
are going to take a partner."

"I shall ask him down if I choose!" retorted the Colonel,
disdaining her insinuation.

His wife laughed with the fearlessness of a woman who
knows her husband.

"But you won't choose when you've thought it over, Si."
Then she applied an emollient to his chafed surface. "Don't
you suppose I feel as you do about it? I know just how
proud you are, and I'm not going to have you do anything

468 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

that will make you feel meeching afterward. You just let
things take their course. If he wants Irene, he's going to find
out some way of seeing her; and if he don't, all the plotting
and planning in the world isn't going to make him."

"Who's plotting?" again retorted the Colonel, shudder-
ing at the utterance of hopes and ambitions which a man
hides with shame, but a woman talks over as freely and
coolly as if they were items of a milliner's bill.

"Oh, not you!" exulted his wife. "I understand what you
want. You want to get this fellow, who is neither partner
nor clerk, down here to talk business with him. Well, now,
you just talk business with him at the office."

The only social attention which Lapham succeeded in
offering Corey was to take him in his buggy, now and then,
for a spin out over the Milldam. He kept the mare in town,
and on a pleasant afternoon he liked to knock off early, as he
phrased it, and let the mare out a little. Corey understood
something about horses, though in a passionless way, and he
would have preferred to talk business when obliged to talk
horse. But he deferred to his business superior with the
sense of discipline which is innate in the apparently insubordi-
nate American nature. If Corey could hardly help feeling
the social difference between Lapham and himself, in his
presence he silenced his traditions, and showed him all the
respect that he could have exacted from any of his clerks.
He talked horse with him, and when the Colonel wished he
talked house. Besides himself and his paint Lapham had not
many other topics, and if he had a choice between the mare
and the edifice on the water side of Beacon street, it was just
now the latter. Sometimes, in driving in or out, he stopped
at the house, and made Corey his guest there, if he might not
at Nantasket ; and one day it happened that the young man
met Irene there again. She had come up with her mother
alone, and they were in the house, interviewing the carpenter
as before, when the Colonel jumped out of his buggy and cast
anchor at the pavement. More exactly, Mrs. Lapham was
interviewing the carpenter, and Irene was sitting in the bow-
window on a trestle, and looking out at the driving. She
saw him come up with her father, and bowed and blushed.
Her father went on upstairs to find her mother, and Corey

AMERICAN FICTION. 469

pulled up another trestle which he found in the back part of
the room. The first floorings had been laid throughout the
house, and the partitions had been lathed so that one could
realize the shape of the interior.

"I suppose you will sit at this window a good deal," said
the young man.

"Yes, I think it will be very nice. There's so much more
going on than there is in the Square."

"It must be very interesting to you to see the house
grow."

"It is. Only it doesn't seem to grow so fast as I expected."

"Why, I'm amazed at the progress your carpenter has
made every time I come."

The girl looked down, and then lifting her eyes she said,
with a sort of timorous appeal :

"I've been reading that book since you were down at
Nantasket."

"Book?" repeated Corey, while she reddened with disap-
pointment. "Oh, yes. Middlemarch. Did you like it?"

"I haven't got through with it yet. Pen has finished it."

"What does she think of it?"

"Oh, I think she likes it very well. I haven't heard her
talk about it much. Do you like it ?"

"Yes ; I liked it immensely. But it's several years since I
read it."

"I didn't know it was so old. It's just got into the Sea-
side Library," she urged, with a little sense of injury in her
tone.

"Oh, it hasn't been out such a great while," said Corey
politely. "It came a little before Daniel Deronda."

The girl was again silent. She followed the curl of a
shaving on the floor with the point of her parasol.

"Do you like that Rosamond Vincy?" she asked, without
looking up.

Corey smiled in his kind way.

"I didn't suppose she was expected to have any friends.
I can't say I liked her. But I don't think I disliked her so
much as the author does. She's pretty hard on good-look-
ing"— he was going to say girls, but as if that might have
been rather personal, he said — "people."

47° THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

"Yes, that's what Pen says. She says she doesn't give
her any chance to be good. She says she should have been
just as bad as Rosamond if she had been in her place."

The young man laughed. "Your sister is very satirical,
isn't she?"

"I don't know," said Irene, still intent upon the convolu-
tions of the shaving. "She keeps us laughing. Papa thinks
that there's nobody that can talk like her." She gave the
shaving a little toss from her, and took the parasol up across
her lap. The unworldliness of the Lapham girls did not
extend to their dress; Irene's costume was very stylish, and
she governed her head and shoulders stylishly. "We are going
to have the back room upstairs for a music-room and library,"
she said abruptly.

"Yes?" returned Corey. "I should think that would be
charming."

"We expected to have book-cases, but the architect wants
to build the shelves in."

The fact seemed to be referred to Corey for his comment.

"It seems to me that would be the best way. They'll look
like part of the room then. You can make them low, and
hang your pictures above them."

"Yes, that's what he said." The girl looked out of the
window in adding, "I presume with nice bindings it will look
very well."

"Oh, nothing furnishes a room like books."

"No. There will have to be a good many of them."

"That depends upon the size of your room and the number
of your shelves."

"Oh, of course! I presume," said Irene, thoughtfully,
"we shall have to have Gibbon."

"If you want to read him," said Corey, with a laugh of
sympathy for an imaginable joke.

"We had a great deal about him at school. I believe we
had one of his books. Mine's lost, but Pen will remember."

The young man looked at her, and then said, seriously:
"You'll want Greene, of course, and Motley, and Parkman."

"Yes. What kind of writers are they?"

"They're historians, too."

AMERICAN FICTION. 471

"Oh, yes ; I remember now. That's what Gibbon was. Is
it Gibbon or Gibbons?"

The young man decided the point with apparently super-
fluous delicacy. "Gibbon, I think."

"There used to be so many of them," said Irene gaily. "I
used to get them mixed up with each other, and I couldn't
tell them from the poets. Should you want to have poetry?"

"Yes; I suppose some edition of the English poets."

"We don't any of us like poetry. Do you like it?"

"I'm afraid I don't very much," Corey owned. "But, of
course, there was a time when Tennyson was a great deal
more to me than he is now."

"We had something about him at school, too. I think I
remember the name. I think we ought to have all the Ameri-
can poets/'

"Well, not all. Five or six of the best : you want Long-
fellow and Bryant and Whittier and Holmes and Emerson
and Lowell."

The girl listened attentively, as if making mental note of
the names.

"And Shakespeare," she added. "Don't you like Shakes-
peare's plays?"

"Oh, yes, very much."

"I used to be perfectly crazy about his plays. Don't you
think 'Hamlet' is splendid? We had ever so much about
Shakespeare. Weren't you perfectly astonished when you found
out how many other plays of his there were? I always
thought there was nothing but 'Hamlet' and 'Romeo and
Juliet' and 'Macbeth' and 'Richard III' and 'King Lear,' and
that one that Robeson and Crane have — Oh, yes ! 'Comedy of
Errors.' "

"Those are the ones they usually play," said Corey.

"I presume we shall have to have Scott's works," said
Irene, returning to the question of books.

"Oh, yes."

"One of the girls used to think he was great. She was
always talking about Scott." Irene made a pretty little amiably
contemptuous mouth. "He isn't American, though?" she
suggested.

"No," said Corey; "he's Scotch, I believe."

472 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

Irene passed her glove over her forehead. "I always get
him mixed up with Cooper. Well, papa has got to get them.
If we have a library, we have got to have books in it. Pen
says it's perfectly ridiculous having one. But papa thinks
whatever the architect says is right. He fought him hard
enough at first. I don't see how anyone can keep the poets
and the historians and novelists separate in their mind. Of
course papa will buy them if we say so. But I don't see how
I am ever going to tell him which ones." The joyous light
faded out of her face and left it pensive.

"Why, if you like," said the young man, taking out his
pencil, "I'll put down the names we've been talking about."

He clapped himself on his breast pockets to detect some
lurking scrap of paper.

"Will you?" she cried delightedly. "Here! take one of
my cards," and she pulled out her card-case. "The carpenter
writes it on a three-cornered block and puts it into his pocket,
and it's so uncomfortable he can't help remembering it. Pen
says she's going to adopt the three-cornered-block plan with
papa."

"Thank you," said Corey. "I believe I'll use your card."
He crossed over to her, and after a moment sat down on the
trestle beside her. She looked over the card as he wrote.
"Those are the ones we mentioned, but perhaps I'd better
add a few others."

"Oh, thank you," she said, when he had written the card
full on both sides. "He has got to get them in the nicest
binding, too. I shall tell him about their helping to refurnish
the room, and then he can't object." She remained with the
card, looking at it rather wistfully.

Perhaps Corey divined her trouble of mind. "If he will
take that to any bookseller, and tell him what bindings he
wants, he will fill the order for him."

"Oh, thank you very much," she said, and put the card
back into her card-case with great apparent relief. Then
she turned her lovely face toward the young man, beaming
with the triumph a woman feels in any bit of successful
maneuvering, and began to talk with recovered gayety of
other things, as if, having got rid of a matter annoying out of
all proportion to its importance, she was now going to indem-
nify herself.

—W. D. Howells.

AMERICAN FICTION. 4731

A LITTLE JOURNEY IN THE WORLD.

OUR lives are largely made up of the things we do not
have. In May, the time of the apple blossom — just a year from
the swift wooing of Margaret — Miss Forsythe received a letter
from John Lyon. It was in a mourning envelope. The Earl of
Chisholm was dead, and John Lyon was Earl of Chisholm.
The information was briefly conveyed, but with an air of pro-
found sorrow. The letter spoke of the change that this loss
brought to his own life, and the new duties laid upon him,
which would confine him more closely to England. It also con-
tained congratulations — which circumstances had delayed —
upon Mrs. Henderson's marriage, and a simple wish for her
happiness. The letter was longer than it need have been for
these purposes; it seemed to love to dwell upon the little visit
to Brandon and the circle of friends there, and it was pervaded
by a tone, almost affectionate, towards Miss Forsythe, which
touched her very deeply. She said it was such a manly letter.

America, the earl said, interested him more and more. In
all history, he wrote, there never had been such an opportunity
for studying the formation of society, for watching the work-
ing out of political problems; the elements meeting were so
new, and the conditions so original, that historical precedents
were of little service as guides. He acknowledged an almost
irresistible impulse to come back, and he announced his inten-
tion of another visit as soon as circumstances permitted.

I had noticed this in English travelers of intelligence be-
fore. Crude as the country is, and uninteresting according to
certain established standards, it seems to have a "drawing"
quality, a certain unexplained fascination. Morgan says that
it is the social uncoiiventionality that attracts, and that the
American women are the lodestone. He declares that when an
Englishman secures and carries home with him an American
wife, his curiosity about the country is sated. But this is
generalizing on narrow premises.

There was certainly in Lyon's letter a longing to see the
country again, but the impression it made upon me when I read
it — due partly to its tone towards Miss Forsythe, almost a
family tone — was that the earldom was an empty thing with-
out the love of Margaret Debree. Life is so brief at the best,

474 TH3 WORLDS PROGRESS.

and has so little in it when the one thing that the heart desires
is denied. That the earl should wish to come to America
again without hope or expectation was, however, quite human
nature. If a man has found a diamond and lost it, he is likely
to go again and again and wander about the field where he
found it, not perhaps in any defined hope of finding another,
but because there is a melancholy satisfaction in seeing the spot
again. It was some such feeling that impelled the earl to wish
to see again Miss Forsythe, and perhaps to talk to Margaret,
but he certainly had no thought that there were two Margaret
Debrees in America.

To her aunt's letter conveying the intelligence of Mr.
Lyon's loss, Margaret replied with a civil message of con-
dolence. The news had already reached the Eschelles, and
Carmen, Margaret said, had written to the new earl a most
pious note, which contained no allusion to his change of for-
tune, except an expression of sympathy with his now enlarged
opportunity for carrying on his philanthropic plans — a most
unworldly note. "I used to think," she had said, when con-
fiding what she had done to Margaret, "that you would make a
perfect missionary countess, but you have done better, my dear,
and taken up a much more difficult work among us fashionable
sinners. Do you know," she went on, "that I feel a great deal
less worldly than I used to."

Margaret wrote a most amusing account of this interview,
and added that Carmen was really very good-hearted, and not
half as worldly-minded as she pretended to be; an opinion with
which Miss Forsythe did not at all agree. She had spent a
fortnight with Margaret after Easter, and she came back in
a dubious frame of mind. Margaret's growing intimacy with
Carmen was one of the sources of her uneasiness. They ap-
peared to be more and more companionable, although Mar-
garet's clear perception of character made her estimate of Car-
men very nearly correct. But the fact remained that she found
her company interesting. Whether the girl tried to astonish
the country aunt, or whether she was so thoroughly a child of
her day as to lack certain moral perceptions, I do not know, but
her candid conversation greatly shocked Miss Forsythe.

"Margaret," she said one day, in one of her apparent bursts
of confidence, "seems to have had such a different start in life

AMERICAN FICTION. 475

from mine. Sometimes, Miss Forsythe, she puzzles me. I
never saw anybody so much in love as she is with Mr. Hender-
son; she doesn't simply love him, she is in love with him. I
don't wonder she is fond of him — any woman might be that —
but, do you know, she actually believes in him."

"Why shouldn't she believe in him?" exclaimed Miss For-
sythe, in astonishment.

"Oh, of course, in a way," the girl went on. "I like Mr.
Henderson — I like him very much — but I don't believe in him.
It isn't the way now to believe in anybody very much. We
don't do it, and I think we get along just as well — and better.
Don't you think it's nicer not to have any deceptions?"

Miss Forsythe was too stunned to make any reply. It
seemed to her that the bottom had fallen out of society.

"Do you think Mr. Henderson believes in people ?" the girl
persisted.

"If he does not he isn't much of a man. If people don't
believe in each other, society is going to pieces. I am aston-
ished at such a tone from a woman."

"Oh, it isn't any tone in me, my dear Miss Forsythe," Car-
men continued, sweetly. 'Society is a great deal pleasanter
when you are not anxious and don't expect too much."

Miss Forsythe told Margaret that she thought Miss Eschelle
was a dangerous woman. Margaret did not defend her, but
she did not join, either, in condemning her; she appeared to
have accepted her as part of her world. And there were other
things that Margaret seemed to have accepted without that
vigorous protest which she used to raise at whatever crossed her
conscience. To her aunt she was never more affectionate, never
more solicitous about her comfort and her pleasure, and it was
almost enough to see Margaret happy, radiant, expanding
day by day in the prosperity that was illimitable, only there was
to her a note of unreality in all the whirl and hurry of the
busy life. She liked to escape to her room with a book, and be
out of it all, and the two weeks away from her country life
seemed long to her. She couldn't reconcile Margaret's love of
the world, her tolerance of Carmen, and other men and women
whose lives seemed to be based on Carmen's philosophy, with
her devotion to the church services, to the city missions, and
the dozens of charities that absorb so much of the time of the
leaders of society.

THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

"You are too young, dear, to be so good and devout," was
Carmen's comment on the situation.

To Miss Forsythe's wonder, Margaret did not resent this
impertinence, but only said that no accumulation of years was
likely to bring Carmen into either of these dangers. And the
reply was no more satisfactory to Miss Forsythe than the
remark that provoked it.

That she had had a delightful visit, that Margaret was
more lovely than ever, that Henderson was a delighted host,
was the report of Miss Forsythe when she returned to us. In a
confidential talk with my wife she confessed, however, that she
couldn't tell whither Margaret was going.

One of the worries of modern life is the perplexity where
to spend the summer. The restless spirit of change affects those
who dwell in the country, as well as those who live in the city.
No matter how charming the residence is, one can stay in it
only a part of the year. He actually needs a house in town,
a villa by the sea, and a cottage in the hills. When these are
secured — each one an establishment more luxurious year by
year — then the family is ready to travel about, and is in a
greater perplexity than before whether to spend the summer in
Europe or in America, the novelties of which are beginning to
excite the imagination. This nomadism, which is nothing less
than society on wheels, cannot be satirized as a whim of fash-
ion ; it has a serious cause in the discovery of the disease called
nervous prostration, which demands for its cure constant change
of scene, without any occupation. Henderson recognized it,
but he said that personally he had no time to indulge in it. His
summer was to be a very busy one. It was impossible to take
Margaret with him on his sudden and tedious journey from
one end of the country to the other, but she needed a change.
It was therefore arranged that after a visit to Brandon she
should pass the warm months with the Arbusers in their sum-
mer home at Lenox, with a month — the right month — in the
Eschelle villa at Newport; and he hoped never to be long
absent from one place or the other.

Margaret came to Brandon at the beginning of June, just
at the season when the region was at its loveliest, and just when
its society was making preparations to get away from it to the
sea, or the mountains, or to any place that was not home. I

AMERICAN FICTION. 477

could never understand why a people who have been grumbling
about snow and frost for six months, and longing for genial
weather, should flee from it as soon as it comes. I had made
the discovery, quite by chance — and it was so novel that I
might have taken out a patent on it — that if one has a comfort-
able home in our northern latitude he cannot do better than to
stay in it when the hum of the mosquito is heard in the land,
and the mercury is racing up and down the scale between fifty
and ninety. This opinion, however, did not extend beyond our
little neighborhood, and we may be said to have had the sum-
mer to ourselves.

I fancied that the neighborhood had not changed, but the
coming of Margaret showed me that this was a delusion. No
one can keep in the same place in life simply by standing still,
and the events of the past two years had wrought a subtle
change in our quiet. Nothing had been changed to the eye, yet
something had been taken away, or something had been added,
a door had been opened into the world. Margaret had come
home, yet I fancied it was not the home to her that she had
been thinking about. Had she changed?

She was more beautiful. She had the air — I should hesitate
to call it that of the fine lady — of assured position, something
the manner of that greater world in which the possession of
wealth has supreme importance, but it was scarcely a change of
manner so much as of ideas about life and of the things valu-
able in it gradually showing itself. Her delight at being again
with her old friends was perfectly genuine, and she had never
appeared more unselfish or more affectionate. If there was a
subtle difference, it might very well be in us, though I find it
impossible to conceive of her in her former role of teacher and
simple maiden, with her heart in the little concerns of our daily
life. And why should she be expected to go back to that
stage? Must we not all live our lives?

Miss Forsythe's solicitude about Margaret was mingled with
a curious deference, as to one who had a larger experience of
life than her own. The girl of a year ago was now the mar-
ried woman, and was invested with something of the dignity
that Miss Forsythe in her pure imagination attached to that
position. Without yielding any of her opinions, this idea some-
how changed her relations to Margaret:. a little, I thought to

478 THE WORD'S PROGRESS.

the amusement of Mrs. Fletcher and the other ladies, to whom
marriage took on a less mysterious aspect. It arose doutbless
from a renewed sense of the incompleteness of her single life,
long as it had been, and enriched as it was by observation.

In that June there were vexatious strikes in various parts of
the country, formidable combinations of laboring-men, demon-
strations of trades-unions, and the exhibition of a spirit that
sharply called attention to the unequal distribution of wealth.
The discontent was attributed in some quarters to the exhibi-
tion of extreme luxury and reckless living by those who had
been fortunate. It was even said that the strikes, unreasonable
and futile as they were, and most injurious to those who in-
dulged in them, were indirectly caused by the railway manipu-
lation, in the attempt not only to crush out competition, but to
exact excessive revenues on fictitious values. Resistance to
this could be shown to be blind, and the strikers technically in
the wrong, yet the impression gained ground that there was
something monstrously wrong in the way great fortunes were
accumulated, in total disregard of individual rights, and in a
materialistic spirit that did not take into account ordinary hu-
manity. For it was not alone the laboring class that was dis-
contented, but all over the country those who lived upon small
invested savings, widows and minors, found their income im-
perilled by the trickery of rival operators and speculators in
railways and securities, who treated the little private accumula-
tions as mere counters in the games they were playing. The
loss of dividends to them was poorly compensated by reflec-
tions upon the development of the country, and the advantage
to trade of great consolidations, which inured to the benefit of
half a dozen insolent men.

In discussing these things in our little parliament we were
not altogether unprejudiced, it must be confessed. For, to say
nothing of interests of Mr. Morgan and my own, which seemed
in some danger of disappearing for the "public good," Mrs.
Fletcher's little fortune was nearly all invested in that sound
"rock-bed" railway in the Southwest that Mr. Jerry Hollowell
had recently taken under his paternal care. She was assured,
indeed, that dividends were only reserved pending some sort
of reorganization, which would ultimately be of great benefit
to all the parties concerned; but this was much like telling a

AMERICAN FICTION. 479

hungry man that if he would possess his appetite in patience, he
would very likely have a splendid dinner next year. Women
are not constituted to understand this sort of reasoning. It is
needless to say that in our general talks on the situation these
personalities were not referred to, for although Margaret was
silent, it was plain to see that she was uneasy.

Morgan liked to raise questions of casuistry, such as that
whether money dishonestly come by could be accepted for good
purposes.

"I had this question referred to me the other day," he said.
"A gambler — not a petty cheater in cards, but a man who has a
splendid establishment in which he has amassed a fortune, a
man known for his liberality and good-fellowship and his inter-
est in politics — offered the president of a leading college a hun-
dred thousand dollars to endow a professorship. Ought the
president to take the money, knowing how it was made?"

"Wouldn't the money do good — as much good as any other
hundred thousand dollars?" asked Margaret.

"Perhaps. But the professorship was to bear his name,
and what would be the moral effect of that?"

"Did you recommend the president to take the money, if
he could get it without using the gambler's name?"

"I am not saying yet what I advised. I am trying to get
your views on a general principle."

"But wouldn't it be a sneaking thing to take a man's money,
and refuse him the credit of his generosity?"

"But was it generosity? Was not his object, probably, to
get a reputation which his whole life belied, and to get it by
obliterating the distinction between right and wrong?"

"But isn't it a compromising distinction," my wife asked,
"to take his money without his name? The president knows
that it is money fraudulently got, that really belongs to some-
body else ; and the gambler would feel that if the president takes
it, he cannot think very disapprovingly of the manner in which
it was acquired. I think it would be more honest and straight-
forward to take his name with the money."

"The public effect of connecting the gambler's name with
the college would be debasing," said Morgan ; "but, on the con-
trary, is every charity or educational institution bound to
scrutinize the source of every benefaction? Isn't it better that

480 THE WORU/S PROGRESS.

money, however acquired, should be used for a good purpose
than a bad one?"

"That is a question," I said, "that is a vital one in our pres-
ent situation, and the sophistry of it puzzles the public. What
would you say to this case? A man notoriously dishonest, but
within the law, and very rich, offered a princely endowment to
a college very much in need of it. The sum would have enabled
it to do a great work in education. But it was intimated that
the man would expect, after a while, to be made one of the trus-
tees. His object, of course, was social position."

"I suppose, of course," Margaret replied, "that the college
couldn't afford that. It would look like bribery."

"Wouldn't he be satisfied with an LL.D. ?" Morgan asked.

"I don't see," my wife said, "any difference between the two
cases stated and that of the stock gambler, whose unscrupulous
operations have ruined thousands of people, who founds a theo-
logical seminary with the gains of his slippery transactions.
By accepting his seminary the public condones his conduct. An-
other man, with the same shaky reputation, endows a college.
Do you think that religion and education are benefited in the
long run by this ? It seems to me that the public is gradually
losing its power of discrimination between the value of hon-
esty and dishonesty. Real respect is gone when the public sees
that a man is able to buy it."

This was a hot speech for my wife to make. For a moment
Margaret flamed up under it with her old-time indignation.
I could see it in her eyes, and then she turned red and confused,
and at length said :

"But wouldn't you have rich men do good with their
money ?"

"Yes, dear; but I would not have them think they can blot
out by their liberality the condemnation of the means by which
many of them make money. That is what they are doing, and
the public is getting used to it."

"Well," said Margaret, with some warmth, "I don't know
that they are any worse than the stingy saints who have made
their money by saving, and act as if they expected to carry it
with them."

"Saints or sinners, it does not make much difference to
me," now put in Mrs. Fletcher, who was evidently considering

AMERICAN FICTION. 481

the question from a practical point of view, "what a man pro-
fesses, if he founds a hospital for indigent women out of the
dividends that I never received."

. Morgan laughed. "Don't you think, Mrs. Fletcher, that it
is a good sign of the times that so many people who make
money rapidly are disposed to use it philanthropically ?"

"It may be for them, but it does not console me much just
now."

"But you don't make allowance enough for the rich. Per-
haps they are under a necessity of doing something. I was
reading this morning in the diary of old John Ward, of Strat-
ford-on-Avon, this sentence: 'It was a saying of Navisson, a
lawyer, that no man could be valiant unless he hazarded his
body, nor rich unless he hazarded his soul !' "

"Was Navisson a modern lawyer ?" I asked.

"No; the diary is dated 1648-1679."

"I thought so."

There was a little laugh at this, and the talk drifted off into
a consideration of the kind of conscience that enables a pro-
fessional man to espouse a cause he knows to be wrong as zeal-
ously as one he knows to be right ; a talk that I should not have
remembered at all, except for Margaret's earnestness in insist-
ing that she did not see how a lawyer could take up the dishon-
est side.

Before Margaret went to Lenox, Henderson spent a few
days with us. He brought with him the abounding cheerful-
ness, and the air of a prosperous, smiling world, that attended
him in all circumstances. And how happy Margaret was!
They went over every foot of the ground on which their brief
courtship had taken place, and Heaven knows what joy there
was to her in reviving all the tenderness and all the fear of it !
Busy as Henderson was, pursued by hourly telegrams and let-
ters, we could not but be gratified that his attention to her was
that of a lover. How could it be otherwise, when all the prom-
ise of the girl was realized in the bloom and the exquisite
sensibility of the woman. Among other things, she dragged
him down to her mission in the city, to which he went in a
laughing and bantering mood. When he had gone away, Mar-
garet ran over to my wife, bringing in her hand a slip of paper.

"See that!" she cried, her eyes dancing with pleasure. It

X— 31

482 THE WORD'S PROGRESS.

was a check for a thousand dollars. "That will refurnish the
mission from top to bottom," she said, "and run it for a year."
"How generous he is !" cried my wife. Margaret did not
reply, but she looked at the check, and there were tears in her
eyes.

— Charles Dudley Warner.

THE BOSTONIANS.

WHAT Basil Ransom actually perceived was that Miss
Chancellor was a signal old maid. That was her quality, her
destiny; nothing could be more distinctly written. There are
women who are unmarried by accident, and others who are
unmarried by option; but Olive Chancellor was unmarried by
every implication of her being. She was a spinster as Shelley
was a lyric poet, or the month of August is sultry. She was so
essentially a celibate that Ransom found himself thinking of her
as old, though when he came to look at her (as he said to him-
self) it was apparent that her years were fewer than his own.
He did not dislike her, she had been so friendly; but, little by
little, she gave him an uneasy feeling — the sense that you could
never be safe with a person who took things so hard. It came
over him that it was because she took things hard she had
sought his acquaintance ; it had been because she was strenuous,
not because she was genial ; she had had in her eye — and what
an extraordinary eye it was ! — not a pleasure, but a duty. She
would expect him to be strenuous in return ; but he couldn't —
in private life, he couldn't ; privacy for Basil Ransom consisted
entirely in what he called "laying off." She was not so plain on
further acquaintance as she had seemed to him at first; even
the young Mississippian had culture enough to see that she was
refined. Her white skin had a singular look of being drawn
tightly across her face; but her features, though sharp and ir-
regular, were delicate in a fashion that suggested good breed-
ing. Their line was perverse, but it was not poor. The curious
tint of her eyes was a living color; when she turned it upon
you, you thought vaguely of the glitter of green ice. She had
absolutely no figure, and presented a certain appearance of feel-
ing cold. With all this, there was something very modern and
highly developed in her aspect; she had the advantage as well
as the drawbacks of a nervous organization. She smiled con-

AMERICAN FICTION. 483

stantly at her guest, but from the beginning to the end of din-
ner, though he made several remarks that he thought might
prove amusing, she never once laughed. Later, he saw that she
was a woman without laughter; exhilaration, if it ever visited
her, was dumb. Once only, in the course of his subsequent
acquaintance with her, did it find a voice; and then the sound
remained in Ransom's ear as one of the strangest he had heard.

She asked him a great many questions, and made no com-
ment on his answers, which only served to suggest to her fresh
inquiries. Her shyness had quite left her, it did not come
back; she had confidence enough to wish him to see that she
took a great interest in him. Why should she? he wondered.
He couldn't believe he was one of her kind; he was conscious
of much Bohemianism — he drank beer, in New York, in cellars,
knew no ladies, and was familiar with a "variety" actress. Cer-
tainly, as she knew him better, she would disapprove of him,
though, of course, he would never mention the actress, nor even,
if necessary, the beer. Ransom's conception of vice was purely
as a series of special cases of explicable accidents. Not that he
cared; if it were a part of the Boston character to be inquiring,
he would be to the last a courteous Mississippian. He would
tell her about Mississippi as much as she liked; he didn't care
how much he told her that the old ideas in the South were
played out. She would not understand him any the better for
that; she would not know how little his own views could be
gathered from such a limited admission. What her sister im-
parted to him about her mania for "reform" had left in his
mouth a kind of unpleasant after-taste; he felt, at any rate, that
if she had the religion of humanity — Basil Ransom had read
Comte, he had read everything — she would never understand
him. He, too, had a private vision of reform, but the first
principle of it was to reform the reformers. As they drew
to the close of a meal which, in spite of all latent incompati-
bilities, had gone off brilliantly, she said to him that she should
have to leave him after dinner, unless perhaps he should be
inclined to accompany her. She was going to a small gather-
ing at the house of a friend who had asked a few people, "inter-
ested in new ideas," to meet Mrs. Farrinder.

"Oh, thank you," said Basil Ransom. "Is it a party? I
haven't been to a party since Mississippi seceded."

'484 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

"No; Miss Birdseye doesn't give parties. She's an ascetic."

"Oh, well, we have had our dinner," Ransom rejoined,
laughing.

His hostess sat silent a moment, with her eyes on the ground ;
she looked at such times as if she were hesitating greatly be-
tween several things she might say, all so important that it was
difficult to choose.

"I think it might interest you," she remarked, presently.
"You will hear some discussion, if you are fond of that. Per-
haps you wouldn't agree," she added, resting her strange eyes
on him.

"Perhaps I shouldn't — I don't agree with everything," he
said, smiling and stroking his leg.

"Don't you care for human progress?" Miss Chancellor
went on.

"I don't know — I never saw any. Are you going to show
me some?"

"I can show you an earnest effort towards it. That's the
most one can be sure of. But I am not sure you are worthy."

"Is it something very Bostonian ? I should like to see that,"
said Basil Ransom.

"There are movements in other cities. Mrs. Farrinder
goes everywhere ; she may speak tonight."

"Mrs. Farrinder, the celebrated-^-?"

"Yes, the celebrated; the great apostle of the emancipation
of women. She is a great friend of Miss Birdseye."

"And who is Miss Birdseye ?"

"She is one of our celebrities. She is the woman in the
world, I suppose, who has labored most for every wise reform.
I think I ought to tell you," Miss Chancellor went on in a mo-
ment, "she was one of the earliest, one of the most passionate,
of the old Abolitionists."

She had thought, indeed, she ought to tell him that, and it
threw her into a little tremor of excitement to do so. Yet, if
she had been afraid he would show some irritation at this news,
she was disappointed at the geniality with which he exclaimed :

"Why, poor old lady — she must be quite mature !"

It was therefore with some severity that she rejoined :

"She will never be old. She is the youngest spirit I know.
But if you are not in sympathy, perhaps you had better not
come," she went

AMERICAN FICTION. 485

"In sympathy with what, dear madam?" Basil Ransom
asked, failing still, to her perception, to catch the tone of real
seriousness. "If, as you say, there is to be a discussion, there
will be different sides, and of course one can't sympathize with
both."

"Yes, but every one will, in his way — or in her way — plead
the cause of the new truths. If you don't care for them, you
won't go with us."

"I tell you I haven't the least idea what they are ! I have
never yet encountered in the world any but old truths — as old
as the sun and moon. How can I know? But do take me;
it's such a chance to see Boston."

"It isn't Boston — it's humanity!" Miss Chancellor, as she
made this remark, rose from her chair, and her movement
seemed to say that she consented. But before she quitted her
kinsman to get ready, she observed to him that she was sure he
knew what she meant ; he was only pretending he didn't.

"Well, perhaps, after all, I have a general idea," he con-
fessed ; "but don't you see how this little reunion will give me a
chance to fix it."

She lingered an instant, with her anxious face. "Mrs.
Farrinder will fix it," she said; and she went to prepare her-
self.

It was in this poor young lady's nature to be anxious, to
have scruple within scruple and to forecast the consequences of
things. She returned in ten minutes, in her bonnet, which she
had apparently assumed in recognition of Miss Birdseye's
asceticism. As she stood there drawing on her gloves — her
visitor had fortified himself against Mrs. Farrinder by another
glass of wine — she declared to him that she quite repented of
having proposed to him to go; something told her that he
would be an unfavorable element

"Why, is it going to be a spiritual seance ?" Basil Ransom
asked.

"Well, I have heard at Miss Birdseye's some inspirational
speaking." Olive Chancellor was determined to look him
straight in the face as she said this; her sense of the way it
might strike him operated as a cogent, not as a deterrent, rea-
son.

"Why, Miss Olive, it's just got up on purpose for me!"

486 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

cried the young Mississippian, radiant, and clasping his hands.
She thought him very handsome as he said this, but reflected
that unfortunately men didn't care for the truth, especially the
new kinds, in proportion as they were good-looking. She had,
however, a moral resource that she could always fall back upon ;
it had already been a comfort to her, on occasions of acute
feeling, that she hated men, as a class, anyway. "And I want
so much to see an old Abolitionist; I have never set eyes on
one," Basil Ransom added.

"Of course you couldn't see one in the South; you were too
afraid of them to let them come there !" She was now trying
to think of something she might say that would be sufficiently
disagreeable to make him cease to insist on accompanying her;
for, strange to record — if anything, in a person of that intense
sensibility, be stranger than any other — her second thought with
regard to having asked him had deepened with the elapsing mo-
ments into an unreasoned terror at the effects of his presence.
"Perhaps Miss Birdseye won't like you," she went on, as they
waited for the carriage.

"I don't know ; I reckon she will," said Basil Ransom, good
humoredly. He evidently had no intention of giving up his
opportunity.

From the window of the dining-room, at that moment, they
heard the carriage drive up. Miss Birdseye lived at the South
End; the distance was considerable, and Miss Chancellor had
ordered a hackney coach, it being one of the advantages of
living in Charles Street that stables were near. The logic of her
conduct was none of the clearest; for if she had been alone she
would have proceeded to her destination by the aid of the street-
car; not from economy (for she had the good fortune not to
be obliged to consult it to that degree), and not from any love
of wandering about Boston at night (a kind of exposure she
greatly disliked), but by reason of a theory she devotedly
nursed, a theory which bade her put off invidious differences
and mingle in the common life. She would have gone on foot
to Boylston Street, and there she would have taken the public
conveyance (in her heart she loathed it) to the South End.
Boston was full of poor girls who had to walk about at night
and to squeeze into horse-cars in which every sense was dis-
pleased; and why should she hold herself superior to these?

AMERICAN FICTION. 487

Olive Chancellor regulated her conduct on lofty principles, and
this is why, having tonight the advantage of a gentleman's
protection, she sent for a carriage to obliterate that patronage.
If they had gone together in the common way she would have
seemed to owe it to him that she should be so daring, and he
belonged to a sex to which she wished to be under no obliga-
tions. Months before, when she wrote to him, it had been with
the sense, rather, of putting him in debt. As they rolled toward
the South End, side by side, in a good deal of silence, bouncing
and bumping over the railway-tracks very little less, after all,
than if their wheels had been fitted to them, and looking out at
either side at rows of red houses, dusky in the lamplight, with
protuberant fronts, approached by ladders of stone; as they
proceeded, with these contemplative undulations, Miss Chan-
cellor said to her companion, with a concentrated desire to defy
him, as a punishment for having thrown her (she couldn't tell
why) into such a tremor:

"Don't you believe, then, in the coming of a better day —
in its being possible to do something for the human race ?"

Poor Ransom perceived the defiance, and he felt rather be-
wildered; he wondered what type, after all, he had got hold of,
and what game was being played with him. Why had she made
advances, if she wanted to pinch him this way? However, he
was good for any game — that one as well as another — and
he saw that he was "in" for something of which he had long de-
sired to have a nearer view. "Well, Miss Olive/' he answered,
putting on again his big hat, which he had been holding in
his lap, "what strikes me most is that the human race has got
to bear its troubles."

"That's what men say to women, to make them patient in
the position they have made for them."

"Oh, the position of women!" Basil Ransom exclaimed.
"The position of women is to make fools of men. I would
change my position for yours any day," he went on. "That's
what I said to myself as I sat there in your elegant home."

He could not see, in the dimness of the carriage, that she
had flushed quickly, and he did not know that she disliked to be
reminded of certain things, which, for her, were mitigations of
the hard feminine lot. But the passionate quaver with which, a

488 THE WORUJ'S PROGRESS.

moment later, she answered him sufficiently assured him that he
had touched her at a tender point.

"Do you make it a reproach to me that I happen to have a
little money? The dearest wish of my heart is to do something
with it for others — for the miserable."

Basil Ransom might have greeted this last declaration with
the sympathy it deserved, might have commended the noble
aspirations of his kinswoman. But what struck him, rather,
was the oddity of so sudden a sharpness of pitch in an inter-
course, which, an hour or two before, had begun in perfect
amity, and he burst once more into an irrepressible laugh. This
made his companion feel, with intensity, how little she was
joking. "I don't know why I should care what you think,"
she said.

"Don't care — don't care. What does it matter ? It is not
of the slightest importance."

He might say that, but it was not true; she felt that there
were reasons why she should care. She had brought him into
her life, and she should have to pay for it. But she wished to
know the worst ,at once. "Are you against our emancipation ?"
she asked, turning a white face on him in the momentary radi-
ance of a street lamp.

"Do you mean your voting and preaching and all that sort
of thing?" He made this inquiry, but seeing how seriously she
would take his answer, he was almost frightened and hung fire.
"I will tell you when I have heard Mrs. Farrinder."

They had arrived at the address given by Miss Chancellor
to the coachman, and their vehicle stopped with a lurch. Basil
Ransom got out; he stood at the door with an extended hand
to assist the young lady. But she seemed to hesitate; she sat
there with her spectral face. "You hate it !" she exclaimed, in
a low tone.

"Miss Birdseye will convert me," said Ransom, with inten-
tion; for he had grown very curious, and he was afraid that
now, at the last, Miss Chancellor would prevent his entering
the house. She alighted without his help, and behind her he
ascended the high steps of Miss Birdseye's residence. He had
grown very curious, and among the things he wanted to know
was why in the world this ticklish spinster had written to him.

— Henry James.

AMERICAN FICTION. 489

BARKER'S LUCK.

A BIRD twittered! The morning sun shining through the
open window was apparently more potent than the cool moun-
tain air, which had only caused the sleeper to curl a little more
tightly in his blankets. Barker's eyes opened instantly upon the
light and the bird on the window ledge. Like all healthy young
animals he would have tried to sleep again, but with his mo-
mentary consciousness came the recollection that it was his
turn to cook the breakfast that morning, and he regretfully
rolled out of his bunk to the floor. Without stopping to dress
he opened the door and stepped outside, secure in the knowl-
edge that he was overlooked only by the Sierras, and plunged
his head and shoulders in the bucket of cold water that stood
by the door. Then he began to clothe himself, partly in the
cabin and partly in the open air, with a lapse between the put-
ting on of his trousers and coat which he employed in bringing
in wood. Raking together the few embers on the adobe hearth,
not without a prudent regard to the rattlesnake which had once
been detected in haunting the warm ashes, he began to prepare
breakfast. By this time the other sleepers, his partners Stacy
and Demorest, young men of about his own age, were awake,
alert, and lazily critical of his progress.

"I don't care about my quail on toast being underdone for
breakfast," said Stacy, with a yawn; "and you needn't serve
with red wine. I'm not feeling very peckish this morning."

"And I reckon you can knock off the fried oysters after
the Spanish mackerel for me," said Demorest, gravely. "The
fact is, that last bottle of Veuve Clicquot we had for supper
wasn't as dry as I am this morning."

Accustomed to these regular Barmecide suggestions,
Barker made no direct reply. Presently, looking up from the
fire, he said, "There's no more saleratus, so you mustn't blame
me if the biscuit is extra heavy. I told you we had none when
you went to the grocery yesterday."

"And I told you we hadn't a red cent to buy any with,"
said Stacy, who was also treasurer. "Put these two negatives
together and you make the affirmative — saleratus. Mix freely
and bake in a hot oven."

Nevertheless, after toilette as primitive as Barker's they

490 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

sat down to what he had prepared, with the keen appetite be-
gotten of the mountain air and the regretful fastidiousness
born of the recollection of better things. Jerked beef, friz-
zled with salt pork in a frying-pan, boiled potatoes, biscuit,
and coffee composed the repast. The biscuits, however, prov-
ing remarkably heavy after the first mouthful, were used as
missiles, thrown through the open door at an empty bottle,
which had previously served as a mark for revolver practice,
and a few moments later pipes were lit to counteract the ef-
fects of the meal and take the taste out of their mouths. Sud-
denly they heard the sound of horses' hoofs, saw the quick pas-
sage of a rider in the open space before the cabin, and felt
the smart impact upon the table of some small object thrown
by him. It was the regular morning delivery of the county
newspaper !

"He's getting to be a mighty sure shot," said Demorest,
approvingly, looking at his upset can of coffee as he picked
up the paper, rolled into a cylindrical wad as tightly as a
cartridge, and began to straighten it out. This was no easy
matter, as the sheet had evidently been rolled while yet damp
from the press; but Demorest eventually opened it and en-
sconced himself behind it.

"Nary news ?" asked Stacy.

"No. There never is any," said Demorest, scornfully. "We
ought to stop the paper."

"You mean the paper man ought to. We don't pay him,"
said Barker, gently.

"Well, that's the same thing, smarty. No news, no pay.
Hallo!" he continued, his eyes suddenly riveted on the paper.
Then, after the fashion of ordinary humanity, he stopped short
and read the interesting item to himself. When he had fin-
ished he brought his fist and the paper, together, violently down
upon the table. "Now look at this! Talk of luck, will you?
just think of it. Here are we — hard-working men with lots
of sabe, too — grubbin' away on this hillside like niggers, glad
to get enough at the end of the day to pay for our soggy bis-
cuits and horse-bean coffee, and just look what falls into the
lap of some lazy sneakin' greenhorn who never did a stroke
of work in his life! Here are we, with no foolishness, no airs
nor graces, and yet men who would do credit to twice that

AMERICAN FICTION. 491

amount of luck — and seem born to it, too — and we're set aside
for some long, lank, pen-wiping scrub who just knows enough
to sit down on his office stool and hold on to a bit of paper."

"What's up now?" asked Stacy, with a carelessness be-
gotten of familiarity with his partner's extravagance.

"Listen," said Demorest, reading. "Another unprece-
dented rise has taken place in the shares of the 'Yellow Ham-
mer First Extension Mine' since the sinking of the new shaft.
It was quoted yesterday at ten thousand dollars a foot. When
it is remembered that scarcely two years ago, the original
shares, issued at fifty dollars per share, had dropped to only
fifty cents a share, it will be seen that those who were able
to hold on have got a good thing."

"What mine did you say?" asked Barker, looking up medi-
tatively from the dishes he was already washing.

"The Yellow Hammer First Extension," returned Demor-
est, shortly.

"I used to have some shares in that, and I think I have
them still," said Barker, musingly.

"Yes," said Demorest, promptly; "the paper speaks of it
here. 'We understand,'" he continued, reading aloud, 'that
our eminent fellow-citizen, George Barker, otherwise known
as "Get Left Barker" and "Chucklehead" is one of these for-
tunate individuals."'

"No," said Barker, with a slight flush of innocent pleasure,
"it can't say that. How could it know ?"

Stacy laughed, but Demorest coolly continued : "You didn't
hear all. Listen! 'We say was one of them; but having
already sold his apparently useless certificates to our popular
druggist, Jones, for corn plasters, at a reduced rate, he is unable
to realize."

"You may laugh, boys," said Barker, with simple serious-
ness ; "but I really believe I have got 'em yet. Just wait. I'll
see !" He rose and began to drag out a well-worn valise from
under his bunk. "You see," he continued, "they were given
to me by an old chap in return" —

"For saving his life by delaying the Stockton boat that
afterwards blew up," returned Demorest, briefly. "We know
it all! His hair was white, and his hand trembled slightly as
he laid these shares in yours, saying, and you never forgot
the words, 'Take 'em young man — and' " —

492 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

"For lending him two thousand dollars, then," continued
Barker with a simple ignoring of the interruption, as he
quietly brought out the valise.

"Two thousand dollars!" repeated Stacy. "When did you
have two thousand dollars?"

"When I first left Sacramento — three years ago," said
Barker, unstrapping the valise.

"How long did you have it?" said Demorest, incredu-
lously.

"At least two days, I think," returned Barker, quietly.
"Then I met that man. He was hard up, and I lent him my
pile and took those shares. He died afterwards."

"Of course he did," said Demorest, severely. "They al-
ways do. Nothing kills a man more quickly than an action
of that kind." Nevertheless the two partners regarded Barker
rummaging among some loose clothes and papers with a kind
of paternal toleration. "If you can't find them, bring out your
government bonds," suggested Stacy. But the next moment,
flushed and triumphant, Barker rose from his knees, and came
towards them carrying some papers in his hands. Demorest
seized them from him, opened them, spread them on the table,
examined hurriedly the date, signatures, and transfers, glanced
again quickly at the newspaper paragraph, looked wildly at
Stacy and then at Barker, and gasped, —

"By the living hookey ! it is so!"

"B' gosh ! he has got 'em !" echoed Stacy.

"Twenty shares," continued Demorest, breathlessly, "at
ten thousand dollars a share — even if it's only a foot — is two
hundred thousand dollars! Jerusalem!"

"Tell me, fair sir," said Stacy, with sparkling eyes, "hast
still left in yonder casket any rare jewels, rubies, sarcenet,
or links of fine gold? Perad venture a pearl or two may have
been overlooked !"

"No — that's all," returned Barker, simply.

"You hear him! Rothschild says 'that's all.' Prince Es-
terhazy says he hasn't another red cent — only two hundred
thousand dollars."

"What ought I to do, boys?" asked Barker, timidly glanc-
ing from one to the other. Yet he remembered with delight
all that day, and for many a year afterwards, that he only

AMERICAN FICTION. 493

saw in their faces unselfish joy and affection at that supreme
moment.

"Do?" said Demorest, promptly. "Stand on your head
and yell ! No ! Stop ! Come here !" he seized both Barker and
Stacy by the hand, and ran out into the open air. Here they
danced violently with clasped hands around a small buckeye,
in perfect silence, and then returned to the cabin, grave but
perspiring.

"Of course," said Barker, wiping his forehead, "we'll just
get some money on these certificates and buy up that next claim
which belongs to old Carter — where you know we thought we
saw the indication."

"We'll do nothing of the kind," said Demorest, decidedly.
'We ain't in it. That money is yours, old chap — every cent
of it — property acquired before marriage, you know; and the

only thing we'll do is to be d d before we see you drop a

dime of it into this God- forsaken hole. No !"

"But we're partners," gasped Barker.

"Not in this! The utmost we can do for you, opulent sir, —
though it ill becomes us horney-handed sons of toil to rub
shoulders with Dives, — is perchance to dine with you, to take
a pasty and glass of Malvoisie, at some restaurant in Sacra-
mento, when you've got things fixed, in honor of your return
to affluence. But more would ill become us !"

"But what are you going to do?" said Barker, with a half-
hysteric, half-frightened smile.

"We have not yet looked through our luggage," said
Demorest, with invincible gravity, "and there's a secret re-
cess— a double fond — to my portmanteau, known only to a
trusty page, which has not been disturbed since I left my an-
cestral home in Faginia. There may be a few First Deben-
tures of Erie or what not still there."

"I felt some strange, disk-like protuberance in my dress
suit the other day, but belike they are but poker chips," said
Stacy, thoughtfully.

An uneasy feeling crept over Barker. The color which had
left his fresh cheek returned to it quickly, and he turned his
eyes away. Yet he had seen nothing in his companions' eyes
but affection — with even a certain kind of tender commisera-
tion that deepened his uneasiness. "I suppose," he said des-

494 THS WORLD'S PROGRESS.

perately, after a pause, "I ought to go over to Boomville and
make some inquiries."

"At the bank, old chap ; at the bank !" said Demorest, em-
phatically. "Take my advice and don't go anywhere else.
Don't breathe a word of your luck to anybody. And don't,
whatever you do, be tempted to sell just now ; you don't know
how high that stock's going to jump yet."

"I thought," stammered Barker, "that you boys might
like to go over with me."

"We can't afford to take another holiday on grub wages,
and we're only two to work today," said Demorest, with a
slight increase of color and the faintest tremor in his voice.
"And it won't do, old chap, for us to be seen bumming round
with you on the heels of your good fortune. For everybody
knows we're poor, and sooner or later everybody'll know you
were rich even when you first came to us."

"Nonsense!" said Barker, indignantly.

"Gospel, my boy!" said Demorest, shortly.

"The frozen truth, old man !" said Stacy.

Barker took up his hat with some stiffness and moved to-
wards the door. Here he stopped irresolutely, an irresolution
that seemed to communicate itself to his partners. There was
a moment's awkward silence. Then Demorest suddenly seized
him by the shoulders with a grip that was half a caress, and
walked him rapidly to the door. "And now don't stand foolin*
with us, Barker boy; but just trot off like a little man, and
get your grip on that fortune ; and when you've got your hooks
in it hang on like grim death. You'll" — he '.:sitated for an
instant only, possibly to find the laugh that should have ac-
companied his speech — "you're sure to find us here when you
get back."

Hurt to the quick, but restraining his feelings, Barker
ciapped his hat on his head and walked quickly away. The two
partners stood watching him in silence until his figure was lost
in the underbrush. Then they spoke.

"Like him — wasn't it ?" said Demorest.

"Just him all over," said Stacy.

"Think of him having that stock stowed away all these
years and never even bothering his dear old head about it!"

"And think of his wanting to put the whole thing into this
rotten hillside with us !"

AMERICAN DICTION. 495

"And he'd have done it, by gosh! and never thought of it
again. That's Barker."

"Dear old man!"

"Good old chap!"

"I've been wondering if one of us oughtn't to have gone
with him? He's just as likely to pour his money into the
first lap that opens for it," said Stacy.

"The more reason why we shouldn't prevent him, or seem
to prevent him," said Demorest, almost fiercely. "There will
be knaves and fools enough who will try and put the idea of
our using him into his simple heart without that. No! Let
him do as he likes with it — but let him be himself. I'd rather
have him come back to us even after he's lost the money — •
his old self and empty-handed — than try to change the stuff
God put into him and make him more like others." . . .

But when he reached the hotel, a strange trepidation over-
came him. The dining-room was at its slack water, between
the ebb of breakfast and before the flow of the preparation
for the midday meal. He could not have his interview with
Kitty in that dreary waste of reversed chairs and bare tres-
tle-like tables, and she was possibly engaged in her house-
hold duties. But Miss Kitty had already seen him cross the
road, and had lounged into the dining-room with an artfully
simulated air of casually examining it. At the unexpected
vision of his hopes, arrayed in the sweetest and freshest of
rosebud sprigged print, his heart faltered. Then, partly with
the desperation of a timid man, and partly through the work-
ing of a half-formed resolution, he met her bright smile with
a simple inquiry for her father. Miss Kitty bit her pretty
lip, smiled slightly, and preceded him with great formality
to the office. Opening the door, without raising her lashes to
either her father or the visitor, she said, with a mischievous
accenting of the professional manner, "Mr. Barker to see
you on business," and tripped sweetly away.

And this slight incident precipitated the crisis. For Barker
instantly made up his mind that he must purchase the next
claim for his partners of this man Carter, and that he would
be obliged to confide to him the details of his good fortune,
and, as a proof of his sincerity and his ability to pay for it,
he did so bluntly. Carter was a shrewd business man, and

496 THE; WORLD'S PROGRESS.

the well-known simplicity of Barker was a proof of his truth-
fulness, to say nothing of the shares that were shown to him.
His selling price for his claim had been two hundred dollars,
but here was a rich customer who, from a mere foolish senti-
ment, would be no doubt willing to pay more. He hesitated
with a bland but superior smile. "Ah, that was my price at
my last offer, Mr. Barker," he said suavely; "but, you see,
things are going up since then."

The keenest duplicity is apt to fail before absolute sim-
plicity. Barker, thoroughly believing him, and already a little
frightened at his own presumption — not for the amount of
the money involved, but from the possibility of his partners
refusing his gift utterly — quickly took advantage of this locus
penitentiae. "No matter, then," he said, hurriedly; "perhaps
I had better consult my partners first; in fact," he added, with
a gratuitous truthfulness all his own, "I hardly know whether
they will take it of me so I think I'll wait."

Carter was staggered; this would clearly not do! He re-
covered himself with an insinuating smile. "You pulled me
up too short, Mr. Barker ; I'm a business man, but hang it all !
what's that among friends? If you reckoned I gave my word
at two hundred — why, I'm there! Say no more about it — the
claim's yours. I'll make you out a bill of sale at once."

"But," hesitated Barker, "you see I haven't got the money
yet, and" —

"Money!" echoed Carter, bluntly, "what's that among
friends ? Gimme your note at thirty days — that's good enough
for me. An' we'll settle the whole thing now, — nothing like
finishing a job while you're about it." And before the be-
wildered and doubtful visitor could protest, he had filled up a
promissory note for Barker's signature and himself signed a
bill of sale for the property. "And I reckon, Mr. Barker, you'd
like to take your partners by surprise about this little gift of
yours," he added, smilingly. "Well, my messenger is starting
for the Gulch in five minutes; he's going by your cabin, and he
can just drop this bill o' sale, as a kind o' settled fact, on 'em
afore they can say anything, see! There's nothing like actin'
on the spot in these sort of things. And don't you hurry 'bout
them either! You see, you sorter owe us a friendly call — •
havin' always dropped inter the hotel only as a customer — so

AMERICAN FICTION. 497

ye'll stop here over luncheon, and I reckon, as the old woman
is busy, why Kitty will try to make the time pass till then by
playin' for you on her new planner." . .

"Everything's up," gasped the breathless Barker. "It's
all up about these stocks. It's all a mistake; all an infernal
lie of that newspaper. I never had the right kind of shares.
The ones I have are worthless rags;" and the next instant he
had blurted out his whole interview with the bank manager.

The two partners looked at each other, and then, to Bar-
ker's infinite perplexity, the same extraordinary convulsion
that had seized Miss Kitty fell upon them. They laughed,
holding on each other's shoulders; they laughed, clinging to
Barker's struggling figure; they went out and laughed with
their backs against a tree. They laughed separately and in
different corners. And then they came up to Barker with
tears in their eyes, dropped their heads on his shoulder, and
murmured, exhaustedly : —

"You blessed ass!"

"But," said Stacy, suddenly, "how did you manage to buy
the claim?"

"Ah! that's the most awful thing, boys. I've never paid
for it," groaned Barker.

"But Carter sent us the bill of sale," persisted Demorest,
"or we shouldn't have taken it."

"I gave my promissory note at thirty days," said Barker,
desperately, "and where's the money to come from now ? But,"
he added, wildly, as the men glanced at each other — "you said
'taken it.' Good heavens ! you don't mean to say that I'm too
late — that you've — you've touched it?"

"I reckon that's pretty much what we have been doing,"
drawled Demorest.

"It looks uncommonly like it," drawled Stacy.

Barker glanced blankly from the one to the other. "Shall
we pass our young friend in to see the show ?" said Demorest
to Stacy.

"Yes, if he'll be perfectly quiet and not breathe on the
glasses," returned Stacy.

They each gravely took one of Barker's hands and led him
to the corner of the cabin. There, on an old flour barrel, stood
a large tin prospecting pan, in which the partners also occa-

X— 32

498 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

sionally used to knead their bread. A dirty towel covered it.
Demorest whisked it dexterously aside, and disclosed three
large fragments of decomposed gold and quartz. Barker
started back.

"Heft it!" said Demorest, grimly.

Barker could scarcely lift the pan!

"Four thousand dollars' weight if a penny!" said Stacy,
in short staccato sentences. "In a pocket! Brought it out the
second stroke of the pick! We'd been awfully blue after you
left. Awfully blue, too, when that bill of sale came, for we
thought you'd been wasting your money on us. Reckoned
we oughtn't to take it, but send it straight back to you. Mes-
senger gone! Then Demorest reckoned as it was done it
couldn't be undone, and we ought to make just one 'prospect'
on the claim, and strike a single stroke for you. And there
it is. And there's more on the hillside."

"But it isn't mine! It isn't yours! It's Carter's. I never
had the money to pay for it — and I haven't got it now."

"But you gave the note — and it is not due for thirty
days."

A recollection flashed upon Barker. "Yes," he said, with
thoughtful simplicity, "that's what Kitty said."

"Oh, Kitty said so," said both partners, gravely.

"Yes," stammered Barker, turning away with a heightened
color, "and, as I didn't stay there to luncheon, I think I'd better
be getting it ready." He picked up the coffee-pot and turned
to the hearth as his two partners stepped beyond the door.

"Wasn't it exactly like him?" said Demorest.

"Him all over," said Stacy.

"And his worry over that note?" said Demorest.

"And 'what Kitty said,'" said Stacy.

"Look here ! I reckon that wasn't all that Kitty said."

"Of course not."

"What luck!" — Bret Harte.

RAMONA.

The wild mustard in Southern California is like that spoken
of in the New Testament, in the branches of which the birds
of the air may rest. Coming up out of the earth, so slender
a stem that dozens can find starting-point in an inch, it darts

AMERICAN FICTION. 499

up, a slender straight shoot, five, ten, twenty feet, with hun-
dreds of fine feathery branches locking and interlocking with
all the other hundreds around it, till it is an inextricable net-
work like lace. Then it bursts into yellow bloom still finer,
more feathery and lace-like. The stems are so infinitesimally
small, and of so dark a green, that at a short distance they
do not show, and the cloud of blossoms seems floating in the
air; at times it looks like golden dust. With a clear blue sky
behind it, as it is often seen, it looks like a golden snow-storm.
The plant is a tyrant and a nuisance, — the terror of the farmer ;
it takes riotous possession of a whole field in a season; once
in, never out; for one plant this year, a million the next; but
it is impossible to wish that the land were freed from it. Its
gold is as distinct a value to the eye as the nugget gold is in the
pocket.

Father Salvierderra soon found himself in a veritable
thicket of these delicate branches, high above his head, and so
interlaced that he could make headway only by slowly and pa-
tiently disentangling them, as one would disentangle a skein
of silk. It was a fantastic sort of dilemma, and not unpleas-
ing. Except that the Father was in haste to reach his jour-
ney's end, he would have enjoyed threading his way through
the golden meshes. Suddenly he heard faint notes of singing.
He paused, — listened. It was the voice of a woman. It was
slowly drawing nearer, apparently from the direction in which
he was going. • At intervals it ceased abruptly, then began
again; as if by a sudden but brief interruption, like that made
by question and answer. Then, peering ahead through the
mustard blossoms, he saw them waving and bending, and heard
sounds as if they were being broken. Evidently some one en-
tering on the path from the opposite end had been caught in
the fragrant thicket as he was. The notes grew clearer, though
still low and sweet as the twilight notes of the thrush; the
mustard branches waved more and more violently; light steps
were now to be heard. Father Salvierderra stood still as one
in a dream, his eyes straining forward into the golden mist of
blossoms. In a moment more came, distinct and clear to his
ear, the beautiful words of the second stanza of Saint Francis's
inimitable lyric, "The Canticle of the Sun" :

"Praise be to thee. O Lord, for all thy creatures, and es-

500 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

pecially for our brother the Sun, — who illuminates the day,
and by his beauty and splendor shadows forth unto us thine."

"Ramona!" exclaimed the Father, his thin cheeks flushing
with pleasure. "The blessed child!" And as he spoke, her
face came into sight, set in a swaying frame of the blossoms,
as she parted them lightly to right and left with her hands, and
half crept, half danced through the loop-hole openings thus
made. Father Salvierderra was past eighty, but his blood
was not too old to move quicker at the sight of this picture.
A man must be dead not to thrill at it. Ramona's beauty was
of the sort to be best enhanced by the waving gold which now
framed her face. She had just enough of olive tint in her
complexion to underlie and enrich her skin without making
it swarthy. Her hair was like her Indian mother's, heavy and
black, but her eyes were like her father's, steel-blue. Only
those who came very near to Ramona knew, however, that
her eyes were blue, for the heavy black eye-brows and long
black lashes so shaded and shadowed them that they looked
black as night. At the same instant that Father Salvierderra
first caught sight of her face, Ramona also saw him, and cry-
ing out joyfully, "Ah, Father, I knew you would come by
this path, and something told me you were near!" she sprang
forward, and sank on her knees before him, bowing her head
for his blessing. In silence he laid his hands on her brow. It
would not have been easy for him to speak to her at that first
moment. She looked to the devout old monk, as she sprang
through the cloud of golden flowers, the sun falling on her
bared head, her cheeks flushed, her eyes shining, more like an
apparition of an angel or saint, than like the flesh-and-blood
maiden whom he had carried in his arms when she was a
babe.

"We have been waiting, waiting, oh, so long for you, Fa-
ther!" she said, rising. "We began to fear that you might be
ill. The shearers have been sent for, and will be here tonight,
and that was the reason I felt so sure you would come. I
knew the Virgin would bring you in time for mass in the
chapel on the first morning."

The monk smiled half sadly. "Would there were more
with such faith as yours, daughter," he said. "Are all well
on the place?"

AMERICAN FICTION. 5OI

"Yes, Father, all well/' she answered. "Felipe has been
ill with a fever ; but he is out now, these ten days, and fretting
for — for your coming."

Ramona had like to have said the literal truth, — "fretting
for the sheep-shearing," but recollected herself in time.

"And the Sefiora" said the Father.

"She is well," answered Ramona, gently, but with a slight
change of tone, — so slight as to be almost imperceptible; but
an acute observer would have always detected it in the girl's
tone whenever she spoke of the Senora Moreno. "And you, —
are you well yourself, Father?" she asked affectionately, not-
ing with her quick, loving eye how feebly the old man walked,
and that he carried what she had never before seen in his
hand, — a stout staff td steady his steps. "You must be very
tired with the, long journey on foot."

"Ay, Ramona, I am tired," he replied. "Old age is con-
quering me. It will not be many times more that I shall see
this place."

"Oh, do not say that, Father," cried Ramona; "you can
ride, when it tires you too much to walk. The Senora said, only
the other day, that she wished you would let her give you a
horse; that it was not right for you to take these long jour-
neys on foot. You know we have hundreds of horses. It is
nothing, one horse," she added, seeing the Father slowly shake
his head.

"No," he said; "it is not that. I could not refuse any-
thing at the hands of the Senora. But it was the rule of our
order to go on foot. We must deny the flesh. Look at our
beloved master in this land, Father Junipero, when he was
past eighty, walking from San Diego to Monterey, and all the
while a running ulcer in one of his legs, for which most men
would have taken to a bed, to be healed. It is a sinful fashion
that is coming in, for monks to take their ease doing God's
work. I can no longer walk swiftly, but I must walk all the
more diligently."

While they were talking they had been slowly moving for-
ward, Ramona slightly in advance, gracefully bending the mus-
tard branches, and holding them down till the Father had
followed in her steps. As they came out from the thicket,
she exclaimed, laughing, "There is Felipe, in the willows. I

5O2 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

told him I was coming to meet you, and he laughed at me.
Now he will see I was right."

Astonished enough, Felipe, hearing voices, looked up, and
saw Ramona and the Father approaching. Throwing down
the knife with which he had been cutting the willows, he has-
tened to meet them, and dropped on his knees, as Ramona had
done, for the monk's blessing. As he knelt there, the wind
blowing his hair loosely off his brow, his large brown eyes
lifted in gentle reverence to the Father's face, and his face
full of affectionate welcome, Ramona thought to herself, as
she had thought hundreds of times since she became a woman,
"How beautiful Felipe is! No wonder the Seiiora loves him
so much! If I had been beautiful like that she would have
liked me better." Never was a little child more unconscious
of her own beauty than Ramona still was. All the admira-
tion which wa's expressed to her in word and look she took
for simple kindness and good-will. Her face, as she herself
saw it in her glass, did not please her. She compared her
straight, massive black eye-brows with Felipe's, arched and
delicately pencilled, and found her own ugly. The expression
of gentle repose which her countenance wore, seemed to her
an expression of stupidity. "Felipe looks so bright!" she
thought, as she noted his mobile changing face, never for two
successive seconds the same. "There is nobody like Felipe."
And when his brown eyes were fixed on her, as they so often
were, in a long, lingering gaze, she looked steadily back into
their velvet depths with an abstracted sort of intensity which
profoundly puzzled Felipe. It was this look, more than any
other one thing, which had for two years held Felipe's tongue
in leash, as it were, and made it impossible for him to say to
Ramona any of the loving things of which his heart had been
full ever since he could remember. The boy had spoken them
unhesitatingly, unconsciously; but the man found himself sud-
denly afraid. "What is it she thinks when she looks into my
eyes so?" he wondered. If he had known that the thing she
was usually thinking was simply, "How much handsomer
brown eyes are than blue! I wish my eyes were the color of
Felipe's," he would have perceived, perhaps, what would have
saved him sorrow, if he had known it, that a girl who looked
at a man thus, would be hard to win to look at him as a lover.

AMERICAN FICTION. 503

But being a lover, he could not see this. He saw only enough to
perplex and deter him. . . .

At the sheep-shearing sheds and pens all was stir and bus-
tle. The shearing shed was a huge caricature of a summer-
house, — a long, narrow structure, sixty feet long by twenty
or thirty wide, all roof and pillars; no walls; the supports,
slender rough posts, as far apart as was safe, for the uphold-
ing the roof, which was of rough planks loosely laid from beam
to beam. On three sides of this were the sheep-pens filled with
sheep and lambs.

A few rods away stood the booths in which the shearers'
food was to be cooked and the shearers fed. These were
mere temporary affairs, roofed only by willow boughs with
the leaves left on. Near these, the Indians had already ar-
ranged their camp; a hut or two of green boughs had been
built, but for the most part they would sleep rolled up in their
blankets, on the ground. There was a brisk wind, and the
gay-colored wings of the windmill blew furiously round and
round, pumping out into the tank below a stream of water so
swift and strong, that as the men crowded around, wetting
and sharpening their knives, they got well spattered, and had
much merriment, pushing and elbowing each other into the
spray.

A high four-posted frame stood close to the shed; in this,
swung from the four corners, hung one of the great sacking
bags in which the fleeces were to be packed. A big pile of
these bags lay on the ground at foot of the posts. Juan Can
eyed them with a chuckle. "We'll fill more than those before
night, Senor Felipe," he said. He was in his element, Juan
Can, at shearing times. Then came his reward for the some-
what monotonous and stupid year's work. The world held no
better feast for his eyes than the sight of a long row of big
bales of fleece, tied, stamped with the Moreno brand, ready
to be drawn away to the mills. "Now, there is something
substantial," he thought; "no chance of wool going amiss in
market!"

If a year's crop were good, Juan's happiness was assured
for the next six months. If it proved poor, he turned devout
immediately, and spent the next six months calling on the
saints for better luck, and redoubling his exertions with the
sheep.

504 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

On one of the posts of the shed, short projecting slats
were nailed, like half-rounds of a ladder. Lightly as a rope-
walker Felipe ran up these, to the roof, and took his stand
there, ready to take the fleeces and pack them in the bag as
fast as they should be tossed up from below. Luigo, with a
big leathern wallet fastened in front of him, filled with five-
cent pieces, took his stand in the centre of the shed. The thirty
shearers, running into the nearest pen, dragged each his sheep
into the shed, in a twinkling of an eye had the creature be-
tween his knees, helpless, immovable, and the sharp sound
of the shears set in. The sheep-shearing had begun. No rest
now. Not a second's silence from the bleating, baa-ing, open-
ing and shutting, clicking, sharpening of shears, flying of
fleeces through the air to the roof, pressing and stamping them
down in the bales ; not a second's intermission, except the hour
of rest at noon, from sunrise till sunset, till the whole eight
thousand of the Sefiora Moreno's sheep were shorn. It was
a dramatic spectacle. As soon as a sheep was shorn, the shearer
ran with the fleece in his hand to Luigo, threw it down on a
table, received his five-cent piece, dropped it in his pocket,
ran to the pen, dragged out another sheep, and in less than
five minutes was back again with a second fleece. The shorn
sheep, released, bounded off into another pen, where, light
in the head no doubt from being three to five pounds lighter
on their legs, they trotted round bewilderedly for a moment,
then flung up their heels and capered for joy. . . .

When they rode down into the valley, the whole village
was astir. The vintage-time had nearly passed; everywhere
were to be seen large, flat baskets of grapes drying in the sun.
Old women and children were turning these, or pounding
acorns in the deep stone bowl; others were beating the yucca-
stalks, and putting them to soak in water; the oldest women
were sitting on the ground, weaving baskets. There were
not many men in the village now ; two large bands were away
at work, — one at the autumn sheep-shearing, and one working
on a large irrigating ditch at San Bernardino.

In different directions from the village slow-moving herds
of goats or of cattle could be seen, being driven to pasture on
the hills; some men were ploughing; several groups were at
work building houses of bundles of the tule reeds.

AMERICAN FICTION. 505

"These are some of the Temecula people," said Alessandro;
"they are building themselves new houses here. See those
piles of bundles darker colored than the rest. Those are their
old roofs they brought from Temecula. There, there comes
Ysidro !" he cried joyfully, as a man, well-mounted, who had
been riding from point to point in the village, came galloping
towards them. As soon as Ysidro recognized Alessandro,
he flung himself from his horse. Alessandro did the same,
and both running swiftly towards each other till they met, they
embraced silently. Ramona, riding up, held out her hand,
saying, as she did so, "Ysidro?"

Pleased, yet surprised, at this confident and assured greet-
ing, Ysidro saluted her, and turning to Alessandro, said in their
own tongue, "Who is this woman whom you bring, that has
heard my name?"

"My wife!" answered Alessandro, in the same tongue.
"We were married last night by Father Gaspara. She comes
from the house of the Sefiora Moreno. We will live in San
Pasquale, if you have land for me, as you have said."

Whatever astonishment Ysidro felt, he showed none. Only
a grave and courteous welcome was in his face and in his words
as he said, "It is well. There is room. You are welcome."
But when he heard the soft Spanish syllables in which Ramona
spoke to Alessandro, and Alessandro, translating her words
to him, said "Majel speaks only in the Spanish tongue, but
she will learn ours," a look of disquiet passed over his coun-
tenance. His heart feared for Alessandro, and he said, "Is
she, then, not Indian? Whence got she the name of Majel?"

A look of swift intelligence from Alessandro reassured
him. "Indian on the mother's side!" said Alessandro, "and
she belongs in heart to our people. She is alone, save for me.
She is one blessed of the Virgin, Ysidro. She will help us.
The name Majel I have given her, for she is like the wood-
dove; and she is glad to lay her old name down forever, to
bear this new name in our tongue."

And this was Ramona's introduction to the Indian village. —
this and her smile ; perhaps the smile did most. Even the little
children were not afraid of her. The women, though shy,
in the beginning, at sight of her noble bearing, and her clothes
of a kind and quality they associated only with superiors,

506 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

soon felt her friendliness, and, what was more, saw by her
every word, tone, look, that she was Alessandro's. If Ales-
sandro's, theirs. She was one of them. Ramona would have
been profoundly impressed and touched, could she have heard
them speaking among themselves about her ; wondering how it
had come about that she, so beautiful, and nurtured in the
Moreno house, of which they all knew, should be Alessandro's
loving wife. It must be, they thought in their simplicity, that
the saints had sent it as an omen of good to the Indian people.
Towards night they came, bringing in a hand-barrow the most
aged woman in the village to look at her. She wished to see
the beautiful stranger before the sun went down, they said, be-
cause she was now so old she believed each night that before
morning her time would come to die. They also wished to
hear the old woman's verdict on her. When Alessandro saw
them coming, he understood, and made haste to explain it to
Ramona. While he was yet speaking, the procession arrived,
and the aged woman in her strange litter was placed silently
on the ground in front of Ramona, who was sitting under
Ysidro's great fig-tree. Those who had borne her withdrew,
and seated themselves a few paces off. Alessandro spoke first.
In a few words he told the old woman of Ramona's birth, of
their marriage, and of her new name of adoption; then he
said, "Take her hand, dear Majella, if you feel no fear."

There was something scarcely human in the shrivelled arm
and hand outstretched in greeting; but Ramona took it in hers
with tender reverence ; "Say to her for me, Alessandro," she said
"that I bow down to her great age with reverence, and that
I hope, if it is the will of God that I live on the earth so long
as she has, I may be worthy of such reverence as these people
all feel for her."

Alessandro turned a grateful look on Ramona as he trans-
lated this speech, so in unison with Indian modes of thought
and feeling. A murmur of pleasure arose from the group of
women sitting by. The aged woman made no reply; her eyes
still studied Ramona's face, and she still held her hand

"Tell her," continued Ramona, "that I ask if there is any-
thing I can do for her. Say I will be her daughter if she will
let me."

"It must be the Virgin herself that is teaching Majella

AMERICAN FICTION. 507

what to say," thought Alessandro, as he repeated this in the
San Luisene tongue.

Again the women murmured pleasure, but the old woman
spoke not. "And say that you will be her son," added Ramona.

Alessandro said it. It was perhaps for this that the old
woman had waited. Lifting up her arm, like a sibyl, she said :
"It is well : I am your mother. The winds of the valley shall
love you, and the grass shall dance when you come. The
daughter looks on her mother's face each day. I will go," and
making a sign to her bearers, she was lifted, and carried to her
house.

The scene affected Ramona deeply. The simplest acts of
these people seemed to her marvelously profound in their
meanings. She was not herself sufficiently educated or versed
in life to know why she was so moved, — to know that such
utterances, such symbolisms as these, among primitive peoples,
are thus impressive because they are truly and grandly dra-
matic; but she was none the less stirred by them, because she
could not analyze or explain them.

"I will go and see her every day," she said; "she shall be
like my mother, whom I never saw."

"We must both go each day," said Alessandro. "What
we have said is a solemn promise among my people; it would
not be possible to break it."

Ysidro's home was in the centre of the village, on a slightly
rising ground; it was a picturesque group of four small houses,
three of tule reeds and one of adobe, — the latter a comfortable
little house of two rooms, with a floor and a shingled roof,
both luxuries in San Pasquale. The great fig-tree whose lux-
uriance and size were noted far and near throughout the coun-
try, stood half-way down the slope; but its boughs shaded all
three of the tule houses. On one of its lower branches was
fastened a dove-cote, ingeniously made of willow wands, plas-
tered with adobe, and containing so many rooms that the whole
tree seemed sometimes a-flutter with doves and dovelings.
Here and there, between the houses, were huge baskets, larger
than barrels, woven of twigs, as the eagle weaves its nest, only
tighter and thicker. These were the outdoor granaries ; in
these were kept acorns, barley, whent, and corn. Ramona
thought them, as well she might, the prettiest thing she ever
saw.

508 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

"Are they hard to make?" she asked. "Can you make
them, Alessandro? I shall want many."

"All you want, my Majella," replied Alessandro. "We
will go together to get the twigs; I can, I dare say, buy some
in the village. It is only two days to make a large one."

"No. Do not buy one," she exclaimed. "I wish everything
in our house to be made by ourselves." In which, again, Ra-
mona was unconsciously striking one of the keynotes of pleas-
ure in the primitive harmonies of existence. . . .

It did not take many words to tell the story. Alessandro
had not been ploughing more than an hour, when, hearing a
strange sound, he looked up and saw a man unloading lumber
a few rods off. Alessandro stopped midway in the furrow
and watched him. The man also watched Alessandro. Pres-
ently he came towards him, and said roughly, "Look here ! Be
off, will you? This is my land. I'm going to build a house
here."

Alessandro had replied, "This was my land yesterday.
How conies it yours today?"

Something in the wording of this answer, or something
in Alessandro's tone and bearing, smote the man's conscience
or heart, or what stood to him in the place of conscience and
heart, and he said: "Come, now, my good fellow, you look
like a reasonable kind of a fellow ; you just clear out, will you,
and not make me any trouble. You see the land's mine. I've
got all this land round here," and he waved his arm, describing
a circle ; "three hundred and twenty acres, me and my brother
together, and we're coming in here to settle. We got our
papers from Washington last week. It's all right, and you
may just as well go peaceably, as make a fuss about it. Don't
you see ?"

Yes, Alessandro saw. He had been seeing this precise
thing for months. Many times, in his dreams and in his waking
thoughts, he had lived over scenes similar to this. An almost
preternatural calm and wisdom seemed to be given him now.

"Yes, I see, Senor," he said. "I am not surprised. I knew
it would come; but I hoped it would not be till after harvest.
I will not give you any trouble, Senor, because I cannot. If I
could, I would. But I have heard all about the new law which
gives all the Indians' lands to the Americans. We cannot help
ourselves. But it is very hard, Senor." He paused.

AMERICAN FICTION. 509

The man, confused and embarrassed, astonished beyond
expression at being met in this way by an Indian, did not find
words come ready to his tongue. "Of course, I know it does
seem a little rough on fellows like you, that are industrious,
and have done some work on the land. But you see the land's
in the market ; I've paid my money for it."

"The Sefior is going to build a house?" asked Alessandro.

"Yes/' the man answered. "I've got my family in San
Diego, and I want to get them settled as soon as I can. My
wife won't feel comfortable till she's in her own house. We're
from the States, and she's been used to having everything com-
fortable."

"I have a wife and child, Sefior," said Alessandro, still in
the same calm, deliberate tone ; "and we have a very good house
of two rooms. It would save the Sefior' s building, if he would
buy mine."

"How far is it ?" said the man. "I can't tell exactly where
the boundaries of my land are, for the stakes we set have been
pulled up."

"Yes, Sefior, I pulled them up and burned them. They
were on my land," replied Alessandro. "My house is farther
west than your stakes; and I have large wheat-fields there,
too, — many acres, Sefior, all planted.

Here was a chance, indeed. The man's eyes gleamed. He
would do the handsome thing. He would give this fellow
something for his house and wheat-crops. First, he would see
the house, however ; and it was for that purpose he had walked
back with Alessandro. When he saw the neat whitewashed
adobe, with its broad veranda, the sheds and corrals all in
good order, he instantly resolved to get possession of them
by fair means or foul.

"There will be three hundred dollars' worth of wheat in
July, Sefior, you can see for yourself, and a house so good as
that, you cannot build for less than one hundred dollars. What
will you give me for them?

"I suppose I can have them without paying you for them,
if I choose," said the man, insolently.

"No, Sefior," replied Alessandro.

"What's to hinder then, I'd like to know!" in a brutal
sneer. "You haven't got any rights here, whatever, according
to law."

510 THE WORLD'S PROGRESS.

"I shall hinder, Sefior," replied Alessandro. "I shall burn
down the sheds and corrals, tear down the house; and before
a blade of wheat is reaped, I will burn that." Still in the same
calm tone.

"What' 11 you take?" said the man, sullenly.

"Two hundred dollars," replied Alessandro.

"Well, leave your plough and wagon, and I'll give it to
you," said the man; "and a big fool I am, too. Well laughed
at, I'll be, do you know it, for buying out an Indian!"

"The wagon, Sefior, cost me one hundred and thirty dol-
lars in San Diego. You cannot buy one so good for less. I
will not sell it. I need it to take away my things in. The
plough you may have. That is worth twenty.

"I'll do it," said the man; and pulling out a heavy buck-
skin pouch, he counted out into Alessandro' s hand two hun-
dred dollars in gold.

"Is that all right?" he said, as he put down the last piece.

"That is the sum I said, Sefior," replied Alessandro. "To-
morrow, at noon, you can come into the house."

"Where will you go ?" asked the man, again slightly touched
by Alessandro's manner. "Why don't you stay round here?
I expect you could get work enough ; there are a lot of farmers
coming in here; they'll want hands."

A fierce torrent of words sprang to Alessandro's lips, but
he choked them back. "I do not know where I shall go, but
I will not stay here," he said; and that ended the interview.

"I don't know as I blame him a mite for feeling that way,"
thought the man from the States, as he walked slowly back
to his pile of lumber. "I expect I should feel just so myself."

Almost before Alessandro had finished this tale, he began
to move about the room, taking down, folding up, opening and
shutting lids; his restlessness was terrible to see. "By sunrise
I would like to be off," he said, "It is like death to be in the
house which is no longer ours." Ramona had spoken no word
since her first cry on hearing that terrible laugh. She was like
one stricken dumb. The shock was greater to her than to
Alessandro. He had lived with it ever present in his thoughts
for a year. She had always hoped. But far more dreadful
than the loss of her home was the anguish of seeing, hearing,
the changed face, changed voice, of Alessandro. Almost this

AMERICAN FICTION.

swallowed up the other. She obeyed him mechanically, working
faster and faster as he grew more and more feverish in his
haste. Before sundown the little house was dismantled ; every-
thing, except the bed and the stove, packed in the big wagon.

"Now, we must cook food for the journey," said Alessandro.

"Where are we going?" said the weeping Ramona.

"Where?" ejaculated Alessandro, so scornfully that it
sounded like impatience with Ramona, and made her tears flow
afresh. "Where? I know not, Majella ! Into the mountains,
where the white men come not ! At sunrise we will start."

— Helen Hunt Jackson.

DESCRIPTION OF ILLUSTRATIONS

IN PART X

BUSY STREET AT THE NIJNI NOVGOROD FAIR.

Nijni means lower, and this place is called Lower Novgorod to dis-
tinguish it from Novgorod, the much larger town.

In Nijni Novgorod is held each year a great Russian Fair which lasts
for two months. It is conveniently situated on the Volga — "Mother
Volga," the Russians affectionately call this valuable stream — and the
Volga leads directly to the Caspian Sea. The prices obtaining here con-
trol the prices for the whole Russian Empire, and every merchant of con-
siderable wealth keeps a branch shop here. During the busy summer
season there are sometimes as many as 200,000 people on these grounds
in one day, and during the two months the Fair lasts. $200,000,000 changes
hands. In Mediaeval times there were many of these fairs. This is one
of the few continuing to our day and it is an experience never to be for-
gotten to visit the various quarters of the nationalities convened here and
to examine the wares exhibited.

FOUR THOUSAND SHEEP IN AUSTRALIA.

The resources of Australia are only now becoming well understood.
The interior of the country is a desert inhabited by primitive tribes. It
may be noted in passing that men are studying these tribes of Central
Australia today for the purpose of gaining a better understanding of
primitive humanity in whatever age or clime.

Great herds of cattle and vast flocks of sheep are raised on the large
ranches. Here four thousand sheep are being changed from one pasture
to another.

INDIAN GIRLS WEAVING BASKETS — HOPI RESERVATION.

Year by year the reservations set aside by the government for the
use of the Indians have grown smaller and smaller throughout the coun-
try. Only a few large reservations are found today — these being for the
most part in the west. In Arizona and New Mexico one may see Indians
living today much as they lived long ago. They are more peaceable and
quiet, having been held in order for years ; again, the schools are edu-
cating Indian children and the old war-like spirit is dying out. Besides,
these southwestern tribes were never actuated with the ferocity of the
northern tribes.

With the rapid change from uncivilized to civilized living, mortality is
great among these people. For this reason it is likely that in no remote
future baskets such as these will no longer be obtainable.

COLUMBUS' FIRST LANDING PLACE — PORTO RICA.

It was while Henry VII. sat upon the English throne that Columbus
made his successful voyage across the Atlantic and opened a new world
to an astonished world. This is a picture of Aguadilla, his first landing
place on the island of Porto Rica as it looks today.

512

DESCRIPTION OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 513

SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTE.

Perhaps only comparatively few who visit this national museum stop
to inquire into its origin. James Smithson, son of Sir Hugh Smithson,
Duke of Northumberland, died in Genoa in 1829. He left his fortune to
a nephew, stipulating that should this nephew die leaving no children,
the property should be left to the United States "for the purpose of found-
ing an institution at Washington, to be called the Smithsonian Institute,
for the increase and diffusion of knowledge among men." The nephew
died without heirs, in 1835, and over one-half million was paid into the
United States treasury for the above mentioned purpose. By 1846 this
had increased to $750,000. The government donated the land and with
part of this sum a building was erected. It was built to provide for
library, museum and art gallery. The National Museum here should be
of interest to all citizens of this country, for it contains much that is
closely interwoven with our history.

HYDAH INDIANS — ALASKA.

The Indians of the north are wholly different from those of the south.
The totem pole before the house records the lineage of the chief who
dwells there. Totem poles served three purposes; to mark the burial
place of the dead, to give the genealogy of the chiefs, or to commemo-
rate a place of victory. In the National Park in Sitka one may see many
totem poles. To be sure, these are now resplendent in new paint and
have been gathered here from many places. Nevertheless, this was the
site of a battle once waged between Russians and Indians; the Indians
were victorious and raised totem poles to publish their triumph.

HELEN HUNT FALLS.

Helen Hunt Jackson endeared herself to the American people as a
whole, but particularly to the people of the west. Here she lived and
wrote her stories, notably Ramona, in which she roused sympathy for the
Indians. Many years of her life were spent in Colorado, and in ac-
cordance with her wish she was buried high up on a mountain-side. This
spot became such a mecca for tourists that the remains were finally
brought down again and re-interred. These Falls, a short distance from
Colorado Springs, are named for her.

OLD FAITHFUL — YELLOWSTONE.

This is the most famous geyser in the world. Every hour, or some-
times with intervals of one hour and fifteen minutes, it bursts forth with
a stream of boiling water. Between its eruptions, which last for about
five minutes, one may examine the mound of geyserite, oblong, about 145
by 215 feet in size. This is streaked with rose, saffron, orange, brown and
gray — in proportion as the water has carried various minerals in solution.
When the stream bursts forth it rises in a nearly perpendicular height,
while the breeze blows the cloud of steam above in the air — a "pillar of
cloud by day." It is estimated that 33,000,000 gallons of water are thrown
out every twenty-four hours.

ROTUNDA GALLERY — CONGRESSIONAL LIBRARY.

This wonderful library was begun in 1889 and completed in 1897,
costing $6,000,000. The exterior of the building is built of New Hamp-
shire marble; the interior is finished in marbles brought from all parts
of the world, and is dazzling in brilliancy.

X-33

514 DESCRIPTION OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

The Library of Congress has had several backsets. In 1814 the British
burned the library that had already been accumulated. Congress soon
after bought Jefferson's private library of 7,000 volumes and made that a
nucleus around which to collect their books. In 1851 the library was
again destroyed by fire, only 20,000 out of 55,000 volumes being saved.
The final home of the Congressional library is planned to withstand the
storm and stress of centuries.

LOOKING DOWN FROM INSPIRATION POINT.

This view down the Grand Canon is one of the most inspiring in the
world. No river has ever cut down a more remarkable channel than
the Colorado, the canon of which defies description. The rocks reflect
the light of the sun and produce a sight seldom seen anywhere. Every
year this section of our country is visited by many foreigners, as well
as by large numbers of Americans.

A MEXICAN CATHEDRAL.

Soon after the discovery of a new world, Spanish explorers reached
out in every direction to ascertain the nature of recently discovered lands.
They were accompanied almost from the first by brave-hearted men who
wished to carry the Christian religion to tfye furthermost parts of the
earth. Jesuits were later followed by Franciscan monks, who from Mex-
ico came up into California and the Coast regions to teach and preach.

The Catholic Church has always found it useful to teach by symbol
and painting, and especially where the masses are ignorant, all means of
illustrating religious stories are eagerly embraced.

INDEX OF ART AND ARCHITECTURE

Abbey, Edwin A., x. 223, 237.
Adoration of the Mystic Lamb, ix.

48.

Alexander, John W., x. 240.
American Art —

See Expositions, General.

Early American Painters, x. 207.

Recent American Painters, x.
214.

Mural Painting, x. 235.

Galleries, x. 225.
American Art Centers —

New York, x. 225.

Philadelphia, x. 227.

Washington, x. 231.

Boston, x. 230.

Chicago, x. 234.
American Institutes of Archaeology

ii. 47.
Anatomy Lesson, Rembrandt, ix.

58.

Andalusian Art, ix. 72.
Angelico, Fra, ix. 25, 112, 115.
Angelus, Millet, ix. 90.
Angelo Michael, ii. 157 ; ix. 32, 122.
Antwerp, Art of, ix. 49.
Architecture —

Babylonian, i. 300.

Greek, iii. 341.

Roman, iv. 380.
Antiquities — •

Egyptian ix. 184.

Classical, ix. 184.
Apollo Belvedere, ix. 128.
Art-
Beginnings, i. 225.

Of Ancients, i. 15.

Hebrew, ii. 9.
Art Galleries, American —

Metropolitan, x. 225.

Pennsylvania Academy, x. 227.

Boston Museum, x. 230.

Corcoran, x.' 231.

Chicago, x. 234.
Art Galleries, European —

Florence —

Acadcmv, ix. 110.

Uffizi, ix. 112.

Pitti Palace, ix. 117.

Rome —
Vatican, ix. 120.

Venice —

Academy, ix. 129.
Milan —

Brera, ix. 136.
Belgium —

Bruges Academy, ix. 138.

Antwerp Gallery, ix. 139.
Netherlands —

The Hague Royal Museum, ix.
142.

Rotterdam, ix. 144.

Amsterdam, ix. 145.
Spain —

Prado, ix. 147.

Seville, ix. 150.
Germany —

Dresden, ix. 151.

Berlin, ix. 154.

Munich, ix. 156.
France —

Louvre, ix. 158.
London — •

National, ix. 169.

Tate, ix. 173.

Assumption of the Virgin, ix. 45.
Aurora, ii. 84, 126.

Bachelier, ix. 82.

Barbizon School, ix. 85.

Basilica, ix. 16.

Bellini, ix. 129.

Biblical Pictures, ix. 12, 23, 122.

Blashfield, x. 240.

Bol, Ferdinand, ix. 143.

Bonheur, Rosa, ix. 92.

Book—

Of Kells, ix. 104.

Of Durrow, ix. 104.

Of Hours, ix. 107.
Boecklin, ix. 154, 156.
Bordone, ix. 133.
Botticelli, _ix. 29, 113.
Boucher, ix. 161.
Bruges, Art of, ix. 46.
Brussels, Art of, ix. 48.
Burne-Jones, ix. 174 ; x. 219.
Byzantine Art, ix. 15.

Calumny, Botticelli, ix. 30.
Capanna, Puccio, ix. 24.

515

5i6

INDEX OF ART AND ARCHITECTURE.

Carnegie Institute, x. 241.
Carrara Marble, ix. 34.
Carpaccio, ix. 130.
Castilian Art, ix. 72.
Catacomb Pictures, ix. 10.
Cathedral of Ghent, ix. 48.
Celtic Illumination, ix. 104.
Chardin, ix. 82, 162.
Chase, William M., x. 224.
Chiaroscuro, ix. 39.
Churches, Early, ix. 16.
Church —

Of Assisi, ix. 23.

Of St. Apollinare Nuove, ix. 19.

Of St. Bavon, ix. 48.

Of Santa Croce, ix. 119.

Of Santa Marie Novella, ix. 119.

Of the Sepulcher, ii. 61.

Of the Nativity, ii. 65.
Christian Art, ix. 9.
Christian Symbols, ix. 10.
Cimabue. ix. 22.
Claude (Lorrain), ix. 80.
Classical Art, ix. 81.
Clouet, Jean, ix. 80.

Dance of Death, ix. 65.
Daubigny, ix. 165.
David, Gheeraert, ix. 49.
David, Jean Louis, ix. 83.
Decorative Art, Egypt, i. 135.
De Hoogh, ix. 59.
Delacroix, ix. 85.
Diaz, ix. 92, 165.
Dome of the Rock, ii. 61.
Doughty, Thomas, x. 211.
Doric Architecture, iii. 342.
Dou Gerard, ix. 59.
Ducal Palace, ix. 134.
Duomo, Florence, ix. 24.
Dupre, ix. 92, 165.
Dutch Art, ix. 62, 153.
Diirer, ix. 44, 66, 115.

Egyptian Art, i. 42.
Elgin, Marbles, iii. 349; ix. 184.
El Greco, ix. 73, 147.
Exultet, ix. 108.

Fappa, Vincenzo, ix. 136.
Filippo Lippi, ix. 27, 112.
Flemish Art, ix. 46.
Flora, Titian, ix. 44.
Foreshortening, ix. 39.
French Academy, ix. 80.
French Art, ix. 79.
Modern, ix. 85.

Gaddi, Taddeo, ix. 24.
Gainsborough, ix. 96, 171.
Genre Painting, ix. 59.
German Art, ix. 64, 153.
Ghirlandajo, ix. 3.
Giotto, ix. 22.
Giottpesques, ix. 24.
Giottino, ix. 24.
Giorgione, ix. 118.
Gleaners, The, ix. 90.
Goya, ix. 77, 150.

Hals Frans, ix. 55, 145.
Harley, Robert, ix. 179.
Heene, David de, ix. 63.
Hermes, Praxiteles, iii. 357, 368.
Herrera, ix. 72.
Hide Pictures, i.. 27.
History of Art —

Pleasure of Art Study, ix. 1.

Early Christian, ix. 9.

Byzantine, ix. 15.

Mosaics, ix. 17.

Early Italian Painting, ix. 22.

Angelico, ix. 25.

Filippo Lippi, ix. 27.

Realistic, ix. 29.

Botticelli, ix. 29.

Angelo, ix. 33.

CorreggSo, ix. 39.

Titian, ix. 41.

Flemish, ix. 46.

Dutch, ix. 53.

German, ix. 64.

Spanish, ix. 70.

French, ix. 79.

English, ix. 94.

Illumination, ix. 101.

American, x. 207.
Hobbema, ix. G2, 144.
Hogarth, ix. 94, 169.
Holbein, ix. 64, 94.
Homer Winslow, x. 216.
Horse Fair, The, ix. 93.
Houses — see General.
Hudson River School, x. 211.

Iconoclastic Movement, ix. 18.
Illumination, ix. 46, 101.
Ingres, ix. 163.
Inness, x. 212.
Interior Decoration —

Babylonian, i. 302.

Assyrian, i. 321.
Ionic Column, iii. 342.
Italian Art, ix. 22.
Israels, Joseph, ix. 63, 146.

Kells, Book of, ix. 104.

INDEX OF ART AND ARCHITECTURE.

517

La Farge, x. 218, 235, 244.

Landseer, ix. 98, 175.

Landscape Painting, ix. 61.

Laocoon ix. 128.

Last Judgment, Angelo, ix. 36.

Last Supper, Leonardo, ix. 31.

Lebrun, Charles, ix. 81.

Lebrun, Madame, ix. 83.

Leighton, ix. 175.

Leonardo da Vinci, ix. 30, 34, 79,

136.

Le Sueur, ix. 161.
Leyden, Lucas van, ix. 54.
Lion Gate, iii. 348.
Lotti Lorenzo, ix. 119.
Louis XIV, Art of, ix. 80.
Louis XV, Art of, ix. 82.
Luini, ix. 136.

Mabuse, ix. 49.
Madonas —

Cimabue, ix. 21.

Angelico, ix. 25.

Filippo Lippi, ix. 27.

Raphael, ix. 37, 117, 151.

Correggio, ix. 39.

Dutch, ix. 55.

German, ix. 64.

Spanish, ix. 72.
Magi, ix. 115.
Manuscripts Illuminated, ix. 102,

182.

Mars, Nicholas, ix. 59.
Masaccio, ix. 26, 112.
Massys, Quentin, ix. 49.
Mauve, ix. 63, 146.
McEwen, Walter, x. 240.
Medici —

Cosimo de, ix. 27, 112.

Lorenzo de, ix. 33.

Marie de, ix. 80.
Meister Wilhelm, ix. 64.
Melon Eaters, Murillo, ix. 76.
Memlinc, ix, 49. 139.
Millet, ix. 85, 88, 166.
Millet, F. D.. x. 243.
Millais, ix. 99, 173.
Miniatures, ix. 46.
Mona Lisa, ix. 32, 166.
Mosaics, ii. 46; ix. 17.
Mural Painting —

Boston Museum, x. 236.

Congressional Library, x. 239.

Carnegie Institute, x. 240.

Appellates Courts, x. 243.

Ponce de Leon Hotel, x. 243.

Capitol of Minnesota, x. 244.
Murillo, ix, 74, 159,

Museums —

Alexandria, i. 181.

Athens, iii. 371.

Berlin, ii. 240; ix. 154.

British, i. 187, 207; ii. 277; iii.
349; ix. 179.

Cairo, i. 146, 185.

Constantinople, i. 210; ii. 373.

Delphi, iii. 373.

Louvre, i. 187; ii. 143; ix. 158,
184.

Naples, iv. 391.

Olympian, iii. 368.

Palermo, iv. 389.

Seville, ix. 150.
Museums — American —

Boston, ix. 98.

Metropolitan, i. 187; ix. 93; x.
225.

University of Pennsylvania, i.

210.
Mycenaean Art, iii. 348.

Nativity —

Corregio, ix. 41, 151.

Ghirlandajo, ix. 3.
Nave, ix. 16, 19.
Napoleonic Art, ix. 83, 158, 163.
Night Watch, ix. 58.
Nimbus, ix. 13.

Oxen Ploughing, ix. 93.

Pacheco, ix. 72, 148.
Painting —

Egyptian, i. 133.

Greek, iii. 347, 351.
Parthenon, ii. 121, 319; iii. 343, 349.
Peale, Charles W., x. 210.
Pearce, Chas. S. x. 239.
Pediments, iii. 349.
Perugimo, ix. 37, 112.
Phidias, ii. 104, 110, 121, 233, 307,

319 ;_ iii. 348.

Physician of Parma, Titian ix. 44.
Pitti Palace, ix. 117.
Polyclitus, ii. 110.
Polynotas, iii. 352.
Pompey's Pillar, i. 182.
Portrait Painters, ix. 55, 65, 95.
Potter, Paul, ix. 62, 143.
Pottery, Egyptian, i. 105.
Poussin, iv. 80, 161.
Prado, The, ix. 147.
Praxiteles, ix. 28; iii. 350; iv. 392.
Pre-Raphaelites, ix. 99.
Presentation in the Temple, ix. 44,

131.

Puis de Chavannes, x. 236.
Pyle, Howard, x. 244.

5i8

INDEJX OF ART AND ARCHITECTURE.

Raphael, ix. 34, 37, 113.
Raphael, Loggie, ix. 126.
Raphael Stanze ix. 127.
Ravenna, Mosaics of, ix. 19.
Rembrandt, ix. 42, 56, 143.
Reynolds, ix. 94, 171.
Ribalta, ix. 73, 147.
Ribera, ix. 73, 147.
Romano ix. 119.
Romney ix. 171.
Rossetti, ix. 99, 175; x. 219.
Rousseau, ix. 88, 164.
Royal Academy, ix. 96.
Rubens, ix. 3, 50, 73, 141.
Ruisdael, ix. 62, 144.

San Marco ix. 25, 112, 119.
Sargent, John Singei, x. 223, 238.
Sarto, Andrea del, ix. 29, 79, 114.
Schongauer ix. 64.
Scrolls —

Egyptian, i. 135.
Sculpture —

Egyptian, i. 134.

Greek, ii. 422; iii. 346, 356.
Siddons, Sarah, ix. 95.
Sistine Chapel, ix. 35, 38, 121.
Sistine Tapestries, ix. 124.
Six Collection, ix. 146.
Slave Ship, ix. 98.
Sloane, Sir Hans, ix. 180.
Spanish Art, ix. 70.
Spring, Botticelli, ix. 30, 110.
St. Catherine, ix. 40.
St. Paul's, viii. 34.
St. Ursula, ix. 64, 137.
Steen, Jan, ix. 60, 144.
Stuart, Gilbert, x. 210.
Statuary —

David, Angelo, ix. 34, 110.

Moses, Angelo, ix. 35.

Day and Night, ix. 36.

Twilight and Dawn, ix. 36.

Apollo Belvedere, ix. 128.

Laocoon, ix. 128.

Sleeping Endymion, ix. 185.
Surrender of Breda, ix. 148.
Swabian Art, ix. 64.
Symbolism, Christian, ix. 10.

Tabernacle Madonna, ix. 25.
Tadema, Laurence Alma-, ix. 52.
Tapestry Weavers, ix. 149.
Temeraire, ix. 98, 175.

Temples —

Karnak, i. 69, 159.

Abu Simbel, i. 78.

Egyptian, i. 125.

Babylonian, i. 300, 312.

Ziggurats, i. 300.

Solomon's, ii. 9, 61.

Jupiter's, ii. 105.

Artemis, ii. 133.

Greek, ii. 422; iii. 341.
Three Ages of Man, ix. 44.
Tintoretto, ix. 74, 132.
Titian, ix. 41, 67, 114, 130, 153.
Tomb Pictures i. 100, 133.
Tribute Money, Titian, ix. 43.
Trojan, ix. 165.
Trumbull, x. 211, 235.
Turner, ix. 97, 172.

Qffizi Gallery, ix. 112.

Van Dyck, ix. 51, 94.

Van Eyck, ix. 47.

Van Goyen, ix. 61.

Van der Velde, ix. 62.

Van der Weyden, ix. 48, 139.

Varges, Luis de, ix. 72.

Vase Painting, ii. 385.

Vasari, ix. 116.

Vatican, ix. 34, 120.

Vedder, Elihu, x. 214, 240.

Velasquez, ix. 4, 72. 73, 148.

Venus de Milo, ii. 84, 143.

Ver Meer, ix. 160, 143.

Veronese, Paul, ix. 132, 134, 159.

Volk, Douglas, x. 244.

Votives, iii. 346.

Vulgate, ix. 104.

Walker, Henry O., x. 239.
Watteau, ix. 82, 161.
Watts, Geo. F., ix. 174.
Weenix, Jan, ix. 63.
West, Benjamin, x. 207.
Westphalian Art, ix. 64.
Whistler, James McNeill, x. 220.
White Mountain School, x. 211.
Wilson, Richard, ix. 172.
Woodcuts, ix. 65, 67.
Wren, Sir Christopher, viii. 34.
Wyant, x. 210.

Ziggurats, i. 300.
Zurbara, ix. 72.

DRAMA AND MUSIC

Actors —

Women, vii. 25, 43.

Early English, vii. 68, 188.

Early English actresses, vii. 191.
/Eschylus, ii. 265, 299 ; iii. 4, 29, 84 ;

vii. 12.

Agamemnon, iii. 5.
Aida, y. 327.
Ajax, iii. 29.
Alchemist, The, vii. 150.
Andromache, iii. 45.
Annunzio, vii. 284.
Anthem —

Origin, y. 253.
Antigone, iii. 29.
Aristophanes, ii. 265.

Plays of, iii. 63.
Arraignment of Paris, vii. 91.

Bacchse, iii. 45.

Bach, Johann Sebastian —

Life, v. 255.

Compositions, v. 257.
Ballads, v. 307.

Barber of Seville, opera, v. 323.
Bayreuth, v. 358.
Beaumont and Fletcher, vii. 154.
Beethoven, Ludwig Van —

Life, v. 279.

Opera, v. 286.

Sonatas, v. 284.

Symphonies, v. 285.
Before Dawn, vii. 380.
Betterton, Thomas, vii. 189.
Berlioz, Hector —

Life, v. 309.

Symphonies, v. 311.
Birds, The, iii. 63.
Bizet, George, v. 347.
Blackfriars, vii. 68.
Blue Bird, vii. 269.
Brocco, Robt., vii. 286.
Burbage, James, vii. 68.
Burbage, Richard, vii. 68, 188.
Buskins, vii. 15.

Campaspe, Play of, vii. 75.
Cantata, v. 260.
Carmen, v. 347.
Cavalleria Rusticana, v. 328.

Chanticleer, vii. 274.
Chants —

Gregorian, v. 233.

Anglican, v. 253.
Cherubini, y. 337.
Choephori, iii. 5.
Chopin, Frederic —

Life, v. 305.

Compositions, v. 307.
Chorale, y. 249.
Chorus, vii. 16.
Cid, The, vii. 219.
Citta Morta, La, vii. 285.
Clouds, The, iii. 63, 70.
Cockpit, The, vii. 69.
Comedy, Greek, iii. 62.
Comedy, Italian, vii. 39.
Comedy of Errors, vii. 110.
Commedia dell'Arte, vii. 468: vii.

29.
Composers, Musical —

Early German, v. 255.

Classical, v. 255.

Romantic, v. 289.
Congreve, vii. 168.
Corneille, vii. 215, 217.
Corpus Christi, Play, vii. 28.
Counterpoint, v. 238.
Curtain, The, vii. 68.
Cyrano de Bergerac, vii. 275.

Das Rheingold, v. 366.

David and Bethsabe, vii. 91.

Der Freischiitz, v. 291.

Die Walkure, v. 369.

Die Zauberflote, v. 351.

Dionysia, Greater, ii. 425; iii. 1;

vii. 13.
Dionysia, Lesser, ii, 425; iii. 2;

vii. 13.

Doll's House, The, vii. 297.
Don Giovanni, v. 276.
Double Dealer, vii. 169.
Drama —

Hebrew, ii. 23.

Greek, ii. 315; iii. 1; vii. 12.

Greek, decline of, iii. 84.

Roman, iv. 94, 145; vii. 15.

General Survey, vii. 1.

Beginnings of, vii. 9.

Mediaeval, vii. 20.

520

INDEX O£ DRAMA AND MUSIC

Interludes, yii. 44.

Masques, vii. 55.

Elizabethan, vii. 73.

Shakespearean, vii. 107.

Restoration yii, 166.

Recent English, vii. 195.

French, vii. 215.

French, modern, vii. 266.

Italian, vii. 283.

Norwegian, vii. 297.

German, vii. 317.

German, recent, vii. 371.
Drolls, vii. 166.
Dryden, vii. 168.

Egmont, vii. 333.
Electra, iii. 29, 45.
Elijah, oratoria, v. 303.
Eumenides, iii. 5.
Euripides, ii. 265 ; iii. 41.
Plays, iii. 45, 84 ; vii. 13.
Euryanthe, y. 291.
Every Man in his Humor, vii, 149.

Faust, opera, v. 342; vii. 341.

Faust, play, vii. 337.

Faustus, Dr., vii. 97.

Fidelio, opera, v. 286.

Fletcher, vii. 154.

Flying Dutchman, opera, v. 361.

Folk music, v. 219, 240.

German, v. 247.

Fortune, The, vii. 68.
Four P's, vii. 47.
Francesca da Rimini, vii. 284.
Freischiitz, Der, v. 291.
Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay,
vii. 84.

Garrick, vii. 190.
Getting Married, play, vii. 206.
Gioconda, La, vii. 285.
Globe, The, vii. 68, 71.
Gluck, Christoph —

Life, v. 335.

Operas, v. 336.
Goethe, vii. 331.
Goetz, Herman, v. 352.
Goldmark, Karl, v. 352.
Gounod, Charles, v. 341.
Greene, Playwright, vii. 74, 83.
Guilds, Plays given by, vii. 24.
Guillaume Tell, v. 323.

Hamlet, vii. 3.

Handel, George Frederic —

Life, v. 261.

Operas, v. 263.

Oratorios, v. 265.

Hansel and Gretel, v. 354.
Harmony, v. 239.
Hauptmann, vii. 371, 380.
Haydn, Joseph —

Life, v. 268.

Sonatas, v. 271.
Henry IV. and V., vii. 110.
Herman and Dorothea, vii, 334.
Heywood, John, vii. 47.
Hippolytus, iii. 45.
Huguenots, Leo, v. 339.
Humperdinck, Ingelbert, v. 354.
Hymns —

Origin, v. 248.

Protestant, v. 249.

Ibsen, vii. 297.
II Trovatore, v. 326.
Improvised comedy, vii. 40.
Instruments, musical —
Early Church, v. 229.
Interludes, yii. 44.
Ion, play, iii. 45.
Iphigenia, iii. 56.
Irving, Henry, vii. 193.

Jew of Malta, vii. 98.

Job, Book of, vii. 340.

Joy of Living, play, vii. 374.

Jonson, Ben, Masques, vii. 56, 149.

Julius Caesar, vii. 3.

Kean, actor, vii. 193.
Kemble, actor, vii. 193.
Kennedy, vii. 212.
King John, vii. 110.
King Lear, vii. 112.
Kyd, vii. 74.

La Tosca, opera, v. 329.
Lensea, The iii. 2, 62; vii. 13.
Lessing, vii. 317.
Leid — German, v. 293.
Liszt, Franz —

Life, v. 312.

Concert work, v. 313.

Compositions, 314.
Liturgical Music, v. 229.

Western Church, v. 230.

Anglican, v. 252.
Lohengrin, opera, v. 362.
Love's Labor Lost. vii. 110.
Lyly, playwright, vii. 75.

Macklin, vii. 191.
Madrigal, v. 237.
Maeterlinck, vii. 263, 267.
Magic Flute, v. 276.

INDEX OF DRAMA AND MUSIC

Manon, opera, v. 348.
Mansfield, Richard, vii. 193.
Marlowe, vii. 74, 97, 338.
Marriage of Figaro, v. 276.
Masks, Greek, vii. 14.
Masques, vii. 55.
Mass, v. 229, 231.

Bach, v. 260.

Haydn, v. 271.

Mozart, v. 276.
Master-singers, v. 241.

Nuremberg, v. 361.
Massenet, Jules, v. 348.
Mazurka, v. 307.
Medea, iii, 45, 51.
Melody, v. 236.
Menander, iii. 63, 82.
Mendelssohn, Felix —

Life, v. 301.

Compositions, v. 303; vii. 317.
Merry Wives of Windsor, vii. 3.
Merchant of Venice, vii. 122.
Meyerbeer, v. 338.
Mignon, opera, v. 345.
Midsummer Night's Dream, vii.

73, 110.

Minna von Barnhelm, vii. 318.
Mimes, vii. 15.
Minnesingers, v. 241.
Minstrels, ii. 430; v. 101, 241.
Miracle Plays, vii. 20, 73.
Moliere, vii. 215, 238.
Montevede, v. 319.
Morality Plays, vii. 27.
Motifs, musical, v. 359.
Mozart, Wolfgang —

Life, v. 272.

Concert work, v. 273.

Operas, v. 275.

Requiem mass, v. 276.
Music —

Egyptian, i. 98.

Greek, ii. 403.

Origin of, v. 218, 225.

Ancient, v. 225, 234; ii. 277.

Early Church, v. 226.

Catholic, v. 228.

Eastern Church, v. 230.

Mediaeval, v. 236.

Dutch, v. 239.

Protestant, v. 248.

Romantic, v. 289.

Programme, v. 308.

Music-Dramas, v. 357.

Mystery Plays, vii. 20.

Nathan der Weise, vii. 317.
Nell Gwynne, actress, vii. 189.
New Bach Society, v. 260.
Notation, Musical, v. 236.

Oberon, opera, v. 291.
OEdipus the King, iii. 29, 34.
CEdipus at Colonus, iii. 29.
Opera —

Handel, v. 263.

Beethoven, v. 286.

Romantic, v. 289.

Weber, v. 291.

Origin of, v. 317.

Grand, v. 318.

Comique, v. 318.

Italian, v. 319, 321.

French, v. 351.

German, v. 355.

Wagner, v. 357.
Oratorio —

Origin, v. 265.

Handel, v. 265.

Mendelssohn, v. 303.
Orchestra, vii. 69.
Orpheus and Eurydice, v. 335.
Othello, vii. 3.

Pageants, vii. 24.
Pantomines, vii. 15.
Parsifal, opera, v. 361.
Passion, Music —

Origin, v. 260.

Bach's, v. 261.
Peele, vii. 74, 91.
Persians, The, iii. 5.
Philaster's Jealousy, vii. 156.
Philemon, iii. 63, 83.
Piano, v. 296.
Pinero, vii. 197.
Plain-song, v. 233.
Plautus, iv. 146; vii. 15, 74.
Playwrights, Italian, vi. 468.
Polonaise, v. 307.
Programme Music, v. 308, 315.
Prometheus Bound, iii. 5, 20.
Proserpine, opera, v. 343.
Puritan Opposition to Plays, vii.

67.

Queen of Sheba, opera, v. 352.

Racine, vii. 215, 227.
Red Bull, vii. 68.
Reformation —

Puritan, ii. 31.

Restoration Drama, vii. 166.
Richard III., vii. 110.
Rienzi, opera, v. 361.
Rimini, Francesca da, vii. 287.
Ring, The Nibelung, v. 361.
Rivals, The, vii. 168, 178.
Romantic SchooLof Music, v. 289.

522

IND£X OF DRAMA AND MUSIC

Rose, The, vii. 68.
Rossini, v. 322.
Rostand, vii. 274.

Saint-Saens Camile, v. 343.
Samson and Delila, v. 344.
Scale-system, v. 226.
Scarlatti, v. 320.
Scenery, Theatrical, vii. 26
Scherzo, v. 307.
Schiller, vii. 331, 354.
School for Scandal, vii. 168.
Schubert, v. 293.

Songs, v. 295.
Schumann, Robert —

Life, v. 298.

Compositions, v. 299.
Scribe, vii. 216.
Seneca, vii. 74.
Seven against Thebes, iii. 5.
Shakespeare —

Forerunners of, vii. 73.

Life, vii. 108.

Plays, vii. 110.
Shaw, Bernard, vii. 204.
She Stoops to Conquer, vii. 168,

viii. 190.

Sheridan, vii. 176.
Siddons, vii. 192.
Siegfried, v. 375.
Singing Schools, v. 235.
Singspiel, v. 351.
Sir Thomas Moore, play, vii. 44.
Sonata —

Form of, v. 270.

Haydn, v. 271.

Beethoven, v. 284.
Songspiel, v. 291.

Sophocles, ii. 265; iii. 3, 28, 34, 43,
i 84; vii. 13.

Spanish Tragedy, vii. 110.
Stage, Greek, vii. 16.
Stage, English, vii. 70.
St. Paul, oratorio, v. 303.
Strauss, Richard, v. 355.
Sudermann, vii. 371.
Sunken Bell, The, vii. 380.
Suppliants, The, iii. 5, 45.

Swan, The, vii. 68.
Symbolism vii. 267.
Symphony —

Form of, v. 270.

Haydn, v. 270.

Beethoven, v. 285.

Schumann, v. 300.

Berlioz, v. 310.

Tamburlaine, vii. 97.
Tannhauser, v. 361.
Tell, Wilhelm, vii. 364.
Tempest, The, vii. 3, 137.
Terence, iv. 173; vii. 15, 74.
Theatre, The, vii. 68.

Roman iy. 94; vii. 16.

Greek, vii. 14.

Elizabethan, vii. 64.
Theatre de 1'Opera — comique, v.

334.

Thespis, iii. 2.
Thomas, Charles A., v. 345 —

Operas, v. 346.
Three Maries, The, vii. 32.
Titus Andronicus, vii. 110.
Transcriptions, v. 314.
Tristan and Isolde, v. 361.
Troubadours, v. 241.
Twilight of the Gods, v. 379.
Two Gentlemen of Verona, vil

110.

Verdi, Giuseppe —
Life, v. 325.
Operas, v. 326.

Wagner, Richard —

Life, v, 357.

Writings, v. 358, 384.

Orchestra leader, v. 360.

Operas, v. 361.
Wasps, The, iii. 63.
Water Carriers, opera, v. 338.
Weavers, The, vii. 380.
Weber, Carl von, v. 290.
Wilhelm, Meister, opera, v. 345.
Woffington, Peg, vii. 191.

HISTORICAL INDEX

Abelard, iy. 473 ; vi. 13.

Abraham, i. 434.

Academy, ii. 400.

Achaea, ii. 233.

Achaean League, iii. 45G.

Achilles, ii. 247.

Acropolis, ii. 307, 375 ; iii. 348, 371.

Actium, iii. 485.

Adams, John, x. 28.

Adams, John Quincy, x. 32.

Adrianople, iv. 49.

Aetolian League, iii. 456.

Agamemnon, ii. 247.

Ages, Rough, Smooth Stone, i. xvii.

Agincourt, viii. 21.

Agora, ii. 376 ; iv. 380.

Agricola, iv. 26; viii. 5.

Ahmos, i. 54.

Alaric, iv. 50.

Alaska Purchase, x. 42, 196.

Albigenses, v. 105.

Alcibiades, ii. 338.

Alcuin, iv. 412.

Alexander the Great, i. 181, 345, 351 ;

ii. 3, 358, 366 ; iii. 455.
Alfred the Great, v. 70, 79 ; viii. 8.
Alien and Sedition Laws, x. 29.
Alpheus, ii. 233.
Amenemhet I, i. 46.
Amene mhet III, i. 47.
Amenhotep IV, i. 68.
America —

Discovery of, i. 18.

Exploration of, x. 30.

Colonial, x. 39.

Independence of, x. 40.
American Colonies, x. 12.
American School of Archaeology, ii.

47.

Ammonites, i. 435, 446.
Amon, Priests of, i. 81.
Amphictyonic League, iii. 101.
Ancus Martius, iii. 390.
Angles, iv. 56 ; viii. 6.
Anne Boleyn, viii. 25.
Anne, Queen, viii. 35.
Anti-Federalists, x. 27.
Antoninus Pius, iv. 31.
Anthony, Mark, iii. 482.
Apella, "ii. 271.
Appian Way, iv. 394.
Arcadia, ii. 232.

Areopagus, ii. 13G, 305.

Aristides, ii. 296, 309.

Aristotle, ii. 262.

Argolis, ii. 232.

Artaxerxes, ii. 306.

Articles of Confederation, x. 21.

Aryans, ii. 267.

Asia Minor, ii. 234.

Asshurbanipal, i. 259.

Library, i. 208, 283, 291, 324.
Assyria — •

Settlement, i. 226.

Conquers Babylonia, i. 241.

Fall of, i. 330.
Assyrians —

Religion of, i. 310.

Palaces, i. 321.

Influence, i. 359.
Astyages, i. 336.
Athens, ii. 275.

Constitution, ii. 277, 345.

Empire, ii. 302.

Beautifying of, ii. 318.

Fall of, ii. 337.

Modern, iii. 370.
Attila, iv. 51.
Attica, ii. 232.
Augustine, v. 67.
Augustine in Britain, viii. 7.
Augustus, iv. 1 ; Deeds of, iv. 7.
Aurelius, Marcus, iv. 31.
Austrian Succession, viii. 38.
Austro-Prussian War, viii. 470.

Babylon, i. 232.

Conquest of, i. 250.

Rebuilding, i. 256.

Wonders of, i. 267.

Fall of, i. 269.

Walls of, i. 304.

Hanging Gardens, i. 305.
Babylonia —

Antiquity of, i. 202.

Excavations, i. 205.

Language of, i. 207.

Physiography, i. 212.

Products, i. 216.

City-states, i. 227.

Assyrian Conquest of, i. 241.

Revolt of, i. 260.

People of, i. 270.

523

524

HISTORICAL INDEX.

Babylonia Social Life —

Houses, i. 272.

Family Life. i. 274.

Literature, i. 283.

Learning, i. 287.

Dress, i. 293.

Religion, i. 307.

Temples, i. 312.

Labor, i. 317.

Professions, i. 322.

Military Life. i. 324.

Influence, i. 357.

Historical Sources for, i. 211.
Balboa, x. 6.
Bathsheba. i. 463.
Bastile, Fall of, viii. 446.
Becket, Thomas a, viii. 17.
Belshazzar, i. 268, 319.
Bethlehem, ii. 4.
Bernard of Clairvaux, iv. 423.
Boetia, ii. 232, 331.
Berosus, Priest, i. 211.
Bismarck, viii. 470.
Black Plague, viii. 20.
Boadicea, Queen, viii. 5.
Boule, ii. 407.
Braddock, Gen., x. 17.
Brazil, x. 7.
Bucephalus, ii. 366.
Burgundians, iv. 56.
Byzantine — See Literature and Art.
Byzantium, iv. 37.

Cabot, John, viii. 23 ; x. 7.
Cabot, Sebastian, viii. 23 ; x. 7.
Caesar, Julius, ii. 3 ; iii. 400, 480 ; iv.

121 ; viii. 4.

Caesar, Octavius, iii. 483.
Cairo, i. 182.
Calais, viii. 20.
Caledonians, viii. 5.
Calhoun, x. 29, 34.
Caligula, iv. 18.
Cambyses, i. 340, 385.
Canaanites, i. 437 ; ii. 7.
Canterbury, Bishop of, viii. 17.
Campagna, iii. 382.
Campus, Martius, ii. 136.
Capet, House of, viii. 434.
Capitoline, iii. 384.
Carbinari, vi. 372.
Carthage, i. 340, 391 ; iii. 438.
Cartier, x. 6.
Cassander, ii. 371.
Catacombs, iv. 394 ; ix. 9.
Catiline, iv. 181.
Cavour, yi. 373.
Caxton, ix. 41.
Catholic Emancipation, viii. 47.

Celts, viii. 4.
Chalcidice, ii. 326.
Chaldea, i. 201.

Prehistoric, i. 218.

Religion, i. 219.

Empire of, i. 264.
Charlemagne, iv. 55, 411, 414; v. 91;

vi. 365; viii. 432'; ix. 104.
Charles Martel, iv. 57, 409; ix. 70.
Charles I. viii. 31 ; ix. 50.
Charles II. viii. 33.
Charles VI, viii. 21.
Charles VII, viii. 21.
Charters —

Henry I. viii. 13.

Magna Charta, viii. 19.
Chivalry, v. 1.

Christianity, Early, iv. 40, 47, 418;
ix. 10. t

Christ, birth of, ii. 4; iv. 40.

Christians, iv. 45.

Church of the Sepulchre, ii. 61.
Cinon, ii. 303, 313.
Circus Maximus, iv. 95, 112.
Civil War in America, x. 38.
Claudius, iv. 19; viii. 5.
Clarendon, viii. 17.
Cleon, ii. 337.
Cleopatra, iii. 484.
Cleveland, Grover, x. 33.
Clisthenes. ii. 286.
Cloth of Gold, viii. 24.
Clovis, iv. 56.
Cnidus, ii. 347.
Cnut, viii. 9.
Codrus, ii. 277, 348.
Colbert, viii. 439.
Colonna, Vittoria, ix. 36.
Commons, House of, viii. 21.
Columba, St., viii. 7.
Columbus, i. 18; ii. 79; viii. 23; ix.

42 ;x. 3.

Condottieri, vi. 13.
Confederacy of Deles, ii. 302.
Congress of Vienna, iv. 372 ; viii.

462, 468 ; x. 31.
Conon, ii. 347.
Constantine, iv. 35; ix. 15.
Constantius, iv. 34.
Constitutions of Clarendon, viii. 1".
Constitution Convention, x. 21.
Constitution of the United States, x.

25.

Corcyra, ii. 323.
Coriolanus, iii. 412.
Corinth, ii. 323 ; iii. 456.
Cortez, x. 5.
Council —

of Constantinople, ix. 14.
of Nicaea, ix. 18.

HISTORICAL INDEX.

525

Courts —

Ecclesiastical, viii. 16.

Star Chamber, viii. 23.
Crassus, ii. 3, 292 ; iii. 477.
Crecy, viii. 20.
Croesus, i. 337.
Cromwell, viii. 33.
Crusades, ii. 60 ; iv. 451 ; iv. 456 ; v.

105.

Custer, Gen., x. 43.
Cynaxa, ii. 346.
Cyrus the Great, i. 335 ; ii. 2, 292.

Damascus, i. 376; ii. 58.

Danes, viii. 7.

Darius, i. 342 ; ii. 293, 296.

David, i. 455 ; ii. 19.

Deborah, i. 442.

Delphi, oracle, i. 337 ; ii. 93, 128, 135,

348 ; iii. 372. __
Demosthenes, ii. 265, 361.
Descent of Ishtar, i. 287.
Diocletian, i. 182; iv. 34.
Dionysia — See Drama Index.
District of Columbia, x. 26.
Dodona. ii. 102, 232.
Doge, vi. 26.

Dome of the Rock, ii. 61.
Domitian, iv. 25.
Dorians, ii. 270, 292.
Draco, ii. 279.
Dress —

Primitive, i. 24.

Egyptian, i. 93.

Babylonian, i. 293.

Greek, ii. 382.

Roman, iv. 73.
Druids, viii. 4.
Drusus, iv. 4.
Dutch Colonies, x. 13.

Edict of Nantes, viii. 439.
Edomites, i, 435.
Edward I, viii. 19.
Edward II, viii. 20.
Edward III, viii. 20.
Edward VI, viii. 25.
Edward VII, viii. 43.
Edward the Confessor, viii. 9.
Egypt, i. 15.

Antiquity of, i. 20.

Physiography of, i. 23.

Topography of, i. 26.

Prehistoric, i. 28.

Unification of, i. 37.

Descriptions of, i. 153.

Modern, i. 181.

Egyptian History —

Sources of, i. 31.

Pyramid Age, i. 37.

Old Empire, i. 37.

Middle Empire, i. 44.

Shepherd Kings, i. 51.

New Empire, i. 54.

Earliest Queen, i. 57._

Expedition to Punt, i. 59.
Egyptians — Social Life of —

Houses, i. 86.

Gardens, i. 88.

Furniture, i. 90.

Food, i. 90.

Family Life, i. 91.

Dress, i. 93.

Sports, i. 96.

Banquets, i. 98.

Occupation, i. 100.

Crafts, i. 103.

Markets, i. 106.

Military Service, i. 108.

Education, i. 113.

Literature, i. 115; v. 31.

Religion, i. 119.

Religious Ceremonies, i. 128.

Art, i. 133.

Tombs, i. 138.

Burials, i. 139.

Egyptian Exploration Fund, i. 145.
Egyptian Research Account, i. 145.
Eleusinian Mysteries, iii. 371.
Elis, ii. 233.

Elizabeth, Queen, viii. 26.
English History — .

Prehistoric, viii. 3.

Roman Period, viii. 4.

Norman Conquest, viii. 11. .

English Nationality, viii. 16.

Tudors, viii. 23.

Stuarts, viii. 29.

Civil War, viii. 33.

Restoration, viii. 34.

Hanover Kings, viii. 37.
Epidanmus, ii. 322.
Epaminondas, ii. 349.
Epirus, ii. 231.
Eretria, ii. 294.
Esarhaddon, i. 256.
Etruscans, iii. 381.
Excavations —

Egyptian, i. 144, 149; ix. 169; i.
150.

Babylonian, i. 204.

Assyrian, i. 208.

Susa, i. 276.

Nippur, i. 301.

Palestine, i. 432 ; ii. 45.

Troy, ii. 238. •

Mycenae, ii. 241.

526

HISTORICAL IND£X.

Elis, iii. 356.
Corinth, iii. 366.
Marathon, iii. 372.
Delphi, iii. 373.

Fayoum, i. 48, 149.
Feudal System, iv. 442.
Florence, Modern, iv. 395.
Florence, Descriptions of, vi. 15,

147.

Forum, Roman, iv. 28, 112, 380, 392.
Franco-Prussian War, viii. 472.
Franks, iv. 56 ; viii. 431.
Frederic William I, viii. 466.
Frederick the Great, viii. 466.
French History —

Formation of France, viii. 431.

House of Valois, viii. 434.

House of Bourbon, viii. 438.

Revolution, x. 28 ; viii. 442, 448.

The Directory, viii. 455.
French in America, x. 13.
French and Indian War, x. 27.

Galba, iv. 20.

Galileo, ii. 79.

Garibaldi, vi. 372.

Genet, x. 28. _

George I, viii. 37.

George II, viii. 38.

George III, viii. 39 ; x. 19.

George IV, viii. 40.

George V, viii. 43.

German Palestine Society, ii. 45.

German Unity, viii. 466.

Germanic Peoples, iv. 49.

Gerousia, ii. 271.

Ghibillines, vi. 11.

Godfrey of Bouillon, iv. 454.

Golden Book, vi. 27.

Goths, iv.,49.

Gracchi, iii. 468.

Greece, ii. 229.

Greece — Social Life —

Cities, ii. 375.

Houses, ii. 377.

Dress, ii. 382.

Food, ii. 387.

Position of Women, ii. 394.

Education, ii. 396, 401.

Civic Training, ii. 406.

Sports, ii. 410.

Occupations, ii. 414.

Religion, ii. 421.

Spartan Life, ii. 426.

Festivals, iii. 357.
Greek Church, ix. 21.
Greek Cities, revolt of, i. 343.

Greek History —

Sources of, ii. 262.

Migrations, ii. 265.

Sparta, ii. 269.

Athens, ii. 275.

City-States, ii. 288.

Persian War, ii. 292.

Athenian Empire, ii. 302.

Pelopennesian War, ii. 322.

Fall of Athens, ii. 337.

Spartan Supremacy, ii. 345,

Theban Supremacy, ii. 347.
Gregory the Great, v. 67.
Guelfs, vi. 11.
Guilds, vi. 16; vii. 25.
Gunpowder Plot, viii. 30.

Hadrian, iv. 30.
Halicarnassus, ii. 262.
Hall of Pillars, i. 70.
Hamilton, Alexander, x. 24.
Hammurabi, i. 232.

Code of, i. 276, 317.
Hamilcar, iii. 445.
Hannibal, i. 392; iii. 446.
Hapi, i. 123.
Harold, viii. 11.
Hastings, battle of, viii. 11.
Hatshepsut, i. 58, 70.
Hayne, x. 35, 51.
Hebrews —

Taboos, i. 29.

Exodus, i. 453.
Hebrew History —

Sources of, i. 426.

Era of Judges, i. 441.

Morality, i. 448.

Kingdom, i. 453.

Babylonian Exile, ii. 1.

Later History, ii. 3.
Hebrew Social Life, ii. 7.
Helen of Troy, ii. 142.
Hellas, ii. 87.
Hellenizing of Ancient World, ii.

370.

Hengist, viii. 6.
Henry I, viii. 13.
Henry II, viii. 16.
Henry III, viii. 19.
Henry VII, viii. 23.
Henry VIII, viii. 24.
Henry, Patrick, x. 19, 45.
Heracleopolis, i. 44.
Herculaneum, iv. 25, 391.
Herod, ii. 3.
HerodoWs, i. 22, 31, 34, 200, 212, 262,

328, 336, 341 ; iii. 149.
Hesiod, ii. 86.
Hezekiah, i. 248, 479.

HISTORICAL INDEX.

527

HipparchU§, ii. 286.
Hippias, ii. 286.
Hiram, i. 382.
Historical Addresses-
Call to Arms, x. 45.

Boston's Place in History, x. 48.

Hayne- Webster Debate, x. 51.

Gettysburg Speech, x. 73.

Lincoln's Second Inaugural Ad-
dress, x. 74.

The Martyr President, x. 76.

The New South, x. 79.
Kittites, i. 374.

Hohenstaufen Rulers, vi. 367.
Holstein, viii. 470.
Homer, ii. 86, 94.
Homeric Women, ii. 395.
Honorius, iy. 50.
Horatius, iii. 411.

Horizon of Solar Disk, i. 146, 235.
Horsa, viii. 6.
Horsea, i. 473.
Huguenots, viii. 436, 439.
Humanists, vi. 8; ix. 65.
Hundred Years War, v. 2; viii. 16,

20, 434.
Huns, iv. 51.

Iconoclasm, vi. 364; ix. 18.

Indians, i. 18, 25; x. 15.

lonians, ii. 233.

Ionic Cities, ii. 294.

Irene, iv. 58.

Isabella of Castile, x. 3.

Isocrates, ii. 359.

Italy, iii. 378; iv. 387; vi. 363, 370.

Jackson, Andrew, x. 33.

Jacobius, viii. 450.

Jahweh, i. 436.

James I, viii. 29.

James II, viii. 34.

Jamestown, x. 10, 184.

Janiculum, iii. 390.

Jay, John, x. 28.

Jefferson, Thomas, x. 24, 30.

Jephthah, i. 446 ; ii. 14.

Jericho, i. 437.

Jerusalem, siege of, i. 266, 460, 477.

Fall of, i. 481.

Rebuilt, ii. 2.

Destruction, ii. 4.
Jews, ii. 6.
Joan of Arc, viii. 20.
John, King, viii. 18.
Jonathan, i. 455.
Joppa, ii. 60.

Jordan, i. 412.
Joseph, story of, i. 20.
Judah, Revolt, i. 247.
Judea, i. 411.
Julius, ii. 9, 34.
Julian the Apostate, iv. 47.
Justinian, iv. 54.
Jutes, iv. 56.

Karnak, i. 69, 159.
Kentucky Resolutions, x. 29.
Khufu, i. 39.

King George's War, x. 15.
King William's War, x. 15.
Knighthood — See Chivalry.
Knights Templars, viii. 434.
Koran, i. 181.

Labyrinth, i. 48, 151.

Laconians, ii. 325.

Lake Regillus, iii. 422.

Lancaster, House of, viii. 16.

Lars Porsena, iii. 410.

Laurium, ii. 310.

League of Augsburg, viii. 439.

Lebanon, i. 379.

Legion of Honor, ix. 93.

Leo X, ix. 35.

Lepidus, iii. 476, 482.

Leonidas, ii. 297.

Leuctra, ii. 349.

Lincoln, Abraham, x. 37, 73.

Lombards, iv. 56; vi. 363.

London, viii. 42.

Lotus, i. 136.

Louis XIII, viii. 438.

Louis XIV, viii. 439.

Louis XV, viii. 440.

Louis XVI. viii. 444.

Louis Philippe, viii. 463.

Louisiana, x. 16.

Louisiana Purchase, x. 30, 160.

Luxor, i. 73.

Lyceum, ii. 406.

Lycurgus, ii. 270.

Lydia, i. 292, 337.

Lysander, ii. 346.

Maccabees, ii. 3.
Macedonia —

Rise of, 354.

Phalanx, ii. 357.
Mafia, vi. 376.
Magna Grsecia, iii. 429.
Mamertine Prison, iv. 392.
Manetho, i. 32, 37.

528

HISTORICAL INDEX.

Marathon, ii. 295, 310 ; iii. 154, 372.

Marco Polo, v. 21.

Marius, iii. 472.

Matilda, Countess, yi. 15.

Matilda, Queen, viii. 14.

Marie Antoinette, viii. 450.

Mary, Queen, viii. 26.

Maryland, x. 12.

Maximilian, ix. 67.

Mayflower, x. 11.

Mazarin, viii. 439.

Mecca, i. 184; ii. 62; iv. 56.

Medes —

History, i. 328.

Palaces, i. 329.

Religion, i. 331.
Megaron, ii. 377.
Melos, ii. 338.
Memphis —

Founding, i. 37.

Description, i. 161.
Menelaus, ii. 142.
Menes. i. 37 ; i. 38.
Merovingian Kings, viii. 432.
Mesopotamia, i. 202, 214.
Metternick, viii. 462, 469.
Middle Ages, iv. 408.

Institutions of, iv. 476.

Chivalry, v. 1.

Stories of, v. 61.
Midianites, i. 436.
Miltiades, ii. 295.
Missouri Compromise, x. 36.
Mithridates, iii. 475 ; iv. 183.
Moabites, i. 435, 446.
Mohammed, iv. 56.
Monasteries, ix. 21.
Monasticism, iv. 422.
Mohammedans, ix. 70.
Montfort, Simon de, viii. 19.
Monroe Doctrine, x. 31.
Monroe, James, x. 31.
Moors, v. 126 ; ix. 70 ; x. 5.
Moses, i. 80, 436, 452.
Mount of Olives, ii. 591.
Mycenae, ii. 233, 238.

Nabopolasser, i. 265.
Napoleon, vi. 372; viii. 39, 455; x.
161.

Defeat of, viii. 462.
National Assembly, viii. 445.
Naxos, ii. 305.
Nebuchadnezzar, i. 236, 306, 384,

481 ; ii. 1.
Neccho, i, 399.
Necker, viii. 444.
Necropolis, i. 82, 139.
Nelson, viii. 39.

Nemea, ii. 233.

Neolithic, i. 17.

Nero, Golden House of, iv. 71, 269.

Nerva, iv. 27.

New England, x. 11.

New Forest Laws, viii. 12.

New France, x. 16.

Nicias, ii. 338.

Nile, i. 23.

Rise of, i. 25.

Worship of, i. 121.
Nineveh, i. 203.
Norman Conquest, viii 11, 14.
Nullification, x. 29, 34.
Numa Pompilius, iii. 390 ; iv. 381.

Odeum, ii. 320.

Olympian Games, i. 32; ii. 105, 290;

iii. 347, 356, 369.
Ordeals, iv. 451, 464.
Ornaments —

Egyptian, i. 104.

Prehistoric, i. 25.

Greek, ii. 383.

Roman, iv. 75.
Ostracism, ii. 312.
Ostrogoths, iv. 49, 56; vi. 363.

Palatine, iii. 384.
Paleolithic Age, i. 16.
Palestine, i. 408.

Modern, ii. 58.

Palestine Exploration Fund, ii. 45.
Papacy, iv. 420.
Papyrus, Harris, i. 81.
Paris, ii. 141.
Parliament, viii. 19.
Parthenon ii. 121, 319; iii. 349.
Parthians, iv. 30.
Parsis, i. 352.
Pater Familias, iv. 59.
Patricians, iii. 395.
Pausanians, ii. 233, 264, 303.
Peace of God, iv. 452.
Pelasgians, ii. 354.
Pelopidus, ii. 34P.
Peloponnesus, ii. 232.
Peloponnesian War, ii. 263, 322.
Perdiccas, ii. 355, 369.
Pericles, ii. 305, 314, 399.
Perioeci, ii. 304.
Persia, i. 332.

History, i. 333.

Religion, i. 350.
Persian War, ii. 292.
Peru, x. 8.
Phidias, ii. 104, 110, 121, 232, 307,

319; iii. 384.

HISTORICAL INDEX

529

Philip II of Macedonia, ii. 355; iii.

211.

Philip the Fair, vi. 368 ; viii. 433.
Philippii iii. 484.
Philistines, i. 250, 437, 453 ; ii. 7.
Phoenicia, i.^341, 378.

Religion, i. 405.

Learning, ii. 293.
Phoenician Ships, viii. 2.
Picts, viii. 4. _
Pilgrimages, iv. 453.
Pippin, vi. 365; viii. 482.
Piranis, ii. 320, 375; iii. 362.
Pisa. vi. 20.
Pisistratns, ii. 284.
Plantagenets, viii. 16.
Platcea, ii. 295, 299, 331, 337.
Plebeians, iii. 395.
Pliny the Elder, i. 400.
Poitiers, viii. 20.
Polo, Marco, x. 3.
Pompadour, Madame, ix. 161.
Pompey, ii. 3; iii. 476.
Ponce de Leon, x. 6.
Potidaea, ii. 326.
Prehistoric Man, i. 28.
Prehistoric Period, i. 14.
Pretorian Guards, iv. 17, 22, 30, 34.
Principate, iv. 1.
Prussia, viii. 466.
Ptolemy, ii. 3, 370 ; iii. 480.
Pyramids, i. 39.
Pyramids, Battle of, viii. 456.

Rameses the Great, i. 74.
Rameses III, i. 80.
Raymond of Toulouse, iv. 455.
Reformation, ii. 31 ; viii. 24, 436 ; ix.

53.

Rehoboam,' i. 469.
Renaissance, vi. 1.

Italian, vi. 10.

Revolution, French, viii. 442.
Revolution, American, x. 20.
Richard the Lion-Hearted, vii. 18;

x. 2.

Richelieu, viii. 338.
Rienzi, vi. 370.
Roanoke, x. 9.

Robert of Normandy, iv. 454.
Rome, History of—

Founding of, iii. 383.

Kingdom, iii. 386.

Republic, iii. 399.

Decemvirs, iii. 403.

Laws, iii. 404.

Conquest of. 410.

Conquest of Italy, iii. 426.

Government, iii. 432.

X-34

Punic Wars, iii. 438.

Eastern Conquests, iii. 455.

Social War, iii. 473.

Principate, iv. 1.

Decline of Principate, iv. 27.

Fall of, iv, 47.
Rome, Social Life of —

Family, iv. 59.

Weddings, iv. 61.

Houses, iv. 66.

Dress, iv. 73.

Meals, iv. 77.

Childhood, iv. 83.

Toys, iv. 85.

Education, iv. 87.

Literature, iv. 102.

Occupations, iv. 106.

Slavery, iv. 103.

Army, iv. 121.

Burial Customs, iv. 125.
Roses, War of, viii. 12, 21.

Salamis, i. 343; ii. 298.
Samaria, i. 411.
Samuel, i. 454.
Sardis, ii. 294.
Sargon, i. 230.
Saul, i. 454.
Savonarola, ix. 25.
Saxons, iv. 56; viii. 6.
Scarabs, i. 141.
Schleswig, viii. 470.
Scipio, iii. 452.
Schliemann, ii. 236; iii. 363.
Segesta, ii. 341.
Sejanus, iv. 17.
Seleucidae, ii. 370.
Seleucus, ii. 369.
Semitic Invasions, i. 52j 224
Sennacherib, i. 249.

Palace of, i. 302, 477.
Servius, Tullius, iii. 391.
Seti, i. 70.

Seven Years War, viii. 39.
Sharon, Plain of, i. 409, 446.
Shay's Rebellion, x. 21.
Sicilian Expedition, ii. 339.
Sicily, iv. 389.
Sidon, i. 380.
Sixtus, ix. 121.
Slavery, x. 35.
Smerdis, i. 341.
Smith, John, x. 4, 10.
Solar Disk. i. 68.
Solomon, i. 382, 463.
Solon, ii. 277.

South Sea Company, viii. 37.
Spain, x. 4, 8.
Spanish Armada, viii. 27.

530

HISTORICAL INDEX.

Sparta, ii. 233, 269, 304, 323, 337, 345,

348.

Modern, iii. 369.
Spartans i. 343 ; ii. 426.
Sphinx, i. 130.
Spoil System, x. 33.
Spurius Cassius, iii. 402.
St. Benedict, iv. 434.
St. Bernard, viii. 394 ; ix. 26.
St. Bruno, ix. 161.
St. Francis, v. 14; vii. 394; ix. 23.
St. Mark, vi. 26.
St. Peter, iv. 393 ; vi. 26.
St. Theodore, vi. 26.
Stamp Act, x. 18.
State Sovereignty, x. 29, 34.
States General, viii. 444.
Stephen, viii. 14.
Stilicho, iv. 50.
Stone Age, i. 17.
Strabo, i. 48, 264.
Suez Canal, i. 187.
Sulla, iii. 473.
Syria, i. 372.

Taboo, i. 29, 312.

Tel-el Amarna Letters, i. 145, 202,

235, 373; ii. 47.
Temples —

Egyptian, i.,125.

Solomon's, ii. 9.
Teutons, iv. 409.
Texas, x. 36.
Thebes, i. 45 ; ii. 330.

Description, i. 70.

Ascendency, ii. 347.

Supremacy, ii. 348.
Themistocles, ii. 296, 303, 309.
Theodoric, iv. 54.
Theodorius, iv. 49.
Thermopylae, i. 343 ; ii. 297.
Thessaly, ii. 231.
Thirty Tyrants, ii. 346.
Thirty Year Truce, ii. 318.
Thucydides, ii. 263, 273, 322, 327, 340.
Thutmose I, i. 55.
Thutmose III, i. 62, 237.
Tiber, iii. 387.
Tiberius, iv. 4, 15.
Tiglath Pileser I, i. 238.
Tiglath Pileser III, i. 245, 475.
Tiryus, ii. 258.
Titus, ii. 6.
Tiy, Queen, i. 67.
Tournament — See Chivalry.
Tours, iv. 57 ; v. 3 ; ix. 70.
Trafalgar, viii. 39.
Trajan, iv. 27.
Treaties —

Wedmore, v. 67, 81 ; viii. 8.

Aix la Chapelle, viii. 38.

Truce of God, iv. 452.

Tudor, House of. viii. 23.

Tuileries, viii. 451.

Tullus Hostilius, iii. 390 ; iv. 382.

Turgot, viii. 444.

Tyler, Wat, viii. 22.

Tyre, Siege of, i. 257, 380 ; i. 403.

Ulysses, ii. 176, 185, 259.
United States, ii. 304.
United States History —

Discovery and Exploration, x. 2.

Age of Settlement, x. 8.

Colonies, x. 12.

Beginnings of a Nation, x. 15.

Articles of Confederation, x. 21.

Adoption of Constitution, x. 24.

The Republic, x. 26.

War of 1812, x. 30.

From Jackson to Lincoln, x. 33.

Cival War, x. 38.

Reconstruction Period, x. 39.
UtSca, i. 390.
Ur Dynasty, i. 230.

Valens, iv. 49.
Valois. House of, viii. 434.
Vandals, iv. 51, 56.
Vatican, iv. 393; ix. 34, 120.
Venice, yi. 24.

Description, vi. 156.

Grand Canal, vi. 163.
Vespasian, ii. 4.
Vespucci, Amerigo, x. 7.
Vesuvius, Eruption of, iv. 25.
Via Sacra, ii. 6; iv. 112. 381.
Victor Emmanuel, vi. 373.
Victoria, viii. 40.
Virginia, x. 10.
Virginian Resolutions, x. 29.
Visigoths, iv. 49. 56.

Walpole, viii. 38.
Washington, George, x. 17, 26.
Waterloo, viii. 39.
Webster, Daniel, x. 35, 59.
William IV. viii. 40.
William the Norman, yiii. 11, 433.
William of Orange, viii. 35.
William I of Prussia, viii. 470.
William Rufus. viii. 13.
Witan, viii. 9, 12.

Xenophon, i. 328, 336 ; ii. 263, 346.

415; iii. 159, 174.
Xerxes, i. 343 ; iii. 296.

York, viii. 16.
Zoroaster, i. 341.

INDEX OF LITERATURE

Abou Ben Adhem, viii. 248.

Achitophel, viii. 156.

Addison, viii. 382.

Adventures of the Exile Sanehat, i.

171.

Aeneid, iv. 234, 255.
Aeschines, iii. 202.
Aeschylus, ii. 265, 299 ; iii. 2.
Aesop, iii. 145.
Aesop, poem, iii. 148.
Agamemnon, play, iii. 11.
Alcaeus, ii. 477 ; iii. 225.
Aldrich, Thos. B., x. 438.
Alexander's Feast, viii. 159.
Alfieri, vi. 479.
A Little Journey in the World, x.

473.

Allegories, v. 103.
Amandis di Gaula, vi. 233.
Ambitious Guest, The, x. 324.
American Fiction —

Bret Harte, x. 489.

Charles Dudley Warner, x. 473.

Helen Hunt Jackson, x. 498.

Henry James, x. 482.

James Fenimore Cooper, x. 304.

Nathaniel Hawthorne, x. 322.

Washington Irving, x. 279.

W. D. Howells, x. 466.
American Literature —

General Survey, x. 247.

Colonial Literature, x. 255.

Benj. Franklin, x. 270.

Washington Irving, x. 279.

James Fenimore Cooper, x. 304.

Nathaniel Hawthorne, x. 322.

Ralph Waldo Emerson, x. 348.

American Fiction, x. 466.

American Poetry, x. 363.
American Poetry —

William Cullen Bryant, x. 363.

Henry W. Longfellow, x. 372.

James Russell Lowell, x. 396.

Oliver Wendell Holmes, x. 408

Edgar Allen Poe, x. 412.

John G. Whittier, x. 421.

Thos. Bailey Aldrich, x. 438.

Bayard Taylor, x. 441.

Edwin Markham, x. 445.

Eugene Field, x. 447.

Joaquin Miller, x. 450.

Walt Whitman, x. 452.

E. Clarence Stedman, x. 458.

Sidney Lanier, x. 460.

James Whitcomb Riley, x. 462.

Sam Weller Foss, x. 463.

Emily Dickinson, x. 465.
Amis and Amile, vi. 174.
Amos, i. 472 ; ii. 43.
Anabasis, iii. 159.
Anacreon, ii. 477 ; iii. 243.
Ancient Mariner, viii. 257, 263.
Angelo, Michael, vi. 128.
Anglo-Saxon, v. 67.
Annunzio, vii. 284.
Apocalypse, ix. 19.
Apocryphal Books, ii. 39.
Archilochus, ii. 474.
Areopagitica, viii. 34.
Ariosto, vi. 380.
Aristopheus, ii. 265 ; iii. 63.
Aristotle, ii. 227,285; iii. 111.
Arnold, Mathew, viii. 320.
At Nijnii-Novgorod, x. 439.
Atys, iv. 211.

Aucassin et Nicolete, v. 3, 201.
Aurelius, Marcus, iii. 318 ; iv. 31.
Aurora Leigh, viii. 331.
Austen, Jane, ix. 225.
Autumn, viii. 179.

Bacchae, play, iii. 45.

Bacon, Francis, viii. 366.

Balaam, Story of, ii. 14.

Balder, Death of, v. 194.

Ballad of East and West, viii. 352.

Ballads, viii. 99.

Balzac, ix. 443.

Bandello, vi. 430.

Bardi Circle, vi. 447.

Barker's Luck, x. 489.

Beaumont, vii. 154.

Beauty of Life, viii. 408.

Bede, The Venerable, v. 69.

Beowulf, ii. 431 ; v. 61.

Berkeley, Bishop, x. 266.

Berkeley, Robert x. 255.

Bible, i. 426 ; ii, 12.

Bion, iii. 259.

Blessed Damozel, The, viii. 325.

Boccaccio, vi. 7, 67.

Boiardo, vi. 112.

Book of the Dead, i. 115, 142, 168.

531

532

INDEX OF LITERATURE.

Bostonians, The, x. 482.

Bradstreet, Mrs. Anne, x. 256, 262.

Break, Break, Break, viii. 292.

Brotherhood, x. 446.

Browning, Elizabeth, viii. 331.

Browning, Robt. viii. 294; v. 477.

Bryant, x. 250, 363.

Bulwer-Lytton, ix. 318.

Bunyan, viii. 34, 360.

Burdette, Robt., x. 246.

Burns, viii. 196.

Butterfly, The, x. 446.

Byron, viii. 208.

By the Balboa Seas, x. 451.

Caedmon, v. 69.
Caesar, iv. 185, 222.
Callimachus, iii. 265.
Callinus, poet, ii. 470.
Canadian Boat Song, viii. 252.
Canterbury Tales, viii. 61.
Captive, The, iv. 146.
Carlyle, viii. 389.
Castiglione, vi. 121 ; vii. 55.
Catullus, iv. 182, 204.
Cavalier Tunes, viii. 309.
Cellini, vi. 135, 145.
Centennial Hymn, x. 99.
Centennial, The, x. 90.
Cervantes, vi. 240.
Chambered Nautilus, x. 410.
Chant of the Arval Brothers, iv.

137, 143.

Chanson de Roland, v. 93.
Chansons de Geste, v. 93.
Chaucer, viii. 14, 22, 57.
Chaucer, poem, x. 377.
Chesterfield, Lord, v. 402.
Chevy Chase, viii. 99.
Chiabrera, vi. 448.
Childe Harold, viii. 209.
Cicero, iv. 183, 191.
Cid, The, v. 128, 131.
Cinthio, vi. 397.
Clarissa Harlowe, ix. 197.
Cleanthes, iii. 277.
Cloister and the Hearth ix. 47, 309.
Cloud, The, a poem, viii. 230.
Clouds, The, play, iii. 70.
Coleridge, viii. 255.
Colonna, Vittoria, vi. 126.
Columbian Ode, x. 100.
Comus, ii. 126 ; viii. 137.
Congreve, vii. 168.
Contentment, x. 411.
Cooper, James R, x. 249, 304.
Corneille, vii. 215.
Cotter's Saturday Night, viii. 200.

Courtier, The, vi. 121.
Courts of Love, v. 110.
Crossing the Bar, viii. 293.
Cry of the Children, viii. 338.
Cyclopean Walls, poem, ii. 246.
Cynewulf, v. 78.

Dante, vi. 5, 30, 368.

Daphnis and Chloe, v. 49.

Darwin, vii. 443.

David's Lament, i. 457.

Death of the Flowers, The, x. 367.

Decameron, vi. 78.

Deer Slayer, The, x. 306.

DeFoe, viii. 34; ix. 180.

Deluge. Chaldean Ace. of, i. 284,

291, 361.

De Monarchi, vi. 368.
Demosthenes, ii. 265, 361; iii. 161,

209.

Derelict, The, viii. 351.
Descent of Ishtar, i. 287.
Deserted Village, viii. 191.
Destruction of Sennacherib, i. 478.
Diana of the Crossways. ix. 335.
Dickens, Charles, ix. 250.
Dickinson, Emily, x. 465.
Dinias and Dercyllis, v. 49.
Divine Comedy, vi. 21, 40.
Don Quixote, vi. 240.
Doni, vi. 441.
Dostoievsky, ix. 502.
Drinking Song, ii. 165.
Dryden, vii, 153, 168.
Dumas, ix. 431.

Ecclesiasticus, ii. 41.
Eclogues, iv. 233, 244.
Eddas, v. 177, 187.
Edgeworth, Maria, ix. 225.
Edwards, Jonathan, x. 257.
Egyptian Literature, i. 117; v. 31.
Egyptian Princess, An, i. 154, 156.
Elegy in a Country Churchyard, viii.

185.

Eliot, George, ix. 283.
Emerson, Ralph W., v. 440; x. 348.
Endymion, ii. 133.
English Literature —

General Survey, viii. 49.

Chaucer, viii. 57.

Spenser, viii. 106.

Milton, viii. 127.

Dryden, viii. 153.

Pope, viii. 164.

Thomson, viii. 173.

Goldsmith, viii, 189.

INDEX OP LITERATURE

533

Byron, viii, 208.

Shelley, viii, 225.

Keats, viii. 236.

Coleridge, viii. 255.

Wordsworth, viii. 263.

Tennyson, viii. 276.

Browning, viii. 294.

Swinburne, viii. 315.

Arnold, viii. 320.

Minor 18th Century Poets, viii.
331

Prose Writers, viii. 360.

Later Prose Writers, viii. 389.
Ennius Quintus, iv. 13U, 143.
Epicurus, iv. 189.
Epictetus, iii. 316.
Essay on Man, viii. 171.
Essays, Bacon, viii. 373.
Esther, ii. 36.
Eupheus, vii. 75.
Euripides, ii. 265, 399.
Evangeline, x. 384.
Ezekiel, i. 393.
Fabliaux, v. 117.
Faerie Queene, viii. 116, 173.
Faust, vii, 337.
Federalist, The, x. 269.
Fiction, Egyptian, v. 31.
Fiction, English —

Beginning of, ix. 186.

Richardson, ix. 196.

Fielding, ix. 206.

Austen, ix. 225.

Historical Novel, ix. 226
19th Century-
Dickens, ix. 249.

Thackeray, ix. 269.

Eliot, ix. 283.

Reade, ix. 308.
Recent Fiction —

Meredith, ix. 334.

Hardy, ix. 345.

Stevenson, ix. 363.
Fiction, French, v. 100.

Beginnings of, ix. 375.
18th Century—

Prevost, ix. 382.

Voltaire, ix. 393.

Rousseau, ix. 403.

Hugo, ix. 409.

Dumas, ix. 431.

Balzac, ix. 443.
Fiction, Greek, v. 49.
Fiction, Polish —

Early Polish Fiction, ix. 461.

Sienkiewicz, ix. 463.
Fiction, Renaissance, vi. 67.
Fiction, Russian —

19th Century, ix. 476.

Gogol, ix. 482.

Turgenieff, ix. 488.

Tolstoy, ix. 510.
Fiction, Spanish, vi. 231.
Field, Eugene, x. 447.
Fielding, ix. 196, 206.
Filicaja, vi. 454.
Finding of the Lyre, ii. 153.
Fiorentino, vi. 103.
Fishing Party, The, x. 461.
Flamenca, v. 113.
Fletcher, vii. 154.
Folk-lore, ii. 32.
Forest Children, iv. 398.
Foscalo, vi. 496.
Foss, Sam Weller, x. 463.
Founding of Thebes, ii. 351.
Fra Lippo Lippi, viii, 298.
Franklin, Benj., x. 248, 269, 270.
French Revolution, viii. 392.
Froissart, v. 2, 13, 216; vi. 184.

Garden of Persephone, ii. 189.
Garden of Roses, The, v. 161.
Gaskell Elizabeth, ix. 310.
German Literature, viii. 474.
Georgics, The, iv. 233.
Gil Bias, ix. 375.
Gilgamish Epic, i. 361.
Goblin La Laugh, The, x. 447.
Gods of Greece, poem, ii. 74.
Goethe, vii. 331.
Gogol, ix. 482.
Goldoni, vi. 468.
Goldsmith, viii. 189; ix. 197.
Gower, viii. 96.
Gracchi, iv. 140.
Grave by the Lake, x. 424.
Gray, viii. 184.
Grecian Urn, viii. 237.
Greek Literature —

Beginning of, ii. 429.

Homeric, ii. 437.

Lyric, ii. 469.

Early Prose, iii. 145.

Later Prose, iii. 159.

Orations, iii. 197.

Byzantine, iii. 324.

Romances, iii. 327.
Greene, Robert, vii. 83.
Gudron, v. 160.
Gulliver's Travels, ix. 187.
Gyges and Asshurbanipal, i. 372.

Hardy, Thos., ix. 345.

Harp that Once through Tara's

Hall, viii. 252.
Harte, Bret, x. 489.
Hauptmann, vii. 371, 380.
Hawthorne, x. 322.

534

INDEX OF

Hebe, poem, ii. 113.

Hebrew Drama, ii. 23.

Hebrew Fiction, ii. 30.

Hebrew Philosophy, ii. 39.

Hebrew Poetry, ii. 12.

Heine, viii. 485.

Helen at the Loom, iii. 359.

Heliodorus, v. 49.

Hellas, poem, ii. 374.

Henley, viii. 346.

Henry, Patrick, x. 269.

Hermesianax, iii. 279.

Herondas, iii. 281.

Hesiod, ii. 26/2, 384, 431, 464.

Heywood, vii. 47.

Holmes, Oliver W.f x. 90, 408.

Holy Grail, v. 117.

Homeric Poems, ii. 247, 387, 437.

Horace, iv. 236, 242, 261.

Horatius, poem, iii. 416.

House of Seven Gables, x. 332.

Howells, William D., x. 466.

Hugo, Victor, ix. 409.

Human Life, viii. 323.

Hundred Ancient Tales, vi. 71.

Hunt, Leigh, viii. 245.

Hymn of Apollo, ii. 123.

Ibsen, vii. 297.

I Stood Tip Toe upon a Hill, viii.
239

Iliad,' ii. 136, 236, 247, 387, 431, 440.

II Penseroso, viii. 127.
In All, Myself, x. 453.
Ingelow, Jean, viii. 341.
In Memoriam, viii. 287.
In Poppy Fields, x. 447.
Intimations of Immortality, viii. 268.
Iphigenia, iii. 56.

Iris, poem, ii. 111.
Irish Melodies, viii. 249.
Irving, Washington, x. 249, 279, 283.
Ishtar's Descent to Hades, i. 367.
Isles of the Blest, ii. 194.
Isocrates, ii. 359 ; iii. 161, 197.
Italian Literature, Modern, vi. 379.
Ivanhoe, ix. 229.

Jackson, Helen Hunt, x. 498.

James, Henry, x. 482.

Jasher, i. 438; ii. 13.

Jerusalem Delivered, vi. 416.

Job, Book of, ii. 23.

Jonah, ii. 36.

Jonson, Ben, vii. 56, 149.

Josephus, i. 431, 453; ii. 4; iii. 287.

Joshua, Book of, ii. 12.

Judges, Book of, i. 441.
Judith, v. 70.
Juvenal, iv. 272, 367.

Keats, viii. 236.

Kenilworth, ix. 228, 237.

King Arthur, Legends of, v. 117;

viii. 278.

Kingsley, iv. 398, 425; ix. 310.
Kipling, Rudyard, v. 497; viii. 1.

350; ix. 364.
Knight's Tale, viii. 74.

Lalla Rookh, viii. 251.

L' Allegro, viii. 127, 130.

Langland, viii. 87.

Lanier, Sidney, x. 460.

Last Days of Pompeii, ix. 319.

L'Envoi, v. 497.

Le Gallienne, ix. 371.

Le Sage, ix. 375.

Lessing, vii. 317.

Les Miserables, ix. 409.

Libanius, iii. 337.

Little Boy Blue, x. 448.

Livy, iii. 386; iv. 238, 296.

Longfellow, x. 372.

Longus, v. 49.

Lorelei, ii. 177.

Lost Leader, The, viii. 297.

Love Among the Ruins, viii. 312.

Lowell James R., vii. 424 ; x. 396.

Louis XIV, Age of, vii. 237.

Love's Young Dream, viii. 250.

Lucan, iv. 337.

Lucian, iii. 310.

Lucilius, iv. 140.

Lucretius, iv. ^41, 186.

Lyly, John, vii. 75.

Lyric, ii. 469.

Machiayelli, vi. 107.

Maeterlinck, vii. 268.

Maffei, vi. 459.

Mandelay, viii. 352.

Manzoni, vi. 503.

Marlowe, vii. 97, 338.

Marriage of Cupid and Psyche, ii.

147.

Martial, iv. 270, 361.
Martin Chuzzlewit, ix. 258.
Mather, Cotton, x. 256, 265.
Medea, play, iii% 51.
Medea, Seneca, iv. 332.
Meleager, iii. 298.
Memorabilia, iii. 160, 190.

INDKX OF

535

Menander, iii. 63, 82.
Meredith, George, ix. 334.
Metamorphoses, iv. 237.
M'etastasio, vi. 461.
Miller, Joaquin, x. 450.
Mill on the Floss, ix. 285.
Milton, John, ii. 126, 137; viii. 34,

127.

Mimnermus, ii. 472.
Minnesingers, v. 163.
Miracles, poem, x. 463.
Moliere, vii. 215, 238._
Monk as a Civilizer, iv. 425.
Monroe, Harriet, x. 102.
Montaigne, vi. 210.
Moore, Thomas, viii. 249.
Moorish Ballads, vi. 226.
Morot, vi. 219.
Morris, William, viii. 408.
Moschus, iii. 262.
Mountain Glory, viii. 403.
Miiller, viii, 493.
My Lost Youth, x. 375.

Naevius, iv, 139.

Napoleon at Gotha, poem, x. 442.
Narcissus, poem, ii. 107.
New Atlantis, viii. 370.
Newcomes, The, ix. 275.
New England, poem, x, 261.

Ode to a Grecian Urn, viii. 237.
Odes, Horace, iv. 264.
Odium Theolgicum, x. 462.
Odyssey, ii. 185, 236, 247, 387, 431,

454; iii. 362; iv. 138.
OEdipus the King, play, iii. 34.
Oh, Captain 1 My Captain ! x. 457.
Old Curiosity Shop, ix. 264.
Old Testament, ii. 12.
One's Self I Sing, poem, x. 456. '
Open Window, The, x. 374.
Origin of the Harp, viii. 259.
Orlando, vi. 383.
Ovid, iv, 236, 275.

Psean of Joy, poem, x. 454.

Palestine, poem, ii. 8.

Pamela, ix. 196.

Paradise Lost, viii. 127, 132.

Parciyal, v. 121.

Parini, vi. 476.

Paul Revere's Ride, x. 378.

Peele, George, vii. 91.

Pellico, vi. 499.

Pentaur's Poem, i. 75

Pericles, ii. 333; iii. 166.

Persephone, poem, ii. 160.

Petrarch, vi. 6, 58.

Petronius, iv. 345.

Phaedon, iii. 134.

Phaedrus, iv. 322.

Phidias to Pericles, iii. 353.

Philemon, iii. 63, 83.

Philosophy, Greek, iii. 87.

Pickwick Papers, ix. 253.

Pictor, Cjuintus Fabius, iv. 140.

Piers Plowman, viii. 87.

Pierre Vidal, v. 111.

Pilgrim's Progress, viii. 361.

Pilot, The, x. 304.

Pindar, ii. 264, 478; iii. 233.

Pioneers, The, x. 304.

Pippa Passes, v. 477.

Plautus, iv. 139, 160.

Plato, ii. 415; iii. 95, 106.

Pliny the Elder, iv. 71, 103, 271, 354.

Pliny the Younger, iv. 271, 365.

Plowman's Creed, The, viii. 95.

Plutarch, ii. 263 ; iii. 305.

Poet's Song, The, viii. 285.

Polybius, ii. 263; iii. 456.

Pope, Alexander, viii. 164.

Porto, vi. 122.

Portrait, A, viii. 265.

Portrait, The, poem, viii. 332.

Praise of Famous Men, ii. 54.

Precepts of Ptah-hotep i, 117, 164.

Princess, The, viii. 279.

Prisoner of Chillon, viii. 215.

Prometheus, ii. 98; iii, 6.

Propertius, iv. 236, 294.

Prophets, Hebrew, ii. 42.

Provost, ix. 382.

Psalms, ii. 16.

Put Yourself in His Place, ix. 311.

Queen of the Air, ii. 116.

Rabelais, vi. 193.
Racine, vii. 215, 227.
Rape of the Lock, viii. 167.
Reade, Charles, ix. 308, 311.
Recessional, The, viii. 359.
Renaissance —
"Italian, vi. 30.

French, vi. 170.

Spanish, vi. 222.
Republic, The, iii. 116.
Republic, The, iv. 200.
Reynard the Fox, v. 125.
Richardson, ix. 196.
Richter, viii. 474.

INDEX OF

Riley, James Whitcomb, x. 462. .
Rip Van Winkle, x. 280.
Rise of Silas Lapham, x. 466.
Robinson Crusoe, ix. 187.
Roland, Song of, v. 3, 91.
Romance of the Rose, v. 103; vi.

171.
Romance of the Swan's Nest, viii.

335.

Romances, Greek, v. 49.
Romans, iv. 130

Early, iv. 137.

Age of Cicero, iv. 183.

Age oi Augustine, iv. 233.

Later Writings, iv. 269.
Rome, poem, iii. 377.
Romolo, ix. 284, 291.
Romona, x. 498.
Rossetti, viii. 325
Rostand, vii. 274.
Rousseau, viii. 443; ix. 403.
Rubaiyat, x. 215.
Ruskin, ii. 171, 175; viii. 396.
Ruth, ii. 35, 48.

Sacchetti, vi. 97.

Sallust, iv. 216.

Sand, George, ix. 423.

Sappho, ii. 475; iv. 182.

Saxon Chronicle, v. 84.

Sayings of the Seer, ii. 40.

Schiller, vii. 331, 354.

Scott, Sir Walter, ix. 26.

Seafarer, The, v. 65.

Sea Limits, The, viii, 329.

Seasons, The, viii. 173.

Seneca, iv. 269, 328 ; v. 411 ; vi. 353.

Sensitive Plant, viii. 233.

Septuagint, ii. 3.

Shakespeare, vii. 108.

Shelley, viii. 225.

Shepherd's Calendar, viii. 106.

Sheridan, vii. 176.

She Stoops to Conquer, viii. 190.

Siegfried, v. 151.

Sienkiewicz, ix. 463.

Silas Marner, ix. 287, 297.

Simonides, ii. 474.

Simonides of Ceos, iii. 232.

Skylark, To a, viii. 227.

Smith, John, x. 255, 258.

Smollett, ix. 196.

Snow-Bound, x. 427.

Socrates, iii. 95, 134.

Solomon and the Bees, poem, i. 465.

Song of the Flowers, vii. 481.

Song of the Harper, i. 179.

Song of Roland, v. 3, 91.

Song of Solomon, ii. 21, 55.
Song of the Sirens, ii. 177.
Song of Seven, viii. 341.
Sonnets, Milton, viii. 136.
Sonnets, The, vi. 63.
Sophocles, ii. 265; iii. 2, 28.
Spanish Literature, v. 126.
Spectator, The, viii. 377.
Spring, viii. 174.
Stedman, Clarence, x. 458.
Steele, Richard, viii. 376.
Sterne, ix. 197.
Stevenson, ix. 363.
Straparola, vi. 405.
Sudermann, vii. 371.
Suetonnies, iv. 374.
Summer, poem, viii. ]7Y.
Sunflower, The, ii. 129.
Swift, Dean, ix. 187.
Swinburne, viii. 315.
Symbolism, vii. 267.
Symphony, The, x. 459.
Symposium, iii. 122.

Tacitus, iv. 271, 313.

Tales of the Magicians, v. 31, 34.

Talmud, i. 431.

Tarn o' Shanter, viii. 203.

Tantalos, poem, ii. 192.

Tasso, vi. 379, 412.

Tassoni, vi. 451.

Taylor, Bayard, x. 441.

Tears, Idle Tears, viii. 280.

Tempest, play, viii. 28.

Tennyson, viii. 276.

Terence, iv. 139, 173.

Tertullian, vii. 17.

Tess of the D'Urbervilles, ix. 345.

Thackeray, ix. 269.

Thanatopsis, x. 365.

Theagenes and Chariclea, v. 49.

The Ambitious Scholar, x. 350.

The Battlefield, poem, x. 370.

The Bells, x. 414.

The Raven, x. 417.

Theocritus, iii. 251.

Theogony, ii. 432.

Theognis, iii. 226.

The Seasons, viii. 174.

Thespis, iii. 2.

The Rain, x. 461.

There Was a Child, poem, x. 454.

Thomson, viii. 173.

Thoreau, vii. 483.

Thucydides, ii. 322, 327, 340; iii. 152.

Tibullus, iv. 291.

Tieck, viii. 482.

INDEX OF LITERATURE.

537

Tintern Abbey, viii. 27L
'Tis Sweet to Think, viii. 253.
To a Greek Girl, poem, iii. 376.
Tolstoy, ix. 510.
Tom Jones, ix. 206.
To the Winds, ii. 182.
Toujours Amour, x. 458.
Trollope, ix. 309, 310.
Troubadours, v. 104.
Turgenieff, ix. 488.
Twilight, x. 382.
Two Brothers, The, v. 32, 39.
Two Moods, x. 438.
Tyrtaeus ii. 471; iii. 219.

Undiscovered Country, The — Aid-
rich, x. 440.

Undiscovered Country — Stedman,
x. 458.

Vision of Sir Launfal, x. 398.
Vita Nuova, vi. 31, 34.
Voltaire, viii. 443; ix. 393.

Waiting by the Gate, x. 368.
Walter von der Vogehveid, v. 166 :

x. 380.

Warner, Charles D., x. 473.
Waverley Novels, ix. 227.
Welcome to Alexandria, viii. 286.
Whitman, Walt, x. 251, 452.
Whittier, John G., x. 99, 421.
Wigglesworth, x. 256, 264.
William of Poitiers, v. 106.
Winter, viii. 182.
Wolfram von Eschenback, v. 168.
Wordsworth, viii. 263.
Works and Days, ii. 262, 432.
Worship of Nature, x. 423.

Vanity Fair, ix, 271.
Vasari, vi. 132.

Vicar of Wakefield, viii, 190; ix.
197.

Zenda— Vesta, i. 351.
Zoroaster's Prayer, i. 371.
Zola, ix. 453.

INDEX OF MYTHOLOGY

Acheron, ii. 190.

Achilles, ii. 247.

Adonis, ii. 142.

Aeacus, ii. 190.

Aeneas, ii. 191, iii. 387.

Aeolus, God of Wind, ii. 183.

Aether, ii. 88. m

Agamemnon, ii. 247.

Amazons, ii. 215.

Amphitrite, ii. 174.

Ana, Chaldean deity, i. 219.

Anu, i. 309.

Anthaeus, ii. 221.

Anthiope, ii. 103.

Aphrodite, ii. 140, 247.

Apollo, ii. 124, 148.

Aquilo, ii. 185.

Arcadian Stag, ii. 209.

Areopagus, ii. 136.

Ares, God of War, ii. 135.

Argo, ii. 175, 196.

Argus, ii. 104, 151, 175.

Ariadne, ii. 166.

Arion, ii. 175.

Artemis, Goddess of the Chase, ii.

124, 130.

Artemisia, Festival of, ii. 133.
Asshur, i. 310.

Astoreth, Moon-Goddess, i. 405.
Athena, Goddess of Wisdom, ii.

115; her contest with Arachne,

118; with Poseidon, 116.
Atlas, ii. 180, 221.
Atropos, ii. 157.
Anchises, ii. 191.
Augean Stables, ii. 213.
Aura, ii. 185.
Aurora, Goddess of Dawn, ii. 183.

Calliope, Muse of Poetry, ii. 156,

195.

Cave of Sleep, ii. 197.
Cecrops, ii. 276.
Centaurs, ii. 212.
Cerberus, ii. 188.
Ceres, see Demeter.
Ceyx, ii. 187, 201.
Chaos, ii. 88.
Chiron, ii. 212.
Chloris, see Flora.
Clio, Muse of History, ii. 156.
Clotho, ii. 157.
Clytie, ii. 125.
Cocytus, ii. 191.
Corus, ii. 185.
Creation Legends, i. 285.
Cretan Bulls, ii. 214.
Crocodile-Myth, i. 116.
Cronus, Age of, ii. 91.
Cupid, ii. 143.
Cyclops, ii. 91, 241.

Dagon, Philistine God, i. 453.

Danae, ii. 103, 178.

Daphne, ii. 125.

Deluge Legend, i. 209. 287, 291.

Demeter. Goddess of Harvest, ii.

92, 158.

Deucalion, ii. 99.
Diana, see Artemis.
Diana of Ephesus, ii. 133.
Diomedes, ii. 214.
Dionysus, God of Wine, ii. 163;

festivals of, iii. 10.
Discord, ii. 141 ; apple of, 141.
Dolphins, ii. 164.

Babylonian Deities, i. 227.
Bacchus, see Dionysus.
Bael, God of Sun, i. 405.
Bag of Winds, ii. 185.
Battle of the Giants, ii. 93.
Bel. i. 308.
Beowulf, ii. 225.
Boreas, ii. 185.

Cadmus, ii. 348.
Caduceus, ii. 150.

Ea, i. 308.

Echo, Story of, ii. 106.
Egyptian Myths, i. 116.
Elysian Fields, ii. 143, 191.
Endymion, ii. 132.
Epimetheus, ii. 91.
Erebus, ii. 88.
Eros, ii. 88.

Erymanthian Boar, ii. 211.
Eurus, ii. 185.
Eurydice, ii. 196.
Eurystheus, ii. 207.

538

INDEX OF MYTHOLOGY.

539

Fates, The, ii. 156.
Flora, ii. 185, 398.

Gades, ii. 217.
Gaea, ii. 88.
Geryon, ii. 217.
Gilgamesh, i. 287.
Golden Fleece, ii. 175.
Golden Touch, ii. 164.
Gorgons, ii. 87, 178.
Grey Sisters, ii. 179.
Greek Mythology —

Greek attitude toward, ii. 78;

Nature myths, 80; in English

Literature, 82; in Art, 84; Golden

Age, 91 ; Silver Age, 93.

Hades, ii. 188.

Halcyone, ii. 187, 201.

Hapi, i. 123.

Harpies, ii. 87, 186.

Hebe, ii. 113, 224.

Hebrew Myths, ii. 33.

Hecate, ii. 203.

Helen of Troy, ii. 247.

Helicon, Mount, ii. 156.

Hephaestus, ii. 137.

Hera, Queen of Heaven, ii. 92, 105,

163.

Herae, The, ii. 110.
Hercules, Labors of, ii. 206, 208.
Hermes, Messenger of gods, ii. 95,

148.

Hesperides, ii. 87; apples of, 218.
Hestia, Goddess of Hearth, ii. 92,

154, iv. 157.
Hippolyte, ii. 215.
Horus, i. 116. 120.
Hyacinthus, ii. 124.
Hydra. Lernean. ii. 208.
Hyperboreans, ii. 87, 124.

lo, ii. 103, 151.

Iris, ii. 110, 201.

Ishtar, i. 309.

Isles of the Blessed, ii. 87.

Isis, i. 116.

Lachesis, ii. 157.

Lethe, ii. 190.

Leto, ii. 124, 131.

Liber, God of Wine, iii. 398.

Lorelei, ii. 177.

Luna, see Artemis.

Maia, ii. 148.

Marduk. Babylonian God, i 236,

237, 247.
Mars, see Ares.
Mat, i. 120.
Medea, ii. 175.
Medusa, ii. 178.
Memnon, ii. 184.
Menelaus. King, ii. 142, 247.
Mercury, see Hermes.
Mermer, Wind-God, i. 220.
Midas, King, ii. 164, 170.
Minerva, ii. 122.
Mines, ii. 190.
Minos, King, ii. 165.
Minotaur, i. 407.
Morpheus, ii. 199.
Mors, ii. 197.
Muses, ii. 156.
Mythology, Greek, ii. 78.

Narcissus, ii. 107.

Nemean lion, ii. 208.

Nemesis, it. 204.

Nereides, ii. 176.

Nereus, ii. 196, 220.

Niobe, story of, ii. 131, 204.

Noah, ii. 99.

Norse Mythology, v. 267, 278, 293.

Nox, ii. 88, 198.

Nut, i. 116.

Nymphs, ii. 219.

Cannes, Man-Fish, i. 285.
Oceanus, ii. 86.
Olympus, ii. 94, 173.
Oracles, of Dodona, ii. 102.
Oreads, ii. 171.
Orion, ii. 131.
Orithyria, ii. 185.
Orpheus, ii. 177, 195.
Osiris, i. 116.

Janus, iii. 397, iv. 157.
Jason, ii. 175, 196.
Jove, see Zeus.
Juno, see Hera.

Pan, God of Nature, ii. 169.
Panathenaea, the, ii. 121, 138.
Pandora, ii. 95, 138.

540

INDEX OP MYTHOIX)GY.

Paris, ii. 141.

Persephone, ii. 158.

Perseus, ii. 178.

Phaeton, ii. 126.

Phlegethus, ii. 191.

Pomona, iii. 398.

Pontus, ii. 88.

Poppies, ii. 198.

Poseidon, God of Ocean, it 92,

136, 173.

Pygmalion, ii. 140.
Pygmies, ii. 87, 221.
Pyrrha, ii. 99.
Pythian Games, ii. 128.

Qeb, i. 120.

Ra, i. 120.

Rhadamajthus, il 190.

Rhea, ii. 92.

Romulus and Remus, ii. 136, 388.

Sirens, ii. 87, 176.
Somnus, ii. 197.
Stymphalian Birds, ii. 214.
Styx, ii. 191.
Syrinx, ii. 169.

Tamman, i. 309.
Tartarus, ii. 89, 191.
Terminus, iii. 398.
Theophane, ii. 175.
Theseus, i. 407, ii. 165, 276.
Thetis, ii. 141.
Tithonus, ii. 183.
Titans, ii. 88.
Triton, ii. 174.
Troy, Walls of, ii. 174.
Tun, i. 120.

Ulysses, ii. 176, 185.
Uranus, ii. 88.

Sabine Women, iii. 389.
Samele, ii. 163.
Samson, ii. 225.
Saturn, iv. 157.
Saturnus, iii. 397.
Seb, i. 116.
Set, i. 116.
Selene, see Artemis.
Shamash, i. 309.
Silenus, ii. 163.

Venus, see Aphrodite.
Venus de Milo, ii. 143.
Vesta, see Hestia.
Vulcan, see Hephaestus.

Zephyrus, ii. 185.

Zeus, Ruler of Heaven, ii. 92, 100;

powers of, 101; love affairs of.

103; in Art, 104.

GENERAL INDEX

Abbey, Edwin A., x. 223, 23*7.

Abraham, i. 434.

Academy, ii. 406.

Acropolis, see Historical.

Actors, see Drama.

Addams, Miss Jane, x. 113, 134.

Agriculture in Egypt, i. 100.

Almond, origin, i. xxiii.

Alaska Purchase, x. 42, 196.

Alaska- Yukon Exposition, x. 196.

Alexander the Great, i. 345, 351 ; ii.
3, 358, 366 ; iii. 455.

Alexandria, i. 181.

Amalfi, iv. 391.

American Flag, x. 1.

American School of Archaeology, ii.
47.

American School of Classical Stud-
ies, iii. 366.

Ammonites, i. 435, 446.

Amon, i. 59, 69, 81.

Amsterdam, ix. 57.

Annunzio, vii. 284.

Anti-Slavery Society, x. 36.

Anthony, Susan B., x. 112.

Antwerp, ix. 49.

Anulets, i. 141.

Apis Ball, i. 120, 341.

Aqueducts, iv. 19, 69.

Aristippus, iii. 138.

Assisi, Church of, ix. 23.

Assyria, see Historical.

Australia, Tribes of, i. xxx.

Babel, Tower of, I. 201.
Babylonia, see Historical.
Balboa, Panama, x. 205.
Basle, ix. 65.

Beecher, Henry Ward, x. 76.
Bell Telephone, x. 94.
Belshazzar, i. 268, 319.
Beyreuth. v. 358.
Bible, i. 426 ; ii. 12.
Biremes, i. 397.
Bismarck, viii. 470.
Blashfiekl, Edwin, x. 240.
Blue Bird, The, vii. 269.
Boecklin, ix. 154, 156.
Book of the Dead, i. 115, 142.
Book of Kells, ix. 104.

Book of Durrow, ix. 104.

Book of Hours, ix. 107.

Books, iv. 102; ix. 101.

Booth, Maude Ballington, x. 113,

138.

Boston Library, x. 236.
Botta, i. 205.

British Isles, see Historical.
British Museum, ix. 179, also see

Art.

Buffalo, x. 153.
Burroughs, John, vii. 425.
Buskins, vii. 15.

Cabbage, origin of. i. xxiii.

Cadore, ix. 42.

Caesar, Julius, ii. 3.

Cairo, i. 182.

Campagna, iv. 391.

Canaanites, see Historical.

Cape of Good Hope, i. 182.

Capri, iv. 391.

Carnegie Institute, x. 241.

Caravans, i. 394.

Carrara, ix. 34.

Carthage, i. 340, 391 ; iv. 113.

Catacombs, i. 182 ; iv. 394 ; ix. 9.

Cathay, x. 3.

Caxton, ix. 41.

Centennial, The, x. 91.

Central Park, ii. 58,

Chanticleer, vii. 274.

Chagres River, x. 204.

Chariot Races, iv. 96.

Charters, see Historical.

Chase, William M., x. 224.

Chicago Fair, x. 104.

Christianity, see Historical.

Christmas, v. 470.

Cities, Greek, ii. 375.

Civil Service, x. 34.

Coal Mines, English, viii. 44.

Co-education, v. 391.

Code of Alfred, viii. 9.

Code of Hammurabi, viii. 9.

Cologne, ix. 64.

Colon, x. 203.

Colonna, Vittoria, ix. 36.

Columbus, viii. 23.

Comedy, see Drama.

541

542

GENERAL INDEX.

Conduct of Life, v. 390.

Manners, v. 393, 400, 407.

Good Breeding, v. 402.

Happiness, v. 410, 416, 418.

Tact, v. 428.

Friendship, v. 433.

Simple Life, v. 455.

Simplicity, v. 463.

Right Living, v. 468.
Congress of Women, x. 112.
Congresses, World, x. 111.
Congressional Library, x. 216.
Contracts, Babylonian, i. 277, 290.
Convent La Rabida, x. 109.
Conversation —
' Art of, vi. 329.

Principles of, vi. 330.

If You Can Talk Well, vi. 342.

Culture by Conversation, vi. 348.

Rules for Conversation, vi. 350.

Reflections on Conversation, vi.
350.

Happiness through Conversation,
vi. 355.

Conversation and Courtesy, vi.

361.

Corfu, iii. 362.
Corinth, iii. 366.
Cox, Kenyon, x. 241.
Crocodile, Worship of, i. 121.
Crusades, see Historical.
Croesus, i. 337.
Crystal Palace, x. 84.
Columbian Exposition, x. 103.
Culebra Cut, x. 204.
Cuneiform writing, i. 208.
Curfew, viii. 13.
Custer, General, x. 43.
Cynics, iii. 139.
Cyrenaics, iii. 138.
Cyrus the Great, i. 335; ii. 2, 292.

Damascus, i. 376.

Danes, viii. 7.

Darwin, i. xv. vii. 443.

David, see Historical.

Dead Sea, i. 413.

Delphi, i. 337; ii. 93, 128, 135, 348;

iii. 372.

Democritus, iii. 94.
Demotic Writing, i. 33.
District of Columbia, x. 26.
Doll's House, The, vii. 297.
Dome of the Rock, ii. 61.
Domestic Service, x. 134.
Dreams, i. xxviii.
Dress, History of, see Historical.
Druids, viii. 4.
Duomo, Florence, ix. 24.

Easter, ii. 65.
Edomites, i. 435.
Education, History of —

Egyptian, i. 113.

Babylonian, i. 288.

Medes, i. 330.

Persians, i. 334, 347.

Greece, ii. 396, 401.

Aristotle on, iii. 112.

Roman, iv. 87.

Middle Ages, iv. 469.
Education, vi. 269.

Present Day, vi. 271.

Schools and Education, vi. 273.

Education and Development, vi.
276.

Child's Education, vi. 280.

Education in Life, vi. 282.

The Common School, vi. 285.

Physical Education, vi. 286.

Citizenship and Schools, vi. 288.

Democratic Society and the
School, vi. 295.

Ethics in Schools, vi. 303.

Efficiency of Schools, vi. 310.

Creative Education, vi. 314.

Drama and Education, vi. 323.
Educated Women, x. 113.
Elgin, Lord, i. 185.
Elgin Marbles, iii. 349 ; ix. 184.
Embalming, i. 138.
lEmpedocles, iii. 93.
England, see Historical.
Epicurus, iii. 141.
Esdraelon, i. 414.
Euphrates, i. 202, 214.
Excavations, see Historical.
Expositions —

Early Fairs, x. 83.

London 1853, x. 84.

Paris, 1867, x. 86.

Vienna, 1873, x. 88.

Centennial, x. 91.

Columbian, x. 103.

Pan-American, x. 152.

Louisiana Purchase, x. 160.

Lewis and Clark, x. 168.

Jamestown, x. 184.

Alaska- Yukon, x. 196.

Panama-Pacific, x. viii. 201.
Factory Laws, viii. 41.
Fairs, Early, x. 83.
Fayoum, i. 48, 149.
Fellah, in Egypt, i, 90.
Festivals, Greek, iii. 357.
Festivals, Roman, iv. 83.
Field, Cyrus W., x. 88.
, Field, Marshall, x. 110.
Field Museum, x. 110.

GENERAI, INDEX.

543

Fire, Discovery of, i. xviii.

Flag, The, x. 1.

Florence, iv. 395, also see Historical ;

see Art.

Flowers in Egypt, i. 88, 136.
Flowers in Palestine, i. 409.
Flowers, Mythical Origins of, ii. 124.
Food of Primitive People, i. xxi.

Egyptians, i. 90.

Babylonians, i. 295.

Greeks, ii. 387.

Romans, iv. 77.
French Archaeological School, iii.

373
Friendship, v. 440, 443, 451.

Garnsey, Elmer E., x. 236.

Garrick, vii. 190.

Gatun Dam, x. 204.

Gatun Lake, x. 203.

Gatun Locks, x. 203.

Genre, see Art.

Geology, i. xiv.

Genoa, iv. 397.

German Archaeological Institute, iii.

368.

Glaciers, yii. 407.
Gladiatorial Combats, iv. 97.
Globe Theatre, vii. 68, 71.
Gondolas, ix. 43.
Grains, Cultivation of, i. xxix.
Greece, see Historical.
Greek Archaeological Society, iii.

371.
Greek Church, ix. 21.

Haarlem, ix. 55.

Hale, Edward Everett, x. 48.

Half-Moon, x. 12.

Hall of Pillars, see Historical.

Hampton Roads, x. 184.

Hanging Gardens, i. 305.

Hannibal, i. 392.

Harley, Robert, ix. 179.

Hauptmann, vii. 371, 380.

Heracleistus, iii. 92.

Heracleopolis, i. 44.

Herculaneum, iv. 391.

Herod, ii. 3.

Herodotus, i. 32, 34, 328, 336, 341.

Hieroglyphics, i. 33.

Hittites, i. 374.

Houses, Primitive, i. xx.

African, i. xxi.

Egyptian, i. 86.

Babylonian, i. 272.

Greek, ii. 377.

Roman, iv. 66.

Howe, Julia Ward, x. 112, 129.
Hudson-Fulton Celebration, x. 12.
Hudson, Henry, x. 12.

Ibsen, yii. 297.
Incest, i. 91.

lona Monastery, viii. 7.
Ionian Islands, iii. 362.
Irrigation, i. xxii.
Irving, Henry, vii. 193.
Ismail, i. 182.
Ithaca, iii. 365.

Jackson Park, x. 106.
Jamestown Exposition, x. 184.
Jerusalem, see Historical.
Jews, see Historical.
Joppa, ii. 60.
Jordan, i. 412.
Josephus, i. 431, 453 ; ii. 4.
Judaea, i. 411.
Justinian Code, iv. 55.

Kells, Book of, ix. 104.
Kells Monastery, ix. 104.
Kennedy, Charles, vii. 212.
Kindergarten, x. 94, 115.
Koran, i. 181.
Ku Klux Klan, x. 41.

Labyrinth, Egyptian, i. 48, 151.
Laplander, Houses of, i. xxi.
Laws, Babylonian, i. 276, 317.

Roman, iii. 404.

Sumptuary, iv. 4, 237.

Justinian Code, iv. 55.
Layard, i. 206.
Lebanon, i. 378.
Legion of Honor, ix. 93.
Lepers, v. 17.
Letters, iv. 103.

Lewis and Clark Exposition, x. 168.
Libraries —

Alexandrian, i. 181 ; ii. 372.

Babylonian, i. 283.

Asshurbanipal, i. 291.

Roman, iv. 102.

Vatican, ix. 120.

Boston Public, ix. 98.

British Museum, ix. 179.

Congressional, x. 216.
Loftus, i. 207.
Lotus, i. 136.
Lucippus, iii. 94.
Luxor, i. 73.
Lydia, i. 337.

544

GENERAL, INDEX.

Maccabees, ii. 3.
Madonas, sec Art.
Madrid, ix. 73.
Mansfield. Richard, vii. 193.
Marathon tee Historical.
Marco Polo, v. 21.
Mariette, i. 185
Markets, Egyptian, i. 106.
Marlowe, Julia, x. 112.
Marriage, x. 131.
Masks, Greek, vii. 14.
Maspero, i. 106, 147, 186. 231, 296.
McCormick Harvester, x. 88.
McEwen, Walter, x. 240.
Mecca, i. 184 ; ii. 62 ; ix. 56.
Medes, see Historical.
Memphis, see Historical.
Mesopotamia, see Historical.
Midway Plaisance, x. 109.
Military Life, i. 108.

Babylonian, i. 324.

Persian, i. 346.

Roman, iv. 121.
Moabites, i. 435, 446.
Modena, ix. 39.

Modjeska, Madame, x. 112, 144.
Mohamet AH, i. 182.
Mohammedans, i. 40; see History.
Morgan, J. Pierpont, x. 225.
Morris, Clara, x. 112.
Mosaics, ii. 46; ix. 17.
Moses, i. 80, 436, 452.
Mount Athos Monastery, ix. 20.
Mount Vernon, x. 28.
Muir, John, vii. 397.
Mummies, i. 103.
Museums, see Art Index.
Music, see Music Index.

Naples, iv. 389.
Nature Study, vii. 393.

Forests, vii. 398.

Fountains and Streams, vii. 402.

Glaciers, vii. 407.

Winter, vii. 415.

Birds, vii. 426.

Herbs, vii. 434.

Wild Flowers, vii. 435.

Deserts, vii. 457.

The Sea, vii. 466.

The Sky, vii. 469.

Pond Life, vii. 477.

Solitude, vii.^488.
Natural Selection, vii. 443.
Nebuchadnezzar, i. 236, 306, 384, 481 ;

ii. 1.

Necropolis, i. 82, 139.
Neith, Feast of, i. 154.
Neo-Platonists, iv. 47.
Nero, iv. 20.

New Bach Society, v. 260.
New York Fair, x. 92.
Niagara Falls, x. 155.
Nijnii-Novgorod, x. 83.
Nile, i. 22, 24, 121.
Nilometer, i. 25.
Nina, x. 3.
Nuremberg, ix. 66.

Old Testament, ii. 12.

Olympian Games, i. 32; ii. 105, 290;

iii. 347, 356, 369.
Opera, see Music.
Oratorio, see Music.

Palestine, i. 408; ii. 58.

Palmer, Mrs. Potter, x. 113.

Panama Canal, x. 201.

Panama-Pacific Exposition, x. viii.
201.

Panama Republic, x. 202.

Pan-American Exposition, x. 152.

Papyrus, Harris, i. 81, 118.

Paris Exposition of 1867, x. 86.

Parma, ix. 39.

Parsis, i. 352.

Patroons, x. 13.

Peach, Origin of, i. xxiii.

Pearce, Charles S., x. 239.

Pedro Miguel Locks, x. 205.

Persecution, see Christians, in His-
torical Index.

Peter the Great, ix. 479.

Petrie, i. 145.

Philadelphia, x. 12, 92.

Philosophy, see Literature.

Phoenicia, see Historical.

Pinta, x. 3.

Pisa, iv. 394.

Pittsburg, x. 242.

Plato, iii. 95. 106.

Plague, ii. 334.

Plants, Cultivation of, i. xxii.

Pliny the Elder, i. 400.

Point Toro, x. 203.

Polish Women, x. 144.

Polygamy, i. 91, 451 ; iv. 60 ; v. 39L

Pompeii, iv. 99, 391.

Pompey's Pillar, i. 182.

Portland, x. ^171.

Potato, Origin of, i. xxiii.

Pottery, x. 142.

Precious Stones, i. 104.

Prison Reform, viii. 41.

Psychologists, i. 13.

Pyle, Howard, x. 244.

Pyramids, i. 39.

Pythagoras, i. xxix.

Ramadan, Feast of, i. 184.
Rameses the Great, i. 74.

GENERAL INDEX.

545

Ravenna, ix. 19.

Religion, Pre-historic, i. xxviii.

Ancestral Worship, i. xxix.

Solar Disk, i. 68.

Egyptian, i. 119.

Babylonian, i. 307.

Median, i. 331.

Persians, i. 350.

Phoenicians, i. 405.

Jahweh, i. 436.
Rome, see Historical.
Roosevelt, x. 195.
Rosetta Stone, i. 33, 208.
Rostand, vii. 274.
Rotterdam, ix. 56.
Rubaiyat, x. 215.

Sahara, i. 25 ; ii. 128.

Said, Viceroy, i. 182, 187.

S alarms, i. 343.

Salvation Army, x. 138.

Samaria, see Historical.

Samuel, i. 454.

San Marco, ix. 25, 112, 119.

Santa Maria, x. 3.

Saul, i. 454. _

Savonarola, ix. 25.

Scarabs, i. 141.

Schliemann, ii. 236.

Seattle, x. 197.

Seneca, iii. 141.

Sennacherib, i. 302.

Shaw, Anna, x. 131.

Shaw, George Bernard, vii. 204.

Sidon, i. 380, 403.

Siena, iv. 394.

Sistine Chapel, ix. 35.

Slavery, iv. 113; x, 35.

Socrates, iii. 95, 134.

Solomon, i. 382. 463.

Sophists, iii. 94.

Smith, George, i. 209.

Sparta, see Historical.

Sphinx, i. 130.

Spoils Sv>tem, x. 33.

Sports —
Egyptian, i. 96.
Babylonian, i. 295.
Persian, i. 349.
Greek, ii. 128, 410; iii. 357.
Roman, iv. 93.

Stadium, iii. 358.

Stage, The. and its Women, x. 140.

Stanton, Elizabeth Cady, x. 112, 121.

Stoicism, iii. 140; iv. 31, 269.

Store Cities, i. 21.

Strabo, i. 48.

Sudermann, vii. 371.

Suez Canal, i. 187, 191.

Srnken Bell, The, vii. 380.
X— 36

Symposium, ii. 410; Hi. 122.
Syria, see Historical.

Tablets, i. 209, 283.

Taboos, i. xxix. i. 312.

Talmud, i. 431.

Telautograph, x. 116.

Telegraph'one, x. 167.

Temples, Egyptian, i. 125, see Art.

Thales, iii. 92.

Theaters, see Drama.

Thebes, i. 45, 73.

Thermae, iv. 101.

Thermopylae, i. 343.

Thoreau, vii. 483.

Tiber, see Historical.

Tigris, i. 202, 214.

Titus, ii. 6; iv. 25.

Tombs, Egyptian, i. 124, 138, 140.

Tombs, Roman, iv. 125.

Totem, i. xxx.

Toys, Egyptian, i. 92, 152.

Toys, Greek, ii. 402.

Toys, Roman, iv. 85.

Trans- Atlantic Cable, x. 38.

Triremes, i. 397.

Troubadours, v. 101, 241.

Tyre, i. 380, 403.

Union Jack, viii, 35.

United States, see Historical.

Vatican, ix. 34.

Vatican Library, ix. 120.

Vegetables, Cultivation of, i. xxix.

Venice, iv. 396 ; ix. 41.

Vespasian, iv. 22.

Vienna Exposition of 1873, x. 88.

Volk, Douglas, x. 244.

Wagner, Richard, see Drama.
Walker, Henry O. x. 239.
Weavers, The. vii. 380.
Weimar, vii. 331.
Whitehall, ix. 50.
Willard, Frances, x. 112.
Woman's Suffrage, x. 120, 123, 125.
Women —

Educated Women, x. 113.

Women and Politics, x. 118.

Women and Moral Initiative, x.
129.

Women and Marriage, x. 131.

Women and the Stage, x. 140.

Polish Women, x. 144.

Women in Spain, x. 147.
World's Fair Congresses, x. 111.
Yosemite, vii. 402.
Yuma, x. 172.
Zeno, iii. 94.
Zoroaster, i. 341.

PRONOUNCING VOCABULARY

Abelard (ab'e-lard)

Acheron (ak'e-ron)

Achilles (a-kil'ez)

Acropolis (a-krop'6-lis)

Adonis (a-do'nis)

Aeacus (e'a-kus)

Aeneas (e-ne'as)

Aeneid (e-ne'id)

Aeolus (e'6-lus)

Aeschines (es'ki-nez)

Aeschylus (es'ki-lus)

Aesop (e'sop)

Agamemnon (ag-a-mem'non)

Agincourt (azh-an-kor')

Agora (ag'6-ra)

Agricola (a-griko-la)

Ahmos (a'mos)

Aix la Chapelle (aks-la-sha-pel')

Alaric (al'a-rik)

Albigenses (al-bi-jen'sez)

Alcibiades (al-si-bi'a-dez)

Alexander (al-eg-zan'der)

Alpheus (al-fe'us)

Amenemnat (a-men-em'hiit)

Amenhotep (a-men-ho'tep)

Ammonites (am'on'Ites)

Amphictyonic (am-fik-ti-6n'ik)

Anabasis (a-nab'a-sis)
Anacreon (a-nak're-on)
Anaxagoras (an-ak-sag'6-ras)
Anaximander (an-aks-i-man'der)
Anaximenes (an-aks-im'e-nez)
Anchises (an-ki'sez)
Andalusian (an-da-lqp'zi-an)
Andrea del Sarto (an-dra-ya-del-

sar'to)

Andromache (an-drom'a-ke)
Annunzio (an-nun'tzi-o)
Antigone (an-tig'o-ne)
Antiope (an-tl'6-pe)
Aphrodite (af-ro-di'te)
Apocalypse (a-pok'a-lips)
Areopagus (a-re-6p'a-gus)
Areopagitica (ar'e-6-pa-git'i-ka)
Ariadne (ar-i-ad'ne)
Aristippus (ar-is-tip'us)
Aristides (ar-is-tl'dez)
Aristophanes (ar-is-tof'a-nez)
Aristotle (ar'is-totl)
Artaxerxes (ar-taks-erks'ez)
Artemis (ar'te-mis)

Artemisia (ar-te-mish'ia)

Aryan (ar'yan)

Assisi (a-se'se)

Atrppos (at'ro-pos)

Attica (at'i-ka)

Attila (at'i-la)

Asshurbanipal (ash-er-ban'i-pal)

Astyages (as-ti'a-jez)

Aucassin (o-ka-san')

Aurelius (a-re'li-us)

Babel (ba'bel)

Babylon (bab'i-lon)

Babylonia (bab-i-lo'ni-a)

Bacchae (bak'e)

Bach (bach)

Balder (bal'der)

Barbizon (bar-bi-son')

Bathsheba (bath-she'ba)

Bayreuth (bi-roit)

Beaumont (bo'mont)

Beethoven (ba'to-ven)

Bellini (bel-le'ne)

Belshazzar (bel-shaz'ar)

Beowulf (ba'6-wulf)

Berlioz (bar-le-pz')

Bernard of Clairvaux (ber'nard of

klar-vo')

Boecklin (beck'lin)
Boadicea (bo-a-di-se'a)
Boccaccio (bok-ka'cho)
Boeotia (be-6'shia)
Bol (bol)
Bonheur (bo-ner')
Boreas (bo're-as)
Botticelli (bot-te-chel'le)
Brera (bra'ra)
Bucephalus (bu-sef'a-lus)
Byzantium (bi-zan'tium)
Byzantine (bi'zan-tine)

Caedmon (kad'mon)
Cairo (ki'ro)
Calais (ka-la')
Caligula (ka-leg'u-la)
Caledonian (kal-e-do'ni-an)
Callinus (ka-ll'nus)
Calliope (ka-li'6-pe)
Cambyses (kam-bl'sez)

546

PRONOUNCING VOCABULARY.

547

Canaanites (ka'nan-its)

Carbonari (kar-bo-na'ri)

Carpaccio (kar-pa'cho)

Carder (kar-ty-a')

Carthage (kar'thaj)

Castiglione (kas-tel-yo'ne)

Cathay (ka-tha')

Catullus (ka-tul'us)

Cavour (ka-vor')

Cellini (chel-le'ne)

Cerberus (ser'be-rus)

Cervantes (ser-van'tez)

Ceyx (se'iks)

Chalcidice (kal-sid'i-se)

Chaldea (kal-de'a)

Chardin (shar'dan)

Charlemagne (char'le-man)

Charon (ka'ron)

Chaucer (cha'ser)

Chillon (she-yon')

Chiron (kl'ron)

Choephori (ko-ef'6-re)

Chopin (sho-pan')

Cimabue (che-ma-bo'a)

Cleopatra (kle-6-pa'tra)

Clisthenes (klis'the-nez)

Clotho (klo'tho)

Clouet (klo-a')

Clovis (klo'vis)

Cnidus (ni'dus)

Cnut (knopt)

Cocytus (ko-se'tus)

Colbert (kol-bar')

Colonna (ko-lon'na)

Columba ko-lum'ba)

Comus (ko'mus)

Corcyra (kor-si'ra)

Corfu (kor-fqp')

Coriolanus ko-ri-o-la'nus)

Corneille (kor-nay')

Corot (ko-ro')

Correggio (kor-red'jo)

Cortez (kor-tas')

Condottieri (kon-dot-te-er'e)

Cousin (ko-zan')

Crecy (kra'se)

Croesus (kre'sus)

Cunaxa (ku-nak'sa)

Cuyp (kojp)

Cyclops rsl'klops)

Cyclopean (sl-clo-pe'an)

Cyrano de Bergerac (se-ra-nd' de-

barzh-sak')
Cyrenaic (si-re-na'ik)
Cynewulf (kin'e-wulf)

Damascus (da-mas'kus)
Dante (dan'te)
Darius (da-ri'us)

Daubigny ( do-ben- ji')
Decameron (de-kam'e-ron)
De Hoogh (de-hog')
Delacroix (de-la-krwa')
Delphi (del'fl)
Delphian (del'fi-an)
Democritus (de-mok'ri-tus)
Demeter (de-me'ter)
Demosthenes (de-mos'the-nez)
Deucalion (du-ka'H-on)
Diaz (de'ath)
Diocletian (di-6-kle'shian)
Diomedes (di-6-me'dez)
Dionysia (dT-6-nis'i-a)
Dionysus (dl-o-ni'sus)
Domitian (do-mish'ian)
Don Quixote (don-ke-h5'te)
Dostoievsky (dos-to-yef'ske)
Druids (drop-idz)
Duomo (dwo'mo)
Dupre (dii-pra')
Diirer (dii'rer)

Edomites (e'dom-ites)
Eisdraelon (es-dra'e-lon)
Electra (e-lek'tra)
El Greco (el-greck'6)
Empedocles (em-ped'6-klez)
Endymion (en-dim'i-on)
Epaminondas (e-pam-i-non'das)
Ephraim (e'fra-im)
Epicurus (ep-i-ku'rus)
Epictetus (ep-ik-te'tus)
Epidamnus (ep-i-dam'nus)
Epimetheus (ep-i-me'thus)
Epirus (e-pi'rus)
Esarhaddon (e-sar-had'on)
Etruscans (e-trus'kanz)
Eumenidas (u-men'i-dez)
Eupheus (u'fes)
Euphrates (u-fra'tez)
Eurotas (u-ro'tas)
Euripides (u-rip'i-dez)
Eurydice (u-rid'i-se)
Eurystheus (u-riz'thus)
Euterpe (u-ter'pe)
Ezekiel (e-ze'ki-el)

Fabliaux (fab'li-6)

Fayouni ( fl-opm' )

Fiesole (fe-a'so-le)

Filippo Lippi (fe-lip'po lep'pi)

Fra Angelico (fra an-gel'i-ko)

Frans Hals (franz hals)

Froissart (froi'sart)

Garibaldi (ga-re-biil'de)
Genet (zhe-na')

548

PRONOUNCING VOCABULARY.

Ghibilline (gib'e-lin)
Ghirlandajo (ger-lan-da'yo)
Gilgamish (gil-gam'ish)
Giotto (zjot'to)
Giottoesque (zjot-to-esque )
Giottino (zjot-ti'no)
Giorgione (zjor-jo'ne)
Gluck (glopk)
Goethe (ge'te)
Gounod (goo-n5')
Goya (go'ya)
Gower (gou er)
Gracchi (grak'kl)
Gregorian (greg-6'rian)
Guelfs (gwelfs)
Guido Reni (gwe-do ra'ne)

Hadrian (ha'dri-an)
Halcyone (hal'se-on)
Halicarnassus (hal-i-kar-nas'sus)
Hammurabi (ham-mo-ra'be)
Handel (han'del)
Hannibal (han'i-bal)
Hapi (ha'pe)

Hatshepsut (hat-chep'set)
Haydn (ha'dn)
Hauptmann (houpt'man)
Hecate (hek'a-t?)
Heliodorus (he-li-6-do'rus)
Hengist (heng'gist)
Hephaestus (he-fes'tus)
Hera (he'ra)

Heracleitus (her-a-kll-tus)
Heracleopolis (her-ak-le-6p'o-lis)
Hercules (her'ku-lez)
Herculaneum (her-ku-la'ne-um)
Hernes (her'nez)
Herodotus (he-rod'6-tus)
Herrera (er-ra'ra)
Hesiod (he'si-od)
Hesperides (hes-per'i-dez)
Hezekiah (hez-e-ki'a)
Hittite (hit'It)
Hippias (hip'i-as)
Hipparchus (hi-par'kus)
Hippolytus (hi-pol'i-tus)
Hippolyte (hi-pol'i-te)
Hobbema (hob'be-ma)
Hogarth (ho'garth)
Hohenstaufen (ho-en-stou'fen)
Holbein (hol'bm)
Honorius (ho-no'ri-us)
Horsa (hor-sa)
Huguenots (hu'ge-nots)
Humperdinck (hom'per-dingk)
Hyacinthus (hT-a-sin'thus)
Hyksos (hik'soz)
Hyperboreans (hi-per-bo're-anz)
Hypnos (hip'nos)

Ibsen (ib'sen)

Iconoclast (i-kon'o-klast)

Iliad (il'i-ad)

II Penseroso (el-pen-se-rd'so)

Ion (Ton)

Ionian (i-6'ni-an)

Iphigenia (if-i-je-m'a)

Isagoras (i-sag'o-ras)

Ishtar (ish'tar)

Isocrates (Irsok'ra-tes)

Jahweh (ja'ya)
Janiculum (ja-nik'u-lum)
Jephthah (jef'tha)
Joppa (jop'pa)
Jordan (jor dan)
Judaea (ju-de'a)

Karnak (kar'nak)
Keats (kets)
Khufu (ko'fo)
Khafra (khiifra)
Koran (ko'ran)

Lachesis (lak'e-sis)

Laconians (la-co'ni-ans)

L' Allegro (la-la'gro)

Laocoon (la.-6k'6-on)

Lares (la'rez)

La Rabida (la-rab'i-da)

Lebanon (leb'a-non)

Lebrun (le-brun')

Lenaea (le-ne'a)

Leonidas (le-on'i-das)

Lethe (le'the)

Leonardo da Vinci (le-o-nar'dc da

vin'che)

Le Sueur (le-sii-er')
Liszt (list)

Lohengrin (lo'en-grin)
Loki (lo'ke)
Lorelei (16're-lT)
Louis Philippe (16-e fil-lep')
Louvre (lovr)
Lucippus (lit-cip'pus)
Luini (16-e'ne)
Luxor (lok'sor)

Macedonia (mas-e-do'ni-a)
Machiavelli (mak-i-a-vel'li)
Madrigal (macl-re-gal')
Maeterlinck (ma'ter-lingk)
Mafia (ma-fe'a)
Manetho (man'e-tho)
Marathon (mar'a-thon)
Marduk (mar'duk)
Masaccio (ma-sat'cho)
Maspero (mas-pe-ro')
Massenet (mas-na')

PRONOUNCING VOCABULARY.

549

Massys i mas-sis')

Mauve (mov)

Mazarin (maz'a-rm)

Media (me'di-a)

Medes (medz)

Medici (med'e-che)

Hemline (mem'ling)

Menander (me-nan'der)

Menes (me'nez)

Menelaus (men-e-la'us)

Mesopotamia (mes-6-p5-ta'mi-a)

Metternich (met'ter-nich)

Midianites (mid'i-an-ites)

Mignon (men-yon')

Milan (mi-Ian')

Millais (mil-la')

Millet (me-ya')

Miltiades (mil-ti'a-dez)

Mimnermus (mim-ner'mus)

Minnesingers (min'e-sing-ers)

Mithradates or Mithridates (mith-

ra-da'tez)

Moabites (mo'ab-Its)
Moliere (mo-lyar')
Mona Lisa (mo-na le'sa)
Montaigne (mon-tany')
Morpheus (mor-fus)
Mozart (mo'zart)
Murillo (m6-rel'y("0
Mycenae (ml-se'ne)
Mycenaean (ml-se-ne'an)

Nabopolasser (na-bo-polas'sar)

Nantes (nants)

Naxos (nak'sos)

Nebuchadnezzar (neb-u-kad-nez'iir)

Neccho (ne-ko)

Necropolis (ne-crop'o-lis)

Nemesis (nem'e-sis)

Neolithic (ne-o-lith'ic)

Nibelungenlied (ne'be-lung-en-led)

Nicaea (nl-se'a)

Nicias (nish'i-as)

Nicolete (ne'ko-let)

Niini Novgorod (nezh-ni nov'go

rod)

Nilomcter fne-lom'e-ter)
Nineveh (nTn'e-ve)
Niobe (ni'6-be)

Odin (o'din)
Oedipus (ed'i-pus)
Odyssejr (o-dis'us)
Orithyia (6r-ith'ya)
Orpheus (or'fus)
Osiris (6-si'ris)

Pacheco (pa-cha'ko)
Paleolithic (Dal-e-o-lith'ic")

Palestine (pal'es-tine)

Panathenaea (pan-ath-e-ne'a)

Parsis (piir'sez)

Parthenon (par'the-non)

Pausanias (pa-sa'ni-as)

Pclasgians (pe-las'ji-ans)

Pelopiclas (pe-lop'i-das)

Peloponnesus (pel-6-po-ne'sus)

Penates (pe-na'tez)

Pentaur (pen'taur)

Perdiccas (per-dik'as)

Pericles (per'i-klez)

Persephone (per-scf'o-ne)

Perugino (pa-ro-je'no)

Petronius (pe-tro'ni-us)

Phantasos (fan'ta-sos)

Phidias (fid'i-as)

Philemon (fi-le'mon)'

Phlegethus (flej'e-thus)

Phoenician (fe-nTsh'an)

Pinero (pe-ncr'6)

Piraeus (pT-re'us)

Pitti (pit'ti)

Pisa (pe'sa)

Pisistratus (pi-sis'tra-tus)

Plantagenets (plan-taj'e-net)

Plataea (pla-te'a)

Pleiades (pll'a-dez)

Poitiers (pwa-tya')

Polybius (po-lib'i-us)

Polyclitns (pol-5-kli'tus)

Polynotos (pol-ig-nd'tus)

Polyhymnia (pol-i-him'ni-a)

Poseidon (po-si'don)

Potidaea (pot-i-de'a)

Poussin (po-san')

Ponce de Leon (pon-tha da la-on')

Prado (pra'tho)

Praxitiles (praks-it'e-lez)

Princepate (pnn'ke-pat)

Prometheus (pro-me'thus)

Propertius (pro-per'shius)

Psyche (si'ke)

Ptah (pta)

Ptolomey (tol'e-mi)

Pythagorus (pi-thag'o-ras)

Pyrrha (pir'ii)

Pyrrhus (pir'us)

Ra (rii)

Racine (ra-sen')
Ramadan ( ra-ma-dan')
Ramses (ram'sez)
Raphael (raf-a-el)
Ravenna (ra-ven'a)
Rehoboam (re-ho-bo'am)
Rembrandt (rem'l)rant)
Renaissance (rc-na-sans')
Ribalta (re-bal'ta)

550

PRONOUNCING VOCABULARY.

Ribera (re-ba'ra)
Richelieu (resh'lye)
Rienzi (re-en'ze)
Rosetta (ro-zet'ta)
Rossini (ros-se'ne)
Rossetti (ros-set'te)
Rostand (ros-tan')
Rousseau (ro-so')
Rubens (ro'benz)
Ruisdael (rois'dal)

Said (sa-ed')
Salamis (sal'a-mis)
Samaria (sa-ma'ri-a)
Sargon (sar'gon)
Savonarola (sa-vo-na-ro'la)
Schliemaun (shle'man)
Schubert (sho'bert)
Schumann (sho-man)
Seleucus (se-lu'kus)
Selencidae (se-lu'si-de)
Segesta (se-jes'ta)
Semitic (se-mit'ic)
Sennacherib (se-nak'e-rib;
Seti (se'ti)
Seville (sev'il)
Shephelah (sh«f'e-la)
Sidon (si'don)
Sienkievicz (syen-kye'vich)
SimOnides (sl-mon'i-dez)
Sisyphus (sis'i-fus)
Smerdis (smer'dis)
Socrates (sok'ra-tez)
Solomon (sol'd-mon)
Somnus (som'nus)
Sophocles (sof'o-klez)
Sparta (spar'ta)
Stilicho (stil'i-ko)
Strabo (stra'bo)
Sudermann (zo'der-man)
Suetonius (swe-to'ni-us)

Taddeo Gacldi (tad'de-6 gad'de)
Tadema (ta'de-ma)
Talmud (tal'mud)
Tannhauser (tan'hoj-zer)
Tantalus (tan'ta-lus)
Tartarus (tiir'ta-rus)
Temeraire (ta-ma-rar')
Terpsichore (terp-sik'6-re)
Tertullian (ter-tul'yan)
Thales (tha'lez)
Thanatos (than'a-tos)
Themistocles (the-mis'to-klez)
Theodoric (the-od'o-rik)
Theodosius (the-6-do'shius)

Theocritus (the-ok'ri-tus)
Thermopylae (ther-mop'i-le)
Thespis (thes'pis)
Thor (tor)
Thoreau (tho'ro)
Thucydides (thu-sid'i-dez)
Thutmose (thut'mos)
Tiglathpileser (tig-lath-pi-le'zer)
Tintoretto (ten-to-ret'to)
Tiryns (ti'rinz)
Titian (tish'an)
Trafalgar (traf-al-gar')
Trollope (trol'up)
Troyen (tro'yen)
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