The Cosmopolitan 1888-11: Vol 6 Iss 1

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THE COSMOPOLITAN. NOVEMBER, 1888. VoL. VI. T is within the memory of men still hav- ing many years to live, that a lady on horseback in Washington was as much an object of curiosity as a tame bear or wild Zulu. She seemed, in the estimation of the gamin, destined by Providence to be jeered at and pursued with missiles. If she were not, like Stephen, stoned to death for her bold assault upon the stronghold of preju- dice, it was not due to the kind considera- tion of her little persecutors, who looked upon a lady in a saddle and a silk hat in the same way that a head is said to be regarded at a Donnybrook Fair—to be hit. As has been so often the case, her brother’s in- dulgence was looked upon with more leni- ency. He was allowed to ride in the streets of Washington unmolested ; at all events, there is no tradition either oral or written that ribald shouts or pebbles ever pursued the leisurely pace of Mr. Bancroft, the His- torian, or Mr. Spofford, the Librarian of Congress. For years these gentlemen were the only ‘‘solitary horsemen ’’ that a cer- tain school of novelists could, with a proper respect for the principles of realism, have RIDING IN WASHINGTON. By FRANKLIN P. SMITH. introduced into a thrilling tale of adventure laid within the narrow borders of the District of Columbia. With few and unimportant exceptions like these, the inhabitants of the National Capital eschewed equestrianism, and clung with touching affection to those well-tried forms of locomotion—walking, the street-car, and the four-wheeled vehicle. But all at once and mysteriously a change came over the city. Equestrianism struck it like a tornado—resistless, indiscriminate, merciless, sparing neither man, nor woman, nor child. Within the brief period of two years, it invaded the mansions on the ave- nues, where dwell statesmen, millionaires and diplomatists, and the less pretentious struc- tures where abide the clerks of the Govern- ment departments and the thrifty trades- men of the capital. The White House itself is still believed to be free from the contagion. President Cleveland’s portly form has not yet been seen incased in a tight cutaway, white trousers and top-boots, and mounted upon the strong back of some restless thoroughbred. His extraordinary political career has not dulled his sense of humor ; Entered at the New York Post Office as second-class matter. Copyright, 1888, by THE COSMOPOLITAN MAGAZINE Co.

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4 RIDING IN WASHINGTON. for he saw, no doubt, with his mind’s eye how he would look mounted for a paper chase, and how jovial pens would seize the golden chance to provoke a merry laugh. The resolution of the President not to en- courage by example as well as by precept the sport to which the National Capital is so madly devoted, has been the cause of no little secret griefto them. Some of the less democratic of the court circle of the Repub- lic feel that the chief executive, like the Prince of Wales, should be a social leader, the active and foremost patron of all those pleasant but futile schemes to make life one glorious holiday. Hard to bear as has been his refusal to imperil the affairs of state by risking his neck on the unstable back of a fleet-footed steed, they have refused to be consoled for Mrs. Cleveland’s abstinence from riding. Her friends have importuned her with a persistence worthy of the cause that they have at heart to join their tanbark tournaments and their simulated fox hunts ; they have pictured to her the pleasure and exhilaration of these divine sports ; but to the entreating words and smiles of ladies and the gracious and eloquent speech of men, she has been unyielding. Whether this apparent obstinacy, so charming that it ought to have a finer and more fit name, has been due to dislike of riding or deference to her husband’s wishes, it were idle perhaps to speculate. Still I can not refrain from mentioning the fact that there was a time in her life, before she assumed the grave and onerous duties of the first lady of the land, when she was rather fond of riding. Nor must I fail to mention also how a young statesman who, though not so eloquent as Webster or Clay, can ride better than either, once called at the White House with the gentlest and most comely of animals to in- vite her to ride; how, like Agrippa, she was ‘‘almost persuaded”’ to accept the invita- tion; how the President, with sweet and gentle firmness, interposed a veto; how the young wife, mindful of her oath to obey her husband, yielded to his wisdom and will ; how the young statesman, unreconciled to his disappointment by the profusion of thanks with which his kindness and court- esy were rewarded, rode away with a heavy heart to seek another companion. In spite of this reluctance to ride herself, Mrs. Cleveland has attended many of the enter- tainments given at the Riding Academy, and the success and brilliancy of the drag hunts and paper chases have been due to a degree to her warm encouragement and stimulating presence. If she has decided, as it is claimed, to renew her acquaintance with the saddle this autumn, nothing ex- cept,a similar resolution on the President’s part will be wanting to give equestrianism in Washington the perfect official and social standing that it does not now quite possess. Whatever it was possible to do to remedy this somewhat serious defect has been done by several members of the Cabinet. Secre- tary Bayard, Secretary Fairchild, Secretary Whitney and Secretary Endicott have thrown the weight of their great influence and noble example in favor of this fine and healthful exercise. The finances of Uncle Sam take so much of Mr. Fairchild’s time that he has not yet figured conspicuously in equestrian sports. When he succeeds in tearing him- self away from his desk, he mounts his horse with youthful agility and rides with much grace and skill. Secretary Bayard also finds the indulgence of his equestrian tastes limited by his official duties ; for it is indeed no slight task to look after some of the impertinent and meddlesome neighbors of the United States. He has his own stable, and when Providence sees fit to reward his diligence with a little leisure, he may be seen riding alone or in company with his daughter, who is far more skilled in eques- trianism than he. Sometimes he patronizes the Riding Academy. The War Department claims most of the time of Secretary Endi- cott. Although we are not at present en- gaged in any extensive military operations, he feels that the allurements of a fine sport should not interfere with his public duties and patriotism. Still, when he is not too intent on looking after a poor deserter or an Indian on the warpath, he enjoys a ride as well as any of his official associates. But the chief apostle of equestrianism in the Cabinet is Secretary Whitney. Healone has the time, or makes the time by quick and easy methods of dispatching public business, to indulge to the fullest extent his flaming passion for riding. He has the advantage of Secretary Endicott in that the United States Navy is not so ‘‘numerous’”’ as the United States Army; and he is not troubled with either red-skins or deserters

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RIDING IN WASHINGTON. 5 EXTERIOR OF THE WASHINGTON KIDING ACADEMY. or pirates. Nor is he obliged, like Secretary Bayard, to be constantly on the alert to thwart the wicked designs of wily diploma- tists. Whatever money he has to look after is his own—or his wife’s, and so he is not subjected to the terrific strain to which Secre- tary Fairchild is subjected. It is, without doubt, this freedom from ‘‘carking care’’ and responsibility that accounts for his pro- ficiency in equestrianism, for it is admitted universally that he is one of the finest of the three or four first-class riders in Washington. He has five horses that he keeps at the Riding Academy ; they are fine specimens of horseflesh, and they never fail to fill the heart of the connoisseur with the bitterest envy. They are provided for with all the care and solicitude that might be bestowed upon a family of children. Two of the horses are splendid grays, two are bays and one is a chestnut. One or two of them are recent purchases, and are undergoing a severe course of training at the hands of Lieut. Victor Lindholm, the polite and accom- plished riding master of the academy. The Secretary has a daughter and two sons that are learning to ride, and this abundance of horses is as much for their use as his own. He is one of the leaders in the paper chases and drag hunts; so much so, in fact, that one of his assistants was moved irresistibly to make a remark that has been repeated with keen enjoyment by those familiar with some of the Secretary’s business methods. So active is he that he finds it impossible to sit from ‘‘early morn till dewy eve’’ and half of the night at his desk, and examine with painstaking care the numerous papers that require his consideration. He has, in consequence, fallen into the habit, some- times very distressing to his assistant, of thrusting them into his pocket and taking them away with him, to be looked over while at home or in traveling in a drawing-room car, ‘‘ but never,’’ the malicious say, ‘‘ while on horseback, which is a matter that he devotes his whole mind to without begrudg- ing the loss of time or the consumption of energy.’’ In this way documents of more or less importance are occasionally mislaid or

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6 RIDING IN WASHINGTON. lost. Thereupon the assistant in a ‘‘ state of mind’’ begins a careful search for them. Not infrequently his patience and diligence are put to an exceedingly severe strain before the missing paper is found. One day after he had been trotting all over the Navy Department on an errand of this kind, while the Secretary was enjoying his favor- ite recreation, he threw himself into a chair quite exhausted: at the same time he re- marked with painfully unscriptural empha- sis, ‘‘It’s all right if the Secretary wants to get up a paper chase ; but I’ll be hanged if I don’t wish he’d come here to do it.”’ With this official and social indorsement, it was perhaps inevitable that equestrianism once started upon its career should have ac- quired its present unexampled momentum. The bicycle has for a long time reigned supreme ; bicyclists and bicycle clubs exist almost without number. But it was early realized that equestrianism was more aris- tocratic and artistic ; it required more money and more skill, and now it has ‘‘the lead’”’ among all people that make any pretense to worship at the shrine of fashion. One of the commonest sights in the beautiful and spacious grounds of the Smithsonian Insti- tution and the Soldiers’ Home, or on the Heights of Georgetown and Arlington, is a lady in saddle, with or without an escort. She has ceased to be the amazing curiosity that she was once. It seems quite as much in the order of nature for her to ride as her brother, although she does not ride in the same way, a fact that had much to do un- doubtedly in calling forth the prejudice and indignities that she was at one time favored with. She talks horse with all the ease and knowledge of an old habitué of the turf. Whether in the drawing-room or in the Corcoran Gallery ; whether in the Senate chamber, under the pretense of listening to debate, or in a dry-goods store to inspect the newest thing in ribbons and laces, she is loyal to her latest ‘‘fad.’’ She mingles with delicious piquancy the jargon of the turf with the language of culture. If she speaks of a ‘‘ meet’’ with her lover, or of a ‘‘ crop- per’’ when she falls out with him, she is none the less beautiful and fascinating, none the less capable of becoming the most de- voted of wives and the most solicitous of mothers. In fact her contact with sunlight, her activity in open air—the deeper flush of cheek, the fuller swell of bosom, the greater vigor of limb consequent—fit her more per- fectly for her noble and immortal destiny. It is in the gloom or glare of the reception- room, not in the freedom of the saddle, that she pales and sickens and fades away. Even in the earliest days of the outbreak of equestrianism, the need of some place where proper instruction in the art could be given was felt. Curiously enough there were more people in Washington that owned horses than could ride them with grace and comfort. Their equestrian education had been sadly neglected ; and unless neglect could be remedied, it was not possible for Washington to rival the other equestrian centers of America. Curiously enough, too, the need was felt more strongly by the ladies than by the gentlemen. There were few of the latter that did not consider themselves finished riders. Their standard of perfection seems to have been the ability to sit on a horse straight when standing still and to cling to him successfully when jumping a ditch or a fence. They treated with some disdain that careful instruction and long and laborious training so essential to good rid- ing. On the other hand, the ladies appre- ciated the comic figure cut by an awkward rider, and saw at once that in order to enjoy the sport satisfactorily, they must learn how to ride ; they must take lessons of competent teachers, and practice where they might at least be safe, if not secluded. The consequence was, that the Riding Academy was built on P Street, near Rock Creek. It is said to be the finest building in point of convenience and equipment in the country. Ata lavish expenditure of money there have been provided dressing-rooms, bath-rooms, reception-rooms, card-rooms (and a bouffet, it should be added) that rival in elegance those of a private mansion. The beautiful hangings soften the harsh light of day, and in the evening they give a pleas- ing richness to the apartments they adorn. There is satin and velvet furniture to tempt to sedentary comfort and pleasure those more prone to the delights of gossip, or cut glass, or a quiet game of poker or all three than to the sports of the tanbark. The pict- ure of a famous horse or a cross-country scene or some other subject dear to the eques- trian heart here and there adorns the walls of the rooms. Galleries surround the ring, and

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RIDING IN WASHINGTON. 7 INTERIOR OF RIDING ACADEMY. during the season when ‘‘the beauty and chivalry ’’ of the Capital are moving in pict- uresque order below, they are crowded with statesmen, diplomatists, military men of eminence, social leaders and all that throng of men and women that find more pleasure in watching the evolutions of a skillful horseman than in mastering them them- selves. On the floor beneath the ring are located the stables, spacious, well-ventilated and as clean and neat as the habitations of men. Here are to be found the five beauti- ful horses of Secretary Whitney ; the saucy little Indian pony of Mr. Alexander Greger, the secretary of the Russian legation ; the spirited and vicious-looking dark bay of Miss Ethel Chase Sprague, the daughter of Mrs. Kate Chase; and the thirty or forty horses owned by the academy and ridden by its pupils ; and still further down is the carriage-room, containing thirteen thousand square feet, and large enough to drive a four- in-hand in with ease. The academy, built and owned by Mr. J. D. Brown, was opened early in the present year. Forthwith it was thronged with pupils from morning until night and late in the evening. Upon the tanbark, at some time in the day or beneath the electric light at night, could be seen the best and poorest riders in Washington, the handsomest and plainest women that ever sat in a saddle. Statesmen and military men with their wives and daughters, diplomatists and those not on the rolls of fame came here to ride. Sec- retary Bayard and his daughters ; Secretary Whitney and his daughter and two sons, and sometimes his wife ; Secretary Fairchild and Secretary Endicott and his daughter, who, although but a beginner in the art, promises to be a fearless and finished rider ; Senator Cameron and his daughter Mar- guerite, who, like Miss Endicott, is a be- ginner, but is certain to become an accom- plished horsewoman ; Mrs. Hawley, the wife of Senator Hawley, who is an English wo- man, and like most English women, has rid- den all her life ; Mrs. Davis, the wife of Sena- tor Davis, famous for both her beauty and great skill as a rider ; Miss McCulloch, the ac- complished daughter of ex-Secretary McCul- loch ; Hon. Perry Belmont, of New York, and Hon. Henry Cobottadge, of Mass.; nor must I fail to mention Mr. Spring Rice and Sir Arthur Hurburt, of the British legation, Baron Struve, the Russian ambassador, and

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Mr. Greger, the secretary of this legation ; Colonel Trey, the Swiss ambassador, and Dr. Yow, of the Chinese legation, who has recently taken up the art with much enthu- siasm and to the great amusement of those that can not reconcile his elaborate and gor- geous national costume with equestrianism. Before the present Minister’s arrival from China, much latitude was allowed the mem- bers of the legation in the matter of dress. They would discard their ungainly headgear, their flowing tunic, and capacious trousers, and appear in a stylish derby or silk, in a Prince Albert coat or cutaway, and in trousers of ordinary dimensions; they dis- carded their national clogs, and wore calf- skin or patent leather. These changes were particularly convenient to them when they came to attend dancing school, as some of them did, to master the ravishing move- ments of the waltz and to realize the delights of gliding with a pretty American girl over the polished floor. But upon the advent of the new Minister all this happy freedom came to a sudden ending. He believed that true Chinese patriotism and American gar- ments were incompatible. Deeply imbued with this narrow philosophy of clothes, he directed that all the members of the legation adhere strictly and upon all occasions to the national costume; and now if one of the mem- bers desires to dance, he must waltz or polka to the accompanying clicks of a cork-soled shoe and enveloped in the gorgeous cloud of drapery that the laws of the Celestial Empire prescribe for all loyal subjects; and this is the reason why poor Dr. Yow, the most gentle and amiable of mortals, is obliged to duck and hamper himself in his national costume while in pursuit of the art and pleasures of equestrianism. He has taken up riding with characteristic energy and in- telligence, and will ere long be one of the foremost riders in the diplomatic corps. ‘*There’s something in a flying horse’’ that fascinates him ; and although his cos- tume gives him the appearance, when riding in the wind, of an inflated balloon, he has not been deterred from taking a very con- spicuous part in the paper chases, and in the exercises at the Riding Academy. One of the features of the academy has been the music rides on Saturday evenings. So popular were they in the season, that other entertainments, whether social or theat- 8 RIDING IN WASHINGTON. rical, had to be abandoned. It is said that the accomplished wife of a learned Justice of the Supreme Court, who had announced a reception on one of these occasions, was humiliated to discover that the allurements of the tanbark had been more potent than the charms of her beautiful and spacious rooms, and her gracious and generous hos- pitality. The reception had to be abandoned, for the social world had crowded the ring and thronged the galleries of the Riding Academy. As soon as thé sports of the even- ing ceased, Mr. Brown invited the riders and their friends to the reception rooms, and there they found spread in the neatest and daintiest way those tempting creations of the cook and sparkling products of the vintage that will never cease to be dear to the stomach of man. Then there is besides the Riding Academy the Cross Country Club, also an outgrowth of the prevalent interest in equestrianism. It was organized early in the spring, Capt. I. W. Symns being president and Mr. Alexan- der Greger, vice-president. As yet it has no club-house, but arrangements are being made to build a fine one near Rock Creek. Some of the members of the organization count their wealth by the millions, and they mean to have a building that shall excel in beauty and convenience any in the country. In this age of scientific inquiry, it is a natural desire to know the cause of things. Although this desire can not always be grat- ified, the phenomenal interest and activity in riding in Washington admits of a ready explanation : they are due to Mr. Greger, for previous to his efforts equestrianism was at low ebb. He is a wealthy and accomplished young Russian, who has lived in this coun- try several years. He speaks the English language with the correctness and fluency of natives, and his knowledge of the United States is varied and exact. Generous, sym- pathetic, cordial, polite, he is the most popu- lar member of the diplomatic corps, and he is much sought after by the society of the Capital. He is a bachelor, but a bachelor of the most provoking catholicity of feeling toward ladies. Although exceedingly fond of their society, he has no preference for the unmarried, which is painfully exasperating to the matrons in search of acceptable hus- bands for their daughters, nor has he any special liking for the married, which is

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RIDING IN WASHINGTON. 9 MISS ANNIE AYRE, a source of bitter disappointment to the gossips that find much nourishment in pi- quant intrigues. Amazing stories are told of his fabulous wealth ; whether they be true or false, it is certain that in meeting the cost of the gifts and entertainments for which he is famous, he seems at times to draw upon a purse that has no bottom. He is thirty years old perhaps, of medium height, with light hair and a heavy mustache ; and while he is not large, he is well and com- pactly built. Riding, fencing, boxing and similar sports have given him the strength and suppleness that make an attractive looking man: He has a frank, open face that inspires confidence at once: and his fine features and high forehead stamp him as a man of brains and culture. Mr. Greger has always been an enthusias- tic horseman. Fond as he is of fencing, in which he is an expert, it is to riding that he gives the most attention ; for it affords him the most social enjoyment. He has a com- pletely equipped fencing gallery in the Rus- sian legation, with the high ceiling of an old castle hall, and with foils and broad- swords and masks hanging about without number. Here he invites those of his per- sonal friends, ladies as well as gentlemen, and gives them the benefit of his long expe- rience and surprising skill; but fencing is not a favorite sport with ladies nor does it enjoy much popularity in Washington ; and as it is the ladies that Mr. Greger is constantly and successfully endeavoring to please, equestrianism, as I have said, takes

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10 RIDING IN WASHINGTON. ALEXANDER GREGER. most of his attention. He is the recognized and unrivaled leader in this sport ; without him it would never have attained its present popularity ; without him it would probably languish and die. He has several fine horses of hisown. Besides the Indian pony already mentioned, there are in his stables at the legation two splendid Orloffs, one a black and the other a bay, with a pedigree of a hundred years; a polo pony that has dis- tinguished himself for speed; and “a fine thoroughbred sorrel mare, a sister of Mrs. Cleveland’s favorite horse. The two Orloffs were brought to this country from Russia, by Mr. Greger, and are reputed to be worth more than a thousand dollars each. Mr. Greger came to the United States four years ago ; it was not, however, until a year ago that he placed riding in the front rank of social amusements. In March, 1887, he gave what is known asa ‘‘ paper chase.’”’ It was one of those delightful surprises with which he has favored Washington society ever since. Only a few people had the faint- est idea of what a paper chase is like; the phrase had no more meaning to the uninitiated than a witches’ incantation ; and this mystery perhaps made it all the more fascinating to them ; at all events, it became popular at once and has remained so. The paper chase, or paper hunt, as it is sometimes called, is in perfect accord with the spirit of modern civilization and enlightenment. It is a fascinat- ing but still base imitation of the fox hunt ; but it has no more real resemblance to the genuine article than the bureau-bedstead or the piano-refrigerator has to the beautiful pieces of furniture that they so impudently coun- terfeit. Had Gay composed his ‘* Rural Sports’’ in this genera- tion, he would never have writ- ten, “The healthy huntsman, with his cheer- ful horn, Summons the dogs and greets the dap- pled morn : The jocund thunder wakes the enliv- ened hounds; They rouse from sleep and answer round for round,” for there would have been no dogs to write about. Moreover the tissue huntsman never greets ‘‘ the dappled morn ;”’ heisn’t upintime. He knows nothing of the glories of the breaking day ; his breast never expands with the morning air ; he never sees the silver sparkle of the early dew ; he never hears the echoing voice of the baying hound ; the captured fox never brings to his lips the victor’s cheer. He rises whenever the spirit, enterprise or indolence allows him, and occu- pies himself with whatever affairs Providence in its infinite wisdom has seen fit to intrust to his diligence and judgment. When the day has passed its zenith, he rides leis- urely to the ‘‘ meet,’’ or the place where the Nimrods in cutaways and top-boots, and the Dianas in silk hats and trousers have gath- ered to await the signal to begin the chase. Here are assembled, in many carriages of every kind, their friends and other spectators, either too mindful of the safety of their necks or too unskilled in riding ‘‘a flying horse’”’ to participate in the sports of the day. Two of the horsemen have been provided with

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RIDING IN WASHINGTON. II bags, usually leather hunting bags, filled with bits of blue and yellow or blue and pink or red and yellow tissue paper; they are known as the ‘‘hares ;’’ they take the place of the foxes; they, or rather the bits of paper in the bags flung over their shoulders, are to be rid- MISS MARY MCCULLOCH. den down, to be pursued to the ‘‘finish,’’ where, in days gone by, the crafty fox was torn in pieces by the savage hounds. When everything is ready the signal is given and away they go, taking the route that had two or three days before been se- lected and ridden over. Ifthe chase is to be a short one of five or six miles, they are given a start of six or eight minutes; if a longer one of ten or twelve miles, the time allowed them is ten or fifteen minutes. This merciful provision of the sport is to enable the hares to get so far ahead that they shall not be overtaken and theoretically slain before the finish. As they ride away the movements of the horses scatter the paper from the bags, and fluttering for a moment in the air like wounded birds, fall to the ground. Thus the ‘“‘trail’’ is laid. To con- fuse and mistify the riders that are to fol- low and that are known as the “‘ hounds,” the hares strike off here and there from the main course, thus giving a false ‘‘ scent ;’’ after riding half a mile or more, they return to it and pursue it with deviations to the finish. If the trail is a very long one, boys with other bags full of paper are stationed at convenient intervals supplying the needed scent. ‘‘Hark, the shrill trumpet sounds to horse, away.’’ This noisy instrument has been blown by the leader of the ‘‘ pack,”’ already impatient to be let loose on the poor hares. From fifty to a hundred riders, both men and women, take the trail at once, and dash away. In the paper hunts, as con- ducted in Washington, there is at this time much confusion. Perfect skill in the man- agement of a horse is not yet one of the ac- complishments of many of the equestrians ofthis city. Collisions are frequent and ex- asperating. Hot-headed riders, unfamiliar with the observances of the chase, plunge into it with all the impetuous energy of racers. There is no attempt to save the strength of the horse for the finish. Down hills, over gullies and fences, through woods and brush, over plowed fields and grassy meadows, up and down the narrowest bridle

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12 RIDING IN WASHINGTON. MISS FRENCH. paths that ever wound in and out of the deep- est Virginian gorge. They ride as fast as the horsemen that ‘‘ carried the good news to Aix,’’ and far more recklessly. Little wonder that horses run into each other like carroming billiard balls ; little wonder that they jump into ditches, and turn summer- saults as neatly and completely as the most skillful of Barnum's acrobats ; little wonder that they strike against trees, or fall on their haunches, or stumble over fences ; neither they nor their riders are adepts at cross-coun- try riding. Little wonder that unhorsed ladies are dragged by the heels, or sus- pended from branches like David’s wayward son ; little wonder that men are thrown on their heads in a ditch, or on a stone heap, and picked up bleeding and senseless, with shoulder crushed, or rib broken, or ankle dis- located. Undoubtedly, Heaven feels called upon to rebuke recklessness in some way, and these ways are probably as effective as any. But while the cold-blooded philosopher might think ‘‘——’’ at heart, like courtly Chesterfield, who after a long chase over hills, dales, and bushes, and what not, though he rode beyond all price, asked next day, ‘if men were hunted twice,’'’ these mishaps only whet the appetite of the Wash- ington riders; the more danger, the more sport. It is at the finish the paper chase rises to its impressive climax. As soon as the hounds vanish from sight, the spectators are told where this is to take place. The car riages and the timid or unskilled riders move at a leisurely pace to the point desig- nated. Here, staked off for some distance with little flags, is the course that the hounds will take to reach the finish, which is indi- cated by a pole. To afford the riders an op- portunity to show the ability of their horses to jump, and to exhibit their own marvelous skill in clinging to the saddle, several hur- dles are built near the end of the course ; these hurdles are simply low fences entwined with evergreens to give them a substantial look ; without this simulation, the advancing horse is not likely to make the necessary effort to clear the obstruction. The top rail is usually loose, so that if the animal strikes his foot he will not stumble and fall. For the benefit of those horses that do not jump, or those riders that can not hold their seat in a vault, space is left between the hurdles and the flags for the animals to pass through. Along both sides of the course, in tally-hos, landaus, victorias, and in saddle, the spec- tators range themselves. They chat of the horses, of the probable winners, of the pos- sible accidents, they crane their necks, and strain their eyes to catch a glimpse of the approaching hunters. The arrival of the hares throws them into a state of lively ex- citement, for they know that the hounds can not be far behind. All at oncethe trumpeter, stationed some distance away on an eleva- tion, announces the appearance of the fore- most of the pack. Perhaps it is one of the gentlemen. Hatless, and his horse's flanks plastered with the red mud of Virginia’s sacred soil, he comes flying across the field in fine old Tam o’ Shanter style. Again the bugle sounds, and another rider, a lady per- haps, possibly two ladies, with their horses neck and neck, approach the hurdles. Still another bugle blast, and the second gentle-

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RIDING IN WASHINGTON. 13 man, followed close by other riders near the finish. The first rider, greeted with the shouts of his enthusiastic friends, has jumped the hurdles, reached the pole, and become the winner of the first prize. The two ladies with their hats trampled beneath the feet of horses two miles away, with their hair trail- ing behind their sparkling eyes and blaz- ing cheeks like a comet’s tail, the skirts of their black or green habits blowing in the wind like inflated sails, bound over the hur- dles together and reach the pole at the same instant. But the next horse shies around the end of the hurdle, nearly pitching his rider into the brush. With the arrival of the first ten or fifteen riders, the excitement be- gins to wane. Those that follow having been led off the trail by a false scent, or met with some accident that detained them un- duly, or having exhausted their horses by furious riding for the first two or three miles, come straggling in as best they can. Some ofthem may be injured, and are not without consolation such as it is for being so far be- hind. Others have more or less ingenious theories to account for their ill luck, and are thus enabled to get on easy terms with a conscience that would otherwise upbraid them severely fortheir tardiness. What now happens is best described by an archaic poet of the Capital, who, in verses of unusual fire, seems to have caught the spirit of the paper chase with a perfection that is unrivaled by any other Washington poet. He says: “Then houndes and hares and all sit downe To wassail and to wine. Ye horses are ye only guestes That are not in to dine. For better is this kinde of hunte, Ye Christian man declares, Than ye other kindein which Ye houndes doth eat ye hares.”’ They recount their adventures, and laugh over their mishaps ; and when the lunch comes to an end, like every other joy in life, they return to their horses and carriages, and falling into line, make their way merrily to town. Such are the substantial features of the paper chase as it has been conducted in Washington. With the exception of the bad riding, more prevalent here than in Europe, it is like the paper chase in Russia and in Germany, where Mr. Greger first became acquainted with it. He has had the honor of entertaining his Empress with MRS. SENATOR DAVIS. the sport, and the manner in which it is con- ducted in St. Petersburg he has introduced into this country. For ladies it is preferable to the fox chase, which still exists in the District of Columbia in spite of the efforts of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals to suppress it. The country about Washington is very rough, and a fox would easily lead the most fearless rider over a trail that he would find extremely difficult and hazardous to follow. In the case of a paper chase the trail may be made easy or difficult, long or short, to suit the courage and strength of the ladies that are to follow it. The trail of the first paper chase of the season, which

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14 RIDING IN WASHINGTON. MISS GENEVIEVE PAUL. occurred on the oth of April, was eight or nine mileslong. It began on Georgetown Heights, and pursuing a very devious course, ended at Fort Meyer on Arlington Heights. The trail of the second paper chase, which took place on the 23d of April, was much shorter and was less trying to horse and rider ; the meet was at Mount Pleasant, north of Washington, and the finish was at Grass- lands, the beautiful country seat of Secretary Whitney. The first hunt was given by Mr. Greger, and the second by the Cross-Country Club. The first was the more exciting, because there were more mishaps; it was honored with the presence of Mrs. Cleveland, who distributed the prizes given by Mr. Greger. The first prize was a gold horse-shoe set with diamonds ; the second was set with dia- monds and rubies, the third with diamonds and emeralds, and the others were set with pearls and given to all ladies whose horses jumped the hurdles. Mr. Henry Cabot Lodge, the well-known writer and Congressman from Massachusetts, took the first prize ; but hardly had he time to receive it from Mrs. Cleveland’s hands before he was placed under arrest by the assistant sergeant-at- arms of the House for permitting the fascina- tions of the chase to take him from his duties to the State without per- mission. Dr. Yow was present at the chase, but he did not capture a prize. Mounted on a pony and dressed in a red velvet tunic, blue trousers and white leggins, his head covered with a black skull cap with a little coral button on top, and his eyes protected from the sun with huge smoked- glass goggles, he present- ed at the meet a memor- able sight. After press- ing the end of his queue under the lappel of his tunic pocket, he started out bravely with the other riders, but for some rea- son he became disheart- ened before reaching the finish, and turning aside he continued his ride to the Chinese legation. All the riders wore Mr. Greger’s colors—purple and white. He sent to all the ladies bouquets of purple and white vio- lets. At that time of the year white violets were worth almost their weight in gold, but this made no difference to Mr. Greger; the more expensive, the more desirable it was to have them. The second paper chase was notable for its freedom from accidents, and also because of the fact that the refreshments were served at Secretary Whitney’s. Mr. Whitney is famous for the lavishness with which he dis- penses hospitality, and his wife accompanies it with a graciousness that works an irresist- ible charm. Their generosity and kindness are not excelled. Every Decoration Day, all persons connected with the Navy Depart- ment are invited to Grasslands. Carriages are sent to take them there and to take them home. Lawn tennis and croquet, music and dancing, meat and drink in bewildering variety and quantity are provided. Every Christmas there is not a person in the de- partment, from the colored messenger boy to

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RIDING IN WASHINGTON. MISS ETHEL CHASE SPRAGUE. the venerable admiral, that does not receive from the Secretary a note signed by his own hand, asking the recipient to do him the honor to dine with him, and begging him to go to a certain place and select one from the thousand and more turkeys that have been purchased to meet the demands of this boundless generosity. The same character- istics are shown by the Secretary and his wife on every occasion ; but at the paper chase they fairly outdid themselves. After the distribution of the prizes, which had been purchased by Mr. Whitney and Mr. Greger, the riders and their friends were invited to the tables that had been spread on the spa- cious lawn rolling away from the old mansion like an emerald sea. In spite of the prevalent notion to the contrary, there are many foxes about Wash- am told that there are at least ington. I twenty dens within sight of the Capital, and it is estimated that within the last few years more than one hundred of their occu- pants have been slain. Occasionally this sport has been varied by a steeple chase, or a gentlemen’s race at Ivy City. But this interest in riding was feeble and sporadic compared with the present madness. First-class riders can no longer be counted on the fingers. This is notably true of the ladies ; they can be numbered by the score. In any inadequate enumeration of them, the first place must be accorded to Miss Nannie Bayard, the daughter of Secretary Bayard. She is by far the most accomplished eques- trienne in town. She has distinguished her- self in the fox chase. Up before daybreak, she has joined a party of hunters and ridden

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16 RIDING IN WASHINGTON. a long distance over the roughest ground without fatigue or accident. At the steeple chase she has shown herself to be without a rival among the ladies. She owns her own horse, a large handsome bay, who is as fond of her as she isof him. Next rank Miss Mary McCulloch, the daughter of the ex- Secretary of the Treasury, Miss Ethel Chase Sprague, Miss Annie Ayre, the daughter of Dr. James Ayre, Miss Alice Maury, the daughter of the Assistant Attorney-General, Miss Carlotta French, the daughter of Con- gressman French, Miss Everett, the daugh- ter of H. Sidney Everett, Miss Lulie Eustis, the granddaughter of the late Mr. Cor- coran, Mrs. G. R. Tompkins, Mrs. Bates, the wife of Colonel Bates, U. S. A., Mrs. Whitman, Mrs. Davis, the wife of Sena- tor Davis, Miss Genevieve Paul, the daugh- ter of the late General Paul, Miss Emily and Miss Josie Newcomb, the daughters of Professor Newcomb, Miss Powell, the daugh- ter of Mayor Powell, and Miss Florence Spofford, the daughter of Librarian Spofford. Mrs. Davis rides every day, and it is in this way that she maintains the perfect health that blooms in the rosiest cheeks. Miss McCul- loch is fond of all out-door sports ; besides being a good rider, she is an excellent fencer. She owns her own horse, and like Miss Bay- ard she is a good judge of horses. Miss French is a fearless rider, having been ac- customed to the saddle since her childhood. Miss Sprague is a lover of all out-door sports. She has the maximum degree of courage, and bounds over a fence with her horse as though she’had been accustomed to «the thing all her life. Miss Ayre learned to ride in South America, where she lived for many years. Miss Maury has an abun- dance of courage, and no one dare lead where she dare not go. She has her own horse, a fine chestnut, with a good turn of speed. Among the gentlemen riders may be mentioned Professor S. F. Emmons, of the Geological Survey, Mr. H. S. and A. B. Le- garé, of the State Department, Richard Mal- lach, Sir Arthur Herbert and Mr. Spring Rice, of the British legation, Mr. Richard Peters and Mr. Mark Kerr. While the paper chase has been the most popular form of equestrianism, it has not been the only form. There have been several drag hunts, a spurious kind of fox chase. The pelt of a flayed fox or a bag filled with anise seed is dragged over the course de- termined upon and the hounds let loose. These creatures are not deficient in an intel- ligent moral sense, and many of them refuse to lend their support to the base deception. But moonlight rides are popular, and like the paper hunts are due to the genius and energy of Mr. Greger, who has recently introduced them. They are as informal as an elopement and quite as enjoyable. With- out the least warning Mr. Greger sends out a messenger at half past six or seven in the evening to those that are fond of cross- cguntry riding, to invite them to meet at the Riding Academy for a short canter and a lunch. The riders mount their horses, and in an hour they are following the lead of Mr. Greger through unknown paths in the broad fields and picturesque vales that surround Washington. Now and then his hunter's horn is heard in the distance, and this is to guide those that may not be able to keep his pace. After a ride of several miles Mr. Greger modestly invites his guests in at the country house or some other place ‘‘ to take acup of tea’’ with him. But what is their surprise to find awaiting them a spread that would do credit to Delmonico’s! The mys-’ tery of this apparition of wines and viands vanishes only when it is learned that Mr. Greger made all the necessary preparations before sending out his invitations and dis- patched his ‘‘cup of tea’’ in a wagon with all the necessary concomitants.

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MISS LOU.—PartT VII.* By EDWARD P. ROE. CHAPTER XXVII. AUN’ JINKEY’S SUPREME TEST. Bere first long tragic day of hospital ex- perience had so absorbed Miss Lou as to relegate into the background events which a short time before had been beyond her wildest dreams. In the utter negation of her life she had wished that something would happen, and so much had happened, and so swiftly, that she was bewildered. The strangest thing of all was the change in herself. Lovers of the Whately and May- nard type could only repel by their tactics. She was too high-spirited to submit to the one, and too simple and sincere, still too much of a child, to feel anything but an- noyance at the sentimental gallantry of the other. The genial spirit of comradeship in Scoville, could it have been maintained through months of ordinary life, would probably have prepared the way for deeper feeling on the part of both, but there had been no time for the gradual development of good-will and friendly understanding into something more. They had been caught in an unexpected whirl of events and swept forward into relations utterly unforeseen. He owed his escape from much dreaded cap- tivity and his very life to her, and, as he had said, these facts, to her generous nature, were even more powerful in their influence than if she herself had received the priceless favors. At the same time, her course to- ward him, dictated at first by mere human- ity, then good-will, had made his regard for her seem natural even to her girlish heart. As she sought to regain composure after the last interview with her cousin, and to think of her best course in view of what seemed his dangerous knowledge, a truth, kept back thus far by solemn and absorbing scenes, suddenly became dear to her. The spirit of all-consuming selfishness again manifested by Whately revealed as never before the gulf of abject misery into which she would have fallen as his wife. ‘‘If it * Copyright, 1888, by Dodd, Mead & Company. Begun in Tae CosMOPOLITAN for March, 1888, 2 hadn't been for Lieutenant Scoville I might now have been his despairing bond slave,’’ she thought ; ‘‘ I might have been any way, if the Northern officer were any other kind of a man, brutal, coarse, as I had been led to expect, or even indifferent and stupid. I might have been forced into relations from which I could not escape, and then have learned afterward what noble, unselfish men there are in the world. Oh, I could marry Allan Scoville, I could love him and devote my life to him wholly, knowing all the time that I needn't protect myself, be- cause he would always be a kinder, truer, better protector. How little I have done for him compared with that from which he has saved me !’’ There was a knock at the door and Zany quickly entered. ‘‘I des slip off while ole miss in de sto’-room, ter gib you a warnin’, Miss Lou. Hain’t had no chance till dis minit. Dat ar ole fox, Perkins, been snoop- in’ roun’ yistidy arter we un’s tracks, en las’ night he tell Mad Whately a heap of his *jecterin ’.’’ ‘*But, Zany,’’ said Miss Lou, ‘‘ you don’t think they now anything.”’ ‘*Reck’n hit’s all des ‘jecterin’,’”’ Zany replied. ‘‘Kyant be nufin’ else. We des got ter face hit out. Doan you fearon me. We uns mus’ dis star stupid-like ef dey ax questions,”’ and she whisked off again. The girl felt that the spirit of Zany’s coun- sel would be the best policy to adopt. While she might not ‘‘ star stupid-like’’ she could so coldly ignore all reference to Scoville’s escape as to embarrass any one who sought to connect her with it. In the clearer con- sciousness of her feeling toward the Union officer her heart grew glad and strong at the thought of the service she had rendered him, nor did it shrink at suffering for his sake. A gratitude quite as strong as his own now possessed her that he had been the means of keeping her from a union dreaded even as an ignorant child, and now known, by the love which made her a woman, to be earthly perdition. ‘“Having escaped that,’’ she reflected, ‘‘there’s nothing else I greatly fear,’’ and

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18 MISS LOU. she went down to breakfast resolving that she would be so faithful in her duties as a nurse that no one in authority would listen to her cousin or Perkins if they sought to make known their surmises. Ignorant of her son’saction and its results, Mrs. Whately met her niece kindly and in- sisted that she should not leave the dining- room until she had partaken of the break- fast now almost ready. Captain Maynard joined her with many expressions of a solici- tude which the girl felt to be very uncalled for, yet in her instinct to propitiate every one in case her action should be questioned, she was more friendly to him than at any time before. Meanwhile she was asking her- self, ‘‘ What would they do to me if all was found out?’’ and sustaining herself by the thought, ‘‘ Whatever they do to me, they can’t reach Lieutenant Scoville.’ It was gall and bitterness to Whately to find her talking affably to Maynard, but be- fore the meal was over she had the address to disarm him in some degree. Forhis own sake as well as hers and the family’s she thought, ‘‘I must not irritate him into hasty action. If he should find out, and reveal everything, no matter what happened to me, he would bring everlasting disgrace on him- self and relatives. I could at least show that my motives were good, no matter how sol- diers, with their harsh laws, might act to- ward me; but what motive could excuse him for placing me, a young girl and his cousin, in such a position ?’’ Whately had already satisfied himself that no pretense of zeal for the service could con- ceal his real motive or save him from gen- eral scorn should he speak of the mere con- jectures of a man like Perkins. He had never meant to speak of them publicly, simply to use his knowledge as a means of influencing his cousin. He now doubted the wisdom of this. Reacting from one mood to another, as usual, his chief hope now was that some unexpected turn of for- tune’s wheel would bring his opportunity. The one thing which all the past unfitted him to accept was personal and final denial. His egotism and impatience at being crossed began to manifest itself in another direction, one suggested by Maynard’s evident suscep- tibility to his cousin’s attractions. ‘‘ Here is a chance,’’ he thought, ‘‘of righting my- selfin Lou’seyes. Ifthis fellow, thrown into her society by the fortunes of war, not by courtesy, presumptuously goes beyond a certain point in his attentions, Cousin Lou will find that no knight of olden time would have fought for her quicker than I will. Mother says she is one who must have her romance. She may have it with a venge- ance. It may open her eyes to the truth that a spirit like mine brooks no opposition; and when she sees that I am ready to face death for her she will admire, respect, and yield to a nature that is haughty and like that of the old nobility.”’ Thus he blinded himself in these vain, silly vaporings, the result of a false training and the reading of stilted romances. The thought of studying the girl’s character, of doing and being in some degree what would be agreeable to her, never occurred to him. That kind of good sense rarely does occur to the egotistical, who often fairly exasperate those whom they would please by utter blind- ness to the simple things which ave pleasing. Miss Lou had read more old romances than he, but she speedily outgrew the period in which she was carried away by the fantastic heroes described. They became in her fancy the other extreme of the matter-of-fact condi- tions in which her uncle and aunt had lived, and, as we have seen, she longed to know the actual world, to meet with people who did not seem alien to her young and natural sympathies. Each new character she met became a kind of revelation toher. She was the opposite pole of the society belle, whose eyes have wearied of humanity, who knows little and cares less for anything except her mirrored image. With something of the round-eyed curiosity and interest of a child, she looked at every new face, asking herself, ‘‘What is he like?’’ not whether he will like and admire me, although she had not a little feminine pleasure in discovering that strangers were inclined to dothis. Her dis- approval of Maynard arose chiefly from the feeling that his gallantry at such atime, with the dead and dying all about them, was ‘more shocking than a game of cards on Sunday.’’ She regarded his attentions, glances, tones, as mere well-bred fersiflage, indulged in for his own amusement, and she put him down as atrifler for his pains. That he, as she would phrase it, ‘‘ wasjust smitten without any rhyme or reason,’’ seemed pre- posterous. She had done nothing for him

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MISS LOU. 19 as she had for Scoville. The friendly or the frankly admiring looks of strangers, the hearty gratitude and good-will of the wounded, she could accept with as much pleasure as any of her sex ; but she had not yet recognized that type of man who looks at a pretty woman and is disposed to make love to her at once. ‘‘ Why does Captain Maynard stare at me so,’’ she asked herself, ‘‘ when I don’t carea thistle forhim and never will. Why should Icare? Why should he care? Does he think I’m silly and shallow enough to be amused by this kind of thing when that brave old colonel is dying across the hall? "’ It was a relief to her to escape from him and Whately, and to visit even poor Waldo, dying also, as she believed. ‘‘ Dr. Ackley,’ she said, ‘‘ you may trust me to give him his food now every two hours. I won’t break down again.”’ ‘You did not break down, Miss Baron. All my nurses have their hours off. Why shouldn’t you? I reckon,” he added, smil- ing, ‘‘ you'll have to obey my orders like the rest. visit.” To her the youth seemed ghastlier than I will go with you again on this ever, but the expression of gladness in his eyes was unchanged. ‘Miss Baron feels very remorseful that she has not been to see you before,” said Dr. Ackley, ‘‘ but her labors yesterday were so many and varied that she had to rest. She will do better by you to-day.” Waldo could only reach his hand feebly toward herin welcome. Shetook the brown, shapely hand in both ofhers and it made her sad to feel how cold and limp it was. ‘‘ But a few hours ago,” she thought, ‘‘ it was strik- ing blows with a heavy saber.”—‘‘I have brought you some strong, hot soup,” she said gently, ‘‘ and shall bring it every two hours. You'll be very good and take it from me, won't you?” He laughed as he nodded assent. ‘‘ When can I begin to read to him, doctor, to help him pass the time?” ‘‘ Perhaps to-morrow if he does well, but never more than a few minutes together until I permit. Slow and sure, Waldo, slow and sure are my orders, and you are too good a soldier to disobey.” He shook his head mischievously and whispered ‘‘ Insubordinate.”’ The doctor nodded portentously and said, ‘‘If you and Miss Baron don’t obey orders I'll put you both under arrest.” This seemed to amuse the young fellow immensely and he was about to speak again, but the surgeon put his finger to his lips and departed. As she was feeding him with eyes full of gentle commiseration, his lips framed the words, ‘‘ You can talk to me.”’ She scarcely knew how to dothis. There were questions she was eager to ask, for this strange, exuberant happiness under the cir- cumstances was hard to understand, even after Dr. Ackley’s explanation. She had never seen religion produce any such results. Uncle Lusthah seemed to her very sincere and greatly sustained in his faith, but he had always been to her a sorrowful, plaintive figure, mourning for lost kindred whom slav- ery had scattered. Like the ancient proph- ets also, his heart was ever burdened by the way wardness of the people whom he exhorted and warned. In young Waldo appeared a joyousness which nothing could quench. From the moment she obtained a clew to his unexpected behavior everything in his manner accorded with the surgeon’s expla- nation. In his boyish face and expression there was not a trace of the fanatical or ab- normal. He seemed to think of heaven as he did of his own home, and the thought of going to the one inspired much the same feel- ing as returning to the other. ‘* Well,” said Miss Lou, after a little hesi- tancy, ‘‘ it is a pleasure to wait on one who is so brave and cheerful. It makes me feel ashamed of worrying over my troubles.” He motioned her to get something under his pillow, and she drew out a small Testa- ment. With the ease of perfect familiarity he turned the leaves and pointed to the words, ‘‘Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” He looked up at her, smiled brightly, and shook his head when he saw tears in her eyes. Again he turned the leaves and pointed to other words, ‘‘ Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you, as though some strange thing happened unto you : but rejoice, inasmuch as ye are partakers of Christ’s sufferings ; that, when his glory shall be revealed, ye may be glad also with exceeding joy.’’ His expres- sion was wonderfully significant in its con-

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20 MISS tent, for it was that of one who had explained and accounted for everything. “Oh,” she faltered, ‘‘I wish I felt as you do, believed as you do. I hope you will get strong soon. I would like to tell you some things which trouble me very much and there is no one I can tell.’’ ‘““By and by,’’ he whispered. worry. All right.”’ ‘* Oh, what does this mean ?’’ she thought, as she returned to the house. ‘' Awfully wounded, suffering, dying perhaps, yet ‘glad with an exceeding joy’! Uncle and aunt haven't any idea of such a religion, and for some reason Dr. Williams never gave me any such idea of it at church. Why didn’t he? Was it my fault? What he said seemed just words that made little or no impres- sion. Since he tried to marry me to Cousin Mad I feel as if I could scarcely bear thesight of him.”’ Yet he was the first one to greet her on the veranda. He spoke with formal kind- ness, but she responded merely by a grave salutation, and passed on, for she felt that he should have understood and protected her in the most terrible emergency of her ** Don’t young life. Having looked after the safety of his family, he had returned with the best and sincerest intentions to minister to the wounded. If the good he would do corre- sponded with these intentions he would have been welcomed in most instances; but he possessed that unfortunate temperament which is only one remove for the better from a cold indifference to his sacred duties. He did not possess a particle of that mys- terious, yet in his calling priceless gift, termed magnetism for the lack of a better definition. All respected him, few warmed toward him or thought of opening to him their hearts. within it the doctrines were like labeled and separate packages, from which he took from time to time what he wanted as he would supplies from a store-room. God was to him a Sovereign and a Judge who would save a few of the human race in exact ac- cordance with the creed of the Church in which the good man had been trained. What would happen to those without its pale was one of those solemn mysteries with which he had naught to do. Conscientious in his idea of duty to the last degree, he His mind was literal, and . LOU. . nevertheless might easily irritate and repel many minds by a rigid presentation of the only formula of faith which he deemed safe and adequate. It seemed his chief aim to have every form and ceremony of his Church complied with, and then his responsibility ceased. Heand Mr. Baron had taken solid comfort in each other, both agreeing on every point of doctrine and politics. Both men honestly felt that if the world could be brought to accept their view of life and duty little would be left to be desired. When summoned to perform the marriage cere- mony Dr. Williams no more comprehended the desperate opposition of Miss Lou to the will of her guardian, the shrinking, instinct- ive protests of her woman’s nature, than he did the hostility of so many in the world to the tenets of his faith. His inability to un- derstand the feelings, the mental attitude of others who did not unquestioningly accept his views and approve the action of the ‘‘powers that be’’ was perhaps the chief obstacle to his usefulness. He was not in the least degree intolerant or vindictive toward those who opposed him ; his feeling rather was, ‘‘This is your opportunity. I gladly afford it and there my responsibility ceases’’—a comfortable sort of belief to many, but one that would not satisfy a warm, earnest nature like Paul’s, who said, ‘*To the weak I became as weak, that I might gain the weak: Iam made all things to all men, that I might by all means save some.’’ Paul would have found some way to reach the ear and heart of nearly every wounded man in the extemporized hospital, but for the reasons suggested the visits of poor Dr. Williams soon began to be very generally dreaded. Old Uncle Lusthah had far better success with those who would listen to him. Miss Lou soon found her way to the Federal wounded again. While agreeably to her wishes there was no formality in her reception, it was evident that the poor fel- lows had now learned to regard her with deep affection. ‘*T have told them all,’’ said Dr. Borden, who received her, ‘‘ that you did as Yarry wished, that you took a good rest and were looking this morning as you should, and it has pleased them greatly. Phillips died last night, and has been removed. He hadn’t any chance and did not suffer much. Re-

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MISS LOU. 21 membering your wishes, we kept Yarry here. He lies there as if he were dozing after his pipe, as he wished you to think.” The girl stepped to the side of the dead soldier and for a moment or two looked silently into the still, peaceful face. Quietly and reverently the surgeon and others took off their hats and waited till she should speak. ‘‘Oh,’’ she breathed softly at last, ‘*how thoughtful and considerate you have been! You have made this brave, unselfish man look just as if he were quietly sleeping in his uniform. There is nothing terrible or painfulin his aspect as he lies there on his side. Poor generous-hearted fellow! I believe he zs at rest, as now he seems to be. I want you all to know,”’ she added, looking round, ‘*that he shall be buried where I can often visit his grave and keep it from neglect, for I can never forget the kindness that he— that you all have shown me. Dr. Borden, I will now show Uncle Lusthah the place where I wish the grave to be, and when all is ready I will come and follow poor Yarry toit. Do you think there ought to be a min- ister? There is one here now—Dr. Williams, who has a church near the Court House.”’ ‘*Just as you wish, Miss Baron. For one, I think a prayer from Uncle Lusthah, as you call him, would do just as well and be more in accordance with Yarry’s feelings if he could express them. The old negro has been in and out nearly all night, waiting on the men, and has won their good-will. He certainly is a good old soul.”’ ‘‘T agree with the doctor,’’ added Captain Hanfield. ‘‘ Were it my case I’d ask noth- ing better than a prayer from Uncle Lusthah over my grave, for he has acted like a good, patient old saint among us.”’ A murmur of approval from the others followed these words, and so it was arranged Uncle Lusthah was soon found, and he fol- lowed the girl to the shadow of a great pine by the run and adjacent to the grassy plot with which the girl would ever associate Allan Scoville. It was there that she had looked into his eyes and discovered what her own heart was now teaching her to un- derstand. Aun’ Jinkey followed them from her cabin and asked, ‘‘W’t you gwine ter do yere, honey ?”’ ‘‘Bury here a Northern soldier who has done me a very great honor.”’ ‘“O Miss Lou, I des feared ter hab ’im so neah de cabin.”’ ‘‘Hush!’’ said the girl, almost sternly. “Uncle Lusthah, you ought toteach mammy better than that.’’ ‘‘Ah, youn’ mistis, hit’s bred in de bone. I des mourns ober my people, ’fusin’ to be comf’ted. Yere Aun’ Jinkey, gittin’ gray lak me. She a ’fessor ob religion, yet de word ‘spook’ set her allatremble. Ef dey is spooks, Aun’ Jinkey, wa’t dat ter you? Dere’s tunder en lightnin’ en yearthquakes en wurin’ iliments en all kin’ of miseries ob de body. Who gwine ter keep all dem fum yo’ cabin? Reck’n you bettah trus’ de Lawd ’bout spooks too.”’ ‘“You don’t believe in any such foolish- ness, Uncle Lusthah?”’ ‘‘ Well, young mistis, I gettin’ po’ful ole, en I al’ays yeared on spooks sence I kin reckermember. I neber seed one fer sho’, but I’se had strange ’sper’ences o’ nights, en dar’s dem w’t sez dey has seen de sperets ob de ’parted. I dunno. Dere’s sump’n in folk’s buzzums dat takes on quar sometimes, ez ef we libin’ mighty close onter a worl’ we kyant mos’ al’ays see. Dat ar doan trouble nohow, en Aun’ Jinkey orter know bettah. Ef de Lawd ’mits spooks, dat He business. He ’mits lots ob tings we kyant see troo. Look at dese yere old han’s, young mistis. Dey’s wuked nigh on eighty yeah, yit dey neber wuked for myself, dey neber wuked for wife en chil’n. Dat mo’ quar dan spooks.”’ ‘‘I don’t know but you are right,’’ said the girl thoughtfully. ‘‘I didn’t know you felt so about being free. Aun’ Jinkey never seemed to trouble much about it.”’ ‘“‘T’se feared Aun’ Jinkey tink a heap on de leeks en inions ob Egypt.”’ ‘‘Dar now, Uncle Lusthah, you po’ful good man, but you owns up you doan know nufin’ ’bout spooks, en I knows you doan know nufin’ ’bout freedom.’’ ‘“Yes I does,’’ replied Uncle Lusthah. ‘Ef de day come w’en I can stan’ upen say fer sho, ‘I own mysef, en God ony my Mars’r,’ I kin starbe ef dat He will. End at ’minds me, young mistis. /s we free? Per- kins growlin’ roun’ agin dis mawnin’, en say we he’p bout der horspital ter-day, but we all go ter wuk ter-morrer. I ‘lowed he orter talk ter us ’bout wages en he des larf en cuss me. W’at’s gwine ter be de end? Marse Scoville en de big Linkum gin’ral

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22 MISS say we free, en Perkins larf ’temptuous like. We des all a lookin’ ter you, young mistis.”’ ‘*Oh uncle, what can I do?”’ ‘* Shame on you, Uncle Lusthah, fer pilin’ up sech a heap ob ’plexity on my honey,”’ cried Aun’ Jinkey, who was as practical as she was superstitious. ‘‘I kin tell you w’at ter do. I doan projeck en smoke in my chimbly corner fer not’n. W’at kin you do but do as you tole twel Marse Scoville en de Linkum gin’ral come agin? S’pose you Say you woan wuk en woan ’bey, how you hole out agin Perkins en Mad Whately? Dey’d tar you all ter pieces. Dey say dis wah fer freedom. Whar yo’ patience twel de wah’ll end? De Yanks mus’ do mo’ dan say we free; dey mus’ keep us free. Dar Aun’ Suke. She say she free one minit en a slabe nex’ minute twel her haid mos’ whirl off her shol’ers. Now she say, ‘I doan know ‘bout dis freedom business; I does know how ter cook en I’se gwinter cook twel dey gets troo a whirlin’ back en forth.’ You says I mus’ truss de Lawd ’bout spooks, Uncle Lusthah. W’y kyan’t you trus’ de Lawd ’bout freedom ?’’ The old man shook his head sorrowfully, for Aun’ Suke and Aun’ Jinkey’s philosophy didn’t satisfy him. ‘‘I’se willin’ ter do my shar,’’ he said musingly, ‘‘de Lawd knows I be. EfIcud die lak po’ Marse Yarry en de o’ders fer freedom I’se willin’ ter die.”’ ‘*Now, Uncle Lusthah, your strong feel- ing and not your good sense speaks,’’ said Miss Lou, who had been thinking earnestly, meanwhile recalling Scoville’s prediction that the negroes might come to her for help and counsel. ‘‘Aun’ Jinkey is certainly right in this case, and you must tell all our people from me that their only safe course now is to obey all orders and bide their time. Perkins’ authority would be sustained by all the soldiers on the place, and any- thing like disobedience would be punished severely. If what Lieutenant Scoville and the Northern general said is true you will soon be free without useless risks on your part. If that time comes I want you and mammy to stay with me. You shall be as free as I am and I'll give you wages.”’ ‘‘ Dar now, young mistis, ef I know I free I bress de Lawd fer de chance ter gib my wuk ter you. Dere’s a po’ful diffunce ‘twix’ bein’ took en kep en des gibin yosef out ob yo’ own heart. Siav’y couldn’t keep LOU. me fum gibin’ mysef ter de Lawd en I been He free man many a long yeah, en I be yo’ free man, too, fer lub.’’ ‘*Look yere, now, honey,” added Aun’ Jinkey, wiping her eyes with her apron, ‘*you kin bury sogers all ’bout de cabin ef you wanter. Uncle Lusthah kyant do mo’ fer you, honey, ner me, tookin’ resks ob spooks. Des bury dem sogers, ef you wanter, right un’er my win’er.”’ CHAPTER XXVIII. TRUTH IF THE HEAVENS FALL. Ir was quite natural that the thoughts of Perkins and Mr. Baron should turn toward the growing crops, neglected by reason of events unprecedented in their experience. The announcement to the slaves, first by Scoville and later confirmed by General Marston, of freedom, had staggered both employer and overseer, but every hour since the departure of the raiding Union column had been reassuring. It is not within the province of this story to follow the fortunes of that force, since itis our modest purpose merely to dwell on those events closely related to the experiences of the Southern girl who has won our atten- tion. She had suddenly become secondary in her uncle’s thoughts. A phase of the , war, like a sudden destructive storm, had been witnessed ; like a storm, he hoped that it and its effects would pass away. The South was far from being subdued; the issue of the conflict unknown. He was the last man in the Confederacy to foresee and accept new conditions, especially when he still believed the Southern cause would triumph. As the confusion of his mind, after the battle, passed, he began to look around and consider what should be done, what could be saved out of what at first appeared a wreck. When Dr. Ackley assured him that the house and plantation would be rapidly abandoned as a hospital, hope and courage revived, while to these was added the spur of necessity. He knew that he must ‘‘ make his crops,” or his fortunes would be desperate. Remem- bering the value of timely labor in the spring season, he was eager on this second day after the battle to put his slaves to work again at their interrupted avocations. Ac-

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MISS LOU. 23 cordingly he held a consultation with his nephew and Dr. Ackley. ‘‘The hands are becoming demoralized,” he said, ‘‘ by unaccustomed duties and par- tial idleness. Some are sullen and others distracted by all kinds of absurd expec- tations. Uncle Lusthah, the leader and preacher among them, even had the impu- dence to ask Perkins about wages. The Yankee officers, when here, told them they were free, and they wish to act as if they were. The sooner that notion is taken out of their heads the better. This can be done now while my nephew is here to enforce au- thority, better than when we are alone again. It seems to me that a certain number could be detailed for regular hospital duty and the test put to work as usual.” ‘‘T agree with you, certainly,” replied Sur- geon Ackley. ‘‘ Give me a dozen men and half a dozen women to wash and cook, and Ican get along. Lieutenant Whately, you, at your uncle’s suggestion, can make the detail and enforce discipline among the rest.” ‘‘T was going to speak to you about this very matter, uncle,” said Whately. ‘My overseer has been over, and I find the black imps on our place are in much the same condition as yours, a few venturing to talk about wages or shares in the crop and all that nonsense. I sent him back with half a dozen men, armed to the teeth, and told him to put the hands at work as usual. Mother is going to ride over and spend part of the day. I don’t wish her to be there alone just yet, and I shall gallop over in time to be on hand when she arrives. Things are getting settled, my arm is not so painful, and it is time we pulled ourselves and every- thing together. You struck the right note when you said, ‘ Now is the time to enforce authority.’ It must be done sharply, too, and these people taught the difference be- tween the Yanks’ incendiary talk and our rights and positive commands. From what Perkins says, this old Uncle Lusthah is a firebrand among your people. Give your overseer his orders and I'll see that he car- ries them out.” Perkins was summoned, acquainted with the policy—just to his mind—resolved upon, told to pick out the detail for hospital duty, and to have the rest ready for work after an early dinner. ‘Go right straight ahead, Perkins,’’ added Whately, ‘‘ and let me know if one of these Yankee-made freemen so much as growls.”’ Dr. Borden was not the kind of man to take upon himself undue responsibility. He had therefore mentioned to Surgeon Ackley Miss Baron’s wish to give Yarry a special burial by the run, and that she expected to be present. Ackley good-naturedly acquiesced, say- ing, ‘‘I suppose there can be no objection to burying the man in a place of Miss Baron’s selection instead of the one designated by Mr. Baron. It’s but a small concession to her who is so kindly bent on making herself useful. Let her have her own way in the whole affair.”’ The spirit of Yarry’s turbulent career seemed destined to break out afresh over his final disposition. Uncle Lusthah went to the quarters in order to obtain the aid of two or three stout hands in digging the grave. It so happened that his visit took place during the adoption of Mr. Baron’s policy in deal- ing with his property and just before Per- kins received his instructions. The negroes not engaged in laborrelating to the hospital gathered around Uncle Lusthah in the hope of receiving some advice from Miss Lou. Mournfully the old man told them what she and Aun’ Jinkey had said, adding, ‘‘I doan see no oder way fer us des at dis time ob our triberlation. Ole Pharo sut’ny got he grip on us agin, he sut’ny hab fer a spell. But brudren en sistas, hit ony lak a cloud comin’ ’cross de risin’ sun. Let us des wait pash- ently de times en seasons ob de Lawd, who alone kin brung de true 'liverance.’’ When he saw the deep, angry spirit of protest he threw up his hands, crying, ‘“W’at de use? I warn you; I ’treat you, be keerful. W’at could us do wid our bar han’s agin armed men? I tells you we mus’ wait or die lak Moses ’fo’ we enter de promis lan’..’ Then hetold them about Yarry, and asked for two or three to volunteer to dig the grave. A score stepped forward and nearly all ex- pressed their purpose to attend the funeral. The old man persuaded all but three to re- main near the quarters at present, saying, ‘‘So many gwine wid me mout mek trouble, fer Perkins look ugly dis mawnin’.”’ ‘‘We ugly too,’’ muttered more than one voice, but they yieléed to Uncle Lusthah’s caution.

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24 MISS LOU. ° In going to the run Uncle Lusthah and his assistants had to pass somewhat near the house, and so were intercepted by Perkins and Whately, both eager to employ at once the tactics resolved upon. ‘* Where the devil are you goin’ with those men and shoveis?’’ shouted Perkins. ‘*We gwine ter dig a grabe fer a Linkum soger down by de run,”’ replied Uncle Lus- thah quietly. ‘“‘ That ain’t the place ter plant the Yanks, you old fool. Go back to the quarters. No words. Leftenant Whately will detail the hands fer sech work. Back with you. Why in don’t you mind?”’ ‘*T hab my orders fum—”’ ‘* Silence !’’ thundered Whately. ‘‘ Obey, or you'll go back at the point of the saber.”’ Uncle Lusthah and his companions still hesitated, for they saw Miss, Lou running toward them. She had lingered to talk with Aun’ Jinkey and was returning when she heard Perkins’ high, harsh words. The overseer was in a rage, and limped hastily forward with uplifted cane, when he was suddenly confronted by the hot face and flashing eyes of Miss Lou. ‘** Don’t you dare strike Uncle Lusthah,”’ she said sternly. Her appearance and attitude evoked all the pent-up hate and passion in the man’s nature and he shouted, ‘‘ By the ’tarnal, I will strike ’im. I’ve got my orders, en I'll find out yere en now whether a traitor girl or a Southern officer rules this place.’’ Before the blow could descend she sprung forward, seized his wrist and stayed his hand. ‘*Wretch ! murderer! coward !’’ she cried. ‘Oh, come, Cousin Lou, this won’t do at all,’”’ began Whately, hastening up. An ominous rush and trampling of feet was heard, and an instant later the negroes were seen running toward them from the quarters and all points at which the sounds of the altercation reached them. ‘*Turn out the guard,’’ shouted Whately. ‘*Rally the men here with carbines and ball- cartridges.’’ He whirled Perkins aside, say- ing, ‘‘ Get out of the way, you fool.’’ Then he drew his saber and thundered to the ne- groes, ‘‘ Back for your lives !’’ They hesitated and drew together. Miss Lou went directly toward them and im- plored, ‘‘Go back. Go back. Do what I ask and perhaps I can help you. If you don’t, no one can or will help you. See, the soldiers are coming.”’ ‘We'll ’bey you, young mistis,’’ said Uncle Lusthah, ‘‘ but we uns lak ter hab *splained des what we got ter ‘spect. We kyant die but oncet, en ef we kyant eben bury de sogers dat die fer us—’’ ‘* Silence !’’ shouted Whately. ‘‘ Forward here, my men. Form line! Advance! Shoot the first one that resists.’’ He then dashed forward, sought to encircle his cousin with his arm and draw her out of the way. She eluded him and turned swiftly toward the advancing line of men, crying, ‘‘ Stop, if there is a drop of Southern blood in your veins.”’ They halted and stared at her. She resumed, ‘‘ You will have to walk over me before you touch these poor creatures. Uncle’’ (for Mr. Baron now stood aghast on the scene), ‘‘as you are a man, come here with me and speak, explain to your people. That is all they ask. They have been told that they were free, and now the oldest and best among them, who was doing my bid- ding, almost suffered brutal violence from a man not fit to live. Where is the justice, right or sense in such a course? Tell your people what you wish, what you expect, and that they will be treated kindly in obeying you.”’ She recognized that every moment gained gave time for cooler thoughts and better counsels, also for the restraining presence of others who were gathering upon the scene. It was in the nature cf her headlong cousin to precipitate trouble without thought of the consequences ; but as she spoke she saw Surgeons Ackley and Borden running for- ward. Captain Maynard was already at her side, and Whately looked as if he could. cut his rival down with the weapon in his hand. While Mr. Baron hesitated Mrs. Whately also reached her niece and urged, ‘‘ Brother, I adjure you, go and speak to your people. They ave your people, and you should tell them what to expect before you begin to punish. Go with Surgeon Ackley and settle this question once for all.’’ ‘“Yes, Mr. Baron,” said Ackley sternly, ‘‘we must settle this question promptly. Such uproar and excitement are bad for my patients and not to be permitted for an in- stant.”’ It was evident that the surgeon was terri- bly angry. He had been brought up in the

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MISS old regular army, and anything like insubor- dination or injury to his patients were things he could not tolerate. Mr. Baron went for- ward with him and said in a low tone: ‘You are virtually in command here and all know it. A few words from you will have more effect than anything I can say.”’ ‘Very well, then,’’ responded the resolute surgeon, and he strode toward the negroes, not noticing that Miss Lou kept almost at his side. ‘* Look here, you people,’’ he began harsh- ly, ‘‘do you think I will permit such dis- turbances? They may be the death of brave men. Quit your nonsense at once. You are simply what you’ve always been. Yankee words don’t make you free any more than they make us throw down our arms. What happened to the general why said you were free? We fought him and drove him away. There is only one thing you can do and must do—go to work as before, and woe be to those who maketrouble. That’s all.’’ ‘‘No,’’ cried Miss Lou, ‘‘ that surely can- not be all.’’ ‘‘Miss Baron! What can you mean?”’ ‘*T mean that these poor creatures are look- ing to me, trusting in me, and I have prom- ised to intercede in their behalf. Tell them at least this, you or uncle, that if they obey and work quietly and faithfully they shall not be treated harshly, nor subjected to the brutal spite of that overseer, Perkins.’’ ‘*Truly, Miss Baron, you can scarcely ex- pect me to interfere with your uncle’s man- agement of his property. The only thing I can and wll do is to insist on absolute quiet and order on the place. In this case every one must obey the surgeon-in-charge. Do you understand that?’’ he concluded, turn- ing to the negroes. ‘‘ Neither you nor any one else can do anything to injure my pa- tients. As you value your lives, keep quiet. I will not permit even a harsh, disturbing sound. Do not dare to presume on Miss Baron’s kindness, mistaken in this crisis. This unruly, reckless spirit must be stamped out now. Your owner and master will tell you what he expects, and I will have the first man who disobeys shot. Miss Baron, you must come with me.”’ ‘* Yes, sir, but not until I have spoken the truth about this affair. All your power, Dr. Ackley, can not keep me dumb when I see such injustice. You arethreatening and con- LOU. 25 demning without having heard a word of explanation. Uncle Lusthah and those with him were simply doing my bidding. Can you think I would stand by and see him cursed and beaten? These people have not shown any unruly, reckless spirit. They may well be bewildered, and they only asked what they must expect. Godis my witness, I will cry out ‘Shame!’ with my last breath if they are treated brutally. They will be quiet, they will do their duty if treated kindly. They shall not appeal to me for jus- tice and mercy in vain. My words may not help them, but I shall not stand tamely by like a coward, but will call any man on earth coward who butchers one of these unarmed negroes.’’ She stood before them all possessed by one thought—justice. Her face was very pale, but stern, undaunted and noble in its expres- sion. She was enabled to take her course from the courage, simplicity and unconven- tionality of her nature, becoming utterly absorbed by her impulse to defend those who looked to her, neither regarding nor fearing, in her strong excitement, the consequences to herself. Dr. Borden was hastening forward to re- mind Ackley of his promise concerning Yarry’s grave, and to show the girl that he at least would stand with her; but his chief waved him back. The old surgeon of the regular army could appreciate courage, and the girl’s words and aspect pierced the thick crust of his military and professional armor, touching to the quick the man within him. He saw in the brave young face defiance of him, of the whole world, in her sense of right, and he had the innate nobility of soul to re- spect her motive and acknowledge the justice of her action. Watching her attentively un- til she was through speaking he took off his hat, stepped forward and gave her his hand. ‘*You are a brave girl,’’ he said frankly. ‘*You are doing what you think is right, and Iam proud of you. Tell these people your- self to go back to their quarters, behave themselves and obey their rightful master. After your words in their behalf any one who does not obey deserves to be shot.’’ She was disarmed and subdued at once. ‘* Ah, doctor,” she faltered, tears in her eyes, ‘*now you’ve conquered me.’’ Then turning toward the negroes she cried, ‘‘ Do just as Dr. Ackley has said. Go quietly to work

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26 MISS and be patient. Uncle Lusthah, you know I told you to do so before all this happened. I tell you so again, and shall expect you to use all your influence to keep perfect order.”’ ‘‘We'bey you, young mistis; we tank you fer speakin’ up fer us,’’ and the old man led the way toward the quarters, followed by all his flock. Dr. Ackley gave his arm to the girl and led her to the house. Captain Maynard took off his hat in a very deferential manner as she passed; she walked on unheeding the salutation. Whately frowned at him and dropped his hand on the hilt of his saber. At this pantomime Maynard smiled con- temptuously as he walked away. In a few moments the scene was as quiet and desert- ed as it had been crowded and threatening. On the way to the house Miss Lou ex- plained more fully the circumstances relat- ing to the dead soldier, Yarry, and Ackley said good-naturedly, ‘‘I’ll have Uncle Lus- thah and two others detailed to dig the grave and you can carry out your intentions; but, Miss Baron, you must be careful in the future how you let your inexperience and enthusi- asm involve you in conflict with all recog- nized authority. We are safely out of this scrape ; I can’t answer for anything more.’’ ‘* Believe me,’’ she said earnestly, ‘‘ I don’t wish to make trouble of any kind, and after your course toward me, I will seek to carry out your orders in every way. IfI dared I would ask one favor. Uncle Lusthah is too old to work in the field, and he is a kind, good old man. If you would have him detailed to wait on the wounded— ’’ ‘Yes, yes, I will. You are a brave, good- hearted girl, and mean well. I shall rely on your promise to work cordially with me here- after. Now go to yourroom and get calm and rested. You are trembling like a fright- ened bird. I'll see your uncle, cousin, and Dr. Borden. You shall bury yourchivalrous Yank just as you wish. Then all must go according to regulations.’’ She smiled as she gave him her hand, say- ing, ‘‘You may put me under arrest if I don’t mind you in everything hereafter.’’ ‘“Well,’’ muttered the surgeon, as he looked after her, ‘‘ tothink that a girl should have a probe long and sharp enough to go Straight to the heart of a man of my age! No wonder Maynard and Whately are over head and ears.”’ CHAPTER XXIX. “ANGEL OF DEATH.”’ It would seem as if the brief tempest of the morning had cleared the air. Two strong natures had asserted themselves. Surgeon Ackley’s recognition of Miss Lou’s spirit and the justice of her plea turned out to be as politic as it was sincere and unpremeditated. The slaves learned all they could hope from her or any one now in authority, and were compelled to see the necessity of submission. Whately was taught another lesson concern- ing the beauties of headlong action, while even his egotism was not proof against the feeling that his cousin’s straightforward fearlessness would baffle all measures op- posed to her sense of right. As for Perkins, he began to fear as well as hate her, seeing her triumph again. The only reward of his zeal had been Whately’s words, ‘‘ Get out of the way, you fool.’’ Thereafter, with the exception of the girl’s scathing words, he had beenignored. Hehad been made to feel that Ackley’s threats had a meaning for him as well as for the negroes, and that if he needlessly provoked trouble again he would be confronted with the stern old army sur- geon. Having known Whately from a boy he stood in little fear of him, but was con- vinced that he could not trifle with Ackley’s patience an instant. He now recognized his danger. Inhis rage he had forgotten the wide difference in rank between the girl he would injure and himself. The courtesy promptly shown to her by Maynard and es- pecially by the surgeon-in-chief taught him that one whom he had scarcely noticed as she grew up a repressed, brooding child and girl, possessed by birth the consideration ever shown toa Southern lady. He knew what that meant, even if he could not appre- ciate her conduct. Maynard had scowled upon him; Mrs. Whately bestowed merely a glance of cold contempt, while her son had failed him utterly as an ally. He therefore sullenly drove his malice back into his heart with the feeling that he must now bide his time. Even Mr. Baron was curt and said briefly before he left the ground, ‘‘Be sure you’re right before you go ahead. Hereafter give your orders quietly and let me know who disobeys.”’

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MISS LOU. 27 The old planter was at his wit’s end about his niece, but even he was compelled to see that his former methods with her would not answer. New ideas were being forced upon him as if by surgical operations. Chief among them was the truth that she could no longer be managed or restrained by fear or mere authority on the part of any one. He would look at her’in a sort of speechless wonder, and ask himself if she were the child to whom he had supposed himself infallible so many years. His wife kept on the even tenor of her way more unswervingly than any one on the place. She was as incapable of Dr. Ackley’s fine sentiment as she was of her nephew's ungovernable passion. She neither hoped nor tried to comprehend the ‘‘perversity’’ of her niece, yet, in the per- plexed conditions of the time, she filled a most important and useful niche. Since the wounded men were to be fed, she became an admirable commissary general, preventing waste and exacting good wholesome cookery on the part of Aun’ Suke and her assistants. Poor Yarry was buried quietly at last, Miss Lou, with Dr. Borden, Captain Hanfield and two or three of his comrades standing rever- ently by the grave while Uncle Lusthah of- fered his simple prayer. Then the girl threw upon the mound some flowers she had gath- ered, and returned to her duties as nurse. The remains of the old Confederate colonel] were sent to his family, with the letter which Miss Lou had written for him. Every day the numbers in the hospital diminished, either by death or by removal of the stronger patients to the distant railroad town. Those sent away in ambulances and other vehicles impressed into the service were looked after by Surgeon Ackley with official thoroughness and phlegm ; in much the same spirit and manner Dr. Williams presided over the departure of others to the bourn from which none return, then buried them with all proper observance. Uncle Lusthah carried around by a sort of stealth his pearl of simple, vital, hope-inspiring faith, and he found more than one ready to give their all for it. The old man pointed directly to Him who ‘taketh away the sins of the world,’’ then stood aside that dying eyes might look. With the best intentions Dr. Williams, with his religious formulas, got directly in the way, bewildering weak minds with a creed. Mrs. Whately and her son went and came from their plantation, and were troubled over the condition of things there. The slaves were in a state of sullen, smoldering rebellion and several of them had disap- peared. ‘‘I fear Madison has been too arbi- trary,’’ she admitted to her brother. Mr. Baron shrugged his shoulders and smoked in silence. Perhaps his preposter- ous niece had not been so crazy after all. Between Maynard and Whately there were increasing evidences of trouble, which the mother of the latter did her best to avert by remonstrance and entreaty. On one occa- sion Whately had said a little irritably, ‘I say, Dr. Ackley, what’s the use of May- nard’s hanging around here? He is almost well enough for duty.”’ ‘It is chiefly out of consideration for you that I am keeping him,”’ replied the surgeon gravely, in well-concealed mischief. ‘‘ It is clear that he has entered the lists with you for your cousin’s hand, and I could not further his suit better than by sending him away, especially if it were suspected that I did so at your instigation. He is doing well here, good-naturedly helps me in my writ- ing, and can soon go direct to his regiment. It seems to me that your cousin holds a pretty even balance between you, and all that a man should want is a fair field.”’ Whately walked frowningly away, more than ever convinced that the surgeon was too good a friend of his rival to interfere. At the close of the fourth day after the battle there was an arrival at the Oaks that greatly interested Miss Lou,—a stately, white-haired old lady, the mother of Lieu- tenant Waldo. She was very pale, and it would have been hard for Surgeon Ackley to meet her agonized look, her shrinking as if from a blow, were he unable to hold out any hope. ‘‘Mrs. Waldo,’’ he said gravely, ‘‘ your son is living and there’s a chance of his get- ting well. His cheerfulness and absolute quiet of mind may save him. If he had fret- ted or desponded he would have died before this.”’ ‘*Yes,”’ replied his mother with a sigh of relief, ‘‘ I know.”’ ‘‘Mrs. Baron, will you kindly prepare Waldo for his mother’s visit? Meanwhile, I will tell her a little about his case and our management of it. He doesn’t know I

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28 MISS LOU. sent for you, for I was not sure you could come.”’ ‘‘Is this Miss Baron, and one of my son’s nurses ?”’ ‘*Yes, and doing more for him than I— giving him all the bovine nectar and hon- eyed words he can take.”’ ‘*God bless you, my dear. kiss you.’’ When Miss Lou entered Waldo’s tent he whispered with a laugh, ‘‘It’s four hours since you were here.’’ **No, scarcely two.”’ ‘* Well, I’m as hungry as if it were four hours.”’ ‘‘That’s fine. You're getting right well. Will you be very good and quiet—not a bit excited, if I let some one else bring you your supper ?”’ She beamed upon him so joyously that he exclaimed aloud, with a rush of tears, ‘‘ Ah! mother?’’ The girl nodded and said, ‘‘ Now remem- ber, don’t break her heart by being worse.”’ ‘*Oh, how sweet and lovely of her! I'll get well now, sure.”’ ‘* That’s a nice way to treat your old nurse.”’ Smilingly he held out his hand and said, ‘*You are almost as pretty and good as she is, but you aren’t mother.’’ Then he added in strong sympathy, ‘‘Forgive me. You haven't any, have you? You don’t know about this mother love.”’ ‘‘T know enough about it to have the heartache for its lack. Now you must save your strength till she comes. Good-bye.’’ From that hour he steadily gained, ban- ishing the look of anxiety from his moth- er’s face. Mrs. Whately sighed as she saw how her niece’s heart warmed toward the stranger, and how strong an attachment was growing between them. ‘‘ Louise is drifting away from us all,’’ she thought, ‘*yet I can not see that she encourages Cap- tain Maynard.”’ A genuine friendship had also grown be- tween the girl and Captain Hanfield, the Federal officer, and she was heartily sorry when he told her that he would be sent to the railroad town the next day. ‘‘My wound isn't doing well and I seem to be running down,”’ he explained. ‘‘ Dr. Bor- den has been able to keep me thus far, but I must go to-morrow. Perhaps it’s best. He Please let me is trying to get me paroled. If I could only get home to my wife and children I'd rally fast enough. I’m all run down and this cli- mate is enervating to me.’’ She tried to hearten him by kind, hopeful words, and he listened to her with a wistful look on his handsome face. ‘‘ How I'd like you to meet my little girl!’’ he said. ‘*Won’t I make her blue eyes open when I tell her about you !”’ Another bond of union between them was the captain’s acquaintance with Scoville, and he soon observed that she listened very patiently and attentively when he spoke of the brave scout’s exploits. ‘‘I declare,’’ he said, laughing, ‘‘I keep forgetting that you are a Southern girl, and that you may not enjoy hearing of the successes of so act- ive an enemy.”’ ‘**Lieutenant Scoville is not a personal enemy,’’ she had replied guardedly. ‘‘He showed us all very great kindness, me espe- cially. I wish that both you and he were on our side.”’ ** Well, as you say down here, I reckon we are on your side any way,’’ had been the captain’s smiling reply. She spoke to Surgeon Ackley promptly about the prospects of a parole, but he said, ‘‘Impossible, Miss Baron. The question would at once arise, ‘If granted to Hanfield, why not to others?’ I reckon Borden has been trying to rally his friend by hopes even when knowing them baseless.” This proved to be the case, and the follow- ing day brought the young girl a strange and very sad experience. Dr. Borden ap- peared at breakfast looking troubled and perplexed. Miss Lou immediately inquired about the captain. The doctor shook his head saying, ‘‘He isn’t so well. I’d like to speak with you by and by.” She was so depressed by the surgeon’s as- pect that she paid little heed to the conver- sation of her two admirers and soon left the table. Borden followed her, and when they were alone began sadly, ‘‘Miss Baron, per- haps I am going to ask of you far too much, but you have shown yourself to be an un- usually brave girl as well as a kind-hearted one. Hanfield is an old friend of mine, and perhaps I've done wrong to mislead him. But I didn’t and couldn’t foresee what has happened, and I did hope to start him in genuine convalescence, feeling sure that if he

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MISS LOU. 29 got well he would give up the hope of going home as a matter of course. So far from suc- ceeding, a fatal disease has set in—tetanus, lockjaw. He's dying and doesn’t know it. I can’t tell him. I’ve made the truth doubly cruel, for I’ve raised false hopes. He con- tinually talks of home and his pleasing eyes stab me. You can soften the blow to him, soothe and sustain him in meeting what is sure to come.’’ ‘Oh, is there no hope?” ‘‘None at all. Hecan’t live. If you feel that the ordeal would be too painful—I wouldn’t ask it if I hadn’t seen in you unex- pected qualities.”’ ‘Oh, I must help him bear it; yet how can I? how shall I?” ‘Well, I guess your heart and sympathy will guide you. I can’t. I can only say you had better tell him the whole truth. He ought to know it for his own and family’s sake now, while perfectly rational. Soften the truth as you can, but you can’t injure him by telling it plainly, for he will die. God knows, were it my case, the tidings wouldn’t seem so very terrible if told bya girl like you.”’ ‘‘Oh, but the tidings are so terrible to Think of speak, especially to such a man. his beautiful wife and daughter, of his never seeing them again. Oh, it’s just awful,’ and her face grew white at the prospect. ‘* Yes, Miss Baron, itis. In the midst of all the blood and carnage of the war, every now and then a case comes up which makes even my calloused heart admit, ‘It’s just awful.’ I’m only seeking to make it less aw- ful to my poor friend, and perhaps at too great cost to you.’’ ‘* Well, he on his side, and others on ours, didn’t count the cost; neither must I. I must not think about it or my heart will fail me. I will go at once.”’ ‘* Come then, and God help you and him.” A straw bed had been made up in a large, airy box-stall where the captain could be by himself. Uncle Lusthah was in attendance, and he had just brought a bow] of milk. Borden had left Miss Lou to enter alone. The captain held out his hand and said cheer- fully, ‘‘ Well, it’s an ill wind that blows nowhere. This one will blow me home all the sooner, I trust, for it must be plainer now than ever that I need the home change which will put me on my feet again. You needn’t look so serious. I feel only a little more poorly than I did,—sore throat and a queer kind of stiffness in my jaws as if I had taken cold in them."’ ‘*Do I look very serious?’’ she faltered. ‘* Yes, you look as iftroubled about some- thing. But there, see what an egotistic fel- low I am! As if you hadn’t troubles of your own ! pretty deep ones too, I fear. Our coming here has given you a wonderful ex- perience, Miss Baron. No matter; you've met it like a soldier and will have much to remember in after years. You can never be- come a commonplace woman now, and there are such a lot of ’em in the world. When I remember all you have done for us it makes me ill to think of some in our town—gig- gling, silly little flirts, with no higher am- bition than to strut down the street in a new dress.”’ ‘‘Oh, don’t think of them or over-praise me. Perhaps if they had been here and com- pelled to face things they would have done better than I. A short time ago I didn’t dream of these experiences, and then I would have said I couldn’t possibly endure theth.’’ ‘* Well, you have,’’ resumed the captain, who was slightly feverish, excited and in- clined to talk. ‘‘One of my dearest hopes now is to get back to my little girl soon, and deepen her mind by making her ashamed of the silly things in a girl's life. Of course, © I wish her to be joyous and happy as a young thing should be, as I think you would be if you had the chance. By means of your story I can make her ashamed ever to indulge in those picayune, contemptible feminine traits which exasperate men. I want her to be brave, heipful, sincere, like you, like her mother. How quickly poor Yarry recognized the spirit in which you came among us at first! Jove! Ididn’tthink him capable of such feeling. I tell you, Miss Baron, the roughest of us reverence an unselfish woman—one who doesn’t think of herself first and always. She mayn’t be a saint, but if she has heart enough for sym- pathy, and is brave and simple enough to bestow it just as a cool spring gushes from the ground, we feel she is the woman God meant her to be. Ah, uncle, that reminds me—another cup of that cold water. For some reason I’m awfully thirsty this morn- ing.”’ Miss Lou listened with hands nervously

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30 MISS LOU. clasping and unclasping, utterly at a loss to know how to tellthe man, dreaming of home and planning for the future, that he must soon sleep beside poor Yarry. She had already taken to herself the mournful com- fort that his grave also should be where she could care for it and keep it green. ‘‘T wish to tell you more about my little Sadie and my wife. Some day when this miserable war is over, you will visit us. We'll give you a reception then which may turn even yourhead. Ha! ha! you thought we'd be worse than Indians. Well, I’ll show you a lot of our squaws in full evening dress, and you'll own that my wife is the prettiest in the tribe. Every day, until we started on this blasted raid, I received a letter from her. I knew about as well what was going on at home asifthere. With my wife it was love almost at first sight, but I can tell you that it’s not ‘out of sight out of mind’ with us. Time merely adds to the pure, bright flame, and such a pair of lovers as we shall be when gray as badgers will be worth a journey to you.”’ Miss Lou could maintain her self-control no longer. She burst into tears and sobbed helplessly. ‘You poor little girl,” exclaimed the captain in deep commiseration. ‘‘ Here I’ve been talking like a garrulous fool when your heart is burdened with some trouble that perhaps you would like to speak to me about. Tell me, my child, just as little Sadie would.” ‘* My heart zs burdened with trouble, cap- tain ; it feels as if it would break when I hear you talk so. Would to God little Sadie were here, and your beautiful wife too! Oh, what shall Isay? How can I, how can I?”’ ‘* Miss Baron !’’ he exclaimed, looking at her in vague alarm. ‘‘O Captain Hanfield, you are a brave, unselfish man like Yarry. Don’t make it too hard for me. Oh, I feel as if I could scarcely breathe.’’ As he saw her almost panting at his side and tears streaming from her eyes, the truth began to dawn upon him. He looked at her steadily and silently for a moment, then reached out his hand as he said in an awed whisper, ‘‘Is it on account of me? Did Borden send you here? ’’ She took his hand, bowed her forehead upon it and wept speechlessly. She felt it tremble for a moment, then it was withdrawn and placed on her bowed head. ‘‘So you are the angel of death to me?’’ the officer faltered. Her tears were her only, yet sufficient answer. Both were silent, she not having the heart to look at him. At last he said in deep tones, ‘‘I wasn’t expecting this. It will make a great change in ’’—and then he was silent again. She took his limp hand and bowed her forehead on it, as before, feeling by some fine instinct that her unspoken sympathy was best. It was. The brave man, in this last emer- gency, did as he would have done in the field at the head of his company if subjected to a sudden attack. He promptly rear- ranged and marshaled all his faculties to face the enemy. There was not a moment of de- spairing, vain retreat. In the strong press- ure upon his mind of those questions which must now be settled once for all, he forgot the girl by his side. He was still so long that she timidly raised her head and was awed by his stern, fixed expression of deep abstraction. She did not disturb him ex- cept as the stifled sobs of her deep, yet now passing agitation convulsed her bosom, and she began to give her attention to Uncle Lusthah, hitherto unheeded. The old man was on his knees in a dusky corner, praying in low tones. ‘‘Oh, I’m so glad he’s here,”’ she thought. ‘‘ I’m glad he’s praying God to help us both.” In the uncalculating sympathy and strength of her nature she had unconsciously entered into the dying man’s experience and was suffering with him. Indeed, her heart sank with a deeper dread and awe than he from the great change which he had faced so often as to be familiar with its thought. At last he seemed to waken to her pres- ence and said compassionately, ‘‘ Poor little girl ! so all your grief was about me. How pale you are!”’ ‘“‘I do so wish you could go home,”’ she breathed ; ‘‘ I am so very, very sorry.”’ ‘*Well, Miss Baron,’’ he replied with dignity, ‘“‘I'm no better than thousands ofothers. I always knew this might hap- pen any day. You have learned why it is peculiarly hard for me—but that’s not to be thought of now. If I’ve got my marching orders, that’s enough for a soldier. It was

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MISS scarcely right in Borden to give you this heavy task. I could have faced the truth from his lips.”’ “He felt so dreadfully about it,’’ she replied. ‘‘He said he had been giving you false hopes in trying to make you get well.’’ ‘‘Oh yes, he meant kindly. Well, if it hasn’t been too much for you, I’m glad you told me. Your sympathy, your face, will be a sweet memory to carry, God only knows where. Since it can’t be little Sadie’s face or my wife’s I’m glad it’s yours. What am I saying? as if I should forget their dear faces through all eternity.”’ ‘* Ah, captain, I wish you could hear one of our soldiers talk. Dying with him just means going to Heaven.”’ The officer shook his head. Christian,’’ he said simply. ‘‘ Neither am I,’’ she replied, ‘‘ but I’ve been made to feel that being one is very different from what I once thought it was.’’ ‘*Well, Miss Baron, what is it to bea Christian—what is your ideaofit? There “T’m not a has always seemed to me such a lot of con- flicting things to be considered—well, well. I haven’t given the subject thought and it's too late now. family and—”’ Uncle Lusthah stepped before him with clasped hands and quivering lips. ‘‘ Ef mars cap’n des list’n ter de ole man a minit. Iain’ gwine ter talk big en long. I kyant. I des wanter say I hab ’sperance. Dat sump’n marse cap’n you kyant say not’n agin—rale ’sperance, sump’n I knows.’’ ‘*Well, you kind old soul, what do you know?”’ ‘‘P’raps des what mars’r knows ef he ony tinks a lil. Let us git right down ter de root ob de marter, kaze I feared dere ain’ time fer ’locutions.”’ ‘‘Now you're right at last, uncle. I must set my house in order. I must write to my wife.’’ ‘‘Marse cap’n, you gwine on a journey. W’at yo’ wife wish mo’n dat you git ready fer de journey? She tek dat journey, too, bimeby soon, en you bof be at de same deah home.”’ ‘‘ Ah, uncle, if that could be true, the sting of death would be gone.’’ ‘*Sut’ny, marse cap’n. ar w'en I mek bole ter speak? tink on hit, mars’r. Yere I is, I must give my mind to my Djdn’t I know dat Now des an ole LOU. 3r ign’rant slabe, kyant even read de good Book. De worl’ full ob poor folks lak me. Does you think ef de Lawd mean to sabe us ’t all He’d do hit in some long rouner-bout way dat de wise people kyant mos’ fin’ out ? No, bress He gret big heart, He des stan’ up en say to all, ’Come ter me en I gib you res’.”” ‘*Yes, uncle, but I haven’t gone to Him. I don’t know how to go, and what’s more, I don’t feel it’s right to go now at the last minute as if driven by fear."’ ‘ Now cap’n, fergib the ole man fer sayin” you all wrong. Hain't young mistis been breakin’ her lil gyurlish heart ober yo’ trouble? Am de Lawd dat die fer us wuss'n a graven himage? Doan He feel fer you mo’n we kin? I reckon you got des de bes’ kin’ of prep’ration ter go ter Im. You got trouble. How He acts towards folks dat hab trouble—ev’y kin’ ob trouble? Marse cap’n’, I des knows dat de Lawd wanter brung you en yo’ wife en dat lil Sadie I yere you talk ’bout all togeder whar He is. I des knows it. Hit’s ’sperance.”’ ‘*Miss Baron,’’ said the captain calmly, ‘‘isn’t it wonderful? This old slave says he knows what, if true, is worth more to me than all the accumulated wisdom of the world. What do you think of it?’’ ‘‘It seems as if it ought to be true,’’ she answered earnestly. ‘‘I never so felt before that it ought to be true. We never should have been born, or given such love as you have for your dear ones, if it isn’t true. Oh, to be just snatched hopelessly away from such ties is horrible. My whole soul revolts at it.’’ ‘* See here, uncle,’’ said the captain almost sternly, ‘‘I’m not going to groan, sigh, weep, and take on in any of your camp-meet- ing tactics. Iam before the last great enemy, and I know how to meet him like a man and soldier, if not a Christian. I'm willing to do anything not insincere or unmanly to meet my wife and children again. If my thought and feeling for them at this time isn’t right, then I’ve been created wrong.”’ ‘*Marse cap’n, I’se seen de mos’ po’ful feelin’s en miseries ob de 'victed ones vaper- ate lak de mawn’n dew, en I's larn in my old age dat de sabin po’r ain’ in we uns, ner in any ting we is ob ourselfs ner in w’t we po’ lil chil’n of yearth kin do. De Lawd say, He come ter seek and sabe de loss ; I wuz loss. De wuss ting He enemies cud speak agin

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32 LOVE'S WHISPERS. "Im wuz, Dis man ’ceiveth sinners: I wuz asinner. I des arst ’Im ter sabe me, en He did. I des trus’ ’Im fer life en death en does de bes’ I kin. Dat’s all. But hit’s’sperance, marse cap’n, en I knows hit. Now, marse cap’n, w't fo’ yo go way in the dark, you dunno whar? De bressed Lawd say, I go ter prepare a place fer you. Now you des let young mistis write ter yo’ folks dat you gwine with Jesus ter dat ar place, en dat you gwine to wait for dem dar, en welcome um home bimeby des lak dey would welcome you home way up Norf. Dat ud comf’t em a heap, en hit’s all true. I knows hit. Young mistis berry sens’ble we’n she say we neber orter to be bawn ef hit ain’ true.’’ The officer looked fixedly at the tearful, wrinkled face for a few moments and then said firmly, ‘‘I’ll soon find out if it’s true. If I do this thing at all, I'll do it in the only way Ican. Miss Baron, you may write to my wife that I accept her faith. It’s much the same as Uncle Lusthah’s—too simple and unphilosophical, I used to think ; but it meets my need now. I can’t deal even with God in any other way than this. The mind He has endowed me with revolts at anything else as hypocritical. I can and do say that I will accept in grateful, downright sincerity the terms which Uncle Lusthah accepted, which my wife accepted. I submit myself to His will. I do this calmly, as I would give my hand and pledge my faith toa man, and I can not do any more. Now He may do with me as He pleases. Miss Baron, you do the same and you'll be just as good—yes, a much better Christian than I, for I’ve done rough, bad things in my life. I must say that I have a wretched sense of self-con- tempt that I am looking heavenward with dying eyes. There's only one thing that reconciles me to it—the words ‘Our Fa- ther.’ God knows that I’d open my arms to my little Sadie under any possible cir- cumstances. I ask nothing better than that Christ will receive me as I would re- ceive my child from world-wide wander- ing.” ‘‘Ah, bress he big gret heart,’’ cried Uncle Lusthah, dropping on his knees, ‘‘w'en yo’ fader en yo’ moder forsook you den de Lawd took you up.”’ ‘*Miss Baron, I wish to think a while and learn from Borden just how much time I haveleft. You will come to me again?”’ ‘*Yes, whenever you wish.”’ ‘*Well, then, good-bye for a short time. Thank God for sending such an angel of death. Youstay with me, uncle, till I send you for Borden.”’ ( Tv be continued.) LOVE’S WHISPERS. By OLLA P. TopPH. THOUGH seas divide and mountains intervene, And long, cold wastes of dreary years between Two hearts stretch desolate ; Yet shall the one unto the other call Some day, and it shall hear and answer all The pleadings of its mate ; Content to let the mighty hand of love Control its wild pulsations, and so prove The boundless power of fate. And though death takes, some night, the heart that calls, And bears it gently to a land, where falls No cloud of unbelief ; And though it sings, with other hearts, sweet songs, Yet shall one note creep in, that e’er belongs Unto the songs of grief, And unto only them. Then that strange tone Shall wander to the heart that waits alone, And comforting relief Shall take the place of its unanswered pain, In knowledge that true love doth live again.

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SRR cy i A SCENE IN SAMOA SAMOA AND ITS PEOPLE. By ELIZABETH SCOTT PARKER HE attention of the public having been attracted to the Islands of the Pacific during the past year, first by the outbreak and threatened revolution of the Hawaiians at the Sandwich Islands, and later by the aggressive attitude of the Germans at Sa- moa, has led to much speculation in regard to the latter island and the character of its people, as well as the possible policy the United States may pursue in the settlement of its difficulties. The situation is in fact this. Some years ago the United States, England and Germany madea treaty binding themselves to preserve the independence of Samoa. Germany has violated her treaty, and is to-day virtually in control of the island, but she avoided a direct acknowledgment of the fact by declaring war against the high chief or King Malietoa, expressly declaring that the war and claims were against him person- ally, and not against the Samoa nation. Then having dethroned and deported Malie- toa they installed Tamasese, a rebel, as king (a mere tool in their hands, who acts only through their consul), making Herr Brandis, a German, prime-minister. The presence of

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SAMOA AND ITS PEOPLE. TAMASESE, KING OF SAMOA. an American man-of-war later disconcerted them somewhat for atime. They had evi- dently counted upon the United States adopt- ing the same “‘ hands off’’ policy which Eng- land seems to have done ; however a ship is here, and the Germans do not know what brought her or what action of our Govern- ment it may portend, though their later in- structions will probably be based upon such correspondence as has taken place between Washington and Berlin, which depends upon the policy our Government follows. Should Germany withdraw her ships, the natives would lose notime in making war upon Tama- sese and the Government the Germans have established for him, and as the Malietoa party is much stronger in fighting men, he would doubtless be overthrown. The chiefs have all taken the oath of allegiance to Tamasese, but as they were forced to do so, they will not consider it binding. The Germans threatened to burn and sack the village of every chief who failed to come in and sign the oath. In fact they did burn one village of two hundred huts, cut down the bread- fruit and cocoanut trees, and desecrated the graves. They disavow any intention of tak- *A poll tax has since been imposed by Tamasese to reimburse the Germans. $1 per head is exacted from all Samoans, including all boys who can climb a cocoa- ing control of the Islands, while they have practically done so. They give Tamasese unlimited credit ; have run up a bill of thirty thousand dollars against him, principally for bringing chiefs from different parts of the island to swear allegiance and for protecting him. One item of two thousand one hun- dred dollars is for saluting his flag! Their design is evidently to involve him heavily in debt, demand payment, and as he is una- ble to meet it, seize more land to satisfy their unjust claims.* More than a year ago Tamasese was in re- bellion, and Malietoa was then in a posi- tion to effectually crush him, but put off doing so upon the advice and promises of the United States and English representatives. The result is Malietoa captured and expatri- ated, and the rebel chief installed in his place, while his loyal subjects are forced by a German fleet to take the oath of allegiance to Tamasese. We have engaged our honor as a nation to protect these people, but our representatives can do nothing handicapped as they are by instructions, which are—to remain neutral, to avoid all complications, and upon no account to interfere between the Germans and Samoans. If our Government is to fake no steps in the matter, the presence of a man-of-war here is unnecessary, and simply lends countenance to the German outrages. American property is equally safe without a ship, and it would be better to withdraw a semblance of force which only brings discredit upon the United States and subjects her officers to mortifications. England is usually not slow to resent acts which affect her injuriously, and her inac- tion now is difficult to understand. It is a terrible thing to contemplate—the civilized nations looking idly on while Germany thus crushes an innocent people who have the highest claims for protection, and who might be so prosperous and happy were foreign in- tervention inspired by humanity instead of sordid greed. The Samoans might well dis- trust the teachings of Christianity when their present condition is brought about by nations who have enjoyed its privileges and benefits for centuries. Arriving offthe coast of Apia—the largest town on the island—too late one evening to nut tree and all girls who are old enough to work, and dire vengeance is threatened against all natives who re- fuse to pay.

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SAMOA A SAMOAN PRINCESS. enter, as the harbor is surrounded by coral reefs, we steamed slowly up and down the coast until morning, when we came in and dropped anchor. Immediately our vessel was surrounded by natives in their canoes—cata- morans they are called ; these boats are very narrow, more so than the kind used at the Sandwich Islands, but the natives seem per- fectly at home in them, and though one ex- pects to see them swamped with every pass- ing wave, they are calmly indifferent, as they are equally at home in the water. The Samoan men are very fine specimens of the genus homo—tall, broad, well-devel- oped, and possessing fine, agreeable features. They have the custom of applying lime to the hair, which makes them all red-headed ! There are various shades from auburn to a darker shade which resembles sealskin. The hair is trimmed close on the crown of the head, leaving the front, sides and back long, which, surmounting a really fine bronze face, produces a handsome effect. AND ITS PEOPLE. In the matter of clothing they are quite primitive, as for the most part they wear nothing but a strip of cloth wound about the waist, falling half way to the knees. The original material used was /apa, and many use that now, but the majority have substituted calico, and as would be ex- pected choose large figures and brilliant colors. All the men are tattooed from the waist to the knees, the pattern being identi- cal and very elaborate. A few wear garlands of flowers across the shoulder, and some head-dresses of leaves standing up like feath- ers. These we understand are chiefs. The Government proper is one of aristocra- cy, amounting almost to feudalism, and the people evidently have not muchtodo. That they are not a commercial people and do not value their time highly is proven by the smali stock in trade which will justify six or eight men in spending ten hours in disposing of it. For instance, one large canoe manned by fifteen men will spend a whole day about the ships with fruit to sell, and at their own prices ¢hree dollars will buy the entire supply. A basket of sixty-five large oranges can be bought for fifty cents. These oranges are green in appearance, with thick, bitter skin, but the pulp is firm, juicy and deli- cious, similar to those found at Bombay. Other tropical fruits abound, all good and proportionately cheap. Bread-fruit when in season, during about half the year, is the staple article of food. At other times taro root and yams take its place. Oranges and limes grow in the greatest abundance, only a small percentage of the yield being con- sumed. Pine-apples are of fine flavor and grow to an immense size, many more than a foot long and weighing eight or ten pounds. Cotton and coffee of superior qual- ity are raised on the plantations by foreign- ers,* but the natives have really very little use for money, and without much effort on their part nature supplies all their needs. The trees, plants and sea give food, shelter and clothing and their beverage, cava. It is difficult to induce them to work, because it is not necessary. They have well nigh escaped the curse of Adam, but they are literally like the “ lily of the field,’ in that ‘“‘they toil not neither do they spin.’’ And * The labor on the plantation is performed by slaves (not in name) brought from the Feejee and Salomon Islands.

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SAMOA one can —— be pleased with their simple, trusting good nature and smiling faces. Entering the harbor, the view from the ship is superb. The mountains are densely covered with vegetation to their very sum- mits. Palms and all tropical plants abound, and cocoanut trees, like sentinels on guard, wave their tall plumes above all. Apia has but one street, and is in the form of a crescent, following the shore of the bay upon which it is built. The foreigners occupy the center, and the natives the two ends, one being the village of Malietoa’s followers, and the other those of Tamasese, the present king. There are about three hundred foreigners on the island, and we are told thirty of them are Americans. As we pass along the street every one we meet greets us with ‘‘falofa,’’ just as at the Sandwich Islands one is greeted with ‘* Aloha,’’ which means the same thing— good-day ! The first part of the town we visited is owned by the German company, and the village is situated under the cocoanut trees of their plantations. At the beginning of it we met German troops guarding the entrance to protect Tamasese, who lives at the ex- treme end. As we passed the houses the in- mates invited us to enter, and we visited a number of families. These houses or huts, built of bamboo, are very well constructed, the frame-work is firmly tied together, and the mats and thatching which form the roofs are really artistically woven. There are no walls, but when it becomes necessary to shut out wind, rain or sun, mats made of cocoanut leaves are let down. The floors are made of pebbles gathered from the beds of fresh water streams which come down from the mountains. There appears to be a number of people to each hut, and when needful to form rooms tapa screens are hung up. They have no beds, but sleep on mats spread upon the floor. One would suppose these would make anything but downy couches, but the natives evidently find them comfortable, for at any hour of the day some members of the family are sure to be found asleep. Their pillows— which consist of a length of bamboo sup- ported at either end on legs—form a part of the very meager furniture, the other part consisting of astrong box in which are kept the finery and valuables. The cross-beams AND ITS PEOPLE. THE DAWN OF CIVILIZATION. overhead supply the storage room, and in each hut one finds bundles of /afa and mats for sale. Their stove is simply a hole scooped out of the floor and lined with large pebbles ; few cooking utensilsare necessary, as in this they cook the bread-fruit and fish which, with co- coanuts, bananas, and other fruit, form their principal diet. The bread-fruit, in appearance like a large osage orange, when roasted tastes somewhat like sweet potato. The fish is baked in leaves, as at Hawaii. I must not forget to mention one indispensable article which every hut possesses, and that is, a cava bowl. Cava, the national beverage of Samoa, is prepared from the root of one of the pepper plants. Formerly, and amongst some of the natives to this day, it was produced by fill- ing the mouth with water, chewing the root, and collecting the saliva in bowls. That is said to be the beverage in perfection. This is modified however among the more civilized by grating the root and mixing it with pure water. A young girl usually prepares it,

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38 SAMOA AND ITS PEOPLE. while the guests of the occasion sit in a cir- cle of which she is the central figure. A large bowl with four legs is brought in and placed before her, with a grater, a quantity of the roots, and a wisp of some fiber which looks like manilla. When the roots are grated into the bowl] and water poured over, the mixture is stirred with the wisp a num- ber of times. This strains the surface. The drink, finally ready, is then handed to the people present according to rank or age, the girl filling the cup in turn by wringing the beverage from the wisp, each guest drain- ing it to the dregs, and clapping his hands as he receives it. The liquid resembles thin skim milk, and tastes like a weak concoction of cornstarch and paregoric. It is said to be not intoxicating, but somewhat exhilarating in its effects when taken in large quantities. In the Tamasese village we noticed that every hut had its rifle or rifles, so that the men are ready at any moment for a call to arms. The king’s palace differs from the huts only in size and the possession of several European trunks. While we were visiting one of the huts Ta- masese approached. The family saluted him by crossing their arms upon their breasts, remaining in that attitude until he had passed. He greeted us with ‘‘Aa/ofaz,”’ which greeting we returned. He is a very large man, but hasa less intelligent face than many of the others; he was entirely nude except for the lava-lava—a piece of figured calico wrapped about the loins. In his hand he carried a handkerchief with which he kept off the flies—these insects are very numer- ous, small, and pestiferous. His only com- panion was his wife, who walked a few steps behind. She was dressed or undressed in the prevailing style. The great majority of women wear noth- ing above the waist, and nothing below the knees. A few, perhaps from deference to for- eigners’ prejudice, perhaps through vanity, attempt waists, but it is such a recent inno- vation that no well-defined fashion has been established, each aspirant to ‘‘ better things ”’ in the way of clothing following her own fancy or that of her particular ‘‘set.’’ Asa result, there are many ‘‘styles,’’ and I fear all would not find favor in the eyes of the average Americaine, but here one soon ceases to notice that they are oufré, and the wearers attract attention only when in Eu- ropean clothes, which they neither know how to make nor to wear, and in which they appear conscious and uncomfortable. The most pleasing, perhaps because the most simple, garment for upper wear, is a straight strip of thin material with a hole cut in the center for the head, the ends hanging down over the bust and back. From this the garments vary through diverse stages of waists and chemise. The women are tattooed also, but in a more merciful manner than the men; that is, there is not so much of it, only small figures some distance apart. Many, both men and women, have their names tattooed on the forearm, the letters being the same as ours.* The custom of putting lime on the hair is not so common among the women, but many do it. We learn that the change in color is only incidental, the object being cleanliness and to avoid an operation so often witnessed amongst the poorer classes in Europe and in the tropics. Cocoanut oil is freely used both upon the hair and body, and the odor of it pervades the air. The people bathe a great deal and seem generally to be cleanly. A favorite bathing pool is called ‘‘ Sliding Rock,’’ about four miles from the town. It is a beautiful spot, but the principal feature of the place is a cascade and an incline rock upon which the bathers slide about forty feet into the pool below. I have remarked that the Samoans are an extremely idle peo- ple, but I have seen women making mats, fish-nets and safa—tapa is a material made from the. mulberry tree, and is used among the natives for curtains and screens as well as a covering. The process of manufact- ure is most interesting. First the bark is stripped from a mulberry stick about four feet long and not more than an inch around at its large end; the outer skin is then scraped off—the women during this opera- tion sitting in the water. The implements are a flat board to rest it upon, and a shell something likea clam. In scraping the bark gains about three times in width, and becomes perfectly white. The next stage is the beating. Four of the scraped pieces are folded together and beaten with a long mal- let until they become quite thin and fully * Their language has been reduced to a written one by the missionaries, and they now have Bibles and books translated into their own tongue.

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SAMOA AND ITS PEOPLE. thirty times as wide as before. The pound- ing or beating is done on a smooth log, and the mallet is grooved on its sides. These last pieces are then spread upon the ground to dry, after which they are packed away in bales, to be finished at leisure. The final fabric is made after patching up the small holes, by putting the pieces together in lay- ers, using arrow-root for glue, and beating un- tilall becomes apparently one smooth surface. The colors used for decorating are made or manufactured from roots, berries and clays, and laid on partly by hand and partly by stencil. It is all scented with cocoanut oil, and when asked the reason for that the reply was, ‘‘to make it smell good.”” ‘‘ De gusti- bus non disputandum.”’ In each hut we visited we were made welcome and treated with great hospitality. The best mat was spread on the floor for us to sit upon, and such refreshment as the family afforded offered to us—cocoanut water, oranges and bread-fruit. Conversation was usually rather difficult, as few natives speak English and we knew little of their language ; but we smiled at each other, and by means of signs and nods managed to exchange ideas after a fashion. In one hut, however, we had a more interesting visit, as the old native WOMEN IN IMPROVED DRESS MAKING CAVA. spoke English very well and was very com- municative. We discovered that he owned the large cocoanut grove and land about his hut for the distance of half a mile, that he was secretary of the treasury under Malie- toa, ‘‘ but have been depose.’’ [It seemed a strange word for a savage, but, poor fellow! he had learned it by experience.] His ac- count of affairs at the time was very sad as well as interesting, and his wife, sister and two daughters sang a lament over Malietoa’s fall. The singing was harmonious though there were but few notes, the soprano lead- ing with a chant and the others joining in a refrain. His wife does washing for the ships, but while we were in the hut excused her- self, saying, ‘‘/ kiss feece’’ (I catch fish), and as we left we saw her paddling out to the reefs in a tiny canoe, and looking back had a view of the head of the house hanging out clothes. Think of it, a cabinet minis- ter’s wife taking in washing, and he manag- ing the clothes-line! I presume there is no quarreling about precedence amongst the cabinet ladies here, though this is a pure aristocracy ! In the absence of Malietoa the Samoans want Mataafa for king ; he is next in rank to Malietoa, and should have been made king

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40 instead of Tamasese. There has been open talk of rebellion among his people, and Ma- taafa would doubtless have been sent away _ had he not been a Catholic and the priests ~jnterceded for him. ' We find that all the natives take a very gloomy view of the political situation, and as one old chief expressed it, ‘‘ Inside Samoan man he feel sick, inside he cry all the time, outside he say nothing,’’ that is to say, they are all thoroughly dissatisfied and are anx- ious to get rid of Tamasese and the Germans, but are afraid to say anything. Another chief assured us that if the Germans were to leave, or their influence be prevented, there would be war in a day. They might conquer the German ships now in the harbor, but they know that would only mean another Ger- man fleet, another series of arrests and de- portations, and they can not conquer Ger- many. All is uneasiness and discontent. They are not at all pleased with Brandeis, the prime minister ; accepting Tamasese as inevitable, they want another prime minis- ter. He (Brandeis) is projecting many im- provements—an iron wharf is to be built, a hospital established, and two light-houses In all these things the are already erected. prime minister is the figure-head, while the German consul is the directing spirit. The captain of the German gunboat made the survey for the light-houses, and German sailors delivered the lamps. The wharf is to be built in Germany, and the German plantation owners will be the principal ones benefited by it. The Samoans, not being commercial people, have nothing to ship, as their only concern is—that hey will have to pay for it. Walking through a clearing in the woods where some Englishmen were playing cricket, we passed through the town proper and made our way straight back toward the mountains, through cocoanut and orange groves, banana fields and taro patches. The taro leaf is very handsome and the fields beautiful. The leaf grows to an immense size and in coloris a very rich green. The tree fern is very striking in its luxuriance, and grows to a height of thirty feet with leaves at least twenty feet long. One can scarcely imagine without seeing it how — * Their date is oneday ahead of ours, as they use the fast longitude. It should be the same date as the United States, but the 180th meridian is only seventy- SAMOA AND ITS PEOPLE. delicate, graceful, and lovely is the effect. Among the natives we have met is a man who is called John Adams. He speaks En- glish well, and was nicknamed for the United States ship Adams, when she visited Samoa years ago, being at that time called the John Adams. We spent a very pleasant as well as profitable hour with this man a few days since. Being, of course, thoroughly familiar with Samoan customs he gave us much interesting information, and showed us some of the finer and more valua- ble native mats. Until within late years these mats were the money of Samoa, and one of them would pay for fifty acres of good land. It required three years for a woman to make one, and they are regarded in the family here much the same as plate and jewels in the old English families. Each orie has its pedigree, and when it changes hands its history goes with it. John Adams remembers the arrival of the first missionary, and told us at length of the changes which have taken place on the island since they came. The natives now are strict observers of the Sabbath, and on Sunday everything is as quiet as a New England village, the na- tives refusing to sell anything or even exhibit their wares.* The Protestant services here are conducted by the English missionaries, who are, I believe, Wesleyans. When the church bell rings all the natives flock to church, so that during the hours of service a village seems deserted. The singing is con- gregational, and every man, woman, and child knows all the hymns (they have a regular printed hymn-book), and all join in the singing. They are fond of refrains, and different sets of voices sometimes take differ- ent or independent tunes, which forebodes disaster to an unaccustomed ear, but they all end together, and in perfect harmony. Some of the Sunday clothes are even more surprising than the music. All their finery is worn to church, but on their way home, as the congregation disperses, many of the women undress or take off their good clothes, so that by the time they arrive at their huts they are in native costume. Every Samoan can read, and it is wonderful how familiar they are with the Bible, and how rapidly they can find any quotation you may give five miles east, and whoever established the days of the week here came from the east and neglected to drop a day in crossing the meridian.

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SAMOA AND ITS PEOPLE. INTERIOR OF NATIVE HUT. them from the Scriptures. Formerly a man could put away his wife whenever he chose, or have as many as he chose, but there has been an improvement in that respect, also due to the influence of the missionaries. A few days since a very novel and interest- ing entertainment—which we were fortunate enough to witness—took place on board the American man-of-war in the harbor. Asi,a native chief, visited the ship with his house- hold, and gave a native dance and some plays on the quarter-deck. Asi is a man of herculean build and fine bearing ; he has a strong face, rules his people perfectly, and is an ideal savage chief. Faapia, his daughter, is rather fetite, has a bright and laughing face, and is full of life and grace. Sheis said to be the belle of the island and has had many chiefs as suitors, but until now no one has pleased her father, whose will is the only one to be consulted in the matter. At last, however, a favored suitorhas appeared who is

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SAMOA AND ASI, SAMOAN CHIEF. soon to bring his presents to the chief. If they are accepted—for the gifts constitute the proposal—the suit is encouraged. Giving a daughter in marriage here is somewhat in the nature of a barter, and the number and value of the presents have often as much to do with the decision of paterfamilias as the character of the young man. The young woman is not consulted as to her feelings or wishes. When Faapia came on board the ship with her father, her costume was the usual fafa about the body, with a waist made of the same material. I say made, be- cause it was shaped like a waist and sewed on a machine, Even the Samoans have sewing machines, and I saw one to-day which runs by clock work. This she discarded after the dancing commenced. She, with her fatherand brother, arrived in one ofthe ship's boats, but their retinue of about eighty men, women and children came in canoes. They are Malietoa’s people, therefore bitter against the Germans. For the greater part of them it was their first sight of a man-of-war, and it was interest- ing to watch the curiosity, wonder and admi- ration exhibited in their expressive faces. They were shown over the ship, and as a mark of their appreciation Asi expressed a desire to have his people sing and dance. Permission granted, fifty of them took part, ITS PEOPLE. seating themselves in three rows on the port side of the quarter-deck, men, women, and children. There were twenty in each of the two outward rows and eight in the front row. These latter were the dancers, or rather the performers, for there is very little real dancing, and what there is was done by the chief's daughter and son. The dance is performed mostly in a sitting posture, and consists in all conceivable motions of the head, body and arms, the rear rows furnish- ing the music by clapping hands in various measures and in perfect time. The move- ments of the eight dancers were performed with the utmost precision and grace, and through it all the whole party sang. Many of their wild melodies are really beautiful. Every figure of the dance has its significance. Some, as loading and firing a gun, sewing, rowing, were palpable, but the greater part was unintelligible to us. This performance continued for an hour or more, after which some plays were given, always accompanied by the weird singing and clapping of hands. One play represented dogs quarreling over a bone, and the deep growls and snarls of the men representing the big dogs, as well as the shrill bark of the chief's daughter, the little dog, were very natural, as well as their ac- tion. Another play represented a mother moaning over her dead baby. She was crying with ove eye shut, a Samoan custom, when the father coming in discovered the misfortune which had befallen his house. Thereupon his grief was even more violent than that of his spouse, and he indicated in very intelligible pantomime that xothing could solace him but xum. When he had gained sufficient control over his feelings, he asked the mother what was the cause of the child’s death, and her reply created great merriment amongst the natives. She said it had died wazting for the American man-of-war to come! The entertainment finished in a frenzy of motion, a throwing up of hands, a whirl of the body and a hearty peal of laughter. Old and young seemed equally interested in the amusement, and they left the ship apparently delighted with their visit. Hearing a chorus of men’s voices, the fol- lowing day, I looked out and saw three large canoes ; in each were fifty paddles beside a few passengers, making in all at least one hundred and eighty men. They rowed in reg-

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SAMOA AND ular order, the whole hundred and fifty oars dipped at the same instant, and it was a beau- tiful sight as they flashed in the sunlight. At the bow and stern of each canoe were large branches shaped like deer horns. The orders for maneuvering were given by blasts upon conch shells. As they were steering toward Asi’s place we conjectured that they might be the friends of Faapia’s lover carry- ing his gifts to Asi, and we were correct in our surmise. The husband elect is a fine- looking man of about twenty-eight years, and the presents consisted of fifty-one roasted pigs. These were roasted in the following manner: A hole is made in the ground and lined with stones, and a fire builtin it. When the stone lining and some loose stones are sufficiently heated the dressed pigs have their cavities filled with the hot stones, and wrapped in tea leaves, are lowered into the oven and covered over with earth. At the proper moment they are taken out cooked toaturn. The juices are confined and each part thoroughly cooked without be- coming dry orhard. We have eaten both pig and fowl roasted in this manner, and they are delicious. We understood this wedding was to take place in about three weeks, and in the meantime another pre- sentation must be made. The pro- visions brought by the groom elect are distributed amongst the people of the chief and they have a great feast. It is upon these occasions that the natives wear their valuable mat /ava-lavas. While passing the cathedral yard one day we heard a clapping of hands three times, and knew that there must be a cava drinking there. Stopping, we looked in at the gate and saw about twenty-five na- tive men squatted on the portico of the priest’s house with a young girl in their midst, the cava bowl before her and one of the priests by her side. The clapping of hands we had heard was to announce that the cava was ready. A priest in- formed us that these were people from a native village who had come with produce to sell, and to make lime; that they would remain three days, and then return to their ITS PEOPLE. 43 homes. They make their lime from coral, and a limekiln is built in the church-yard. They build their own stove and feed them- selves during their sojourn, but live in a house supplied by the village. In fact each village has a large house built and set aside for strangers and only occupied when visit- ors come. This is said to be not so much a matter of hospitality as to insure enter- tainment for themselves when their business calls them to other villages. Whatever their motive it seems a pleasing custom, and one feels disposed to credit it to their amiability which is shown in so many ways. Leaving Apia one morning in a_ boat with three natives for a crew, a pilot and interpreter, we started on a visit to Malie- toa’s home and family, about six miles dis- tant. Passing along the coast, inside the reefs, we had not only a good view of the plantations and forests on shore, but of the fish and coral, which could be distinctly seen in the water. The bottom seemed a SAMOAN GIRLS ARRAYED FOR A FEAST.

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SAMOA AND ITS PEOPLE. SAMOAN COCOANUTS. veritable fairy forest with all the brilliant coloring of our autumn leaves, and the fish corresponded with their home. Our arrival at Malietoa’s place created quite a commo- tion as our coming had not been announced. The entertaining hut, however, was speedily put in order, the floor covered with mats, screens let down on the sunny side, and we were invited to enter and sit down. The men of the family were absent in the bush cutting logs for a hut they were building, but the female members entertained us, though the princess did not make her ap- pearance for some time, the delay being caused by her toilet. When she did appear, however, her attire did not seem so com- plicated as to account for much delay, though her long hair might have taken some time. It was combed straight back, twisted into a coil, and garnished with Azdiscus. Her costume was complete in two garments-—a green gauze waist embroidered in rows of conventional flowers, the petals of which were metallic green wings of beetles, and the usual lava-lava of tapa. She entered the room with considerable dignity, but received us affably and asked the interpreter why he had not sent word of our coming, so that she

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SAMOA might have prepared something for our en- tertainment. One of the most interesting episodes of the day was a cava drinking which we attended. While a few of our party were resting we walked to the extreme end of the village, and while watching some women cleaning and preparing the mulberry bark for tapa, a young girl appeared and invited us into a hut near by. The young girl could speak a little English, and acted as interpre- ter between the chief and ourselves. She managed to tell us what I have already related of them, and to learn that’ we were Americans staying at Apia ; she asked if we liked Malietoa, and why we allowed the Ger- mans totake him away. When told that the American ship had not arrived in time to pre- vent that, she wanted to know why they did not fight the Germans now. Meanwhile she made the cava, which was served in the usual manner, the chief inquiring our names and serving us first. After this their meal, con- sisting of bananas and roasted bread-fruit, was brought in, served in baskets made of cocoanut leaves. When we arose to take our AND ITS PEOPLE. 45 departure all the leading men came for- ward and shook hands with us saying 7o fa (good-bye). The lengthening of the afternoon shadows warned us it was time to take our departure, and we left Malietoa's place and set sail for Apia. We reached our destination in all the ‘splendor of a tropical moon. The night was exquisitely lovely, the air, heavy with its beauty, touched with lingering breath tall palm trees, whose long and stately leaves bent with swaying motion to the music of the waves. Near the landing on the green were about fifty girls and boys singing, romping and playing, much as children do at home. As we landed they came running toward us, and in childish glee bade us welcome to their shores, and following a short distance as we passed down the street, left us with a merry chorus of fo fas. Ah, happy childhood! how little canst thou realize that already a stranger’s hand is turned against thee, and we hear the din of battle from afar, as the night echoes back in solemn strain thy gay farewell, and the waves return in whispers to repeat — 70 fa. SAMOAN GIRL UNDER A TARO PLANT.

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ELLA WHEELER WILCOX. By E. D. WALKER. N the jewel-box of a prominent American actress is sacredly treasured, among pearl necklaces and diamond settings, a little poem. It is called ‘‘ Whatever is, is Best,” Tho’ the hour be long delayed. and reads thus: I know that the soul is aided ‘*T know that each sinful action, As sure as the night brings shade, Is somewhere, some time punished, Sometimes by the heart’s unrest, And to grow means often to suffer; ’ ** T know as my life grows older And mine eyes have clearer sight, That under each rank wrong somewhere m There lies the root of Right ; But fortunately the actress is not the only That each sorrow has its purpose person enriched by that poetic gem. With By the sorrowing oft unguessed ; hundreds of others from the same source But as sure as the sun brings morning which sparkle with more fiery luster, stirring Whatever is, is best. and healing the soul to its foundations, it is But, whatever is, is best.”

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ELLA WHEELER WI/LCOX. 47 enjoyed by people of every rank and condi- tion through all the wide-spread English tongue. Some of its sister poems are kept in the old lady’s bible; some are recited by orators of pulpit and platform to enrich their message and feather their arrows ; some are carried in the young man’s pocket-book ; some adorn the maiden’s writing desk ; and many haunt the memory of those happy and unhappy men and women who have tasted the bitter-sweet of Love. In spite of some critics, or perhaps because of their injustice, Ella Wheeler Wilcox holds to-day, in the beginning of her womanhood, a scepter and influence that compare favor- ably with any other American poet. Her popularity is greater than that of Longfellow. Her originality has founded a large school of erotic poetry. She combines peculiarly the art of Swinburne and the boldness of Whitman with the genius and moral pur- pose of Jean Ingelow. There is a breadth of inspiration and a mastery of heart-life in her work that entitle her to be named ‘‘ Amer- ica’s Sappho.’’ Like Cooper and E. P. Roe in fiction, like Mark Twain in humor, like Whittier in poetry, she has sprung from in- auspicious surroundings into the foremost rank of popular favorites, simply from the force of intuitive penetration guided by in- domitable industry. Best of all, she is a pure child of nature, untainted by conven- tional ideas,simply voicing likea forest song- bird the thrilling messages that will not be silent. The publication of a new volume of her poems * and of a de /uxe edition of her best-known book,t offers a convenient op- portunity for a glance at her life, her per- sonality and her writings. Her early home was an humble cottage, in the modest little town of Windsor, not far from Madison, Wisconsin, of which she sang : ‘* This is the place that I love the best : A little brown house, like a ground-bird’s nest, Hid among grasses and vines and trees, Summer retreat of the birds and bees. “* The tenderest light that ever was seen Sifts through the vine-made window screen— Sifts and quivers and flits and falls On home-made carpets and gray-hung walls.” *Poems of Pleasure. By Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 16mo, cloth. $1.00. Belford, Clarke & Co,: New York and Chi- cago There Ella Wheeler’s childhood was made happy with her parents and brothers. She was always an impulsive untamed nature, with exuberant play of spirits, eager for sport and frolic, and tortured by restraint. It was impossible for her to go along the country road without clipping the wayside growth in the swelling pulsations of her buoyant life, and every corner had to be cut short. School tasks were very irksome, ex- cept compositions, which invariably were a delight, for romantic stories and singing- rhymes filled her fancy almost from baby- hood. One of her early efforts is a story still preserved, written before she was nine years old, on odd scraps of paper and carefully bound between covers of blue wall paper. Its title reads, ‘* MINNIE THIGHTBAND & Mrs. DAWLEY. An eloquent novel written by Miss Ella Wheeler. ‘* Preface. ‘“The following novel is atrue story. I suppose the reader will doubt it, but it is true. Itis a scene that I witnessed in England, and after I came to America I published it. The reader may believe it now.”’ Its characters are brave lovers, cruel step- mothers, beautiful maidens and lost chil- dren. Three marriages close the last chapter. Several of the chapters are begun with orig- inal verses, her first attempts at poetry. Because of her fondness for writing, her older brother often teased her with the name ‘‘authoress.’’ Many a time she ran crying into the house, and explained her agony by sobbing ‘‘ Eddie has called me an authoress.’’ Whereupon Eddie was stoutly chastised. Later he was disposed to whip any one who denied that she was an author- ess. At fourteen her sketches, essays and stories, crude as they were, began to appear, anonymously and unpaid, in the New York Mercury. One day her brother was reading some poetry to her, and as he finished she said, ‘‘ When I hear anything like that it makes me feel as if I should faint or die.”’ ‘“‘If you feel like that,’’ said her brother, ‘‘you can wrife poetry.” At this suggestion she composed a despe- + Poems of Passion. By Ella Wheeler Wilcox. Sumptuously illustrated with forty engravings. 8vo, cloth. Belford, Clarke & Co.: New York and Chicago.

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48 ELLA WHEELER WILCOX. rate love song and sent it to the Mercury. It was published with a ringing accompani- ment of editorial ridicule. The comments closed by saying that if the critic's cruelty hindered the aspirant from ‘attempting another line of poetry he would be doing her and the world a favor.’’ She was over- whelmed with humiliation, but with char- acteristic pluck and confidence in her inher- ent impulses, she continued writing verses at every opportunity. Two years after that she was a paid contributor of poetry to sev- eral of the leading magazines, and had at least a local reputation. The first poem which brought a check, raised a doubt in the editor’s mind, at the outset, whether so strong a work could be genuine, coming from so young a writer. The editor wrote asking if Miss Wheeler was sure the poem was hers. Upon satisfactory proof being given payment was sent, and that entrance into Frank Leslie’s Magazine opened a host of other doors to the young literally explorer. At sixteen she wrote a book of temperance poems, ‘‘Dropsof Water.’’ With thegroothat she obtained from it she felt very rich, and the determination to make her talents contribute toward easing the necessities of her home spurred her to prolific efforts. At eighteen she was writing poems and stories enough, small though their separate returns were, to provide entirely for herself and to furnish many comforts for the home. Eight poems were sometimes written in one day, and two were a small day’s achievement. To besure many of these were trash, all were hasty, but some of them were gems, and the suggestion of a subject, from a flower, a bird, an inci- dent, had to be worked out at once while the mood was warm. The impulsive intensity of her soul to this day finds difficulty in accomplishing any result when the idea is cold. How many of these fugitive ‘‘ half- fledged birdlings,’’ of her girlhood, as she styles them, were sent out chirping by her restless and industrious muse, may be judged from the fact that she has written about two thousand poems in all, and less than two hundred appear in her books now published. Most of them fortunately appeared without any name, though they helped to swell her income. But it is unjust to charge such a writer with rushing into print, or with har- nessing her muse to a pecuniary dray, for she acted entirely by her own high motives. It was only by this independent schooling that she learned the mastery of her art, and while neighbors and friends censured her as an idle scribbler, she was supporting herself, paying a servant’s wages for her mother, earning enough to enlarge the home, and providing many a necessity and dainty. Over this happy period she says her memory still lin- gers fondly. She was buoyed by success, by growing fame, by the commendations of many critics. She reveled in her innocent joyous outlook upon the world, as yet know- ing little of human nature, doubting none, idealizing all. Her world was a dreamland made glorious by the consciousness of her assistance to those she loved. With all the crudeness and artlessness of those early poems, many of them are sur- prisingly true to human emotions. The child was an unwitting priest of nature, and the strength of her later work lies in just the same ingenuous naturalness which shapes instead of deforming the suggestions of un- seen sources. Years afterward in a time of great trouble she came upon some of those early poems and found them a perfect expres- sion of her maturer travail of soul. The un- developed child, hidden from the world in a solitary farm-house, sang songs which have solaced many a weary heart as they did her later self. The sense of power in her work in those young days, as ever since, did not produce egotism, but rather a reverence for the inspiration which was immeasurably greater than the writer. She says of those busy budding years: ‘‘My work was an ecstasy to me, and many and many a time I have knelt in my little room under the sloping eaves and fervently thanked God for the gift that enabled me to be such a help to my parents, and that gave me such broaden- ing pleasures and advantages in life.’’ The conflicting advice of friends, who pressed upon her many precepts for studying older models, and pruning her ‘‘ sentimental trash’’ was promptly neglected. It was sen- timent that sprang forth continually from her thought, and nothing sold so readily as sentiment. The more ambitious efforts were always returned. But, she says: ‘‘ When- ever a selfish impulse dominated, all my manuscripts would be rejected. When my plan was for the comfort of others, success followed. Therefore I could not afford to be

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ELLA WHEELER WILCOX. 49 selfish. Thishas been my unvarying experi- ence throughout my career.”’ The first collection of her poems, called ‘Shells,’’ was published when she was bare- ly twenty. The book is now out of print. It brought her no remuneration and much disappointment. Under the impulse to put a novel in verse that might rank with ‘‘Lucile’’ and make her fortune she publish- ed ‘‘ Maurine.’’ It contains many fine: pas- sages as well as a strong plot, but it does not show her individuality like the vivid flashes of soul-life that gleam in her short poems, and its emoluments were small, slowly amounting to a little over five hundred dol- lars. The mild reception which this most painstaking and thoughtful work met in- clined her to abandon the hope of attaining any great success as a poet. But she was strong with a throbbing vital- ity, in the full tide of healthful life, with a fervent imagination and an ardent tempera- ment, and the next volume reflected all of these qualities. She had learned something of the world, for friends and strangers insist- ed upon making her a confidante, and the actual drama of humanity with its secret sor- rows and sins was open to her. It was from this unsought material that many of her best poems, and some of those most criticised were made. With the conviction that only a quiet and small place would be hers among the sing- ers of the West she published ‘‘ Poems of Passion.’’ At once there was a tempest of praise and abuse heaped upon it. She awoke from her despondent reverie to find herself famous. Its overwhelming popular success and the virulent criticism provoked by it were equally startling to her. She had writ- ten of human nature as she had found it, simply and frankly, with the burning ear- nestness of her innocent heart. But many critics pounced upon the work as indeli- cate and immoral, while others, singularly enough, commended its vigor unreservedly. The debate over the propriety of certain poems of course stimulated its sale enor- mously and the book went rapidly through many editions. To-day it stands as the most widely appreciated volume of American poetry. Although published only five years ago, sixty-five thousand copies have been sold,—as many as the most popular novel of the most popular American novelist 4 have sold in three times the length of years. Perhaps the lines which attracted most dis- approval were the closing portion of the poem “ Delilah ’’ : ** Tf I by the Throne should behold you, Smiling up with those eyes loved so well, Close, close in my arms I would fold you, And drop with you down to sweet Hell.” Also this outburst in ‘‘ Ad Fidem ”’ : ‘* For just one kiss that your lips have given In the lost and beautiful past to me I would gladly barter my hopes of Heaven And all the bliss of Eternity.” These poems were written in the recollection of the fascinating power of such women as Aspasia and Cleopatra over such men as Pericles and Antony. As violent as many poems in the book are in their intensity of ‘‘the grand passion,’”’ no one who knows men and women deeply can deny their truth. That they were written by a young inexperi- enced maiden is all the greater wonder. It was fortunate that they raised such a whirl- pool of bitter denunciation among some of the papers, for this only emphasized the atten- tion which they received, and discovered to the world a poet at once bold and strong and pure in the master-movements of the soul. But the ordeal was a bitter one, for many letters joined in the abuse and even some of her friends raised the cry of shame. The cruel experience of that crisis enabled her to give sympathetic and welcome consolation to a young Southern authoress who recently passed through a similar storm. @ But the loudest protests came from people whose lives were immoral, construing the poems from their own standpoint, or from prudes whose good sense was shriveled like their small natures. The case was that ofa pure and pulsing delineation of strong and upheaving emotions, and a rich addition to the world’s forceful poetry. As the furor of criticism gradually subsided it was discov- ered that not over haif a dozen poems in the entire book were capable, even by morbidly acute imaginations, of misconstruction, and these were conceded as much right to live as paintings and statues that are admired for the soul-stirring lessons they convey. There is a moral purpose in these few pieces of undraped poetry that is not less wholesome than classic art.

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50 ELLA WHEELER WILCOX. ‘*Poems of Passion’’ was vindicated by a popularity that established the author’s rep- utation. When it was announced that her novel ‘‘ Mal Moulée’’ was finished six pub- lishing houses wrote for the first reading of it. This story, whose title means ‘‘ Badly Molded,” is a vivid picture contrasting the passions of noble and reckless love. But poetry is Mrs. Wilcox’s forte, and she admits herself that with a few exceptions her prose work does not satisfy her and often is of inferior quality. She now withstands the temptations of generous prices for stories and articles which trade upon her poetical fame, and consequently the finish and exalta- tion of her poems are growing continually stronger. It is the opinion of some critics that as most of Mrs. Wilcox’s poems are erotic her genius is commonplace. But therein lies the mark of herstrength. Love is the theme of every versifier, and yet the present genera- tion contains no poet whose songs of love match those of this youngest of the lau- rel-crowned race. Though writing of the universal idea, there is nothing common in her treatment of it. Her touch brings out the deepest chords of human heart-strings, with a tropical richness of harmony, and yet with the exquisite delicacy of a fairy’s power. It is worth the while to see what such an adept thinks of love, and by grouping a few stan- zas we may learn the core of her wisdom on the all-absorbing theme of life. First her definition of love : ** Love is the center and circumference, The cause and aim of all things—’tis the key To joy and sorrow, and the recompense For all the ills that have been, or may be. ** Love is as bitter as the dregs of sin, As sweet as clover-honey in its cell ; Love is the password whereby souls get in To Heaven—the gate that leads sometimes to Hell. ‘* Love is the only thing that pays for birth, Or makes death welcome. Oh, dear God above This beautiful but sad perplexing earth, Pity the hearts that know—or know not— Love!” Her estimate of love permits but one ex- perience of it to a life: ** We love but once. The great gold orb of light From dawn to eventide doth cast his ray ; But the full splendor of his perfect might Is reached but once throughout the livelong day. ** We love but once. Ascore of times, perchance, We may be moved in fancy’s fleeting fashion— May treasure up a word, a tone, a glance, But only once we feel the soul’s great passion. ** We love but once. Love walks with Death and Birth (The saddest, the unkindest of the three) ; And only once while we sojourn on earth Can that strange trio come to you or me.” The signs of such love are indicated in a poem beginning thus: ** Love, when we met ’twas like two planets meet- ing, Strange chaos followed ; body, soul and heart Seemed shaken, thrilled and startled by that greet- ing ; Old ties, old dreams, old aims, all torn apart And wrenched away, left nothing there the while But the great shining glory of your smile.” But the full profundity of woman’s heart- nature comes out best in the poem called ‘Angel or Demon.’’ It was first published in this magazine, and only the main thought of it need be now repeated. ** You call me an angel of love and of light, A being of goodness and heavenly fire Sent out from God’s kingdom to guide you aright In paths where your spirit may mount and aspire. You say that I glow like a star on its course, Like a ray from the altar, a spark from the source. ** Now list to my answer ; let all the world hear it ; I speak unafraid what I know to be true: A pure faithful love is the creative spirit Which makes women angels! I live but in you. We are bound soul to soul by life’s holiest laws ; If I am an angel—why, you are the cause. ** This fire from God’s altar, this holy love flame, That burns like sweet incense forever for you, Might now be a wild conflagration of shame, Had you tortured my heart, or been base or untrue. For angels and devils are cast in one mold Till love guides them upward, or downward, I hold.” It is not surprising that a writer who is swayed by the impulse of emotions like that can not write her poems with a lead-pencil. The glowing mastery of the idea keeps break- ing off the point as if the hand were pos- sessed of a horse-power engine. And yet the consuming fire of love such as Mrs. Wilcox sings istempered and controlled by the demand for an unsentimenta! founda- tion :

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ee en ELLA WHEELER W/LCOX. 51 ** All love that has not friendship for its base Is like a mansion built upon the sand. Though brave its walls as any in the land, And all the turrets lift their heads in grace ; Though skillful and accomplished artists trace Most beautiful designs on every hand, And gleaming statues in dim niches stand, And fountains play in some flow’r-hidden space, Yet when from frowning east a sudden gust Of adverse fate is blown, or sad rains fall Day in, day out, against its yielding wall, Lo! the fair structure crumbles to the dust. Love to endure life's sorrow and earth’s woe ’ Needs friendship’s solid mason-work below.’ But it is very unjust to consider Mrs. Wil- cox simply a poet of love. One of her best- known poems, and a justly popular one, is that entitled ‘‘ Solitude,’”’ beginning ** Laugh and the world laughs with you ; Weep and you weep alone ; For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth, But has trouble enough of its own.” The fame of this poem has been sufficient to tempt an unprincipled claim upon its author- ship, but a brief controversy established the proof that it was Mrs. Wilcox’s creation. Her little cameo called *‘ Sunset’’ is equal to any word-painting of Tennyson's: ** T saw the day lean o’er the world’s sharp edge And peer into night’s chasm, dark and damp. High in his hand he held a blazing lamp, Then dropped it, and plunged headlong down the ledge. ** With lurid splendor that swift paled to gray I saw the dim skies suddenly flush bright. *Twas but the expiring glory of the light Flung from the hand of the adventurous day.” The lullaby sung for her brother's child is a charming bit of minstrelsy, beginning ** Come, cuddle your head on my shoulder, dear, Your head like the golden-rod, And we will go sailing away from here To the beautiful Land of Nod.” Among her religious and miscellaneous poems also are many finely molded pieces. Of the former class, the most royal is this : ‘* There lies in the center of each man’s heart A longing and love for the good and pure, And if but an atom or larger part, I tell you this shall endure, endure, After the body has gone to decay, Yea, after the world has passed away. ‘* The longer I live and the more I see Of the struggle of souls toward the heights above, The stronger this truth comes home to me: That the Universe rests on the shoulder of love : A love so limitless, deep and broad, That men have renamed it and called it—God.” A stronger protest does not exist against the unmerciful attitude of society toward women whose waywardness is readily con- doned in men than her poem ‘‘ The Two Sin- ners,’’ written at Mrs. James Brown Potter's. request for her use in recitations. Mrs. Wilcox’s married experience has been one of extraordinary happiness, and was in- troduced by as romantic a story as her fancy could wish. One of the pages of her scrap- book is given to the various announcements which were gratuitously published of her en- gagements to be married. There are fully a score of diverse reports, all purporting to be accurate news items, and all false rumors. She triumphs in the fact that the omniscient newspapers, whose enterprising manufacture of gossip has often molested her peace of mind, knew nothing of the real movements of her heart until after she was married. Mr. Wilcox first saw her in September, 1882, in Milwaukee, at an army reunion where the young Wisconsin poet took a part in the ex- ercises, with a poem written for the occa- sion. On reaching his home in the East he wrote her a letter which was her first intima- tion of his existence. A correspondence fol- lowed, resulting in a mecting some months later. At their third interview, they were engaged. In May, 1884, they were married, and Mrs. Wilcox left her many Western friends. She has resided for some time in New York, and in the metropolis she revels amid the city life which has always been her delight. The only nature she fully enjoys is human nature. A picturesque landscape is dimmed in her admiration by a beautiful child. Among men and women, in the busy tide of humanity, she finds more stimulating influences than in all the mountain breezes. And it is this characteristic that indicates her place among our singers. She is emi- nently the people’s poet of heart life. Her enjoyment of society is charmingly illustrated by her weekly receptions during the winter and spring. These gatherings are among the most notable of the New York

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52 ELLA WHEELER WILCOX. salons. Her parlors are then thronged with friends and admirers, and the grace and naturalness with which she places every one at ease and guides the flow of genial conver- sation reminds one of Madame Récamier and Madame de Staél. There are few literary lights of the metropolis who do not occa- sionally do homage at her shrine, and count it a distinction to be called friend by her. The younger knights and ladies of the pen find her a rare sovereign, for her opinions are frank and fearless and her thought runs in no rut. She is not learned, and despises studious habits, but there is a refreshing penetration and breadth in all her ideas. Upon these occasions her devoted husband mingles with the informal company when- ever it is possible, and every one there sees in the ardent attachment of Mr. and Mrs. Wil- cox and in many dainty signs the proof ofa perfectly happy union. Invariably, too, Mrs. Wilcox presents some young protegée, whom she has discovered in obscurity, and whose brilliant promise she is aiding with all the kindness of her nature. Like Louisa M. Alcott she is peculiarly fond of girls. Ladies delight to talk of her dresses, which are as unconventional as herself, generally taking the Grecian or Kate Greenaway type, and framing her grace in beautiful taste. Far from interfering with her literary work, Mrs. Wilcox’s marriage has advanced it. Herindependent traits find no little satis- faction in deriving a good income from her writings, though her elegant home makes it needless for her to overtask her genius as in younger days. Indeed, she acknowledges that many suggestions for her later poems have sprung from her husband’s influence. A rare germ of poesy is this unpublished couplet shaped from a sentence which Mr. Wilcox dreamed he heard her utter, though she was unconscious of ever having such a thought : “* Restless we walk in Life's rich garments dressed ; Death brings a robe of plainness filled with rest.” In the volume just published there certain- ly is a larger unity of force than in her earlier books. Her sonnets are of exquisite con- struction, and will stand nobly beside those of Mrs. Browning. Concerning the origin of her poems, Mrs. Wilcox says she can not tell whence most of them come. They drop unheralded into her mind as sparkling ideas that thrill her fancy, often as definitely expressed as if implanted verbatim by a whisperer. Her usual method is to let them slowly sprout within her thought, for they never slip from her memory while growing, until fully shaped. Then, for the first time, they are put on paper as rapidly as she can write. For Mrs. Wilcox’s future it is impossible to anticipate anything less than a queenly reign. Being unflinchingly true to her muse, recognizing that the afflatus of her open-hearted nature must be laboriously molded to carry its beauteous strength under the weight of words, she is not in danger of being spoiled by her success. The pheno- menal sale of her books and the hosts of letters which pour in upon her of every description, flattering, advising, thanking, enriching, begging—letters so numerous that they must be answered by printed circu- lars,—give continual evidence of her hold upon the human heart and her wholesome ministry to its life.

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A FEW FACTS ABOUT ELECTIONS. By JosePH HOWARD, JR. RE elections a failure? The three great problems of the day are, first, Is marriage a failure? second, Is the jury system a failure? third, Are elec- tions a failure ? , Judged from the popular point of view, all three are failures. Judged more comprehen- sively, each can be bombarded and defended with equal success. Divorces galore, separa- tions innumerable, wife-beatings, runaways and flippant comment would seem to indicate a general disbelief in the divine origin of marriage ; but a glance at the list of mar- riages in all our daily papers would show that, infelicitous as that state may be, the universal mind turns toward it as certainly as the religious thought tends toward con- sideration of a future life. Ergo, it can not be regarded as a failure. So far as trial by jury goes, there is a wide- spread conviction that so long as newspa- pers are permitted to interfere with courts and juries, so long as they are allowed with impunity to print caricaturing pictures, and to ventilate their malice and their spite in one-sided arguments, attended by Billings- gate words and questions which no man would be permitted to use to another in ordinary conversation, it is impossible in cases of mag- nitude to attain a fair result through a jury. What juries might do if they were literally untrammeled, what benefits would accrue to the community if juries were absolutely im- partial, it would be impossible to estimate. Trial by jury was once regarded as a bulwark between the people and the autocrat. Now it is regarded as an ingenious door, through which well-manipulated criminals escape, while innocent men are often convicted. Nevertheless, inasmuch as the jury system is firmly seated in the affectionate regard of the peoples of our civilized countries, until some better mode of arriving at honest con- clusions is suggested, we cannot call it a failure. And how about elections ? Well there are two sides to that. There are certain States in this broad land where newly-arrived emigrants vote before as many moons have passed over their heads as years are needed ere native-born sons can cast a ballot. In some States rivalry and corrup- tion, in the very precincts of the polls them- selves, are tolerated. In others, vast monop- olies control the action of their employees ; in others social ostracism is dreaded to such an extent as virtually to compel men to vote in a particular and determined line. Offenses against a free ballot are not only numerous but flagrant everywhere ; but in view of the fact that, while third parties now and then crop up, as was the case in the old Know- Nothing times, and is to-day, when Prohibi- tion flaunts her banner by the side of those of the two great parties, as a rule, the coun- try is divided into opposing factions, two in number, and of about equal strength. It is a somewhat remarkable fact in this connec- tion that the President who is declared elect- ed is not always the man who receives the largest popular vote. He is, of course, the choice of the electoral college, but that by no means necessitates the premise of more lit- eral individual preferences. We think the age in which we live is the age; that the people among whom we move are the favored of the earth, that our ways are the best, that our methods are the nearest allied to those of omniscience, that the crisis we face is the most momentous. As matter of fact, crises are as regular in the history of a nation, as thg rising of the sun and the going down thereof. Readers who are famil- iar with the early history of the republic, know with what bitterness men whom we now regard as just this side of saints, purest patriots, were assailed by their political opponents. Readers of contemporaneous literature on the one hand would regard Washington, Jefferson, Adams, Madison, Jackson, as the purest, the simplest-minded, the warmest-hearted lovers of their country ; the wisest, most sagacious, calmest thinkers, in the interest of their land, that ever lived. On the other hand, no taunt was too bitter, no epithet too scarifying, no charge too base for their opponents to make and hurl against them. It may be doubted if ever man was more bombarded than the great, great Jack- son, than Thomas Jefferson, who ranks lofti- est among the lofty, and was characterized in terms unfit for publication, lampooned and caricatured far beyond the line of libel. Ambitious statesmen have ever lived.

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54 A FEW FACTS ABOUT ELECTIONS. About these statesmen, ralliedin all times special friends, with cohorts, followers. As long ago as Jackson’s time the spoils of office were the great desiderata. To him is ascribed that sentiment which, according to the ethics of to-day, is the meanest and the lowest—‘‘ To the victors belong the spoils ;”’ and yet is it mean, or is it low, to say that, in aland where a see-saw, teetering system of change is in vogue, one party in power to-day, another on top to-morrow, the offices should be apportioned among the members ofthe party temporarily successful, always assuming that a discriminating head deter- mines to whom shall be given the advantage accruing to the victors? Why should not those who fought the battle participate in its fruits? Putting that aside, we recognize the simple fact that the chief end and aim of nineteen-twentieths of the leaders of our re- spective parties is office for themselves, and patronage for their friends. There have been times, however, when great questions of principle were involved, and mighty issues turned upon the election hinge. Strangely enough the ambitious statesmen with which this land, like all others, has been graced, ranged themselves, with apparent conscien- tiousness, on either side, fighting for and against with fervor, sincerity and zeal. For many years the statesmen of the South—and there were many great and good, wise and able men among them—stood with all their might, for the right of slavery, the curse of the land. They believed as firmly in the tight of the whites to buy and sell the literal flesh of the blacks as they did in divinity. For more than fifty years one great section of this land was covered with a pall whose blackness was that of darkness itself. The law of the land recognized the right, and it was against the equity and the justice ofthat law that started in the minds of the early anti-slavery agitators the idea of a deter- mined and legal resistance to it. Finding the slave power intrenched behind the bul- warks of the law, the Abolitionists, as they were called, contented themselves at first with an effort to circumscribe the limits, beyond which slavery could go. That brought about what was known as the Mis- souri Compromise, ranged on either side of which were the mighty men of the nation. These ambitious statesmen included in their ranks names which must forever be monu- mental among the leaderships of this coun- try: Henry Clay, John C. Calhoun, Thomas J. Crittenden, Stephen A. Douglas, William H. Seward, Silas Wright, and their associ- _ ates. In those days, when science had not as yet grasped the idea of utilizing electric forces, when telegraphs were undreamed of, and railroads were but little used, an elec- tion throughout the length and breadth of the continent was unattended with general excitement. There were local disturbances, of course, for men are men, for human pas- sions are as fierce and fervid in the breasts of those who live in sequestered villages as in those who wrangle in the hotbeds of our vicious cities. Weeks elapsed ere results were known. How different it is to-day, it isn’t necessary to say beyond a single sentence. Suffice it that on the morning following election day every reader in the land can know not only the final result, but the result in any county of any State throughout the land; while men who live in the cities can know by mid- night, or, at the furthest, in the earliest hours of the morning, by reading the electric illu- mined bulletins in front of our enterprising newspapers. Although there have been many questions that agitated the national breast, such as our relations with England, leading up to the war of 1812; such as our complica- tions with England and France during the war of 1861; such as the never-settled, ever- debatable scheme of the tariff; after all it must be admitted that the chief, prime seed from which grew a very forest of popular turmoil, turbulence and despair, was the question of slavery. Shall it be extended, or shall it be circumscribed? Shall it be allowed to exist, or shall it be cut down and uprooted from our soil? Bitter indeed were the gress. Fierce indeed were the fights throughout the land, prior to the birth of the Republican party. The first election of which the gen- eration preceding the one which reads and lives to-day knows much, in which there was great, all-pervading excitement, was that which placed in the chair one of Penn- sylvania’s most honest sons, James Buchan- an. At that election the South, with the exception of Maryland, voted for Buchanan. Not a vote was cast for Fremont. The ex- citement, though great, was suppressed ; but debates in Con-

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‘ Ei j fe iia Arter Rar it was very clearly foreshadowed that the next election would see this great country divided into a North and a South, face to face. It can never be said of Mr. Buchanan that he had a positive policy. He did nothing which of itself could be said to have brought about the terrible bloodshed of the ensuing five years. He did all that was in his power, unquestionably, to avert a Civil War, but, fortunately, in this country the President has but little individual power. Without Con- gress he can do but little ; so matters drifted along, excitement following excitement, violence crowding upon violence, until the summer of 1860, when Secession unfurled her flag, and opposing candidates stood be- forethe country, Abraham Lincoln represent- ing the great party ofnon-extension ofslavery into the free territories, while Breckinridge boldly accepted the challenge, and insisted upon it, as the representative of his party, that the South had an equal right in the ter- ritories, and that with the South went, in the affirmative, the question of slavery. Al- though votes were cast in the South for Mr. Lincoln, as matter of fact he received no sup- port of any consequence outside of the East andthe West. And, by the way, asconfirma- tory of a point made above, that the fact that any individual citizen is declared President is not conclusive proof that he has received the largest number of votes, it is interesting to note that while Mr. Lincoln received 1,857,- 610 votes, the combined votes of the other candidates aggregated 2,787,780! In other words, 930,170 more voters preferred another candidate. But for all that, according to our system of an electoral college, Mr. Lincoln, having received the necessary votes in that college, was declared to be President of the United States. It is an absurdity on the face of it. It is and should be a strong argument against the present mode of election. Prior to the inauguration of Mr. Lincoln, State after State declared itself outside of the Union, and fear and apprehension dominated the situation, social, commercial, financial, political, and within a month after the in- auguration of the first Republican President hostilities were actually begun, and a war which lasted five long years, costing the nation not alone its billions of money, but its millions of men, was initiated by the firing upon the nation’s flag as it floated overa A FEW FACTS ABOUT ELECTIONS. 55 national fort in the harbor of Charleston, South Carolina. Lincoln’s second election was a triumph. It was a triumph, because malignants who failed to use him, traitors in his own camp who were scotched if not killed, and a con- servative sentiment which was beginning to grow throughout the North, combined to defeat him, but in their overthrow simply made his signal victory the more resplen- dent. His brief tenure of office, during a second term, followed by the much mis- understood action of Andrew Johnson, ina period which tried not only men’s souls but taxed their brains, led up to the curious con- test between Grant and Greeley. That Grant should go conquering on was a foregone cer- tainty; yet Horace Greeley was made to be- lieve, and really did think, that his election was a probability; and when it was found that he would be overwhelmed by the im- petuosity of the loyal rush for Grant, he sank beneath the torrent, and, sucked in the vast maelstrom of disappointment, went out forever, blighted in intellect, utterly annihi- lated, and pushed into the narrow confines of a grave. The most exciting contest this country has known in a quarter of a century, was that between Tilden and Hayes. It is probable that nineteen-twentieths of the voters of this country believe to-day that, although Ruther- ford B. Hayes was inaugurated President of the United States, Samuel J. Tilden was the rightful successor. Although the election was held in November, 1876, it was not until the 2d of March, 1877, that Hayes was declared elected. Acrimonious disputes, personal en- counters, violent diatribes in newspapers, and open threats were indulged in from one end of the land to the other, both parties claiming to have carried Florida, South Carolina and Louisiana. Whatever may have been the facts of the case, it is but fair to say, for a man much maligned, that the attitude of Hayes can not be impeached, for as early as the 27th of November, 1876, he wrote to Senator Sherman: ‘‘ You feel, I am sure, as I do about this whole business. A fair election would have given us forty elec- toral votes at the South—at least that many; but we are not to allow our friends to defeat one outrage and fraud by another. There must be nothing crooked on our part. Let Mr. Tilden have the place by violence, intimi-

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56 A FEW FACTS ABOUT ELECTIONS. dation, and fraud rather than undertake to prevent it by means which will not bear the severest scrutiny.’’ With Hayes in person, however, it is not necessary to deal, because, while the Democrats persisted in charging fraud, and the Republicans were equally pro- nounced in their counter charge, in order to avoid a deadlock an act was passed by Con- gress—and by the way the Senate was Re- publican and the House Democratic—refer- ring all contested cases to a commission of fifteen, five Senators, five Representatives, and five Supreme Court judges. These commis- sioners, by a vote of eight to seven, declared Hayes elected. It would be difficult to con- ceive a more embarrassing position than that occupied by the new President, who was regarded with suspicion by a very large majority of his fellow-citizens, and made to bear the odium of what they believed to be an infamy and an outrage. That he con- ducted his administration to a close without public disturbance, would have been to his credit. That he made a clean and unim- peached record is infinitely to his honor. Then came Garfield and Hancock. Garfield had a fight from first to last. He went to Chicago at the head of the Ohio delegation, to nominate, if possible, John Sherman as the Republican candidate for President. Circumstances, no matter by whom brought about, resolved that conven- tion into a compromise body; for, as between the strength manifested by Grant on the one hand and Blaine on the other, Garfield was regarded as a fitting amendment. He was opposed in the canvass campaign by General Hancock, and it is doubtful if there was ever such bitter dissension in a party as that which imperiled the success of Garfield, who was faintheartedly supported by many conspicuous leaders of his own party, and embarrassed in many instances by their lit- eral treachery. In Indiana the fight bitter. It was then, and is yet, openly charged that distinguished men, names given, cap- tured the State by an outrageous use of money, and that bribery and corruption were as common there as they were in earlier days in Rhode Island, and as is always the case in the great cities of our land. Dying at the hand of an assassin, Garfield was fol- lowed by a gallant gentleman, a citizen of New York, Chester A. Arthur. Then there was frightfully came upon the land a contest the like ot which was never known, between a man whose sole public importance was that he was Governor of the great Empire State, on the one hand, and the acknowledged leader ofthe Republican party, James G. Blaine, on the other. For the first time in many years the fight was personal ; and while stories of Cleveland’s ‘‘ wretched life ’’ in Albany were bruited from one end of the land to the other, the ‘‘ tattooed man from Maine”’ was paraded in all its uncanny disclosures in every field, on every flag, throughout the country. Representations, probably as baseless as were ever coined by ingenious malice, were made concerning the character of both candi- dates, the long-forgotten past was overhauled, its ashes raked in the hope of finding some moldering scandal, charges affecting not only their public but private relations were freely made from every stump and. in every opposition journal. Naturally enough the public mind, already poisoned, became ap- prehensive and excited, lest the Republi- cans, unwilling to allow a power they had enjoyed for more than a quarterofacentury, to be wrested from them, should resort to frauds, such as, it was alleged, they had committed in the South at the election of Mr. Hayes. On the other hand, Republicans dreaded in- terference with an honest count in the State of New York. Mobs thronged the streets, crowds surrounded the newspaper offices, hoots and yells and screams rose from infuri- ated men who had thousands bet upon the issues of the hour. Taking up an old-time song, twenty thousand men marched to Jay Gould’s house and surrounded it, shouting in unison ‘‘ Blood, blood, Jay Gould’s blood.”’ What effect, if any, that had, it is impossi- ble to say ; but the fact remains that on the following day the papers published a tele- gram from Jay Gould to Grover Cleveland, congratulating him upon his election. It was a bitter pill for the Republicans to swal- low, and with many a grimace they bolted it, to be confronted, however, a second time with the same bolus, to avoid which they secured the services of an expert Indiana physician, Benjamin Harrison by name, be- tween whom and the Democrats, as I write, wages as fierce a battle as was ever fought. Well, are popular elections a failure? We leave the answer to the partisan jour- nals. So you see opinions will differ.

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Mine ear 5 Pete 7 Mya hie ae - reat Bt ite Meticat eatanin Taditn Sac Gri olen Ke ke CHAPLAIN NOAKES. By DONALD R. McGREGOR. ForGET the chaplain? No, indeed! Forget old Chaplain Noakes? I might as well forget that arm, I left there at Fair Oaks. Chaplain Noakes was good in prayer, was good in fight, and plan— Why he was good in everything. Our chaplain was a man. You should have seen him forage. Luck? Well, I declare! But the chaplain never would allow a comrade for to swear. Colonel, Cap, or Sergeant, or only one of us, The chaplain never would stand by and listen to us cuss. He always had a keen rebuke, some wisdom for the men, That made a fellow kind of think before he swore again. But I recollect at Blackburn’s Ford, we were hiding in the brush, And boiling o’er for fighting was the Colonel—Colonel Rush ; And ’twas killing us to stand there in that shower of shot and shell, Till at last the colonel shouted, ‘‘ Up, boys, and give them Ae///”’ The chaplain was beside him, but before he'd time to speak The Rebs got in a volley that made our ranks look weak ; And he halted rather sudden in giving his rebuke, And seized the fallen musket of poor old Sergeant Duke; And not a man on either side, in that, or any fight, Has seen such wicked firing. By Jove! it was a sight. And he proved there in that battle, a thing you'll find is right, There is a time to preach and pray, and there’s a time to fight. And I’m also kind of thinking that there are times to cuss, But occasions like that Blackburn’s Ford are sort of rare with us: For the colonel yelled out boldly, and said to give them hell, And the chaplain went in heart and soul, and made each bullet tell. Though I did not hear him second the colonel on that day, From his firing of that musket, he must have ¢hought that way.

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MEANING OF By RICHARD Bay form an idea of what is really implied by the sudden appearance ofa new star, one must consider what that one star is like which we are alone able to study in anything like detail—our own sun. For, although one star differs from another in glory, all stars are suns ; and although we know that every new star is not necessarily a remote sun which has undergone some tremendous change, one new star at least having been found to be really a temporary star—not a sun before its outblaze, and no longer a sun after its outblaze was past—yet even of new stars of this kind, it must be held that while in the outblazing state they are akin to suns in their amounts of light and heat. What, then, is our own sun? What is that orb which has been the life of this earth, sole source of all forms of life and energy upon its surface, during many tens of mil- lions of years, and mighty to maintain its sway over the whole family of planets during periods many times vaster? Five hundred years of travel at the rate of five hundred miles a day, would bring us close upon the sun. And if we could bear its intense heat from such a neighborhood, we should see a surface of glowing cloud, every inch giving forth as much light as two hundred of the best electric burners, and extending like the surface of mighty ocean to the extreme lim- its of the horizon. That visible expanse of fiery cloud would be but a minute portion of the sun’s true surface, which exceeds the immense surface of the earth (close on two hundred millions of miles) twelve thousand times. In its steady work, which has been in progress (so the earth’s record tells us) many millions of years, the sun pours forth all the time as much light as would come from two millions of millions of millions of millions of electric burners. He gives out as much heat as would come from the complete com- bustion of twelve thousand millions of mil- lions of tons of the best coal in every second of time. Imagine then, or rather admit that no hu- man mind can conceive, the real meaning of the sudden appearance of a new star in the A NEW STAR. A. PROCTOR. celestial depths. Whether we suppose the new star to be a sun like our own which has suddenly begun to pour forth several hun- dred times its usual amount of light and heat ; or, instead, that it is a sun which nor- mally is much inferior to ours, but in its out- blaze has for a time passed into the same class; or, lastly, that it is an aggregate of matter usually not in the sunlike state, but which, fora while, through unknown disturb- ing causes, has assumed that condition—in any and every case, we must recognize an amount of energy expended by the new or temporary sun which makes its sudden out- burst a now most stupendous phenomenon. The following somewhat novel way of pre- senting the matter clearly shows this : All the work of storm and tempest on the earth, all the winds in the air, all the cur- rents in the sea, the flow of all rivers, the down-rush of all cataracts, the action of rain, snow, hail, and other meteorological phenomena, during one full year, upon all the two hundred millions of square miles forming the earth’s surface, must be regarded as representing an immense amount of en- ergy. If we add all the energy belonging to terrestrial vegetation, in all its varied forms, and consider what activity is represented by vegetation, in itself, as forming the food of animals, and as supplying directly or indi- rectly nine-tenths of the forces which work modern mechanisms, we shall find in that portion of the earth's total annual energies a further larger supply of power. But when we add to the physical forces of the earth, and to the forces represented by vegetation, the whole annual amount of animal energy, including all the year’s work of that first among all animal races, our own human kind, then do we find an inconceivable ac- tivity. But we must take the work of all the human race, add all the work done by animals, consider the immense amount of energy represented by vegetation in all its multitudinous forms, and add further the whole work done by the earth herself (save only those activities which depend on her in- ternal heat), to form an idea of the immense

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MEANING OF amount of energy represented by one year of this earth’s life—as derived from the sun. Let this immense amount of work, the earth’s full work in a year, be the unit by which we are to measure, as far as we may, the energies represented by a new star, such as some have fondly imagined the Star of Bethlehem to have been, and such as Tycho Brahé’s star in 1572 undoubtedly was. Now this annual life of the earth (on the average—for one year’s work may differ from another, especially in long periods of time) is the product of just that portion of the sun’s heat and light which falls upon the earth in a year, and so falling is fruitfully employed. The amount of the solar emis- sion which actually falls on the earth is but one two billion one hundred and thirty mil- lionth of the light and heat which he actually emits. And probably but half of the rays falling on the earth help in any way to in- crease the annual amount of earth work. If we take the sun’s annual emission of light and heat as three thousand millions of times the amount actually represented by one year of our earth’s life, we shall certainly not underrate the sun’s might, viewed in this particular way. Let us now apply this measure of our sun’s might, to enable us roughly, yet justly, to estimate the amount of earth life represented by the outblaze of such a star as Tycho Brahé’s during the seventeen months of its visibility, probably only a small part of the time during which it shone with more than its usual luster. For, it must be remembered, astronomers know well the precise spot where that new star shone out, and as no star with light above the ninth magnitude can now be seen at that spot, we are justified in assuming that the normal condition of Tycho Brahé’s star before its outblaze, as well as now, was that of a star far fainter than any of the orbs which the naked eye rec- ognizes on the dome of heaven. Suppose we take the average brightness of the star dur- ing the seventeen months, as such that the total amount of extra light and heat emitted by the star corresponded to the emission of an average star of the same order as our sun during only one year. Even with this most moderate assumption, we find the extra work done by Tycho Brahé’s star during the time of its visibility equal to all the work,—physical, vegetable, and ani- ‘A NEW STAR. 59 mal,—which would be done on our earth in three thousand millions of years at her pres- ent rate of living ! Is there not then something so absurd as to approach almost to profanity in the idea that all this overwhelming display of en- ergy, occurring at intervals (not that that is proved) of about three hundred and fifteen years, had been all specially appointed millions of years ago, that one of the dis- plays should convey the records of its oc- currence over millions of millions of miles, to guide three or four astrologers on a very short journey? Of course, it might be answered that God’s ways are not as our ways, a mode of settling all such questions which would strike at the root of all scien- tific inquiries. But we can recognize in God’s ways, as manifested in his universe, an adap- tation of means to ends, which—however imperfect our mental vision—we yet see to be wholly inconsistent with so monstrous an idea, as that an amount of energy cor- responding to several thousand millions of years of earth life, should be set at work many millions of millions of miles away and during many millions of years, to produce an effect which—if a miracle was really required—could have been as easily effected, and much more usefully, so far as the Eastern Magi were concerned, by some luminous appearance in the air lasting but for a few days, and moving so as to teach the wise men of the East just what they were required to know. But, of course, every astronomer knows that, what- ever the Star of Bethlehem may have been, it can not have been a fixed star, old, new or middle-aged, in the constellation Cassiopeia, the whole of which, as supposed to be seen from any part of Palestine during the first century, would have been throughout the twenty-four hours in the northern part of the sky. It may be interesting to many to know precisely where the star which was seen by Tycho Brahé in 1572 will reappear if it is ever seen again. This is shown in figure one. The place of Tycho Brahé’s star, as indicated by his own excellent observations, is seen near K, a fourth magnitude star in Cassiopeia. The trustworthiness of Tycho Brahé’s work can be inferred from the fact that it was by means of his observations of Mars that

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MEANING Kepler was able to establish the laws on which the whole of modern astronomy may be said to have been based. Therefore, where he set the star which he was able to watch for seventeen months, we may be sure it actually was, and there, or close by, i must reappear, should it everdoso. Anyone who cares to study Cassiopeia, as now seen throughout the middle of the night, will see that nothing is visible to the naked eye in the place where Tycho Brahé’s star blazed out for a while with a luster exceeding that of Venus at her brightest. But in figure two the same region of the heavens is shown, as we should see it if our eyes possessed the light-gathering power of OF A NEW STAR. a two anda halfinch telescope. Comparing it with figure one we see that near enough to the place of Tycho Brahé’s star there are two or three small stars (about the eighth magni- tude), any one of which might be his. Forit must be remembered that the so-called fixed stars are all, though very slowly, shifting in position ; and as of course we have no infor- mation about the proper motion of the star of 1572, we can not tell Precisely where it is, though no proper motion reasonably to be ascribed to it would have shifted it more than about half the distance separating the middle star in the handle of the Dipper from that small star close by which the Arabs called ‘the test’’ (but which every moderate eye-

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MEANING OF A NEW STAR. SP nei oe le pepe Bat naa Aas Wet: Oe ee my AE Vg tee Sirkeras 2a “ < ~~.

sight shows in our time quite distinctly). Any one of the small stars near the place of Tycho Brahé’s might be his star. Figures one and two are interesting further as showing the place where in 1885 a new star shone forth to telescopic eyes (rising from invisibility in any telescope to about the eighth magnitude) in the very heart of the great star cloud in Andromeda, called by old astronomers ‘‘the Transcendently Beautiful Queen’”’ of the nebula. It will be observed that the places where the two new stars appeared are close by, and similarly situated with respect to the Milky Way, one on the northern, the other on the southern edge. It has indeed been noticed that nearly all (all in fact but one) of the stars which have blazed forth suddenly in the star depths have appeared on the Milky Way. Even the sol- itary exception to this rule, the star which shone out suddenly in the Northern Crown in 1866, appeared in a region of the heavens toward which well-marked streams of stars extend from the Milky Way. This comes out very clearly in the map of the Northern Heavens, of which figure two is a small sec- tion. In that map more than three hundred and twenty-four thousand stars are shown at a single view, in such sort that the rich and poor regions of the star depths are seen at a glance, as indeed figure two serves to show.

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ON A SIAMESE PAGODA. By DAVID KER. - OU’LL find the ‘ Wat Cheng’ a very good sample of Siam,’’ says Captain L——,, the King’s British hydrographer, as we look out from the veranda of his snug little house upon the huge many-colored mass of the oldest of Bangkok’s countless temples. ‘‘ When any building falls to ruin in this country they never think of repair- ing it ; they simply go and build another.”’ ‘‘ Which is doubtless a very popular sys- tem with those worthy ecclesiastics down yonder,’’ suggest I, as a group of mén with the shaven crowns and yellow robes of Buddhist bonzes (priests) come lounging past. ‘If the Siamese Church is ever dis- established it will be ‘ rough on them.’ ”’ ‘‘ Yes, they would have to mortify the flesh in good earnest ¢hen,” says the Cap- tain, with a chuckle. ‘‘ But there’s not much risk of that just yet. Every Siamese, you know—even the king himself—must join the priesthood for a certain time, and mount the yellow robe and shaven head like the rest of them ; so the clerical inter- est is not likely to collapse while ‘hat cus- tom lasts. Fancy the Prince of Wales hav- ing to turn curate for a month or two, and then coming back to court just the same as before! Well, I’m sorry I can’t take you over the temple myself; but my daughter will do it all for you quite as well as I could, and very likely better.’’ It is not a long circuit from the gate of the captain’s garden to that of the famous temple, but even that short distance shows us a few sights which would be sufficiently amazing in any other part of the world. A native house is gravely coming up the river by itself, the father steering it with a long oar, while the children watch its progress from the steps of the ladder leading down into the water from the veranda. Under the shade of a huge banyan tree, half-a- dozen bare-limbed, dusky Siamese boatmen are playing a kind of aboriginal lawn-tennis, using their feet instead of their hands to keep up the ball. Just beyond them a small native child, with nothing on but the orna- mental wreath which encircles the bristly tuft of black hair surmounting its otherwise shaven head, is admiring a magnificent but- terfiy, almost as large as asparrow. A lit- tle farther on, a group of amphibious young- sters are playing in the thick, greasy, soup- colored water, as Western children might play on land, while just across the river we espy a flotilla of light canoes, laden with fruit and vegetables, and manned by Siamese market-women, who keep up a perpetual clamor of bargaining as shrill as a chorus of angry parrots. But the moment we pass the deep, low- browed gateway (one of the simple, square- topped kind so common in Siamese public buildings) all this bustle of busy life van- ishes as if it had never been. With one stride we go from the Present to the Past. The mighty ruins that start up through masses of clinging foliage in the gloomy depths of the Java forests could hardly look more lonely and forsaken than this strange old fortress of Eastern superstition. Upon every foot of its damp, slimy courtyard, its gaffed, crumbling walls and storm-worn pillars, its dark, tomb-like galleries, its voiceless cells and shattered images, lies the brand of grim and irrevocable desolation. ‘* Look here,’’ says Miss L——, pointing to a niche in the inner face of the wall close to one of the gateways, in which, amid a heap of dust and rubbish, lies broken and defaced the gilded head of an idol. ‘‘Do you see that hole between the stones in that niche, like the mouth of aletter-box? Well, formerly rich people who came to pray to the image that used to stand in the niche dropped money into that hole for the poor, and the poor used to come and take it, think- ing the idol sent it to them. But by-and- by, when the place grew old and began to be forsaken, there was an end of these con- tributions ; and the minute the poor folks found that the idol had left off sending them money, they knocked it down and broke it all to bits.” Thanks to the torrent rains of September —for, with our usual good fortune, we have arrived in Siam at the very height of the rainy season—the paved courtyard is now an absolute pond; and, in order to reach the great central tower, we must either wade boldly through this impromptu Slough of

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F3 & psa adie ate eae winrar ashes AN tan Despond or go round to the other side by way of the colonnades. We prudently decide upon the latter course, but first pause a moment to take a more detailed view of the great structure, from our standpoint at the corner of the quadrangle. At the first glance, we have only a con- fused impression of colossal and barbaric splendor. We seem to be standing at the foot of a mountain of living rainbows, flash- ing, quivering and flickering incessantly like falling water. But little by little the details grow upon us, till we can grasp the general outline. Four bell-shaped towers, inlaid with colored porcelain, stand like sentinels around a vast pinnacle that shoots straight up more than 200 feet into the air, covered from base to summit with a wild profusion of bright tints and fantastic orna- ments, which dazzles one’s eyes to look on. Four steep stairways climb up into the light from the ghostly gloom of the court- yard, over the pyramidal sides of the great pagoda, which, surging up into the cloud- less sunlight from the cheerless dimness below, seems like a vision of Bunyan’s Celestial City towering in all the glory of its eternal splendor above the black shadows of the River of Death. But although the general outline may be grasped, the vast accumulation of details baffles all description. The very gates area forest of inlaid pillars, sculptured cornices, bright-colored projections, pointed arches, scale-shaped tiles of green and gold, as be- wilderingly luxuriant as the tropical woods which they imitate. Above these rise count- less terraces, ledge beyond ledge, as if they would never end, each in its turn repeating the same barbaric wealth of quaint carvings and gaudy colors. Ever and anon the end- less procession is broken by a row of wild figures in peaked caps and particolored tobes—supposed to be angels, but looking much more like devils—whose uplifted arms, pressed against the cornice overhead, appear to support the whole weight of the mighty mass, while their black faces and tusked mouths seem bursting with the strain. High above these grim Caryatides, Indra, god of of the sky, mounted on his three-headed ele- phant, looks down on them from his shad- owy niche with stony, eternal calmness, while beyond him the great tower soars up into the sunlit sky like an embodied prayer. ON A SIAMESE PAGODA. 63 ‘“What are these?’’ ask I, suddenly per- ceiving, as we turn to go foward, a number of rushes strewn along the pavement of the courtyard, like a revival of the ‘‘ rush-strewn halls’’ of dear old Walter Scott. ‘‘Native cigars,’’ answers Miss L—, laughing, ‘‘or at least the material for them. They dry these ‘buri’ in the sun, and then roll them up and fill them with tobacco.’ I dare say you've seen the Sia- mese boatmen carrying them behind their ears, as clerks carry their pens.”’ ‘‘ And between their toes, too,” rejoin I, ‘‘when they are standing up to row. They must have heard of the schoolboy who, not being able to think of any other excuse for smoking, said he smoked to cure his corns.”’ Picking up a few of these precious reeds, we pass on into the labyrinth of small, gloomy cells running around the four sides of the great quadrangle. Ghostly places indeed they are, such as Dante himself might have loved to people with half-seen specters in every attitude of torment. And this grim effect is increased tenfold when a stray sunbeam, falling through one of the countless clinks in the crumbling wall, shows us the fragments of gilded idols, glimmering ghost-like through the dark- ness amid heaps of ruin. ‘It wouldn’t do for us to go through these places at night,’’ says my charming cicerone, ‘‘for there’s a regular haunt of all kinds of thieves. You see those flat stones laid out in a row in that corner yon- der? Well, that’s where one of them has been laying out his bed; and here, where these ashes are, they must have cooked their supper.”’ A startling idea, in truth, this literal transformation of ‘‘the house of prayer’’ into ‘‘ a den of thieves.’’ But such things are quite every-day matters in the far East. One glance around these dismal dens calls up a thousand goblin fancies of unwary strangers decoyed hither by treachery, or straying in by chance—the victim’s first start, as the spectral moonlight suddenly reveals the cruel faces around him, with their sharp, white teeth and glittering eyes —the sudden spring from behind, thestrang- ling clutch of the lean, brown hands at his throat, the momentary spasm of hopeless struggle, and then the gurgling gasp which

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64 ON A SIAMESE PAGODA. tells that all is over. I have heard abund- ance of such tales among the Thugs (strang- lers) of Central India, and this is just the place to recall them with a rather unpleas- ant vividness. ‘* Have you ever read a Siamese sermon ?”’ inquired Miss L——, pausing suddenly at the door of one of the cells. ‘‘There are plenty of them for you to choose from.’’ There, sure enough, lie a pile of long, narrow strips of dried banana-leaf (very much like the rushes on the pavement out- side), inscribed with those tall, angular, Siamese characters which strongly suggest a new system of shorthand. I pocket one of these ‘‘ sibylline leaves,’’ add to it a tiny wooden Buddha which I find lying neg- lected in a corner, and move forward once more, But it is not long before we halt again, for from this point onward the chambers are in better repair, the frescoes on the walls very tolerably preserved, and the decorations sufficiently characteristic to be well worth looking at. In one cell we find a figure of Buddha reclining as if in sleep beneath an artificial tree, supposed to represent the famous Poh-tree (called in Hindustan the pefal) under which the great Asiatic teacher is said to have attained supreme wisdom after his final conflict with the powers of evil. A little farther on, a number of kneel- ing forms are gathered around a huge coffin, through the broken side of which protrude the feet of Buddha, as if bursting from the shackles of the grave. Most of the frescoes are of the quaint, wall-paper fashion familiar to all who have visited Buddhist temples; but toward the end of the corridor we come upon a num- ber of torture-scenes worthy of Gustave Doré himself. One can fancy with what relish the renowned illustrator of the ‘“ In- ferno’’’ would have elaborated into fuller and more artistic horror these hideous pict- ures of skinless bodies newly flayed alive, victims writhing on the impaling stake, blood gushing thick and fast from the stabs of barbed spears, and half-consumed limbs wriggling amid the flames that devour them. It is quite a relief to turn from these hor- rible fantasies—-which look more frightful still in the ghostly dimness that surrounds them—to the fresh air and glorious sun- shine that attend the crowning treat of our morning’s work. For now comes the ascent of the pagoda itself, to the farthest acces- sible point. The stair is so steep and slip- pery, that I feel as if scaling the Great Pyra- mid once more. But the view from the highest platform would well repay a much greater exertion. All along either bank of the wide smooth stream, which amply de- serves its name of ‘‘ Mother of Waters” (Me-Nam), there start up from the dark foliage of the tropical forest the peaked roofs of bamboo huts, and the white walls of stately houses, and the spear-pointed pinnacles of Buddhist shrines, and the gold-green roofs of Siamese temples. Boats of all sizes, from the tiny canoe paddled by a doll-faced woman with a basket-work hat, to the gilded barge with thé ‘crimson flag and White Elephant of Siam fluttering at her stern, flit like fireflies over the mighty river, which is the Broadway of Bangkok, as the creeks and canals are her side streets ; and beyond, far as the eye can reach, ex- tends a shadowy perspective of low green rice-fields, tangled thickets, stately cocoa- palms, slim, graceful arecas, pillared ban- yans, shooting down innumerable suckers into the earth from their vast spreading boughs, plumy fan-palms, tall, tapering bamboos and broad-leaved bananas, without order and without end. Yet even now we have not seen all. As we reach the pavement again, a tall Sia- mese, starting up beside us as suddenly as if he had risen through the earth, volunteers to show us the ‘“‘sacred footprint,’’ which appears to be so sacred as to require a whole temple to itself. Accordingly we pass out through a side gate, and find ourselves ina small paved court, overgrown with weeds, and littered with broken statues. The gate is unlocked and in we pass, seeing before us, as we enter, a small pavil- ion supported on white inlaid pillars. It contains nothing, however, save a big, flat stone, marked with the famous ‘‘ footprint of Buddha,’’ which meets one at every turn in the far East, with all the toes of equal length, the mystic wheel in the center, and other sacred emblems engraved around it in due order. And so, having seen all, we turn to depart, with one last glance at the won- derful pagoda, which stands glittering in the noonday sun.

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PROTECTION OR FREE TRADE? By SENATOR WILLIAM P. FRYE. HE present political crisis assumes a more gigantic importance than has ap- peared in any campaign since our civil war. The issue does not simply determine which of two parties shall hold the reigns of gov- ernment. It decides whether the policy which has guided the United States with un- precedented progress into the forefront of the nations is to be continued, or whether we ’ shall recede into the European stagnation of industry and decline of the people's com- forts. Fortunately, the boldness of the President has stimulated the candor of the whole Democratic line. It is now thor- oughly manifest that the party which slipped into power four years ago means, if retained in that position, to revolutionize our nation- al principles of self-preservation and throw allthe glory and strength of our prosperity broadcast to the winds. In order that the full significance of the siren song of free trade may be appreciated, it is only neces- sary to grasp a few indisputable facts. It is claimed by the present administration that our tariff laws are ‘‘ vicious, inequi- table, and illogical,” that ‘‘the duty in- creases the cost of the product to the con- sumer by the amount levied,’ and that the only function of a tariff is to provide rev- enue. A careful and candid examination shows instead that our tariff laws have been promotive of our marvelous advancement, that they invariably have reduced the cost of dutiable articles to the consumer (with the single exception of sugar, upon which Demo- cratic prejudice has inconsistently retained an unnecessarily high tax), and that the tariff is essential to the maintenance and de- velopment ofthe industries which, by reason of cheaper labor abroad, can otherwise only be procured by what here would be starva- tion wages. Our country is endowed naturally and in- dustrially with a richer equipment than any other on the face of the earth. Our fertile lands can as easily sustain a thousand as now they sustain sixty million people. We have a well-nigh limitless sea-coast, one-half of all the fresh water in the world in lakes 5 and rivers, as many miles of railroad as all the other nations together, and consequently the lowest freight found anywhere. We have inexhaustible mines of iron, coal, and all the other important minerals. Our ca- pacity for raising cotton and wool is unpar- alleled. We possess the finest machinery, the most inventive genius, the most ener- getic enterprise, the most industrious work- ers. But with all these advantages we are fatally handicapped in open competition with Europe, by her pitifully cheap labor. Labor on the average makes two-thirds the cost of all production ; and is the all-impor- tant factor in the problem of national prosper- ity. The free-trader insists that there is lit- tle real difference between the cost of labor here and in Europe, taking everything into consideration. This is the vital mistake in the free-trade theory. Through personal in- vestigation, gathered largely from workers, not from the unreliable information of em- ployers, I have become firmly convinced of the vast degradation of European labor be- low American. I visited factories, furnaces, forges, ship-yards, and mines, and in my conclusions, strengthened by the reports of other investigators, I do not think I can be mistaken. Not to speak of the fearful meagerness of wages in Italy, Belgium, Germany, and other continental countries, glance at Eng- land, the free-trader’s paradise, where wages are higher than in other parts of Europe. There the scale of wages was obtained by the highest kind of protection until it was be- lieved that her advantages in wealth, machin- ery and skilled workmen could control all markets ; but neither her manufacturers nor her laborers share to-day in admiration of her present policy. Wages all over Great Britain are low and decreasing. Eighty thousand women work in the cotton mills of Manchester at from thirty to thirty-five cents a day, and a reduction is demanded by employers to com- pete with the Continent. Two shillings, or at best two and sixpence a day are the high- est returns of common men laborers, and hundreds of thousands can not get work at

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66 PROTECTION OR FREE TRADE ? that. The magnificent docks of Liverpool are crowded with hungry men, daily asking for work at any price, so that they may buy bread for their children. The streets of the great cities are full of idle men who can not get employment and menace the public peace. More than a million people are sup- ported by charity in England. Her silk industry is almost destroyed. Her cotton works are suffering. Her iron and steel fur- naces are being supplanted by Germany and Belgium. Her ship-building employs not one-half the former force. I heard Mr. Brad- laugh declare in Parliament, that agriculture was ruined, that half the farm laborers could get no work, and that those employed re- ceived the pittance of a shilling or one and sixpence aday. The wages in England are not more than one-half of those paid in our Northern States. Scotland is in no better condition. I vis- ited Paisley, whose enormous thread mills are duplicated here at Newark and Paw- tucket, under the same owners. The opera- tives doing precisely the same work there and here, receive in Paisley two dollars and eighty cents a week, at Pawtucket nearly eight dollars. In Ireland, poor oppressed victim of com- pulsory free-trade, more than half the people seem to be entirely out of work. Hundreds of people follow your carriage through the country, often for miles, begging a penny. Agriculture is practically dead. The mills are mostly idle. House servants get one dollar a week. Women at work on the farms are glad of twenty cents a day. As to the comparative cost of living in Great Britain and here, there is very little difference. I had a conversation with an American consul who had just concluded a report with the summary that ‘‘the cost of living for the laborer is not half so great as in the United States.’” Upon being ques- tioned he admitted that all the necessities of life were no cheaper in England than here, and said he meant that the laborer there did not expend more than one-half as much as in this country. The reason for this is that there he does not get it to spend, be- cause of free trade. There are only two ways in which this re- public, with all her superiorities, can com- pete with Europe, even in our own mar- kets. One way is by reducing the wages paid our laborers to the level of European wages. This is the course advised by Democratic statesmanship and certain to result from free trade. The other is by holding to duties which shall equalize labor. This is the Re- publican policy as seen in protection. The latter has been tried successfully for a quarter of a century. During that time, though for four years war devastated our people and property, we increased in popu- lation more than England, France, Germany and Austria combined ; we gained in wealth every year nearly half as much as the sav- ings of the whole world ; we rolled up the annual product of factories, mines, and for- ests one hundred and sixty per cent., while Great Britain advanced less than thirty per cent. An English statistician estimates the entire product of Great Britain in 1880 at one hundred and seventy-two dollars to an in- habitant, of which one hundred and thirty- six dollars’ worth was consumed at home. For the same year the entire product of the United States amounted to two hundred dol- lars for an inhabitant, of which one hundred and eighty-four dollars’ worth was consumed at home. Our home market consumed more than Great Britain’s combined consumption and exportation, and disposed of double the value of the combined exports of Great Britain, France, Germany, Russia, Holland and Austria. We have grown weak in but one direction, our foreign carrying trade, which, during this period, has been absolutely un- protected ; but our coast fleet has reached tremendous proportions, three times as large as Great Britain’s, five times as large as that of any other country. This has been pro- tected by our navigation laws, but the Demo- cratic Secretary of the Treasury counsels us to repeal them, and a Democratic committee of the House promptly reports a bill to carry into effect his advice. It is asserted that protection is a shrewd device to benefit capital, to protect bloated manufacturers, to build up monopolies, to make the rich richer and the poor poorer. Capital needs no assistance. But a tariff encourages it to locate at home, to enter fac- tories, furnaces and forges, instead of banks and bonds, to develop the resources of the country, so increasing the demand for labor and accomplishing an advance in wages. The tariff beneficently guards the laborer

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PROTECTION OR FREE TRADE ? 67 against the competition of the cheap labor of Europe, and enlists capital in its cause. It is only in free-trade countries that cap- ital becomes despotic and monopolies are developed to their hideous possibilities. The day of immense profits in manufac- ture has long passed away. Competition reduces the gain to very small proportions. The manufacturers of cotton, wool and silk in New England, of whom I have personal knowledge extensively, have not for the last five years averaged a net profit of over six per cent. The tariff laws, far from ‘‘ raising prices to consumers by precisely the sums paid for duties,’’ as the free-traders advocate, work in the opposite direction. The duty of fifty- eight per cent. on glass has increased the manufacture enormously, employing thou- sands of men at good wages, and yet you can buy to-day as much plate glass for one dollar as in 1860 for two dollars and fifty cents. In 1860 salt was free, and cost two dollars a barrel in Chicago. Now it enjoys a duty of twelve cents a hundred, and sells in Chicago for seventy-five cents a barrel. In 1860 there were three worsted mills in the country doing a poor business, and paying small wages. A heavy duty encouraged the work, and in 1883 we were running five thou- sand looms with seventy-five thousand work- men, producing fifteen million yards annu- ally. During this time worsted cloths de- clined thirty-five per cent. In 1883 the duty was reduced, and an injurious construction of the law lowered it still more. Now one- third of our looms are motionless. In 1883 we imported less than five hundred thousand dollars’ worth of these goods—last year nearly five million dollars. The Demo- cratic doctrine made a law which will com- pel us to’‘import all we need from England at the old prices of 1860. The duty on some cheap cotton goods is nearly as great as the price of the fabric, and yet they never were as cheap here as now, retailing at a lower price in New England than in Manchester, England. American silk manufacture is almost wholly due to the fifty per cent. duty, which in- creased it from a corps of four thousand workmen in 1860 to forty thousand workmen to-day, and the prices have gone down from thirty to sixty per cent. Hundreds of similar cases might be ad- vanced in proof of the benefits of the tariff alike to workers, consumers and manufact- urers. The prices of all the products of pro- tected industries have diminished more than twenty-five per cent. since the tariff laws were enacted, with the single exception of sugar. With this for climatic reasons com- petition has not done its work. It is the only protected article of which one can truly say that a duty is a tax levied on the con- sumer. We were in need of money in 1875, and an extra duty of twenty-five per cent. was levied on sugar because that was the quickest and surest way of meeting the exigency of the Treasury. In 1883, when the tariff was undergoing revision, I tried my best to get that twenty-five per cent. off, and then forty per cent., and nearly every Democrat in the Senate opposed my amend- ments, on the ground that this was a duty for revenue only. And yet the President of the United States declares the plethoric Treasury a menace tothe Republic, and at the same time insists that the enormous duties on sugar shall continue. If further demonstration were required of national injury threatened by the free-trade principles of the, Democratic party, it is abun- dantly manifested in the rejoicing of England over the President’s message. England, whose flattering friendship toward Ireland beguiled her into accepting the free trade which killed her flourishing protected man- ufactures of linen, wool, silk and cotton, and reduced her to beggary; England, whose blighting greed has absorbed the commerce of Portugal, of Egypt, of India, of China ; England, against whose ruinous policy nearly all the nations of the earth have closed, partially at least, their doors, sees her in- dustries suffering from the tactics which have starved all her dependencies, millions of her idle workers clamoring for bread, and now hails with delight the dawn of her resusci- tation in the promised free trade which the Democrats would give us. The continued control of that party, and the indorsement by the people of their policy, as outlined in the President’s mes- sage and the Mills Bill, will be more dis- astrous to the industrial prosperity of the country than the terrible civil war into which they plunged us.

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FREE TRADE OR PROTECTION ? By JuDGE ALLEN G. THURMAN. I DEFY any man who walks upon the face of the earth to point to any great reform or measure, except the Christian religion, in the last one hundred years that is not the result of Democratic principles. The noble cause ofthis party is to sustain the principles of equal rights to all—in a word, is to ‘‘do unto others as you would have others do unto you,’’ and make this country the great exemplar of freedom and prosperity. The attitude of the Democrats in the lead- ing issue of this campaign, on the tariff question, is but a practical application of the principles which have always distin- guished it from the days of Thomas Jefferson, as the advocate of the people, the champion of the masses against the few, the defender of the poor from the rich, the protector of labor against capital and monopoly. Tariff is nothing in the world but a tax— a tax levied by the general government upon every article of commerce that comes into the United States and that is intended for sale within her borders, and which inci- dentally raises the price, and, therefore, be- comes a burden upon every article of domes- tic manufacture of a like nature. Now we have at this moment, according to the last advices I have seen, about one hundred and fifteen million dollars called surplus revenue—that is, taxes collected from the people beyond the necessities of the Government. Those dollars are lying per- fectly idle in the vaults of the Treasury of the United States, of no service to any hu- man being, drawing no interest, earning no profits, but taken from the pockets of the people, where they properly belong, and where, if they were now found, thousands and tens of thousands and hundreds of thou- sands of the people of the United States would put them to good use and improve their condition and prosperity. The Democratic party says that thisis a wrong condition of affairs ; that that money ought not to be, like the talents of the man we are told of in the Scriptures, buried in the ground ; that this is a very poor use to make of the money of the people, and therefore the Democratic party says that this surplus revenue, which is produced in the main by these tariff taxes, ought to be reduced, and that the taxes should be reduced so that this surplus will not continue to accumulate. Our opponents, on the other hand, say it is better to let the surplus accumulate; it is better to take the money from the pockets of the people; it is better to pile it upin the vaults of the Treasury Department, although it does no good whatsoever and it isa great harm ; it is better to do that than to touch the tariff laws of the United States. The issue, then, is fairly made up between us ; it is between high taxation on the one hand and reasonable taxation on the other. It is between taking the money of the people out of their own control, out of theirown pock- ets, and burying it ; or leaving the money where it belongs, in the pockets of the peo- ple, to be used by them as their wants require and as their intelligence and honesty direct. It is not necessarily the case that the tariff taxes are paid by the consumers of the articles which are taxed and of all domestic articles of a like kind which are manufact- ured in the United States. For it is a curi- ous fact, and one of the worst things about this tariff tax, that, while the Government gets one dollar resulting from the tax, the domestic manufacturers get five dollars, as it is best estimated, that never goes into the Treasury at all. When an importer brings goods into the United States to be sold, he can not sella yard or a pound until he pays this tariff tax. He pays the tax, therefore, and with that price added and with the cost of transporta- tion and his reasonable commercial profits, he sells those goods to the wholesale mer- chant. The wholesale merchant sells to the retail merchant, and of course this tax which enters into the price continues, and to it is added the profit of the merchant. Therefore the tax is in when the cloth is sold to us, and in the price we pay this retail merchant for the goods we pay the whole of the tariff tax, the importer’s profit, the wholesale mer- chant’s profit, and the retail merchant’s profit, besides interest on their money. The amount of goods imported into the United States—of dutiable goods—in the year 1887, the last year for which we have any returns, were in value four hundred and fifty million three hundred and twenty-five

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FREE TRADE OR PROTECTION ? 69 thousand three hundred and twenty-two dollars. The tariff duties collected were two hundred and twelve million thirty-two thou- sand four hundred and twenty-four dollars. There were, therefore, in that single year taxes levied in the United States by the operation of this tariff law of two hundred and twelve million thirty-two thousand four hundred and twenty-four dollars which went into the Treasury of the United States, but which was the least part of the burden. The domestic manufactures of the same kind of commodities amounted that year to five bil- lion three hundred and sixty-nine million five hundred and seventy-nine thousand one hundred and ninety-one dollars. As the price of those goods was raised by the tariff in nearly equal proportions to the price of goods that were imported into the country, the amount which the people paid in these high prices of what they had to buy and had to use, amounted to about one bil- lion dollars, or to about five times as much as the tax received by the Government. In other words, the whole country was taxed about one billion dollars forthe benefit of a comparatively small portion of the coun- try. And thatis said to be justice; that is said to be fair play ; that is said to be for the benefit of the American people. I grant there are a few cases, but they are very few and unimportant, in which the duty or tariff tax is not all paid by the consumer, but they are so trifling in amount as not to be worthy of attention in a brief summary of the case. There are men who say the consumer don’t pay the tax. I have said that that is a most audacious assertion, and I have tried to show that he must necessarily pay the tax. But if I want authority upon that subject let me refer to some men who have spoken upon it and whose words will hardly be gainsaid. First, I will go back to John Quincy Adams, and I dare say there are plenty of Republi- cans and some Abolitionists who have great veneration for that man’s memory. I knew him well; I served in the House of Repre- sentatives with him, and I know how intel- ligent he was, and I know how frank and outspoken he was. In the year 1832 he was chairman of the House committee on manu- factures, and he said in a report made by him in that year: ‘‘ The doctrine that duties of import seem to cheapen the price of the articles on which they are levied seems to conflict with the first dictates of common sense. The duty constitutes a part of the price of the whole mass of the article in the market. It is substantially paid upon the article of domestic manufacture as well as upon that of foreign production. Upon one it is a bounty, upon the other a burden, and the repeal of the tax must operate as an equivalent reduction of the price of the arti- cle, whether foreign or domestic. We say so long as the importation continues the duty must be paid by the purchaser of the article. The general and permanent effect must be to increase the price of the article to the extent of additional duty, and it is then paid by the consumer. If it were not so, if the gen- eral effect of adding to the duty was to reduce the price of the article upon which it is levied, the converse of the proposition would also be true, and the operation for in- creasing the price of the domestic article would repeal the duty on the same article imported, an experiment which the friends of our internal industry will not be desirous of making. We can not subscribe, there fore, tothe doctrine that the duties of im- ports, protective of our own manufacturers, are paid by the foreign merchant or manu- facturer.”’ In his annual message to Congress in 1882-83 President Arthur said: ‘‘I recom- mend an enlargement of the free list, so as to include within it the numerous articles which pay an inconsiderable revenue, a sim- plification of the complex and inconsistent schedule of duties upon certain manufact- ures, particularly those of cotton, iron and steel, and a substantial reduction of the duties upon those articles, sugar, molasses, wool and woolen goods.”’ That is precisely what the Democrats are striving to do. That is precisely what the Mills Bill, as it is called, attempts to do; and yet those who talk of the benefits of protection and the ruin that the Democrats are bringing on the country say that this thing which President Arthur recommended is only free trade. So far from this being free trade the most striking thing about the Mills Bill is that it is the most moderate reduction of tariff duties that has ever been attempted in this country. The average duty levied under the present tariff was forty-seven per cent., and under

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FREE TRADE OR PROTECTION ? the Mills Bill the average would be only about forty per cent., a reduction of only seven per cent. upon all commodities taken together. Of course there are some things upon which the duty was reduced more. For instance, the duty is taken off of a num- ber of articles called raw material, which are used by manufacturers in their work, in the fabrication of their products. And as they receive this great benefit of having their raw materials free or with a comparatively small duty, the bill wisely provides that the arti- cles manufactured by them when brought into the country shall pay a lower rate of duty than they did before. But that is noth- ing more than a compensation for taking off the duty from the raw material. There is another fallacy in the Republican tactics. These advocates of protection are all at once seized with a wonderful solici- tude for the laboring man of the country ; and they want a high protective tariff—not to benefit the capitalist, not to benefit the monopolist, not to benefit the manufacturer, according to their statement, but to benefit the laboring man. And how are they going to protect him? Why, they say that a high protective tariff will better his condition and give him higher wages. How can taxing a laboring man on everything from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet en- rich him? Yet this is exactly what this tariff tax does. It raises the price and taxes him until the poor man can hardly make enough money, even if he gets a few cents more wages in the day, to support himself and his little family, yet they say that this is for the benefit of the laboring man. But there is another thing about it. How is he to get these high wages? He is to get them because his employer, the capitalist or monopolist, will make more money, and therefore can afford to pay his employees higher wages than before. I agree that he might, having these increased profits, pay his laboring men more than they were paid before. But does he do it? That is the question. The tariff has been raised again and again ; it was immensely raised by the tariff of 1861. It was raised in a few years again ; and it has been raised often, and yet in all that time I never have been able to find the manufacturer or capitalist who upon the raising of the tariff has increased the price paid to his laborers. We have had now for twenty-seven years the highest tariff that this country ever knew ; fully, on an average, twice as high as it was before the war. Now if that high tariff is so much for the benefit of the labor- ing men, why have not the laboring men in these twenty-seven years grown rich? Again and again we hear of lockouts, be- cause employers say they can not afford to pay any more wages. Why are there such institutions as labor unions? Why is there a necessity for all these worthy organiza- tions if a high tariff gives high wages to the laborer ? Experience has proven that the tariff not only lowers wages, but it raises prices; otherwise the manufacturers and capitalists would not want it, and otherwise where is the protection ? Four years ago I had the honor to advocate the election of Grover Cleveland to be Presi- dent of the United States. Our opponents were actively engaged in the same contest, and wherever I went I heard their gloomy prediction of what would befall the country should Cleveland be elected President. Every- where they predicted ruin to the business of the country. Everywhere they told us that the mills and factories and furnaces of the United States would be shut down because they could not live under an administration of Grover Cleveland. Everywhere they talked about the payment of the rebel debt, pensioning the rebel soldiers, and many other evils impending upon the entrance of a Dem- ocratic régime. Now that a Democrat has been President for a little over three years and a half, from these very same Republican orators we hear it declared that the United States never was as prosperous as they are this day. All their prophecies of ruin to the business of the country, all their prophecies in regard to the payment of the rebel debt, the pensioning rebel soldiers, the flaunting of the bloody shirt, has gone for nothing. The fact is that the insistence of a small and reasonable taxation through the tariff instead of the high duties now imposed (which is the cardinal maxim ofthe Demo- cratic canvas) is recognized by every intelli- gent person as the industrial salvation of the country. And the laboring men of whom the Democratic party is chiefly composed recognize the force of this position in spite of the specious arguments of the other side.

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EMERENZ.—Part II. (CONCLUSION.) By PAUL HEYSE. (TRANSLATED BY MISSES R. THEODOR AND F. SCHWARTZ.) ADMIT that this sign of devotion made a very disagreeable impression upon me. True, I did not for one moment think that the charm of my personal appearance had even the least influence on her enthusiasm for my lecture. You know how well I was aware of the impression which I made upon acomely young woman. On theother hand I was not in the least in love with this beau- tiful creature and did not long for her ca- resses. But that she treated me, who was nearly forty, like a patriarch whose hand children and grandchildren kiss—that was very bitter. So, taking up my hat, I said good-bye in a somewhat rough manner and went away without one kind word. Still, I was rather glad that we did not part entirely without discord. In my heart I had already begun to meditate upon a sort of rivalry which might arise by comparing such a being with my secret future one. Now the picture of her whom I had left be- hind with all its thoughtful, harmonious quietness, again claimed its rights ; even if I omitted to take it out again asthe comparison of outward charms could only be to the dis- advantage of my affianced bride. However, my thoughts were soon far removed from all things relating to woman, and I was in the midst of the preparation of my lecture for to- day, which was to be held, not like the one the day previous, in the afternoon, but in the evening after all work was closed. I was afraid I should find the hall but half filled. After a hard day’s work, thought I, few will care to listen to the reasonings of an idler upon the labor question. But the crowd was still larger than yesterday ; they had been even obliged to put benches upon the stage, and the anxious waiting people filled the passage-ways and stood without in the garden. After having with some difficulty succeeded in working my way up to my place, whom should I see sitting on the first bench behind the people of quality? Eme- renz, directly opposite, her dark eyes fixed upon me from the first word to the last, but otherwise motionless as a picture. Only that now and then she would wipe her brow with her handkerchief, as the heat in the overcrowded room became nearly intolera- ble in spite of the cool autumn air. My inner fire helped me to solve my task with my whole ardor, to my own satisfaction and that of my audience, with the exception of my friend, upon whose face I read that he considered some of my maxims rather dan- gerous, and found the description of the great misery and oppression existing among our poor people altogether too pessimistic. But afterward, while cozily drinking tea together at his own home, I explained that it would not have been clever to present to these peo- ple a picture of their situation that they would immediately have recognized as a flattered one, while only the unveiled truth could give them confidence in me and in the remedies I had to propose. To these reme- dies I intended to devote my third and last lecture. The next morning bright and early I had to depart, as the time for the beginning of my lectures was very near at hand. All sorts of letters which I had received in the morning and which I had to answer, then a family dinner with my friend, kept me so busy that, even if I had felt so inclined, I would not have succeeded in making my farewell visit to the ‘*Waldhorn.’’ After dinner I slept a few hours (as, I must confess, I had taken more of my host’s champagne than was good for me), after which there remained just time enough to once more hastily review my lec- ture. Again I found a hall in which not even an apple could be dropped, and again, near the front, I saw the eyes of the peculiar girl which fascinated my own in such a magical way that I could scarcel# abstain from addressing my whole speech to her. It seemed to me that the ‘‘ perpetual presence’’ of that beautiful specimen of womankind who sat opposite exerted such an influence upon me, that, after having described the erroneous methods employed by the different

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72 EMERENZ. systems in seeking to obtain earthly pros- perity, and having shown their aimlessness, I depicted my own ideas with such force and energy as I had never before succeeded in doing in a lecture-room or in my books. We have often enough argued that point, dear friend, and I could never fully convince you that I had gone further with my solution of the social-economical question than all the inventors of manageable air-balloons had succeeded in going up to this time. Taken as a theory, you said the thing looks tolera- ble, practice only will show its mistakes. I will not open that argument again; let it suf- fice you that at that time I managed my air- balloons most admirably through the ether before the eyes of my audience, and came down to earth again without the slightest accident. Do not imagine, however, that I gave out my remedies for curing the needs of a thousand years’ standing as being infallible. In the end it always came to this; that a surplus of misery and unhappiness could not be avoided by the wisest arrangement of public affairs ; that the evident injustice in the division of human destinies could not be palliated, and that only the proud conscious- ness of bearing the unavoidable with dignity, and only the power of unselfish love could give man that moral liberty which will not allow him to sink even amidst life’s daily renewed hardships. My scientific lecture had become involuntarily a sermon, but I felt clearly that by touching this chord I united the minds and soulsof this multitude more intimately to me than if I had demon- strated to them the wisdom of irrefutable social politics. Now and then I noticed eyes moist with tears, and heard among the women that secret sobbing which accompanies tragic moments at a theater. After I had finished there was a dead silence for a few moments, then the applause broke forth so much the more furiously, and I could not walk quietly through the passage between the benches. Suddenly I felt myself seized by powerful arms and carried toward the door over the heads of the tumultuous crowd. This excit- ing scene was followed by a quieter but not less agreeable celebration at the house of my friend, who was now altogether reconciled to my views. We spoke principally of the im- portant questions which had filled our minds during these three evenings, and of how it were possible to realize some of my pious wishes. The mistress of the house thanked me in her quiet, heartfelt way for what I had said of the position of the working women and the future of their children. Her brother- in-law had not put in an appearance, neither during my lecttire norafterward. ‘‘ He is not friendly to ‘scientific discussions,’ as he calls them,’’ said my friend, shrugging his shoulders. I confess that I was glad he stayed away. It was eleven o’clock and I had to say good-bye at last. At six in the morning my friend’s carriage was to take me to the station, which was a considerable dis- tance from the factory. The night was quiet and the stars shone bright and clear ; I de- clined my friend’s and his wife’s proposal to accompany me to my hotel, and walked away in that happy frame of mind which comes over one when he has entirely succeeded in an undertaking. In the cottages of the work- men the lights had been extinguished. I could not but hope that they had sought their rest to-night in a disposition more worthy of men than on many other preced- ing evenings, and that I had sown a seed which did not fall on stony ground. When I reached my hotel, the waiter opened the door for me with a certain devo- tion and assiduity, and quickly lighted a candle which he carried before me up the stairs. But suddenly he stopped and said with a smile full of meaning: ‘‘The Pro- fessor will find company up-stairs—-but per- haps you know that already, though the girl insists that she came of her own accord.”’ ‘“*A girl,’’ I said, astonished and with- out any foreboding. ‘‘ Yes, and a beautiful girl,’’ grinned the impudent fellow, with a significant bow toward me as much as to say, ‘‘Oh, you hypocrite, you can preach beautiful moral sermons and can likewise entice beautiful young women to your side.”’ ‘* Well, Professor,’’ said the waiter, ‘‘it’s Emerenz from the ‘Waldhorn.’ Not long after your fine lecture—I take the liberty of congratulating you, sir! A great success— but I must say —’’ ‘““Will you hold your tongue,’’ I inter- rupted, ‘‘and tell me about that girl?’’ ‘“‘Well, Professor, she will tell that to you herself, I presume,’’ answered the sim- pleton in an irritated tone, pulling the ends of his collar out of his necktie. ‘‘She did not confide in me, and besides she never be-

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EMERENZ. 73 fore waited for a gentleman in his room. But we know she is not right in her mind, poor girl, there is a screwor two loose. The Professor will judge that best by himself.’’ “TI think so, too,’’ I interrupted the prattler, taking the candlestick out of his hand. ‘‘ You may wait here in the hall, the girl has something to ask, I suppose, and will go when I have answered her. I wish to be called at five in the morning; good- night.’’ I left him standing on the stairs rather stupefied, and entered my room with an excitement and curiosity which you will easily understand after all I have told you of that strange girl. She had been sitting modestly on a chair near the door. As soon as I entered she rose and courtesied before me with a look upon her face as if I had awakened her from her sleep or at least from her dreams, half frightened, half confused. When the light of the candle shone upon her face, I saw her beautiful eye- lids tremble as a night-bird’s whose nest one suddenly disturbs. ‘Why are you here, Emerenz?’’ I said, putting the candlestick on the table ; ‘‘ what urgent business have you with me that at such a late hour—but it is true, as I depart to-morrow very early—”’ Her presence, her silent glance, and the thought that the waiter outside heard every word—all that embarrassed me so much that I could not finish my sentences. I opened my trunk as if I were in a hurry to finish packing, then I stepped to the win- dow and opened it. ‘‘ The air is bad in this room,’’ I said, ‘‘do you not think so? But keep your seat and tell me, I pray you—”’ ‘‘Pardon me, sir,’’ I heard her say in a low yet steady voice, ‘‘I know the hour is inconvenient, but, dear heaven! what else could I do, as you intend leaving to-morrow ! And I shall not trouble you long. I only wanted to know what I might hope for and whether you will grant my request.”’ ‘“Your request? Speak out boldly ; you know that I am interested in you and should like to do you a favor.,”’ ‘‘If you are in earnest,’’ she said, tim- idly, ‘‘then grant my ardent wish and take me into your house as servant.”’ My surprise was so great that for the first few moments I could not trust my senses. ‘‘ Did I understand you aright, Em- erenz?’’ said I, ‘‘ you would like—as my servant— But how shall I connect that with your inclination for knowledge, your love of reading, and with your whole being, that is certainly not made for such service ?’’ She cast her eyes upon the floor and a light rose-color came into her cheeks. I thought that only now did I realize what a beautiful creature stood there before me. ‘*It is true,’’ said she, ‘‘that to this time I have preferred books to housework. But you opened my eyes and showed me that I was wrong: that we should strive to work for our fellow-creatures, to sacrifice many of our inclinations and comforts, that our actions are not morally right if we think only of our- selves. And it is only on account of my ed- ucation that I want to go away from here and live in yourhouse. Never has any one given meso much cause for thought, and in no one else could I repose that confidence which I doin you. A confidence which assures me you would patiently answer all my ques- tions, all the doubts that would arise in me. Do not be afraid, sir, that I would trouble you much. Only very seldom would I dare ask your advice, and you would not feel my presence in your house only that everything which you would otherwise be obliged to order would be done without question, quietly and in order, for I would soon learn to know your likes and dislikes.”’ She raised her eyes and fixed them with such childlike imploring look upon me that I really became very embarrassed, and at the same time filled with a tender feeling to- ward the poor creature. To have such a girl always near me, to have her render mea hun- dred small kind services, and to feel the joy of seeing her intellectual being bloom and ripen—but that was an idle fancy. Besides, did I not intend to marry in a short time? And would the young wife be particularly pleased with such a girl, who wished at the same time to be her husband’s pupil ? ‘* Rmerenz,’’ I said at last, ‘‘ it is creditable of you to feel the necessity of making your- self useful, and wishing to undertake any kind of work, although many other people in your situation would look for something higher. It would afford me great pleasure to see more of you—’’I stroked her hair softly—‘‘ for I believe you to be of a good and pure nature, and I would gladly help your mind toward its development. But you must see that it is impossible, my circumstances

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74 EMERENZ. do not admit of my keeping many ser- vants, and my mode of living does not require more than the simple services which my old housekeeper renders me. What would she and all the world besides say, if, all of a sudden, I received a young girl into my house, a beautiful and amiable one like you, Emerenz? However innocently we would live together, there would always be wicked scandal, and, as a case like yours is very infrequent, my best friends would not understand it, and tell me to my face that I am not your master but your lover.”’ Her face darkened suddenly. Her eyes filled and her lips trembled, but she controlled herself and said in a tone of deep despond- ency : ‘‘I understand, sir, you would become angry at such talk, because you would be ashamed of me. Pardon me, I see now that I have been too bold, I will go—it is so late already, oh, if you will only pardon me— please, please.’’ Two big tears rolled down her cheeks, she turned to hide her confusion and shame, and went toward the door. But my heart was burning with un- known tenderness for this wonderful girl. I seized her hand and said hastily : ‘‘ What are you thinking of, Emerenz? I ashamed of you! I would be only too proud and happy if { were the one to possess the love of such a charming being, and instead of re- proaching me, most of my slanderers would envy me. But just for this reason, Eme- renz—you have already had experience in that regard—you know what power you have over the hearts of men, and even if you con- sider me a wise man, a dry old book-worm, I would not guarantee, that I could not quietly see you come and go, even during one week, without falling in love with you like a stupid boy. But what would come of itall? You would, I believe, Emerenz, look at me withas much surprise as you did at all others whom you refused thus far, and after that you would not care to live under my roof another hour. Is it not so?’’ Again she dropped her eyes’ while I said this, and then she looked me straight in the face with a simple-hearted earnestness. ‘‘ Would I dothat?’’ she said slowly. ‘‘ No, truly not. Say rather that it would be the greatest joy of my whole life, and I would scarcely know how to survive it, and question whether I were not wholly un- worthy of it. To be loved by you—oh, my God! that would make me dizzy with hap- piness. AndI can not believe it, I know you said it only because you are so kind and did not wish me to think that you despised me. But you can not be serious.”’ I seized both her hands and held her firmly as she once more tried to gain the door. My sensesswam, my heart was in my mouth. I should like to see the man who, in my position, would not have been dazed. ‘* Child,’’ I exclaimed, ‘‘tell me, is not this a dream, that we stand here and tell one another such strange things? Is it you really who tell me that she loves me, is it I who listen to that which has never be- fore issued from a woman's lipstome? And is this only a dream of which I shall be ashamed when I awake? Is it possible that you, to win whose favor the youngest and handsomest men have tried in vain, could love such a homely old fellow who can not bear to look at his own image in the glass, whom women only care for as a dangerous friend, and who, at his best, is to be tolerated in the light of marriage simply from reasons of convenience? And this man, whom na- ture has treated so cruelly, such a lovely and pure creature as you could love with her whole heart, from no other motive than that he is a good fellow, and has sown into your soul a few thoughts which have elevated you above the common !”’ I still held her hands as if afraid she would vanish like a dream. But she had no such intentions. She only looked at me earnestly and replied: ‘‘ That which you say I do not understand. I do not know what other women seein you. I never met aman whom Iliked more and for whose liking I longed more violently in return. When you spoke there in the hall, all my soul went out to you. There were moments when I thought that only you and I were in the world, and when I recalled to myself that other people were there too, and how much there was that separated them from me, I could have cried. And when you had finished, I said to my- self, you can not survive the thought that he is going away, and that you will see him no more. To be always with him that would indeed be happiness too heavenly, too great. I had learned that you had no wife. He found none worthy of him, I thought. And the Lord is my witness, I never, never

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EMERENZ. 75 thought, you would condescend as far as that to me. But then—the other thing—”’ ‘‘ What other thing, Emerenz?’’ ‘‘Do not despise me for it. Believe me, I have always been an honest girl. A love affair has always seemed such an impossible thing forme. My adopted mother, the mis- tress of the ‘Waldhorn,’ told me you were interested in me from the first, that you called me beautiful ; then you were so kind to me—it may be possible, I said to myself, that he too, though he stands so high above others, will fall in love with you and you will become happy even if it can not last. But perhaps when you must go from him—”’ She covered her face with both her hands. I saw a shudder pass over her body. ‘Tell me all, Emerenz,’’ I entreated in a low voice, putting my arm around her shoulder. Then after awhile it came almost inaudibly from her lips: ‘‘ I thought that if a child could be born to me to whom I could devote my whole life—oh, a child that would resemble you, that would possess the same good and great ideas, and that would not be ashamed of its poor mother, that would never leave her. If God had vouchsafed me such happiness how I would have thanked him, nor asked for aught besides, but after that have been ready and willing to work so hard for the remainder of my life.’’ Oh, my dear friend, what a contradictory being is man, how wavering the ground of morality upon which the best of us imag- ines he has firmly founded his inner peace and pride. Ofall the actions, which in after life awake a feeling of repentance within us, there is none which we look back upon with more sorrow and deeper despair, and which in dark hours we recall with such growing bitterness, than the foolish haste with which we have refused a great joy that has been of- fered us. Refused it for the sake of some small, cold, narrow-minded considerations, some foolish old prejudice, thus forfeiting that which we can never regain and robbing ourselves of some great and lasting good. I have done very little during my life to cause sorrow and harm to others. But I can not imagine that an evil deed or crime com- mitted toward others, can gnaw as deeply into one’s conscience as a sin of omission for one’s own happiness. And the reason is clearenough. Being born selfish, it is much harder to overcome a folly for which we our-" selves must atone through many long years, than a guilt toward another which may have caused a life’s ruin. Indeed, we are more readily inclined to forgive ourselves for our wickedness than for our stupidity. Here was unlooked-for, immeasurable happiness before me, and I, mad fool—no, I do not re- proach myself that I remained a moral man even in the face of such alluring temptation, and that instead of opening my arms and pressing such a love to my heart, I loosened them from her neck and tried to keep my mind clear for both of us. But was it neces- sary to tear myself away for all future time, to break every bridge that led me across to beautiful air-castles, which in time might become a solid, comfortable building ? ‘*Bmerenz,’’ I said, ‘‘ dear Emerenz, come to your senses, control yourself. What you are saying is impossible. The world in which we live, does not allow us to follow our hearts’ desires. Her laws are severe, and he who wishes to climb thoughtlessly over the hedges and fences which protect public roads, must pay dearly for it. You areexcited now by your beautiful enthusi- asm for the ideas I instilled into your mind. You confound the preacher with his gospel and you confer the warmth of your heart, with which you received that gospel, upon the homely, unsightly prophet. I would be a criminal if I were to make use of your en- thusiastic error, and accept the present of your whole young life without returning it with the same devotion on my own part. But that I can notdo. I—’’ and hereI had to take a forcible step in order to erect an in- surmountable barrier between us, that rested nevertheless on such weak ground. ‘‘I am just the same as engaged to a girl who does not love me half as passionately as you and for whom I can feel no such love. You see, dear child, it can not be. But you, Emerenz, will sometimes thank me that I stood firm in this hour against the witchery that comes from you. Thus far you have met with none whose wooing you would accept. But the one will surely come who will make you as happy as you deserve to be and then—”’ She drew back from me suddenly. ‘‘I will go,’’ she said, in a tone barely distinct. ‘‘Farewell! Pardon me that I—oh, my God, what have I done!’’ She rushed toward the door. I stopped her. ‘‘Do not think

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76 EMERENZ. me unkind, Emerenz,’’ I said ; ‘‘ though I have made you suffer, I shall always remain your friend. I honor you, and that which we have said here will ever be cherished in my memory as the brightest and most wonderful experience of my poor lonely heart. Do look at me once more with the old confident look that your dear face showed during my lec- tures, and God bless you !”’ She tried, but the tears that gushed forth from her lids veiled her glance ; she stooped in speechless confusion to seize my hand and to press it to her lips, but I quickly took the lovely head between my hands, and kissed her onthe’ browand eyes. Then she escaped from me and passed hurriedly out of the room. I remembered at once that a spy and eavesdropper might have been standing out- side, who, nevertheless, could scarcely have understood our low talk. So seizing the can- dle I tore open the door and called out into the dark hall: ‘‘ I hope you will reach home safely, Miss Emerenz, assure your mother of my kind regards, and say that I will inform her by writing of the particulars.’’ I do not think she heard this silly speech. Upon the stairs all was still as death ; she must have gone down likea flash. But in the hall on a low bench lay the head-waiter, snoring. * * * * * That I slept but little that night, you will readily understand. At first I tried to pur- suade myself that I had acted in an excel- lent manner, and that I was withal a saint and a moral man. But I could not de- ceive myself long, and doubted greatly whether I would think so well of myself in the future. Soon, however, I ceased to think at all. I only saw the beautiful sad face and heard the soft voice, and my lips felt again the velvet softness of her eyelids which they had touched. I said to myself that I had either performed the most heroic deed of my life or the most stu- pid ; and that I might wait forever before another such woman would be blind enough to throw herself into my arms out of pure heavenly ‘‘ intellectual love,’’ asold Spinoza would say. And what had I offered her in return for such a queenly gift? Cold, nar- row-minded philosophy, faded phrases of wisdom, which, if she be clever, must only serve to show her howunworthy I was of her love. ‘‘If you were a man,”’ thought I, ‘*you would try and make amends for your misguided action at once. You would fol- low her this very moment and retract all the high-sounding inanities that you drove into her heart like needle-points.’”’ You see I knew pretty well what I should have done. But what man may “leap out of his skin,”’ as the old adage says, simply because he feels that it fits him too closely? No, old Spinoza is wrong; to understand a thing, and to be willing to carry it out, are by no means the same. I lit a cigar, drew forth the picture of my so-called bride, and tried, as a man of education and principles, to strengthen my purpose of making this sen- sible, altogether respectable lady my wife, and to look at my adventure with the eccen- tric factory girl merely in the light of a romantic episode. I can not say that I suc- ceeded very well. I could not even bring myself to the point of looking at my photo- graphic talisman, and was glad when I heard the step of the sleepy porter on the stairs, who came to announce that the carriage was ready, and that the lady—my friend’s wife— had sent me a handsome bouquet and her good wishes formy journey. Fortunately— or unfortunately—my way did not lead past the ‘‘Waldhorn.’’ Otherwise I might yet have sprung out ofthe carriage and disturbed the poor child in her sleep, and who can tell how everything would have ended? I finished my journey without adven- ture, and still remember distinctly that I entered my study with the feeling of a con- vict whoescapes from his cell and is brought back again in fetters. That same afternoon my lectures at the college began. Whether my students did not now and then perceive a certain absence of mind in their respected teacher, I would not assert. The evening I was to spend with my friend and colleague, whose wife counted surely on the decisive word being spoken in the first hour of our meeting. But I could not, for the world, have gathered enough courage to meet that girl. I sent an excuse to my friend, saying that I was still very tired from the effects of my journey, and must endeavorto regain my lost sleep of the night before. That it came to such a point was not to be wondered at. For I had now come to the conclusion that to make such an alliance without love was a moral impossibility. Rather renounce all happiness than to be satisfied with the mere shadow ofit. Yes, if such mighty happiness

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EMERENZ. 77 had never appeared before me in flesh and blood and stretched out its hand to me, which I, whimsical fool, hesitated to accept ! —but, as matters now stood, it would have been a crime against the guileless creature who was ready to take me for godly reasons, while now I seemed desirable simply for my own sake. Thus I stayed away for the next few days also, and left my house, except during my lecture hours, only at night, when I took long quick walks over fields and meadows, and held discourse with my heart. Once—it went through my stupid brain like a lightning flash—I stood still in the middle of the field, and it was as if another spoke from within me: ‘‘ Yes, why can you not marry her—Emerenz?’’ For the other was no longer of any consideration ; after having waited and wondered for a few weeks, she had departed with that affair unaccomplished, and her friend had become so incensed at this miserable failure of her match-making, that she had refused to see me when I called, and even turned away when we met upon the street. Indeed, why should I not marry Emerenz? who loved me pour mes beaux yeux, little as their beauty had manifested itself to others. When this idea, like all other great things exceedingly simple, first occurred to me, I felt that triumphant joy that I would have experienced in having made some great dis- covery. I did not understand why I had not from the very beginning looked upon this solution as the only really necessary one. What was it to me that my friend had arranged a different match and would make malicious comments upon my own choice? If my charming wife would be inferior to other professors’ wives in the way of high breeding, or in the regular education looked for in such cases, she more than compen- sated for it with nature’s gifts, and, above all, she would make me so happy that I should care for nothing outside my own comfortable home, Oh, what an inconceivably blind fool, that this thought came to me only after so many, many days, instead of on that night when the flames of passion shone so glori- ously around me. When I had cometo this conclusion all was quiet and serene within me. I felt impelled to hasten home imme- diately, to seize a sheet of paper and write these words: ‘‘ Dear Emerenz, if you want me still, then take me. I am, in body and soul, before God and man, through all eternity, your loving,’ etc. On second consideration, however, I pict- ured to myself the joy of telling her so my- self and beholding the beloved face lit up with astonishment and bliss. I could not cut short the lectures which just then kept me so busily employed; but Christmas would soon be here, and, in the mean time, I had something to hope for and rejoice over, in secret, like achild who looks forward to a Christmas toy. The long-wished-for day came at last. Half my trunk was filled with all sorts of jewelry and fancy articles, which I expected to bestow upon my beloved after having first presented her with myself. In spite of my feverish impatience the ride was exceedingly pleasant; lovely quiet winter landscapes sped rapidly by. I sat alonein my compartment, and sent my merry laugh- ter up to the silver December sky, and car- ried on fond love talks with my sweetheart, whom I imagined opposite me, like a silly lad who rehearses his first love meeting. At the hotel I did not even allow my- self the time to thaw my somewhat frozen body with a cup of warm tea. But I had my trunk brought to the self-same room in which I held that memorable talk with her. After having first received the waiter’s solemn promise not to divulge my incognito, I set forth upon my way toward the object of my longings. I reached the ‘‘ Waldhorn”’ without meeting one familiar face. The tables and benches stood under the black leafless trees with a thick layer of snow upon them, the house was as silent as the grave. For a moment I was frightened, for I imagined that perhaps, during the winter, the place was uninhabited. However, when I rang the bell of the gate beneath the deer antlers, which were now entirely covered with snow, it was quickly opened by the same little old woman, who looked at me in great surprise. I stammered a greeting, and then without any further preface, I said, ‘‘May I speak to Emerenz?’’ The woman coughed a moment, for the sharp out-door air fell heavily upon her chest. ‘Do come in,’’ she said; ‘‘you must be nearly frozen coming so far. Emerenz, you say? You wish to see her? Oh, my good- ness, then you don’t know !”’ I will spare you the details and not tell you of my prolonged torture before I obtained

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78 FIAT LUX. the story. The woman’s tale was simply to the effect that Emerenz had disappeared six weeks ago, and nothing had been heard from her since then. In the beginning of Novem- ber a wandering preacher, she could not tell of what sect, appeared among them, who had not succeeded in making many converts, for his doctrine was a severe one. Emerenz, however, did not miss one of his meetings. The poor girl’s mind had become quite con- fused. There was something dangerous, unholy and eccentric about the man, but that did not hinder the girl from becoming attracted to him. He was neither young nor eloquent, his hair was already gray and his bodily strength long since departed. And yet he had drawn Emerenz after him. She had quietly told her adopted parents that it was her destiny toserve this man and to lighten the hardships of his calling. It was not love she felt for him, only a great respect for the many sacrifices that he under- went for the benefit of mankind. So she had her little fortune turned over to her, and in spite of all warnings followed this sor- cerer into the wide world. Since that time she had never been heard from. I was stunned as from a blow on the head. Poor, lovely, unhappy creature! To be thus dragged forth by this demon into an un- known future, to be delivered beyond doubt over to misery and repentance! No, not to repentance! However it might end, she would accomplish her sacrifice without a murmur. But if she should some day stand alone in the world, helpless and abandoned, and should look back with longing to her narrow yet comfortable quarters— Yes, she must some time pause and turn aside from her adventurous course, and then if no help- ing hand were held out to her— My heart nearly broke at the thought. For an hour I sat in the little overheated room, and spoke not a word. The little woman did not know what to think of me. At last I made an effort and arose. I made her promise that she would apprise me of anything that she chanced to hear. That she would not hide the slightest trace. What my real purpose was in acting thus I did not inform her. I let her believe that I had found a suitable position for the vanished girl. The suspi- cion that my life’s happiness was at stake did not occur to her. ‘*Emerenz is of arare nature,’’ Isaid. ‘‘ We can only wait and hope. I shall cause an advertisement to be inserted in the papers ; but will she stop to read them on her wan- derings through the world with an apostle of eternity ?’’ Since then I have hoped and waited. As I said before, twelve years have come and gone. Sometimes as I sit here so lonely by my old student lamp and hear the front door move ever so gently, I imagine, tremblingly, that it is my forfeited happi- ness which will presently come stealing softly to me and throw its arms around my neck. Itis always only the ghost of that happiness. But in whatever shape it may one day come, however pale and worn and unlike its former self, I will clasp it with joy to my heart, from which its image has never been absent one hour of my life. FIAT LUX. By KATHRINE GROSJEAN. AFTER the long, dark night, When the heavens had ceased to pour, And the fiery hail had given surcease, And the surging waters had muttered Peace ! And the earth was racked no more,— Ah! did she swoon in the blessed light, After the long, dark night ? After the long, dark night, When the heavens have ceased to pour, And the fiery hail has given surcease, And the surging waters have murmured Peace ! And the soul is racked no more,— Ah! will she swoon in Love’s dear light, After the long, dark night?

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RECENT HAPPENINGS IN PERU. By WILLIAM ELEROY CURTIS. |? any one doubts that the Lord “‘ visits the sins of the fathers upon the children, unto the third and fourth,’’ yea, unto the thirteenth and the fourteenth generation, let him visit Peru. If the Almighty ever pun- ishes crimes committed in His name, if the Divine hand is ever stretched forth in right- eous retribution, a pitiful example of its vengeance may be seen in that unfortunate Republic to-day. The nation was founded upon wrong ; the first incident in its history was the betrayal and murder of a helpless king, and its walls were erected upon the ruins of plundered homes, slippery with the blood of innocent men slain in resisting an unholy invasion. Nowhere has avarice been so completely satiated ; nowhere have human rights been so cruelly ignored ; and no other people have been permitted to enjoy so great a degree of wealth and luxury with so little labor. And now the penalty has come. After more than three centuries spent in the extravagant enjoyment of riches that seemed limitless, Peru lies prostrate and helpless, and upon the walls of her roofless cities and devastated estates is written the judgment of an inexorable and inscrutable Providence: ‘‘ Vengeance is Mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.”’ Few cities of the world have possessed so great romantic and historic attractions as the old Viceregal Capital of Peru, and al- though her boasted glories have long since departed, it is easy to see, from the signs that still exist, how grand and beautiful the place must have been in the days of her ancient prosperity and prominence. Pizarro founded his Capital upon the an- niversary of the Manifestation of the Sa- viour to the Magi, called it the city of the Three Kings (Ciudad de los tres Reyes), and the Emperor of Spain gave the infant capital a coat of arms of his own designing ; three golden crowns upon an azure field, with a single star above them. But the name Lima, an Inca term denoting the presence of an oracle near where the city stood, was at once applied to the place by the natives, and be- ing so much more comfortable to the tongue soon forced itself into common usage in spite of Pizarro, and the official title lost its place upon the map. The population of Lima is about one hun- dred and twenty-five thousand. It has been much larger, but during the past ten years war and decay have been the rule, and peace and growth the exception. Before that time there had been quite a ‘‘boom,’’ owing to the energy and enterprise of Henry Meiggs, the California fugitive, and his extension of the railway system ; but the devastation of foreign invaders and domestic revolutionists has left the city only a pitiful relic of its former beauty and greatness. The tales that were told by travelers half a century ago about the riches of the Peruvians were not fabulous. The splendor of their surround- ings and their extravagant mode of life were not exaggerated, the vessels of silver that were seen in their kitchens, and the gold plate that was used to decorate their dining tables were not mythical, for evidence may be found in the pawn-shops of Lima to-day, where the old families are taking their solid silver plate and their jewels to sell for bread. Around two sides of the Grand Plaza, on which the ancient palace and the Cathedral stand, are to be found numerous shops for the sale or pawning of heirlooms, and the remnants of former opulence. To them are brought pieces of plate that would sell fora dozen times their intrinsic value at any bric- a-brac shop in New York. The brokers pay so much an ounce for the pure silver. The age of the piece and its ornamentation count for nothing. Its value to the brokers is simply what it will amount to at the mint. Ten per cent. commission is deducted for the services of the broker, who, in other words, gets one dollar’s worth of silver for ninety cents from the seller, and when he takes the stuff to the mint makes another profit in the alloy. He pays sixteen sols for a pound of pure silver. At the mint he gets eighteen sols for it. There are hundreds of families in Lima, who, having no other means of revenue, are selling not only their old silver plate, but their jewelry, their laces,

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80 RECENT HAPPENINGS IN PERU. their carvings, their pictures, and everything that can bring money. I met in Lima a bullion broker I had known in Chicago, a very gentlemanly Hebrew, whom I will call Mr. Isaacs, and it was my habit every day or so to go to his shop and look over the pieces of old plate that had been brought in between my visits. In a large wash-tub back of his counter Mr. Isaacs kept his purchases, and the daily ac- cumulation would make a curio collector wild, particularly if he did not have the means to gratify his taste and covetousness. Every day Mr. Isaacs purchased for their weight in coin, less ten per cent., pieces of plate that were old when Columbus discov- ered America; articles made when silver vessels were wrought by hand. Some of them had come down from the Incas, curi- ously though often rudely carved, and orna- mented in outlandish and unheard-of de- signs. Some were old Spanish or Moorish examples of the heaviest and most elaborate sort, vessels whose original use could not be suggested, and in the modern days were kept for ornament alone. A poor unfortunate would bring a Flemish piece, perhaps one that might have been carried home to Spain as loot by one of his ancestors at the time of the invasion of Flanders by the Duke of Alva. Then some woman, whose graceful figure and features were partly concealed by the manta, that benevolent garment which shields shame and covers modesty as well as a multitude of sins, would pass over the counter a richly and delicately wrought orna- ment of gold, or a jewel that had been in the possession of a proud Castilian family for centuries. One might easily become senti- mental and speculate as to the cost of these sacrifices to a race whose pride is something monstrous, whose wealth has been the won- der of the world, but who now are shorn of all hope of redeeming their fortunes, and left with plenty of palaces but no meat or bread. I brought home with me some old pieces that were picked out of the wash-tub. Fry- ing-pans of silver, such as were used when copper utensils were too poor to suit the taste of the fastidious Don, spoons of the most delicate workmanship each made by hand, dishes of silver that had been ham- mered from sheets of the pure metal, so soft that they might be crushed in the grasp of a child, and decorated with rude ornaments that were fashioned by the Incas before the Conquest. Such pieces as would sell for hundreds of dollars at the shops of New York I purchased for their weight in silver coin. I asked my friend Mr. Isaacs one day where a certain piece I greatly admired had come from. He told me it was sold him by a widow who belonged to one of the oldest and richest families in Peru, and who now owned hundreds of houses and thousands of acres of the finest land in the Republic, but was compelled to sell her ornaments to buy food. ‘*T will go with you to call upon her,”’ he said, ‘‘and you will perhaps be able to buy something choice from her collection. Everything she has is for sale.”’ The visit was made the next day. The residence was a palace constructed in the days when the former owner did not know what to do with his income, and its walls sheltered everything in the way of luxury that a refined taste could suggest. The stair- ways were beautifully carved Carrara marble, the halls were filled with sculpture, and the walls hung with Gobelin and other tapes- tries. There were many pictures by the foremost artists of the last and previous gen- erations, and some examples of the old mas- ters. The library was a sumptuous room with a carved oaken ceiling, and its walls were lined with shelves filled with books in all languages, uniformly bound. ‘*The late General was one of the finest scholars in Peru,’’ whispered Mr. Isaacs. ‘*He lectured at the University, and was the President of the Academy of Design. There are very many fine private libraries in Lima, but none better than this. The General often gave as much as fifty pounds for a book.”’ The lady of the house, when she came to us, was a beautiful woman, somewhere from thirty to forty years of age, in deep mourn- ing, and she blushed as Mr. Isaacs explained the object of our call. ‘I'm sure I ought to have no delicacy,” she replied, in pure English, and I found afterward that she could speak French and German as well, besides her own language, ‘for we are all poor in Lima now, and ought to be thankful that we have something left that will bring us money for food. I am not so much embarrassed this morning as I have been, however, for a gentleman who owes me twelve thousand dollars has just

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RECENT HAPPENINGS IN PERU. brought me two hundred dollars this morning, the first interest he had paid since the war, so that I feel quite rich. But two hundred dollars will not last a great while with the large family we have and the army of faithful servants I must feed even if I can not pay their wages.”’ Then she explained that during the lifeof her husband, who was killed in the war with Chili, the rent- rolls of the family estate amounted to forty thousand dollars a month, besides the revenues they derived from their sugar estates and other investments ; but thelatter had been destroyed by the Chilian army, and she could not raise funds sufficient to restore them. Although the leases required that the rentals of residential and business houses should -be paid in silver, the ten- ants, who were in the same cir- cumstances as herself, could not ob- tain it, and she was compelled to take the irredeemable paper cur- rency, which was worth from two to five cents on the dollar or nothing at all. The lady was educated in France, had lived in Europe, had traveled in the United States, and never had known an un- gratified wish. After telling her story, and it was well moistened with tears, she wiped her eyes and conducted us to the dining-hall where we were shown a wagon load of splendid silver plate, some of which she said had been brought from Spain by her husband’s family more than two centuries before. All but the old pieces were for sale, and all the china, which was old Sévres and Dresden, and any of the pictures or books in the library, or ornaments in the drawing-rooms. The churches, convents and monasteries of Lima are the finest and most extensive in America, while the private residences sur- pass those of any other city on the Southern Continent except Santiago, Chili. The old palace of Pizarro, erected when the city was founded, and in which he was assassinated, was spared by the Chilian army, and is still used for the offices of the Government. The Senate occupies the council chamber of the old Inquisition building, which is famous for tg AFTER THE WAR IN LIMA. its ceilings ofcarved oak, and infamous forthe brutal and bloody work that has been done within its walls. Here once sat the most ex- tensive and important dependency of the Church of Rome in America, extending its jurisdiction over the whole of the New World, roasting heretics upon beds of coals and tearing their limbs asunder on the rack, long after the Inquisition in Europe had ceased to exist. The torture room which adjoins the council chamber is now a retir- ing room for the Senate, and the dark pock- ets in the walls in which heretics were sealed up till they smothered, are used for closets and wardrobes. The chamber of Deputies occupies the ancient home of the College of St. Mark, the oldest institution of learning in all America, founded by the Society of Jesus in 1551, sixty-nine years before the pilgrims landed at Plymouth. There are one hundred and twenty-six Catholic churches in Lima, and twelve mon- asteries and convents, so that the population of one hundred and twenty-five thousand is pretty well supplied with means of grace. There are but two Protestant churches, how-

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RECENT HAPPENINGS IN PERU. A PERUVIAN BELLE. ever, in all Peru. One of them is in Lima, of the Church of England school, but sup- ported by all the English-speaking residents. The other is at Callao, largely sustained by the Pacific Steam Navigation Company which has its headquarters there, and is presided over by the Rev. Mr. Thompson, an active young Presbyterian from Phila- delphia. The women of Peru are usually Catholics, and go to mass regularly every morning, but ‘‘the men folks’’ are never seen in the churches except at the funerals of their friends, and on great feast days. Under President Prado, from 1869 to 1876, the Catho- lic Church was subjected to the same per- secution it has suffered in the other repub- lics of Spanish America ; but his successors were more hospitable to the priests, and the Church has regained much of its power and prestige during the troubles of the country. Some of the confiscated monasteries have been restored, and when I was in Peru a bishop presided over the sessions of the House of Deputies, having been elected by a popular vote in one of the interior provinces. He was a jolly-looking old padre, and did not appear to have suffered much from mor- tification of the flesh. The priests are, asa rule, corrupt, licentious ‘and gluttonous, and while the rest of the population are suffer- ing for the necessaries of life, they and the vultures only seem to be in danger of dys- pepsia. The bones of Pizarro, the Indian butcher, lie in the crypt of the grand cathedral he built in 1540, and which is still the most imposing ecclesiastical structure in all America, al- though its exterior hassuffered much from the warfare that has taken place without its walls. and its interior was stripped by the army of Chili. The vandals even took the votive offerings from the altar of a miracle-working Virgin, and cut the pictures of the saints from their frames. But three hundred and fifty years before the heathen temples re- ceived the same treatment from: an army that carried the cross of Christ upon its ban- ner, and proclaimed the conquest in His holy name. The spoliation of the homes and the churches of Peru was quite as justifia- ble in the nineteenth as it was in the six- teenth century, only in the latter case it was done under the patronage and encouragement of the Church of Rome, and the booty was a thousand-fold more valuable. It is not, and can not be known how much plunder Pizarro obtained in his evangelical labors, but the estimates vary from ninety to nine hundred million dollars. At any rate the King of Spain, who is supposed to have had a fifth share of the spoils, got over twenty-five million dollars, and the Holy Catholic Church, which claimed another fifth, spent twice that sum in the city of Lima alone. without bringing a dollar from the mother country. Dr. Tschudi, the eminent Austrian scientist, who made Peruvian antiquities the study of his life, asserts (on page 213 of his American volume) that four hun- dred million ducats (and a ducat in those days was worth two dollars and a quarter of our money) of gold and silver were ex- ported from Peru to Spain during the first twenty-five years following the conquest, and nine-tenths of the amount was plundered from the temples and the palaces of the Incas. ‘In this computation,’”’ says Tschudi, ‘‘ we do not include the immense masses of pre- cious metals buried by the natives to pre- vent them from falling into the hands of the invaders, nor the celebrated chain of gold which the Inca Huayna Capac had made in honor of the birth of his first-born son, and which was thrown into Lake Urcos. This chain had three hundred and fifty links of solid gold, each link two feet long, and v! the size of a man’s wrist. It reached around two sides of the principal plaza in Cuzco,

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RECENT HAPPENINGS IN PERU. 83 | AMO OO ne Ree eerie, A LIMA LADY IN HER MANTA. and its value is incomputable. Nor do we include the precious burden of the eleven thousand llamas, loaded with gold and silver, which had been collected from the people in the southern part of the empire as their share of the ransom of Atahualpa, and which its conductors buried in the Llanganati when they learned of the murder of their adored monarch.’’ Nor is it certain how much plunder the army of Chili took away when it returned to its homes, three hundred and fifty years afterward. We know that it robbed the church towers of their bells, the altars of their ornaments, even to the vessels used in the celebration of mass; that it carried away statues of bronze and marble from the parks and streets, and even from the cemeteries, including marble figures of Washington and Lincoln ; that it emptied the shelves of the National Library into sacks and carried the books to Santiago ; that it stripped the art gallery and the museum of their treasures, and even drove the animals from the zodlogi- cal garden to the docks at Callao, where they were shipped to Valparaiso and Santi- ago, most of them dying from exposure to a climate to which they were not accustomed. Ornamental gas lamps were torn up by the roots from the streets of Lima, and now embellish the Alameda of the capital of Chili ; bronze benches were taken from the parks ; portraits of eminent men cut from their frames in the Federal Palace of Peru now hang upon the walls of the public build- ings of Chili; and the records of the Viceroys were either burned orcarried away, including the entire archives of more than three cen- turies’ accumulation. Private residences were plundered in the same manner. Whole ship.loads of pianos, pictures, furniture, books, china, and other articles of household use and adornment were carried away as the spoils of war, and what could not be stolen was burned. The magnificent residences in the suburbs of Lima were despoiled of all their treasures, and the furniture used for fuel by the Chilian bandits. Whole cities now stand roofless, never to be restored, millions of dollars’ worth of property was destroyed by the torch, and millions more by dynamite and giant powder. The purpose of the Government of Chili was to ruin Peru and it was accom- plished. Many, in fact most of the fine residences of Lima were spared, not in mercy, but from necessity, as they were needed to garrison the troops. These residences are all built upon the earthquake plan, with thick walls of stone or adobe, and some of them are beauti- fully ornamented with carvings of stucco work. The interiors are much more elabo- rate and costly than the exteriors, and they were furnished with the greatest luxury and taste. The people of Peru entertain the most cor- dial sentiments toward the United States, which is remarkable from the fact that a feel- ing is prevalent among all classes that much of their misery is due to the vacillating pol- icy of our Government. They can not be convinced that they were not trifled with at the most critical point in their history, and it is true that ifthe United States had taken the same attitude she assumed three years later during the troubles in Central America, thousands of lives, millions of property, and

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RECENT HAPPENINGS IN PERU. a 6% ie fo HN nny Tr « THE TOWN OF CHIRILLOS, PERU. the richest resources of Peru might have been spared. Peru was overcome because she was resist- less. It was not her war, and she was not prepared for it ; but having entered into an alliance, offensive and defensive, with Bo- livia, loyally went to the assistance of her less powerful neighbor, and suffered ruin thereby. Chili expected to draw her into the struggle, and entered it with the inten- tion of seizing not only the nitrate deposits of Bolivia, but the guano of Peru. For years Chili had been preparing for the seizure, and when she was ready she found a pretext. Bolivia had no army, no navy, no money, no population, and the burden of the war fellon Peru. As long as Admiral Grau, the noble seaman who commanded her fleet, lived, Chili was held at bay, but when his bones were scattered to the four winds by the explosion of a shell in the pilot-house of the AYuwascar, the invasion began. At one time Grau might have destroyed the entire army of Chili by firing a single gun, but was too humane, too generous to do it. DESTROYED BY THE CHILIANS. The Chilian troops were in rendezvous at the town of Antofogasta, awaiting transports to invade Peru. They wereentirely depend- ent for water upon a condensing establish- ment to which a supply was taken from the sea and purged of its salt. There was nota spring, or a stream, or a well, or even a cis- tern for hundreds of miles, and in that des- ert no rain falls, nor has fallen since the making of the world. Escape by land was impossible. The army would have died of thirst and starvation had such a thing been attempted, and there were no ships to carry them to another port. If Admiral Grau had thrown a single shell, as he might easily have done, from the deck of the Huascar into the condensing works, within easy range, it would have resulted in the destruc- tion of the entire army of Chili, and put an end tothe war. Why did he not take them prisoners? That question is often asked ; but let me suggest by the way of reply that a ship’s crew of two hundred and ten men can not very well take charge of twenty or twenty-five thousand soldiers, and feed and

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RECENT HAPPENINGS IN PERU. 85 guard them. Why did he not demand sur- render and offer terms? He did. The Commander of the Chilian army refused to surrender, and dared Grau to fire upon de- fenseless men. There was no alternative. Grau spared the armies of Chili, which, in a few short months marched through his na- tive land leaving complete devastation in their wake. Peru was swept as if by a cyclone. Her army was destroyed, and the citizens of Lima, who attempted to defend the Capital with what weapons they could gather, were mown down by the artillery of the invading hosts. There was scarcely a hand or even a voice to be raised in defense of the women and children, and then the pillage and rapine commenced. Dynamite and petroleum were used as implements of destruction where the torch alone would not do the work, and the devastation of one of the fairest lands on earth continued until desolation reigned everywhere. Admiral Lynch, the commander of the forces of Chili, set up Don Miguel Iglesias as ‘‘ Provisional President until the pacifica- tion of the country.’’ General Andreas Ca- ceres, who commanded a division of moun- taineers, rejected the terms of peace. He re- tired to the Andes, and carried on a guerrilla warfare as long as the Chilian army was in Peru. When Lynch and his legions retired, Caceres turned his attention to the Govern- ment with the alliterative title, and for three years kept Iglesias busy defending the Capi- tal and the coast from his assaults. Business was almost entirely suspended ; commerce was stagnant because the people were pro- ducing nothing and had no money to buy imported goods. All castes lived on the pawn-shops, and the Government having no source of revenue, was compelled to resort to extreme conscription and confiscation meas- ures. Caceres hovered around Lima for three years with his army of Indian guerrillas, doing little fighting, but producing terror, and preventing industry everywhere. Igle- sias had no force to suppress his rival, and could only defend the Capital against him. In the center of Lima, as in all Spanish- American cities, is a grand plaza with the palace, the cathedral, the archbishop’s resi- dence, the Government buildings and other institutions facing it on four sides. Into this plaza, the very heart of the city, in Au- gust, 1884, the Government troops permitted Caceres and his mountaineers to come, but had sufficient notice to enable them to place sharpshooters in the towers of the churches, cannon on the roof of the palace, and musketeers on all the buildings around it. These structures are two stories high, and have front walls reaching two feet or more above the flat roofs, so that those who —_ THE CATHEDRAL AND PLAZA AT LIMA.

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86 RECENT HAPPENINGS IN PERU. participated in this novel warfare had good breastworks to protect them. When Caceres came into the plaza he was met with a shower of bullets from all sides, and the pavements were strewn with the dead. He made a des- perate struggle, but his Indians, few of whom had ever been in a city before, or had been under fire, scattered and were lost in the labyrinth of narrow streets, through which they were pursued by cavalrymen who plunged out of the wide gates of the palace. Of the three thousand men who came with the mountain general, two thousand lay dead or wounded on the pavements before the battle was two hours old, and the remnant retired to Arequipa to prepare for another campaign. In December, 1885, Caceres re- peated this attack with better suecess and captured the city, ending a seven years’ war in Peru. A provisional government was or- ganized till April, when Caceres was elected constitutional President, and has since, un- der great embarrassments, been trying to restore a crushed and devastated nation. General Andreas Caceres is a man of about fifty years of age, a native of the ancient town of Ayacucho, and the son of a colonel of the Peruvian army by an Indian mother. At an early age he entered the army, and having by his daring and ability attracted the atten- tion of President Castilla, was sent to Europe to learn the art of war in the French and German schools. Upon his return he was detailed for duty as an engineer, and when the war with Chili broke out was made the commander of a division. The triumph and subsequent election of Caceres was welcomed by the people, grate- ful for any sort of deliverance from the con- ditions which then existed, and hopeful that under a new government peace and pros- perity might be restored. And he has been loyally sustained, although his administra- tion has been far from satisfactory, com- mercial restoration is still longer postponed, and seems impossible under the present policy. The Iglesias Government was con- ducted with patriotic motives, although under extraordinary embarrassments. The interference of Chili to prevent the success of every beneficial measure was constant and malicious. As long as Caceres was in the field it was openly charged and generally be- lieved that he received aid and comfort from that direction, and as soon as his revolution- ary movement ceased to aggravate the dis- tresses of Peru, and he assumed the direction of the Government, she commenced a policy of interference and intimidation. Chili will not be satisfied until the ruin of Peru is complete. Then she will attempt annexation, or at least assume a protectorate over the Republic, and finally include its provinces permanently within her bound- aries. Nor will she stop there. Ecuador has for years been in a state of abject sub- mission to her will, and a recent convention with Bolivia, although affording apparent advantages to the latter country, is intended as the first step in the programme of its sub- jugation. The time will come, unless foreign power interferes, when the map of South America must be revised so as to include within the jurisdiction of that aggressive nation the entire territory of the west coast, from the Isthmus of Darien to the tip of the continent, and from the summits of the Cor- dilleras to the sea. Anticipating what seems manifest destiny, the adjacent nations, Ar- gentine and Brazil, have called a conference of delegates from all the Independent States of South America to consider plans by which causes of international dissension may be settled by arbitration. The policy of Chili toward this movement will be watched with interest. Apprehending a diversion of trade from the west coast by the extension of the Ar- gentine Railway system northward into the interior of the continent, Chili is now nego- tiating with Don Amicito Arce, the newly elected President of Bolivia, for the opening of transportation facilities from the produc- tive regions of that Republic to the Pacific Ocean. Sefior Arce is not only a powerful political leader, but is the wealthiest man in Bolivia, and his sympathies are entirely with Chili. As the latter nation during the late war deprived Bolivia ofall her sea-coast, any outlet for her commerce to the Pacific must be secured at the expense to Peru, and the railway from Puno to Mollendo is evidently the object aimed at. Upon the accession of Caceres to power, Iglesias voluntarily left the country in order that his presence might not be an embarrass- ment to the new administration. He re- mained in Europe until the summer of 1887, when, upon his attempted return, he was in- tercepted at Panama by a decree of banish-

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RECENT HAPPENINGS IN PERU. SCENE ON THE OROYA RAILROAD, PERU—THE TERRACED GARDENS OF THE INCAS. ment from Caceres. He took refuge in Costa Rica, where he still resides. The first endeavor of Caceres was to re- store the credit of the country which was entirely exhausted. The paper money that had been issued from time to time by previ- ous administrations was worth little or noth- ing, andthe ordinary revenues of the Govern- ment were pledged to repay advances made by local banks. Iglesias, when he was un- able by any other means to raise money to pay his army and buy powder and lead, had leased the harbor at Callao to a French company for aterm of years, the considera- tion being a sum of cash in hand and a small share of dues collected. Thus, the most lucrative source of national revenue was sacrificed for a mere temporary accommoda- tion. Nor was this all. Every concession that could be sold for a little cash, every piece of Government property, every privi- lege and monopoly was in such a manner disposed of. It was not the result of admin- istrative policy, but of absolute necessity, thedernier ressort of a bankrupt government. Under such circumstances did Caceres undertake his task. By the generosity of patriotic citizens who were fortunate enough to have funds, he received asufficient amount to meet temporary emergencies, and a com- mission was appointed to prepare a plan for the rehabilitation of the Treasury. Negotia- tions conducted by Mr. Michael P. Grace, of New York, and the financial agent of Peru, with the representatives of the European creditors, proved successful. A basis of com- promise, known as the Grace-Avanibar con- tract, was effected, which was satisfactory to the bond-holders and relieved the Govern- ment entirely from embarrassment because of its foreign debt. The irredeemable cur- rency which had no value was to be wiped out by common consent, and a new issue authorized to be redeemable in coin. For- eign capital, which had been tempted into the country by signs of peace and liberal inducements, was seeking investment ; the peons, who had been frightened into the mountains by the conscript officers, began to show their faces on the sugar plantations

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88 RECENT HAPPENINGS IN PERU. and at the mills ; the estanciaros were pre- paring for the fattest harvest since the war began ; andthe prospects of a partial restora- tion of the country were favorable, when the cruel hand of Chili fell again upon her pros- trate neighbor. When the news reached Santiago that the Grace-Avanibar contract had been signed, when it appeared probable that the foreign debt would be satisfactorily settled, and domestic peace and prosperity restored, the gaunt specter of war was invoked by Chili to frighten a cowardly cabinet. Although the Congress re-convened upon the call of the President to receive the report of the Debt Commissioners, and ratify the com- promise that had been already accepted by the British bond-holders, the Peruvian Min- ister of Foreign Relations in October, 1887, officially notified the Congress that in con- sequence of the opposition of Chili to the Grace-Avanibar contract, the President would not present it for their consideration and approval. The edict came front Santi- ago through the Minister of Chili at Lima, and it was complied with by President Ca- ceres for fear of another war. It was freely charged during the administration of Iglesias that the Chilian Minister at Lima directed the affairs of the Government under orders from Santiago, but this is positively denied by the ex-President, and he at least never submitted so abjectly to the intimidation of Chili as Caceres has done in a negotiation upon which the future prosperity of his country depends. Not only was the debt settlement defeated, or, aS one may hope, only delayed, but concessions offered to foreign capitalists who were to bring money into the country and revivify its industries were canceled. Some of these concessions had been only re- cently granted, and in consideration of sums of money which had gone into the Treasury and had been paid out again in the ordinary disbursements. Some had been acted upon, and represented capital invested in improve- ments. Others were several years old, and had survived frequent changes of govern- ment. Railroads and other property already in possession of foreign capitalists who had extended, improved, and were operating them were ordered seized and sold again. Not only were treaty rights trampled upon, but foreign merchants who had aided and sus- tained the administration in its direst dis- tresses were deprived of their property and vested rights by confiscation acts. Most of these railroads were contracted for by the late Henry Meiggs, with or for the account of the Government under several acts of Congress from 1868 to 1877. Besides the great Central line from Callao and Lima to Oroya, intended to continue to the Amazon River, there were eiglt or ten shorter lines running at intervals at right angles with the coast to the interior. Most of the roads were never finished. After the final contract with Meiggs, dated February, 1877, came a finan- cial crisis, the death of Meiggs, the war with Chili, 1879-1883, and finally the Civil War, 1883-1885. The Government failed to pay for the construction of the roads or to fulfill its obligations under the contracts, and the properties remained under the control and management of the various parties to whom they were transferred by Meiggs or his execu- ° tors to await the settlement of outstanding claims against the Government. These claims have not been pressed upon the one hand, nor have they been denied upon the other, until now the Caceres Government, in desperation, repudiates the obligations of the men who have sustained it, and seizing the properties attempts to derive a little revenue from their earnings. The Chimbote road has been taken from Charles Watson, an Englishman, but an old resident of Peru, who married a niece of Henry Meiggs. The Truxillo road has been taken from E. C. Dubois, a citizen of the United States, but for several years a resi- dent of Lima, and a brother-in-law of Drey- fus, the famous guano contractor; and the Southern lines have been taken from John L. Thorndike, also a citizen of the United States, who built them, has always been their manager, and during the last twenty years has been actively identified with the development of Peru. The United States and British legations at Lima have filed protests with the Peruvian Government against these seizures, and the matter is likely to become of international consequence. At the same time the English bond-holders are awake to their interests, and it is understood the Foreign Office has in- dicated to the British Minister at Chili that the interference of Chili in the settlement of the Peruvian debt will not be tolerated.

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PERSONALITIES. ganda KER is an excellent type of the restless traveler who finds no comfort except in roving among constant dangers. His striding swift gait and uneasy move- ments in the peaceful haunts of civilization, remind one of a caged tiger ; and his brave little wife, who always accompanies him, delights in adventure as much as her in- trepid husband. Twice they have been ship- wrecked, once on a cannibal coast of Africa, where for four days they expected momentar- ily to be roasted and eaten. Hundreds of times they have been in peril of their lives. Twice he has been shot and once hung. In every part of Asia, Africa and Europe they are perfectly at home, speaking a dozen languages and as many more dialects. Mrs. Ker has been in at least three places where a white woman never penetrated before. If his work were not for the most part anony- mously buried in the pages of a great news- paper, Ker would be ranked with Burton, Park and Livingstone. When questioned concerning his plans a short time since, he said: ‘‘ Don’t know. I hope they’ll get up a war in Africa soon, or something good of that sort, and then I’m off for it immedi- ately.’’ Now he and Mrs. Ker are on their way to Algiers and the Sahara, where their souls will find satisfaction among the un- speakable Mahometans. Of their travels our readers will have frequent slices. Mr. Ker’s method among the plundering Arabs is very interesting. He says: ‘I dress in flannel clothes and carry very little luggage totempt them. My gold is strap- ped around me in an invisible belt, and two revolvers are always in handy positions and in plain sight at my waist. If a party of strangers comes along I run up to them like a long lost brother and shake hands. If they are unfriendly I squeeze my hands together like this (making a hideous noise in boys’ fashion), and they think I have a crowd of devils with me and take to their heels. This time I shall take acamera along and I expect some mischief. It can only be used on the sly, for the Mahometans hate it worse than acannon. In the first place, they think ita transgression of the Second Commandment, ‘Thou shalt not make any likeness.’ In the second place, they think it will disarrange the resurrection. When the angel blows his trumpet to raise the dead, if he finds a fac- simile of any man he might take it for the genuine and leave the individual in the grave. For these reasons the Mahometans never allow any portrait, and will kill a pho- tographer the instant they see his work.” ‘‘ Suppose they discover you?”’ ‘“Then the fellow who fires first is the best man.’’ Just before going Mr. Ker was asked, ‘‘Are you not afraid to risk your life so?’’ ‘A fellow can only die once,’’ he answered, ‘‘ and you’ve no idea how tired I am of monoto- nous city life. It’s so with all travelers. Livingstone was never so happy asin Africa. England was a prison tohim. I saw Stanley in London before his last expedition. He was gaunt, thin and pining for thejungles so badly that I pitied him. By Jove, if I had known he was going back so soon I'd have stayed and gone with him. If he could have written out his story as he told it to me it would have been something great, by Jove.”’ ‘‘Do you think Stanley is alive yet?”’ ‘‘Undoubtedly. They can’t kill him so easily. He is tough as iron and a master of resources. Probably he is hidden in the inaccessible interior where no one can follow him, and he will come out by and by. The first man they send after him is killed. The second strays off into slavery. The third is faithless or afraid, and never goes beyond the border, and so on indefinitely. Livingstone was not heard from for eight years in the same situation. Stanley is all right. By Jove, I wish I was with him. But North Africa will content me for a few months.”’ Lorpd WOLSELEY’sS estimate of military genius gives the highest rank among Amer- ican generals to Gen. Lee. Ina recent letter to Miss Lee, who is now in England, regard- ing his appreciation of the military genius and manly virtues of her father, Gen. Lord Wolseley writes as follows: ‘‘I have only personally known two heroes in my life, the one was Gen. Lee, the other was Gen. Gordon. Both despised politics and party men.”’ Of Count von Moltke he says: ‘His character is so simple and winning, and his military genius of such a high order, that it is

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go PERSONALITIES. most probable he would have become a great leader of men in the field had any such com- mand ever devolved upon him. Atthesame time it is quite possible that even Moltke does not possess the qualities which made the ‘Tenth Legion’ love Cesar, and which made the Roman one of the few great leaders of armies which the world has ever known. Great coolness of head and sternness of nerve are required by the general whose exclusive role in the field is to keep large armies in motion, each in its own line, as pieces on a chess-board. I would instance Ceesar, Han- nibal, Marlborough, Napoleon, and Gen. Lee as men who possessed what I regard as the highest development of military genius— men who combined with the strategic grasp of Von Moltke and the calm wisdom of Wel- lington, all the power of Marshal Bugeaud and of Souwaroff to inflame the imagination of their soldiers, and impart to them some of the fiery spirit of reckless daring which burned within their own breasts.’’ THE status of a tragedian in the dramatic profession was well stated by Frederick Warde during a discussion among profes- sionals a short time since: ‘‘ A comic star may be born in a night, but a tragedian can as a rule only win general acceptance after years of hard and conscientious work pur- sued in the face of many and bitter discour- agements. Humor, wit and eccentricities of manner and character, on which the come- dian mainly depends, are generally more or less local ; while feeling, which the emotional actor must rouse to obtain support, is cos- mopolitan. It finds itsanswerin the depths of human nature, and if the note struck be true, the response will be certain wherever it is heard. Even the fact that the languagein which the actor speaks may not be under- stood is not an insuperable bar to his sway- ing the hearts of his audience. Of the crowds that went to see Salvini and Bern- hardt, probably fully one-third did not know a word of the language used. But the pas- sions of the actor were conveyed by the tone of the voice, the expression of the face and the force and beauty of the gestures. These cried aloud in a tongue that no one could misunderstand, for it was the language of humanity everywhere. It is the foundation of our intellectual being which no Babel of tongues has had power to alter.”’ In the reminiscences ‘‘ Of Many Men,” published by the journalist T. C. Evans, is this portrait of Bulwer, at home near his death : “‘In a few minutes he came walking up the gravel road, a tall, thin man, with a slight stoop of the shoulders, wearing a Slouch hat and a negligent, half-slovenly suit of gray tweed—a figure differing greatly from that of the dainty and fastidious Pel- ham. He had a very high, thin Roman nose, eyes of pale watery blue, with a kind of half- dazed look in them, mingling wonder and weariness and abstraction, but they were pleasant and welcoming ; hair of rusty yel- low, inclined to gray ; complexion of a yel- lowish tinge, face corrugated with tiny wrinkles like a shriveled golden apple. Whatever was said to him had to be shouted loudly in his ear.’’ He tells these stories of Horace Greeley : ‘“Mr. Greeley was always sensitive to errors in his proofs, and sometimes broke loose in thunders of reprobation. A serious blunder of this sort turned the milk of his kindness into koumiss, which exploded and deluged the office, making printers and proof-readers pale as the clement which engulfed them. An inverted comma stung him like a mosquito. A mistake in a table of election returns set him into such fury as the red flag of the picador kindles in the Catalonian bull. ‘Henderson,’ he said once to the compiler of those sterile statis- tics, who had made an error of two votes in the returns from the Molly-muck-a-chuck district in the Mooselucmaguntic region of northeastern Maine, ‘I discharge you; I don't want to see your face around here any more.’ But Henderson was at his post as usual the next morning. ‘How is this, Henderson?’ said George Ripley, as he came into the office at his customary hour. ‘I thought Mr. Greeley discharged you yes- terday.’ ‘ Yes, he did,’ said Henderson, ‘but I didn’t put any confidence in what he said.’ One day Mr. Greeley wrote that ifa man were to shoot haphazard out of a win- dow, he would be morally responsible for any harm he might do. In print the ‘ hap- hazard’ became ‘half a yard,’ a rhetorical conversion which so depressed Mr. Greeley’s spirits that he had no strength left to dis- charge anybody, not even Henderson, which was his usual solace.”’

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SCIENCE NOTES. A JEWELED CAvE.—The wonders of the National Park, Hot Springs, are increased with the explorations of every season. The latest discovery is thus mentioned by a correspondent : ‘*Recently I partially explored the open- ing to a new subterranean world. Entrance was effected at the upper end of Terrace Mountain. We went through vast arched chambers connected by low corridors, through which we had to crawl, holding lighted torches for the twofold purpose of dispersing the darkness and of giving us notice of the presence of carbonic acid gas. The walls of the corridor are beautifully crystallized. We named this vast aqueduct the ‘Jeweled Cave.’ A superb pedestal was found at the west end of the third rotunda, that seemed to have been the work of a sculptor, prepared to receive the statue of some divinity. I speak of it as an aqueduct because the entrance is undoubtedly the out- let of an ancient lake whose waters had been supplied by a great glacier, vestiges of which are yet to be found. The first floor of Jeweled Cave has to be reached by a rope attached to a tree and thrown over a ledge of limestone twenty feet below. Half way down was a stratified mass of limestone tipped up edgewise, which had been polished as smooth as the tips of an elk horn, by sand pebbles and water rushing from the lake bottom. There is now no doubt that these highland lakes were the sources that sup- plied the boiling lakes of the ancient mam- moth springs, and that the last of these lakes, situated at the Walthal Mineral springs, is all that now supplies the still vast but much diminished fountains that are building up the great crescent of terraces known as Jupiter, Minerva and the Pulpits. There are other openings leading to simi- lar lake outlets.’’ MOSQUITOES AND FaItTH CurRE.—A faith cure camp-meeting recently convened at Greenville, N. J., was signalized by a tri- umphant proof of the practical omnipotence of faith. At first the meeting suffered greatly from mosquitoes. In swarming clouds they tormented the martyr advocates of the new gospel. But some leaders com- bined forces and the tide of faith swept the pest completely away. At least so the account reads. This may be taken as a cru. cial test of the faith cure. It is universally admitted that nothing short of a miracle, or a strong wind, will prevail upon a company of Jersey mosquitoes to migrate. Smudges, camphor, or the most earnest expostulation, expedients ordinarily successful, are notori- ously futile with the melodious myriads of these miasmatic myrmidons. The Jersey mosquito has no bowels of compassion or of any other sort. He is a hollow, hungry bore, andinsists upon trading itching poison for blood. He is too proud to yield to any- thing less than a cyclone. Even the war- dances of Indian magicians are powerless against him. Itisa cause of general con- gratulation that so inexpensive an article as faith is proven his superior. A MILITARY MICROPHONE.—The appli- cation of microphone to military tactics has been on trial for some time at Montauban, France. The adaptation of the instrument has proved most valuable for the purposes of reconnoitering, by giving an automatic warning of the passage of troops along a probable line of march at a distance of many miles. The contrivance consists essentially of a sounding plate, which is buried in the soil underneath an expected route of the enemy, and an electric wire which connects it with an ordinary microphone at head- quarters. So delicate were the sounds which were emitted that the difference between a foot and a horse regiment could be easily detected, and an approximate idea could be obtained of the numbers of the advancing host. Generals Vincenron and De Sonis with their staff were present at the experi- ments, and they were sufficiently impressed with the practical utility of the apparatus that a report was sent to the Minister of War. Orders have subsequently been received by the inventor to continue his experiments under official superintendence and technical advice.

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92 SCIENCE NOTES. ON BEING EATEN BY A TIGER.—A Hindoo expert on tigers has recently read before the Bombay Natural History Society a paper discussing the manner in which that animal seizes and eats its prey. Mr. Inverarity, the expert in question, had never been eaten by a tiger himself, but he had seen a good many other men and animals devoured, and seems to be a competent critic of the table etiquette of the tiger. It may please persons who may contemplate being eaten by a tiger to know that the process is not a bloody one. The tiger, Mr. Inverarity says, always seizes its prey by the throat and kills it probably by pressure on the windpipe. It is only by accident, or when in a great hurry, that the tiger, in killing, severs any important vein or artery, and no blood to speak of flows from the wounds. The tiger always begins his meal on the hind quarters, and eats his way along toward the head. The stomach and accompanying organs it removes some little distance off, and leaves arranged ina neat pile. An ordinary sized tiger or tigress will fin- ish a cow or such animal at one sitting, leav- ing only the head. The tigress begins at the shoulders and eats downward. When their heads come together at the middle of the animal they know there is no more left, and quit eating. Before eating the tiger always drags its prey a short distance. After the meal the tiger sometimes lies down by the Skeleton, but if there are hills in the neigh- borhood it will probably go off and find a cool spot forits nap. If anything has been left the tiger will return the next night to eat it, but it never makes the second meal on the same spot as the first, always drag- ging the body a short distance away. DISCOVERIES: OF THE LicK TELESCOPE. —Professor Proctor’s remarks concerning the disappointing results from great tele- scopes seem to be contradicted in the case of the Lick telescope. Many interesting obser- vations have already resulted from the new lens—enough to suggest that this largest eye that ever scanned the heavens, situated in the astronomer’s paradise of a perpetually clear air and a lofty elevation, may accom- plish great changes in revising the whole material of astronomy. Professor Holden, the astronomer in charge of the Lick telescope at Mount Ham- ilton, has discovered a marvelous structure of concentric ellipses composed alternately of stars and nebulous stuff, in the celebrated Ring nebula of the constellation Lyra. It seems a half-finished creation where the great sun-smith is still forging orbs of light. One of the nebule which he has photo- graphed introduces an entirely new class of embryonic worlds, and is the greatest astro- nomical discovery since Herschel’s time. It isin the form of a helix or screw, and ap- pearsas if the nebulze were formed by a bril- liant troupe of atoms revolving around the central star while this central sun was itself rapidly shooting onward. It is expected that this telescope will throw much light on the debated ‘‘canals’’ of the moon and the lost continent Libya on Mars. RESEMBLANCE BETWEEN LUNATICS AND PRIZE FIGHTERS.—The Neurological Society lately held a séance in New York, in which several pugilists were exhibited to establish marked similarity between their ears and those of the incurably insane. It is a well- known fact among physicians that a swollen prominence of the upper part of the ear occurs often in crazy people, and is an inva- riable indication of hopeless lunacy. Among prize-fighters the same peculiar mark is seen, resulting from frequent pummeling of the head. The swelled ear of a fighter is prized by him as a distinction second only to a broken nose, and in time becomes an established trade-mark ; but the individuals who came forward to illustrate ‘‘ Hamato- mia’’ or tumorous ears were somewhat cha- grined to find that their professional sign also belongs to the worst cases of the mad- house. Investigation might lead to the dis- covery of a more intimate kinship between the two classes of people who bear the brand of swelled ears.

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LIVE QUESTIONS. IS MARRIAGE A FAILURE ? EDITOR’S PREFACE. Our excuse for extending the echoes of this trans- atlantic query is its importance, and the possibility Starting from Mrs. Mona Caird’s discussion in the Westminster Review, ‘‘our present form of mar- riage is a vexatious failure,” it was taken up by an English scientist in the Mineteenth Century, with ‘‘our present marriage customs set at defiance all the rules which ought to be fol- lowed in order to secure that the race shall not de- teriorate,” and the London Telegraph published scores of testimonials from experience, whose general judg- ment against the success of marriage frightened away many engagements, caused one youth upon his of aiding in its solution. which concluded that the decision that wedding eve to commit suicide, and produced many alarming confessions. An American lady visiting in England, published her opinion that’ whatever marriage may be in England, it succeeds in Amer- ica, because American wives know how to manage their husbands, and English women do not. It is beyond dispute that Americans make the best hus- bands and wives, as well as the best of nearly every other production. The German /raw is always the and often the servant of her lord. The Frenchman, with all his gallantry, excludes his wife from his full comradeship. The Englishman lacks the fine deference which makes American wives happy—that is, those that are happy. But even here’ marriage has many defects, as will appear below. inferior, One of the characteristic expressions drawn forth in the foreign disputation is this from Zola : ‘*So far as France is concerned, I think that marriage is like the Church—an old and faulty in- stitution. It will have to go on until something better be found to replace it. The collage system, as we call it in France, may be every bit as good as matrimony, provided the parties agree. There are cases of French couples who have carried on collage for thirty years, and have been as united as if inthe bonds of wedlock. It all depends on the people themselves. But in any case marriage, as at present constituted in France, is a failure and a grievance. So, too, is everything in our modern society. We are all going to universal rottenness.” It appears that among the peasantry of interior Finland there is a species of marriage on trial. A couple live together as man and wife—sometimes clandestinely, but often with the knowledge of the parents—for a year, after which, if they find the relationship conducive to their happiness, they go before the pastor and have the knot tied by the law and the Church, If not agreeable they separate, and the separation does not hurt the girl for other en- The parents are careful to have wit- nesses to the arrangement when they know of it. gagements. Then, if the man backs out, he is forced to give one-half of what he owns to the deserted girl. The man gets up the affair without witnesses, if possible, in which event he is simply compelled to support any offspring, if there be such. Infanticide in any of its forms is unknown in the land. Large numbers of the peasants of South America are not married, because the tax of the Church upon the ceremony is beyond their resources, and yet the moral condition of this class compares very favor- ably with that of the middle and upper ranks where lax marriages prevail. Among the Saxons of Transylvania an under- done potato may sever the conjugal bond, but one of the stories current in Saxony would indicate that shrewish wives sometimes are not easily disposed of even where divorces abound. The story relates how a Tartar seized and abducted a Saxon peas- ant’s helpmeet, and the husband, as he watched the retreating form of his wife, was heard to murmur, ‘Poor Tartar! thou hast made a hard bargain.” The bereaved widower, eating his peaceful supper that evening, kept saying as his eyes rested on the empty chair opposite his own, “ Poor Tartar,” for he was kind-hearted even toward a barbarian. But suddenly the door flew open and the wretched man beheld his lost wife again before him, her temper having mastered even the Tartar ; and whenever he was out of her earshot he was heard to mutter bitterly between his teeth, ‘‘ Rascally Tartar! Ras- cally Tartar!” In order to give the American situation of the marriage problem a fair statement, we present this month three representative views. It will be noticed that all of them strongly show the failure side. Next month the contrary testimonials and arguments will be set forth, and those who wish to share in the experience meeting are invited to forward their communications to the editor. Names will not be printed unless so desired by the writers.

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LIVE QUESTIONS, IS MARRIAGE A FAILURE? I1.—A WOMAN'S ANSWER. THIS question, now being freely discussed by women, in France, England, and America, has heretofore been monopolized by man. He has spoken in Scripture, he has spoken in law, and from the beginning has had the sole power to rule and regulate this social institution. He has experi- mented, too, under all forms of conjugal union— polyandry, polygamy, monogamy, and legalized pros- titution, and as yet seems satisfied with none. Statesmen, philosophers, novelists, and poets, have all alike struggled to escape from the net woven by themselves. Milton, Comte, Bulwer, Byron, Dickens, Shelley, kings, lords,and bishops, have long ago brought in the verdict, ‘‘ Failure.” If this has been the experience of man, with all the natural and artificial advantages on his side, it must be pre-eminently a failure for woman, who as a wife loses her individual sovereignty, her personal independence, and many civil rights she possesses unquestioned, as a ‘‘ femme sole.” The contract of marriage under the present system violates every principle of justice and fair dealing, as one of the parties makes and administers all the laws regulating the partnership, while the other is robbed of her natural rights. A woman owns her child born out of wedlock ; in marriage the child belongs to the father. In no way has woman ever been recognized as an equal party in the contract. None of the considerations that apply to other contracts dignify this, the most important in its far-reaching influences of all others. A boy of fourteen, who can not make a contract for a horse, a piece of land, may bargain with a girl of twelve years of age, for a wife. In entering the partnership the boy gives up nothing he before possessed, he is an independent being still, while the legal existence of the girl is sus- pended during marriage, to be revived only when the husband is under the sod. The wife is regarded by all legal authorities as a femme covert placed wholly sub potestate viri. Although the old com- mon law of England has been essentially modified in most of the States of the Union, enough of the letter and spirit remain to make every husband, who is so disposed, a tyrant, and every wife a mere dependent on his will. The canon law, which governs the religious world, remains unchanged. Marriage is deemed a sacrament by the Church,in which woman is taught obedience and subjection, and child-bearing her chief duty: the wife the sacrificial lamb, the hus- band the high-priest at the altar. Woman's dissatis- faction with the marriage institution as it now exists is sufficiently pronounced to require some funda- mental changes in the laws governing it. Senator Alfred Naquet, who carried the French divorce bill through the Chamber of Deputies in 1884, states in a recent interview, that since the law passed there have been 3,000 applications for divorce, and 4,000 for separation annually, and the majority by women. The majority of the applica- tions in the United States is also made by women. And those who do apply by no means represent the full number of unhappy wives, who would fain escape from their humiliating bondage, but are held there by children, poverty, inability for self-sup- port, and the fear of persecution, suffering wrongs of which no law takes cognizance ;_ which language is inadequate to represent. The records in our daily papers of husbands kill- ing wives, and wives poisoning husbands, and the more refined cruelties perpetrated in palace homes, ever and anon revealed in the courts of justice, prove alike the impossibility of amicable relations between parties occupying the position of master and sub- ject, and the danger of holding those who are antagonistic in forced conjugal relations. Love and respect once gone time never reconciles, but aggra- vates both parties, and daily widens the gulf between them. Nothing can be more demoralizing to a family, than the atmosphere of a home where the beatitudes of love and faith no longer soften and sanctify the struggles of life. The ideal marriage in which love is the ruling principle, in which the parties to the contract are equal factors, at the altar and the fireside, equal in dignity, honor, and power, under the canon and civil law, would if realized be the basis of a satis- factory and enduring institution. A distinguished judge in the city of New York proposes homogeneous laws in all the States making marriage a national rather than a State institution, to be regulated by the civil and not the canon law, wholly independent of church interference, unless the parties desire to solemnize the contract with its ceremonies. He demands more stringent laws against early marriages, and would have the age raised to fifteen for girls and eighteen for boys. I mention this, not to consider the merits of the propositions, but merely to show a readiness, on the part of thinking men, for some progressive legislation on this ques- tion. Whatever revision of the marriage laws is made in future, woman should have a word to say. In a relation in which she finds her chief happiness or misery, surely her judgment should be heard and respected. ELIZABETH CADY STANTON, Omaha, Nebraska.

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LIVE QUESTIONS. 95 Il.—A CLERGYMAN’S ANSWER. Tue Rev. Dr. Morgan Dix, Rector of Trinity Church, New York, being asked for his views, repeats as follows what was stated to his congrega- tion a short time ago : We see in this subject of marriage the most grave of all topics of society; the place of the worst sins. Nothing degrades women so effectively, or deteriorates them so hopelessly, as their errors The motives for which they enter into marriage, their conduct in that estate, their readiness to break contract as soon as they find it burdensome, the utter recklessness with which on this subject. young persons marry, the very facilities afforded, making it as easy and simple a thing to be joined in marriage as to go for a drive an afternoon ; the effect of existing laws to make married persons practically independent of each other, and to give divided and the increased and increasing facilities for divorce; these are among the darkest evils of the time. The irresponsibility of many married people is Young persons contract marriage with no apparent sense of the gravity of the act ; with- out a thought how they will be required to behave toward each other in coming years ; without reflect- ing that to live together after God’s ordinance in- volves a test of the entire moral and religious nature, and trials which can be surmounted only by the charm and talisman of mutual respect, The last idea to enter the head seems to be that of duty. Every one knows how easy it is to get married here. No license is re- quired, no publishing of banns, no religious ser- vice; the mere statement, before witnesses, that they enter the matrimonial relation makes them What wonder ‘that it is lightly It is regarded as a venture, it is a frolic, it is an amusing episode, it is a dubious ex- If it does not result satisfactorily, never mind ; some way will open a crawl-out of the thing, them interests ; appalling. honor, and love. man and wife. thought of ? periment. and be gay, happy, and contented once more. Some marry for money, some for position, some for more freedom ; we are taught now by the advanced thinker that love is the last of all motives. As self-interest, in some one of its Protean shapes, is at the foundation of this proceeding, the moment self-interest is crossed or disappointed, It is no uncom- mon thing to hear it said, some time after a marriage, perhaps within a year or two: ‘*She cares nothing about her husband now; they are hardly ever together. Poor thing! she made a great mistake in marrying him, and she sees it now, andadmits it.” Yes; but that isnotall. She goes her way as calmly and as coolly as if nothing ex- traordinary had occurred ; as if the marriage, after they kick against the restraint. all, was not a thing of any consequence ; as if it had enjoined no duty and imposed no responsibil- ity. And no one seems to think less of her, nor to be at all shocked or distressed ; it is quite a matter of course now; a little trifling blunder, nothing serious ; let the carnival proceed; let us all be bright and cheerful as ever; let us revel in the sunshine, and lose no joy of life. The home is the first thing intended in matri- mony. It is a holy estate, and all who make up the home are inheritors of the covenant promise and partakers in the sanctity of that sweet relation to each other and to God. But some deliberately resolve that there shall be no home, or, at least, that it shall be as narrow, as limited as possible. They wish, it may be, to avoid pain ; they wish to shirk the duty of the parent ; they wish to be free to enjoy the world ; they are held and bound by a supreme spirit of self, lording it over every other consideration. Arts, base and black, arts which, under the old law, were punished to death, are used to carry out these impious and absurd resolves ; impious, because it would not be possible more grossly to outrage God’s law than in this way ; absurd, because a marriage contracted with that latent or expressed purpose and intention, is a con- tradiction in terms, a misnomer, a fraud on society and on the Church. Now I say that it is the woman who is mainly responsible for these sins; by her luxury, her ex- travagance, her addiction to the pleasures of the world, her recklessness of duty, her irresponsibility. I believe that this is done ignorantly, or in un- belief. But I say, as God’s priest, and in His name, that this act of deliberately preventing the formation of a home is a crime, and one which brings down curses thicker than the pellets of hail on the community that it defiles and blights. Doubt not that there is overhead a God of justice by whom actions are weighed. And when you see the march of socialism and communism, the growth of Nihilism, and the organization of bands of fiends whose weapon is dynamite and whose aim is the mere destruction of property and human life, recognize the merited scourge of Heaven on an age which tolerates these violations of God's first law. 1IIl.—A LAWYER’S ANSWER. CONSIDERED in its legal bearings, marriage in As each State and Terri- tory has its own marriage and divorce laws, there are in the United States forty-seven diverse sets of statutes—a different one for every few hundred miles—in regard to the most intimate, the most important and the most lasting of personal contracts. Space permits mention of a few only of the almost countless variations. this country 7s a failure.

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. LIVE QUESTIONS. In some States, as New Hampshire, a boy of fourteen may lawfully marry a girl of twelve years of age, with the consent of their guardians. From this extreme, the ‘‘age of consent” ranges to twenty-one years for each party to the marriage contract in Washington Territory and in other western regions. As to what is the status of chil- dren who may marry under the legal age, without the consent of their guardians, the law is neither fixed nor consistent. About three-fourths of the States and Territories require a license or its equivalent ; the other fourth The variety in contiguous States as to who may lawfully perform the marriage ceremony is both amusing and amaz- ing. For In West Virginia a couple can not be lawfully married except by a regularly ordained minister of some denomination ; but if they cross the line into Virginia, any person author- ized by the county court may perform the ceremony; while, if the couple go northward into Pennsylvania, they may lawfully join themselves in matrimony, before witnesses, without any magistrate. The statutes as to relationship are still more con- fusing. In eleven of the States and Territories first cousins may not lawfully marry each other ; but in the other thirty-six, including New York, Pennsylvania and Massachusetts, they may. Con- sequently many instances occur of first cousins, living in Ohio, for instance, running off to Pennsyl- vania, New York or Michigan to be married, and coming back to live in what, by the laws of their own State, is an incestuous union. The strictness of the Massachusetts statute on this subject renders it possible for a man to be lawfully married in New York, or some other State, while in Massachusetts his marriage is absolutely void and he (presumably) is free to marry another woman there and thus become the legal husband of one wife in New York and of another in Massachusetts. The range, also, of prohibited degrees is curious. While in some States a man may marry almost any woman not his blood-relative as near as first cousin, in others nearly all relatives-in-law and step-relatives are within the prohibited degrees. The height of this absurdity is reached in West Virginia, where a man is forbidden to marry his wife's step-daughter by a previous marriage. Nor may a woman in Virginia or West Virginia marry her nephew-in-law, though she may marry her brother-in-law or her first cousin by blood ! In regard to the divorce statutes of the differ- ent States, the ‘“‘confusion is worse confounded.” South Carolina boasts that for no cause docs she grant a divorce; yet a marriage may there be declared void ad initio, while staid New Hamp- shire has sixteen and Kentucky seventeen causes of have no check on secret marriages. instance : divorce set down in her statutes. Florida carries off the palm, perhaps, in frivolous causes, when she allows divorce for ‘‘the habitual indulgence of a violent and ungovernable temper,” though Missouri does pretty well in granting divorce because one of the parties has “‘ become a vagrant in the eye of the law,” and Puritan Rhode Island is not far behind with her ‘‘ gross misbehavior and wickedness re- pugnant to and in violation of the marriage con- tract.” ; Taking the United States as a whole there are no less than thirty-three distinct causes of divorce allowed, even when we reckon as one a cause like drunkenness, in the details of which the various The divorce statutes, like those of marriage, permit a man law- fully to become a bachelor in one State while he remains legally married in another. The result of these disgraceful and confusing varia- tions in laws relating to matrimony has been, of course, to cause the marriage relation to be lightly regarded. Peopleare ‘“‘ instead of being compelled to statutes show many disagreements. married in haste” because, ‘*repent at leisure,” they can be divorced with almost equal haste. In California the ratio of divorce to marriage is about one to seven, while in the whole United States it can not be far from one to fifteen. Hence I say marriage is a legal failure. What is the remedy? The elevation of public sentiment in regard to marriage by education in Christian ethics is of course the surest way, but this is a slow and difficult method. Can anything be done more speedily by legislation? Yes. Transfer all power to legislate in regard to marriage and divorce from the individual States to Congress, so that there would be but one system for the whole country. This would prevent, at one stroke, many of the evils which now exist. The question as to what system should be adopted for the whole United States is too large for discussion here, but a few outlines may be suggested. Make the legal age for marriage high ; require public notice and other safe- guards against hasty and secret marriages, and make the degree of relationship depend on nearness of blood, which medical science shows to be safe and reasonable ground. Reduce the number of causes of divorce to five : adultery, drunkenness, incurable insanity, long desertion and life imprisonment. Above all, absolutely forbid the guilty party to marry again during the life of the other, and forbid the innocent party to marry again for at least two years after the divorce. This one provision would prevent one- half the divorces which now disgrace and disrupt society, since at least half the divorces are sought now with the idea of new marriages. W. S. COLLINS. Scranton, Pa.

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AMONG THE BOOKS. (/n this department THE COSMOPOLITAN will give careful and concise attention to new publications received.) OnE of the most important books published this season is ex-Secretary McCulloch’s personal and political reminiscences.* The period which it cov- ers extends from 1833 down to a recent date, and as his prominent social and official positions during that time brought him in contact with most of the leading public men throughout a long and critical succession of political events, his frank and acute observations of them is of rare interest and of great historical value. His own services during the Presidencies of Lincoln, Johnson and Arthur had more to do than any one except Secretary Chase in shaping the financial policy of the Government dur- ing a period that tested the financier’s resources to the utmost. Since he left his Maine home on the mail-coach to make his fortunes in the West, fifty-five years ago, sixteen States have been added to the Union, and the United States has become twenty times richer than then. At that time the railroad between Bos- ton and Providence was the only one in New The rivers were the only means in the West of commercial England. intercourse. Chicago was a Indiana was a frontier State. San Fran- Rail- roads were not thought of west of Pennsylvania. It was amid these conditions that Mr. McCulloch made his home in Indiana and began his career as a lawyer. In 1836 Mr. McCulloch gave up the law for bank- ing. He says that he was a banker fourteen years before he saw a dollar in gold except the ten thaler pieces brought by German immigrants. In 1862 he went to Washington to oppose the passage of the bill to establish a national banking system, and was converted toa stalwart friend of national banks. While there he was appointed by Mr. Chase to organize the National Currency Bureau. Much of his book is given to discussions of financial ques- tions. He was greatly impressed by the financial ability of Secretary Chase, whom he esteems ‘“‘ one of the most extraordinary men that our country has ** Tf I were asked,” he says, *‘ to des- ignate the man whose services, next to Mr. Lin- hamlet. cisco was visited only by whaling ships. produced.” coln’s, were of the greatest value to the country from March, 1861, to July, 1864, I should unhesi- tatingly name Salmon P. Chase.” Subsequently *Men and Measures of Half a Century. Sketches and Comments. By Hugh McCulloch, Secretary of the Ad- ministrations of Lincoln, Johnson, and Arthur, 8vo, 542 pp. $4. Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York. 7 Mr. McCulloch was appointed Secretary of Treas- ury by Mr. Lincoln, whom he considers superla- tively fitted for his part in that crucial period. After his election over Gen. McClellan, Mr. Lincoln said to him: ‘‘ I am here by the blunders of the Demo- crats. If, instead of resolving that the war was a failure, they had resolved that I was a failure, and denounced me for not more vigorously prosecuting it, I should not have been re-elected, and I reckon that you would not have been Secretary of the Treasury.” He formed a high opinion of President Arthur. **His administration was distinguished, as few have been, for fairness, elevation of tone, and free- dom from extreme partisanship.” ‘‘If any one of our Presidents merited a second term he did. Had he been nominated he would doubtless have been elected, as the opposition to him would have been less savage than it was against Mr. Blaine.” The book is throughout a treasury of independ- ent judgments upon people and proceedings of ex- treme consequence. II. One of the historical outgrowths of the Ohio centennials is a large work upon that most dis- tinguished of Ohio pioneers. Dr. Manasseh Cutler.+ It throws much light upon an obscure chap- ter of Revolutionary time. The limited edition will be welcomed by students of American history. Dr. Cutler was eminent in Massachusetts as a cler- gyman, scientist and politician for the fifty years closing in 1820. His botanical correspondence with European professors will attract lovers of science. The journal of his visits to New York and Philadelphia, as agent of the Ohio Company, contains the only account of the negotiations with Congress resulting in the first settlement of Ohio, gives an entertaining picture of social life in those two cities a hundred years ago, and displays his skill as a diplomatist in securing important measures from an obstinate legislature. Dr. Cutler was a member of Congress during Jefferson’s first term, and his letters from Washington cover a variety of interesting topics, social and political. Last year the book world was startled by two post-mortem productions that entered our language + The Life, Journals, and Correspondence of Manasseh Cutler, LL.D. By his grandchildren, Wm. P. Cutler & Julia P. Cutler. 2 vols., 8vo, $5.00. Robert Clarke & Co., Cincinnati.

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98 AMONG THE BOOKS. from the Danish.* Judging by the merits of the two books, a greater literary skill and moral strength prevails in the flaming regions that issue black books with red lettering, than in the happy abode whose bindings are blue, with silver titles. The letters from below depict this modern inferno with all its improvements since the time of Dante. It is the work of a vivid imagination, often showing a strength approaching the weird and chilling nar- ratives of Poe. The scenes of hideous hollowness where each person’s fancy rebuilds the simulacrum of his earthly life, and repeats the gnawing sham of old habits are the best part of the book. ‘‘ This is the law of Hell. We are not tormented. We torment ourselves.” If the conventional pulpit preaching were less prominent the book would be much more forceful. This, and the presence of many redeemable characters in that hopeless abyss, was the mission of ‘‘ Letters from Hell.” The companion volume, ‘‘ Letters from Heaven,” does not approach the power of its predecessor. The distant upper regions seem more difficult to de- scribe than the nearer climes below. Even Milton succeeded better with Lucifer’s realm than with Gabriel’s. At any rate this Dane’s Heaven is not so good a structure as his Hell. It is simply an ex- tension of St. John’s apocalypse, with harps and palm-leaves, and singing choirs, and all are waiting for the last trump to resurrect their glorified bodies. The best sentence in the book is, *‘ In Heaven every one is an artist.” But by that the author means a painter, a singer, or a poet. Dramatic art is not permitted in his Heaven, and his Protestant piety allows only orthodox Christians to enter Para- dise. Comparing Andrew Lang’s little bundle of ‘‘ Let- ters to Dead Authors ” + with these, one is driven to the feeling that in correspondence across the chasm, those fortunates and unfortunates beyond get a vastly richer mail delivery than we on the fleshly side. A more delicious treat is seldom found than in these dainty missives, each adroitly framed in the style of the writer addressed. Even those spirits among his subjects who are commonly relegated to severely tropical zones, like Edgar A. Poe, Shel- ley, and those ante-Christian characters who pre- ceded the dispensation of grace, as Herodotus, Theocritus, and Horace, would relish the exquisite morsels that these pages convey. Tous on the hith- er edge of the grave these bright unbosomings of * Letters from Hell, with an Introduction by George Macdonald. Letters from Heaven. 12mo, $1.00 each. Funk & Wagnalls, New York. + Letters to Dead Authors. By Andrew Lang. Elzevir 16mo, gilt top, $:.00. Charles Scribner's Sons, New York. ¢ Two Little Confederates. By Thomas Nelson Page. Illustrated. Square 8vo, $1.50. Charles Scribner’s Sons New York. ; § Fighting Phil. The Life and Military Career of Gen. witty and thoughtful criticism, bravely aimed at the persons mentioned, are a charming luxury. Asa collection of literary estimates, pellucid with mature wisdom, quaintly frank in their directness, and couched in the dexterous finish of a master critic, the volume is a jewel. Thomas Nelson Page’s story of ‘* Two Little Confederates ” ¢ is not only a captivating story of brave and plucky boyhood, but is a bright picture of Virginia home life during the war. While the men are off in the army their plantation home is the scene of raids and skirmishes which supply many adventures for gallant Frank and Willy. Another graphic picture of the war, but more complete and historic, is the Rev. T. C. Headley’s ‘‘Fighting Phil,” a youth’s biography of Gen. Sheridan. It is not likely that any of the military leaders in Mr. Headley’s excellent series of juvenile histories will be more warmly received than the hero of Winchester. ‘* First Steps in Electricity” | is an admirably simple introduction for school and home to the most enchanting of sciences. An equally valuable volume of biography for girls is Sarah K. Bolton’s new book, ‘* Successful Women.” § The eleven women whose brief stories with their portraits comprise the book are noble specimens of intrepid womanhood, in various de- partments of royal activity, being Juliet Corson, the leader of cooking reforms; Mary L. Booth, editor of Harper's Bazar ; Frances E. Willard, President of the Woman’s Temperance work ; ‘‘ Pansy ” and “Marion Harland,” of literary fame; Margaret, the heroic nurse of New Orleans; Mrs. Candace Wheeler, the artist ; Clara Barton, the war nurse ; Rachel L. Bodley, Dean of the Woman’s Medical College of Pennsylvania; Alice R. Freeman, President of Wellesley College; and Ella Grant Campbell, the Cleveland florist. The Good Company Series which Lee & Shep- ard are issuing sends forth three attractive vol- umes ** in Richard Steele’s ‘‘ Lover,” a volume of dainty advice and essays after the manner of ‘‘ The Tatler,” in captivating analysis of the passion of love through all stages ; Alexander Smith’s ‘‘Dream- thorp” full of gems of thought; and Elam’s profound essays upon “A Physician’s Problems, ” learnedly weighing Heredity, Illusions, Criminal Epidemics, Somnambulism, and other deeply interesting sub- jects of semi-medical origin. Philip H. Sheridan. New edition. Illustrated. 12mo. $1.50. Lee & Shepard, Boston. | First Steps in Electricity, By Charles Barnard. Illus- trated. r2mo. socents. C. E. Merritt & Co., New York. {Successful Women. By Sarah K. Bolton, with Por- traits. 16mo. $1.00. D. Lothrop & Co., Boston. ** The Lover. By Richard Steele. Dreamthorp. By Alexander Smith. A Physician's Problems. By Charles Elam. Each r6mo, cloth. $r.co. Lee & Shepard, Boston. C, T. Dillingham, New York.

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