The Cosmopolitan 1889-05: Vol 7 Iss 1

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THE COSMOPOLITAN. VoL. VII. MAY, 1889. No. I. THE STUDIOS OF NEW YORK. By ELIZABETH BISLAND. ENERALLY speaking, the kind of workshop in which a man with greatest ease and satisfaction to himself brings forth and perfects his creations, is an accurate suggestion of the qual- ity of the work attempted there, and of the character of the workman. Unconsciously his individuality impresses itself upon his surroundings, until they in turn acquire a reactive potency which has its appreciable effect upon the man, as Heine was wont to declare had been the case between the women and the sculpture of Italy—the marbles were beautiful, first, because of the clean, firm outlines of the women, and the women eventually became more sculpturesque because of the forms of beauty that were an unconscious influence in their daily life. It is neither accident nor deliberate intention then that has prescribed the exact and solid rigidity of the typical legal office, and it is not possible that the home of a newspaper, where all things are the ephemera of a day, should be other than comfortless and unkempt. Unkemptness is the tradition of the painter's a/e/ier; but it is the pleasant confusion of beautiful things which serve him as still-life models, and are at once the natural expression of his fondness for color and form, and the silent influences which constantly deepen it. These traditions hold good here as in older art centers, but it is more through tradition than through actual knowledge that New Yorkers know anything of the work- shops in which the young art of this country is produced, the studios being ferra incog- nita to the masses; and of all artistic professions, that of the painter’s being judged most upon merits of its work—unbiased by the personality of the workmen. Perhaps nothing could prove this more clearly than the little fact that while the photographs of all the other artists are eagerly sought, no one ever thinks of asking for those of the painters, and the public does not note their countenances among the familiar ones in public assemblages. The literary men and women, the musicians and the actors, have all become part of the social life of New York ; but with the exception of one or two painters who were social entities before they were artists, the world of the studios is a different social planet, of which the other world knows little concerning either its appearance or customs. The existence of the painter is from its nature a somewhat solitary one, the exigen- cies of his art enforcing it; and for this reason, and the fact that art in America has not yet ascended its throne, there have grown up, even among the artists themselves, no distinct forms of social intercourse. The social world of art still remains entirely unham- pered by conventionalities. The tendency within the last decade has been to congregate in the great flat-buildings Entered at the New York Post Office as second class matter. Copyright, 1889, by JOHN BRISBEN WALKER

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4 THE STUDIOS OF NEW YORK. WwW. M. whose apartments are arranged with studios, conveniently lighted, and with domestic attachments that permit the artist's family to live next to his afelier. More recently many have preferred to take houses in the country, which permitted of larger and better lighted studios, arranged after their own designs, and where they believe themselves freer and further removed from jarring influ- ences. ‘The studio buildings still remain populous, however, perhaps the most famous of them being the Sherwood, on Fifty-seventh Street, built by John Sherwood, who was in his time a noted patron of the arts, and solicitous of the comfort and well-being of the painters. In this building most of the well-known artists have at some time found a home, and many have inhabited it for long terms of years. They never take root ; they are likely at any given moment, after a good sale, to fold their tents—which are deposited in some storage warehouse—and steal away for a long sunny winter in an Egyptian dahabeah, to be heard of doing a little am- ateur guitar playing on a moonlit Venetian canal, or sketching muleteers in Spain. When the money from the sale is all spent, their names reappear on the door of some one of the apartments, and to the old artistic litter is added a new collection of picturesque odds and ends, redolent of Cordova leather or adorned with sphinxes, as the case may be—while canvases are stretched and primed for a great picture, the result of the months of wandering. There is a class among the artists who never indulge in this industrious idling— men like J. G. Brown, who paint exclu- sively such subjects as are to be found in the New York streets or the adjacent country ; or, like F. S. Church, have found a distinct note, and are engaged in its development. For them the other continents have small attraction to offer, and are possibly fraught with the danger of influences which would confuse their natural utterance. After the Sherwood, the best known of the studio buildings is on Tenth Street, where

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THE STUDIOS OF NEW queer little labyrinthine corridors offer ad- mission, through very small doors, to phe- nomenally lofty rooms lighted from above, and in which the voice echoes hollowly, as in a vacant barn. In this building William M. Chase occupies two vast apartments crowded with bric-a-brac, splendid and lav- ish, and on ascale with the rooms—expanses of dull-toned Persian loom-work, great faded YORK. 5 fragments of tapestry ; copies of the old masters—Franz Hals, more especially— done by his own hand in the period of his wanderjahre,; armor, weapons of every coun- try, ancient altars, worm-eaten carvings, old brasses, pearl-inlaid long-necked stringed instruments, and even the glittering ebon countenances of prognathous’ Peruvian mummies suspended by their long black J. Q. A. WARD,

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6 THE STUDIOS OF NEW YORK. J. G. BROWN. hair, which, after centuries, is as silken, soft, as living, as the locks of a three-year- old child. Everything is on a large scale here, and gives an impression of superb pro- fusion, a fortune having been spent in the gathering of these rich properties. They are rarely transferred to canvas, but serve to foster the owner’s passion for color, and to give him the inspiration he draws in from the sense of dignity and sumptuousness in his surroundings—surroundings such as the older masters loved so much that rarely could they resist the temptation to paint bits of their medizeval bric-a-brac into the foregrounds of their Assumptions and Mar- tyrdoms. The personality of the artist is an inter- esting one. Short and squarely built, with a kindly, self-reliant face, a strongly cast, intellectual head, and the manner of the suc- cessful, competent man—a competency that appears to be the key-note of his work and character. What Chase sees he can do. Other men may see more, but few of them can so embody their vision. : Chase has been a strong influence with the younger artists, and gave many of them their first teaching, being sought by them with the impression that no other American could give an equal training in technique, and so teach them the painter’s side of their art. In the same building, St. Gaudens the sculptor has his a/e/ier, somewhat gaunt in aspect—a few casts of heads and limbs and a still sparser furnishing of copies from the antique, making up its furnishing. The tools of his trade are about him; but Ori- ental hangings and Florentine daggers are no aid to the inspiration he needs for the stern type of ‘‘The Puritan,’’ or the great sea-soldier which stands in Union Square, and in which all passers-by not only salute Farragut, the best type of modern American, but the best typeof American monumental art as well. The sculptor’s studio has far more

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the look of a workshop than the painter’s, through the very nature of his materials ; and that of J. Q. A. Ward, at one hundred and twenty West Fiftieth Street, strikes one almost as a building-yard, so vast is it and so filled with suggestions of the lofty dreams in stone that have first been erected here in plaster. Ward himself, an Ohioan (very nearly two-thirds of our most successful art- ists, it seems, are from the West), is rugged and large, with a certain muscularity of type which naturally found its expression in plastic rather than pictorial art. St. Gau- dens, a New Englander, educated at the * Cooper Institute, and thoroughly American in expression, is a tremendous worker, and his studio is a workshop in that sense as well as others, his time being always pledged for three or four years in advance. But once in a while he permits himself relaxations, one of which, a year ago, took the. form of a Pompeiian supper, the big studio being decorated and hung with red, and the feast- ing artists disposed around the table on THE STUDIOS OF NEW YORK. couches, clothed in Roman dress, and devel- oping unexpected qualities of dignity and beauty brought out by filleted hair and classic draperies. Up on the third floor of the right-hand side of the building J. G. Brown paints his bootblacks and newsboys, and is one of the oldest inhabitants of the place, having set up his artistic gods there twenty-nine years ago: a plain, old-fashioned studio, and, the artist says, lonely and somewhat haunted by the ghosts of the past, all his old friends—Ken- sett, Bierstadt, Gifford, and F. S. Church— having drifted away, either to other lands, into tired old age, or the Valley of the Shadow. He himself is ruddy and vigorous yet, but misses and regrets the companion- ship and criticism of his old friends, whose place is not taken by the younger men, out of sympathy with the school to which he and his contemporaries belonged. Some of their names still stand on the directory in the lower hall. The other occupants of the studio have no affiliation with ghostliness, WM. H. BEARD.

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8 THE STUDIOS OF NEW YORK. M. F. H. DE HAAS. being for the most part cheerful and genial small boys, who find it an agreeable and profitable experience to leave the shining of shoes and the distribution of news hot from the press, to sit for their portraits. The painter knows how to make friends with them, and has battalions of warm admirers and champions among the arabs who have been his models. From an apprentice in a glass factory of England, sketching faithfully in his leisure hours everything about him, he has become one of the artists who have made a fortune. The properties of his studio are queer, dilap- idated boys’ shoes, tattered check shirts, greasy, battered little caps, boot-blacking stands, and piles of daily papers, which are transferred to his canvas with the most astonishing realism. His method is to paint what he sees; and if there is to bea bit of orange peel or a banana skin in the fore- ground of one of his pictures of the streets, the orange peel and the banana skin are there and he paints directly from them. Though the pictures of gamins are the butter to his bread, Brown has much work of other sorts ; and he laughingly declares he has put there the materials fora great Brown exhibition after his death, which will cause the critics to rescind some of their short-sighted strict- ures. W. H. Beard has his studio in the Tenth Street building, a queer place which has also an air of old fashion about it and a sense of reminiscence in the air. A few stuffed ani- mals serve as models for the fables in paint that he sends forth ; fables not inferior to #Esop’s. De Haas paints here, too, with a flavor of the sea, a hint of ships’ properties about him; and in the same place is the working home of J. C. Nicoll, Albert Insley, and others of lesser celebrity. The Holbein studios, on Fifty-fifth Street, shelter Warren Eaton in a small, comforta- ble apartment, George Inness, declared by Benjamin Constant the greatest landscape painter of the nineteenth century, and others, not so famous, but well known. Inness occu-

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10 THE STUDIOS OF NEW YORK. DANIEL HUNTINGTON, pies two large rooms, fitted much like two plain, dignified drawing-rooms, with con- ventional wall paper, carpets, and curtains, a few chairs, and no suggestion of the tools of his trade, Oncea year the Holbein, which consists of low buildings with Dutch facades, on opposite sides of the street, throws open its doors to the public and admits them to most of its workshops. These put on their best bibs and tuckers, turn the faces to the wall of all their failures, wheel the successes out into a good light, and occasionally offer the cheerful cup to the wayfaring visitor. Art in New York, however, is not fashionable; and the callers on these occasions are mostly that quiet crowd of art lovers who make the bulk of the visitors to the Academy exhibi tions, unable to purchase, but eager to enjoy the pictures. Society would be the better and more brilliant in honoring the great American artists, as they are sought and honored in England ; and the artists, in their indifference to the fashionable world, are re- tarding the progress of art in this country by failing to enlist the sympathy and support of wealth. There was proof of this in the special success of the water-color show of this year. The rooms were charmingly decorated, and the social world of New York, arrayed in splendid and artistic garb, amused them- selves in the interval of the dance with inspection of the pictures on the walls. One result was that within three days most of the best pictures were sold, and society knew more about art and artists than it had learned in half a dozen years of the previous method of separation between the two worlds of art and wealth. The exhibitions of pict- ures here should be made as fashionable and popular as in London or Paris ; and did the artists choose to act in concert in this matter it would be easy of accomplishment and beneficial to both parties. Near the Holbein is the Studio Building, and here among many others are the studios of William Lippincott and Bruce Crane, the

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STUDIO OF J WELLS CHAMPNEY

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12 THE STUDIOS OF NEW latter occupying a little sun-flooded room, where he completes the studics he has made during the summer. He is still very young, and of strange, pallid, Spanish type. He began in the old American Jandscape school, which meant going to the Adirondacks to paint autumn foliage, but long ago found his brush was meant for better things, and has made his impression chiefly through pictures of the Long Island coast about Far Rockaway, and gray stretches of Jersey marsh done almost entirely in two colors, so low are they in tone. Beside these, which have a certain inimitable charm of quiet gravity, he has made several bold and suc- cessful experiments somewhat in the man- ner of Corot. A fishing-net canopies one corner of his room. There are a few stuffed sea-birds swung from the ceiling on wires, and a sparing and discreet use of the con- ventional studio decorations, while he is one of the very few of the artists who find pleas- ure in the companionship of a pet—a great, gray African parrot lightening his hours of toil with the charms of her conversation. In the Sherwood lives Edwin Blashfield, a slender, erect blond, whose face is familiar in literary circles, through the merit of the brilliant magazine work done in conjunction with his wife. He is a New Yorker and a pupil of Bonnat, and his sixteen years of study abroad—principally in Paris—show in the delicate brilliancy of his style, in his accurate knowledge of antiquities, in a cer- tain assured confidence in his touch, and in his appreciation of the value of architectural suggestions in his backgrounds. His studio is also his home, and includes a small suite of apartments, all of them adorned with the fruit of his many wanderings, in the shape of some peculiarly rich and splendid armor, antique jars and vases, and strange relics of Cleopatra’s land. Several of the Sherwood artists with fam- ilies occupy the suites adjoining the afeliers, and do a part of their housekeeping in a restaurant. Miss a Beckett is one of such inmates, and lives alongside her own Rous- seauesque landscapes. Carroll Beckwith and wife find their home here, most of their life being passed in his pretty studio, where he knocks off work occasionally to lie on a divan under a low canopy, and strum his mandolin. The two are very familiar figures in society, and an air of much joviality YORK. pervades his workshop. He has been the teacher of several of the younger artists, and is peculiarly helpful and encouraging to the beginners in his profession. Healsois from the West, and has many of the qualities to be found in the modern Spanish school, whose founder was Foriuny. Sawyer’s studio in the same building is one of the hand- somest in New York, being hung with mag- nificent Gothic tapestries, lined with valu- able paintings—some of them old masters and others of the modern French school-- furnished with black, deep-carved oak, and every spare niche and cranny crowded with antiques in bronze, marble, and pottery. It is of unexampled neatness, giving the im- pression of a handsome, well-arranged apart- ment where work is done incidentally, rather than of a workshop. Mr. Sawyer is the son of a wealthy New Hampshire man, and a nephew of the governor of that name. His father was opposed to his choice of profession, and an agreement was entered into by which the son was allowed to study for three years, with the understanding that if he had not done something in that time to justify his choice, he would abandon it. A picture in the Sa/on, at the end of that period, vindi- cated his decision, and has been followed by a successful career. In the Sherwood lives Renouf, the French artist, who, like Verestchagin, finds much paintable material in New York city, and is content to use the opportunities for seizing local effects that the native artists ignore. About the bare, plain room which serves him as atelier are half a dozen studies made in preparation for his great picture of the Brooklyn bridge, any one of them complete and interesting enough to serve as finished work rather than a mere sketch. He isa bushy-headed man, with strong, deeply-lined countenance, and potent suggestions of the immense vitality which enables him to work with a prodigious fidelity and unflagging in- dustry. Among the women artists, the best known are Rosina Emmet Sherwood, Rhoda Holmes Nicholls, and Dora Wheeler ; but there is a numerous colony of them, mostly young, ambitious, and hard-working, either just back from study on the other side, or heroic- ally economizing with a view to going there. Mrs. Sherwood is a pupil of Chase, and of Julien’s Academy in Paris. She occupies

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ROBERT BLUM.

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THOMAS MORAN, AT WORK ON AN ETCHING. her own parlor as a studio, a nice old-fash- ioned looking room divided by columns, and with an odd mingling of the usual drawing- room appointments with canvases, sitters’ stand, easels, and paint-boxes. A pretty, tottering, silver-headed baby is an important and ubiquitous part of her studio furniture. Rhoda Holmes Nicholls also has substituted one in hers for the monkey which used to bear her company—finding a baby pleasanter and not much more mischievous. She used to occupy a great room at the Sherwood, heaped about with a confusion of stuffs and artistic lumber, and with a small space in the cen- ter cleared away, where she worked with tremendous industry and energy, producing medal pictures or teaching the young idea how to paint, in classes of respectful and admiring women. Within the year she has transferred the baby and the Zaves to Twen- tieth Street, but has retained most of her methods of life and work. Dora Wheeler's studio has been closed this winter owing to her ill health, but at other times it has been a rendezvous for much of the best and brightest of New York’s world, and the scene of the most beautiful modern revival of tapestry; for be- side her other work Miss Wheeler has carried tapestry into a domain of art never before attempted or dreamed of. The studio was of Miss Wheeler’s own designing, covering the entire area of the open space in the rear of a house on Twenty-third Street; and here were weekly Thursday receptions, with occasional festivities, where the best of the thrce worlds of society, art, and literature mingled. In Fifty-second Street are some studios, so new that the unpainted wood still speaks to the senses of the forest, deeply yellow to the eye, and reverberant tothetread. Here, among others, live Miss Throop and George de Forest Brush ; the first, alone in a big room adorned with relics of her life in Paris, and busily teaching, writing, and painting, with a viewto return for morestudy. Higher up lives Brush, in a monkish cell, bare and natrow, and looking very much as if the

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THE STUDIOS OF NEW YORK. , y | OZ —— | } ie Ys a F. S. CHURCH, artist had dropped in casually for a call, and was painting with another person’s brush to while away the time of waiting for his host. Brush is a Southerner, born in Tennessee, and educated under the eye of Géréme, whose superb methods he has absorbed without ever attempting to intrench upon his master’s domain. He found at once in his own coun- try his fore-ordained subjects. That gaunt, melancholy, pigeon-toed savage, standing alone in snow, ‘‘ Mourning Her Brave,’’ made his instant success, and since then he has cre- ated many noble additions to American art. Dewing is another monk, who paints in a cell in the Fourth Avenue Studio Building, and whose only bit of bric-a-brac is a mar- aschino jug, hung there on a nail by Chase, after a frugal luncheon, while sitting for his portrait, as his decorative soul was vexed by the contemplation of bare walls. Dewing owns a more elaborate abiding-place, but it is mostly for show; and when he wishes to work he immures himself in this little, bare room, from which emerge his beautiful, cool, chaste dreams of women. He is a reformed Bostonian, a pupil of Boulanger and Lefevre, and a stalwart young David of ruddy coun- tenance. In this same building livesJ. Wells Champ- ney, another Bostonian, whose studio is shared by his wife, the well-known author, and a little golden-ringleted maid of some ten or twelve years. The big room is littered with the usual mahogany, bric-a-brac, and hangings, and has a home-like, friendly air, as has the drawing-room, seen in vista, where the traces of literary occupation make it as distinctly an afelier as the studio. Champney is a pupil of Frére and by profes- sion a portrait painter, though his occasional indulgence in landscape makes the world half regretful that he should have rigidly pledged himself to Vandyck’s branch of painting. Robert Blum occupies a lofty, north-lighted room in the Benedick, on Washington

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Square, into whose windows come the sounds of rustling trees and distant, melodious thunder of church organs and singing choirs. The studio has reminiscences of Venice in its decorations, hints of Holland, and sugges- tionsofJapan. Flowers grow on the window- sill, and a row of pegs is hung with bull- fighters’ costumes, queer spangled muslin frocks of the Empire period, and prim lace caps that once framed fresh little Dutch faces. From Cincinnati, Blum got his art education for the most part in New York and Philadel- phia, beginning by engraving bank-notes in his nativecity. The rest of his teaching has been given him by himself during travels in Spain and Holland, and life in Venice, in which last place he found the inspiration for his two great successes—‘‘ The Lace Makers”’ and ‘‘ The Bead Stringers.’’ He is one of the leaders in the work of the Pastel Society, and has done some excellent work in water color. He has been for years one of the THE STUDIOS OF NEW YORK. 17 most noted illustrators, and has lately done much to awaken truer ideals among the young people whom he has taught—a good, busy record altogether for a man not much over thirty. Blum’s work has the charm of a peculiar quality of lovableness and of a reflection of that light of romance that never was on land or sea. On the same floor lives Maynard, whose wonderful picture of ‘‘ The Sirens’’ took the prize at the Water Color Exhibition this spring, his abode being a compact little set of apartments, neatly kept and pleasant to the eye. A native of Washington, May- nard has traveled much in Europe, has tried his hand in all the various phases of his art, and made in water colors of mermaids and sirens his most distinct and undoubted success, they being something more than French models with their clothes off—wild creatures of foam and the green sea. Huntington, President of the National “rs STUDIO OF IRVING | R. NILES.

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wn 18 THE STUD/IOS OF NEW YORK. Academy, has his studio on the second floor of his own pretty, old-fashioned house on Twentieth Street : a studio filled with copies he has made for himself of the portraits of the many great folk he has painted—Grant, Sherman, Sheridan, President Arthur, and Morse of electric telegraph fame. Morse was Huntington's first masteft, being an artist before he became an electrician, and already beginning to deflect his interests from his paints and canvas to the galvano- battery which was in his studio when the future President of the Academy first set up his boyish easel there—a gentle, gray-haired old man now, full of the traditions of the older American schools. Thomas Moran the etcher, and Mary Nimmo, his wife, work side by side down in their studio on Twenty-second Street. Big tables near the light, on which are laid the plates while the artists are at work, are an important feature of their furnishings; but —_ there are easels, too, for before either of them was an etcher they were painters. There is not much attempt at decorative fittings here, the only adornments being Indian weapons, wampum belts, and other bits of savage finery, which were picked up by the artist when he was a member of a government sur- veying party and made the sketches for his great picture of ‘‘ The Mountain of the Holy Cross.’’ He lived among the Indians for many months, and from an artistic point of view has a high opinion of their value, being a great admirer of the work De Forest Brush is doing in immortalizing the type. Moran is an Englishman, but has grown almost aggressive in his Americanism. He began his artistic life as an apprentice to wood engraving in Philadelphia, and slowly de- veloped into a painter and a faithful disciple of Turner. Etching is comparatively a re- cent experiment with him; but how fully he was justified in abandoning in great part the Cx td sh 7 ao Bp STUDIO OF PERCY MORAN.

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THE STUDIVUS OF NEW brush for the needle is shown by the fact that among a number of plates in London Ruskin singled out one of Moran’s as being the best that ever came from London, and one of the best that modern art had produced. Mrs. Moran is scarcely less famous in the use of the needle and acid than her husband, having, curiously enough, developed her artistic capacity through the influence of studio life. Bolton Jones lives in Forty-second Street, in an apartment connected with his studio, where he paints with his younger brother who is just beginning his artistic career— at his elbow. The room is adorned with some of the queerest tapestries in the world, picked up at the Hotel Drouot in Paris, and with no fellow in existence, being woven upon a foundation of pages taken from Greek Testaments and old copies of the Vulgate. Jones is from Baltimore, and his own teacher, though he acknowledges a debt of instruc- tion through absorption from the French painters, in whose company he usually YORK. 19 spends his summers in Normandy or Brit- tany. Irving R. Niles made himself famous and even loved by his picture of the ‘‘ Death of Autumn,”’ in the Academy a year ago—a beautiful, sumptuous woman who had fallen dead by a glassy woodland pool, whose edges met her loose russet hair, and on whose sur- face floated the last ruddy leaves of the dead autumn’s glory. He is a New Yorker from Utica, and Julien’s Academy, and a pupil of Carolus Duran. He livesin one of the studios on Fifty-fifth Street. The young Moran brothers, Leon Percy, live in the same building, on Broad- way, with Harry Le Grand Canon, and are more in touch with the gayer social life of New York than any of the other artists, with the exception, perhaps, of Robert Van Bos- kerck, a resident in the Sherwood, who paints landscapes for which he makes studies during the summer in the neighborhood of Narra- gansett Pier. The Morans have the air of men about town, and are the sons of the and STUDIO OF LEON MORAN,

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THE STUDIOS OF NEW ARTHUR JULE GOODMAN. 4 painter Ed- ward Moran. They received their first training from their father, in the art schools of Phil- adelphia, and in the indirect art a G):: influences of France, where they went to school as boys. They are another vindica- tion of the value to an American artist of an American training, serving to keep them in touch with their own people. They have identified themseives with eighteenth-cent- ury subjects, and have in their studio the most valuable and extensive collection in America of eighteenth-century costumes, which, with a charming old spinet, and much ; of the quaint and lovely furnishings of our great- grandmothers, adorn their place and appear frequent- ly in their pictures of min- iature-like delicacy and ' finish. Le Grand Canon, the sculptor, who lives next 4 door, has perhaps as great a talent for organizing festivities as for modeling in clay, he having made himself famous as the arranger of the Elizabethan /@fe which served as a house-warming for Mr. Van Alen’s new Elizabethan mansion at Newport last sum- mer, and of the costume ball at the Academy last February, the most beautiful festivity of the kind ever seen in New York. His studio is handsomely fur- nished, with an addition of superb tiger skins and plaster reproductions of antique sculp- tures to the conventional tapes- tries, rugs, and carvings. The Morans open their pretty rooms also when Mr. Canon entertains, and the outside world is suffi- ciently familiar with the two studios, ' having been summoned there of late to welcome Mrs. Cleveland to New York. F.S. Church, another American-trained artist, who has never even crossed the seas lest the delicate soul of his fanciful genius should be broken on the wheel of the great European machine of technique in art, paints up-stairs in a rough, dingy old room in Thirteenth Street, whose only adornments are the rough sketches of work long since completed, the first jottings of his fairy fancies. These rooms have the atmos- phere of art all about them, being class-rooms ofthe art schools of the past generations. Church himself is a big, kindly-faced man, with rough hair and a personality as unlike his work as one can easily conceive. A small girl of eight or ten sits patiently on a papier-maché stone wall with a bit of deli- cate tinted gauze about her shoulders, and is reappearing on the canvas as one of his elfin maidens regarding the amiably idiotic per- formances of two joyful fawns; and there

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THE STUDIOS is slowly growing up about her, out of the painter’s imagination, tender verdure against the mild, pale blue of a spring sky. There is the usual dusty, unkempt litter of tools and possessions about. A queer Mexican crucifix stands on the table amid pipes and paint-tubes, and near by lies the skull with the bullet-hole through it which Church picked up on the plains in the West, and which gave the inspiration for the picture of the mermaid who, in the green twilight of the sea’s floor, holds this grisly find in her little pink hands and regards it with per- plexed surprise. Church can give no good reason for the inspirations of humor and beauty that drift into his head up here in this bare, ugly room. He became a painter late, owns no master, and sells his pictures before they are off the easel. OF NEW WM. SARTAIN AT WORK ON A MEZZOTINT, YORA. 21 In a high corner of one of the great apart- ment palaces facing Central Park on Fifty- ninth Street, William Sartain works enthusi- astically at the mezzotint plates for which his father was famous before him, and which he thinks are destined ere long to displace etchings. One of the most promising of the young artists newly come to New York is Arthur Jule Goodman, whose studio is at his home in West Sixteenth Street. Mr. Goodman's first picture as a lad was a painting of Mark Twain's house in Hartford, in which city he was born and bred. Against the wishes of his family he went into lithography at six- teen, and had saved enough money at twenty- five to give him four years’ study under Bougereau and Lefebvre in Paris. In 1887 he was admitted to the Salon, and returned to

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DAN BEARD AND HARRY BEARD. begin his American career in New York. Much of his work here has been done for the theaters ; scene-painting developing with him, as with Charles Graham, the brilliant and dramatic phases of an art that he holds so strongly as to be broadly versatile. The best known of his home work is the curtain ofthe Broadway Theater. As portrait and landscape painter he has already won recog- nition, and as an illustrator on the staff of THE COSMOPOLITAN he ranks among the cleverest of magazine artists. His series of drawings accompanying ‘‘ The Ring of the Nibelung ’’ in the March COSMOPOLITAN re- ceived the highest encomiums. Another artist, or rather duet of artists, chiefly known through work for the best illustrated periodicals, is Dan Beard and his brother Harry. They are nephews of Wm. H. Beard, and sons of James H. Beard, the venerable portrait painter, whose early pict- ures included Gen. Harrison, Gen. Jackson, and all the great men of two generations. Their father began painting in the back- woods of Ohio, mak- ing his own brushes from the hair of animals he killed, grinding his own colors, and stretching his own canvas, before he ever saw a picture. Beside these two brothers his children include Frank Beard the cartoonist, James Carter Beard the animal illustrator, and a sister, who is also an excellent artist. One after another the younger generation have all taken to art with their father’s per- tinacity, and all against the parental advice, —Harry after a businesscareer, and Dan after civil-engineer studies. When at last Dan, the youngest, graduated from the Art Students’ League into a successful rank among New York urtists, his father said, ‘‘ The last duck has taken to water.’’ Dan and Harry work in partnership at 191 Broadway, where dried monkeys, stuffed birds, and queer relics and fragments are thickly clustered, with a much-exercised manikin whose frantic ef- forts to furnish dramatic poses have made him prematurely decrepit.

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SEVENTH LEVEL. ON THE By CHARLES M. GAYLEY AND Davip H. BROWNE, ParT I. CHAPTER I. IN THE NORTH CROSSCUT. N the southwest quarter of the southwest quarter of section twenty-five; township forty, north ; range thirty-one, west, stand the gaunt trestles of the Pennekawba mine. This, one of the first mines discovered on the Menominee range, had been opened in the later sixties, and had, for several seasons, been one of the most promising ventures in the upper peninsula of Michigan. It had been sunk to a depth of five hundred feet, and six levels had been worked out, when the vein suddenly pinched on the seventh in such fashion that only a narrow seam remained in sight between the hanging and foot walls. The company had decided that a good deal of exploration was advisable, and during the year 1872 and the beginning of 1873 had “aw expended a large amount of money in drifting and cross- » se} ae SS V7 >... cutting, with the hope of finding either a continuation of ‘ ~ the vein or a parallel lens of ore. The indications were considered favorable, when, in the spring of 1873, the walls of the open pit, loosened by the melting snow, caved in, taking down B shaft-house, and crushing in the shaft. Several miners, working on the seventh level, were caught by the falling earth, and buried under the débris. Disheartened by this accident, and depressed by the gloomy prospect of the iron trade for that year, the company ordered the pumps to be taken out, the machinery removed, and the mine abandoned. Left to the imperceptible caress of nature, the traces of human activity were quickly obliterated. The moose-wood and hazel repossessed the ground from which they had been banished ; brambles and pine moss covered the litter of timbers; and the arbutus stretched its pink arms over the scars in the hillside. Deer browsed along the old stock- pile grounds ; squirrels coquetted on the sagging trestles ; and the clank of a vagrant cow- bell was the only substitute for the rattle of ore from the pockets, and for the throb of the Cornish pump. One summer Sunday afternoon, in 1886, I sat within the doorway of a little log cabin ou the edge of the clearing around the abandoned mine. I drew a letter from my pocket, and essayed to sketch on a blank leaf the outlines of the scene before me— the ranks of hemlock and pine, the broken stretch of trestle, the abrupt chasm in front where lay the lost miners. The sparkle of the level sunshine on something within the cabin blinded me. I stepped to one of the cobwebbed windows, and, reaching to the shelf above it, felt beneath my hand, not the broken bottles I had expected, but the fragments of some curiously elaborate glassware. Surprised by this strange find, I seated myself once more in the doorway, and endeavored to arrange on the timber before me the fragments in what I imagined to be their relative positions. ‘‘ Bohemian-blown glass, too,’’ I ejaculated, examining the

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ON THE SEVENTH LEVEL. fracture with professional interest. The pieces appeared to constitute part of some physical or chemical apparatus, whose use I could neither imagine nor conjecture: a glass tube about ten inches long, fitted with a three-way stopcock, and with a side tube, one end of which, drawn to a rounded point, carried a small, lancet-shaped tongue of steel. The lancet could be retracted into the body of the instrument by pressure on a platinum wire that lay in a groove on the inside of the tube. On the glass were scratched with a file or a diamond the char- acters Z. Z. An. LXX/. Interested in this discovery, I searched the shanty for any clewto the owner. A coil of rotten fuse hanging on a nail by the door, a miner’s lamp sticking in a chink beside the window, several pick-handles marked with the letter Z, and a small candle-box fitted with a wire grating in front, like a bird-cage, were all I could find. Evidently the owner of the glassware had used the picks, and this led me to the conclusion that he had worked as a miner in the old Pennekawba, and had departed for other fields when the mine was abandoned. I lifted the candle-box from the floor, and ex- amined it carefully. It seemed to have been used as a cage for some four-legged pet: the sides were gnawed as by a rat or squir- rel; in one corner a small pouch, formed from a scrap of card-board, was fixed to hold food. I pushed my hand through the wires, drew out the scrap, and unfolded it. The back of a note-book, it seemed, torn off jag- gedly, and bearing under considerable grime what might be the name of the owner. I took the paper to a little pool near by, washed it carefully, and read thereon the inscrip- tion : ** Zwingli Zschorer. gniadig.’”’ I wrapped the cardboard and the broken glassware in my handkerchief, and started down the tote road home. It was growing late, only half an hour to supper-time ; and I was glad, as I turned into the main road, to observe, emerging from a cloud of dust behind me, the familiar countenance of the mine pony, and in his wake the superinten- dent seated beside my friend Louise Norther. ‘Have a lift, Baird?’’ said he, pulling up beside me. I climbed into the buggy, and perched ‘ Gott seit mir Siinder precariously between them on the edge of the seat. ‘** Been out exploring, Mr. Baird ?’’ asked Miss Norther, with an amused glance at the rents in my handkerchief. ‘“Why, yes,’’ I replied, thrusting the obtrusive object into my pocket. ‘‘ Traced that manganese at last, Baird ?”’ queried the superintendent. ‘No: no outcrop this time,’’ said I; and I clutched the buggy-top as we jerked overa fallen birch-tree. ‘‘ Just some historical glass- ware I’ve found.’’ ‘* Oh, do tell me about it !’’ cried my com- panion on the left. ‘‘ What was it for?”’ ‘* For Z. Z.,’’ I answered, oracularly. Miss Norther looked up with accelerated interest. ‘‘ Why, what do you mean ?”’ ‘‘Oh, nothing,’ I said. ‘I'll tell you about it some time.’’ ‘* Better stick to the outcrop,’’ murmured Forder, flicking a gnat off the pony’s flank with his whip. Louise Norther relapsed into contempla- tion, and so we reached Mrs. Finnigan’s boarding-house. After I had jumped from the buggy, the girl leaned out, and giving me her hand : ‘* You haven’t been up for quite a while, Mr. Baird,’’ she said. ‘‘I wish you would”’ —and, by way of after-thought, ‘‘ you can tell me about Z. Z., you know.”’ Late in the fall of that year I received a letter from the secretary of the Pennekawba Company, requesting me to visit the mine, which had by this time been placed in good working order, and to take for analysis a thorough sampling of the ore in sight, as well as to examine the lean formation which several crosscuts had previously penetrated. I borrowed Forder’s horse, and drove out to the mine. The snow along the trail was once more fresh with footprints; white smoke from the boilers wreathed the neigh- boring trees ; and the clinking of the black- smith’s anvil rang strangely on my ear as I approached. I went below ground at once. It was about a quarter to six before I had finished my sampling ; then, throwing the bags over my shoulder, I picked my way as rapidly as I could toward B shaft. ButI had wandered far in my investigation, and what with the fallen caps and posts that blocked the entries, what with my own unfamiliarity with stopes across which my lamp threw but

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ON THE SEVENTH LEVEL. 25 a reluctant glimmer, and my anxiety to avoid no- thoroughfares of cross- cuts, and _ treacherous winzes, my progress was ‘““ BEEN OUT EXPLORING, MR. BAIRD ?*’ ASKED MISS NORTHER. anything but rapid ; and I reached the shaft just in time to see the skip rising above me with the few miners who had worked as late as I, I threw my samples on an ore car, and was waiting, in vexation of spirit, for the skip to be lowered, when I remarked at one side of the shaft what appeared to be the entry to a hitherto unexplored crosscut. I thought I might as well give the place a look, and if necessary take a sampling : so, selecting an empty bag, and knocking my lamp on a timber to revive the light, I crawled over the fallen rock which blocked the opening. There was something unusual about the place. A drill stuck in the breast at the farther end, close by lay a striking- hammer as if dropped in haste, and to one side was a stick of powder with the fuse attached for blasting. I resolved to make inquiry. I turned to go, and was clamber- ing over the rock once more, when I noticed above me a beam that supported the back of the crosscut, in an evidently weak spot. Folded over the beam was a miner’s oil-skin coat. : 3 I reached up and laid my hand on the dripping oil-skin; from under it fell the fragments of a close blue jacket such as miners wear, and splashed into the water at my feet. I turned the garment curiously with the toe of my boot. ‘‘ Here it must be that the three miners were work- ing, who were caught and crushed in the cave-in of 1873. Their bod- ies,’’ I soliloquized, ‘‘are hidden, perchance, beneath that very rock- pile over which I have climbed. And this poor jacket no hand has touched since its owner folded it away, and turned to smite the drill, on that fatal spring morning.”’ I stooped, picked up the fragments more reverently, and replaced them on the beam. A something in the pocket arrested my hand, and I drew forth what seemed a note-book, furred and moldy from dampness. I sepa- rated the soft leaves; the writing was in German, well nigh illegible. One cover was gone from the book. Where had I seen something like this before? It flashed across my mind. ‘‘ Gott set mir Siinder gna- Those dainty, almost feminine char- acters were the same—no doubt about that. The man who scribbled that ‘‘God be merciful to me a sinner,’’ on the cover of his note-book, had got a strange answer to his prayer. Yes, that was the name, ‘“‘Zschorer.’’ Some explanation of that— my lamp flickered, flared up, flickered again, and went out. or Py yy dig.”’ CHAPTER II. DECIPHERING THE OLD DIARY. THE darkness closed about me, press- ing-like a hand on my straining eyeballs. I started, stumbling toward the entry ; brought up sharply against the side of the ‘crosscut, felt my way a few steps, and sat down on the rock to await what aid fortune might send me. An eternal hour I sat there, listening to the drops as they plashed around me. At last I heard a hoarse call in the entry, and caught the glimmer of a lamp along the drift. ‘‘O-i-i Ba-a-rd!

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ON THE SEVENTH LEVEL. Ho-o-o-y! aho-o-oy, Baird! where you to?’’ I sprang from the pile of rock on wpich I had been sitting, and stumbled into the entry. The pit-boss took the flaming oil lamp from his hat as [I approached, and, holding his hand behind it as a reflector, examined me curiously, glancing from my face to the wet papers in my hand. ‘*Eh, boy? What’s a matter of ee? Lamp out? Looks as scart as if ee’d seed a ghost. We was a-lookin’ for ee on surface, and couldn’t find ee nohow, till Cap’n Jim he sent me down to see if ee wasn’t somewheres below. What you b’long doin’ of?’’ ‘Oh, I’m all right, Mattie,’ said I, as I followed him toward the shaft. ‘I was looking over some of my notes, and forgot *twas getting late, till my oil gave out ; and then I didn’t like to try the entry without a light: so I thought I’d wait here till the night shift came down: Come on, Mat, ring six bells.’’ I placed my papers in my pocket, stepped on the bail of the skip, clasped the rope with one hand above my head, and made way for the pit-boss beside me. Six monotonous clanks of the signal : the rope throbbed and THE PIT-BOSS TOOK THE FLAMING OIL LAMP FROM HIS HAT AS I APPROACHED. quivered at the grip of the hoisting-drum, and we rose steadily past dripping timbers and ladder ways, past grim entries whence noisily insistent engines gulped and gur- gled, till the air grew crisp and dry, and we stepped out of the shadow of the shaft-house into the light of the electric lamp swinging cold above us in the breeze. ‘** All right, Mat; tell Jim I’ll see him in the morning,’’ and I hurried over the snow toward the dry-house. My clothes stiffened like plate armor at the touch of the keen wind, and crackled as I rushed up the steps and plunged inside. That night when I reached my room I dried the leaves and separated them. Placing them severally between glass plates, I was able to preserve the tender papers while I deci- phered the characters thereon. As I have said, the writing was rather faint ; but I found as I became familiar with the German abbre- viations that the task became more easy. I was but a poor German scholar, having for- gotten nearly all I had learned in college ; but, by the aid of a grammar and dictionary which I borrowed from my chum, I was able to make sure though slow progress. At first I was several times on the point of taking Buchanan into my confidence ; but, as I advanced in the story, I was so much absorbed, both by the singularity of the nar- rative and the remarkable scientific revela- tions it contained, that I determined to keep it to myself. I had but little time to work on the translation, except in the evenings, and then I could use only those which Buchanan spent on the mine, calling on Louise Norther. Louise had not been long governess to the superintendent’s children, but she seemed to have had time to capture Buchanan’s fancy. For the style of my translation of Zscho- rer’s papers I can not say so much as I should wish ; but I have tried to make it literal. On the first page occurs twice the name Giessen, and once the date Fed. d. 23", 7870. The only other decipherable words are— “hatte einen Affen gekauft.’’ What the author should want of an ape I could not imagine. I passed to the next page. Here occurs the statement, ‘‘ He bound a bear upon me.’”’ I began to formulate the writer as the pro- prietor of a traveling menagerie ; but my chum, who has been a student in Germany, later explained tome my mistake. On page3 .

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ON THE SEVENTH LEVEL. successive dates—February 26th, 27th, 28th—and occasional notes from lectures by Professor Eckhardt. There are also memoranda of clinical lectures delivered by Seitz. My friend Buchanan happened to have among his relics of Germany a general University Cata- logue of the year 1870-71. The announce- ment for Giessen gives Seitz and Eck- hardt as professors in the University. A few pages farther on the writer seems to have been experimenting on his own account, as is evident from the following entries selected at random. They are the most easily decipherable of some forty-five of the kind : are ‘* Marz, d. 177%". Keeping subject at 98° half an hour after extraction; re- injection, followed by strong galvanic excitation, caused resumption of circu- lation. “* UVarz, d. 20°". defibrinated blood is safest; but death follows transfusion of blood, defibrinated or not, from animals ofa different species. See Brown-Séquard, § 196. Witness my experiment (note-book II., page Io): ‘Calf’s blood upon a dog,’ e¢ seguttur.’’ Then, after two or three blank leaves, come some twenty pages of fragmentary notes, dated at intervals from May roth, 1872, to January 7th, 1873. These indicate a decided change of scene: short sojourn- ings in New York, board-bills paid at hotels in that city, and in various parts of Penn- sylvania ; records of wages received in the Lehigh coal valley; in Bradford, Penn- sylvania; in Calumet and other mining towns in Houghton County, Michigan. The diary, however, of each stage of the journey invariably ends with the words, ‘‘ Keine Ruhe. Heraus!” Finally, from the Pennekawba mine, Menominee County, Michigan, comes a con- secutive narrative, beginning January 25th, ° 1573. CHAPTER III. THE MEMORANDA OF Z. Z. THESE were Zwingli Zschorer’s memo- randa, as I translated them : ‘* The birds love me at any rate, and so do the dogs,—and with them I can live. For Provost was right, “™ * SHE LOOKED IN MY FACE WITH SAD, SOFT EYES. dogs never question, they simply accept. One night last week, as I layin my bunk, came that hound, whining at my door. I let her in, a weary, foot-sore, hungry-eyed hound ; lost by some hunting party in the unfamiliar wilderness. She looked in my face with sad, soft eyes; licked my hand, and lay down by the stove. I bound up her feet, where the sharp snow-crust had torn them ; threw a blanket for her by the fire; and gave her what was left of. my supper. She rubbed her head on my knee, whimpered like a lost child, and forgot her troubles as she curled up by the warmth of my stove. ‘*Strange! A year ago I should indeed have welcomed that dog ; but with how different a motive! How carefully I should have anesthetized her, trepanned her ; how delicately used the scalpel and the forceps, how nicely traced the quivering muscle to the insertion ; and with what precision I should have regulated the temperature which the brute now seeks to regulate for herself! ‘Sitting here to-night, my miner’s lamp

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28 ON THE SEVENTH LEVEL. stuck into the logs behind me,I am conscious not of that dog, nor of my shadow unstead- ily darkening the wall; I am conscious— of myself. How would it look to the eyes of an impartial scientist? I will put my story down, black on white. I will be im- partial, I will judge myself. ‘‘Two years ago, I was a Privat-Docent at’Giessen, — No. 41, Nord-Anlage. My house stood in a court, just by the inter- section of the An/age with the Marburger Strasse, and looked upon the empty moat (Schoor) that ran round the old town. In the same court and just opposite me lived the Herr Oberst von Poremsky, a dear friend, although he was unable to appreciate my chemical Steckenpferde—hobby-horses—as he used to call them. The same large garden, with its arbor for afternoon coffee, and the same outer gate sufficed for us. As you mounted the house-steps and entered the doorway (to the right of which was fastened a plate that announced me a ‘Member of the Society for the Prevention of Itinerant Beggary ’—how well I remember the san- guine and unsympathetic spirit with which in the day of plenty I put up that warning against outcasts !)—as you entered the door- way, to the left was my laboratory. Beside the window that faced the Anz/age were the cells for my galvanic battery. Before the window opening upon the court stood a long bench, at one end of which, between the windows, was a trough surrounded by hot- water pipes (I used to call it ‘the cradle’) ; and attached to each end of this were the electrodes of the battery. At the other ex- tremity of the bench stood my case of re- agents, and by it a few reference-books— and this note-book. The bench I employed as a dissecting-table. By stairs from the first floor, and also by steps from the court, I had access to the cellar in which were supplies of the more common re-agents. My more delicate microscopical instruments I kept in the large room in the third story. Here, also, was my sleeping room. The second floor was unfurnished, save my library, and a little chamber at the back of what might have been the sa/on, in which slept my little niece and ward, Babette. She was the daughter of my only sister, who had married a young French-Alsatian lieu- tenant. A man of spirit was Franz. He was one of the cuirassiers who fell in the battle of Worth, during the last desperate charge of the French upon Froschweiler. My sis- ter gave herself up to the nursing of the wounded in Metz, caught hospital fever, and died not many weeks after her husband. Babette, then three or four years old, was left in my charge. She had golden hair. ‘‘T have even now paused to look over a few notes of the experiments that I made with reference to the subject that absorbed my attention during the last years of my life in Giessen. For from the time of my habili- tation as Privat-Docent at the University, I had devoted my leisure hours to the perfec- tion of my theory touching the transfusion of blood. Of course, the experiments of Denys and Emmerets, of Blundell, of Pro- vost and Dumas, had gone far to prove that by this means the vital forces might be re- stored. Brown-Séquard's experiment, how- ever, in which blood was passed from a liv- ing dog into the carotid of a dog just dead from peritonitis, seemed to me conclusive. For the animal was so far recovered as to raise himself to his feet, wag his tail, and so forth ; and not until twelve and a half hours afterward did he for a second time die. And it was evident to me that this second death had ensued because the simple injection of healthy blood into a diseased subject, although it had in proportion decreased the poisonous decomposition-products existing in the animal, had by no means removed them. ‘In the course of my studies, accordingly, I was guided by the conception that before re-injecting healthy blood, I should first re- move from the subject the vitiated blood entirely, leaving no toxical principles in the system to cause subsequent relapse. More- over, i was at this time endeavoring to iso- late from the Zucalyptus a new alkaloid, by using which I hoped to remove all decom- position-products from the blood. And if by this re-agent I might expel the disease- germs, I should be able to re-fuse a perfectly healthy, bright, arterial fluid formed from the previously extracted diseased blood, and should thereby have solved the problem of permanent resuscitation from death. ‘After eighteen months of unremitting labor—during which time my bills with Merck of Darmstadt and Schuchardt of Gor- litz had swallowed nearly every penny of my salary—on the 8th of June, 1871, I

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ON THE SEVENTH LEVEL. 29 perfected the isolation of my new alka- loid. From the peculiar medical qualities of its alcoholic solution I designated it Tchorine. ‘‘ Little did my good friend, the Herr Oberst, imagine, while he ridiculed my ex- travagance in chemicals, the momentous character of the secret that none but I and my dogs knew.”’ CHAPTER IV. THE PHILANTHROPIST. [The Journal continued.] ‘‘ONE evening as I sat reading in the library that looks over the garden, Babette climbed upon my knee, and bade me put aside that poky book (dath dumme Ding), and listen to her. ‘**Liebeth Onkelchen,’ she began, ‘ where didst thou put that ugly white J/ops that thou broughtest in the other day? He wasn’t half so pretty as my dog Max. . What dost thou with so many ygly dogs? Hast thou them dearer than the Max? Poor Max, he sat down with me yesterday when I got on his back; and only pushed his nose right into my face when I asked him what was the matter. And his eyes looked so dvol- Dost thou know ?—I think he is sick, lig. Onkel!’ And she gave a mournful little jump on my knee and clasped her arms en- treatingly about my neck. ‘*T put by ‘dath dumme Ding,’ and, press- ing her cheek to mine, said, ‘And what wilt thou that I shall do, Babette ?' ‘“*Why, Onkel, thou madest dex Herrn Oberst stand up when he was sick, and thou didst make die Tante Amalie, so that she was able, once more, to go to the God's Services, and be, oh! so pious ; and go to all the Christmas-trees for the Christ-children, and be happy ; and Fraulein Gustel’s gum- boil; and Gretle Schlosser —and— and — canst thou not make Max so that he shan’t sit down when I climb on his back ?’ ‘**My little Babette,’ said I; ‘ sometimes I can cause sick people to be healthy again ; and I hope that the time may come when I shall be able to make everybody well and happy.’ ‘** 4ch, wie lieb, wie goldig /’ she cried. And then she prattled on: ‘Why will people get sick, Onkel? I never get sick— I don’t see why /Aey should. And the Mamma, also, was sick when M/. le Curé stood by her bed there in Metz. And what made Mamma go away, Onkel Zwing- chen ?’ ‘** Babette,’ answered I, holding up her little warm hand to the lamp, ‘look, straighten out thy fingers and press them together—so! Now, tell me what dost thou see ?’ ‘**Oh, how pretty!’ she cried, as the light filtered through her little pink fingers. ‘** Well,’ said I, ‘when people die—’ ‘“** Ach /’ interrupted the child, ‘I remem- ber. La jolie Maman—her hand was so white—comme la neige—white !’ ‘**Ves,’ said I, ‘when people die, the life leaves them and they are white.’ ‘** Then, it is the pink color that is the life, Onkel ?’ ‘* Zwar, Babette ; I think thou art a very wise little girl.’ ‘ Yes,’ continued I to my- self, ‘all life is color, and color is all that is beautiful in life.’ ‘‘A few days afterward came Babette run- ning to me, the tears in hereyes. ‘Onkel, Onkel! he chokes—the Max can’t breathe —he is all stiff, and then he shivers. Oh! canst thou not make him well again?’ ‘‘T took the dog to my laboratory, and recognizing that, unless extreme measures were taken, the brute would die, I resolved that the first philanthropic test of my new theory should be for Babette’s benefit. ‘*T laid the dog in the hot-air bath, and subjected him to anzsthetization. After opening the carotid, and collecting the blood in a very large and stout glass beaker which I had ordered especially for such pur- pose, I added two and a half cubic centime- ters of the solution of ichorine. As I did so I cautiously agitated the blood with a plati- num-wire brush. On the instant there rose to the surface the yellowish film that I had awaited ; it contained, as I knew, the germs and products that had vitiated the system. This serum I removed and, by means of an elaborate refusion apparatus, which I shall not now describe, I re-injected the arterial fluid. Having closed the aperture on the carotid, I connected the electrodes of a twelve-cell interrupted current, and was grat- ified by the immediate and complete resus- citation of the animal. The operation had

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lasted exactly twenty-three minutes. The interval during which the animal lay, to all appearance, lifeless was fourteen minutes and eleven seconds. ‘*T allowed the dog two days for rest, care- fully attending to his food meanwhile, and on the third day restored him to Babette. With great joy she leaped up and down, clapping her hands together ; and I, marking the joy of the little girl over her dumb com- panion, could not but reflect with emotion upon the power that rested with me, the power, perhaps, to give back to a mother the child of whose life she had despaired ;—- like Elisha, to restore to the Shunamite the son that sat on her knees till noon, and died.”’ CHAPTER V. BABETTE’S FATAL FEVER. [The Journal continued. } ‘*T made several attempts to secure from the Clinical Hospital a-patient whose hope- less condition might warrant an experiment of the extreme nature I have described ; but I could not by honorable means secure at the same time a suitable subject and the requi- site privacy. My impatience increased with disappointment. I secluded myself entirely from my colleagues and the assistants in the School of Medicine : the consciousness of the revolutionizing nature of my discovery forced me to regard them as representatives of a false and obsolescent era. I haunted the parade-ground by the A/te Caserne; and watching the dvreijdhrigen soldiers drill I gloried in the fancy that, were my discovery recognized, even war should lose its terrors ; I threaded the crowded Gassen, and marked the peasant maids as they poured, sodden- faced and weary, out of the stifling tobacco factories ; marked the brutalized crones, with parchment-wrinkled brows and hulking gait, that followed ;—-all on their way to their narrow cottages in Wieseck and Gross-Lin- den, and to their narrow homes beneath the ground ;—and I was conscious of my power to make again ruddy those leaden cheeks, and elastic those springless feet. Restlessly through the evening I stalked the linden alley around the moat. The children called me ‘ The Haunter of the Moat,’ a schoorgeist. At last I wrote to the governor of the jail in Darmstadt, informing him of the momentous 30 ON THE SEVENTH LEVEL. nature of my theory, and requesting his per- mission to experiment, in the interests of scientific research, on some criminal con- demned to death. I instanced the philan- thropic example in this respect of the lately fallen Napoleon, the experiments made with his permission by the Academy upon La Farge, Michel, and Le Blanc; I besought him in the interests of humanity to grant me the person of Nicolaus Fleischmann, the recently condemned wife-murderer ; promis- ing to surrender myself to justice in case I did not restore the criminal to that life which justice was so soon 'to terminate. ‘‘In vain—I was refused and laughed at. I mastered, as best I could, my disappoint- ment, and buoyed myself with the hope ma * > [The succeeding two pages I am unable to decipher, the ink is washed out. Page 46 commences with the words, ‘‘ 7 ezzem aus- zehrenden Fieber.’’—BAIRD. | ‘x * * * inahectic fever. I had been sitting by her bedside for two days past. I had consulted with Herr Doctor von Nor den, in whose judgment I had the greatest confidence ; and he had agreed with me that the case was abnormal. Excessive and per- sistent nausea seemed to threaten her life. The child, continually moaning, tossed fever- ishly from side to side. I held one little parched hand in mine, feeling occasionally the pulse, which had risen to one hundred andthirty. In order the more easily to apply the cooling lotions, I had gathered up her bright hair behind her upon the pillow. I should have cropped it, but I could not bring myself to do so. It was her pride. ‘*T had sent the nurse to her bed for the night, saying that I myself would adminis- ter the medicines at the prescribed intervals. By my side was a little table with phials, bandages, and so forth, upon it ; I laid beside them my watch, to hold me in mind that at 11.30 a cooling draught was to be given. ‘‘Gazing at Babette, and occasionally at the fire, I lived over again the hopes and dis- appointments of the last few months. I thought that I was down stairs in my labora- tory. Experiment after experiment passed in bewildering succession before my mind. Now one clinical subject, now another, lay before me. This moment, Max; that, the white dog I had bought from the officer of Hussars, was stretched in ‘the cradle.’

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ON THE I GATHERED THE CHILD WITH THE BED-CLOTHES INTO MY ARMS, ‘I had opened the carotid, and was agi- tating anxiously the blood as it flowed into I the beaker ; I turned my eyes to look for the flask behind me; the protruding head of Max was replaced by the coarse, unshaven features of the wife-murderer. The serum was rising rapidly to the surface, and as rapidly as it gathered I removed it. The tall receiver glowed with bright scarlet ; I re-in- jected it, not into the criminal’s thick neck, but into the throat of Babette. And there she lay before me, her cheeks flushing with the return of life; while by the prostrate form barked her dog. SEVENTH LEVEL. (To be continued.) wah A) vers AND CARRIED HER TO MY LABORATORY. ‘ Gott im Himmel!’ cried I, ‘have I slept?’ Max had put both his paws on my arm, and was thrusting his nose into my face, whining as he did so, and uttering short barks as if to attract my attention to Babette. Glancing at my watch, I saw that it was after three o’clock. I sprang to her bedside; Babette lay in a state of coma; her hands were cold; she had passed the crisis while I slept, and she was sinking rapidly. I drank a glass of cold water to steady my nerves ; gathered the child with the bed-ciothes into my arms, and carried her to my laboratory.”’

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THE PARIS CONSERVATOIRE. BY MADAME M. VAN DE VELDE. HE Conservatoire of Paris underwent many changes and passed through vari- ous phases before it became an admirable and widely known school of gratuitous teaching of the first order for lyrical and dramatic students. Institutions with a similar aim, but wide- ly different in its application, date from an already remote period and had their origin in Italy, where they were at first pious foundations for foundlings or poor orphans and destitute children. The oldest of which mention is made existed at Naples about the year 1350, and was sadly deficient alike in members and pupils. To remedy this scar- city and repeople the school, the monstrous and iniquitous proposal was made to the Government that in every family having four sons, one of them should be physically disqualified for any other profession than that of singer ; that, after having submitted to a surgical operation, these unfortunate vic- tims should be taught their art at the ex- pense of the Government, with the proviso that in after years they were bound to refund the outlay out of their earnings, unless the Church should want to secure their services permanently, in which case it would have to pay the institution a stipulated sum. How- ever, notwithstanding the barbarous customs and license of the epoch, this proposal was rejected as immoral and its author sentenced to ten years’ imprisonment. In the Conservatoire of Our Lady of Loret- to, founded by a Spanish ecclesiastic in 1537, two hundred pupils were taught ; in that of San Onorio, in Capuana (1576), ninety ; and one hundred at the Pieta in Capuana (1687), also called det Turchini, because the students were all clad in uniform garments of blue cloth. They were admitted at theageof eight, the boys remaining in the institution till they were twenty, the girls till they married. The Conservatoire of Naples has produced some of the most celebrated composers— Pergolese, Cimarosa, etc. Each school had two principal professors—one for harmony, the other for singing. The pupils habitually served mass in the different churches of the city ; they slept in large dormitories, which were used as class-rooms during the day, and small regard was paid to the most or- dinary requirements of comfort, or even de- cency. None of these primitive institutions are now in existence; the progress of civiliz- ation in Italy, and possibly a less ardent love of art, has swept away the cruel and rude schools of earlier ages. After the French invasion by Napoleon I., Murat, during his tenure of the Neapolitan throne, created the Royal College of Music, and introduced for the students a blue uniform having a silver lyre embroidered on the collar. The directors were appointed by the em- peror himself. The famous Crescentin?, whom he afterward summoned to Paris, at a sal- ary enormous for the time, was one of the masters of song at that school, which sent forth such artists as Bellini, Mercadante, and Lablache. Literature and philosophy were likewise included in the studies of the Naples Conservatoire, and the education given to young men was considered very superior. In the year 1671, Terrin and Chambert founded a Royal Academy of Music in Paris. It was recruited from the Marchises of the churches (the youths employed in the cere- monies and choirs), and numbered about fifteen thousand chorister boys, some of whom became, under tuition, first-rate musi- cians. The manager of the opera, having previously obtained the approval of the first gentleman of the king’s chamber, was en- titled to command the appearance on his stage of any pupil he might select, and in this way he was enabled to fill satisfac- torily any vacancies in his company. In 1726 Lulli created a school of song, to which more than fifty years later was added one of declamation, and also one of danc- ing. It is not exactly known for what rea- son these establishments went under the name of Magasins, and the female students were called Filles de Magasin, but it is a fact, that owing to the stringency of the existing rules, they abjured all independ- ence on entering themselves on the registers, the authority of parents and husbands even expiring on the threshold of the institution. On August 3, 1795 (sixteenth Messidor,

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THE PARIS CONSERVATOIRE. 33 AMBROISE THOMAS, DIRECTOR OF THE PARIS CONSERVATOIRE, year III.), a law was promulgated definitely organizing the Conservatoire of Paris, under the name and upon almost the same basis which it has preserved ever since. In the beginning the number of the professors was fixed at one hundred and fifteen, that of the pupils at six hundred, and the expenses at two hundred and forty thousand francs per annum ; but as early as 1802 the number of both professors and pupils was much re- duced, and the outlay limited to one hun- dred thousand francs. The Conservatoire had also the disposal of a limited number of small, cell-like apartments, called /oges, in which the competitors for the Prix de Rome, awarded for composition, were in a measure placed in solitary confinement during the period allotted to the completion of the task. These small rooms, situated beyond the concert hall, had grated, narrow windows that gaze on the Rue Ste. Cécile ; they were neither cheerful, roomy, norcomfortable, and yet many a successful composer has looked back upon the hours spent between those four walls as the happiest of his life, and recalled regretfully the dreams of wild ambi- tion that exalted and ennobled them. The students were not, however, kept in constant durance ; compelled to work in absolute soli- tude, they were allowed a fairly long time for recreation, and during the evening recess were even permitted to re- ceive the visits of their parents and of one or two friends. The meals were taken in common, and some- times amidst loud hilarity. Massenet is the last of the lau- reates who won the Grand Prix in these Joges. When Hérold com- peted for the Prix de Rome, and got it,his mother found him, on the evening of the sixth day, playing with a large ball in the yard and solacing himself in that way after his spell of hard work. Halévy, who won the same honor in 1819, was of a serious disposition and disdained recreation. At the age of fifteen he was 7¢pétiteur of solfége at the Conservatoire, and used to say, half humorously, that he was somuch shorterthan his pupils that they had to heap partitions on the music stool to enable him to play their accompaniments.’ In 1832 Ambroise Thomas, the present Director of the Conservatoire, went to Rome after the Concours, and in 1839 Gounod, who had made the regulation stay in the /oges for the third time, carried off the prize with a can- tata. The work of the young composers consists in setting to music a cantata dictated to them just before their examination. Immediately after they are taken to their cells, where each finds a piano and writing materials. They formerly had three weeks to finish their la- bors. Now the cantata having taken a larger development, they have twenty-five days. Those who have finished sooner are free to leave the /oge as soon as they have given up their score. The Prix de Rome, given by the Academy of Fine Arts, is of twenty thousand francs, and the recipient is, during four years, the pensioner of the state. The building of the Conservatoire stands at the angle of the Faubourg St. Honoré and the Rue Berge, and opens besides on the streets of the Conservatoire and Ste. Cécile. It is, on the whole, an uninteresting edifice, of considerable size, but of no particular style of architecture, and devoid of any grace or elegance of ornamentation. It is unsavory, unattractive, and open to the objection of harboring foul smells. Through a dark,

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34 vaulted entrance admission is gained into an inner court with neither trees, turf, nor shrubs, a dreary graveled yard compressed between tall walls. Several times a day the gloomy silence is disturbed by discordant sounds and shrieks issuing from the interior, when the pupils are in class. The Conservatoire is divided into four dis- tinct quarters. The front facade is occupied by the apartments of the director, M. Am- broise Thomas, by the offices of the admin- istration, and by those of the secretary. On the left are the class-rooms for harmony, declamation, and composition ; on the right is the concert room, and near to it the library and museum. The concours,or yearly public examination, is held in the concert hall at the close of the scholastic year, which begins in October and lasts till August. The auditions, or minor and more frequent examinations for admission, progress of studies, etc., take place in a smaller hall on the ground floor, which can accommodate from three to four hundred people and is provided with a pit and two rows of boxes. The stage is slightly raised, and reached from the body of the hall by a few steps. There is notasingle window. In this apartment are also given the cours, or lectures, on musical and dramatic history. M. MASSENET. THE PARIS CONSERVATOIRE. The first concours took place in 1802, under the name of Z-rercises. Concerts were given duritig the year, suspended for a time, and resumed regularly, after an interruption of twelve years, under the directorship of M. Sarrette. Seven may be given annually. At each of them a pupil having received a prize during the last twelvemonth must be heard, if he is a singer or executant, and one piece must be played of the composers who have been laureates and sent to Rome or Germany within three years. The library of the Conservatoire is well stocked with valuable works. It consists of many volumes sequestrated at the Palais Royal during the Revolution and of the last century ; others, rare and precious, belonging to the reign of Louis XIV. ; complete Ger- man collections, editions of Italian maes- tros, among them a complete one of Pal- estrina’s compositions ; similar collections from Vienna ; twelve thousand volumes of orchestral and operatic scores and those set for the piano ; forty thousand detached pieces of music, symphonies, cantatas, fugues, etc., with every publication relating to music or the drama. The library is open daily to the public, with the exception of the obligatory festivals—not including Sundays—and the vacation. The museum, to which the pub- lic is admitted twice a week, con- tains almost every specimen of antique and modern musical in- strument known, with many in- teresting articles pertaining to the manufacture of the same. The Conservatoire is under the supervision of a director, who ex- ercises almost absolute authority over the interior arrangements and work of instruction. He is ap- pointed by the Government, and has under him a manager, a sec- retary, an accountant, an overseer of the class-rooms, an assistant overseer, in whose charge is the museum and who has the super- vision of all the instruments used in the lessons, a chief librarian, a custodian, and a ‘‘ chef de classe.”’ The teaching is divided into nine sections: 1. Solfége and musical theory; 2. Harmony, organ, and composition ; 3. Singing and lyr-

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THE PARTS CONSERVATOIRE. 3 nn “Tr A MUSIC LESSON UNDER MASSENET. ical declamation; 4. Piano and harp; 5. String instruments ; 6. Wind instruments ; 7. Orchestral and chorus classes ; 8. Reading aloud, reciting, and dramatic declamation ; 9. General history of music and dramatic literature. The teaching body consists of home and outside professors, of accompagnateurs for the study of parts, and of répétiteurs. The professors and accompagnateurs are nomi- nated by the State, when presented by the Director of the Conservatoire and proposed by the Under Secretary of State for the Fine Arts. The répétiteurs are nominated by the director alone for a period of three years, which may be renewed at their request, but without giving them any claim to the title of professor. There are two teaching committees or councils, one for musical, one for dramatic studies, presided over by the Minister of Fine Arts, or, in his absence, by the Under Secretary or the Director of the Conserva- toire. The two councils may be summoned, together or separately, to take a decision on any measure of general interest respecting the instruction given in the different sec- tions. Each of these nine sections has a jury, composed of members of the council and its own special professors, which pro- nounces on the admissions to the Conserva- toire, and another one for class examina- tions, from which the professor giving the lectures is excluded. In the case of the admission or examination of dramatic stu- dents, the administrator of the Théatre Fran- cais is a member of the jury. The competitory examinations for ad- mission take place between the 15th of October and the 15th of December. Every pupil desiring to enter the Conservatoire must have inscribed himself on a register at the secretary’s office, and be provided with a certificate of birth and one of vaccin- ation. “Those afflicted with any disfigure- ment, impediment of speech, or physical deformity are disqualified even for the pre- liminary examination. In the case of those

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THE PARIS CONSERVATOIRE. le a living in the provinces, the director is authorized, if he deems it urgent, to pay the traveling fare to Paris and allow an indem- nity to cover the expense of living away from home. Should the applicant fail to be admitted, his traveling expenses are none the less made good to him. Boarding-schools were attached to the institution, those for girls being suppressed in 1826. They were ruled by the director, under the supervision of a head master. The regulations were rather binding : among others were some obliging the inmates to put out their lights at eleven ; to be up at half-past six in summer and half-past seven in winter; to keep their rooms, books, and instruments in good order; to receiye no visitors, or leave the school without permis- sion ; never to attend any theater or concert- room except with the authorization and company of the master, and to retire to bed immediately on their return. The pupils sufficiently proficient and those able to play their own accompaniments, were allowed to havea piano in their rooms after having been in the school over a year. By a decree of 1828, boarders could be engaged for three years at any of the royal theaters, at salaries increasing from two thousand francs the first year, to three thousand thesecond, and three thousand six hundred the last. The head master was privileged to take four private paying pupil boarders, but no more. No student is at present admitted to the Conservatoire under nine years of age or over twenty-two, the whole course lasting three years. Excep- tions are made in favor of aspirants who, having passed the stipulated limit, are judged by the council to be endowed with sufficient ability to en- able them to conclude their studies in two years. After the preliminary examination, if it proves successful, the pupils are yet only admitted con- ditionally. A second examination takes place at the end of the first six months, the result of which gives them their final nomination. The other examinations are quarterly, and the director has the right to dismiss from the Conservatoire any pupil not showing sufficient progress, as also to promote into a higher class those who have deserved it. The pupils for declamation are obliged to follow a class of deportment, and those pre- paring themselves for the stage have to learn fencing, and to acquire suppleness of limb and ease of gesture by calisthenic exercises. Any pupil not attending his class twice in the same month, without showing legitimate cause for his absence, is struck off the rolls. The pupils are bound by the tenure of their contract with the Conservatoire to enter into no engagement with any theater till their course is over or till their studies are con- sidered completed by the director; besides which, it is stipulated that at the end of the three years they give their services during a space of two years to any of the theaters sub- sidized by the Government whose manager may claim their co-operation. Foreign as- pirants are received with a special authori- zation of the Minister of Fine Arts. They enjoy the same privileges and are sub- mitted to the same obligations as those of French extraction, with the exception that they are only admitted to compete for prizes in the second year of their course of study at the Conservatoire. Twelve pensions of one thousand eight hun- dred francs are granted by Concours to the pupils of both sexes who have followed the singing classes and prepare themselves for

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THE PARTS CONSERVATOIRE. 37 the lyric stage. Ten pensions of six hundred francs are allotted in the same way to those successful pupils devoting themselves to a dramatic career. These pensions are given by the state, on the proposition of the ex- amining committee, supported by the Direc- tor of the Conservatoire. They can be sus- pended by a disciplinary measure, in part or in total, by the director or by the com- mittee after an examination. If all have not been awarded, the surplus fund can be dis- tributed during the year in small gratuities as special rewards. At each half-yearly examination the coun- cil decides whether the pupils shall be dis- missed or retained. After the examination of June, the pupils who are to compete at the concours of August 2 are selected by the committee. The subjects of competition are decided upon every year by the same authori- ties. However large the number of pupils of each sex competent to take a part in the concours, none are excluded ; but, except in the case of lyrical and dramatic declamation, the young men andthe young girls are heard separately, and the rewards to each are ofa different nature. Every pupil who, after having studied three years, has not been selected for a concours is struck off the rolls, as well as those who, having competed three times, have won neither prize nor accessit, and those who, after having been called once, have competed twice unsuccessfully. The rewards are classed as follows: first and second prize, first and second accessit. For the classes of solfége and the preparatory ones of piano and violin, there are three grades of medals. The distribution of prizes takes place immediately after the concours. Each laureate receives a diploma with silver medals for the first and second prizes. A pupil obtaining the first prize may still, if he chooses, remain another year in his class. There are several public exercises a year, four of which are devoted to dramatic recit- als. No pupil selected to take a part in any of them can refuse, under penalty of being dismissed. If the rules and obligations imposed on the i *Anrnen, due G°eDman’ (eee eee os Ik: Sig i Ve ee HAL” obs \i ‘ Cult Gad dt A DRAMATIC LESSON UNDER GOT.

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THE PARIS CONSERVATOIRE. M. DELAUNAY, PROFESSOR OF DECLAMATION AT THE CONSERVATOIRE. pupils are strict, they are not less severe for the professors. Their classes last two hours at a stretch, and they are bound to arrive punctually to the minute at the stated time ; nor are they permitted to leave a moment before the end of the two regulation hours. The overseer of the class-room closes the door immediately after the clock has struck, and is bound to report any irregularity of attendance on his day-book. He calls the roll and he also delivers the ¢.veat (bulletin de sortie) to each student at the eid of the lesson. The professors are prohibited from making any appointment or receiving strangers while on duty. If they miss any of their classes, save for reasons of illness, they are obliged to make them good before the endof the month. They have unquestioned control over their class-rooms, teach after their own method, and must not be sum- moned away under any pretext whatever. They have to fill a daily printed report sheet - recording the progress of each pupil and any special remarks they may wish to make. A series of figures from six to naught indicates the degree of satisfaction deserved. No pro- fessor is on the examining jury of his own classes, but is obliged to take his place in the others when requested to do so. The classes are divided into three sets, the first series lasting from nine to eleven ; the second from half-past eleven to half-past one ; the third from two till four. The intervening thirty minutes are occupied by the at- tendants, who set the rooms to right, replenish the inkstands, dust the instruments, and prepare for the next lecture. Their duties be- gin at eight, with sweeping, scour- ing, and lighting fires ; at nine they don their uniform. Twice a week they have to cleanse the inside of all the pianos. Dancing classes are held three times a week. In 1855 lectures on history and literature in connec- tion with lyrical and dramatic art were added. The first course, given by Fabre, was inaugurated with a speech by Samson, the clever com- edian of the Théatre Francais. In the same year a fourth and special class of declamation was created in honor of Mademoiselle Rachel, who was appointed professor; but her al- ready failing health prevented her from ever assuming the arduous duty of teaching. The first Director of the Conservatoire was Monsieur Sarrette, who died at the advanced age of ninety-two, in April, 1858, having been elected in i794. Although he had retired from his post for some years, his long and valuable services were gratefully remembered, and a solemn funeral service, attended by all the notables of Paris, bore testimony to the high reputation he had earned. Among his best-known successors were Cherubini, Méhul, and Auber, with many others of great merit and ability. The present director, Ambroise Thomas, the author of ‘‘ Psyche,”’ ‘‘ Mignon,”’ ‘‘ Hamlet,”’ etc., has attempted to correct certain abuses which had crept in under the laxer rule of his predecessors. Finding that the boarders stayed out at night beyond hours, he struck off the boarding-house, not perhaps with the beneficial result he expected, for, de- prived of any restraint, the future tenors and barytones are more likely still to imperil the purity and flexibility of their voices in dan- gerous pursuits. The pitch (diapason) was regulated and made invariable in July, 1858. In thecourse of a century it was found to have risen, gradually and constantly. The scores of

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THE PARIS CONSERVATOIRE. 39 Gluck bear sufficient evidence thereof. They had been written under the system of the far lower pitch then in use. It was, more- over, not uniform, the ‘‘ton’’ of the opera, says Rousseau, being lower than that of the king’s chapel ; and yet even with this advan- tage the singers of that epoch strained their voices by screaming, and had therefore no sensible excuse for carrying the pitch higher and higher. The most important of the cours are those on musical composition, harmony, and fugues. They are given by Massenet, Guisand, and Leo Delibes, who each give two lessons a week. Massenet is the first master of the new school admitted into the arcana of classical traditions. M. Massenet gives his lesson in a room of moderate dimensions, furnished sparingly with an Erard piano, a blackboard, near which is his arm-chair, a table, surrounded by ten or twelve pupils, and beyond some forms for the auditors,* who average about twenty-five. While the master discourses a hushed attention reigns, and the whole class hangs on his words. If-he fancies that he has not made his meaning sufficiently clear, he darts off to the piano and plays the ob- scure passage with the delicate, artistic touch so characteristic of his composi- tions. On these occasions all the pupils rise, the outsiders stand on their benches leaning forwartt over their companions’ heads and barely repress their applause. When Mas- senet has some favorite pupil of great promise, he volunteers to give him an extra lesson on Sun- days at his own private residence, almost always upon orchestra- tion. He is young, cheerful, and frequently indulges in gentle pleas- antry. Dramatic declamation is at the present time taught by three pro- fessors,—Got, Delaunay, and Mau- baut. Their lessons are given in a special apartment provided with a rudimentary stage. The male portion of the audience sits on one side, the female on the other. In * Students who are not admitted as pupils at a first examination are permitted to assist at certain lessons. no class of the Conservatoire are the sexes allowed to mingle. Monsieur Got enjoys special immunities, and has been known to arrive from his cozy hermitage at Passy twenty minutes late, in open defiance of the rules. When he ap- pears he is gloomy and severe, he signs the presence sheet in stern silence, bows or nods to no one, and waits impatiently till the overseer has called over the pupils ; but as soon as he is left alone with them his man- ner changes, he talks gayly, chaffs the absentees, and uses racy and even Rabe- laisian expressions. Got is the most orig- inal of the professors of the Conservatoire. He is a great and erudite reader, an excellent classical scholar, and a devout worshiper of purity and perfection of language. The slightest error of diction jars upon his ear, and he is a severe critic of style, despising exaggeration and bathos, and intolerant of carelessness or slang. He does not spare his pupils, especially those in whom he takes most interest. His abrupt interpola- tions and ironical reproofs are as terse as they are discomposing. He is pitiless for the awkward, the inattentive, the slow. On the other hand, an accurate gesture, a just and novel intonation, fill him with delight, M. WORMS, OF THE COMEDIE FRANCAISE, ASSISTANT OF M. DELAUNAY.

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40 THE PARIS CONSERVATOIRE. and he is chary neither of encomiumn or encouragement. ‘‘Excellent! Excellent !’’ he exclaims ; ‘‘ 7 shall remember that, only you try not to forget it.’’ Got holds that a scene must be conducted with musical rhythm and delicate crescendo, beginning with a quiet andante and passing with an allegro to a rapid but not hurried finale. Delaunay has less vigor and more femi- ninity. The ‘‘ jeune premier,’’ whose eternal youth has been the surprise of several gen- erations, and which, coupled with his other gifts, made him the most irresistible of stage lovers, leaves his pupils little initiative, and, in his anxiety to inoculate them with his own qualities, has at times only imparted to them his defects, magnified by their own in- feriority to the master. He likes to hear his own voice, and to interpolate anecdotes that have little in common with the lesson, but which enable him to introduce piquant and not always charitable remarks about his col- leagues. Delaunay’s best pupils have been Mile. Muller and M. LeBargy. Monsieur Obin, a remarkable personality of the Conservatoire, is ‘‘ Professor of Opera.’”’ Notwithstanding his great age, heis as active and energetic as a young man. He is very peremptory in the matter of staging, and will have it carried out according to his own views. ‘Whole acts of operas have been set by him more minutely than they ever are at the Royal Academy of Music. He himself knows and sings every part: tenors, bary- tones, basses, and even sopranos. He rushes from one side of the stage to the other, taking up his own cue, dropping on his knees for the Air de Grace in ‘‘ Robert le Diable,’’ and with his back to the audience thrilling them with his pathetic despair. Singular as it may seem, no one has ever been known to smile at M. Obin’s performances. -He is exceedingly violent when excited, hurling volleys of injurious epithets at a pupil fora false note, and even once aiming an ink- stand at an offender, which struck the over- seer, who had just slipped in to inquire into the cause of the uproar. There are eight professors of singing at the Conservatoire, eleven of piano, one of organ, six of violin, two of violoncello. All the other orchestral instruments are taught each by a master, men of established talent and repute. Joachim and Rubinstein have repeatedly affirmed that in no other country is the teaching body as a whole so good as in Paris. More than six hundred pupils now receive gratuitously the best musical education in the world. Their powers are tested, their natural aptitudes cultivated, their talent brought to the highest degree of perfection it can attain. If they reach the upper grades of the Conservatoire and gain a first prize, they achieve without further trouble an opening in their professional career. It is true that in certain barren years the judges of the concours find no one worthy of a first prize, and that even the second has been given to competitors who, if they had had more serious rivals, would barely have carried off an accessit ; but the great outside public has promptly meted out justice to these, and they have receded into obscurity. Some of the most promising ¢/2ves of the Conserva- toire, the justly crowned laureates, have, on the other hand, not lived up to the expecta- tions they aroused. The Grand Opéra of Paris is charged with the obligation of allowing the first prize of singing or in default the second prize, to ap- pear on its stage a fixed number of times during one year after the concours, and to let the public hear the singer in two operas. If the débutants are really good, although dur- ing that probationary year their services are given unpaid, the management will fre- quently aliot them substantial gratification after each performance, and secure them with advantageous engagements afterward. Those who do not win the favor of the pub- lic are simply dismissed at the end of the obligatory term; and if the débufants are not immediately drafted into the company of the Opéra or into some theater of solid standing, their future career can pretty ac- curately be considered as a failure. The same happens for dramatic artists. The Comédie Francaise does for them what the National Academy of Music does for singers.

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THE PENITENT BROTHERS. By C. F. LuMMIs. NTIL recent times the practice of self-flagellation (as a religious custom) continued to manifest itself inter- mittently in the south of France, and also in Italy and Spain ; and so late-as 1820 a procession of flagel- lants took place at Jisbon.”’ So the Encyclopedia Britannica winds up what purports to be an outline of the history of self-whip- ping as a means of grace. Aye, verily, venerable oracle! And so late as 1888 a procession of flagellants took place within the limits of the United States,—a procession in which voters of this Republic shredded their naked backs with savage whips, staggered under the weight of huge crosses, and hugged the maddening needles of the cactus ; a procession which culminated in the flesh- and-blood crucifixion of an unworthy representative of the Redeemer ! The order of Los Hermanos Penitentes (‘‘ The Peni- tent Brothers’’) was founded in Spain some three hundred years ago. It had nothing of the scourge in its original plan. Its members met for religious study and conversation, and were men of good morals and good sense, ‘‘according to their lights.'’ The seeds of the order were brought to Mexico, and later to CUATE, HERMANO DE LUZ. what is now New Mexico, by the Franciscan friars with the Spanish conguistadores.* Just when and how the devolution took place, how the Flagellant branch was grafted upon the Penitente stem, I have been unable to learn ; but it was probably after the order had taken root among the brave but ignorant and fanatic people who sprang from Spain’s contribution to the New World. At all events, it is certain that for over a century there has been in New Mexico an order of Penitentes whose creed was founded upon the whip and the cross as instruments of penance. Up to within a decade the order in this Territory numbered several thousands, with fraternities in towns of every county. Their strongholds were in Taos, Mora, and Rio Arriba counties, where ten years ago they had respectively a membership of five hundred, three hundred, and one thousand. Los Griegos, a hamlet just below Albuquerque, was also a particular hotbed of them; and many dwelt in the fast- nesses of the Sandia Mountains. In 1867, as I learn from church records, there were nine hundred Penitentes+ within a radius of ten miles of the little town of Taos. The order was unquestionably of Franciscan origin. In Spanish letters patent of as late date as 1793 we find it referred to as ‘‘La Cofradia del tercer orden de Franciscanos,’’"—the Brotherhood of the Third Order of Franciscans. t+It is interesting to note that a tribal penance, vicariously done, has been a custom among the Pueblo Indians from time immemorial, and is still observed. Twice every year, in each of the nineteen now inhabited pueblos, a penitential fast of four days is kept by allotted parties. In Isleta six men and six women are selected to expiate thus the sins of the whole pueblo; and in some pueblos the whole adult population fasts. Where a small number bear the sins of all, they are shut up in the es¢ufa (sacred council chamber), with a ¢/naja of water before each, but they must not drink. Every morning a delegation comes to wash their feet. This fast continues four days. It is the only form of penance known to exist among them now, aside from what is imposed by the Church. When the Spanish conguistadores first entered New Mexico they found traces of a similar custom of then great antiquity. All the tribes had their tribal professional penitents. The word cacigue, so widely mis- used, means nothing else. The Tanos Indians, whose pueblos then occupied the country about Galisteo—Santa Fé's present site being also included in their territory—were called by a name based on the method of their 4

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42 THE PENITENT BROTHERS. Each town had its independent frater- nity, ruled by an Hermano Mayor (Chief Brother), who was elected annually by his fellows. He had no superior, and was not even obliged to hold counsel with the neighboring hermanos mayores. In scores of lonely cafions throughout the Territory, the traveler may see to this day the deserted, low, stone houses, with huge, rude crosses leaning in slow decay against their walls— mute tokens of the bloody rites which the surrounding hills used to witness. The order was too strong in early days to be excommunicated at one fell swoop; and the Catholic Church—to which all the Peni- tentes claim allegiance—went at the work with prudent deliberation, lopping off a head here and a head there in a leisurely way, which carried its full lesson without pro- voking rebellion. The policy has been a successful one. Town after town has aban- doned its Holy Week ‘‘celebrations,’’ frater- nity after fraternity has melted away to nothingness. In the year 1888 but three villages in the Territory had Penitente pro- cessions; and only one—San Mateo, in the western end of Valencia County—enjoyed a crucifixion. Lent is the sole season of Penitente activ- ity. During the rest of the year their relig- ion is allowed to lapse, and the Brothers placidly follow their various vocations as laborers, cowboys, or shepherds. With the beginning of the sacred forty days, however, they enter upon their sacrificial duties. Every Friday night in Lent, the belated wayfarer among the interior ranges is liable to be startled by the hideous /00-00tle-te-o0 of an unearthly whistle which shrills over and over one plaintive refrain. As the midnight wind sweeps down the lonely cafion, that weird sound seems the wail of a tortured soul. I have known men of approved bravery to flee from that noise when they heard it for the first time. A simple air on a fife made of the cervisos seems peuance. This name in the Queres tongue was /vo-yva- tye, from poo-va,a thorn. They were the tribe whose caciques did penance by pricking themselves with thorns of the palmilla, the maguey, or cactus. Just how this pricking was done is not known. Whether it was by lying on beds of thorns, and lashing prickly bur- dens to the body, as the Mexican Penitentes now do, or whether merely by jabbing the individual thorn through the cuticle, is still a mystery. Prof. Ad. F. Bandelier—now historian of the Hemenway Southwest a mild enough matterin the reading; but its wild shriek, which can be heard for miles, carries an indescribable and uncanny terror with it. The oldest inhabitant crosses him- self and looks askance when that sound floats out to him from the mountain gorges. If the hearer have the courage of his curi- osity and will eaplore the sound, his eyes will share the astonishment and consterna- tion of his ears. Let him cautiously stalk his game, and he may view a sight which might grace a niche in Dante’s ghastly gallery. Ahead, a tall pitero, torturing that unearthly unharmony from his rude reed fifo, and recognizable as the leading musician of a neighboring village: a few rods behind, two other na- tives bearing lanterns before the feet of the astounding figure which follows them—a head loosely hidden in a black bag like that which the hangman puts upon his victim; a body naked to the waist, and clothed below with no more than a pair of flapping linen drawers, now wet with red; bare feet, purple with the cruel cold of a New Mexican March, yet not too frozen to bleed in slow response to the frozen rocks; and arms swinging mechanically up at each step and bringing a broad, plaited whip down upon the macer- ated back with a heavy swash! <A few rods more to the rear comes another man, in the same fantastic undress, but without the whip. He staggers under an enormous cross, its rear end crunching on the rocks and snow twenty feet or more behind, its weight five times that of its bearer. And slowly, painfully, with bleeding backs and feet and freezing bodies, the self-made mar- tyrs with their solemn attendants file past the trembling watcher and disappear among the querulons pines, through whose arches the tootle of the fife floats fitfully back. Each Friday night of Lent these strange specters flit through the loneliest mountain gorges, until Holy Week; and then the whip- ping goes on nightly—but still in privacy. Expedition. and the only real savant in the Southwest except Mr. Frank Cushing—has thus far discovered nothing that will throw more explicit light on this subject. As a tribe the Tanos are now extinct, save at the Tegua pueblo of Moqui. In old Mexico there is really nothing to be compared to the Penitentes. The reign of the Phariseos and the Holy Week representation of the Crucifixion and the Resurrection by life-like automatons belong in a widely different category.

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—s SESS "1 ae ae WS FES * sees Bub D Sh tin ek bs 1 a Drawn by G. E. Burr SAN MATEO.

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44 It is not until Holy Thursday that the scattered knots of fanatics come together in some spot where they have a morada (brotherhood house), and do their penance by daylight, where the curious may see with- out danger to life or limb. The hamlet of San Mateo—a straggling procession of brown adobes at the very foot of the mesa foundation of Mount Taylor, at an altitude of nearly eight thousand feet— contains four hundred people. It is perhaps the most unreclaimed Mexican village in New Mexico. Not half a dozen of its peo- ple speak the language of the United States. A little over a year ago a witch was stoned to death there, who had played the cynical trick of turning an estimable citizen intoa woman for the space of three months! Nu- merous other inhabitants have suffered— though none else so severely—at the hands of witches ; and several in the town have seen and held converse with his Satanic Maj- esty! Little wonder, then, that the dwin- dling Penitentes have still kept a foothold there, or that the population is in awed and active sympathy with their brutalities. Half a mile along the crazy road which wanders up into thecafion, whose clear rivu- let is the life of the people, stands the rude little log-built mill, its big, overshot v Z A wheel taking impulse from a mon- ster spout of pine; its grumbling / stones chewing the plump y wheat into a brown, nutritious o flour ; its madonna-faced mistress divided between = . SOME OF THE BROTHERS OF LIGHT. = THE PENITENT BROTHERS. the falling grist and her toddling babe. Across the road a couple of hundred vards distant, backed up against a rocky bluff, the morada’s gloomy walls glower down upon the pretty scene. It is a low, rude hut of stone, some forty by fifteen feet in exterior dimensions, with one door, two small win- dows, and two rooms divided by a narrow hallway. The rough walls are unchinked, the floor is of earth. There are neither chairs, benches, tables, nor beds—nothing but two of the quaint New Mexico corner fireplaces ; and a few pegs in the wall, from which depend the whips, stained and stiff with dry blood. Against the outer walls lean fourrude crosses. The largest is twenty- five feet long, and weighs close upon eight hundred pounds ; the smallest two hundred. A few hundred yards down the cafion, a sugar-loaf hillock, known as £/ Calvario, elbows the road. Uponits top stands another large cross—the scene of former crucifixions. I had been watching feverishly for Holy Week to come. No photographer had ever caught the Penitentes with his sun-lasso, and I was assured of death in various unattract- ive forms at the first hint of an attempt. But when the ululation of the fifo filled the ear at night, enthusiasm crowded prudence to the wall. The village air grew heavy with mysterious whisperings and solemn expectancy. Whatever they talked about, the people were evidently thinking of nothing else. I wandered through fields and arroyos at all hours of night, trying to trail that mysterious whistle whose echoes seemed to come from all points of the compass; but in vain. My utmost reward was a glimpse of three ghostly figures just disappearing inside Juanito’s house on the hill. But atlast the 29th of March came around, and with it Holy Thursday. At nine A.M. the shrilling of the pito close at hand called us out of the house in haste ; but already the three responsible Penitentes had vanished in the tall chaparral. We greased the rattling buckboard, and hurried over to the village. Every one was out, but they were no longer the friendly faitsanos we had known. The sight of the cam- era-box and tripod provoked omi-

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THE PENITENT BROTHERS. THE BUCKHORN CACTUS. nous scowls and mutterings on every hand. Nine tenths of the population were clus- tered in close, listless groups along little wart of houses upon a hill which over- hangs the campo santo (burying-ground), at the upper end of town. Squatting with backs against the ’dobe walls, the men rolled cigarettes from corn-husks or brown paper, and talked intermittently. The women nursed their babes unconstrainedly, and rolled brown-paper or corn-husk cigarettes. I stowed the obnoxious instrument inside a friendly house, and waited. Waiting seems natural in a Mexican town. The minutes loafed into hours ; and still the talking, the nursing, the smoking went on. Nobody thought of moving. It was two P.M. when a stir in the crowd on the hill-top told us that it was coming at last; and the camera was straightway planted behind the adobe ramparts of the door-yard. In five minutes more a fifer came over the ridge, followed by five women sing- ing hymns; and behind them a half-naked figure with bagged head, swinging his delib- erate whip, whose swish, thud! swish, thud ! we could hear plainly two hundred yards away, punctuating the weird music. In measured step the pilgrims paced along the reeling footpath, and disappeared around a spur toward the morada. Half an hour later the fife again asserted itself up the cajfion ; and soon reappeared with its persecutor, the singing women and the lone self-torturer. As he passed on to the graveyard, we saw that little red rivulets were beginning to stain the white of his ca/zoncillos. I hurried tothe hill-top, to get near enough for a ‘‘shot;’’ but the mob, hitherto only scowling, was now openly hostile, and I would have fared ill but for the prompt action of Don Ireneo Chaves, whose reckless bravery—a proverb in all that country of brave men—none cared to provoke. With two stanch, well-armed friends, he held back the evil-faced mob, while the ‘‘ forty”’ plates were being snapped at the strange scene below. Suddenly another fifer came over the hill, followed by more women and seven peni- tentes. Of the latter, four were whipping themselves, and three staggered under

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46 THE PENITENT BROTHERS. crosses of crushing weight. Slowly and solemnly they strode down the slope to the stone-walled graveyard, filed through the roofed entrance, whipped themselves throughout all the paths, knelt in prayer at each grave, kissed the foot of the central board cross, and filed out again. These services lasted twenty minutes. The fore- most cross-carrier, after leaving the grave- yard a few rods behind, fell face down under his fearful load, and lay there with the great cross-arm resting upon his neck. One of the Hermanos de Luz (‘‘ Brothers of Light,”’ who do not castigate themselves, but act as attendants upon those who do) took a whip and gave him fifty resounding blows on the bare back. Then two ayudantes lifted him to his feet, laid the great timbers upon his neck, and steadied the ends as he tottered onward. Once he was about to sink again, but they revived him with emphatic kicks. So the ghastly procession crept thrice from morada to campo santo and back. At seven o’clock that night the fanatic band came marching down to the hospitable house of Col. Manuel Chaves, the most ex- traordinary Indian fighter New Mexico ever produced. A little family chapel stands a few rods from the house, behind two sturdy oaks, in whose never-forgotten shade Col. Chaves rested one awful day fifty-six years ago, when, sieyed by seven Navajo arrows, he was crawling his bloody one hundred and fifty miles homeward to Cebolleta. Hither the procession turned. There were now five Hermanos Disciplinantes, but only one of them was using his whip—a short, youthful- seeming fellow of beautiful muscular devel- opment. Kneeling in turn and kissing the rude cross that leaned against one of the trees, each one waddled on his knees into the chapel and up to the altar, where all remained kneeling. Back of them were two- score women on their knees, while a dozen men stood reverently along the wall. The Hermano Mayor, José Salazar—a small, amiable-looking shrivel—raised his cracked voice in a hymn ; and the audience followed, in the nasal drawl so dear to native New Mexican singers. It was an impressive sight—the little adobe room, whose flaring candles struggled vainly with the vagrant shadows; the altar bright with chromos of the saints, a plaster image of the Holy Mother dressed in tulle and wreaths of paper flowers ; the black-capped, bare-backed five before the altar; and the awe-struck crowd behind—as they sang over and over, with intense feeling, if with scant harmony, “LAS COLUMNAS. “ En una columna atado Hallards al Rey del Cielo, Herido y ensangrentado Y arrastrado por el suelo. ‘En agriesta disciplina, Si lo quieres aliviar, Llega, alma, 4 desagrabiar Ala Paloma Divina. “* Ay, Jesus! Ay, mi dulce duefio, Desagrabiar te queremos. Recibe, poder amoroso, I.as flores de este misterio.”’ Then, at asignal from the Hermano Mayor, the penitent five fell prone upon their faces, with arms stretched at full length beyond their heads ; and thus they lay, motionless as death, for three quarters of an hour, while the singing, with its fife accompaniment, still went on. The services over, the Penitentes filed over to the house for supper—which dare not be refused them, even in that cultivated family. The Hermanos de Luz had already effectually blinded the windows; and the five active members, filing into the room, locked the door and plugged the keyhole before they dared remove their head-masks to eat. This care to keep their identity secret is probably observed out ofa fear for the Church, mingled with a desire to mystify the public. Still, the sympathizing villagers know pretty surely who each one is. No one was allowed in the dining-room save the five self-whippers ; and now came my golden opportunity. Metaphorically collaring the Hermano Mayor, the Hermanos de Luz, and the fitero, I dragged them to my room, overwhelmed them with cigars and other attentions, showed and gave them pict- ures of familiar scenes—a Mexican finds it hard to resist a picture—and cultivated their good graces in all conceivable ways. And when the Brothers of the Whip had supped, re-masked themselves and emerged, the Chief Brother and the Brothers of Light were mine. On the morning of Good Friday, March 30, I was in the village bright and early ; and so was every one else for twenty miles around. At ten o'clock the Mexican school

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Z = Z z x p S- a

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48 THE PENITENT BROTHERS. master and another prominent citizen started up the cafion with me, helping to ‘‘ pack ’’ my impedimenta. Coming to a point in the road opposite the morada, they sat down, re- fusing to go nearer, and I had to carry the load alone to a hillock a couple of hundred feet southeast of the house, where I set up the camera. Soon the procession hove in sight, coming from town. Ahead strode the fifer, proudly fingering his diabolical instrument; then came two hermanos with crosses, and another whipping himself, with half a dozen Her- manos de Luz attending them ; then shriv- eled old Jesus Mirabal reading prayers aloud ; and behind him fifty-one women and chil- dren, falling down on their knees in the dust-deep road at every fifty feet or so to pray, and singing hymns as they walked be- tween prayers. They bore a large crucifix with the figure of the Redeemer—strange to say, dressed in a linen gown—a plaster image of the Holy Virgin, and numerous framed chromos of the saints. Tallest among the women was the Mexican wife of the Pres- byterian missionary then stationed at San Mateo—a cynical commentary on our mission work. Reaching the morada in their deliberate march, the Penitentes laid down their crosses and went insite ; the women knelt on the ground before the door and kept up their singing and praying, while the Brothers of Light strode here and there with airs of great responsibility, until presently the pro- cession was renewed and I marched beside it to dinner. Now there were three Brothers using the lash, and two carrying crosses ; while two more strode unconcernedly along, each with a burro-load of enxtrafia (buckhorn cactus) lashed upon his naked back. The entrafia is one of the most depraved of all its diabol- ical family. Its spines are long, slenderer and sharper than the sharpest needle, yet firm enough to penetrate any ordinary boot. Get one extrafia needle into the hide of a steer, and the maddened animal will gallop bellowing over the landscape till it falls from exhaustion. Yet these two fanatics wore huge bundles of it, held on by half-inch hempen ropes drawn so tightly about chest and arms and waist that they cut the skin and stopped the circulation ; each must have had thousands of the thorns burrowing into his flesh, but he gave no sign. There was no sham about it. Don Ireneo cut a big entraita. antler from beside the road, and threw it upon one of them as he passed. The cruel needles pierced his shoulder so deeply that the heavy branch Aung there, yet he never winced nor turned his head! At the foot of Calvary the procession stopped, while the two men with crosses prostrated them- selves in the dust—the crosses being placed upon their backs—and lay thus for ten min- utes, the fife and the singers keeping up their discord the while. Every hour of the day these pilgrimages were made between the campo santo and the morada—a full third of a mile each way. Shortly before two o'clock the women re- turned from town, ‘‘making the stations,” and halted in front of the morada. Juan Baca brought forth the camera, and the Her- mano Mayor marked a spot about one hun- dred feet from the door where I might stand. Then he called the Brothers from the house and formed the procession—the cross- bearers in front, then the Brothers of the Whip, and then the Brothers of Light and the women. *’Sta bueno?’’ he asked through Juan ; and when I replied that it was, he gave orders that no man should stir a finger until the pictures were taken. This ordeal over, the Penitentes retired again inside the morada; the women started on a fresh pilgrimage. Meantime other Hermanos de Luz had burrowed out a deep hole some fifty feet in front of the morada, and laid the largest cross with its foot at the edgeof the hole. The procession of women had returned, and stood solemnly in front of the hundreds of specta- tors. And now the Hermano Mayor went inside, with two of his assistants. Ina few moments they emerged leading the allotted victim—a stalwart young fellow dressed only in his white drawers and black head-bag. As we learned later, it was Santiago Jara- millo—known also as ‘‘ Santiago Jeems ’’— the cook at the house of Don Roman A. Baca, oneof the sheep-kings of the Territory. In his right side was a gaping gash four inches long, from which the blood ran down in a steady stream tothe ground. He walked firmly, however, to the prostrate cross and laid himself at full length upon it. A long, new, half-inch rope was brought, and the Hermanos de Luz began to lash him to the

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THE PENITENT BROTHERS. great timbers, placing the stiff hemp around his arms, trunk and legs in three or four loops each, and ‘‘cinching-up”’ up the slack as roughly as they would upon a pack-mule. But now he was sobbing like achild. ‘‘Hay/ Que estoy deshonrado ! Not with arope! Not .»» with arope! Nail me! Nail me! But the Hermano Mayor was obdurate. Always before, up to this very year, the vic- tim had been spiked to the cross by great nails through hands and feet ; and the death of a Penitente in process of crucifixion was by no means rare. Inthesingle year of 1887, four young men perished thus in the Peni- tente settlements of southern Colorado. But the new Hermano Mayor refused nails, de- spite the appeals of the victim not to be dis- honored bya lighter agony. He fared badly enough as it was. The stiff rope sank deep into his flesh, prohibiting the throbbing blood. In less than three minutes his legs and arms were black as a Hottentot’s. A clean white sheet was now wound about him from head to foot, and tied there, leav- ing exposed only his purpling arms and muffled head. This was done, so one of the assistants explained to me, that no sharp- eyed by-stander might recognize him by scars on his body. Now the rope was knotted to the arms of the cross, so that each end hung free and about thirty feet long. THE CRUCIFIXION. asia Two stalwart Brothers of Light grasped each rope ; four others seized the cross ; and heav- ily they lifted it so near to perpendicularity that the lower end dropped into the four-foot hole with an ugly chug / But its living bur- den made no sign. With shovels and hands the ayudantes filled in the hole with earth and rocks, and tamped it down, while Filo- meno and Cisto steadied their respective guy-ropes. A large rock was next placed some five feet from the foot of the cross ; and another Penitente in cotton drawers and head-bag was led out, with a huge stack of cactus so tightly lashed upon his back that he could not move his arms at all, and scarcely his legs. He lay down with his feet against the foot of the cross and his head pillowed upon the stone, while the mass of entrafa kept his back sixteen or eighteen inches above the ground. Even this was not a tight enough fit to suit him, and he had a large, flat stone brought and crowded under the cactus, so as to press it still more cruelly against his back. (His black-muffled head only is visible in the picture of the cruci- fixion.) Meantime, in gracious response to my request, the Hermano Mayor had paced off thirty feet from the foot of the cross and marked a spot to which I might advance

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50 THE PENITENT BROTHERS. in order to get a larger picture. And there we stood facing each other, the crucified and I—the one playing with the most won- derful toy of modern progress, the other racked by the most barbarous device of nineteen hundred years ago. What ambi- tious amateur ever dreamed of focusing on such a sight before ? For thirty-one minutes by the watch the poor wretch upon the cross and he upon the bed of thorns kept their places. A deathly hush was upon the crowd. Even the un- willing fzfo was still. The mill-stream spilt its music upon the rough old wheel, now locked and unresponsive. The fresh breeze rustled among the pinons on the steep moun- tain-side, a few rods away. The undimmed afternoon sun flooded the rugged cajion with strange glory. Across the brook a chubby prairie-dog, statuesquely perpen- dicular, watched the ghastly scene and barked his creaking disapprobation —the only animate sound that reached the ear. Near the cross stood the old Hermano Mayor, and beside him Manuel, Juan, Filo- meno, ‘‘ Cuate,’’ Cisto, Melito. Each had a narrow fillet of wild-rose branches bound tightly around his skull. Coming nearer, I saw that the claw-like thorns were forced deep into the skin, and that little crimson beads stood out upon each forehead. At last the Chief Brother ‘spoke a quiet word. The assistants scooped out the earth from the hole, lifted the cross from its socket, and laid it upon the ground again. The crucified was relieved of his lashings, was lifted to his feet and carried to the mo- rada—a stout patsano under each shoulder, while his feet made feeble feint of moving. His brother victim was similarly taken in with his worse than Nessus robe; and the procession re-formed for its awful pilgrim- ages, which were kept up regularly until six o'clock, by which time their ca/zoncillos were wet behind with blood to the very ankles. An Hermano de Luz carried a tin pail con- taining a decoction of vomero; and every two or three minutes dipped the ends of the ‘‘whips’’ in this, to give them an added sting. These whips are about three and a half feet long, and weigh two or three pounds when thus wet. They are made of the tough fibers of the fa/milla, or soap-weed. The handle is braided; the lash, a couple of feet long and three to five inches across, is left to bristle like the tail of a horse. This is the ‘‘discipline of penance.’’ To punish erring members they have the ‘discipline of castigation ’’—a hideous cat-o’-nine-tails made of wire, with the ends turned upclaw- fashion, so that every blow ravishes from the back its tiny morsels of flesh. As we passed Calvary again, a new horror was added. The Hermano Mayor came up behind each of the seven self-tortured, and with a flint-knife gashed their backs thrice across and then ‘‘cross-hatched’’ them thrice upand down. These were no mere scratches, but long, bleeding cuts—the yearly-renewed seal of the order. At eight o’clock in the evening the pro- cession came down again from the morada— this time marching ‘the length of the town to hold “zzeb/as (dark services) in the little chapei next the house of Don Lorenzo San- chez. The Penitentes went inside and barred the door on the crowd. There were no lights within, and the windows were care- fully masked. All that came to the shiver- ing audience outside was the clanking of chains and muffied blows, and groans and shrieks. These services—which are designed to represent the arrival of the soul in Pur- gatory—lasted an hour. Then the Peni- tentes emerged, carrying one of their num- ber in a blanket held by the corners. We learned afterward that for fifteen minutes he had hugged a stake wrapped with cactus, and had succumbed to this fresh torture. Around his unconscious form plodded seven women, weeping bitterly but low. Not one but feared it was her own husband, and not all that long night would her suspense be relieved. The poor wretch lay long at death’s door, but finally recovered. One short, ‘‘stocky’’ fellow who had been particularly zealous in his blows all day, and who had lain upon the thorns at the foot of the cross, attracted my particular attention; and walking back the third of a mile from the chapel to the plaza I kept at his side and counted the blows he gave him- self—two hundred and fifty-one! During the day he had achieved over two thousand—and Heaven only knows how many before—but next day he was at work with his irrigating hoe! He is a young man, Antonito Mon- tafio by name, and not easy of suppression. A mule once caved in his face, and a soldier

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THE PENITENT BROTHERS. 51 in a drunken quarrel gave him grounds for being trepanned; but he is still keen to enjoy such tortures as the most brutal prize- fighter never dreamed of. At midnight of Good Friday the Peni- tentes scattered from the morada toward their homes—in some cases forty miles away —to meet no more in a religious capacity until another Lent, or until the death of some Brother. By their incredible self-torture one would naturally suppose them to be the most God- fearing and devout of men ; but this would be a serious error. There are among them good though deluded men, like Hermano Mayor Salazar, and ‘‘Cuate;’’ but the majority of them, and particularly of the Brothers of the Whip, are of the lowest and most dangerous class—petty larcenists by nature, horse-thieves and assassins upon opportunity—who by their devotions in Lent think to expiate the sins of the whole year. The brotherhood, though broken, still holds the balance of political power. No one likes—and few dare—to offend these fanatics ; and there have been men of liberal education who have joined them to gain political influence. Indeed, priests of ripe experience here have avowed to me their belief that the order has long been kept *A political meeting was held in the morada at San Mateo, October 17, 1888, at the call of a very prominent young man of San Mateo, whose education in Washing- ton cost his father thirty-six thousand dollars. The county campaign was very close, and finding that he was losing ground, the young man called upon the Peni- tentes to assist him. He was at that meeting initiated alive merely to further the ends of scheming men.* Until very recently there were also female Penitentes ; and only three years ago there dwelt in San Mateo fully ten women who whipped their bare backs, wore cactus thorns in their loose shoes, and wound their legs with rope and wire till the blood stopped—practices which still obtain among the men. Other common forms of penance are to lie down in front of the ¢hurch door and request worshipers to trample upon them and kick them ; or to crawl on hands and knees along a path paved with cactus. The Penitentes have a book of rules, but it is impossible for an outsider to get hold of acopy. Some of their laws are well known, however. One of their most curious customs is that regarding burial. When a Brother falls sick, he is removed to the movada and cared for by members appointed by the Hermano Mayor, no one else being per- mitted to see him. If he dies, the Brothers wrap him naked in a blanket and secretly bury him an hour after midnight, feet dowh- ward, in a hole in some secluded spot. His clothes are then left at his home—the first and final token his family has of his decease, and perhaps even of his sickness. No mar- ried man, by the way, is allowed to join the order without the consent of his wife. into the Order, and received its seal—six gashes with the flint knife over each kidney. In a speech there he re- ferred to ese Americano malvado who had taken the photographs of the Good Friday services. The wife of this young politician, by the way, is a daughter of a prominent Washington official, recently deceased. E a Re THE MILL,

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THE GREAT AGITATION. SECOND PAPER—BENJAMIN LUNDY, THE FIRST ABOLITION JOURNALIST. By FRANK B. SANBORN. HERE is something in Quakerism ex- ceedingly favorable to philanthropy, and the New Jersey Quakers appear to have been the most persistent anti-slavery men in America. John Woolman, sallying forth from his humble home at Mount Holly, before 1750, traveled south and north, show- ing kindness to the negroes, and bearing testimony against slavery. Even earlier than he, an eccentric English Quaker, Benja- min Say, tormented the meetings in New Jersey and Pennsylvania by violent and theatrical declamations against negro slav- ery. It was the Quakers of Philadelphia who stood with Franklin as members of an abolition society there in 1775 or earlier ; but neither this society nor others of the same sort accomplished much for emancipa- tion until another New Jersey Quaker, Ben- jamin Lundy, took the field, about 1818, as a missionary of emancipation, and planted the seeds of that great movement which, under Garrison, Phillips, John Brown, Gerrit Smith, and other courageous leaders, finally achieved, in war, the downfall of American slavery. The name of Lundy is remem- bered, but that is almost all that the public generally know of him. He deserves a bet- ter biographer than he has found, for his life was romantic, adventurous, and full of danger and hardship. The road taken by Garrison before 1830 was, in fact, ‘‘ Lundy’s Lane,”’ for into that strait and narrow path did it turn aside from the time that Ben- jamin Lundy, in 1827-8-9, visited Boston and addressed himself to the heart and con- science of his young disciple. In 7he Liber- ator of September 20, 1839, Garrison noticed the death of Lundy, and said : ‘*To BENJAMIN LUNDY, more than to any - other human being, am I indebted for hav- ing my attention called to the wretched condition of the slaves in this liberty-wor- shiping, slavery-idolizing country. He it was who first informed, quickened, inflamed my mind on the subject of American slavery, and by whom I was induced to consecrate my life to the overthrow of that dreadful system of iniquity. If, therefore, anything has been achieved in the cause of liberty

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THE GREAT AGITATION. 53 through my instrumentality, let him have all due credit. But I am not the only per- son who has to acknowledge the personal impulse that was given by his benevolent example and earnest entreaty. Thousands stand ready to testify how much they are indebted to him, under God, for their con- version to the side of emancipation, from a state of total apathy to its success."’ That this was no mere obituary compli- ment, but literally and exactly true, will appear when we see who Lundy was, and what he had accomplished before he ever saw Garrison,.as well as what they did together, and what share Lundy had in directing the attention of the world to the true character of the Texan revolt from Mexico, and the annexation of Texas to the United States. Benjamin Lundy was born January 4, 1789, at Hardwick, Sussex County, in New Jersey—now a township of six hundred people in Warren County, which, about 1820, was set off from the old county of Sussex. At the time of his birth there were but twenty thousand people inthe whole two counties—mostly farmers, me- chanics, and small traders, and with many Quakersamong them. Sussex is the extreme uorthwestern county of New Jersey, extend- ing along the Delaware River from Orange County in New York to Northampton County in Pennsylvania ; and Hardwick is not far from the romantic scenery of the Delaware Water Gap.* Lundy’s English and Welsh ancestors came early to America, and branches of the family have been found in North Carolina, Pennsylvania, and wherever the Quakers settled. Richard Lundy was living at Burlington, N. J., in 1822, Thomas Lundy at Rockford, N. C., the same year, and at Huntsville, N. C., in 1833,-—no doubt brothers or cousins of Benjamin Lundy. His own family were not rich, and he re- ceived but little education, though he after- ward taught himself a good English style, with some smattering of Latin, French, and Spanish. At the age of nineteen he emi- grated to Wheeling on the upper Ohio River, * A singular error, due at first to a misprint, has been perpetuated in all the biographies of Lundy that I have seen, that he was born in Handwick, N. J. There is not, and never was, so far as I can learn, any place of that name in New Jersey; but Hardwick being in Warren County, and his biographers not noticing that Warren ‘was taken from Sussex, either supposed the name had then a town of but a thousand or two inhab- itants, where he learned the trade of a saddler, and about 1810 set up in business for himself, accumulating a small property by industry and thrift. Wheeling was then one of the great thoroughfares of the domes- tic slave trade; the breeders of Maryland and Virginia, and the kidnappers of Dela- ware, New Jersey and Pennsylvania, send- ing their chained coffles of negroes and mulattoes down the river from that point. During Lundy’s four years’ residence in Wheeling he was a constant witness of the horrors of thetraffic. Twenty years later, in November, 1832, he said of Wheeling : ‘* That was the place where his youthful eye first caught a view of the ‘cursed whip’ and the ‘hellish manacle,’—where he first saw the slaves in chains forced along like brutes to the Southern markets for human flesh and blood! Then did his young heart bound within his bosom, and his heated blood boil in his veins, on seeing droves of a dozen or twenty ragged men, chained together and driven through the streets, bave-headed and bare-footed, in mud and snow, by the remorse- less ‘SOUL SELLERS,’ with horsewhips and bludgeons in their hands!! It was the fre- quent repetition of such scenes as these, 7x the town of WHEELING, Virginia, that made those durable impressions on his mind rela- tive to the horrors of the slave system which have induced him to devote himself to the cause of Universal Emancipation. During an apprenticeship with a respectable mechan- ic of that place, he was, by these and other means, made acquainted with the cruelties and the despotism of slavery, as tolerated in this land ; and he made a solemn vow to Al- mighty God, that, if favored with health and strength, he would break at least one link of that ponderous chain of oppression when he should become a man.’’ t Lundy was eleven years older than John Brown (who was born May g, 1800), and therefore his vow against American slavery was naturally registered earlierthan Brown's, say in 1809. But it was not long after this been changed from Handwick,as they found it, or else thought nothing about it. + This passage from 7he Genius of Universal Emanci- pation, then printed in Washington, is given with the italics, capitals and exclamation points of the writer, and is a good example of his style, both of writing and print- ing, at the age of forty-three.

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54 THE GREAT AGITATION. same period (during the war with England, 1812-15) that Brown, then a mere boy, was led, as he says in his autobiography,* to ‘*declare or swear eternal war with slavery.” A friend of John’s, a slave boy, ‘ very active, intelligent, and good feeling,’’ was beaten before the lad’s eyes ‘‘ with iron shovels, or anything that first came to hand.”’ This brought John to reflect, he says, ‘‘ on the wretched, hopeless condition of father- less and motherless slave children. Hesome- times would raise the question, /s God their father ?”’ A like question rose in the heart of Lundy, and the principles of his humane and devout religion soon taught him how it should be answered. He left slaveholding Virginia, moved, and settled at St.Clairsville, Belmont County, Ohio, still pursuing his saddler trade, and there, in 1815, he organized an emancipation society, which, beginning with himself and a few other members, soon grew to five hundred. This was the first anti-slavery association organized in the United States during the present century. It was called the ‘‘ Union Humane Society,”’ and became the parent of many others. The older abolition societies founded by Frank- lin and other Philadelphia Quakers (in 1775), by Jay and the colonists of New York (in 1785), and by the Quakers of New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland, Virginia, Rhode Island, etc., from 1788 to 1795, had gone to sleep with their fathers. Lundy’s relatives in New Jersey had, no doubt, belonged to some of these organizations ; and he notices with satisfaction, in 1833, that ‘‘the patriarch, Benjamin Lay, lived to witness the abolition of slavery by that very society (the Quakers) which almost unanimously condemned him for advocating abolition.’’+ But with the spread of slavery and of cotton-planting, the early enthusiasm of the eighteenth-cent- ury abolitionists died out. Franklin was in his grave ; Jefferson had just written to Edward Coles (Aug. 25, 1814),—*‘I have * “ Life and Letters of John Brown” (Roberts Brothers, Boston), page 14. The incident narrated must have hap- pened not very far from Wheeling + Genius of Universal Emancipation, Vol. XII. p. 201. The passage occurs in a notice by Lundy of Rev. George Bourne, a Presbyterian, who was living in 1833. A Pres- byterian clergyman in Ohio had lately informed Lundy ‘that he once stood alone in Bourne's favor, when he was called before a council under a charge of heresy, in combating the sin of slave-holding He was con- demned,—as was the apostle of emancipation, Benjamin overlived the generation with which mutual labors and perils begot mutual confidence and influence. The hour of emancipation is advancing. This enterprise is forthe young; for those who can follow it up and bear it through to its consummation; it shall haveall my prayers, and these are the only weapons of an old man.’’ Jefferson was then seventy- one. His young friend did check the spread of slavery over Illinois, and those other young men and boys, Benjamin Lundy, John Brown, Garrison, and Gerrit Smith, Wendell Phillips, Charles Sumner, Abraham Lincoln, Whittier, and Theodore Parker—all living when Jefferson wrote—did in their turn ‘*follow up and bear through to its consum- mation’’ the cause of liberty. It was less than a year after Jefferson's letter was written when Lundy organized his emancipation society on the Ohio River, and began to dis- pel the apathy which had caused even the sanguine temper of the great Virginia demo- crat to despair. { A few years of domestic quiet on the banks of the Beautiful River alone remained to Benjamin Lundy. In 1818 he came to the resolution to sell all heshad and follow his Master. He joined with Charles Osborn at Mount Pleasant, near St. Clairsville, in the management of a journal called 7he Philan- thropist, and to qualify him for this he went to St. Louis in 1819 to dispose of his stock in the saddler’s trade, and put himself in funds. It took him a year or two to do this, and to struggle as he could against the admission of Missouri as a slave state, which was carried by Henry Clay in 1820. His property was sold at a ruinous sacrifice, and he returned to Ohio to find that 7he Philanthropist had also been sold. Meanwhile Elihu Embree, a Tennessee Quaker, who in 1820 had begun a monthly publication against slavery (7he Emancipator), at Jonesborough, Tenn., had died, just as Lundy was planning to aidhim. He therefore established a paper of his own, Lay, at an early period, by the Quakers.” the passage above. ¢ “ Your solitary, but welcome, voice, is the first which has brought this sound to my ear,’’ wrote Jefferson to Coles in the same letter; ‘‘and I have considered the general silence which prevails on the subject as indicat- ing an apathy unfavorable toevery hope. I had always hoped that the generous temperament of youth, analo- gous to the motion of their blood, and above the sug- gestion of avarice, would have sympathized with the oppressed wherever found, and proved their love of lib- erty beyond their own share of it.” Then follows

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THE GREAT AGITATION. 55 with an absurd but memorable title (7he Genius of Universal Emancipation),* at Mount Pleasant, and issued his first number July 4, 1821. It was begun without a dollar of capi- tal, with only six subscribers, and with a hired printer, for in 1821 Lundy had not learned the ‘‘ art preservative of arts.’’ For a time he walked each month twenty miles to Steubenville (where young Edwin Stanton, then seven years old, was growing up to tor- ment the slave oligarchy), and brought back to Mount Pleasant the whole edition of his monthly on his back, from the printing office where it was put in type. Stanton told Henry Wilson} that Lundy was a frequent visitor at his father’s house, and that he ‘* had often sat on his knee when a child and listened to his words.’’ Before July, 1822, Lundy removed his journal to Greeneville, Tennessee, where it was printed for some years on the press of Elihu Embree’s de- ceased Emancipator, and where he learned to set type himself and became a reasonably good printer. He traveled the five hundred miles from Mount Pleasant to the East Ten- nessee mountains on foot, leaving his wife and children to follow him later in the year 1822. He remained in Greeneville for two or three years, and then removed his journai to Baltimore, where he was living in 1827, when he made his first visit to New England, and found young Garrison ready to receive his instruction at Boston. The twelve monthly numbers of 7he Genius of Universal Emancipation for the year July, 1822-June, 1823, lie before me as I write. It isa magazine of sixteen double- column octavo pages, each page containing some eight hundred words, and the whole second volume (which this is) making one hundred and ninety-two pages. There are a few rude engravingson wood or copper—one twice used, representing a slave coffle, with the slave-trader on horseback, brandishing a whip, following a little cart full of black picaninnies, while half a dozen full-grown blacks follow the horseman, one of them carrying the Stars and Stripes. Over this cut is the motto: ‘‘ HAIL, COLUMBIA! HAPPy * Lundy shortened this, in his references, to ‘‘G. U. E.,”’ just as John Quincy Adams in his diary was accus- tomed to speak of the President as ‘‘P. U.S." Beneath the formidable headline always stood in another sub- line, ‘‘ Fiat justitia ruat celum.”' LAND,’’ and beneath it, ‘‘ SHALL THY FAIR BANNERS O’ER OPPRESSION WAVE?”’ Reference is made to a preceding page, on which, from a Kentucky newspaper (7he Western Citizen), appears this statement, signed ‘‘ Philanthropist’’: ‘‘ Having busi- ness in Paris (Ky.) on Tuesday, 17th inst., I there witnessed a scene more shocking to humanity than any that has ever come within my notice. I there beheld between seventy-five and a hundred miserable wretches galling under the yoke of despots, doomed to leave their home, their country, and their friends. Chained and guarded, they were driven, like other stock, from their native land. They were paraded on the public square, in front of the courthouse, the seat of justice. Over their unhappy heads ¢hat banner waved under which our forefathers fought and bled for the liberty and independence which they attained,”’ etc. It is quite possible that this scene was wit- nessed by Lundy himself; for Paris, the chief town of Bourbon County, is on the road from Greeneville to Cincinnati, which the Quaker missionary printer had frequent occasion to travel, as he founded anti-slavery societies and collected subscriptions for his magazine. It was also one of the routes by which the Virginia slave-breeders sent their human cattle to the Southwest. This traffic, beginning early in thecentury, had increased by 1822 to several thousand slaves in a year. In 1832 it was estimated to be six thousand a year from Virginia alone, and in 1836 rose to forty or fifty thousand. On another page of Lundy’s Genius, in a ‘‘ department ’’ called ‘*Muses’ Bower,’’ is given an example of what happened before 1822 to slaves thus transported. Itis in asmooth copy of verses credited to 7he /ndiana Farmer, which runs thus: A wretched Negro, who had wandered All the night till break of day, Thus his woeful case he pondered, As beneath an oak he lay : ** Dreadful is my situation. Born a slave! How can it be? + Atlantic Monthly, Vol, XXV., p. 243. This article has been ascribed erroneously to J. G. Wilson, and not to the Massachusetts senator.

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THE GREAT AGITATION. Hear the people’s Declaration, * Men are equal-born and free !’ When a child, on James’s River I was from my master bought, Paid for with some pelts of beaver, And to wild Kentucky brought ; There I served a cruel master, Suffering much and growing old ; There I met a sad disaster,— Heavens! it makes my blood run cold. Tyrants, worse than old Agrippa, Robbed me of the joys of life ; Sailing down the Mississippi Are my children and my wife. Soon I left this seat of slavery, Fled to Indiana’s plains ; Here I met with baser knavery, Here where boasted freedom reigns ; Here I suffered dreadful evils, Hell-hounds have pursued me hard ; Horrid monsters, worse than devils, Catching negroes for reward.” Upon this state of things the hunted fugi- tive is about to kill himself, when ‘‘a heavenly form,’’ ‘‘stern Justice,’’ descends and thus addresses him : ‘* How ! faint-hearted son of sorrow, Dost thou thus repine at fate ? Thou, that hast not seen to-morrow, Rush on Death and force his gate ? * * * * * Go once more and serve with patience, Wield again the ponderous sledge ! Soon the blacks shall form free nations, St. Domingo is your pledge.” The poet thus concludes, signing himself ‘*B,”’ and dating his verses ‘‘ June, 1822”’: Quick the cherub spread his pinions, Vengeance blazing in his eye. ** Down with tyrants and their minions !”’ Nations heard and joined the cry. This is quoted without comment in the number for August, 1822, and in the same number appears a letter from the governor of South Carolina, giving an account of the negro insurrection at Charleston in the June preceding, for which thirty-five slaves were executed and thirty-seven free persons ban- ished, among the former, Denmark Vesey, who had been a slave, but had earned and bought his freedom. The earliest comment that Lundy made on this affair, which spread a panic through the South, was only this: ‘‘The most sure way to prevent a revolt among an oppressed people is to do them justice. The consequence of drawing a cord too tight will be that it must inevitably break.’’ In November, 1822, Lundy declared (Vol. II., p. 77) that General Harrison, grand- father of President Harrison, and himself President in 1841, lost his election to Con- gress from Cincinnati ‘‘owing to his well- known sentiments in favor of slavery,’’ and quoted at length, from 7he /ndependent Press of Cincinnati, an account of General Harri- son’s caning a fugitive slave woman of his, about 1815, in that city. Jacob Hoops, liv- ing ‘‘on Sixth Street, near the Episcopal Church,’ in Cincinnati, reported that Gen- eral Harrison, soon after the war with Eng- land, entered his house ‘‘ in search of a black woman named Betty, whose services he claimed, found her at work in the kitchen, and immediately ordered her to get her clothes and follow him.’’ She started to go up-stairs, but, being ‘‘ old and clumsy,’’ did not go fast enough ; ‘‘whereupon the Gen- eral fell a-beating her with his cane in a most unmerciful manner, and actually broke it by the violence of the blows. Her entrea- ties were of no avail ; this friend of ‘human freedom’ had her dragged in a most shock- ing, brutal manner across the common to his boat on the river!’’ Notwithstanding the remark of the Cin- cinnati editor, that ‘‘ incontestable proof will be given to these statements, if called for,’’ we may be permitted to doubt whether the ‘‘Farmer of North Bend’’ dragged his vic- tim to his ‘‘log cabin’’ by the Ohio River exactly in the manner narrated ; but Lundy published the story as if he believed it. He thought no better of Henry Clay than of Harrison, for in February, 1823 (Vol. II., p. 113), he said: ‘‘A great deal of exertion is now making in some parts of the western country to enhance the popularity of this man, with the view of elevating him to the Executive Chair of the United States. His partisans are numerous and active; and as he is himself a master-spirit of intrigue, he will no doubt make a formidable appearance in the list of candidates. I shall consider it extremely unfortunate for our country if he can by any means succeed in attaining that eminent station. His sentiments on the subject of slavery are of the most obnoxious character.”’

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THE GREAT AGITATION. 57 This attitude of Lundy toward Clay is worthy of notice, because his disciple, Gar- rison, was then, and continued for six years longer, and Whittier for ten years longer, to be enthusiastic supporters of Clay for the presidency. But Lundy had seen Clay, as Speaker of the House, fasten slavery upon Arkansas by his casting vote ; had seén him in 1820 secure the admission of Missourias a slave State by a trick ;* and had no confi- dence in the Kentuckian’s honesty of pur- pose. Heseems to have hadaclearer insight into character than either Garrison or Whit- tier. He was also, though often violent in his language, of more moderate temper than Garrison, and for a much longer time be- lieved in gradual emancipation. He never seems to have given up colonization as an aid to abolition, though he early discovered the cheat of the American Colonization Society. While such ‘‘incendiary’’ matter was coming out in East Tennessee, Lundy’s newspaper and cause had agents, whose names he published, in twelve of the slave- holding States and Territories,—at Balti- more, Richmond, Winchester, Wheeling, Louisville, Nashville, St. Louis, Little Rock; at Huntsville, Ala., Pensacola, four towns in North Carolina, and even one agent in South Carolina. In 1832 he had twenty-nine agents in ten of the slave States. And in the interval from 1820 to 1830 he had per- ambulated a large portion of the South, be- sides twice visiting Hayti ; and from 1830 to 1835 he twice visited Texas, where he hoped to establish colonies of free colored persons under the anti-slavery laws of Mexico. In 1830 he said in his Genius, then publishing at Baltimore, where Garrison was his asso- ciate : ‘‘T have, within ten years, sacrificed sev- eral thousand dollars of my own hard earn- ings ; have traveled upward of five thousand miles on foot, and more than twenty thousand in other ways ; have visited nineteen of the States of the Union’’ (there were then but twenty-four), ‘‘and held more than two hundred public meetings, with the view of making known our object ; and in addition to this have performed two voyages to the West Indies, by which means the liberation * See Carl Schurz’s ‘‘ Henry Clay,”’ Vol. I., p. 177, for the Arkansas vote; p. 181, for the Missouri trick. ‘‘ The history of the House probably records no sharper trick,”’ 5 of a considerable number of slaves has been effected, and I hope the way paved for the enlargement of many more.’’ And he added, with pardonable pride: ‘There is not an- other periodical work published by a citi- zen of the United States, whose conductors dare treat upon the subject of slavery as its nature requires and its importance de- mands.’’ This was a year before Garrison began to print his Liderafor in Boston, and after the early emancipation organs— 7he Abolition Intelligencer, in Missouri, a news- paper in North Carolina, etc.—had been ’ silenced. What, then, was the bodily presence of this hero, who almost alone had, for a dozen years, sustained the contest against negro slavery in the United States? Garrison, writing in 1828, a year after he had first seen Lundy, said: ‘‘Instead of being able to withstand the tide of public opinion, it would at first seem doubtful whether he could sustain a temporary conflict with the winds of heaven.’’ After his death, Garri- son said in 7he Liberator (September 20, 1839): ‘‘In his personal appearance friend Lundy, like the Apostle Paul, was ‘ weak and contemptible.’ In my imagination I had given:to him in shape and size the figure of a Hercules; and my disappointment was great in finding him far below the average of mankind in bulk and stature. I was ‘almost tempted to say to him, as a beloved Irish correspondent of Dr. Watts, on seeing that mighty dwarf for the first time, re- marked to him, ‘Why, sir, you don’t look as if you could say Boo to a goose!’ ‘Boo!’ was the clever retort of the doctor; and I should have received as good a one in return had I resorted to that pleasant banter, for Lundy was a ready wit and could make cap- ital repartees. He was not a good public speaker. His voice was too feeble, his utter- ance too rapid to interest or inform an audi- ence; yet he never spoke wholly in vain. In private life his habits were social and communicative; but his infirmity of deaf- ness rendered it difficult to engage with him in protracted conversation. How, with that infirmity upon him, he could think of trav- eling all over the country, exploring Canada and Texas, and making voyages to Hayti, are the words of Schurz, who also says that Clay may have suppressed his pro-slavery speeches.

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58 THE GREAT AGITATION. is, indeed, a matter of astonishment. But it shows, in bold relief, what the spirit of phi- lanthropy can dare and conquer.”’ Sir Humphry Davy, the famous discov- erer in chemistry, said : ‘‘ My greatest discov- ery was Michael Faraday ;’’ and so Lundy might have said, and perhaps did say (for he was generous), that his chief work as an emancipator was to unchain the pent-up force of Garrison, and open to him his true career. This Lundy did, and the story has been often told. He drew Garrison to Balti- more, where the master and disciple united in issuing the two hundred and twenty-sev- enth number of the Genius, September 2, 1829. It had become a weekly journal in September, 1825, and so continued during the stormy time that Garrison edited it— just six months, for the last weekly issue was dated March 5, 1830, when the partner- ship between Lundy and Garrison was dis- solved, and the senior partner went on with his paper as a monthly, or rather a ‘ semi- occasional ’’ publication. They parted good friends, and on the 17th of April Garrison was committed to the Baltimore jail for a libel on two Massachusetts men, Francis Todd, owner, and Nicholas Brown, mas- ter, of the ship France, engaged in the domestic slave trade. Lundy visited him often in the jail, from which he was re- leased June 5, 1830, his fine being paid. through Lundy, by Arthur Tappan, of New York. Seven months afterward (January 1, 1831), Garrison began to publish his Zz6- eratory in Boston, while Lundy had _ re- moved his Genius to Washington (October, - 1830), where it was printed until 1834, when it made its last remove but one to Phila- delphia, expiring there in 1838, amid the flames of Pennsylvania Hall, which was burnt by the mob in May, 1838. He re- moved next to Illinois, where Lovejoy, the anti-slavery martyr, had been killed by a mob in November, 1837, and, while laboring there against slavery, died at Lowell, an obscure village in La Salle County, August 22, 1839. His Genius had been printed there for some months, and its final number announced his death. During the period between Garrison’s imprisonment and Lundy’s death, the lat- ter had three times visited Texas, and ex- plored its possibilities as ‘a home for free colored people, nearly losing his life there by cholera in 1832. He became better ac- quainted than any Northern man with that State, both while it was subject to Mexico and while revolting ; and he exposed fully and repeatedly the plot formed before 1830, to increase the area of slave territory by annex- ing Texas. His pamphlet on ‘‘ The War in Texas ’’ (Philadelphia, 1836) is not only the best account, up to that time, of the Texas conspiracy, but closes with the remarkable prediction of the Southern Confederacy, which established itself twenty-five years later : ‘‘ Ourcountrymen, in fighting for the * union of Texas with the United States, will be fighting for that which at no distant period will inevitably dissolve the Union. The slave States, having the eligible addi- tion to their land of bondage, will ere long cut asunder the Federal tie, and confederate a new and distinct slaveholding republic, in opposition to the whole free republic of the North. Thus early will be fulfilled the pre- diction of the old politicians of Europe, that our Union could not remain one century entire ; and then also will the maxim be exemplified in our history, that liberty and slavery can not long inhabit the same soil.”’ Lundy died, as he had lived, in the firm belief that American slavery would be abol- ished before 1900, and he contributed more to that result than many—perhaps than any —of his contemporaries. He did not always agree with Garrison in opinion—being more sensible though far less forcible ; but his best eulogy is that written by Garrison, who in his first year as editor of Zhe Liberator had printed there this sonnet to his teacher and friend : To BENJAMIN LUNDy, The Veteran Advocate of Negro Emancipation. Self-taught, unaided, poor, reviled, contemned, Beset with enemies, by friends betrayed, As madman and ianatic oft condemned, Yet in thy noble cause still undismayed ! Leonidas thy courage could not boast ; Less numerous were his foes, his hand more strong ; Alone, unto a more than Persian host, Thou hast undauntedly given battle long. Nor shalt thou singly wage the unequal strife ; And to thy aid with spear and shield I rush, And freely do I offer up my life, And bid my heart’s blood find a wound to gush ! New volunteers are trooping to the field— To die we are prepared, but not an inch to yield.

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THE AMERICAN SCHOOL AT ATHENS. By PROFESSOR A. C, MERRIAM, i : \ bor American School of Classical Studies at Athens is now in its seventh year. It was established | in connection with the Archzeological Institute of America, by a federation of twelve of our first col- leges. In this fact alone one may see a significance. English colleges, even outside the two great centers of Oxford and Cambridge, have a tendency to union for university work ; ours usually stand in a repel- lent attitude toward each other. Anything that binds them together in one common purpose proyes of advantage. Itis true that the American school tends to unite them mainly on the side of the classical departments ; but its effect is wider and attracts the interest of every cultured mind. From the original number of twelve colleges contributing to the support of the school, the federation has widened until it has embraced about twenty. Its foundation was an effort toward our higher education. None but grad- uates of colleges are admitted to its privileges, and its aims are mainly toward original research and discovery. Its name was carefully chosen. Its students may devote them- selves to any subject relating to Greek or Roman life which they may select; but nat- urally, from the situation of the school in Greece, it is to Greek life in all its manifes- tations, from the prehistoric period to the present hour, in whatever part of the world it may be found, that most students give their attention. While there is much that all in common must study, each student is urged to devote himself especially to some subject in which he may be interested, and in which he shall make some original research. All will read ancient Greek, and acquire considerable facility in the spoken tongue of to-day; all will study the monuments and the topography of the country. Some may make art or architecture their chief aim. But, as a matter of fact, its stu- dents in the past are now almost exclusively teachers of the classics in our colleges and schools, from Maine to Texas. It is, then, to the person who has decided to make teaching of the classics a profession, that this school mainly appeals. The ardent soul who has fixed upon this career in life has a wide field before him. He has to deal with the interpretation of one of the greatest literatures that the world has produced. It is an Olympic contest, in which his every faculty must be put to the consummate test if he would prove the victor that he hopes. He must know not only all the literature of Greece, but all its history, all its religion and mythology, its laws, its manners, its habits, its art, its land and sea, its mountains and its rivers, its sunshine and its storm, its changing clime in winter and summer, its birds and flowers, its fauna and its productions ; in fact, all those countless things which go to make up the life of a people and are interwoven in their literature. If no one attains this ideal, it is the Parnassus peak that the enthusiasm of youth toils for. Much may be obtained from books, especially to-day with its facile reproduction to the eye of distant scenes and objects. But that is a task of years of toil, and at best one still gropes in the dimness of twilight. But let him set foot on the soil of Greece, and the full radiance of Apollo himself seems to pour in upon him. He gropes no longer led by the hand of others ; he sees. He who has stood by the swift Rhone where it rolls its gray and turbid waters into Lake Geneva, and again upon the bridge near Rousseau’s Isle, where the

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THE AMERICAN SCHOOL AT ATHENS. ICARIA, HOME OF THESPIS. waters issue crystal clear from the lake, will understand by parallel what this clarify- ing processis. There is no question about the enthusiasm with which the residence in Greece imbues the student; and this, brought back with him and poured into his teaching, must animate even Mr. Adams’s fetich. Ancient Greek life was distinguished by two great factors,—its literature and its art. The one should be studied beside the other ; and nowhere can this be done fitly, except in Greece itself. The one supplements the other; each throws light upon the other. Divorced, each loses half its life. They should be made sister graces, arm-entwined in their ceaseless round. From the Parthe- non, majestic in its ruin, to the smallest coin the peasant turns up from the soil with his mattock, the Greek feeling for beauty is evinced ; and that the student may come to feel this and make it a part of his mental state is one great aim of the American School of Classical Studies.at Athens. The visitor to Athens is struck at first sight by the two great rocks rising out of the plain—the Acropolis on the south, Lyca- bettus on the north. In the valley between the two stands the city of to-day, creeping up the flanks of both these rocks. The Lyca- bettus side is the court end of the town, and it is upon its southern slope, at the eastern outskirts of the city, that the plot of ground is situated presented by the Government of Greece to the American School to erect its permanent home, side by side with that of the British School. Up tothe present year the school has found such accommodations as its limited means would warrant in a part of a house, where some rooms for the annual director and the library were secured. Now, thanks to the generous liberality of its numerous friends, it possesses a building admirably equipped for its purpose, with rooms for the director and a limited number of students, and a library thirty feet square, handsomely furnished with book-cases of American oak, and supplied with a series of books which is not significant for its numbers —comprising as it does less than two thou-

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THE AMERICAN SCHOOL AT ATHENS. 61 sand—but most carefully chosen for the pur- poses of the school and containing no useless lumber. The view from the six windows of the library is very fine, but is best from the ter- race at the top of the house.. Close at hand to the north rises the quarried slope of Lycabet- tus. To the northeast the eye stretches across the fertile valley between Lycabettus and Hy- mettus, over Ambelokipi, where Socrates is said to have lived, and on for ten miles till it meets the slow-sloping pyramid of Pentelicus, and recognizes below its summit the quarries from which Athens was adorned. Immedi- ately to the east, across a small ravine, rises the old monastery of the Asomata, shrouded by its trees, which make it always a delight- ful spot for the eye to rest upon, and espe- cially so in spring, when the soft green is renewing and the delicate pink of almond- blossoms brightens the scene. Some three miles across the valley of the Ilissus, Hymet- tus bounds the view with its long line of gray rock, chilling at times; and yet at others, when outlined against the deep, liquid blue of the Attic sky, it becomes brilliant with the splendor of chiseled steel ; or often at evening the setting sun suffuses it with a purple light that has made it world-famous. Its famous honey, too, it still produces ; but all Attic honey is ‘‘Hymettian”’ and still maintains its ancient renown. To the south the view stretches across the Ilissus and the Stadium to the sea and the distant coast of the Peloponnese, with A®gina a little to the right--A%gina, that eyesore of the Pirzus, as the Athenians called it, but now the delight of the eye, with its lofty peak toned with the soft colors that always hover about it in the sunshine like the poetic glamour of Pindaric song. Farther to the west the Acropolis rises from amidst the town, but always, above its modernness, another world, another age, looking from the serene height of its unapproachable beauty. Beyond it, in the distance, Salamis, again with the charm of color and outline as well as unend- ing fame. The task of the school is not complete without adding something to the sum of human knowledge, by aiding in the task of bringing to light the buried treasures of antiquity which await the spade of the explorer throughout Greece. Three years ago excavations were begun in the small FRAGMENTS FOUND IN THE HOME OF THESPIS.

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- THE AMERICAN SCHOOL AT ATHENS. old. A number of other inscrip- tions testified to the production of plays in this home of tragedy, and even one of the sons of Aristoph- anes is thought to be named in an inscription as having brought out a play there. The worship of the wine god, the patron of the drama, and the deity in connection with whose worship the drama originated and plays were acted, was proved to have had especial honor there, and indeed to have been the chief divinity worshiped from the days of Thespis on for THE AMERICAN SCHOOL AT ATHENS. theater of Thoricus, among the silver quar- ries of Laurium on the eastern coast of Attica. The shape of the theater was found to be extremely irregular, and not less rude, though substantial. Nosculpture of importance was found. The following year work was begun in the theater at Sicyon, a famous seat of art in antiquity, seven miles west of Corinth, on a high plateau admirably defended by nature as well as byart. The general plan of the thea- ter was disclosed, and some interesting facts added to the perplexing problem of theatrical structure in Greece. Last year the excava- tions were continued there, and the statue of which a reproduction is here given was dis- covered. This and a head found in the pos- session of a peasant in the adjacent village constitute the only pieces of statuary known to come from this famous site. The statue is of an effeminate type, introduced after the days of Praxiteles. Later in the year the school was fortunate enough to determine the long-vexed question of the site of the Deme of Icaria, the home of Thespis and the birthplace of the drama. This was found in a beautiful valley, mount- ain-hemmed and shut in on one side by a romantic ravine, with an outlook upon the Eubcean strait toward the east, and the plain of Marathon toward the northeast, from which it was situated only three or four miles as the crow flies. Here were discovered the remains of three ancient structures, one of which was designated as the temple of Pyth- ian Apollo, by an inscription on the thresh- several centuries. Many pieces of sculpture were found, some of very great beauty. Last fall another village site was fixed, near Marathon, and the torso of an archaic female statue discovered amid the ruins of a medizeval church. Preparations were made for far more extensive excavations this spring, and something of importance will undoubtedly be the result. During the first six years of its existence the school was supported by the contribut- ing colleges, and the expedient of sending out an annual director from the professors in these colleges was resorted to as a makeshift till something better could be secured. A strong effort is now making to raise an endowment fund of one hundred thousand dollars, about half of which has already been obtained. This will enable the school to have a permanent director and to maintain that continuity of work without which the efficiency of the school is greatly hampered. Already it has shown good reason for its existence, and has won a position among the foremost enterprises in the field of true uni- versity work. It has added very materially to our knowledge of antiquity by its excava- tions and explorations. It has published four volumes embodying the results of this work, and has much more material to be pub- lished immediately. Deserving, then, the support of American wealth, it confidently believes that it will soon be placed in a posi- tion to benefit still further our advancing civ- ilization, and to leaven it with that ‘‘sweet- ness and light’’ for which Greek literature and Greek art hold their high function.

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SE / *, SOU ys Wa ak 2 THE SPARROW AT THE SPRING. (See poem on page 64.)

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THE SPARROW AT THE SPRING. CHIP-IP-IP-IP. By 8S. MILLER HAGEMAN. I LOVE it, I love it, the clear gushing spring, Round whose heart the black roots of the oak fondly cling ; With its cold noon-day dew and its eyebrowing ledge, And the little tin cup that hangs over the edge ; And that one star that always at night used to shine In its heart, like the eye of its Maker in mine; And the green spotted: lizard that lazily drones ; And the water that tinkles in musical tones, That oozes and bubbles and trickles and plashes, That gushes and sparkles and foams up and flashes, That dances and ripples and patters and splashes In beautiful crystals that break on the stones— The musical, magical stones. And the birds sing above, and the springs sing below, Through the long summer days as they come and they go, With a chip-ip-ip-ip to the drip-ip-ip-ip Of the water, cold water, the beautiful water, That laughs and that sighs and that smiles and that moans As it tinkles and chinkles in silvery tones, Under and out of and over the stones— The wet, mossy stones. The path that led to it, that winds down the hill, The forms that once knew it, I see them all still ; And the little white dove of that dear hand of thine, That one fair summer eve made its soft nest in mine; And the milkmaid, the pitcher, the path-dripping pails, And the cold sweating cans on the brass-headed nails ; And the dairy that keeps it all sweet in my dream, With its butter and berries and melon and cream. But dearer to me as it murmurs around Is the water that ripples with silvery sound, That eddies and echoes and gushes and tinkles, That whispers and gossips and titters and twinkles, As over the coping it chimes and it chinkles, In beautiful crystals that break and that bound, Brewed out of cold rock in the ground. And the birds sing above, and the springs sing below, In the oak’s swaying shadow that rocks to and fro, With a chip-ip-ip-ip to the drip-ip-ip-ip Of the water, cold water, the beautiful water, That wells up with strong inspiration profound, In sunlight and moonlight forever around The green, grassy ground.

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WU CHIH TIEN, THE CELESTIAL EMPRESS. A CHINESE HISTORICAL NOVEL. , (PART IV.) TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL BY WONG CHIN Foo, CHAPTER XXI. IN BATTLE ARRAY. 2, and clouds of men on foot, pressed forward that they might discover the strength of the army under General Mah, and the nature of the ground on which the battle was to be fought ; but Wu Chih Tien had ordered, because the sun was setting, that the contest should not be fought till the morrow. Half way up the mountain’s side and far down in the val- leys, fires gleamed brighter and more numerous than the stars in the sky, and the calm air was stirred with the din of armed men and the loud orders for the morrow that went from camp to camp. Compared with the army of General Mah, that of Wu Chih Tien was as ten to one; but, brave in his cause and the strength of his position, he set about strengthening his camp. On the crests of the slopes up which the foe must come, he caused great iogs and huge round 2 stones to be gathered, and to be so placed that S the touch of a man’s hand would send them crashing down the hills and sweeping to death every living thing in their course. In the pass, through which ran the main road to the camp, he ordered deep pits to be dug, and these were filled with powder that was to be exploded by fuses if the foe succeeded in entering the defile. cs On the left ahd to the north, where the mountain spread .out like a table, he posted ten thousand of the Manchoorian horse- men. On the right, Ta Teen, now advanced to the second in command of the army, was posted with fifteen thousand of the strongest men, all skilled in the use of the cross-bow. Far to the front, the light archers were thrown to harass the advance of the foe ; while massed in the center, and extending back to the slopes beyond the camp, were all the vet- erans of the army,—men who knew Death too well to tremble at his approach. The prince and the Tedo of Paou Ting Fu, both mounted on the best horses, remained near General Mah. And, so disposed, the men on the mountain awaited the coming of the men in the valley. ' While the soldiers rested and ate by their camp-fires, Wu Chih Tien showed no sign of fatigue, but with her generals she rode from rank to rank, and she pointed to the black mountain and shouted to her followers :

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66 WU CHIH TIEN, THE CELESTIAL EMPRESS. ‘* They who to-morrow bring me the heads of General Mah and of the false prince, I will raise to the highest rank beneath the throne !”’ Then she rode back to the fire near which floated the royal standard ; but she slept not, for during the night her mind was filled with plans for the battle. And when another day dawned, she sum- moned a herald and bade him carry a palm branch as a sign of truce, and to approach the men in the hills, and she said : ‘Ride with all speed till you come within hearing of the men under General Mah, then say—‘I come to you in the name of our exalted empress, Wu Chih Tien, who now commands the armies of the Great Middle Flowery Kingdom. A million men await the order which is to hurl them against you, but she would save her deluded people and take them again to her heart. So she com- mands me to say that, if you lay down your arms and come to her, no one shall suffer but General Mah, the Tedo of Paou Ting Fu, and the false prince.’ ”’ Then the herald rode up the mountain. When he came back the sun had risen, and he said : ‘‘Oh, my mistress, the men on the moun- tain are in battle array, and they bade me say that they could yield to death, but would never again be subjects of the usurper, Wu Chih Tien !”’ CHAPTER XXII. THE BATTLE. For many days it had not rained, so that the earth near the mountains was very dry, and, seeing this, Wu Chih Tien commanded that her soldiers should throw dust into the air as they advanced. This they did, till a great yellow cloud filled the valleys, and hid the movements of the army advancing, from the army awaiting the onset. General Mah, now that the light archers came running back, begged the prince to retire with the Tedo of Paou Ting Fu; but the noble youth replied : ‘* To-day every man in our army is a king, and it is fitting that I should stay in the com- pany of my equals, nor go to the rear, where tremble the camp followers and servants.’’ And what he had said went from lip to lip, and when the men heard it they cheered, and each pledged himself to fight as became a king. And now, through the yellow cloud, lances gleamed, and there flew hissing arrows that darkened the sun and fell among the men on the hills. Like monster snakes with glistening scales, on came the army of Wu Chih Tien. They had gone half way up, and were cheering each other with the hope that the rest of the way would be as easy, when Gen- eral Mah gave the order to free the great logs and huge round stones. A cry of joy told that the men had heard. A rush and a roar, and a crashing, as if the mountains were tumbling down, told that the order was obeyed, and shrieks and groans, and great black gaps in the glisten- ing mass below, marked the course of the awful death bolts, that gained in power as they thundered on. The center of the army of Wu Chih Tien stopped, frozen with dread, and they would have run back, had she not appeared, like the war god of Annam, in their front. From right to left she flew on her horse, shouting : ‘*Follow me to victory! Face the danger down, and it will not harm you! Gain the top of the mountain, and there find that the battle is won !”’ Wherever she went, the death bolts seemed to avoid her, and the men came to feel that there was safety in her presence. At length the bolts were exhausted, and the panting soldiers planted the banners of Wu Chih Tien near the entrance to the pass, and there halted for rest. But Wu Chih Tien was not weary; she ordered her horsemen to attack the wild legions from Manchooria on the mountain table, and soon hot blades were falling to the left ; riderless horses went plunging into the valleys, and above the clash of sword on shield, and the quick twanging of bow- strings, there rang out the eagle cries of the defiant men of the North. At length the forces of the empress, ever pouring in to fill the places of the slain, swept the broken and exhausted horse of General Mah from the left, and they fell back sullenly to the protection of the moun- tain defiles.

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‘* Now break the right, and the cen- | the bolts of Ta Teen’s men were ter will not fight.’’ ty exhausted, and only their swords This is what Wu Chih Tien said, \ were left. Surrounded and out- when she saw the standards of her_ | | | | numbered, the men on the right horsemen waving to the left. a would have fallen back, had At once a hundred thousand , 4 it Hy iy it not been for the example men, a force greater than that WA of Ta Teen. of all General Mah’s army, \ \ i Th | Towering above friend and and made up of men chosen MBLC UN UT ARTA foe, he seized the for their strength AAA AA A | / fallen standard of and skill, advanced LAAN mW MD)/.//,//,)) , the prince from the against the right, , W\\AN a 7)’ eraspof adead man, where, firm as the \\\\\\\\\\ \\ MH LH 4 4, and, shouting rocks beneath their NY \ \\\ KERN \W IE i wh), Y), for the others feet, Ta Teen and \\QWA\WERANY | Lae iy! |, Yj to follow his his fifteen thou- OQ \\) are | \)\\), fT 4th example, his sand heavy archers \\y RM LL) GI ATW, mighty sword awaited the onset. \ \ \ 7 WIS GA ff Uf, whistled and Phick and fast \\ Oh A \\ \\\i TTL Mj MY crashed to the the iron bolts flew, WS \ WM fy YY 4 right and left, and the first . WAN \ |” Wh Uf /) and theskulls lines of Wu AA \ and armor of Chih Tien went SS xs /, men were sev- down like grass Es w VM ered as a : : WS \ 4) | ge ° ° before the hail- \ \ knife might rm y Cie ‘4 “Ai, storm, but \QX ARS Ly sever a_ spi- still on push- \ RR [or BW g 4 der’s thread. ed the others, Oa fa af pox ” 7 tie Wherever till at length \\NN Fay | Yi, ve went, the INS aS on We \ THE EXPLOSION. (See the close of Chapter XXII.)

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68 WU CHIH TIEN, THE CELESTIAL EMPRESS shrinking foemen fled his front, but it was only to close in behind, like curs who assail a wounded lion. ‘Fight back to the prince! Let us die about the prince, if die we must !”’ This is what Ta Teen called out to his men ; then, with their faces to the shifting but ever-increasing foe, they fought their way slowly back to the hill, from which the pass and the center of the camp, with its silken tent, could be seen. And here, help having come, they made a stand, and the bleeding columns of Wu Chih Tien were hurled back among the growing mountains of dead. The sun was half way down the west, when, seeing the success of her army on the right and left, Wu Chih Tien dismounted from her horse, for the road was rough, then ordered the drums to beat, the standards to be advanced to the front, and the attack on the pass leading to the camp to be made. Success, rather than their own great strength, had given her followers courage ; and as they pressed on, with the soldiers of General Mah falling stubbornly back before them, their courage increased. At length they gained the pass, and poured in till the foremost men could see the white tent of the prince, with his banner above it. Then they cheered till the echoes trem- bled ; and, as if this had been the signal, the rocks from the tops of the pass came thun- dering down, and the powder-pits at the bottom were fired, and twenty thousand men were huried into the sky. CHAPTER XXIII. THE DEFEAT. Wu CHIH TIEN’s soldiers came shrieking from the pass, on which were rained blood and the limbs of torn men, and they would have fled down the mountain, had she not stayed them with her sword. ‘*They have done their worst !’’ she cried. ‘* The pass is now the safest place! Through it I go, if I go alone!”’ Again her example stopped and turned the tide of disaster, and, shamed by the dar- ing of a woman, even the cowards found the swords they had cast away, and faced back. It was even as Wu Chih Tien had said— the pass was now as safe as any other part cf the battle-field, for all its engines of death had been exhausted. Seeing that the empress would enter the pass, if she went alone, and learning, by the shouts of victory to the right and left, that their friends were winning there, the men in - the center took heart, and rushed into the pass. Step by step, Wu Chih Tien in the front, they fought their way through, till they reached the valley, in the center of which was the white tent of the prince. By this time the sun had gone down, and there would have been no light for the battle, had not the empress commanded that the camps be fired. Soon great circles of fire were blazing about the hills, and the fighting, that died _ out as darkness came, was renewed. Seeing that the soldiers of Wu Chih Tien were stopping to plunder the camp, General Mah called about him the remnant of the Manchoorian horse, and, placing himself at their head, he was about to order a charge on the blazing camp, when the prince gal- loped to his side, and said : ‘*T have borne with my people the trials of the day ; let me show them that I can also share the dangers of the night.”’ There was no time for talk, so the general said : ‘* Let it be even as my master desires.”’ Then the drums beat, and the war cymbals crashed, and again the eagle cries went up, and the horsemen of Manchooria dashed into the valley. Down the blazing streets, and in among the dense masses of the foe, they poured ; and, like flails of fire, the red swords rose and fell, and the red life chaff flew up from the strokes. The prince saw one in golden armor, who looked young as himself. His heart told him it was Wu Chih Tien, and, shouting his mother’s name, he dashed towards her . but it was only to hurl his horse on a wall of spears that had sprung up to shield her. Freeing himself, he ran back into the darkness, his sight dimmed with blood, and his brain reeling from the blow of a sword that had fallen on his head. Valor proved powerless against numbers, and so General Mah, with the remnant of the horse, fell back to where the rest of the

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WU CHIH TIEN, THE CELESTIAL EMPRESS. 69 beaten army was gathered in the mountain defiles. . Here he met the Tedo of Paou Ting Fu, who asked : ‘‘ Where is the prince ?’”’ The general looked about him, like one roused from a dream, but he could not reply. Then one who had charged with the horse spoke up, and said: ‘‘T saw the prince riding forward alone, and I tried to follow. Then, as I watched, I saw his horse go down, and, just as a hun- dred swords were raised above him, he rose up and fled into the night.’’ And when the people heard this, a grief greater than that of defeat came upon them. CHAPTER XXIV. THE PRINCE’S FLIGHT. WHEN the prince escaped into the dark- ness, he found himself in the midst of the soldiers of Wu Chih Tien, who were thirst- ing for his blood ; but as they could not see him, they supposed that he was one of their own number. Although filled with sorrow for the defeat of his friends and the death of so many brave men, he did not fear for himself, only as his own danger might affect the cause so dear to him. As he looked back from the hill, at the fires dying out in the camp, he heard one saying : ‘‘ Would that it had been mine to kill the impostor prince; then I should stand close to the throne, even as the empress has prom- ised.”’ Then another spoke, and asked : ‘‘ If you knew he were the true prince, and the son of Tung Ko Sung, would you slay him?’”’ But the man made no reply, neither did those who were standing about say that they would kill the true prince. Then, when the sound of fighting died out, the men who had been waiting or hiding in the hills ran down with great shouts ; and, waiting till he was alone, the prince hurried away. He hoped to rejoin his friends ; but as he knew not the mountain roads, and the night was very dark, he went on for hours, nor saw sign of those he was in search of. When daylight came, he found himself in the depths of a great forest, and, overcome with fatigue, he sat down with his back against a tree and went to sleep. He did rot awake till the sun was straight above him, and he might have slept on, had he not been disturbed by the grunting of swine. The prince started up, and he found about him many pigs, which were attended by a savage-looking youth of his own age. The swineherd’s eyes feasted on the rich dress of the young prince, and he looked as if only the sword prevented him from pos- sessing himself of it by force. ‘‘My friend,’’ said the prince, ‘‘can you direct me to the camp of the army from Chung Ang ?”’ “‘T know not where Chung Ang nor its army is,’’ the swineherd growled. ‘*Do you know where the camp of General Mah is?”’ ‘*T hope it is sunk into the mountain ; for General Mah’s soldiers have stolen some of my fattest pigs,’’ he said. ‘* What do you call this place ?’”’ ‘* The land is too poor to have a name.”’ ‘* But it bears food ?’’ ‘Yes, a little, for the pigs.”’ ‘If you will give me some food,’’ said the prince, who was very hungry, ‘‘I will pay you.”’ ‘If you will exchange your fine dress for my mean one,’’ said the swineherd, ‘‘ then I will share with you my food.”’ To this the prince agreed, and the two went to a little hut near by. Here the outer dresses were exchanged, and the prince ate the pounded acorns and the eggs of wild birds, which the swineherd had made ready for him in a wooden dish. And when he had eaten, the prince went on again, for his heart was set on finding General Mah; but on reaching a high hill, he saw the horsemen of Wu Chih Tien in the way he would take; then he turned and hastened into the valley. As he hurried along the dusty road, he met two men, who came out wet from a rice field, and one of them: said to him : ‘* Better be a living swineherd than a dead prince. The soldiers of Wu Chih Tien—the demons take her!—have triumphed, and General Mah is dead, and his army is flee- ing for safety through the mountains.”’

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WU CHIH TIEN, THE CHAPTER XXV. WU CHIH TIEN RETURNS TO CHUNG ANG. THE prisoners, wounded and well, who had been taken from General Mah’s army, were put to the sword by order of Wu Chih Tien, the morning after the battle ; and she caused search to be made among the dead, hoping that the body of General Mah or of the prince would be found. And when it was known that neither had been slain, she sent out her horsemen, and ordered them not to return without one or the other. The second day after the battle, she moved the camp down from the mountain, and she sent messengers to Chung Ang to tell the people of the victory she had won over Gen- eral Mah, and that they must make ready to receive her. And while she waited for another morning to begin the march back, there appeared before her a band of soldiers, and in their midst was a rough youth, clad in the finest silks, and on the front of his war cap there was embroidered with gold thread the arms of the Tung emperors; and the men said : ‘*Oh, Daughter of Light, this is the prince thou hast sent us to find.’’ Then Wu Chih Tien clapped her hands, and her loud laugh rang through the camp, whereat the poor swineherd, for he it was, trembled with fear, and gazed wildly and helplessly about him, which caused her to laugh the more. ‘* And you dared to call yourself the son of Tung Ko Sung?’’ said Wu Chih Tien, with the light of scorn in her eyes. ‘*T call myself nothing,’ said the swine- herd. ‘*Do you know who I am ?”’ ‘**T do not.”’ ‘* Never heard of Wu Chih Tien ?”’ ‘Yes ; even the pigs have heard of her,”’ grunted the swineherd. She was too happy to get angry. Next she asked : ‘* Where did you leave General Mah?”’ ‘*T never left him ; but his men stole my pigs, and I am glad they were beaten.”’ ‘‘Ah! you are very cunning !’’ laughed Wu Chih Tien. ‘‘ Next, you will try to make me believe you are a swineherd.”’ ‘* And that is just what I am, as were my fathers before me,’’ replied the youth. CELESTIAL EMPRESS. ‘* And did your fathers tend swine in robes of silk, and did they wear war caps on which were emblazoned the arms of the Tungs?”’ she asked. Now the swineherd believed that he from whom he had forced the clothes was one of Wu Chih Tien’s army, and that, if he told how he came by the things, it would go harder with him, so he sealed his lips, and said not a word. . ‘Bind him, and take him away,’’ said Wu Chih Tien to her officers, ‘‘ and we shall carry him to Chung Ang, that the people may see for themselves the creature whom the rebels would have them believe is the true prince.’’ And the officers did as the empress com- manded; and the swineherd cursed the love of fine clothes that had brought all this trouble upon him, and he moaned aloud : ‘* Better be a swineherd in rags than a prince in silks and fetters.”’ Nearly one third of the men Wu Chih Tien had led from Chung Ang were killed or wounded in the mountain battle, yet enough remained to care for the helpless left behind, and to escort her in triumph to the capital. And as they marched back, the people, who had heard of the great victory, forgot the taxes and the oppression, and, thinking only of the glory of her deeds, they touched their foreheads to the ground when she came near, and called on the gods to make her one of themselves, that she might live for- ever. And when she came to Chung Ang with her army, all the city’s gates were opened wide, and all the bells clanged, and the can- non boomed when she entered. The loveliest youths and maidens scattered roses, and lilies, and passion-flowers in the way of her horse, while others played upon reeds and sang songs of welcome. Over the streets leading to the palace, green arches were thrown, and from every house-top and window, from every staff, and from every temple of pleasure, there floated the banners of Wu Chih Tien. And that night a great feast was given to the army, and every building glowed with lights. The trees held fiery fruit ; the lakes flashed like molten gold ; the heavens rained fire-

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WU CHIH TIEN, THE CELESTIAL EMPRESS. a j PGFs ; vi ; a. es eS 7, a j ¢ ys Me ! iy ranma >) THE PRINCE EXCHANGES CLOTHES WITH THE SWINEHERD. drops of every hue; and men and women laughed and saluted who knew not each other before. The swineherd was sent to the Lun Goon prison, after he had been paraded through the streets, and he was told that the empress would see him on the morrow. That night Wu Chih Tien sat on her raised seat at the end of the great hall from which she had come the night when Wu San Li told her of his defeat. She had laid aside the golden armor, and appeared covered with red roses, and in a dress that showed the beauty of her form. About her were her companions of plea- sure, and they sang her praises while she drank to them in the strong wines of Don Yon. And they sang and laughed till the day dawned again. Then she called to them to follow her, and she led them out to the great pit in which the hungry tigers were kept ; and when all were seated round about, she called to her guards : ‘‘ Bring hither the impostor prince !”’ And they brought the swineherd from the Lun Goon prison, and cast him in to the tigers; and when he was dead, Wu Chih Tien said : ‘‘ Now is all the trouble over, and peace and pleasure will dwell in Chung Ang again.”’ CHAPTER XXVI. THE WANDERINGS OF THE TRUE PRINCE. Now as the swineherd, because of his dress, was believed by Wu Chih Tien to be the prince, so the poor people, for the same reason, were sure that the prince was a swineherd, and there was no humbler place among the people who toil. He had a little money with him; but so long as he felt the casket with the seal above his heart, he did not lose courage; for, no matter what others might think, this told him that he was the prince of all. He had heard that Su Chow was a city of great wealth, and that there lived there many rich merchants who did not like Wu Chih Tien, so he said: ‘* Thither I will go, in the hope of finding friends.”’ One day, when all his money was gone, and he was seated on a bench before a little inn where fish and saki and rice were sold, there came along two Tartar peddlers with packs upon their backs, and they stopped to show their beads and paints and armlets to the women, and to eat cabbage and rice, and to drink saki. And one of them said to the prince : ‘“Where go you, young man ?”’ And he replied : “I go to find friends in Su Chow.”’ “It is far to walk,’’ said the man. ‘We

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72 WU CHIH TIEN, THE CELESTIAL EMPRESS. too, are going to Su Chow; but we must first reach the Yang Tze Kiang. There we will buy a sam-pan, and sail down with- out labor. Now if you help us to carry our load to the river's bank, and if you will promise to cook for us as we sail down, we will take you with us, and we will give you money to buy a new coat when we reach - there.’’ ‘I will help to carry your burdens,”’ said the prince. ‘‘ But I much fear that I do not know how to cook.”’ ‘*Oh,”’ said the Tartar, ‘‘we are not tender of the mouth. But what you do not know, my brother and I will teach you.”’ And so it was agreed that the prince should go with them. After they had bartered with the women in the village, the men made the two packs into three, and the heaviest one, though it looked to be the smallest, they gave to the prince, and then they turned their faces to the river. Without complaint, the prince bore his burden that day, though it galled him sorely, and his feet were cut by the stones. After dark, the three lay down by some rice-stacks, and one of the Tartars asked the prince, who called himself ‘‘ Li Tan,’’ if he knew how to steal ducks. And he said—for he was afraid of his companions—that he did not know how, very well. Then the man who spoke most, said : ‘* You stay back, and shell all your pock- ets full of rice, and my brother and I will go shake the trees on which ducks and bean bread grow.”’ After a time, the men came back with some bean bread and two headless ducks. Then each took up his burden again, and they tramped on through the darkness. At length they came to a dark forest, and into this they went, and one of the men started a fire ; but when he came over to ask the prince—or Li Tan—to cook, he found that he had fainted. - ‘If he is sick,”’ they said, ‘‘ there will be the more for us to eat."’ When Li Tan came to his senses, the men had eaten up all the ducks, and there was nothing left but a little hard bread ; but they said hard bread was very nice with raw rice. The next day they reached the Yang Tze Kiang, and here the two men bought a leaky sam-pan, to carry them to Su Chow. When darkness approached, the men drew the sam-pan ashore, and made a camp till morning. After four days’ sailing down the river, and the night before they were to reach Su Chow, Li Tan, while pretending to be asleep, heard the two men talking. And one said: ‘*But for his dress, the youth is exceed- ingly pleasant to the sight, and his voice is low and ‘sweet like that of a mandarin’s daughter ; therefore we must get him good clothes at Su Chow, and then say he is our slave, and sell him.”’ The prince trembled with fear and anger when he heard this, but he did not move till the men were sleeping soundly; then he went softly down to the shore, and pushing the sam-pan into the water, he leaped in at the front, and the current bore him down through the darkness. He kept out the water, and looked ahead, and after many hours he saw many lights in the distance, and he knew not then that they burned in the pagodas of Su Chow. (To be continued.)

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(eat elie, re * rf SITE OF CARTHAGE. Engraved by J. Clement. FROM THE SEA TO THE DESERT. By Davip KER II. MOTHER CARTHAGE AND DAUGHTER TUNIS. HAT justly exasperated editor who longed for an extradition treaty to keep Marius from sitting any more amid the ruins of Carthage, by sending him out of Africa aitogether, would doubtless have been not a little amazed, had he visited Tunis Bay, to find that there were apparently ‘‘ no ruins of Carthage’’ for that extremely tiresome consul to sit among. As we round the vast, gray, shadowy mass of Cape Bon (the north- easternmost point of Africa), and glide into the smooth bright waters of that wonderful bay over which the armed galleys of Scipio Africanus came sweeping twenty centuries ago on their great mission of vengeance, one tiny blot of pale yellow on its long, low western shore—looking no larger than a spot upon a billiard table against the bound- less expanse of those wide green uplands—is all that marks the site of the New York of antiquity, the world’s greatest commer- cial city till Rome’s hard-hitting soldiers pounded it to dust. But, however disappointing to a zealous antiquarian, the scene would be simply per- fect in the eyes of a painter or apoet. Day is just dawning, and over earth and sea and sky broods a stillness deep and solemn as that of a newly-created world fresh from the hands of God. Through the deep cleft that 6 separates the twin peaks of Hammet-el-Lif (the highest of the encircling mountains) the first ray of sunrise is streaming in a broad blaze of living fire ; but all below is steeped in arich summer glow of purple twilight, giv- ing to the whole scene an aspect so shadowy and dream-like, that one would hardly be surprised to see a line of helmeted Roman legionaries, with the gilded eagle of the Republic shining above them, come tramp- ing and glittering through the black tomb- like mouth of one of these dark narrow gorges that split the great mountain wall in every direction. But as the growing light broadens and deepens, all the grand features of this match- less panorama come forth to view in their full splendor. All along the eastern shore towers the great purple rampart of wooded mountains, while to the west an endless succession of low green slopes roll up, wave beyond wave, against the warm, dreamy blue of the African sky. In front lie out- spread like a mirror the clear bright waters of the bay, across the shining surface of which, like a bar-sinister drawn athwart some gorgeous heraldic escutcheon, runs the broad flat sand-bank that walls off the navigable roadstead from the shallow lagoon within.

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74 FROM THE SEA Just at the point where the bar commences, stand ranged along the water’s edge, like a row of carved ivory chessmen, the trim white houses of the dainty little toy town of Goletta. Behind it extends, far as the eye can reach, the bare, stony, burning plain which is all that the destroying sweep of Moslem conquest has left of those fair corn- lands which were once the granary of North- ern Africa. Over its wide, dusty surface three Arab horsemen—seeming no larger than flies amid the vastness of that bound- less solitude—are riding slowly, with their long guns slung at their backs; and, far out upon the gray, unending level, rises gauntly a row of huge dark arches, the ruins of that mighty Roman aqueduct which once stretched in one unbroken line of massive masonry, eighty miles long, upto the higher waters of the Bagrada. And yonder, out- spread like a snow-drift along the slope of the steep, rocky hill that overshadows the innermost hollow of the bay, lies the great city of ‘‘ Pirate Tunis,’’ in all the barbaric picturesqueness of its shining domes, and massive ramparts, and flat-roofed houses, and tall slender minarets rising from a clustering mass of dark, glossy, tropical vegetation—all of which, steeped in the cloudless splendor of an African sunrise, burst upon us in one broad blaze of glory. Tunis itself being rendered unapproach- able by the sand-bar above mentioned, we land at Goletta, a spot which every man of Anglo-Saxon blood may well be proud to remember. Here it was that Admiral Blake, more than two hundred years ago, demanded from the Bey of Tunis the release of all Christian slaves, and satisfaction for the ceaseless piracies which had long been the terror of the whole civilized world ; and here he received the haughty despot’s answer, that the ‘‘unbelieving cur’’ might take what satisfaction he could from the forts and ships of Goletta. Standing like a tower on his own quarter- deck, Blake hears the barbarian's insolence to an end in grim silence, deigning no word of reply ; but the fierce tugging of his strong fingers at his thick black beard (a gesture which England’s foes know to their cost) tells to the sturdy blue-jackets around him that their terrible leader means to answer that defiance with the heaviest shot of his destroying cannon. Through the dead hush TO THE DESERT. of expectation bursts suddenly the stern music of the old Puritan battle-psalm : “* God is our refuge and our strength, In straits a present aid,” with the crash of the flagship’s whole broad- side as an accompaniment. Down topple the tall masts and taper spars of the pirate vessels, down thunder in shapeless heaps of ruin the frowning forts that defend them. Far away on the stony ridges of Jebel Attak, bare-limbed Moorish goat-herds lift their heads to listen to the ceaseless roll of the distant cannon-thunder, and mutter, with faces livid with mingled fear and rage, that the ‘‘Jawur Ingleez’’ (English dogs) are knocking loudly at the gates of Tunis. By sunset all is over, and Robert Blake has ‘*taken satisfaction from the forts and ships of Goletta’’ in a way which Tunis will remember for many a day to come. The pirate king, crouching amid the ruins of his palace, tears his beard in impotent fury as he signs the humbling treaty which he dares not refuse ; and ten thousand Christian captives, freed from the horrors of slavery worse than death, are lifting up their hearts in silent thanksgiving to the God and Fa- ther of all. From Goletta we go round the lagoon to Tunis in a queer little Tom Thumb of a train, so small that I almost expect to see it labeled ‘‘ New Toy Steam-Cars, at two dol- lars and a half, the Complete Set.’’ Each car has a kind of railed balcony all around the outside of it, along wh:ch you can walk during the transit, enjoying the view at your leisure ; and there is a good deal of it to enjoy, for the railway track makes such an enormous twist that I am involuntarily reminded of the swift runner who ‘saw his own back distinctly’’ in rounding the final curve of the home-stretch, and the dashing horseman who rode at such a pace round the last bend of the road into New York, that his shadow came up five minutes later to ask which way he had gone. The first duty of any Englishman in a foreign town is, of course, to look out for something to eat ; and his second duty is to abuse whatever may be set before him, as ‘‘confounded foreign trash, not fit for a dog.’’ But when these ceremonies have been duly performed, all orthodox tourists are bound to rush out at once by train to the

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FROM THE SEA TO THE DESERT ‘ ROMAN AQUEDUCT AT CARTHAGE, Bey’s palace at Bardo, three miles southwest of Tunis itself. Why on earth any one should go there at all, it is hard to say, except perhaps that its prominent place in the red-covered Koran which tells all true British excursionists what they ought to admire may delude them into the belief that it is worth seeing. But, in reality, this much-praised spot is a very good illustration of the old joke, ‘“There was nothing to see, and I saw it thoroughly.’’ Tothose for whom Oriental dwellings and customs are still a novelty, there is doubtless some enjoyment in star- ing at the tesselated pavements of black and white marble, the deep, narrow, quaintly- carved archways, the fretted cornices and over-arching palm-trees, and the real live ‘black slaves,’’ who stand with real swords their hands at the door of a genuine harem. But to us, who have seen every great Mohammedan city from Samar- cand in the East to Oran in the West, this tawdry parody of Oriental state and splendor is the most melancholy sight conceivable. Any one who has visited some decayed family mansion of the old school in the drawn in Faubourg St. Germain at Paris, filled with moth-eaten hangings and mildewed family portraits, can form a pretty exact idea of the inside of this royal pawn-shop, while the outside, with its bare white walls and gap- ing doorways, looks like a railway station afflicted with leprosy. More impressive by far—and therefore, of course, systematically neglected by ninety- nine visitors out of a hundred—is the vast craggy ridge overhanging the town, which, strewn with graves from crown to base (for it is now used as a Mohammedan burial- ground), seems as if it were itself a mighty tombstone raised to the memory of the an- cient city’s perished greatness. Well may such a spot seem consecrated to Death ; for it was here that, in the grim days of the old Carthaginian rule, tall black crosses rose gauntly against the sky by hundreds at a time, with a writhing victim nailed upon each. On the brightest and clearest morn- ing, that bare, bleak, stony hillside with its countless graves would be a dreary spec- tacle ; but when seen (as I first saw it years ago) beneath the deepening gloom of a stormy December night, its grim desolation

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76 FROM THE SEA becomes absolutely overwhelming. The jagged rocks on one side, shelving steeply down to the dark waters below ; the ancient Roman wall on the other, looming against the darkening sky in gaunt and ghastly ruin ; the wilderness of broken headstones, crumbling tombs, and low white domes that start up spectrally through the deepening gloom, with their one narrow entrance yawning black and grim in the center; the dismal ‘‘Salt Lake’’ glimmering faintly amid the great gulf of blackness below ; the dreary Plain of Carthage in the distance, with all its dreadful memories; the dead, utter silence, broken only by the ghostly shriek of some passing night-bird—all com- bine to form a picture of such unearthly horror that the hideous fancies of Eastern superstition—the Ghoul, the Vampire, the Afrit—seem not merely possible but per- fectly natural amid such surroundings. The town of Tunis itself is Marseilles pasted on to Jerusalem. Gaunt wild-eyed savages, in the rough camel’s-hair cloaks worn by John the Baptist and his Syrian comrades, rest their bare brown shoulders against telegraph-poles. Albert biscuits are sold at the same stall as the parched corn and dates that fed Esau and his wild spear- men on the steppes of Edom forty centuries ago. You look up from studying a railway time-table that hangs at the door of a trim modern hotel, just in time to see a veiled Eastern woman glide by like a ghost, dressed just as Rebecca was when she came to Isaac. A dandified young French officer, stepping newspaper in hand out of a smart new build- ing, with ‘‘Café Restaurant’’ in gilt letters above its brightly-painted doorway, almost runs against a shaggy-haired, fierce-eyed, half-nude and more than half-crazy dervish (devotee) who comes striding along the crowded street with uplifted arms and wild cries, like Jonah when warning Nineveh of its doom. When I first visited Tunis, before the French annexation (for the spectacle is rot so common now), the newly arrived tourist used to meet in every part of the town groups of short, ill-made men in silken pants and embroidered jackets, with small pointed caps on their heads ; and it was no slight surprise to learn that these seeming men were really women, and that, instead of being, as one might have supposed, play- TO THE DESERT. actors or circus-riders, they were respectable Jewish ladies, compelled to wear this queer costume in order to distinguish themselves from the Mohammedan women around them. ‘‘And now,’’ said the obliging French engineer who was acting as our showman among all these local ‘‘lions,’’ ‘‘let us see when the next train starts for Carthage.’’ ‘‘A train to Carthage sounds odd, even in these days,’’ answered I. ‘‘I wonder if we shall ever hear out in the East: ‘ This way for the Nineveh train!’ ‘Change for Babylon, Hamath, and the Temple of Baal!’ ‘All baggage for Mesopotamia registered here !’’’ In truth, there certainly zs something incongruous in the idea of rattling up by steam-car to a place whose independent ex- istence ended more than two thousand years ago; and the jaunty little modern railway station at which we disembarked looks strangely out of place on the edge of this wide, bare, sun-scorched African plain, studded with the wrecks of cities which were destroyed ages before Christ was born. Such ascene of universal ruin would have been just the place for that enlightened English excur- sionist who objected to Pompeii and the other Roman cities destroyed by the eruption of Vesuvius, because they were ‘‘ so shamefully out of repair.’’ As we approach the neat little chapel of white stone that crowns the steep round bluff above the station (named after St. Louis of France, who perished here with all his army, in the last of those splendid national suicides which history knows as the Cru- sades), we are met and courteously greeted by good Father B——, of the French Mission, who has risen from a sick-bed on purpose to show us all that can be seen of Carthage. “You must find it rather lonely here sometimes, Father,’’ remark I, as we de- scend the farther side of the hill together, ‘*for I suppose you have not many books to keep you company.”’ ‘*{ am seldom idle, however,’’ answers the priest, with a quiet smile, ‘‘ for those good people yonder’’ (pointing to a distant group of passing Arabs) ‘‘keep me pretty busy. They have a great reverence for anything in the form of a Aakim (physician), and the moment they found out that I knew some- thing of medicine, they began bringing me sick people from all the villages around. Luckily I managed to cure most of them ;

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THE MORNING BREAKS. 77 but, only the other day, they brought me a dead man, and wanted me to raise him to life again ; and when I told them I couldn't, they took it to mean that I wouldn't, and thought me very unkind indeed, which was rather unreasonable, wasn’t it ?’’ And I am fain to admit that it certainly was ‘* You've come at a very good time,”’ he continues, ‘‘for the excavations which are being made here have just brought to light some very interesting remains, which I shall have the pleasure of showing you as we go along.’’ This promise is speedily and amply ful- filled. Close to the little chapel itself, at the lower end of the neat, well-kept garden attached to it, yawns a wide trench several yards in depth, through the heaped dust of which start up several rough blocks of fire- charred stone—the sole remnant of that grim citadel which the desperate Carthaginians burned over their own heads when all was lost. On the brow of a low ridge to our right, one solitary fragment of crumbling masonry preserves the memory of the imperial palace of Dido. On our left, some newly-excavated remains show us the two Carthages side by side—the rough unhewn stones of the ancient Punic workmanship, contrasted with the smooth, square, symmetrical blocks which area fit type indeed of the cold, stern, rigid accuracy of Imperial Rome. Just below us, the railway track runs right across a vast circular hollow, which (as the missionary tells us with a sudden light of enthusiasm on his worn and pallid face) is the site of the famous amphitheater where so many Christian martyrs died bravely rather than ‘‘sacrifice unto idols.’”” And yonder, just THE MORNING emerging from a vast heap of drifted sand, we see the half-destroyed foundation of the great Temple of Baal, in which, ages ago, a six-year-old child (consecrated to the ser- vice of the avenging Sun-god by his very name of Hannibal, or ‘‘Grace of Baal’’) uttered, with a frown of prophetic sternness on his bright young face, that fatal oath of eternal enmity to Rome, whose results are written forever in the bloodiest page of classic history. This smooth, broad path, flanked with vast mounds of ruin, by which we descend to the sand-choked lagoon that now represents the ancient harbor, was once the renowned ‘‘ Via Ceelestis,’’ the Fifth Avenue of Roman Car- thage, where the dandies and belles of the first century lounged, flirted, betted, dis- cussed the latest news from the seat of war in Parthia, and paraded ‘‘ the last sweet thing in spring fashions ’’ from Rome. Thick along the base of the slope lie those smooth, oval sling-stones that dealt death among the hel- meted legionaries of Rome as they came charging up this fatal hillside on that terrible summer day two thousand years ago. And now there rises before us a line of giant arches, mighty and massive as a Hindoo temple or an Egyptian sepulcher ; but when we look down into the great void of black- ness within, we see neither stair nor pave- ment, but only a ghostly glimmer of dark, sullen waters in the sunless depths below. These are the far-famed ‘‘cisterns of Car- thage,’’ and such as they are was Carthage herself. Though grand and powerful in out- ward seeming, she was founded on a basis unstable as water; and like water did she melt away when matched in mortal combat against the iron compactness of Rome. BREAKS. By GRACE APPLETON. THE morning breaks, and with it brings The first faint breath of spring, And hearts, like happy birds on wings, For joy are caroling ! A thrill runs through the frozen earth, A trill pervades the air, Presaging banishment of dearth, Foretelling all things fair ! Each shivering bough inwreathed shall glow With wealth of summer bloom, Unmindful of the blasts that blow, Forgetful of the gloom ! And hearts bowed down by wintry woe, Souls shivering in Life's blast, Beneath God’s smile shall radiant grow, In Summer Land at last!

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BIRDS.—(Part IIL.) By OUIDA. \YjocreTrEs have been formed in both Europe - and America for the preservation of birds and the repression of commerce in them ; but the most effective of all means to this end would be the determination of every woman of fashion to prohibit the use of birds in her own toilet. An ounce of example is of more weight than a pound of precept. If women chose, the bird fanciers’ miserable trade would be ended in a year. If no buyers were to be found, all the bird-catching com- merce would cease ; if cages and aviaries and their concomitants were no longer in demand by the civilized world, barbarians would not ransack virgin forests to capture the living jewels flashing on the white bosom of mag- nolia and datura flowers. The influence of women might be almost immeasurable in its power for this end. As it is, the trades- man’s wife hangs her little canary in a stuffy little cage above some scarlet gera- nium, and the duchess imprisons her love birds and her Java sparrows in her conserva- tory. Neither thinks that she is committing any cruelty, and each, when her little cap- tives die, buys others. Not one woman in ten thousand ever attempts to make her children care for birds or animals in any other sense than, at best, as the occasional playthings of an idle moment. Women are enemies of all feeling which is not wholly personal and egotistic. One may see a kind- hearted and gentle-eyed woman smiling placidly, while gold-fish under a lace-shaded lamp, on her dinner table, gasp and struggle and die with heat, amidst the hot-house fruit, bonbons, and the orchid blooms. If children grow up in an atmosphere of tenderness for living things, they are moved and colored by it as the growing fruit is reddened by the sun. I cannot believe that any child except of an unusually cruel disposition would fail to feel a love for birds and their ways were he early led to do so by example and suggestion. Instead of the senseless and barbarous bird-nesting, boys could be induced to watch and cherish birds in their natural haunts, if they were early taught the charm and interest which may be thus added to rural life, and to town life wherever there are parks and gardens. Unhappily they are only trained to sport, as princes are trained to war; and a bird means nothing at all tothe vast majority of youths and men except something to be shot at, even as to the princes of Europe the numerals of population only indicate so many battalions for war, so many more thousands to become food for powder. A lad who can see his father shoot blue-rocks at Hurlingham is not likely to feel much tenderness for the wood-pigeon in his home woods. Accustomed to the keeper’s ruthless slaughter of wild birds, and the collection of dead owls, dead jays, dead kestrels, and other woodland birds nailed to the lodge door or fence, he grows up with no more feeling for birds than he has for moles or beetles. Even in those who grow up with more inclination to natural history than to sport, the feeling toward wild creatures is almost entirely cruel. The brutality of Frank Buckland’s

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BIRDS. 79 yy 1) Me LLL Le de ate anil / mp esnee \tt a ws fh Yael . - Uli call y Me treatment of birds and animals, put in evidence in his autobiography, is too often the characteristic of the nat- uralist. Even in so good a soul as the self-taught natu- ralist Edwards, whose life has been so well told by Mr. Smiles, there is an unsparing cruelty where observation or the possession of specimens was in question. ‘‘He prayeth best who loveth best All creatures great and small,” is not the creed of the naturalist. He will endure great privation and exertion, indeed, to obtain a view of a rare bird; but when he sees it, he shoots or traps it, or poisons it, to insure its rarity. In the provincial schools of France, there is commencing now what is called /’éducation aux champs : the scholars are taken out into the woods and fields, and are taught to take an intelligent interest in what they see there, and are led to know of what use the wood-pecker is in saving the tree-trunk from insects and insect larvae, and what a valuable auxiliary to the cultivator is the green and golden beetle. This is true wisdom; and could such a culture of the eye and ear of all the children of rural dis- tricts be carried on throughout the civilized world, it would be of more service to them, and conduce more to the true happiness and service of their generation, than all the learning of the indoor school. And open-air teaching has the supreme advantage over the education of the schoolroom, that it braces at once the mind and body, and gives healthiness to both physical and intellectual beings. The insight and tenderness of a Tourgenieff, of a Thoreau, of a Michelet, could not be given—it must be inborn ; but much might be done to arouse the sympa- thies, guide the vision, and awaken the compassion and the interest of young scholars taken out amidst the grow- ing wheat, golden gorse, the laden vines. When we contrast the comparative scarcity of birds in

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BIRDS. Europe with those in Africa, it seems within the bounds of possibility that the greed of man and the increase of towns may, at a not very distant future, diminish in terrible numbers, if not annihilate, wild birds alto- gether. Their destruction is wholesale and insensate, and no acts of any parliament can reach remote and lonely places. That, despite the persecution from which they suffer, these lovely creatures do con- tinue to sustain their unaided lives, and bring forth and multiply in the numbers that they do, against odds so great and enemies so various and unmerciful, is a marvel not less amazing than the powers of endurance which sustain their flight across continent and sea, and enable them to find nourishment under the most uncongenial and oppressive conditions. If man but loved them as they merit, how willingly would he share the fruits of the earth with them, how gratefully would he acknowledge the aid they give to agriculture, how profoundly would he be sensible of the charm those trembling wings and joyous voices lend to the mountain pool and the meadow grasses, and with how deep a dis- gust would he view the sacrilege which can dare to stifle their sweetness of song and beauty of motion ! Since writing these lines, I have seen that the German ornithologist, Naumann, has preceded me in saying that the old nightin- gale sings best; and that the reason why much finer singers are heard in some places than in others, is that in haunts where their nests are undisturbed year after year, and where they can annually return to find their home in the same safe spot, in grass or bough, in tuft or thicket, the old birds are heard by the younger ones season after sea- son, and so theirsongs reach their uttermost height of maturity and perfection. It is a mistake to suppose that the nightingale is shy ; only leave him unharmed, and he will make his home close under your window, if there be a shrub or any leafage adapted to him. Beside my bedroom windows this year there are three nightingales’ nests, one in the ivy, one in the laurel, one in the roses, all within a yard or two of the casements, I have had them build in the grass under the fir-tree not ten yards from the house, and in a spot which carriages pass continually to the terrace steps close by; but the birds, being unmolested, rear their broods as though they were in the depths of the woods. It seems to me that a springtime where nightingales are not, is unworthy to be called spring at all.

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IN THE FIELD PAPERS. I. FOX-HUNTING NEAR THE METROPOLIS. By CHARLES S. PELHAM-CLINTON, MASTER OF HOUNDS OF THE COUNTRY CLUB. ~ T is only during the past decade that fox-hunting can be said to have become in any way a popular pastime in the neigh- borhood of New York. When first the enthusiasts who had caught the infection from England attempted to obtain a hearing, their efforts were received by polite persons with an incredulous smile, while the less polite openly ridiculed the idea. More liberal views have prevailed, and though fox-hunting is still only indulged in by a few, it is now arecognized sport and one that has taken a firm root. What has done more to popularize fox-hunting in this part of the country has been the steeple-chase meet- ings given every spring and fall under the auspices of the several hunt clubs. Before these were started, steeple-chasing about New York had declined to a very low ebb, and the open and unpunished swindles perpetrated had laid a stigma on the cross-country sport that it certainly did not deserve. This has greatly changed since the Rockaway Steeple- chase Association has been formed ; and, backed by the Pelham and Meadow Brook clubs, steeple-chasing is now as fairly and openly conducted as flat-racing. Another sport which practically owes its existence tothe hunt clubs is polo. Had it not been for the existence of these clubs, polo would now be a dead letter instead of a flourishing pas- time, and one which becomes more and more popular each year, as is shown by the enthusiastic play of the past summer. It will be seen, therefore, that fox-hunting to a certain extent is the parent of two very attractive sports,—children that will probably outgrow and dwarf their parent. Delightful as hunting is, it requires money and time. From a lack of these requisites, hunting has not enlisted as many recruits as might have been expected; it has become a well-grounded sport, but looking at the lists of hard-riding men of four or five years ago, 7

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82 FOX-HUNTING NEAR THE METROPOLIS. it is surprising how few new names there are in comparison with the improved status of the sport. All the more honor to the men who, by reason of the strength of their indi- viduality, have borne down all opposition and made hunting as popular as it is. It was at first supposed that the owners of the land would strongly protest against having half a hundred horsemen ride helter-skelter over their fields, and at first some did object with shotguns and other trifling obstacles. But care has been taken to rebuild walls, mend fences, restore gates, and generally repair damage done ; and as the farmers find that the presence of the hounds brings in- creased prices for farm produce in general, and that the damage done is of really small importance, they now look on the sport with favor. The aniseed bag generally replaces the live fox here, one reason being the scarcity of foxes, and another the large size of the woods, which prevents a run in most cases, the fox refusing to break cover. A scamper after the aniseed bag, and a gallop after a genuine fox that has been let out where the drag ends, cause many a good horse and rider to bite the dust in their endeavors to keep with the hounds, and bring to mind the stirring lines of Whyte Melville: “ Down in the hollow there, sluggish and idle, Runs the dark stream where the willow-trees grow. Harden your heart and catch hold of your bridle, Steady him—rouse him—and over we go!" The principal packs of hounds in the vicinity of New York are the Meadow Brook, the Rockaway, the Country Club of Pelham, and the Essex County Country Club. The best known organization of the four is perhaps the Rockaway, but before the Rockaway Club was started another club was in the field. This was the Meadow Brook Club. Of course it is not claimed that the Meadow Brook was the first fox- hunting club in America, for the sport had gone on in the South—particularly in Vir- ginia—for many years, and still continues. Maryland also can claim priority over the hunt-clubs of this neighborhood, and is justly proud of the Elkridge Hounds. Whether the Quakers went in for the fun I am uncertain ; but a fox in the neighborhood of Philadelphia would, for the last hundred years, have a warm time of it, and the Rose Tree Club claims to have all the blue bloods of Pennsylvania in its ranks. The hunting in the South is not carried out with the same elaboration of details as here and at other recognized centers, but the rough-and-ready fashion in which things are done have a fascination all their own, and many a grand horse and artistic rider have learned the rudiments of jumping over the snake fences that stem the rush of ardent sportsmen who assemble at the first blush of dawn to aid in the capture of the little red reynard. Hunting men have found that the horses born and bred in Virginia are natural jumpers, and the demand for a good-shaped, sound animal of the right stamp is greater than the supply, but the breeding of horses adaptable as hunters has been found by southern breeders a paying enterprise, and several gentlemen who own estates there are turning their attention to this industry. The resources of the West also are called on to supply the demand, but it is surprising how few are found that have the requisites to make good hunters. Since steeple-chasing has become so popular, a large number of flat-racers have been put to cross-country work, and many of the members ride tho- roughbreds to hounds, as they find greater speed and endurance is required than can be found in the half-breds. Besides, an honest penny and a large amount of glory can be earned if the mount be able to gallop well and can be entered at the club meetings. A quartet of gentlemen whose names will be handed down in the annals of fox-hunting in this country were the originators of the Meadow Brook Hunt Club. For several years prior to 1877, Robert Center, William C. Peet, A. Belmont Purdy, and Frank Gray Griswold amused themselves with a scratch pack of hounds in the neighborhood of Hack- ensack, NewJersey. It was uphill work, how- ever, and the sport was hardly an adequate return for the expense and trouble, and in 1877 the four combined to obtain a more suitable spot and to conduct things on a larger basis. Long Island was fixed upon as a desirable locality. Mr. Griswold was on the point of starting for England, and agreed to purchase the requisite number of hounds, while the selection of the headquarters and other arrangements were made by Messrs.

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2 F 4 > 4 s x Z n wat a a E mn: 4 fe uss)

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84 FOX-HUNTING NEAR THE METROPOLIS. Center, Purdy, and Peet. These gentlemen shortly came to an understanding with the Stewart Estate, and the farm now known as the Meadow Brook Club House was rented. The name selected for the pack was The Queen's County Hounds, and, when other arrangements had been made, the hounds were shipped by Thomas Turbitt, of Dublin, to Mr. Purdy. The following circular was then issued : Q. C. D. H. September ist, 1877. DEAR SIR : Having imported a small pack of hounds from Ireland, which we have established at East Meadow Brook, Long Island, where we propose to run a drag twice a week over a country well adapted to that purpose, and being unable to maintain the pack properly without the assistance of those of our friends should be greatly pleased to receive a subscription from you. who are interested in our success we Ros’t CENTER, Wu. C. Par, A. BELMONT PurRDY, F. Gray GRISWOLD, Committee Queen's Drag Hounds. This circular was well received, and the initial meet took place in October, the tryst being close to Garden City. Curiosity, if not love of sport, brought out a large number of ladies, among them Mrs. A. T. Stewart. Judge Hilton had a party of friends with him, and Mr. W. Wetmore appeared with his coach. The field was a small one, as might be expected, including only the four origina- tors, Count Elliott Zborowski, C. de B. Wagstaff, Harry Blossom, and a lady whose name has not been-preserved. The run was all that could be desired, and was the pre- cursor of many a good day’s sport. In 1878 Mr. Purdy and Mr. Peet retired, desiring that a club should be formed, and the hounds not be held as a proprietary pack. Messrs. Frank Griswold and Robert Center, however, continued to hunt the country, until, in the spring of 1880, a change of locality was agreed on, and the Q. C. D. H. moved to Westchester County, vacating the old quarters. The pack stayed at Castle Line, in Westchester County, for two years, when it again moved, and made Far Rocka- way its headquarters. Hempstead, however, was not to be long without the sound of the horn. The mana- gers of the Stewart estate, owning most of the land about Hempstead, were alive enough to their own interests to see what a benefit the presence of a pack of hounds was to their real-estate transactions, and speedily sought out Belmont Purdy, requesting him to organize a club, and offering the old quarters on very favorable terms. This he did, and though the club was not then in- corporated, it practically began its career, and a number of well-known men were interested in it. Among them were Messrs. George C. Allen, Elliott Zborowski, W. E. Dodge Stokes, B. Foster, W. H. Hughes, Count D. B. Mouzilly, the late S. S. Sands, Jr., H. W. Munn, F. Durand, A. W. Hunter, A. Wright Sanford, Thomas Hitchcock, Jr., R. R. Hamilton, Frederick Gebhard, Gren- ville Kane, Richard Peters, James R. Keene, August Belmont, Jr., Charles G. Francklyn, Carroll Livingston, the Hon. J. Burke Roche, the late William R. Travers, and the late George L. Lorillard. The hounds selected and sent out by the Hon. J. Burke Roche included some remark- ably well-bred ones and came from the best packs in England. From thisstock comes the present pack at Meadow Brook, and the club has captured several prizes at the West- minster Kennei Club shows. The hounds were hunted by Mr. A. Bel- mont Purdy, who was assisted by Charles Cullen, the whip being James Berger, who shortly afterwards became the huntsman. The first meet took place at Garden City on September 18, 1880, and the season closed, after some capital sport, with a large meet at ‘‘ The Nursery,’’ August Belmont’s place near Babylon. At the close of the season a meeting of the subscribers and their friends was called, and it was agreed to or- ganizea permanent club, andon May 1, 1881, the club was formally incorporated under the name of the Meadow Brook Hunt Club. The officers were: President, the late Wil- liam R. Travers ; Vice-President, George C. Allen; Secretary, William Travers, Jr.; Treasurer, Francis R. Appleton. The first object of the club is, of course, hunting; but polo, tennis, and pigeon-shoot- ing are all popular, and of late coursing with terriers has become the leading mid- winter sport. The clubhouse has not been materially altered or enlarged since its oc- cupation by the club. Though better ap-

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MEMBERS OF THE MEADOW tR IUNT CLUI

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86 FOX-HUNTING NEAR THE METROPOLIS. pointed and in better repair than most farm- houses, it retains their characteristics and has a cosy andcomfortable appearance. The stables lie at the back of the club and are large and commodious, the kennels standing near by. The disastrous fire that took place in Feb- ruary, 1886, dimmed the luster of the club in the steeplechase world ;as Hobson's Choice, Laurelwood, and several other horses, which were burned, were winners, and were hard to replace. William R. Travers retained the presi- dency of theclub until his death. The post of Master of Foxhounds was held at first by August Belmont, and at his retirement - Frank Appleton took the horn. He was succeeded by E. D. Morgan, and J. G. Beres- ford, and Thomas Hitchcock, Jr., now holds the position. The Meadow Brook Club steeplechases were always the occasion of a great turning out of all the residents of Hempstead and the surrounding villages, and hundreds of New Yorkers took a holiday to see the fun. As there were no means of enclosing the course, the public could view the sport as well from the plains as from the stand, and the races cost the club more than they returned. In addition to this, the Stewart Estate increased the rent, and in 1884 it was determined to amalgamate with the Rockaway Steeple- chase Association, and the opening day of the Rockaway Steeplechase Association meeting is known as Meadow Brook Club Day. The club has benefited by the change largely, as the old house was not really suitable for a busi- ness meeting. The Rockaway Associa- tion has also bene- . fited by the accession of the steeplechase interests, which have helped to ele- vate that association to its high rank. This club is also prominent in polo, and in 1883 and 1884 the Meadow Brook Club team carried all before it. The usual playdays are Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, commencing generally in May. The Meadow Brook Autumn Cup is competed for annually on the club ground in’ Septem- ber, and has been won by the home team several times. Situated within an hour of the city, with frequent and rapidtrains running within half a mile of the club, it is a convenient spot to pass the spring and fall, though sultry in midsummer. Several well-known hunting men have places near by, among them S. D. Ripley, A. Belmont Purdy, August Bel- mont, Jr., E. D. Morgan, Stanley Mortimer, and Adolph Ladenburg. These gentlemen all entertain generously, and the club is en- livened by their proximity. Most of these gentlemen are married, and their wives are as fond of hunting and as good riders as their husbands. The Meadow Brook Club meets are therefore always graced by the presence of ladies in habits. Many new members have been added during the past two years, and among them some good horsemen. Among the foremost are Winthrop Rutherford, James L.. Kernochan, Edward Cushing, Henry Her- bert, P. F. Collier, H. B. Richardson, Elliott Roosevelt, and Theodore Roosevelt. As a wider diversion the resident members have introduced rabbit-coursing with fox A} terriers. The first meeting was held on last Christmas Day. Bel- C3 mont Purdy has a small pack of =~ STANLEY MORTIMER.

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foot-beagles with which he scours the country after rabbits. From the variety of the programme af- forded the members, the social advantages, the pure air, and healthy country life, it will be seen that the Meadow Brook Club is a delight to those who compose it, and an attraction to the town of Hempstead. The pack of hounds that until last spring hunted Far Rockaway is called the Queen’s County Hounds. As has been stated be- fore, they were started in 1878 at Meadow Brook, and hunted there for two seasons, moving then to Castle Inn, Westchester County.

Ss = : ————— ———_ <= : 7 ss FRANCIS R. APPLETON. In the fall of 1882 this pack was amalga- mated with the Rockaway Hunt Club, and the Queen’s County Hounds took up an abode at Far Rockaway, retaining, however, their own name. Prior to that, however, this part of the country had been hunted by the Rockaway pack. In 1879 the Rockaway Hunt Club was first formed, by a number of residents in and around Far Rockaway. The kennels were

SS ee - ! Siu r

GEORGE WORK, ON MARS. at first situated at Law- rence, Long Island, about two miles from the club house. The leaders in the new club were J. D. Chee- ver, Louis Neilson, George Work, E. C. La Montagne, Réné La Montagne, E. N. Dickerson, and N. W. Voss. The hounds were a mixture; about half being brought from Vir- ginia, and the rest being sent out to the club from Ireland. The club was extremely popular, and the list of mem bers increased rapidly. The farmers and property- awners around appreci- ated the increasing num- ber of visitors to. the club, aud the consequent enhancement of the value of their land and produce. In 1881 a farm house was rented near the Far Rockaway depot, which was turned into a club house, but its accommodations were quickly out- grown. A ballroom was built, and adjacent houses were occupied. A series of race meet- ings and steeple-chases proved to be ex- tremely attractive, and led to the formation of the Rockaway Steeple-chase Association.

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88 The excellent Sport enjoyed and the plea- sant meetings at the club house had induced a large number of New York men to become members, and in 1884 the Rockaway Steeple- chase Association was incorporated, the offi- cers being Mr. J. D. Cheever, president ; F. Gray Griswold, vice-president ; E. C. La Mon- tagne, secretary ; and L. Jarvis, treasurer. A site was found at Cedarhurst, about three miles from Far Rockaway. Few better situ- ations could be obtained. The club house faces Hempstead Bay. Directly in front is the polo ground encircled by the race track. To the left are the stables and kennels, and to the right are the grand stand and racing- paddocks. The club house itself was de- signed by Bruce Price and is a success in every way. The large roomy hall, with its easy arm chairs, huge open fireplace filled with blazing logs, is a picture of comfort. The walls are covered with paintings of heroes

“< awe “% » rar wa tae ELLIOTT ROOSEVELT, ON MOHAWK. FOX-HUNTING NEAR THE METROPOLIS. of the chase or race track; while buffalo heads, several sets of horns, and a huge stuffed catamount show that larger game than the fox have fallen to the prowess of the members. The dining, writing, and billiard rooms are all on the ground floor, and the upper portion of the building is devoted to chambers. A wide roomy piazza makes an excellent members’ stand, and from it can be seen the polo matches and tennis tournaments. The inaugural meeting, in May, 1885, was shared by the Meadow Brook Club, in the presence of some thousands of people. The course was as good as could be desired; the jumps were large, but not too formidable ; and the run-in a long level stretch that left noth- ing to be desired. The meeting wasa grand success, and everything seemed of a roseate hue. The fair horizon quickly became cloud- ed, however, as the Rockaway Steeplechase Association was the first victim of the legal interfer- ence with betting privileges ; and the spring meeting of 1886 was a pecuniary fail- ure, though the racing was excellent. The meetings of last year, however, were en- tirely satisfactory. During all this time the Hunt Club, which had mov- edin 1885 to the new quar- ters at Cedarhurst, had been increasing in strength, and there are now about two hundred members on thelist. David L. Haight is now the president of the associa- tion; A. C. Tower, vice-pres- ident ; J. E. Cowden, trea- surer; and Middleton Bur- rill, secretary. The polo ground has been regraded, and is now the best and largest of any in the country, and the team sent into the field by this club carried all before it last year. The players were J. E. Cowden, captain; J. D. Cheever, Foxhall Keene, and Réné La Montagne. Most of the ponies have been brought from Texas and are ¢% ¢

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FOX-HUNTING NEAR THE METROPOLIS. 8g strong, usefulani- [eam mals, but very few are fast enough for racing pur- poses. The lawn tennis grounds are excellent, but the game is not very popular. Hunting is of course the fa- vorite amusement, and during the spring and fall season excellent sport was shown by Mr. Griswold. The _ increasing number of cot- tages on the south side of Long Is- land renders hunt- ing somewhat dif- ficult. For this reason Mr, Peters accommodated the hounds and horses at his place at Williston during part of the year, and the interior portion of the is- land was hunted. The members of the Rockaway Hunt have recently imported a new pack of hounds from Lord Pembroke's noted pack. This importa- tion is by far the best one yet seen in this country, and the hounds shown at the West- minster Kennel Club bench show last Febru- ary were fine specimens of the English fox- hound. Mr. Réné La Montagne is the master, and the outlook this year is especial- ly bright. The list of riders is almost the same as in 1879, when the club first started ; the only prominent additions are Messrs. Leonard Jacob, Foxhall Keene, and J. L. Kernochan, all of whom have also sported silk with suc- cess between the flags. The country hunted by the Queen’s County Hounds is, asa whole, light. The fencing consists largely of post and rail fences, which demand much jumping. The meets asa rule take place at about three o’clock in the after- noon, which allows business men to get away from town. A. BELMONT PURDY, ON HUNTER, Several members--among them Messrs. Collier, Bryce, and Peters—give hunt break- fasts each season, which are largely attended, a number of ladies being among the guests. As arule the fall season gives the best sport. This begins about the first part of October aud continues as long as Jack Frost permits. Hunting is resumed in the month of March, and ends as a rule with the spring meeting of the Steeplechase Association. The pink color of the Rockaway Club men's coats, with its neat white facing, is easily distin- guishable from the blue collar of the Meadow Brook, and the dark green coat and buff collar of the Country Club of Pelham, and all of them frequently illuminate a hunting- ball during the winter months. A somewhat remarkable circumstance in American fox-hunting is the relation be- tween the master and the followers of the hounds. Owing to the nature of the runs there is seldom, if ever, a difference of opin- ion between them. ‘‘ Hold hard, gentlemen,

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go give the hounds room,”’ is never heard. As soon as the pack hit the line, away they go at most eager speed. The pace of the hounds, the nature of the country, and the smallness of the field, all assist in preventing what is anguish to the master's soul—overriding the hounds. In England the man who over- rides them gets a dose of early English that is far from complimentary. The farmers, as a rule, admire the master who can berate a too-aspiring member of the hunt; and ‘‘ Lord, how he do cuss,’’ is their phrase of admiration. Some masters are deeply sarcastic. I recollect, in Ireland, hearing Assheton Biddulph, when hunting the late Lord Huntingdon’s hounds, address a delin- quent officer who had jumped on a hound and lamed him: ‘‘ That’s right! Ride over them! Lame them! Kill them! They’re only spotted dogs!’’ The offender disap- peared and was not seen for a week. About FOX-HUNTING NEAR THE METROPOLIS. ten years ago, when out with the Bramham Moor hounds, my mount bolted and carried me about a quarter of a mile past the pack, which had checked. I tried to sneak back, but old George Lane Fox, the master, had his eye on me, and saluted me with: ‘‘ How do youdo? Why didn’tyoutellme? Next time you’re in such a hurry I’ll have the hounds stopped for you.”’ The third club of foxhunters near New York are the Country Club hounds, or, rather, harriers,—a small, useful pack of hounds, that are just the size for the country over which they run. It is a stiff-hold- ing country, with small enclosures, and walls that take plenty of jumping, and full-sized hounds would run away from the field. They are a merry lot of little chaps, and give plenty of music as they scamper after the aniseed. The nucleus of the pack was brought from England three years ago. Their .. KERNOCHAN. 3 . “eee St present master is the writer of this article. When the coun- try is traversable, the runs are al- ways well attend- ed. Among those who generally are seen out are James N. Waterbury, E. C. Potter, Cran- ston Potter, the Messrs. Have- meyer, Living- ston Beekman, Marion Story, L. Haight, and sev- eral others. The new Coun- try Club house will eclipse any- thing of the kind seen near New York. The land, known asthe Van Antwerp estate, was purchased a year ago, and the new club house is now nearly com- pleted. There will be commodi-

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FOX-HUNTING NEAR THE METROPOLIS. gl THE ROCKAWAY HUNT CLUB. ous stables, a large polo ground, a figure- eight racecourse, pigeon-shooting and lawn tennis grounds, while cottages are spring- ing up all around, and the view over- looking the Sound is one of great beauty. There is excellent anchorage near, and a boat-house will be erected. In every detail the new club premises will be as perfect as money, taste, and experience can make them. The Country Club was started about six years ago. The present club house is on the water’s edge, but there is not enough depth to allow of yachts coming in, which has always been a drawback, as many of the members own yachts. The success of the first steeplechases of this club, in 1884, has been continued every year since. There has been a yearly tennis tournament, and the dances given every spring and fall have always been very pleasant. The club stands in the center of a district abounding in country houses owned by members. The polo team of the Country Club has rendered a good account of itself, and the polo ground at this new club will be an excellent one. A leading feature at the Country Club has been the toboggan slide. This, on cold win- ter days and nights, has been the source of abundant exhilaration. The present club house stands in the limits of the new Pelham Park, and the club will move into its new quarters probably in August or September. The new house will be about four miles nearer to the city, and will also be near to the New York Jockey Club race track, which is soon to be completed. Pigeon shooting of late has been the great attraction of the club, and on Washington’s birthday the club gave a $500 cup to be shot for. Among the mem- bers of the club are Messrs. O. Iselin and W. Iselin, the owners of the Titania and Cinderella; Mr. E. D. Morgan, another prominent yachtsman ; Mr. James M. Water- bury, Mr. Cornelius Vanderbilt, Mr. Pier- pont Edwards, Mr. Jacob Lorillard, and a number of men well known in business and sporting circles. Another pack within reach of this city is that of the Essex County Country Club. Though of comparatively recent date in the history of hunt clubs, it is one of the strongest of these organizations. Unlike any of the other hunts in this country, this was started by an enthusiastic lady equestrian, the daughter of an English family residing in Montclair. It was first known as the Montclair Equestrian Club, in 1876. More than half of its membership con- sisted of young ladies fond of exercise in the saddle. The members of the club were mostly residents of Orange, Montclair, and

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g2 FOX-HUNTING NEAR THE METROPOLIS. Newark and New York. The lady organizer, who afterward became Mrs. Frederick M. Wheeler, drew around her many young peo. ple ; and the club, besides being devoted to the saddle, had periodical evening meetings for music anddancing. In addition to these parties, the club had regular hare-and-hound meets all over the county. These were an- nounced to the members by circulars like the following : MONTCLAIR HUNT. C. W. Nason, President. C. A. HECKSCHER, Vice-President. H. W. Munn, Secretary. F. M. WHEELER, 7reasurer & M. F. H. SPECIAL NOTICE. Weather permitting, there will be a special meet for a fox hunt, on Christmas, at one o’clock in the afternoon, at the Hamilton House, Paterson, N. J. For the benefit of lady riders and others, the first part of the hunt will be on a ‘‘drag” scent (laid in the direction of Bloomfieid), over a carefully selected country; after which a fox will. be drawn from cover. Ladies and gentlemen going from Montclair and Orange will please rendezvous at the Montclair School House grounds, at 10:30 A.M., as it is desired to ride over to the meet with the hounds and huntsman. All are welcome to the hunt. FRED’K M. WHEELER. Master of Foxhounds. Montclair, N. J., December 22d, 1879. The meets were usually held in the neigh- borhood of Montclair and Orange, and the beagle dogs were well adapted for drag hunts, the slow pace suiting the ladies very well. In 1880, however, the beagles were replaced by a pack of hounds imported from Eng- land, and the club was again reorganized and known as the Essex County Hunt. Since then the club has grown very rapidly, and to-day claims to possess some of the best hounds to be found in this country, while the membership is large and the record for good runs is second to none. The kennels, which were originally in Montclair, were removed in 1883 to the west side of Orange Mountain, about three miles from Orange Station. That year the late General McClennan (whose residence was in Orange Mountain) became president of the club, and Mr. Charles A. Hecksher of Orange became master of the hounds. In 1884 he was succeeded by Mr. E. P. Thebaud, the present master, who took entire charge of the hounds. In June of that year the club gave a steeplechase meeting at Waverly, N. J.; and, although their first effort, it was en- tirely successful, with many close finishes. The opening of the fall season, which gen- erally occurs about October ist of every year, is usually marked by gay festivities at the club house. A reception is generally given, with a band of music in attendance, and there are contests at high-speed jumping, etc. The grounds now occupied by the new club at Hutton Park are considered the most picturesque of any in the neighborhood of New York. The tract comprises about fifty acres of every sort of land. There are meadows as level as a billiard table, groves of elms and hickories, clusters of natural wild wood- land, deep ravines traversed by a brook, and a good-sized lake. The house, standing upon a hill near the center of the grounds, is an old stone structure, made picturesque by frame additions. From its broad verandas, following the outline of the house, Orange here opens like a panorama. On either side are stretches of beautiful woodland. Within, the house is quite as attractive as the out- side. The ceilings are low, and the large rooms are cheered by huge fireplaces. Hutton Park has quite a history. Fifty years ago, when Orange was a village, a mineral spring was discovered where this. park now is. The waters contained iron and sulphur, and were found to be very beneficial for different ailments. People flocked to Orange from all parts, and the village had its first boom. A pavilion was erected, and afterwards a stone hotel, adjoin- ing the spring. This was the nucleus of the present building. Among the guests at the hotel was a wealthy New Yorker, A. T. Pilot, who bought the property-—spring and all—for a private country place, and to this day the public has been excluded. About twenty-five years ago Mr. Pilot died, and the property was sold to Major Benjamin Hut- ton, and there he spent the remainder of his life. The major was an artist and fond of landscape gardening. He devoted much time and money to beautifying the place. The club will be fully equipped, and polo, lawn tennis, and shooting grounds are

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‘= wisn .2.28:38 @ MEMBERS OF THE ROCKAWAY HUNT CLUB

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FOX-HUNTING NEAR th 9 os ni NT eeu y) oe ial Ki FOXHALL KEENE ON SIR PETER. either already made or in course of construc- tion. There are now over a hundred members in the club. Mr. Henry A. Page, of South Orange, is president; and Mr. A. Penning- ton Whitehead, vice-president ; W. Emlen Roosevelt, treasurer ; and Robert Sedgwick, secretary. The country hunted over by the Essex County hounds is probably one of the most difficult about New York. It contains much timber and old stone-wall fences, with a good many blind ditches. There is no lack of open pasturage to ride over, which is splendid for the horses and exhilarating to the riders. Some of the best-known gentle- men who ride to the Essex County hounds are M. W. Brownson, W. Campbell Clark, Henry Durand, Powers Farr, Reginald Fry, Charles A. Hecksher, George F. Hecker, Julian H. Keene, Edward Kelly, Charles H. Lee, Henry N. Munn, Charles A. Munn, Richard Pancoast, James R. Pitcher, Edward D. Page, Douglass Robinson Jr., W. Emlen Roosevelt, Robert Sedgwick, E. P. Thebaud, L. A. Thebaud, A. Vanderbilt, Frederick M. Wheeler, John Wilmerding Jr., B. H. Camp- bell, John A. Stewart, H. 1. Herbert, Charles P. Pfizer Jr., E. Pfizer, W. W. Tucker. THE METROPOLIS. It has been the practice of many writers to sneer at hunt- ing in terms which betrayed their utter ignorance. It is easy for a man whose only riding has been done on the front of a street car or on a Fifth Avenue stage, to dispar- age an amusement which he is incapable of enjoying. But one who knows the full pleasure and intoxicating ex- citement conveyed by the mu- sic of the hounds becomes an enthusiast. Of course a drag hunt has not all the at- tractions of a fox hunt after an animal that knows the country and is determined to make his point; but it is a wonderfully good substi- tute, and those who follow risk their lives and limbs as much as, if not more than, the followers of the ‘‘ real arti- cle.” Why should they be gibed, therefore? But I am not writing a defense of hunting. Those who have never felt their pulses tingle and the blood course through their veins at fever heat as they catch the sound of the chase are poor indeed, though rich in worldly goods. ‘There is an exhilaration in the combination of a glorious clear day, a good horse, and the ‘‘sound of the horn,”’’ that banishes dull care and the cobwebs of the brain as no other sport is capable of doing. There is danger in hunting, of course, but every sport has its list of casual- ties. They are to be deplored, but the cause can hardly be blamed. It is a courageous man’s sport, requiring all the qualities that make a fully developed man. It requires nerve, pluck, endurance, a clear head, and an even temper to make a good cross-country rider. To be sure, a high intellect is nota necessity, but if a man has the other attri- butes, the brains are not, as a rule, found wanting. The Duke of Wellington encour- aged hunting even when ona campaign, and in the Peninsula he hunted foxes as keenly as he did the French. Poets have always made hunting theirtheme. Thomson, in glowing words, advised the ‘‘sylvan youth ”’ of Eng- land to direct their energies against the fox.

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FOX-HUNTING NEAR THE METROPOLIS. 95 a w © = x 7) > fod & Zz i=) © 2) Fe a Zz = = & ** Your sportive fury, piti- less, to pour Loose on the mighty robber of the fold : Him, from his craggy wind- ing haunts unearthed, Let all the thunder of the chase pursue. Throw the broad ditch be- hind you ; o’er the hedge High bound, resistless ; nor the deep morass Refuse, but through the shaking wilderness Pick your nice way; into the perilous flood Bear fearless, of the raging instinct full ; And, as you ride the tor- rent, to the banks Your trumpets sound sono- rous, running round From rock to rock, in cir- cling echoes toss’d. Then scale the mountains to their woody tops ; Rush down the dangerous steep, and o’er the lawn, In fancy swallowing up the space between. Pour all your speed into the rapid game ; For happy he who tops the wheeling chase, Has every maze evolved, and every guile Disclosed ; who knows the merits of the pack ; Who saw the villain seized, and dying hard, Without complaint, though by a hundred mouths Relentless torn : O glorious he, beyond his daring ” peers ! It may be interesting to those who do not know the modus oper- andi, to learn how a drag hunt is carried out. The place of meet- ing being selected, the man who runs the drag goes out the day before and marks out his line. It is not as easy a job as

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96 FOX-HUNTIING NEAR THE METROPOLIS. it appears. Irascible farmers whose land is ‘‘posted’’ must be avoided, or shotguns and damage-suits may take a prominent part in the day’s sport, which would be det- rimental to perfect enjoyment. Wire must be especially avoided, and boggy Jand also. The drag man must lay the line with due regard to the fact that riders have necks which may succumb in an encounter with terra firma, but he must not choose too easy a line, and has also to remember that ladies, though in this case not ‘‘priores,’’ must have a share in the fun even if they are ‘‘on wheels.’’ From four to seven miles of coun- try are laid out in his mind's eye, and the dragman goes to bed fully prepared for the day’ssport. Anhour before the ‘‘ meet’’ heis at his post, and taking the odorous “‘ drag’”’ from his pocket, he drops it on the ground and rides at an easy pace, trailing it by a string behind him. Hunting men in this country are business men also, and three to five o’clock in the afternoon is the general hour for the run. By ones and twos those who intend to take part arrive, some in mufti, others in the hunt coat. The gather- ing includes also a few rustics, a horse- breaker or two, a party of curiosity seekers who happen to be driving past and wonder what it’s all about ; and perhaps a dozen or more carriages. Now the hounds arrive. Girths are tightened, greetings exchanged, asly nip of ‘‘jumping powder ’”’ imbibed, if the occasion requires it, anda move is made. The hounds know what is coming, and are keen as mustard. With difficulty they are kept together, and for a few minutes the ‘‘whip’s”’ life is nota happy one. The car- riages have the ‘‘tip’’ which way to go, and are making the best of their way to points of vantage. The hounds enter a meadow, the line is struck, a burst ot melody, and away they go. Hats are crushed on, cigars thrown away, and in hot pursuit the field thunders after them. Crash! that top rail broke just in time to save a fall, but it gave the rest an easy jump. A clatter of stones at the wall, and four iron shoes in the air, show that an unsuccessful attempt at negotiation has resulted in a throw. ‘“‘Hurt?’”’ ‘No. Catch that horse!’’ No time to pause. Time, tide, and hounds wait for no man. The pace becomes hot ; eager riders have to pull their horses, whether they will or no. Heaving flanks and distended eyeballs show that the pace has already told. One by one the ri- ders drop out. Still the music continues in the front. The best mounted forge ahead ; the drag man is seen half a mile before us; the pace becomes terrific, and the scent improves; flesh and blood—at least horse flesh and blood —-can’t stand it long. Soon the finish comes, and with a ‘‘whoop’”’ the hounds are rewarded. ‘* Worry, worry, whoop!’’ and the run is over. Girths are loosened, horses walked about, congratulations and good-natured chaff ex- changed, and the crowd breaks up with many a cheery ‘‘ good-bye,’’ and wends its way homewards. THE QUEEN'S COUNTY HOUNDS.

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OCIAL PROBLEMS always have been approached from two sides, and always will be. Mr. Phillips Brooks put the con- trast in a pretty epigram once, when he said that political economy makes us all so hard, and sentimental philanthropy makes us allso soft. It is impossible to write an article in such language that the knights of the golden shield or those of the silver shield shall not be disgusted. And Mr. Boyle O'Reilly, in his admirable way, satir- izes the people who believe in a statistical Christ with quite the same humor, and in- deed as much effect, as Mr. Dickens shows when he makes Mrs. Jellaby ridiculous. For all this, however, the infinite truth remains, that you do no man any good un- less you make him better. It is of no use to feed him and clothe him, unless you are making him to be more manly. You must go to work upon that line, and it would probably be fair to say that philanthropic schemes which fail, and charities which’ do not come out exactly as their founders would wish, are lacking in precisely this matter, that they are superficial. An excel- lent tramp used to come to see me once in six months, to explain to me that the poor people did not wish to be poor, and that if the city of Boston would only build a suffi- cient number of well-equipped tenement- houses, of which he had plans a little like the palaces with Spanish names which are near the park in New York ; and if the city of Boston would move all the poor peopie into those houses, and once make them comfortable there, so that they should begin with good clothes on, beefsteak and om- elet for breakfast, a warm cup of coffee, and the rest—they would not relapse into 8 Ge Pr award vere Hale poverty. The excellent fellow was carrying out the theory of a wonderful text in the Bible, which says that the destruction of the poor is their poverty. And this is a matter to be profoundly considered. But, for all that, he was beginning at the wrong end. If he could only wave a wand by which intemperate people could be made temperate; by which, especially, lazy people could be made to work, if it were only eight hours a day; by which cross people could be made good-natured; by which selfish people could be made generous; and, most of all, by which shiftless people could be made to take care of themselves and of others— he would find that the new Salamanca and Toledo palaces which he wanted almost built themselves. And the gospel of the end of the nineteenth century is just the same as the gospel of the year 33, Anno Domini, in this business. It is that man is the child of God, and that as soon as he brings to bear the infinite resources, infinite results will follow. * * * WILL the reader of this department always bear in mind this fundamental principle as he reads of one or another effort in the line of social reform? It is quite possible that even a reader of the COSMOPOLITAN may not havea hundred thousand dollars with which to endow an industrial school or a hospital. None the less, he wishes to set the world for- ward, and sometimes plans what he would do if he had the half million which seems necessary for doing so. Now, the truth is, that the half million is not necessary. It is even true that the half million will do no good unless it is used with a steady purpose, by a strong will, by a kind heart. Let us

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98 SOCIAL PROBLEMS. suppose, then, that the reader, who has already proved himself intelligent by his purchase of the COSMOPOLITAN for May, and by reading so far as this column, unites with that measure of intelligence such steadiness of purpose, such kindness of heart, and such strength of will. He is reading these lines simply because he wants to know if the world can not be made a better world, and how he is to assist in the making. Now, if he will carefully read of the different experi- ments of which once a month we give some account in this ‘‘Record of Progress,’’ he will see that their chances of success are in direct proportion to the opportunity which they give for making manly men and womanly women. The man, on the other hand, who should give away a hundred thousand loaves of bread to-morrow on Madi- son Square would do no good to anybody excepting the sparrows who picked up the crumbs. The men who shared his largess would be less manly and the women less womanly. The reader will not share his mistake; whether he have five cents to bestow or five million lakhs of rupees is of little conse- quence in comparison. What is certain is, that he has an hour of life, probably more, which he can give to strengthening the life of some other human being. He can give joint strength which our good English word calls com-fort, the ‘‘ common force’’ of two sympathizing lines. He can do this for his office boy, or to his forlorn neighbor across the way, or to the Swede who landed at Castle Garden yesterday, or to the spirited young fellow who has opened a new shop on the corner. As every Sunday he prays for all sorts and conditions of men, it is quite in his power to say who there is of the five and twenty people he will meet before to-morrow to whom he may give this comfort from the resources of his own life. The young university men of Oxford attempt this personal influence by making their homes at Toynbee Hall. In our last number, we gave an account of a modest movement of the same sort in the lower wards of this city. But the principle is the same and the success is the same, if the reader will loyally give his own life for the help of the person whom he meets where he is to-day. . * * THE NEW YoRK COLLEGE for the Train- ing of Teachers has raised an endowment fund of one hundred thousand dollars. It has been chartered by the regent of the State, and has the power of giving the degree of Bachelor of Pedagogy. The college is the outgrowth of the In- dustrial Education Association. This asso- ciation desired to introduce and promote manual training in the public schools. It was impossible to find the proper trained teachers ; hence the necessity of a college to prepare teachers for this work. Prominent citizens became interested and the necessary sum was subscribed. Of this sum it was found necessary to spend thirty-five thousand dollars in making changes in the building, which is situated in University Place. The trustees, however, increased the endowment fund largely, and they are now able to equip the college for its work. A scholarship fund will soon be pro- vided. Seven professors have been appointed, and lectures will be given by well-known instructors who are in hearty sympathy with this movement. Graduates will be’ com- petent to teach drawing, modeling, wood- working, sewing, cooking, and the construc- tion of simple scientific apparatus. The president of the college is Dr. Nicholas Murray Butler. * ¥ * A LARGE NUMBER of well-known scholars are interested in the proposed Institute for Artists and Artisans in New York City. People engaged in American art and indus- tries are awaking to a sense of the need of such an institution, and subscriptions for it are coming in. The idea is to familiarize the mind of the beginner naturally and gradually with the laws of perspective, motion, dimensions, etc. Mr. Stimpson, in speaking of the method, says, ‘‘ The vital point is that the pupil should unite mental to merely optical vision, and his mind and spirit sympathize while his eye and hand execute.’’ Thescholar’s perception and sympathy are cultivated, and his eye led along by easy evolutions from points to lines, to movements, to spaces, to more and more complex forms, to shades, textures, and colors. The pupil passes on to modeling, weaving, and the highest forms of art. Such a university, in its system and details, asthe one proposed does not exist in the United

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SOCIAL PROBLEMS. 99 States, and in no country is there greater need of one. Colonel J. E. Clarke, in the United States Government Report, says: ‘‘In the artistic development of our industrial resources will be found economy and power. On it de- pends the prosperity, perhaps life, of the Republic.”’ There is no influence so powerful for the elevation of the people as art in its noblest and purest sense. It gives a new signifi- cance to what was homely before. It is a fresh life, which is opened to man who has heretofore seen form only, and hasnot known how to invest it with heavenly beauty. Add to labor intelligence and soul, and, as Col- onel Clarke says, the ‘‘artisan becomes art- ist, the toiler a creator, the slave a free- man.” It is not the place of this magazine to ask assistance in any cause. But in an effort to educate the entire country to higher level in art THE COSMOPOLITAN must of necessity lend its hand, and give the address of Mr. Stimpson, who will receive subscriptions for the Institute. People interested may ad- dress John Ward Stimpson, 140 West 23d Street, New York City, N. Y. * * * THE PEOPLE'S ENTERTAINMENT Society of Boston has been doing what was never attempted before in that city, where every need seems to be met by the necessary char- ity. In the winter of 1886-87, the society was formed and began to give entertainments of an interesting and elevating nature, at half the price of the dime museums. In ad- dition to the entertainment, each one of the audience receives with his ticket a coupon, which entitles him to a cup of coffee, tea, or milk, and a biscuit. Any person who is willing to behave himself on the premises and will pay five cents is admitted. From a small beginning, the society is now able to give two entertainments a week, with an average attendance of five hundred persons. Fathers, mothers, and children, all come to- gether to pass the evening. Drunkards have even been lured from the saloons which at- tract them, newsboys, bootblacks, and street urchins readily pay the five cents required, and for that evening are shielded from vice and temptation. The good influence thrown around shows itself in better behavior, a little more effort at cleanliness, and less rudeness. It is a slow but a steadily uplift- ing influence, which every city would do well to consider in its economies. * * * A POPULAR INDUSTRY has been added to the list of employments for women in New York. A woman accustomed to preparing food for the sick, found it necessary to sup- port herself. She tried sending cake to the Women’s Exchange, but was not successful. She then thought of delicacies and tempting tid-bits for invalids, and she has been so suc- cessful in this undertaking as to reap a rich harvest. The rich and the poor both pat- ronize her, and the comfort to hotel and boarding-house residents can hardly be told. Physicians, who know so well the value of well-made, nourishing dishes, free from grease and tempting in appearance, are de- lighted with this new industry, and recom- mend it most highly. Now that the experiment has shown so happy a result, other women have entered into it, and many ladies furnish now the delicacies which the sick and convalescent need. Oftentimes a lady of wealth leaves an order, or sends by mail, that certain nu- tritious dishes shall daily be sent to a suf- fering man, woman or child. The women who look for employment and find it not, will often, if they stop to consider what is the one thing they can do well, find, like the originator of this work, that there is a de- mand for homely and unobtrusive produc- tions. Among the conveniences which make the city of Providence one of the most agreeable homes in the world is the excellence of the arrangement by which ‘‘hot lunches’’ are sold from door to door through the day and evening from carts prepared for the purpose. We have nowhere seen this convenience so well arranged as in Providence. * * * THE }’RAT?r INSTITUTE of Brooklyn, and Mr. Auchmuty’s workshops at the corner of Sixty-first Street and Avenue A in this city, are solving some of the most important of the difficult questions in industrial educa- tion, to which we have already referred in these papers. The report of the last year of the Pratt Institute, although very short, is most satisfactory and suggestive. Persons who really want to acquaint themselves with

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100 the business of industrial education should go to the institute, and see the various classes in operation. .The institute is private, in the sense that it is conducted by the generosity and public spirit of the Messrs. Pratt, with- eut asking for assistance from government or of persons outside their own firm ; but it is public in the larger sense that it is for the best good of the public, and that everything it has is open for everybody. It is one of the noble illustrations which our time gives of men's willingness to serve their race while they are living, and to establish institutions which they can themselves direct with that wisdom and skill which has enabled them to collect the means of establishing them. The inStitute arranges the course of study to suit the means of pupils who really wish to become students and could not otherwise afford todoso. A library of fifteen thousand books, and a reading-room where may be found more than one hundred and fifty of the best American and English periodicals, are thrown open to all residents of Brooklyn over fourteen years of age who come recommended by a responsible person. In a little more than a year from the time of opening the library and reading-room, the number of readers was five thousand five hundred and eighty-seven, and in January last nine thou- sand and four books were circulated. Classes in cooking, art needlework, paint- ing, and advanced cast drawing are held on one floor of the building. Another contains a technical museum. On a third is the art department, where drawing—architectural, mechanical, and freehand—is taught, as well as ornamental work in iron, brass, and cop- per. Phonography, type-writing, and com- mercial correspondence have their places also. The trade-school proper gives instruction in shops properly fitted up for forging iron, for casting iron and other metals, for car- pentry and joiner’s work, bricklaying and plastering. The report says that the arrange- ments for the last departments named will be extended in the coming year. Plumbing is SOCIAL PROBLEMS. practically taught, and lectures are given on drainage, sewerage, and ventilation. * * * AMONG the latest enterprises in New York City undertaken by women may be mentioned the Kindly Club. It is meeting with great favor, and promises to be a benefit. Last summer the club was first proposed and organized by a group of ladies, headed by Mrs. Janet E. Ruutz-Rees, who desired to do something practical and at the same time unostentatious. The object of the club is the ‘cultivation of kindly thought by kindly words and by the suppression of evil speak- ing, lying, and slandering.’’ Very appropri- ately the badge is in the design of a bridle. The club has no complicated creed, by-laws, or constitution. Red tape appears to have been left out of its organization. The object includes everything. Meetings take place oncea month. Mrs. Ruutz-Rees is the secre- tary and treasurer as well as the founder of this club. The governing body is known as the ‘‘ Kindly Committee of the Kindly Club.’’ In New York City alone there is said to be already a membership of one thou- sand persons, and branches are rapidly form- ing in our large cities. The effort of the Kindly Club to bring employers and people who need employment together is to be spe- cially commended. Intelligence offices do this for servants, and there are bureaus for teachers, telegraphers, and others. But the Kindly Club, in the kindest ways, endeavors to show the poor woman with a story, where she may get it printed and paid for; where the invalid girl in the city can find a home on the country farm, in which her light serv- ices will pay for her board ; where the teacher turned adrift may find temporary occupa- tion befitting her education. It is a bureau of advice to many friendless women who know not which way to turn. Such a work as this demands patience and love. It is rightly called ‘‘ Kindly,” and receives, as it merits, the attention and sup- port of Christian people.

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hinis he port oF orlds sweet len from pain © wei S' )ME four or five years ago an English- man, arriving at Colorado Springs with letters of introduction, was invited to dine at the home of the late Helen Hunt Jackson. In accepting the invitation, he wrote that, as his time was limited to one day, ang he believed it customary for visitors to see the top of ‘* The Peak,’’ he must ask to be dealt leniently with if he arrived late for dinner, ‘* The Peak ’’ to which he referred was Pike’s summit, fourteen thousand four hundred feet above the sea--nearly two and a half times as high as Mount Washington ; a ten-mile steady tramp up, from Manitou, at the base, that very good pedestrians ask seven hours for, though it seldom happens that any one is willing to trust his lungs in that light air except behind a pair of mule’s ears. This Englishman, however, was not famil- iar with the excelsior legends of the coun- try, and not only went to the Peak, but came back again, and, after adding to his record an additional five miles between Man- itou and the Springs, coolly turned up for dinner at the appointed hour, apparently not greatly fatigued, and able to conduct his full share of sprightly talk during the evening. This was Professor James Bryce, then on his third visit to America, in his study of ‘‘The American Commonwealth,’’ and his book, as might be inferred, is an extraor- dinary book of an extraordinary man ; and, while attracting much attention, it has by no means received that careful study to which its merits will entitle it in years to come. This English member of Parliament has, in fact, written a couple of volumes that from ti 3 ri termoy must be text-books for the Americans them- selves. The most curious thing about it is, that he has, without any desire to be fault- finding, put his hand on the sore spots in our governmental anatomy. The legislator in Washington, plodding along and comprehending defects in govern- ment without recognizing them, will, upon reading ‘‘The American Commonwealth,”’ have them made clear to him. The average citizen will stop for a moment his crow of superiority over European nations, and turn seriously to the consideration of the fact, that, while our Republic is the best government in the world, it is by no means perfect, and needs mending ; and it is to be hoped that the European will seek to imitate its strength and avoid its weakness. Professor Bryce has done the whole world a service ; and if there were only a cheaper edition of three or four hundred pages, instead of fourteen or fifteen hundred, closely printed, the public indebtedness would be increased. The ideal republic, toward which human- ity has blindly struggled in the past, obtained its first great opportunity when the repre- sentatives of the States of North America came together at Philadelphia. Before that, there had been experiments under all sorts of conditions. Peoples too unstable, peoples too barbarous, peoples too steeped in crime, peoples too few in numbers, peoples sur- rounded by jealous despotisms, had tried to govern themselves as republics. The condi- tions had always been unfriendly, and the plant was cut down and destroyed ; the seed’ dropping, however, in remote corners, and Mis. LST TSE LT SE Se See Ee ee AN aS = me Fy lala at tn AS ae" ee eee tee s Se oe be Prntengin aap ame 5 2 pnd:

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102 covered up by the débris, and continuing to hold the germs of life. In this new world were the conditions favorable for the first time—a rich land, requiring centuries to crowd ; remote from old forms of government ; the surroundings favorable not only to thought, but original ways ; a people gathered from many quar- ters. Finally came the happy stroke of despotism, which was necessary to bring these fortunate conditions into recognition, Professor Bryce recognizes clearly the im- portance of our experiment in republican forms of government. He pretends an at- tachment for his own, but underneath every paragraph runs the theme that ‘‘the repub- lic is desfined to be the government of the world.’’ Occasionally it is rendered boldly, as when looking down on the floor of the House of Representatives he meditates : ‘*This huge gray hall filled with perpetual clamor, this multitude of keen and eager faces, this ceaseless coming and going of many feet, this irreverent public watching from the galleries and forcing its way onto the floor—all speak to the beholder’s mind of the mighty democracy, destined in another century to form one-half of civilized man- kind, whose affairs are here debated. If the men are not great, the interests and issues are vast and fateful. Here, as so often in America, one thinks rather of the future than of the present. Of what tremendous struggles may not this hall become the theater in ages yet far distant, when the parliaments of Europe have sunk to insig- nificance ?’’ Having relation to existing conditions of humanity, all other experiments in govern- ment have but little interest beside that which has been going on in this new con- tinent. Other governments are but relics of past and darker ages, and interest only attaches as they approximate the republic. The wonder to the citizen of the United States, who takes enough interest in his government to think about it, is that, with our splendid system, we do not seem to pro- duce statesmen; and, familiarized as we are with ward politics and ‘‘ bossism,’’ we turn to them as the causes for the disparity between the numbers of our public men and the number of our even moderately great men. But Professor Bryce is not content with such an answer regarding ‘‘e disease IN THE LIBRARY. which enfeebles us ; and it will, I fancy, be in the nature of news to a good many Ameri- cans, that the reason why we run so rap- idly to bossism, and care so little for the greatness which makes a study of the best interests of the Republic, may be found in the organization of Congress itself. This Professor Bryce makes especially clear, that so long as legislation, instead of being guided by a select committee, or a cabinet responsible for its actions to the country, is given into the hands of fifty or sixty obscure committees, who can not be held to account- ability or responsibility, and whose proceed- ings for the most part are neither reported in the newspapers, nor in any way brought before the country, just so long may we expect to have a mass of crude bills, often opposed to the best interests of the Republic, and most frequently instigated by the pri- vate interests of members and their friends, or worse still, their employers. Professor Bryce may naturally be supposed, after his long experience in the British Parliament, to have a bias in favor of a cabinet as a com- mittee to whom are referred all measures of importance, and who must stand or fall by the policy displayed in presenting or with- holding measures from Parliament. But, if he is prejudiced, he certainly makes very strong the reasons upon which his prejudice is founded. In the English system he shows the importance, first of the right draughting of any bill intended for submission. This is done by professionals, the ablest of lawyers, who study every sentence and word as if their clients were some day to depend upon a single phrase before a great court of appeals. Then the proposed bill comes under the serious study of a sub-committee of the cabinet, who weigh its every consequence, and who are held responsible by their associates if they misunderstand its purport or fail to judge with wisdom what its effects will be upon the country. Finally the whole cabinet take the matter under advisement carefully, knowing that a misstep will result in their own downfall, and at last determining to commit the welfare of the nation and their own political success to the worth of the measure. Now for the American side. " Mr. Bryce says: ‘‘The Americans surpass all other nations in their power of making the best of bad conditions, getting the largest results

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IN THE out of scanty materials or rough methods. Aware that they have this gift, the Americans are content to leave their political machinery unreformed. Persons who propose comprehensive reforms are sus- pected as theorists and crotchet-mongers. The national inventiveness, active in the sphere of mechanics and money-making, spends little of its force on the details of governmental methods.’’ He describes the draughting of a measure for Congress by per- haps the skilled parliamentarian, but more often the little third-rate lawyer, who has given more time to laying his pins for gradual advancement through the offices of alderman, county attorney, state legislator, and so up to Congress, than to the study of the law. Then the bill, without consideration by anybody except its too often obscure author, is mumbled inaudibly before the House and sent to its supposedly appropriate committee. The member who introduces this bill feels no great responsibility, because, in the nat- ural course of events, either his bill will go into the committee’s waste-basket of unre- ported measures (the fate of ninety-nine one- hundredths of the bills proposed), or it will be so changed as to be almost beyond recog- nition. ‘‘ The committee is little observed, and the details of what passes within the four walls of its room are not published. The great parties of the House are but faintly responsible, because their leaders are not bound to express an opinion.’’ As for the individuals who should be held responsible, Professor Bryce says truly: ‘‘ Most of them are insignificant, and half of them destined to vanish, like snowflakes in a river, at the next election.”’ It is worth while to follow Professor Bryce, did space permit, into his analysis of our higgledy-piggledy system of making ap- propriations, and of the thousand glaring disadvantages under which the legisla- tive department of the government labors, through having no head or set of heads in any way directly responsible for the re- sults of its work. The popular impression that our constitu- tion was brought by Jefferson from France, and that its framers were willing to adopt the theories which Carlyle describes as emanating in those days from ‘‘ the abysmal throat of the pamphleteers,’’ is disposed of LIBRARY. 103 by Professor Bryce, whose studies show that our forefathers were quite the reverse of radi- cal, and that they only adopted the results of long experiment in the previously existing local governments of the States ; in a word, that our nation applied on a great scale what had been shown to be available 1n the gov- ernment of lesser states, with due reference, however, to what were regarded as the weak- nesses or downright failures of the mother country. x * ” Not a few excellent people, in this very difficult world, find a trouble in believing in God, because, forsooth, some of their neigh- bors are not as rich nor as happy nor as healthy as they should be ; and what object, they ask, could the Good God have in per- mitting sorrow? If they will turn to the ‘‘ Witness of the Sun,’’ which is the novel published last month by Lippincotts, from the pen of Amélie Rives, a suggestion of a reason will be found in favor of the human character going through a purifying fire of suffering. If the author had ever suffered, it is not possible that, with her unquestionably mar- velous talents, she could be guilty of what one finds upon every page of ‘‘ The Witness of the Sun.”’ Mrs. Chanler has had placed to her account in bank a large figure, which, if report be true, she does not particularly need ; she has been talked about from one end of the coun- try to the other; she has had the satisfac- tion of seeing her work on every news-stand, and, when she comes up from Virginia to New York, it will doubtless be offered to her half a dozen times during her journey. If she feels satisfied with the result, she is not as bright nor as talented as one must believe. Why? Because, is there no more serious purpose in life to which to apply great tal- ents? Has she no work to do that demands her? Can she not afford, before giving to the world another book, to take half a dozen years for the study of character greater than that which is a frittering away of existence in the mere exchange of hand-pressures and love-tokens, and the bandying of those phrases which are so sure an index to selfish vanity gratified in the reflected admiration of inexperienced womanhood ? Mrs. Chanler has made her reputation: She is not in poverty. She can well wait wan eneer tRee [wee e ty — ~ a oe SL Oe eens

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104 IN THE for more of whatever it is her soul sighs for. She has no right to stay shut up in her exhausted Virginia study. If there were more in her of George Macdonald, that ‘*true poet, great philosopher, and—poor novelist,’’ the captivating brilliancy of her genius, which now expends itself in turning tender and half-sensuous pictures about dra- matic plots, would finda nobler development in a purpose worthy of her art. BOOKS RECEIVED. Commonwealth.’’ By Crown 8vo, 750 New ‘““The American James Bryce. Two vols. and 743 pp. $6.00. Macmillan & Co. York. ** William Lloyd Garrison.”’ his life. Told by his children. with portraits, etc. Two vols. pleted in four vols.) The Century Co. York. ‘*Truth about Russia.’’ By W. T. Stead. 8vo, 464 pp. Cassell & Co. New York. ‘‘Omitted Chapters of History. Disclosed in the Life and Papers of Edmund Ran- dolph.’” By Moncure D. Conway. Large G. P. Putnam’s Sons. The story of Illustrated (To be com- New 8vo, 401 pp. $3.00. New York. ‘* Authors at Home.’’ Personal and bio- graphical sketches of well-known American Edited by J. L. and J. B. Gilder. Cassell & Co. New York. An essay by Dr. Her- writers. 12m0, 354 pp. ‘John Brown.” LIBRARY. mann von Holst. Edited by Frank Preston Stearns. Illustrated. 16mo, 232 pp. $1.50. Cupples & Hurd. Boston. “An I. D. B. in South America.’’ By Louise Vescelius-Sheldon, author of ‘‘ Yan- kee Girls in Zulu Land.’’ Illustrated. I2mo, 206 pp. Cupples & Hurd. Boston. ‘‘ Jonathan and His Continent.’’ (Rambles through American Society.) By Max O’Rell and Jack Allyn. 12mo, 313 pp. $1.00. Cas- sell & Co. New York. **Accolon of Gaul, with Other Poems.” By Madison J. Cawein. 12mo, 164 pp. John P. Morton & Co. Louisville, Ky. ‘*The Amaranth and the Beryl. An EI- egy.’’ By Charles Edward Barns. 12mo, parchment paper, 248 pp. 50 cents. Wil- lard Fracker & Co. New York. ‘*Solitarius to His Demon.’’ By Charles Edward Barns. 12mo, parchment paper, Willard Fracker & Co. 217 pp. 50 cents. New York. ‘*Under False Pretenses.’’ By Adeline Sergeant. Lovell’s International Series 16mo, paper. 5ocents. Lovell& Co. New York. ‘In Exchange for a Soul.’’ By Mary Linskill. Lovell's International Series. 16mo, paper. s5ocents. Lovell& Co. New York. ‘*An Hour’s Promise.’’ By Annie Eliot. Cassell’s Sunshine Series. 16mo, paper. 50 cents. Cassell & Co. New York.

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